#like sure there are moments of recognising the myths

[morganaspendragonss]

one of my favourite things about bbc atlantis is the ‘this is how things are deal with it’ attitude. any other show, if the protagonist got magically teleported from the 21st century to ancient greece, the whole story would have been about getting home.

not jason. this dumbass washes up on a beach and ten minutes later he’s waltzing around like he’s lived there his entire life. truly iconic.

[ceesimz]

feels like we only go backwards

is this all you'll ever be? (angst -> comfort/fluff)

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, but I am done with this.” 

All of your adult life, you thought that the six month mark argument stage was a myth. Maybe that’s because you hadn’t ever made it to that milestone before, dating wasn’t your thing.

“And everytime you say that, I don’t understand what you mean!” 

Apparently it was true.

“No, you do not get to pull that card. You know exactly what I mean. I come home after working all day, exhausted, just to hear you whine and complain about chores and other bullshit. You work from home, I travel all over Spain and Europe, so I'm sorry if I forget my chores once in a while!” 

You think it's unfair that the person you are truly, genuinely, wholeheartedly in love with is the one you can't stop arguing against. Relationships aren't meant to be like that, even you can recognise and acknowledge that after years and years of failed attempts at them.

“What, just because you're famous you think you're more important than me? That your job is more exhausting? I rarely work from home, the only time I do is when you're actually in the city so that I can try and see you! How fucking selfish are you? My job is important, in fact I make an actual difference to people's lives whereas you kick a ball around the pitch and expect everyone to worship you for it!” 

The first one began when you were running late picking Alexia up after she had a meeting, her car was in the garage and the weather was especially awful that day. Maybe the torrential downpour should have been a sign of things to come, things only got worse from then onwards.

“My job IS important! It is my life, if you can't understand that part of me then I don't know why you're still here!” 

Alexia feels like the walls are closing in on her where she lays on her couch, thinks her life might end after a particularly bad argument, the worst of them all so far. For weeks, the tension had been simmering slowly, but now it had boiled over completely. She wasn’t sure she would get you back.

“Wow. Okay. You know, if you never loved me, liked me, even. I wish you would have told me to leave sooner.” 

Both of you were to blame in all this, you two knew that. For some reason, you were just too stubborn to acknowledge that fact and do anything about it. So you both sat in different apartments in the same city, lost and fatalistically melancholic about a situation that could be solved with some simple communication. One conversation could save you from this, but were either of you brave enough to take that first step?

“Dios mío, now you are being even more ridiculous. How can you say that after all I have done for you?” 

You don’t think you’ve ever hated yourself more than you did, lying in bed and feeling sorry for yourself. Your neighbours were probably on the other side of the wall, laughing at the pity party happening in the next apartment over. From this moment on, you could never take the elevator again, you think the small talk that would occur might be your last straw.

“All you have done? Enlighten me on what you think love is, Alexia, because you’re making it out to be something transactional, and if that’s the case then this relationship might be the worst fucking ‘investment’ of my life. Don’t even act like you’re some kind of saint either, I have spent the last month feeling more alone than loved.” 

That final statement from you was when the penny dropped for Alexia. It was a sentence that would haunt her forever. There wasn’t even a thing she could do about it either; you slipped your shoes on, and walked out after it. 

You didn’t mean to leave at that precise moment, you knew that was the worst thing to do in an argument. In all honesty, it wasn’t even to make a point to Alexia. What you admitted in that moment felt way too vulnerable, you inwardly cringed when the words fell out. Your only choice then, it felt like, to save the last ounce of your dignity was to flee so that you didn’t give your heart the chance to feel bad for saying that to the woman you loved.

Being annoyed and angry didn’t come naturally to you, being sympathetic did. You knew you would have instantly felt a hundred times more guilty if you had stayed to see her reaction. And thankfully, for some time, you didn’t feel regret or remorse, you were hot with rage. Alexia didn’t try to stop you leaving, nor did she follow you. 

But then, in the quiet safe haven of your apartment, those feelings began to set in. Not even the dark of your bedroom or the comfort of your duvet could fend them off, sleep decided to go against you that night and opt out of helping you. That left you with no choice but to dwell on the evening’s events, the week’s dramas, and the month’s emotional turmoil. 

It had been one of the hardest months of your life, you just wanted it to be over. Instead, the only thing that seemed to have ended was your relationship.

And on the other side of the city, a two-time Ballon d’Or winner had reduced herself to tears after the realisation that all she had come to be in football had meant she had totally disregarded who she was at home and, more importantly, who she came home to. 

In football, when you make a mistake, there are twenty-plus people that will put you in your place and tell you exactly where you went wrong. In life, there is no such thing. There is no system, only consequence. Age was irrelevant when it came to learning things. Here, she was humbled in a way she had never been before, no nutmeg or own goal could match this. She knew, the moment it sunk in, that she needed it. 

She also needed you; she needed your love, your joy, your touch, if she ever hoped to feel whole again. The pain of the night’s occurrence was almost as horrible as the longing she felt when she thought back on the first months of knowing you. All was right in the world then – she was playing great football, and she had an incredible partner to come home to. Out of all the things she missed, all the obvious things, one thing that once seemed incredibly minor soon stepped out of the shadows and stabbed her right in the chest.

Knowing that, after the day she’d had no matter if it was good or bad, she would still get to come home to you was an unexplainable feeling. It was a phenomenon she wasn’t sure she could ever put into words. Something about being exhausted or full of energy, grumpy and miserable or content and calm, and still having someone that loved her was… priceless. If she lost that, you, forever, she was sure her heart would beat a little slower, have less will to live and function. A life without love like yours simply wasn’t worth it. 

As you both lay down in separate flats, only a car ride between you, the anxieties and the doubts were the same. Your soul was nearly a reflection of hers; the same morals, the same worries, the same guilt. Only the reasons for the last two were different. You were both determined characters, at work and in life in general. Alexia decided to put hers to good use.

Alexia: I’m coming over.

Initially, that text you received only made you feel a thousand times worse. The moment your phone vibrated with the notification, you scrambled to pick it up, hoping it was anything but that text. Maybe if you were in a better state of mind, you wouldn’t have spiralled at the sight of it. Maybe if you didn’t think your relationship was already dead and done with, it wouldn’t have been the final nail in the coffin. 

Staying in bed and feeling sorry for yourself was no longer cutting it, you had to get up and move. So, move you did. You never stopped pacing for a second. You waited for her in the lounge, a room that may as well have been a shrine to the woman about to serve you the worst news of your life. Framed photos littered the walls and any surface in sight – you were always an old soul, something Alexia adored about you. The way you demanded to have photos of every single person you loved on display reminded her of her mother, it was a sentiment that never failed to make her smile. 

But it wasn’t just the photos, it was the signs of life. The most agonising reminders of what simplicities you would lose; one of her jackets hung on the wall by the door, the dishes piled up in the sink from when you had shared breakfast just that morning, the book of yours she had been borrowing to read when she came over. They all served as a horrifying mockery of what you were about to let slip from your grasp. 

You had her, and soon you wouldn’t. 

The pacing stopped then, the sudden, strange grief strong enough to break through the autopilot movement of your legs and allow the world to come falling down on you. Whoever said that heartbreak didn’t cause a physical reaction clearly hadn’t lost a person like Alexia. She was one-in-eight-billion. No amount of searching would lead you to anyone that came remotely close to the beauty of her heart, her mind, and her soul.

“Cariño, let me in, please!” The pounding at your door brought you out of whatever pit of dread you had fallen into, only for you to fall right back into it the moment you came to. “Please. I need to talk to you, amor.”

“-if you can't understand that part of me then I don't know why you're still here!” 

Then why is she here?

The sound of the lock sliding and the door opening sent a surge of relief through Alexia, though it left the second she saw your face. Eyes full of tears and cheeks reddened by past drops that had fallen, even hours after the earlier altercation. The sun had set long ago, and it had taken any remaining hints of hope with it.

“Why are you here?” You said, knowing that the confidence you tried to put on crumbled with the crack of emotion in your voice.

“Let me in. Please, amor, I can’t… I can’t.” Sounded like she didn’t have much faith in her facade either, judging by the desperation in the way she spoke. There was also a drop of disdain too that you knew was aimed entirely at herself, you’d heard it before, and even after the way the day had gone, or rather the month, it still hurt to hear your favourite person in the world to talk like that.

If she was surprised at how you stood to the side to let her in, she didn’t show it. 

“Alexia…” You started, but trailed off fairly quick. You didn’t know what to say.

“No, don’t call me that. Please, not you.” She shook her head with the same amount of desperation as what was in her tone. 

You closed the door and slowly padded your way over to where she stood in the centre of the lounge. As you came to stand in front of her, you noticed the gloss of her eyes that glistened in the moonlight streaming through the window. The way you reached out and delicately put a hand on her arm was all instinct.

“What's wrong?” You asked quietly, but that only seemed to cause more unrest.

“Qué? What's wrong?! The fact that we love each other and we cannot stop arguing! Why are we against each other when we are supposed to be on the same team? I-it’s absurd, amor, I-”

“Ale, Ale, calm down.” Your other hand came up to grab her arm, holding tightly in an effort to grasp her attention. 

She didn't deserve your time. She had neglected you for the past month, yet here you were, taking her heart and caring for it with a tenderness that would make the world stop.

“I can’t live like this anymore. I can’t treat you like this anymore.”

Here it comes.

Your hands fell away when she said that, and the roles reversed. You slipped into a state of panic, though you tried to hide it, whilst Alexia’s composure came back to her.

“From now on, no more arguing. No more arguing, no more shouting, no more of it. It is not good for us, you don’t deserve it.” She had to get that out first, then take a deep breath, before she could move on to what really mattered to her. “I love you. These arguments hurt the both of us, but I cannot stand making you cry or making you feel alone. Dios, I will never make you feel like that again even if it kills me.”

Her words weren’t registering in your mind, you were nearly in a state of shock. Only minutes before she had showed up, you were in a near catatonic state at the anticipation of the death of your relationship. That wasn’t the case here.

“What?” You murmured, crossing your arms over your chest in a way that broke Alexia’s heart once more, because it was like you did it to defend yourself. 

She tried her best to soften her demeanour, from her body language to her eyes, and she cautiously stepped over. Her hands landed gently on your cheeks, brushing away the tears there, and she gazed at you with a softness you weren’t expecting to ever see again.

“I am sorry for how I have behaved towards you and I will say sorry for the rest of my life. I can’t lose you, amor, I would rather lose everything else in my life if it meant I could have you. I didn’t recognise that in the past and I am so sorry it took me this long to realise it. You don’t deserve my behaviour and I don’t deserve you.”

She let out a shaky breath, leaning down to rest her forehead against yours as she swallowed the lump in her throat and willed herself to get through her next words.

“What I said earlier, I do not mean it and I never could. I have never loved someone like I love you, and even though that scares me a tiny bit, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I want you around, and I want you to want me around too. There are no excuses for the way I have neglected you and treated you, and I will be better. I will be better, I promise.”

“I…” You choked back your emotions and prepared yourself for her reaction to your next words. “I thought you were coming here to break up with me.”

Even though she was the one touching you, you sensed her whole body stiffen at that. You opened your eyes, not having even realised they were closed in the first place, and saw her eyes tightly shut and the familiar frown to her face. Though, there was a tremble to her chin that told you she was fighting back her sobs. 

“No.” Was all she muttered as she shook her head gently against yours. She quickly moved away then, and the loss of her was terrifying for a moment, before you realised she had just turned around to hide her tears for a moment when she wiped her face on the inside of her shirt, turning back afterward. Her hands cradled your face in the same way she did a moment ago. “No. I’m not breaking up with you and I don’t want to break up with you, ever. For as long as you let me, I will love you. I even-”

Her eyes went comically wide then, and if the moment wasn’t so serious, you probably would have laughed.

“What?” You wondered, watching in amusement as she groaned and threw her head back. 

“I bought two bouquets of flowers for you and I left them both in my car.” 

Even though you felt a little bad, you laughed at her admission. You laughed, genuinely and freely, and it felt different to any of the laughs you’d let out in the past few weeks. When Alexia moved past her frustration, she couldn’t help but join in with you. And before you knew it, your shared laughter bounced off of the walls despite the tears still present on either of your faces. The moment was funny, in fact the whole situation of both the flowers and the arguments that had been had were ridiculous.

Most of the time, you couldn’t even pick out why the argument started. Not to mention most fights were just rehashing the same points and excuses over and over. So yeah, it was ridiculous.

Alexia, however, wasn’t expecting you to wrap your arms around her in a hug she had missed for… she didn’t even know. Every act of intimacy of the last month had felt forced, with an ounce of apprehension in them. This hug, it was different. It was sincere and filled with the love that had been lacking recently. To be honest, it took her breath away.

“You’re not breaking up with me.” You mumbled into her neck where you had buried your face, a bashful smile on your face. 

“I’m not breaking up with you. If you’ll forgive me, if you’ll have me still, I’m not breaking up with you.” 

That sentence especially caught your attention. You leaned back in her arms, keeping your own tight around her, and looked up at her in confusion.

“Ale, if you forgive me. I said some horrible things too, it wasn’t only you. I was just as bad.” The blonde smiled sadly down at you and shook her head softly before moving forward to place a gentle, reassuring kiss to your temple.

“We both said some mean things. I want to forget it for now.” She whispered. You were more than happy to entertain her in that.

“Me too. I love you, Ale. So much.”

No relationship was perfect, that you knew now. But even through the arguments, the disagreements, the particularly bad fights, every moment outside of those occurrences were worth it, and more.

—

wrote this on a whim, and its... actually short? 😧 overall im not too sure about it, it's been a while since i posted something like this but hope you liked it 🙃🧡

[homunculus-argument]

Okay but consider:

A world where wizards always have a distinct air to them, something one can't quite put a finger on, but which is easy to recognise when you've seen a few wizards before, and their apprentices. There's a saying, "not all who are born with the knack become wizards, but every wizard is born with the knack", which is used to say that one should not squander their natural tendency to become good at something, even if they can't see themselves doing it.

Nobody quite knows how it works. Just that those prone for the craft are more sensitive to it, can sense shifts in the air that others can't detect, and know when to start redirecting a spell the first moment it starts going awry. Some of them say they can hear the way the sound of magic changes, even though no-one else can hear anything, magic makes no sound. Some people assume that the hearing is a figure of speech - just a word they choose to use for some other sense that no-one but wizards can sense - but an honest wizard will correct them: No, magic literally makes a sound. They are baffled that you claim that you really can't hear it.

It's a myth that wizards cannot lie, mostly they just see no point in doing so. Knowing this, some of them will just blatantly lie as needed, trusting that people somehow assume that they cannot lie at all.

Someone born with the capacity to become a master of arcane arts doesn't seem any different at birth, but there are traits one may notice. When they learn to speak, they speak like wizards do, without being trained to do so. When they play with their toys, they arrange them in ways that wizards arrange their tools, without ever seeing anyone else do so. Some even pick up a bit of magic, all on their own without being taught how. These are simply the things that wizards are naturally prone to do.

Magic isn't exclusive to them, anyone can try dabbling in it, but it is sublte and volatile - by the time you can sense that something's gone awry, it's too late to undo it. Someone born without the natural knack to become a wizard sure can try, but they never survive for long enough to get much further than dabbling. Anyone can learn the rough and crude basics, but to become a wizard truly honed in the skill, one needs to be somewhat autistic.

[k0juki]

You don't wanna dance?

vampire hunter!Lando Norris x vampire!fem!reader au!

Warnings: mentions of drugs and killing but it's just a mention!

English is not my first language so feel free to point out any mistakes or errors! Also picture is not mine! Credit goes to the owner! Request are open!

More posts here! I'm gonna make it a little series.

Words: over 2k.

---

For the last couple of centuries, I spent my importantly traveling and hiding from vampire hunters. They almost killed all mine kind and because of that, vampires have become mere legends and myths.

A lot of them died, but others learned how to survive. Most of young vampires stayed in groups with others, more older vampires. Who protect them.

And in the heart of the loud city, where cobblestone streets echoed with human laughter, stood a lone figure cloaked in shadows. It was Lando.

Lando is a renowned vampire hunter, prowling the night with purpose, his senses honed to detect even the faintest trace of the undead. He always knew what he had to do. What is his purpose in this world. And mostly, he knew where to look for his prey.

They always hide in places like this, with loud music and a lot of people that spend all their money on doubtful drugs that get them killed.

Places like night clubs and bars are no stranger to Lando, and if he wasn't tangled up in this kind of job, he would have joined everyone there and enjoyed his young life with pretty women and one night stands.

"It's always clubs, never the quiet, relaxing places." Lando sighed and stepped inside. Saint and Sinners, an amazing name for a club. The air was a lot heavier and smoke from cigarettes could be smelled. A perfect place for vampires.

Amidst the pulsating rhythm of the club, neon lights danced and shadows whispered secrets in dark corners, the vampires were here, he was sure of it. Lando stood like a solitary sentinel, his gaze sweeping the crowded dance floor with practiced vigilance.

He's from a family full of vampire hunters and as a seasoned vampire hunter, he was no stranger to the dark allure of the night, but this night would test his resolve in ways he could never have imagined.

Across the smoky haze of the dimly lit room, his eyes locked on one woman whose back was towards him. Her hair was moving around as she danced carelessly. But then it was like something had stopped her.

As she turned around and her eyes locked with his, it was like when time stops. Who is she? What a girl like her is doing here? Surely she wasn't here for some drugs, she isn't this type of girl. And when you live long enough, you start to recognise the same people in different bodies but with the same intrigues.

She knew who he was the moment she saw him, only a fool wouldn't know who he is, but she wanted to know what he was doing here. She decided to move towards him with an ethereal grace, her every step a was grace and allure that she knew that drew him in like a moth to flame.

That woman is Y/n, a vampire whose beauty defies description, her eyes like pools of liquid moonlight that held him captive with their magnetic gaze. Despite the danger she posed, Lando found himself unable to tear his gaze away, his heart pounding in his chest with a mixture of fear and fascination.

As the music pulsed through the air like a heartbeat, Lando felt the pull that drew him ever closer to her, like two stars destined to collide in the vast expanse of the night sky. With each passing moment, the distance between them narrowed until they stood mere inches apart, the air thick with anticipation.

"Who are you?" Lando's voice was barely a whisper, lost amidst the cacophony of the club around them.

Y/n's lips curled into a seductive smile, her voice a melody that sent shivers down his spine.

"I could ask you the same thing, handsome stranger." She replied, her tone playful yet tinged with a hint of danger. "But I think we both know the answer to that."

Lando felt a surge of heat rush through him at her proximity, his senses overwhelmed by the heady scent of her icy perfume and the electricity that crackled between them.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and caution.

Y/n's smile widened, her gaze never wavering from his. "What do you think I want?" she teased, her words laced with a hint of danger.

She stepped closer to him and said "Isn't it obvious? I wanna dance." She whispered in his left ear and wrapped her arms around his neck. Inhaling his scent that filled her lungs, she felt as he put his hands on her hips.

His cold rings burned against her soft, yet cold skin, but his hands were so much warmer. She knew that she will lose control, but he smelled so godamn good.

"Dance? Is that what you want?" He thought that was a strange request, so he couldn't help but ask.

"Yeah, you're at the night club and you don't want to dance?" She started to pull away, but he was quick to take her back in.

"No, no, I just…I don't know you, you know? How could I trust you?" He still wasn't sure if she was a vampire, but vampires are known for how they can manipulate you into things you would even dream about. And he felt like she could be one of them.

"Hmm…you're right, we don't know each other so well," she spoke "and you're right, you can't trust nobody" and completely pulled away from him and stepped back, so he couldn't grab her like last time.

"Maybe it's better if it's stay like that." She answered somehow coldly, she wanted to vanish into a crowd of dancing bodies when she felt his hand grasp her wrist.

Turning to look at him, she was about to say something, but he beamed her with "I didn't mean it like that, I'm sorry." He felt the cold skin in his hand and decided if his theory of her being that mystical creature was true.

Y/n wasn't stupid. She knew he was a very dangerous man and that she shouldn't be playing around with him, but because she knew who he really was, she thought it could be fun to mess with him a little and play along with her being just a tipsy little girl that has a little drunk crush on him.

"It's alright. Let's just dance, yeah?" She asked and he just nodded with a smile on his face. She tugged him more into the dance floor and gosh, he was beautiful, with his green eyes that had sparks in them, his curly hair that was so soft to touch and with that gorgeous smile, he was just amazing.

"So" She started, breaking their silence.

"So?"

"So, what's a guy like you doing in a place like this?" Curious little thing she is. Always needs to know all the answers. And you know what they say, curiosity killed a cat. But, well, she was already dead, so she couldn't care less though.

"I could have asked you the same thing?" He wasn't going to tell her that he's here because of her kind. That he's going to kill her if she is something that he thinks she is, no, he knows it.

"Yeah, but I asked first."

"I'm looking for someone." He stated after a few seconds. His green eyes looked around the club and then back to her.

"For who?"

"I don't know yet," he started "but I think it could be you." He wasn't so smooth about it at all and took her back in his hold.

She knew what he meant by it and he knew it was her that he was looking for, but she just smiled at him and pulled him closer by the collar of his white shirt that had a few open buttons down.

"Yeah? And how do you know it's me you are looking for?" She chuckled, maybe because she knew he couldn't do anything to hurt her. There was too many people and other vampires that were watching them in dark corners and if he even tried something, she could end him by just snapping fingers. That's how powerful she really is.

He didn't say anything, he just looked at her and as they danced together in the dimly lit room, Lando found himself drawn deeper into this woman's web of temptation, his every instinct screaming at him to flee, even as his heart urged him to stay.

"You know I can't stay here" he whispered, "stay here with you." His voice barely audible above the din of the club. It was something about her that just took him in and he knew he had to leave or else things could get bad.

Y/n's eyes softened, a flicker of vulnerability passing across her features, strange. "I know," she replied, her voice barely a whisper. "But that doesn't mean we can't enjoy the moment while it lasts."

He was mesmerized by her. She wasn't just an ordinary vampire, no, he was pretty sure that she is one of the vampires that lives so long because they live in clans, with other, more older and wiser vampires.

This could be his chance.

His chance to get closer to her and her vampire family. To kill them. To kill all the remaining vampires like he promised to do, because that's his job. His purpose.

But each of them, was playing their own dangerous game.

"I'm Lando, by the way." He introduced himself with his British accent. "Lando Norris."

As Lando extended his hand towards her, Y/n's eyes sparkled with mischief, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She knew the game he was playing.

"It's nice to meet you Lando," she answered "but unfortunately for you, I already know your name." Her smile was getting bigger and that sweet playfulness was now becoming a little less and less funny.

That made him stop. She knew him? How does she know him? They had never met before, did they? Confusion could be seen on his pretty face and she loved every second of it. She lives for it.

"You really think I'm this stupid?" She said as laughter left her mouth. The music swelled around them and Lando leaned in closer to that pale woman, his voice a low murmur against her ear.

"How? How do you know my name then?"

"I had hanky-panky with your father too," she pointed out back in his left ear, "and with your grandfather as well and so on...you are all very similar.”

Lando said nothing. He just stood there like a fool. Who was this woman? Was she really this old vampire that knew his family members better than he did himself?

"Your family is notorious for hunting my kind Lando. You really think I wouldn't know you? Or your family?" She teased, her voice a soft melody that sent shivers down his spine.

And he knew that he should be afraid. He was in the lair of vampires. He had every right to be afraid. But then again, he needed to know her. Her true identity and what she is capable of, if she is a threat.

"You won't tell me your name?"

