#i shall resist the urge to apologise for you seeing all those

[selfconsumerofmywoes]

I read a lot of ur vent/original posts and wish I could reply with comfort/advice but I don’t wanna impede too much

hey i’m just talking to the void but if the void talks back sometimes, i won’t complain

[ellie-e-marcovitz]

Ten: Into the Library

I'm alive! Aided by a rather rude comment, Writer's Block has been worse than usual. I'm still reluctant to progress on Hogwarts Legacy. Kendal, Gwyneth and Hayden make an appearance.

Exiting Professor Fig’s classroom, they crossed paths with Kendal, who seemed determined. “There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere!”

“Hello to you too, Kendal. Why were you looking for us?”

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Apparently, Professor Weasley thinks you’ve gone back to Hogsmeade, for whatever reason. She asked me to drag you back. Oh, hello Eleanor.”

“Kendal,” Eleanor greeted, and he cautiously looked between the two, nervously. While Kendal, Gwyneth, and Catherine had gone to Hogwarts last year, he hadn’t been privy to most of the details, possibly in silent fear he’d end up being unable to come.

“Of course you two would know each other…” he muttered, as their chattering intensified. He was constantly baffled by his sisters, and now Eleanor’s, ability to speak in half sentences, vague hand gestures, and seemingly able to read each others’ minds.

This continued until they reached the Transfiguration courtyard, and he was starkly reminded about the still-damaged statue he’d been asked to possibly repair.

“Kendal,” he interrupted, forcing both her and Eleanor to look at him. “You wouldn’t happen to know how that statue,” he pointed towards the damaged statue, “got destroyed, would you?”

She froze, taking in his serious look and rolling her eyes, before turning thoughtful. “Let me talk with Gwyneth, dad,” she retorted, before hurrying off.

Eleanor took after her, and he sighed, following them both into central hall, before making his way over to the Great Hall.

There, he tackled several essays, schoolbooks fanning out in front of him.

Eleanor appeared sometime between Charms and Defence, giving him a frosty smile, before delving into her own books. He winced, before otherwise ignoring her.

He hadn’t meant to snap at Kendal, or channel their father; he fumed, as he resisted the urge to throw his ancient runes textbook across the Great Hall. They’d been so. close. to finding out what was in the library.

And his mood wasn’t helped by Sebastian sauntering by, Ominis not far behind him, now-typical smirk in place. He scowled, before shoving his books back into his bag, and heading back to Gryffindor Tower.

It was quieter in the common room, and allowed him to calm down some. It also allowed him to try and think of some ways that they could get into the library without breaking too many rules.

And mostly coming up blank. Except for one offer he refused to contemplate, even for a minute. He shuddered to think what detentions must be like here. They’d been bad enough at Ilvermorny, when he landed in it.

He pushed those thoughts away, to the back of his mind for now. There was no need to dwell on it further.

So it was with a cooler head that he approached Eleanor as she entered the common room sometime later. She seemed cautious as he approached, as did the other girls around her.

He stopped in front of her. “Look,” he started, well aware of their audience. “How can I make it up to you?”

She seemed to consider his words, sharing several silent looks with the others, and he gulped. All he hoped was that it wasn't too embarrassing for him.

“You'll apologise to your sister,” she started and he winced. “Tonight. And you'll help in one of Madam Scribner's etiquette classes she hosts on Saturday.”

The other girls nodded in agreement.

Another wince. “If my sister lets me speak with her at dinner, we shall see.”

A scrutinising look from Eleanor, before a sigh. “I suppose that is good enough, for now.”

“Thank you.” Standing, he gave a short bow. “Ladies,” he muttered, before returning to his books. Knowing his sisters, he'd have to be quick. Kendal was no doubt feeding the rumour mill.

He fled the tower not long after six, hoping to beat her there.

They ended up crossing paths, her coming up from the Hufflepuff common room, Gwyneth not far behind him.

“Alright,” Kendal started, looking very much like she didn't want to be doing this. “Despite my better judgement, I'm telling you this. Don't tell anyone else, I mean it.”

He listened, watching her intently.

“Last year, I might've destroyed the statue in the alcove, because Grayson Alers might've… well… he decided to break my heart during OWLs week. By dumping me in the Transfiguration Courtyard.” She scowled.

“I helped her drop the pieces in the lake,” Gwyneth added softly. “She didn't want Alers repairing it before he left. And neither of us believed his excuse of her distracting him.” A rare eye roll from Gwyneth.

Ah. That answered that question. “Thank you for telling me. And I'm sorry I snapped at you.”

She looked at him, disbelievingly, tears shining, before scowling at his next question.

“Where's this Alers now?” he asked

“Probably the ministry,” came Eleanor's voice, and Kendal seemed both shocked and relieved to see her. Eleanor seemed pleased at their little gathering. Kendal rolled her eyes, but said nothing.

“I'll meet you inside,” was all she said to him, and he nodded.

“I- We'll fish them out tonight,” Kendal finally said, sharing a look with Gwyneth. “So we should probably eat.” He nodded in agreement.

Dinner passed quietly, both Gwyneth and Kendal joining him and Eleanor, along with Garreth and Neal, whose singed blond locks got much ribbing from the group. The rest of the evening passed in a similar manner.

Saturday arrived with a sunbeam to the eyes and a deep reluctance to move from his bed. Both Garreth and Leander were missing from theirs, and Neil and Oswin were sound asleep.

Lucky blokes.

He took advantage of the quiet washroom for his morning routine, before dressing and heading down. The common room was noisy with chatter, a number of Gryffindors scattered around doing homework or playing games.

The Great Hall was just as noisy, the students in a mix of school robes and Muggle clothing. He waved to Natty, Eleanor and Seraphina, before joining Leander in a spontaneous discussion of sports teams.

After breakfast, he wandered the castle some, curious as to what he might find.

He ended up finding several more Field Guide pages, and a distressed looking Ravenclaw near Professor Hecat’s classroom.

“Is everything all right?” he asked the young girl tentatively, who seemed to be around Hayden’s age.

She shook her head. “I am not,” she started, her voice curt. “Do you not know who I am?”

He shook his head. He hardly knew anyone, outside of his year and family.

“Zenobia Noke,” she introduced. “The girl whom the entire school hates for no reason.”

“Cyrus.” He felt a little sceptical of that. “Everyone hates you?” he enquired. “Why?”

She huffed. “Because Hogwarts appears to be full of bullies and spoilsports, that's why,” she retorted, almost defensively. “Leander Prewett is one of the worst, that no-talent moonmind!” She half-shouted the last bit, frustration taking over.

He silently let her talk.

“I wanted to make some new friends,” she continued, “and so I brought my collection down to the common room.” She tapped at the badge on her robe.

“Collection? Of what?”

“My Gobstones collection. I was hoping someone would want to play. Are you familiar with the game?”

He tried to remember if it sounded familiar.

“Little balls, like marbles…” she continued, and he shrugged, nothing about it sounding familiar to him.

“Hmph,” she sighed. “Grand game, in my opinion. But if you lose, you get sprayed with a foul-smelling fluid.”

He cringed a little at that. It didn't sound like a game any of his sisters would enjoy.

“Sounds like an interesting challenge…” he muttered.

“That's what I tell people!” Zenobia exclaimed, excitedly. “It's not my fault they lose! Ugh, but people can be so cruel!” 

That he could agree with. “That is unfortunately true…”

She seemed to ignore him, as she continued. “Imelda is one of the worst losers, and Everett and Astoria are terrible as well,” she grumbled. “And now they've taken my Gobstones and hidden them in very high places all over the school.”

“Like where?”

“I know one is in the Transfiguration Courtyard, and another is near Ravenclaw tower.”

“It sounds like an overreaction on their part.”

Zenobia nodded enthusiastically. “I would agree. Anyway, I can't work out how to get them on my own. I haven't been able to learn Accio yet.” She frowned, before gaining a mischievous smile, not unlike his sisters.

“So, I need an older, more talented, student who is selfless to help me get them back.”

“If you know of the other locations, I can certainly try.”

A sigh. “Very well. One is near the Divination classroom, another near the Arithmancy classroom, and…” She trailed off.

“Yes?”

“Possibly the Trophy room and somewhere in the area of the Grand Staircase. I'm not tall enough to reach the top of the portrait frame.”

Good to know. “Thank you, Zenobia.”

“You’re welcome! Hopefully, I’ll be back to playing on my own again soon.”

He winced as he turned on his heel, and headed back down the stairs.

Slowly, he gathered the Gobstones. The one in the Transfiguration Courtyard was easy enough to find, sitting above the alcove, where distinct chunks of the statue now sat.

He was glad to see that Kendal and Gwyneth had (somehow) dragged them out of the lake. Unless they said something, he wasn’t going to ask. No need to set himself up for anymore punishment.

Remembering the wand movement, he muttered, “Reparo,” and watched as the statue smoothly reassembled itself into the mourning figure of heartbreak in short order. There was something peaceful, even with the distraught statue, about this alcove.

Re-entering the Transfiguration Courtyard, he quickly Accio’d the small, glass ball, turning it over in his fingers, before dropping it in his robe pocket.

That’s one Gobstone collected, he mused, as he entered Central Hall. Not sure I can see what all the fuss is about it…

Pausing at the fountain, he pulled out his field guide. Opening it, he noticed several spots of purple.

Those must be the areas where the other Gobstones were hidden.

He found one inbetween Ravenclaw and Gryffindor towers, and two in and around the school Trophy room, a dizzying array of plaques, cups, and various other awards decorating the circular space.

It was as he approached the Divination classroom, that he crossed paths with Natty and her mother, Professor Onai. “Natty,” he greeted. “Professor Onai.” The mix of expressions told him he’d interrupted something.

“Oh, Cyrus,” Natty greeted. “Hello.”

“Mr. Northrup,” Professor Onai intoned, before moving off down the stairs.

Natty grinned, once her mother vanished from sight. “I was hoping to talk with you,” she started. “But not here.” She pointed to where they stood.

He tilted his head in confusion.

She gestured around them. “The portraits like to listen in, for one,” she explained, lowering her voice. “And my mother. Can we possibly meet outside the castle? Near, say, Lower Hogsfield?”

“Works for me, I s’pose…” A pause. “Have you asked Eleanor?”

“I have,” she confirmed. “This morning. She wanted to see if you had figured out your task, by the way?”

He snorted. They really were thick as thieves. “Not… yet.” There was the slight problem of trying to figure out how to break into the Restricted Section, without alerting the librarian or any of the professors, and landing himself detention.

Natty’s expression turned contemplative. “Eleanor did also say something about –” she started, before being interrupted.

“Natsai!” came her mother’s shout, and she sighed.

“See you later Cyrus,” she said, before darting down the stairs and out of sight.

He sighed. There was an uneasy, sinking feeling, but he largely ignored it.

It took some searching, but he eventually found the Gobstone, perched on the landing’s chandelier. Grabbing it, he went searching for the last one.

He found it, near an unfamiliar classroom, perched above Central Hall, and summoned it. Last one, he noted, mentally counting them. I should find Zenobia.

He crossed paths with Eleanor, who handed him a navy bag with a tight smile. “Got these from Astoria,” was all she said.

Zenobia was still by the Defence classroom, where he’d originally found her.

“I hope you’ve had more luck than I did, tracking down my Gobstones…?” she asked, as he approached.

He nodded. “I did.”

“Really?!” she exclaimed, surprised, but something niggled at his brain. “Oh! I didn’t think it was possible! How ever did you do it?”

“Common sense and basic magic. I am a little surprised you haven’t learnt Accio yet.”

She shrugged. “Well. May I have my Gobstones back?”

“Yeas, of course.” He pulled the balls from his robe pocket, carefully dropping the six he’d found into the bag with the others, and holding it out. “They are yours, after all.”

Zenobia gave a little squeal, clapping her hands. “Oh thank you!” she cheered, taking the bag. “I shall dedicate all my future victories to you. Speaking of which…” she placed the small bag in her pocket. “I wonder if anyone in the common room would be up for a game, now that I’ve got them back…”

“…I’m sure that’s a wonderful idea, Zenobia.” He managed, not wanting to crush her enthusiasm.

“Well, thank you again, Cyrus!” she called, scurrying off.

He and Eleanor met up again at lunch.

“Natty mentioned that you might have an idea-?” he started, sitting down in front of her. She nodded, finishing her bite.

“I do, though I don’t know how much you’ll like it,” she noted. There was a sinking sensation in his stomach.

“You don’t mean...”

She nodded, reluctantly. “I do.” He groaned, his face contorting into a grimace, and pouting a little.

After a minute, she continued. “Did he mention being able to sneak into the Restricted Section?”

He nodded. “After Defence, the first day of classes.”

It was her turn to groan out of frustration. “I should take points,” she muttered. “But I won’t right now, at least.”

He was confused by that, but didn’t ask about it. There was food, and he was hungry.

“I also,” she continued, after he’d gathered some food, and taken a few bites. “Received a note from Natty, just before you joined me.”

She handed him an opened scroll of parchment, neatly decorated with Natty’s handwriting.

Eleanor,

 Meet me in Lower Hogsfield after lunch, as soon as you can. I would like to talk to you about something, and it might be best to do so outside of the castle.

Without the prying ears of my mother. Let Cyrus know – Natty.

He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Finishing off his plate, he asked, “Why Little Hogsfield?”

Eleanor raised an eyebrow, before considering the question. “Discretion, I believe. It’s close enough to Hogwarts, but not many students go over that way, considering it sits at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.” She stabbed a morsel of food. “The Black Lake is also nearby, which allows some cover for conversations.”

“Sounds like you’ve talked there before.”

She gave a mischievous smile, one that made his heart pound a little.

“Might have, a time or two.” A couple more bites. “Write a note to Sebastian. He won’t help unless you approach him.”

He rolled his eyes, before huffing. “Fine. Let’s get this done with.”

Fishing out some parchment and a quill, he wrote out a vague message to Sebastian. Folding it, he hesitated.

How to deliver it? A glance around the Great Hall held few answers. Most of his classmates seemed to mostly (barely) tolerate the Slytherin, or were terrified...

Hayden! He spotted his younger brother chatting with another student, a stubborn look on his brother’s face. Perhaps he could help him...

He waited until Hayden had gotten up from the Slytherin table, and managed to catch him just outside the Great Hall. Quickly explaining his situation, his brother reluctantly agreed to take the message.

“Just don’t make me your messenger, Cyrus,” he moaned, an annoyed look on his face.

“Fair enough,” he agreed. “Maybe you can even help.”

His good mood evaporated crossing by the clock tower, and across the grounds.

“I don’t exactly want Sebastian’s help,” he grumbled, as he and Eleanor passed a cabin on the edge of the grounds. Eleanor tsked in sympathy.

“Unfortunately, he is our best – and only – option here.” Part of him was relieved that she seemed equally displeased about dealing with the Slytherin.

At least, he hoped.

“Natty!” Eleanor’s shout brought him from his thoughts, and he spotted Natty standing next to a rickety old fence and a Floo point.

She waved, and they hurried closer. “Over here!”

“It is good to see you both,” Natty said, her voice anxious.

“You as well, Natty.” He felt as anxious as she sounded. “I hope you’re recovering well from our rather eventful trip to Hogsmeade.”

“I am, thank you for asking.” She grinned, before it faded, her expression turning determined. “But it you, Cyrus, that I have been worried about. What with Ranrok and Rookwood, and even Harlow, after you.”

He could feel Eleanor’s worried look at the reminder. “I’m all right, for the moment.”

“Hmmm.” Natty shared a look with Eleanor. “I know we did not speak about it at the time, but I am hoping now you might be able to tell me why Rookwood and Harlow were looking for you.”

He hesitated. Part of him wanted to wait until Professor Fig to say it was okay, but he also worried that the permission would never come.

“I would like to know as well,” Eleanor added, standing between him and Natty. “Considering Professor Fig never elaborated.”

He laughed. “Fair enough. I think, well, Rookwood and Ranrok want something that Professor Fig and I found at Gringotts.”

“Gringotts!” Natty and Eleanor exclaimed, shocked.

“When were you at Gringotts?” Natty asked.

“Just before Professor Fig and I came to Hogwarts,” he admitted. “In fact, it’s why I ended up being late to the Sorting Ceremony. Or, at least, a large part of the reason why.”

“What on earth...” Natty wondered, clearly bowled over.

Another shared look with Eleanor, before adding to Natty’s shock. “There is... one more thing, Natty,” he started, nervous. “It’s... a bit odd, if I’m honest.”

“Go on,” she said, guarded.

“Well, Professor Fig says I apparently have a rare connection to a powerful form of ancient magic.”

Natty blinked. “Like Eleanor?” she asked, gesturing to Eleanor, who shrugged.

“Yes, and no. It’s possible that Cyrus’s is even stronger than my own, apparently.”

Natty briefly studied him, before asking, “Is that the magic you used fighting those trolls in Hogsmeade?”

They both nodded.

“I think so,” he continued. “I’ve only used it twice before that, and I’m still learning.” He rubbed at his arm.

“But I can see high concentrations of it, and I’ve cast magic I cannot otherwise explain.”

A silent pause. “I know it’s a lot to absorb...”

“It is,” Natty agreed. She did look overwhelmed. “And I will have more questions.”

He laughed a little. “It’s understandable. I’m still processing parts of it myself.”

She laughed as well, cutting the mounting tension he felt. “Then it is good to see that I have company.”

It was as their laughter died down that Natty grew concerned. But before she could say anything, something caught her eye. “I’m sorry, Cyrus, Eleanor. I need to go,” she suddenly apologised.

Eleanor glanced around, before spotting an unusual bird in the sky, and seemed to understand. “Go ahead, Natty. We can meet up later.”

Natty nodded, before darting back towards Hogwarts. He stared after her, more than a little confused at the shift. Turning back to Eleanor, she appeared to be caught between two thoughts.

“Wha-?” he got out, before Eleanor shook her head.

“I think it’s best for Natty to explain,” she said, her voice soft and gentle.

“Okay then.” He jabbed his thumb in the direction their friend had just gone. “Think we should head back as well?”

Eleanor nodded, with a glance at her pin watch. “We probably should. It’s about time for dinner.”

They ended up crossing paths with Hayden outside of the Great Hall.

“Sebastian Sallow told me to give this to you,” he said, holding out a piece of folded parchment, an annoyed look on his face. Eleanor headed into the Great Hall

It didn’t say much.

Meet me by the tapestry of Wendelin the Weird. – S. Sallow.

He started to crumple it, before he figured it was best not to. Sticking it in his field guide, he followed his brother into the Great Hall and searched for Eleanor.

It was after dinner that he approached the tapestry mentioned. He had never heard of Wendelin the Weird, despite reading through A History of Magic cover to back several times during his recovery.

He suspected Eleanor wished to hit him with a copy when he admitted that. The disappointed looks from his sisters hadn’t helped.

Taking in the dramatic tapestry, he also spotted the slight figure that was Sebastian Sallow, silhouetted in the candlelight.

“Sebastian,” he greeted quietly.

“Ah, Cyrus!” Sebastian greeted in return, turning around. “You got my note.”

He nodded once in acknowledgement. He still wasn’t sure why...

“I was hoping to see you.” Sebastian grinned. “I just happened to be in the Three Broomsticks after the troll attack, and saw what happened with Rookwood and Harlow. Not many students have Victor Rookwood’s attention.”

The grin faded. “What was that all about?”

He gulped. While he was comfortable sharing information with the likes of Eleanor and Natty, he wasn’t sure how he felt about sharing it with someone like Sebastian.

Shrugging, he replied, “I’m - I’m not sure. I’ve never even met him. Perhaps he mistook me for another student...”

Sebastian eyed him suspiciously, but let it go. “If you say so. I won’t press you now, but you will have to tell me what exactly is going on at some point.” The smirk returned. “You might need me.”

Unlikely... he thought.

“So why do you need access to the Restricted Section, of all places?”

“Well...” This he felt he could share some information on. “I need to get something for Professor Fig...”

“But it happens to be in the Restricted Section.” The smirk grew.

“Yes. He got called away by the headmaster at the last moment, however...”

“No note?” Sebastian asked, clearly surprised.

“There wasn’t time. I suppose I could wait to get one...”

“But you wanted to show some initiative.”

“So to speak, yes.” A moment’s pause. “And you did say something about it the first day of classes.”

“Ah, so you remembered. I am clever enough, thanks. Meet me outside the library just before curfew.” A terse expression appeared. “And tell no one.”

He nodded. He’d only tell Eleanor, and only because she was involved with this. “I’ll see you later then.”

Returning to the common room, he told Eleanor, who glanced at her watch and sighed. “Sebastian is going to catch hell for this,” she grumbled. “All right, give me five minutes, and...” she glanced around. “I’ll meet you in Central Hall.”

He nodded, reluctantly. “I – Okay. See you then...” he muttered, as she hurried off towards the dorms.

Slipping back out, he made it halfway down Ravenclaw tower before he felt a tap at his middle back, and startled.

“It’s me!” came Eleanor’s hiss. “Keep moving towards Central Hall.” He nodded, unsure where exactly she was. “Trust me!”

Reaching Central Hall, Eleanor whispered a spell, reappearing beside him.

“Hello again,” she smiled, her expression mischievous.

“Let’s get this over with,” he mumbled, noticing Sebastian waiting nearby.

“Sebastian,” he greeted, as they approached.

“Cyrus,” Sebastian returned. “And -” He stopped, anger filling his face. “Why did you tell her?”

He scowled in return. “She’s helping me with this, Sebastian. If you have a problem with this...”

“If she’s not going to turn us in,” Sebastian seemed to counter. “I don’t.”

“Why -?”

“Done.” Eleanor agreed, face stony.

“Follow me, then.” They crept down to the balcony area overlooking the fountain – and the library. He noticed the students strategically dotted around the area, all around his age. Sebastian pointed at one of the doors opposite their position.

“See that door?” Sebastian whispered, and he nodded. “That’s the one we want to reach.” Another glance around. “And those annoying prefects would love nothing more than to rat us out to Scribner, or any of the professors...”

Eleanor huffed out a soft laugh. “Those prefects are there because of you, Sebastian,” she told him. “Not many students try to sneak into the library the first week of school.”

Sebastian made an offended expression, even as he flushed, before rolling his eyes. “Well then, don’t let them see you, all right?”

“Not a problem.” Eleanor vanished beside him. He felt a bit dumbstruck.

“How then? I know I can be a bit sneaky, but...”

“There’s a handy spell: the Disillusionment Charm.” Sebastian’s tone was somewhat condescending, but he brushed it off. “Good for getting into places you’re not supposed to be.” He shrugged. “Cast it, and you’ll appear as little more than a trick of the light.”

The smirk reappeared. “So long as you keep your distance and stay quiet.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem.” A glimmer down by the fountain caught his eye, and he swore he saw Eleanor’s mischievous smile.

“Good. The incantation is Disllusio,” Sebastian whispered, and quickly showed him the wand movement, before casting it on himself.

“Disllusio,” he muttered, following the wand movement, tapping his head. There was the rather uncomfortable feeling of an egg being cracked and running down his face.

“Perfect,” came Sebastian’s voice beside him. “Now, silent as a grave. I’ll be right behind you.”

No pressure, then, he thought.

Skirting the first prefect was easy enough. He seemed absorbed in one of the landscapes, and they darted past without a problem. Joining Eleanor at the fountain, they were faced with the larger problem.

The prefects guarding the library.

He leapt at the first chance, after shifting to crouch near a suit of armour, nearly falling through the door. Sebastian shortly followed, nearly getting caught.

Eleanor joined them a couple minutes later, after having to distract the remaining prefects with spellfire. “Mr. Moon is not going to enjoy cleaning the scorch marks,” she muttered.

Entering the library, they were confronted by a new obstacle – the librarian herself, Madam Scribner.

Gulping, they ducked down one of the sections, trying to avoid detection.

“Blast. The librarian is still here,” Sebastian muttered, annoyance clear in his voice, as they peeked over the shelves. “Damn it.”

He could feel his heart thudding in his ears. “I thought you said the librarian would be gone.”

Eleanor gave an annoyed huff. “Usually she is, but...” she trailed off, gesturing towards the Slytherin. He rolled his eyes, just catching Sebastian doing the same.

“D’you see her desk behind me?” he asked, pointing behind himself. He nodded, also seeing the diminutive librarian working on something. “The key in the centre drawer of it.” A slight smirk appeared.

“Now, here’s what we’re going to do.”

Eleanor sighed.

“I’ll create a distraction to draw her away from her desk. You,” he pointed at them. “One of you will focus on getting the key. I’ll meet you both outside the Restricted Section.”

“Why do we need a key?” he asked. “I would think Alohomora.” Sebastian shrunk a little, a guilty expression on his face.

“Ah – well...”

“That’s his go to,” Eleanor piped up. “Until Scribner figured it out last year, and cast a charm against it.”

Huh, that he could use. “Oh, really?” Curiosity coloured his voice.

“Yes, really,” Sebastian muttered, annoyed. “But no need to worry. I did say I’d get you in, didn’t I? And I always keep my word. Trust me.” He gave a half-charming grin that reminded him of a shady street vendor.

He sighed. He’d have to, for now. “All right.”

“Excellent.” The grin widened. “See you shortly.” He vanished once more, hurrying off to a far part of the library.

He and Eleanor replaced theirs as well, sinking back into the shelves. His senses tingled, telling him that the librarian could sense something as well.

A loud clatter told him Sebastian had used a suit of armor as his distraction, and the librarian moved into the main area.

“Is someone there?” she barked into the growing silence. “Peeves, is that you?” She hurried off into the darkened end of the library as well.

