#Visions of Disfigurement

[wisepuma23]

Ya know after today’s event… imagine Tallulah gets a permanent face scar after her fight with her Dad to protect Chayanne. A constant reminder of Phil’s mistakes on his daughter’s face. No wonder Tallulah refused to get close to him after, especially after his promise that he’d never lay a hand on her only an hour earlier 🥺

Picture Tallulah, still so lanky and young, trying her best to remember Phil’s sparring tips as he’s barreling down on her. Like MAN!!!

Personally, I’m imagining a cut on her cheekbone from the brunt end of Phil’s sword, like he used the pommel to strike her. Tallulah not even bothering to stem the blood on her face, shakily kneeling, still holding her sword high.

Chayanne seeing the bruised and bleeding face of his sister, and wondering for the first time what it would be like to kill his father.

Or artists if you wanna make things even WORSE… Chayanne got a back scar from running away, while Tallulah got a matching one on her front for standing her ground :)

Always the twins…

[wizzard890]

okay so picture this.

You're a man named Jim Steinman. You are one of the most prolific songwriters of the 80s. In your spirit, output and essence, you are eternally popping a wheelie on a motorcycle while a hot half-naked woman clings to you and bats wheel in the sky above.

You wrote a song in which Meatloaf plays a hideously disfigured hunk who steals a nubile lady back to his crumbling manor and introduces her to the pleasures of magic lesbian group sex.

You wrote a song in which Celine Dion sings as Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights, dancing with Cathy's corpse on a beach in the moonlight; a scene which you, Jim Steinman, believe should have been in the book. (The moors of Wuthering Heights are landlocked, but you, Jim Steinman, are too fucking real to care about that.)

You wrote the song for the opening scene of the movie Streets of Fire, in which evil leatherdaddy Willem Dafoe leads his malefic motorcycle crew into a concert to abduct Diane Lane while she's wearing a skintight satin jumpsuit.

You wrote a song in which Bonnie Tyler wanders a haunted boarding school as literal demon twinks gyrate at her out of the fog.

There is no peak of goth camp that you, Jim Steinman, have not summited, no horny energy you have not tapped. They say that Alexander the Great wept when he saw there were no more worlds to conquer. But you, Jim Steinman, are not Alexander the Great. You, Jim Steinman, are better. You, Jim Steinman, have vision.

You take your most successful song, the song everyone knows, the most big-haired, white dress, gothic arches, doves flying, possessed choir boys chanting, bombastic song you have, and think: what if this, but with vampires.

And so you change the lyrics to be about death and infinity and a powerful bloodsucking lord seducing a girl who is ALL ABOUT IT, and then toss off a whole musical for this song to be the centerpiece to, and the musical is bad but it's also a weird hit that's been staged in fourteen countries and revived seven times, because nothing has ever whipped as campily, as ridiculously, as perfectly as this:

It never takes off in America. A prophet is without honor in his own land. But that doesn't matter. How could it matter? You are perhaps the most creatively self-actualized man who has ever lived. Look at that vampire. He's coming in hot and a hundred Venetian nuns gave their lives to make his ludicrously capacious lace sleeves. Look at that girl. She was born in a fog machine. She wore her best red velvet cape. She's down bad. She's singing Total Eclipse of the Heart the whole time.

You are Jim Steinman, and you have reached apotheosis.

[mariasont]

Could you do a story where Y/N Is taken in a hostage situation and we see more of a dark hotch? like that early episode where hotch and reid are hostages in the hospital?

TOO EMOTIONAL - A.H

a/n: thank you so much for requestin <3 i hope this is what you were wanting!

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

warnings: honestly yall i feel like this is way darker than anything i've written so far, not sure if its good or not but alas, mentions of blood, violence, unsub threatens reader with a knife and a lighter, mentions of sexual assualt (it doesnt happen just mentions of it), unsub cuts open readers shirt, hotch is a dick for a plot, hurt/comfort

wc: 1.4k

Your vision was blurred, you fought to focus as dried blood flaked from your lashes with each heavy blink. You swallowed a cough, the floor's cold concrete punishing your knees. The ties around your wrists and ankles were merciless, digging into your flesh. You tried to focus on the sounds around you—the drip-drop of water, the soft wail of distant sirens.

In the dim light, you caught glimpses of Hotch, his distinct cologne mingling with the warehouse's musty air. He was agonizingly close yet not close enough to touch. The unsub's footsteps were barely audible over the pounding of your heart. Panic fluttered in your chest, unwanted and insistent. Only three cases in, and it seemed the universe was conspiring to reroute your career choice.

Frantically, you attempted to wipe your face on your shirt, pulse roaring in your ears as the footsteps ceased before you and Hotch. The man was a ghastly figure, burns cutting from one side of his face to the other. You couldn't breathe.

"What a day to have feds come knocking." His voice was hoarse, fingers absently playing with a lighter.

"You know, they say the most intelligent criminals are the ones who don't get caught, yet here we are," Hotch said, his chin defiantly up, words sharp and calculated.

Suddenly, the unsub was right there, his disfigured face uncomfortably close, the heat from the lighter singeing your skin. His breath was a hot, sticky assault, and you fought the instinct to flinch.

"Smart men don't leave witnesses, and I intend to be very smart about this."

The foundations of your training flitted across your consciousness, the methodologies for keeping control of the situation, but they sifted through your fingers like said, rendering you paralyzed.

"Take her then. She's new, inexperienced. Probably more trouble than she's worth." Hotch's voice was cold, jarring like a slap to the face, his expression empty of emotion.

You strained to keep your face impassive, your eyes darting to Hotch, pleading for his attention. Your breaths were shallow, scarcely there. He had to be bluffing. You felt sick. The unsub shifted his weight, scrutinizing you both, edging closer to hotch, no doubt with suspicion.

The unsub laughed, a cold and calculating sound as he circled around Hotch. "You expect me to believe you'd turn on your own that quickly? I'm not a fool."

"Look at her and tell me what her worth is to me." Hotch's voice was even, almost bored. "She's a liability. Too emotional, too soft." 

His words were flung carelessly, yet they landed with precision, straight into your chest. Your teeth punished the inside of your cheek.

The remarks were like sharp barbs to your chest, instilling a hollow feeling as you attempted to convince yourself that the wetness on your lashes was anything but tears. His assessment was not unfounded. Your empathy, your sensitivity, traits deemed too tender for the harsher realities of your job, were now being used against you. Hotch had always been an exception, until now.

"Well, I could see her worth in other ways." The man's words oozed contempt, his gaze crawling over you in a way that threatened to turn your stomach. "I bet that's how she got the job in the first place, huh?"

"What do you think?" Hotch's laugh was a sinister match to the unsub's. He tilted his head in your direction. "Look at her. That's all she's been good for."

Your breath caught in your throat, your body turning as much as the ties would permit in Hotch's direction. You could almost hear your heart shattering, could feel it in Hotch's inability to face you. Was this a plan or had he truly discarded you?

You never deluded yourself into thinking you were Hotch's favorite--his reserved interactions with you made that abundantly clear. In fact, you were probably his least favorite. He had kept you at an arm's length, while seemingly forging bonds with the others that didn't seem to extend to you.

This was all within reason, given your inexperience and younger age, but the disdain lacing his words was unexpected, shredding through any pretense of professional detachment.

Hotch had never wanted you on the team, it was Rossi who had vouched for you. And now, look where that got you both.

Maybe this was all deserved.

"Then you won't mind if I try her out for myself?" The unsub's insinuation felt like a perverse validation of Hotch's doubts. 

A low hum escaped the unsub as he closed the distance, his gaze predatory. You stilled, breath caught as he produced a knife from his pocket, skimming your cheek just shy of cutting. You were scared and you were scared to show it. Desperately, you looked to Hotch, the blade now hovering precariously close to your sternum.

Hotch wouldn't look at you. You wanted to scream, to cry, to throw something, but that was all shoved to the bottom of your throat as the unsub sliced down the middle of your shirt, exposing your chest and compelling your gaze to it. Tears of humiliation prickled your eyes. How could Hotch let this happen to you?

The unsub's clammy grip clung to your waist, your lips trembling as you prepared for the worst. You closed your eyes, escaping to your house in your mind—tea brewing, fireplace going—anywhere but here.

A sudden splatter to your face jolted you back, eyes opening in alarm you saw Hotch's eyes, not the unsub's.

"You're okay, you're okay," Hotch murmurs. 

The words did little to comfort you, his hands moving blindly to release the binds at your wrist and ankles. Looking down, you see the unsub, knife through his back, blood pooling around him. Hotch's hands are on your wrists, his thumbs massaging away the sting. 

When your hand touches your face, you feel the splatter from earlier, coming back away with a smear of blood on your fingertips. 

Your voice felt like it was a prisoner inside yourself, words and sounds slipping past you like ghosts. A persistent ringing in your ears muffled all but the pungent scent of the warehouse, which clawed at your senses. 

You felt the jostle of hands, the motion of being lifted, a sensation so distant it barely registered. The world was a smear of lights and faces--the team showing up, the paramedics--until it slowly came into focus. 

You barely registered that Hotch was speaking to you, his words indistinct and muffled.

"What?" you asked, your speech slow to form and blurred at the edges.

You had a jacket over the front of you, his jacket, covering your exposed chest.

Hotch's eyes were pools of worry as he grasped at your hand. It was weird, the feeling of his hand in yours. You realized that was the first time you had felt it. 

"More water?"

You could only nod, and he promptly fetched a bottle, twisting it open and placing it in your hand. You took a small sip. 

"It's too loud," you mumbled, you were aware you weren't making sense.  You shifted to face him, your knee grazing his thigh. "Did you mean those things you said?"

"Of course I didn't mean it," Hotch replied quickly, his gaze intense. "You thought I meant that?"

Your gaze dropped to your lap, voice faltering. "I don't know... I wasn't sure, I mean, no, but I just... I don't feel very useful, and this whole mess, it's because of me and I--" 

Tears interrupted you, your hands fumbling to hide them. Hotch reached out, gently turning your face to his, thumb brushing away the tears. 

"Hey, look at me. Don't say that. This isn't your fault. Nothing I said back there was true. I needed to distract him, had to make him concentrate on you."

"I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm crying like this," you stammered between sobs. 

"You don't have to apologize. You're crying because you've been through a lot. Just breathe, take your time."

You managed a wobbly smile. "You hit the nail on the head with the too emotional part," you sniffled.

Hotch gave a small chuckle. "Your compassion, your sensitivity, it's what sets you apart as an agent--in fact, it makes you an outstanding one."

You were close now, your gaze inadvertently drawn to his lips. You could kiss him if you wanted. Not that you were in the right headspace or that it was appropriate. But you could've.

"Oh, my goodness, I'm so glad you're okay!" You were barreled into a hug, the familiar voice and blur of color of Penelope enveloping your senses.

Hotch cautioned, "Watch her head." 

With Penelope's hands around you, you found yourself looking over her shoulder, locking eyes with Hotch. His gaze held a new light, a recognition that maybe, just maybe you weren't Hotch's least favorite agent after all.

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[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

@steddie-spooktober day 29: sweater | T | wc: 1,394

“It was meant to be for your birthday, but I didn't get it done in time… obviously.” he tacks on at the end.

Just like how crochet was meant to be a hobby, a relaxing one at that, but all Steve’s been is stressed about trying to make something for Eddie’s birthday… then about how it was late… and then about how the vision he had of it in his head was nothing like how it was coming out.

The thing was horrid. Absolutely wretched. Steve had no clue why he was even still giving it to Eddie, newfound crush on the long-haired dork besides the point.

Eddie just stares at it. The sad lump of yarn Steve dared to call a sweater.

“You can— Look, I’ll just take it out back and put it out of its misery.” Steve grimaces, reaching for the Thing with one hand and gesturing back toward the backyard where the fire in Hopper’s fire pit was still steadily blazing.

Eddie unfreezes and snatches It out of reach, “Fuck off with that, I’m gonna wear this sweater every damn day.” Then, as if to prove his point, tries to put it on over his already bulky hoodie/leather jacket/battle vest (a new one, since his old one was lost somewhere in the aftermath of Spring Break) combo.

“Waitwaitwaitwait—“ Steve hurries to pull Eddie's arms back down, “It barely fit me when I tried it on, you’ll end up ripping it if you try putting it on over all that.”

Eddie lowers his arms, squinting suspiciously at Steve as he does. Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to take it back if you really want it that damn much.”

“Yeah you better not.” Eddie sniffs, folding the sweater up then shoving it safely under his hoodie. Steve barely has enough time to think about the implications of that, about how scratchy that must be, let alone voice how that ugly lump of granny stitches is going to end up on the ground if it stays there, before Eddie is pulling him in for a hug.

“Thanks Stevie,”

Steve lets out a sigh, and wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist. “You’re welcome Eddie.”

- - - - -

Even with how ungodly lumpy and disfigured the crochet sweater was, Steve was still bummed he didn’t see Eddie wearing it the next time he saw him. Or the next time. Or the third.

One week after the Hopper Halloween Hbonfire, when Steve is feeling particularly mopey and planning on tossing all his crochet hooks when he got home from work that night, Eddie waltzes into Family Video an hour before close… still sans sweater.

Kicking himself for having so many big feelings about a sweater that no one should be caught dead in, he manages a smile. “Hey Eddie, what’s up?”

He leans onto the counter in front of Eddie, feeling his face tingle slightly when the other man does the same, his face coming in close to Steve’s.

Thank god it’s nearly midnight.

”Nothin’ much Stevie Darling,” Eddie grins, “What’s going on with you? You seem a little bummed.”

Steve opens his mouth to reply, say something random that has nothing to do with the sweater (or lack thereof), when his eyes flick briefly down to Eddie’s torso.

”Just ready to go home, I guess.”

Eddie grins wider, his eyes crinkle up at the corners. God, if Steve hadn’t already been head over heels..

”You sure, big boy? Sure it’s got nothing to do with the lack of lovingly twisted yarn upon my person?”

“… Well yeah. But did you have to say it like that?”

Eddie laughs, his eyes sparkling. “I knew it, “You don’t have to wear it..” my ass.”

Steve sighs, hangs his head momentarily, then picks it back up to meet Eddie’s mischievous eyes. “At least it’ll bring some color to the dump.”

There’s a moment’s pause, then Eddie says, “I didn’t throw it out.” In a tone that implies that should’ve been obvious.

”Well I haven’t seen you wearing it.” Steve grumbles, then kicks himself internally again. “Wait, sorry, forget I said anything.”

He stands straight, nervously running a hand through his hair. Eddie looks up at him from his spot at the counter for a breath, then stands up to meet Steve’s gaze.

”I didn’t throw it out.” he repeats, firmer this time.

”That’s good, I guess, not up to me what you do with it, right?”

”Well, I did try it as a sweater first.”

”…It fell apart, didn’t it?”

”It did indeed.”

Steve huffs another sigh, this one resigned. “I’m already planning on throwing away all my hooks,” he laughs. It comes out strained. “No need to inflict my piss poor crochet on other people, right?”

Eddie smirks, “I wouldn't do that if I were you.” Eddie smirks, then fixes Steve with a look, “And don’t piss on the poor, Steve, we don’t like it very much.”

Steve snorts out a laugh, and Eddie continues. “The boys saw your work and would really appreciate some of their own for Christmas,” He reaches forward and takes both Steve’s hands in his. "If you’d be so kind as to put those beautiful hands of yours to work again.”

Steve wants to laugh at the gesture, initially, but there’s something serious in Eddie’s face.

”You’re— you’re serious? The first thing I crochet falls apart as soon as you try to put it on, and you want me to make more for your friends.. Is this some kind of prank you’re trying to pull on them? Because I’d be all in with you normally, but that just seems like you’re making fun of m—“

The gentle press of a finger to his lips cuts off his rant.

”You gonna let me explain, sweetheart?”

Steve nods, and for a moment, feeling like someone stuffed his head with yarn.

Eddie takes his finger away, and his hands too, Steve clenches his own at his sides to keep from reaching back for Eddie’s.

”Yes, most of the sweater you so lovingly crafted for me did, in fact, fall all the way apart BUT!” he emphasizes, holding up a finger to stop Steve from saying the nothing he was going to. “Some of it did not.”

Before Steve can ask what survived, Eddie spins on his heel and holds his arms out.

The back panel of his vest, the spot that big Dio patch had been on the old one, had been cut away completely. 

Two squares of Eddie’s sweater have been stitched into the space.

Steve even recognizes them, two of the last granny squares he’d done for the right sleeve, one blue and green, and one red and black.

He reaches out to poke at the center of the bottom one, not believing what he’s seeing, but no. They’ve been stretched a bit to fit correctly, but they’re there.

Eddie turns back around to face him, and gone is the cool calm he’d been holding to since walking into the store. Instead, he looks a little wary, like Steve’s going to be mad at him for doing this.

”You— Ed— Wh—“ Steve looks around the store, empty. Has been for the last two hours too. “You know what-“ 

Steve spins around, flicks the lights off, hops the counter, locks the door and flips the sign, then is grabbing hold of Eddie and pulling him across the store to Keith's office.

He tucks Eddie into the small space, closes the door, and leans back against it for good measure.

Somehow, Eddie’s taken this worse. He stands with his back to the dingy filing cabinet and picks absently at a nail while he watches Steve with all the wariness of a feral cat.

And that just won’t do.

Steve surges forward and catches Eddie’s face in his hands, kissing him soundly. Purposefully. 

He pulls back before Eddie can react.

”I can’t believe you did that to your vest.” he kisses him again, this time Eddie’s ready for it.

Steve pulls back again, Eddie cuts in with “I can’t believe you tried making me a sweater.” before Steve can say anything.

Eddie pulls him in this time, and Steve pulls back almost immediately, “Hey, I did make you a sweater. It’s not my fault it fell apart.”

Eddie just laughs and pulls him in again.

family video is open until midnight on fridays and halloween was on a friday in 1986 :o)

divider from @saradika-graphics!

[gallivantingheart]

synopsis: y/n is a witch from a long bloodline of illustrious Spellmasters. After a spell gone awry, they are left cursed to age prematurely and disfigured. In shame, they run and end up in the picturesque town of Martine to regroup and lift the curse. Enter Class A Spellmaster, Jeonghan - a little boastful of his talents, honestly - who agrees to assist in their research. All the while, a vicious wizarding manhunt sweeps the land - but what does the handsome Spellmaster have to do with it?

pairing: wizard!jeonghan x (f)reader feat. wizards seungkwan, mingyu, seokmin, soonyoung + joshua

word count: 41k+ (holy shit.)

genre/s: howl’s moving castle-inspired au, fluff, humour, romance, magic!

warnings: some very!minor body horror and dysmorphia, mentions of persecution by demographic, minor mention of blood, inaccurate references to witchcraft practices, some kissing

a/n: welcome, esteemed reader, to a fic over three years in the making. spawned from hannie's pretty pretty hair in ready to love era. my poor geriatric laptop is currently hemorrhaging due to the sheer amount of text right now. bear in mind that while this may be my magnum opus, doesn't mean it's going to be amazing. just damn long, which was never my strong suit. but hey, lore so deep i have a glossary? i hope you enjoy the ride anyway! also also @wonwooslibrary SAMMMM, SHIT LOOK I DID IT!!! thank you for your capital letter support, reading drafts and hearing my constant empty promise word count updates.

You caught your image in the reflection of a window; a bus stopping at a crossroads. By Merlin, you looked like a ghoul - swathed in layers of loose fabric, hooded to hide your face from direct vision. It was a recent image you had taken on in the last few days since you had left your family home.

You had cried for most of it, as if in mourning. Your veins feel empty and breathing is dull. You can’t feel the magic that you know is always in the air for the first time in your life and you’re panicking. Like drowning in a void. Suki, your familiar, looks as if she’s taken on a form of mange, her flickering whiskers wiry. She yowls often, glaring at you every moment you’re both awake.

It’s not until you reach a tram line and lopsided tram depot that you realise that you’re almost out of pity money in a far-off town. Said tram dings as it passes. Martine.

You went there growing up for a few school breaks. A hilly, seaside town that felt too modern yet nostalgic with its intricate and old tram network and tall brickwork. You really have been walking for a while.

You look at Suki. “Well. Back to civilization, huh?”

She seems to curl her lips up at you to bare yellowed fangs and turns to stalk down the main road. Fair enough.

In the time you’ve walked, you’ve had a lot of time to think of your next move. Too ashamed to turn back. Afraid of the debris you’d left behind and the consequences from it. You didn’t want to remember, ironically enough, seeing as memory spells are what got you in this mess in the first place. If you don’t want to go back, you must go forward. Fix this - and Suki, you guess. So, you had to reach for magic again and find a cure. It wasn’t hard for you to make that choice; you yearned for it to spark at your fingertips again.

But you feel so ashamed, wandering the town of Martine, a slovenly beggar in a matter of days. Just as people had on the walk here, everyone avoids any eye contact with you and Suki. Monsters in public, too grotesque to look at. Limp and withered on a park bench, you slip further and further into self-absorbed depression. How old were you now? How were you to survive? Where do you even begin?

A large hand touches your shoulder. In the almost-night, a tall young man smiles gently. “You look lost - are you okay?”

You shake your head slowly. “I - well no…”

“I’m Kim Mingyu, first of my name. You must be tired and hungry - Martine is quite far away from any other towns. Did you want a bite to eat?” He guides you to your feet, making your decision for you even as you protest in confusion.

“I, well yes, but - I have no money or - wait -”

He shakes his head and feather light, steers you through the streets to a corner of town a little less busy, but further uphill. Something more suburban. Suki doesn’t protest for the first time since the curse has struck.

“Don’t worry. I’d feel terrible leaving you exposed to the elements like that. Think of this as something for me rather than a favour for you. To keep my conscience clear.” He babbles on as shop signs are turned closed and street lamps are lit.

“Ah, here we are.” Mingyu says to a small manor house.

It’s quaint compared to the other houses that line the street, but still extravagant by regular residential means. Faded red brick and a thatched roof with a blooming front garden and white picket fence. Hanging from the fence is a lovely sign – Aji’s Home Away from Home: B&B. He doesn’t even lock his front door! In the entryway there is an altar, a wooden spoon amongst it - you bow. Leading you both down the low hallway, Mingyu seats you at a round dining table and swiftly puts a tattered apron over his head. The table rocks a little on old, uneven legs and he chats with you as he sets up.

“I never got your name - you are?” He looks over his shoulder expectantly with bright eyes.

You only give your first name, rude in most situations. “This is Suki, my fami- companion.”

A scrawny white dog enters, claws clattering over the hardwood floors. Suki and the canine are civil, seeming to communicate in a language all their own. Mingyu checks the pie in the oven - how he arranged it so quickly is beyond you - before eyeing you curiously.

“Y/n, do you happen to be of magic blood? A witch?” He asks.

You heave a sigh, unable to hide the glare you shoot the animals on the floor. “How could you tell?”

“Well, Aji never behaves this nicely with non-magical beings, like Suki. You bowed to my altar and didn’t panic at the dishes cleaning themselves. Most mortals are at least a little amused by it, even nowadays.” He surmises.

Honestly, the dishes were such a regular thing in magical households you didn’t even realise it was happening. Wooden spoon, quick food, warm house - must be a Kitchenmaster.

“I am - well, used to be. My magic is a little…. compromised to say the least.”

He hums in acknowledgement. “Well, if we can rustle up some sort of payment, you’re more than welcome to stay here for as long as necessary. I run the B&B here, anyway. Just me.”

You smile, idly adjusting the table settings in front of you. “I - Mingyu, thank you. That is most gracious of you.”

“So, you look like you’re a little lost to say the least - very far from home?” As he flits about the kitchen, he chats with you over his shoulder.

You bow your head, engrossed in the dents and pot burns that litter the wooden table top. “Uh, yes, very.”

“Something happen?” Something quietly simmers and bubbles as he works on some root vegetables.

“Yes. I - magic. I suspect.” It’s hard to admit any more than that.

Saying more means admitting to your own fallacies. Right now, you are content to wallow in your misery; lick your wounds. Suki however, gives you a surly side eye from her place by the window with Aji. He twists to properly eye you. You know how disarming and unsettling your appearance is, so having someone examine so intently makes you want to curl up into a ball.

Mingyu looks at you, thoughtful. “Magic related. Was this curse by someone else or a backfire - self-inflicted?”

You sigh, long winded. “Both? The spell was quite old, so it may have had caveats I wasn’t aware of.”

“Hmmm. I have a friend. Potionsmaster, Class B. Family run apothecary. He might be able to help. Lee Seokmin.” Mingyu stoops against his fridge to write it out on a notepad magnetised to it - of course he has one of those. He rips it off and folds it neatly, handing it to you. “Give him a try tomorrow - see what he can do.”

As soon as he’s written that, it's the blink of an eye and dinner is served. Something that would have taken the average person half an hour, takes the Kitchenmaster mere minutes. Mingyu pretty much force feeds you a stew of sorts with plenty of vegetables and hot spices - to warm you, he says firmly, arms crossed - and a side of rice. The pie he claims is for tomorrow - it’s better the next day when it all settles and isn’t so viscous. Suki gets a little saucer with salmon, mushed to bits for her little teeth.

After a waddle - read, struggle - up to the attic, his smallest room and a fitful rest, you drag Suki out at the crack of dawn to make the long walk down to Lee Seokmin’s shop, the address tucked into the pocket of your own apron. Suki, disgruntled by the wake-up call, trots haughtily in front of you, weaving about and purposefully getting in your way. You pull up to a stop, fists on your hips. You can hardly see her through the head covering you had meticulously wrapped this morning in the mirror in the attic.

You glare down at Suki. “Hey now, be good. If Mingyu is right we might just get out of this just as soon as we got into it.” She gives you a glare with her green-gold eyes and you sigh, amending your words. “Fine, as soon as I got us into it. Sorry.” The mangy cat seems to roll her eyes at you, trotting ahead with a haughty tilt to her nose. Even in her state she’s as proud as ever.

The door jingles when you open it, the light from the street shining in. The wood is warm and despite the knowledge that a lot of potion supplies need to be cool and out of direct light, sunlight illuminates everything - how was this supposed to be a Class B Potionsmaster with a place like this? Herbs and dried ingredients sit in jars on top of tinted glass cabinets. Touching them you find them cool, yet not icy or condensated - must be magic.

A door to the side is open, even more sunlight streaming through a room much like a greenhouse. A cauldron softly bubbles and smokes, its fragrance neither sweet nor unpleasant but inherently herbal. A young man, tall with narrow features and a sunny smile pops up. He wears a canvas apron, stained wooden spoon in hand.

“Hello - welcome to Lee Apothecary! How can I help?”

He’s so warm and sweet! “Seokmin?”

He nods. “That’s me – Lee Seokmin, first of my name.”

“Mingyu sent me. Said you may be able to help.”

You heave a breath, shutting your eyes. You can’t even bear to see your hands as you uncover your face from the loose coverings. You can hear the soft inhale of shock. Suki jumps from a shelf to land next to you, warm against your leg.

“It’s a curse. Can you help me?”

Your age and disfigurement are too hideous to be natural. The wiry age in your grey hair, gnarled limbs and wrinkles. One eye is different from the other. Warts and missing teeth. Your hand is strangely shaped and you try your best not to hobble when you walk. It’s only now that you notice Suki’s appearance goes further than mange, her tail with a sad broken kink in it.

He walks around his counter to face you, his long fingers cradling your own as he examines you. Touches your palms and turns them as if they will reveal something to him, like an Augur. The Potionsmaster does the same to Suki, who is for once calm and pliant - the moggie never does as she’s told.

He sighs and shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry. This is too heavy a curse for a simple potion to fix.” He squints at you. “But...you knew that already.”

“I was hoping otherwise.”

“Even if I could tell you, no potion would do this, or fix this. A spell does something like this - changes your aura. However, if you want, I can make a glamour mist and tonic to lessen the blow. Your familiar, however, is stuck as she is.”

Suki yowls broken, and you nudge her into silence. “Please, it’s been awfully hard as I am.”

It’s only been a few days, but it’s more than enough to be grateful for however you looked before this.

He turns away to pick out ingredients, weaving through the store and dropping them into his apron. “What did you look like before all of this anyway?” He says.

“Younger.” Is all you say, guarded.

He tells you he’ll be by Mingyu’s tonight to drop off the tonic along with some other supplies for Mingyu – free of charge. Somehow your disfigurement has lost your youth but gained luck. Or pity. They’re both the same at this rate. Mingyu is welcoming new guests when you come up the road. So as not to scare his clients, you gesture to the courtyard, a tall gate on the left. With his towering height, he sees all and merely nods in the slightest. As soon as the door is shut, you carefully walk the winding side path to the gate, the path all but hidden in his immaculate garden.

He opens the gate for you from the other side. “Wh-”

“I don’t want to scare anyone.” You murmur.

He tilts his head in sympathy, dressed in brown trousers and a lovely knitted cardigan. “You needn’t worry. They were just dropping off their luggage and have headed off to the beach. You are welcome here, trust me.”

You both walk through the bright courtyard back to the kitchen. This is Mingyu’s home turf, his safe space and is quickly growing to be yours. He instantly puts the kettle on and sets the two of you up for late morning tea.

“So, how did Seokmin go?”

“He’s coming by tonight to drop a tonic off. He couldn’t fix it, only ease it. I think I will need to do some research myself, once I’ve worked out how to take care of myself.”

You’ve never been on your own, the family house your only home. So, you meant it when you said taking care of yourself. Never having had to stay under a roof that wasn’t your own. As promised that evening, as the sun is just beginning to set and the lamplights are being lit, Seokmin is at Mingyu’s, dropping off his concoction of cleaning supplies. The two of them chat away animatedly in matching aprons. The tonic smells like roses and ginseng, in a spray bottle. You could pretend and mistake it for a perfume if you wanted to. The directions, to spray three times in the morning, in sunlight, facing east are labelled on the bottle. His eye falls on you idly stirring Mingyu’s soup with only a finger against the spoon handle.

“You look dead bored.” He says to you in passing.

“I am. Magic used to be a crutch for me. Part of my studies and my livelihood. Now I don’t have it…” you go quiet on that sombre thought. “Anyway! I’ll find something to amuse myself and my creaky bones.”

They both laugh weakly. You were getting used to the old and geriatric jokes that spilled off your tongue. Used far too often to lighten the mood and ground yourself.

Seokmin perks up though. “Well, if you’re ever in need of something to occupy yourself, I could always use a hand down at the shop. Someone to cover while I’m on errands.”

“Happy to help, Seokmin.” You say firmly.

You take Seokmin up on his offer, puttering around out the back of the apothecary, cutting and preparing ingredients as well as appropriately storing them. His parents have retired so Seokmin runs the place on his own. It’s sweet, seeing packages come in from them once in a while with limited, rare ingredients along with heartfelt messages reciting their recent grey nomad adventures. His own family has limited texts on spells, the whole family being Potionmasters, but it’s a start. A way to adapt the spray that he provides and eventually add on a tonic to improve your actual health. You can’t run a marathon, but you can go the full day on your feet now, without feeling like you’ll keel over by the end of lunch. Seokmin graciously provides you a small salary - exactly enough to keep your lodging with Mingyu. By day you work out the back of the apothecary, by night you pour over any magical text you can get your hands on to gather knowledge on how to reverse the curse you’ve brought upon yourself - truly showing your real age with a part time job and all.

Sat one mid-afternoon at the iron garden table, you catch the tears in Mingyu’s apron - fraying at his shoulder and the scorch mark that wore a hole in his pocket. You pout and groan as you rise, feeling your body creak as you reach to pull it off the hook in the wall.

“Mingyu, your apron.” You murmur.

He’s come in from the garden, wearing a soft sage green one, the pockets filled with herbs. He has gardening gloves on, dusted with dirt. The Kitchenmaster splutters and panics at the sight of you up and about but you wave him off with a huff.

“Please, I can mend this. Something small for your kindness.” You say.

He must see the desperation in your eyes because he nods, tugging off his gloves to toss on the garden bench by the back door. Mingyu guides you back inside to plonk you back at the dining table, round and thickly waxed.

“I think I have some old sewing bits in a cupboard. I’ll be back, okay?” He says, gently as always.

You nod, smiling. “Yes, please.”

As he dashes off, his large frame swallowing any space down the hallway, you clutch his cooking apron. There are food stains on the canvas, obviously an effort made to clean them away to no avail. Not to worry - you can fix that too.

A small biscuit tin popped open before you. The young man hovers wearily in front of you for a moment, in and out of the natural lighting as you scrounge through for thread and needle as well as something like a patch. It’s sweet how he gapes like a fish, squeaking a little and flapping his hands in the air. Very distracting though.

“I - are you sure you’re okay? I mean - if the joints in your hands, well -”

You level him with a look. “I'll be fine, thank you Mingyu. Give me the rest of the night at most and it will be done. Don’t go fussing and panicking just yet.”

He falls quiet and nods, waddling back out to the garden to finish up his chores. Suki sits outside on the wooden bench where shoes were usually shucked underneath, snoozing in the sun. If you were sure of one thing, other than your magic, it was sewing. All of your family had a mundane ability. Your mother was a wonderful gardener, your father a mechanic. Your grandmother was a hairdresser before she became a member of the high council. You took up sewing - something your mum was also adept at so could give you a head start. So mending Mingyu’s apron was a slice. By instinct, you add a sigil, a meld of cleanliness and resourcefulness. If only to help in repelling any more potential food stains and to better utilise the pocket. Sewn with an off-red thread, for luck. By the time the sun sets and Mingyu heads inside to make dinner, his apron hangs back on its hook, better than before. He gapes, rubbing his calloused thumbs over the new thread. The splash of colour seems to bring a bit more life into it.

Mingyu plunges his hands, then his elbows into the pockets of his apron, wonder rounding his lips. “They’re… endless!”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “I merely sewed some charms and sigils into the inner. They aren’t magic or anything special I assure you. Holds just as much as you need - in theory.”

“You fixed it so well. Thank you.” The Kitchenmaster says softly.

“Of course. You’re welcome.” You shrug. “The least I could do. Now, what’s on the menu?”

Over time, between helping Mingyu and helping Seokmin, you would sew. Cloaks for Mingyu and his wizarding friends, sigils stitched inside to keep them warm and to not lose them. Resistance to wear and tear, to give luck. They were richly designed and soon others, magic or mortal, were taking notice, asking for hats or coats. They would pay handsomely too for their commission. Women who wanted bonnets and sunhats and men who wished for suit jackets and mending their jaunty hats. You would measure exactly to size and chat as you did so, posted up in Mingyu’s kitchen by day and your attic room by night. The attic now has bolts on bolts of fabric leant against the wall and sewing scissors constantly on your person. The research has taken a bit of a back seat, actually.

“So, this is awfully pretty. For any reason in particular?”

The young woman hums and gazes out the window to the courtyard, bright and peaceful. Her clear skin glows and her petite lips curl in a shy cherry smile. Minji is her name and this is the second time she has come to see you, the first time for some basic mending on a lingerie dress for a summer outing.

“I’m going on an outing with a very kind young gentleman - Hyungjin. His father works at the radio company, you see. He’s asked me out for a picnic - just us. Or, as just us as it can be with my sister chaperoning. I want to look my best.”

You smile. “And what do you consider to be your best? Imagine how you want to be seen - what you want him to think when he sees you.”

“Pretty. Oh, maybe a little taller? I just want him to think that there is no one else like me.”

“That makes sense. Remind me, when was the deadline for this hat?”

She looks at you, a little startled. “Oh! Three weeks from Wednesday - the outing is on Thursday.”

You nod, pulling away to a calendar in the hallway draw to mark the date. Suki follows in your shadow, eyes speaking volumes of curiosity. “So I don’t forget. This is a big commission, Suki.” You murmur down to her.

You pull over a sketch as you sit back next to her. Measurements down the left. A large floppy straw hat with sakura pink ribbon around the base and fluttering down to tie to her chin. A floral pin to the right, twined with many small flowers like a bouquet. The sketch shows how the inside will most likely be felted, to prevent the straw from snagging in her dark silky curls. Minji’s eyes light up as she coos and sings. Her slender hands clasp against her chest as she sways on the spot, ever the romantic.

“Oh it’s perfect. Delightfully summery. If we could have the brim a touch thinner and the band a quarter of an inch thicker, that would be divine.”

You grasp the pencil oddly in your gnarled grasp, roughly drawing the modified lines. This has her singing again, humming and clapping in agreement. She is only one of two commissions - the other being an optional winter cloak for Soonyoung, a vivacious Spellmaster that specialises in ritual dance. He was going up to the mountains for the next month and needed something a little sturdier than whatever he wore down in Martine. He’d even had the mind to pre-buy the material he wanted and bring it to you!

Mingyu lets you work in his kitchen for almost a month, one danish tin filled to the brim with sewing supplies and another biscuit tin on a shelf in the hall keeping your payments safe for board. He disappears out the back for long periods of time, banging about on the other side of the kitchen wall. He comes back sweaty and dusty, waving off your curiosity with a giggle. He would even shoo Suki out from around the corner.

“I promise I’ll tell you about it as soon as it’s done.” Is all he says one evening.

So, when he finally announces his work complete, you’re embarrassingly eager. The Kitchenmaster tugs you standing and holds your gnarled hands, guiding you up and around the back, down a path you’d never thought to wander to. Maybe he had cleaned this up too, recently.

He leads you around the back of the house to a little building, seemingly tacked on the end as an afterthought.  Somehow, you realise, you’ve never thought to look this way, even out of curiosity. The bricks were the same but the wood for the window frames weren’t. The door frame was different again in material and shape compared to the rest of the house. Pulling out an old skeleton key, Mingyu opens the peeling forest green door to a dusty room, odds and ends everywhere. The room is dark and a little musty. Dust floats free in the air. He’s quick to open curtains and windows to air out the sizable room.

“This used to be my uncle’s office - he used to be some kind of intellectual. The garden was planted for his studies, actually. But when I moved in, I never needed an office, so it kind of just became the storage room. But, now that people are asking for your sewing and tailoring skills more frequently, you need more than just the dining table or even the attic. I can of course help clean up, but I thought, maybe? You could set up here? I mean, the desk is big enough to do something with, right?”

His warm eyes are hopeful as he stands by a desk, hands fiddling with the pocket of his apron. Suki surveys the space, sniffing at boxes and furniture. Finally, she settles herself atop whatever was on the window seat. Her yellow eyes glare at you expectantly. Certainly not taking no for an answer.

“I mean, this has way more natural light and saves people from walking through the boarding house all the time? O-Only if you want to? Take up tailoring properly?” Mingyu babbles on.

You take it in, slack-jawed. “Mingyu...you...you found a room, just for me?”

You’re afraid to speak any louder than a whisper, unable to trust your voice. You rest your hand on the heavy wood of the desk, surely a generation old, by the carved designs alone. Suki is inspecting every corner, her twisted whiskers getting in everything and catching cobwebs. Mingyu starts to go a little red, chuckling with a shrug.

“Well, yeah. Can’t have you working on the kitchen table forever, can we? And I want you to feel comfortable here, for as long as you need to be.” He smiles.

You bite your chapped lips to stem the gurgled breath - your eyes prickle. You squeeze his large hand with your knobbly one, weak but meaningful.

You smile. “Mingyu, this is a lovely idea. How much extra would you like me to pay?”

He pauses to stare at you, as if you’ve grown a third eye. You flinch at the expression, uncomfortable with it in your current state. Mingyu softens his expression, shaking his head.

“Extra? No, I don’t use this room and you need it. No extra charge. It’s a win-win for the both of us. Please.”

You relax and nod, smiling tentatively. “All right then. If you insist. Thank you Mingyu.”

Mingyu tinkers away for a few days after. As do you, the both of you working on opening up the back room some more. Dusting and wiping down surfaces, packaging anything up that needed to be out the way. Mingyu carves sigils into cupboard doors, jamming more and more things into them than usually possible. You stare curiously at the lone sewing set you had been working with, sat awfully small on the desk – still out of a biscuit tin. You take in the rest of the room – empty window seat, desperate for cushions, plenty of empty shelves for whatever you desired. Fabrics and sewing supplies. Maybe a dress form and some hat bases. If you really dared in the far future, maybe a sewing machine.

It’s at the end of the week that Mingyu reveals his final work for you. Signs. Two – one to hang above your study door, the other to hang by the back gate of the bed & breakfast, facing the street. Martine Fashion and Millinery. You gasp, running your fingers over the painted and sealed wood.

“Mingyu, really?” You murmur.

He beams. “Well, if you’re going to be working here, your business needs a name. And customers need to be able to find you. Really, it was no trouble.”

He stoops to pick up and push a small lacquered chest across the table at you. You let out a wet gasp, hands trembling as you reached out, fearful to do so.

“Now, now before you panic, this came out of your board for the month, so this isn’t so much of a gift as it is an investment. And it’s just a basic one. You can add to it when and however you choose. But the biscuit tin was a little meagre at this point.” He explains.

You shake your head. “I don’t know what to say. I-I don’t understand. Mingyu, I’m just some lady you met and took in. There is no need to go to these lengths.”

He shrugs and smiles again. “Like I said, this is all just an investment for me. I know this will pay off, for the both of us.”

You nod and promise to yourself that you intend to make every moment of this work count. If not for yourself, for Mingyu and all his hard work.

So Minji’s commission plans get moved into the back room as does the calendar from the hallway. And the next morning, as soon as the sun kissed the horizon, you waddled through town to pick up supplies. Speaking of Minji, she’s just as delighted as you are at the new space, swaying and bouncing on her toes and clapping in joy in the doorway.

“Oh, look! It’s wonderful! Your own space! You’ll be flooded with work in no time.” She gushes.

You smile warmly. Suki isn’t even perturbed by her noise.

“I hope so. Here, this is yours.” You guide her to a hat sat on a back shelf where dry specimen jars were but days ago.

You turn to present it to her and watch with shock as her bright eyes go glassy. She holds her delicate hands to her little mouth. She glances between you and the sun hat, made to her specifications, almost as if you’d pulled it straight from the original plans.

“This - this is for me?” She squeaks.

You nod. “Of course. Exactly as you asked. Would you like to-”

She whipped her hat pin out and wrenched her current hat off, slipping the new sun hat on. In that moment, you had to tip your head up a little to see her as before. There is a little mirror nailed to a wall and Minji twists and turns to examine it and herself.

“I’m…it’s beautiful. Oh, Y/N, you’ve done a magnificent job.” She says softly.

“I hope so. Hyungjin can’t possibly resist you now.” You add.