"I don't know," she admitted, "I haven't decided." Y/n liked to play hard to get. It was in her nature.

“You want to know my name hunter?” she felt his hands tighten on her hips and how he started to rub his thumbs up and down.

“Yes, of course I do.” What was he doing? He should have left and not be asking for her name. And definitely not holding her close to him.

“It's Y/n”

It's Simple, but effective. He liked that name, he liked her. She had this something inside of her, that he hasn't seen in everyone else. Something special.

As the music continued to pulse through the club and the crowd swirled around them, Y/n suddenly pulled away from Lando's soft grasp, leaving him standing alone on the dance floor, bewildered and disoriented.

"Well...I guess i will see you around, Lando"

For a moment, Lando stood frozen in place, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched that strange vampire woman disappear into the sea of dancing bodies.

He felt a surge of panic rising within him, a sense of vulnerability he hadn't felt in years. "Wait!" he called out, his voice lost in the loud music of the club around him.

But she was gone, vanished into the dark club without a trace, leaving Lando to wonder if their encounter had been nothing more than a figment of his imagination. No, no, she was real. She has to be real, she knew his family, she knew him.

As he stood there, alone in the dimly lit club, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at him from within. He had been so sure of himself, so confident in his abilities as a hunter, but now he felt lost and adrift in a world he no longer recognized.

With a heavy heart, Lando turned and made his way towards the exit, the sounds of the club fading into the background as he stepped out into the cool night air. He felt like he could finally breathe again.

As he disappeared into the darkness, he couldn't help but wonder, if he would ever see that woman again, or if she had been nothing more than a fleeting illusion in the night.

—

Do you want a part 2? Or just some blurbs, imagines, etc. from this au?...write me!🩷

Don't copy or translate my work!

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Punch At First Sight

Summary: Anthony Lockwood x Fe!Reader -> You and Lockwood have met a few times before, however after a punch to the face for the third time, Lockwood, which a push from Lucy, decides to make things different.

Disclaimer: Multiple uses of the f-word. Mentions of accidental violence, ghosts, Kipps being a dick, a slap across the face. Fluff, angst, hints of jealousy, and Lucy giving Lockwood a needed talking to. Not Proof Read.

It was meant to be an easy case. 

A couple of type ones haunting an abandoned building just outside of London. The local ghost hunters had all created that big of a myth they had scared themselves away. And the cost of a Fittes agent was too high of a price for the type of ghosts they had. So, Lockwood and Co were the business chosen. 

Only, it would have been nice to know if one of the previous agents had reached out to an old friend to take care of the job as well. 

But, no. 

Instead, whilst listening out for the ghosts, Lockwood stepped around a corner and when getting ready to attack what he thought was a ghost, he was met with a punch to the face and then a voice calling out; “Oh my god, you’re human.”

“Do you make a habit of punching ghosts?”

Then, through watered eyes, he saw the outline of the person who had punched him and it seemed she had clear enough vision in the dark to recognise him. 

“Lockwood?”

“Wait.” he knew that voice. “Y/n?”

“Holy crap. I am so sorry. Are you okay? Wait. Why are you even here?”

“The same as you, I’m guessing. Unless you tend to sneak into abandoned buildings at two in the morning.”

“Sophie didn’t even tell me they hired someone else. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Lockwood managed to stand up straight this time just as Lucy and George came running round the corner. 

“We heard a scream.”

“What’s going on?”

George looked from Lockwood to you. “Y/n?”

“Hi, George.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you, too.”

“She was hired.” Lockwood explained just before Lucy spotted him. 

“Holy crap, are you okay?”

Lockwood nodded. “Just a little stunned.”

“I really am sorry.”

“We really have to stop meeting like this.” Lockwood said, with a slight smile as he looked at you. 

Then came a scream. 

“Considering we’re all here and considering no-one else was hired to do this job-” George began. 

“That wasn’t a human.” Lucy finished. 

“And since we’re here with minimal weapons.”

One of the ghosts, a woman, came floating through a wall and turned to look at them. 

“Run?” you offered. 

“Run.” Lucy replied. 

Making a break for it, you all tried to outrun the ghost before another one of her friends joined her, pushing all four of you down a different corridor. 

“I’m Lucy, by the way.”

“Y/n. Nice to meet you.”

“You, too.”

By the time the sun was beginning to rise over the city, you all made it back to Portland Row where a fresh bruise had made its way to decorate Lockwood’s face. 

“You have a hell of a punch.” Lockwood said before prodding his own bruise in his reflection of the pan on the stove. 

You chuckled, pulling a bag of peas from the freezer before closing it and walking over. “Quit moaning. It could have been worse. Here.”

Standing, Lockwood seemed to have grown even taller than you. Taller than when you’d both last met. 

Looking at you, you watched as his eyes closed at the cold contact of the bag as you pressed it to his face. 

“Hold it there for a while. It should help with the swelling.”

“You know, we really need to stop meeting like this.”

You narrowed your gaze a little and clicked your tongue. “You’ve already used that line.”

“Have I?” Lockwood seemed to think for a moment before, “Oh, yeah. Suppose I have. But it is true.”

“Hey, the first time was an accident. I thought you were trying to-”

“The first time is an accident, three times is a pattern.”

You smiled sheepishly. “An accidental pattern.”

“Sure about that?”

“Yes.” you said before, “Maybe? Can never be too careful when hunting alone.”

Lockwood’s demeanour changed for a moment. “Alone? You’re hunting alone again?”

“Relax. I’m safe enough.” 

You moved backwards and began to tidy the kitchen a little to give yourself something to do whilst Lockwood leaned back against the kitchen counter, lowering the frozen bag from his face so he could watch you more closely. 

“Are you?”

“Yes, Lockwood. I’m fine. Honestly, you don’t have to worry about me.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t.”

You held his gaze for a moment, a million thoughts running through your head until it landed on He’s just a friend…

From there, you shifted yourself from the kitchen table and placed the empty glasses in your hand in the sink beside him. 

“Move here.”

“What?”

Lockwood stood tall once more and turned to face you properly. “Move in here. Lucy got a deal when she bought her bed, so she’s got a second one spare. We can set it up on the other side of the loft. I don’t like the thought of you hunting alone.”

“Lockwood, I said I’m fine.”

“What happens if something happens to you? Look, I can put you on the payroll so it won’t be a favour. You’ll be working with us. And you’ll have a team behind you. You’ll also be safe. Please.”

“Lockwood-”

“Please.”

Looking up at him, you saw the desperation in his eyes. 

It wasn’t often he opened himself up or let himself show any kind of vulnerability but when he did…

“Okay. Fine. But you can’t hover over me.”

“I don’t hover.”

“You hover.”

“No I don’t.” 

“Why did George kick you out of the Archive room in the last case we were in together?”

Lockwood thought back and when he didn’t answer, you answered for him. 

“Because you hover.”

“Okay, maybe I hover a little.”

“But before anything is written, the others have to agree. Lucy, too.”

“She will. I know so. It’ll be nice for her to not be outnumbered.”

You moved in three days later.

Lucy had prepared the spare bed for you and even decorated the walls behind your bed with a couple of pictures she found in some old boxes that had yourself, George and Lockwood in them. 

“I didn’t know what you’d want to do, but I thought I would do something to help at least.”

“I love it.” you smiled, dropping one of the boxes onto your bed. “Thank you.”

Over the following week, yourself and Lucy got to know one another, sharing stories late into the night when researching cases and in desperate need of a break. 

Lucy came to learn what Lockwood meant by the punch when you all met not being the first time. You came to find out what brought Lucy to London. And you both came to discover that, with the right planning, you could both scare Lockwood and George. 

Only, one night, George and Lucy decided to tag team which also gave them a chance to talk about you and Lockwood. 

“Do they know? They have to know.”

“Don’t bother.” George sighed. “Three years and nothing has changed.”

“They’ve been like that for three years?”

George just nodded. 

“Seriously?”

“You know I walked into the kitchen yesterday and they were slow dancing in the kitchen and…it was like nothing happened.”

“Yeah…” 

“What?”

“What?” Lucy asked. 

“Your face. You have that…look.”

“What look?”

“The “I’m making a plan” face.”

“Maybe because I am.”

“Well then?”

“What if we tried?”

“I already have.”

“Maybe,” Lucy nodded. “But that was then. Now you’ve got me. Tag-team. What do you say?”

“Well, considering it would take an earthquake to wake them both up from whatever coma they’ve convinced themselves that they’re in…sure. Why not? But how.”

“I haven’t got that far into the plan yet.”

But it didn’t take too long. 

After six months of living with each other, the plan practically made itself. The chemistry between yourself and Lockwood was palpable and even more so when you were outside together. 

Like when you and Lockwood were in the library with George and Lucy where Lockwood was standing behind you, reading the section of paper you were pointing to, his arms caging you in from where you sat, when a group of Fittes Agents waltzed over. 

“You might want to give your girlfriend a little breathing room, Tony. After all, PDA can be off putting especially in such a public place.”

Standing, and not denying it, Lockwood practically burned Kipps a hole in the ground for him to fall through. 

“Relax, Tony. Just having a little fun. So, are you going to introduce me to your girlfriend?”

“I’m not his girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

Kipps couldn’t help but widen his smile. “You’re not. Well then, Tony.”

However, you were up like a shot standing beside Lockwood. “But I would be very careful in your next choice of words. He might not be my boyfriend but he is my friend.”

Closer up, Kipps seemed to recognise you. Or at least, that’s what his face told you. 

“You know, for all the people in the world, I wouldn't have considered one of the best rogue agents being best buddies with our very own Anthony Lockwood.”

“And why not?”

“Although, rogue is very fitting for Tony. After all, it was breaking the rules that got him into trouble in the first place. Sweetheart, if I were you, I’d walk away whilst you still can.”

The only thing anyone could remember was hearing the contact of your palm across Kipps’ cheek and the red mark left in its place. 

“Fuck you.”

It took a moment to get over the shock before Kipps and his team walked away and you relaxed a little before grabbing your jacket and telling the others you’d be back. 

“Are you-”

“I’m fine, Lockwood. I’ll be back in five.”

It was in those five minutes that one of Kipps’ team found you by the vending machine. 

“I’m sorry about what he said.”

“Why? You didn’t say it. And I’m guessing you’re assigned to be with him.”

“Still, I could have said something to stop him and I didn’t.”

“Something tells me even if you did, he still would have said it anyway.”

“Maybe.”

“What’s your name?”

“Victor.”

“Nice to meet you,Victor.”

Meanwhile, across the room and up a level, Lucy spotted you talking to Victor. Even laughing every once in a while. And when Lockwood joined her, she saw the pain in his eyes before a brick wall came up. 

“We should be getting ready. George found something. I’ll be back in a minute.”

For the rest of the day, Lockwood seemed closed up. Especially towards you. 

“What is your problem?” you eventually asked him. 

“Nothing.”

“Lockwood, I heard you snap at Lucy earlier.”

“She made a mistake.”

“Exactly,” you cut him off. “A mistake. And she’s never made one before.”

“One that could have put one of us in serious danger-”

“We were outside the perimeter.” You could have laughed, until Lockwood asked you a question you weren't expecting. 

“Do you like him?”

“Who?”

“The guy you were talking to earlier.”

“Kipps? You did see me slap him, didn’t you-”

“Not Kipps. Vinny. Or Vincent or…whatever his name is.”

You thought back for a moment. “Victor.”

Lockwood nodded. 

“Do I like him? What are we? 12?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to know if you’re fraternising with the enemy.”

You laughed. “Fraternizing?”

But when Lockwood didn’t change, you did. 

“You know what, fuck you, Lockwood. What I do with my time outside of work is no concern to you. You know what, do this yourself. I’ll go and help George.”

A few minutes later, Lucy walked inside the room to a very grumpy Lockwood. 

“What the hell did you do? Fraternising? This isn’t Bridgerton, Lockwood.”

“Will you just help with the set-up?”

Sighing, Lucy did as she was told, but not before telling Lockwood a couple things he desperately needed to hear. 

“You’re gonna lose her.”

“What?”

Picking up some of the iron chains and laying them down, Lucy explained. “It might not be Victor, but one day it will be someone. And it probably won’t be long before they come along and whisk her away from your grumpy arse because you’re too stubborn to tell her the truth.”

“What truth?”

“That you like her. Love her, even. If my gut feeling is right. And it usually is.”

“Lucy-”

“Look, you can go on being an arsehole because you’re scared. Or you can talk to her. All I’m saying is do something about it before somebody else does. Both me and George have seen the way you look at her. It’s more than you want to admit, Lockwood. But one day you’re going to have to, or else you are going to lose her and all you’ll have is a bruised eye and a broken nose once every couple of years, if that.”

Lucy didn’t say anything else after that but Lockwood did apologise for snapping at her earlier which she forgave him for after calling him a frustrating bastard. From then, she watched as you all completed the job together and that look that she often saw in Lockwood’s eyes, returned when he looked at you. 

Yet, by the time you had all gotten home, he still hadn't apologised to you. So, with a hard nudge from Lucy, Lockwood finally made his way to find you. 

“Do something before somebody else does, and that includes apologising. And she’s in the Library. Goodnight.”

Lockwood stood outside of the Library door for a while, trying his best to find the right words so he wouldn’t end up with a broken nose, despite how much he probably deserved one. 

You had lit the fire to try and cancel out the cold that had seeped in through a forgotten open window, and if you didn’t know any better, you would have thought it was midnight, not 6 in the morning. 

“Hey.”

Looking behind you, you tried your best not to roll your eyes at Lockwood as he walked inside. 

“I’m just looking over some old cases. Just so you know that I’m not fraternising with the enemy by reading a book.”

“I shouldn’t have said it like that.” Lockwood began. “I shouldn’t have said it at all. I just…I guess I panicked.”

“That’s a bullshit excuse and you know it.”

“You’re right. And I’m sorry.”

You looked at him.

“Really, really sorry. For the fraternising comment and the bullshit excuse.”

You took a minute and it was the longest minute of his life. 

“Okay, guess I can forgive you.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“I know, that’s why I forgave you. But a cup of tea wouldn’t hurt.”

Lockwood smiled. “Okay. One tea coming up.”

Only, as he walked away, you answered his question. 

“And I’m not…fraternising with the enemy. Victor and I were just talking. I think you’d like him. I think he might hate Kipps just as much as you do. And, no.” you shook your head. “I don’t like him. Just so you know…”

Lockwood nodded and for a moment, turned to walk away until Lucy’s words echoed again in his head. 

“Do something about it, before somebody else does.”

So he did. 

Sighing under his breath, he took the jump, turned around and reached for you. 

Taking your head in his hands, he cupped your jaw before bringing your lips to his. At first, it shocked you and for a split second, he thought he was about to get his nose broken for good this time. 

Until you kissed back. 

You felt yourself stumble a little but Lockwood caught you, holding you close to him before his forehead came to touch yours, your eyes still closed. 

“Wow.”

“I’m sorry but I just had to-”

You shook your head, “Don’t apologise.”

“No?”

You couldn’t help but smile. “No.”

“So you’re not going to break my nose.”

“Not this time,” you laughed a little. 

“Okay…then I’m gonna jump. I like you. Well, I more than like you. Like way, way more. And I…I want to do something about it before someone else does.”

“Like Victor?”

“Yeah,” Lockwood laughed a little. “Like Victor.”

“Then…good. I’m glad you finally jumped.”

“You are.”

You nodded. “I mean, you have terrible timing but yeah, I’m glad you jumped.”

“Good.”

“Good. Now, are you gonna kiss me again or am I gonna have to-”

Lockwood didn’t need telling twice. 

[abiiors]

persephone - matty x reader ˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧💌˚.⋆🌿

a/n: this is kinda loosely based on the myth of persephone and also this is just one interpretation of it, obv several exists in the media :) and like matty's barely hades lmao, this is mostly just the connection of persephone, demeter and spring ♡ cw: this contains themes of parental neglect, dysfunctional families, emotional abuse/neglect and alcoholism, and they're very much PRESENT and DETAILED. this isn't angst but it's def bittersweet (emphasis on the bitter whoops) wc: 5.1k

the first word she learns is “mama”. 

she has a faint memory of this—a woman with shining brown hair, smiling and cheering at her. everything is blurred around the edges and filtered in through a haze. everything has a foggy white quality to it but the woman’s eyes are crystal clear and looking at her, focused solely on her. she has a memory of others laughing and clapping along, encouraging her to say the word again and again. 

mama.

the brown haired woman looks tired—she’s young and, looking back, barely even an adult. but the woman smiles at her and coos along. “mama,” the woman says in an exaggerated baby voice and points to herself. 

“mama,” she babbles again at the woman she now recognises as her mother. the woman gives her a bland smile, playing with her almost absently. the woman even lets her grab onto her fingers and bite on them—not that it counts much as biting, she barely has teeth at this point. 

the next memory she has is of an older man with a freckled happy face and salt-n-pepper hair. he throws her up in the air and catches her until she’s giggling and breathless and light as air. he's often at their dining table, peeling pomegranates.

mama says she can't eat them yet—they're of course a choking hazard for a baby her age. but the old man peals it for mama, because mama looks happy when she sits next to him and pops the seeds into her mouth, sighing at the sweetness.

“these are delicious, daddy,” mama says to him and he smiles at mama with all the tenderness in the world.

when mama needs a break from her, he takes her to the nearby pond, and lets her touch leaves and rocks. he points at the tiny things in the water and says a word she barely recognises. 

fishies.

he clicks his tongue and waits for her to imitate the word, but she only claps her hands and says “mama” again. 

the man laughs. “let’s get you home to mama then.”

the younger woman gets mad at him when they get home though. mama grabs all the treasure—their entire day’s hard work—and puts it away somewhere where she can never reach it again. 

the man grumbles about it too but she’s far too young yet to understand words and tone, much less full blown fights. all she knows is a distinct sharp feeling of fear when mama snatches her away from the old man’s hands and puts her away in a room alone. 

there are white bars around her that she can’t climb, even though she cries and cries and screams for mama. even when a pungent smell fills the room and she feels uncomfortable wetness in her onesie. 

but mama doesn’t come. and the old man’s voice can’t reach her anymore. there’s only the sound of her cries and an eerie music box lullaby that plays on repeat as if it would ever be enough to pacify her.

mama doesn’t come for hours. 

years later, she’d know why mama can’t be bothered. 

the last time she calls her mother “mama” is when she’s seven years old. 

it’s rained all night and the backyard is wet and muddy. mama grimaces the moment she looks out the window but for a seven year old girl, it’s the most fun thing to ever exist. mama makes a sound of disgust when she runs outside, whooping with joy and slipping and sliding in the mud. 

all she wishes for is a companion now—a sibling or a dog or a cat, she’s not picky. a friend works too, but she’s not entirely sure where someone gets those. 

“if you get mud on my carpets, i swear!” mama shakes her fist from the back door but she can’t care less.  

she’s drenched in mud and having way more fun than she’s had in days. so much so that she doesn’t even realise when mama shakes her head and goes back inside. 

the winter chill is almost gone, there’s even a few little saplings sprouting from the ground and she can’t wait for the whole backyard to be filled with weird little weeds and wallflowers. she can’t wait until it’s warm enough to sit outside in the afternoons and make her little witchy potions from mud and weeds and flowers and see if any butterflies would be curious enough to land near her. (or maybe even on her like they do in the movies she’s seen!) 

she forgets the movies for a moment, though. today is the best day a girl could have. 

her grampy—her grandpa—is supposed to visit too, and she knows he’s going to bring treats; sweet honey from the hive on their farm or tiny red strawberries that dribble juice down her chin. she knows he’ll sit in their kitchen and peel her a pomegranate (she can eat those now!) and tell her about the new calf on the farm. (she’s asked this story twice now but it only gets better each time) it’s all so exciting that she even forgets about her aversion to the kitchen for a bit, forgets how a pit opens in her stomach every time she has to be in the kitchen with mama. 

she can’t wait for the after, but right now she runs through her backyard again, whooping and cheering and smiling. 

she’s slipping and slipping, just like before. the fence comes closer, her little mind tries to calculate the distance, her feet try to slow down but the mud’s grown too slippery and she just can’t stop, can’t put her arms up in time. 

her jaw collides with the fence with a sickening crunch. pain flares in her mouth along with the sharp coppery taste of blood. it almost makes her gag and she tries to spit it out. something white falls on the ground, covered in blood—her first tooth, the one that’s been loosening for days. 

she stays curled on the ground, covered in mud, sobbing and spitting out more blood until her saliva runs clear, then she somehow shuffles inside, hoping mama would have a magic fix. 

mama’s eyes widen the moment she walks in, dried mud crusted around her feet, blood on her chin.

“what the fuck?!” mama yells, the glass in her hand jostles dangerously and the dark liquid inside almost splashes out. mama’s words also have an unnerving, slurred quality to them but she’s too much in pain to care. 

“what’s wrong with you?!” mama screeches again and gets up. through tears, she manages to splutter out what happened. she shows mama the tooth, (girls in school have told her about the tooth fairy) but mama only smacks her hand away. 

“i told you not to get mud on my carpets. who’s going to clean them huh? not you, you’re useless. you’re all useless.”

more tears fall on her cheeks and she looks at mama, horrified. but mama slams the glass hard enough on the table that a crack goes through it. she’s worried mama’s going to yell at her more, but mama only yanks the mop from the corner and waits for her to move out the way. 

she takes the hint, grateful it didn’t get worse. she tries not to get the mud onto anything else but a little gets on the bathroom tiles anyway. 

under the hot water, she finally lets her sobs free and scrubs her little body until the skin is all red and raw and stings from the temperature of the water. until each stream of the showerhead feels like a bb bullet. 

then she gets on her hands and knees and scrubs the bathroom floor clean, occasionally flicking her tongue over the now-empty spot where the tooth used to be. it tastes vaguely salty, and it still aches but not as much, definitely nothing in comparison to her jaw which is turning a nasty shade of purple. her tooth’s still safe on the counter, though—free of blood and mud now. gleaming white. 

at least that’s the saving grace of the day. at least she’ll get a visit from the tooth fairy. 

grampy cancels his visit—his knees hurt, mama says—but she tries not to be miffed about it. she’ll make sure to get grampy something nice with the money from the tooth fairy. 

that night she gingerly places the tooth on the bed, carefully places the pillow on top so that the tooth is protected from all sides. nice and snug. 

then she closes her eyes, dreaming of tiny fluttering wings and shiny pennies. but the tooth fairy never visits at all. 

her mum ages rapidly in a decade. by the time she’s seventeen, her mum’s already gone grey—unravelling at the seams, fraying with each passing day. not that anyone’s seen her mum in days. or months even. her mum’s not coherent enough to hang out with people most of the time. 

she’s started spending less and less time at home. it helps to have a part time job on top of school—a place that delivers chinese food. a couple guys from her school work there too, not that she really knows a lot of them. except one. 

matty. 

he’s the one person she’s ever considered a friend. 

the one person who’s been worthy of that title. 

matty’s all casual smiles and laughs—he flirts shamelessly and kisses people on the cheeks when he gets drunk. he offers her fags and spliffs even though she always denies them. he nicks leftover chinese so they can eat it in his car, giggling and laughing, way prouder of their heist than they should be. 

the food tastes better when she’s with him. everything’s better when she’s with him—even the shitty, off-brand beer he keeps buying. with him it tastes like expensive champagne. not that she knows what champagne tastes like to begin with, but she imagines the bubbles settling on her tongue feel like his laugh spilling from his lips. she imagines it tastes like the sparkle in his eyes.

matty looks at her differently too—she’s not stupid, she knows what interest looks like. 

she’s been the object of fascination since she turned thirteen and developed boobs seemingly overnight. she shies away from attention most of the time—wears t-shirts twice her size, keeps her hair a bland brown. she barely even looks at boys or men who tell her she looks mature for her age. but when matty looks at her, it’s different. 

when matty looks at her, she wants to be seen. 