“Now!” hissed Eleanor, pushing him forward. He mutely hurried forward, blindly making his way into the librarian’s area. There was a clattering, as Eleanor pulled the drawer open and grabbed the key inside it.

He swiped the nearby piece of parchment, before bolting after Eleanor, heart still furiously pounding in his ears.

They skidded to a stop in front of the gate sectioning off the Restricted Section. Sebastian seemed inordinately proud of himself.

“Now that wasn’t so difficult, after all?” he grinned, like a cat with a canary. “Now, to find whatever book you’re after for Professor Fig.”

He carefully inserted the key, the gate swinging open on silent hinges, and replaced the Disillusionment Charm.

No telling what other obstacles there were.

“Now, don’t touch any of the other books,” Sebastian continued almost casually. “At least one screams if you open it, which defeats the whole purpose of sneaking in.”

Eleanor attempted to stifle her snicker. “Found that on your own, then?”

“Unfortunately.”

He headed straight down, pausing as a feeling rippled.

“Damn. Ghost,” Sebastian muttered. “One of the old librarians, I think. Don’t let her see you.”

He carefully poked his head around the wall, and noticed the nearby suit of armour. That would have to do... Raising his wand, he silently fired a basic cast.

It clattered, loudly, pieces falling to the ground and drawing a severe looking ghost towards it.

They bolted in the opposite direction, with Eleanor leading them straight past two more, and down another staircase. Sebastian hesitated half a moment too long, almost getting them caught a third time, but finally moved just in time.

Sebastian had a huge grin, as they hurried down the next staircase. “Should be clear now,” he said, casually removing the charm. “No need to be ‘skulking about.’”

He felt a little more sceptical of this. “Not yet...” he muttered, but relented once they were further in.

“So, what is it you’ve been looking for, Sebastian?” he asked, passing bookcases covered in cobwebs. “There has to be a reason as to why you’ve been breaking in.”

“If you must know,” Sebastian dramatically sighed. “I’m searching for a cure. For my twin sister, Anne.” He gave Eleanor a meaningful look. “So she can return to Hogwarts.”

“What kind of cure exists in the Restricted Section?” he wondered. “Does the Hogwarts matron have nothing that can help her?”

Sebastian shook his head. “No. Granted, it seems we’ve tried everyone from Nurse Blainey to St. Mungo’s. But... I can certainly research on my own.”

The reached a plain door that Sebastian pushed open. “No need to concern yourselves with it right now.” He rubbed his hands together. “Let’s focus on what you’re after... which is ...what, exactly?”

He shared a look with Eleanor. “I’ll know it when I see it.”

Sebastian didn’t seem convinced. “You’re being awfully cryptic.”

“It’s complicated,” Eleanor added.

They made their way through the clutter, coming upon a huge pile of armour on the ground. “Lumos.”

He carefully approached. “Re -” he started, before freezing, wand raised, as Peeves flew up.

“Who have we here?” the poltergeist cackled cheerfully. Spotting Sebastian, his wide grin grew. “Sebastian Sallow and the new student and friend, out exploring where they shouldn’t be!” Another cackle. “Naughty, naughty, you’ll get caught-ty!” the poltergeist sing-songed, before further cackling. “Oh and a would be prefect too!” he cackled in Eleanor’s direction.

She scowled. “Enough, Peeves!” she barked, and glared at his wide-eyed expression.

Sebastian seemed more scared. “Peeves... don’t!” as the poltergeist zipped out of the room chanting,

“I’m going to tell! I’m going to tell! I’m going to te-ll!”

Sebastian cursed. “Blasted Peeves!” His eyes darted around. “I’ve got to stop him, or, at least, get to the librarian with a good enough excuse for all this.”

“Not a word about us,” Eleanor added.

He panicked. “How do I know you won’t blame it on me?”

“Easy,” Sebastian drawled, smirk growing. “I rather like having friends in my debt.” He hurried off, back the way they had come. “Good luck on your search,” he called out, before disappearing back into the library.

His heart rate sped up. Eleanor’s annoyed expression didn’t help. He turned back to the armor. “Reparo,” he muttered, shuddering a little at the clanking it made.

Path clear, they forged ahead. “Lumos,” he heard Eleanor mutter, as they descended further under the Restricted Section.

Reaching the bottom, they were met with a new room.

“Whoa...” he breathed out, taking in the crumbling stone cavern. This must’ve been impressive when it was first built. There was also the same low thrum of energy that had been in the vault at Gringotts.

He carefully made his way around, and the energy seemed to build.

Finding the pool of ancient magic, he stepped in it.

Reflexively pushing this ancient magic, the room shifted, the arch taking on the strange, mirrored appearance of the others. The room had even doubled in size.

Eleanor had been knocked aside in the process, before pulling herself up.

“Are you all right?” he asked, a little worry seeping out.

“’M fine,” she grumbled, before pausing. “Is there a reason there’s a whirlpool on the floor?”

“That’s the ancient magic.” His heart rate picked up. “Is this the first -?”

She shook her head. “No, but the first in couple years in this amount.” She strode confidently towards it, mimicking his movement. “Good luck.”

“You as well.”

They each headed forward, towards one side of the archway.

chapter 11

[fandom-puff]

Angelic

Pairing: Polly Gray x Reader

Requested by: 2 anons- one asked for the first time with Polly, the other asked for innocence kink... so I thought... why not combine :)

Also Polly Gray? Mate. Yeah I’d do anything for her 😭😭😭

Warnings: smut, innocence kink, loss of virginity

Gif creds to owner

“Polly- I’ve never-”

She pulled a few millimetres away from your kiss-swollen lips, hers curved into a gentle smile as her hand traced over the very edge of your stocking, fingertips dancing over the hint of bare flesh between the hem of your knickers. She traced the lace hem between her thumb and forefinger for a moment before looking up at you (you were sat on the kitchen table of all places).

“I know,” she murmured softly, her other hand coming up to cup your cheek. She smiled softly as you nuzzled your face into her touch. “Would you like me to make you feel good, dear?”

You bit your lip and nodded slowly, but a quirk of her brow told you she wanted a verbal answer. “Yes please... I want you to make me feel good,” you breathed.

Polly smiled and helped you off the table. “Come on then, lovely... can’t do what we’re about to do on that old table,” you gasped, scandalised and Polly laughed. “You really are very... innocent, aren’t you?” Your cheeks warmed as you nodded. You were about to open your mouth to apologise, but Polly held her finger over your slightly parted lips. “Shhh no need to say sorry. It’s rather sweet. Come on, up those stairs now,” you nodded, trotting obediently ahead of her, before following her into her bedroom. As the door shut behind you, you relaxed; the small bedroom was dimly lit by a small lamp, and smelled of Polly’s perfume. “Bless you, sweetheart. Come sit on the bed with me,” she said, a hand on the small of your back as she guided you to sit.

“Polly?”

“Yes, dear?”

“How... how does it work?” You asked bashfully, looking at your lap. “I know that with men, they... enter the woman,” you cleared your throat and Polly smirked amusedly at your fumbling words. “But... well... there’s no...”

“Cock?” You spluttered, embarrassed, and Polly grinned. “No, we women do it differently, my lovely. We don’t need a cock to make us feel good,” you nodded slowly, before leaning forward to kiss her, shuffling a little closer. Polly smiled against your lips, her hand coming to rest on your hip as yours tangled in her hair. You let out a soft noise as she squeezed your hip, beginning to unpin her dark curls, letting them cascade down her back, feeling her hand nudge your dress up again.

“Take it off,” you murmured. “Please,”

“Youre very polite, dear,” she said softly, reaching behind you to undo the buttons at the back, before helping you lift it over your head and cast it aside. Polly was silent for a moment, admiring your simple white undergarments; the plain bra with its dainty lace trim which moved as you breathed deeply; the matching white French knickers which came to your thighs, also trimmed with lace; the soft pink garter belt which held up your stockings...

You made to cross your arms over your chest, but Polly took hold of your wrists, lowering them to your sides. “No, YN, don’t try to hide your body... look how beautiful you are... look how sweet you look in your pretty white underwear...” you nodded, leaning into her touch as you smiled softly. You watched with wide eyes as she unclipped each of the straps holding up your stockings, before she undid them garterbelt itself and dropped it on the floor. Her eyes fixed on you, she slowly rolled each of your stockings down and off, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of your knee and your lower thigh that had your mind floating.

“More...” you eventually whispered, and Polly cupped your chin in her soft palm.

“Shall we get rid of the rest of our clothes, sweetheart?”

“Y-yes please,” you said softly, smiling softly as Polly guided your hands to her blouse. You bit your lip softly, unbuttoning it, before pushing the garment to the floor. You moaned quietly, nuzzling your face into Polly’s breasts, kissing the swell gently.

“Good girl,” Polly mumbled, unclipping your bra. You shivered, nipples budding in the chill, but Polly soon solved that problem, gently palming your breasts. You whined out as she pinched one of your nipples, rolling it between her fingers, gently tracing her fingernail over the bud. Polly smiled down at you, undoing her skirt with one hand and letting it pool at her feet. You looked down and swallowed, gazing at her with adoration. She wore black satin underwear with see through lace details over her breasts. You moaned softly, tentatively reaching out to cup her breasts. “That’s right, love,” she said gently, unclipping her bra. “Just like that...” you nodded, comforted by her praise and looked up at her, eyes clouded with need. She smiled softly, guiding your hands down to her knickers, nodding for you to pull them off, along with her stockings. You did so slowly, not wanting to rip the delicate fabric; she smiled fondly at you. “Feel between my legs, sweetheart,” she murmured. “Do you see how wet I am for you?” You nodded slowly.

“Is that good?” You asked nervously.

“Oh love... it’s very, very good... it means you’re making me feel good, or... excited,” you smiled, reassured and nodded, before looking down at your own panties; the last scrap of fabric hiding your body. “Would you like to take yours off too?” Polly said gently and you nodded, letting her pull them off you. She smiled, gently easing your thighs apart. “Oh, sweetheart,” she cooed. “You’re practically dripping,” you felt your face heat up and resisted the urge to close your legs. You pushed your hips up instead and Polly let out a small laugh, her fingers gently tracing through your sodden folds before swirling around your clit. “Does that feel good, darling?” She asked and you nodded.

“More...” you gasped out, spreading your legs, quickly becoming addicted to the heated, pleasurable sensation growing between your legs, rising in the pit of your belly.

Polly hummed softly, gently easing a finger into you, just up to her first knuckle. Her eyes locked on your hot, contorted face, reading what made you feel good. As she felt your muscles relax slightly, she pushed her finger in a little more, crooking it in search of that special spot. You let out a shuddering moan as she added a second finger, slowly pumping them in and out, occasionally scissoring them. As she settled into a slightly faster, yet still measured pace, you bunched your hands up in the sheets, toes already curling. Polly smiled softly, watching your writhing form before she ducked her head, moaning softly as her tongue flickered over your needy clit, swirling around it gently as she lapped up your taste. You cried out, feeling the pressure in your belly rising, threatening to spill over as you grabbed onto Polly’s hair, your nails digging into her scalp as you pushed your hips up towards her mouth, desperate for her to keep going...

You cried out as you came, quickly slapping your hand over your mouth as your hips bucked and your grip on the bedsheets and Polly’s soft hair skin slackened.

She pulled away from your still clenching heat, sliding her fingers out and licking them clean, eyes firmly locked with yours. You moaned weakly, admiring her flushed face, her messy hair, her glistening chin... glistening, you realised, with your wetness.

Polly smiled softly, moving to your side and pulling you to her chest. “Are you alright, love?” She asked you, kissing your forehead gently.

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, still quivering. “I-I didn’t know it could be that good...” you admitted and Polly laughed gently.

“Oh, sweetheart... believe me, there’s plenty more we can do...”

Tags: @liliputbahn @lilymurphy03 @imareallygrumpyme @acciosiriusblack @shelundeadxxxx

[aces-of-the-center-court]

Hello, thank you for loving the reaction to ex scenario! Since it was our first attempt at scenario, we weren’t sure how well received it would be. But thankfully!! It was very loved. ╥﹏╥ Also, thank you for the request! I hope this would live up to the standard of the previous one. I had a hard time finding inspiration for this… (;´Д｀)

- Mod Raine reaction to ex with sakusa, atsumu & oikawa

Daichi Sawamura:

Hiking up the forested mountain, you made your way to the location for the children’s summer camp that you signed up to volunteer at. Upon arrival, you spotted numerous staff and volunteers scattered around, preparing materials. You approached the person-in-charge to offer your help and was assigned to the game team, where you were met with a familiar face.

“Y/N?”

“Daichi?” You both called out simultaneously.

“You two know each other? Perfect!” Said the person-in-charge, who then instructed, “Then I’ll put you both in charge of free play, okay? Help to brainstorm games that the kids can play during free play. Rest of the team, continue preparations for the treasure hunt.”

With a ‘Roger!’ from the team, the person-in-charge left before the two of you even opened your mouths to protest. Not that either of you would have anyway. You glanced at Daichi and let out an apologetic chuckle, “Let’s do this?” At his smile and nod, the two of you began to discuss and exchange ideas.

When the children arrived in their groups, you and Daichi were conveniently allocated to accompany the same group during their day activities. Paired together for several activities throughout the camp, you and Daichi quickly moved past the awkward stage and started interacting like before – constantly joking around, praising, and teasing one another. With natural chemistry between the two of you, getting along well with the kids earned the both of you a new nickname – ‘Parents Daichi and Y/N’ that promptly became a hot topic among the volunteers and children alike.

Soon, it was time for free play. The volunteers took turns being the tagger for ‘Red Light, Green Light’ and your time came shortly after.

“Green light,” You held on for a while, then concluded rapidly, “red light!” causing some to not be able to pause their actions in time, including Daichi who toppled over when he attempted to slide to a stop. Everyone turned their attention to Daichi and sneered at him for moving so obviously during Red Light, highlighting his movements to you.

Laughing at his misfortune, you gestured for him to come over, “Daichi, you’re caught!” With a small laugh, Daichi surrendered and jogged over. The instant he linked pinkies with you, echoes of bashful giggles and ‘oohs’ followed suit. “Did Daichi-san get caught on purpose to hold hands with Y/N-san?” mocked a cheeky child. Your face reddened while Daichi attempted to justify himself, but the children only continued chaffing him.

The teasing continued into dinner when Daichi gave you some of his potatoes (your favourite food) by habit, and into the next day when he shielded you from the water balloons during the water fight. “Daichi and Y/N are a couple!” soon became an ongoing buzz for the rest of the camp, with everyone pairing you two up repeatedly.

Time flew by quickly and before you realised, it was already the last night of the camp. At the thought of the camp ending, you couldn’t fall asleep. You decided to go for a walk, where you noticed Daichi sitting on the grass by the riverbank. After pondering for a moment, you strolled towards him, “Can I join you?”

Daichi looked up at the sound of your voice. With a soft gaze and warm smile, he set a handkerchief on the grass and motioned for you to sit.

“You know, I didn’t think you’d be here when I applied as a volunteer.” You spoke while settling down.

“Me neither,” Daichi replied and light-heartedly joked, “but I guess fate brought us together, even now.”

Sitting silently, the two of you reflected on your times together during the camp. It was filled with gleeful moments, almost as if time turned back to before your separation. The constant teasing only served to remind you two of those times.

“It’s about to end, huh?” You sighed.

Daichi nodded and asked, as if debriefing, “So, what’s your favourite part of the camp?”

“Probably free play!” You contemplated before answering, “Being in charge of it made me feel more emotionally attached.” then chuckled as you added, “Also, your fall was pretty hilarious.”

Daichi laughed as he recalled his fall. “It seems I fell for you again.” He joked to mask his embarrassment, then fell silent after realising his remark.

Your heart skipped a beat. In case he could hear your beating heart in the awkward silence, you quickly changed the topic, “What about you? What’s your favourite?” A moment of quiet later, Daichi declared, voice deep.

“…I enjoyed every moment with you.”

Surprised, you gaped at his direction. “Y/N,” Daichi voiced with resolve, “I really don’t wish for it to end like this.” He returned your gaze with sincerity.

“Will you give me another chance to be with you again?”

Kuroo Tetsurou:

“Boo!” A voice yelled as a tall figure jumped out abruptly from behind a wall, causing you to jolt in surprise. Rather annoyed and confused by the sudden jump scare, you snapped your head up to spot the face of the culprit. Your irritated expression morphed into one of bewilderment when the face of someone you did not expect came into view, “…Kuroo?”

Pairing a playful smirk with earnest eyes, he teased, “Missed me?” After taking a second to process the situation, you dropped your shoulders in resignation and sighed, “It’s been so long since we last saw each other, and you decide to pop out from nowhere like that?”

He chuckled and apologised, “My bad. I saw you at the mall earlier and wanted to talk to you… but I couldn’t resist the urge for a dramatic introduction.” You shook your head and asked, “So? What did you want to talk about?”

Upon his request to speak somewhere more private, the both of you decided on the benches at the nearby park. Strolling past an advertisement-filled bulletin board, you stopped in your tracks. Back then, the two of you often tried novel activities together, signing up for random classes that you both were new to, from advertisements like those on the bulletin board or online. You scanned the bulletin board, mentally noting the activities the two of you have participated in together before. Kuroo observed your scrutiny and began browsing the bulletin board too.

“Say, we’ve never signed up for couple yoga classes before, did we?” You questioned while peering at the poster. Kuroo followed your gaze to the yoga class poster, “Couple yoga classes?” He contemplated for a while before answering, “Don’t think so.”

As you reminisced the past, a wistful smile formed on your face. “Do you still remember first time we signed up for one of these classes? When we went kayaking?”

“And capsized because you were moving about too much? I don’t think I’ll ever forget that.” He teasingly grinned.

“Hey, it was my first time alright! Sports may not be my thing, but I also recall someone making a crooked vase in pottery class…” It was your turn to tease him. Embarrassed by the recollection of his failed flower vase, Kuroo cleared his throat and defended, “I guess everyone has their strengths and weaknesses…”

At his excuse, you could no longer hold your laughter back at how silly the both of you were being. Following your burst of laugh, Kuroo guffawed as well. Reflecting back on all the activities the two of you did reminded both of you of the times when you two were still together. Nostalgia overcame the two of you and the laughter died down slowly. The fond memories filled both of your minds and now, you both just wished things could go back to how it was before.

Kuroo took another glance at the yoga poster. “Build intimacy and trust while working out with your partner…” He read off the advertisement, “Sound interesting, doesn’t it? Maybe we should try it some time.” He casually suggested, eyes still glued to the poster.

Thinking it was a joke, you laughed and retorted, “Yeah, no. It’s exclusively for couples, see?” You pointed to the subtitles of the poster and continued, “I’m guessing the poses would be too intimate for non-couples. If we go together, they’re going to think we’re dating.”

Kuroo redirected his gaze from the poster to you and positioned himself to lean his back against the board, cocking his head to your direction. “Well, are you dating someone else right now?” He questioned as naturally as he could while attempting to hide the hopes he was holding onto. Averting his gaze, you hesitantly answered, “No… but still–”

“Then why not?”

You blinked before staring blankly at Kuroo, startled by his unexpected reply, “Wha–” But before you could respond, he cut you off again, “Shall we date again?”

You fell silent. Deep inside, you longed for it. You were dying to say ‘yes’ and return to the carefree days when the two of you were together. However, you were unsure if he was joking and did not want to get your hopes high for nothing.

“Stop messing around…” You managed to muster despite your wavering heart. Kuroo pushed himself off the wall and turned your body to face him, prompting you to look at him. “I’m not kidding.” He muttered, eyes softening slightly as he locked gaze with you. With a serious expression, he repeated, “Let’s date again, Y/N. That’s what I wanted to talk about.”

[wordsablaze]

5. of logic with naught but a look

your beauty hides the pain Lost on the mountain, Jaskier accidentally angers a mage who decides to curse Yennefer with his company and for once, it might actually be a blessing in disguise…

A/N: it’s been months but hi again !! we’ve switched from eventual geraskefer to yennskier btw :p @random-nerd-3 @surreal-static x

previous chapter

-

Jaskier has something of a panic attack later in the chapter, it's not awful but if it may make you uncomfortable then skip from the first 'and so he does' to the second of the same line xx

-

“-ake up already, bard.”

Jaskier groans, blinking rapidly as he pulls himself upright.

Yet again, he finds Yennefer glaring down at him. This time though, she doesn’t try to send him through a portal or through the air itself, she just folds her arms. “You take far too long waking up.”

“I’ll have you know that I have a reputation for making my leave faster than should be possible, thank you very much,” Jaskier argues, stretching his arms above his head as he straightens up.

“Escaping the consequences of your lust doesn’t count as being efficient,” Yennefer scoffs, turning away.

Jaskier makes a face at her before standing up. “And threatening to steal a man’s blood does?”

Yennefer just rolls her eyes. “He’s hardly a man. And I couldn’t care less what happens to his blood, I’m only here for my payment.”

“Well, what exactly is your mysterious payment? Must you act so suspiciously all the time?” Jaskier asks as he brushes off dust that doesn’t exist from his clothes.

She waves a hand dismissively but she seems almost pleased to be called mysterious, which, when he thinks about it, doesn’t exactly come as a total surprise.

Either way, she’s presented with a small box when they arrive downstairs and Jaskier is given no time to question the contents of the box or the possibility of breakfast before he’s being pulled through a portal and they’re leaving.

He drops to his knees as soon as they emerge, one hand curled around his stomach. “Gods, now I understand why Geralt prefers to travel on foot. Well, on horse if we’re being technical. Which we’re not because you’re walking away…” he trails off, focusing his energy on keeping up rather than rambling.

“Any chance we’re headed to a town? Or a village? Or anywhere else that serves food?” Jaskier asks.

Yennefer sighs loudly. “Can’t you go just one morning without a meal?”

Jaskier scowls at the back of her head but chooses not to point out the fact that it’s been more like three days since he’s had an actual proper meal, instead starting to hum and idly strum his lute as they keep walking.

And keep walking.

And keep walking.

And keep walking until his throat is too dry to produce actual lyrics and he’s beginning to question why they used a portal in the first place. He can’t afford to slow down though, not when that would cause them both pain and Yennefer seems to be on a warpath of an errand.

It’s plenty of hours later, when humming begins to hurt as well, that he slows down and leans - read: collapses - against the nearest tree. “I know you’re a heartless witch and all but really, darling, are you trying to kill me?” he manages.

Yennefer blinks as she turns to face him, as if she’d forgotten he was following her at all. “You look awful.”

Jaskier snorts. “And you look appalling as ever.”

Her lips curve into a small smile before she walks over and places the back of her hand against his forehead. “You’re not ill,” she concludes with a frown.

“Oh, I will be if we keep walking at this pace, I assure you,” Jaskier replies, “for even the sun has begun its descent and I fear I shall sink down into eternal slumber along with it.”

“If only,” Yennefer mutters but then sighs slowly. “I suppose we can rest for a while. I don’t want to be dragging around your corpse after all.”

Taking that as permission, Jaskier slides down to the floor, shifting so he’s more comfortably propped up against the tree and his lute is cradled in his lap. Yennefer raises an eyebrow at him and without breaking their gaze, twirls her hands and brings a tent to life behind her.

Jaskier stares at her. “Would you like me to applaud?”

Now it’s her turn to snort in amusement. “Do you need me to spell it out for you? Neither will I settle for cold ground unless I have to and nor will I be seen travelling with someone covered in dirt. Now get in, bard.”

Wordlessly, he pulls himself to his feet and stumbles inside as gracefully as he can, a small smile spreading on his face when he sees two beds inside. “Why, Yennefer, you might have a heart after all,” he breathes as he falls face-first onto the smaller one.

“Do you always tire this easily?” She asks, but he’s already halfway asleep and doesn’t care to explain himself.

He still doesn’t care to explain himself when he’s halfway awake and topples off the bed, which promptly promotes him to all the way awake and rather annoyed about it too.

Yennefer appears either not to have slept or to have woken before him, half a smile on her face as he watches him recover and flop back onto the bed. “Are you aware that you snore terribly?”

Jaskier rolls his eyes as he shrugs on the doublet he seems to have wriggled out of at some point and rolls his shoulders. “Are you aware that not everybody is ashamed to be caught breathing while they’re asleep?”

“Most men are stupid like that,” Yennefer replies and if Jaskier didn’t know better, he might have thought there was something like appreciation in the way she raises an eyebrow at him.

He waves a hand dismissively before winking at her. “I think I’ve earned the right to be seen as unique, don’t you?”

She doesn’t answer but that in itself implies she doesn’t outrightly disagree so he lets himself be content with it. While he’s doing that, she unravels the tent and quite literally tucks it into her pocket, continuing to walk with the assumption that he’ll follow - the correct and only logical assumption, so he can’t really fault her for that.

He trips over something within three seconds because turns out taking a nap in the afternoon means waking up in the evening, in the dark. “Not that I don’t love walking practically blind but what is it that’s so urgent we can’t even afford to rest for the night?”

“Rest for the night? I don’t know how you and Geralt did things, bard, but nightfall doesn’t stop me from getting where I want,” Yennefer replies without even turning around.

Jaskier resists the urge to flinch and throws his hands up instead, not that she would see either of those actions anyway. “As I’ve been asking, darling, all I care to know is where you want to be. Oh and while we’re on the subject, why we only portalled halfway!”

“Certain areas are strongly warded against portals, idiot. And I don’t need to justify anything else to you so if you’re going to be a stubborn child about it then you can very well shut up,” Yennefer practically hisses at him.

And so he does.

Unwillingly.

He gasps as his throat closes up, something heavy and tight settling around his neck and forcing him into silence.