You’re startled suddenly as she throws her arms around you, her soft floral scent enveloping you. She squeezes tight for such a petite girl, swaying you a little.

“I can’t thank you enough. Truly.”

She pulls back, radiant and pops it into the waiting hat box. She takes a moment to secure her current hat back in place with her glittering pearl hat pin and cradles the box close.

“I don’t care what happens tomorrow. I know it will go swimmingly. I’m telling all my friends about you. I want you positively swamped with work if it’s all going to be just as good as this.” She says, resolute, before whirling out with a spring in her step.

Minji quickly rushes back, swinging into the doorway. “I will have my father send payment to you by the end of the day. You’re getting paid handsomely for this, I assure you. A mere one hundred is not enough.”

You open your mouth to protest the agreed price but she’s already gone, past your window and away.

In the days after, a young man walks into the study, angelic and handsome. As if he walks on air and pretty eyes almost hidden behind a lemon blonde fringe. There is a sleepy yet sweet turn to his lips as he waltzes into the study, a bundle of fabric in his arms. However, as soon as he lays his eyes on you, his face twists unpleasantly.

“Oh dear. That is quite the curse you have.” He hums, letting the door shut behind him.

You deflate, leaning wearily against the desk. Of course, it has to be a wizard - a Spellmaster no doubt from the way he looks you over.

You heave a sigh. “How can I help?”

“Well, I heard there was an exceptional seamstress in town and I just had to see them. My cloak is in tatters after my last assignment - small chimney dragon. Mingyu sent me.”

You perk up. “You know Mingyu?”

“Certainly.” They smile. “I’m Yoon Jeonghan, first of my name, Class A Spellmaster - best in Martine.”

No wonder they could see through Seokmin’s glamour. You hold out your hands as he gives you the dusty pink and sky-blue cloak. It’s shredded and singed, limp in your grasp the way a wizard’s cloak never should be. Most cloaks of magic users had some sort of life or vibrancy to them. Their energy would zing over your skin, leaving you alive and sensitive. You lay it out over the heavy desk to make out the top and tail. He peers over it like a worried parent.

“So, can you fix it?”

You shoot him a scowl. “If you gave me some space and light, maybe.”

He ducks his head and steps back. “Right. Sorry. I just - my mother and grandmother made it for me. They’re my family colours.”

Something jabs right underneath your rib cage - an uppercut of feelings. Now you really can’t turn it down - not that you would, you need the money.

“I see. Well, come back in a few days and I’ll see how I go. I - you’re my first proper, official customer. With the sign and all.” You confess.

Jeonghan straightens up. “Well, that is an honour. Please, let me know how you go - good day.”

The way he eyes you, you’re not sure what he’s referring to. But still, you pass a vague wave and hunch over the garment. When he leaves it’s with a little less bravado as before, his airy gait is a little more grounded - vulnerable. But Suki is absolutely enamoured with him, watching him with intent from the window. 

“Suki leave him alone and come here, I need you to hold this.” You call, brisk.

She reluctantly turns and leaps up, sitting exactly where you need her as you unfurl it all and get to work on the spare space of the buffet. Your pencils and tailors’ chalk come out as you sketch plans and designs. You frown over your shoulder as you eye it again. This was not going to be some small feat, that’s for sure. By the end of the day, you have a semblance of a plan drawn up, especially after you realise that the tatters are worse than first feared. It’s as if a bear has torn into it then a flood of moths had a feast. That small chimney dragon certainly did a number on this. Too many holes to just sew back together and call it a day. He’s going to need a whole new cloak. So, you add new fabric to the list of shopping supplies. And then note that you’ll need to design something asap - befitting of the willowy wizard.

It takes until the end of the week to have the design drawn up and fabric brought and cut to size. At least the hood and collar are still intact, so the measurements from that are used. Mingyu approves of the new design heartily, mindful of spilling goulash on the plans.

“Oh, that’s just perfect. His family isn’t from around here, so he’ll be waiting for a new one from them forever otherwise. Jeonghan is going to love it.”

You work furiously with it, alongside three other garments for Minji’s friends – as she had promised, a steady stream of pretty socialites had come in with grand commissions, all with varying deadlines and needs. Jeonghan pops in once or twice as well, still appearing full of confidence, yet a little bare now you knew he was missing something. He didn’t quite look whole. You shooed him out every time, with the promise it would be done soon.

“Do bear in mind that this is going to cost you a pretty penny. You gave me some shreds of a cloak and expected me to work magic on it – of which I cannot.” You huff one day.

He shrugs blithely, lemon yellow hair shining in the sun. “If Mingyu and the others trust you, so do I.”

Then, he has the nerve to better eye you. “Hmm - cursed?”

You draw up short and glare at him. “How dare – yes. Why?”

Jeonghan shakes his head. “Who would curse you?”

“It’s none of your business!” Your grip is fisted in the fabric of his cloak, ready to slam it down and kick him out.

He slides his sight to Suki, looking at him as if he hung the moon and stars in the sky for her. He giggles and slants his head down at her.

“And with a familiar? So, you were a witch? A cursed witch with no magic. Hmm.” He ponders like a detective.

“Out with you.” You say through clenched teeth. “It’s not ready yet.”

The blonde draws back and tips his head as he backs out of the study. His shadow draws long over the floorboards.

“Of course. I will see you next week.” Jeonghan says softly. At least he has a bit of tact, you think as you heave a steadying breath.

When the assigned day arrives, Jeonghan is dramatic, splaying his body across your counter and disturbing your garments. Despite your irritation at the disruption, you smirk – your anger over the other day has dissipated. The secret is out, no use in holding anything over it.

"You roll wrong on that Spellmaster, and you'll become a pin cushion."

He sits up swiftly to attention, shooting you a pout. "Right. So, is it ready yet?"

You nod, opening the small cupboard above your head to pull down a folded garment, delicate and fine. You tuck some of the other pieces aside, folding them to hold their designs. The window streams in sunlight that catches on the metal of the pins.

"Now, like I said, I can’t work magic and that cloak you gave me just could not be salvaged." Jeonghan deflates at your news. "However, I hope you don't mind, but I did take the liberty of designing and making a brand new one, based on the old pattern and colour scheme, and with Mingyu’s approval. With some added practicalities."

You shake it out, holding it up, inside facing. It looked a bit like the old diamond design but stylistically fragmented, like falling confetti. You used most of the old cloak, in fact, splicing it over the new sky-blue fabric you’d brought. You added a hood lining. Thin gold trim along the entire edges and a pocket or two as well. What catches his eye though is the talismans and charms stitched into the pattern. Ones for protection and added strength to the material. Ones for luck and a weave of beauty charms along the bottom hem, as functional as it was decorative. He smiles blindingly, taking it from your grasp. The fabric is thicker than before but still breathable and good for varied types of weather. He holds the cloak to the window, inspecting it with awe rounding his petal-like lips.

“I - It’s beautiful.” He looks at you. “I’m glad you fixed this so well. I don’t know what I would have done if you had done any less.”

You’re a little overwhelmed with the compliments but shrug to take them, turning away and somehow trying to hide. But Jeonghan’s gaze isn't something you can hide from - he’s too talented and observant not to see. Every wrinkle and atom of your disfigurement. It suits his fair hair and skin, somehow more ethereal than before. Only now do you notice how discreet his wand holster is, tied under his shirt by his waist, only the wind giving it away. He steps in long paces into your personal space.

"And you used your magic as well! I thought you said you lost it along with the curse?" He blinks at you owlishly as he slides it over his solid shoulders - nothing like Mingyu's but still attractive. You frown. 

"I have. Sigils aren't magic per se. Regular mortals can invoke them." You mutter, shifting your face deeper into your swath of fabrics.

Ever since Jeonghan arrived and re-exposed your curse, you'd taken to wearing your well-covering garments, if only for peace of mind. Not to mention the fact he was absolutely gorgeous so who would want to be seen next to him in your condition?

"Still. These ones have power to them. I bet they've never failed." He replies in a hushed tone, running his fingers over the silvery white thread stitching it all together.

You stay silent as he caresses the fabrics again, his posture changing back into something haughty - just the same way as you had first met him. His dark eyes brim with sincerity though, a warm lopsided smile there too.

“No, really. I am indebted to you - this cloak is one of the most important things I own. Please, will you let me help you find a cure for your curse? I insist.” Jeonghan has to dip his head quite far to eye you with your lopsided hunch.

You wave him off with a scoff. “Don’t be silly. I’ll be fine. Just please ensure that I am paid for my work. It’s going to be a little bit more expensive than you probably expected, including labour and materials.”

You’re lying. Obviously. Your trip to Seokmin was enough proof of that. Your room in the attic was back to being littered with research texts from Seokmin and any of Mingyu’s other friends who you raided. It had even escaped down here, cluttered in the corner of a shelf behind you. For those moments when your fingers could not take a moment more with a needle.

“Of course - name your price! But please, I insist. I am a Class A Spellmaster - the best wizard I know, if I do say so myself. If I cannot find a cure, then I will leave you be.” He casts a glance at Suki. “But I'm sure neither you, nor your familiar, want to stay in these forms for very much longer.”

You grumble and gristle under your breath but concede - it couldn’t hurt to have another pair of eyes, not to mention the expertise. You knew you were just as smart as him, once upon a time.

“Tsk, if we can help it. I suppose another perspective isn’t the worst thing. Thank you, Jeonghan.” You straighten up a bit. “But, just for the record, I do know far better casters than you.”

He shows up bright and early the next morning, a satchel slung by his hip and a pile of books tucked amongst his arms. His lemony hair is in his eyes, from the wind. His cloak looks good on him still, settled with airy pride on his shoulders as it drifts about his calves. You splutter and scoff with disbelief from your new place in the study. You didn’t expect him to start so soon.

“I - good morning?” You grouse.

His back is straight as he plonks it all down on the buffet. “Hello, study buddy.”

“Hmm, speaking of that...where will you be studying? I have the desk?”

Jeonghan really makes himself at home, politely shucking his shoes off by the doorway to show white redarned socks with sky blue patches over his big toe sewn with swamp green thread. He hangs his cloak up on the prescribed hooks by the door, the curling bronze dulled with age. Somehow, he finds a stool and tugs that over. How he looks so at home with his pastel attire startles you. Suki, as usual, is no help at all, no matter how much you nag her - “this is for our board payment, you know. Keep a roof over our head? Useless cat.”

He pulls out his ink and quill and arranges himself neatly, a notebook rested against his thigh. A pair of thin gold rimmed glasses come out and gingerly perch on the bridge of his nose.

“So, how far have you gotten with your research? I assume you’ve done some?” He stares at you expectantly over his spectacles and you can’t help but screw your face up - he looks like some kind of fluffy gossip column reporter, even the way he crosses his legs in such a conversational fashion.

“Jeonghan, all my notes are in the attic. I don’t really have the time to trudge all the way up there at the moment - I have three deadlines to meet to make board for next month.”

He waves you off. “Oh, that’s fine. Just talk to me and I’ll listen - get what I can. Then maybe tonight I can borrow your papers and we’ll see what we come up with. I give it no more than a week and I'll have some answers for you.”

Ugh, arrogant.

It’s been a few months and business is booming. You work late hours most days and often carry some sort of garment with you to Seokmin’s when he is out on house calls and needs someone to watch the apothecary for a delivery. With you around he can even afford to do house calls now, something unheard of before, seeing as he was the only one at the shop. Suki doesn’t like those days much, moving about, so she stays in the study, the window opened a crack to let herself in and out as she pleases. Meanwhile, you enjoy working on commissions in the bright, warm conservatory attached to Seokmin’s apothecary. You make board and more, having the profits to purchase hat stands and so on, as well as squirrel away a portion into the former Danish tin for…well you weren’t sure what. But it felt responsible to have a bit aside for whatever emergency may befall you. Maybe injury? You were old.

Jeonghan has become a steady fixture in the study, between his own jobs. His cloak has been mended plenty of times since. His own corner while you take commission appointments at the main desk, his shoes staying on then. The Spellmaster even has the ingenuity to draw up a hefty glamour spell, with your expertise. You preen a little at his surprise at your knowledge – before all this you were studying to be an apprentice Spellmaster for the High Council your grandmother is on, so you needed to be a vessel of knowledge for anything. The glamour spell helps you ease the fear of leaving the study to retrieve any of your purchases from the post office, or even being seen by him. He brings lunch from the kitchen yet is fairly quiet, other than bouncing the odd theory about. It’s refreshing from his dramatics initially.

Jeonghan rushes into the study one afternoon, face flushed but eyes a light. He’s waving a scrap of paper in his hand, a massive book tucked under his arm. He had told you the evening before across Mingyu’s round, wobbly kitchen table that he would be working from his place - he had Spellmaster duties to attend to after all. He acted as if you thought he was the centre of the universe.

You scowl at him, a little irritated at the interruption. “Hmm?”

“Y/N! I’ve - I’ve got something!”

You look at him, nose screwed up. You roll your free hand at him, as if to continue. He rushes to sit on the edge of the desk yowling when a stray pin pricks his thigh.

“About your curse! It’s self-inflicted!” He says quietly, full of pride.

Your face turns even more and your voice drops deadly low. Everything goes still. “I beg your pardon.”

He wilts at your tone of voice. Deathly calm yet uneven to tread. Your glare is both old and young, a fury for any age. He turns out the tome he held, fabric hardcover soft and faded on the corners from age. He points to a passage that threw your entire life back in your face.

Self-inflicted curse caused by a power recoil, usually due to using a spell too advanced for one’s own capabilities. This can affect the caster’s relative surroundings in any fashion from explosions and fire to time displacement. The cure is unknown and inconclusive, suspected to be only found by the caster themselves. A caster’s Familiar, should they have one, is greatly affected by this curse, as they are linked. 

“It’s…the effects are the same.” He says carefully. “This is why you had so many sources on self-induced effects. You knew.”

It’s a slap in the face having your own suspicions said back to you. You didn’t truly want to admit out loud this was all your fault to anyone else except Suki. Nor did you want anyone else finding out your own monumental mistakes.

“With an unknown cure, Jeonghan!” You cry out, louder than you intended, but you meant it. “I can be stuck like this forever - or however long that is in my state. And all I know is that it’s my own fault! Which, from everything so far, was kind of obvious!”

You rise up and snap the book shut, narrowly missing his nimble fingers. You haven’t been this enraged in a long time. Before the curse. You shove it back in his direction.

“Get out. Get out!” You yell, shooing him out of the room like vermin.

Suki is rumpled and skitters around your feet, sending herself out with him. Traitor. You slam the door in his fearful face and bow forward, resting both palms on the wood.

Of course, it was your fault. You’re the one with the arrogance to try and cast the memory spell when your father had explicitly told you not to. It was old and full of components you thought you understood – you were studying this specific vein of magic, of course you should know by now. You could do everything else, why was this the spell that would hold you back? Once it had been cast, your memory would be able to hold almost infinite information. It was easier than binding a caster’s magic. Your own hubris led you to cast it in the sloping backyard of the family house. In the dead of the night with everyone away at a Council convention. You had felt it fly out of control, like a garden hose pressure sending it spinning and water flying. Your shout of shock and Suki’s yowls the last things you heard. Then the home that had been in your family for generations was up in flames, the frame hanging together by the thread. The force of it all sent you careening into your mother’s prized rose bushes. When you came to, this is who you were. So, you ran.

So yes, you’d known deep down for a long time where it came from. But hearing there was no cure? Well then, what was the point?

You work in a guilt and anger fuelled fever the rest of the day and only until the oil in your lamps had dwindled did you toss it in for the time being, dragging your feet around into the house. There was a serving of dinner set aside, still magically warm to the touch, but the rest of the place was dark and quiet.

Jeonghan waits a few days before he returns, devoid of supplies for once. You suppose now that he had worked out the crux of the curse, that that was it. Mission accomplished. You’re working on a suit for Eugene who owned the post office. He’s planning on surprising his wife for their anniversary and wanted to look as good as feasibly possible. Guilt has been eating at you like nothing else, but you were too prideful and busy to find him. His hands are tucked underneath his cloak, behind his back. You fold the suit away quickly.

“I’m sorry.” You say quickly, softly before he can get any thought in conversation.

He looks up, brow creased beneath his fringe. “Sorry?”

“For snapping at you. And not telling you everything about the curse. I let you go on a wild goose chase and didn’t stop you at all.”

Jeonghan sighs and smirks wryly. “Thank you. But I’m sorry as well. I was a little insensitive when I brought it up. Of course there is guilt to things like this. But, now that we know where this stems from, we can start working on how to reverse it.”

You can’t help it. In shock, you laugh, bowed against the desk. You laugh so hard, you must cover your eyes, tears seeping out with the force. Suki is at attention, ears folded back at the sharp noise.

“You still want to help me. Even though we may never find a cure?”

He nods and straightens up smartly. “Even if we don’t find one, we’re all still here for you. So, are you in?”

“Sure.”

He backs up from his place in the doorway. He hasn’t even taken off his shoes yet, like usual. “That’s great, since I left all my supplies in the kitchen, in case you said no. We’ve got a lot of work to do. But, imagine it - my life’s work, breaking the unbreakable curse. Yoon Jeonghan, legendary Spellmaster.”

You scoff loudly and turn away from him to let him bask in his imagination before retreating to get his things. Goodness, he was ridiculous. The most arrogant Spellmaster in Martine, surely.

Not even a week later, Mingyu peers in, a little frazzled. “I - are you very busy?”

Jeonghan is at his usual perch, swiftly sitting upright. You’re intently over another filmy garment - with summer breathing down your neck, a lot of commissions were being used with thinner fabrics, looser to let that salty sea breeze through.

“No more than usual. Do we have an urgent client?” You ask.

“Sort of. I’ll bring her round.”

Moments later, Mingyu is trailed by a young woman with inky black hair piled in a typical Gibson bun from the way her hair sits off her neck and forehead. She wilts in a large sunhat and pastel pink dress with a touch too many frills to be tasteful. There is a basket on her arm.

Mingyu ushers the young woman in. “Hi, Y/N. This is Park Haeun, third of her name. She’s holidaying for the summer. From Aria. I suggested she come round to get one of her dresses fixed?”

She’s petite and full of soft shapes - except her eyes. Despite how wide they were, her eyeliner is sharp and narrow. She’s the epitome of an Aria summer - all muslin fabrics and warm rolling hills. In her arms is the basket, and in quite a rough fashion she pushes it onto your workspace, disrupting some of your other commissions. Her little round lips are pursed in a pout. Jeonghan busies himself with Suki by the window, teasing her a little and scratching at her chin. He usually does this with any of your consultations, some false air of privacy.

“Oh! I - Madam Y/N!” You bristle at the title but understand - the glamour does show some age. “I met Master Mingyu’s current lodgers on the train when the most disastrous thing happened! One of my favourite dresses was caught in a trunk and ripped. Master Mingyu says you are a dream with a needle and thread! Is there any way to salvage it?”

You tie off your thread and carefully (yet hastily) fold the combination undergarment away into the cupboard you have commandeered from Mingyu. Wading over, you pull the dress out, shaking it straight. The hem of the dress has torn a good inch or three, leaving it frayed and disrupting the overall image of airiness. It was right at the front. Not an easy feat.

“The fabric is awfully thin. I mean, with the price of fabrics here, I would just recommend a little mending and sew a whole new layer over top, if you’re that attached to it.” You mutter.

She withers a little. “Oh. I was really hoping something could be done. It was a gift from my father.”

You clench your teeth. Sentimental stuff always gets to you - Jeonghan’s cloak was enough evidence to that. Laying it out, you better inspect the garment, comparing the tear, then the rest of the stitching. If you did it close enough with two strands rather than six like usual…

“Leave it with me for the week. I’ll see what I can do.”

She beams and you blink from the haze of her image. “Oh, wonderful! Thank you so much Madam Y/N.”

Haeun reaches out to shake your hand vigorously and draws back a little as she comes closer. Her joy morphs to concern and you can feel her eyes seem to go through you.

“Are you well, Madam Y/N? You look awfully...ailed.”

You draw back as well, tucking your hand into yourself and drawing your attention to Mingyu. “I... well, I’ve had a bit of a tough time. Mingyu, when is lunch?”

He blinks at you. “I - very soon. I’ll back around when it’s ready? Bye, Y/N.”

At least he gets the picture of dismissal. Haeun looks guilty enough for you as she dips her head in farewell. Only now you realise that she’s still wearing her hat. Inside.

“Thank you so much again, Y/N. Goodbye.”

They both exit and you can see her give a lingering look to Jeonghan, who she hasn’t had a chance to speak with at all. He smiles small and polite, eyes sliding to yours widened in alarm. The moment their feet hit the brick pathway, he steps over for you to catch his forearm.

“She saw through the glamour. All of it. How did she see through my glamour? We made it ourselves." You hiss in panic.

“What do you mean?”

“She couldn’t look me in the eye - barely looked at me at all. Asked if I was ailing. I’m supposed to look old, not haggard!”

He shrugs. “She may just have The Sight. No need to worry.”

You scowl and twist away to eye the garment darkly. You had to fix this pretty thing now. If only to be rid of her chipper disposition.

You tinker away at it, your assumptions right when it comes to mending it. You were glad that the waist was well gathered, so the movement mostly hid anything possibly unsavoury - which none of it was. With such a straightforward fix, you had no reason to sew in any charms. In those two days, Haeun was exploring the town, often running into any of the wizards you knew. Mingyu invited her over for dinner the night you expected her back for her dress. Jeonghan chatted with her at length about Aria, something you wouldn’t have expected of him - he was usually so private. Your chest would have a sharp icepick driving through you the more he opened up to her. It had you turning your nose up at him and giving him the silent treatment under the guise of commission work. Small wins, you suppose.

When she shows up in your workroom again, Jeonghan is on her tail, smiling brightly. It makes your stomach churn and you can’t work out for the life of you why. She may not be the most tactful person, but she was pleasant enough. There was nothing to be worried about, no matter how much your gut may think so. Mingyu was trying to get you and Suki to eat. Haeun’s dress, once you’d set up for it, was an easy job, finished in a matter of hours, so you were back to your more demanding garments. Minji’s new hat - yes, another, the girl had an addiction, you swear - is half done, glaring at you from the mannequin head standing on the desk. The ribbon looks limp as it seemed to reach out for you.

“Madam Y/N! How does my dress go?”

You duck into the side room, formerly what you assumed to be some sort of library or dark room before it was cleaned out and a window busted through. Hanging in the sun is the dress. She gasps on sight, rushing over to grab at the hem. Gently ruffling and tugging the skirt, Haeun deems it worthy. She scoops it from your arms, folding it hastily back into her basket. If that was how it was packed in the first place, no wonder it caught a snag – no respect.

“Thank you so much! It looks like it never happened at all. How much?”

You shrug. “Only $60.”

She looks at you from the side of her lashes but passes over the money for you to slip into the Danish tin in a drawer of the desk. Patting the lid of her basket, she beams back over at Jeonghan.

“You were right when you said she was the best seamstress you’d ever met in the world.”

“Are there no seamstresses in Aria?” You can’t help but ask.

She shrugs. “Yes, of course, but none of them would have said yes to this job.”

Oh. So it was like that then - the impossible job.

You’re still smarting over her comment when they sweep out in the same breezy fashion that they arrived and you get back to your work, ignoring the beseeching gaze of Jeonghan through the study window. You were tempted to pack some of his studies away for room, but at the heart of it all, you didn’t have a venom in you to do so - there was plenty of room elsewhere for your spread out. He was only trying to help, after all. And Haeun did pay as requested. Other than a foul mood there was nothing to negate or argue.

You are surprised though when Jeonghan reappears not an hour later. Your ears are attuned to the sound of his sensible boots over the pathway, even through a catching giggle of Haeun’s that carries from what must be the kitchen or courtyard.

“Jeonghan, is dinner ready so soon? It’s not even dark.” You comment, pausing to lean on the desk.

He shakes his head. “No, not yet. Mingyu is waiting for the others to arrive first before he even thinks about touching a spice or spoon.” You huff a laugh through your nose but he continues. “I was actually checking on you. Haeun’s words didn’t sit well with you and I wanted to settle her before I saw you.”

Again, you laugh at his turn of phrase - he treats her like a child to be coddled. Knows you too well not to make his words a statement. You nod.

“You are correct. I didn’t like her comment about the Aria seamstresses. I can’t pin down just one thing, but it’s enough to annoy and insult, Jeonghan.” You say as evenly as you can. It’s not his fault.

He hums and comes closer to lay a hand over your own gnarled knuckles. It still takes everything you have not to withdraw. His dark eyes are warm and the turn of his mouth sympathetic.

“Ah, I know. She is from Aria and they tend to be like that, you know? Bad at filtering their thoughts with a serve of perceived imperious. I should know, I’m from Aria, too.”

Your brows shoot up into your hairline, even as it comes together in your mind. Oh, of course! Jeonghan’s accent was a dead giveaway to his upbringing. Through his soft, slightly raspy voice the faint accent of those from Aria was present. Even in the way he dressed, simple but clean, unlike Seokmin and Mingyu who both looked more ready for a day farming and other labour in earth tones and natural woven fibre such as linen. So, he had that air of superiority about him you liked to pop so often. How had you not noticed it before? It was nice, as much as you hated to admit it, to work with someone a bit more well-travelled like yourself. Soonyoung was an exception seeing as his magical talent was so rare and sought after, he travelled often. But Jeonghan had grown up in another country. There were different customs and meanings for social etiquette and various objects. It meant more knowledge which you had always selfishly strived for.

“I see. That makes sense.” You say carefully.

He nods again, eyes shut sagely. “Hmm. Would you like to come inside now? Have a cup of tea before we send Haeun on her way?”

He squeezes your hand gently and you pull away from your work, letting him lead you out. Suki meows and takes the window exit instead as you grab the key and lock the door.

Famous last words. Somehow, you’d both forgotten she was here in Martine on holiday, so whether you liked it or not, she was sticking around for a little while longer. A few days later showing up at Seokmin’s for a chat and to arrange a lunch by the sea for those who could join - you were instantly withdrawn from this event as you had jobs to do and a trip to the post office for Eugene. 

Then, a day or so later after that, another feature at Mingyu’s place to see off his lodgers and stick her nose in your business. An empty babble about how hard working you were and a slight kickback about your age again. You bite your tongue at how the cluster of wizards humour her, like babysitting a child. Even Jeonghan gets in on it sometimes, your research on the back burner for his own jobs and Haeun.

Seokmin is walking you back to the boarding house, his arms full of fabrics ordered from the post office. The sun is almost set, gas lamps lit and casting everything in a dim, warm glow. But your hackles raise when you feel the rush of whispers through the air. For once though, they don’t seem to have begun because of you - in fact, barely anyone is looking. It’s the women of the boutiques and the populace donned in cloaks that huddle close and murmur, something akin to a buzzing hive. Pointed hats up and down the street, tilted together in hushed tones. Distress weaving them together. You glance at the Potionsmaster and he guides you to a pair of young men. Joshua and Soonyoung - you’re getting quite close to them as they drop into Seokmin’s store, asking for this and that or into Mingyu’s for Sunday night dinner. Soonyoung loved his cloak, toasty and functional up in the mountains for the solstice. They’re kind enough not to speak of your condition and they chat with you almost as easily as they do Seok.

“What’s going on?” Seokmin chirps, hands tucked into the pocket of his canvas apron - he’s resting your fabrics on the park bench the group managed to grab.

Soonyoung turns to him. “Where have you been? Have you not heard?”

You look between them all and shake your head. “What is it? Why are all the Casters out tonight?”

Joshua pulls out a limp and crumpled newspaper from his cloak. It’s folded back to a page in the middle. Wizards Flee Aria En Mass. He puts it away before you get a chance to read much else.

“The King of Aria has put a bounty out on a wizard who entertained the court for slighting the princess. Every wizard in Aria is being called for questioning - word is it’s more like torture. Soon, Aria will be devoid of magic users all together if this is how they treat us.” Joshua summarises quietly with a shake of his head and soft tut between his lips. “I thought it was bad before, when the royal family called wizards extortionists of the court.”

“I don’t know how much of a heart she has, honestly.” Soonyoung grumbles. “Enacted a ritual for them for the summer solstice once. She had the nerve to call it barbaric.”

Seokmin gently kicks his leg in silent scolding but doesn’t disagree. Nor do you. You can’t help but think of that throwaway comment of Jeonghan’s after hassling you one day in the office, feet kicked up on the desk. Then again, when Haeun rubbed you the wrong way.

“Jeonghan is from Aria.” You say softly, looking to the pavement. “He might get called up.”

The three of them turn to you, Suki plopped on a foot. You shrink into your head scarf, feigning cold. The crease to your brow has Seokmin slipping an arm around you, tucking you tightly to his side. He smiles small yet bright.

“Don’t worry too much about him. He can handle himself - besides, he’s here in Martine with us. They haven’t summoned anyone from over the border yet.”

You hum and nod, bidding farewell to the other two wizards as you turn for the hill.

The summer was in full swing, fresh sea breeze winding up the hilly streets of Martine and into the open window of your studio. It had the sun turn warmer and days drag languid. Sometimes you just wanted to stop and let the world go by, like today. Jeonghan seemed to be in the same mood, his notes open but empty in his lap and his ankles propped up on the window seat. He sits a little awkwardly, twisting to sit half in the sun. All he had asked was if your family was just as powerful as you. Then off you went. Tangents about your father and grandmother, the most powerful witch you had ever known. The gently rolled hill that made your backyard so smooth juxtaposed with your family’s higgledy-piggledy ancestral home, structures leaning and hanging off it as the members of your family grew over the generations. Your mother’s gardens, blossoming and flawless year-round. Shadows have changed for sure by the time you surface from your memories.

You feel like a bit of a fool for harping on so much about your family home, the homesickness eating away at you so obviously. Even as Jeonghan listens so intently to you, pausing his research. You laugh and shake your head.

“Y’know what? Enough about me. What about you? Did you grow up in Aria? What’s that like? Land of Melodies as they call it - oh! Can you sing?”

He chuckles but shifts, and officially closes his notes to toss them on the other window seat cushion - guess nothing was really getting done today then. You’ve mirrored him, putting a hatpin in the hat stand you were working on, setting it to the corner of the desk. You slump in your set, arms folded over the dark wood.

“I can - most of us in Aria can. If you can't, you play an instrument. Or if not that, you certainly have some kind of talent in the fine arts. It’s the backbone of the country.”

Jeonghan though, is quiet and guarded with his answers and you can’t help but think you’ve struck a nerve. But he lets you press on so you don’t quite know how bad said nerve is. You find out that he has a younger sister who is a beautiful witch herself who likes working with animals. And that he’s been away for a long time.

“So, what’s kept you away for so long? For work or - did you screw up at home too?” You laugh lighter than you feel at the self-deprecating joke.

He shoots you a look but shakes his head. “No, for work. I used to work in the King’s Court. As a performer.”

You coo in interest. “Ooh, what did you used to do!”

“I was a court magician. One of the best Spellmasters means I can do all sorts - make the stained-glass windows dance and sing, send people into the sky.” Jeonghan says gently. 

Is that a whiff of wistfulness you detect? You wouldn’t be surprised. Such a job could easily boost his already inflated ego on a daily basis. Listening to the King - a man with no magic, despite his daughter’s extensive magical talents - exclaim and wax poetic about Jeonghan’s abilities would surely leave any normal magic user with a sense of importance.

“I bet that would have paid handsomely too. Why did you leave?”

Then he goes quiet, a shadow passing over his warm eyes. You’re about to pull your question when he speaks again, glancing away from you.

“Uh, affections were not returned at court, so I couldn’t stay. The King was after me over the whole ordeal, so I had to leave.”

You can’t help it - you splutter out a laugh. “You’re...on the run from the King of Aria over a jilted lover?”

He pouts and huffs, sleepy eyes turning to a steely glare. It doesn’t quiet you at all as you stop further forward, howling with laughter. Suki is curled up on the floor in a slice of sunlight, one golden eye squinted open to watch the two of you. Tugging his cloak tighter around himself, he nods.

“Not just any. The princess; his daughter.” He mumbles.

You’d met her once as a child with your family on a work trip to Aria. Beautiful and graceful. A wonderful magic-user. But very haughty and condescending to your younger self, which you never took very kindly. You could imagine the two of them together easily. Jeonghan’s pretty appearance and her sophisticated beauty, not to mention their combined magic abilities would have been something to be reckoned with. Your own heart shrinks a little, aggravating the creak to your aged bones.

“Of course - you’re the wizard the King has a bounty on! It had to be you! But why would you run from a life like that?” You say with wonder.

“I didn’t mean to lead her on - didn’t even know I was doing it until I turned her down and she threatened my life! She told the King that I stole her heart and called a bounty on me. Good thing I used an alias at the palace or I would have been done for by now.” He explains with a sigh, raking his hands through his hair and pushing his fringe back.

Surely the use of an alias didn’t make him look much better, but you decided not to offer that opinion even as you ignored the way your heart picked itself back up again. You direct your attention back to the hat at your desk, nodding in understanding.

“Wow, I’m still impressed you’ve managed to hide out for this long.” You say instead.

Jeonghan smiles. “I know. But still, I try not to get too comfortable.”

You look at the way he’s kicked off his boots by the door and now shifted off his seat and into your sunlit window seat, curled up like a cat.

“Oh yes, you look most uncomfortable in a foreign space.”

He rolls his eyes but says nothing else. Your focus back on Ms. Kang’s summer hat, an odd request for autumn - nevertheless, it’s work. As you attach and gather the inner felt and matching ribbon, you can’t shake the questions bubbling on the tip of your tongue.

“Did you steal her heart, like she said? Physically or otherwise?” You ponder aloud.

“No! As able as I am, I didn’t. She still has one. Where, I don’t know.” Jeonghan whines.

Suki startles at that, eyeing you then the beautiful Spellmaster. She migrates to his stomach and he smiles softly, rubbing gently behind her ears. You snarl under your breath, lip curled back.

“Rude little…”

Jeonghan can slowly see your youth turn its head, in minuscule ways.

Your growing passion for your little sewing business. Minji especially brings it out whenever she comes by to say hello, the grey in your hair seeming to glow like starlight in the sun - two cosmic lights against one another.

You talk to him, not like a Spellmaster to be revered, but a person. A mischievous young man that won’t leave you alone. And when he isn’t actually doing his job as Spellmaster in Martine, you’re making him run errands for you. Haeun could try and vie for his attention as much as she wanted, with a pout complaining how he worked just as hard as you. But her saccharine syrup words had nothing on the whip tongue you had that would catch his ankles.

“Jeonghan, I’ve ordered a few bolts of fabric from Seychelles and had mail come by saying it is here. Can you go down to the post office and get it?” You say, a pincushion in the shape of a squishy cat sits on your wrist. If he squinted it kind of looked like Suki.

He jerks a little from his reclined perch across from you at the desk. “You want me to do what? Can’t you get Mingyu to do it or cast it over? Or delivery?” He complains without venom.

You shoot him a severe glare. “Mingyu has guests in the B&B at the moment. Besides, this is Martine, not Aria - you should know as well as I that they aren’t forward enough to have a delivery service yet.”

There are no fine wrinkles catching on the edges of your eye side, nor in your laugh lines. Like a young woman with a grey wig on. He has to blink away his awe and compose himself. Something, he thinks, to add to his study notes. With a dramatic sweep he settles his cloak on. Running his fingers through his lengthening blonde strands to clear his face he flops in the doorframe.

“I suppose you’re right. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

You smile, small and grateful with a minor tip to your chin as a nod, aiming your focus back on the garment scattered in front of you.

You’re still young on the inside, you remind yourself, every time you gaze a little too long at Jeonghan. Rain or shine, he’s angelic. Sometimes he helps you garden, hovering by you like a worried mother while you hack away at weeds and cut flowers for the many vases that are scattered throughout Mingyu’s house.

“I - be careful! You’re…” He murmurs under his breath, gardening gloves and a ratty canvas apron tied around his waist (that you made for him, a patch of blue flowers on the pocket) 

You twist on your knees to look up at him severely, a snarl twitching at the edge of your lips. “I’m what?”

“Fragile.” He sighs.

You’re still old on the outside, you remind yourself every time he says something like that, stamping out the skip in your heart.

Suki adores him, obviously - they’re just as vain as each other. Suki used to preen and fluff all the time before her mange. And now that’s back on form with the strengthened glamour, she does it twice as often, as if to make up for lost time. Jeonghan submits to her every whim.

“Oh Suki, you are gorgeous today.” He says, sickly sweet, clapping softly as she parades around the study, a new scarf made from fabric scraps nestled amongst her fur - this one in a brassy gold and green to match her eyes and her fur.

You roll your eyes. “You don’t need to humour her so - she does enough of that herself.”

She yowls at you, shooting you a scowl - you return the sentiment, sticking out your tongue over the combination undergarments you were mending - one too many romps in the field for Minji, you think wryly.

You don’t realise that your age eases every time you stay outspoken. How you glow cool yet bright like starlight, bouncing off Jeonghan’s warm and strong radiance with something softer but just as steady. You miss his glances - he has a bit more self-control - who wants to be caught daydreaming about the elderly seamstress that Mingyu houses? You hope he misses yours as it’s a little odd to be having someone of your condition look so at a young wizard of his calibre.

He doesn’t see your age very often any more - physically or otherwise. Whether it may be because he’s seen you without that elderly edge for a while or because often you don’t act your physical age. Maybe it might have to do with the fact that magic users age at a different rate to mortals, so age is less of an obstacle. But no, you're still twenty-something to him. You’re still magic.

A few weeks later, Minji, now a regular client of yours (actually, your most frequent and favourite, if you’re honest) comes rushing in. She’s a youthful whirlwind, running into the work room, the door left swinging open to let in the early autumn air. It’s not even a week after you finished her second hat and she’s waving her left hand around, shards of light scattering throughout the room.

“I - what is the meaning of this?” You splutter, squinting to shield yourself.

Hyungjin peers in from the doorway with a kind and soft smile, a little flushed in his cheeks. The ribbons of Minji’s hat flutter through the room as she squeals.

“We’re getting married!”

You stand up and eye the ring glittering on her finger, the gold band pristine and a teardrop shape of a diamond set in a gold crowning. It’s beautiful and tender, just like her. You smile brightly.

“I’m so happy for you! Congratulations!”

“It’s thanks to you - it has to be!”

You shake your head as you cradle her hand. “No, how can it be? Minji, you’re a wonderful person - of course Hyungjin would propose. He would be foolish not to.” You smile over her shoulder to him. “Just as you would have been silly to turn it down.”

She shakes her head. “No, no. It would have taken us forever! It must be you! Y/N, will you make my wedding dress? With your beautiful work and luck, I can’t imagine anyone else. Father and I will pay handsomely for your work as always, I assure you. Just, please, say yes?”

Her dark, sparkling eyes plead with you silently as Hyungjin shrugs - as if to say what his fiancé says, goes. Her hands swing yours as the bottom lip juts out in a pout. You screw your own nose up and turn away.

“Alright, fine. If you stop pulling that face.” You say gruffly.

Suki, however, has perked up immensely, golden eyes watchful and curious with their glow. Minji squeals, jumping on the spot. She even drags Hyungjin’s loping frame closer, planting a solid kiss to his cheek. Her skirts kick at your legs as she flounces about like a puppy.

“Oh, thank you! I’ll come by next Wednesday? To discuss design and budget, of course.”

Before you have a chance to even agree, she whirls out, her heels clicking over the cobblestone, but not before stopping suddenly, head tilted at you in confusion.

“I - yes?”

She laughs, shakes her head. “Nothing, only that it looked as if you had gotten younger somehow. Silly thought to tease you with, I’m sure. Goodbye!”

Her shoes sound over the stones and around the corner, naivety dancing past your window. You turn, bewildered, to Suki. She meets you halfway to stare at you just as intently. You look down at your hands, then to the half-sewn sigil in Seokmin’s mended shirt.

“Do...do you think it was really me?” You say softly to Suki. “I - do you think I can cast again?”

She chirps and leaps up to paw at the shirt, swiping it towards you. You nod and claim your usual place behind the desk, stitching away at the strength charm, pouring intent into every piercing of the fabric. You want this shirt to be strong, almost indestructible. The moment you tie the thread off, there is a gust of wind, warm and cold all at the same time. Suki bristles against it, struggling to hold herself upright. When it clears you let out a strangled scream.

Suki. She’s fluffy and majestic as the day the two of you met. As if the curse and mange had never happened. Whiskers straight and wispy, twitching proudly on her face. Her yellow eyes were vibrant, reminiscent of topaz rather than tarnished gold. She seemed to preen and wink at you, as if to say, yes, we’re back.

Jeonghan has shown up early - early being midday - for another round of study. But he’d gawked when he had seen you, claiming you were somehow different.

So, in a panic you dash back inside, scrambling for the powder room on the ground floor of Mingyu’s place. You delicately touch your face, watching your reflection react. Old. Not ugly anymore, but still old.

You tear up, biting your lip as your turn away in disgust all over again. You jump in fright at the sight of Jeonghan in the doorway. Then you promptly burst into tears, pushing past him and dashing down the path to your sewing room, slamming the door shut. You scramble to shut the filmy curtains there for privacy. Barely a moment later, there is a faint tap at the door.

"Go away!"

"Can I come in, please?" His voice is soft.

You whine out in disagreement. He knocks again, pleading gently.

"No! I'm still old! The curse isn't gone!" You cry out, crumpled against the wood.

Head buried in your knees, you lament your situation. He taps again, this time much closer to your head. His hand smooths down the wood and you assume he's sitting on the pebbled ground outside.

"Let me in so we can work this out together. Suki is out here and she looks perfectly fine. We really should talk about this."

"Ugh, I know she does! I don't want to! It's hopeless, Jeonghan. Go home, please. Take Suki with you if she'll let you. I really want to be alone." You whimper.

You can hear him shift against the wood. "Okay. But I will be back tomorrow. We will fix this. Together."

There is a soft tone of pleading you've never heard of before and he drifts away.

Jeonghan makes good on his promise, showing up the next afternoon to see how you are. He carries in a small pile of spell books, full of ideas. They fall quiet at the sight of you, passed out in the late afternoon sun over a half-made garment, the design plans crumpled under an outstretched arm. Jeonghan has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself silent. Your youth has returned to your face, smoothing out wrinkles and giving your hair a lively shade again. He seems to hold his breath, keeping the world as still as he can to look at you a moment more unbroken. This is really you. There is a pucker to your face as you shift in discomfort, opening your eyes. Then like the flood of a rainstorm, the age has returned, your prim hairstyle drawing your face back. He quickly drops all of his papers to your sewing cabinet, all of them obsolete at this new clue.