“you sure it’s okay for us to be out so late?” he asks one night when they’re sat in his car. the world around them has already gone quiet—it is a school night after all, she should be in bed too. but she sees the cigarette dangling loosely between his lips and for a second she forgets to respond. matty quirks and eyebrow and she realises she’s been staring at his mouth. 

“my mum won’t mind.” her response is a bit curt, but she leaves it at that. there’s no need to mention that her mum’s probably drowning in wine by now, tripping and spilling the liquid onto floors and sofas and carpet. 

“she must be chill,” matty hums to himself and takes a drag of his cigarette. she watches him hold it into his lungs, some of it escapes through his nose and curls around his face. 

she keeps quiet, unwilling to get into that topic of conversation. 

“i’m thinking of dropping out,” matty says quietly once the cigarette turns into a tiny stub. his voice is carefully neutral, monotonous. she whirls to look at him, jaw practically dropping to the (dirty) floor of his car. matty stares straight ahead, trying to look as nonchalant as possible, but the tension in his shoulders gives him away. 

images flash in front of her—walking the school corridors alone, eating lunch alone, doing her homework alone. working at her job alone. 

alone, alone, alone. no one but her mum around her again. that wretched fucking woman occupying every atom of her existence.

“did you h—”

“i heard you.” her voice has gone quiet now but there’s an edge to it that doesn’t go unnoticed by matty. 

“and?”

“and what? if i said no, would that convince you to stay?”

she doesn’t mean to sound so sharp, so bitter. certainly not so selfish. but an ugly feeling bubbles up so deep inside her that all the excitement from before just dies—all the butterflies from just a moment ago, now dead and rotten, making her feel nauseous. 

“no but—”

“i don’t want to tell you why it’s irresponsible, matty. frankly, i don’t know if i believe that myself but… it’s… it’s big.”

his face falls further and further the more she speaks. with each word she wants to press a hand to her mouth, wrap it around her throat so it would strangle everything else that’s about to come out. with every word she wants him to tell her to just shut the fuck up, that she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. but matty only looks at her and a different sort of quiet spreads around the car. 

“you think this… this thing you’ve got going on. music. you think that’s enough?! you play for fucking retirement homes, matty! you play for old people who probably won’t even remember what they heard twenty minutes later. and you want to–what? you want to leave your education incomplete? you want to leave a-levels and school and your job? you just want to…leave?”

which is the real problem. 

he gets the luxury of leaving. 

she gets the misery of staying. 

“thanks,” he says dryly, trying to roll his eyes. she catches the extra shine they now have, she catches the way his throat bobs. and suddenly the car is so stifling she can’t stand it anymore—can’t stand the taste of the nasty, cheap beer and the too-salty, too-greasy chinese they’re eating and she can’t stand the cliche, indie rock music playing at low volume. 

she can’t stand him anymore. 

“i need to go,” she says curtly, wiping her hands on her jeans and already halfway out the door when matty grabs her wrist. 

“wait—”

“what.”

“n-nothing.” it’s the first time she’s heard him stutter, first time he’s ever said something without sounding completely sure of himself. “let me just drop you home.”

it’s also the first time he’s offered to do that. 

“i have my bike.” besides there’s no need for you to see the state of the house right now, no need to come across that belligerent woman in case she’s still conscious. 

“it’s late.”

she can’t really argue with that logic. it is almost 11 at night and she might not live in a very shady neighbourhood but it’s still not the safest at this time of the night. still, she doesn’t want matty driving her around and dropping her home. that feels too vulnerable. besides, she just wants to be away from him.

he’s leaving anyway, she might as well start practising that from now on. 

“i’ll text you when you get home,” she mumbles and forces her wrist out of his hand. 

she’s out of the car and slamming the door shut before he can even protest. she’s marching across the empty road and to her bike before the absence of his warmth registers, before her body realises that she can no longer feel his skin against hers. 

before she really has a chance to let anything sink in. 

matty honks and she hisses. 

“what!”

“i’m following you home.” and then the little shit rolls up the window. 

she has half a mind to stubbornly wait him out, see how long he stays if she just refused to move but that’s a stupid plan. like it or not, it’s happening. he’s following her home. 

like it or not, she’s going to have to let him. 

“i’ll only accept your apology on one condition.”

it’s two days later that they’re back in his car—her with a guilty conscience, matty with a smug smile. 

“ugh, if you’re about to be a boy about it!”

“you haven’t even heard me out yet!”

the pit in her stomach shifts, the hollow cavity catching in her throat until she has to forcefully clear her throat and blink rapidly. it’s not that she’s completely forgiven him for wanting to leave, she hasn’t completely given up on that yet either. but she realises the way she went about it was perhaps…a bit shitty (okay it was definitely a lot shitty) 

“spring dance”

“what?!”

the words jerk her out of her thoughts so violently that she almost forget about everything else for a second. the spring fucking dance. 

matty healy, the boy who nicks chinese food and drinks cheap beer and wears ripped, skinny jeans wants to go to the spring dance. 

“right don’t look at me like i’ve asked you out to a strip club—”

“that’d be more in character—”

“oi! just… let me speak!”

and so she shuts up, puts her hands under her thighs so she won’t impulsively chew on her nails while her crush is…trying to ask her out. 

matty rolls his eyes at her and the fond smile on his face takes her breath away. 

“i want to do it. i want one last cheesy school experience before i…” he trails off, maybe not wanting to finish that sentence for her sake. or maybe because it affects him more than she thinks. “and i want to do it with you.”

“me? ooh like i’m special or something.” she tries for it to be teasing and playful, but the words come out sounding so hopeful that it knocks the breath out of her. 

“don’t pretend,” matty’s voice goes all quiet then. serious too, and suddenly he can’t meet her eyes. “don’t pretend like you don’t see it.”

“see what…”

there’s a lot in her life that she pretends not to see—half the things at home, sometimes her failing marks, sometimes the way other people look at her and whisper. but he is the one person she can’t pretend with. can’t pretend to not see the way he looks at her and acts around her. can’t pretend to not notice the way his touches linger and his smiles last longer. 

even now, she can’t pretend like he’s not looking right at her lips, leaning in a smidge at a time. wishing she’d close the gap. 

involuntarily, her eyes flutter shut. anticipating. 

she wants to feel it so fucking bad—his hands on her waist, his fingers on her skin. she wants to feel his faint stubble against the palm of her hand, his lips on hers. most of all she just wants to feel him close, to feel his breath on her skin. 

matty jerks away and a loud horn of a car breaks the spell. 

“fucking dicks!” matty rolls the window down and yells at the retreating figure of teenagers in a car, one of them even flips him off and next to him she seethes. 

fuck this, fuck everything. why can’t she just have nice things. 

why must someone come and ruin it every time. 

it takes them both a minute to breathe and settle down and meet each other’s eyes again. even then there’s a slight pink tinge on his face that makes him look adorable. 

“sorry about that…” matty mumbles and taps his fingers against the steering wheel. “so…spring dance?”

“i’d love that.”

she hopes the smile she gives him is genuine. she hopes he sees it plain and simple all over her face—all the words she hasn’t said and cannot say. 

matty smiles wide. “then i forgive you.”

and it’s like a weight gets lifted off her chest. 

“you look pretty,” her mum’s eyes roam over her body, eyeing her from head to toe, flicking over certain places again and again until she almost feels naked—like the blush pink fabric doesn’t even exist. like her mum sees right through her. 

years of this has taught her that it’s not a compliment. if anything, it’s just another trap, so she focuses on her reflection in the mirror and smiles with as much warmth as she can muster. “thanks!”

her mum reeks of wine already, maybe even a little weed but it’s nearly not enough today which is surprising. she would have expected her mum to be at some bar by now. 

“i’ll be a bit late. don’t worry i have my keys though.” 

then she scoffs to herself. when has her mum ever worried? 

“who’s taking you? to the dance.”

“wha–? oh. uh, just a few friends. only met them recently.” she winces, trying to get the last of the curls in place, trying not to be too cagey in front of her mum. she doesn’t want her mum to think she’s hiding something—mostly because it never ends well, and she can’t be arsed to deal with another screaming match right now. not when there’s a ball of anxiety and anticipation in her chest, wound so tightly that it’s slowly choking the air out of her lungs. 

she just wants to be outside. she just wants matty to see her, to call her pretty and maybe even kiss her. 

she just wants this one night with him. 

just one. 

her mum huffs and stumbles into the room. everything about this woman wants to make her shrink away—the days old stink of sweat and alcohol and cigarettes, the grime under her fingernails, her beady stare… 

even when her mum’s fingers twirl around her curl, she fights not to shrink back, to slap her mum’s hand away. 

“you look pretty,” her mum repeats. “prettier than i did when i was your age.” 

her stomach churns at the cruel edge to those words but her mum isn’t done yet. “huh–not so easy to be pretty with a seven month pregnant belly. like a fucking whale…”

and there it is. 

her fault that her mum was robbed off having normal teenage experiences. 

“right, mum,” she smiles shakily, “need to get going.”

it’s almost a miracle that her mum doesn’t say anything else. mum just backs away and lets her gather her things. she quickens her pace, heart beating in her throat, hands trembling when she picks up her small purse. 

it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay

“don’t spread your legs for that boy.”

she freezes in place, almost out the door.

“wha—”

“act dumb again and i’ll make sure you never see that boy again.” 

“mum…” she swallows harshly, prays that the tears pricking her eyes don’t spill down her cheeks. then she nods and books it out of there. better to go before her mum changes her mind. 

better to go before leaving becomes impossible. 

matty makes her forget all of it. 

the moment she sees him, the shakiness in her limbs disappears, her heart thuds in her chest for all the right reasons. he’s in a suit. a fucking suit that makes him look all grown up and handsome but then his unruly curls go all over the place and suddenly she’s laughing with the boy she’s had a crush on. 

no matter what he wears and what he looks like, he will always be that boy.

the school auditorium is full of flowers—some fake, some real. all the girls around her look stunning, dressed in colourful pretty gowns. it’s all spring incarnate. 

all night he dances effortlessly, twirls so many people around him like he’s friends with everyone. and maybe he is—he’s certainly always been so much more popular than she has. she should be the one leaving. 

but she also can’t help but stare. she wonders if he is a daydream, something her lonely mind conjured up during hours filled with boredom or after long, exhausting fights with her mum. and suddenly, he is looking right at her. sweat makes his white shirt stick to his body in the most flattering way possible, makes his sweaty curls fall into his eyes until he can barely see straight.

stop ogling! 

“staring is rude, you know?” he walks—no, saunters—over to her. suddenly, there’s not enough air left in the giant school auditorium. 

“you’ve been staring too,” she counters. and she’s right. all night she’s caught his long lingering glances that make her feel like she’s coming alive. 

like a flower blooming in spring. 

“you kinda make it hard not to stare.” so does he, she thinks. but everything, from his half smile to his relaxed posture, tells her not to inflate his ego further. she stifles the faint blush creeping up her face and shakes her head bashfully.

“come on,” he says. 

at first, she doesn’t realise what’s happening. then he whisks her away to the dance floor and her shriek of surprise turns into one of delight. she has never danced like this before but that night they dance till her heart pounds in her ears, till she can’t stand straight anymore. then they sway softly, in spite of the rock and roll playing in the background. 

“you’re beautiful,” matty smiles at her, sincere and real. 

if she discovers anything about herself that early spring night, it would be her love for dancing. it’s a feeling she’s never felt before—something that almost feels like…freedom. it’s foreign at first, all the blood coursing through her body at the speed of lightning. she tries to keep track of how many times she shrieks and laughs and jumps in excitement. all of it until matty picks her up and twirls her around. 

round and round until she’s breathless and light as air and fucking free. 

somewhere after that, she loses count. at the end of the night, her dress clings to her and matty can’t stop staring. can’t stop letting his eyes roam all over her until he’s grinning himself. his smile is boyish. perfect. and just as she’s getting self-conscious, he pulls her closer. 

“you’re fucking perfect, you know that?”

next thing she knows, matty is holding her softly against the wall and kissing her bare neck. he softly caresses her waist through her dress and she shivers against the warm spring breeze. she can feel him shaking too, almost like he’s…nervous to do anything more. to actually kiss her and shatter the moment. she can’t have that, can’t let this moment slip through her fingers. 

“kiss me,” she pleads and matty moves in an instant, his warm mouth capturing hers. like he was only waiting for her permission.  

his lips are a little chapped. far from perfect and yet electricity zings through her all at once. if it weren’t for the wall, her legs might have given out from under her. she might just be a heap on the floor, surrounded by all the spring flowers. 

matty kisses with such reckless abandon that it steals her breath away. kisses her until her heart swells in her chest, ready to burst. her fingers tangle themselves into his hair and she kisses him back with everything in her. she can’t care less about how public this is, there’s only him in this moment. 

only the two of them on a warm spring night suspended in this one moment.

she almost whines when matty pulls back. annoyed beyond belief that he’d pull away now. 

“mat—”

“it’s late.”

“it’s not!”

“it is, love.” suddenly his voice has gone gentle, almost quiet. matty pulls his old phone out of his pocket (with the screen cracked and all) and holds it in front of her. the screen flashes with 11:17

shit where did all the time go?

matty makes no move to untangle himself from her arms, still pressed against her. in her ead she forms a childlike grudge against his phone. if it weren’t for it, they would have never known what time it was…

“i hate this.” her voice comes out thick with tears and something wet hits her nose. “i don’t want to go, i don’t want you to go. please.” but even then she knows how unfair it is to put him in this situation. 

matty’s caresses her cheek, wiping away her tears, smiling at her like she’s the most gentle precious thing in the whole world. 

and maybe she is. in his world. 

“you’ll finish school too,” he says, voice a low murmur, “and then you have a uni to attend. so much shit to do. god, you’re brilliant enough to get everything you want.”

but it’s you i want. still she doesn’t say it. not just yet. 

she nuzzles his palm instead, placing a soft kiss on it. “i hate spring. i wish it was autumn instead. i’d be starting uni at least.”

“and you will,” matty reassures again. “you’re going to do so many things.”

“you won’t be here to see them…”

and there it is, all the things she’s been holding deep inside laid bare. matty looks at her for a long time and smiles sadly. “who said that? i’d find you, we will keep in touch. isn’t spring meant to be about new beginnings and all that? so why don’t we start a pact?”

“that’s a silly idea,” she teases but even then she’s eager to know what he means. 

matty ignores it. “stay here for spring and summer, finish school. i’ll find you when autumn comes.”

“you’d really do that?”

“who’s gonna help you move into uni halls huh?”

through tears she laughs. only matty could make it sound so exciting. only matty could make her hate it so much less. 

she doesn’t trust herself to speak anymore so she kisses him instead. he tastes like peaches, mint and something sweet. the very first boy she’s ever loved. the boy she will always love. 

he’s leaving soon, she knows it. who knows maybe she will wake up tomorrow and he will be gone. she feels all that passes between them and she tries to send all her longing and all her yearning down that bond. for a brief second she is determined to make matty stay through sheer willpower. 

but that would be the most selfish thing she’s ever done. and so she smiles and lets him go. 

matty might be leaving but she’ll always have this one warm spring night. even as the clock inches towards midnight and a new day threatens to arrive.

for a brief moment she wonders if she can make time stand still. this one moment stretched into eternity. 

but the minutes tick by anyway. and tomorrow comes anyway.

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[thelightsandtheroses]

eight: don't let this darkness fool you

Your Hand In Mine | Joel Miller x female reader.

Chapter summary: after the reappearance of the junction, you try and find a way back to some form of normal Chapter warnings: Reader is a single parent to a teenager, mentions of breakups, discussions of cults/religious movements and violence within these, threat of a gun, tension, lightly implied panic attack/anxiety, 18+ blog mdni, Notes: Chapter title is from Call Your Mom by Noah Kahan (and the song that I personally credit with helping me through a rough patch last year) Thanks for all of your patience with this chapter - my life irl has been hectic but I'm good! Word Count: 3.9k

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You can’t even remember how you got home, but you’re in kitchen and somewhere in Jackson right now Sean is talking to your son, trying to explain it all to him and Beau and Joel are … they’ll have killed Ethan by now.

The loss of power, of agency in your own past’s return to Jackson makes you feel sick. You should be the one talking to Gabe, it should be your final blow to Ethan. This is your mess, this is your life, not theirs. Having others involved feels intrinsically wrong and yet, you’re grateful to have them to share this burden. So grateful.

Maria makes you tea in your kitchen without speaking. She’s told you that you can stay, that’s something. You wonder if she’ll ever truly trust you again though.

You open your mouth but you can’t find the words, you don’t know where to start. You selfishly don’t want to talk about it. You feel tired in your bones, in every single part of your body. It’s a weight pulling you down.

What if Jackson is at risk though?

“Will they come after him here?” Maria finally asks.

“I don’t know,” you reply.

“And you don’t recognise anyone here?”

“I’ve been out of that group for almost seventeen years, Maria, I - I don’t think I would know if they were here. Hell, you could be one of them for all I know.” You laugh bitterly and take a sip of your tea. “I don’t know how much he would have told them, he’s secretive. They could be … I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

Maria pauses. If this was a film then this would be the moment where you confess everything, where you bare your soul over tea and cry together. Maria would hug you and tell you everything would be okay, or perhaps say it’s too much, that she was wrong, you do need to leave.

You just have to say something. There are so many conversations you owe people now, Maria included, but in the immediate aftermath you don’t have any words.

Eventually it’s just you in the kitchen with a cold cup of tea and silence as your companion.

You’re alter when Gabriel comes home with Sean and you inwardly count your blessings that he even returned. You wondered if he would.

The silence is protracted and stilted in the kitchen around the three of you. You’re not sure what to expect: anger, upset, hurt, a combination of everything?

Sean has taken his hand of Gabe’s shoulder, has moved to leaning against a counter exactly halfway between you and your son who loiters in the doorway, illuminated by the hallway light.

“We should talk, Gabriel,” you say finally, rising from your chair and placing your cold tea mug down.

“Yeah, I reckon so.” You wonder when he grew up, when he changed from a little boy - your little boy - who believed in myths and legends to the almost man before you. Gabriel folds his arms and looks at the ground. “Was he really -”

“We’re your -” We’re your family you want to say, it’s us and it doesn’t matter about Ethan. He’s irrelevant.

It’s not what he’s asking though and it’s not what you owe him. You are all too aware that one wrong word will send him running like a skittish animal, that every syllable matters right now.

“Yes.”

“I look like him,” he says quietly. “When I looked at him, I could see … I could see it.”

“You look like you,” you say gently, “You’re you and only you, you’re not me and you’re not him.”

Gabriel swallows. “Did - am I-”

“No,” you reply vehemently before he can even finish the sentence.

“So, you don’t regret me?”

You pause, taken aback that your son would ask you this. “You saved my life, Gabriel, I would never regret you. Never.”

“How did I save you?” your son asks, curiosity flashing across his face.

“I knew I was pregnant and I didn’t want that life for you, that’s what gave me the courage to talk to Sean, to find a way out, for something better.” You think maybe with everything that’s happened today, the fact that leaving led to a difficult journey where you gave birth in a bombed-out warehouse and then a more than decade long misadventure in the Kansas QZ can be glossed over. You’re in Jackson, you’re here, right?

“That’s … I didn’t know that.”

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Gabe.”

“But if you had a time machine, if you could erase being with him”

“Then there wouldn’t be you and that’s not a decision I want to erase, that’s not a life I want. Would I have wanted you, just you, in a different world without infected or any of that? Sure, but I’d still want it to be you and without all this around us - maybe you wouldn’t be you and that’s not okay with me. I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“I - I don’t know what to make of all this. Sean told me … he told me some of it, a lot of it I think, but he said I’d need to talk to you and I want to. I do. I’m just …” Your son looks exhausted, eyes red from crying, his posture more crumpled than you’ve seen it before. “I didn’t know what it was like, I didn’t know why or what or … it’s a lot to take in. There are years, years that you’ve told me different things and it’s all muddled in my head. I’m angry about that, really angry, but I - we can get through it, right? I want us to be honest now, please?”

“Yes. We can talk about it whenever you’re ready,” you say, “I’ll do my best to tell you what I can, Gabe, is that okay? I’m sorry, I’m sorry for all of this.”

He nods.

“I don’t think I can talk about it all any more tonight,” he admits and you exhale slowly. “There’s too much for one night.”

“Today’s been a lot, it’s been … I can’t even imagine how you feel, but I love you so much. Sean and Beau love you and none of that has changed, could ever change in fact. I’m sorry I kept this from you, I wanted to protect you. I never thought something like this, like today would happen.”

“Sean said you all thought this group - you thought that they were around here recently.” Gabriel pauses, “Is that why you broke up with Joel?”

“We needed to be able to prepare, to run if needed. I need you safe.” It’s easier to just stick with that to admit than that being so close to Joel, to this kind and solid man had been too overwhelming throughout it all. That losing him was a suitable sacrifice if you could bargain your family’s safety. That the pain was the appropriate punishment.

“You liked him though,” Gabe says, “you haven’t been like that with a guy for a while. I mean … he’s okay, you were good together or whatever.” From Gabe, this is the highest endorsement any man you have ever dated has received.

“I thought you were at the age where the idea of your parents dating repulsed you?”

“Oh, I am and this conversation is something that’ll I never admit it. I just, I do want you to be happy.”

“You too.” You move closer, wrapping him into a close hug. “You too, kiddo. I was so scared,” you whisper, “I was so scared I’d lost you.”

Relief floods through you, you haven’t lost him, you haven’t.

Maybe there’s a way through this.

Maybe there is a way to stay.

You’re avoiding Joel. You’re avoiding as much of the town as you can actually. In the wake of the Junction’s reappearance to your life, you bunker down in your home like a hurricane is still to come.

It’s been over a week now and your creativity in avoiding the town surely deserves recognition. You’re immune to Gabe’s frowns now, to the whispered conversations between Beau and Sean.

You can’t face it yet.

This isn’t permanent. You know you should speak to Maria and Tommy, to offer some sort of guidance on how to tell if the cult is entrenched in Jackson, rotting your home away from the inside, but Sean seems to be handling that for you now. Everyone around you is treating like a wounded animal, afraid of you either self-destructing or lashing out.

You’re not sure what you’re supposed to do now, you’re not sure what comes next.

The bench calls to you.

You find yourself walking there without thought. You need peace, you need to be in a place where the buzzing in your mind can quieten down and where you can avoid prying eyes that mean well. If Sean looks at you one more time with those giant sympathetic eyes of his, you might scream.

You didn’t expect the bench would be occupied.

“It’s okay,” Joel says as soon as he sees you, “I can go if you want to be alone.”

“No, no,” you say quietly, “I want you to stay, Joel.”

You did that to him.

Guilt courses through your body and you look away from his careful gaze immediately.

It’s quiet at this time of night. So quiet. Even the wind is still tonight and while this serene silence would usually bring you peace, tonight is different. You can feel the weight of all the words you should say, and can’t say, and want to say in your stomach.

You sit down next to him, not meeting his gaze and instead remaining transfixed to the night sky ahead.

“I’m sorry you had to do this,” you finally say, pointing at his hand, “does it - does it hurt?” It’s not the question Joel expected, or even you for that matter.

“Hey,” Joel carefully reaches to touch your arm and then hesitantly withdraws, clasping his hands in his lap instead. “It’s not on you.”