He’s dimly aware of himself letting out a small whimper but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t even remotely think to care because he wants to say something, anything, but he can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

He can’t and it’s just like last time with the djinn and he can’t breathe but this time there’s nobody to clutch onto, nobody to take him to a healer, nobody to care about him losing his voice, and he can’t do this a second time around, he can’t-

“Jaskier!”

What exactly is he meant to do about buttercups when he can’t breathe?

He can’t do anything about them because he can’t do anything at all and he’s never going to be able to pick or look at buttercups or any other flower again and it’s all his fault for being so loud and annoying and he wants to go back and change things but he can’t change who he is and he can’t breathe and he’s going to die and-

His knees slam into the ground when his legs buckle and his hands scrabble to dislodge the pressure around his neck but there’s nothing there and oh gods, he must he cursed again because he can’t breathe and he can’t think and he’s going to lose his voice or his life and really those are the same thing and he’s going to die alone and he can’t-

“Breathe, bard!”

He can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

He doesn’t remember how to breathe and it’s too late because he thinks his eyes are open but the world is black so he’s probably already gone blind and now he’s going to go mute and it’s too late for him and there’s nothing to be done and-

“I said breathe!”

And so he does.

Normally.

He gasps again as he finds he can taste the air around him, hauling in breaths as if he’s never been blessed with the ability to do so before.

Pressing his head to the ground as he slowly tries to think past the pounding of his heart, he turns his attention to the quiet chatter of birds and the soothing hand on his back and the feel of leaves beneath his knees and wait, what?

He pulls himself upright, peeling his eyes open and frowning when he sees Yennefer kneeling beside him, one hand still resting between his shoulders and the other balanced on the dirty ground she swore she’d avoid touching.

She beats him to saying anything with a small, remorseful smile. “I’m sorry, I… I didn’t realise how the chaos here would affect my words.”

Oh.

He nods, sitting back on his heels and returning her small smile. “That’s the third time you’ve apologised in just as many days. Are you sure you’re not being affected too?” He asks, wincing at the croak of a voice that leaves his lips.

Yennefer rolls her eyes but he can’t find any malice in the act this time. “I meant it, Jaskier, you don’t need me to cause you additional pain when you have plenty of your own.”

He doesn’t really know how he’s meant to reply to that so he doesn’t, simply taking her hand as she offers to help him to his feet and leaning on her for a moment until his legs decide they’re strong enough to hold him up on their own.

“Thank you,” he whispers softly.

She nods, glancing over him once more before continuing to walk and if her pace is purposefully slower this time, well, neither of them are going to point it out.

-

thanks for reading! | masterlist | witcher blog: @itsjaskier​ | next chapter

[sarah-bae-maas]

Rowaelin AU!

AU! where the valg wars never happened, but Aelin and Rowan would always have met anyway

Masterlist      AO3

***

“Dorian, as nice as this was, you need to leave.” Aelin smirked at the bare body next to hers, admiring the prince.

Dorian reached a hand over, smoothing it down her body and around dangerous places. “Of all the things I could do, why would I do that – Ah! Fuck.”He pulled his hand back, and held it to his chest as it burned. Aelin’s eyes widened, horrified at what she’d done. Before she could apologise for losing control of her magic once again, Dorian huffed and near-fled from the room, slamming the door in his wake. She didn’t even have a chance to apologise to her friend.

She was lucky her room was on the opposite of the castle to her parents, otherwise she’d fear they’d hear her escapades with the prince of Adarlan.

Maybe burning Dorian was a blessing in disguise. She did need to get some sleep – some fancy diplomats from Wendlyn, including some warrior that had been hired to train her, were arriving in the morning. She didn’t know if it would help at all, but she figured it couldn’t hurt. Even at twenty-one, her fire burned in uncontrollable ways. She thought maybe as she aged it might settle down, that somehow she’d magically be able to control it better, but it still flared up at the worst possible times. Like when Dorian tried to touch her. Luckily he was just a bit of fun, or this would be a serious problem.

She sighed, eager for tomorrow but dreading the likely-awful fae that would be her maker for the next few months. She decided that sleep would likely evade her the entire night, so she may as well find something to do with her time.

The halls were silent as she crept through them, her fae senses letting her know what ways to avoid so that she didn’t run into anyone else. Her body, tall and languid, thrived when in her fae form. Her human side was so erased that she’d fooled even the oldest of fae into thinking this was her who she really was.

Although only walking, a bead of sweat started to roll down her back. The air was dry as can be as a sweltering summer rolled in, the earth smelling of dead grass and dust. The back alleys she took to get to her favourite pub forwent pavement and let long-cemented clay guide her feet. The stone homes that lined the alleys were cool to touch, and she let them cool her fingers as she walked to her place.

Shady’s had been there longer than she’d been alive, and had been passed down through the same family like it was a royal crown. Not bustling, but not meagre, it was the perfect place to lose yourself. It also helped that it was smack-bang in the middle of a precinct the wealthy usually avoided. Dorian, for example, would never sully his fine shoes by walking on this dirt. Ha! What prisses. Anyone to scared to walk to Shady’s didn’t deserve it.

A little bell dinged as she entered, but no one looked up at her entrance. She had a hood over her head, or waist-length blonde hair braided back and hidden. Not many people were here at such an hour, only those who really wanted to forget themselves. Aelin ordered a pint and sat at her usual seat, scratching at the table.

Tomorrow will be fine. You can handle some old fae. You can do this! You’ve trained your whole life for this moment!  Even if you can’t get grip on this, you’ll still be a Galathynius. Terrasen is your home. They’d never make you leave.

No matter what she told herself, she still felt butterflies roaring in her stomach. It wasn’t so much that she was nervous to meet her alleged mentor, but what would happen if the bastard couldn’t fix her.

It had been only a month ago that she and Aedion had overheard her parents discussing her fate if they couldn’t get her flames under control. Aelin could hear the love they felt for her in their voices, but it didn’t seem to matter as they considered shipping her off to Wendlyn, alone, until she was better. How could they suggest separating her from her family, from her life? Aelin could admit maybe there was someone in the Whitethorn lot who could teach her, but at what cost? To Aelin, spending potentially years away from those she loved simply wasn’t worth it.

Since then, her parents had pulled her aside and told her they were bringing someone to her, but Aelin knew exactly what that meant. This was her chance, and if she fucked it up, she’d be on the next ship out of there.

“You look awfully sad for someone so pretty. Maybe a drink will cheer you up?”

Aelin looked up at the low voice, surprised to see another fae. Although Terrasen was teeming with her kin, Shady’s wasn’t somewhere they frequented. He was tall, alarmingly so, and built like a castle. His skin was bronze and littered with scars, his dark hair pulled back in a messy bun. He was attractive – in the same way sin was.

“I’ve already got one.” Aelin pointed to the half-empty glass in front of her, her answer making the stranger smirk.

He leant in to speak again, but a male at the next table stopped him. “Give it a rest, Lorcan. She’s not interested, and you’re starting to look pathetic.” His voice was deep, the lilt to it making the butterflies in her stomach rest. He had a cloak on, an emerald so dark it was nearly black, and his hair was a neat and short silver, but slightly longer on the top. His skin was creamy but loved by the sun, and his eyes were a startling green. Although sitting, he clearly had some height behind him too, but unlike his friend he was not a castle; he was a palace. Elegant.

“She can answer for herself, stop being so sour,” the man, Lorcan, said.

Aelin was looking at the sitting man as she answered. “Your friend is right, I’m not interested.” She peeked a glance at him, and he smiled.

“Fair enough. And I’m going to consider that my cue.” Lorcan sauntered off to the corner and up the dingy stairs that led to the few rooms Shady’s hired out – usually by the hour.

Feeling intrigued and full of liquid courage, Aelin decided to sit at the table of the elegant fae. He barely glanced at her as she did. She rested her hand on her fist, squinting at him.

“What brings you to Orynth?” she asked.

“I’ve been to most corners of the world, yet Terrasen remained unexplored. The capital seemed like a good place to start.” He took a deep gulp of his drink, his fingers dotted with tattoos written in the old fae language.

Aelin, being a pervert, decided to breath deep, wanting to inhale the scent of the man in front of her. She frowned, the pine and snow from Terrasen too strong to get a read on him, despite winter being long gone.

“Who is your companion?”

“The brute that just left?” Finally, a small smile on those lips. “He’s like a brother. A very annoying, overprotective brother that won’t stop hitting on any woman with a pulse. I don’t imagine you came here to be seduced.”

“It’s not usually on my list of weekday activities. There are plenty of reasons I come here, although I’ll admit love isn’t one of them.”

A laughed lowly, the sound like the rumble of a dragon before it takes flight. “You must be young, talking about love as if it’s real.”

“You must be either old or bitter to believe it’s not. Or just very unlucky.” Must be bitter, there’s no way a male that looked like this had trouble finding women to warm his bed.

“Hm. Maybe.” His drink was empty, but he didn’t move from the table. “You been here your whole life?”

“I’ve been to every country on this damned continent, but this is home, always will be. I have no desire to leave. You make me think you’ve never been anywhere that’s made you want to stay.” She didn’t know what made her say it, but she could somehow feel the truth in her words. He looked at her, his eyes saying how do you know me so well, yet not at all.

“Be careful, soon you’ll know my most intimate secrets,” he playfully warned, a spark lighting his eyes.

“How deep can I go before you’ll stop me?”

“I don’t know, shall we see?”

Aelin grinned at the challenge. “Parents?”

“Dead since I was a child. Next.”

“No siblings then.”

“Took them nearly a thousand years just to have me. You?”

“Destroyed my mother’s uterus. What’s your profession?”

“Soldier, mostly blacksmith. If I were to guess, I’d say you were a handmaiden.”

“Pianist. I play every week at the grand theatre, if I had my way it would be every day. Favourite place you’ve been?”

“To war.”

“How incredibly savage.” She leant closer to him. “There hasn’t been a war in Terrasen for hundreds of years, won’t you get bored being here?”

“Lorcan has forced me to rest, said it’s best for my mental state; I couldn’t disagree more.”

“Do you have a second form?”

“Hawk.”

“What does it feel like to fly?”

He paused, considering his answer. His head tilted to the side, a strand of hair falling onto his face. Aelin resisted the urge to push it back. “Freedom, in its purest form. In the sky, there is everything and nothing all at once. No one to answer to but the wind.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

“Unfortunately.” He looked at her keenly. “You ever have your heart broken, since you’re such the optimist?”

“I’ve never cared for someone enough to have them hurt me.”

“You’ve been with a human tonight; I can still smell him on you.” From any other mouth, the words would have made her cringe, and then run off to tell Elide so they could laugh together. Instead, they sent a shiver down her spine. Dorian had been forgotten the moment she’d laid eyes on the male in front of her.  

“Something tells me you don’t care.”

____

He couldn’t take her to his room since Lorcan was there, so he held her against a wall in a closet. His hands were under her thighs as she wrapped her legs around him, setting her alight. It took every spare thought to keep her fire under control as he kissed her, his tongue an artist as it painted her lips, neck, chest. She moaned as one of his hands wandered up the back of her shirt, her cloak long since dropped to the floor with his.

“You know this place better than me,” he said between kisses. “How likely are we to get caught?”

Aelin growled in response, summoning him closer. His shirt, so pristine for a blacksmith, was in her way. In her haste and forgetting her own strength, she tore it in two, leaving it in shreds in the floor. It only spurred him on, and he turned them around so he could sit her on a bench.

The sex wasn’t graceful, but by the Gods was it good. He had her clothes off in minutes, and she had never felt so aroused in her life. It was like every nerve she had was being played by his magic; like she was the piano and he was the master musician. It was quick, his tempo perfect to hit the exact spot it needed to every time, but he also had a stamina unseen in the human boys she had been with. He was a man; a full-blooded fae male that was biologically engineered to make her moan so hard she forgot her own name. At one point, when the tips of her hair had started to curl with flames, she nearly shoved him away mid-thrust. But as he looked at her fire unfazed, he simply doused them with a pinch of his own magic. Knowing she could truly let loose, she gave all that she had to him.

And by the Gods it was the best she’d ever had.

They were panting on the floor of a broom closet, him big enough that he had to prop his knees up. She was curled into his side, leaving thank you kisses alongside his body. He was puffed, and let out an airy laugh. “You should stop, or I’ll have to take you again.”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t want to go for round, what was it? Six?” To let him know, if it wasn’t already obvious, that she was joking, she left an open mouth kiss to each of his abs. He was the best thing she had ever tasted.

Aelin looked up to the window the size of a plate and groaned. The sky was starting to lighten, and soon the palace would be awake and she’d have to meet the Wendlyn convoy sent by the Whitethorns. “But you’re right. I have to go.”

She stood up, and trying not to step on him, redressed. He eventually did the same, but not after admiring her body greedily.

“Last question, will I see you again?” she asked, not hopeful. Shady’s attracted transients.

“I’m staying here for the next week at the least. Do with that what you will.”

She grinned, kissing him once more before running away from the pub, drunker than any alcohol could make her. It wasn’t until she was back in her room that she remembered she hadn’t asked him the most important question of all – his name.

___

“Elide, I’m serious. It was mind blowing. Like, I could have set that building on literal fire. I nearly did at one stage!” Aelin whispered furiously as she sped-walked to the main hall. She was late, as per usual, but at least she had Elide at her side. It wouldn’t be so awkward with her there.

“Please, pleasestop talking.” And Aedion was there too, and in genuine pain from their conversation.

“Where can I get a man like that? You mentioned he had a brother? I’ll pay you to take me with you tonight.”

“Won’t it seem desperate if I go to find him less than a day after I left him? And I think that’s prostitution.”

“Aelin I do so much for you. The least you can do in return is help me get dicked down to the nth degree.”

“I’m going to impale myself on my sword.”

“Shut up, Aedion!”Elide and Aelin said simultaneously, before giggling to themselves.

She nearly tripped on her gown, the green organza ruffles on her dress a pain in the ass to walk in. She could also feel her crown starting to tip off her head, but Elide quickly grabbed it and pinned it back before it could. The sight of the three of them running towards the hall doors made the sentries guarding it laugh as they put their fingers to their lips, silently shushing them.

“They’re all in there, Princess, they’re just waiting for you.”

Aelin put a fake smile on her face, dreading who she’d find waiting behind that door. She stood herself in front of it, Elide to her right and Aedion to her left. She smoothed down the front of her dress, making sure everything was perfect to give the best, first royal impression she could. She had to impress the old fae that was to train her, lest she be sent to Wendlyn. Her hair was fine, her crown straight. Her dress was fitted in all the right areas but flared out to give the impression of modesty. Her favourite jewels were on, and her shoes – oh fuck, she’d forgotten to put her shoes on.

The sentries opened the door, not giving her a chance to panic.

“Introducing, the crown princess Aelin accompanied by her destined bloodsworn, Prince Aedion Ashryver, and handmaiden Lady Elide Lochan.” The booming voice welcomed her as she walked through the double doors, the people in the room dropping to their knees to meet her. The walls were lined with familiar and unfamiliar faces. All but her parents, sitting on their thrones, and one other stayed standing. A male, tall with silver hair, eyes the colour of evergreens. He was standing on the steps leading to the thrones, clad in armour and navy and black fabrics, clothing fine enough for a king.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“Princess Aelin, might I please introduce Prince Rowan Whitethorn of Doranelle, your new mentor.”

[worstloki]

hi i have a prompt: the hulk smash isnt enough to free loki from the mind stone, thanos/the other die with the chitauri. loki is still under the stones influence but his boss is dead, and being enthralled to No One In Particular is stressing him out so the stone decides to make the avengers his New Boss™ (bc while the tesseract is his one true love, All Infinity Stones Are Friends Of Loki (AISAFOL)). the avengers are Very Confused by lokis sudden and inexplicable desire to please them.

(This post got quite long, so I’ve put a barrier to stop unwanting eyes from having the travesty take forever to scroll down. You’re welcome.)

He suspected there were only two beings currently in the vicinity to toss him around like a ragdoll, and the mean green fighting machine was definitely the one he would prefer.

When the Hulk grabbed hold of Loki’s ankle he was hopeful that the Other’s hold on him would break, after all, hadn't ‘cognitive recalibration’ broken Barton from its influence? He did not try using magic to soften the blows as he was hit against the ground. 

Loki felt the connection break, felt as the watcher’s eyes were pulled away and he could finally breathe without scrutiny. Which was fine, until he did a basic physiology check (to make sure he wasn’t hit too hard on the head) and found the mind stone still holding on to him. It was urging him to serve a commander he had no contact to and the irony of this was not wasted on Loki. The sceptre’s touch would soon fade. Probably.

He lay on the ground, savouring his victory: The Chitauri were mindless and would soon be easily defeated, the mind stone left near the portal to close, the fact that he would soon be back on Asgard, but most importantly, that Thanos was far far away from him. Loki would not be so easily captured again. 

When he tried to pull himself out of the ground, (and yes, there really was a body-shaped hole were he had been left which was honestly impressive even for himself) he found the Avengers standing over him. Show offs.

This was fine though. Thor would not leave his brother on Midgard and wouldn’t have any way to get back to Asgard since Loki was the one with knowledge on how to use it. He would likely stand trial and be sentenced to death. Which was also fine (he knew several loopholes that he could exploit to avoid a death sentence). 

Stark was the first to talk, “Alright you Ben Solo knockoff, get in the fancy handcuffs” he said. Perhaps not your best analogy, Loki was about to say when he felt his exhausted back straighten and found himself actually walking towards the man - something that he had in no way decided to do. 

The fact that he had followed the instructions calmly just left everyone else more confused, if all 6 Avengers tensing up was any indication. So, it appeared the sceptre’s touch would not, in fact, be fading soon. 

He felt himself hold his hands out for Tony to attach the handcuffs. They were Asgardian and would surely restrict his magic, which would definitely not be the best thing for him right now since he was trying to cut the Mind stone off. 

The handcuffs were put around his wrists and, feeling his magic start to suppress as they touched his wrist he jerked his hands back out. He told me get in the handcuffs, he smiled at the thought, but he did not specify for how long I would have to keep them there. 

He noticed after the Widow had caught onto his neck and slammed him to the ground that moving too fast would be seen as a sign of hostility, and was too busy figuring out how long he would survive on loop-holes before Earth’s heroes realised he was at their command, to resist being pinned to the ground. Thor placed Mjolnir strategically on Loki’s sleeve to keep him down - his sleeve, as if ripping through it wasn’t an option - the oaf either didn’t consider him a threat anymore (which was good) or hadn’t wanted to place it elsewhere and risk injuring Loki (which was also good), This amount of good luck was awfully suspicious.

“Why, brother?” Thor asked, as he stared down at Loki. Loki couldn’t exactly ignore the only thing he could see other than the ceiling and decided to give him an answer for the apparently sincere concern Thor had on his face.

“Because, Thor, I would rather he at least took me out to dinner first-” 

Loki couldn’t see them but he knew at least Tony and Romanov would find the remark enough to smirk at despite the circumstances and Bruce and Steve would also find it amusing (even if they would not admit it). Barton’s sense of humour was a bit less dry but he could try something for that later. To Thor’s credit, all he did was act confused and turn away. He didn’t really care about Thor’s reaction. In fact, thinking about it, was finally being free putting him in a good mood, or was it the stone that was still doing something in his head? He was almost certain his sudden interest in what the Avengers thought of him was not natural… but he couldn’t say for sure, so mulling over it was pointless.

“I apologise for my brother, it seems his sense of humour took a hit in the fight” Thor told his team, “If one of you could hold his other hand I shall bound his wrists and mouth myself -” 

“I don’t think you’ll need to do that,” Tony stepped forward, coming into view, which was awfully kind of him since Loki could literally only see Thor and the roof as he laid on the ground and wasnt bothered to get up, “He’s Loki, right? I read up on him a bit and he mostly avoids stuff because of the wording people use… combine that with the fact that he walked over to me when I asked, but then didn’t let me tie him it seems he’ s actually a pretty chill guy and wouldn’t object if I ask him to hold still long enough for me to put them on”. No one answered. 

“That is a crazy outlandish theory, even for you man…” Hawkeye said, probably to break the silence. Loki considered his options and they were to either a) Not do anything and let Tony test out his theory (which would be true and then the Avengers would realise that he will do whatever they wanted happily and not end well for himself) or b) say something now that could convince Tony not to try it (which, considering Tony and his curious streak, would be pretty hard to pull off…). 

He found an uncomfortable position in which he could hold himself up and face the Avengers while keeping his left arm pinned down. He settled for option b and hoped the norns were feeling kind today. 

“Hello, I’m Loki, I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced but long story short I was tortured and then forced into trying to subjugate your planet - sorry about that by the way - but I’m mostly back now and would rather not put the handcuffs on for the previously stated reason but also because I’m healing up a serious head injury at the moment and those cuffs restrict the healing.”. The injury part was a lie of course, he just didn’t enjoy his magic being meddled with (and was trying to get rid of the mind stone which refused to leave) and Thor wouldn’t leave him at the mercy of Midgardian healing knowledge… the rest of it was true enough, with the omission of Thanos, a threat Loki would only mention to the only one probably able to do something; the Allfather.

“I’m calling BS,” Clint said, barely after Loki had closed his mouth. Rude. “The guy is literally infamous for lying, and he also had that sceptre that he used to mess with peoples brains, and he was trying to bring an alien army through that portal thing, and he has no proof that he isn’t making this all up. So.” he finished off eloquently. 

They all shufted to the other side of the room and lowered their voices, presumably arguing over whether or not to trust him. Typical. This is what good telling the truth does.

Thor still stood with him though, and was trying to attach the handcuffs. Loki decided to store them in his pocket dimension just to make sure Thor didn’t accidently succeed. Thor pulled out another pair. Loki neatly placed those in the pocket dimension too. Loki could do this all day. 

The Captain, (their semi-leader? Loki was unsure how Tony and Steve had split the responsibility but it seemed to lean either direction at random) cleared his throat and addressed him, “We’ve decided the handcuffs… won’t be necessary since we don’t want to submit you to a hospital- ” 

“And because you wouldn’t be able to eat without your hands,” Tony cut in, presumably inviting him to the dinner Loki had mentioned, and got matching glares from Steve and Natasha in returned.

“But, we have also decided to test out Tony’s theory on how you lie because there’s no harm in not trying. After that you’ll be questioned by SHIELD and sent home.” Steve continued. He failed to mention what would be happening to the tesseract or mind stone which Loki thought was funny; as if Odin would let them keep three infinity stones on this planet. The thought that Odin may not even know what the sceptre and tesseract actually were crossed his mind but he dismissed it. 

Clint stepped forward and said, “Do a backflip,”. There was an expectant silence that followed as if they all thought he would obey the absurd command.

“You realise I am stuck to the ground, do you not? Even if I could do a backflip, I wouldn’t be able to like this.“ When the silence grew heavier and Clint’s ears had turned as red as they could get Loki decided to continue, “Also, I can’t do backflips.”  

The silence grew even heavier than before - if possible - and Loki watched as Barton received glares from basically everyone. 

He decided he should take advantage of this to suggest something that would be useful to himself and them. “How about you ask me not to attack any of you as we leave the tower?” He prompted. 

Natasha decided to speak instead, “Do not attack any of us indefinitely. In fact, while you’re at it, why don’t you magic me up some coffee.”. 

The request was simple enough. He hadn’t planned on doing anything to harm them anyways. All he wanted was to get on Asgard and wait for the mind stone to wear off. “Done.” Loki said, then, holding out a cup of coffee that appeared in his hand (it was from the café across the road, where ‘Nick Fury’, some guy whose lack of an eye reminded him of Odin, had been about to take his first sip) he offered the cup to her. He even winked and added a pleased to be of service thinking she would actually accept the coffee. Of course, she did not. 

“I’m afraid I don’t like the way the Director takes his coffee.” she said, a dangerous shine in her eyes, “Why don’t you drink it instead? I’m sure you’d love to drink the whole thing in one go.”. Natasha smiled nicely, as he said “whatever you say” and did just that. He hadn’t had coffee in a while so he might as well take the chance to taste it while he had some on him anyways. It was hot, sure, but he could use magic to prevent it from burning him. He drank it in one go.

There was no sugar in it. Loki hates coffee. He knows he hates coffee but its not like he had much of a choice. It was fine though. As long as he willingly does everything they asked the stone wouldn’t have to come into play and take over for him. To hide their control he wouldn’t just have to do everything happily and for the purpose of ‘because I wanted to do it anyways’ but he would have to do it convincingly. 

That’s not too hard. He was a good liar after all. He could easily answer SHIELD’s questions then get to Asgard without them figuring it out…

“I cant explain how but it appears your theory was right, Stark, he’ll do whatever you ask if he is physically able to do. Good job on figuring it out.” Natasha said, winking at Loki when she was finished.

If he manages to get away now they’ll stop believing the true story he told them before. If he confirms that the stone is still affecting him they’ll know for sure that he has to do whatever they say. He watches each of them as they go through the stages of confusion, awe, disbelief and then settle on ‘confusion but with an attitude that says we are going to take full advantage of this discovery’. He stares at them in silence because he knows the only action he could take that won’t change any ridiculous demands they make will only confirm him as guilty for the crimes he (technically didn’t!) commit. 

Well, #$&*, he thinks.

[athenril-of-kirkwall]

#6. OC scolding LI, and LI loves it!

I’m going to do a quick switcheroo on this one!

f!Lavellan/Josephine co-starring Prof. Frederic, Prof. Bram Kenric, Lace Harding, Collette: “Of Professors and Pastries” (AO3)

Josephine resisted the urge to slam the door behind her as she followed the Inquisitor into her office, a short corridor away from the main hall of Skyhold’s main keep, where an affray which had broken midway through a function was being concluded, the aggrieved shouts of its participants echoing behind them until the door finally sealed shut.