“J-Jeonghan. You are back.” You yawn, threading your needle into your garment in a baste stitch to hold it in place.

Standing, your posture isn’t as hunched as before and he can finally make out your proper facial features, even through the age. You would have looked beautiful a few months ago - you did, moments ago. The grey of your hair isn’t so wiry, more reminiscent of the silver that glints on his fingers when he casts spells - glowing and bright.

“I said I would be, so I am. Suki is in the kitchen with Mingyu. Seems like I’m not a cat’s cook.” He laughs softly.

You smile too and roll your eyes. “Don’t take it personally. She’s been my familiar for years and she’s never been completely happy with whatever I give her.”

Then, you look down to the garment you’re working on, fiddling with the rough hem. “By the way, I’m sorry for lashing out again, yesterday. It wasn’t the best news.”

He sighs and comes round to meet you by your desk. Jeonghan’s slender hand falls over your own, his thumb rubbing absent circles.

“I understand. Of course it wasn’t. It was something we didn’t factor into our journey. But it’s still progress. So now we work on this new phase.” He gives your hand a squeeze and a gentle smile. “Before you know it, you’ll be back to normal and even more amazing than before.”

With Jeonghan’s persistence at solving your magical mystery, you feel it’s only right to maybe divulge the true goal - your past. So one balmy afternoon, you walk to the back of the attic room, to the small shelf. Jeonghan is hanging in the doorway, polite yet curious. A single book sits flat - charred on the top corners and missing the back cover. Suki jumps up to the window sill and watches the two of you intently. You flip to the back few pages that move in a loop. Jeonghan leans over, scanning them carefully. It’s one of the few things you took from the accident, and it was only by luck seeing as it flew from the explosion and landed in the scorched grass nearby.

"That's Suki. Wait...is that. That's you." He says, pointing at one.

It's a personal favourite of yours. You were dancing in a circle on the back lawn of your ancestor's home, casting sparking light charms with your newly carved wand. Suki weaved and pounced at your feet, trying to catch them while you laughed at her. Even though it's in sepia tones you could see the life and youth that you used to have. The one next to it a few years before, out the front of the High Council building. You’re in your favourite cloak and a dark formal dress, the heirloom witches’ hat wonky on your head and a blinding smile. You’re holding your Class B Spellmaster qualification proudly in both hands, your wand clutched amongst it. A little over two years later, you were cursed.

"Yeah. That's what I looked like before the curse - that last one. A few months after this the accident happened and my wand splintered to pieces. I lost it and my youth to the fire." You murmur.

He smiles. "You're very pretty."

"Was, Jeonghan." You correct him gently with the slight gravel to your voice.

"Well, the ugliness was lifted, surely the age can be too." He says with conviction.

You shrug. "Let's hope."

All the while, Haeun slowly worms her way into almost every facet of your new life. Waltzing to your study space too often unannounced to do nothing but meddle and make herself at home.

Dinners and lunches at Mingyu’s round kitchen table he has to always polish before she comes or else she will say something about it. Perched daintily in the window of Seokmin’s conservatory as your little band of wizards tries another way to lift your curse. And if you weren’t familiar with these tactics you wouldn’t have picked up on just how damn nosey she was. She was no help in your quest to reverse your curse, content to babble and give the wizards the nth degree about absolutely nothing!

Asking Seokminnie about his wand skills, naively watching the shame round his shoulders as he confesses his minimal wand ability. Then her botched attempt to smooth it over and move on as if trying to hide a table under a rug.

You pat Seokmin’s arm later on, in a rare shadow of the greenhouse. “Seok, you’re the owner of the best apothecary in Martine. Who needs spells when you've got that?”

He smiles small and shrugs, his aura still seeming too dim for your liking. Such a kind young man didn’t deserve to be diminished.

“I guess. Thanks.”

“No, I mean it. Leave her be. You’re worth far more than you’re obviously giving credit for.”

Haeun isn’t a threat. You aren’t competition. There is no competition – you’re an old lady. Albeit a young woman trapped in the body of an elderly one, but still. Haeun doesn’t know that. Still, whenever she comes around to your sewing space specifically, babbling like a schoolgirl, you end up more accident prone and grinding your teeth. Mingyu and Joshua have wisely learnt that it is in your best health not to bring the Aria holidaymaker to the study.

Jeonghan is another story.

Suddenly, for all his perceptiveness, he brings her round every time he’s with her. Despite your abrasiveness toward her, he’s smooth as butter. Perches himself on the edge of your desk, the soft scent of honey and something fresh filling your senses. Haeun almost always tries to hover with him before resigning herself to the window seat, thus kicking Suki from her sun spot. You’re glad you have at least one comrade - as unlikely as she is - in arms against this imaginary foe. Surely he isn’t being that oblivious or insulting. Jeonghan isn’t like that. You hope it’s just a necessary evil he can’t get out of, or constant coincidence. Maybe she likes being in your space? Whatever it is, you wish it weren’t true.

Mingyu brings it up, oddly enough, as you nurse your tender, well-stabbed fingers just before dinner.

“Have you ever known Haeun to be a flirt?” He says over the chopping board.

You shrug. “Not entirely? She follows Jeonghan around like a lost puppy, but that’s most likely only because they’ve both been to Aria. I mean, I went when I was a kid - my grandmother had work liaisons with the royal family and their council - but I don’t remember much.”

The tall Kitchenmaster frowns and nods slowly. “I see.”

You stand up and scoop up the pile of carrots and drop it in the pot. “Why, ‘Gyu? Do you see something?”

Your heart sinks as you say it out loud and Suki peers up at you, careful and strangely still - now that she’s back on form, she’s exceedingly attuned to you, perceptive to everything you don’t want to say.

Mingyu shrugs. “I mean, it was fine at first - she’s new to Martine. But now she hangs off Jeonghan like a... a bit of a leech. She’s almost been run over twice! Jeonghan has had to pull her out of traffic both times and she fell all over him when she did so. I don’t know - it just seems a little too much to be coincidental. She’s even starting to stir talks in the bakery and the post office! Eugene is talking about her.”

Your brow shoots up and you decide to avoid Mingyu’s awfully accurate deductions. “Eugene! Well, she’s making an awful lot of fuss for some summer holiday maker.”

The tall young man shrugs, fluffing his brown hair out of his eyes. “I suppose. But I have a feeling she might fancy Jeonghan - she’s always trying to get him to go to dinner or lunch with her. He can’t seem to take the hint for once though. He’s usually so perceptive with people.”

You screw your nose up and scoff. “Oh, my days. Who would ever think that throwing yourself into oncoming traffic is a successful way of courting someone? I certainly hope you aren’t right, Mingyu or else I’ll be a bit sick. Poor Hannie.”

The taller man snaps his head up at the affectionate name, but says nothing else.

You see it yourself later in the week though when Jeonghan convinces you to come out with them for lunch. You even waggled your finger at him as menacing as you could.

“Only because I do have errands to run - I have some deliveries to pick up and drop offs to make, okay? Lunch is a maybe.”

He pouts at you as you leave the study and lock it behind you. Suki is right on your tail and you blow your silver-grey hair from your face.

“A definite maybe?”

You roll your eyes. “Fine… a definite maybe.”

Haeun somehow ends up trailing behind us and Suki, a third wheel dressed in a sunhat and another chemise de la Reine, a pricey garment for a stroll. “I - if you are too busy to come along, we understand, don't we Jeong? You ought to leave her alone at her work - she must have a lot to do.”

She hastens to shut the gate behind the lot of you, bundling up her skirts a touch so as not to catch it on the fence or the bushes. Her pet name for him makes you turn - it didn’t even roll well, you think in a petty tone. Jeonghan rolls his eyes, slipping your arm through his and patting your frail hand that rested over his forearm.

“Haeun, don’t be silly - our seamstress mistress here never comes out! She needs a rest - a breath of fresh air, hmm?”

He looks down at you kindly but you keep tight-lipped. You hope the elderly don’t know how to blush or you’re done for.

Jeonghan guides you to the inside of the sidewalk, closer to the shop fronts, his arm curled securely in yours. This leaves Haeun to bring up the rear, her steps fast and small as she tries to keep up with the two of you - Jeonghan’s legs long and your agenda short.

“So, what’s for lunch-”

“Can we go to the post office first? That’s why I came out. And to Madam Park.” You pat the hat box in front of you.

He rolls his eyes but smiles. “Ah, yes that. I suppose so - let me.”

He tugs the hatbox from your grasp, tucking it up under his arm. Haeun gasps and puffs on your tail as you turn into Martine’s post office, the door jingling brightly.

“Eugene!” You call.

A familiar man with dark wavy hair pops up around the corner, fluffy moustache and all.

“Ah! My favourite witch! And Jeonghan, Master of Spells!” Eugene cries out, heavily accented.

You roll your eyes. “You know better than to call me a witch - and don’t stroke his ego. He doesn’t need the help.”

You all laugh as the owner personally attends to you from the gate by the counter. His hands are permanently ink stained and a roll of postage stamps is unfurling from his pocket.

“Ah, but you have to be a witch to enchant Master Jeonghan to do anything!” Eugene counters.

Jeonghan’s mouth flaps indignantly, no sound able to come out, even as he goes a little pink. You actually giggle – Eugene had always been the best for banter, ever since you did his suit for him. The anniversary dinner went great and he had sung your praises to anyone in the post office that week.

“Do you have my parcels?” You chirp.

He nods and hums, flipping his imaginary mane of hair. “Certainly! A lot of them this week - are you sure you can carry them all?”

“I, uh just the little ones today - I’ll pick up the mannequin tomorrow.” You decide aloud.

He puts them in a little canvas bag, no doubt one of many from his wife, Francesca. “Here you go, amica.”

“Not to worry Eugene, I’ll pick up the mannequin tonight?” Jeonghan says breezily. Jeonghan scoops that the little canvas bag too, even as you grab for it in protest. He tips his nose up haughtily to end the conversation.

“Ah Master Jeonghan. Of course, of course.” Eugene smiles, eyes crinkling at the edges. “See? He’s so enchanted you didn’t even have to ask him!”

You protest again without much energy, more so out of propriety. They chat lightly and you happily wait. Maybe the wizard was right about getting some fresh air. Your shoulders felt lighter, your mind a little less restless. There is movement in the corner of your eye and you catch the tail end of Haeun slipping out the door to wait outside. With her many skirts and her feathered straw hat, maybe it had become a little claustrophobic in the little store for her. If she had learned to take off her hat…

Finally, the two of you wave off the postman and head back out into the sunny weather. Haeun appears indifferent and patient, turning from the shop window next door to brighten at the sight of you.

“Ah, Jeonghan.”

Oh. Right. Again, he situates you on the inside of the sidewalk and straightens his back. “Thank you for your patience, Haeun. Now, Y/N, what’s next?”

You lift the small package you bought with you; a pink cloth held together with twine. “I have to deliver this and the hatbox to Madam Park’s residence then I am back to the study.”

He pouts. “Not even lunch? Look, even Suki would like something to eat!”

You glance down to your familiar, sitting and glaring patiently. She just wants out, full stop. You stoop to glare her down – a stalemate. “You little… fine. Madam Park then lunch. Then, back to the study.” You state firmly.

Madam Park is not at home, but her doorman takes the package. You’re a little disheartened that you cannot see her reaction like you usually do, but surely she’ll come back later on in the week to thank you – she always does.

So as you walk down Martine’s cobbled Main Street – the only street in town devoid of any cars – the three of you discuss lunch prospects.

“What about that spicy thai?” Haeun suggests.

Before you can voice your weariness because you’re fussy like that, Jeonghan shakes his head. “No, Y/N is very sensitive to heat. There’s that tea house in the gardens? Overlooking the koi pond? An iced tea and something fresh?”

You smile. “Oh, you remembered. Thank you. But, I don’t mind.”

“The tea house it is then.” He decides.

As your little group walks downhill for the tea house, chat is mostly shallow - about things such as his upcoming jobs and rumours about Minji’s wedding. It was so far off but already the rumour mill was working overtime about anything from a secret child to his sister being snubbed from the guest list. You both know the truth and you’re delighted to hear that Hyunjin’s family has enlisted Soonyoung and Joshua to be part of the ceremony - both of their talents would be well utilised. Haeun makes comments here and there about the unfounded rumours as if they’re true but for once they roll off your back like water on duck feathers. His arm doesn’t loosen from yours once.

It’s mostly business as usual from here. Jeonghan brings your mannequin by and complains the whole time setting it up that it’s too heavy and any minor inconvenience in between. But it’s sorted eventually and just in time for Minji’s preliminary appointment - she’s bringing her mother and a few of her friends by too for an ideas session. She sent a brief message the other day that her whole wedding party was considering garments or accessories from you and you could already see how packed you would be leading up to it. Haeun comes around more unprompted, making herself a nuisance.

Haeun looks at you, pity bloomed like a garden in her eyes. “Oh, how horrible to be cursed with such an affliction. I would hate to be so old so soon.”

She shudders at the thought and you pause the mending of her winter stockings to glare at her. One positive to it all is how hard an old lady’s glare can hit home. It can silence even a morning rooster if used well. She stills and settles, suitably humbled-

“- but why someone would curse a mortal like us is beyond me.” She muses and your brows shoot up into your hairline. Mort-what? But she still wasn’t quiet, dammit.

“So, what did you look like before?” Haeun asks, fluttering her lashes.

She speaks as if she’s never been told no. You push her garment away, utterly finished for the day, no matter how much daylight was left. Although why she wanted to have a winter item fixed in summer was beyond you. Using and abusing your talent with a needle while she was here, must have been it.

“Younger.” You snap, rather loudly.

The young woman startles and looks at you, mouth finally closed.

“I have other errands to do - I’m sure you can see yourself out now. Suki.”

You stand, Suki hot on your heels, like she doesn’t want to be seen there either. There is a faint hiss from the furball as you turn the corner. And if Suki gets to her stockings again later on and renders them irrevocably damaged, you try very hard to appear ignorant and sorry. You don’t need her business - you weren’t that desperate.

But you startle on an overcast morning at the loud thunder of footsteps nearing you. There is a blur past your window before Jeonghan breaks into your doorway. His expression is the strongest pout you’d ever seen. He smells like smoked fish and his pants up to his knees sopping wet, not to mention the rest of him was at varying levels of soaked as well.

“What in Merlin’s - Jeonghan what happened?” You say, pushing your current commission aside. Suki stands still, very obviously torn between running and comforting him - the smoked fish smell is throwing her off, for sure.

He sighs, out of breath. “I was on a job this morning and the Port Authority forgot to mention that it was Flying Bluebream season. As soon as I started my casting on the first ship, they flew out of the water and into me! Then, since I hadn't finished the spell, the engine of the boat blew up with the sudden influx of weight and magical energy in the area and I almost sank with it! Never again. Soonyoung can have them.”

You take him in better and your chest seizes up. Softly, you mention the added problem. “Jeonghan…your cloak. Did it get caught in the engine maybe?”

His mournful eyes fly wide and he unclasps it from his neck, swinging it round for him to better examine. On the outside, there were fish scales and guts - that was an easy wipe down thanks to your sigils and choice of fabric. But the hem…it looked like it had been chewed on and spat out before being set on fire.  Then Jeonghan makes the loudest noise you’d ever heard from him - a raspy quiet-loud yell layered with dismay and frustration. He even gives it a maddened shake.

“How did I not notice? What are we going to do?” He cries out at the top of his lungs.

You’re shocked into silence with all the raucous he’s making and Suki has made her choice to back up behind the desk, her jewelled eyes blown wide. Carefully, you pry it from his grasp. As much as you’re annoyed by the destruction of your hard work, you know it’s not his fault. The Port Authority should have told him - they would know the seasons of the ocean off by heart, so to enlist his help but not think through all possible occurrences is their fault. Even the explosion is on their head. You carefully run your fingers over the damage, mind wandering. You still had scraps of his cloak material in the cupboard and you could add that length back along with the sigils, which had held up surprisingly well. They would be even better now you had some of your magic back.

“Calm down, Hannie.” You say, gentle. “First of all, we need to clean it of all this fish and guts. Go find Mingyu and ask for a bucket of warm soapy water and a soft scrubbing brush. And a stool - I’ll need something to sit on.” You give him a once over and frown, reaching for him - you weren’t sure where your hand wanted to land though. “Oh, Jeonghan, please get a change of clothes too. You’ll get sick.”

He nods and races out. You carefully drop it to the floor while putting your pin cushion and various other sewing supplies aside. Then you adjust your apron tighter and roll up your sleeves past your elbows, grabbing a scrap ribbon to keep your hair out of your face. Suki sniffs the air and backs up even more and you shoot her a look.

“Don’t you be so dramatic. When Jeonghan gets back, you need to be nice. He’s your favourite, so it shouldn’t be too hard, huh?” You mutter at her.

From there, you scoop it back up and take it outside, resting it on a windowsill. He waddles around the corner moments later, trying as best as he can not to let the water slosh. His lovely brow is furrowed deeply, teeth bared in concentration.

“I’ve got to get you a stool - be back.” He adds as soon as he’s put the bucket in front of you.

You pick up the brush straight away from the depths of the water, brisky brushing it down to dislodge the unwanted debris and give it an initial spot wash. You make a note to sweep this all away into the garden once it is all sorted. You delicately soak the swath of fabric and you’re about to drop into an awkward squat when he comes out in a shirt two sizes too big, sliding to bare his porcelain collarbones and a pair of trousers with a drawstring tightened over his hips and rolled up at the hem. He’s in a pair of clogs you would have thought were for gardening and a towel slung around his shoulders. Jeonghan’s wand holster has moved from under against his ribcage to sit lopsided on his hip, easier to put on but more often a more combat-style placement. You bury a chuckle behind your fist and he sets a three-legged seat by you. You don’t react and take a seat, getting to work on washing out the smell and anything else hidden.

“When I’m done, this is going to have to dry before I can mend it. If we do it without a spell, I won’t be done till tonight at least. Unless Mingyu or you have anything up your sleeves to dry it out quicker.” You say, starting to twist your wrist to scrub.

He’s gone again and by the time Suki has finally braved the mild elements and you’ve finished washing it, he’s back, his wand twirling between his gracefully calloused fingers. There is a bit more pep in his step too and his hair is dry, towel missing.

“Hang it here.” He says with soft command, gesturing to Mingyu’s washing line. 

Once done, his hand takes your wrist, keeping you close and yet out of the way. He murmurs an incantation and a sculpted blast of wind spurts from the tip of his wand, swirling and fluttering the garment in a targeted way before dissipating. Mingyu had obviously provided some kind of spell, as you suspected he had as a Kitchenmaster. You’re smiling smugly when you whip it from the line and bring it back inside.

“Jeonghan, can you give me…two hours? Then it’ll be good as new.” You say, already buried in the cupboard full of your scraps.

He takes a seat in the window, sleepy lashes fluttering expectantly with his chin in his palm. “I’ve got time.”

You can’t help but smile a little, trying in vain to press it down between your lips. In an effort to be nonchalant, you shrug and stoop over your emergency project, brandishing your scissors to the light like a mad scientist before hacking at the charred edges. His eyes on you set you ablaze and build the much-needed pressure to spur you on.

Finally, after exactly two hours and a lot of fiddly sewing and snipping, the sigils are fixed and the hem looks like it never happened. It had somehow gotten easier over time, your shoulders and knuckles not aching so much and more dexterous than usual. You put it down to finding a working rhythm. Now you lift it and flick it straight with a flourish, presenting it to Jeonghan, who has been mostly quiet during your fever state. He springs to his feet on your rug, having kicked Mingyu's gardening shoes by the coat hooks. He doesn’t even bother inspecting your work, reaching straight for it and slinging it over his shoulders. His eyes sparkle again and his lemony hair has regained its willowy life.

“Are you not going to check my workmanship?” You pout a little.

“Do I have to? I trust you.” Jeonghan says lightly, smoothing it down his sides.

“What about a thank you?”

He rolls his eyes and leans for you, bowing multiple times. “Thank you so much for your tireless work, Mistress Y/N. Ah, my hero - an angel.” Then he goes ramrod straight, his eyes lighting up, scarily so. “Yes, Angel.”

You squint your eyes in return. “Why do I feel like that isn’t good for me?”

He reaches to brush a non-existent hair from your cheek and you seize up with the affectionate implication. Then there’s that grin that only spells trouble, too pretty and too sly.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Angel.”

Then you scowl and clench your teeth, hoping you can’t blush - they way his grin widens and his shoulders roll back says otherwise. You curse Great Merlin, Morgana and all in between for the name. With that he whirls out, mentioning something about Mingyu and washing.

Haeun’s outspoken opinion really crosses state lines one blithe summery day in the studio, which has eventually become the main hub of all things – Mingyu’s kitchen is usually the other location of large discussion. Soonyoung has come in with another newspaper article, detailing the sanctions and tough conditions wizards and now other magic users are facing in Aria. You know that this would be a matter of great concern to your grandmother, as a principal member on the High Council. But, no mention of them has occurred yet. Perhaps they are biding their time on a plan of sorts. You look over to Jeonghan, who has sobered at the mention of other magic users. His sister. You hope the Council has a plan.

You frown. “That’s horrible. But surely, a crusade against wizards is a little much?”

Haeun looks at you with a glaring pout. “Love is enough for a war. A broken heart is enough for such a mission. I feel as though maybe your age may cause you to forget the strength of young love.”

You rear up, pushing aside the mending task at hand. Stepping around the desk, you point menacingly. Mingyu is startled, too stunned by the unfolding argument to intervene.

“Excuse me? Did you just call me a forgetful old biddy?” You snap. “Heartless and dismissive because I think the king and princess are being stupid?”

Her eyes widen and she puts her palms up. “No! No, not at all! Only that things feel different over time and such an endeavour is warranted for a higher power.”

Another step as you swat her hands away to encroach on her space even more, forcing yourself to look upwards at her soft face. You growl through clenched teeth, “you’re making it worse.”

“Whatever do you mean? Madam Y/N, the crusade in Aria is at the will of the blood of the monarchy and magic. I was always told that magic casters felt things differently - stronger - and that their love was not something to be messed with. It was fate and it cannot be fought. So of course the current situation in Aria is serious. But easily resolved.” Haeun pouts, tilting her head like a lost puppy.

Now your finger jabs her chest, hard and you bare your teeth just like Suki. She gasps, making a little squeak when you do it again. “How - How - just where did you hear all of this drivel! You Arians are delusional if that’s what you all think. It’s cruelty - even a mortal can see that!”

Jeonghan delicately reaches out to grasp your hand, turning your smaller frame away. His eyes are insistent, the quirk to his mouth begging you to back down.

“Okay, okay, let’s give everyone a little space. Haeun?” He soothes, even as his eyes slide back to you to betray his uneasiness. “Come, this kind of topic is not worth the energy.”

You’re still glaring. She relents and smiles prettily at Jeonghan.

Haeun nods. “Exactly. As much as the King is right, it’s not something to be debated over at this point in time. Everyone here is safe.” As you try to dodge and struggle at her underhanded quip, she looks expectantly at the wizards in the room. “Masters Jeonghan and Mingyu, will you accompany me to a lunch venue - I haven’t had a chance to find anywhere particularly enticing today.”

Jeonghan smiles diplomatically, stepping away from you and closer to the door. “Certainly, it would be a pleasure.”

Soonyoung has wedged himself up against the wall at the exchange, gaping like a fish out of water. All over a news article, he’s probably thinking. Haeun dips her head at you as you stew, smiling brightly. Her dress is taking up most of the work space and you want to yank off the silly lobster tail bustle you would never see in this summer weather. Not to mention the hat she rudely left on as she entered, despite standing right next to the coat rack. She keeps doing these things! How quickly your perception of a person can change.

“Right then.” She quirks her lips up in a wry smile, as if she knows something you don’t. Such a feeling is something you’re not used to. “I have a feeling our relationship is becoming quite interesting, Madam Y/N. Even with our differences - but that will only make it all the more intriguing, will it not? Hmm, goodbye.”

She turns with a swirl and exits the room, leaving you unable to make a reply as she leaves the door wide open. What in Merlin’s name is that cryptic babble supposed to mean? You turn your lip back and shut the door with a simple push - an action that takes about as much effort as a charm in a sock. So why couldn’t she do it! Jeonghan looks at you and presses a polite kiss to your temple, patting your hand.

“I’ll see you later, okay? Try to calm down. She’s from Aria - she doesn’t mean to antagonise you. That’s just the way their people are.” He says with a shrug.

You arch a brow. “What, like you?”

He clasps his chest in mock hurt. “You wound me, Angel. I’m a delight.”

He tucks your grey hair behind your ear and waves you off. Jeonghan jogs after the others and around the corner, waving wildly as he passes the window - you roll your eyes and return the gesture, sagging against the edge of the desk the moment his shadow is gone. Suki watches you and in an uncharacteristic move, jumps the desk to your hip and settles against you, the fluffy warmth swathing you in a moment of calm.

Seokmin has a massive order of potions to send out, so he’s called everyone in to help. The sun doesn’t blister through the cloudy day, which is a saving grace. Soonyoung and Joshua, a Crystalmaster in the highest class are inside the shop arguing over whether rose or rose hip is the better ingredient while Seokmin is working on one cauldron in the warm conservatory. Jeonghan is there too, laughing amongst them all - goodness, he glows. You’re with the far larger cauldron outside - this batch flies off the shelves so it needs to last at least the rest of summer. It’s in the final stages of brewing, you know that much, with how few ingredients are left out.

You don't miss Haeun walking past the simmering potion, thick fluttering lashes blinking curiously as she passes by. You turn your attention back to the bunch of herbs you've twisted in twine, chopping the foliage as small as possible for the next step of the potion. You suddenly flinch as the sharp smell of something chemical and sour hits your nose. Looking back up to the potion, you see dark smoke curling thick from the cauldron.

"Uh, Seokmin?" You yell from the courtyard, unable to tear your eyes away from the vicious turn.

You shoo Suki back as you peer into the iron vessel. It bubbles thick and slow like tar while simultaneously bubbling and boiling in the middle like dishwashing liquid. It's turned from a calm aloe green to a sickly swamp and forest shade. You jump back with a squeak as a large bubble pops and spits. The four rush out, Seokmin pushing through. Haeun is perched on the entry steps, brow creased.

"What did you do?" Seokmin says accusingly, dipping his ladle into scoop some of the turning potion out into a shallow bowl. It hisses and burns, the smoke lessening.

"I didn't do anything! I don't have the recipe, you do. Besides, I don't have the kind of power to put something in with that much intent, we all know this." You snap, stepping back.

You cross your arms, indignant that you were accused of something that you didn't do. Joshua screws his nose up at the scent, falling back next to you. His built upper body dwarfs you greatly and you bury the urge to shrink into his dark navy cloak.

"Can you fix it, Seok?" Soonyoung murmurs.

"Maybe. Do we have salt, distilled water, probably sage and… ‘Shua, you got any quartz on you?"

Joshua beams and fishes amongst his many pockets to pull out a white crystal. "Always."

You and Soonyoung wade over with the other ingredients, watching as he carefully cups a small pile of salt in, a hefty splash of moon water and a whole bundle of sage. He murmurs to the quartz in his hands until it glows and drops it in, waiting. It seems to calm and dilute itself, falling back to a simmer. But as soon as it calms, it seems to turn violent, growing rapidly in size, the iron cauldron warping with the backfired potion. Seokmin's eyes fly wide.

"It’s going to blow! Run!"

The group scatters, but as you hear the rumble and creak growing in insistence over your shoulder, you worry if you'll make it. Jeonghan turns and yanks on your arm, huddling you in front of him as he dives for the work bench you were just at. There is a hollow explosion, seemingly full of air that bursts behind you and rocks the bench, then a heavy splatter. Jeonghan keeps you curled up tight against him, tucked under his chin. It goes quiet and all of you peek to see the damage. The backyard is covered with tar-like liquid, Seokmin's cauldron out of shape at the rim, but not burst. You're shaking from the suddenness of everything and Jeonghan is gentle in helping you up and trying to soothe your racing heart. Haeun and Soonyoung both pop out from inside the conservatory and Seokmin and Joshua from around the side of the shop. Suki is frazzled in the window.

"What the hell happened to that?" Joshua says carefully.

"No idea. Something might have fallen in it. Also, definitely the sage." Seokmin confirms, dodging the sticky substance on the floor and walls.

You can feel eyes on you and you slide your sight to catch Haeun staring right at you, mouth ajar. She blinks rapidly upon being found out, turning away purposefully. Her nose still tips up in the air. Jeonghan's arm doesn't leave your shoulder.

"I'm gonna get y/n back to Gyu's - she's a bit shaken up. Will you be okay here without me?" The pretty Spellmaster says.

Seokmin sighs. "Yeah, I guess. We have the cleaning here covered. See you guys later. Feel better soon."

You wave goodbye, not sure if you can trust your voice yet. Jeonghan's arm doesn't leave your shoulders, Suki trotting in your shadow. You're glad the walk isn't very far, but he still lets you take your time as your breath still rattles and your limbs suddenly fragile as glass. You hate being reminded of how out of touch your body is with your mind. It's not until you're back at Mingyu's, sat at his rocky kitchen table that you finally speak.

"Haeun was the last person near the potion." You murmur.

The pretty Spellmaster turns to you from the window - he’s gorgeous in that afternoon sunlight. "What?"

"Haeun. She was near the potion right before it went weird. I don't want to point fingers but there's a chance that she put something in." You dip your head.

Jeonghan takes the seat next to you, resting his hands over your knees. Dark eyes bore into you, steady and sure. There is no vengeful conviction, but you don’t need that. Whatever Jeonghan is, is enough.

“Don’t worry. We’ll get to the bottom of this. I believe you.” His lip pulls up and he pats your knee again, a little more rough and good natured. Then he stands and pats at the sleeve of your dress, adjusting the strap of your apron. “I’m going to go back and check on the clean-up. But I’ll be back for dinner tonight. Will you be okay till then?”

You nod. “Sure. We’ll be out in the study, hmm Suki?”

She tilts minutely to open her eyes, the best version of agreeing you’ll get. Jeonghan hums. “Right, then, I’ll see you later, Angel.”

He floats out and you wave your fist indignantly after him the moment he closes his mouth. “Hey, stop calling me Angel! I’m an old woman for goodness’ sake!”

 You hear later on that the cleaning went off without a hitch and that the next batch of potions did as well, notably you were not invited. It feels like a bit of a stab to the gut, but you try to brush it off, especially with the amount of commissions you have this month - you would have more than enough money left over after Mingyu’s board and re-stocking your supplies you wouldn’t even know what to do with it!

Haeun comes by far more often than before, sometimes even unaccompanied. Still shoving Suki from her place in the sun and pulling out a battered poetry book that she didn’t seem to really read. Instead, she would interrogate you, full of backhanded compliments and badly veiled insults under the guise of curiosity and culturally different social etiquette. Suki had made it clear she hated her, even ditching you in favour of scruffy little Aji in the main house. You bit your tongue a lot with her, especially after the last argument. Pick your battle seemed to be the motto of your relationship.

“So, Madam Y/N. Jeonghan likes to be close to you. Wouldn’t you consider that a little odd at your age?” She says with her funny little lilt. Her poetry book hasn’t been touched, her pinky finger slipped between the wrong pages.

Your teeth grind but you don’t stop to look up at her. “Perhaps, but I’m also at the age where we can learn a lot from one another. He could stand to grow up a little. I don’t read into it, Haeun. Besides, didn’t you say that age moves differently with magic users?”

Her pillowy mouth rounds and flaps as she struggles for words. “But-but it still doesn’t make sense. He takes such good care of you and escorts you out of here like a date! I find it far too familiar of the two of you.”

“Jeonghan takes care of me. I am frail and ill-tempered at my age. He and the others are kind and attentive to me and my afflictions. There is nothing wrong with that, nor is there any more to it. Haeun, I would sincerely advise you to stop trying to read between lines that are not there.” You are quiet yet firm.

She merely ducks her head, scolded for the time being. After a long while where you manage to finish the darts needed for the garment and she ruminates in the quiet, Haeun sets her poetry book aside and reaches into her reticule to pull out an embroidery panel of Aria’s native flowers.

“Madam Y/N, I would like to give this to you. I am by no means the best at the work, but I thought you might appreciate it.” She lays it in front of you, right over the garment you’re currently working on.

Again, as if she is the centre of everyone’s universe. You pick it up to better inspect it. It’s a shocking result - the threads are uneven and twisted, front and back and you worry that the hoop hasn’t been tightened to the correct tension. You smile thinly and put it in the third draw of the desk - where you keep your scraps.

“Haeun, thank you for the gift. I can see you worked very hard on it and appreciate it very much.” You lie through your teeth.

She preens. “Thank you for noticing. I think I should get going though - I do have other appointments.”

You grunt a reply but question what other engagements she has - she has only ever oscillated around the young wizards you call friends. She pops to her feet and glides out, leaving a heady scent of roses in her wake that stab right between your eyes.

Perhaps it’s your own fault for going back this late at night – your last delivery could have waited, and you certainly weren’t given extra for it like usual. The sea breeze whipped through these narrow streets particularly sharply, so the shawl you had on combatted it well. Soonyoung had brought it back as a souvenir from his trip to the mountains, so the fabric was enchanted – thin but well insulated for versatility. Despite the late time, the shadows were longer and darker than expected.

Then there was the smell. Rather than the brisk tang of sea salt and a touch of pine from the shoreline, this was closer to sulphur or the mudflats from further down the coast. The swamp dwellers were notorious for their proclivity to dark magic. They were the ones you went to for revenge and the forbidden. So why that scent was here confused you. The air was thick and the streets devoid of people, something was very wrong. People liked to stand on the cobbled streets well into the night, warm drinks in hand, socialising in the most inconvenient of places.

You turn and stretching from every shadow and unsavoury corner are beings oozing and rasping toward you. Bottomless ink black Phantoms for your soul. The more shadows you pass, the more they catch and gather, growing in numbers. The smell is thick and suffocating, an ice cold rocketing up your spine. Mingyu’s is too far, Seokmin too far as well and under protected for such a situation. Joshua has already been passed. Jeonghan said he was on a job tonight. Which leaves Soonyoung. He’s a detour down a risky, dimly lit alley to the parallel street, but it had to be done.

“S-Suki, Soonyoung’s. Go.” You gasp, as she yowls and takes off running.

You pick up the pace as best you can with the uneven cobblestones and winding streets. The Phantoms sound like a windstorm, no human noise to be heard. They swallowed anything human or otherwise they set their sights on. You let out a weak yell when you feel a tendril, wet and viscous glance at your ankle. Soonyoung lives in a wonky little townhouse with warm brown and black fired brick and a russet brown door. There is some kind of sigil carved into the door, a pattern of them around the doorframe and windows as well. Perfect choice to seek refuge with. The door flings open before you can get to it, his keen eyes on you as he grabs both of your wrists and yanks you in. The door slams shut. Suki is sitting on his living room carpet, awash in warm tones and streaks of black.

“By Merlin, what’s going on with you!” He cries, patting you briefly to check you over.

“Phantoms.” You wheeze.

He jumps, wriggling about on the spot. “You brought Phantoms to my door! How did you find them?”

You lean against his hall table and glare at him. “They found me.”

“Phantoms are old entities. They need something physical to keep them attached to this plane.” He murmurs to himself, looking you over with his chin in his hand.

Soonyoung goes still then fixates on the brooch that kept your shawl on your shoulder. He points accusingly at it as it glints in the streetlight. “Where did you get that from?” He yells out.

You pat it, tracing your finger over the filigree edging. “I - Haeun gave it to me. For fixing her third dress this month. Said it was in her family but not her taste? Insolent girl.”

She’d implied that it was too dated for her and that your old age was perfect for it. By Merlin, always a dig at your age from her, constantly backhanded. He almost rips your shirt-waist in his haste to take it off your person. As your shawl falls away, he tosses it to the floor of his hallway like it burns. Again, he points at it aggressively.

“That - that thing is riddled with negative energy! It has to be cursed as well.” he tosses a glance over your shoulder to the Phantoms loitering outside his door. “That’s why those entities have been chasing you. Something has happened to set off the energy and attract them. We need this cleansed, right now.”

Soonyoung backs up the hall, eyes still on the glinting metal. “Stay here. Watch that. I’ll call the others.”

As soon as he turns the corner for his pokey kitchen, the windows start to whistle and rattle, as if there is a hurricane outside. You know it's the Phantoms. But you don’t dare face them with what Soonyoung has told you. Something you don’t want to risk blinking and missing. Moments later, he’s racing out the room, and grabbing your wrist, yanking you down the house after him. Throwing open a door with his free hand, there is a small, step-in study with all sorts of ritual resources. Instantly, he pulls a swath of cloth, a jar of salt, matches and some dried herb bunch. The phantom hurricane roars louder and you shriek in shock. His brows are set - you’ve never seen him so serious and determined, usually happy-go-lucky and chaotic.

He passes you the cloth and salt. “Can you help me block off the area? Until they get here?”

“Who’s coming?” You ask as you throw the sigil-sewn cloth over the brooch and trickle a steady unbroken ring of salt around it.

“Everyone - ‘Shua, Seokminnie, Jeonghan and Mingyu. If it can pull out all this level of Phantom, I don’t know how powerful it actually is.”

Everything within you seems to seize up as you stare, unseeing, at the pile of fabric at your feet. His warm hand wraps around your shoulder. He’s burning the herbs, waving the smokes in patterns over the brooch. Soonyoung’s sharp gaze shortens momentarily.

“We’ve got you. You’ll be fine.”

“I’m so sorry for bringing this into your house.” You lament.

He shrugs. “That’s what friends are for. I’m glad you trusted me enough to find me for help. I was probably your best bet in a pinch anyway - a lot of my magic works with physical items and energy signatures.”

There is a long, frantic knocking at the door and Soonyoung leans back to call down the hall, “come round back! Quick!”

Joshua bursts in first, his cloak pockets heavy and clinking softly with his multitude of crystals. His hair looks a little sleep rumpled. “I saw them crowd the windows - what’s going on?” He says.

“Y/n set off a cursed artefact. Phantoms ensue.” Soonyoung explains. “D’you bring cleansers and shields?”

You take offence to his choice of words. “I-hey! I didn’t do anything but wear it! Why do you guys keep thinking it’s my fault these things happen?”

The dancer gives you a sympathetic look but says nothing more of it. Instead they seem to ignore you and start to merge and chatter orders and ideas, Joshua setting crystals - most quartz - around your shawl. Static starts to build in the air and the Phantoms even more restless somehow. You feel listless and left out. Maybe even a bit envious - if you had proper magic this would never have happened. Jeonghan breaks in next, hair windblown and his cloak buttoned wonky over an undershirt and loose trousers. His scowl rivals the storm outside. Instantly he steps for you, raising a hand to your face, checking you over.

“What happened? Are you all right?” He says a little harsher than you’re used to.

Still, you nod as Mingyu jogs in, apron smouldering in patches and Seokmin carrying a large bag, a little pink in the face.

“Yes, I’m well. The brooch from Haeun is cursed.” You mutter.

His expression turns funny - something about it you can’t pin down - and he guides you to the edge of the stairs. “I see. Stay here while we cleanse it. Then we’ll dispose of it.”

“I’m sorry for pulling you away from your commission.” You mumble, tilting your chin away from him.

“Hey, hey. It’s alright, Angel. I’ll always come. Let’s go, hmm?”

He knows you too well, that after this ordeal you wouldn’t want anything to do with it anymore. That you knew he was busy and Soonyoung called him anyway. Seokmin is frantically stirring and splashing concoctions on the pile while Mingyu, Soonyoung and Jeonghan plan out a spell. The three of them start to chant in Archaic, wands aimed at a point in the air. You clasp your hands over your ears as the noise of the Phantoms becomes closer to a wretched scream. The fabric starts to smoke then is alight with bright orange flames, burning rapidly to a crisp, with the ease that the natural cotton had. Then the brooch starts to jump and rattle, writhing painfully on Soonyoung’s floor. Seokmin peeks under Mingyu’s arm to splash some more potion on it. Joshua is sat on the floor, eyes screwed shut as the quartz flexes and glows at his command - you can almost see the tangible webbing of magic whispering white between them, like a cage. There is the sensation of all the air being sucked from the room, into the brooch in its last ditch attempt to fight before it also screeches and pops, molten and limp. Mingyu’s forehead is beaded with sweat and Soonyoung’s jaw is cleaned so tightly you would have mistaken it for being screwed shut. But the Phantoms are silent, the streetlight back to glaring through Soonyoung’s front windows. You slump and heave a sigh, the air back to normal. Joshua, a little pale, collects his precious stones and stores them in his cloak, clattering away with the weight. He tilts his head to check in on you.

“How are you?” He says gently as always.

You smile. “Better, now that’s over. Thank you all for your help.”

He rises to his feet and rubs warmly at your upper arm. “Of course we would. Here, take a couple of these for protection for a little while. You know the drill - put them at windows and on your person.” He drops a few quartz and malachite into your apron pocket with a soft smile.

They’re all a little drained from the ordeal, so Soonyoung brews some tea and you all claim various seats, sprawling out from the front living room to the stairwell where you stayed on the bottom steps. The tea was warm and strongly herbal with lemon balm and chamomile. You were pointedly not looking at the heirloom item that had started all of this. Seokmin is the first to finish, taking his chipped mug to Soonyoung’s sink and meandering over to you. He leans on the banister to peer over at you. The tea serves to centre and settle your thoughts and Suki slips into the living room for some attention.

“Are you okay?” He says softly; kindly. “What a night!”

You shrug. “I am now. Thank you for coming. I’m sorry for causing you such trouble. This is the second time something has happened.”

His arm awkwardly reaches over and pats your shoulder. “No, not at all. Anything for a friend. As long as you’re safe now.”

Jeonghan is next, coming round to stoop by your knees. His eyes are more droopy than usual but they never waver from you. If he had the energy you were sure he would have crossed his arms or put his fists on his hips. The background noise of the house guests is an added comfort.

“I agree.”

Somehow, the very sight of him settles you even more, any walls or cautious misgivings crumbling away. He tips his chin and you shuffle over so he can sit next to you by the wall. His knees go up comically high with how low he sits. But instantly, his arm is around you, humming and patting.

“There we are. We should get you home soon, hmm?”

You nod and let Seokmin pull you to your feet. You squeeze his hand and look for a long moment at Jeonghan. “It happened again. Something from Haeun. She brought it from Aria.”