“You can’t mean that,” you protest, “if I had said something to Maria, if I had stopped him before-”

“You can’t do this to yourself,” Joel says firmly, “Trust me, you did - you made the best choices you could then, right? Not just for you, but for your kid and that’s got to be enough. It has to be.” There’s something desperate in his expression, something you can’t understand because his reaction feels too vehement, too firm for the occasion. “You did what you did for your kid and I can’t argue with that, no one can.“

“But I could have changed things. We might still be in danger because of me.”

“We can’t live like that, can’t punish ourselves for things we’d never have known. None of us can. Not now, and certainly not before. It won’t help you. Trust me.” Joel exhales. “I spent years agonising over decisions, over every single move I made the night that - that Sarah - I went through everything I did, what I should have done. If I’d just bought the damn cake, if I hadn’t picked up Tommy, if I hadn’t worked a double. Maybe I could have made a different turning, or I coulda said something else to the soldier and then it would be different. I spent years on that.” Joel exhales. “I tore myself up every way I could over it.”

“It was an accident. It was a tragedy,” you say, “it wasn’t joining a damned cult, or dragging your best friend into it too.”

“And how’d you have known that then?”

“I know, I know all this. Logically it makes sense but it just can’t - I can’t make it fit in my head.” You sigh. “I have blood on my hands.”

Joel looks at his own hands before he speaks, “I don’t think anyone who’s alive now doesn’t.”

“You and Beau shouldn’t have had to -”

“I don’t want a man like that near Ellie, near my town, near the people I lo - care about,” Joel says simply. “Beau was of a similar view.”

“What - no, I - is it wrong I don’t want to know?”

Joel looks at you seriously and shakes his head. “Not at all, not at all.”

“Still, I’m sorry you got dragged into this. I mean, we’re not - not anymore. You shouldn’t have been obligated or anything.”

“Beau let something slip earlier,” Joel says carefully, “That you’ve suspected that group was nearby for weeks.”

“I know, I should have told Maria.”

“Right about the time you told we couldn’t - well, you remember what you said.”

You feel your cheeks heating up. Joel’s a smart enough man, if Gabe had worked it out, of course Joel would have.

You want to say it was because of the Junction, that you still want him. That you haven’t stopped thinking about him since then. Only it’s not entirely true, is it?

You’ve spent weeks in fight or flight, your only thought has been survival. Now people are telling you the worst is over, that you can start to heal again but you don’t know that. Even if it’s true, your body doesn’t know, it certainly can’t feel yet.

You feel on edge, nervous and unsure.

You want to jump onto Joel right now, feel his embrace and touch once more as you pretend the last weeks were just a bad dream. You also don’t want him near you, you’re scared it’s you, that you made Ethan’s worst side come out. He wasn’t a cult leader when you met him after all.

You want Joel, but you’re not sure if you’re ready to jump back in yet. You can’t go from planning an emergency exit, to confronting the man you thought was dead, and then straight back into some sort of mythical romance just like that. Joel might have slayed Ethan, but unlike a fairytale, there are marks on you that won’t immediately heal.

“I am not going pressure you into anything, I just want to say that if - oh hell, I don’t even know what I’m saying.” Joel swallows.

“You can just blame it on being moondrunk.”

“Moondrunk?” Joel asks with a chuckle.

“Yeah, look at that view. Moondrunk.”

“Moondrunk,” he repeats gently. “I mean it though, I- I’m terrible at this, but when you’re ready, if you’re ready …”

“Thanks, Joel.” You wring your hands together. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”

“Live?”

“That simple, huh?”

He smiles wryly, “That simple.”

“So, you’re back at the bench, huh? Haven’t seen you here in a while,” you comment, keen to change the subject.

“I thought you were there first, figured it should be yours. But I - tonight I needed to come here, clear my head. I didn’t know if you’d be here.”

“Are you okay I am?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.”

You shut your eyes for a moment. For a second you allow yourself to pretend it’s weeks ago, that you and Joel are still together, the Junction a distant memory. For a moment you thought this would be your life now.

Can it still be?

Joel’s still here, he’s patient and kind and good. “When I’m ready,” you begin softly, “when I’m ready, you’ll know.”

You don’t open your eyes but you swear you can feel Joel’s smile. “Okay, that’s okay with me,” he says.

The two of you stay there until sunrise.

It’s the library that finally makes you leave your home. Sean lets slip that it’s been closed since you started your retreat from the town and it pulls at your heart. There are people who rely on the library - it’s an escape for them, or a chance to learn. It feels wrong to keep the place closed, another failing.

The library, like the bench, is a sanctuary for you. Only, unlike the bench it’s for the whole town. It’s a safe and comforting place. You’ve built something there.

“You should go back,” Gabe says one night as he picks at his dinner.

“I should?”

“To the library.”

“Oh.”

“You loved it there and it - it’s your place,” he says simply, “I think you should open it again.” It’s a truly polite way to challenge your new hermit state. You notice Sean and Beau raising eyebrows at each other from the table.

“I- I will.”

“When?”

You raise an eyebrow at your son. “When I’m ready.”

“I think it would be good for you,” he says.

“I will listen to that, Gabe, okay? I just -”

Sean says your name softly and the way everyone in this house suddenly infuriates you. You don’t want their kid gloves or quiet observation, the continued sense that you’re staying inside too long, that you’re becoming someone that they don’t recognise. It’s overwhelming.

“I’ll open it tomorrow,” you say, desperate to make them change the subject, to see that you are okay.

Beau looks over at you with surprise in his eyes. “You don’t have to. I’m sure that Maria can get someone to cover -”

“They’ll shelve things wrong, Beau, we all know that. I’ll - I’ve got this,” you say as decisively as you can muster, before stabbing a potato with your fork. You’re fine, you can do this.

For Gabe, you can do this.

The following morning, you find yourself nervously standing in the empty library. It smells fustier; the tension hangs in the air as you notice the books you were partway through shelving before you left it for the last time.

You curl your arms tightly around yourself and open your thermos of tea with shaking hands. It’s been too long hiding away, you’ve built up nightmares in your head of the Junction running into the library, or Jackson residents turning against you.

No one even glanced at you as you walked to the library this morning.

There’s no one here though. Perhaps word hasn’t got out that you’ve reopened the library yet, or perhaps Maria has told people to give you space when you eventually emerged from your hiding places. You appreciate it and throw yourself into rearranging a display, in picking out books for the school class who usually come by on Fridays.

“Hi,” a voice says from behind you.

You spin around to see Ellie standing ahead of you. Her hands are shoved into her jeans pockets awkwardly and she looks nervous as she meets your eyes.

“Ellie,” you say gently.

“Joel said I should give you space.”

“Did he now?”

“So did Maria in fairness.”

“Right. Of course they did.”

“Do you need space?” she asks as you pull yourself to standing from the floor you were kneeling on.

“Not from you, Ellie.”

“Good, because it’s been a while, man. How much space can you need?”

“You sound like Gabe.”

“Can’t all be wrong, huh?”

“Absolutely, so did you finish that space book?”

“Mmhmm and I’m going to be honest that I may have swapped it for another book while you were out.”

“The library was locked, Ellie.”

“There was a window and I got Ca- a friend to give me a booster. Joel and I had to do it a lot in um, when we were travelling.”

“So you learnt your break in skills from Joel?” You ask, fighting the smile on your face as you make a show of crossing your arms.

“Technically, I was breaking into places with my friend Riley … well, one time anyway. ” Ellie shrugs. “At least I owned up, right?”

“Sure. I feel you’ve pretty much exhausted our collection of books on space though. We could move you on to fiction though - sci-fi, lots of space.”

“That could work.” Ellie purses her lips together, clearly battling against saying something. You wonder what she really came here to say; is she angry that Joel got involved, that you endangered her and the town? Does she want you to leave?

You wouldn’t blame her.

“I’m sorry about what happened with that guy,” Ellie says.

“I should apologise to you, Ellie, you got caught in the middle and you shouldn’t have. None of you should have.”

“It’s not your - it’s nothing, honest,” Ellie says and her sincerity somehow makes you feel worse.

“I appreciate that, Ellie, thank you.”

“I wanted to talk to you, because - because before we came to Jackson, there were these people we came across.”

Your blood runs cold. What does Ellie mean? Did she and Joel come across the Junction, or something worse? Why would she say this? You look at the young girl and wonder what her and Joel’s story really is, the chemical burn, the vehemence at you not being involved that. What happened to Ellie?

“Ellie, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

“I want to tell you. Do you not want me to?”

“No, it’s fine, I just don’t want you to feel obligated to share something you may not want to.”

“Noted. I’m good though. So this group, they were these … I don’t know, cannibals? but this guy, he was like religious, or so he said and it was -”

“I’m sorry, you ran into a cannibal cult?” you ask incredulously.

“Kinda.”

“Fuck, Ellie.”

“I mean, it wasn’t a cult centred around cannibalism, that was more incidental.”

“Oh, well, that makes all the difference.”

“Right? Anyway, we got away. I - I got away. Joel was hurt before and so I was on my own and I know he feels bad about that.”

“Elie”, you whisper quietly.

“For a long time, I tried to figure out why this guy, Da- he was so … respected and so …. I don’t know. He was dangerous but quiet about it. I always thought the threat would be like a clicker or bloater, something visible. You look at it and you know that’s bad; you know what you’re up against. Plus on our way here I saw so much. Hunters, well at least they don’t hide it. This guy did. I - I almost bought it.”

“I’m sorry, Ellie.”

“It’s fine. It was almost a year ago now. It’s the past.” Ellie pauses and looks up at you. “I just wanted to tell you that.”

“I appreciate that, Ellie.” You take a deep breath. “For what it’s worth, the understanding the guy thing? It’s not like it starts off dangerous, it’s just normal at first, maybe a little different but within respectability. It … appeals to you, this sense of belonging, I suppose.”

“Belonging?”

“I’d never felt like I fitted in anywhere and then the world ended. My parents were …. all I had left was Sean and I didn’t want him to think I was clingy and end up with no-one. So there was this group and it seemed normal. It was normal at first. It was a slow change and then really fast and I don’t want to, I’m not sure if I should - you’re a kid, Ellie.”

“I’m-”

“A great and cool one, and one who’s seen a hell of a lot and is very brave, but you’re Joel’s kid, Ellie.”

“He’s not my - ” Ellie breaks off. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right.”

You scan through the pile of books you were shelving and pass one to Ellie. “Try this one next, I think you’ll love it.”

“Thanks,” Ellie says, saying your name kindly, “I’ll read it next.”

“Well, let me know what you think. I’ll be here.”

Ellie smiles. “Good, I’d hate to have keep breaking in to steal books.”

Tag List

YHIM: @orcasoul@pedropascalsbbg @yoursoulsunbreakable @iamskyereads @genetics4life

@everyth1ngfan @frickatives @perennialdoll247 @joelsgreys @pedrobaby

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Everything Pedro tag-list: @harriedandharassed @pedrostories @hiroikegawa @pedrosaidsheispunk @pastelnap

[fairyhaos]

. ˚ lost in this green (and in your eyes)

pairing: wood nymph!joshua x gn!reader

genre: fluff, magic realism, meet cute, besties!97z

word count: 2371

warnings: brief mentions of fainting

notes: i just. i just love wood nymph!shua a lot okay pls he'd fit the concept so devastatingly well

summary: you're lost in the forest, and it's terrible and terrifying and you're all alone but then... well, you meet someone, and suddenly you find yourself wondering if fairytales and myths really are just tales.

"Lee Seokmin, you are so dead."

You turn around in a circle, looking around for any recognisable objects around you, desperately trying to find a way out. When you see none that could possibly mark out this section of the forest as different to where you’ve been traipsing through earlier, you sigh, frustrated. 

This was all Seokmin's fault. Okay, maybe not entirely his fault, but it was all his stupid dare to get you to fetch him a squirrel from the woods (what sort of dare was that, anyway?) and now… Well, now you're lost. 

It had all started when Mingyu had abruptly announced that you should go on an outing for fun, and then Minghao, being Minghao, had insisted that all four of you take a trip into the countryside for the outing, smack-dab in the middle of nowhere for a 'healing day out' in a field surrounded by trees. It had been fun, for all of one hour before you'd devolved into a game of truth or dare that had ultimately led you to venture into the surrounding trees to go catch a squirrel for Lee Seokmin. 

Oh, that guy really is so dead if you manage to make it out.

"Seokmin? Mingyu? Can anyone hear me?"

The wind rustles the leaves in reply, almost mocking, and distantly there's the sound of some insect creaking. Everything around you is green and brown, and even when you look up, the blue sky and bright sun is covered by the dense foliage. This is a little bit terrible. 

Sighing, you continue on your trek through the woods. Not being the best with directions, you'd kind of lost where you were going about 5 minutes into the forest, and so you have no idea if you're heading back to the field or if you're going in an entirely different direction. You just hope you're not walking around in circles, because that would—

You pause in your tracks. For a moment, there’s only the sound of a pigeon cooing somewhere, but you listen harder, certain that it was a distinctive voice that you heard. And then, there it is again, louder, and you’re sure of it. There's a voice, calling for you, and it sounds a lot like Minghao. 

“Minghao!” Immediately, you’re scrambling towards the noise, running along the soft forest floor, accidentally kicking bushes and almost tripping over tree roots. “Minghao, oh my god, what took you guys so long?”

But abruptly, Minghao stops yelling for you, and the forest is silent again. The trees are tall, looming, now, and you kind of wish it was Mingyu’s stupid height looming over you rather than these dark, unresponsive trees. 

You wait, for several moments, straining to hear Minghao’s voice again. But when he calls, it’s in a completely different direction, so you curse to yourself and start running off again.

You’re deeper into the woods now, you’re sure of it, because the trees are denser and there’s less light and the sound of animals and insects have disappeared. The air is still as you run through the forest, still following the faint sound of Minghao’s voice, and when you stop, it’s as if the entire world is silent, with not even the trees making a breath of noise. 

Minghao’s voice disappears, yet again, and now you’re worried that your brain is playing tricks on you. The bushes you brush against are getting thornier, bigger, difficult to get past, and the trees look like they’ve enlarged and now seem to try and slap you across the face with their rough branches. 

You’re well and truly lost now. Minghao’s voice doesn’t sound again, and you turn around aimlessly in circles, hoping that somehow, you’ll magically find an exit. 

But then. In the eerie stillness of the forest, any sound and movement echoes through the trees, and you hear a branch snap to your left.

“Hello?” you call out, hoping it’s just Minghao or one of the others behind the bushes, waiting to jump out at you. “Who is it?”

There’s silence.

And then a bush rustles to your right.

You whip your head around. “Come on, stop playing. Just show yourself, I know you’re there.”

There’s a good chance, you know, that it’s just a woodland creature or something, but everything in this part of the woods seems so dead and dark that part of you is sure that it has to be a person rather than an animal.

Slowly, gingerly, you creep towards the bush. It rustles again, and you flinch, but then the distinct sound of Minghao’s giggles comes from the bush and you move forwards, and just as you’re peering over…

“Boo!”

A person jumps out at you, yelling in Minghao’s voice. His hair is long, his eyes are large, and he looks like he has little stars around his doe eyes and he’s smiling widely, wickedly, delighted.

You scream, and he laughs with Minghao’s laugh, and the last thing you see are his eyes suddenly widening in horror as the world fades to black and you fall to the floor.

All you can think is, ‘That wasn’t Minghao’.

————————————— 🌿

When you regain consciousness again, there’s a man leaning over you. His eyes are large and he has little stars around his doe eyes, too, and for a moment you’re sure that it was the person who had scared you who was now going to try and kidnap you.

You yelp, attempting to scramble away, but the man just shushes you, gently and firmly placing hands on your shoulders to keep you against the tree you’re propped up on.

“I’m sorry,” he says, chuckling a little. “Jeonghan is a bit of a menace, but he means well. He just loves imitating voices, and he didn’t intend to take the joke that far. He meant you no harm, truly.”

The man’s hands are now on your face, brushing your cheeks softly, making soft sounds to calm down your racing heart. Now that you’re properly looking at him, the man focused on dislodging a leaf that fell on your shoulder, you can see he’s not the same man as earlier. Not Jeonghan, or whatever this man had called him. But you stiffen up, still, unsure if you can trust him.

He looks up at you then, warm eyes meeting yours. His eyes are constantly turned up at the corners, you notice faintly. He looks like a baby deer.

“I won’t hurt you,” the man says. “I promise. No one here wants to hurt you.” He pauses. “At least, not intentionally.”

Well. That doesn’t exactly make you feel reassured.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” He smiles again, and you realise that even his mouth is constantly turned up at the corners. 

He’s so pretty.

“Let me try again. I’m Joshua,” pretty man says, and he sits back a little to hold out his hand. “And I noticed that you’re a little lost here. I was wondering if I could maybe help lead you out?”

You look down at the hand, surprised to find yourself endeared by the action as you reach out to shake it. His hand is warm, too, as warm as his eyes, rough and soft in yours at the same time. Your heart is still racing when you release his hand, but now it’s for an entirely different reason.

“Y/N,” you reply, deciding that, at this point, you’re not sure you have anything to lose by following this pretty man. At least, if you die, you’ll die by the hands of a gorgeous stranger. “And I think any help would be much appreciated.”

Joshua smiles again, and takes your hand to pull you upright, swiftly walking off, hand still clasped with yours.

The woods are still silent, but it no longer feels as if every sound has been suffocated—rather, it’s a peaceful silence, and maybe it’s brought on by the peace you feel with a warm hand firmly holding yours, and a presence beside you that’s quiet and gentle and relaxing.

He’s silent the entire way, walking with you through trees as if he’s following an invisible path, pushing away branches for you and gently guiding you to one side to avoid tripping on roots. You can’t help but glance at him, often, because he’s so pretty and so calm and, in turn, it makes you feel calm too.

There are flowers weaved into his hair and they wave gently in the wind that has managed to come to life again. The forest feels lighter now, less terrifying, and birds now seem to chirp cheerfully in the trees above you.

One bird comes and lands on Joshua’s shoulder as you walk and you startle in surprise, but the man doesn’t even bat an eye, smiling down at it in greeting.

“Well, hello there,” he says. “What do you want now, you little rascal?”

Joshua’s tone is fond, affectionate, and when the bird chirrups, he laughs. 

“Yes, this person is very pretty, isn’t it?” he chuckles, and it makes you blush slightly. Nevermind the fact that he’s talking to a bird. “But unfortunately, they’re not here to stay. We need to lead them out.”

The bird trills, but Joshua just laughs again, and then it flies off.

You watch it go, curiously, and then look at Joshua, who seems completely unfazed by what would have been, to any other normal person, an incredibly weird exchange.

The stars around his eyes glitter as he turns to look at you. They don’t look like stick-on gemstones or even glitter patches, but look as if they’re embedded in his skin. As if the stars are part of him.

“What brought you here to my humble forest?” he asks, and you blink a little at the strange phrasing of his sentence. 

“Oh. I was… trying to catch a squirrel. For my friend.” It sounds ridiculous, when you say it aloud, but it manages to make Joshua laugh, sweet and beautiful and melodic, and you can’t help but smile.

He tilts his head, amused, and now his eyes are sparkling too. “A squirrel? Well, I think you may have failed at that. Unfortunately.”

You shake your head. “This is all Seokmin’s fault. He knows I’m bad with directions, and yet he sent me off into the forest. Alone.”

Joshua’s hand tightens around yours, secure. “Don’t worry. You’re not alone anymore.” He nudges his shoulder against yours, and the sun is now peeking through the leaves, casting a dappled golden shine over his face. “I’m here now.”

That makes you duck your head, shyly, awed by his beauty.

It takes a few more minutes, but eventually, the trees thin and you can see a road ahead of you, a road that looks awfully like the one that Minghao had driven down hours ago to get you to the field.

“Ah, it seems that we’re here,” Joshua says, and he lets go of your hand. When you look back at him, confused, he smiles a little sadly. “This is as far as I can take you. It’s too polluted there for me, and I can’t leave my home.”

“Your home?” you repeat, but he’s stepping forward again, and then leans in to press the lightest kiss on your cheek. It makes heat rush into your face, blushing at the sudden action, but he’s already stepping away before you can react.

“Goodbye, Y/N, and I hope you manage to get home safely.” He grins, lips turning up at the corners a little mischievously. “Hopefully you manage to catch a squirrel someday.”

You blink, startled, because suddenly he’s leaving even though he’d been by your side for so long. “Wait,” you call out, “what are you?”

Joshua laughs, and he’s already begun to fade back into the trees, the stars sparkling around his eyes. “Wasn’t it obvious?” he says.

“I’m a nymph.”

And then he’s gone, melted back into the forest, and you’re standing there alone, straining to see where he went, wanting to know what he meant, wanting to know whether he really was a mystical nymph that you only read about in legends.

You stand there at the edge of the forest for a lot longer, and are about to walk back into the trees again when there’s the sound of a car driving down the road, and someone honks the car horn loudly, making you jump and turn around.

Mingyu has rolled down the window of the passenger seat, practically half falling out of the car.

“You!” he yells. “We’ve been looking for you for ages! Why weren’t you answering your phone?”

And instantly, the memories of before you’d found Joshua come flooding back, and you run towards the car, yelling at Mingyu.

“There’s no service in a forest, idiot!” You open the car door and get in, only to be tackled by Seokmin, who’s sitting in the back seat beside you.

He sobs dramatically, wrapping his arms tight around you. “Why did you disappear like that! We thought you were dead!”

“No, I wasn’t dead, why—hey.” You frown down at him from where he’s buried his head into your shoulder. “It was you. You sent me into the forest to get you a stupid squirrel!” 

Mingyu laughs at that, looking back at you as Minghao drives off again. “Yeah, Seokmin, you sent Y/N in there.”

Seokmin’s eyes go wide as you wrestle out of his arms to shake his shoulders. “I’m going to kill you! This is all your fault!”

“What—! Hey, we found you in the end, didn’t we? Minghao! Help!”

“Hey hey, no killing in my car,” Minghao interrupts sternly, and he sounds genuinely serious, so you settle down. Not before balling your fist and shaking it at Seokmin, though. This guy really is dead once you get out of the car.

Minghao looks at you in the rearview mirror, eyes glittering amusedly. “How did you even manage to get out? You have literally no sense of direction.”

You don't even register the teasing, eyes going distant as you recall stars around eyes and flowers weaved in hair. You smile, feeling your face warm up, leaning back against the headrest.

“I found a nymph.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa ,, @weird-bookworm ,, @minhui896 ,, @bunnyiix ,, @slytherinshua ,, @haowrld ,, @belladaises ,, @moonlitskiiies ,, @cinnamoroxie ,, @butiluvu ,, @wonranghaeee ,, @zozojella ,, @kawennote09 ,, @thedensworld ,, @a-wandering-stay ,, @abibliolife ,, @doublasting

[specialagentlokitty]

Jack Harkness x reader - forever

Heyy!! Was wondering of you could write a vampire!reader x Jack Harkness?? Both are obviously immortal, etc?? Just something cutesy! X - Anon 💜

It had just been a coincidence that you met the flirty time traveller.

Because of your nature and what you were when humanity had managed to develop the technology to explore space they shipped you off to an isolated planet with no way to return.

You weren’t really sure how long you lived there for, but it was peaceful, a beautiful planet which at least had some wildlife on that you could feed off.

The only catch was you were the only creature there able to talk, communicate with yourself, and life had eventually grown lonely.

Though despite the loneliness you grew used to being on your own, you were content, not quite happy, but content, and that counted for something in a way.