Rivka had crossed the room, sitting back on Josephine’s desk with her hands astride her bottom, tapping gently on its edge as one would an instrument, her lip curled into a slight smile even as a furious Josephine was closing the distance with her with every stride, until she stared down as imperiously as she could at her Inquisitor and girlfriend, taking advantage of the three-inch difference in height between them.

The ambassador took in a deep breath, finally stating slowly but firmly, “I am going to need a full explanation as to why the two eminent scholars of the University of Orlais are covered in cream pastries and are being physically restrained by Scout Harding and Collette.”

Rivka’s eyes narrowed as she asked, “Do you need the entire context, or…?”

Clasping her hands to stop them from making strangling motions, Josephine said, “That would be appreciated, Rivka.”

“All right,” she started, “So I thought that whilst we were holding that dreary academic symposium…”

Josephine screeched, “Dreary?!”

“…over here, and yes, while I do understand the importance of sharing our knowledge, coming from where I have, there are only so many lectures in the War Room I can sit through before drifting into the Fade…”

“Just get to the point,” Josephine hissed.

“…I thought I might draw upon the knowledge of our archaeologist and draconologist friends, namely, Professors Kenric and Frederic, as concerns one of the artefacts that we’ve wound up with in the undercroft.”

Josephine raised an eyebrow, asking, “One of the weapons you’ve encountered in your exploits, you mean?”

Rivka nodded, saying, “Exactly. To be precise, I just wanted to know what either of them could tell me about that Axe of the Dragon Hunter I got off Bonny Sims down in the courtyard.”

“Ah, right,” Josephine said. “Given that it was an easy twelve thousand sovereigns from the treasury I suppose that makes sense, from a certain point of view. Incidentally, next time you’d do well to let me negotiate prices especially when the values come up to that much.”

Rivka crossed her arms, asking, “Are you lecturing me on diplomacy or haggling, Josephine?”

Josephine’s stare was so sharp it could cut the air, where with enormous restraint, she finally managed, “Those are one and the same thing in Antiva, Rivka. Will you let me continue, or at least stop digressing?”

Rivka held her hands up in surrender. “All right, so the main point of what I was going to say was that I just wanted to learn more about Bonny Sims’ axe, and suddenly Professor Kenric got all professional, saying it was hardly appropriate for him to try and valuate it with his expertise then and there, but Professor Frederic was more than willing.”

“So, they had a dispute over the professionalism of evaluating artefacts on the spot?”

“Oh, no, it wasn’t that,” Rivka said, continuing, “Not wanting to be outdone, Professor Kenric started cutting in with his own observations, and while I don’t remember all of the details of that flurry of points they were shooting at each other, the exact moment Frederic excitedly concluded that this couldn’t be anything but the original, Bram objected that this clearly was a forgery made twenty years after Nephram Pentaghast’s possible lifetime.”

“Ah,” Josephine said comprehendingly, adding, “Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” Rivka said. “It was right at the moment that Frederic called Bram ‘a puffed-up abecedarian of a Marcher with no sense of romance’ that the two of them started coming to blows.”

Josephine planted her wrists on her hips, questioning Rivka, “And that’s the point where you decided the best thing to do was to arm Professor Kenric with a pie?”

Rivka answered, “Well, it was that or the axe.”

Becoming increasingly incoherent with rage, Josephine spluttered, “You-you, oh you…were those genuinely the only two options?!?”

“He had the axe in his hands,” she said defensively. “The way I see it, at least this wound up turning the two of them into laughing-stocks instead of, well, dead.”

Taking several deep breaths, Josephine said, “All right, all right. Maybe you had a point there…where is the axe now, anyway?”

“Safely in the hands of the retainers,” Rivka said, “And yes, I mean, it was admittedly hilarious, but I was actually trying to defuse the situation, so—”

Rivka never finished her justification, as the door swung open to reveal the two professors, who had made some attempts to clean the cream and cake off their clothes, being marched as sheepishly into the room as students into a headmaster’s office, Frederic being escorted Collette, and Kenric by Harding.

Bram glanced imploringly over to his research assistant, and Collette flashed him a look nearly as steely as Josephine’s to Rivka earlier on, cocking her head towards the Inquisitor and the ambassador as though it was an order.

Clearing his throat, the professor began, “I, and the eminent Professor Frederic, are here to apologise for our conduct as concerns what ought to have been a purely academic matter, and the effect that our, ah, affray has had on the atmosphere of the symposium.”

Frederic added, “Even were one of us in the absolute right and the other in the wrong—and this happens to not be the case, or at the least, the possibility certainly exists—clearly hurling pastries at each other is unbefitting of gentleman scholars, and certainly not fellow colleagues from the University of Orlais.”

“As it so happens,” Bram said, straightening himself up, “I was so fixated upon the Van Markham crest upon the fittings that I had, in my haste, neglected to consider the ritualistic reuse of such venerable weapons long past and jumped to conclusions concerning its relatively recent manufacture.”

“And I was so enchanted by the antiquity of the weapon itself,” Frederic explained, “That I had not even seen it upon first pass. But it undoubtedly dates to the Steel Age and was treated with great renown within its own time, leading to the plausible conclusion that it is the original weapon of Nephram Pentaghast…”

“…and was refitted with Van Markham decorations to commemorate the restoration of Pentaghast rule,” Bram concluded. “An eminently rigorous conclusion which we reached once, ah, our tempers cooled.”

Frederic nodded, saying, “For the time that the Inquisition shall be retaining this weapon of great antiquity, our joint recommendation is that it would be a fine gift to the Lady Seeker should you wish to use it for such a purpose, given her connection to it and, well, her role in breaking up our conflict.”

Silence reigned in the room as the two expected some sort of announcement or judgement from Rivka, who cleared her throat and straightened out her tunic, adopting her officious tone as she addressed the two academics.

“I, and the Inquisition, am very pleased that the two of you have achieved some form of resolution, and look forward to your continuing contributions to this seminar,” she said, continuing, “And I certainly look forward to your future discussion over this antique weapon later this evening over refreshments.”

Right on beat, Josephine added, “We’ll make arrangements for some privacy at the Herald’s rest after dinner, and we certainly look forward to your presence. Both of you, professors.”

“As well as Cassandra, seeing as you think so highly of Lady Pentaghast. I would hardly like to deprive the two of you of the opportunity to present it to her. That is what you both want, isn’t it?”, Rivka asked.

Frederic and Bram glanced at each other nervously before turning to the two women, nodding complyingly.

“It would be, ah…”, Bram started.

“…our honour, naturally,” Frederic finished, bowing to Rivka and Josephine.

Imitating his actions, Bram followed him and Collette out of the room, Harding closing the door behind them, flashing them a grin right as it closed after her.

“Right, so I believe I’ll grant that to myself as a job well done—”, Rivka said, stopping as she wheeled around to the sight of Josephine with her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised, next asking, “—what, I’m still in trouble?”

“Immeasurably,” Josephine said. “Please meet me in my quarters once you’re done entertaining our squabbling academics such that I may apprise you of the numerous letters to the University of Orlais which I’m going to need your signature on. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going back to the main hall to oversee the clean-up. You’re just fortunate that neither of them egged a Fereldan potentiate in the process.”

With that, she turned to the door, Rivka asking after her with a wry smile, “‘Apprising’ me? Is that what it’s called amongst humans?”

Controlling her own mirth, Josephine shouted back, “Don’t make this harder on yourself, Inquisitor!”

“What if I like the sound of that?”, Rivka teased.

“Enough!”, Josephine shouted, finally slamming the door shut behind herself.

Rivka chuckled to herself as she sat back upon Josephine’s tables, wondering just what her beloved ambassador had in store for her. Whatever it was, she was reasonably certain she’d enjoy it far more than what Josephine intended.

-

@dadrunkwriting

[magickastiel]

F!Amell/Sten - The Drowning Man

The Warden was far too trusting, far too generous and far too chatty.

Sten spent the day stomping after her, watching her fritter away her money and time on humans who were mostly useless. And not only did he have to contend with her foolish ways, she had also asked the slippery blonde elf and the older mage to accompany them into the town. He didn’t like being in such a busy place with such inept company. Redcliffe was slowly rebuilding after the darkspawn attack and many of the villagers had rushed to the Warden, eager to thank her for her efforts.

He sneered at them. The Warden had done her duty and he failed to see why that was worthy of congratulation. But congratulate her they did, offering her trinkets and flowers and other pieces of frippery that would only weigh them down. Mercifully, she refused most of them, insisting they keep what little possessions they still had. Despite the kind rejections of their gifts, they kept coming and Sten found himself lingering closer to the Warden than usual. Apparently, he was the only one of their group that remembered there were assassins after her and this mob of adoring peasants would be an excellent place to hide.

He told her so but she waved him off. “Oh, it’ll be fine. Besides, isn’t that why you’re here?”

“I am here on behalf of the Arishok, not to follow you around like some hired bodyguard.”

She just smiled sweetly at him before half disappearing into another crowd, forcing him to rush after her once again. The elf and the mage followed behind slowly as though they were fat nobles enjoying market day. He bristled with annoyance and glared at them over his shoulder.

“You look like thunder, my large friend.” The elf practically purred, weaving between villagers as though he was made of smoke.

“Have we done something to upset you, Sten?” The mage said, at least having the decency to appear slightly concerned.

“Am I the only one who recalls the threat to the Warden’s life? I am sure I cannot be – one of us had a very active role in it.”

The elf didn’t even look embarrassed. “But she is well now, is she not? She is among people who love her.”

“You are...concerned for her?” The mage eyed him with interest and Sten immediately wished he hadn’t spoken at all.

“I am concerned our mission will not be complete. Without the Warden we are leaderless and therefore directionless.”

His words did nothing to dissuade the mage. In fact, the elf also began peering at him with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “But surely that would make little difference to you, no? After all, you are merely here to report your findings back to your Arishok. Are you sure you do not worry for the Warden herself?”

Sten fought the urge to barge past them both and march back to camp alone. “I am merely speaking on this savage country’s behalf: it is folly to consider failing when you are already this far. And when the Qunari come, we would rather fight you than a country full of beasts.”

“Ah.” The mage looked unconvinced. “Of course, Sten.”

“But look! Is that an assassin there? One of my fellow Crows perhaps?”

Sten pulled his borrowed sword from its scabbard before he had fully turned around. His eyes found the Warden immediately and he had only made two steps toward her when he heard a titter behind him. The elf was laughing at him and the mage was barely concealing her amusement.

Hot shame coursed through him as he hilted his blade. “You are fools!” He barked. “Next time I shall not be so quick to believe you and you shall find steel in your throat instead of lies.”

“Sten?” The Warden had made her way back through the crowd with concern on her face. “What’s wrong?”

“I will not remain here to be mocked. Stay here with your elf and your mage if you wish – it is your life to gamble with.” And with that, he cut through the crowd and stalked back to camp.

*

They returned some hours later when dusk had laid a veil over the camp. Sten had already bathed and was cleaning his armour in angry silence. The bard was quietly strumming a lute and the other Warden was stirring a stew bubbling over the fire. The companionable silence was broken when the elf began loudly singing a bawdy ballad from his homeland to the bard’s tune. Infuriatingly, everyone seemed to think it was amusing and the whole camp gathered around to warm themselves before their supper.

The Warden sat opposite him, the fire between them making her pale hair look like sunshine. Their eyes briefly met before he looked away again, focussing on his armour. But he felt her gaze on him still. He continued with his work as his companions began chattering about any small thing that came into their heads.

“I heard the Orlesian fashion may be turning towards smooth skirts now.”

“That seems very unlikely.”

“Don’t they normally have those...big puffy ones?”

“Oh, well observed, Alistair. Nobles will be flocking to you for sartorial advice soon, I have no doubt.”

“Ha ha.”

“Smooth skirts? Excellent if you would like to admire some bottoms at court but very difficult to conceal weapons.”

“Ah, nobles have a good life! All that drink and food and now bottoms at court - s’not fair.”

Sten harrumphed at his armour.

“Problem, Sten?”

The Warden was staring at him again and the whole camp had gone quiet, watching them.

He threw his armour down. “This day has been a waste of time.”

The Warden, usually light-hearted and easygoing, narrowed her eyes. “In what way?”

“You spend the day in the village to be fawned over and applauded when the job is not yet done. And then you return to eat and talk nonsense over the fire as though you need some sort of reward for a hard day.”

Several of their companions cried out in outrage on her behalf. The Warden just stared at him, her face unreadable. Her silence went on a beat too long and, to his surprise, Sten felt his palms sweat slightly.

“I went to the village for supplies. While we were there, I wanted to see how the villagers were coping since the attack. I didn’t know they were going to flock to us like they did but it was good to see how happy they were because of something we did. What we do is for the greater good - for everyone. The nobles, the peasants, the merchants, the craftsfolk – they are all the same to the darkspawn and what we are doing is to save them all. Isn’t that what you say the Qun is all about? Work for the greater good? And I won’t apologise for taking a day off the fighting and the killing. You say you have been born and bred for it, Sten, but the rest of us have not. We are all just people, like those villagers, and we just want our home to be safe again. We’re not machines...sometimes we just want to be happy for a few hours.”

The silence rang louder than a Chantry bell. The fire crackled and popped between them, threatening to rise too high and scald the food. Alistair quickly removed the pot and began quietly serving the stew.

It took a long time for someone to speak.

“I...think it may rain tonight.” Wynne said, peering up at the darkening clouds.

“Yes, you know I think it might.” Alistair spoke with far too much enthusiasm for the subject.

“Then perhaps we should eat and retire to bed early tonight.” Leliana suggested.

“Yes, yes, that sounds sensible.”

Normal conversation resumed as they ate. Sten ate his stew slowly, carefully avoiding the Warden’s eyes. He was unsure how to proceed. Truthfully, he still thought he was right. But he was surprised to find he was uncomfortable at the Warden’s displeasure with him. When they first met, he said whatever he thought without any concern and she had accepted it. She just quietly disagreed with him, sometimes so politely he hadn’t realised their opinions were different until he thought about it later. He wasn’t sure what to do with this new anger.

“I wonder how the Circle is recovering.” The elder mage said, sighing. “I hope they are coping as well as the people of Redcliffe.”

“I am sure they are, my dear Wynne...but perhaps they are struggling without your wonderful...presence.”

“Oh, Zevran, you are dreadful!”

“Alas, I cannot help it! I was born this way! Some are born with magic, others with deadly charm...ah, but imagine a being with both. Two gifts in one body.”

The Warden spoke then. “You think magic is a gift, Zevran?”

“Of course!” The elf cried, almost spilling his stew in his excitement. “Magic is a wonderful thing to behold. Those born with it suffer, unnecessarily, but they are blessed with a true gift: natural power.”

“Thank you.” The Warden said quietly, sounding almost moved.

“We were told that it’s dangerous but I think it’s mostly because mages don’t get taught properly.” Alistair said between mouthfuls of food. “The Circle’s hardly the most nurturing environment.”

“True.” The Warden said. Then she paused, set her spoon down in her bowl and asked, “Sten, why do the qunari sew their mages’ mouths shut?”

A collective groan came from everyone around the fire.

“Dear, this will only upset you.” Wynne said softly, placing a hand on the Warden’s arm.

Sten stared her down across the campfire. She was watching him with those bright blue eyes, waiting calmly for a response. But there was tension in her jaw and her knuckles had turned white around her bowl. He barely resisted the urge to fling his own supper into the flames.

“Parshaara, woman! We have already spoken on this!”

“But that was so long ago and the details are fuzzy. Wasn’t it something about mages being no better than beasts?”

“I do not wish to speak about this with you!” He threw down his bowl, seized his sword and stalked off towards the trees.

His heart pumped hot blood to his ears, almost drowning out the sound of the Warden’s footsteps hurrying along behind his.

“Leave me!” He bellowed to her without looking behind him.

He weaved through the trees, hoping to shake her off. He knew what was coming and he knew he didn’t want to answer her question. He had no desire to think about it. But still, she followed.

“Come now, Sten! You told me of qunari mages with such pride when we first met!”

“I did not!” He swung his sword at the nearest tree, splitting the bark with a tremendous crack.

“You used to be fine talking about it.” She persisted, following him around the tree. “But now you don’t want to. Why?”

“Leave me, woman!” He swung his sword again.

“If I went to your homeland, they would sew my mouth shut.”

His sword missed its mark and scuffed the ground. He stood still for a moment, panting and sweating even in the cold night air. She leaned against the battered tree trunk and her face softened into the mage he recognised. “They would, wouldn’t they?”

“I...do not know.”

She sighed and crossed her arms. “We have known each other for quite a while now, Sten.”

“Yes.” He was unsure where the conversation was going but he doubted it would be somewhere he found comfortable.

“Do you think they would be right to sew my mouth? Do you think I am little more than a beast – untrustworthy and pitiful?”

“...no.” The image of her collared and silenced made him feel ill. To not hear her laughter, to not see the delicate dip above her collarbone, to not see the optimistic light in her eyes...

Re-education. The thought slogged into him like a punch to the gut. It was what awaited him if he continued down this path. He gripped the sword in his hand and remembered his duty. But then she placed her hand on his bicep and gazed up at him with those endless blue eyes.

“Thank you, Sten. I know that must be difficult for you to say.”

He should have shaken her off but he didn’t.

“You are...worthy of your praise, Warden. Even if I do not understand your methods.”

“I just need you to trust me.” She said, squeezing his arm a little. “I know you think we should just tackle the archdemon now but this quest is more than that. It may take us to some unexpected places. And we may even have the occasional quiet day like today. It’s important that we enjoy them – they may be the last we ever have.”

“I am sure they will not be.” He found himself saying.

“Optimism? You are getting used to us, Sten.”

Before he could say anything, an arrow buried itself into the tree between them. Both of them whipped around, eyes desperate in the dark. Before he could ask, the Warden summoned a glowing orb from nothing and sent it soaring a few feet above them, lighting the whole area. For a moment, he could only hear their breathing.

Then five men burst into the clearing and they sprang into action.

The first man raced forwards and the Warden immediately cast a barrier behind him, keeping the other four away. They started hammering on it, making her wince a little. Sten met the man head on, hoping to rush through the fight and help the Warden but he was quicker on his feet than he expected.

He whirled around Sten with two daggers and all the qunari could do was quickly deflect each blow with his sword. Perhaps the elf was correct in his earlier jest – they may be some of his fellow Crows. After the initial flurry of attacks, Sten settled into the pace somewhat. The assassin liked to step a certain way, allowing Sten to start pre-empting his next move. On his next strike, he was there to meet him and on the next, he was able to knock one of the daggers out of his hand.

With one final swing, the man’s head left his body.

Satisfied, he turned to assist the Warden with the remaining assassins but found he couldn’t move. He looked down to see the other dagger buried to the hilt in his abdomen and blinked several times. He recalled, far too late, his armour sat warming itself by the campfire.

He stumbled back, falling over a tree root.

The Warden saw him then and cried out. “Sten?!”

He clutched at his stomach but it was bleeding too profusely for him to comprehend. He had moments left, maybe a minute or two if could calm his thundering heart. But he could not. Panic set in – panic that his mission wasn’t complete, panic that he was to die without finding his sword, panic that he was leaving the Warden alone...

Then the whole clearing lit up and the Warden screamed. Lightning stronger and brighter than he had ever seen ripped through the night air from one assassin to the next, frying them in their armour. One by one they fell and Sten watched, choking on his own blood, thinking he would at least die witnessing one of the most remarkable displays of power he had ever seen.

Sten was surprised when she left one alive. Instead of killing him, she seized him by his steel chestpiece and hauled him back towards Sten. The assassin wept and begged for his life even as the Warden threw him to the ground. She paid him no mind as she was too busy sobbing herself, clutching at Sten’s useless shirt with shaking hands.

“Can you hear me?”

He nodded as best as he could. If he was to die in a foreign land by an assassin’s blade, let the last words he heard be hers.

“I don’t know if this will work...” She was determined, even with her face wet with tears. She pulled the dagger out of his stomach and took hold of his hand. Through the pain, he wondered if she would try and heal him. He was too far gone, she must have known that...

But then she grabbed the last assassin’s arm, gripping tightly as he had been trying to crawl away unnoticed. For a moment, Sten thought she was just watching him as he died because she was so still and silent. But then he felt a sensation in his stomach. It was hot, almost like a fever, but there was movement too. His flesh felt like it was bubbling and twisting around his wound. He heard a shout and he thought it was his own. But then he saw the assassin, frozen where she held him, and his face was...Sten wasn’t quite sure what it was. He looked like he was decaying, like his flesh was wasting away and his skin was shrivelling tight to his skull. His eyes went blank, then withered away and his bones began to weaken and crack.

Sten looked back at the Warden and saw her beam. “It’s working!” She said, but her voice was soft, as though she was far away. Her face was still wet with tears but there was blood now, coming from her nose and even her eyes.

He seized her in terror. “Stop now! I am well...see, Warden? I am well, I am well!”

She let go of the assassin but held on to Sten. “You are well.” She said, before her eyes rolled back and she collapsed. Sten caught her just before she hit the ground and the orb of light she had summoned above them died. He scrambled to his feet with the Warden in his arms. He stepped over the destroyed remains of the assassin and rushed through the trees back to camp.

Even in his haste, he carried her with astonishing delicacy, like he hardly thought himself worthy of touching her.

“Fear not, Warden.” He found himself saying to her unconscious form. “I have you.”

Their camp lit up in the distance and he could see the remains of a battle. They had obviously had their own assassins to deal with but they were all present and unharmed.

“Help!” He bellowed to them once they were in earshot. “The Warden is injured! HELP!”

They rushed her inside her tent and Sten lay the Warden down on her bedroll. Wynne was beside her immediately, brushing back her golden hair. Her hand faltered when she saw the blood. She turned to Sten with wide eyes.

“What did she do?”

“I...do not know.” He gestured awkwardly to his torn, bloodied shirt and touched where the dagger had been inside him. “I was nearly dead and then...it looked like she took another’s life to save mine.”

Thankfully, the mage seemed to understand. “Then she has overextended herself as I thought. There is little I can do for her.” She noticed Sten’s expression and quickly added, “She will recover. But she will need plenty of rest and at least one dose of lyrium when she wakes.”

He nodded and hovered next to the unconscious Warden.

“I will clean her face - ”

“I will do it.” Sten said abruptly.

She nodded, handing him a bowl of water and some cloth. She turned to leave but halted in the doorway.

“The spell she performed...it is not easy. And it is not without great personal risk.” Her eyes flickered between the qunari and the Warden. “She must have been very desperate to do it.”

Sten spent the night next to the Warden, waiting for her eyes to open, waiting for the curl of a finger or the flutter of an eyelash. Nothing came. She remained motionless, flat on her back, her chest steadily rising and falling. He worried for hours, knowing if anything happened to her it was his fault. He should have worn his armour, he should have been able to protect her. Instead, he was foolish and she paid the price for him.

He lay down next to her, head propped up only on his arms. He had given her all the pillows. His eyes traced the line of her profile over and over again until finally, when dawn had nearly arrived, his heavy eyes shut.

*

He awoke to the sound of birds, to soft morning light and a pair of blue eyes on him.

“Good morning.” Her voice sounded like it hadn’t been used for weeks but she was smiling, dopey with sleep and body exhaustion.

He sat up quickly, feeling like he had somehow been caught red-handed. “You are awake.”

She laughed quietly. “Yes, it appears so.” She struggled to sit up but managed it without his help. He watched, dumb with surprise and relief, as she reached forward and pulled aside the tent flap. “It is a beautiful morning.”

“It is.” He said, without looking outside.

“I want to go for a walk.”

“Warden, you should not. The mage said you would need to rest and take a lyrium draught.”

“I will do that when I come back.” She clambered to her feet and he reached out to steady her, his large hand resting, just for a moment, on her soft hip. She was looking outside as though she had never seen anything beyond this tent. “Come with me?”

“It is the least I can do.” He said and meant it.

She smiled and took his arm, elegant hand tucked against his bicep as they stepped outside. Alistair was already up, staring blearily at the dying fire. He jumped to his feet when he saw them.

“Oh, thank the Maker!” He rushed forward and embraced the Warden clumsily, making her stumble slightly.

“Take care!” Sten growled and he apologised profusely.

“It’s fine, it’s fine!” The Warden waved it off, smiling at Alistair warmly. “We are going for a walk.”

“Are you sure? Wynne said you’d need rest - ”

“And a lyrium draught, yes. I won’t go far. And Sten will be with me, so nothing bad can happen.”

It did last night, Sten thought and suspected Alistair thought the same. But neither of them argued with their leader.

*

Dog came with them too, snuffling along the path in front of them with interest.

Sten walked slowly, the Warden close at his side with her arm linked through his. He secretly delighted in making her laugh when he threw sticks for Dog, the mabari scurrying after them with endless enthusiasm.

They came to a fallen tree and she gently led them to it, sitting down carefully. Dog led on the grass in front of them, merrily ripping apart the sticks he had so bravely retrieved. The birds sang sweet songs for their mates high in the trees above them as the sun slowly warmed the cold wood, waking up all the creatures with a gentle whisper.

Sten sighed and saw his breath cloud the air in front of his face.

The Qun said that duty was peace. To know your place in the world was to have true understanding of the self and that was the only way to be at peace. He did not understand how Southerners ever thought they were at peace. They were fools to think they could have positions and power they were not born for. The idea of not understanding your role in society made Sten uncomfortable.

And yet...

The Warden had been born to an upper class family but here she was, an outcast leading a band of people thrown together by circumstance. She was a woman and a mage. But still she led them.

“I have not thanked you for saving my life.”

He felt her eyes on his face. “No, you have not.”