You’re thankful that Jeonghan is whip-smart - not that you’d ever admit it to his face - and can read between the lines. He smooths your stray hair down, fluffing the ends of it. He has that funny look on his face again, the same one he had before the spell when you had mentioned her and you physically bite your tongue, regretting even voicing your half-thoughts. Seokmin is too busy guiding you through the cluttered hallway of shoes and various items they had all brought with them, dumped unceremoniously. You call short and brisk for Suki and she brings the rest of your friends with her as they cram into the doorway. They look ridiculous, all wide, patient eyes watching you.

“I-I’m going to head out. So I’ll take the -”

Soonyoung’s eyes crease and he quickly scoops up the cloth and brooch, throwing it over his shoulder into the burning fireplace. The fire twists a brief cobalt blue before settling, the cotton and metal smouldering to nothing. It should put things to rest, but thoughts linger, like floating particles in water.

“No, you aren’t. I would never make anyone carry a cursed artefact. Y/Nnie, go home. Me, Seokmin and ‘Shua will clean up.”

Mingyu’s wide frame breaks free and meets you at the front door so you’re wedged in by Jeonghan on one side, and the kitchenmaster on the other. You give everyone brief goodbyes as you're escorted out the house and onto the hill. You didn’t do anything but you don’t have the effort to be part of the empty conversation going on over your head. The pair of them lead you upstairs and Jeonghan waits outside while you get changed and settle for bed. You have no shame as he moves about the room, murmuring some spells over windows and any kind of door including your wardrobe. Suki steers clear of the windowsill where the Spellmaster sets up Joshua’s cluster of stones. The moonlight that streams in seems to glow whiter than before the quartz was there, like filtering dirt and evil. Even with his sluggish movements, Jeonghan even tucks you into bed, patting the blankets down over you!

His hand stills on the folded edge as he seems to look past you. “Angel, if anything else happens, we will need to talk. You aren’t safe anymore.”

You try to sit up, but with how tightly he has you wrapped, it’s not possible. “What do you mean by that?”

“Once is a coincidence, twice is a maybe. Three times? Someone wants to hurt you.” His tone is devoid of the initial bravado or sweet warmth you’ve always known from him.

“Jeonghan, the only changed catalyst since I’ve been here is Haeun. I’m scared she has something to do with it. But I haven’t done anything to her - she’s just a rude girl from Aria.” 

Your turn of phrase doesn’t lighten his demeanour. But he says nothing else, instead, smoothing the covers down one more time and giving Suki a scratch behind the ear before turning out the light.

“Goodnight, Angel.”

Jeonghan is around far more than not now, as is Soonyoung who brings a life to your space that you appreciated in the short bursts he gave. There is a brightness and innocence to the energy he gives, always coming from a place of good - even as he grumbles when you use that boundless energy of his to rearrange the study. You aren’t sure how Jeonghan manages to hang around so often, especially between his jobs. If anything, they should be building with the near change of the season. But he even escorts you to your various deliveries and supply pickups from Eugene. He doesn’t say why, only that he “always has time for you, Angel.” Which you partially expect with your curse, but his world should not revolve around you.

It’s one of these various trips that Haeun tacks herself onto, drifting out of the tea house and sweetly calling Jeonghan’s name. She struggles a little to catch up but hums and smiles.

“Thank goodness. I haven’t seen you for such a long time. May I accompany you? Oh, Madam Y/N. You are out today as well?”

What in the - you had both walked past the window together! You simper over your shoulder at her.

“Correct. As long as we are not disrupting any prior engagement of yours.”

She tuts and shakes her head while Jeonghan has an eerily still look about him, his head slanted and eyes slightly squinted. His gaze is intense and disarming so you have no idea how she is managing to act so blithe under its beam. The plan now is to head back to Mingyu’s with a supply pick up and you wished she wasn’t accompanying the three of you to no doubt insert herself into her place in your study. No point arguing it now. Conversation is stilted and awkward as you personally struggle to maintain politeness. Suki has gestured to something for Jeonghan and he humours her, dawdling to a shop window she arches up to. A sharp shriek from Haeun cuts through you, right in your ear and you pause to turn at the drama. You don’t get to eye her when she cries out again in vague distress and leaps backwards, knocking you backwards over the edge of the sidewalk.

The tram is the only mode of transport along this road, horse and buggies no longer allowed due to the… smell, so usually you would be able to right yourself, dust off and scold the flighty young woman with time to spare. But the trolley cars were running late, almost front to tail. All you can hear is the persistent dinging of the trolley car rolling down the hill, signalling disaster. Haeun is still muttering and whining, her hands over her face and her pretty button up boots standing on your own skirt so you can’t move. Jeonghan yells, high and thin and while you’re struggling to move as close to the sidewalk as you can, he drops all your supplies and nudges the girl out the way. Her feet tangle and her eyes fly wide as she almost hits a store window - by Merlin you all must look like a slapstick skit. The ringing bell is deafening now and the Spellmaster stoops over to effortlessly scoop you up and onto the walkway, both arms wrapped tightly around you to tuck you against his chest. You can hear his heart flutter and his breath heave loudly over you. The tram rattles past, the passenger chatter an inaudible blur.

“Good Morgana, that was close. Y/N, are you well?” He mutters, leaning back just enough to eye you.

You nod. “Yes, thank you. I don’t know what happened, I - Haeun?”

You carefully unfurl yourself from the blonde, peering around to the young woman, tears dried on her cheeks. Suki stands between the pair of you, wide stance and glaring.

“Haeun, what’s going on?” You say sternly.

She sniffles and shakes her head, trying to almost bury her face under her hat like a child. Jeonghan’s hands fall protectively to your shoulder and the small of your spine, over the knot of your apron.

“Goodness, I’m so sorry! Only I - it was just here?”

“What was?” You press, scowling.

“The-the Kaononai. It came out from that bookstore. Oh it was so scary!” She cried out, her hands already reaching for her face.

You glanced down to Suki who hadn’t let Haeun out of her sight. “Suki, did you see it?”

Her tail flickered, as did her left ear, but no response - something to discuss when you both got back to the studio.

“Haeun, you need to be careful.” Jeonghan says, careful yet firm.

She pouts and goes a little cold, her fists bunching tightly so they turn pale. Suki’s tail has fluffed up and you make a point of looking around for anything dangerous. The only being that could cause trouble is Haeun at this second.

“Me, be careful? Jeonghan, if I was right and the Kaononai was really here, we would all be dead by now from it.” She says low - it’s the most threatening thing you’ve heard from her and sounds nothing like the obnoxious innocent little mortal from Aria that has been shadowing your group since the day she arrived.

His grip tightens on you. “Y/n certainly would be - she doesn’t have magical offensive skills and your panicked dancing could have killed her before the Kaononai got to any of us. Besides, Suki is a very well attuned animal and would have sensed it long before you.”

She glares down at your familiar, going beet red in the face - you could have sworn you saw steam billow from her little ears. It’s a miracle that no one else has shown up on your part of the street, even as onlookers on the other side of the street pass. Suki’s eyes glow and somehow, you’re touched by her fierce show of protection. She’s never done something like that for you in all your years of tethered companionship.

“Suki, shhhh.” You say, repeating it till she had taken a step back. You level a look at Haeun. “I think you ought to go back to your lodgings and lie down. It’s all been a bit much for you today. Good bye, Haeun.”

You don’t leave any room for argument with your patronising tone – you really couldn’t keep it to yourself, no matter how much you should have tried - and Jeonghan seems to take a hint, collecting everything from the pavement. He tips his head in a silent sulk her way and turns on the heel of his boot to follow you with Suki proudly leading. You leave her on the street and while you don’t regret it, something ice cold and viscous seeps down your spine.

Jeonghan guides you home startlingly somber, and drops your things in the study when he asks for the key while depositing you in Mingyu’s front living room. It’s a warm space of neutral cream shades and comforting textures and fabrics. The main window oversees the front garden, private enough thanks to the fence and the artfully placed rose trees - less so bushes from the way they grew upwards. Suki claims the space next to Aji, both little furballs feeding off one another’s warmth. Jeonghan returns with a glass of water for each of you and deposits it on a dated doily.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You can say no.” He says soft and firm, dark eyes settled on you.

You nod your head. “I’m a bit shaken, but fine.”

You have too much to do to be shaken. Jeonghan has now insisted on staying with you in your study, not hiding the fact he wants to keep an eye on you. He’s managed to simmer down much faster than you have from the events. A surprise with how riled up he was right after - he didn’t fight your cold dismissal of her either. You hiss as you prick your finger on the needle - usually hand sewing, as tedious as it was, could be soothing. It was one thing to focus on, those back and forth motions of the thread therapeutic. But not when you mind has way too much going on. You couldn’t quite sweep it all away with the repetition. You swear under your breath when you do it again, not a few moments later. Jeonghan looks up from his papers, a millimetre of concern between his brows. 

“Are you okay? You’ve been doing that a lot lately. Maybe you should take a break.” He hums.

You scoff. “Don’t be silly. I have three things due in the next week, I can’t really afford to take a breather. It’s this or go stir crazy here.”

He slants his head, his blonde strands glowing, again. “Like what?”

Jeonghan eases over on his stool, careful not to catch his cloak under its foot. You sigh and fold away the shirt you were working on for Joshua - he wanted something lightweight for the warm weather and you were more than happy to accommodate as much as he was willing to pay.

“I...It’s okay. Something for another day.” Your smile wanes.

“Don't be silly, Angel. I want to hear about it - it’s making you wrinkle.” He says as compensation.

You tip your head back to laugh. Of course that’s why he wants to hear - because it’s interfering with his research and studies of you. Another variable that needs taking care of. Sure, you’ll humour him.

“It needs to be kept quiet - I don’t want our friends getting all funny. Not to mention, we have been meaning to have a chat about it.” He mimes twisting a key over his lips and tossing it over his shoulder. “I’m a little weary of Haeun. Something doesn’t feel right. From the moment we met her, all that’s happened is trouble. She feels like some kind of bad omen. I don’t want to think that of her, but I can’t help it when hiccup after hiccup has happened. The cauldron, almost getting run over, the Phantoms? I don’t like it - her. But I also don’t want to look as if I am fixating on her unfairly either.” You gnaw on your lip instead of pouting, not a very flattering look for someone of your physical age. The Spellmaster’s frown deepens.

“Hmm, I understand that. And I know you’ve both been butting heads over a lot.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t be shy - everything.”

He laughs, airy like the weather outside. “Fine, over everything.”

“I just worry that there is more going on than we fully understand. If someone should be in danger, shouldn’t it be you?”

“But instead, this is the third incident that has endangered you since you arrived in Martine. Things that come in threes. Auspicious number – it means something.” He puts his little diary aside, filled with his upcoming commissions and appointments. You know for a fact that the pricing of his talents is the backs pages, well worn by now.

“Unfortunately, I think you’re right. The curse is one thing, all these almosts are another. And she has been involved with them, one way or another. willingly or not. It’s all too much to be coincidence. Please, be careful around her. Sight or not, something is off. I can feel it, with what little magic I have.” You softly argue.

His dark eyes scrutinise you, scanning for something, you’re not sure. Finally, his shoulders relax and he nods, giving in. “Of course, I trust you, Angel. And, besides, I have my own reasons to be wary of her too, thinking about it - she is from Aria. And she has had some part in all of our recent incidents, there is no longer any coincidence or doubt about that. I can’t get too comfortable, in case it all turns on me next.”

You chuckle - It’s easier to breathe now. “Oh yes, right. Fugitive of the law.”

He scowls and you laugh harder, letting him draw back to sulk in the corner. He even turns his back on you! “Leave me alone - don’t you have things to do?”

Haeun doesn’t see you buried in the extensive garden when she leaves Mingyu’s kitchen. You’re taking clippings of this and that, inhaling the intense scent of marigold when you hear her heels hit the brick flooring. The end of her voice still carries as she heaves a sigh, weighing at her delicate shoulders. The roll of her eyes is unexpected nor attractive on her doll-like face. It sits unfocused in your eyes as you squint and blink away the haze that clouds her figure. It flickers as she looks down to check her purse and you wobble on the balls of your feet, falling into the garden. Her eyes, a shocking forest green - the colour only found in the royal bloodline of Aria. Haeun’s hair is now a mousey brown in long waves. Haeun is really the princess of Aria. The scent of roses, heady and thick in her wake. Her opinion of the wizard inquisition - she was in charge of it. It was alarming how much of it made sense. As you fumble to right yourself in the dirt, your mind reels. Why hasn’t she attacked Jeonghan yet? Haeun has been in Martine for a good few months and the only one who’s had trouble since she’s shown up is you. But Jeonghan has never actually been left alone with her since he arrived in Martine. Maybe not as silly as you thought then. You feel wiry hands grip you standing. Haeun - Seoyun is in front of you, dusting you down.

“Madam Y/N, are you okay? I didn’t see you there, you’re so quiet!” She says.

The smell of roses is making you dizzy, now you’re close to her. She scoops up your clippers, dropping them into your apron. She guides you to the garden seating, pushing on your shoulders to encourage you. Her frown sits heavy on her brow while your stomach churns. The princess fluffs at your grey hair, shaking it of leaves and dirt.

“You really don’t look well - you’ve gone so pale. Stay here and I’ll find someone to fetch you. Okay?”

You hum out a response and she nods, dashing inside like a gazelle. You’re too shocked to do much else. Mingyu is running back out in a heartbeat, kneeling before you. His kind eyes search yours for anything. His big hands rub at yours, limp in your lap.

“Are you okay? Can you see?” He prattles off questions endlessly.

It’s only as you see her dress in the corner of your eye that you pull him in, whispering quickly, “get Haeun out of here and call for Jeonghan, now.”

“Thank you so much for taking care of Y/N. I’ve got it now. Will we still see you Thursday evening?” He says, hand at the small of her back. You can see the confusion and protest lining his lips and you scowl wordlessly. He nods, standing to turn to Haeun.

His tall figure leads her down the path out to the main entry. She looks over her shoulder in confusion, but still responds to him as they disappear from view. You lay your head forward on the cool painted metal of the table. You don’t know how long it takes but there is a cool hand curled around the junction of bare skin where shoulder curved to pulse, thumb stroking idle circles.

“You called?”

Finally, you lift your head to eye the Spellmaster. No doubt you have swirling indents on your forehead from pressing your face into the metal, but no matter. “I was right about Haeun. She’s not just bad news. She’s the reason for everything from the last six months. She’s the princess.”

The concern from Jeonghan’s face melts away and leaves him pasty and pale, eyes unseeing.

You barrel on, quietly, as if for fear she could catch you out. “She’s got a glamour on, really strong. Weaker on females though - she’s hiding from men because she wants to catch one. You. That’s why she’s been hanging around. She’s been trying to corner you for months. But you’ve never been alone with her.”

“I - Haeun is Princess Seoyun? Why didn’t… she’s an extraordinary witch, and can easily best most of us here at once. Why didn’t she just attack us and then deal with me?”

You shrug. “No idea? Too much of a scene? All of us are well respected here in Martine. It would be hard to be rid of any of us without drawing suspicion.”

He clutches both of your hands too tightly as he bows over you, as if holding on for dear life. Everything is shadowed about him. “So, what do we do now?”

“Neither of us can be left alone until we work out what to do with her. We need to protect ourselves first. So we need to let the others know. If we know anyone else, we should ask if they can help. It’s the entire crux of the wizard persecution at stake.” It’s unspoken that your side will not be called to arms. That means facing things you didn’t have time for. Jeonghan nods.

“Us against the kingdom of Aria, hmm Angel?” He smirks limply.

You roll your eyes. “Something like that. C’mon, better fill Mingyu in.”

It’s the earnest way you ask Mingyu to call in every favour or magical contact in Martine for a meeting at his place that seems to ring the severity of the situation home. Everything about Mingyu’s place was warm and safe and inviting. A levity about it that melted away when you reached across the benchtop to lay a hand over his as he cooked dinner.

You squeeze his free hand and stare him down as you say, “do not under any circumstances tell Haeun that this is happening. She must not suspect anything out of the ordinary or try to invite herself. This is for magic users only.”

He frowns but nods. “Of course. I think a few friends are passing through in a day or two from across the sea.”

“The more hands the better.”

Mingyu sends out magical mail from his fireplace that night to Soonyoung, Seokmin and Joshua, the ashes turning lime green in the fire and the smoke seeming to twist with an underlying life. Then another flash from the fire in a cobalt-ocean blue. You lean closer.

“Wow, who was that for?” You mutter from your place on the bowing sofa.

He pokes at the embers to drown them out. “A few friends from out of town - a Spellmaster named Boo Seungkwan and a caster called Lee Chan. Chan is only a Class C wizard, but he’s currently travelling for his Class B examinations so he’s pretty much passed. He’s one of the smartest guys I know - quick learner and good at anything he picks up. Actually! Last I heard he was currently out west seeking guidance from the only Shieldmaster known, Choi Seungcheol, first of his name.”

Your mouth rounds. You had vaguely heard of him - specialised in all manner of strength and protection magic. No one had specialised in it like him before. Moments later two flashes of green and a blast of blue spark in the base of the fireplace before settling at the edge of the hearth. They settled on three scraps of parchment. Mingyu stoops over to scan them. Suki has parked herself by the embers, soaking up what little warmth is left.

“Soonyoung and ‘Shua are coming, of course. Chan is still up country with Seungcheol.” Mingyu’s brows raise. “Now he would have been good to have.”

The next evening, Mingyu makes double his usual amount of food, seeing as there would be seven mouths in total crammed around his round dining table. Jeonghan had been with you all day, refusing to leave you alone. Neither of you were sure why you had become the target here if Jeonghan was supposedly the one at fault. Only that it was there to scare as much as it was to hurt you. It was odd how much the both of you were so right.

“Otherwise,” you scowl, “she could have finished me off at any time. She’s one of the most powerful magic users known by The Council. Ugh, it’s like playing with your food before you eat it.”

That notion has you quickly, stuffing food in your mouth to refute it with yourself. Surely Mingyu’s heartfelt meal would be distracting. Seungkwan was instantly very righteous and vocal, swearing to protect and agree with whatever it took to keep the pair of you protected. A rotating roster was easily set up to keep someone with you at all times. It didn’t make you happy, having to be guarded and helpless, but such was your current ability to protect yourself. Jeonghan’s eyes don’t leave you for very long and you try to be mature and not read into it, even as his knee bumps yours.

It felt like a long, slow limbo state, full of tension that sat in your shoulder blades you couldn’t shake. Not even Minji’s bustling plans and back-to-back appointments could distract you. Your friends aren’t the best liars, especially Seokmin, which certainly tells her implicitly that circumstances have changed. You’ve been deposited at the apothecary today as part of the roster, sat in the warm space under crystal clear sunlight as you work on a thank you gift for Seungkwan for coming into town just for you. Seokmin is making a batch of your tonic when he gives you a guilty expression, pinned with his lips worried between his teeth.

“She came by yesterday.” He says quietly.

Your needle goes still. “Oh, did she?”

“Hmmm. Asked for rosehip and some northern cinnamon. I said I didn’t have either in stock…then she pointed to the cinnamon right by my head. And the dried rosehip in my hand.” He goes tomato red and cringes over the pot. “She left after, really quiet.”

You can’t help but laugh, swinging back on your chair. It’s a laugh bordering on hysteria. “Ah, Seokminnie, you tried. It’s alright.” You sigh. “It just might mean she’s got a clue something is up. I mean, we know Soonyoung has been avoiding Haeun like the plague because he can’t hide his facial expressions. And ‘Gyu has locked the side gate.”

The sweet potionsmaster still pouts a little. “I’m just, worried.”

You rise and meet him at his weathered wooden bench, leaning your head on his shoulder. The tonic was clear at this point, having boiled and distilled for so long, past the grassiness of the herbs and sweet jamminess of the rosehip. It was still a little thick, so you pass Seokmin a glass of moonwater.

“I know. But we’re doing all we can - we don’t know her well enough to plan any other moves.” The words taste chemical and bitter with how unsure you were.

A week goes by and finally both yourself and Jeonghan have a shared roster - by Merlin, it sounds so boring. Soonyoung had gotten in the way yesterday during a commission and was back at home, nursing a pair of missing eyebrows. Jeonghan was haughty upon entry of the study, insisting that it was his own fault for dancing like a b-rate ballerina. As if a trap had been triggered, a yellow-orange spark appeared in the air between you, swirling open a portal. An envelope in peacock green hung in the air before dropping as the portal closed. The corner drops on Suki’s head with a petulant yowl. Jeonghan’s wand is out in an instant, aimed at the door, then the window.

“That sorceress.” He hisses.

You stoop to open it up, hearing Jeonghan squeak in protest. His name is at the top so you hand it off to him. “Oh hush, it’s for you anyway.”

His sleepy eyes scan the heavy paper and you watch them turn to stone. His fist crumples the paper to the point of ripping and you rush to ease it from his grip. Jeonghan isn’t a violent person as far as you know.

“It’s a threat. To hand myself over to her.” His gaze settles on you, grasp twisting from the note to your own hand. “Otherwise, you’ll get hurt. Like she has already tried before.”

Damn propriety - you step closer so Suki is forced to move and your toes of your shoes almost touch. “You’re not going to do that, are you? Jeonghan, she’ll kill you, or something worse.”

He’s quiet and you don’t trust him as far as you could throw him. So, you take the note and turn on your heel to your desk, tossing the letter away before he can ruminate on it longer. Today, he stays out of the sun, claiming the stool by the wall instead, just watching you. It usually annoys you, but at least if he’s watching you, he’s still here. By the time sunset hits and Joshua shows up with his soft feline smile to escort Jeonghan home, you’re even more on edge, the thought of Mingyu’s tea the only possible soother to your worry. Jeonghan is taking some time to fuss over Suki and Aji in the kitchen when you grab Joshua’s wrist, yanking him up to your level in the doorway to the courtyard.

“Please keep an eye on him. More than one of you. Haeun sent a letter to him today, threatening him to turn in or risk me. He didn’t answer me after that.” You wring his wrist with your fingers, as if it were your own instead. “I want him to be safe, especially after all he’s done for me.”

Joshua hums softly and nods. “Of course, Y/N. We’ll go round to Soonyoung’s tomorrow then.”

On Mingyu’s turn babysitting you, he locks up your study for the day and sends another note in the fireplace to Minji to delay your appointment by a day or two under the guise of supply shortage. The B&B is now quieter, autumn being the off-season. He’s repainting the front fence and has you checking bedding and towels for any moth damage. It has you in and out of the house so Mingyu can keep an eye on you. Once that was done, he had a stool in the front garden at the ready under an umbrella. You wished there was a way to stave off that upcoming boredom somehow. With everything confirmed to be moth-free – you had even refilled the mothballs, breathing through your mouth to avoid the strong scent – you turn the hall to smell the tell-tale scent of electricity in the air, sparks and cracks meeting your ears. It’s a slow jog to the courtyard and you find Haeun casting something, casting shadows dark and long.

“H-Haeun. What are you doing?” You call quietly from the doorway.

She turns to you, her glamour all but fallen away with the strength of her casting. Now green eyes meet you and burn, a manic edge to her lips.

“Ah, just the person of the hour. Come here.” You hesitate, still confused - the actions have all been proven, but not the motive. Her wand waves at you too casually. “Here!”

You stumble out with the magical force, looking down the pathway. “Where’s Mingyu?”

She shrugged. “Gullible dear - fooled him into thinking there was an attack on Jeonghan. Especially after yesterday’s little scare. The gate has been enchanted. I won’t need to stall that long, if you do as you’re told.”

Even your own shadow has been cast long, despite the clear weather. There is a wicker basket weaving itself with vines and roots. Black and red candles, obsidian and amethyst. Rust nails and something ugly and pickled. This was a vicious spell.

“So you baited them? He didn’t even have a chance to think about what he wanted to do?” You protest.

“Of course not. He has had months to do it. Those little scares should have been enough - he’s supposed to be smart. The most cunning member of the Aria Royal Artists Guild, apparently.” She almost sings and this voice feels more natural to you. No all-knowing simper that gave you whiplash.

“Haeun - no, Seoyun. What do you want.” You say, the fear fading from your voice, only left with caution.

“Your heart.” She shrugs simply.

Somehow, she is not surprised at your knowledge in the reveal. No dramatic announcement or offended gasp. So shameless, you think disapprovingly. The basket is placed on the ground, candles and crystals surrounding. The candles’ smoke swirls restlessly into the air and there is a putrid scent overtaking all else. She wants to catch it.

“Why? You have one - Jeonghan never took it in the first place - that was just some rumour of the court.”

“So? Yours is unbroken. You have the one he wants - why he wants your old, shrivelled up thing is beyond me, not to mention highly improper. I mean, a real step down in my perspective.” She makes a flourishing gesture at herself. “But you are to his taste, so I want it. If I have yours, I have his - ugh why do I have to spell everything out for you?” Seoyun rolls her eyes.

“I don’t know - why do you keep answering?” You grumble.

You startle though as she pulls out a bloody lamb’s heart from the depths of her purse, holding it aloft, the dagger in her left hand making you squint from the glare. She drops it with a sickening splat in the basket. The dagger stays though as she advances on you. You look around for something - someone - anything - until your back aches against the door frame. Suki yowls and rushes into the courtyard.

“Suki, go! Get away!” You command - you didn’t want her getting hurt.

And maybe she could get out of here for help. Suki’s claws clatter and fade down the hall. From her skirts Seoyun pulls out a corked vial, empty for the minute. She slices her own hand, red dribbling down her pale skin into the glass. She gestures for your own hand, jerky and severe. You hold it out limply in between you so she can yank it toward her. Instead, she initially bypasses it and yanks for your hair, held back in a severe, business-like braid. As you cry out sharply, her grip on her blade switches and she smoothly arches up and slices it off. Pocketing the hair, she twists your slack hand to her liking. You hiss and whine as the used blade cuts into your fragile palm. She squeezes and prods until she gets what she wants and you continue to whimper in pain. Seoyun tosses your hand away after that, marching over to her materials. You’re honestly a little curious as to how she is going to do it, so as much as you know the danger, you stay to watch while pressing your hand in your apron to stop the bleeding. The blood is dripping into the basket with the heart and suddenly she holds the dagger downwards.

“You have a heart,  I could use that. What’s yours is now mine. Love, loss, man. This heart, tied to another’s, Give this power to me.”

It feels like twine has been twisted and looped through your chest, tightening, everything seeming to go tunnel vision on the glinting metal. A sound like shattering glass. Then a crack by your ear and the blade goes flying. Another and the spell is scattered, candles rolling into the garden bed and the butchered organ making another splat to the stones. Jeonghan braces himself, breathless, around you. His eyes fall to your bloody and wrinkled palm.

“What did she do to you?” He hisses.

“Shhh, just a cut.” You say through the sting.

Jeonghan scowls darkly and cradles your hand, running his thumb over it and murmuring a spell that seals the wound. You’re finally given a moment to breathe, with the princess’ spell broken and the squeeze from your heart relaxed. 

He draws himself up and turns to put you in his slender shadow, asking again. “What did she do?”

“Tried to bind and take my heart.” You’re still a little too shy to say why.

She laughs now in surprise and over his shoulder she grins. It’s not hard to see her plan forming before you as she flicks a spell at him, the air turning hot and strong in the courtyard from her fury. Her power turns red, electric and vicious - it puts static in her hair. Jeonghan, though, steps flawlessly in front of you, bracing his forearm up and disarming it. The force is so strong though that it sends you both skidding back, what little strength you had before gone. Your legs wobble, forcing you to your knees, a wilt. They begin to duel, the smell of burnt electricity suffocating, smoke beginning to swirl. It looks like Jeonghan is gaining. Until she starts talking, her eyes glowing a sickening green.

“You lied to me, Jeonghan! Said you loved me! You string me along for my power, my status, even my money! You thought I was pretty until something prettier came along. Now look at you. Infatuated with some old hag, defending yourself from one of the best Masters in the world. You’re not doing very well.” Her lips curl up in a smug grin. “Left yourself wide open.”

She sneers as she lifts her free hand at you. You can already see it coming. You can defend yourself from it easily. So, as you brace yourself to stand, Jeonghan twists his wrist sharply to break the connection between himself and Seoyun and leaps to take your hit. The surge of animated smoke flies, flinging him into the wall behind you. He slides to the ground with a low groan, squinting his eyes at the princess. Now he’s physically vulnerable, she steps closer and closer as Seoyun lays into him, finishing him off with a psychic attack, a burst of pretty pink popping limp from his chest. He’s out of magic. She seems to love kicking a beaten horse when it’s down as shards of debris rise from the pavement and glow red and green – a toxic swirl of colour – to rain on the two of you. You make your way to him to shrink her catchment zone. It’s instinct how you want to whip your old wand out from your apron. Instead, you say the spell straight, a lot riskier and more unrefined. It does the job though as a dark metallic grey blooms to shield the two of you from most of it. A rock clips your shoulder and tips you forward. The princess’s eyes widen in manic surprise before she smirks triumphantly as you hobble over the rest of the way to scoop up Jeonghan's prone frame. He kind of smoulders, burning hot to the touch and his eyes unfocused and hazy.

"Jeonghan, can you hear me?" You call, patting his cheek.

Long lashes flutter as his head lolls to face you. He smiles. "Yeah, I'm still here."

"Can you - can you get up? On your own?"

He nods and braces himself on the wall, swaying. You carefully let him go, stepping back. His eyes fly wide as he collapses, hacking a heavy cough. His skin glows a sickly green. You can't catch him fast enough this time and you cringe at the heavy thud he makes.

"Maybe not. You should probably get out of here. Go find Mingyu and Seok." He groans.

You shoot a glare over your shoulder as the princess inches closer and you position yourself in front of him in a weak shield. Your thin hands brush his dull blonde fringe from his eyes. They have a halo of green around the irises that sets your gut off and you gnaw on your lip.

"Yeah, but what will she do to you?" You hiss.

"Probably take me back to her father. Maybe...hang me?" He rasps out and you gasp.

You can't stop your grip from tightening in his hair and he flinches limply. "So I won't make it back in time to do anything, will I? Jeonghan."

He doesn't reply, only looks at you with a deep fondness you hate. You can't leave him here, alone and vulnerable to a witch like her. Someone with too much vengeance in their power. You can feel her glare as you pull out a pen you had in your apron from Seokmin's desk. Quickly, you draw a few healing and shield charms over his skin, watching the glow fade into a pasty and clammy shade stuck to his skin.

"Move, hag. You are no longer my concern." She says haughtily. “The bait has suddenly served its purpose. I have you right where I want you, hmm.”

You hate the lack of respect she gives you, whether you are old or not. If he can't do anything... You yank his wand from his grasp and turn to face her. You can hear your back crack as you stand to your full height. The weight of Jeonghan's wand in your hand is equally familiar in your posture but different in the fact that it isn't your own - the wooden curves and ridges suited to his style. Just something to shield, you remind yourself. There wasn't much you could do but stall and wait it out. Hopefully the others would catch on and come in for reinforcements…through the back door. Soon.

"Surely you don't need to hurt him anymore. He didn't mean it. Jeonghan isn't like that." You protest gently, casting as you speak.

Another soft, rippling shield fans out in front of you and she steps closer, lip curled. "You act like you know him! He's a devilish warlock. I'll only ask once more. Move aside - now that I have him, I’ve no want to hurt you. Don't talk about what you don't know and let me deal with him, hag."

Hag this and hag that! You didn't look that bad! And how dare she call Jeonghan a warlock, a magic user of evil. Between his sweet, sleepy gaze and his dedication to you alone, he’s the furthest from evil. The princess shrugs helplessly and starts firing off spells when you don't respond to her. You’re quick to sling up another, more combat-suited shield to protect the two of you. You try not to let your surprise show - that has been the most powerful thing you could cast so far. Her brows raised in interest but nothing else was said from her. You step closer, finally dropping the shield and firing off your own spells with a deft flick of Jeonghan's wand, swiftly building in strength and speed. Sparks crackled in the air, flying into the brickwork and burning smoke grey shapes.

"Do you know who this old hag is?" You snarl.

She's a challenge but nothing you can't handle, being from such an old, powerful family. You had been taught well even with your current fallacy. Despite the odd weight distributed by your body, your stance is planted strong. Oddly enough, you can barely feel it.

She shakes her head, finally unsure of herself. The crease to her pretty brow is satisfying. "Nobody."

"Wrong. I am a descendant of the best Spellmistress in the land and sea. I am a Spellmistress strong enough to bind you."

Your head is tilted back as you perform the spell down your nose, murmuring low and fast under your breath. Vines from the walls shoot out to twist her into submission, her wand clattering to the brick floor. A moment of blinding light and a hot, burning sensation rips through the space and distracts you enough to flinch, but not much more, still steadfast in the middle of your spell. The spell you were casting didn't usually do that... Wand aimed at her, you don't bother to focus on Jeonghan. If you bind her, maybe her own spell will break. Her eyes bulge comically and she splutters and gapes like a fish, probably from shock at the trick you pull. You can hear a shifting and a soft groan behind you. Holding the princess in place, you glance over your shoulder to see the Spellmaster crawl to stand, leant heavily on the brick wall. His eyes are large, but still have a sheen of green shining over them with the light that streams in. 

"Jeonghan, if you can, get two empty jars from Mingyu's shelf. I'll separate her magic and make her a more...manageable size." You say, your newly claimed wand is still weaving your spell. He rocks to stand freely but doesn’t move anymore, still staring. “Jeonghan, now!”

You cast again, watching the vines tighten and shrink her, like squeezing water from cotton. She finally seems to find her voice, gasping and yelling a chant which is easily silenced with a magic laden word. You suck in a breath, holding it for a moment to centre yourself again before yelling a sharp chant to separate the princess from her core. A small marble sized shape hangs in the air, glowing a pulsing green, dark and fierce. Obviously, her emotions had gotten to her core - no wonder Jeonghan was a sickly green colour. You can hear him hop down from the step next to you and flicking your wrists inwards, you drop the minute princess in one jar and her glowing core in the other. He hastily secures lids onto them, while you're murmuring a shield spell over the two of them. It wasn't strong, but it didn't have to be with their sizes.

"Well, that's that. Let's get you ready and we'll get you on your way to clear your name, shall we?"

"W-wait."

You turn in the hall, pushing the jars on the bench. You've changed the princess's lid for a piece of cloth, so she can breathe. You can see her yelling at you, shaking the jar as she hits the glass with her fists.

"Hmm?"

He grabs your hand. "Go look in a mirror."

You roll your eyes, tugging your hand free to glare at him. "Wow, way to add insult to injury. No thank you, no nothing. Just a reminder of my appearance. It’s not like I cast magic, just for you to save your life."

Jeonghan glares back in return, surprisingly sharp, grabbing your hand again and pulling you down the hall to the bathroom. Suki has since slunk out from the living room, jumping sky high at the sight of you. Obviously didn’t bother looking for help. Damn cat. Jeonghan stands behind you as he manhandles you in front of the mirror. You gasp, reaching up to touch your face. You appeared your age again. No wrinkles, no bony hands. You smile, blindingly so as Jeonghan does the same.

"I'm...I'm me again. I'm..."

"Beautiful. But I already knew that." He says.

You chuckle. "Liar."

His brows shoot up. "No, really! I've seen you like this before. When the first one was lifted. Well, except…”

Your hair. It hadn’t turned back to its former colour before the curse. But instead of the wiry, dull white-grey, it’s vibrant, short and almost metallic, glowing like…

He runs his fingers through the uneven ends Seoyun cut. “It’s just like starlight.” The hand on your shoulder goes to hold your cheek, his sweet smile seeming to melt you a little.

You hear a strangled cry of shock and the soft slam of a door. You cringe - Mingyu must be home. The two of you rush out to the courtyard to meet up with him. He turns to look at you, his own wand – his kitchen spoon, of course – brandished and expression more furious than you even thought possible.

"What th- oh my goodness! Y/N! Your curse is broken! How?" He drops his things at his feet rushing to meet you. You hold out your arms as he comes crashing into you, rocking the two of you unsteadily. His laughter is loud and muffled in your ear.

“Hey. Uh, well. Kind of a weird story. But the princess of Aria is in a jam jar on your kitchen bench and I shrank her to help Jeonghan out. But we’ll need to take her back to the Aria court and plead Jeonghan’s innocence.” You pull back and shrug, shy.

You’re not used to the strength in your bones, the life curling in your hair. Jeonghan, in the meantime, has cast the courtyard back into its former state, garden table and all. You feel anew, the magic thrumming through your veins, your breath sweet and easy. Everything around you seems alive and restless. Mingyu marvels at you as well, giving you another not so light squeeze.

“That’s, uh, amazing. I’m so glad you’re okay! When I got to the apothecary, Seokmin almost chewed me to bits for leaving you behind.” He glanced at Jeonghan, who had picked up Suki in the hallway. “I - how did you know?”

The blonde shrugged. “I didn’t. Not until Suki here came out into the street. She’s never alone. Soonyoung couldn’t hold me back, even if he knew.”

Suki purrs, a loud rumble, quite impressed with herself. You’re grudgingly glad she actually listened for once, after all. You crouch to her level and reach out to give her a thorough pat and tail scratches in thanks. Jeonghan glances at you, going sober.

“We’ll need to leave as soon as we can to get Seoyun back to Aria and end this mess. It’s not right for our kind to be persecuted over the delusions of a young witch such as herself. She’s used her privilege so irresponsibly.” He tuts.

You’ve rarely seen Jeonghan so serious. You detach yourself from Mingyu.  “Go back to yours, and collect what you need. I’ll watch the princess, now I’ve got my magic back in full. We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready. My commissions are not so urgent that I can’t be away for a few days.”

He smiles warmly. “You’ll come?”

“Of course! I’m not leaving for a while! If you’ll have me.” I whittle off.

Mingyu is watching the two of you like an avid sports match - back and forth in the kitchen. Jeonghan breaches the space between the two of you, a hand resting on your arm, his thumb idly stroking for a moment.

“Yes, yes of course. I’ll need the most powerful witch in town to help plead my case.”

He barely tears himself away before sweeping down the hall and back out the door he entered. You turn to Mingyu, to catch him out but he spins so violently to eye the miniscule princess in her jar. He raises his finger, about to tap on the glass as the princess screams and shakes her hand at him in spelled silence.

“Uh, excuse you. Don’t tap the glass – she isn’t a science specimen.” You scold. He rears up, going pink with guilt. “I’m going to pack a bag with what I can feasibly wear. Can you watch her? Suki, you as well.”

He nods his head. As you turn to the stairs, the young man calls your name.

“Yes, hmm?” You raise your brows in question.

He beams. “Your pictures don’t do you justice.”

Jeonghan and yourself catch the first trolley car you can up the hill to the outskirts of Martine. You swing out near the back door, feeling the afternoon sun and salty wind whip through you. You missed feeling at ease in your own skin. Maybe you would never have gotten used to ageing. Princess Seoyun is in a little picnic basket, napkins and a scarf tucked around her to prevent the jars from cracking.

“How long is it going to take us to get to Aria?” You ask as the two of you hop off at the end of the route, the trolley car stops connecting to a small train station.

Jeonghan has a small suitcase and is also holding your own, insisting on doing so, no matter how much you argue against it. Suki even managed to come with you, perched on your lap.

“Probably at least the rest of the night if we caught the express. If not then by midday tomorrow at the latest.” He gauges. “I just grabbed the first tickets they had.”

The train to Aria is spent with a million marvels and twice as many questions, try as you might to bask in your newfound freedom and youth. The magic that thrums through you feels stronger than before and you’re not sure if it’s because it’s true or that it’s been so long that you’ve been without it that you underestimated it.

“Oh, and we must arrange a new wand for you as soon as possible. You have a family craftsman, I assume?” Jeonghan says, wedged next to you in economy class, the best seats that could be arranged on the fly.

You go quiet at the thought. Your family. You had become so absorbed in your plight and new life in Martine. Now that you were cured of the curse, you could go home. Was home still there, despite the curse being lifted? Or was it irreversible collateral damage? The blonde frowns at your stillness and reaches for your forearm.

“Hey, what’s-”

“I – yes we do. Eight generations in fact. I’ll need to send word once we finish in Aria.” You look away from the changing scenery to the handsome Spellmaster. “Are you ready? We both know that Aria’s royal family are stubborn and arrogant, to put it mildly.”

He startles at your swerving topic but accepts it, sighing. Together you spare a moment to glare at the basket covered and locked on the seat across from you. Suki has a possessive grey paw on it and she’s already been told twice to stop batting at it to the point where it had to be locked away.

“As ready as I can be. But that’s why you’re here. Surely, he’ll listen to you – brightest witch this side of Morgana’s Gate.” He smiles winningly, a warm haze in the setting sun – you don’t remember Aria being this far away.

Your economy train cabin is not the most comfortable - the padding in the seats worn to indented lumps, potential carpet burn from the worn fabric and no curtains on the window. The doors rattle unless something is pressed against them, which is counterproductive for their use. It was not the most ideal conditions to be sleeping in, so for a while, despite how limber your new-old body is, you struggled to get comfortable to even doze. Suki had no troubles, curling up and a purr rumbling to life. The princess has been given some scrap fabric to sleep on like a mouse and the basket covered again. Jeonghan seems content to sit across from you, watching the dark scenery go by. Your body was exhausted though, the fluctuation of magic so soon and extreme wringing you out.

He glances at you, lashes fluttered and shadowy across his face. “Trouble resting?”

You hum. “I just want to sleep for a bit. I can’t even think straight now. But, well, it’s not the most comfortable spot, is it?”

He coos and hums at you like a baby, getting up and sitting on the side closer to the door. His hand reaches up to pat your silvery hair that now glows in the dark - another element that didn’t help. “Awh, my poor angel. Here, rest on me. Take your shoes off.”

The blonde lifts his feet up to show his green and grey striped socks with a soft chuckle. You mirror him, lifting each leg awkwardly so your knee hits your chest, yanking at laces and buttons to toe your sensible shoes off inelegantly with a thump. You wriggle your own stocking covered feet next to his, covered with blue flowers and he snuggles impossibly closer. You aren’t used to such closeness now and you gasp, looking up at him. His fluttery gaze stares patiently in the dim light.

“Sorry. I’m not used to… being close with people. The curse and all.” You say under your breath. He tries to draw back but your own brow crumples and Jeonghan sways back. “Stay though. I - well, I don’t mind if it’s you.”