You would sleep when it was too hot outside, hunt once or twice a month, but mostly you just created things.

All sorts.

Wooden carvings from the beautiful blue and purple trees, leaned how to create tools and chisel stone into beautiful statues, create artwork that could be compared to the universes beauty.

You had all the time in the universe, literally.

After having spent so much time on your own when there was a new scent on your planet you noticed immediately, the small draft sending the familiar of scent of a human your way.

Though there was a hint of something else, something that wasn’t quite fully human in this person.

From the shadows, hidden away you watched him, studying him.

He seemed human enough from what you could remember them looking like, but his scent just wasn’t quite right.

Though humans did have slightly different scents there was something about his that didn’t sit within the normal range.

For a while you just watched him look around, following him as he stumbled across some of the things you had created, he seemed captivated and curious.

He was mumbling to himself about this planet being abandoned and empty, trying to figure out how his teleporter had landed him here and that he wasn’t picking up any life sighed aside from the animals that lived here.

You were curious and in two minds about what to do.

On one hand you could feed on him, get the best meal you’ve hand in probably centuries.

On the other you could keep watching him, maybe introduce yourself, it had been a while since you’d actually had a conversation with someone, and you missed that.

After a short while just followed him you decided to reveal yourself to him, and if things went down hill then you’d turn him into your next meal.

While the man was stood studying one of your creations you silently padded out of the shadows and stood next to him.

You could see his gaze flick to you slightly startled before he looked fully at you.

He studied you for a moment before a flirty grin appeared on his face.

“Well hello.” He grinned holding out his hand, “Captain Jack Harkness at your service.”

You studied him for a moment before placing your hand in his.

“(Y/N).”

Jack grind a little more, bringing your hand to his lips to place a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“What’s a beautiful being like you doing on an isolated planet like this?” He asks.

You didn’t reply, but from the little spark in his eye something told you he recognised your name, or maybe he had heard myths about you, assuming he’d been to the right time frame.

The creature that is doomed to be alone forever.

Jack grins a little more at you.

“I know about you.” He states.

“What do you know?”

He grins a little more stepping to stand beside you to look at one of the statues you had made.

“I know you were the only one of your kind, nobody knows how you came to be, that you lived a wonderful life when you were still human.”

You glanced at Jack, noticing his smile was gone, his face now resembling a sort of sad look.

“I also know you were forced to leave your home, sent to live here until the end of the universe by yourself with nobody to keep you company.”

You looked back to the statue.

“Such is the life as a monster like me.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

Jack turned to face you, stepping in front of you.

“You’re not a monster, not from what I’ve heard, and looking at you now you certainly don’t seem like one to me.”

Jack held out a small device.

“It’s my teleporter, it broke when I accidentally landed here. You seem like maybe you’ll have the stuff to fix it?”

Carefully taking the little device you study it for a moment, turning it around in your hands, looking at every aspect of it that you could see.

Some parts were visibly damaged, but you did have scrap metal laying around that sometimes crashed into the surface of your planet.

“I think I may have the right things.”

Jack grinned brightly.

“Perfect! I don’t suppose you’d mind helping out a handsome captain?” He asked.

This made you crack a small smile, the first smile in centuries.

“I suppose I have time in my rather busy schedule.”

Jack laughed as he followed behind you to your cabin.

He admired how beautiful it was, the dedication you had put into your home, your craft.

For a week or two he stayed with you, you two talked while you slowly worked at helping fix the device, while you took breaks your showed him around, or showed him your creations.

Jack was amazed about everything you did, such skill and beauty.

Eventually you had managed to fix his device and handed it over for him.

He put it back on his wrist and looked at you, holding his hand out.

“Come with me.”

This confused you slightly.

Jack saw your confusion and walked over to you, taking your hand into his, holding it gently.

“Come with me, you’ll never have to be alone again I promise, we’ll be together, you’ll never be stuck here again, and you’ll never have to be alone again.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, looking around the planet you had called home for so long before you smile softly and nodded your head.

“Okay…”

Jack grinned brightly, holding you hand in his as he got the device ready to leave the planet.

Forever, that’s how long you two were going to travel together, two immortals

[snnrinc]

Zburătorul: The One Who Flies

Zburătorul (zboo-ruh-toh-rule; directly translated as The Flyer or The One Who Flies) is a supernatural being in Romanian folklore, the embodiment of erotic desire and the epitome of temptation. Beware of falling victim to his loving embrace, his lustful gaze and his charming words. Having a taste of him will leave you longing for more, and soon, more will not be enough and you will be driven to insanity. But, if he steps into your room...

... then it’s already too late.

— PAIRING : Hawks/Keigo Takami x F!Reader [AO3 Portal]

— WARNINGS : NSFW, smut, fantasy AU, afab!reader, use of she/her pronouns, PIV, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, feather play, outdoor sex, creampie, overstimulation, porn with plot, bad poetry

— WORD COUNT : 14.3k

— AUTHOR'S NOTE : Inspired by the myth of the Flyer (pretty obviously). This AU takes place sometime in the 1800s. You can think of the Commission/Hero society as some sort of Olympus in this AU. Thanks for taking the time to read!

It was a day like any other, your sleeves raised up as much as you could to allow the breeze to cool you down, your headscarf protecting your head from the scorching sun but doing nothing to help with the sweat running down your body. You tried to move fast — the faster you work, the quicker you can finally take some rest — but you knew you’d be stuck between the vines, picking grapes until sundown. It was today that you were on duty, after all, other members from your family and neighbouring ones working the same as you in other rows from the vineyard.

You took a moment to wipe your hands on your apron before raising the fabric up to wipe your forehead. To say you were tired would be an understatement, but it was certainly better to be here, harvesting grapes, than the alternative of tilling the fields. Your hands were already calloused from last week when you had to work. Then again, with the amount of field work you were doing, the normal state of your hands seemed to be bruised and rough, so you were not surprised.

Your village was thriving on farming and especially on the large vineyards stretching across acres of land, feeding the prosperous wine industry of the town not too far from where you lived. Naturally, the large majority of people in the area made a living between rows of vines, yourself included.

Following the taste of fine wine and many business opportunities, people from across the country passed through the town next to your village, some settling down and creating a hub of what some villagers would call modern civilization. But out of all the shops opening their doors warmly to sell the most delicious food, most precious jewellery, most beautiful clothes, and of course, most flavourful wine, nothing quite caught your eye like the new library that opened just shy of the town centre.

You covered your forehead with your hand, shadowing your vision as you looked up at the sky. The sun was right above you, blazing down on you relentlessly. It was barely noon and you were not yet done, surely the library would close by the time you reach the town, but you were hoping today was another day when the head librarian would stay behind. You sighed as you grabbed a small piece of rope and tied the now empty vine to the metal wires running through the row, preventing the vine from falling to the ground from its own weight.

You continued working for a few hours, time melting under the heat of the sun, until soon dusk began approaching and the people working alongside you started vacating the vineyard. You quickly left your place and began running through the rows of grapevines, hoping that if you were quick enough you’d reach the carriage of people heading towards the town to spend a few hours reading before heading home. As you made your way closer to the street, you shouted once and the coachman turned towards you before beaming once he recognised you.

“Ah, there you are! Come aboard!” Mirio gestured lively for you to join the other workers in the carriage once you reached him. “Going home?”

“No, town centre.”

Mirio’s smile faltered, making way for a concerned expression to slip through his bright one. “Again? At this time? It’s getting dark.”

“Aren’t you the sweetest for being worried about your friend?” You smiled. “I promise I’ll be home before long.”

Mirio sighed, but didn’t stop you as you climbed inside the carriage, squeezing next to the other workers. “You always say this. I’m not passing through the village until tomorrow afternoon, I won’t be able to take you home.”

When he didn’t hear you respond, he sighed and resigned to flicking the reins of the horse in front of him, starting towards the town centre. Along the way, people kept getting off at different points, in front of their houses, at crossroads, near taverns, until you were the only one left inside the carriage. Mirio was quiet, but he knew where you wanted to get off, so he didn’t stop until he reached the library. After all, this was not the first time you’d decided to come all the way here to read, borrow books or bring them back to search for others. He’d usually pass back on his way to his home in the village, so he’d collect you from near the library to take you home safely at the end of the day, but duty called for a detour tonight. The pang of guilt and worry that you’d be alone in the dead of night, far from home, could not be soothed by the roll of your eyes and your reassurance that you were a grown adult capable of making decisions for yourself. Nonetheless, you appreciated your friend’s worry, making it known as you bid him farewell and headed towards the dark oak doors of the library.

With a soft breath, you pulled the heavy door open, pleasantly surprised that it was not locked even as the sun began drifting towards the horizon, touching it and bathing the skies in oceans of red, purple and navy hues. You closed the door behind you, wincing at the way the old metal hinges creaked loudly in the silence of the library. You looked around and, once you noticed there was no one around, silently stepped further in, gliding through isles of bookshelves like a ghost, trying to keep your presence as hidden as possible. You couldn’t allow the librarian to see you after a day of work, covered in dirt and grime, again. Apologising too many times for the same issue like looking disheveled was tiring, even if he had told you it was not a problem.

With swift steps, you made your way through the library, grabbing books here and there, before settling at an empty table and opening one you had been reading in the past few days.

“Of Myths, Love and Desire,” the title read, golden on a cobalt blue cover. You gently brushed your fingers over the writing, feeling the protruding letters for what seemed like the hundredth time since you first laid your hand on the book. Next to it on the table, there were various books authored by different poets, all having one thing in common.

The creature that captured your attention.

When you first started reading poems a few months ago, after you had finished several fantasy books and were looking for something new to get lost into, they were describing the stone-heavy weight of heartbreak, the cold touch of sadness, the solitude that comes with reaching heights of knowledge that the average person couldn’t comprehend and the serenity of simply basking in the magic of nature. Steadily, the poems started to weave verses about love, about its purity and the vice-like grip it can have on a human’s heart. But then, something else bled through declarations of love and everlasting loyalty, slipping through the cracks of descriptions of sweet kisses and bashful hugs.

Desire.

And with it came him.

It started with a poem about a creature, a man, a star gliding down from the skies, visiting an innocent woman at night, slipping through the window of her chambers. Lovers, you found out, from the verse in which she latched onto his neck as he stole a kiss from her, happily inviting him into her bed.

Then another, this time from the woman’s perspective, about how her dreams were tormented by the handsome man, her body aching for his touch, unable to reach that sweet release without his help. She was begging the heavens for pity through heavy breaths, but received none.

And yet another, deemed a masterpiece by critics, as you’d read in the preface. A story following the journey of an evening star visiting the object of his affection at night after receiving her call. But this time, he was not there just for his own pleasure, or to drive her mad with lust. This time, he sought love, taking on various forms, divine and devilish alike, to please his lover, willing to give up on everything he was to be together with his love, but ultimately being rejected by reason that he belonged to a different world, the woman then seeking love in the arms of a mortal. You scoffed at that — how ridiculous to say no to such an opportunity — but you still checked the preface again to see just why these critics liked the poem so much, and you’d read about the myth there. About who they called “The One Who Flies”. You didn’t know what took over you when you scoured the bookshelves for more information about him, but that was when you found the book you now had open in front of you.

Soon enough, you hung onto every word. There were parts describing him as handsome and alluring, an otherworldly being fallen onto Earth to plant the seed of lust into humans. He’d visit them in their dreams and have them experience a pleasure so intense they would be driven to insanity, addicted to him to the point that only witches could ever save them from desire through spells and potions. Some sources described him as an incubus, some as a star or a personification of evil. You soon delved into the myth of Eros and Psyche, entranced by how love could ever be combined with something such as lust that you had been conditioned to find repulsive.

You thought back to a conversation you overheard between the men in the fields while working. The way they were describing the acts they wanted to perform on their partners had you scrunch up your nose in disgust at the vulgarity of their words. Who would’ve thought you’d find yourself in a library chair, clenching your thighs at the thought of having this mysterious creature perform the same acts on you? But in your fantasy, his smile wasn’t sleazy and condescending, it was warm and inviting. His touch wasn’t revolting or careless, it was calculated and scorching. His words weren’t distasteful, they were hypnotising as he’d whisper just how beautiful you look unravelling yourself to him, free for him to take you.

“You okay?”

You jumped in your seat, slamming the book shut and almost dropping it before you swallowed the dryness in your throat, painfully aware of how your core was pulsing in time with your heartbeat. You turned towards the voice and noticed the librarian staring at you, an eyebrow raised to emphasise his question.

“Aizawa,” you mindlessly said. “Y-yeah, I’m fine. I was just, uh, reading quickly before heading home.”

“You seemed pretty engrossed in what you’re reading.” He checked his pocket watch. “It’s almost half past midnight.”

You’d been daydreaming for that long?

Aizawa’s eyes shifted from you to the books on the table. He leaned in a bit to see the titles better and you instinctively covered the book you were just reading, afraid he’d somehow figure out what you were thinking. He leaned back into his position and sighed, but didn’t comment any further before he turned around and started walking towards the front desk.

“Come. I’ll add those books to your ‘borrowed’ list then take you home. It’s very late and we have to close the library.”

You hastily stood up and started gathering the books from the table. “Ah, I’m so sorry! I completely forgot to check the time and I saw nobody was here so…” you trailed off, feeling guilty as you followed Aizawa through the bookshelves.

He spared you a glance before speaking again, “No need to apologise, I was here until late, too.”

You were both silent for a while as you reached the desk and he pulled out a thick notebook from one of the drawers. Your name had its own few pages with the amount of books you had been borrowing for so long, so he easily found it and looked up at you, waiting for you to tell him the titles you’d be taking home this time. You looked at all the books and their titles, reading them out loud. “Anthology of Love Poems”, “Myths And Muses” and lastly, “Of Myths, Love and Desire”. You hugged the books close to your chest, looking away bashfully as Aizawa scribbled the titles and his signature on the paper. He quickly glanced at you from underneath his lashes, still hunched over the desk and writing, before he looked back at the notebook and spoke:

“You seem to be very interested in romance lately,” he noted, but it almost sounded like a question to you.

“Not really.” You shifted your weight from one leg to the other, ashamed that it may be obvious what you were thinking, but even though Aizawa seemed unconvinced, he didn’t push the matter further. You were thankful, of course, that you didn’t have to awkwardly find an explanation other than ‘I’ve been fantasising about a mythological creature for the past few months’, which you reckoned would make you sound insane. Not only that, but you were aware how having any sort of lewd thoughts was viewed by society and you didn’t want to ruin the relationship you had built with Aizawa over the months.

Before making your way outside of the old building, you watched Aizawa close the notebook and safely put it back in its place before walking around the library to extinguish the oil lamps that were still dimly illuminating the place. Once he was done and joined your side again, he held the door open for you and you thanked him gently as you walked outside, the old door creaking the same as before when Aizawa closed it, locking it with a padlock and shoving the key in the pocket of his coat. He offered to hold your books for you and you refused with a smile, telling him he doesn’t even need to walk you all the way home.

“Nonsense,” he dismissed. “I can’t have you walk alone at night. Especially since I’m going that way, too.”

You said nothing in return, since insisting wouldn’t do much to convince Aizawa anyway. For the rest of your walk the silence between you was filled by the sound of crickets and grasshoppers, a symphony accompanied by the soft rustling of the leaves in the night breeze. The crisp air was a welcome change from the blazing heat you had to endure all day, and you felt yourself relax, tiredness finally catching up with you. With how distracted and increasingly more exhausted you were, you almost forgot to stop walking once you reached the gate of your yard. You politely thanked Aizawa once again for walking you home and wished him a safe journey to his own house before turning around, starting towards the gate.

“You know,” you heard his voice call out from behind you and you turned to look at him. He paused for a second, as if carefully choosing his next words. “You’re one of the library’s regular visitors and I’m glad you’re so interested in learning. But just don’t let it stop you from taking care of yourself.”

You blinked and wondered if the exhaustion showed on your face that obviously. It was clear you had gone to the library right after working for almost a full day in the vineyard, but in your defense you weren’t really planning on bumping into Aizawa.

You smiled softly. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” And with a wave, you disappeared beyond the gate, reaching your front door and opening it softly to not wake up your family.

Quickly but quietly, you made your way through the house, finally completing your daily routine. After you left your books safely in your room on your desk, you grabbed your nightgown and bathed yourself at last, albeit with cold water since you didn’t have the time or patience to light a fire to warm it up. Thankfully, the midsummer air was warm enough to not have you shivering as you enjoyed the fragrance of the handmade soap you had bought from a new shop in the town centre. Even so, the cool water was not enough to distract you from the undercurrent of lust still buzzing under your skin.

Not wasting any time, you quickly dried yourself and put on your nightgown so you wouldn’t catch a cold. You threw out the water you used and soon found yourself at the window of your room, opening it to let in the fresh night air and the calming sounds of the night critters and rustling of leaves. You looked down and noticed the tulips in your garden were closed up, deep in slumber as you should’ve been. But instead, your gaze drifted higher, along the bark of a tree and up its branches, until it landed on the clear sky. And just like all your recent nights — if recent is what you can call a few months of longing — you stared at the stars for the thousandth time, memorising the constellations and wondering which one would be him.

It was ridiculous. You knew it. But looking around, the world you lived in just could not compare to the worlds painted by all the books you had read. The people, their ambitions, morals and motivations, would never instil that level of wonder and awe in you because all that you could see in real people were mere fragments and never the full picture.

And men would never know how to seduce you, nothing ever worked quite like the written word. Perhaps you were destined to die alone, a disappointing outcome for your family that had been attempting to convince you to find someone to marry for a few years.

Your feet carried you towards your bed, the wooden floorboards from under your window creaking from your movements. You let yourself fall unceremoniously on the bed, but instead of wallowing in self pity, your body had other needs that you had to take care of first, judging by the insistent pulse between your legs, only growing stronger the more you tried to wait it out. You groaned in frustration and let your hand glide over your chest, across your abdomen, caressing your thighs and eventually diving between them, finally soothing the ache you’d been feeling for hours. You wondered how this mythological man’s hands would feel on your skin. They said that the pleasure he’d induce would be so intense it would make you lose your mind, but maybe that was what you wanted, to finally lose it with no remorse.

Your fingers rubbed your clit faster before dipping inside your entrance, impatiently chasing your release. You wondered how his would feel like, how good they’d fill you up, how he’d reach all the right spots within you as his lips kissed you passionately, whispering poetic filth into your ear. Your pace got faster, a hand groping at your chest and shallow breaths leaving your lips as you tried to keep quiet, ashamed of how you spent your nights recently, overcome by desire and lost in your lewd thoughts.

Eventually, your back arched, the coil in your stomach releasing through pulses of pleasure as you retreated your hand and stared at the stars. In your state of temporary euphoria, you could’ve sworn they seemed to shine just a little bit brighter. You turned on your side, only one thought on your mind as your body melted into the bed and your eyelids grew heavier under the weight of exhaustion, a thought you absentmindedly voiced towards the sky as you drifted off to sleep.

“I wish you’d come to me…”

❈

Your sleep was peaceful, soft breaths accompanying the gentle breeze flowing through your open window, caressing your body and soothing your tired muscles. The stars shone brightly in the night sky, moonlight descending into your bedchamber and for a second, from the depth of your slumber, through your eyelids, you could see a ray of light shining brighter for just a moment, causing you to stir in your sleep. And soon, once the light died down, the floor beneath your window creaked.

At the sound, you cracked your eye open just a tiny bit, your vision blurry from you coming down from dreamland, but once you saw the figure of a man standing by your window, your body shot up, arms straightening and pushing you into a sitting position. You would’ve reached for something to use as a weapon, but realisation dawned on your face once you saw a pair of wings attached to his back. Whoever you were looking at was not human, and yet you somehow knew what he was, in the same way the absurdity of dreams seemed natural while lost in sleep. Perhaps that was what he was in that moment, a mirage your drowsy imagination crafted after months of yearning.

You stared at the man, dumbstruck, unable to comprehend how his presence was even possible. His blood red wings were neatly tucked behind him, his loose satin shirt showing off a part of his chest before the material disappeared into his dark trousers. He had a regal appearance, but upon examining his face, you noticed something less refined and more... animalistic. Far from the princely visage described in countless poems and myths. His golden eyes looked sharp, observant and almost glowing, his hair was blown back and messy, and his face was not clean shaven, evident stubble adorning his chin right under an easy-going smile.

However, if there was one accurate descriptor from all the books you’d read, it was that he was insanely handsome. But other than that, he didn’t look like a fallen angel nor like a lustful demon. Rather, his wings, the way his brows furrowed and the dark markings around his eyes reminded you of...

“... Hawks.”

You saw his smile falter for a second, his brows turning up in confusion. You quickly realised you were thinking out loud and cleared your throat, attempting to ease the awkwardness you created and to calm the restless beating of your heart. When did it even start beating faster?

“Sorry, it’s just... Your wings and eyes… They remind me of the hawks I see on the fields sometimes.”

You heard him chuckle and felt a wave of heat suddenly coursing through your veins at the sound.

“No need for an apology. I’d say that’s very creative. Humans usually tend to compare me to other types of creatures, but I quite like the sound of it. In fact, you sort of remind me of a bird, too.”

He slowly took a few steps into your room, his sharp eyes raking over your body, committing every detail of you to memory, from the way your nightgown hitched up your legs from how you moved in your sleep, draping over you body like a cloth hiding the enticing beauty of a sculpture, to how your tense shoulders seemed to relax, eyes looking up at him in awe and curiosity. His smile grew bigger.

“With how gentle and charming you look, that white gown you’re wearing… You remind me of a dove.”

The wave of heat now overtook you completely at the sound of the word and you shifted uncomfortably, a shiver breaking down your spine and only further serving to confuse you. You realised what — or rather who he was. You knew the kind of effect he could have on humans. And yet, you were still a little surprised at the foreign sensations that were manifesting. Your fantasies never managed to get you this flustered. Through your confusion and nervousness, you managed to find enough words to string together a question.

“What are you doing here?”

“I answered your call.”

There was a pause as you tried to understand the meaning of his words. “My call?”

“Yes,” he voiced softly. “You called for me, right as you dozed off to sleep, and I answered.”

His responses were matter-of-fact and you noticed how his gaze drifted over to the desk beside him, the books you borrowed laying neatly on its surface. He looked at them for a moment before turning his attention towards you again.

“I can sense it, you know?” He watched the confusion swirl in your eyes, a smile still steady on his face, but this time it wasn’t friendly and polite. It was seductive. “Your desire. It’s why I heard your call so clearly from the stars.”

You pursed your lips together, embarrassed that you were caught red handed, and for the first time since you laid your eyes on him, you looked away. You heard him chuckle softly and it only made your frown deepen.

“No need to be ashamed, dove. It’s completely natural.” His expression softened and he tilted his head to the side as he leaned on the edge of your desk and crossed his arms over his chest, accentuating the muscles beneath his shirt. “It’s a shame, really, how humans lie to themselves about their nature.”

Your eyes shifted back to him. “What do you mean?”

He vaguely gestured with his hand in the air. “Well, should a fish feel ashamed for craving water? Should a bird feel ashamed of its need to sing? Should a human who hasn’t eaten in days be ashamed of their hunger?” He saw you turn your attention fully to him, as if answering him with a silent ‘no, of course not.’ He placed his hand back across his chest. “Then tell me, why are humans so ashamed of sex?”

You gasped at his choice of words, but the way he was looking at you, almost amused at your reaction, told you he didn’t actually need an answer. Not that he gave you a chance to say anything before he continued talking.