He paused, considering his words but she laughed before he could speak. “Was that meant to be a thank you? You know, you don’t have to say it. I suppose it must be hard for you, being saved by a mage – a female mage too. In your country the spell I cast would probably - ”

“Thank you, Warden.”

She smiled and her hand, next to his on the tree trunk, briefly touched his. “You are welcome, Sten.”

They fell into comfortable silence again. If duty truly was peace, Sten did not understand the feeling inside him now. He did not understand the calm he felt when the Warden smiled at him, the warmth her brief touches left on his skin, his desire to put his arm around her waist whenever she dozed in front of the fire. He did feel at peace with her. Even if she infuriated him by being too generous, too trusting, too uncaring of her own safety. Moments like these where they sat together, bodies almost touching, made him think about life outside the Qun.

The Warden shifted next to him, leaning over to rest her head on his shoulder. His arm moved behind her, almost settling around her waist, but he let it drop before he touched her. He swallowed and saw in the distance that their companions were all gathering around the fire for breakfast.

“We should return to camp, Honora.”

He felt her smile against his arm. He knew why and hoped she would not bring it up.

“Just a little longer.”

So they sat together among the trees and the birds and, for a while, Sten forgot about duty.

_

ao3 link

[mythologyfolklore]

Ares and Athena through the years - Ch. 09

Chapter Nine: The Trojan War, Pt. 01

(A/N:  This is basically the Iliad, but from the gods' POV. The gods meddling with human affairs, just as they please and Zeus being a puppet master for funsies, because he's Zeus. 

If my writing looks a bit differently at some parts, it's because I transcribed them from my German edition translation of the Iliad. Now, the Iliad is one monster of a book. So I'm cutting this chapter into several parts. But I altered or completely skipped a few parts from the epic, so if you discover inaccuracies and books missing, know that this is absolutely intentional.)

“Mēnin áeide, theá, Peleïádeo Akhilēos

ouloménen, hé myrí' Akhaioīs álge étheken …”¹

.

Athena still didn't know why not being picked as the fairest offended her so.

Maybe being thought of as beautiful was more important to her, than she had thought.

Anyhow, she could not deny, that she was slightly butthurt. Not as much as Hera, but she was still furious.

She had offered wisdom and victory, Hera had offered power.

And Paris had picked Aphrodite, because she had offered him the most beautiful woman in the world?! Really?

And to top it off, the woman in question was Helena of Sparta, married to none other than Menélaos, a volatile Mycenaean², who had become king of Sparta through their marriage!

She also happened to be subject of a treaty her father had made with her suitors, before she had chosen Menélaos as her husband: that those rejected would come to the aid of the successful one, should he ever be in a troublesome situation.

And what a troubled situation it was, because Paris had freaking abducted Helena with Aphrodite's help!

Indeed, that guy's stupidity knew no bounds!

So here the mortal men were – rallying the entirety of Hellas, because of that damn treaty! Among them were great men like brave Diomedes, cunning Odysseus (a favourite of Athena's), Menélaos' brother Agamemnon and, last but not least, great Akhilleus and his soulmate Patroklos.

Also, that old bitch Agamemnon had managed to offend several gods and mortals by … well, being his bitchy arsehole self …

.

Book One:

.

Apollon was minding his own business, when suddenly a prayer reached his ears.

A prayer full of anguish and despair, from a voice he knew: that of his priest Khrýses.

The god of oracles sighed and listened to what his priest had to say.

“Hear me, God of the Silver Bow, who stands over Khryse and holy Killa, who rules mightily over Ténedos, Smintheus³, if the roof I gave to your temple and my sacrifices ever pleased you, fulfil my prayer: let the Danaoi⁴ pay for my tears with your arrows!”

Apollon closed his eyes and used his gift of clairvoyance to get a full picture of what had happened.

But once he knew everything, he was seized by fury.

“Alright, motherfuckers!”, he growled, as he grabbed his bow and arrows and descended to earth, nearby their camp.

“Face the wrath of Ioímios⁵!”

Then he proceeded to rain down every single contagious disease he had at his disposal, for nine days straight.

.

Hera was raging and cursing Thetis and Akhilles, but mostly Thetis: the Nereid had persuaded Zeus to support the Trojans, because her son had asked her to.

Yep, Akhilles had requested that the Trojans should have the upper hand, lest Agamemnon finally would get his bitchy arse up and apologise to him properly.

Now the most powerful warrior of the entire army was brooding in his tent like … what was that mortal dish again? Oh yeah, a burrito. An overgrown, sulky blanket burrito. Who had completely withdrawn from battle with all of his troops, because screw Agamemnon.

Of course, no one liked Agamemnon, but this was ridiculous.

.

Book Two:

.

Meanwhile the Trojans, with their prince Hektor and Zeus' good will on their side, easily held their own and more than often threatened to gain decisive victories.

And to add insult to injury, her son Ares, who had promised to support her and Athena against the Trojans, had let Aphrodite get into his head and was now opposing them, like the turncoat he was!

Both Hera and Athena were furious at this development, but Zeus had not allowed them to interfere – yet.

“You know”, Athena grumbled, as the two goddesses looked down onto the battlefield, “If father let me, I would love to drive a spear into Ares' gut!”

“You and me both”, Hera huffed. “Just where did I go wrong in his educati- not a word, Athena”, she warned, when the goddess of wisdom opened her mouth to reply.

“Anyway”, the Queen continued, “We have to obey Zeus' decree, especially now; as you can see, he's in a bad mood.” And pointed to the dark clouds above them.

“Also, Athena – I think you might want to go down there; they all seem to want to cut and run, there is a riot.”

Athena lost no time in dashing down there and urging her mortal friend Odysseus to interfere.

It wasn't long, until he and old Nestor had re-established order.

.

Book Three:

.

Some sacrifices and one breakfast later, the Achaeans and the Trojans were duking it out on the battlefield, when Athena and Hera spied Menélaos coming close to Paris.

Latter apparently saw the Spartan king first and promptly ran off like a total wuss.

This made Hera cackle hysterically: this boy had had no qualms risking both her and Athena's wrath, abducting a married woman out of her own home, offending the entirety of Hellas in the process, and now, that her actual husband Menélaos was showing up, he was running away like a wimp?! Pathetic!

Just a few hours later, Paris changed his mind, but not before he got smack-talked by his brother Hektor for being a huge wimp.

Of course Menélaos kicked his arse, but before he could finish him off and end the war for good, Aphrodite showed up! Whisking away her favourite like the bitch she was!

Hera fumed, but resisted the urge to beat her to a pulp.

“Don't worry”, Athena comforted her, “Sooner or later, she'll get her arse handed to her. I already have my plans – and the means to execute them.”

“As always”, the Queen remarked, with a hint of amusement and fondness.

.

Meanwhile Menélaos was still on the battlefield, outraged beyond mortal comprehension and roaring for Paris to “COME BACK AND DIE LIKE A MAN!!!”

Anyhow he had won, his brother Agamemnon decided and demanded that Helena be given back, financial reparations included.

Even most of the Trojans agreed, that Helena should be given back.

But Paris insisted, that she was his wife (except that she wasn't) and he wouldn't give her up.

.

Book Four:

.

The Olympians were having lunch in their dining hall, drinking nectar and toasting to each other, while Hebe was filling their cups.

But Zeus, ever the son of cunning Kronos, was plotting.

Finally he rose and spoke with sharpest tongue:

“Among the goddesses Menélaos only has two supporters: my queen Hera, who is the patron of Argos, and my daughter Athena, who holds her hand over Boiotia. Yet both just sit here, while Aphrodite is having a field day dwelling with Paris and doing as she pleases. Did she not just save him from certain death? Menélaos has won, yes. But now we need to hold counsel about how we will proceed now; shall we bring on more bloody war or shall we finally let gentle Eirene end the suffering? Granted your approval, it would mean, that Priamos' city will remain habitable and Menélaos finally can take his Helena back home to Sparta.”

Hera and Athena stuck their heads together, whispering and plotting more bale for the Trojans.

However, Athena was sensible enough to bite her tongue towards her father.

Hera on the other hand jumped up and ranted furiously: “Zeus, what the heck?! I have worked my arse off, just to put up a fleet against Ilios, and now this shall all have been in vain?! Do whatever you want, but don't expect any of us to approve of it!”

“Shut it!”, Zeus barked, “What is your problem? Why are you so bent on obliterating this beautiful city completely! What did the Trojans ever do to you for you to be so obsessed with this?! Will your blood thirst only be quenched, when you can march through the gates of Troy to incinerate its inhabitants with your own hands?! Do what you must, but heed this; should I ever feel like destroying one of the cities you hold dear, do not get into my way. Let me do as I please, as I do for you, even though I do not like it. The Trojans have never failed to honour the gods as it is due; my altars were never void of the best sacrifices and presents my worshippers had to offer.”

Hera inhaled sharply, but returned: “My dearest cities are Argos, Sparta and Mycenae. Should any of them ever invoke your wrath, destroy them if you want. I couldn't stop you, if I tried – you are the strongest here. Still, my efforts should not be in vain. I am divine like you, we have the same parents and yet I'm the first of the goddesses, because you chose me to be your queen. So we should be in agreement, even if it's just for the sake of being role models to the rest of the gods. Do you not agree, my great and most beloved husband? Thus, we should send Athena down to tempt the Trojans into breaking the truce they made with the Achaeans. What do you say?”

Zeus chuckled at this response, but nodded his head towards Athena.

The goddess of wisdom jumped up eagerly and rushed down like a comet.

A Trojan archer shot at Menélaos, barely missing a critical body part (thanks to Athena's intervention) and the oath of peace was broken.

Soon the two sides were back at each other's throats again.

Back on Olympos, Zeus rose from the table, and retreated to the Room of Fate.

There stood a huge pair of golden scales – the Scales of Fate, gifted to him by great Ananke, the Protogenos of fate and necessity.

Zeus had not agreed to the destruction of Ilios out of favour.

It was the fate of Troy and many more warriors, that they should fall.

It was a hard choice to make; many of the people who would fall were in his personal favour and some even were his dear children.

But he was the King of the Gods.

And as such, sparing someone out of favouritism was not an option.

Meanwhile the Scales of Fate were swinging up and down, towards the Achaeans, then towards the Trojans, then back and back again …

.

Book Five:

.

As Athena was rushing about the army, spurring on the warriors, she was also looking for her half-brother Ares. His influence on the mortal fighters was hindering her work.

Oh, there he was – personally slaying Achaeans left and right and generally being his bloodthirsty, mass-murdering self.

She snuck up on him, but he noticed her before she could startle him.

Athena ignored the spear to her face and said: “Hi to you too, brother.”

“For fuck's sake, what do you want?”, Ares spat.

“For you to retreat, Brotoloigos⁶, before father gets angry.”

“You're lying. He didn't send you”, he remarked.

Athena huffed: “Alright, if you want to be like that …”

Then she promptly grabbed him, threw him over her shoulder, carried him off like this (despite his very vocal protest) and dumped him onto a rock nearby the river Skamandros.

“Father will decide over the victory. You stay here, or else!”, she warned.

Then she went back, while Ares gawked after her, wondering what the heck just had happened.

.

Athena heard a prayer and quickly found Diomedes. He had just been wounded and was now praying for her assistance in avenging himself.

She poured courage and strength over him and also manipulated his sight.

“Now that you can tell gods and humans apart”, she whispered into his ear, “Remember this; do not fight the gods, you don't stand a chance – unless it's Aphrodite; she's a wimpy bitch.”

Diomedes, now powered up and high on adrenaline, immediately rushed back into battle and began to massacre Trojans left and right, as if he was Ares in disguise.

He quickly found the Trojan archer who had shot him in the shoulder and killed him.

His companion, a Trojan nobleman named Aineías, jumped off his chariot to defend the corpse of his fallen comrade, but Diomedes quickly grabbed a huge stone and knocked him out.

Aphrodite, who was Aineías' mother, saw this and came to rescue her son.

However, Diomedes decided (much to Athena's sadistic pleasure), that he'd have none of that and promptly chucked a spear at the goddess of love. It hit her wrist, tore through the skin and Ikhor splat everywhere. She screamed in shock, terror and pain like a little bitch (seriously, it was just a cut!), dropped her son and fled, followed by the taunting of her injurer.

Apollon came to Aineías' rescue instead and caught him, before he could hit the ground. When Diomedes – blinded by battle frenzy – began to attack him too, Apollon lost his patience and began to glow ominously.

“Back off, mortal! You are delusional, if you believe, that you can hold your own against me!”

Diomedes did the wise thing and obeyed.

.

Meanwhile Aphrodite was searching the field in panic, until someone seized her by the hand: Iris, the messenger of Hera, had taken pity on her and was now leading her away from the turmoil.

“Calm down, Aphrodite”, the goddess of the rainbow tried to soothe her, “Look, there is Ares!”

The goddess of love promptly rushed over to her lover, who was basically just chilling at the banks of the river Skamandros.

Ares was startled, when he was tackled by a hysterical love goddess.

“Whoa! Aphrodite?! What happened, why are you-?”

In tears she told him what had happened.

He scowled, but kept his composure. “Let me see the wound.”

When she did, he blinked. “Aphrodite, you kicked arse in the Gigantomakhia and now you're freaking out over a scratch? Alright, alright, I'm sorry”, he apologised, when she glared tearfully.

“Just give me your chariot!”, she wailed, “I want to go home as quickly as possible!”

“Sure”, he consented and kissed her forehead.

“And my son – my son!”

“Don't worry, Apollon's got him. See?”

She sobbed in relief, when she spotted Apollon carrying Aineías away to safety.

Then she mounted Ares' war chariot and Iris drove her back to Olympos.

When she got there, she was healed by Apollon's son Asklepios, who gave her kind words of comfort.⁷

But just a few minutes later, Athena and Hera returned from the battlefield and promptly proceeded to mock her relentlessly.

“If you don't mind, my dear father”, Athena said innocently, “Surely Aphrodite has been doing that thing again, where she tempted a Greek woman to run after a Trojan and cut her hand on the needle of a brooch, when she fixed the woman's dress!”

Hera cackled hysterically and Zeus chuckled in amusement.

“Good to see you all have so much fun at my expense!”, Aphrodite spat.

“Hey, you do it all the time, it's time we get a good laugh too!”, Hera retorted.

Zeus finally stopped snickering and put a hand on Aphrodite's shoulder. “Now, now, my dear aunt. You're simply past the time of your life, when you could kill a giant with one swing of your blade. Your sword has grown dusty and your battle prowess is in the past. We have two professional war deities and many others who have a function in war, myself included. You on the other hand have a far fairer profession: the works of love and marriage.”

.

Meanwhile, Apollon had brought the unconscious Trojan nobleman to his temple, where his mother Leto and Artemis tended to his wounds.

Okay, now where is Ares – oh for fuck's sake, is he still sitting there like a moron?!

Apollon huffed and marched over to the river, where Ares indeed was still lounging, as if there wasn't relentless slaughter going on.

“Ares!”, he snapped, making the older god jump. “Get your lazy arse up and rid the battlefield of that madman Diomedes! He hurt Aphrodite at the wrist, attacked even me and at this point it wouldn't surprise me, if he took on our father Zeus as well! That man is hardly human, he fights with the strength of a Daimon! He is dangerous! You're the god of terrible war! Stop him!”

“Alright, alright, I'm on it!”, Ares grumbled defensively, “Get off my dick, will ya?!”

Apollon responded maturely, by sticking his tongue at him, ere he returned to his temple.

.

Ares teleported himself onto a wall, taking the shape of a Thracian ruler he favoured.

With fiery words, he stirred up the fighting spirit of the Trojans and their allies.

With renewed vigour they threw themselves into battle, although their opponents held them back with united strength.

He decided to help them a little more and held his hand above the Trojans. Darkness came over the plain and Aineías rejoined the fray, which significantly boosted the morale of the Trojans.

Still they couldn't seem to break through; the Achaeans stood like a wall.

Damn , they really need my help! Somehow this must be the fault of Daddy's Owl … but where is she? Eh, who cares!

He decided to get back to what he had been doing before Athena had interfered.

Nearby were his twin-sister Enyo and his best friend Eris, sowing more belligerence and strife and riling up the mortals.

Oh, there was Hektor. He had come to aid his people and was slaying Achaeans left and right.

Ares laughed heartily and joined the Trojan hero.

.

On Olympos, Hera addressed Athena: “Athena, we need to do something! We promised Menélaos, that he could return to Sparta once he conquered Troy and took his wife Helena back, but my son and Hektor are about to ruin everything! It's time to go to war.”

Athena nodded grimly and while Hera ordered her daughter Hebe to ready her war chariot, she donned her armour and that of her father. Armed with her spear and her father's Aigis, which bore the horrid face of the Gorgon, she jumped onto the chariot with Hera.

Sometimes Athena nearly forgot Hera's war-ridden past, but as the Queen of the Gods came, in armour from head to toe and a long, heavy spear in one and the reins of her horses in the other hand, she was reminded, that Hera was a warrior at the core.

The Queen of the Skies spurred on her horses and the Horai tore the Gates of Olympos open to make way.

But then Hera spied Zeus, just lounging on a cloud and being his smug and very neutral self.

She held her horses and spoke to her husband: “Zeus! Ares is wreaking havoc down there. Doesn't it irritate you too, that he is slaying the best Achaeans down there, while Aphrodite and Apollon, who let him loose, are having a blast? Allow me to put an end to our son's murder spree and to give him a good beating!”

Zeus laughed heartily: “Go on, my dear wife! And sic Athena on him; she has experience in punishing him and as I see, in plundering too.”

Athena just grinned cheekily.

With Zeus approval secured, Hera's chariot descended to earth quicker than lightning. The two goddesses had joined the ranks of the Achaeans.

While Hera spurred them on with sharp and fiery words, Athena approached Diomedes.

The man had sat down to nurse the wound, which had been inflicted on him earlier and was now inflamed to the point where the pain was crippling his arm.

“What is this?!”, she demanded to know, “Some fine son Tydeus got himself there! I remember him so well; he was small in frame, but one of the greatest warriors I have ever known. You on the other hand! Ha! Were you half the man he was, you would be fighting the Trojans!”

Diomedes got defensive and reminded her, that she had told him not to attack any gods apart from Aphrodite. “Ares himself is leading the Trojans in battle. It's only because of your instructions that I made my troops draw back.”

Athena smirked, grabbed his face and her bright blue eyes were blazing with pugnacity and fire.

It was a testimony to the man's boundless bravery and faith in her, that he didn't even tremble, that her burning gaze didn't fill him with fear, though he knew exactly who was speaking to him.

“Yes, now I see him in you!”, she exclaimed, “You really are the son of your father! Fear not Ares or any of the other immortals, as long as I am with you. Once this sadistic madman promised his mother Hera and me to support the Achaeans. Now look at him helping the Trojans! He really needs a reality check. And …”, her smirk widened. “ … who could give it better than you?”

They mounted his chariot and rode into battle.

Athena knew, that to Diomedes Ares had to be horrifying; even to the other Olympians the blood-stained, untameable and murderous god of terrible war was a frightening sight to behold.

But as she had said before, the Argive had nothing to fear with her by his side.

.

Ares was busy robbing the corpse of someone he had just murdered. However, as he spied a shiny golden helmet, that could only belong to one person (Diomedes of Argos), he instantly dropped the corpse and dashed through the fray, his face a bloodthirsty grimace.

With a well-aimed throw, his spear flew towards the mortal, but … it missed?!

What the- how is that possible?! How?! How did I miss? I never miss!

Ares opted to use his second sight. This way he could sense a divine presence next to the mortal he wanted to kill.

“Daddy's Owl. I should have known it's you …”, he growled under his breath.

ARES, WATCH OUT!

What?

Diomedes' own spear flew and hit its target.

Ares' eyes widened.

The weapon had pierced clean through his stomach.

For a second Ares was too shocked to even register the pain.

Then Diomedes pulled his spear back out and it hit full force.

He screamed.

An unholy, rough and piercing roar, as if ten thousand men were screaming out of one throat.

It was so loud and so terrifying, that the warring mortals forgot what they were doing and clung to each other in fear and panic.

“You will pay!”, he choked and glared at the spot where he knew Athena's eyes to be. “You fucking bitch! You will pay!”

He summoned a whirlwind to carry him up into the sky and dragged himself all the way back to Olympos and into Zeus' throne room.

“Why is it”, he growled, as he showed his father the spear wound, “That everyone has to obey your command, while your daughter Athena can do whatever she wants?! While apparently I am not even allowed to do my fucking job?! She plays with all of us as she pleases – ngh! – and now she has sicced that arrogant fucker Diomedes on her fellow gods! That bastard sliced Aphrodite's hand open, assaulted Apollon and now this – ow, fuck! Had I not bailed, I would be lying under a pile of corpses or worse, be crippled – no offence, Hephaistos …”

“Some taken”, the smith replied drily.

Ares continued his rant: “And you, Zeus, just sit and watch, while she has the time of her life, pushing everyone else around! For the sake of your other children, for your whole family, dial it back with the favouritism and control her!”

But Zeus just replied scornfully: “Oh stop whining into my ears, you double-faced liar! Of all the gods that dwell here on Olympos, I despise you most. You have nothing but strife and bloodshed in your head, you're always looking for trouble – you got that from your mother. Were you not my son, I would have sent you to Tartaros a long time ago.”

“If I am the way I am”, Ares retorted coldly, “It's not because of the way my mother raised me, but it's because you didn't raise me any better – in fact, I don't remember you raising me at all. Also, I hate you too. I hate you so much.”

Zeus was visibly struggling to keep his composure (if the dark clouds outside hadn't made it obvious, his tense, stony face did), but only inhaled sharply and ordered for Asklepios to treat his son's injuries.

.

“I'm sorry for that”, the doctor later said, as he was applying healing salve to Ares' wound.

The war god's red eyes shifted to him. “What do you mean?”

His mien and tone were blank, but Asklepios could tell, that his uncle knew what he meant.

“What … what Zeus said earlier. I heard it all.”

“Spare me your pity, nephew”, Ares said coldly.

“What I feel for you isn't pity”, Asklepios contradicted. “Don't mistake compassion for pity. I too have suffered the wrath of Zeus; he killed me with a thunderbolt, back when I was a mortal and deified me only for my father's sake. But that happened quickly and only once. I do not like you, Ares, but no one deserves that kind of treatment.”

Ares chuckled wryly and (much to Asklepios' surprise) ruffled the doctor's blond head.

“You're a good kid. But don't waste your compassion on me”, the older god advised. “I don't need it. It has been this way for 38 000 years (that's how old I am) and it means nothing to me.”

Asklepios had the feeling, that the war god wasn't being completely honest, but he knew better than talking back to Ares.

“There”, he said instead, as the older man's injuries were closing. “Now a nice bath and some fresh clothing and you'll be as good as new. Shall I apply a salve to make the scar disappear?”

“No”, Ares chuckled, “It's just another scar in my collection. I don't mind it as much as I mind some of the others.”

.

When Hera and Athena came home a little later, they found Ares standing near Zeus' throne.

He had been perfectly patched up, was wearing fresh clothes and bore himself with an odd dignity.

Athena immediately realised, that he was attempting to keep his last shred of pride, with his perfectly blank and indifferent expression and aloof posture.

But when he looked up and saw her, his facade slipped just for a second.

His red eyes burned with unadulterated loathing, as they met her blue ones.

She responded with a similar glare, before resuming her own position at her father's side.

.

Book Seven:

.

Right after the gods had left the battlefield, Hektor and Paris joined their fellow Trojans and began to slaughter enemies left and right.

Apollon was watching them invisibly from the city walls, always the victory of the Trojans in his mind.

But when he saw Athena dash down from the sky with obvious intentions, he flew across the field to catch her.

“Are you meddling yet again?!”, he reproached her, “What is this, the fifth time today?! Look, I know you don't give a shit, that all those good Trojans are dying, but for once, can you just not?! Let us end the senseless bloodshed for today. Tomorrow is another day and surely you can't be in this much of a hurry to lay this great city to waste, can you?!”

Athena countered: “Actually, that was what I had in mind, when I came just now. But how do you plan to achieve a duel, Hekatos⁸?”

“Hektor”, Apollon replied coolly. “He's easy to persuade. A duel, one on one, a battle to the death. And if he demands one, it will compel the Achaeans to choose one out of their ranks to fight him.”

Athena had no objections to that.

So the god of prophecy sent a vision to Helenos, one of Hektor's brothers, to let him know the gods' intentions.

Not much later, Hektor was challenging the Achaeans to chose one of their ranks to fight him. His condition was that the loser's armour should go to the victor, but the corpse should be returned to their respective side.

The Achaeans were hesitant.

Finally Menélaos, revolted by everyone's cowardice, stepped forward, but was stopped by his brother Agamemnon, who warned him that there was no way he could win against Hektor.

Then the old king Nestor roasted everyone and several, grabbed by their honour, volunteered.

They drew lots and Ajax the Greater was chosen.

After a more or less respectful address, the two warriors began to duke it out.

Ajax quickly proved himself to be Hektor's equal.

Their combat was so vicious, that Apollon interfered and helped the Trojan prince up.

Then the two mortals forgot about their spears and shields and began a mortal sword fight.

Until two heralds stepped in and drew them apart.

“Enough!”, one of them spoke, “Let it be. Zeus favours you both equally. You have proven to him and us, what exceptional warriors you are. But cease it now. It's growing dark and it's better to call it a night.”

The opponents agreed to do that, complimented each other's battle prowess and exchanged gifts.

Apollon couldn't help but find it wonderful, how these two enemies set an example by respecting each other, both as warriors and people.

.

Meanwhile, several Trojans demanded, that Helene be given back to the Achaeans and many agreed.