Trying to pry honest, tender emotion for you is like water from a clogged drainpipe. Jeonghan seems to have the patience for it though as he loops his arm around your shoulders and you tuck yourself into the hollow of his arm. His thumb strokes slow, soothing circles into the sleeve of your blouse and you let yourself be sucked into the motion, going slack and limbless. He softly hums a song you’ve never heard and you struggle to remember where in the royal court he worked, only that his voice was as beautiful as him. Upon arrival into Aria, still a little drowsy and weaving on your feet, you’re stopped by guards at the station entrance. They demand to see identification. The moment Jeonghan pulls out his navy leather identification, you’re both swarmed.

“Magic Caster.” One spits with cornflower blue eyes and honey stubble.

Two guards flank Jeonghan, grappling roughly with each arm. His dark eyes were blown wide and furious on you as you were knocked about in the kerfuffle.

“Leave her be!” He protests.

Suki rears up and hisses next to you and you swoop to pick her up and shush her. You’re all making quite the scene in the old station foyer, all the commotion echoing off the marble flooring and domed ceilings. You try your best to struggle and get closer to the Spellmaster.

“You are arrested under the Imperial Aria Proclamation for treason against the crown. You are to be taken for questioning regarding the curse upon the crown princess and their whereabouts. Anything spoken or performed while in custody may be used against you in judicial proceedings as evidence. You will have your magic bound indefinitely or until proven innocent.” The blue-eyed guard says aloud.

You finally reach Jeonghan and grab the one part of his arm that isn’t occupied. You go still and stern, a pillar against the ebb and flow of the Aria guards. “I’m gonna say it.”

He frowns and limply struggles for some breathing room. “Say what?”

“It’s us! We stole the princess’s heart! We also kidnapped the princess.” You thrust the jar with the Thumbelina-like figure above the heads of the guards. “We demand an audience with the King of Aria, as is our right by Imperial Law.”

The station goes eerily silent from every person in the nearby vicinity. Suki and Jeonghan have mirrored, slack-jawed expressions. Then a riot ensues. Suki is ripped from your arms as is the jar holding the princess. Rough, armoured hands yank you back and forth, thus detaining you as well.

“What have you done?” One soldier mutters loudly.

“I’ll not free her until we have been given an audience with the King. Only the spellcaster can return a witch’s bound powers.” You repeat in return as you’re carried out to the nearest carriage.

Your legs dangle a little as they sway back and forth through the station. Jeonghan’s eyes are on you the entire time, watching intently of every move.

Aria is a bright, vibrant land, fairly flat in terrain. Where Martine uses patchwork cobblestones, uneven but full of character, Aira is laid with smooth stone brick to ensure the masses move easily - they do have a far larger population than Martine, after all. A charcoal grey that absorbs water well and makes the buildings pop with colour. All roads lead to the castle in the centre of the city, behind an inner wall. It used to be a liberal place, known for its talent in the arts and court of expert entertainers, the likes of Jeonghan included - singers, comedians, acrobats, dancers, musicians and so on. After the death of the queen, Seoyun’s mother, it had been a little off-kilter. That was why your family had travelled here when you were a child. To talk some sense into the king. The people of Aria had been walking on eggshells for years. Jeonghan still gapes at you from the bench across from you in the carriage. Obviously not prepared for more than one person to arrest. Not surprising seeing as they’ve questioned almost every Aria witch and wizard according to sources.

“I can’t believe you turned us in.” He says in disbelief.

“What else was I supposed to do? Let you get arrested without a chance? Whatever we would have done next would be weak without the other. We need to do this together.” You rationalise. “Besides, as if I was letting you try and sacrifice yourself to the royal family twice in two days. It’s almost like you have a death wish.”

The guards bracing you both watched the conversation intently, committing it to record for sure. But you had nothing to hide, no point in trying to protect some right that hadn’t been needed at this moment in time. You had faith that this would be resolved with the meeting at the palace. The Aria Royal Palace - Ritornelli Palace. A grand, sprawling building in Baroque-style with the central throne room encased in a large glass dome. It glittered like a jewel on the horizon. Of course, you lot were not paraded through the front gates, instead sent to an eastern entrance, nondescript and almost unbearably tight.

The guard on your left was more abrasive than the one on the right and by some miracle they all barely spoke. Suki was being given a rough time of it as well, flying about in the baskets at your feet, being kicked between guards. With your new found strength, you speak up.

“Hey! Be careful with her. She can’t do anything to you.”

She yowled loudly, the storm cloud of fluff persistent as you were. A different guard, dressed in emerald green marches towards the back of the carriage. This must be the royal guard of the palace - the inner circle, so to say.

“Take them to the Throne Room. The King is expecting them.” he says, before turning on his heels, back the way he came through a sliver of a tunnel.

The halls are low and curved in narrow arches, with enough room to fit two people passing. You’re sure that these must be the servant’s passageways; the highly functioning underbelly of the castle. Finally, you open up into a grand hallway with smooth marbled floors and rich carpets from the southerly countries. This looked familiar, vaguely. A glance at Jeonghan has his eyes roving the space, but you’re not sure what he’s seeing. The grand double doors open without even a creak and reveal the grand throne room. A rainbow of stained glass and exotic designs looks exactly how Aria is famed to be. The King Rodolfo of Aria is a stoic man with a short white beard and glittering golden crown. Stern green eyes bore into the two of you until you’re dragged to a halt in the centre of the space. So this is where his daughter gets it from.

“Ah, Yoon Jeonghan. Back from your grand escape to hand yourself in – with an accomplice.” His haughty gaze hits you in full, mouth twisted unpleasantly. “They’re pretty. Poor thing. With the nerve to summon an audience?”

Why Jeonghan is so quiet worries you. But with your curse broken, by yourself, you have a renewed confidence along with riding the fumes of adrenaline. Bordering on arrogance yourself. Just. As you glance at him briefly, you note his downward chin and the tensity of his muscles. Fear.

“I know my rights.” You barrel on, loud and firm that your voice projects to every corner. “To plead our case. Or else your daughter stays in the jar and I call upon my family.”

Okay, that last bit wasn’t supposed to come out. The Spellmaster whips his head around to gape. “What in Merlin’s name does your family have to-”

“You don’t get to bargain.” The King snarls, cutting you both off and leaning forward so his elbows rest on his knees.

You’re on a roll now. “Yes, actually, I do. You aren’t familiar with it, but the spell on your daughter can only be broken by the caster or by death. And you can’t kill us after the scene we made at the station.”

Jeonghan has been forced to his knees, as the primary criminal and seeming the larger threat of the two of you somehow. Even though you’re the one running your mouth. The blonde looks up though, briefly, as if begging you to get on with it, a little bit of your previously possessed cautious sensibility there. How the tables have turned.

So, you arch a brow and tip your chin up at the King. “So, may we?”

King Rodolfo relents. “You may. Only you. Your testimony will determine the wizard Yoon Jeonghan’s fate.”

He gestures twice – once at yourself, the next at the quiet shadows of the room. Suddenly the guards have released you and Suki. Along with that, there are now two simple seats and a small table placed at the bottom of the dais. The princess and her little ball of power are placed atop of it. She’s making gestures at you and you just know that she’s trying every curse under the sun, just to see if any stick.

The King sits in one, so you cautiously claim the other. Now that you’re closer to him, you can see he holds a faint glow, like sunlight from within. His tunic is embroidered with vibrant feather motifs, a parrot red and sea green. Everything about him is fashioned brightly just like his country. Another silent gesture over your shoulder and Jeonghan is hoisted up roughly and pulled to end up on your left again, back on his knees on the mosaic floor.

“Now start from the beginning. Who are you? Who is the witch that defeated the best Spellcaster in Aria?”

Now that the focus has been put on yourself, you glance at Jeonghan who nudges his chin. “Tell him. Please.” He says in a breath.

“I am uh, Y/N, Class A Spellmistress. Daughter of Jisung the Magnificent, Granddaughter to Bora, Grand Spellmistress of the Magic High Council.”

The King’s brows shoot up and he leans in again, as if he can’t see very well.

“You’re a Class A, descendent of the L/N family. One of the oldest magic families in the world. The missing granddaughter.” He says in a hushed tone, oddly calm compared to moments ago.

“I gue- yes.”

“And you’ve been in some seaside town with a known fugitive for how long?”

You hastily put a finger up. “Almost seven months, but! I didn’t know Jeonghan was a fugitive. And I was in the middle of a very private, personal matter, which the crown princess inserted herself into. It all got very tangled and complicated. And private. Not really relevant here.”

He smirks at your fumbling and you shrink in your seat as best you can. Suki rubs against your weak ankles in support from beneath your seat. Meanwhile Jeonghan is agog at this influx of information. Oh right…no one knew who you really were apart from some old cursed lady. You ponder where to actually begin. First meeting you supposed. From that rocky first meeting in your study, to every run-in after. The explosion at Seokmin’s and the shadowy beasts that chased you. Your growing weariness of her every move – Jeonghan’s trust. Every now and again the jar would rattle in defiance, but the king stilled it with a hand.

“I promise I’m not trying to make her a villain, Your Majesty.” You hasten to add at one point. “But her actions don’t make it easy.”

“I am quickly gathering that.” Is all he says. “Continue.”

You’re talking so much that the shadows have changed their angles and Jeonghan has been forced to sit back on his heels, he’s getting tired. Then you explain the final act. Her delusional spell, the battle in Mingyu’s courtyard that ensued. It’s all gotten very tiring.

“Which brought us to the station and then here.” You sigh.

The King has since gone very quiet, bottle green eyes pensive. He looks at his daughter, so small. She’s since given up her protest and escape and now sits at the bottom of the jar in her mended chemise a la Reine, resigned. Elbows on her knees and chin in her palms - maybe you’re imagining it, but even a little red in the face from embarrassment. You wished you could reach for Jeonghan, just for another familiar soul.

“My daughter has caused you quite the…trauma.” He says finally.

You jerk at his turn of phrase. “I – well yes, I suppose that’s one way of putting it. I may have had the tact to lessen the blow and call it trouble – inconvenience?”

He smiles, wane. “Polite of you. But no need. The Crown Princess is unfortunately as immature as feared. I had hoped with time and goals she would ease and grow wiser. Particularly after the passing of her mother, the Queen. Her magic seemed to become her haven and I indulged it. And my own judgement has been clouded by grief and bias. The magic wielders of my land have been persecuted for long enough.”

He levels Jeonghan a look. “With this testimony, I decree Wizard Yoon Jeonghan, Spellmaster Class A, cleared of all charges laid against him by the kingdom of Aria. Your record will be scrubbed of any evidence or investigation. A formal apology will be published and the bounty removed. You will leave this room a free man.”

The guards release him and he springs to his feet, turned toward you, his smile blinding. At the last moment, he thinks better of it, bowing low to the King instead, to bare the blonde crown of his head, his lengthening hair drifting about his chin.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” He says, reverent

The glass jam jar is now jumping and rattling worse than ever, and you can hear the princess’s yelling, although a little indistinct – your silencing spell must be wearing off. The King lays his palm over the lid to press it still.

“And you,” he settles on you, “I decree you cleared of all charges laid against you by the kingdom of Aria. The same steps will apply for yourself as they will for Jeonghan. You are also free.”

The more he speaks, the older he sounds. You know how that feels. Age rushing into your body like a torrential flood. Reminding you of your limits and fallacies. You rise and bow as well, the curtsey you learnt as a child seeming little juvenile right now. Then you leap for Jeonghan, he barely manages to catch you as you squeeze tight as you kick up your ankles.

“We did it. You’re free.” You say into his shoulder.

 The Spellmaster’s hand is back in yours the moment you both finish and your gaze trails to the glaringly obvious loose end, now echoing through the hall like niggling background noise.

“I...what will happen to the princess?” You ask.

King Rodolfo’s expression sours. “She will be disciplined accordingly. When she receives her magic back will be up to her and her future behaviour. I’m not pleased in the least with how she has humiliated our kingdom and our family name.”

He gestures again and the chairs, table and this time, the princess are squirrelled away into the shadows. You feel all too exposed all over again, eager to end the meeting and return home. But the royal levels his gaze to the both of you.

“Yet, I am not done. You have both proven your worth as Spellmasters – even bested my daughter, the best in Aria. I offer you both places in my court and seats on the royal magic council for Aria. After this shameful time in our history, we should be eager for fresh eyes and new talent that has our people’s best interests. I can now see that the princess’s actions have left us vulnerable to the whims of the few.”

Your dream, within reach. Not completely what you had in mind, but almost. And with Jeonghan? You turn to him, to find him doing the same, an expression of expectance and some kind of hope in his eyes. You don’t know what for. But you can’t find yourself leaping at the chance like you used to. Before the curse. Before Martine and Jeonghan.

“‘Han, what are you choosing?” You say, turning to face away from the king.

He drops his gaze to the marble mosaic flooring. “I never wanted that. Being in the position I am and working hard where I am is enough. I landed well when I fled the castle. I’m going back to Martine. But if this is something you’ve always wanted? Whatever you choose, I will support you.”

You nod. “Okay.”

Jeonghan bows again. “Thank you for the generous offer, Your Majesty, but I do not feel capable of the task given and I’ll have to decline.”

You see the shift in sight to you and you shake your head with a tentatively growing smile. “I thank you as well. However, this isn’t my home. Martine is. I can’t just leave it all when so much has happened to me and I have unfinished business.”

He pauses to look between you. Suddenly, there is booming laughter as he nods, reclining back in his place. The gold halo appears again and the jewels in his crown scatter fragments of colour through the space and over your feet. You don’t feel as if he has taken offence to your rejection, which you're thankful for - you only just got into his good books. But your grandmother always told you about the library underneath the Aria gardens, stretching for acres. Full of magic resources.

“However, I do have my own request, if you please.” You call, holding a hand up gingerly.

Jeonghan whirls to look at you, but you ignore his pointed look and the miniscule tug on your wrist. Don’t be greedy, he’s saying.

“Open access to the castle’s private magic library, anytime we choose.”

There is a silence of mixed tensity before he nods, swatting idly with a wave of his hand. “I’ll grant your request, small in comparison to what duties you have declined. Thank you again for your service, you are dismissed.”

You beam and bow deeply, twice over before dashing out the door with a giggle. You tug the blonde along with you, Suki weaving about the both of you in joyful zoomies. By the time you have exited the castle - through the front gates this time - you have been given back your belongings and provided safe passage back to Martine as soon as available. There was even another carriage waiting, this time far more luxurious and less utilitarian in style. A guard follows you both, with explicit orders you’d heard in the hall to ensure that the three of you made it safely onto the train without resistance. With the drama of this morning, you were thankful for the promise of security. The footmen open the door and Jeonghan assists Suki in, then yourself, his hand gentle on the base of your spine for stability. He leaps in smoothly and the door closes with a mute click. There is a small lunch pack on the bench across from you, along with your tickets.

“Oh look, an en-route meal.” He says lightly.

While food sounded amazing, what you wanted even more was rest. The ordeal had taken it out of you and you longed for your creaky bed in the attic with the pink frilly floral sheets and Mingyu’s living room fireplace. Maybe that old age thing was still hanging around - everything kept wearing you out! Even as the thrum of magic through your body resisted it. Jeonghan glances over at you and shifts closer - By Merlin, your thoughts must be that obvious on your face. But then you remember how gruelling kneeling on the unforgiving marble floor must have been for the hours that you talked. The awkward angle that his arms stayed distended at to keep him subdued. Now you notice his own mirrored signs of weariness and the ginger way he held his arms. He kept rubbing the space under his kneecaps and he had limped with a favour of his ankles in the effort to move through the castle. Now it’s your turn to give him a haven, opening your arms for him to awkwardly settle into. His smile was warm like fresh pastry and made your cheeks heat up too.

“Rest. There's plenty here for the both of us and we can always take it on the train back.” You pat his knee and shift to lean back. He’s a little more firm and it’s a little more difficult to manhandle him to tilt so he’s leant against you. “Properly.”

You smirk a little before closing your eyes. The smooth stone that paves the roads comes in handy as the trip is easy and devoid of bumps. With the angle, your nose is now amongst his soft blonde strands and where you thought it might tickle, it doesn’t, instead gentle. The faint scent of cotton and lemon lulls you until you’re carefully shaken from the edge of sleep. Jeonghan’s dark eyes crinkle when you jerk upright.

“We’re back at the station. The footmen have advised that the next train is boarding and leaves in half an hour. Are you ready?” His already pillow-soft voice drifts quietly.

You sit up to attention, Suki already leaning on you with a paw that feels like a dagger on your thigh. “Sure, let’s go home.”

One of the footmen goes as far as to escort you all onto the train, flashing his seal and the tickets the King had provided. These tickets lead to the plush private cabins with their dark wood and red velvet seating. He stores the minimal luggage before pressing the tickets into Jeonghan’s grasp, bowing and exiting. Suki finally gets out and has a sniff around before claiming one of the window spots, with the wind away from her.

Poor Suki though, her peace doesn’t last long, seeing as this is yet another sleeper train back to the coast. You let Suki pick at the feather light slivers of salmon in your boxed lunch, while in turn, Jeonghan let you pick out the lettuce and spinach salad mix of his in exchange for your sheets of dried seaweed. You let him talk idly to fill the time, and prompt him with questions on his studies - ever the academic you were. It was also a ploy to push him out of his listener role between the two of you. At promptly sundown, Jeonghan casts the beds flat - the sight of the crisp monogrammed sheets had your drowsiness and worn magic come flooding back to the forefront of your mind. He could barely get them laid on before you were curling up in a ball, walking boots still on.

He nudges you. “Angel, you need to take your shoes off, get changed.”

You groan and sit back up, yanking at the buttons and laces to kick them off by the door. Even though you had sleeping garments, you didn’t quite feel comfortable yet in being seen in them. Your body may have felt like your own again, but not enough to not remind you of how old you’ve been.

“You go, I’ll do it after.” You lie, eyes closed.

That’s the last you remember until dawn, the cool sunlight piercing through the crack in the curtains and the steam horn blowing to announce the train’s arrival in Martine.

Your vest is off, hung on one of the coat hooks, next to his cloak and the collar of your shirt waist is loosened. You’re missing one stocking, your foot hanging off the edge. But you’re under the sheets, the sound of deep breaths next to you growing more familiar. Good Morgana, he sleeps like a god. He had the sense to change but the pity to leave you be. Suki is tucked right under your arm, her tail laid across your neck. The whistle sounds again and Jeonghan’s nose wrinkles like a rabbit’s. Rubbing at his eyes, he rolls to better face you, calling your name thick and low with sleep. You’re glad he can’t hear your heart stutter.

“Are we back yet?” He mumbles.

You hum, sitting up and adjusting the curtains to peek out at the landscape. The thinning trees blur by and the air is more arid - you can almost imagine smelling the salt on the rolling breeze.

“We must be. Let’s go home.”

A burning streak races through you as you say the words. Home. Martine was home.

Mingyu meets the two of you in the front living room. He takes your little suitcases and sets them aside, proceeding to wipe his hands nervously on his sage green canvas apron.

“You both made it back. How did it…” He raises his brows as he trails off.

You preen. “Yoon Jeonghan is no longer a fugitive and is now a free man. Aria is on its way to being back to normal for all magic users.”

The tall wizard heaves a sigh, then pulls a face. “Oh, thank goodness. I mean, it’s a little more than I expected, but!” Then he simmers, going back to being weary. “There’s someone here for you – just you, not Jeonghan. I told them you were out of town and wasn’t sure how long you’d be but they insisted they wait…”

“Good Morgana, for how long!” You shoot to attention.

Only then do you realise that Jeonghan’s hand sits loosely at your waist, an unconscious and certainly not unwanted notion. His grip tightens a fraction, becoming more noticeable.

“Only for an hour or two. Funnily, they didn’t seem to think you’d be too long.”

That sets you off even more. No one apart from the guys here knew where you were. With that, you ignore everything else and stride up the hall, Suki racing past and almost tripping you. Past the dining table to the courtyard-

You draw up short. An elderly woman in a simple blue and white striped shirt-waist and skirt at the garden table idly sipping a cup of tea. It would have been green or chamomile for sure. Her grandiose navy velvet cloak is slung over the back of her seat. She looks up at the thundering of your steps, her eye colour mirroring yours. A familiar coat of arms pin glints proudly on her chest.

“Grandmother.” You say quietly.

Suki is absolutely delighted to see her, meowing loud and persistent as she meanders over for pats. Meanwhile you’re halted in the doorway, your feet cemented in place. It’s been over six months. Which in theory, doesn’t sound like a lot. But after the curse and having not mentioned a word to your family of your condition or whereabouts, away from people you’d never been without, any amount of time is monumental.

“Enjoy your sabbatical?” Bora says dryly.

“I didn’t want… it’s complicated.” You murmur. You move to wilt and sit on the back steps of the kitchen, suddenly so small.

“From Kim Mingyu’s recount, so it would appear.” She replies. “The house is fine. It was in a temporal bubble so easily reversible. Our clocks are still off though, even now. However, perhaps that will have changed now you are…back on your feet.”

You slant your head in the afternoon light. “Grandmother, how did you know where I was after all this time?”

“Well, at first scrying didn’t work.” She begins.

“My aura had been disrupted.” You confirm.

She hums, levelling a glare to silence you. “So, after months of putting out contacts, we hear from sources in the palace in Aria of all places that you had returned, with silver hair. That you had bound the crown princess with the Vine Principle. We had informants work their way back from Aria, to here - this very house. The family was worried sick. Your mother had to close the nursery for a month – her emotions were affecting the plants.”

Guilt churned deep and thick in your stomach. Suki pulled back to headbutt your calf and comfort you. Now that the curse had been lifted, you were closer than ever. Bora’s gaze is expectant.

“I’m sorry, I just – after what I’d done and – I was cursed. I couldn’t bear to stay. So ashamed. I thought I had destroyed everything. But, Martine has made things better.”

She sighs softly. “I understand. I too, have made mistakes – nothing like yours, but mistakes all the same. But you’ve broken a strong curse that would have taken years for anyone else to even scrape the surface on. You have made an impact on the lives of those in Martine, without a drop of magic. And you corrected a wrong for our people in Aria that not even I could rectify when you were younger. Your journey and time away has done you good. It was necessary.”

Finally, the weight lifts and you can breathe. With a hand preoccupied, scratching Suki’s chin, you look up to smile. “Thank you. I think so, too.”

Setting aside her tea, she rises to stand and lean on the back of the chair. When your grandmother smiles in response, it’s rare and demure, the vision of elegance. But always worth it. Better than gold.

“You have done outstanding. Now, you’ve always had your eye on the High Council, yes? Like myself and your father?” Bewildered at the direction of conversation, you nod. This must be what whiplash feels like – you’ve seen the look you’re pulling on Jeonghan too many times. “For your diplomatic heroics, I would like to offer you a role within the Council. Most likely as an attendant for myself or your father as we both work in Spellmastery. But I believe your perspective would be valuable in furthering the strength of our people. You would have to leave Martine, probably stay in the Glass City, to attend to your duties.”

Six months ago – hell, even two months ago – you would have leapt and grovelled for a part to play in the High Council. But, you had roots here now. A happy future you’d carved by yourself. People who cared about you and you felt the same. And there was him.

“I – I appreciate the offer. Truly, I do. And I understand that this kind of opportunity isn’t given to just anyone all the time. But I have a life here now and I think I’d like to live it before having such a career. I hope you understand.”

You feel eyes on you and twist back on the steps to peer down the hall. A blur of lemon yellow vanishes round the corner, then pokes sheepishly back in. Eavesdropping. His cheeks are the faintest colour, his grin cheeky at being caught. Speaking of life. You wink back and then face your grandmother, to gauge her reaction. You don’t say no to a woman like her easily. But there’s something akin to pride blooming in her features, pushing her shoulders back and curling her thin lips.

“I do.” She makes her way back inside, climbing past you on the steps. She pauses at your side to lay a hand on your shoulder. “You have done extraordinary things here. I hope you continue to do so. Just please, call once in a while?”

You throw your head back to laugh as she passes you and glides down the hall.

Another, warmer presence is at your back moments later. “So, who was that?”

You roll your eyes and tip your head back to eye him upside down. “As if you weren’t listening.”

He holds his hands up. “I actually didn’t get all that much.”

You shuffle over so he sits. His knees sit up near his chin and it’s almost comical. “My grandmother.”

His eyes go wide. “The High Spellmistress?”

You nod and watch his jaw go ajar. “The very one. She offered me a place in the Glass City; in the Council as an attendant.” You can feel his presence dim and you reach out to lay a hand on his thigh. “I said no. That there was life to be had here - people I care about.”

He looks down at you, his expression calm but also unreadable. An aspect of him you were still trying to get your head around. From flamboyant, arrogant Spellmaster to careful and cautious Jeonghan.

“Like who?” He says, fishing very obviously.

Something you had absolutely no patience for. You purse your lips, amused. “Oh, I don’t know, Mingyu certainly.”

He deflates even more and now you can’t help but panic - you had hoped he could take a joke, like always. He had always had a confidence and bravado about him you didn’t think you could shake. Yet again, the shoe is on the other foot. You twist to better face him and tuck your knees under his.

“Hey, hey. And you, Jeonghan. Of course you.” You reach out to turn his face towards you. Dark eyes swimming beneath his sunny yellow fringe, almost exactly the same way as the day you met him. Your thumb runs circles over his cheek, daring for you. “You know, fishing for compliments is not very flattering, Jeonghan. And you don’t need to with me. I found my magic for you.”

He smiles, radiant, and puckers his lips to kiss the pad of your thumb - a gentle romantic, you’ve slowly realised. You gasp quietly, your heart stuttering relentlessly as it tries to catch up and regain control with your emotions. Now you know you’re blushing, your chest all tight and, oh maybe a little lightheaded with how easily confessions come to light. As much as he grated on you, Jeonghan made talking easy. Suki meanders closer and pleasantly interrupts with a loud meow. The sun is setting - dinner, like clockwork. Jeonghan grins and shushes her, still under your touch.

“Quiet Suki, we’re having a moment. That’s good. Because no matter what, I was going to be with you.” He says with a steady conviction that makes you feel as if an Augur could have predicted his from miles away. “The moment you laughed - really laughed - I was hooked. My angel, spun of magic and starlight.”

Martine’s annual Magic Festival is a month away, but preparations have been in the works for at least two months before. Between Joshua’s Crystal forecasting, Soonyoung gearing up for the many rituals to take place and Seokmin bringing in extra stock for the apothecary and any roaming magic users, everyone is busy. Jeonghan is slowly getting busier, with wards to put up and a lot of liaising with Aria’s magic council for their representatives to be greeted well. It was all about marketing, you supposed. And they deemed yourself and Jeonghan the best people for the job. You had still not been given permission by the King to release the princess, so she must not be… mature enough to participate in the event.

You had commissions coming out your ears, requiring daily trips up to the Post Office for supplies you had ordered. Most of the time Eugene would just throw your new supplies at you and send you on your way. Not that you weren’t welcome to conversation, but everyone now knew your services were a well sought after commodity. Even more so now the curse had been lifted. A better Spellmistress than Jeonghan in Martine? Everyone paid handsomely for your wares. 

Somehow between everyone’s commissioned garments, you managed to find time to work on planning your own. The week-long festival was the biggest event on the Magic Calendar. Held in a different city every year, casters from far and wide travelled to celebrate. Everyone dressed in their best and stored their best spells or potions for trading and enjoyment. Martine would become a city that never slept. Street vendors and magic demonstrations, parades and parties. You thought it a bit funny when Martine had been announced. Maybe, for those in the know, even rigged. It meant your whole family would be coming to town and making a nuisance of themselves in your business.

It’s a cool sunny morning when the post arrives to you first. It’s magic mail, from the way it’s wrapped in velvet and floats in the door of the study of its own accord, landing gently on your work - a suit for Soonyoung with glittering chains and coins that would jingle as he danced. Your name is in thin cursive on the note slipped between the many folds. The velvet is long and wide enough for a whole new garment - which gets your brain thinking before you’ve even reached your gift. You gasp and hold it to the light. Suki perks up and goes still as well. It looks battered and a little weathered in places, the top not quite pointing straight. But you’ve seen this hat in your family’s home for many years and in plenty of portraits - painted or photographed. The ribbon around the base needs freshening up since the last wearer and the dead flowers pinned beneath it look a little meek. Setting it aside, you reach for the note and unfold the heavy textured paper. The letterhead is emblazoned with the High Council’s coat of arms.

Y/N, It is now your turn to proudly represent the family in this years’ Magic Festival. Like those before you, decorate as you see fit and wear it with pride. I will be speaking at the opening, so I look forward to seeing you then. Regards, Bora

You look at Suki. “Are you seeing this too?”

She meows assurance in response. You twist it and tilt it to get a better feel of it. It even felt magic, humming with its own presence and life. Of memories from those before. This was monumental - you’d seen your mother wearing it for as long as you could remember and you’d been dreaming of the day it was your turn. When you had completed your studies and the family deemed you ready to represent them. While you had briefly worn it for graduation photos, it had still firmly been in your mother’s possession. You look past it to the fabric it arrived in - you now needed a whole new plan for what to wear, and that bolt of velvet was just where to start.

Some days Jeonghan deemed his jobs to be two-person jobs, effort and time cut in half he had said blithely. So you were tugged out of the studio and on the streets. He still walked on the side closest to the road and Suki still weaved trouble beneath feet. But the tasks were easy and a way to stretch your magic muscles, so to say. Today entailed a few wards and something about a “Full House Down”, an expensive offer that Jeonghan had available.

“What is a Full House Down? It sounds like a lot of nothing. Scammer.” You say, sceptical.

He gasps, mock offended. “It is not! It is a full sweep of a household to implement an integrated magic system. Wards, self-cleaning, security, and other such additions.”

You baulk at his list of services. “Oh. And what are you - we doing today?”

“Mr and Mrs Park Hyunjin require our talents for their new home.” Jeonghan smirks proudly over at you. “I thought you might enjoy flexing your magical talents for your dear friend and customer.”

You beam and twine your arm in his, your grouchy mood instantly mollified. “Ah Jeonghan, that’s very sweet of you. Thank you. Now, tell me the plan - what is the commission, so to say.”

The job is only an hour and half, entailing security measures over windows and doors, kitchen cleaning spells and temperature management. And if you managed to put in a few luck and protection sigils about the place, Jeonghan didn’t mention it. Hyunjin was in his office, Minji having tea with her mother and sister at the family home. His fine features greeted you warmly from the window as you carefully hovered a storey from the ground. Your wand was now your own, crafted by a close travelling friend of the other wizards, Minghao. It was a sturdy oak wood with lovely engravings around the top end that looked like rippling ribbons that curled into a comfortable moulded grip. The Tudor-style home with thatched roof positively glowed by the time the two of you were done with it.

You knocked Jeonghan’s hip with your own. “Well done Spellmaster Jeonghan.”

“And you, fellow Spellmistress.” His dark gaze slid to you, warm and crinkled.

Again, you slip your arm in his and he yanks you close to lead you back to your many garments awaiting attention. Idly he drops a kiss to your temple as you both pass a café, some mortal young women pausing their conversation to look at the two of you longingly through the window front.

“You’re a tease, Hannie.” You mutter with a smirk. “Oh, did I tell you my grandmother is coming to open the Magic Festival? She sent me the family Hat. My mother had it last.”

Your mind drifts from the cobbled pavement and pelting sunlight to the faded ribbon and withered floral you knew were hers. The embroidery was your grandmother’s and the patches and unfortunate kink in the pointed tip were your great grandmother’s - she worked on a farm and put the Hat through the wringer.

His breath catches as he looks down at you. “Really? Congratulations, I’m so proud of you, Angel.”

You nod, your face warming. “I- thanks. She sent it in a pile of velvet I just have to use. I have a feeling she knew I would - I don’t really have anything to wear that would be suitable otherwise. All of it is back home, for the best.”

He coos and pats your hand. “Oh, I would have loved to see you in your little dresses before you dropped the hem! So cute.”

You screw your face up and squirm. Suki has leaped up onto a brick wall to parade in the sun, her tail lax but pink nose in the air. He means the dresses and garments you would have worn before being deemed an adult, with hemlines to your mid-calf and flat slippers and frilly neck decorations. Even trousers and tunics for more manual work in pleasant pastels.  While you had worn more adult wear before the curse had happened, the darker tones and properly dropped hemline didn’t happen until you were in Martine. You had stuck to mainly ankle length skirts and light linens for breathability and easy manoeuvring for spells.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I looked like a child! I do not need the thought of you coddling me like one.” You softly snarl.

He simmers a little and gently sways the two of you. “I’m sorry, Angel. I didn’t mean to annoy you. Only that, I would have liked to know you when we were younger.”

“Not much has changed, apart from the fact I’m a little wiser.” You shrug. “Maybe a little grumpier.”

Jeonghan chuckles and leans forward to open Mingyu’s back gate. “Remnants of old age.”

You make a grumbling noise but leave it at that as you fish your key out of your apron to unlock the door. Suki dashes in first, narrowly missing tangling your ankles together so she can return to her well-warmed spot in the sun.

You work feverishly on your own personal project, stabbing your soft fingertips far too much for your lack of patience in the few weeks left. Mingyu is sweet enough to bring you dinner a few nights into the studio, humming positive observances of your progress. Suki is not allowed anywhere near the garment, for fear of having stray fur caught on the textured material. Minji has her regular tea appointments with you as well, perched in your window seat, every guest’s prime position.

“Oh, you know what would be absolutely darling? If you and Jeonghan matched! He is escorting you, of course.” She sings.

You slide your eyes at her. “I’m my own person, Minji. Besides, this dress is for me. It’s my first after the curse.”

She had been absolutely ecstatic for you when she came in the day after you returned from Aria to find a silver-haired young woman making measurements and grumbling remarks. She had claimed on sight that she knew you were magic - you had to be with the way you handled a needle and thread. Then she made a point of barging in unannounced just as often as Jeonghan in the lead up to her wedding with tea and gossip. It was what friends do, she preened. You don’t tell Minji after your conversation that you were now looking for a ribbon for lacing the same blue as his cloak - you refused to give her such satisfaction.

You could barely sleep the night before - Suki just as restless, bouncing up and down off the bed. Only after a potent, lukewarm shot of Mingyu’s lavender tea did sleep find you. Certainly not the way in which Mingyu intended for it to be consumed. You were meticulous when getting ready by the soft east sunrise, murmuring ceremonial incantations as you did so. Some to bring prosperity and power during this auspicious time, others for your family and magic. Everything felt warmer and buzzing, as if the magic that swirled within you was just begging to burst free. Suki’s golden eyes seemed to glow even more as the magic between you both strengthened. You were meeting Jeonghan in the studio, which was handy seeing as you had forgotten the extra pin for your apron there, hoping you wouldn’t need it. You can hear him before you see him, his boots making crisp steps over the russet pavement - even the air sung in his wake. Nervously, you smoothed down the front of your dress, spinning from the full-length mirror to face him in the entryway.

The velvet hugs your torso nicely, the sky blue silk ribbon of the back lacing popping brightly. It had thick straps and was long enough to hit your ankles. A thin white blouse underneath you’d been working on for a while with long sleeves to protect against the sun, a turned up rounded collar and rounded v-neck from the apex of your shoulders that met nicely with the straight neckline of your overdress. There were little lace eyelets on the neck of your blouse that had been painful to sew on that you imported from Aria. Sensible lace up boots in a shiny black leather - Eugene had recommended a fabulous cobbler, that turned out to be his cousin. Flowers embroidered on the hem of your dress, difficult with the thickness but necessary as they weaved with luck and magic sigils. And your hat. You had added that same Aria lace to the brim but dyed it a sky blue as well. Your apron is a crisp white with more lace on the bottom along with the sky blue silk ribbon in a strip near the bottom as well, white cotton sigils almost invisible to the eye stitched in. Jeonghan in his cloak and a starched shirt and sky blue pants goes still in the entryway. Multiple layers of long necklaces and talismans from his family glinted and shimmered against his pure white starched shirt. His graceful blonde hair curled gently with the magic in the town, a life all its own and dark eyes that glittered with morning light. Suki graciously let you tie the last of your ribbon around her neck in a pretty bow. And you bathed her too! Miracles do happen.

You frown after he neglects to move again. “Jeonghan, what? Is it not good? I mean I know the velvet is a bit much but-”

He scrambles now and shakes his head, closes his mouth. “No! Not at all! It’s beautiful. I’ve just - I’ve never seen you like this? So…I have no words. None that make sense.”

You smile and secure your hat. “Oh good. Let’s go then, I’m meeting my grandmother there.”

He shakes his head again and steps closer, reaching for you and tugging you by the waist close. You gasp and grab to steady your hat.

“You’ve almost made it too well. I wish I could keep you here.” It’s a pondering purr that electrifies you.

“If you would like to brave the wrath of my grandmother, then by all means.” You roll your eyes as best you can.

Jeonghan laughs and shifts your hand to lift your hat. He angles it to shade both of you from the sun blasting through the window. There is a sweet scent about him, like sugar dust and lilies with that undercurrent of pine that you would miss if you didn’t know he used it to fragrance his bedsheets.

“Sunlight and Starlight - I think we could take her.” He draws a long, meandering kiss from you, making your lashes flutter in a struggle to focus. He grins, cheeky. “But for you, Angel, I’ll escort you to town.”

He withdraws to settle your witch’s hat back on your head, straightening the brim. Looping your arm through his, you motion for Suki who leaps down and trots in front to the gate. The zing of your magic under your skin and through your pulse never gets old as you pull out your wand from the holster on your rib cage. A simple wave of the wood instrument and the door closes, sealing with a silver spark.

[cripplecharacters]

The Mask Trope, and Disfiguremisia in Media

[large text: The Mask Trope, and Disfiguremisia in Media]

If you followed this blog for more than like a week, you're probably familiar with “the mask trope” or at least with me complaining about it over and over in perpetuity. But why is it bad and why can't this dude shut up about it?

Let's start with who this trope applies to: characters with facial differences. There is some overlap with blind characters as well; think of the blindfold that is forced on a blind character for no reason. Here is a great explanation of it in this context by blindbeta. It's an excellent post in general, even if your character isn't blind or low vision you should read at least the last few paragraphs.

Here's a good ol’ tired link to what a facial difference is, but to put it simply:

If you have a character, who is a burn survivor or has scars, who wears a mask, this is exactly this trope.

The concept applies to other facial differences as well, but scars and burns are 99% of the representation and ���representation” we get, so I'll be using these somewhat interchangeably here.

The mask can be exactly what you think, but it refers to any facial covering that doesn't have a medical purpose. So for example, a CPAP mask doesn't count for this trope, but a Magic Porcelain Mask absolutely does. Bandages do as well. If it covers the part of the face that is “different”, it can be a mask in the context used here.

Eye patches are on thin ice because while they do serve a medical purpose in real life, in 99.9% of media they are used for the same purpose as a mask. It's purely aesthetic.

With that out of the way, let's get into why this trope sucks and find its roots. Because every trope is just a symptom of something, really.

Roughly in order of the least to most important reasons...

Why It Sucks 

[large text: Why It Sucks]

It's overdone. As in — boring. You made your character visibly different, and now they're no longer that. What is the point? Just don't give them the damn scar if you're going to hide it. 

Zero connection with reality. No one does this. I don't even know how to elaborate on this. This doesn't represent anyone because no one does this.

Disability erasure. For the majority of characters with facial differences, their scars or burns somehow don't disable them physically, so the only thing left is the visible part… aaand the mask takes care of it too. Again, what's the point? If you want to make your disabled character abled, then just have them be abled. What is the point of "curing" them other than to make it completely pointless?

Making your readers with facial differences feel straight up bad. I'm gonna be honest: this hurts to see when it's all you get, over and over. Imagine there's this thing that everyone bullied you about, everyone still stares at, that is with you 24/7. Imagine you wanted to see something where people like you aren't treated like a freakshow. Somewhat unrealistic, but imagine that. That kind of world would only exist in fiction, right? So let's look into fiction- oh, none of the positive (or at least not "child-murderer evil") characters look like me. I mean they do, but they don't. They're forced to hide the one thing that connects us. I don't want to hide myself. I don't want to be told over and over that this is what people like me should do. That this is what other people expect so much that it's basically the default way a person with a facial difference can exist. I don't want this.

Perpetuating disfiguremisia. 

"Quick" Disfiguremisia Talk

[large text: "Quick" Disfiguremisia Talk]

It's quick when compared to my average facial difference discussion post, bear with me please.

Disfiguremisia; portmanteau of disfigure from “disfigurement” and -misia, Greek for hatred. 

Also known as discrimination of those mythical horrifically deformed people.

It shows up in fiction all the time; in-universe and in-narrative. Mask trope is one of the most common* representations of it, and it's also a trope that is gaining traction more and more, both in visual art and writing. This is a trope I particularly hate, because it's a blatant symptom of disfiguremisia. It's not hidden and it doesn't try to be. It's a painful remainder that I do not want nor need.

*most common is easily “evil disfigured villain”, just look at any horror media. But that's for another post, if ever.

When you put your character in a mask, it sends a clear message: in your story, facial differences aren't welcome. The world is hostile. Other characters are hostile. The author is, quite possibly, hostile. Maybe consciously, but almost always not, they just don't think that disfiguremisia means anything because it's the default setting. No one wants to see you because your face makes you gross and unsightly. If you have a burn; good luck, but we think you're too ugly to have a face. Have a scar? Too bad, now you don't. Get hidden.

Everything here is a decision that was made by the author. You are the one who makes the world. You are the person who decides if being disabled is acceptable or not there. The story doesn't have a mind of its own, you chose to make it disfiguremisic. It doesn't have to be.

Questions to Ask Yourself

[large text: Questions to Ask Yourself]

Since I started talking about facial differences on this blog, I have noticed a very specific trend in how facial differences are treated when compared to other disabilities. A lot of writers and artists are interested in worldbuilding where accessibility is considered, where disabled people are accepted, where neurodivergence is seen as an important part of the human experience, not something “other”. This is amazing, genuinely.

Yet, absolutely no one seems to be interested in a world that is anything but cruel to facial differences. There's no escapist fantasies for us. You see this over and over, at some point it feels like the same story with different names attached.

The only way a character with a facial difference can exist is to hide it. Otherwise, they are shamed by society. Seen as something gross. I noticed that it really doesn't matter who the character is, facial difference is this great equalizer. Both ancient deities and talking forest cats get treated as the same brand of disgusting thing as long as they're scarred, as long as they had something explode in their face, as long as they've been cursed. They can be accomplished, they can be a badass, they can be the leader of the world, they can kill a dragon, but they cannot, under any circumstances, be allowed to peacefully exist with a facial difference. They have to hide it in the literal sense, or be made to feel that they should. Constantly ashamed, embarrassed that they dare to have a face.