“The brutes you live among only speak of the filthy side of love-making. They paint a disgusting picture that would turn any person away from it.” He took a moment to observe your reaction, and you could see his sharp eyes darken. “But you, dove, you understand there is beauty in an all consuming fire, don’t you?”

You pressed your thighs together as he lowered his voice, the question almost a whisper, and that was enough of an answer on your part. Your mind immediately stumbled into the gutter, the image of his scorching touch on your skin at the forefront, but you were hoping he didn’t notice the way you swallowed thickly at the thought.

He did.

“People try to keep innocent humans like you away from monsters like me, specifically to maintain that purity of yours,” he continued, attention shifting slightly as his fingers brushed over the golden title of the book from your desk. “But in doing so, they deny you a fundamental birthright that all humans have.”

You almost gasped when his eyes fell on you again. In the shadows, they almost seemed to be glowing, hypnotising you, calling for you to fall deeper into them until you got lost in him. Your breath caught in your throat the moment he spoke again, voice low and seemingly reverberating through your very soul, igniting a familiar warmth in your core.

“The right to pleasure.”

He pushed himself off the edge of the desk, taking slow steps until he was in front of you. You shifted, your legs neatly tucked under you as you watched him reach out his hand as an invitation.

“I’m here to help you reclaim that right, if you’ll let me.”

You looked at his hand, considering his offer. You thought back to all the nights when you had to go to sleep frustrated because you couldn’t satisfy yourself with just the thought of him and your hands, so it only took you a few seconds of hesitation before you reached out, placing your hand in his. Your lips parted slightly in wonder as you felt the warm tips of his fingers glide from your palm to your wrist, feeling your skin. You were suddenly overcome by the urge to touch more of him.

He looked at you, observing the way you gently brushed your fingers across his wrist and palm. From the touch, the fact that he was indeed real and not just a figment of your imagination sunk in even more.

“Can you stand up for me, dove?”

You complied as he gently pulled you up by your hand, stepping on the wooden floor and closing the distance between you enough that your bodies were almost touching.

Suddenly, a few feathers detached from his wings and flew around you, pressing softly into your back and pushing you into him. You gasped as the distance between you closed abruptly, looking around at the feathers in surprise at how something that looked so soft and lightweight could have that much strength. Your eyes met his again in a silent question, and he smiled.

“I can control each feather,” his voice was soft and his warm breath fanned over your lips as he spoke. You felt your neck and face warm up at the closeness and his smile turned smug. “They can also do this.”

Swiftly, a feather climbed up to your chest and hardened like a blade, slashing the string holding the collar of your nightgown together and letting the fabric loosen on your shoulders. You gasped and quickly grabbed it before it could slide down any further and reveal more of your chest. Shooting him an indignant look, you frowned when he laughed softly at your reaction.

“Don’t worry,” he said, voice low as his hands climbed up to your elbows then found your waist, gently rubbing your sides. “You won’t be needing this gown for long.”

His lips brushed yours tentatively, and when you didn’t pull away, he fully leaned in to kiss you softly. He gently guided you, making note of your reactions. You enjoyed the feeling, it was as relaxing as it was exciting, and you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him even closer. This only encouraged him to fully snake his arms around your waist, caressing your back and holding you flush against him. After a few seconds, he pulled away so you could both catch your breaths, before diving in again, this time allowing his tongue to carefully brush across your lower lip. You opened your mouth to grant him access and he deepened the kiss, tilting his head so he could caress your tongue with his.

Your breathing got heavier as the kiss went on, only becoming more fervent by the second. Your fingers dug into his shirt as you tried to follow and mirror his movements, but your mind was becoming foggy, hot blood surging through your veins and heating up your skin. Before you knew it, a small sound of enjoyment left your throat, one of your hands getting lost into his soft hair and the other holding onto his shoulder as if he would slip away at any moment.

Despite your desperate movements, he was in no rush, savouring your taste and each sharp breath you’d intake, each sound, each flutter of your eyelashes when you looked at him as he pulled away for air. How lucky to have a beauty such as yourself in his arms.

“Would you let me take this off?” He gently pulled at the fabric of your nightgown and you wondered for a second if he was just asking to be polite and give you the opportunity to refuse. You didn’t dwell on the thought, instead sliding the gown off your shoulders and letting it pool around your feet, shivering at the cool air touching your goosebump-covered skin. Maybe you should’ve felt shy being exposed in only your underwear, but something in the way his lust-filled eyes flickered with a certain warmth made you feel like you didn’t need to hide. Just as you imagined, his gaze wasn’t devouring in the way you were used to: having men look at you with an appetite one would attribute to mere prey. Beyond the hunger swirling in his amber eyes was a clear appreciation for you, as if he was the one honoured that you allowed him so close to you, closer than anyone before.

His gaze drifted across your body, taking you in much like an aesthete would take in a masterpiece, admiring every detail of your curves and edges, every flaw that made you real, until his eyes met yours again. He reached out and tucked a stray hair behind your ear, the act feeling a lot more intimate now that you were bare in front of him, his for the taking.

His hands found your waist again and he gently guided you backwards until the back of your legs touched the edge of the bed. You heard his whispered request for you to lie down and you followed, lowering yourself on the mattress so you were comfortably lounging on it, arms on either side of your head. He grasped one of your hands and brought it up to his lips, kissing your knuckles and moving upwards leisurely, kissing your wrist, the inside of your elbow, your upper arm, reaching your shoulder and making his way to your neck. You tried to mask a moan and your increasing nervousness with a laugh.

“You’re taking your time,” you noted, voice shaky.

He laughed shortly. “The night is young and I want to enjoy you for as long as I can.” He kissed your collarbone and moved to your other shoulder, his hands running up and down your sides. “I want to see, feel and taste every part of you.”

You gulped and before you could say anything else, his mouth moved to kiss your neck. His tongue darted out, licking your hot skin and nipping softly at it before moving lower and lower, eventually reaching your chest. He kissed and bit softly at the flesh until his lips closed around your nipple, licking and sucking gently, his hand gliding down your side to reach your thigh and press it closer to him. After a few seconds, he kissed his way to your other nipple, his tongue circling it and his other hand caressing your skin, moving upwards and kneading your chest. Your sighs of pleasure spurred him on, and with your hands combing through his messy hair, he continued lower, across your stomach, reaching your thighs and offering them the same affectionate treatment. The feeling of his hot tongue on your skin and the slight sting of his stubble contrasting it was gradually pulling you deeper into lust, your muscles tensing once his teeth gently grazed the flesh of your inner thigh before sinking in to leave a mark which he then soothed with a kiss. You were becoming restless, unconsciously tugging at his hair to urge him to give you what you really wanted, but he continued his torturously slow pace and deliberate touches, determined to get you to use your words to guide him.

“Hawks,” your whisper was almost desperate as he nipped at your skin.

The corner of his lips turned up at the sound of the nickname you had granted him. “Yes?”

The words you wanted to string together in an answer were there, locked away behind your shame and embarrassment. You were already almost fully naked in front of him and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to voice your desires for fear of what he might think. It was ridiculous, you thought — he was there for your pleasure, after all — but that didn’t ease your worry when you got all tongue tied trying to respond, to request something of him, to demand more. Your silence must’ve given away your hesitation, because he stilled his movements and raised his head slightly to look at you.

“You can tell me, I’m here for you. I’ll do anything you want me to.”

Anything. What a tempting word uttered by an even more tempting mouth. You knew exactly where you wanted it.

You brushed his hair back and softly tugged him forward, closer to your core. He got the hint and his sharp eyes narrowed, putting up a slight bit of resistance with a smug smile to see just how far you’d go.

“Hawks,” you repeated firmly, starting to get frustrated.

“Yes?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I need your tongue on me.”

“I know.”

You had no time to be annoyed when two of his feathers detached from his wings to rip the last piece of cloth remaining between the two of you to shreds, finally revealing your dripping cunt to his hungry eyes. You would’ve closed your legs at the intensity of his gaze, had they not been kept spread wide open by a few more feathers so he could properly drink in the display. You thought you just imagined the wicked glint in his eyes when they flickered to your flustered face, but any doubt about it was soon wiped away when you felt yet another feather join the others by swiping across your heat, eliciting a gasp from you.

“You’ll have my tongue where you want it in due time.” He leaned back, supporting his weight with his arms, to stare at your whole body. “Until then, I’d like to enjoy this a little longer.”

You let out a soft moan at the sudden feeling of his feathers on your body. Their touch was firmer than you expected, and aided by how hot and sensitive your skin felt, each touch was more intense than the last. He concentrated the most movement against your clit and your nipples, listening to every sound you made, watching every reaction and minute change in your expression to properly adjust his speed and pressure. He tilted his head, eyes trained on you, but you couldn’t keep yours open from his intense scrutiny and from how your mind was slowly losing control, sinking into pleasure. Between blinks, as you were avoiding direct eye contact, you noticed the tent in his trousers and the fine sheen of sweat glinting in the moonlight across the part of his chest that was exposed. You noted how he was still fully dressed and for some reason, having him watch you like this, hypnotised, focused only on you, brought a shiver down your spine, goosebumps blooming across your skin as you threw your head back when he touched you just right.

“So gorgeous,” you heard him breathe out. “So good for me.”

Through the haze of your mind melting, you could only manage to let out a strangled laugh. “Shouldn’t I be doing something, too?”

He chuckled and sped up his feather’s movement against your clit, pushing it harder into you and occasionally teasing your soaking entrance. With a yelp, you reached down reflexively to stop it before two new feathers joined the fray and pinned your hands on either side of your body as you arched your back.

“You don’t need to do anything,” he said, voice low and dripping with desire. “Like I said, I’m here for you. Tonight is about you, so don’t hold back.”

“I-I don’t know…” you muttered. You didn’t have any plan on where to go with the sentence, a million thoughts rushing through your mind so fast they were melding together into a cacophony that was slowly being overtaken by the growing pleasure in the pit of your stomach. Your hips started to move on their own, walls clenching around nothing, and through your foggy vision you could see Hawks, his lips parted and chest raising and falling with each shaky breath he took. His pupils were blown wide, entranced by the way your body moved under his feathers. When they flickered upwards to look at your face, you let out a loud moan and he gripped the sheets at the sound, swallowing his saliva.

“You don’t need to know, you don’t need to think. You just need to feel.” His hand brushed against his thigh, travelling higher to palm at his erection. “Just do whatever comes naturally.”

Your heels dug into the mattress, fingers gripping the sheets beneath you and lips parting to let soft moans flow out of your throat at the feeling of his feathers running over your sensitive spots. The sound of his sighs of pleasure only pushed you further towards the edge, aching for release.

“I can feel it,” he said in a low, raspy voice, and your blurry vision shifted towards him with a questioning look. “My feathers. I can feel through them. I can feel how wet you are for me.”

He leaned forward, hands caressing the back of your thighs and taking the place of his feathers, keeping you spread for him as he stared at the one working on your clit. He lowered his head, retracting his feather and inhaling your intoxicating scent, heaving a shaky sigh across your bare skin which sent a chill down your spine. His tongue darted out and he gave you a soft lick with its tip, pulling a sound of surprise out of your chest before he pressed his tongue flat against your core and properly tasted you. A groan rumbled in his chest, reverberating on your heat as he fervently licked at your entrance, occasionally sucking on your clit. Your thighs shook, muscles tensing when the tip of his tongue pushed past your entrance to fuck you, his nose brushing against your clit.

“You taste so good,” his voice was muffled and breathy from between your legs. “A whole eternity I’ve been deprived of this, fuck. I can’t get enough of you, dove.”

The lewd sounds he was making as he fucked you with his tongue and tasted you like a man starved should’ve embarrassed you, but you were too far gone to care about anything but reaching your climax. Soon, your walls fluttered around his tongue, back arching as the tension in your stomach snapped, sending a tidal wave of pleasure across your body. You shivered in his arms and he groaned at your release, lapping up everything you had to offer him until the shaking in your muscles subsided.

As you were coming down from the clouds of euphoria, he opted for planting sweet, soothing kisses across your thighs. Once you calmed down enough to look at him, he smiled up at you.

“Was that good?” Still catching your breath, you could only nod at him. “I’m glad. Do you want to stop here?”

You were silent for a moment, weighing your options and their outcomes. You had been fantasising about this moment for so long it would be foolish to stop. Besides, his touch, his voice, the way he looked at you made you feel like refusal couldn’t be an option in any circumstance. Softly, you shook your head and his smile widened. You could’ve sworn his eyes shone just a little bit brighter in the moonlight.

His fingers brushed across your cheek. “I’m afraid you’ll have to tell me exactly how you’d like me to continue, then.”

You stammered, trying to find the right words to respond. You swallowed the lump in your throat that was locking away your voice and looked at Hawks, placing your now free hands on either side of his face to run your fingers across his cheeks.

“Hawks,” you spoke, gathering the confidence you needed to make your demand. This time, it was easier to find the right words, and you briefly wondered if his powers had something to do with how bold you were feeling. “I want you to fuck me.”

His wings fluttered from behind him as he licked his lip. “How vulgar,” he teased, mouth brushing against yours. “I really like it when you use your words, dove. Why don’t you keep letting me know how good I’m making you feel with that pretty voice of yours, hm?”

His fingers brushed against your cunt, rubbing your clit, and you gasped at the sensation. He closed the distance between you and kissed you passionately, his chest pressed against yours, the smooth fabric of his shirt rubbing on your sensitive nipples as you wrapped your arms around his neck to hold him close. You could taste yourself on his tongue and your head was spinning once again, hips jerking once he teased your entrance.

“So responsive,” he noted, not pulling away from your mouth. “Makes me want to see all of your reactions.”

One of his fingers slowly pushed inside you and you realised you were right: your fingers could never compare to his. He pumped slowly, teasingly, revelling in your kiss and the sounds he was pulling from you with each movement. He pushed another finger in as you attempted to move your hips in search for more friction, but his weight was holding you down and forcing you to accept the pace he set. You whined into his mouth and he chuckled, pulling away from the kiss slightly.

“Impatient, are we?”

“Please, Hawks!”

“Already begging and I haven’t even started. How greedy.” He leaned in and planted a kiss against your ear. “If you’re so pliant now when I’ve only gotten my fingers inside you, I wonder what you’ll do once I properly fuck you with my cock.” You let out a soft noise as your walls clenched around his fingers in anticipation. He groaned and cursed under his breath at the feeling. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Fot me to fuck you nice and deep, feed into that need you’ve been feeling for so long?”

He licked at your earlobe and left a sloppy kiss under your ear as you moaned. You gripped his shirt and pulled at it, desperate to feel his skin on yours. “Take it off, wanna feel you.”

He chuckled and you watched as a few feathers detached from his wings to help pull the shirt off of him, not even attempting to pull his hand away from your cunt. Instead, he slowly added one more finger to get you used to the stretch and you groaned as the slight sting soon turned into pleasure. You ran your hands over his abdomen, across his chest, rubbing his shoulders and eventually getting lost in his unruly hair, pulling him into another all-consuming kiss. His hot skin pressed against yours was driving you mad, the movement of his fingers in you was relaxed, just enough to have you on the brink of an orgasm but not letting you fall over the edge.

You whined again, out of breath. The sloppy sound of his fingers rubbing between your folds, the way he was occasionally curling them to reach your sweet spot and his low groans were sending you into a frenzy of irritation and arousal. You moved your hips again, hungry for more friction, and you detached your lips from his with a wet pop.

“Hawks, stop,” you breathed out, voice high with desire.

“Stop?” His movements stilled immediately, only for you to groan loudly and buck back into his fingers, digging your nails into his shoulder blades and leaving red marks on his skin. He bit his lip and smiled, knowing they’d soon be a reminder of your night together.

“You know that’s not what I meant!” your voice was exasperated as you felt your cunt pulse and clench, so close yet so far. “Stop teasing!”

The low chuckle vibrating in his chest made you shiver as he resumed his slow pace, your mouth opening in pleasure.

“I don’t think I’ll let this happen so easily. I love getting you all hot and bothered like this.” He grunted and fucked his fingers into you deeper, earning a sweet moan from you. He deliberately pulled all the way out from you before slowly pushing back inside to amplify the squelching sounds of your cunt. You felt your face burn in embarrassment. “Mm, do you hear that? Do you hear how wet you are for me? I bet I could slide right in.”

You finally gave in to your self-consciousness and covered your face with your hands, trying to hide away from him. He chuckled softly, finding your shyness adorable, and slowly moved your hands with his free one so he could give you a charming smile as he watched that cute expression of yours. He leaned his forehead against yours and pulled his fingers out of you, earning a soft whine of disapproval from you as he gripped your hips.

“Do you still want me to fuck you, pretty bird? Want me to make that ache of yours go away?” You felt the head of his cock rub against your entrance and you gasped. “I promise I’ll make you feel so good.”

You nodded quickly, too impatient and lost in pleasure to use your words, and he slowly pushed into you. A scream got caught in your throat at the stretch and he buried his face into your neck, groaning at how divine you felt around him. After a few shallow pumps in and out to get you accustomed with his intrusion, he finally bottomed out and let you catch your breath before he set a steady pace, raising his head to watch your face contort in pleasure and scanning for any sign of discomfort.

Your hands went to his back as you moaned, leaving a new set of scratches on his shoulder blades to which his wings fluttered. His chest was pressed into yours, allowing him to feel your frantic heartbeat. He felt so good inside you, filling you up and hitting all the right places which you never even hoped to reach. The new sensations were too much to bear, and soon you bit on his shoulder as you came around him hard, your walls clenching on his length. He groaned at the feeling and didn’t give you a single moment of respite , wrapping his arms around your legs and throwing them on his shoulders, pressing you deeper into the mattress as he continued his pace.

“C’mon, dove,” he rasped, his voice breathless and dripping with desire as he pressed his lips onto yours. “Can you hold on just a little longer? For me?”

Your mind and body were melting, jolts of electricity surging through your now tired muscles. Your blood felt like liquid fire as your heart pumped it through you in a frenzy, and from the amalgam of sensations you felt the gentle touch of one of his feathers on your clit. Your back arched and the room felt like it was either floating or simply disintegrating around you — you couldn’t even tell anymore. Your vision was a kaleidoscope of moonlight and crimson red, specks of golden light from his hair and spellbound eyes coming in and out of focus as your eyes fought to stay open. By the time you felt him release inside of you, filling you with warmth, you had already lost count of how many times you came, pleasure bubbling under your skin and reaching deep within the marrow of your bones like boiling magma under the earth.

Exhausted, you felt him rise from you, pulling out, and you frowned at the sudden feeling of emptiness he left behind, the cool air of the night now directly hitting your sweat covered body and making you shiver. He quickly pulled you into his arms and wrapped his wings around you to shield you from the cold, pressing his lips to the top of your head and muttering sweet praises through soft kisses.

He stood there for a few minutes until he was positive you were dozing off, then pulled up the covers to tuck you in, retreating from your arms. You frowned in your sleep and stirred, letting out a small groan which he shushed softly, caressing your hair in a reassuring manner. You heard him shuffle around your room and you were more than happy to just let him mind his own business. After all, you were far too tired to question his actions and just wanted to let yourself fall into a deep, relaxing slumber.

Hawks walked around the bed, watching as you finally settled into a comfortable position, your breathing back to its steady rhythm. His gaze shifted towards your desk once again and he couldn’t help but open one of the books. When he was met with sugary declarations of devotion and filthy love-making laid down onto paper in verses, their main focus being the myth describing him, he couldn’t help the smile that spread on his lips. Oh, sweet dove. Your yearning truly knew no bounds.

Silence surrounded you for what felt like a few minutes, broken only by the soft sounds of your breathing. You almost thought he had already left before you heard the shuffling of his feathers dragging on your floor as you fully gave into your exhaustion and fell asleep. He climbed on your windowsill, stopping for a moment before he looked back at your sleeping form over his shoulder, his wings obstructing the lower half of his face, allowing only his eyes to peek over, alight with warmth.

“Sleep well, dove,” he whispered one last time before light engulfed him and soon enough, he was just a ray of feathers and light growing distant in the night sky.

❈

You must have gone insane.

Basked in the late morning sun, you stared incredulously at the nightgown that was covering your body. Your hands went up for what was probably the third time to check the string was actually still intact and snugly tied across your chest. You pulled up the bottom of the gown, checking your underwear — untouched, not even a hint of a tear. And the parts where your skin should’ve been blooming with bruises from love bites were the same as they were the previous morning, blank. Like nothing ever happened.

Just what the hell were you dreaming?

You brought your face into your hands, screaming internally as the images from what you assumed happened last night, but now weren’t so sure anymore, kept flooding your mind. You bit your lip to stop a smile from showing, torn between the shame of having offered yourself so unabashedly to what was essentially a stranger and the excitement still buzzing beneath your skin at how incredibly good it felt. You slowly slid your hands over your arms and sides, following the searing trail his hands had danced across the night before. Every word and every touch felt too vivid not to tremble at the mere thought. You wondered if it was all really just a dream. And if it wasn’t, you wondered if he would come again.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by the familiar sound of Mirio’s voice calling for you at the front gate, offering warm greetings to whatever relative of yours was outside in the yard and explaining he came to pick you up for work. You scrambled to get ready, but as you stepped outside your house your movements were mechanical, going through the motions of your established routine. Mirio tried to start a light conversation with you, but you seemed lost in thought, distracted. He frowned slightly when it became obvious that you only registered around half of the words he was telling you, almost worried that something might have happened after he dropped you off at the library the night before. An apology settled on the tip of his tongue but he swallowed it back, opting to leave you be for the time being. You did seem to have just woken up recently, after all, hair still unruly and eyes half lidded with tiredness.

The rest of your day was a blur, thoughts centred on only one thing — only one person — ignoring the majority of small talk your fellow workers tried to initiate. You worked as if possessed, joined the masses as they left the field at the end of the day like a lost soul and rushed to your bedroom at night, grabbing your books and opening them, scanning the pages for the thousandth time. Still, it was not enough, so you laid back into your bed like all other nights, except this time you once again stared at the sky as you drifted off to sleep, calling for him.

And he once again descended for you.

You were insatiable, and his visits soon became a routine. During the day you sought him out through pages of poems and your own thoughts as you worked and worked, awaiting the time you’d finally return home to his embrace at night. He was willing to offer you whatever you demanded, letting you use him as you saw fit to explore and learn, to feel and consume, to defile and be defiled. A safe haven for all your fantasies to manifest.

You finally understood why all women were described as addicted to him in all the books you read. How could one not be? Even when you closed your eyes you could still see his warm expression, his sharp eyes staring into your soul, you could still feel the faint trace of his fingers on your skin and the sweet sting of pleasure and yearning between your legs where he spent most nights.

He began to see it, too. That sweet, sometimes teasing smile you’d turn towards the stars when you leaned on your windowsill, knowing he could see you. Your kisses and touches got bolder and more confident with each passing night. You should’ve been the one under his spell, and yet there he was, smiling dumbly at you and every expression of yours, every movement, every word.

He should’ve treaded more carefully.

How many nights had it been already? Ten? A hundred? A thousand? He didn’t keep count, a being cursed with eternity never does. And yet, he kept finding himself counting the seconds until he got to see you again in the dead of night. Days became agony, when in the past they’d used to pass in the blink of an eye, now they felt like the infinite void he was all too familiar with. He realised how deep he’d gotten himself when he spared a glance from the skies to check on you, quickly making a daily habit of observing you in your element, learning your routine and all the people you were close to. When he saw you next to Aizawa on yet another nightly walk to your home from the library, he couldn’t deny the pain that clutched at his heartstrings and pulled until he once again descended into your bedchamber at your call.