Unfortunately, Paris refused to give her back, insisting that she was his wife now (even though she really wasn't), although he did offer to give back her treasure.

Priamos sighed and send a messenger to the Achaeans to let them know of it and ask for permission to bury their dead.

Of course they refused the offer of the treasures, but they agreed to stop all fighting, until the fallen warriors on both sides had been buried properly.

.

On Olympos, Poseidon had complaints.

The Achaeans had built a wall around their camps and now the Lord of the Seas was bothered by it being built without any sacrifices to him and that the wall he and Apollon once had built around Ilios would be forgot.

Zeus pinched his nose and spat: “Oh, for the love of me, do you have nothing else to worry about?! You can destroy that thing once the war is over and the Achaeans are gone, but now stop whining to me about it!”

Once their argument was settled, the King of the Gods retreated to his study and proceeded to spend the rest of the night plotting bale and doom for the warring people on earth.

Shortly after midnight a knock on the door pulled him from his plotting.

“Enter!”, he cried.

The door opened to reveal …

“Ares!” Zeus stood up. “What a surprise! It's been more than a century since you came to my office of your own volition! Do come in!”

Ares looked uncharacteristically modest, as he came in, which was even more surprising.

“My dear father”, he began, “I wish to apologise for earlier. And, if you will, discuss a few things with you?”

Zeus' interest was piqued.

“I'm all ears, my son and heir.”

Their conversation was short and almost business-like.

But at the end the King of the gods was laughing heartily: “Sometimes I forget just how much of me and your mother you have in you! Oh, if the others knew just how underhanded you can be in your spite, they would see you differently. Yet you're right with what you say and I see no harm in humouring you for a change. Your idea is a good one. Go to bed now, my son, and rest secure in the knowledge, that for once in your life, you beat your half-sister at her own game.”

.

Book Eight:

.

In the next morning, Zeus gathered his family in the assembly hall.

“From now on, I alone will guide the course of war on earth”, he announced. “None of you is allowed to interfere. No one. If you do, I will roast you with a thunderbolt. As you are gods, you won't be reduced to ashes, but Ares here can confirm, that the results are still really nasty.”

At these words, Ares, who was standing next to Zeus' throne, pushed back the bangs that were covering the left side of his face, revealing the hideous scar they were hiding. The sight made several of the attendants gasp.

Zeus went on: “As you can see, he still has that one, because not even Asklepios' healing arts would rid one of that kind of scar. And my thunderbolt just grazed him, so he was lucky. Imagine, what would happen to you, if I hit you full on. Or even better yet, I will throw you into Tartaros, if you disobey me. I'm sure my brother's face will be priceless, once I leave you to him.”

Everyone was gaping at him, speechless over those straightforward threats.

Athena was the first one to regain her speech.

“Dear father”, she began with a shaky voice, “We know that you are the strongest. If you wish, we won't interfere with the battle. But won't you at least allow us to give counsel? Hera, Poseidon and I can't help but pity the poor fighters, who have to deal with their imminent demise as best as they can. Won't you allow us to try and spare some in this manner?”

Zeus laughed, but quickly resumed his stern demeanour.

“This is as far as you all may go”, he accommodated. “Even you, my little Owl-Eye, will be punished, if you go against my orders.”

Athena bit her lip, but nodded.

.

Right after the assembly was ended, Zeus descended to earth to supervise the happenings down there.

Athena used the opportunity to go after Ares.

Barely holding back her anger, she followed him into a lone hallway and grabbed him by the shoulder.

“This is your doing, isn't it?”, she hissed.

Oh so slowly Ares turned around to face her. His butter-wouldn't-melt expression made her want to wring his neck.

“My dear sister”, he cooed, “I haven't the faintest idea what yer talkin' about!”

“Don't play that game with me!”, she snarled, “You put it into his head to force us to sit here and kick our heels like complete idiots, so he can hog the entire show and turn the war into a fucking board game!”

“Ya mean, he hasn't been doin' that before?”, Ares countered.

“Ares, I warn you! Don't think I didn't catch your disgusting smug grin earlier, when he threatened us all with what would happen, should we disobey him! How casually you let us see your scar, even though you grew your hair longer on the left side for the sake of hiding it?! How else could you of all gods be so calm and cavalier about this, if you weren't the one behind it?!”

The war god chuckled and swiped her hand off his shoulder.

“Ah, I wouldn't say that I'm behind it, although I might have a part in it.”

“What did you do?”, Athena growled.

He shrugged casually. “Eh, I just had a talk with him last night. From son to father, ya know. Resolvin' an argument we had after I came back from down there, doin' some business.”

“Doing some business!”, Athena echoed incredulously, “You persuaded him to stop everyone from interfering with the battle! How?! How did you do this?! You're anything but a man of eloquence!”

Ares laughed cruelly: “I didn't need to be. I just pointed out the obvious. If I'm not allowed to do my job, why should you – or anyone for that matter? I asked for justice and I got it.”

“Why, you-!”

He caught her fist, before she could hit him in the face.

“Now, now! No need to throw a hissy fit! I just gave you a taste of your own medicine!”

Athena was this close to deicide!

“What do you mean, a taste of my own medicine-”

She cried out in surprise, when he seized her by her chiton and pulled her close.

“How does it feel to not get your will, huh, Daddy's Owl?”, he growled, “That doesn't feel so great now, does it? This is what I have to bear with all the time. Although it probably stings you more than me … after all, you are his 'Little Owl-Eye'. It's probably way more mortifying, when you're used to always getting what you want. But that's not the case for me, which makes this whole thing just the sweeter!”

Forcefully he pushed her away, making her stagger a little.

“You injured me yesterday, both physically and psychologically”, he reminded her coldly. “You let a mortal pierce me with a spear and returned home in triumph with my mother, to gloat over how you two stopped me. And you expected for me to just let it go? No. I am spiteful like my mother. And if I want, I can be pretty damn underhanded, just like our daddy dearest.”

“Why should father listen to you?!”, she snarled, “To you of all gods!”

Ares smiled frigidly: “Sometimes he listens to me … because I'm his heir.”

Her blood ran cold.

Of course.

The Greek gods followed the principle of primogeniture, which required for a ruler to be succeeded by his oldest legitimate son.

And Ares, even though he was Zeus' least favourite son, was his only legitimate one.

The war god sighed and span around on his heel. “It's really sad, how you always forget that. But it doesn't matter. The Achaeans will conquer Troy eventually, but no one will be truly the victor. Of that I have taken care. Well, Thetis and I – don't wanna hog the whole credit, like you always do. But lighten up, Daddy's Owl; we both know our father, the prohibition won't last for that long. Sooner or later we'll all meddle with their mortal affairs again.”

He smirked at her over his right shoulder. “But right here and now, I am the winner. Not gonna lie, I hated having to be so underhanded, but it was worth it. And when your side lays Troy to waste, well, enjoy watchin' on as they commit war crimes so horrid, that you'll regret havin' supported them. This is the price you pay for your victory. Have a nice day, Daddy's Owl. Don't choke on that piece of humble pie, will ya?”

.

---

.

1) "Of the wrath sing, goddess, of Akhilleus, son of Peleus, his cursed wrath, which brought so much woe to the Achaeans (the Greeks) ..." The opening sentence of the Iliad. 2) If you have never heard of Mycenae, please look it up. For the context, it's one of the Greek main powers during that era and is ruled by Agamemnon (who is a fucking arsehole), the brother of Menélaos. The later Greek civilization considered itself a successor to the Mycenaean culture. 3) Smintheus: "Lord of the Mice/Rats", one of Apollon's epithets. 4) Danaoi: the Greeks, as referred to around the area of Troy. 5) Ioímios: "Lord of the Plagues", one of Apollon's epithets. Both of the aforementioned epithets refer to his function as god of pests and plagues. 6) Brotoloigos: "Slaughterer of Men/Manslaughtering", an epithet of Ares. 7) In the Iliad, she flees to her mother Dione, who treats her wound and comforts her. But I'm going with the account of Hesiod's Theogony, according to which Aphrodite has no mother. She sprung from Ouranos' severed testicles, that fell into the sea, after Kronos castrated him. So instead of Dione, in my version she is comforted by Asklepios, the divine doctor. As for Asklepios, in his place the Iliad mentions Paian as the doctor of the gods and as god of healing. But his identity isn't clear and Paian is also an epithets of several other gods with an association with healing (Paian means "Healer"). 8) Hekatos: "Worker from Afar", one of Apollon's epithets (in his function as god of archery and prophecy)

Bonus: Yes, I know that in the book Ares has nothing to do with Zeus' order for the gods to stay out of the fighting for now (I'm reading that damn thing for the 3rd time now!). I just thought, it would be funny if he used his few braincells for petty revenge in the most devious way he can think of. So that's my own invention, lol.

[wistfulcynic]

Self-Promo Sunday: Four Christmases

Merry Christmas everyone! I wrote this fic last year for CS Secret Santa so I thought I’d share again. Enemies to friends to lovers with family moments and ice skating!  

SUMMARY: When Emma Swan first meets Killian Jones at her sister’s Christmas party, she is not impressed. Over the course of the four Christmases they spend in each other’s company, Killian does his best to change her mind. 

On Tumblr: The First | The Second | The Third | The Fourth

On AO3

-

THE FIRST: 

They say first impressions are important, and Emma had always been a believer in this. It was essential for her job; if the skips weren’t convinced that she was there for a date with them, they’d never fall into her honey trap.

Of course, in her line of work she never spent enough time with anyone for there to be a second or third impression, so the first was pretty much all you got.

Her first impression of Killian Jones, formed about two hours into Emma’s sister Mary Margaret’s annual Christmas party, was not favourable. Of course she noticed his handsome face with its bright blue eyes and very kissable lips, but at the moment of their meeting those eyes were fixed on the naked breasts of her friend Ruby as the lips descended to latch onto her nipple and suck it hard as Ruby leaned back against the bathroom sink and moaned.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” shouted Emma.

“Ems!” shrieked Ruby, pushing Killian away and yanking up her dress.

Killian turned to glare at her, clearly displeased by the interruption. “Are you fucking kidding me,” he growled. “Barging in like this…”

“‘Barging in’? To the bathroom of my own apartment?”

He regarded her more closely, interest sparking in his eyes as he took in her habitual honey-trapping outfit of tight red dress and sky-high heels, her blonde hair in loose curls tumbling down her back. (“It’s— maybe a bit much for a friendly Christmas party?” Mary Margaret had said, but Emma knew that if she were going to survive a whole night with her sister’s very friendly friends then she needed her armour very much intact.)

“Ah, you must be Swan, then,” said Killian, his blue gaze now fixed on her as though Ruby and the party and the entire rest of the world didn’t exist.

“Emma Swan, yes.” She resisted the urge to squirm under his intense regard. The accelerated heartbeat and sudden hot flush across her skin she attributed to outrage. She simply wouldn’t allow them to be due to anything else.

“And do you not knock on bathroom doors here in your apartment, Emma Swan?” he inquired mockingly.

“I did knock,” hissed Emma, unconsciously moving closer to him. “You clearly didn’t hear me.”

“Well, I was rather occupied, love,” he said with an arrogant smirk that made her blood boil.

“I am not your love!”  

“No, indeed. Although that could certainly be remedied, should you wish it… Swan.” His smirk turned lascivious as he leaned into her space, his gaze roaming her body. His tongue flicked out to wet his lower lip and Emma actually shivered, suddenly overcome by images of that tongue and those lips on her skin.

What is wrong with me?

“You’re disgusting,” she hissed.

“Bit harsh, love.”

“Coming on to me in front of your— of the—” she gestured angrily at Ruby, who had been watching the interplay between Emma and Killian with extreme interest.

“Chill, Ems, it was just a bit of fun,” she said, “I took the opportunity to get some hot pirate action, but now that you have completely killed the mood, I’ll be getting back to the party. Maybe another time, Captain.”

“Aye, love,” replied Killian, his eyes still locked with Emma’s.

Ruby shook her head and squeezed behind Emma to get to the door, forcing her to take another step closer to Killian, who favoured her with a smile she would have found charming on a man she didn’t loathe.

“Now then, Swan, care to pick up where she left off?”

“I would rather rip out my own fingernails,” she retorted, the breathiness of her voice revealing the lie of her words. Why couldn’t she breathe?

He laughed, completely unperturbed. “I’d heard you were a tough lass.”

“Woman.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Lass means girl, right? I’m not a girl.”

The smirk returned. “That you certainly are not,” he purred, his voice dark and velvety and dripping with sinful promise.

There was that shiver again. Emma ground her teeth, struggling to think over the pounding of her heart, barely aware that she was biting her lower lip and shifting on her feet, squeezing her thighs together in an attempt to quell the tingling between them. What the hell was happening? There was no way she could be physically attracted to this jerk.

Killian closed the remaining distance between them, leading with his hips, one thumb tucked under his belt. With the other hand he reached up to grasp a lock of her hair, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger.

“So what do you say, Swan…” Maybe, she thought wildly, maybe I could… just this once… “…shall we see just how much of a woman you are?”

And the spell was broken.

Ugh, he was the worst, and now she was furious. Furious with him for ruining his gorgeous face by being such an asshole, with herself for being prepared to overlook it. How could she ever have even considered letting him touch her?

Quick as a flash, she grabbed his hand from her hair and whipped him around, twisting his arm behind his back, smiling in satisfaction at his grunt of pain.

“I would not fuck you,” she hissed in his ear, “If you were the last man on earth and the last hope for continuing the human race.” She wrenched his arm higher. “Do you understand?”

“I do,” he replied, through clenched teeth, “You needn’t press the point, Swan.”

She released him, and he immediately stumbled away from her, wincing as he reached up to massage his shoulder. He turned towards the door, twisting the knob and opening it a few inches before suddenly pausing and closing it again.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She blinked in surprise. “What?”

He turned to look at her for the first time since she’d released his arm, his expression free of suggestion or innuendo. Instead he looked… ashamed?

“My behaviour just now, it was… uncouth. Bad form. I apologise.”

“Oh.” She had not been expecting that. “Uh, fine. Thanks. Still not gonna fuck you.”

The smirk returned, this time merely a wry twist of his mouth, an eyebrow slightly quirked. “I’d never dream of suggesting you would,” he said. “See you around, Emma Swan.”

And with a small, slightly mocking bow, he was gone.

She saw him several more times that night, watched him actually, if she was honest, as he chatted and laughed and charmed his way through her friends and acquaintances. She waited for him to slip up, to show them the nasty, leering side of himself she’d seen in the bathroom, but he never did. In fact, they all seemed to love him.

It really pissed her off.

“So who is this Killian guy anyway?” she asked Mary Margaret when they went to the kitchen together to get drinks for everyone.

“Uh, he’s a friend of David’s.” Mary Margaret was distracted, trying to remember all the drink orders.

“Yeah, but how do they know each other? They seem… kinda different.”

“They met during David’s year abroad. You remember he studied in London? Killian was there too, I think they met in a pub or something.”

“Yeah, he seems like the kind of guy to hang out in pubs,” said Emma, wrenching the cap off a bottle of beer with perhaps slightly more force than was strictly required.  

Mary Margaret gave her an odd look. “Killian is definitely a character, but David says he was miserable in London before they met. Killian helped him feel more at home, introduced him to his friends, invited him to parties and stuff. He’s really a nice guy, Emma.”

Emma snorted. Nice guys didn’t come on to strange women in bathrooms.

“David’s been trying to get him to Storybrooke for Christmas for years now, but he’s always busy. He has to leave again tomorrow, actually. Something to do with his work.”

“What does he do?” Why was she interested?

“I don’t know exactly, he works on some kind of ship. Modern piracy, or something, David said.”

Ruby had called him a pirate too.

As she helped Mary Margaret carry the drinks, Emma found her attention drawn back to Killian, who was sitting on the arm of the sofa talking to… well, everyone, it seemed. He was telling a story, illustrating it animatedly with his hands —nice hands, she noticed, damn it— obviously coming to the punch line just as she arrived because the entire room burst into laughter.

Emma gritted her teeth as she handed him a beer.

“Thank you, Swan,” he said, with a polite smile. She nodded brusquely and turned away. She did not stomp off. She didn’t.

“So you’ve met Emma then,” said David.

“Aye, though I fear I’ve made rather a poor first impression,” Killian replied.

“Yeah, that’s not hard to do. Emma can be a bit prickly. She wasn’t my biggest fan at first either.”

“She’s Mary Margaret’s sister, you say?”

“Half sister, yeah. It’s a sad story. Their dad had a fling with Emma’s mom right after Mary Margaret’s mom died. When Emma’s mom found out she was pregnant, she freaked out and ran away. Their dad tried to find her, but she’d completely disappeared. Emma was found abandoned on the side of a road when she was less than a day old, and no one ever saw her mother again. She got swallowed up by the system then, spent years in foster care before their dad finally tracked her down.”

“Bloody hell.”

“You said it.”

Killian watched as Emma distributed drinks to the rest of the guests. Although she wasn’t unfriendly, her body language was decidedly closed off and unwelcoming, a clear warning to anyone who might try to get too close. Yet she couldn’t quite hide the yearning in her eyes as she watched the easy way the others interacted. She wanted affection, he realised, longed for intimacy, she just couldn’t open herself up to it, couldn’t bring herself to let anyone in.  

Fascinating.

He wished he could tell her that he understood, that he’d also been abandoned by a parent, and that after his brother’s death followed closely by his girlfriend’s he’d closed himself off from people too. It was hard to let anyone in when your only experiences with intimacy had ended in loss and betrayal, no one understood that better than he. Unfortunately, he feared he’d destroyed any chance to connect with her before he’d even really known he wanted to.

Killian kicked himself mentally for what must be the hundredth time in the past hour for having been such a boor in the bathroom. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking.

Although no, that wasn’t quite true. The problem was that he hadn’t been thinking. At least, he hadn’t been thinking with his brain. With his body already worked up by his dalliance with Ruby and his wits dulled by alcohol he had simply not been prepared for Emma, for the sharp green eyes that had pierced clear to his soul even as her soft gold hair had begged for his fingers to sink into it and pull her mouth to his. Immediately Ruby and the party and the fact that they were in the bloody bathroom had flown right out of his head, leaving only Emma and the hitch in her breath that he could feel on his cheek, the way her eyes had darkened as she bit a bright pink hue into her lower lip completely overwhelming his common sense and all his filters.

Oh, and he was a complete arse. That hadn’t helped matters either.

If only he didn’t have to leave early the next morning, he thought in frustration. Given enough time, he might be able to salvage the situation —salvaging wrecks was his job, after all— but instead her negative opinion of him would only solidify in his absence, and she’d probably spend the rest of her life thinking he was a creepy jerk.

He had no idea why this troubled him so much. All he knew was that he’d never felt so drawn to a woman before; even beyond the sexual attraction he sensed a kindred spirit in her and he couldn’t bear the idea of her despising him. Even if they never saw each other again.

He managed to speak to her once more, as he was leaving the party. She had fetched his coat for him (at Mary Margaret’s request and clearly under protest, he couldn’t help noticing), and he allowed his fingers to brush hers, lightly, as he took it from her.

Her sharp intake of breath and the way she snatched her hand away was balm to his soul. Whatever else, she wasn’t indifferent to him.

“So, you’re leaving tomorrow,” she blurted out, as he was shrugging the coat on.

“Aye. I have to get back to work.”

“On Christmas Eve?”

“Much of my work is… time sensitive. And I’ve no family anymore, so there’s not much point in taking the time off when I’d just be spending it alone.”

He had no idea why he’d told her that.

Perhaps he just wanted her to know that he too knew what it felt like to have no one.

Understanding and a hint of sympathy flashed across her face. “You could spend it with David,” she said, in a friendlier tone. “The holidays, I mean. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“Aye, so he keeps telling me. But I don’t wish to impose.” He hesitated a moment before adding “Perhaps next year.” He zipped up his coat and slung his satchel over his shoulder, then turned and smiled at her, offering his hand. To his surprise, she took it.

On impulse, he lifted hers to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of it. Her eyes widened, and she swallowed hard, licking her lips as she did, and Killian cursed the gods and the fates, and his own idiot self for ruining whatever chances he might otherwise have had with this woman.

“Happy Christmas, Emma Swan,” he said.

-

[constantwritingblock]

Stolen Worlds 1

Queen of Thieves: Takes place just after the MC breaks up with Nikolai.

Avengers: Takes place during The Winter Soldier, but with additional characters.

Unknown!Nick Fury x reader, (previous) Nikolai Stirling x reader, platonic!Natasha Romanoff x reader, (eventual) Steve Rogers x reader.

Things take a positive turn for Y/N’s mission to infiltrate Hydra, though when she meets a certain Captain America, of whom she’s not supposed to at all, will that complicate things if she lies about who she truly is? Or is Rumlow’s attraction towards her distracting enough?

Chapter One

Getting out of the Gilded Poppy was easier than expected if you don’t count the numerous calls and texts from them awaiting a response or a way to track her, thank god for signal jammers, while she transferred some necessary data and contacts she made on her adventure.

It came to even more of a surprise for her with Fury. “For a supposed dead man he sure has a lot of connections still.” Muttering to herself, she scuffled her way down to her newly found desk. Fury had managed to pull some strings for her to have a placement within the already infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D.and her mission was to infiltrate Hydra. This was going to be fun for her. Working as a computer techie had its perks, she wouldn’t be going back in the field, something she asked for. That was the only part of their deal Fury had no light behind, but nevertheless respected her wishes and privacy, for once.

Y/N has put up with the most toughest of enemies in the past, going as far as to having torture them for information or to weasle her way in undercover missions, she hadn’t anticipated a certain Brock Rumlow to take her bait so quickly. She needed to be stealthy and cautious, he could be on to her and that was something she did not want to happen. It had taken a few rough months to gain the trust of him and others from Hydra for them to start confiding in her of updates. The other part of her mission was to feed the information to Captain America and Romanoff without being caught, so anonymity was vital.

The duo, who were doing their own investigations and schemes had recruited a Sam Wilson onto their team. Y/N was getting very anxious with their side of things, though the trio had no idea who she was going by the alias of Agent Z; it had given them great mixture of distrust in her. Which she fully understood, how couldn’t she?

Sighing for the upteenth time that day, she ignored another one of Remy’s calls. The Gilded Poppy were not giving up on her, concerned if she was alright. Luckily she kept one of her older phones that she used when she was doing spy work for the Organisation. Shuddering at the thought of her old life, she attempted at brushing it off, she needed to focus. Meeting with Rumlow was something she was getting used to alongside the odd gropes, but this meeting was different, she was finally meeting Alexander Pierce. Fury had stated his suspicions of him being the one to set the hit out on him. Hopefully this gave her more insight into the Winter Soldier.

Y/N was tactful, her advances in technology were made known to him, so she was silently praying that it would be enough to allow for more access to any classified issues. As she approached the end of the long hallway, Y/N felt one of her shifts hit stronger than normal. Someone was behind her, subtly changing her pace, she prepared for the worse when an arm slithered its way onto her waist, sending a grimy squeeze on her right side. Rumlow. Hiding her disgust she gave him a thin smile in greeting as a mischievous grin reciprocated.

“You know, after this, perhaps we could finally get some time alone.” The suggestion did intrigue her, she wasn’t new to sleeping with someone on the job, but for the safety of herself and revealing her true self she battled against it. “How about, you can jack off to the vision of me actually sleeping with you?” With that, she strode forward, forcing his grasp off her body to slip as the door opened and they both stepped inside. Before Brock could argue further with her, the sight of Pierce’s back was daunting enough to challenge him. “Sir.” The double agent coughed. Turning around ever so slowly, Pierce had a rather striking appearance, but Y/N was using her chance to to analyse him. So he’s the big boss man… well, I suppose it fits… She’d never met Pierce but has heard of him, from some brief talks with Fury in the past with liaisons between S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Organisation. Again, stop thinking about that right now, you can’t fuck this up. 

“Ah, so you must be the famous Agent Z. Agent Rumlow has spoken highly of you and your skills.” The older man had the nerve to smile at her and be polite. “I wouldn’t say my work is anything special, sir.”

Deciding to act all humble about it was a smart move, his eyes lit up. Great he wants someone to manipulate. Pierce chuckled, rather sinisterly, “Oh, sweetheart, don’t put yourself down. You’re the best I have seen in a long time and trust me, I’ve been working here for a long time. Now,” flicking a switch, he triggered the holographic computer screen to appear as well shut off all doors and windows, making the room completely safe from eavesdroppers and trapping Y/N, “let’s begin, shall we?”

Gesturing for her to sit down, she did so as Rumlow stood directly behind her chair. Gulping nervously, Y/N kept her thoughts at bay. “I want to introduce you to something that will further you to work for the best of the best. Have you ever considered… joining Hydra? Now, before you argue with me, I am aware you do have a criminal past… odd jobs here and there within mobs and gangs, then progressing yourself to change your tune, into a good citizen of life. But, when I saw your application process through to S.H.I.E.L.D., I knew that you can’t resist this kind of life.”

Taking deep breaths, it was a lot to take in, she was worried that he caught for her more physical resume. All of her work for those mobs and gangs did underlay that she was doing hacking jobs for them. “Yes, sir… I guess you must have seen right through my lie there, I just… I didn’t know how to grab the attention.”

“My dear, you have caught mine. What would you say to assisting me in making the world a better place?”

—

Stopping at a coffee house, Y/N couldn’t resist the urge to sigh. She needed a break from everything. Luckily for her, she was granted a day off, something she thought would’ve been rejected given her area of expertise was close to what Hydra wanted. Pierce has probably allowed this to rope me in further. Distracted by her own thoughts, she hadn’t noticed a blond gentleman asking if the seat before her was free. Blinking up at the man, she noted the gentle, genuine smile that crawled on his lips. Returning a smile of her own she allowed him to take the seat, finally realising how quickly the coffee shop had filled. I need to focus… though her thoughts said so, the man before her thought otherwise.