Question one to ask yourself: why is disfiguremisia a part of your story?

I'm part of a few minority groups. I'm an immigrant, I'm disabled, I'm queer. I get enough shit in real life for this so I like to take a break once in a while. I love stories where transphobia isn't a thing. Where xenophobia doesn't come up. But my whole life, I can't seem to find stories that don't spew out disfiguremisia in one way or the other at the first possible opportunity.

Why is disfiguremisia a default part of your worldbuilding? Why can't it be left out? Why in societies with scarred saviors and warriors is there such intense disgust for them? Why can't anyone even just question why this is the state of the world?

Why is disfiguremisia normal in your story?

Question two: do you know enough about disfiguremisia to write about it?

Ask yourself, really. Do you? Writers sometimes ask if or how to portray ableism when they themselves aren't disabled, but no one bothers to wonder if maybe they aren't knowledgeable enough to make half their story about their POV character experiencing disfiguremisia. How much do you know, and from where? Have you read Mikaela Moody or any other advocates’ work around disfiguremisia? Do you understand the way it intersects; with being a trans woman, with being Black? What is your education on this topic?

And for USAmericans... do you know what "Ugly Laws" are, and when they ended?

Question three: what does your story associate with facial difference — and why?

If I had to guess; “shame”, “embarrassment”, “violence”, "disgust", “intimidation”, “trauma”, “guilt”, “evil”, “curse”, “discomfort”, “fear”, or similar would show up, because it's always the same shit.

Why doesn't it associate it with positive concepts? Why not “hope” or “love” or “pride” or “community”? Why not “soft” or “delicate”? Dare I say, “beauty” or “innocence”? Why not “blessing”? “Acceptance”?

Why not “normal”?

Question four: why did you make the character the way they are? 

Have you considered that there are other things than “horrifically burned for some moral failing” or “most traumatic scenario put to paper”? Why is it always “a tough character with a history of violence” and never “a Disfigured princess”? Why not “a loving parent” or “a fashionable girl”, instead of “the most unkind person you ever met” and “total badass who doesn’t care about anything - other than how scary their facial difference is to these poor ableds”? Don’t endlessly associate us with brutality and suffering. We aren’t violent or manipulative or physically strong or brash or bloodthirsty by default. We can be soft, and frail and gentle and kind - and we can still be proud and unashamed.

Question five: why is your character just… fine with all this?

Can’t they make a community with other people with facial differences and do something about this? Demand the right to exist as disabled and not have to hide their literal face? Why are they cool with being dehumanized and treated with such hatred? Especially if they fall into the "not so soft and kind" category that I just talked about, it seems obvious to me that they would be incredibly and loudly pissed off about being discriminated against over and over... Why can't your character, who is a subject of disfiguremisia, realize that maybe it's disfiguremisia that's the problem, and try to fix it?

Question six: why is your character wearing a mask? 

Usually, there's no reason. Most of the time the author hasn't considered that there even should be one, the character just wears a mask because that's what people with facial differences do in their mind. Most writers aren't interested in this kind of research or even considering it as a thing they should do. The community is unimportant to them, it's not like we are real people who read books. They think they understand, because to them it's not complex, it's not nuanced. It's ugly = bad. Why would you need a reason?

For cases where the reason is stated, I promise, I have heard of every single one. To quote, "to spare others from looking at them". I have read, "content warning: he has burn scars under the mask, he absolutely hates taking it off!", emphasis not mine. Because "he hates the way his skin looks", because "they care for their appearance a lot" (facial differences make you ugly, remember?). My favorite: "only has scars and the mask when he's a villain, not as a hero", just to subtly drive the point home. This isn't the extreme end of the spectrum. Now, imagine being a reader with a facial difference. This is your representation, sitting next to Freddy Krueger and Voldemort.

How do you feel?

F.A.Q. [frequently asked questions]

[large text: F.A.Q. [frequently asked questions]]

As in, answers and “answers” to common arguments or concerns. 

“Actually they want to hide their facial difference” - your character doesn’t have free will. You want them to hide it. Again; why.

“They are hiding it to be more inconspicuous!” - I get that there are elves in their world, but there’s no universe where wearing a mask with eye cutouts on the street is less noticeable than having a scar. Facial differences aren’t open wounds sprinkling with blood, in case that's not clear. Also, despite what you clearly think, unless your setting has like twelve people total, there will be multiple people with facial differences in it.

“It’s for other people's comfort” - why are other characters disfiguremisic to this extent? Are they forcing all minorities to stay hidden and out of sight too? That’s a horrible society to exist in.

“They are wearing it for Actual Practical Reason” - cool! I hope that this means you have other characters with facial differences that don’t wear it for any reason.

"It's the character's artistic expression" - I sure hope that there are abled characters with the same kind of expression then.

“They’re ashamed of their face” - and they never have any character development that would make that go away? That's just bad writing. Why are they ashamed in the first place? Why is shame the default stance to have about your own face in your story? I get that you think we should be ashamed and do these ridiculous things, but in real life we just live with it. 

"Now that you say that it is kinda messed up but I'm too far into the story please help" - here you go.

“[some variation of My Character is evil so it's fine/a killer so it fits/just too disgusting to show their disability” - this is the one of these cases where I’m fine with disability erasure, actually. Please don’t make them have a facial difference. This is the type of harm that real life activists spend years and decades undoing. Disfiguremisia from horror movies released in the 70s is still relevant. It still affects people today.

"But [in-universe explanation why disfiguremisia is cool and fine actually]" - this changes nothing.

Closing Remarks

[large text: Closing Remarks]

I hope that this post explains my thoughts on facial difference representation better. It's a complicated topic, I get it. I'm also aware that this post might come off as harsh but disfiguremisia shouldn't be treated lightly, it shouldn't be a prop for your whump whatever to play around with. It's real world discrimination with a big chunk of its origins coming out of popular media.

With the asks that have been sent regarding facial differences, I realized that I probably haven't explained what the actual problems are well enough. It's not about some technical definition, or about weird in-universe explanations. It's about categorizing us as some apparently fundamentally different entity that can't possibly be kind and happy, about disfiguremisia so ingrained into our culture that it's apparently impossible to make a world without it; discrimination so deep that it can't be excised, only worked around. But you can get rid of it. You can just not have it there in the first place. Disfiguremisia isn't a fundamental part of how the world works; getting rid of it won't cause it to collapse. Don't portray discrimination as an integral, unquestionable part of the world that has to stay no matter what; whether it's ableism, transphobia, or Islamophobia or anything else. A world without discrimination can exist. If you can't imagine a world without disfiguremisia in fiction... that's bad.

Remember, that your readers aren't going to look at Character with a Scar #14673 and think "now I'm going to research how real life people with facial differences live." They won't, there's no inclination for them to do so. If you don't give them a reason, they won't magically start thinking critically about facial differences and disfiguremisia. People like their biases and they like to think that they understand.

And, even if you're explaining it over and over ;-) (winky face) there will still be people who are going to be actively resistant to giving a shit. To try and get the ones who are capable of caring about us, you, as the author, need to first understand disfiguremisia, study Face Equality, think of me as a human being with human emotions who doesn't want to see people like me treated like garbage in every piece of media I look at. There's a place and time for that media, and if you don't actually understand disfiguremisia, you will only perpetuate it; not "subvert" it, not "comment" on it.

I hope this helps,

Mod Sasza

[morbidology]

In 2004, Ameneh Bahrami was a 24-year-old university student in Tehran, pursuing a degree in electronics. Her life took a tragic turn when Majid Movahedi, a fellow student whose romantic advances she had repeatedly rejected, attacked her with sulfuric acid.

The attack, which occurred in broad daylight, caused catastrophic injuries, leaving her face disfigured and her vision severely impaired.

Following the attack, Ameneh endured numerous surgeries in Iran and Europe, facing immense physical and emotional pain. Her struggle for justice began as she sought retribution against her attacker through Iran's legal system. Under Islamic law, Ameneh demanded Qisas, or retributive justice, which would allow her to seek an eye-for-an-eye punishment by having acid dropped into Movahedi's eyes.

After years of legal battles, in 2008, an Iranian court ruled in favor of Ameneh's request for Qisas, sentencing Movahedi to be blinded with acid. However, in a surprising and profound act of mercy, Ameneh chose to forgive her attacker at the last moment.

In 2011, just before the sentence was to be carried out, she publicly announced her decision to pardon Movahedi. Ameneh Bahrami's story did not end with her act of forgiveness. She continued to raise awareness about acid attacks and advocate for the rights of victims.

Her memoir, "Eye for an Eye," provides a detailed account of her harrowing experience and her journey towards recovery and forgiveness. Through her advocacy, she has worked to bring attention to the prevalence of acid violence and the need for stricter laws to protect women.

[megalony]

Did I Fall?

This is an Eddie Diaz imagine, requested by anon, I hope you all like it. Feedback is always amazing and boosts me to carry on.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii  @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff

911 Masterlist

Summary: While out in the storm, (Y/n) gets struck by lightning and her husband, brother and family gather round to try and save her.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Are you ready baby?"

(Y/n) turned around so her back was facing the ladder and a smile crept onto her face when she realised how close her husband was standing behind her. She watched the way he clamped his hands down on the handrail of the ladder, pinning her in front of him with no escape.

He leaned forward, arching his bum out as his lips rolled together and his eyes darted down to her lips. Despite the rain clattering down around them, Eddie's vision focused in on those dark lips he was desperate to touch. His tongue darted out across his lower lip when he felt (Y/n) drag her hand across his jaw and tilt his chin up so their eyes were level again.

They were on the job. He couldn't have wandering eyes because they would lead to wandering hands and they promised to be professional if they were joined up on shifts together.

"I think so." (Y/n) tilted her head back and squinted up at the sky. Why did it have to be raining and thundering when they were on shift? Couldn't this weather have waited a few hours? Their shifts ended at midnight, the rain could have held off until then.

"Alright then, Mrs Diaz, here you go." His sultry voice sent shivers running up and down (Y/n)'s spine and her lips parted when he reached up for his helmet. He took it off and slumped it down on (Y/n)'s head instead. She had cracked her helmet earlier on in the day and if she was going up the ladder, Eddie wanted his wife to have a bit more protection. Just to be safe.

He slanted it on her head a little to annoy her and when he clipped the buckle onto the harness around her waist, he used it as leverage to tug her closer. Her hands clamped down on his shoulders and her waist bumped into his as he curved an arm around her middle.

Her eyes landed on the red cable clipped onto her waist that reached down to the winch at the bottom of the ladder. Safety first.

(Y/n) leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against his lips, feeling the salt water rain down over Eddie's nose and drip down his lips. She sunk her teeth into his lower lip and gave a little tug which earned her a slap on the bum and quiet murmur of 'be professional' against her lips.

It was a good job the night was as dark as this with the rain morphing and disfiguring their image for the rest of the team below. The last thing they wanted was for anyone to say they weren't being professional. And they both knew how Evan hated them putting on a display when he was around. It had taken Evan a while to get used to the fact that his little sister was married to his best friend.

"Go get 'em cowgirl."

(Y/n) kissed the tip of Eddie's nose before she turned around and curled her fingers around the ladder.

Her eyes rolled and she supressed a smile when she felt his hand on her bum again before he reached his foot out and clicked the lock off the winch so the rope would extend.

Eddie kept his hands on the ladder and stayed arched forwards, keeping his eyes on his wife as she slowly ascended up the ladder. The plan was for (Y/n) to climb onto the balcony, evacuate the fifth floor and Evan and Bobby would go in through the lobby and make sure everyone got out. While Chimney and Hen were working with the hose, Eddie was operating the winch and standing by in case he had to follow up the ladder too.

It was hard to see anything through the thick downpour. The rain was so heavy that (Y/n) couldn't see the ladder in front of her with the torrential downpour that made Eddie's helmet jutter on her head and drop the rain down onto the tip of her nose.

Her lips were drenched, her lashes were fighting off the rain and every inch of her skin was starting to shake from the low temperature.

"Bloody rain," She muttered to herself as she reached the end of the ladder and took a quick glance around.

(Y/n) tilted her head over the side of the ladder and let herself look over the edge.

She found Bobby rather easily despite being high up near the fifth floor and she smiled. He had been a father to her and Evan since they first joined the team. Bobby and Evan were hanging back, they were waiting to guide everybody out and they needed Hen and Chimney to put some of the fire out first before they went in. (Y/n) nodded when she saw Bobby give her a thumbs up, the silent go ahead sign she needed so she could proceed into the building.

But her body tremored and she slumped forward and hunkered down when a horrid noise tore through the sky. Her eyes lifted and her head snapped up towards the sky but all she could see was thousands of white droplets raining down from the heavens. The sky was a misty blue mixed with swirls of black like a canvas with only a few swirls of clouds to be seen through the rain.

"Was that lightning?" (Y/n) curled her fingers around her radio and leaned her head down.

If that was lightning they needed to be careful or pull back. The truck was a magnet for lightning and electricity, they had already been down to the beach yesterday when lightning struck the sand. They didn't need it getting closer to this scene and causing problems.

Eddie straightened up and tilted his head up towards the sky before he looked back at his wife.

The sky looked unforgiving, full of darkness without a single glimmer of light to guide them tonight. It made the building look like a beacon in the sheet of blackness, shining a vibrant burgendy with melted orange flames flickering at the sides. Leaking brown ash clouds up into the night sky.

"Baby, do you need a hand?" Eddie gripped his radio and raised a brow, keeping his eyes on his wife. It wasn't strictly professional but Eddie hardly ever used (Y/n)'s name anymore, even on shift he was so used to using nicknames. No one on the team minded, as long as they weren't handsy with each other, nicknames didn't cause a problem.

"I don't kn-"

Lightning broke through the clouds, a true act of God right before their eyes and Eddie swore he could see a hand throwing the lightning bolt down at them like an act of vengeance.

Eddie heard her scream. It was the howl of a banshee that tore through his heart and set off an explosion in his chest.

His eyes snapped closed and a mimicking sound left his own lips when sparks flew from the ladder and seemed to set the truck alight. He couldn't keep hold of the ladder and the force sent him backwards until he was falling through the air. All the air burst out of Eddie's lungs when his back hit the ground and the jolt it sent through his system made him shake on the floor.

Oh God, he had broken a rib, he could feel it.

His eyes couldn't focus when he managed to open them and his arm bound around his chest as he rolled onto his left side with a guttural groan. His knees felt weak and his back burned when he tried to sit himself up and take a look around.

"What the fuck was that?" Evan's voice tore through the air and he reached his hand down for Eddie's hand so he could hoist him up to his feet.

Eddie shook his head to rid the static from his ears and the pounding pain in his head. He grabbed the back of his neck and tilted his head round to click his neck into place, but once he lifted his head and looked up, his body went rigid. All the blood drained down to his feet. His arms dropped at his sides. His jaw went slack and his pupils took over his chocolate eyes that couldn't look anywhere else but up in the sky.

Eddie didn't realise he was screaming until his lungs started to burn for oxygen and he felt lightheaded.

His hand reached out and he gave Evan a shove towards the truck, pointing and gasping for him to grab the winch. His wife was hurt. Evan's little sister was in peril. The girl Bobby thought of as his daughter was hanging in mid-air, lifeless.

The buckle clip was the only thing stopping (Y/n) from plummeting through the air and crashing down on the concrete below. It suspended her in the air, four stories high above them like an omen of death. Her legs and arms dangled limp and lifeless at her sides and when Eddie looked close enough, he could see them swaying in the breeze. Her head was snapped back enough that it looked like her neck had been broken.

The helmet Eddie had plonked on her head less than five minutes ago was now laid on the floor, most definitely cracked and probably broken just like (Y/n)'s helmet had been this morning.

"Lower her down! Get her down to me she's not moving!" Eddie stumbled through the rain, crashing his boots down into puddles that splashed up as high as his shoulders. He barged past Bobby and waved his hand out at Evan who was already on top of the truck, screaming as he started to lower the winch. Eddie ran until his chest was heaving and he was stood directly beneath his wife's suspended form.

"Hen we need a gurney! Chimney back up the ambulance let's go." Bobby shouted out as he waved his hands for them to hurry. They were now in the golden time zone and if they didn't move fast enough, they could lose (Y/n).

"Faster!"

As soon as (Y/n) started to sway and jutter as the red rope lowered her down, Eddie pushed up on his toes and stretched his arms high up into the rain to reach for her. His hand pressed between her shoulder blades and his other hand cupped the back of her thigh as Hen pushed a gurney directly beneath her.

"Unhook her." Eddie took (Y/n)'s weight when Bobby unclipped the buckle and he laid (Y/n) down and slid his hands from beneath her.

He ripped off his gloves and scrunched his fingers around her florescent jacket. Without thinking twice, Eddie wrenched the jacket apart and tore the zipper that wet flying through the air. He threw the loose sides apart and moved his hands to (Y/n)'s shirt which he had no problem tearing away like it was a tissue he was discarding.

It left (Y/n) in her crimson red bra and exposed her chest and stomach that were soaked. Rain continued to patter down on her skin like fingertips drumming out a beat but her body didn't react at all. No shivers, no spasms, no goosebumps or hairs standing up on end. Nothing.

Eddie's upper lip curled when he noticed red, bubbling streaks slithering across her right arm, up her shoulder and down over her chest like a horrible rash spreading like wildfire.

But it was her stomach that made bile rise in the back of his throat.

Her scar.

The scar she got from Masie's C-section six months ago. She had only come back to work little over two weeks ago after having Masie. (Y/n) shouldn't be laid here like this. That scar was a reminder that she had people counting on her. They had two kids waiting at home for them. Eddie couldn't be the only one to walk back through that door, he had to get (Y/n) through this and get her home to their kids. She couldn't leave them, not now, not like this.

"Baby… oh God, mi amor." Eddie cupped her face in his hands and kept her head and neck straight. Her skin felt lifeless. There was no colour, no heat, not a single muscle moving or twitching beneath his touch. His right hand moved down and his fingers pressed against her neck deep enough to try and feel for a pulse.

When he felt nothing, Eddie shifted his hand lower and pressed his palm down hard on her sternum. Her chest wasn't moving.

"(Y/n)! (Y/n), fuck- tell me she's breathing."

Evan jumped behind Hen and Eddie and fell into Bobby who held him up before he collapsed down onto his sister on the stretcher. His hands fought to grab Bobby's shoulders, unsure whether he was actually trying to hold Bobby or move him out the way.

"She's not breathing… I can't find a pulse we need to move!"

Evan screamed and pushed forward against Bobby who held him back. Evan was too emotional, he could barely see due to the tears streaming down his face and he was shaking from shock. At least Eddie was somewhat composed and was ready and able to look after (Y/n).

Hen placed the medic pack down beside (Y/n)'s left thigh and opened it up but before she could even attempt to grab the defibrilator, Eddie reached out first. He slapped her hand away and gave the bag a rough shove until it almost toppled off the side of the gurney.

"You really wanna send more electricity through my wife? Look at her she's drenched! You're not frying her to a crisp."

(Y/n) was covered in rain from head to toe and their suits weren't water proof. Now Eddie had ripped apart her clothes, she was getting consumed with water. Lightning had already shocked her heart once but if they tried to do it again when she was wet, they would be executing her with no chance of revival.

Eddie wouldn't let her do that to his wife.

"This is Captain Nash, we have a firefighter down. Repeat, firefighter down who has been struck by lightning. Requesting medic team on standby at Mercy hospital, we are on our way."

"Get her in I have to start CPR or I'm gonna lose her." Eddie all but growled until people started to listen and they helped him wheel the gurney up into the ambulance Chimney had backed right over to them.

As soon as the gurney was inside, Eddie climbed up onto the metal frame and shed his jacket like a second skin. Evan jumped up in the back along with Hen and they both slumped down into the seats opposite Eddie and Bobby hopped in the front with Chimney. The other station could finish up here and get the building evacuated and the fire put out. They had to protect one of their own and rush her to the hospital before they lost her.

"You are not allowed to do this. You hear me? Don't go anywhere, mi amor."

Eddie locked his fingers together, straightened his elbows and pressed his fists against the middle of (Y/n)'s chest. He gulped and choked when he started to push down on her chest.

He'd never done anything like this on one of his own family before. He'd never given CPR to his wife.

Why did it have to be (Y/n)? Why didn't Eddie go up the ladder instead of her?

(Y/n) couldn't die.

She couldn't die here and now. Not when the whole team was here to bring her back and Eddie, Evan and Bobby would give their souls to the devil if it would bring (Y/n) back. She wasn't allowed to leave them, there was no way Evan or Eddie could cope in a life without (Y/n).

Eddie stopped his compressions when he reached thirty and slumped over the stretcher to reach into one of the drawers opposite. He didn't give Hen the chance to help and when she tried to talk, Eddie's firm expression told her not to even try. She watched Eddie place the air bag over (Y/n)'s mouth and nose and manually squeeze two breaths past her lips before he put the mask down and continued his compressions.

Evan lowered his eyes down to the gurney and reached out to curl both his trembling hands around his sister's limp hand. Her skin felt like rubber against his touch, taut and cold and lifeless and it made Evan choke. He pulled her hand to press his lips against the back of her knuckles and his blurry vision zoomed in on her eyes.

He couldn't look anywhere else.

Her shirt was ripped open, exposing her chest which wasn't a sight Evan wanted to see and he truly didn't want to watch his brother in law press down on his sister's chest so hard it looked like he was going to crack through her ribs. And Evan couldn't look at (Y/n)'s face. Not when she wasn't moving, breathing, twitching or even opening her eyes.

Tremors rattled through Eddie's chest as he tried to keep himself calm. He could feel the rain and sweat rolling down his skin, sinking beneath the collar of his shirt, beneath his arms and even through his trousers. His skin was flushed red and radiating heat despite the cold night air and goosebumps prickled over his arms as his numb fingers continued to press down into his wife's chest deep enough to feel her ribs creaking beneath his hands.

Hen silently leaned over and found some towels and flannels from a drawer. She started to wipe the cloths over (Y/n)'s chest in frantic motions to clear up as much of the water as possible. CPR wasn't going to be enough. Her heart had been shocked, she would need another shock to get it going again and soon.

She clipped a monitor onto (Y/n)'s finger and grabbed the white plastic sticker, planting it down firmly in the middle of (Y/n)'s chest before she patted Eddie's shoulder.

"Stand clear."

Spit rolled down the corner of Eddie's mouth and he heaved each breath until stars danced across his vision. He let go of (Y/n)'s chest and took a step back while Evan dropped her head and braced his hands on his knees. Evan pressed his back up against the wall and closed his eyes.

Both men winced and made gurgling, horrified sounds when the shock ignited through (Y/n)'s chest and arched her back up from the stretcher before she flopped back down; lifeless.

"Go again." Evan wiped his sleeve against his eyes before he slammed his hand down on the gurney. They had to do it again, she needed another shock. Her heart wasn't beating, the monitor was flatlining.

"No. Her heart won't stand much more. Starting compressions until we get to the hospital." Eddie braced one hand on the roof and the other on the stretched before he swung his leg over and climbed up. His knees clamped down into (Y/n)'s damp legs and he sank back onto her thighs, with a grimace. He wasn't used to doing this in such a panicked, horrid situation.

They couldn't risk shocking her heart more than necessary or else it would give out completely. She had already endured a violent shock that had likely affected her heart, lungs and probably her liver too. More shocks would only crucify her heart and ensure she was dead.

Eddie started compressions again, blinking away the tears that dripped down onto (Y/n)'s cheeks as he started to growl and gasp each time he pushed down.

He didn't feel the ambulance rolling to a stop until the back doors swung wide open and he tilted his head over his shoulder. Locking eyes with Bobby whose heart visibly dropped to his stomach when he saw that they hadn't managed to get her rhythm back again.

He and Chimney tried to be careful when they lowered the gurney down to the floor and Evan kept tight hold of (Y/n)'s hand, pulling her arm until it was pinned across his chest. He kissed the back of her hand repeatedly, freely crying as he and Hen followed them all inside.

As soon as they were inside the doors of the ambulance entrance to the hospital, Eddie held his hand out to get them to stop. He clenched his hands down on the gurney beside (Y/n)'s shoulders and climbed over the side to jump back down to his feet.

"Go again. Everybody stand clear."

On Eddie's word, Hen set the defibrilator up again and everyone held their breaths and watched the jolt rush through (Y/n)'s chest.

No one knew who made a sound when her heartbeat suddenly came back.

"I've got a pulse… but she's still not breathing. I need to intubate." Eddie pressed his palm against (Y/n)'s chest but she still wasn't breathing. Her heart wouldn't last long if she wasn't taking in any oxygen.

"We can-"

"Get the Hell off my wife! I'm intubating."

His arm flung out to the right and slapped into whichever nurse tried to pull him back. He wasn't having anyone else bustle in and waste more time. (Y/n) hated hospitals and she was his wife. Eddie was the one she trusted the most to look after her when she wasn't well so he was going to be the one to intubate her and get her breathing.

Everyone stood silent as Eddie rummaged in the medic bag Hen had left on the side of the gurney.

He cupped (Y/n)'s chin, brushing his thumb across her lower lip as he tilted her head back and wedged a tongue clamp into her mouth. He held his free hand out, keeping his eyes focused on (Y/n)'s parted lips and he clicked his fingers until someone placed an intubation tube between his fingers. The thin, clear tube slid easily down (Y/n)'s throat and as swift as the lightning that hit her, Eddie attached the air bag on the end.

He finally let a nurse get close enough to start squeezing the bag to give (Y/n) each breath until they could get her on a ventilator.

"What have we got?"

"(Y/n) Diaz, female, twenty-two, struck by lightning."

Eddie leaned to the right and suddenly took Bobby's wrist in his hand so he could check Bobby's watch. His eyes then raked down to his own watch, squinting to see through the broken glass of his watch.

"She's had no pulse for three minutes and seventeen seconds," Eddie could barely hear himself huff but those times rattled around in his head. His watch had broken when he fell off the truck and that had roughly been the exact time (Y/n) stopped breathing, give or take a few seconds. It was the closest estimate they had and it made Eddie want to be sick. He didn't want to know the exact amount of time his wife's heart had given out on him.

Eddie ran his fingers through his hair and tugged so harshly he winced and felt a few loose hairs become stuck between his fingers. What were they going to do? How were they going to take care of his wife? What did someone do for a lightning strike? Did people usually survive this kind of thing- had this ever happened before?

"She's allergic to naproxen." Bobby clamped his hands down on his hips as he watched them barely nod along with him.

"We'll take her from here," One of the nurses placed a hand on Eddie's shoulder, but she let him lean down and hastily kiss her temple.

"No, no please-"

"Buck come on, they'll look after her."

A wave of hurt washed over Evan's face and torrential tears flushed his face when Bobby held his biceps to pin him back. He didn't want them to take his sister away. If she lost her rhythm again and they didn't bring her back, that would be it. Evan wouldn't get a chance to talk to her or tell her how much he loved her. He wouldn't be able to say goodbye.

Bobby wrapped his arms around Evan and pulled him back, letting Evan press into his shoulder and start to gasp for breath. "Take care of her."

"We'll do our best."

"Do more!"

Eddie didn't want their best. He wanted everything possible and more to be done to look after his wife. He wanted to go with her and hold her hand and oversee what they were doing to make sure they did whatever they could. Eddie wanted to make a deal with the devil to save her if he could.

No one stopped Eddie when he turned around and pummelled his fists into the wall. He kept going until a dint started to form in the plaster and his knuckles split, spraying blood across the magnolia wall while a roaring scream erupted from his lips.

He couldn't lose her.

***

"Do you want to take a break, maybe go and get a drink?" Athena tentatively laid a hand down on Bobby's shoulder as she leaned against his chair. Her head tilted down so she could kiss the top of his head and her other hand moved to hold his other shoulder, but it was as if he didn't even register her touch.

He had been sat here all night, rosary beads clenched between his fingers and pressed against his lips. He was chanting something so quiet Athena couldn't be sure whether it was a prayer or a memory he was trying to retell to himself.

"No, thank you."

Bobby didn't bother to look up as he spoke, but he did finally open his eyes that instantly locked onto (Y/n).

"You need to rest. When was the last time you ate?"

"I don't remember." He wasn't sure what day it was. He didn't know if he had been sitting here all night, all day or for a whole week. All Bobby knew was that if he left and something happened, he would never forgive himself. This was his child laid here, someone he thought of as closely as his own kin and he couldn't go anywhere.

"Bobby…" That tone of voice made him sigh, but not in a horrid kind of way.

He leaned his head back into Athena's chest and dropped his hands down to his lap. He rolled the rosary along his leg but his eyes still wouldn't move away from (Y/n).

"She's my kid," He could feel his lower lip wobbling and his voice came out barely more than a quiet whisper. "She said that… that she thinks of me as her dad. She wants Masie to be my grandkid, how can I- how can I go when she might die?"

How could he leave her now?

(Y/n) told Bobby a few months ago that she thought of him as her dad, that she wished somehow, that it could be possible. He had always let Evan call him pops and more and more, Bobby acted like a father to the siblings whether they were on shift or not. They came over to his house, they went out for meals together and spoke through problems and dealt with their problems together.

When she and Eddie had Masie, (Y/n) asked Bobby to be her grandad because her parents weren't going to be involved. She thought of Bobby and Athena as her parents.

They couldn't go anywhere when she might die. If the worst was to happen, Bobby wanted to be right by (Y/n)'s side to comfort her and ease her through the transition. He wanted to hold her hand and kiss her goodbye and tell her he would keep her in his thoughts every single day. And that he would look after Evan and Eddie and Chris and Masie.

Bobby couldn't leave.

He didn't notice Athena move one hand from his shoulder to pinch the bridge of her nose. She didn't cry often. Her job hardened her exterior and made it hard to express much of anything, even joy. But all those years of experience did nothing to stop the tears from falling right now.

She had two children of her own, but when she married Bobby, she gained another two. Losing (Y/n) would feel the same as losing May and it would break Evan and Bobby completely.

"We're not leaving, okay? Do you think she would let you sit and wither away in this chair? She has some special visitors coming up so you can let me take you for some food, then we will come right back."

There was no use in arguing, Bobby knew this and he figured Eddie and Evan would want some time alone with (Y/n). They had been gracious enough to never comment on how long Bobby stayed for and they seemed grateful for his company. But he knew as much as they were thankful he stuck around, they both needed some time alone. She was Evan's little sister, he needed some time to talk to her and beg her to be okay. And she was Eddie's wife, that certainly qualified him some time to be alone with her and sit vigil by her bedside.

He figured the special visitor might be Maddie and Chimney.

Bobby pushed up from the chair and rested his hand over (Y/n)'s. He forced himself to smile as he leaned over her and kissed her temple, whispering a quiet 'I'll be back soon' before he followed Athena out.

They didn't walk far before Athena pressed her hand into Bobby's chest and stopped him just as a few people rounded the corner.

"Are you sure about this?" Athena looked across at Eddie when he rounded the corner with Chris in front of him and Masie in his arms.

His hand moved up to cradle the back of Masie's head and he pressed his lips to her temple, brushing his nose against the little wisps of hazel brown hair tufting along her head. Eddie hitched her higher against his chest, relishing in the weight she applied to his chest like a calming weighted blanket easing away his anxiety and preventing a panic attack.

But it was Chris his eyes kept going back to. The little boy was walking determinedly in front of him, keeping a slow pace in case they had to stop and wait for any nurses to walk past. Kids weren't allowed in the ICU, but that wasn't going to stop them. Chris wanted to see (Y/n) and Eddie couldn't persuade him otherwise, so he gave up.

"Yeah, we are. Could you watch Masie for a while… I don't wanna take her in with us,"

"Sure." Bobby wasn't sure whether it was the look Athena gave Eddie that made him ask or whether he truly didn't want to take Masie in with them. But Bobby answered immediately and he could feel his heart lifting in his chest when he looked at the six-month-old.

This was probably a diversion, a tactic to get Bobby to leave (Y/n)'s side and try to recooperate before he went back in. And he would accept this because he could do (Y/n) a favour and watch over Masie until she was better again.

"Go to grandad," Eddie cooed quietly against her temple as he eased her into Bobby's arms where she happily cuddled up and started to pull on his shirt.

He watched them disappear down the corridor before he opened the door and let Chris walk in ahead of him. He had prepared Chris for what he was going to see. (Y/n) wasn't going to be alert, responsive or able to communicate with him. She would effectively be asleep with monitoring stickers on her chest, a breathing tube down her throat and wires and tubes stuck beneath the covers into her body.

Eddie was surprised that Chris didn't seem affected when they walked in. He moved over to the chair Eddie knew Bobby had been in all night and sank himself down and let his crutches drop to the floor.

"Can mum hear me?"

Chris had taken to referring to (Y/n) as his mum since she had been in his life for the last four years. He couldn't remember much about Shannon, she hadn't been in his life since he was four and a half but (Y/n) had been there since he was five. She was all Chris knew and he loved her and thought of her as his real mum.

"I don't know, I hope so. The doctor said talking can help." A big part of Eddie hoped that (Y/n) could hear them, however deep her subconscious had been hidden away. He hoped she could hear them tell her how much they loved her and how badly they needed her back.

Eddie leaned against the window and folded his arms over his chest, staying in the background to give Chris some space.

"Mum, it's me. Uncle Buck said you'll wake up soon," He leaned forward, flopped his elbows onto the mattress and moved around until he could hold (Y/n)'s hand. "I want you to wake up soon… dad will look after you and make you better."

Eddie tilted his head back into the window and scrunched up his nose while he wiped his eyes. He didn't want to burst out crying and upset or worry Chris and make this harder for him. But Eddie didn't know if (Y/n) was going to wake up. He had no idea if she was ever coming off this ventilator, if he would hear her voice and kiss her lips and see her get out of that bed.

The unknown made Eddie afraid. He didn't do well being alone. He couldn't go back to being a single dad. He couldn't bring up two kids on his own. He hadn't been there for the first part of Chris's life and Eddie was doing his best to be more present in Chris's life and be there for all of Masie's. He wasn't bringing them both up without (Y/n).

"You'll be okay. I love you."

Eddie's shoulders quaked and he brought his hands up to smother his face, forcing himself not to breathe or make a single sound. He didn't want to gasp for breath or scream or cry out but he didn't know what to do with himself. He could feel a cry bubbling up and gurgling at the back of his throat.

Why hadn't it been him that went up the ladder?

***

"She's breathing fine without the ventilator now, all her vitals seem good. We just need to wait and see if she will come out of the coma okay."

How long would they have to wait? How long did they have before they knew if she was ever going to wake up? What would happen if she woke up and she couldn't speak or move or even remember any of them? What if she was changed, somehow, permanently, from this?

Eddie wouldn't be able to go through life if one of those things turned out to be true.

"Y-you're rather heavy baby… you know that?"

A quiet grumble left Eddie's lips and his eyes twitched behind his eyelids while he nuzzled his head further down and tried to keep his mind in a dreary state of sleep. But once those words- and that lullaby voice, registered in Eddie's ears, his eyes shot open and his head snapped up so fast he cracked his neck.

His hands planted down on either side of the bed and he bolted to sit up, swaying back and forth when the blood drained from his head and he couldn't see straight.

He was imagining things. He was hearing voices. He had to be. That was a voice Eddie told himself he was never going to hear again. A voice he saved for when he closed his eyes and cried until he finally blacked out, listening to that voice in his memories.

His heart started to pound against his ribs like it was trying to bruise his chest and he could barely see when tears flooded his face.

(Y/n) was awake.

She was trying to blink enough to clear her blurry vision and she hummed quietly to try and clear her throat that felt croaky and dry and hoarse and scratched. A tremble set in down her arm when she tried to curl and bend her fingers and her head hurt when she turned to see who was clenching her hand so tightly the blood couldn't reach her fingertips.

Bobby was holding her hand. Evan had his feet propped up against hers as he slouched down in the other chair. Eddie had been laid on the bed with her and had shuffled in his sleep until his head was on her chest and his arm had been draped around her waist.

"Oh my God."

Before she knew what was happening, (Y/n) gasped and closed her eyes when Eddie's hands moved to cup her face and his lips planted down on hers. Thousands of kisses fluttered against her lips as his thumbs rapidly brushed across her cheeks and his arms squeezed into her shoulders to pin her beneath him.

"You're awake, you're awake," Was the only thing Eddie could fathom to say on repeat, over and over against her lips he was going to bruise.

When (Y/n) managed to squeeze Bobby's hand, she felt him push Evan's legs off the bed to jolt him awake before all of them were leaning over her. Eddie pulled back enough for Bobby to lean down and kiss her temple and she felt Evan grab her hand and drag her arm up until the back of her hand was pressed up against his cheek. He kissed her wrist while Eddie leaned forward and pressed his temple down into her shoulder to try and stop himself from blacking out.

"Did I fall?" (Y/n)'s quiet, meek voice took them all by surprise and for a few seconds, none of them could find an answer.

Bobby perched down on the side of the bed while Evan scraped his chair along the floor until his knees were wedged under the bed frame and he could lean his head near her arm. And when Eddie pulled up to hover over her, despite the tears staining his face, he was smiling.

"No, sweetheart, you got struck by lightning." Bobby kept tight hold over her hand and smoothed his free hand up and down her arm, minding the rosary beads he still had curled around his fingers and tangled over his wrist.

It was almost endearing to see the look of wonder and surprise that pooled within (Y/n)'s eyes and how her lips parted in a round shape of shock.

"Where's Chris?" Her words took Eddie by surprise as she tilted her head forward to press her temple against his and nudge his nose.

"Maddie took him to school, mi amor. Why?"

"I thought I heard his voice…" (Y/n) trailed off and closed her eyes as a smile graced her lips. She pecked Eddie's lips and squeezed Evan and Bobby's hands. It was the strangest feeling, like she was waking up from a very lucid dream that was now fading right before her eyes. (Y/n) had heard so many voices while she had been asleep and some of them were ringing in the back of her head.

She guessed she hadn't really heard Chris after all, he must have been playing on her mind as she recovered and woke up.

But (Y/n) could of sworn she heard Chris.

[4rk4n4]

Disability has been discussed heavily in Arcane as it is a reoccurring theme within the show, but I do think people forget that Silco is disabled and/or they have difficulty describing his disability despite it being very obvious. So, I feel like talking about this a little bit more here.

I don’t have the same disability as him, so feel free to correct me on vocabulary but from my understanding facial differences refer to a broad category that includes facial disfigurements which can be acquired through injury to the face. I do have experience with nerve damage, though, which I will talk about a little bit below.

Facial difference and disfigurement is considered a disability. I know you’re probably used to seeing villains with facial disfigurements. However, it is common for facial disfigurements to be associated with villains because real people with facial disfigurements are often ostracized from society.

It is difficult for them to find work, housing, relationships, etc. because of how we as a society position people with facial differences and disfigurements. On a social level, this disables them from participating fully in society. On a physical level, a person with a facial difference or disfigurement may not be able to utilize all physical senses though this varies greatly from person to person. As a whole, though, people with facial differences and disfigurements are socially and physically disabled.

The fact that villains represent the majority of on-screen representation for facial disfigurements is a problem. Any media could intentionally or unintentionally push those negative associations onto people with that disability. I think it’s fair to believe the same issue arises with Silco.

However, I do think Silco is a special case in that his facial disfigurement is not just a lazy trope, but one that is given a narrative explanation, though it’s still possible for the audience to consciously or subconsciously associate his facial disfigurement with his villainy. It’s in part why I appreciate that he still has a facial disfigurement in the alternate timeline, because Silco is clearly not a villain in that timeline.

Still, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that young Silco, who did not have a facial disfigurement, garnered more sympathy from the Arcane fandom when he was introduced on screen. People began to humanize him more. From my understanding, the fan content jumped in quantity. People began to associate his facial disfigurement less with his villainy and more with his trauma. This is the social impact on disability I’m talking about.

There’s also in-universe evidence that Silco struggles socially because of his facial disfigurement. Silco tries to cover up his scars with makeup. For people with facial disfigurements, makeup is not just an aesthetic choice. It could make a difference in how they are perceived or treated. Few people have seen Silco without makeup. This is not just vanity on his part. Some have fairly pointed out this might help with his trauma, but it may also be necessary for him socially.

As for the physical aspect of disability, we know the river water poisoned his blood, damaged his nerves, and infected his wounded eye. He says so. He does not cover up his eye with a patch nor remove his eye which suggests he may still be able to use it, but he may have limited vision in that eye. He is dependent on a dangerous drug to treat his condition. Medical dependency on a drug to survive and thrive is a sign of disability.

The infection and nerve damage also impacts his senses. Nerve damage limits movement in his face. It’s debatable how much he can feel on the scarred part of his face. It’s also pure speculation, but it’s possible that without medical treatments the infection could spread and damage nerves throughout his body. That’s why his dependency on Shimmer can’t be divorced from his disability.

We don’t know for certain what his experience with chronic pain is like, but I know what nerve pain can feel like and it can feel like your nerves are burning, freezing, or like “tv static.” We know that the injections don’t necessarily feel good, but he still does them which suggests the consequences of not doing them could be more painful. Chronic pain is a sign of disability.

Silco is not an open book in addition to being The Villain, though, so I think the audience struggles to understand what he is thinking or feeling and that extends to whether or not they view him as disabled. It’s just really interesting that he has a very obvious disability that people often don’t recognize at all. This doesn’t even get into the PTSD he likely suffers from, but that could be disabling too.

[jjunbug]

  ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏  ͏BETWEEN TWILIGHT SKIES    ╱    SERIES TEASER

in a world that’s on its dying breath, the once green and lush landscapes get buried in more and more layers of ash. the once flourishing streets that were full of magic are now a dull hum. yet, there is still hope—and it lies in the hands of you and kai, the last people to possess magic. suddenly, you remember the story of a forest that watches, and a well of life that lies deep within. you’re determined to save your bleak world in any way that you can, yet, you weren’t expecting to end up in a brand new world entirely.

pairing ⸝⸝ choi yeonjun 𝑥 𝖿𝖾𝗆!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋, huening kai 𝑥 𝖿𝖾𝗆!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𓄵 𝓯eat. ꔛ 𝘧𝘢𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦!𝘵𝘹𝘵 & 𝘰𝘤𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘴

genre ⋆ 📖 ⸝⸝ written series, high fantasy, magic, angst, fluff, smut, faerie prince!yeonjun, sorcerer!kai, sorceress-in-training!reader, marriage of convenience, a lot of yearning and longing (both romantic and platonic)

warnings ⸝⸝ death & decay (of people & animals), violence, depictions of gore, kidnapping, implied bullying, general toxicity, jealousy, gaslighting, possessiveness, and manipulation, toxic environments and parental relationships, abuse 𑁍 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵!