He could never deny you. He could never turn his back to your comforting touch, could never turn his face away from your sweet kisses, could never refuse to hold you until you fell asleep in his arms. You were too tempting, too sweet, too lovable to reject. Too unattainable. And he was too selfish.

After having spent so long mapping your body with his hands and lips like the atlas of heaven, his fantasies began evolving into more than just you chanting his name from under him as he claimed you yet again like the lustful beast he was. In the hours spent anticipating the time you’d beckon him again he liked to imagine you telling him about your day, about your happiness and sorrow, talking to him about your favourite books and all the characters that you loved, introducing him to all facets of your being that he couldn’t possibly have met while tangled in the sheets. He started to ask more personal questions at the outset of your encounters, to leave sweet notes attached to his feathers on your desk so you could wake up to them in the morning. He started craving more than just your body and your attention.

But he knew humans were creatures capable of finding boredom even in the most exciting of things once they became routine, and he couldn’t condemn you to an eternity of being by his side. After all, lust could only fuel your relationship so far before you’d crave stability and love. You deserved better than that, you deserved to be with a human that could make you happy, someone that could understand your wants and needs. Someone like Aizawa.

He watched with a frown as you opened the gate and bid farewell to Aizawa, who watched you until you were safely inside your home before he continued his walk back home. You looked exhausted once you called him to join you under the covers, immediately clinging onto him and burying your face in his neck, kissing and nipping at his skin. He wanted to tell you to stop and rest, but whenever he did so in the past you’d just ignore him or silence him with a kiss. He had to bite his tongue every time — he was there for you, after all. A tool like many others so you could relax and experience highs like never before.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t worried sick about you.

He knew what being exposed to him for so long could do to the human mind. He also knew you knew, with how much you had read about him. You were showing symptoms that people around you began to point out. Exhaustion, inability to focus for too long, lack of appetite. You were sick, but you didn’t care to notice it, not when your family called the village doctor to check on you, not when Mirio kept bringing you food at work each day with a worried expression, not when Aizawa banned you from being in the library after a certain hour so you wouldn’t collapse, not even when Hawks kept looking at you with a concerned frown whenever he’d enter your room and hesitating to even approach you.

Soon, hours melted away and you fell asleep in his arms after yet another night of being all over each other. He softly ran his fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp, and stared at the books on your desk with a cold expression.

History was just repeating itself.

He realised that if he doesn’t soon stop, he’d end up with a broken heart or worse, with you losing your mind. So he stood up and plucked one of his feathers to use as a quill, and sat at your desk to leave you one last note. A request of sorts, but more so a promise. He wanted to give you a choice before it was too late.

After he carefully laid down his words onto the paper, he stood up and spared you a glance, eyes shadowed by sadness. He turned towards your window and the floorboards creaked as he took flight into the night sky. His red feather remained on the desk, on top of his note, a confession weaved through verses of an oath he didn't have the heart to not take. At the end of the day, he may have been an eternal being superior to humans, but he was still weak, always crumbling at your feet. Always wanting more.

Endlessly, my love endures,

My soul, mind and body yours.

Your love a cure, your name a prayer

Soothing the curse I must bear.

Though I’m far, your presence lingers,

The gentle touch of your soft fingers,

The promise of your voice tomorrow

Lulling away all my sorrow.

Endlessly, our love endures,

My existence claimed as yours,

And may our stars align

I will come to claim what’s mine.

❈

“I wish to be rid of my eternity.”

“Spare me your asinine jokes, Keigo.”

Hawks frowned, raising his wings and fluttering them quick enough to close the distance between him and the imposing man sitting on a velvet chair at the far end of the hall they were in. The marble floors reflected the multicoloured light bleeding through the stained glass windows, making the chandelier held up by chains on the tall ceiling glint a stunning rainbow. The man, engulfed by flames, fixed Hawks with a cold, unimpressed look, his muscular arms crossed over his chest. Hawks simply mirrored his stare.

“Does it look like I’m just joking, Endeavour?”

“I can never tell when it comes to you.”

“As if,” he scoffed. “Don’t look at me like I’m merely a child throwing a tantrum. I know very well what I’m doing.”

“No, you don’t,” the man’s voice resounded through the hall. He stood up and snarled at Hawks, his eyes narrowing. “You’re a fool, you’re letting yourself get carried away by a mortal. Have you forgotten your purpose?”

“You mean my curse?”

Endeavour sighed, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “Call it what you want. You still can’t deny that a being like you has no business walking among mortals. You know very well that our worlds are far too divergent to work out.”

“That’s for me to worry about. You just need to let me go.”

“You’re talking as if I want to keep you here,” he scrunched his nose. “Could use the peace and quiet of your absence, but we can’t all have what we want.”

“Then I’ll take my leave.”

He turned around and raised his wings again, ready to take off, before Endeavour’s voice rang behind him:

“And just what is your plan, Keigo? You know you can’t undo eternity. Turning you into a mortal is an impossible feat even for me.”

“That may be true, but the opposite isn’t.”

“So you’re just going to curse a human? Is that it?”

Hawks grit his teeth, his frown deepening. He dug his fingers in his palm. “I thought you called it a purpose.”

The flames burning across Endeavour’s body flared up. He glared at Hawks, completely done with the pointless back and forth they were having.

“And what will you do when her mind can’t comprehend it?” He took a step towards Hawks, letting his arms drop to his sides. “What will you do when she goes insane from the responsibility and suffering that comes with being immortal?”

Hawks’s shoulders slumped slightly and he looked down at the ground, towards the place where you most likely were, below the skies. Endeavour knew. He knew about you and your encounters, and he knew about Hawks’s infatuation with you. But the life of immortals was ruthless by default.

He had grown accustomed to Hawks's habit of frolicking amongst humans. He was aware of the way Hawks would cure his boredom and loneliness by joining mortals in their beds, often ending in heartbreak on one side or the other. The roles of spirits such as them were never enough of an excuse for how dreadful it was to roam the Earth in isolation until the end of time.

He took one more step towards Hawks, his tone still stern.

“Wouldn’t it be better for everyone if you just let her live her life next to another mortal? I’m sure she’d be happier.” Hawks narrowed his eyes. “Just give up, Keigo. Being with her is impossible, you already know this. She’s not the first mortal you fell in love with and she won’t be the last.”

Hawks turned towards Endeavour abruptly, his wings unfurling. With the way his pupils dilated and eyes widened, he looked almost predatory.

“That’s not for you to decide.”

Endeavour didn’t flinch and continued to look at Hawks with the same unfazed glare. Even as he turned back around and spread his wings, taking flight as a beam of light onto the sky and disappearing like lightning, he didn’t stop him. Nothing could.

Nothing except you.

But you were unaware of what Hawks was thinking, none the wiser even after reading his note over and over again. At first you found it sweet, romantic, a slight shiver finding its way down your spine from how delighted you were at his confession. His notes were always sweet, but they were always focused on compliments towards you, rarely ever hinting at how he felt.

But once he stopped visiting you the day he left that note, you began to look at it differently. Perhaps you overstepped? Was your lust so powerful that even a roving spirit known for indulging in carnal sins got overwhelmed? Maybe he got bored of you and all your fantasies. Maybe you didn’t satisfy him the way he did for you. But then why leave a note basically offering himself to you? You didn’t understand and it frustrated you.

You found yourself spending more time at the library, avoiding Aizawa so he wouldn’t immediately tell you to go home and rest. You tried to read and reread any books you could find about the myth of The Flyer, anything that would tell you how his encounters with humans would end. You already knew that all humans visited by the spirit would seek help in banishing him from someone with expertise in the paranormal before they were consumed by insanity, but nothing was ever said about the spirit leaving on his own accord.

Were you really that off-putting?

You shook your head, clearing your mind of your insecurities and stood up to leave the library empty handed and with more questions than answers.

It had already been three weeks since Hawks stopped visiting you and you were starting to feel the coldness of your bed creep into your heart as well. The notes he left were all carefully kept in a notebook that you often opened whenever your longing for his presence got too unbearable. You were going through phases, at first you were confused, then you spent a few nights crying yourself to sleep at how he suddenly disappeared. You experienced anger, going up on a quiet hill in the dead of night to shout your frustrations to the skies, hoping he was still there, still watching over you. Your symptoms were supposed to be getting better after not interacting with him for so long, but instead they just progressively got worse. Your energy was constantly drained and you had no power to even pretend to be okay anymore. The one figment of a fictional world that you were able to experience and now he was gone, like a simple mirage in a desert that disappears once you get too close, leaving you to live a boring, unfulfilling life once again.

You realised this was more than just the thrill of having a supernatural creature want you when you found yourself missing his embrace after a particularly bad nightmare. You didn’t care about your physical desires anymore, they were extinguished to mere dying embers when you reached the conclusion that he may never come back. The ache in your core was quickly replaced by the ache in your heart and the jarring realisation that you were in love.

You missed him. His smile, his voice, his curious questions about your mundane life, his embrace, his warm eyes…

So you found yourself back at the top of the hill in the middle of the night when everyone else was sleeping, staring at the sky with a slight frown in your brow and biting softly on your lip. You paced around, unsure of how to start and what to say.

After a few moments, you stopped in your tracks and let out a heavy sigh. “Hawks… if you’re out there, I won’t ask you to come back. I’m just asking you to listen.” You looked down at your hands, your fingers intertwining in a nervous gesture before you looked back up at the stars. “I’m sorry if I did or said anything wrong. My intention wasn’t to push you away. It never was. I just…” A tear threatened to spill from your lashes as your voice cracked. You quickly composed yourself. “I just miss you. And I don’t mean your body or what we did together. I miss you. And if I never get to see you again, I just need you to know that… I love you. No matter how foolish or insane I sound for saying this, I have to get it off my chest. Even if I know you won’t ever feel the same.”

A light suddenly shone from the sky, reaching in front of you in less than a second like a thunderbolt. You flinched back and shielded your eyes from the brightness, slowly opening them and widening them at the sight before you.

Hawks was standing there, the same concerned look he had in the previous nights he visited you plastered on his face, pulling his brows in a frown. And yet, his eyes were kind, warm, looking at you with the kind of affection one grants the person they missed the most. You mindlessly took a few hurried steps towards him and he met you halfway with open arms, catching you and holding you close to him as you both wrapped your arms around each other. You clutched his shoulders, fingers digging into his shirt as if he would disappear the moment your hold on him were to waver.

“I’m sorry, dove,” his voice was soft, quiet enough for only you to hear. “I can’t do this to you.”

“What?”

Confused, you tried to pull back but his hand kept your head pressed against his shoulder. He couldn’t look you in the eyes without breaking, so he chose to avoid your gaze instead.

“I can’t keep doing this to you, it’s too dangerous. Eventually it’ll wear you out. You’ve seen the signs, you know the effect a creature like me has on a human,” his voice shook as he took in a breath. “If anything happens to you because of me, I might go mad. I would never forgive myself. We have to stop meeting like this. We have to stop.”

Your lip trembled and you gripped the fabric of his shirt tighter, wrinkling it between your fingers. His hold on you tightened ever so slightly when he felt that.

“You’re not even going to acknowledge what I just said?”

It was his turn to be confused. This time he didn’t stop you when you pulled away. Your glossy eyes and defeated expression pulled at his heartstrings and he had to resist the urge to kiss your sadness away.

You spoke up again, your voice shaky, “I said I love you. I love you, Hawks, I…” you trailed off, your eyes searching his for any hope to cling onto. “This is more than just lust for me and I don’t care if it ruins me because the alternative is a million times worse.”

“Dove-”

“One night,” you quickly cut him off. “One more night is all I ask for. We don’t have to do anything, I just need you here with me.” You leaned your forehead against his and ran your fingers through the soft tufts of hair at the back of his head. He visibly gulped. “Please, stay with me.”

Any shred of self control and willpower dissolved the moment those whispered words left your sweet lips. He closed the gap between you and kissed you with hunger and desperation, pulling you so flush against him that it seemed he wanted to become one with you, to burrow in your bones and spend the rest of his eternity within your heart.

He started muttering between kisses, each heated peck accentuated by declarations of “I love you”, “I don’t deserve you”, “I don’t want to hurt you”, “I’m scared.” He was pouring his vulnerability into your lungs with each stroke of his tongue, each hot breath mingling with yours, each caress of his hand on your back, and you gently cradled his face in your hands, urging him to slow down and pull away so you could look at him.

“I’m not scared,” you said softly, rubbing your thumbs on his cheeks soothingly. You smiled at him. “As long as I’m with you, I’m not scared of anything.”

He looked at you like you were a deity showing itself to a sinner to offer mercy, holding you like you were a treasure, his entire world. Of all humans he had met and laid with, you were the only one who didn’t turn away in disgust and fear after a while. The only one who leaned into his touch and didn’t think of him as a filthy beast that eats hearts for breakfast before throwing the humans away like used tools. The only one who didn’t run the opposite way and banished him so they could be free of his temptations and instead love other mortals like them.

The only one who ever returned his feelings.

He leaned in once again, kissing you like a promise, a vow of his love for you. He was desperate, pulling at your clothes, his forcefulness enough to have you lose your footing until he gently lowered you on the dewy grass, pulling away so he could look into your beautiful eyes again.

“Swear yourself to me,” he requested, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I know a monster like me has no right to ask an angel like you this, but I'm all yours and I want you to be mine. Please, I need to know you want this.”

“Hawks-”

“Keigo,” he corrected. “My name… My real name is Keigo.”

You smiled sweetly. “Keigo.” God, he could’ve combusted right there from how good his name sounded on your tongue. You grabbed his chin gently and ran your thumb over his lower lip. “I was sworn to you the moment you stepped into my room.”

In an instant his lips were back on yours, taking your breath away. The passion coursing through both of you was no longer simply carnal, there was something more in the way you were running your hands over each other, something akin to a silent vow of loyalty, a reassurance that you both felt the same.

His wings spread, shielding you from the view of the stars as his hands slowly ran under your clothes to find your skin. You undressed each other with slight urgency, leaving your clothes on the soft grass aimlessly. His hands slid up your stomach and cupped your breasts, softly kneading them and rubbing your nipples with his thumbs.

You let out a moan and ran your hands over his arms, to his shoulders and down his back, rubbing at the base of his wings. He shivered under your touch and left a trail of wet hot kisses from the corner of your mouth to your neck, where he gently bit the soft skin to leave a mark before running his tongue over it to soothe the pain. Your intoxicating scent kept pulling him deeper under your spell, his hands now roaming all over your body, reaching your thighs and holding them up against his hips.

“Tell me what you want, dove,” he said, raising his head slightly to look at you.

“Just you,” you responded. “I don’t want to wait tonight. I just need to feel you.”

“Anything you want.”

His hand slid up your thigh and dipped between your legs, finding your clit and pressing down on it with his fingers to rub soft circles onto it. You whined and bucked your hips, trying to urge him to stop stalling and just fuck you properly, but he peppered loving kisses on your face to calm you down, softly saying that he wants you to be ready for him. Once he was satisfied with how wet you got, he grabbed his cock and pumped it a few times, spreading his precum on his length before rubbing the tip at your entrance. He pressed his lips onto yours again in a loving kiss just as he pushed into you slowly. You moaned into his mouth and kissed him back, hugging him close to your body.

He set a slow, sensual pace that had you seeing stars even as he blocked your view of the night sky with his wings. He’d been inside you many times, but even while experiencing intense highs in his arms, it never felt quite this loving, this safe, this intimate. You were holding each other like you were going to vanish at any second, like you were each other’s lifelines, your eyes closed in bliss as you focused on each thrust of his into your cunt.

“Look at me,” you heard him demand breathlessly.

You opened your eyes and stared into his amber ones, burning bright just for you in the fires of love and passion. A feather came to wrap around your ring finger snugly and you couldn’t help but chuckle at the action, his lips tugging into an amused smile in response. He gave you one more kiss before he sped up his pace. Your lips parted to let out a moan as he started hitting that sweet spot inside of you, groaning at how you squeezed around him.

“All these years,” he panted through each thrust, voice low and heavy with desire, “these centuries, away from you… I never realised how agonising they were until I met you.”

You moaned his name, a sweet sound that he echoed with a whine when your walls clenched. The way he was looking at you, transfixed and affectionate, was a stark contrast to the obscene sounds your bodies were making as they connected.

You combed your fingers through his hair and pulled him closer, lips crashing against each other in a devouring kiss. You slid your tongue into his mouth and revelled in the way his hips stuttered for a moment as a shiver ran through him. A gasp left you suddenly when you felt a feather of his on your clit, rubbing circles as his hand travelled your curves in paths he’d grown to know by heart.

He stood up straight, much to your displeasure, to properly watch your expressions morph. He lifted one of your legs over his shoulder to deepen the angle of his thrusts, leaving sloppy kisses on it as your breath got caught in your throat. You felt your stomach flutter with butterflies at his affectionate pecks, before dropping as the coil in it tightened, signalling that you were close to your release. You threw your head back and didn’t even bother to find the words to tell Keigo you were approaching the edge. Not like you needed to, anyway. He could tell by how your muscles tensed and how your walls pulsed around him, pulling him in and under your spell.

His wings shook, feathers ruffling like leaves in the wind, and he leaned in, letting your leg drop off his shoulder so you could wrap them both around his waist.. His lips grazed yours, heavy breaths melding together as he pressed his forehead into yours.

“Come with me,” he breathlessly demanded, and even through the haze of your scorching bodies pressing against each other, you recognised the vulnerability in his voice. You understood the real meaning of his words hidden in a phrase he often whispered to you at the height of pleasure — join me in eternity.

You were ready.

You closed the gap between the two of you, a wordless affirmation to his request, and held him as your body shook, back arching and pressing your chest into his as you soared through your orgasm. Your vision blurred, and for a second you felt as if your soul was leaving your body from the intensity. The only sounds reaching your ears were your moans and him chanting your name like a prayer.

He was not far behind, only lasting for a few more pumps into your sweet cunt before tripping over the edge, groaning in a hungry kiss whilst waves of pleasure crashed over him and made goosebumps bloom on his skin. He emptied himself inside you and you felt how his cum and your arousal were dripping out of you with each lazy pump he gave as you both rode out your orgasms. Eventually, he gently lowered his body fully on yours, still inside you, and pressed his head on your chest to listen to your fluttering heart while you both tried to catch your breaths.

He felt you kiss the top of his head sweetly as you held him close.. He grabbed your hand, gently caressing it and staring at his feather still wrapped around your ring finger. He smiled, bringing your hand to his lips for a kiss.

“Can we stay like this for a while?” you asked, gently combing your fingers through his soft locks. He melted in your embrace.

“We can stay like this forever if you want to.”

You smiled. “I like the sound of that.”

You closed your eyes, relishing the feel of his warmth against you, listening to his soft, calming breaths. You felt like you were in heaven, finally happy that you were back in his arms with the promise of remaining so for many years to come. You were sure that everything would be okay as long as you were together with Keigo, the man you had come to love, the man who couldn’t wait to spoil you and shower you in his affection now that he had no reason to hold back. You were ready to spend the rest of your eternity beside him.

Right where you belong.

❈

My dove, with dawn fast approaching

So are you my thoughts encroaching,

For when dusk returns in place

So will I to your embrace.

When I do, kiss me, and then

Watch me fall for you again.

When you called upon my name

You promised my heart to tame.

All I do, your love commands.

All I am is in your hands.

And likewise, my crimson feather

Promises we’ll be together

When our stars align once more.

Together, forevermore.

[violetren]

PJO!Show Medusa is a very special kind of tragic that feels much deeper than I remember it in the original book.

In the very first episode of the series we see Sally taking little Percy to a museum to learn a little about ancient Greece to help set him up for his inevitable future, but also planting the seeds of independent thought and a strong moral compass that will make Percy simultaneously an excellent hero and th BIGGEST headache for every Olympian, Titan, and otherwise supernatural being in the world. And she does this by prompting Percy to question his preconceived ideas of the monster Medusa. A woman who was tossed around by the whims of the gods and ultimately killed by them too.

The memory of this lesson carries over and is a major driving force in Percy's decision to follow Medusa inside her home even as his companions AND his enemy react to her as a straight up monster even before she has actually arrived on the scene. Annabeth sees a couple of statues and the "Aunty Em's" sign and is ready to GTFO immediately.

However it's not the only lesson in play.

In this same episode we are introduced to the concept of how monsters hunt. Not all of them are mindless beasts chasing down the scent of the most powerful demigod they can find. Some are drawn in by the demigods desire for glory, or feelings or inadequacy, their fear, or dissatisfaction with their relationship with the gods, and will use those same criteria to manipulate and tear down their prey. Something interesting about this explanation is that it still implies monsters are out there actively tracking down demigods to kill regardless of what is attracting them.

Medusa doesn't really fit with this proactive predator model creating a degree of separation between her and other monsters we learned about and seen so far. However they are very careful to never let us forget that she is a threat. As our heroes arrive there are petrified monsters everywhere and Alecto doesn't come closer than the driveway even after Medusa retreats inside because she knows that Medusa is 1. Powerful, and 2. Doesn't like her personally. Her personal distaste for another monster in the moment helps further distance her from the classic monster model we have been taught to recognise.

Inside the house we learn Medusa's version of the tale. How devout she was with nothing in return. How intoxicating it was to finally feel seen even if not by the god she had spent her life dedicated to. How she was shamed and punished for how eagerly she accepted that attention. She took her cursed punishment and turned it into a gift, a way to protect herself. It's a sympathetic tale. Percy is primed to be sympathetic. Grover who lived in the mythical world first then the mundane unlike both Percy and Annabeth even shows hesitation instead of being able to treat her as an out and out monster even if only for a moment. Annabeth is the only one who identifies her as a monster and sticks to it all the way through.

Everything is set up to make us question whether this iconic monster of Greek Myth, who we know from the books will attack, really is a villain this time around. This is especially effective in the current era of Medusa retellings as a tragic heroine, a protector of those who have been assaulted and abused, who was beloved by Athena not reviled.

Then the turn comes. She offers a deal to Percy, she'll help make sure no one can stand in the way of his goal, she'll petrify Grover and Annabeth if he asks. From there everything spirals out. We go down to her basement storage reminiscent of both a temple and her history as a shrine maiden, and the cave she lived in as a monster until Perseus came to claim her head. We get her villain monologue. Paraphrasing: "You could have taught the gods a lesson by taking a path other than obedience to them and their teachings. Now I will send you as examples and reminders of what their actions have wrought. I will make them see me."

Medusa in this show very much is a monster, despite all of the misdirects, but unlike all of the other monsters we have seen and all those we have been taught to expect even as she is stalking the kids in her basement she doesn't feel like some overblown mythical monster. She feels like a woman who has been driven to madness. Like she is trapped in a cycle and doesn't know how to exit it, so she pushes the onus of breaking the cycle on others and then punishes them when they can't.

If that wasn't tragic enough I have a theory on what she preys on as a monster and why.

She hunts on loneliness or at least a sense of being isolated, because that is the feeling at the heart of her creation as a myth and a monster.

She went a lifetime ignored by the figure she loved the most. Her curse isolated her. It was supposed to drive people away from her/prevent her from getting close to anyone. She was killed without being acknowledged as ever having been human. Then by the rules the dictate monsters in the PJO universe she came back, probably a few dozen times at least before we met her in canon. She set up her shop in the middle of nowhere, harkening back to her life after being cursed in her original myth. Most importantly she sets up on a saytr path in the middle of a new jersey Forest where she'll likely only be stumbled across by other singular lonesome beings.