He kept a conversation flowing, apologising if he had disturbed her from her work, then beginning to question on what she was doing. “I don’t mean to disturb you, but the look on your face is quite a sight ma’am.” He chuckled.

Shaking herself out of focus she fixed her attention on the blond, instant panic swept her. Shit, does he know who I am? Fuck fuck fuck, stay calm. “Ah, sorry, got a lot of uni work to catch up on. It’s hell.” Smiling and nodding along playfully she played along to his antics. “I bet it is. I’m Steve, what’s your name?”

Her eyes widened in horror as she finally took a moment to look at him. Shit, Captain America is right in front of me...

—

“You what? How on this damned earth could you have bumped into him Y/L/N!?” Fury’s voice resonated through the practically empty apartment she had supplied for him. The former director began pacing, almost wearing out his shoes and the floorboards beneath him.

“Well, it’s not as if I knew that was gonna happen Fury? Besides he didn’t recognise me and I gave an alias to him, so be glad I was able to think quick on my feet. What I want to know though, is why I can’t tell Captain Rogers that I am their mole in their little operation.”

“I can’t risk having anything happening to you. Let’s put it that way and it doesn’t help when you don’t want to be in the field and be stuck behind a screen all day.”

—

“Let me get this straight Rogers, you gave a stranger your actual name and just hoped she wasn’t Hydra?!” Natasha was not one to irritate, Steve learnt this quick, but now he had to face her wrath.

“Nat, I doubt she was Hydra. There was something about her…” He could already predict the scoff that slipped out of the woman’s mouth seconds later. “Listen, if this gets back to me badly, I’ll take the fall for it. Besides, you’re the one that wanted me to get back into the dating game. I can’t really lie to her and then tell her the truth when everything’s over.”

She knew he was right but she couldn’t go back and change the past. “Alright, but I’m telling you, anything bad happens because of this, then we’ll be royally fucked.”

—

Y/N was getting to a breaking point already. She was a bit rusty with this however, there’s too much violence for her liking. At least phase two was done for her. Though as she got to work and proved herself over and over, secretly storing information she perceived as valuable to taking them down, she couldn’t help but miss watching Zoe doing all the hacking things.

It gave her a break for certain, she wasn’t heavily relied on for the things she used to do and is currently doing now compared to when she was living the life of infamous luxury. But she did miss it. The image of Zoe tapping away on her phone when they were out and about, moving the cameras from seeing them as a group as they all pranced, planning or celebrating. The look on his face as he smiled at her, fingers slipping into her own, muttering something about not wanting to lose her from her excitedness.

A soft expression played itself onto her face as she daydreamed her now old life. Though it didn’t last long as the sound of a thud as coffee was placed on her desk rather abruptly, causing her to jump. “Looks like you could do with it.”

Rumlow. Again. The man had practically not left her side since, as if she was something he needed to protect. It made Y/N grimace at the thought of him wanting to do more with her, but she was glad that there were some rules that kept him from doing so, didn’t mean that he didn’t keep his distance. The only alone time she could grab alone time was when he had to deal with The Winter Soldier. From that, she managed to complete the USB stick to stash in a vending machine, in the hospital where Fury’s body lay. She almost got caught by a woman with reddish hair. She’d rather not have anyone know her identity or even recruit her to help with such physical tasks of anything. Preferring to play behind a screen, doing all the cleaner work, allowing the others to get their hands dirty.

The last thing Y/N needed was for her name to smudged once more. Her work had been proven useful for Hydra, no one had to question her anymore, though she doubt they would with Rumlow spreading that she’s ‘his girl’. It helped her get promoted to The Winter Soldier project eventually and that was when shit got real for her. Captain America’s best friend is the Winter Soldier. It was a simple search online, but that made her uneasy with how she could tread with this information.

Steve Rogers. He had a good physique and for a man that was rumoured to be unable to talk to women, he held his own quite well. She never expected for the next events to happen. It was all so sudden, plus she had barely even met the guy and she was already growing a crush. I guess that’s what happens when you literally watch from the sidelines to ensure the plan is going accordingly...

[9uk]

Let Me Stay Close To You : prologue

⌲ summary : you were finally free from the worst nightmare of your life in high school. the doors of college welcomed you with open arms, you were set on living your best life in here, away from the toxicity back at home. that shimmer of hope in restoring your life, was somehow effortlessly crushed by a tap on your shoulder. “Hey Y/N, why don’t you say we catch up for a moment?”

⌲ pairing : bully!jungkook x reader

⌲ word count : 3.7k

⌲ genre: a whole lot of angst, angry jungkook!!1!!11!!!

⌲ warnings : mentions of abuse and violent acts (blood and cuts)

⌲ a/n : hehe look foward to part 1, where things will start to transpire between jk & oc :> and namjoon would appear!

prologue > part one

People always found you an easy prey to bully. And that was because you were nice. Too nice. Well at least for their liking.

When they took your notes or stationaries without asking, you’d only smile. When they flip your lunch in the bin or purposely stain your skirt, you’d just skip your meal and quickly wash up. You wouldn’t even rat out at them or cry in the corner for their bullying acts. One of the ‘they’, included the handsome popular, Jeon Jungkook. He was the guy who was good at all sports, studies average, had a line of girls queuing for him, had his usual awesome circle of friends and he was flooded with money, being the youngest heir of the JEON Entertainment.

Life seemed to be going pretty well for him. 

He was nice, to those that benefited him, to his friends, to pretty girls and so on. He exceptionally loved to pick on you, you don’t know why, but he just does, even though you’re a little unreactive to his attacks. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that your family was of no merit status, you enrolled into this elite high school purely from results of distinction and flying colours—making you an easy target. It was like you were his favourite victim. How you beared with all of his petty actions made you almost seem like a masochist. And it all started from the day you accidentally tripped him, (or more like he did not watch where he was going) he ended up falling to the ground with his lunch smashed on his face and the whole school witnessed the tragic event, trying their best to not burst out laughing at the embarassing moment for the notorious and powerful student. As a person of high popularity, it obviously tarnished his reputation ever since he started his annoying insults and bullying even though you had apologised profusely.

“Y/N, watch out!” You would turn to the direction of the sound, only to feel sharp pain at your cheeks, a rubber band shot right at you. And you hear Jungkook and other students laughing.

You would wince a little, as your skin starts to sting hard and Jungkook’s laughter falls slightly as he realised you were hurting. He only bullied you to how much you can take, and he’s never crossed the line. But the line is subjective. 

Jungkook would fiddle with your hair with his pencil from behind in geography class, copy your homework and at times he would snatch the cup of berry yoghurt drink you would bring everyday to school for your lunch and drink it all at one go, leaving only a soft thanks. 

Many instances like this.

But you did not mind, you paid no attention to his mischievous acts to not let him get what he wanted, which was what all bullies wanted—their victims to be affected by them. 

You gradually became someone Jungkook frequently vented his frustrations on. Seeing how submissive and forgiving you were to what he did to you, made his blood boil at times. 

“Hey, finish this essay for me.” Jungkook would slam the incomplete homework onto your table and place his hands in his pockets. He searches your face for any displease but your visage of kindness never falters. You only agree without hesitation. “Okay.”

The word flicked a switch in his nerves. You were like a robot, turning blind to his existence and simply following his orders. Your willingness to comply to every single thing he says is ticking him off, irritating him at its maximum. 

“Okay? Is that the only word you fucking know?!” The bomb in him finally explodes and he slaps the back of your head. “Answer me.” Jungkook tugs at your ponytail and demands an immediate answer.

 “No, but what do you want?” It was like, you finally spoken up. And it elicited a smirk from his cunning face. 

“What do I want?” He cocks a brow playfully.“ I want-” 

“Whatever my reply is, you’ll hit me, anyways.” You cut him off and look down, far too tired to deal with his bullshit. You found no point in rebutting to his words or actions, the outcome would still be similar in a way or two. You were already prepared for a slap to arrive on your exceptionally daring cheeks. Or maybe even a punch in the face.

 Jungkook tongued his cheeks at your witty reply, and for not letting him finish. He feels a scorching wrath swirling in the pit of his stomach and sends you a look that could burn a hole right through walls, “I’d suggest you leave before your stupid face catches my fist.” To which you stood up and made your way out of the classroom, away from Jungkook. You could sense when he was really mad, and you would know best when to leave him alone. 

Jungkook sweeps the stationaries and papers off your desk in rage and they fall, clamouring to the floor. He just couldn’t understand how you’d always seemed to have the upper hand even though he was the one clearly possessing the dominance between the both of you. He had no form of control over anything in his life—his money didn’t come from his bank, his grades were a total flop, his every movement was restricted and watched over by his parents and the media— his life was just so out of place. And meanwhile you? You had just escalated his need of having you squirming under the very tips of his fingers. Jungkook didn’t know why he was feeling this way—it was sickening.

 Why were you so obedient to his ridiculous commands? It didn’t seem like you were afraid of him at all, either. You were really a one of a kind in his life—he had never met anyone like you at all.

When he interacted with you, he could truly be himself without holding back or resisting the urge to yell threats or throw violent fits. It was perhaps because of the fact that these behaviours were not condoned at home or in the eagle eye of the public, he unleashes the true nature in him onto you—someone that he didn’t need to impress—and in an exceptionally ruthless way.

For you it was a rather usual day at the school of bullies (or rather, bully) and being the introvert you were, you silently listened to music with your head in your folded arms. Peace was one of your major goals in the process of getting through this hellhole. And music brought you happiness, blocking away all the hushed murmurs and gossips, the loud mixture of squeals and ramblings of rambunctious cliques. You weren’t so much of a fan in raising the roof. While the rest went for recess, you stayed in class for a moment of silence. Or so you thought. 

Jungkook digs his pockets frantically. “Ah, my phone. I left it in class. Follow me to get it would you?” Jungkook nudges Yugyeom. It elicited a roll of the yes of his friend, but Yugyeom still accompanies him like the good mate he was. “Fine.”

You peeked and noticed the classroom door had opened. Followed by voices. You would have ignored them if they were talking amongst themselves but you were the main subject of their blabbering. But also, it’s not like you really cared either way.

“Wow, isn’t that like the lamest girl in our level?” Yugyeom tucks his hands in his pockets and nods at your direction, casually picking on you.

You keep your head in between your arms, refusing to look up but listen as you discreetly lower the volume of the your phone. The least you could afford to do was to not be such an oblivious idiot to their words.

Jungkook takes a quick look at you, wonders why you stick out like a sore thumb practically everywhere for a second, then heads to his bag to collect his phone.

“Oh look, she even brings a Nintendo DS to school. How cute.” Yugyeom swipes it carelessly off your table, inspecting the game console. Your head flew up to your pink gaming device being touched by the fingers of a stranger, and not purely just any stranger—but Kim Yugyeom. You tried to snatch it back but Yugyeom was faster than you in every way, swinging it away from your reach. 

“Give it back you asshole!” You shouted, tone clearly displaying your annoyance. The sound of your voice immediately grabs Jungkook’s attention away from his bag, his head whipping to your direction at the volume of your voice, never heard before. 

You must be really pissed in order to have yelled like that.

A devious smirk crawls onto his features instantly.

The usual you would have not cared, letting them push your buttons but you would never go into a outburst. However, and very unfortunately, the Nintendo console was a present from your late bestfriend, the only thing you could hold onto in his remembrance. The thoughts of the sweet boy you grew up so close to never fails to have your eyes start stinging with tears but you hold them back. As always. 

Yugyeom gives a sacarstically impressed pout at your outrage, too calm even after you retorted fiercely back at him. “Woah, she’s feisty.” Yugyeom calmly comments—almost scaringly too calm.

The calm before the storm.

“Kook-ah, let’s have some fun before we go for lunch, shall we?”

Though on the inside, discontentment pricks at his gut. No one shouts at him, Kim Yugyeom, son of the head boss of Kim Industries, raised with a sliver spoon in his mouth, almost everyone bend their heads upon his presence—let alone the loser who lacked both money and power. He still has the precious console in his possession, and you were beyond fury when he is unresponsive to your complains. “Give,” You clench your teeth. 

“It,” You ball your hands into tight fists.

 “BACK!” 

Before you know it, before he knows it, before everybody knows it, the sharp edges of your knuckles are flying across Kim Yugyeom’s face with a harsh and unforgiving strength. He flies in the direction of your hit and knocks into some of the classroom desks, toppling over and onto the ground. You had just punched Kim Yugyeom. You sighed in burnt out anger, regretting your impulsive decision to punch a rich asshole in the face—for your ass was about to get sued by the second largest company in town and all of your efforts in swallowing your pride and succumbing to all of their vicious acts had gone down the drain. Solely in a swing of your arm. Because you weren’t having it that day. And so was the person witnessing this from the corner of the classroom.

 Despite the refreshing reaction from you, Jungkook is enraged from the sight of his bruised friend. He grabs your wrist and slams you back onto the lockers at the back violently till they ruttle. You wonder why the bad boys in high school movies did this to their crushes. First of all, it actually really hurts. Second of all, you were no crush to Jungkook, and in the very sad reality, his punching bag. The loud clang of the metal locker doors did not make you flinch one bit as you were too, overwhelmed with anger. He saw no fear. You were so lost in your own damn little world, like always.

 The locking of your gazes were so intense and filled with rage, Jungkook was a little shocked at the way you were acting. He’s never seen you this riled up before. Slowly, you calmed down and you feel emptiness surge throughout your whole body as the rage dissipates. Yugyeom was still on the ground, checking his elbows and wincing upon the tragic fall, letting his bestfriend finish the job.

“The nerve of you?” It comes out softer than he expects, perhaps because of the effect of your quick change in entire demeanour on him. He grips your wrist even tighter and kicks you in the shin.

“Do you know that you’re such an eyesore?”

Jungkook shoves at your shoulder hard, you almost feel like it dislocated.

“Do you know that your fucking ignorance makes you intolerable?” His eyes grew darker with every crude remark spat onto you, the strength exerted in his strikes and the vein popping out at his neck clearly expressing the amount resentment he has for your existence.

 You are able sense that he meant every word, each sentence hitting you to rock bottom. 

You were back to the normal Y/N, not showing any sort of emotions, keeping them locked up in a cage, in a place far away from your heart. 

He narrows his eyes at you. Jungkook was getting annoyed, at how his actions and words didn’t even make you have the slightest tremble.

Despite his threatening form, you remained your calm composure and simply tweaked a smile.

“I do.” 

What comes after those retaliating words was a sharp stinging slap on the face. The skin-on-skin contact between his hand and your face enchoed through the classroom, the slap was so brutal it sent your cheek burning and his hand print stained red on the skin. Tears start to well up in your eyes, not because of emotions but the physical pain and you held them back. Like always. 

You’ve been through worse, get a hold of your damn tears.

You would tell yourself.

“Stop living,” Jungkook shows no remorse on his face and proceeds to grab your hair so tightly your scalp might rip apart.

“In,” He smashes your head to the side and something cut your forehead—the broken lock that had a piece of metal protruding. Jungkook is completely blinded by the rage and scars surging throughout his body, he doesn’t notice this and he keeps throwing you against the lockers.

“Your,” 

Cut.

“Own.” 

Cut.

“Fucking world!” By this time, thick blood starts drooling from the wound down to your cheeks.

“Yah yah yah, that’s enough.” Yugyeom managed to get up and reaches out to restrain his friend in time. But he wasn’t doing it for the sake of you, he was stopping his bestfriend from landing in jail for murder, or something of the sort.

Jungkook scoffs and you slide down to the ground in an exhausted defeat. Your frontal lobe was probably out in open air now, with the skin of your forehead having teared apart.

The game device is on the ground, probably broken from the rampage earlier on.

Everything feels too numb, and cuts and bruises were nothing.

“Yah, wasn’t that a bit too much?” Yugyeom looks at Jungkook while wincing at the bruise on the corner of his lip as he recalls your bloody head.

Jungkook keeps his eyes to the front, “You said you wanted to have fun. And you just got punched..real bad. By a girl.” Jungkook chuckles to lighten the mood. Yugyeom rolls his eyes. “I’ll pay her back for it someday..” He feels a dull strike upon his ego.

 “But I guess that lame thing really meant something to her so I probably deserved it.” Jungkook looks at his friend in suspicion. 

Since when did he become this understanding?

“Whatever. I already did the favour for you.”

Yugyeom’s brows are knitted together hard, in what seemed like confusion and worry, his eyes searching the ground for answers. He scratches the back of his neck in rapidly in frustration, as he analyses the situation earlier on.

“But it isn’t of you to be that violent. She fucking bled!”

 Jungkook halts his steps.

“What?” 

“Dude, she was bleeding like mad! We never got to the extent of picking on her to.. to that state!” His expression falls at the fresh memory of the harsh blow on your head. 

“Were you too caught up with your thoughts or something?” 

“I...Uh, didn’t know.” Jungkook furrows his eyebrows. A spark of guilt shocks him into realisation, followed by strong currents of shame washing over his whole body. For the first time, he feels apologetic, the need to check on the condition of your injury surges through him and his legs are moving on their own accord back to the classroom of that fatal accident. When he arrives to said destination, your slouched form against the lockers is long gone, the classroom had no one except a thick layer of tension lingering in the air from the incident earlier on. Instinctively, he dashes to the school’s sick bay. 

Jungkook tells himself that he is this concerned about you because he is the culprit of the sharp slice on your temple, and nothing else. He still hates you deep to the core and had already planned out a series of insults he could carry on to spit on you once you would return to school. Make fun of the ugly bandage you were going to have wrapped around your head, maybe. As he views you through the rectangular glass panel fixed on the bay’s door, he catches you smiling assuringly at the anxious nurse tending to your injury. 

It was the first time he saw you smile. 

His muscles unknowingly relaxes at the sight.

“I’m fine, it’s nothing.” 

He can make out the words you mouthed and that rip on your head with dried up blood, for sure did not seem fine at all. 

He was a monster. He was a monster to you, that is.

“I just fell.” 

There’s a pang of remorse in his conscience-stricken heart. 

The school nurse’s eyes widened in disbelief. Just for a brief moment, he contemplates to stop bullying your weak and pathetic form. There should be plenty other people out there to release his anger onto… he wasn’t even sure. You were the nicest and most cooperative victim so far in his journey of putting people down to feed his ego and have some sort of control over at least something in his life. And that is also why he doesn’t ever stop provoking you. Your perfect ignorance ignites his passion in tormenting you, for you weren’t an easy prey to intimidate, yet at the same time you effortlessly comply to his outrageous demands—he found it enticing.

The nurse wipes her forehead with the back of her hand dramatically, in some sort of despair to figure out how the hell was she going to fix you up with an injury this serious. Stitches was the final resort and it was going to be a huge hassle for the both of you, she explained. You simply chuckled at her over worrying and flustered form for you as she fondles hastily around the trays of medication in panic.

 It was certainly entertaining to see someone worrying this much about you. 

Jungkook watches your teeth slowly show and what seemed like a shy giggle falling from your lips. 

It was the first time he saw you laugh.

Light starts to fill into his dark eyes and his heart does that thing again.The thing it does when he sees his first love in 3rd grade. The feeling is long forgotten and you were the cause of it gradually lighting up again. He has no idea when he started feeling these tingling sparks in his heart whenever he sees you, but he knew love was nothing but trouble. Jungkook hates to admit it, but he cares for you more than he actually shows it. And he begins to loathe himself for doing all these stupid things to you. 

Indeed he wasn’t in his right mind. That morning his eggs were burnt, he broke his glass of milk, he wore mismatched socks, his mom nagged at him more than usual, his hair didn’t stay the way he styled it—rough morning for a boy who’d never been through hardships.

That’s why he was further more tilted when he realised he left his phone in class, only to come across you, who punched his bestfriend across the face. And Jungkook’s revenge got a little out of hand for his liking when he snapped back to his senses, he felt genuinely sorry for hurting you this time. That badly. He usually just did stupid tricks to you or yell insults at you—and today he made you bleed. 

Maybe it was time he put a stop to this.

“Look shithead, I’m sorry for creating that ugly-looking cut on your head the other day. But hey, I’m just a tiny bit sorry okay? You still belong in the trashcan.” Jungkook repeats the apology differently for the twenty-fourth time, staring at the reflection of his own cocky face. He lets out a huff of frustration. He didn’t understand why he was practicing for a stupid apology. 

Perhaps it was because it’s you.

 Someone he’d never thought he would be saying sorry to. 

Why was it so difficult? “Fuck it,” He muttered under his breath and ran his fingers through his hair, stomping out of the bathroom. 

The loud ringings of the bell throughout the school signalled the start of hell. It was a typical Monday half the school dreaded, the other half being overly-enthusiastic nerds who worked their asses off. One of aforementioned group of people being you. You, whom was constantly buried in cheesy romance novels, to which half of them were filled with his nasty scribbles and doodles, and whom he still felt like he owed a sincere ‘I’m sorry’ to. 

He hops off the black Mercedes Benz and takes his time strolling into the school building, knowing you always arrived on the dot— to probably not want to spend any more time than neccessary in this shitty system (and with him).

As he rehearses his lines once more, Jungkook trudges into the classroom with confidence. A minute late, to be specific, a strategy of making sure you were in there already.

The words memorised painstakingly in his head seem to slowly fade into a sheet of blank, and his brows knit in confusion automatically—at your empty seat.

“I’m sorry.”

But you weren’t there anymore.

[dragon-kazansky]

My Doctor: Thirteen x Reader - Part 2

Summary: You’ve landed in Sheffield and are about to change the lives of a small group of people.

Of all places to land after the TARDIS kicked you out, you landed in a train with very scared and confused people on-board.

You got to your feet and hoped to get some time to talk to your, now, wife. All those thoughts went out the window when an alien showed up, so it was a good time to shut up and help out.

The Doctor just kept on talking, you had to kiss her to stop and get her to focus. She reminded you of her past self, the one with the bowtie. The one you married. She brought a smile to your face.

"Sorry, I'm distracting myself." She grinned and turned around to face the alien.

Now that these people had just witnessed that, they had become apart of the team to figure out what was going on.

Running through Sheffield wasn't exactly what you had planned, but it turned out to be quite exciting and you had grown quite fond of your new found friends.

"So, you're married to an alien?" Ryan asked at one point.

"Yes."

"Are you...?"

"Alien? Yes. Now."

"What do you mean 'now'?" He asked narrowing his brow.

"I was human before." You gave him a sweet smile. "The Doctor did something stupid and had my life saved by using up something valuable to Timelords. Now I'm one of them, basically speaking." You shrugged your shoulders.

Ryan was fascinated by you, that's for sure.

Then the time came when you both had to leave. Returning to the TARDIS was the main goal. You held your Doctor's hand and thanked your friends for their help, still feeling awful that Grace had fallen.

The Doctor gave your hand a squeeze and used her free hand to use the sonic, both of you closing your eyes tightly as you expected to be on the TARDIS. Of course, it didn't quite work out that way as when you opened your eyes, you were floating in space, your wife floating beside you and to your left, your new friends.

Everything after that was a blur as when you woke up you were on a ship with Ryan and Graham.

A woman, who was piloting the ship, told you all that she had found you out in space. Just you three. Graham argued with her a little bit, before Ryan asked her where you all were in space.

"There was five of us in total." You tried.

"I only saw the three of you." The blonde woman repeated. You were rolled your eyes. "Hold up, landing ahead."

"No no no, were not doing anything until you turn this ship around and take us back to our friends." Graham came up beside you.

"There would be no point. If they were even still out there they'd be dead." The woman looked him in the eye.

"They can't be dead." You said firmly, looking her in the eye. "Don't panic," you turned to Ryan and Graham, "we'll figure this out."

You all sat down prepared for landing, your thoughts going to the Doctor hoping she was safe and fine and that Yaz was with her. You'd find her again, you knew you would.

The planet looked like a desert, bare and Sandy looking. There was no life in sight. No buildings or anything. Just the ship you came in and your little group.

Ryan and Graham stood beside one another and looked out ahead of them.

"We're on another planet." Ryan spoke as if to try and let that thought sink in.

"Yeah." Graham' s thoughts were all over the place.

"Not your first planet then?" Ryan asked looking at you as you smiled at the pair of them. "Course it isn't, silly question."

You chuckled. "I've been to many planets. Many moons. Many worlds. I still get amazed by things, even desolate planets like this one."

The woman who brought you here went on ahead to take in the readings of the planet.

"What shall we do?" Ryan asked, now over the shock of being on another planet.

"Follow her?" Her suggested.

The pair nodded and walked beside you as you made your way to catch up to your pilot.

"Maybe they're already here, Yaz and the Doctor. Maybe they're safe." Ryan said, hope laced in his voice.

"Yeah. Guess we'll find out." You muttered, fiddling with the ring on your finger.

The three of you were non the wiser to Yaz and the Doctor still being in space.

Graham and the pilot began to argue you some more once you had caught up to her. The urge to roll your eyes at the pair of them was hard to resist.

A low rumbling sounded from far up above, all of you turned to see where it was coming from.

The pilot sounded impressed.

A ship came into view. It was hurtling towards the planet and right at all of you. In a desperate urge to not die you trapped the sleeves of Ryan and Graham and began to run.

"It's heading straight for us. Run!"

The pilot was quick to follow.

The ship hit the ground and began to slide along the ground, it's speed slowing, but not fast enough. Dirt flew up into the air and made the air fill with dust and sand.

Ryan tripped and both you and Graham made quick work to get him back on his feet. Just in time too.

The moment he was up again, however, the four of you fell back and rolled down the hill. The ship glided along the ground for a few moments more before it stopped entirely.