𝓴ipo’s note ⸝⸝ hehe the long awaited super secret wip that i’ve been working on (well… one of them hehe)!!! i hope you’re as excited as i am for it! i thought it was fitting starting this fresh blog off with fantasy, since it’s my favorite genre to write~~ let me know you guys all think!! the series masterlist should be out sometime tomorrow!! hehe, i hope that you enjoy!

͏ ͏͏  ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ❨ 𝘁𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗰: 1k ❩    ╱    ❨ 𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝓶. 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ❩    ╱    ❨ 𝓶. 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ❩ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏  ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏✉️ ⦂ the prologue should be out in a couple days!

𝗰𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗸 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗮𝗱𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁! 𝗺𝘆 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗮𝗹𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝘆 𝗯𝗲 𝗮𝗱𝗱𝗲𝗱! 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙤𝙧𝙨, 𝙖𝙜𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙠 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙗𝙚 𝙖𝙙𝙙𝙚𝙙.

SERIES OUT NOW!!!

It was hard watching things change in front of your very eyes. It was never the way people described it for you. Not the slow twist of vines along a column or the grass growing taller than a fence—no. It was the whipping of wind across your face. You’d go to wipe your teary eyes and find the sunny and warm scenery was now cold and dead with glittering snow laying everywhere.

You hated it.

You wished that things could stay as they were for as long as they could. You hated watching the faces of people you’ve grown to know dip and sag with age in an instant. You hated watching the life leave their eyes in a quick blink. And you hated how life seemed to go so slow for everyone except for you.

If you could dare to wish for one thing, it would be more time. And in the worst way, you got your wish.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion for once in your entire life. The members of the Collective who were snickering and poking fun at you and Kai jumped into action, spirals of green emerging from their fingertips. More of them piled out from the inn, along with Lamia. You don’t realize that a hand is grabbing your arm and lifting you to your feet before you’re being pushed out of the crossfire.

All you see is green. At least, at first.

Then, splatters of red cover your vision. The screams and cracking of bones fill your ears and bodies fly through the air. Hot tears run down your cheeks and you close your eyes. Then, there is complete and utter silence.

The silence lasts for a moment before all sound comes rushing back to you so fast it felt like your ears were bleeding. There was screaming and crying and more cracking of bones set into place. You opened your eyes to see that the once green pasture you danced in was covered in red—red so dark it was almost black, and disfigured bodies and torn limbs were everywhere.

You didn’t know what else to do, so you ran. Tears blurred your vision, but you didn’t need sight for the place you were running to. You could find it in the dark, bound and soundless, if you had to.

That night still plays endlessly in your head, over and over and over until it’s all you know.

The only thing you did feel—the one thing you found solace in—was the fact that you were all alone. You had no family, which meant you had no one to mourn. You guess some things came with its perks. The place that came closest to what you called home was ash beneath your feet, flying in the wind through your cracked fingertips, like everything else. You felt nothing.

“I thought I told you not to ponder on such trivial things. Any space with a place to lay your head is a home.” Your smile grew when you heard his voice—Kai’s voice.

Kai came to a stop next to you, his frame towering over you and his tongue clicking as he looked down at the poor creature beneath you. It’s small body was clinging onto its last fleeting feeling of life. “A pity,” Kai said, his voice lacking the empathy his words portrayed. He was all too used to the way your world worked—nothing but lost hope and decay. It seemed you still had to learn that. “Best to put it out of its misery. There’s no use letting it live its final moments in pain.”

You couldn’t look at how he gave the creature it’s final blow. The cracking of bones reminded you of that night, and a knife-like chill ran down your spine and you squeezed your eyes shut tighter. There was a hand at your elbow after a moment. “Come,” you heard Kai’s voice say gently. “Let’s get out of here.”

As you both made your journey through the woods and past more and more decay, you couldn’t stop the way your heart pulled for something greater—for a miracle. Your whole body lit up at the feeling and buried deep within your memories, you think you may have found one.

You turned to look over at Kai, noticing the way the ash spiraled off of his worn cloak. “Do you remember that forest I told you about?” you asked him. “The Forest That Watches?”

Kai looked over at you, his hair falling into his eyes. It was a lot longer now than when the two of you had first met, with the majority of it tied back in a bun to keep it out of his face. He quirked an eyebrow, “What about it?” His face then fell. “Don’t tell me this is about that Well of Life or whatever it was called… You do know that’s a myth, right? A legend that the royals started to keep everyone from realizing how the world was dying?”

“What if it’s not?” you pressed. “What if The Forest That Watches is real, and what if the Well is in it?”

“It’s not,” Kai threw back.

You stopped in your tracks, face serious as you stared into his eyes. You place a hand on his bicep. “But what if it is?” you insisted. “Kai… I think… I think I saw it. What if this is the only chance we get to save everything—to restore everything?”

Kai sighed at you, his eyes moving to focus on the ground for a moment. “It’s not,” he said, looking back up at your face. You nearly took a step back from how intense his eyes were. “And there’s no saving us.”

He kept on walking through the forest, ducking under leaves and stepping over fallen logs. You remained rooted to your spot in the dirt, defeated.

SERIES OUT NOW!!!!

[ kipo’s note . . . ] hehe what do you guys think?? are you excited are you excited??? are you as excited as i am for this???? this is just a little taste—a little teeny tiny little sliver, if you will, of what’s to come… so stay tuned for the prologue and chapter one!!! (๐॔˃̶ᗜ˂̶๐॓) i should be getting the series masterlist up tomorrow as well! ~~

𖥦 ﴾ 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 . . . 𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗺.𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 , 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ﴿ ︵͡   𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 (´ε｀ʃƪ)♡

🏷️﹙ 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗒 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍? 𝖼𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 ﹚ @jjunberry @gothgyuu @gyuuberries @hyukascampfire @xylatox @ghstzzn @izzyy-stuff @sunoosgfv @jihyokat @whosserina @jellymochii @innocygnet @sumsumtingz @riribelle @yeoningz @minaateez @beombunni @jiryunn @lvrs-street2mmorrow @everythingvirgoes @beomieeeeeeeeeeees

© jjunbug - all rights reserved. do not repost on any social media sites, translate, or modify any of my works.

[gossippool]

Omg... poolverine Phantom of the Opera AU....

HELLO DO YOU LIVE IN MY HEAD

i'm literally doing a poolverine redraw of the falsettos playbill rn omg (and kay @/weedwilson is doing wicked) BUT ANYWAY ANYWAY no you are so right bc LET ME COOK!!!

like the entire premise is that erik (the phantom in the book) grew up shunned and was literally a subject of a human zoo all because he was born disfigured. and he was outcast to the point where he had to live in the shadows and not show his face so everyone either thought he was a ghost or a monster. but he's just HUMAN and he craves human connection and a muse and he just wants to be LOVEDDDDD and christine was the only person who saw him but even then half of that was pity. and like fine if you include the sequel love never dies she does truly love him but just from the book/musical she leaves for something better and it's SO SAD

but yeah i've been sitting on this... i could write a fic but i've also had a vision of drawing them in this scene specifically (wanted to do one for good omens too but never got around to finishing it)

but also i've been wanting to draw wade in this masquerade outfit too just because it's gorgeous and always catches my eye

[cutieeva]

Snow and Rose

𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫 Female reader

Warnings : Murders. Violence.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒

❛ 愛 ❜

He was filthy. Made to be discard and dislike and disgust hence the reason he even did not dare utter the pure words of love to the one he grew to not dislike however it all changed when he saved a woman. An peculiar one with taste of adressing herself as a snow and him, a disfigured man—rose

It was the first night of the winter. Crimson petal of rose slowly fell atop of the untainted white snow. To be honest the blush fall on the snow looked breathtaking. So beautifully vast yet together by nature almost seem like the destiny also choose in the harshest winter will bear the most adored rose to be seen.

The first time she saw them, it was unsuited together yet now if this was her last image of the world's beauty before withering away. She is thankful enough, smiling under the cold whiteness where she lay, drenched in her blood surround her and pain numb little by little. Now that her vision fading she wish to indulged the nature of destiny more. She wish to find her own rose in the snow, a lover she meant and perhaps children too. ? How odd of her to even question of her own wish to bear children when she knows no rose is there for her.

As the roses always wirther, unsuited to the snow like she thought, no one likes snow. Even those who believed to like only do for few weeks, months not years, certainly not decades.

Snow as beautiful is cold, far cold she realize after embracing in the ground, blush of her skin drying and tears gather to flow silently.

How she wished to see the sunrise for the last time. One last time before passing to void of nothing, she knew heaven and hell were only words for fear to do good despite being surround by hell. One last tear roll down as she embrace the death when a crunch of foot earned her sight.

Eyes rolling to see the demon, the culprit of her death towering surprise to feel the drop of crimson. Not one from the rose petal rather of blood along stench of someone's death coloring the sliver sword he holds. He who is not the demon her mind knows at least, however an stranger wrapped in black cloth like the void of night and white cloth wrap around his mouth with snake rest upon his neck. His eyes, Unusual she ever seen one teal and another yellow.

His gaze bore at her, laying on the snow and blood circle around her like an painting of death with petals of rose fallen near her forehead almost seem like an crown of farewell flowers. She looks utterly and hauntingly beautiful he is afraid to say the rose suit her with the snow. Even her tears of sorrow paint her beautiful. His eyes locked on those (E/C) eyes that he forgot it's close and pale hue cover her entirity.

Like a bleak of a man his knee bend down, fingers almost curl refuse to taint the body by brushing his filthy touch yet with gentle he never grace one with did he hold her, cold sweep into his warmth and her body in his hand vulnerably he embrace her clothed part more to begin walking the path of his home where many also lives.

Pain greet her awake, her sight met with the white ceiling of a house than the void of nothing she expected. The pain in her body told her the answer of her life. She is alive and the beautiful nature of rose met snow was not her last image of mother earth's beauty nor the man she viewed.

The man in question is none where to seen when the door slide open stand a beautiful woman, smiling gently. "She must like butterfly". (Y/N) judged from the hair pin of butterfly to her dress print.

"Ara, Ara, you are awake. I see". (Y/N) bow to the woman despite the pain in her stomach yet her face remain unchanged. Stoic as before. "Do not distress yourself further. I fear your present state is one of considerable pain." The woman came closer to find indeed the blood taint the white again.

(Y/N) apologize softly.

"No apologies necessary, I assure you." Her laugh was melodies that the man almost slip her mind.

"Oh. A man, with snake around his neck ?" She continue, her eyes as if reliving the time. "Have you seen him ?" The actions of that woman's hand pause and staring at those purple eyes oddly seem empty and lost.

"I do. He is one of the demon slayers". Strange words. Demon slayers and demons. Both belonged to monstrous fairytales she never liked to read and now very real to see, one was eater almost pushed her to the edge of life and another an savior, retrieve her life yet both interwoven with one another.

"Oh. Would you be so kind as to inform me of his whereabouts, that I may pay my respects ?" The woman stare at (Y/N). No human she ever seen so indifferent to the word demon. One must bear some hatred or kindness or any emotions linked. Never indifference. Perhaps the lack is what present her so different however naïve to the laws of world.

"You may, he will be found next door, precisely where the wounded gentlemen resides." Her finger point to near the door of (Y/N)'s right and she nod.

"Thank you". She stood to the woman's surprise and walk with difficulty to the next door, sliding open to find three young lads on the bed with another beautiful woman with pink hair and that man. That man's soften gaze saw her bend her body to bow and utter the words she truly felt from the core of her heart.

"Thank you for saving me" . The tone and the face remained unchanged however those eyes he notice was pure, clearance with courage Obanai swears. Courage he won't be rewarded, not with the blood in his veins.

"It was my duty". He replied, turning away from her and she left quietly. All were too suprise to intervene the tight tension darting from the unknown to the cold demon slayer. He who thought their first words exchange to be the last.

However here she is, sitting beside Tanjiro, applying herbs like the gentle caress of a mother to his wounds he receive from Obanai during their period of training. A furrow appear in his brows, why is she here ? His eyes slide to the stomach cover by her cloth and by movements of her body she appears to be healthy.

Soon he learnt after she recovered did she request to dedicate herself to nursing she was by experience and Shindou welcomed her. What a play of destiny he thought watching intently how with unchanged poise she clean one gruesome wound than previous.

"How calm". He wonders, how can a woman be so devoid of expression ? Even Shinobu plaster a smile and here she is, and was at her last breath crafted the same expression.

"I offer my sincerest gratitude, your expertise is truly remarkable." Tanjior in his cherry voice smiled large and she returned only with a nod. He narrow his eyes, was she also poise in front of the culprit of her death ? Or did she cried, begged or perhaps— .

"The gentleman is cleared to depart." Her words directly to the older demon slayer and he nod, averting gaze with someone first because of how unashamed they were. He took him alongside and wish to never view her.

What a foolish thing to pray when she is at his each sight. One time brooming with the little girls despite them playing, laughing and joining her hands to round each other she only played along unchanged as if her soul was not present while her body was.

Another time dusting and cleaning the injury manor and he was there, yet not once she glanced or tries to word with him. Not that he desired so rather finding her like an puzzle. So locked unlike Mitsuri who is like the sun, bright and bathed in pureness and free like an open book he can read. Even that butterfly demon slayer seem easier to understand than she. A lady with unfamiliar origin, name he didn't care to learn and expression never change.

Upon another occasion, a youthful trainee, gravely injured, was brought forth, his face snarl in pain and half his form scorched by the ravages of fire yet she didn't so little flinch. She beheld the charred flesh, and with unflinching resolve, set about healing the wounds. It made him wonder again would she grasp, be horrified or pity the demon slayer if she shown her the scar in his— shaking such filthy words, he walked down that time.

"(Y/N) hurry, the Serpent Hashira and the Wind Hashira needs help !" She pause in her hurried steps. Her savior was in need and the thought to return the debt come to her mind. Her feet went to the room watching the two strongest demon slayers swallowing pain as they lay on the bed. "One of the demons poisoned them so the little wounds are deadly".

Her trembling hands took the medicines and herbs, as being advised she about to touch the Serpent Hashira, he wield his sharp sword to her chin, little inches away and his snake hiss. "Don't come near me". His words tender yet the sentences chilling sharp and she can not help ponder why.

"What ? we don't have male—".

"Let me do my own". He cut the argue he finds not needed.

"However you have no knowle—". Kanao tries to change his mind for good.

"I can!" he asserted, the crimson-tinted the binding around his mouth and voice bending into whisper with his pale skin whiter. (Y/N) is afraid the poison rushing faster.

"By all means, proceed. But heed my caution: observe my movements, then replicate, lest harm ensues. Do you understood ?" Obanai who never thought her to spoke nod and took the medicines and clothes. (Y/N) note the wounds are in his arm, thigh and shoulder thus she walk beside him to another silent room—she assume his room and sat, turning face away to hear the shuffles of clothes unraveling and she begin to show on her clothed body while he remain silent, save for the occasionally groans and strainted huffs.

"Completed". She nod and he finally turn his eyes at her back, wondering why she is unmoved.

"May I see your work, that I might judge its merit ?" She hoped to have yes however deep inside the answer was spoken in silent already.

"No". No. As she expected and nod to maneuver towards his clothed self and about to stand at her feet when Obanai narrow his eyes in displease. That expression and lack of words. Always of few words, indifference and unafraid. All of the qualities he wished he had within himself. Indifference of other's eyes, unafraid of the past and courageous.

Implused by his deranged thoughts and in daze of his wound. "Would you be scared of this ?" Uncaring he rip the binding of his mouth, the cool breeze brush against the dreadful scar that is still fresh in his memory. His eyes close like the binding was a relieve of pain however he waited. For a strangling scream, disgust grasp, pity words or anything. Save for the errie silence.

Each muscle of his body tense at the feel of an soft touch at the corner of his lips and his hand shoot up holding her wrist and eyes wide to be face at her expression. And indeed it was not in vain.

Alas, the rosy flush that painted her entire visage, and the demure shimmer in those crystalline eyes, told a tale he had not expected to behold. Even her skin blushed from his touch alone.

A hatred twist his inside as he swing her hand and yelled harsh. "Get out !" She flinch and run out. His head buried in his palm, he did not intent to yell, however what could he had done if that bewitching woman's expression did not just brew a hope in his heart. A hope no one did and he himself dare not aknowledge.

"What was that ?" Bewildered he erased her image of blush.

He must have frighten her because the few days later she was none of his sight and it was unknown how he felt so he walked to his room when the moon's shine lighten on the letter slide to the gap of the door. His finger touch the paper and read. 'To the respected Serpent Hashira. From (L/N) (Y/N).'

An name he is unfamiliar could only belonged to that woman. "(Y/N)". The name roll down his flesh, sounding hauntingly pleasant. He grip the paper hard and went inside. First he sit and grab the candle near the paper he almost wish to burn, not read any words behind the paper. Still his curiosity drive him to open and unfold the smooth lines of paper.

'You might have forgetten what had occur to the day of your injury yet I do not and thus the letter was crafted, whether view it as an unworthful letter or cowardly one, it's your choice however I won't delay your time and say the words I had not courage to utter in front of you that the scar you showed me was in my view an scar of loathe, pain and sorrow of the past because the way it's craved could not be done willingly—' Obanai turn away from the paper, unwelcomed memories slit his mind and fill his vision.

"Useless". He deemed the paper and the fire of the candle so close however something, perhaps hope convince him to read further.

"My intention was not to recall your unpleasant memories however I had to because the next words I say might desire you to kill me even hate me I fear, because your wound blossoms red like the petals of rose, breathtakingly beautiful, so beautiful that I was mesmerized. I am wretched for holding dear and falling in love with the sorrow you might have, the very thing I am in love is the one you hate, so please it's not a letter of forgiveness because do not forgive me. Do not forgive me ever".

His hand fell limp as fingers still grip on the paper become tighter than ever and the candle's light illuminate his fiery blush face and the glistening rims of his eyes betrayed a depth of feeling he could hardly grasp.

"Is it not a confession ?" His other palm cover his face and brush upon the binding that for the first time did not evoke feelings of revulsion and disgust rather sentiments he had not felt for anyone, not even the love Hashira. Because the unpleasant memories dissipated the moment his scar made contact, replaced by her passion words, which floated in his vision like ethereal whispers. 

At the early rise of the sun Obanai ran to the butterfly manor to find her not Kanon who raise a eyebrow and continue her duty.

"Might I inquire as to the present location of Miss (L/N) ?" His question made her confuse before sighing.

"Good heavens! You haven't heard ? She resigned, having met my elder sister in person and left a letter for us all, though, alas, it reveals nothing of her destination." Her voice somber reflections on the departure of the benevolent lady, whom she had not had the opportunity to bid farewell, a circumstance that pained her, much like her sister.

The words save for the resigned tune out. The sounds distant and dishonest. H-how could it ? How could it be ? When she confessed her love merely yesterday ? "The letter ? May I see it ?" She hand over the paper he unfold to read and yes, it's her farewell for eternal. How cruel, she left. He almost threw the paper in fit of rage but he knew better and did not.

She is one cowardly woman he ever met.

☯

A red rose.

The first single rose appear at (Y/N)'s doorstep was few weeks later she moved from the demon slayer's corps to a small village little further from the branch and the house she stay was bearable and decent food was nearby to attend. The real reason she left was due to the passion confession her heart forced her hand to give however when she comes to realize the man she was giving and his profession was, she decide to separate herself.

Because the man would never love her back and his profession was oath to death, no sense of life was guaranteed and she swears the heartbreak of future could not stitch the patchs of broken heart.

From childhood she watched her mother obedient like a pet to her father and never replied back and his father always remained gentleman and cold. Very different than the fairytales she dislike yet reads for the sake of befriending others.

Soon growing up she realize because of the unspoken law of marriage. A wife is a doll of his husband who married for the sake of duty. They were not in love instead tied down in duty where she, the child was a bond they had to create by society's pressure and sheding her innocence to adulthood, it's her time to take the role of doll for someone else.

And at first few men did choose her, some even confess their love but after few months they left, giving the ring of their betrothed away.

"Your demeanor is as frigid as the grave. How might I be expected to harbor affection for one so seemingly devoid of vitality?"

"(Y/N), I must confess, it pains me to consider the possibility that you do not return my ardent affections. Your demeanor suggests a certain...indifference towards me."

"Miss (L/N), though I have always held your beauty in the highest esteem and affection however our spent time leads my heart yearns for a deeper connection. I confess, I covet a love that stems from genuine attachment, not mere obligation."

"If your heart truly beats for mine, then demonstrate your affection through tender compassion ! Speak words of endearment, that I might be assured of your love !"

Some were good, some were spoiled and some greedy yet what common in them was their speech of words of how cold she is and like snow she is beautifully admired—not loved. To be honest she hated all the men that left her, even if some were really good she loathe them. Why ? Because none tried to know the dept of her love for them because she did love them, each and every one of them. Yes ! not as deep as the love of Zhi Nü for Niu Lang. Still she did, what she couldn't was to express them. She simply does not know. Words were not easy to utter as she wanted and affections never surface properly.

Also their love was not worth if they left so easily leading her to become spinster and out of roof as for her family's reputation she was a staint so she left, no cries, pleads or any attachment. What prevails her is that quiet tears still roll down.

Leading her at the first night to encounter a hungry demon and that man, she for and realize after viewing his scar. He awoke a whole world inside her she was hidden from and now she can not help wonder if she had known him better could she bear courage to court him.

Red rose on top of the snow. Her sight snap to the ruby hue and turn to the vase inside the house already had seven more red rose rest. Adding this will be seven. It's strange no one comes to mind who would give her flowers like a secret admirer. Like confessing secret love to her.

With steps that softly crunched above the winter's white blanket, she approached the flower, its beauty unmarred by frost's chill grasp. Her fingers enveloped its slender stem free of thorns. The rose errierly remind her of him. His beauty of an rose and sharp gaze of thorn to protect. Perhaps thus she collect the roses.

☯

Slap !

Embracing her new role as a cleaning worker in the village proved daunting for her. As both a woman and alone seen beneath of men after all.

"Your defiance has cost us dearly. You should have layed your body at the customer's whims equals to a king's demands, were left unfulfilled. Your stubbornness has turned gold to dust. You ungrateful witch !" The pain at her cheek throb and she lowered her head, choosing silence, closing eyes to feel the next and next until the wife of the owner hold his hand.

"Oh dearie, this is a noodle shop. Not a brothel, what she had done is right because imagine rumors spreading of our humble restaurant turning into selling women. How bad is it not ?" His wife in tender voice trap him in sprouts of nonsense and he, halting and debating the words.

(Y/N) gratitude the lady in mind and caught sign of her hand twisting towards exit. "Go out". With eyes darting in secretion (Y/N) bow to her and quietly walked away from the unfair abuse and her night shift.

☯

Chirps of bird and noise of hens awake her and ignoring the ache in her cheeks she walk to the door and her eyes wide and mind in confusion.

She blink once, twice and slowly, very slowly walk on the snow to the center where a folded man's cloth is layed above blood with a rose on the side. The eighth rose. Her (E/C) eyes stare at the cloth for moments before walking to the noodle owner's house that is few walks away and not long a cry of agony rip out.

Her walk slow down and she watched the crowd form and the wife's cries in her corpse husband's body that is naked and blood sweeping from the stabs in his stomach and dried blood from the hole of his either cheeks. Pity bleed within (Y/N) for the newly widow— not the man. He deserved it and a happiness bloom thinking how length of love her secret admirer bear.

She went to her yard again and the cloth vanish and blood buried leaving the rose and a letter. "Was he here ?" A shiver ran her spine, glancing around to spot only to be failed and she read the letter.

'I am not good with words however what I am good is at welding swords and that man deserve equally as the demon heads' Demons. Holding the rose at one and letter at another, finally one man comes to her mind. The serpent demon slayer.

And she is unaware what to do and if her thought is even true.

☯

"Leave me !" (Y/N) yelled to the previous customer of the noodle shop who she was beated for and now tormenting her at night of street. "I said leave me !" She screamed attracting heads of the crowd letting the man loose his grip and her chance to escape.

Ninth rose lay beside the cloth of a man painted in blood. She walked out of her yard at the early morning and roam to find his body calmly and the crowd forming told her already. She close the gap, catching glimpse of his naked body layed to be humiliated and stabs in his stomach and holes on his palms where the man grip her by.

And as she expected when she return to her yard, the cloth was erased, blood buried and rose with letter repeating the same words.

☯

"It must be you ! You wretched woman, you got my husband killed ! After being bewitched by you, was he killed ! It must be you". The wife of the man yesterday murdered she was not even aware married came to her doorstep at midnight, screaming and throwing scornful words she does not like.

"I do not, mam". Calmly and unchanged she answered, attempt at closing the door she mistake to open and when the wife caught hint of that, (Y/N) felt a rush of coldness at her face. Numb snow cold her warm body as (Y/N) part her lips to say she was thrown more snow and more and more.

Until a wet slick sound and sudden stop of snow lead her head to turn meeting the scene of a sliver sword pierced the wife's stomach and glide back gushing blood and her body limp at once revealing Obanai, the serpent hashira standing with a blank expression and when met with (Y/N)'s, did it sparkle the beauty of emotions.

Her eyes also saw in his another hand holding the rose. Tenth rose. "At the tenth rose I decided to finally meet you". Loudly he confessed. Both to being the secret admirer and the murderer however not a hint of fear he felt not because he considerate himself powerful rather at the mercy of her love. While he thought he loved the love Hashira, (Y/N) mold the very love to him. While the love hashira was the shining sun, pure and out of his reach stem from pure respect, (Y/N) plant the seed of love from the mere words of his scar he loathe, she turn the hatred and self-disgust of the scar marred his skin into a memory of their sweet love. With the words of her and blushful image of her touched his corner lips brew him the feel of worthy to loved and love. She made him feel human.

Now at each touch of his mouth, rather than ashamed and scared did his heart skip beats at her face, at each touch of his mouth reminds him of her words. The confession of her yearning and passion he never received from one before and she graced him so deep, he could not help fall deeper, running to every village from small to huge at search of her and when found the relieve of bliss remind him once again how unable of her he has no life of his own anymore.

"Forgive me, Miss (L/N). I could not force you to my will defying yours so all I could do was remove the obstacles and wait for your return to me as I have fallen for you deeply". At each step closer to her he said each word and finishing he give her the rose, waiting to see her accepting or throwing.

Fear gripped his heart to be honest a little— no, a lot, the fear of rejection from the woman he holds dearly to his heart will crush him however he will wait, as long as needed and continue removing the filth from her life. Flith that forced his hand and deserved to be united with the demons.

Oh, how sweet. (Y/N) couldn't believe. A man who go length beyond for her and love her to the end without leaving is an heaven. Even more when it's the same man she did not even dare dream of loving her back holding rose for her and bloody sword to others.

How could she resist such love. An love scary and undeserving at other's view is her everything.

Her finger grasp the rose and lean forward to press a kiss the man above his binding who's those unusual beautiful eyes wide only to soften. Her lips parted and said. "Forgive me not I am in love with you".

"Forgiven because I am in too". He returned blooming a smile on her lips. Language of love she heard once, love that not only utter from words alone however also from actions of service for their love. Perhaps this man has that.

FIN

𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐨𝐟 ◸◜𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 ◞◿

[earthlybeam]

I saw a post about Thranduil disability due to his scar (can’t find it 😭) makes me wonder how he’ll approach it with a partner? Scars are such a deep delicate piece of one self and he use some kind of magic to hide it I suppose he is self conscious about it? It’s too sad! And apparently elves only love once that also mean boy is stuck in the past forever 😭

In the context below, I am sharing a headcanon about Scar (my personal opinion). Than Answer your question in How might he approach his partner regarding his scar?. Lastly how his partner discovered his scar for first time.

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Thranduil Version below. (Your his partner)

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

Headcanons on Thranduil’s Scar (A Personal headcanon of mine)

𐂂 Constant Soreness and Sensitivity The scarred side of Thranduil’s face remains perpetually sore and sensitive to the touch. His skin feels like it’s still healing, even after centuries. The scar tissue is more prone to reacting to changes in weather or pressure. The sensation can range from dull aching to sharp discomfort, especially in moments of physical stress or emotional strain. Often, he will gently press his left hand against his cheek or forehead, as if trying to soothe the constant irritation. This act becomes subconscious, a private coping mechanism he does when he thinks no one is watching.

𐂂 Cool Damp Cloth to Ease the Burn Sometimes, the scar feels like it’s burning up, especially on hot days or when he’s been using his magic extensively. Thranduil will often apply a cool damp cloth to his left cheek or forehead to alleviate the sensation of heat. The cloth is more than just for comfort; it helps momentarily distract him from the constant reminder of the pain he’s learned to live with. This is one of his more private moments of self-care, something that might happen behind closed doors when he’s alone or when he feels the need to quiet the discomfort.

𐂂 Blindness in the Left Eye Thranduil’s left eye is permanently blinded, a painful reminder of the battle with the Fire Drakes. He keeps the blindness hidden through elven glamour magic, creating the illusion of a normal appearance, but the loss of vision is always present in his awareness. He consciously angles his head to ensure that he’s constantly aware of his surroundings, making sure that people stand on his right side where he can see them with his only functional eye. This is not an overt action but more of a natural positioning habit he’s developed over centuries. Thranduil has grown hyper-aware of sounds and other stimuli from his left side, his sense of hearing and intuition becoming stronger to compensate for his blind spot. He trusts his senses more than most might expect.

𐂂 Magical Glamour is Exhausting Maintaining the glamour magic that hides the scar and his blindness is tiring. The magic is subtle but constant, and after long periods of exertion or emotional turmoil, Thranduil will feel the strain. Occasionally, the glamour flickers or weakens, especially when his emotions are stirred or when he’s exhausted. Thranduil tends to avoid using his magic excessively in public settings, fearing that someone might notice the flicker in his disguise. This causes him to retreat even more into solitude, especially when he feels vulnerable.

𐂂 Increased Sensitivity to Pain Thranduil experiences sudden, sharp bursts of pain from his scar, particularly during moments of heightened emotional intensity. When he’s angry or distressed, the scar seems to flare up, sending sharp jolts of pain through his face. These episodes can catch him off guard, making him appear more agitated or distant than he actually is. He hides this pain behind a mask of regal composure, but in private moments, his discomfort becomes almost unbearable, especially if someone brings up the past or the cause of the injury.

𐂂 Emotional Distance and Wariness Thranduil’s scar creates emotional distance between him and others. His insecurities about the disfigurement make him wary of anyone getting too close. He is protective of his face and will recoil if someone tries to touch it, even if it’s a gesture of affection.

𐂂 The vulnerability of the scar makes him very selective about who is allowed near him physically. Only those he trusts deeply—like Legolas or perhaps his closest advisors—are allowed to approach his left side without triggering his wariness.

𐂂 Physical and Psychological Scar The physical scar is not just a mark of the fire but also a psychological wound. It represents loss—of strength, invulnerability, and the youth he once had. Even after centuries, Thranduil has not fully come to terms with the damage it has done to him. There are moments where the scar represents shame or failure in his eyes. In these rare moments of self-reflection, he might wonder what he could have done differently to avoid the injury. These thoughts are fleeting but haunting.

𐂂 Reluctance to Reveal the Scar Thranduil hides his scar even from his own kin, especially in times when he feels emotionally exposed or when others might question his vulnerabilities. He has mastered the art of maintaining an air of perfection, masking the reality of his injury behind layers of magic and pride. Even in moments of closeness with Legolas, he might be hesitant to fully reveal his scar, especially when Legolas was a child. Over time, Legolas would have likely seen glimpses of the truth, but Thranduil would remain reticent about discussing it unless absolutely necessary.

𐂂 Feeling of Weakness and Humiliation Thranduil’s scar serves as a constant reminder of his mortality. It is one thing for him to be immortal and unyielding in battle, but the scar exposes a weakness, something he cannot erase or change. It stands as proof that even the mightiest elves can fall prey to danger, and this thought haunts him on particularly dark days. The idea of being vulnerable or less-than-perfect can cause him immense humiliation, especially in front of others. He might lash out in anger or act coldly to keep anyone from probing too deeply into his scars, both physical and emotional.

𐂂 Compensatory Behavior in Social Situations In public settings, Thranduil’s movements become more deliberate. He turns his face slightly away from the left side, and if he needs to engage someone in conversation, he’ll usually position them to his right. If forced to interact with someone on his left side, he might unconsciously raise his left hand or arm to shield the scar, a gesture so ingrained in his behavior that he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. This gives an impression of confidence and strength, even though it’s driven by insecurity.

𐂂 A Potent and Healing Drink for thranduil Dorwinion wine is renowned for its strength, so much so that it can intoxicate even Elves—beings known for their exceptional resistance to alcohol. But after the dragon fire incident, Thranduil became accustomed to its effects, using it as a form of solace and numbing comfort. The potent wine became an essential part of his recovery, allowing him to dull the searing pain from the burns and the emotional scars left by the battle with the Fire Drakes. Thranduil drank it frequently during the recovery period, and over time, his tolerance to the wine grew so that it no longer affected him in the usual way. His resistance to the wine’s effects became almost legendary among his people, and he was often seen sipping from his glass without even a hint of inebriation, despite the powerful nature of the drink.

𐂂 Thranduil is often seen with a glass of Dorwinion wine at his side, a habit that traces back to his recovery from the devastating dragon fire scar inflicted by the Fire Drakes. It’s not merely a symbol of indulgence or luxury in the courts of Mirkwood—it is an integral part of Thranduil’s way of managing the constant physical pain from his scar and the emotional weight it carries. The deep burn that left his left side forever scarred remains a source of both soreness and intense sensitivity, flaring up in waves of discomfort. In moments of heightened pain, or when the scar acts up unexpectedly, Dorwinion wine provides him with a way to dull the sensation, allowing him a temporary respite. Over the centuries, he has become so accustomed to the wine’s effects that it no longer intoxicates him in the typical sense, but its warmth and rich flavor soothe him, offering him a momentary escape. The wine became his companion during the long days of recovery after the battle with the Fire Drakes, when it helped to numb both his physical injuries and the deeper wounds to his spirit. Now, it serves as both a comfort and a tool for self-regulation, helping him maintain his stoic façade in public while easing the persistent flare-ups of pain he still faces. Whether in private moments of reflection or in the company of trusted companions, the glass of Dorwinion wine never leaves his side. It is his silent ally in the ongoing battle with his scars, a ritual he clings to—one that has endured through the centuries—and a reminder of how far he has come from the ravages of dragon fire.

𐂂 Trust and Acceptance of Those Who See the Scar There are very few people in Middle-earth who Thranduil would allow to see the truth behind the glamour magic. He has shared his scar with Lady Galadriel, Lord Celeborn and Lord Elrond, trusting them not only with its physical existence but also with the pain and trauma tied to it. His vulnerability is a rare sight, and those who have seen the scar have gained a special place in his heart. Their respect for his journey and his pain likely helps Thranduil to feel less ashamed of his injury, though he never fully abandons his need for secrecy and composure.

𐂂 Elrond’s Continued Care for Thranduil’s Scar: Lord Elrond was one of the few who saw the full extent of Thranduil’s scars immediately after the battle with the Fire Drakes. As a healer, Elrond provided essential aid, using his knowledge to ease the Elven King’s pain and help with his recovery. Thranduil, despite his pride and reluctance to show weakness, trusted Elrond enough to seek his help in those dark days. Even now, centuries later, Elrond continues to send healing herbs and potions to Mirkwood to help manage the pain of Thranduil’s scar. These remedies are carefully crafted to soothe the constant discomfort Thranduil faces, especially during flare-ups. Though Thranduil often maintains a cold, aloof demeanor and refuses to openly acknowledge the depth of his suffering, Elrond understands that it’s a façade. He knows the king’s pride keeps him from seeking help openly, but he has seen the vulnerability behind that mask. Elrond’s gifts of healing aren’t just physical remedies—they are reminders of the bond they share. Thranduil, while distant, accepts them with quiet gratitude, though he rarely lets anyone see the true extent of his reliance on them. The Elven King keeps the potions and herbs close, knowing they bring relief when the pain becomes unbearable. This subtle, ongoing care from Elrond is a silent but powerful expression of trust and friendship, one that Thranduil allows only a very few to see.

𐂂 Galadriel’s Role in Thranduil’s Healing and Glamour Magic In the aftermath of the Fire Drakes’ attack, Lady Galadriel was instrumental in helping Thranduil conceal the scar’s true extent. Recognizing the emotional and physical toll the injury had on him, she used her deep wisdom and mastery of magic to teach Thranduil how to create a glamour spell that would hide the scar from the eyes of others. Galadriel helped him understand the subtlety and precision required to maintain such an illusion, knowing that it would provide him with the appearance of normalcy that he desperately craved. Galadriel’s guidance went beyond just the magical aspects of the glamour. She understood the emotional weight of Thranduil’s scar, and in her way, helped him process the trauma it caused. Her calm, patient nature gave him a sense of security, though Thranduil never fully allowed himself to express the extent of his vulnerability. Despite his reluctance to show weakness, he trusted Galadriel with this intimate aspect of his life, knowing that she would respect his need for privacy. As Thranduil became more adept at controlling the glamour, he felt a deep sense of gratitude toward Galadriel, though he would never openly express it. Her quiet support, both magical and emotional, allowed him to maintain his regal composure while still carrying the burden of his scar. In this rare exchange, Thranduil’s trust in Galadriel grew, cementing her place as one of the few who truly understood the full depth of his pain and the lengths he went to conceal it.

𐂂 Celeborn’s Role in Thranduil’s Healing Journey Though not directly involved in the magical healing like Galadriel, Celeborn played a crucial role in Thranduil’s recovery. His quiet wisdom and steady presence offered Thranduil the emotional balance he needed after the attack. Celeborn provided counsel on perseverance through suffering, understanding the weight of immortality and the scars time can leave. Celeborn’s gentle approach allowed Thranduil to reflect on his trauma without feeling judged. While Celeborn wasn’t overt in his support, his steady, reliable nature helped Thranduil navigate his emotional pain, earning a quiet but deep respect from the elven king over time. He was the grounding force that helped Thranduil find dignity in his suffering and maintain composure during the darkest times.

Would thranduil approach his partner (you) about his scar?

No, Thranduil would never approach his partner personally about the scar. He would keep it hidden, using glamour magic or subtle enchantments to conceal it, never intending to reveal it unless absolutely necessary. His self-consciousness about the scar runs deep, and he would never willingly share such a vulnerable part of himself. If the scar were discovered, it would likely happen accidentally, in a moment where his guard is lowered or his defenses slip. But until that point, Thranduil would ensure it remained a secret, too afraid of how it might change his partner’s perception of him. The dragon fire scar would undoubtedly be a profound source of insecurity for Thranduil, particularly given his deep attachment to his appearance, pride, and the image of immortality and strength he works tirelessly to project. Thranduil is not one to easily reveal his vulnerabilities. He cloaks much of his true self behind an imperious façade, maintaining an aura of stoic authority. To him, the scar represents a painful reminder of past failure—a wound that tarnishes the regal stature he strives to uphold, one that conflicts with the idealized, flawless image elves typically seek to preserve.

𐂂 Thranduil’s Approach in a Romantic Relationship In a romantic relationship, Thranduil would be profoundly guarded, reluctant to share either his physical or emotional scars. His pride and past experiences would make him exceedingly hesitant to open up about his insecurities, particularly regarding the scar from the dragon fire. The thought of his partner seeing the scar—of witnessing a flaw in his otherwise immaculate exterior—would terrify him. He would fear that exposing this vulnerability could unravel the carefully constructed perfection he works so hard to maintain, making him feel exposed and weak.

𐂂 First Approach: Keeping the Scar Hidden From the outset of a relationship, Thranduil would do everything in his power to keep his scar concealed. He would not mention it and would go to great lengths to hide it, using glamour magic or subtle enchantments to cover its visibility. His desire to maintain control over how others perceive him would be paramount. He would avoid allowing his partner to get too close on his left side, positioning himself deliberately so that only his right side was visible. This meticulous avoidance of physical proximity would be an instinctive action to protect himself from emotional exposure. To Thranduil, this secrecy would not be an act of dishonesty, but rather a way of maintaining his image of perfection. The scar is something he feels he must keep hidden, not only for the sake of his pride but to keep his partner from seeing what he perceives as a flaw that could compromise their view of him.

𐂂 When His Partner Discovers the Scar: The moment his partner accidentally discovers the scar would likely occur during an intimate, vulnerable moment. Perhaps they are close, and Thranduil, unable to manage his pain or discomfort, inadvertently lets his guard down. Or maybe in a rare instance, he allows himself to relax just enough for his partner to see the mark—something he’s spent so long hiding. If his partner discovers the scar, Thranduil would likely be immediately shaken, both emotionally and physically. His instincts would compel him to retreat emotionally, fearing that the sight of the scar will prompt judgment or pity. His mind would race with insecurity, and he would likely feel exposed in a way he is unprepared for. To protect himself, he might respond with coldness or a sharp, dismissive remark, masking his vulnerability behind a defensive wall. His emotional withdrawal would be a reflex—a way to regain control over a situation that has threatened to reveal more of him than he is willing to share. In that moment, Thranduil’s self-consciousness would overshadow everything else. His greatest fear—that his partner might see him as flawed or weakened—would take over, leading him to react with an almost instinctive desire to push them away or lash out. How he handles the discovery would depend on the partner’s response, but his initial reaction would be to defend himself, hiding behind his pride and withdrawing from the emotional connection that the discovery forces him to confront.

(Thranduil’s Reaction to His Partner (you) Discovering His Scar for the First Time) Artwork is https://www.deviantart.com/kapriss-art

The evening sun cast soft beams of light through the delicate curtains of Thranduil’s private chamber, lending the room a quiet warmth. The air was still, save for the occasional rustling of papers on his desk as the Elven King worked through the mountain of tasks that awaited him. His eyes, sharp and unwavering as ever, scanned over the documents laid before him. The endless duties of his kingdom—decisions regarding trade, diplomatic correspondence, matters of defense—all required his attention. His posture was regal, every inch the king, even as he worked through the mundane details of his rule. Thranduil sat at his desk with an air of command, his back straight, shoulders squared. His movements were graceful yet purposeful, as though even in the most private moments, he carried the weight of his crown. He wore a rich, deep green tunic embroidered with intricate silver threads, the soft fabric clinging to his frame with an elegance that was uniquely his. Over his shoulders, a dark, flowing cloak rested, embroidered with the patterns of Mirkwood, its edges catching the fading light of the day. His boots, polished and well-crafted, were placed firmly beneath the desk, his posture impeccable, as though no matter the task, he remained the sovereign of his realm. His long, platinum blonde hair fell in waves over his shoulders, the light catching the strands in a way that made them shimmer with ethereal beauty. Yet, in this private chamber, amidst the solitude of his duties, there was no grandeur in his bearing—just the weight of centuries and the burdens of his people. Even as he reviewed the kingdom’s affairs, there was something weighted in the quiet space between his breaths, something lingering beneath his carefully maintained exterior.

But as the quiet hum of the room settled around him, a sudden, sharp discomfort ran through Thranduil’s left cheek, pulling his focus from his duties. It began as a gentle throb, but it quickly escalated into something far worse—an all-consuming burn. The deep scars from the dragon fire, once hidden beneath layers of glamour magic, flared up violently, sending waves of heat crashing across his face. The fire-like sensation surged with an intensity that was both unbearable and all too familiar. Thranduil’s jaw clenched, his body stiffening for a brief moment. He did not let out a sound, but his eyes narrowed in quiet frustration. He could feel the searing pain radiating from the left side of his face, sharp and jagged like the burns that marred him. His left eye—the one that would never see clearly again—seemed to throb in unison with the scar, an ever-present reminder of the battle with the Fire Drakes.

His hand, almost instinctively, moved to touch the source of the pain. For a moment, he hesitated, a breath catching in his throat. The glamour magic that concealed the scar, the magic he had long relied on, was slipping. It was exhausting, maintaining the illusion. The energy needed to keep the glamour intact had become too much, and the pain, so familiar now, was forcing him to abandon it. He sighed softly and allowed the glamour to fade. For the first time in what felt like ages, the scar was exposed in its full, raw form. The jagged burn marks on his left cheek were a stark contrast to his fair skin, darkened and angry as if the fire still smoldered beneath his flesh. The once regal beauty of his face—unscathed and unmarred—was now forever marked by the cruel legacy of the dragon fire. He could not escape it, no matter how he tried.

His breathing quickened slightly, and a soft hiss escaped him as the heat in his face flared, the burn becoming unbearable. The pain was not new to him, but it always took him off guard in moments like these. Thranduil closed his eyes for a moment, trying to regain control over his body, to quell the urge to grit his teeth and wince. The cool damp cloth on the table beside him seemed like a distant solution, but it was the only one he had. With trembling hands, Thranduil reached for it, his fingers brushing against the fabric, his breath shallow with the intensity of the flare-up. He dipped the cloth into the bowl of cool water, wringing it gently before lifting it to his face.

As the cloth touched his skin, a sharp, involuntary hiss escaped him. The coolness of the cloth made immediate contact with the burn, and while it provided a fleeting moment of relief, the sensation of cold against fire was jarring. His body jerked slightly as the heat clashed with the coolness, the sudden contrast both shocking and relieving. His skin seemed to scream for the comfort of the coolness, but it also rebelled against the harsh interruption. For a few moments, Thranduil remained still, eyes shut tight, the cloth pressed against his cheek. The momentary reprieve was all too brief, as the sensation of heat never fully receded. He could still feel the constant throb in his skin, the tender rawness that would never completely heal. His face, once a symbol of untarnished grace and regality, was now a reminder of battle’s price.

Thranduil let out a deep, controlled breath, trying to ground himself in the moment. He applied more pressure to the cloth, his fingers trembling with the subtle strain. It wasn’t enough to make the pain go away—it never was—but it was enough to bring a momentary distraction, enough to let him endure, if only for a while longer. His chest rose and fell with each measured breath, the rhythmic inhalation and exhalation the only thing that allowed him to focus on something other than the searing, never-ending pain. As he pulled the cloth away, a faint line of tension remained in his face. His left cheek, once again exposed, carried the marks of his past: the scarred skin, the fragile remains of a battle that had taken so much from him. Thranduil sat back, his gaze lingering on the reflection in the polished wood of the desk before him. For a moment, his features softened, though only the barest trace of vulnerability crossed his face. The silent struggle, the constant battle against pain, was something he could not escape—even in his private chambers, surrounded by the protection of his own walls.

Then, without another word, he reached for the goblet of Dorwinion wine resting at his side. The cool glass felt smooth in his hands as he lifted it to his lips, the dark crimson liquid swirling gently within. It was not just a drink; it was his comfort, his ritual. The potent warmth of the wine slid down his throat, bringing with it a small measure of ease. It was a companion to his scars—something that could dull the discomfort, something that could shield him from the weight of it all, even if just for a few fleeting moments. Thranduil placed the goblet of Dorwinion wine back down onto the polished wooden surface of his desk with deliberate care, his long fingers lingering on its stem for a moment. The dimming light of the evening caught the wine’s deep crimson hue, reflecting faintly in the goblet’s rippling surface. His sharp eyes, usually filled with regal authority, softened as they settled on the faint reflection cast back at him from the dark liquid.

The scar, revealed in his private sanctuary now that the exhausting glamour magic had been allowed to fade, marred the perfection of his otherwise flawless face. The jagged lines of burnt, twisted skin that snaked across the left side of his face seemed more pronounced in the distorted surface of the wine. His left eye, blind and clouded, stared back at him, a stark reminder of the dragon fire that had consumed so much—not just his flesh but his pride, his sense of invulnerability, and a piece of his spirit. His fingers clenched the edge of the desk, his breathing slow but measured as he held back the surge of emotion that always threatened to overwhelm him in moments like this. He had long mastered the art of burying his feelings, suppressing them beneath layers of cold detachment and indomitable authority. But here, alone, with no one to see and no one to judge, the weight of the scar pressed upon him. It burned not with physical pain now, though the flare-ups were frequent enough. Instead, it burned with memory—the memory of fire, of searing agony, of the bitter realization that even an elven king was not untouchable.

As he stared at his reflection, a flicker of doubt crossed his face, and his jaw tightened. He hated it. Hated the way it had stolen something from him. Not just his physical perfection but the sense of invincibility he had carried for so long. Thranduil was prideful—too prideful, perhaps—and his scar was an affront to everything he had worked to embody. It made him feel flawed, vulnerable, mortal. The thought of someone seeing him like this—seeing the imperfection, the weakness—tightened the knot in his chest. What would they see? A king who had fallen? A shadow of his former self? He feared that even those closest to him, those who claimed to care for him, might look at him differently if they truly saw him.

His eyes dropped to the wine again, the rippling surface blurring the lines of his reflection, obscuring the scar in fragmented waves. For a brief, irrational moment, he wished the wine could do the same for him in reality—erase the mark entirely, make him whole again, as if the fire had never touched him. But he knew better. The scar would always be there, beneath the glamour, beneath the layers of pride and stoicism. He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to quell the ache that had settled behind his temples. His mind wandered to what the scar truly meant. It was a mark of failure, yes, but it was also a mark of survival. He had endured the fire. He had endured the pain. He had endured the shame of it all. And yet, the weight of it was no less heavy now than it had been centuries ago. A sigh escaped him, soft and low, barely audible in the quiet room. He straightened again, his gaze sharpening as he forced the emotions down once more. The scar would remain hidden, just as it always had, and no one would ever see it—not willingly. He could not bear the thought of revealing it, of sharing that piece of himself, even with someone he trusted. It was his burden, his pain, and his alone. The goblet hovered near Thranduil’s lips, the deep crimson wine catching the fading evening light as he took another slow sip. His eyes, distant and unfocused, remained fixed on the swirling liquid within, his thoughts drifting through the labyrinth of his insecurities. He was lost in a tide of memories—of fire and pain, of failure and survival—and so consumed by the weight of them that he didn’t notice the soft creak of the door opening, nor the quiet footsteps that followed.

You stepped into the room, your intention simply to see Thranduil, as you had not seen much of him throughout the day. It was not unusual for you, as his partner, to enter his chambers unannounced. Thranduil often became so immersed in the weight of his duties that he lost track of time, and you had made it a habit to check on him, to offer him solace in the quiet moments he rarely allowed himself. The chamber was dimly lit, bathed in the soft glow of the fading evening light streaming through the tall windows. Your steps were light, almost soundless, as you moved closer. At first, the sight of him seemed as familiar as ever—Thranduil seated at his desk, the very image of quiet authority. He sat with his back straight, his long platinum blonde hair cascading over his shoulders, his usual air of command emanating from his every movement. But there was something different now, something that made you slow your steps. His posture, while still upright, lacked its usual unyielding confidence. His shoulders seemed slightly tense, his head tilted downward as though weighed by unseen burdens.

It was a rare thing to see him like this. Here, in the privacy of his chambers, Thranduil allowed himself to shed the unrelenting mask of perfection he wore before others. But tonight, there was something more—a vulnerability in the way his fingers lingered at the goblet of wine, the faint lines of exhaustion that even the soft glow of the room couldn’t hide. As your eyes adjusted further to the low light, they fell to his face—his left side—and you froze mid-step. The glamour that he so carefully maintained, the magic that concealed his deepest insecurity, was gone. In its place was the raw, unguarded truth of the dragon fire’s mark. The scar you had never known existed marred his otherwise flawless features, jagged and stark against his pale skin. The burn lines crawled over his cheek and forehead, reaching dangerously close to his eye, the milky haze of blindness on that side painfully apparent. Your breath caught in your throat, not from revulsion, but from the sheer weight of the vulnerability before you. This was a side of Thranduil you had never seen—a side he had clearly worked tirelessly to conceal.

He didn’t notice you at first, still lost in his thoughts, the weight of his duties pressing down on him. But then, as you stepped forward, the soft sound of your movement broke the stillness of the room. The quiet gasp that escaped your lips caught Thranduil off guard, like a pebble disturbing the calm surface of a lake. His head snapped up in an instant, his sharp senses finally registering your presence. His body tensed at once, his fingers tightening around the goblet of Dorwinion wine so forcefully that the thin glass seemed on the verge of cracking. For a moment, he just stared at you, his piercing icy blue eye wide with shock and something deeper—fear. “Y/N—” His voice faltered, his calm and regal demeanor slipping for the first time. He straightened in his chair, almost instinctively, his hand moving to his left cheek, hovering over the scar as though it might disappear at his touch. His fingers lingered, unsure whether to hide or acknowledge the exposed imperfection. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone sharper than he intended, an edge of panic hidden beneath his words. The question wasn’t just an inquiry; it was a barrier, a defense.

You took a tentative step forward, your gaze flickering between his eyes and the scar that he so clearly wished to hide. “I—Thranduil, I didn’t mean to intrude,” you murmured softly, your voice a blend of surprise and gentle concern. “I… I just wanted to see you. I hadn’t seen much of you today, and I—” Before you could finish, his head turned away from you, his hand still placed over the left side of his face, as if to shield the scar from view. But it was too late; you had seen it. The defenses he had so carefully constructed, the barriers he had maintained for centuries, had been breached. The mark of dragon fire, the jagged scar that twisted across his skin, was now fully visible, its painful history and the vulnerability it carried laid bare.

“Leave.” The word was sharp, almost harsh, but the tremble in his voice betrayed the storm of emotion beneath. His face hardened, his features slipping into the cold mask he so often used to distance himself from others. But even that mask couldn’t fully hide the raw vulnerability in his eye, the way his hand lingered near his face, as if trying to erase what had already been exposed. “Thranduil…” you said softly, stepping closer despite his command. Your heart ached at the sight of him, at the pain etched not only into his skin but into his very being. “You don’t have to hide this from me.” You didn’t know what drove you to speak those words—perhaps it was the overwhelming tenderness you felt for him in that moment, or the fierce desire to show him that nothing would change how you saw him. “You’re not weak,” you added quietly, as if trying to reassure him, to lift the weight of his insecurities. But the distance between you both still lingered in the air, the tension thick. You could feel the internal battle raging within him, the fear of being truly seen, and yet the quiet ache of needing to be accepted just as he was.

His jaw tightened, his gaze flickering briefly to the reflection in the wine goblet before returning to you. The cold mask of composure slipped further from his face, leaving him vulnerable in ways he wasn’t accustomed to. “You know nothing of what I must do. Of what I must be,” he said, his voice quiet but laced with a tremor of something deeper—fear, pride, and a strain of something raw beneath it all. “This scar… It is not something I wish for you to see. It is not… who I am.” Your eyes softened, heart aching at the depth of his words. Gently, you shook your head, stepping closer. “But it is a part of you,” you whispered, your voice unwavering, full of love and compassion. “And it doesn’t make you any less of the king you are. Or the man I love.” For a long moment, he stood there, still, as though your words were a distant echo he couldn’t quite understand. His hand, still hovering over the scar, fell slowly away, and with it, the wall he had built around himself started to crumble. He exposed the mark fully, not with pride, but with a painful hesitation, his eyes on you—waiting for judgment, waiting for disappointment. But all he found in your gaze was compassion, unwavering and steady. It disarmed him in a way he hadn’t anticipated, a vulnerability he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge before. It unsettled him, how open you were with him, how unafraid you were of seeing him as he truly was. It was the opposite of everything he had feared.

“I…” His voice faltered, thick with emotion, words hanging on the edge of his tongue. His pride and his fear fought fiercely, pushing him to retreat, to build his walls once more. He wanted to hide, to erase what you now saw. But then, there was your gaze—gentle, understanding, patient—and it caused him to hesitate. He finally spoke, his voice quieter now, almost broken. “This scar… It is a reminder of my failure. Of the pain I endured. Of the fire that nearly consumed me.” He turned his face slightly, almost ashamed to meet your eyes, his voice heavy with the weight of that painful memory. “It is a weakness I cannot bear for you to see.” You stepped closer, reaching out with a tenderness that filled the space between you. Your hand settled gently over his, still resting on the desk, your touch warm and grounding. “Thranduil,” you murmured softly, your voice full of warmth and quiet strength. “It is not weakness. You survived. You endured. And if this scar is a reminder of anything, it’s of your strength. Not your failure.” You paused, your words softening with even more love. “It’s a battle scar, Thranduil. Everyone has them. And they are unique to each of us. They are part of our story, not our shame. Yours is no different.” At your words, he finally allowed himself to meet your eyes fully. For the first time, he felt seen—not just as a king, but as a man. The fear that had gripped him began to soften, the trembling edges of his pride faltering in the face of your unwavering acceptance. The walls he had spent centuries building, the barriers he had so carefully maintained to protect his heart, began to crack. And in the place of the fear, he found something else—something warm and soft, as though the faintest glimmer of hope was beginning to take root in the cracks of his soul. Your touch, your words, your gaze—they were all he needed. In that moment, with everything laid bare, the deepest parts of him, the parts he had long buried, slowly began to heal.

You drew in a breath, letting the moment settle between you, your voice barely a whisper but full of the weight of your love. “And I love you, Thranduil,” you added, your words steady and unwavering, “beyond what you look like, beyond what scars you carry, beyond the image you’ve carefully crafted. I love you for who you are, for your heart, your strength, your mind, and the kindness you don’t often show.” His heart clenched at your words, emotions swirling in him as the walls finally cracked enough for him to let them in. He wasn’t sure how to process this new vulnerability, this tenderness from you. But in that moment, he realized something: he didn’t have to hide from you. Not anymore.

“Do you mean that?” Thranduil’s voice was soft, almost fragile, as if testing your words, unsure if he could truly believe them. His eyes searched yours, looking for any hint of doubt, of a lie—but all he found was sincerity but now softened by a trace of vulnerability he rarely showed anyone. You nodded gently, brushing your thumb over the back of his hand in a soothing motion. “Every word,” you said, your voice steady, full of warmth and certainty. “You don’t have to hide from me, Thranduil. Not this, not anything. I see you—the real you—and I love you all the same.” For a long moment, he remained silent, his gaze never leaving yours. The weight of your words seemed to hang in the air, filling the space between you. His chest rose and fell slowly, his shoulders tense, yet with every breath, you could see a subtle release—a softening of the guard he had held so tightly for centuries. Finally, with a quiet exhale, he leaned back in his chair, his body relaxing ever so slightly. The scar was still there, as was the pain that came with it, but something had shifted in him. For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to believe that perhaps, just perhaps, he didn’t have to carry it alone.

You smiled softly, feeling the tiniest flicker of relief in his posture. To reassure him, you took a step closer Before he could gather his thoughts, you gently cupped his face, your thumb brushing over the sharp curve of his jaw, as though trying to memorize the feel of him—every part of him. And then, with a quiet tenderness, you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, lingering just a moment before pulling away slightly. His eyes fluttered closed, a soft breath escaping him, as though the simplest of gestures had undone something deep within him. You continued your gentle assault of his face with tender kisses, one by one. A light kiss on his cheek, his nose, his chin, each kiss filled with tenderness, each one a reaffirmation of your words. The slight scent of his skin grounding you as your lips traveled to the corner of his mouth. Each kiss was a promise, a reminder that you didn’t care about the scars—inside or out.

As you kissed along his jawline, you paused for a brief moment, your lips hovering above the scar. You were careful, mindful of any pain it might cause him, but you felt the need to show him that it didn’t matter. That the scar didn’t change how you saw him. Slowly, you brushed your lips against the scar’s edge, your kiss soft and reverent, as if you were honoring the pain and strength that it represented. Thranduil’s breath hitched slightly, and you noticed his pointy elf ears turning a deeper shade of red, flushed with a mix of embarrassment and something else—a quiet, unfamiliar vulnerability that stirred in his chest. His usual composed exterior was beginning to crack under your gentle affection, and it was clear he didn’t quite know how to handle it. You loved him, and you loved him fully, with every inch of his being as You smiled up at him, your eyes warm with love. “You’re beautiful, Thranduil,” you whispered, pressing one last, lingering kiss on his scar. “Inside and out.” your voice soft but filled with adoration. A soft flush spread across his face, and for the first time, you saw the true depth of his discomfort—not from your touch, but from the way he was letting you in. His vulnerability, his scar, it all seemed to unnerve him more than he cared to admit. But despite the unease, you saw something else in him too: acceptance. A slowly dawning realization that, perhaps, he could be seen—completely, imperfections and all—and still be loved. After a beat, you pulled back slightly, your lips curling into a playful smile. “You know,” you teased, voice light, “I think it’s kind of sexy.”

Thranduil’s eyes widened slightly, a look of surprise crossing his features, before his lips curled up into the faintest of smirks. His pointy elven ear tips flushed a deeper shade of red, and he leaned in slightly, as if caught off guard by your flirtation. “Sexy, hmm?” he replied, his voice low and teasing, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “You’re an unpredictable one, Y/N.” You laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Well, you are a king, and now I know you’re even more… intriguing than I thought.” Thranduil, still a little flushed but clearly more at ease than before, relaxed further in his chair. The weight of his insecurities, though not gone completely, felt lighter. It was clear that, in this moment, you had done something for him he had not allowed anyone to do in centuries—he was seen, truly seen, and still loved. And that, perhaps, was more than he had ever hoped for.

Thranduil’s gaze flickered to yours, the familiar spark of his regal pride returning as he raised an eyebrow. He almost smirked, but there was something deeper in his eyes now—something more vulnerable, more real. “Is that so?” he asked, his tone light but laced with a hint of amusement. You grinned, leaning in to kiss his cheek once more, this time lingering for a moment longer. “Very much so,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his skin in the softest caress. “But more than that, it’s your strength. You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever known, and nothing could change that.” For a fleeting moment, Thranduil allowed himself to fully appreciate the weight of your words. Though he remained guarded, the walls he had built began to feel less necessary, less suffocating. For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to believe that maybe—just maybe—he didn’t have to be perfect to be loved. As your words lingered in the air, his cheeks flushed, a faint, almost imperceptible warmth spreading over his skin. His usually proud and composed demeanor faltered for a moment, the tips of his pointed elven ears turning the softest shade of red. The king of Mirkwood, a creature known for his unshakable poise, now stood before you, his pride vulnerable in the gentlest way. He let out a quiet breath, a small, reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, a smile he rarely showed, but one that made him seem almost… human.

“I… did not expect that,” he murmured, his voice softer now, betraying a vulnerability that had been locked away for centuries. There was a quiet reverence in his expression as he looked at you, the raw honesty in his eyes making him appear more open than he had ever been before. Your heart swelled at the sight of him, knowing you had reached him in a way no one else had. With a soft chuckle, you pressed one final kiss to his cheek. “Well, I think you’re the one who’s full of surprises, my king.” Thranduil’s smile widened, a rare but genuine smile, and the warmth in his eyes lingered, a silent promise that, for the first time, he was letting someone see him fully—and that was enough for him to let go of the walls he had built so high. “Thank you, my starlight,” he whispered, his voice gentle but filled with sincerity. He reached out, his hand brushing softly against your cheek before his fingers traced the line of your jaw with a tender grace. His touch was warm, grounding, as if trying to silently convey just how much you meant to him in that moment. His gaze held yours, filled with both gratitude and something deeper—something more tender.

You smiled, the warmth in your chest growing, and without a word, you let your body respond to his quiet request. Thranduil shifted slightly in his chair, and with a subtle motion, he guided you into his arms. He didn’t speak it, but his eyes and gentle touch made it clear—he wanted to feel your presence close, to have your warmth as a source of comfort and solace after the weight of what he had shared. As you shifted, moving to straddle him, you saw his posture relax even more, as if your closeness was the balm he needed for the rawness he had just exposed. He let out a quiet sigh of relief, the tension melting from his shoulders as you settled against him, your body fitting into his with a natural ease. His hands gently cradled your back, pulling you closer, his touch more tender than commanding, as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in the calmness you provided.

For a long moment, the world outside of the two of you faded, and Thranduil simply held you, the king of Mirkwood becoming something more human in your arms. There was no need for words now—only the comforting rhythm of your breathing and the silent understanding between you both. You didn’t say anything. You simply let him feel the love and warmth he had so carefully hidden away, offering him the solace he needed without judgment, without question. And as he held you closer, Thranduil allowed himself to melt into the comfort of your embrace, a quiet whisper escaping his lips, “I never want to let go of this.”

[yarafic]

Preference~ Meeting Klaus in New Orleans

Preference~ Meeting Klaus in New Orleans

"Don't worry, mom. I'll keep my doors closed." As you pick up your purse from the floor, "Yes, I'll close my windows at night. Mom, I have seen the documentaries, and let's not forget criminal minds. I promise, I am not that ignorant."

You opened the door to your modern house and locked it. You have to say that Criminal Minds or any cop show in existence has proved to you what not to do when you're living alone. You never comprehended why people would foolishly leave their windows open at night. Which is terrifying as fuck for many reasons. For example, someone could enter your house and slaughter you in your sleep. Bloody insects could be swarming around you. Let's not forget that a fucking bird barged into your apartment last month.

When you were trying to head to work, you wouldn't leave your room. Until your co-worker came. She helped you get rid of that damn bird.

"I have to go now." You replied to your mom as you closed the door behind you.

"Please take care! Love you! Be safe and call me when you are off work."

"Yes, mom. Don't worry, nothing bad will happen. Like I told you before, I only live about ten minutes away from work. Love you."

As you hung up the phone, you had this weird feeling. Like you were being watched as you stood in front of your building. Already making your way to work. As you were getting nearer to where you work, you noticed there wasn't any music playing, and it seemed eerily quiet.

As you pushed open the door, there were blood splatters on the walls. Bloodied bodies are all over the place. The worst is seeing all the disfigured corpses on the exposed floor. In the center of the room, there were piles of bodies scattered around the floor. In the center of all those bodies stood a man with blonde hair, covered in blood from head to toe. His arms stretched out.

You noticed that he was holding something in his right hand; you couldn't make out what it was. Then you notice the liquid is dripping from the object. You distinguish it as a heart. You gasp and take a step back. Idiotically, you bumped into a table that was on the way out.

The murderous man turns around to see your small, quivering frame trying to leave the establishment. You had to find a way to get out. But you couldn't move. It felt like you were stuck. You could hear your heart thrumming in your ears. Crime shows didn't prepare you for this current situation that you are in. How were you going to make it out of life? He steps towards you; you stumble back to get away.

You turn around fully to run out of the building, but out of nowhere, he was already in front of you. Your thoughts were racing to find a way to get out of here. He places both of his hands on your shoulders and forces you close to him. Your breathing is uneven, and you have noticed black spots in your vision. The last thing you notice are these piercing blue eyes.

_____

Klaus p.o.v

"Who is she?" I hear my sister, Rebekah question as I go through our home.

"What has he done?" Hayley replies as she leans against the door frame.

I ignore them both, I honestly to do not have time listening to there banter about how I am a monster. I place the unconscious woman on my bed and walked out then closed the door.

I turn around to see my sister with her arms crossed above her chest waiting for me to answer her question. From done below we hear the rest of our siblings enter our home.

"Why is everyone so tense?" Freya question as she sees her you her siblings glaring at one another.

Rebekah twirls around to face Freya and says, "Klaus brought an unknown unconscious woman to our home."

You could see Elijah whip his head around to look at his brother. Klaus shook his head that he will explain to him later what happened. Elijah understood his brother. Therefore, he kept his mouth shut and turn to tell his dear sister to knock it off. But as usual, Rebekah ignores her older brother and kept on insisting that Klaus was going to hurt the poor girl that was in his room.

Klaus walks down the stairs to go into the kitchen, to find himself a drink. If he has to deal with his family, he would need something to calm his temptations on murdering his own siblings and the mother of his child.

Elijah walks in and sits down at the end of the table, he glances at his brother and says, "What happen?"

"She witness me murder our enemies then she fainted. It did not feel right of me to leave her there." Klaus pours himself more bourbon.

Elijah is amazed that his brother decided to take care of a woman that he scared to death. Maybe she will also help his brother, maybe she will help him change to be better for himself and his child. 

Klaus then turns around to go back to his bedroom. He sit down at a near by chair, he wasn't going to lie to himself; if he did thought that you were attractive. The moment he sweep you from your feet due to you going to unconsciousness, Klaus removes the strands of your hair that were covering your face. He admired in awe, on how you can look so pure and innocent. Somewhere deep inside of him, he did not want to let go of you. The blonde man needs to make sure to keep you in his life one way or another. He will do whatever he needs to do to keep you with him.

Slowly you open your eyes, you took a glance from your surroundings. You did not recall where you were. Panic rose from your chest and you sit up; you try to push the blankets off of yourself. 

"You should be careful, love." a voice calls out to me. I look towards the corner where the voice was coming from. In the left side of the room, sat the very man; who killed all those men at your work place. You push yourself up and try to run out of the room. It was no use, in a blink of eye, there he stood before me. You gasped in fear and took a step back, he had a smile on his face. If you had not known what he had done moments a go at the bar. You would find him an angel, so innocent and gentle. Like he would not seem to hurt anyone. 

"Why did you bring me here?" you stuttered out as you kept on walking backwards to keep a distance between the two of you.  Klaus brings his hands up to show that they were empty, a way to ease the shaking woman before him. He did not know if he should move in closer but noticing how she was backing away he decided against it. He lowers his hands to his side and replies, "I could not leave you there."

Your face showed confusion, you did not understand at all. Is he keeping you here to kill you? Or is he going to lock you away? (honestly you start making up scenarios in your head about what he could possibly do to you. Not going to lie you were scaring yourself to death, I believe it is time to stop watching crime shows).  

"What do you mean?" as your legs hit the bed. Klaus moves in forward and chuckles softly; he now is standing in front of you. He looks deep into your eyes and tilts his head to the side and whispers to you, " I have been watching you. The first time I met you was at the plaza, you were sat at the nearby benches with a book in hand. I couldn't keep my eye away from you, you put me in a trance. Like a siren becoming to come near you. I wanted to go up to for a talk but I couldn't I did not want to taint you from you innocence." 

Now you understood those times that you felt someone was watching your every move. For some odd reason you felt your heart flutter.  He has always been there in the shadows taking care of you. Your mind was telling you that this by far the most weirdest shit ever but your heart was saying that this is the most beautiful thing someone has ever told you. Your heart was telling you that it is okay to have someone  stalk you and be obsessed with you. 

"So it shocked me when I saw you walk through those doors. I did knew your work schedule due to your co-worker name Cami. She has been the one giving me information about you. My surprise that you were there, I thought she was the one that will working today", He raised his hands to cup your cheeks and gentle caresses them with his thumb. " So don't be afraid of me, love."

____________

Years later

"That is how I meet your father, Hope." you took a sip of your coffee and smile towards Hope, who has a look of confusion. 

"You stayed with him even though he scared the hell out of you." She questions, still not understanding how you, her stepmother could fall in love with her dad due to that introduction.

"Please do not judge me, sweetie. I know I am weird but I did truly found your dad terrifying but now, he is the most sweetest and adorable man that I know." Hope sighs and looks to see her dad leaning on the doorway. 

He scoffs of the words that his wife utter and walks inside the room that they were in. 

"Please do not let anyone else hear you." Klaus says as he wraps his arms around his wife's shoulders.

"What that you are fluff ball or that there is a soft side of you? Maybe I should open the doors to the balcony and scream them" You questioned playfully whiling sending a wink to Hope. 

Hope giggles and shakes her head, "Maybe I should help you as well." 

"Knock it off you two." Klaus points at you both. You and Hope snicker to one another. 

"You know I love you." I lean to give him a kiss on his cheek.

[causeimhappinesss]

His baby mama, part 1 (Corey Cunningham x reader)

Plot: Corey Cunningham gets his girlfriend pregnant. But since he's too scared of his mom, he doesn't tell her and doesn't fully take his responsibilities. Because of this, the reader breaks up with him, but… Did he really forget about her?

Pairing: Corey Cunningham x reader

Warning: stalking bitch (Corey), pregnancy(?)

Disclaimer: English isn't my native language (I'm french), so you can correct me if you spot some mistakes :) + it’s gonna be a short story, so don’t seek a full development as you would in a novel + read my author's notes at the end

PART 2

---

“Are you sure? Maybe it’s a mistake, maybe the test isn’t working…”

“Corey, I took a blood test. I’m pregnant.”

Your boyfriend’s face decomposes before your eyes. Corey stands there, his shoulders hunched under the yellowish light of the bedside lamp. Fear and indecision disfigure his usually more serene face.

“It’s too soon for us to be parents,” he replies, his trembling voice betraying his dismay. “We’ve only been together a year, and my mother… If she finds out about this, she’ll kill me.”

You watch him, your throat tight and your heart beating wildly.

“I didn’t choose this, Corey. I’m under birth control, I’m taking all my pills, you know that. But now it’s done. Maybe… Maybe it was meant to be.”

Your hands instinctively rest on your belly, a natural protection against the uncertainty of the moment. You’ve just found out about your two-month pregnancy, only the day before. Why weren’t you worried before you missed your periods? For the simple reason that you’ve never had a regular cycle, due to the stress you’ve been under all your life.

He swallows loudly and drifts his eyes elsewhere to avoid your gaze. Obviously.

“What if… What if we thought about abortion? The money I earn will go to my engineering program…” he murmurs, almost ashamed. Yet you know very well I might not be accepted in any university, given his criminal record, even if it was an accident.

The room seems to shrink around you, the walls lined with old floral wallpaper absorbing every word like a secret to be buried. Actually, this conversation was draining all your energy and you felt like it was burying you alive.

“What about the accident with Jeremy? You think that’s just going to vanish from my life? This town… They hate me. And with a baby, they’ll target you when our relationship will be exposed.”

As his voice breaks, he remains unable to finish his sentence.

The air between you becomes electric, charged with unspoken words. Your fists clench to hold back the trembling of your hands, as do your jaws. Tears burn your eyes and fog your vision. Your heart beats painfully. His words feel like a stab in the chest.

“Then go away!”

The words spurt out, sharp and irrevocable. You breathe hard, your lungs struggling against the dense air of the room. He frowns, his eyes on you, in which a glimmer of distress gleams.

“If you can’t handle it, get out! Get out!” you insist in a sharp tone.

His eyes cloud over with tears and sparkle with pain, as if he’s looking for something on your face… Perhaps a retraction on your part? A final confirmation for him to leave without looking back? He seems to be looking for something in your face, a reason to stay or perhaps permission to leave. But he finds nothing, just a reflection of his own distress.

Corey takes one step, then another, moving slowly toward the door. Each movement is heavy, as if he’s carrying the full weight of his choices and fears on his shoulders. He places his hand on the handle, his white knuckles betraying the strength of his grip.

“I…” he begins, but his voice is lost in an inaudible whisper.

With one last look, a mixture of apology and regret, he opens the door. The creak of the hinges seems to underline the finality of the moment. You stand still, staring at the empty space he’s left behind. The door slams behind Corey, a dry, final sound, bringing in the smell of impending rain this October 2021.

If only he could stand up to his crazy mother Joan. If only he could gain confidence in himself! If only he could understand that he was betraying you! After all, right from the start, you’d always opened the door of your house to him so he wouldn’t have to go back to his mother and hear her screaming, belittling him, even slapping him at times. You were the only woman in all of Haddonfield who agreed to give him a chance after the accident, even though you knew about the child’s death. You never judged him. You gave him all the love he needed, building a relationship of trust and pure love. True love.

Yet he’s just proved to you that he’s not worthy. Like father, like son, after all, since his father abandoned his mother when she was pregnant with him.

And as long as he doesn’t rebel and become a real man, no longer a scared teenager, he won’t move on with his life, you were certain. You, however, couldn’t stay stuck at this dead end.

Alone in the silence that followed, you closed your eyes, finally allowing your suppressed emotions to rise to the surface. Silent tears roll down your cheeks, each a promise of struggle and resilience. You breathe deeply, smelling the familiar scent of your great aunt’s house, mingled with the fresher scent of the rain to come. Here, in this house that is now yours, you will find the strength to face what lies ahead. Alone, but free.

*

In the weeks that follow, Corey tries to get back to you with numerous messages and calls, which you reject every time, but also by coming to your house. You never open the door for him. And as soon as you spot him in the town, in the stores, you make sure you avoid him. Better still, you’ve changed garage for your car repairs. In any case, none of his messages or voicemails indicate that he will assume his paternity, oh no. He wants you to understand his point of view. Like a little boy, he’s terrified. He doesn’t want you to stay mad.

As the months go by, his texts become rarer and rarer, until you don’t receive them anymore. From time to time, however, you find a wad of $100 bills in your mailbox, in an envelope signed “C.C.”.

You face your pregnancy and the birth of your child alone, without a father. Yet your few friends are there for you, and when your parents can, they visit you in Haddonfield. When the baby is born, you hesitate, but decide to leave an envelope with the baby’s photo and her name in your mailbox, knowing full well that Corey will pick it up. Did you do this to make him take responsibility? Out of simple kindness so he knows your daughter’s name and what she looks like as a newborn? Perhaps.

Again, the months go by and your daughter is only a few months old. Thanks to a friend, you learn that Corey has found love again in the arms of... Allyson, Laurie Strode’s granddaughter. The news hurts and stabs you in the heart. Deep down, maybe you were hoping he’d come back and finally become a real dad, not just a biological father. Especially since the older your daughter gets, the more she looks like him, with her natural kind of pout, her silky brown curls with golden highlights. Sometimes, she even seems to have her father’s eyes.

What you don’t know is that Corey never completely abandoned you.

He spied on you.

Over and over again.

You became his obsession, despite your many rejections during your pregnancy.

*

The room is plunged into darkness, subdued by half-closed shutters. Only a trickle of light from the street sneaks in through the slits. You gently cradle your daughter, her cries gradually subsiding under the effect of your comforting caresses. Her steady, soothing breath calms you, as you lay her gently in bed. An exhausted sigh escapes your lips, then you let yourself fall onto your own bed, letting fatigue fall on you like a leaden screed. Your heavy eyelids barely lift to glance at the clock, which is blinking mercilessly: 3:30 a.m. How long has it been since you’ve had a decent night’s sleep? You don’t even remember, but the dark circles under your eyes testify to the many nights of sleep cut short and the incessant preoccupations flooding into your brain. Being a single mom was hard as hell.

As you drift off to sleep, reality suddenly catches up with you. You jerk open your eyes, your heart pounding in your chest like a panicked drum. A man stands over the cradle, frozen in the half-light like a shadow, a sleep paralysis demon. He wears blood-stained overalls, his face hidden behind a white mask devoid of human expression…

Michael Myers.

Your eyes widen. Your breath freezes in your throat. A shiver of fear runs down your spine. You panic, but you force yourself to remain calm so as not to wake your sleeping daughter a few yards away. Without taking time to think, you try to throw yourself on top of your daughter, whom you try to press to your chest. Faster than you, the man pushes you away and presses his body against yours, still on the bed. His hands slip around your neck, ready to strangle you… One of the serial killer’s habits, as everyone knows, when he’s not stabbing his victims with a kitchen knife.

You try to scream, to fight against his relentless grip. Your throat tightens, unable to produce the slightest sound. Panic takes hold of you, a burning sensation that consumes every part of your being. Gradually, your strength leaves you. Suddenly, a wave of familiarity washes over you, a fragrance that takes you back to distant memories, forgotten moments of happiness. The sweetness of this reminiscence is swept away by the implacable terror of the present situation.

You try to gather your thoughts, to find a way to free yourself from the grip of this stranger who holds you prisoner in your own bed. Before you can articulate a single word, a brutal shock hits the back of your skull, a blinding explosion of pain that overwhelms you and engulfs you in darkness. Then, it’s pitch black.

“We are finally reunited…” whispers the husky male voice.

[Author’s notes]

Should I write another part? If yes, what do you want to happen next?

Sorry if it’s not developed enough. I would totally do it if I was writing one of my novels… But this story is mainly to satisfy myself lol

My Ko-fi: betrayedwriter

My AO3: BetrayedWriter

My Instagram: carolinemertz_

Want to read my novel if you know some french? Find them in my bio 😉

[aaaaaaallljffourrhodri]

Thanks to @fungifanart for giving me the ok to use the promt

Yuu loved his friends they were rowdy sometimes sure but that didn't stop them for being friends.

Yuu loved his friends even when they were rude with him.

Yuu loved his friends even when they called him out for having no magic

Yuu loved his friends even when they freeloaded at his dorm

Yuu loved Grim even if he would exchange Yuu's soul for some tuna

Yuu... didn't know if he actually loved his friends anymore.

It was draining for him to deal with them.

Time passed and Yuu barely couldn't stand them anymore.

Yuu was tired to be used over and over and over AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVE-

By the headmage... or for his friends... even willing to give up his living place for their well being. But if that was true why were the photo's of them taken by the ghost camera moving less and less everyday... maybe... just maybe he could...

The first photo Yuu ever took was the first one to come alive. And as he took it out of the photo album 3 of the five people jumped out of the photo. Ace, Deuce and Grim the only two remaining in the figure were Yuu himself and Crowley.

"Yuu... what's wrong? Why are you crying?" Yuu didn't even notice he was crying.

"Hey! I can't have a sad henchman cmon smile!" Said the Grim

"Prefect don't cry... you know that crying is lame when you smile it's better!"

One by one copies of their so called friends jumped out of the photos.

They were all... so nice to Yuu... Yuu wanted to be never apart from them.

Grim was preoccupied. The Prefect exited less and less put of his room nor to lesson. The whole dorm wrapped in a inky smell. Grim sensitive nose couldn't andle it. He himself was passing more and more night at other dorms than his own.

Grim looked around in class: their henchman wasn't in class... again.

Grim was terrified of Yuu... everyone was...

As Grim and the first year group (minus Yuu) was walking to Sam store they saw the prefect searching from something.

"Prefect long time no see!" Said Epel approaching Yuu. Epel was scared when he saw the look the prefect gave him "oh hi Epel as I was saying last night-"

"Last night? What do you mean last night?" The realisation hit Yuu in the face he was talking to the wrong Epel.

Epel backed away as the magicless boy began to laugh holding his head left eye twitching while looking around in desperation. Only to run away minutes later.

The other first year's whatced the scene unfold looking lost and with a newly gained fear of the magicless prefect.

Yuu returned to his room to his RƏaŁ friends he looked happily around the room recognising the now disfigured silhouette of Vil and Rook. He couldn't here anything as the ringing in his hears got louder and his vision blurry...

A crazed laugh sounded trough the whole campus.

Riddle Roseheart was going to the library to do a quick rewiev of alchemy for the test that was happening the day after. When the laugh reached his ears. He felt goosebumps.

Trein was displeased and worried. The prefect didn't show up to class anymore. He needed to confront the prefect about this!

As he came to the door of Ramshackle Lucius meowed (Trein be carefull there is something wrong with this place) opening the door Trein found sight of no one only a black liquid dripped infront of him. Noticing the familiar liquid, Trein ran back out before calling the professor emergency line.

"Trein I swear if this is another of your lectures about hygiene I'm closing this call." Said Crewel sounding annoyed "Not this time I need all of Yuu at Ramshackle now!" Trein closed the call.

After a while the professors arrived (and Sam too) "Trein what's happening why call us at the pup's dorm!" Asked Crewel amused "Come after me" the old history teacher said firmly

After that event, even the staff was afraid of Yuu.

Idia had never found a blot concentration bigger than ramshackle dorm. So much blot that it was scary. Even if the blot couldn't make the prefect go overblot it still affected his behaviour and healt. It was also strange how all of the blot came from an objected that didn't produce blot.

The prefect was taken by S.T.Y.K.S in a cage... like a beast without reason.

The prefect was not himself anymore.

The real prefect was living in an idilliac world were everyone was always nice with him and nothing did go wrong. Then he noticed something...

Wasn't Grim tail pitchforked? Why is it normal? The world started spinning around when suddenly Yuu found himself locked in a cage with cushion walls... was he? In an asylum?

What had happened? Where did all of his friends go... then he started to remember...

That day after he met Epel, the pictures stopped moving. No more of his friends were there... only distorted figures of them. After that, the memories were a fuzzy mess. All the good things that happened... was it all a sick dream? What was he doing in the real world while dreaming of such perfect place.

Black tears streamed down his face as he started to call for somebody... anybody...

A figure appeared at the door of the cell. Idia Shroud. The look in his face was full of dread and esitation, but he still entered the cell.

"Yuu... how are you feeling?" "Idia, why am I here? I don't know where I am. I'm scared. What's happening?"

Idia expression softened before running towards the prefect, hugging him: "Yuu I'm so glad you're back... the others are also gonna be so happy..."

Little did Yuu know that no one except the shroud brothers would see him as before for the others. He would be from that moment the human who turned in a beast. Yuu wasn't told that he had MURDERED a student during his beast like state... Idia covered it up... Yuu would live from that moment encased in a piercing depressing reality in eternity searching that idilliac word he once lived in...

From that moment Yuu would fear to death the ghost camera and the dangers that come with it.