You got to your feet and looked up through the sand that was still floating through the air. There was silence for a while and then you head Ryan.

"Doctor!"

You cast your gaze over to where she came into view and smiled. Relief washed over you.

"Sorry about the mess." She apologised with her hands up.

Ryan and Graham went over to greet Yaz, happy she was alive and here.

You can straight into the Doctor's arm. She accepted it gladly, relieved to see you were OK. You could feel her bury her face into your shoulder and give you a squeeze.

"I'm so happy you're alright." You mumbled into her ear. "For a moment I did wonder if I'd see you again."

She pulled back just far enough to see your face.

"Don't ever doubt me." She wasn't angry, just teasing. "I'll come back to you, remember that." She kissed your head and grasped your hand as she turned to the group.

"Quick update: I made a terrible mistake and we shouldn't be here. I'm going to fix it and get you guys home." She promised. "As soon as I figure out where we are."

She then assured the group that should would figure all that out and then welcomed them to their first alien planet, wanting them not to touch anything.

That made you giggle and her smile.

You all followed her as she wandered off, her hand still in yours.

A siren of sorts sounded out over the hills and the two pilots of the ships marched on ahead, seemingly knowing what that sound was.

It led you all to a tent in the middle of no where.

Things were about to get complicated. You could just tell.

The Doctor explained to Graham why you could understand the aliens, via implants due to a lack of the TARDIS, and led you a inside where a man was sitting. The Doctor waved her hand through him to confirm him being a hologram and then introduced you all. She then went on to explain how you all ended up there while the pilots argued about you all being bonuses, and finally asked what the situation was because everyone was clearly confused.

Hologram man explained that it was a race. A space race. The pilots were the finalists. The winner would receive a prize. The with of which, was lost on you.

The last challenge was for the pilots to cross the terrain of the planet and reach the place named the Ghost Monument. The loser would be left here.

Cruel.

You shared a look with the Doctor. Neither one of you agreed with the outcome of the race.

The hologram explained the rules to the pilots and where the Ghost Monument was located. Apparently the planet was quite viscous and the water was dangerous.

Hostile planets were not your thing.

"I know you prefer to ignore the Doctor, but what is the Ghost Monument?" You asked, hoping her answer you.

The pilots prepared themselves for their task as he explained to you that it was legend told by many of a monument that appears in the same place every thousand solar rotations.

You cast a glance to the Doctor and wondered for just a moment if it was possible.

"What does it look like?" The Doctor asked, almost desperate to know.

"What does it matter?" He asked her, walking through her.

The Doctor told him outright that you were a group of people who barely knew each other stranded on a planet with no equipment and very little to go on.

Then he showed her.

That feeling you had was right.

You smiled.

"The TARDIS." All hope was coming back to you now. "Thank you so much."

The Doctor reached for your hand and pulled you close to her side gently. She was relieved to see her beautiful TARDIS.

The tent around you vanished.

"Bye then." The Doctor sighed.

The Doctor was smiling wider than you had seen her smile all day. She was excited and also full of hope. She  began to explain to the group that the Ghost Monument was her ship, the TARDIS, and that if you all made the journey to it, she could take them home. She explained why she thinks the TARDIS is phasing in out and as it appears to be doing and how should could stabilise it. Knowing she could made you happy, because you just wanted to return to your currently unstable home.

The Doctor promised them once more that she could get them home.

"We should follow them." You suggested, looking out to where the pilots had set off to.

"Let's get a shift on." She grabbed your hand once again and began to follow the pilots, the rest following behind.

Home was closer than you thought.

[sandstonesunspear]

Dance

Vasquez/Erin

Found a prompt chart for Pride Month and figured I’d try my hand at it. I’m a day behind because life. Parings are random.

Thanks to @nerdsbianhokie and @change-the-rules for letting me borrow Erin for this piece.

AO3

“No.”

Vasquez glanced down at their suit. “But—”

“Absolutely not.” Winn shook his head. “You’re not going to show up to prom and stand next to Erin while wearing a neon green suit.”

“Oh come on!” They protested. “It’s eye catching! She won’t be able to keep her eyes off me!”

“Eye searing is more like it,” Alex grumbled under her breath.

Vasquez glared at her. “Oh, bite me, Danvers,” they snarked.

“My girlfriend might have something to say about that.”

Winn interrupted the verbal spar before it could fully take off.

“Can we get back on track here please?” He asked. He turned back to Vasquez. “Vasquez, my dude, you’re amazing and most of the time, you have this uncanny ability to turn things that shouldn’t be worn together into things that look amazing—”

Vasquez proudly puffed up.

“Unfortunately,” he continued. “This is not one of those times. This,” He held up the offending item in question. “This is hideous. Like damn, if Anna Wintour saw this thing, she would have whoever designed it taken out back and shot.”

Alex snorted.

Winn eyed the suit. “Where did you even get something this bad?” he asked.

“That place on Downtown, on 15th street,” they said and shrugged. “It was on sale, and it looked cool.”

“Cool’s definitely not a word I would use,” Alex remarked.

“No one asked you, Danvers!”

“Okay, first, Vas, that place on 15th is a funeral home--”

“It was a consignment store, thank you very much,” Vasquez countered with a huff.

“With a consignment store attached to it,” Winn finished. “Which should have seriously tipped you off about the pieces on sale. Second--”

“Second, Erin’s going to skin you alive if she sees you in that,” Alex finished for him. “Or at the very least, never go out with you again.”

Vasquez finally deflated. They glanced at the suit in Winn’s hands.

“Okay, fine, it’s a bit hard on the eyes,” they finally conceded.

Winn threw the neon monstrosity behind him. It landed in a heap somewhere in his room, but none of them were paying attention to it.

“You both realise that this now means that I don’t have anything else to wear, right?” Vasquez questioned. “And I can’t just go out a buy a new suit because prom is tonight and all the suits and tuxes are out already.”

Alex leaned back against the wall and raised a hand, motioning at Winn. “And that, Vas, is where Winn comes in.”

Vasquez raised an eyebrow at Winn, then glanced back at Alex.

Alex motioned for Winn to explain.

Winn clapped his hands together. “Alright, so, yeah, you can’t go and buy anything tonight, but!” He held a finger up to stop Vasquez from interrupting him. “That’s fine, because I have a solution.”

Vasquez’s eyebrow climbed higher. “You do?”

“Of course,” Winn scoffed. “I have a full ride to MIT for textile engineering, remember?” He motioned for them to follow him to his large closet.

“I thought it was for computer engineering.”

“Decided to double major,” he said with a shrug. He threw the doors to the closet open. “Behold: the possible solution to all of your problems.”

Vasquez’s jaw dropped. There were at least two dozen suits and dresses in front of them. Some were simple in appearance, but when they took a closer look, they realised that they were made of fabrics they had never encountered before. If they didn’t know better, they would have sworn that Winn had walked into an Armani store and stolen its displays.

“You made these?” they asked.

“Yup.” Winn nodded. “Every single one of them. Of course, some of them are more proofs of concept than anything else and probably won’t work for tonight, but some of these, they’ll definitely work.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yup.” Winn crossed his hands behind his head. “So, pick one, and we’ll go from there.”

That was easier said than done. “I don’t even know where to start,” they admitted.

“Right.” A thoughtful look. “What colour’s Erin’s dress?”

“A really shimmery dark teal.”

Alex wrinkled her nose. “And you thought that neon green was going to work with that?” she asked.

“Again, it looked cool and I wanted her dress to pop!” Vasquez huffed.

“Yeah, no, it doesn’t work that way, although…” Winn ran a hand across a few of the suits before fisting the fabric of one of them. He pulled it from the closet and held it up to Vasquez’s frame. “This might.”

Vasquez glanced down slightly to look at the suit in question. From what they could tell from their awkward field of view, it was some shade of blue and made of a fabric they had never encountered before. It seemed to change colours depending on how the light hit it.

Winn nodded. “This’ll work just fine.”

“Okay, sweet.” Vasquez reached for it, only to yelp when he slapped their hand.

“Not yet!” he said. “I have to tailor it so that it fits and also make some adjustments.”

Vasquez looked at him. “What kinds of adjustments?” they asked warily.

Winn just grinned at them.

Vasquez could feel dread starting to settle in their stomach. “Something tells me that I should be worried.”

Alex came up and clapped them on the shoulder. “Don’t be, he knows what he’s doing,” she assured them. “You just happen to be his design guinea pig for tonight.”

“That’s not helping.”

-

Vasquez resisted the urge to run their hand through their rainbow fringe. Alex had slicked it back for them and told them that if they did anything to mess it up before they made it to Prom, she would be very displeased.

They checked themself over. They shifted slightly to the left and right a few times, a move that saw their suit turn from midnight blue to peacock blue and back again. They shuffled the white rose corsage around in their hands so that they could free their fingers up to adjust their emerald green bow tie.

“Vasquez?”

Vasquez spun around and nearly dropped the corsage when they saw Erin standing behind them.

“Erin! Hi!” They could feel heat starting to creep up their face.

To their relief, Erin just smiled. “Hi,” she said warmly. “Have you been waiting long?”

Vasquez shook their head. “Nope. Just got here.” They shoved the corsage in her face. “This is for you!”

Erin gently pushed it down. “It’s beautiful,” she said. She held her wrist out. “Care to do the honours?”

“Oh, right.” Vasquez’s hands shook as they took the corsage out of the box and slipped it onto her wrist. “There.”

“Thank you.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a boutonniere made from a matching white rose. “May I?”

“Of course.”

Vasquez had to remind themself to breathe when she stepped closer.

“Breathe, Vas,” she teased gently as she pinned it to their suit.

Vasquez choked when they felt her fingers brush against their lapels.

“And there.” She took a half step back and nodded. “It goes well with your suit.” She looked them over. “Not that you needed help with that. You look dashing.”

Vasquez could feel their face turn bright red as they started to blush. “Thanks,” they said. “You look amazing too, with the hair and the dress and you know…”

Erin laughed. “You’re such a sweet talker, Mx. Vasquez.” She held her hand out. “Now, shall we join in the fun?”

Vasquez took her hand. “Let’s.”

-

“Vas, necesitas relajarte,” Maggie hissed under her breath.

“Estoy intentando,” they hissed back.

They were both standing by the punch table as Alex and Erin discussed something chemistry related. Vasquez was very much an engineering person and Maggie detested any sort of chemistry that was beyond general chemistry, so they had quickly retreated as soon as the conversation started.

“You’re going to break something if you stand any stiffer,” Maggie muttered, switching back to English when she saw their respective partners heading their way.

Before Vasquez could tell her to shove off, Alex and Erin were back. They felt Erin wrap her arm around their waist.

“Sorry,” Alex apologised. “I got stuck with Lord as a lab partner and he’s not the greatest at sharing data, so I had to ask Erin about her lab results.”

“And that couldn’t have waited until after prom?” Maggie asked, eyebrow raised.

Alex turned pink.

Maggie kissed the side of her head. “I’m just teasing you, Danvers.”

The music changed before Alex could say anything. She and Maggie exchanged looks.

“Slow dance is early,” Alex mused.

“You complaining, Danvers?”

“Pft, you wish, Sawyer.” She tugged on Maggie’s hand, moving the both of them towards the dance floor. “C’mon.”

They quickly disappeared into crowd, leaving Vasquez and Erin alone.

“So…” Vasquez started.

“So…” she drawled back at them. She took their hand. “Do you want to dance with me, Mx. Vasquez? Or would you prefer that we stick it back here by the punch table?”

Vasquez raised an eyebrow. “What happens if I pick the latter?” they asked.

Erin shrugged and leaned against the table. “Then we stand here and snipe about the fashion choices of our peers,” she said. “Although, we might want to go to the end of the table because I have a feeling that Edge and Kara are going to be duking it out over here in a bit.”

“What?” Vasquez was confused. “Why?”

“Look at Edge’s shoes.”

Vasquez did. They tilted their head, trying to see what it was that Erin was, but they just couldn’t.

“I don’t get it.”

“That leather is from Italy. And the buckles? Solid gold. Toss Edge into the pool and the man’s going to sink right to the bottom.” Erin shook her head. “They’re a total disaster, really.”

“I’m still not getting.” What did shoes have to do with Kara potentially punching out Morgan Edge?

“Expensive leather and solid gold on a shoe worn by a teenager. Shoes are easily lost, Vas, not to mention, they find dirt faster than a white t-shirt does,” Erin said. “The fact that he’s wearing those, here, shows that he doesn’t care about losing or dirtying them. It’s a completely vulgar display of wealth.”

“And that’s going to make Little Danvers upset?”

Erin shook her head. “Edge’s family had most of assets seized pretty recently. They don’t exactly have the funds to be buying shoes like that,” she said. “It’s not common knowledge, of course, but Kara found out.”

“And Kara’s much too nice a person to bring it up.”

“Unless she gets upset. Edge has been sulking all night because Lena decided to go to prom with Kara instead of him. And, he’s drunk.”

“None of that is a good combination,” Vasquez noted.

“Nope. Knowing Edge, he’s going to say something about Lena, Kara’s going to hear it and throw the information she has in his face, he’s going to swing first, Kara will dodge, and Alex will probably finish the fight.”

“Wow. All of that from a pair of shoes, huh?”

Erin blushed. “I just like observing things.” She sounded embarrassed.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed,” Vasquez quickly reassured her. “I think it’s awesome.” They bit their lip. “Maybe you could tell me some other observations you’ve made throughout the night, while we’re dancing?”

“I can do that.”

The two made their way to the dance floor and quickly settled in. Vasquez wrapped their arms around her waist while Erin placed hers around their shoulders.

“So, what else have you noticed?” they asked casually as the two of them swayed to the beat.

“That your suit keeps changing colours, for one.”

“Ah, I can explain?”

Erin chuckled. “You don’t have to, I think it’s amazing.” She tilted her head. “Winn’s?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“If it’s a fabric and does something unusual, it generally has Winn’s name written all over it,” she pointed out.

“That’s true.” A beat. “What’s the second thing?”

“Hm…” Erin pretended to think. “Well, that you’ve been wanting to ask me out for a while now.”

Vasquez froze.

“Hey, breathe, Vas,” she urged them.

Vasquez took a deep breath.

“There we go.” She got them moving to the music again.

“Y-you noticed?”

“You’re not exactly subtle, Vas.”

Vasquez wanted the ground to swallow them up. “Oh, gods.”

Erin laughed. “It’s okay. Honestly, it was adorable, watching you over the past few weeks,” she said.

“Wait.” Vasquez stopped moving. “You noticed.”

“Mhm.” She hummed the affirmative.

“So you knew I was crushing on you.”

“Yup.”

Vasquez’s brow furrowed. “Is that why you asked me to prom?” they questioned.

Instead of receiving a verbal answer, they received a kiss instead. Vasquez made a noise of surprise as their eyes widened for a second before slipping shut. They felt Erin run her fingers through their rainbow fringe. They pulled her closer and deepened the kiss.

They broke apart when air became an issue.

“So, I’m guessing that means you like me?”

Erin rolled her eyes. “Yes, Vas, I--”

Angry shouting interrupted her. Vasquez looked in the direction of the punch table just in time to see Edge aim a punch at Kara, who easily dodged it. He threw another one and stumbled. Before he could recover, he found himself face to face with a furious Alex, who promptly hip threw him and pinned him to the ground.

Vasquez turned back to Erin. “You were saying?”

She pressed her lips to theirs again.

“That answer your question?” she asked, once the kiss had ended.

Vasquez nodded dumbly.

There was more shouting. They two of them turned to see Lord approach Alex and Kara. Vasquez winced internally. From the distance they were at, they could see Lord say something, but they couldn’t hear just what exactly it was. Whatever it was, it was enough for Kara to punch Lord in the face and bloody his nose.

Vasquez glanced at Erin. “What do you say we get out of here?” they asked.

Erin glanced in the direction of the punch table. Teachers were quickly descending on the chaos.

“Sounds like a great idea.”

-

“I had a great time tonight,” Erin said as Vasquez walked her to the front door.

“So did I.” Vasquez bit their lip. “Hey, Erin?”

She paused, halfway to the door. She glanced at them. “Yeah?”

“There’s this gelato place in town that I was looking to try and I was wondering if you wanted to come with me tomorrow.”

She raised an eyebrow at them. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

“Um, yes?” Vasquez hated how their response came out as more a question than an actual answer.

Erin smiled at them. “Sounds perfect.”

“Oh.” A wide grin broke out across Vasquez’s face. “Okay, sweet! Um, I’ll text you, wait no! I’ll call you in the morning!”

“You better.” She blew them a kiss before heading inside. “Goodnight, Vasquez.”

“Night, Erin.”

Vasquez made their way back to their car. They waited until they had the closed the door and started it up before letting out a loud whoop. They quickly shot off a text to Alex before heading home.

Danvers, turns out, E likes me. Like, she kissed me and we’re going out for gelato tomorrow.

They couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

[myuntoldstory]

Mystic Messenger | Colombina

AO3 | FF.net

Day 1 of @jihyunmcweek​: Watercolour | Carnival

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: V | Jihyun Kim/Main Character

Warning: N/A

Word Count:1,855

Summary: Not canon compliant.  A year into his travels, V finds himself in Venice in time for the Carnival. As he spends a lonely night in a ball, he encounters a woman who asked him for a dance.

Colombina

“What a unique hair colour.”

V blinked as the words broke through his daze. He glanced at the source: a woman standing beside him. She wore an off-shoulder blue ball gown with a lace style silver detailing. Like most of the guests in the palazzo her face was covered by a mask. It only covered the top half of her face, stopping at her cheeks. The design was intricate, with the colours and decoration matching the dress. Jewels, crystals, and feathers surrounded her eyes, drawing attention to them. What deep brown eyes they were—upturned with short lashes. It reminded him of… no. Better not go down that thought.

“It’s natural, isn’t it?”

“What makes you say that?” he smiled politely.

“Oh, I know—I mean, you don’t seem the type to dye.” She returned his smile and his own fell at the sight of it. The exact shape of her lips... the kindness emanating from it... it was exactly like... but it wasn't. It couldn’t be. He was here in Venice while she was five and a half thousand miles away, in Seoul. The person before him had her eyes and smile, but it wasn’t her.

The music changed. Before the band played a waltz; now, it transitioned into a slow ballad. V looked away from his new companion to the dancefloor. Groups of people departed, leaving behind couples. A sigh escaped his lips as yearning struck him. How wonderful would it be if she were here. They could have talked like they used to. They could have danced.

“Well? Shall we dance?”

V’s attention returned to his companion. She offered her hand to him in invitation. There was that smile again—so much like hers that he was in serious danger of imagining her to life in a stranger. He winced. “I apologise. I’m not really a dancer—”

“Just one?” her smile widened, dropping her hand and taking the skirt of her dress in her fists. She twirled around and then stopped, giggling as she smoothed the wrinkles she created. “It’s my first time in a ball wearing a gown; I’m feeling very much like a princess.”

He couldn’t deny that. “You do look like one.”

“And you look like a prince,” she quipped, offering her hand again. “It’ll be like a fairy tale.”

There was no way V resembled any kind of fairy tale prince. However, it would be rude of him to argue against something that made his companion happy. He stared at her hand. It was beautiful, dainty and delicate—something he’d like to sketch. One dance wouldn’t be so bad. After all, she was kind enough to approach and befriend him. “Well, in that case I am happy to oblige.”

He held her hand… and something fluttered in his chest. He glanced down and found that his hand dwarfed hers. In his mind was a memory, one he revisited often during his loneliest hours. He had done this before in another time, another place… with another person. Longing stirred in his chest, making him wish for things he shouldn’t have… at least not yet.

In his daze, he had not realised that his companion was pulling him to the dancefloor until he almost tripped on one of the steps. He caught himself before he fell, following her until she stopped at the very centre of the floor. Gazing at her, V tried to find something unique about his companion... something different. But it was difficult. Her eyes, her smile… and even the way she talked now reminded him so much of—

The tempo changed and they moved in time with it. Seamlessly, they fell in unison with the other dancing couples. It was like the lessons he took when he was younger, though not as strict. He’d already made several mistakes, but his companion followed him without complaint. She smiled at him and he smiled back, but it was half-hearted.

“You don’t live here,” she stated.

“I don’t, no.”

“Been travelling long?”

“Yes…” he trailed off thoughtfully, “actually, I’ve been travelling for a year now.”

“What a brave journey,” she gasped, “it’s just my first night here and I’m already homesick.”

“To be honest, I’m feeling quite homesick myself,” he admitted, now averting his eyes. It’s as if he’d just confessed to her, but she wasn’t here. Saying it to a stranger somehow seemed worse than telling her. As if it was a secret he intentionally kept from her. “But… I’m not ready to return.”

“I see.” The sound of her sighing prompted V to look at her. Her expression remained polite, though she no longer smiled. Did he say something to offend her? Their eyes met and hers glistened in a way that reminded him of tears. V blinked and stared again… no. It was the lights of the hall playing tricks on him. “And… what brings you to Venice?”

“Oh… I wanted to partake in the carnival.”

“Me too. I haven’t been before.” She looked around in wonder. “It’s colourful, isn’t it?”

“Very. It’s vibrant and energetic… the people here seem happy.”

“I think so too.” When she looked back at him, her smile had returned. The lights sparkled in her eyes like stars and it dazzled him. “And? Where next?”

“The rest of Italy… and the rest of Europe.” He smiled. “I’m excited, actually.”

“You are?”

“Well, Europe is the mecca of western art, you see.” His smile widened. During his travels he had gotten more comfortable in talking about his passion. It was such joy to talk about art, the things he knew about it, and the things he learned. “Respected artists lived in different parts of this continent. It was always a dream to learn from them—study their style and skill closely. And their histories, their experiences, harrowing and otherwise. It would be like finding kinship—”

“What’s wrong?” she said as his smile faded.

His eyes roamed over the design of her mask. He had been talking to her as if she was someone else… and she didn’t even know. It was unfair. To him, his companion, and her. He shouldn’t let his loneliness cloud his judgement so easily. “I apologise. It wasn’t my intention to be so familiar.”

“I don’t mind. That was lovely to hear,” she chuckled. “You’re an artist, aren’t you?”

He flushed. “M-me? I’m not—”

“You are an artist.”

He nodded with a conceded sigh. “Well, yes. I’m just starting, though.”

“Good.” She looked around as the ballad transitioned to something upbeat. They, along with the other couples, stopped. “Oh… what a shame, the music’s ended.”

Well, that was that. He stepped from her, but kept holding onto her hand. Around them, more people joined the floor and danced to the music. He led her to a quieter place off the dancefloor to avoid the crowd. Then, he smiled gently and bowed—like a prince. Because somehow he felt like he was in a fairy tale too. “Thank you… for the pleasure of your company.”

She giggled and curtsied. “No, thank you for indulging me.”

He kissed the back of her hand before letting go. “I hope you have a pleasant evening.”

She smiled and with a final nod, he walked off. He resisted the urge to look back. It was a horrible truth to admit, but he wanted to catch a last glimpse of who his companion resembled. How rude of him... he didn't even get her name. Still, he was grateful for her. For a few minutes she made him feel like himself again—the part of him that he had left behind back home. He weaved through the crowd. Could he bridge the gap just a little? Though he wasn’t ready, he longed for a respite from his loneliness. If he called… would they be disappointed at his lack of contact? Would she?

“Wait.” Slender fingers wrapped around his wrist. “B-before I let you go… I want to know.”

He looked over his shoulder and saw his companion. Smiling, he faced her. “Yes?”

Her fingers tightened. “What you’re doing now… is it what you want?”

“It is,” he answered.

She nodded fervently. She now held his wrist in a vice-like grip. What questions she asked him. As he gave her his full attention, something prickled at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t make sense of it. “And right now… are you happy?”

“I… yes. I am happy.”

“Good.” She smiled shakily. V saw tears slide down the mask and along her jaw. Why was she crying? He wanted to help her, but at the same time he was confused. He stood, unable to act, as she released him. She bowed her head and reached around the back. “I’m glad to hear that because if you weren’t then it’d make me sad.”

The ribbons of the mask slid down. V’s heart beat furiously against his chest. The thoughts in his head exploded into pieces and connections that he struggled to solve. Meanwhile, his companion peeled the mask from her face and looked up, revealing a face he longed to see the whole night. “Lux…”

“Hi,” she said, wiping at her eyes and sniffling. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to trick you—”

He took her hands, staring at her in disbelief. After not seeing her for a year—after not talking to her and hearing her voice... after the many flights he cancelled because he knew he was not good enough to see her yet… she was here. She was really here. She was in his arms, a reality he had not prepared himself for. “Am I dreaming?”

“No…” she embraced him tightly.

“But why?” he leaned away from her, gaze running over her face. He cupped her cheeks and wiped her tears away. Each passing touch was confirmation that he wasn’t dreaming. It was her. It was her all this time. He had been talking to her. Those eyes, that smile… it belonged to her. It was a shame that he didn’t recognise her. He was so deep in his own loneliness that he saw her everywhere, but knew that it couldn’t be her. To have her really here, standing before him… it was nothing short of a miracle.

“I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” she said, holding onto his hands.

Of course. Chuckling, he nodded. He couldn’t stop looking at her. She was the same as a year ago. It was as if he never left. But he did. The memory of his departure was so clear to him. She shed so many tears as he said his farewell to her. His heart ached the more distance he put between them. Leaving was not necessary, he could have found himself back home… but he wanted to be reborn in a new place. He was certain she was cross with him for leaving after all they’d gone through. He convinced himself that she didn’t want to see him again. But here she was. Here she was.

He embraced her. “I miss you… so much.”

She nodded against his shoulder. “I miss you too.”