To really nail down that feeling of tragedy, even though a lot of her victims clearly never got past being terrified of her, someone did. Grover's uncle Ferdinand did. He looked at her with solemn understanding, at peace with his fate, maybe even a touch pitying. He couldn't make her feel seen, or make her realise that she didn't need the gods attention after all this time. And if he couldn't then there was no way in hell that a couple of 12 year olds and barely working age saytr could, and so once again the cycle repeated and she had to die.

[fae-papercuts]

Still A Monster

Medusa looked up from her book, peering over the narrow glasses balanced on her nose. It was quite an impressive sight, really, given how her nose is a strangely shaped nub with uneven nostrils, barely poking out from her grey-green face. She raised one eyebrow, though as they are always assymmetrical, it took you a moment to recognise the expression as one of curiosity.

Peering at her reflection in your hand mirror, you stepped cautiously backwards towards her. You had passed several 'statues' of people dotted throughout the garden outside, but the inside of her surprisingly well-decorated cave wasn't quite as busy with the petrified remains of erstwhile warriors. There was one cowering in the far corner, another trying to hide their eyes off the size. One was tucked by the door, its stony expression one of frozen rage. Every one of them, inside and outside, were warriors. Some ancient and moss-covered, wielding swords and shields. Some distinctly cleaner ones holding rifles and dressed in modern combat gear.

You cleared your throat politely, and the monstrous woman picked up a bookmark, slipped it into place, and closed the book calmly. After placing it gently on a small table beside her, she laced her fingers together in her lap, and looked expectantly at your reflection from her casually reclined posture upon the couch.

"Can I help you?" she asked. Her voice was rough and gravelly, with an unusual accent that you could only assume is Ancient Greek. It's actually the accent of the people of old Ithaca, to be specific - but it made little difference to you. The snakes that act as her hair moved lazily, roused from their previously slumberous state by your interruption. But there was no terrible hissing or sudden predatory response. Just the languid curling of slender, scaly bodies.

Licking your dry lips nervously, you tilted the small mirror slightly to get a better angle on her, noticing that below the neck her body was remarkably human. A little plump, and adorned with a simple creamy robe - not an ancient Grecian toga, but a dressing gown of thin, shimmery cloth. You couldn't yet tell exactly what the fabric was, but it was draped over her body quite casually. Her legs were covered in dark hair that looks like it would be soft to the touch, and you made a mental note that this shouldn't really be any surprise. After all, why would she shave them?

You took a deep breath, and a moment to gather your courage. The Gorgon's unevenly scaled face remained calm and patient.

"I'm not sure if you will want to help me," you forced yourself to say, hand trembling slightly. Despite her calm demeanor, you knew this woman could still kill you with a glance. "But I thought it was worth coming to ask you anyway." You paused, scanning her expression for any signs of annoyance. After a moment, the monster raised an open hand, gesturing for you to continue.

At that gesture, words spilled out of you. As though you were hoping if you said it all at once then it would be too quick for her to get offended by any one part of it.

"Right, so, I heard the myths and the stories about you, Medusa the monster, and there are so many - all about being cursed, about being beheaded by Perseus, how you turn people to stone - some of the stories have you alone, some with two sisters, in some you're ugly and in others you're terrifyingly beautiful - there's two different sets of parents, and some said you were in Libya but here you are instead - but also there's this stuff about how you protected women, and that the curse might not have been a curse, and it's all just so confusing and messy and none of it feels quite right, so I just wanted to ask you -" finally you took a breath, a tiny pause before your question. "What happened?"

You stopped, breath held, waiting maybe for anger, or for her to simply leap from the couch and murder you on the spot. Your blood pulsed in your ears as adrenaline made the mirror shake in your hand. But there was no fury to come.

Medusa tilted her head to the side, thoughtfully. You winced a little, unsure what may come next. She twisted slowly in her seat, feet sliding off the couch and onto the floor. Leaning forward and placing her elbows on her knees, she peered at your reflection with slightly narrowed eyes.

"You are scared of me," she said, quietly. It wasn't a question, it was a statement. So you didn't reply, curious to learn what would follow.

"Yet you hunted me out, sought my home, passed the stone corpses on my doorstep, with only the protection of a hand mirror, simply to ask me what happened?" she continued, frowning with what you had to hope was confusion.

You couldn't think of how to answer, really. It sounded so stupid when she said it like that, but you couldn't put into words what drove you to come all this way. You nodded, dumbly. It's only when she took a breath, opening her mouth to speak again that something popped into your head. You blurted out, "Curiosity killed the cat."

Your face was hot all of a sudden, and you realised you must be blushing, embarrassed at the whole thing. Thoughts of just leaving sped through your mind, but perhaps you should apologise first, so at least she might not follow you outside. But then, what if she didn't want you to tell anyone else where to find her -

"And satisfaction brought it back," Medusa replied. You blinked, then stared back at her reflection, which suddenly seemed to be smiling kindly?

"What?" you said, your mouth moving faster than your anxiety for once. Yes, she definitely was smiling as she answered your confusion. It was a pretty smile, you thought in that moment. Striking how the simple joy was shamelessly displayed on her face, with no coyness or attempt to hide that gentle happiness.

"That's how that saying finishes," she replied. "Though of course, it originated from 'care killed the cat' - with care here meaning much the same as 'worry'. You folks are always making a mess of your own proverbs. It's like you want to forget the parts that matter." The Gorgon lifted a hand to her face and pulled off her reading glasses, leaning back to place them atop her book.

It was only when she leaned forward again to fix you with that surreal expression, that you noticed when she moved she had to adjust tawny brown wings that sprouted from her back, to avoid crushing the feathers. You cursed that you hadn't thought to bring a bigger mirror so you could see better - but then you would have had to spend even more money on luggage on all those flights you took, and it had already been expensive enough.

"Go on, what others do you know," the serpent-haired woman said, her lopsided grin broadening. It was only then that you realised you had expected fangs or shark-like teeth to line her mouth. But her excited grin was slightly buck-toothed, with quite naturally askew. It was probably the most singularly human part of her face, her teeth.

You swallowed uncertainly, still fighting that dry mouth, in spite of how friendly the monster seemed to be. "Jack of all trades, master of none," you replied, with the first thing that sprung to mind.

"Is better than master of one," she continued without hesitation. "Though it's hotly debated whether that's really the original, or if it's just a more accurate reflection of the positive intent. Either way, it rather undercuts the negative implications of the modernised version."

"Money is the root of all evil," you said, frowning slightly as you tried to think. She chuckled, an almost musical sound that you definitely didn't expect. With that kindly laugh, the smile, and her relaxed posture, you couldn't help but start feeling a little more at ease.

"It's 'Love of money is the root of all evil.' Someone really didn't want to take responsibility for their bullshit with that one," Medusa replied, rolling her eyes.

You couldn't help but exhale a snort of amusement. You had stopped shaking so much, the adrenaline starting to subside, but it was still difficult to think of another aphorism. "The devil is in the details," you said, almost jumping as you excitedly pronounced it. Anyone would think you were hoping to stump her.

"That one was originally 'God is in the details,' but I guess it was too hopeful for some folks," your host said through a sarcastic smirk.

The next one came to you more easily. "A rolling stone gathers no moss," you said, somewhat pleased with yourself.

She raised a finger, and her expression seemed pleased with you too. "Technically still accurate, but only recently did you forget that a rock with no moss on it is a desolate, lifeless thing. The original meaning was closer to an old Roman saying - 'A plant often moved cannot thrive,'" Medusa said, definitely enjoying herself. "Next!"

The next one popped into your head instantly. "Don't judge a book by its cover."

Her smile saddened then, and she nodded to herself as her gaze drifted into the middle distance. "That one I cannot argue with. It just seems too hard for anyone to really live by."

You bit your lip, slightly regretting your success in the impromptu game of words. You struggled for something to say, but you couldn't take your eyes off the somewhat mournful reflection of a mythical woman who was not at all how you expected her to be.

"You're not a monster," you said quietly. It's not much, but you needed to say it. It's tremulous, your voice still holding the remnants of your fear. Then you spoke it again, more confidently this time, as though reassuring both yourself and the mythical creature behind you.

She frowned slightly, focusing on your reflection once more with a suddenly intense stare. "Yes I am," she replied, her tone hard and cold. "I turn people to stone with a look. I have snakes for hair, scaly skin, and bloody great big wings." She stretched one of them out behind her as though to prove a point. "Not exactly your average citizen."

You squeezed your lips together, frustrated at her objection. "You know what I mean. I thought you would get angry just at being disturbed, but we're just talking," you argued, gesticulating with annoyance. "You're not some foul, malevolent beast who's out to murder and destroy."

She stared coldly at you, every vestige of her smile gone. "I've murdered people," she said, her voice low. "You saw some of them on your way in. I probably left quite a few behind in Libya, too." Her severe expression cracked, and she smiled darkly. "You know how it is when you move house, something always gets left behind."

That looks sent a shiver down your spine. It was getting easier to make out her expressions, but the truth of her words made you suddenly doubt your own assertion. "Self defense, surely?" you asked, uncertainly. You wanted to be right, partly so you wouldn't be in danger. Partly because you couldn't accept that this smiling, laughing woman was a monster. Underneath the mishapen face and coiling serpents, she seemed so very normal. How could she be a monster?

The monster shook her head, the smile not entirely fading, as though she knew it was a serious topic, but she couldn't quite stay serious. "Not always. Some of them were just cunts who had it coming."

You couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it. That sentence coming from the mouth of the ancient figure older than civilisations, a legend whose story had lasted generation after generation. Her smile softened from amusement to something almost affectionate, still gazing at your reflection as she chuckled along. Your laughter faded and you stared into her reflected eyes. Eyes that were a deep brown, shining out from her curiously coloured skin. They weren't slitted or glowing, just pretty, wide brown eyes. Maybe there were flecks of yellow and amber in them, but you couldn't quite tell from so far away.

It was so awkward talking like this - out of reach and through a little mirror. You dropped your hand, lowering the mirror, but didn't turn around. You may have wandered into Medusa's lair out of curiosity, but you were certainly not enthusiastic about the idea of becoming a permanent decoration.

"What happens if I turn around?" you asked her, trying not to sound too serious. Trying to make it just a casual, conversational question.

"Either I close my eyes or you become a delightful new statue," she said plainly, as though it were the least remarkable thing in the world. Just a casual conversation.

You paused for a long moment. That was not exactly an answer that made you feel good about turning around, but your head twitched a little, as though the urge to see her in the flesh was tugging at your muscles. "Which will it be?" you asked her, your hand gripping the mirror tightly by your side, as you stared out of the entrance, your eyes drawn between dust motes dancing in the sunbeams. You very purposefully avoided the eyes of the lone, eternally enraged stone figure by the doorway.

Medusa didn't reply immediately. Your breathing seemed so loud in the silence. "I haven't decided yet," she finally said, very quietly. It wasn't said like a threat. There was just simple indecision in her voice.

She took a sharp little breath, then sighed, a little exasperated. "Trusting people is so hard. We always want to, don't we? But the world is full of monsters, and not all of them have hair that can bite. Even the most sceptical, cynical fuckers want someone to talk to, but it's scary letting someone in. You sit there thinking, 'Why do they want to know about me? Are they going to judge me? What if I do this wrong?' And I remember all that happening even before I had to figure out if they had been sent to kill me because my eyes are literal weapons."

She sighed again, deeper. A resigned sound. Then there was a soft sussuration of clothing shifting. If you had known more about fabric, you would have been able to tell that her gown was indeed silk in that moment. Egyptian silk, taken from a foolish soldier long ago.

You chewed your bottom lip nervously, your muscles tightening, as though preparing to run. You didn't know what to expect, what she was doing, and that fear rose up again. You were about to raise the mirror again to look behind you, when her gravelly voice drifted tentatively over your shoulder. "Turn around."

Something in the tone makes you do it. It's not hypnotic or compelling, nothing like that. She has cast no spell on you. But it sounded like she didn't expect you to do it. Like an invitation that expects to be refused. It sounded like she was waiting for you to run. Like she could see your fear still there, despite your claim that she was no monster. Like she could see that you didn't entirely believe it yourself.

You wanted to prove her wrong. You wanted so hard to be right, to believe it. Something inside you deeply needed her to not be a monster, and you didn't realise it until that very moment. So you turned on the spot, staring at the floor for a moment before inhaling deeply, and looking up into her face.

Mirrored sunglasses hid her eyes. Big, 1980s style aviator shades that reflected your own face back at you. You stepped forward, towards your own reflection. She smiled with relief, and you could see as you got closer that her smile wasn't just pleasant and human - it really was quite beautiful. It's not even, and it's far from perfect. It's not some spectacular, pearly-white, Hollywood grin. But it's beautiful in its honesty. The honesty of appreciation, of surprise, of finding someone willing to take a risk and trust her in spite of everything.

You stood in front of her, easily within her reach, and bent down a little. You peered at the sunglasses, trying to see through to her eyes, wondering with a strange detachment if you were about to turn into stone. She turned her head aside as you squinted at her. "Careful, I'm still a monster," she said with a somewhat hollow chuckle.

"Yeah," you said softly, as you sat on the couch next to her. A dozen pairs of eyes turned to follow you, as her hair twisted on her head. The sight was so surreal, so unsettling. A collection of little beady eyes peering back at you. You would wonder for such a long time about whether she could see with those eyes, instead of the ones that were made for murder. "I guess you are still a monster."

You looked back at the serpents, a little chill darting up your neck. Then your gaze fell on the reflection of yourself in her sunglasses, as she turned back to face you. "But I think you're still not a monster, too," you added, smiling as reassuringly as you could.

You began to talk more, then. She answered some of your questions - like how long it had been since Libya, and where she was from originally. You didn't dare ask the questions about what made her that way. Not yet, at least. But she slowly began to tell you the tale as she relaxed into your company, and you let her.

The conversation continued for so long, the sun eventually set outside the cave. Long beams of the fading sunlight moved across the floor by your feet until you curled your toes under you on the sofa. Gradually your host lit candles to see by - beeswax candles she told you she makes herself. You couldn't go back out into the darkness, so the monster invited you to stay the night. You agreed. And if I could, I would have screamed for you not to.

That one night became two. Three days becames a week. The weeks merged into months, and every day brought you and she closer together. It's hard to remember how many days it had been when you began to share her bed, but it was quite soon after she had you go into the nearest town to pick up mirrored swimming goggles.

"I just want my peripheral vision back," she told you, as you both laughed at the sight of her struggling to pull the strap over the mess of uncooperative serpents atop her head - with her back turned toward you, of course.

Without the gap in her sunglasses, I could no longer catch sight of the look in her eyes as she gazed at you cleaning up the messes she insisted didn't need any cleaning. There was no mistaking that look.

Nor was it possible to misinterpret how she carefully turned away every night before taking off her eye protection. Or how she started waking without opening her eyes, groping for the shield that keeps you safe before placing a gentle kiss on your forehead to wake you - even though you were usually already awake. You watch her sleep, sometimes, trying to imagine what her eyes really look like, but always turning away if she begins to rouse from her slumber.

She has grown to love you. And it is clear you love her too. This monster abandoned by the world, living quietly in a cave surrounded by reminders of what horror she can inflict.

This monster I had watched petrify so many travellers who came seeking the power of her eyes, or a hoard of riches that she didn't have. People craving rewards, or to be celebrated as heroes. All of us, every single one, were fools. I see that too, now. I wish it had not taken me the better part of two centuries. I wish I had not spent so long fixated on my rage and the injustice of my fate.

One day you brush the moss from my face. The softness of your touch is remarkable, and I feel honoured that you would be so gentle with me. I can see why the monster cares for you so deeply.

"Who was he?" you ask her, peering curiously into my eyes, as though seeking the answer in the features of my stony face.

Medusa glances over at me, and there is a coldness in her tone as she replies. "I don't know. They didn't usually give their names." Standing, she places one of her books on the table. She has so many - her thirst for stories and knowledge was one of the first things you came to adore. She glides over to stand beside you. "I thought him a monster, then. I'm sure he thought himself a hero."

She sighed, her shoulders slumping a little. I have watched her for so long, I imagine I can tell how she feels as well as you can. You who she tells her secrets and her jokes to. The regret and the sorrow sings out in her voice, though we hear only the smallest inflection.

"Really, he was just a man. A man who made a choice I wish he hadn't."

If I could, I would cry. My frozen chest aches with feeling, desperate for release. But I can't. I can feel the blade in my hand, my other arm up too high in a futile attempt to hide my eyes. But I will never move again.

It's not fair. I told myself that every day for years. When you first arrived, when you first brought her joy, I told myself the same thing. Every smile a bitter barb in the eternity of my suffering.

And it is not fair. It's not fair that I'm trapped here, imprisoned forever because I made one damn fool decision. Just like it isn't fair that she can't leave, because of people like me.

Perhaps I'm still a fool, because I think you got the rawest deal of all. Stuck here just because you love her. Because how could you leave now? How could you leave someone who has had to be alone for so long, without it breaking your heart?

"Why do you keep them?" you ask her, turning away from me. You look quizzically into the mirror image of your own eyes. "I know thinking about them makes you sad. Why leave them here to remind you all the time?"

The monster turns away from you, and stares at me. I see my own grey face, contorted with rage and fear, reflected back at me. I wish to all the gods that I could change that expression. I wish I could gift her a smile, a little sign of the forgiveness I am trying so hard to excavate from my rocky interior.

Her voice is small when she whispers her reply, almost too quiet for me to hear.

"I don't want them to be alone."

[sunpinktulip]

okay you said sent bkdk ideas & BET

1. The climax of she-ra w/ catra’s “dont you get it? I love you, i always have! So please, just this once, STAY!” speech and I actually can’t decide if it’s katsuki begging an unconscious deku to wake up or izuku begging an unconscious kacchan to wake up. But either way.

2. Bakusquad singing She’s In Love from the little mermaid stage show — again can’t decide if it’s about katsuki or deku (with the other one as flounder who is Most Upset about Ariel being in love w someone) (only this time it’s themself that is the love interest) (I have both sets of lyrics divided up and available upon request)

3. Say the Word from the mad ones (sorry yes I’m a theatre kid mb). That’s all. I’m tentatively working on an animatic but I can’t draw

4. Bksquad singing fixer upper from frozen. Bakugou is Kristoff & Deku is Anna obviously. I haven’t thought any further at all so just spitballing here but kirishima sven todoroki Elsa (obviously) aaaaand idk for hans. I feel like shindo yo would be the popular pick for a fake love interest?

5. Bakugou singing Granger Danger from a very potter musical.

6. Okay this is actually kiribaku but you by dodie, bkdk were fwb but deku caught feelings & bakugou starts dating kirishima

7. Atalanta (Greek myth) au — bk was raised by wolves/bears/dragons probably, then gets hunted by a king (mitsuki) who recognises him as his (her) son and takes him back to be prince. Tells him he has to get married, he says okay but Only someone who can beat me in a fight (in the myth it’s a foot race) and if they lose they die. Deku gets help from all might and wins (in the myth aphrodite gives the winner golden apples which distract atalanta, not sure how this would play out in this ver)

8. Howl’s Moving Castle au (book ver). Controversially, I have deku as howl, katsuki as Sophie & sentient OFA as calcifer. I can and Will back this up. (Kaminari as Martha/youngest sister who wants to marry rich and be a mom) & Uraraka as Lettie (middle sister who wants to be rich off her own hard work) (I actually have the whole cast planned out)

9. I’m currently writing a Carrie au. Deku is Carrie obvs. Katsuki is both Sue and Tommy, w Kiri coming in for some of Tommy’s advice giving moments. Decided Toga can be Chris and originally I had aged down!Dabi as Billy at a friend’s request but not 100% sure. Considered switching to mustard but like. We know nothing about him.

10. Barely fleshed out but I’ve seen a bunch of parallel universe swapping quirk fics where fantasy!bkdk or future!bkdk get swapped to the canon verse, including at least one w pregnant izuku and. Pregnant katsuki gets swapped to the canon verse because I think it’s WAY funnier

Okay I’m done now sorry

These were A LOT and as a uni student I don't have the time to do all/organise all in one post (but I will draw if more people insist on the asks (please submit your ideas separetly, it's a lot easier for my little pea brain)

BUT, i will give my piece about the songs, since I included them in my BKDK playlist

2. She's in Love - I see it as bkdk friends talking about Deku's (Ariel) clear crush while an oblivious Bakugou (Flounder) has barely been able to tell Izuku is in love and it's annoyed about it because he thinks it's not him (it is tho)

3. Say the Word - This is such a Katsuki-coded song about his feelings, it actually hurts me inside

4. Fixer Upper - Submitter's suggestion is good, BUT HAVE YOU CONSIDERED: Fantasy AU BKDK, where Kiri is the weredragon and Shouto is a prince and I would suggest Toga Himiko (my daughter) for Hans (would change some more of the story tbh, but that's the OG plan)

5. Granger Danger - COUNTERPOINT: Fem!BKDK in a ball, bkg is Draco, dk is Ron and they're talking about each other

6. What if She from Dodie but it's Izuku's POV cause he is enamoured by Katsuki buthas no clue what the other feels

Anyway, feel free to send more asks now !! I'll promise I'll get back to them, I just took a long break because of personal shit, but I'm back stronger than ever

[chrysanthemumgames]

Hello!  I love your game! I always liked reading about antiquity, and this game is such a lovely way to have some fun with Greek myths. Your writing is wonderful: the pacing is nice, the language is very eloquent, and the characters are charming—considering that it is only a WIP, you've done such an amazing job! I don't think I've even noticed any bugs or typos! This is brilliant! 

I loved the moment when Hades and the MC greet Hera, and if you play as "on the more socially-graceful side" Persephone, Hera recognises it and comments on how your character "rather effectively covers [Hades'] weaknesses." And then later, the game also says: "You can manage well enough with it, and you think your participation probably smooths out what might have otherwise been a few minor bumps in things." I really like the idea that a charming consort doesn't clash with Hades, but sort of complements and completes him, that your differences don't impede your coregency but strengthen it (personally, I'd love to become a proper Marie-Antoinette, a charming social butterfly overshadowing my socially awkward husband, lol, but never mind that).

Also, I am so excited to see what will come out of the possibility of starting your own cult! With a temple, too! Oh! I really hope we'd get to interact with our followers more, solving their problems, sure, but also just having fun, you know? I mean, having more of a "Cult of Dionysus" rather than "Eleusinian Mysteries". Because, so far it sort of feels like we don't play as much as "Demetra's child" but rather as "customisable Persephone". I love Dionysus, and I think it would be great if we had a choice to lean more towards Dionysus than Persephone. Because as it is now, most (if not all) details, in choices and in flavour text, relate much more to Persephone, like being a deity of spring (and not harvest, fruits, or vine) or having a very plant-based magic (and not something more chaotic and unhinged). Which is to be expected, of course, and I'm not saying that something should be different, this is literally the premise of the game, I understand that, but I think it would be cool to have a chance to choose something more Dionysus-related, perhaps in later chapters. I mean, like, for example:  

1) when Charon asks: "What would you like out of your time here?" to be able to answer something like "just to have fun" or "throw a party";

2) or when Pyri asks: "What do you do?" have choices like "theatre", "dancing", or "playing music and singing" (I think this kind of falls into the "exploring the arts" category, so I'm not saying there should be an extra choice as such but rather perhaps just a little mention of theatre and music in the following flavour text?);

3) or when the game says: "In between the work of getting your garden established, you find that over the next few weeks you have a fair bit of free time to spend as you like" choose to do something more chaotic? Boisterous? Wild? Like, get really wasted? Have a party with some souls? Organise a theatre performance? The present choices are totally fine, but they all do seem quite... tame. But perhaps in the future, we get to do something more rowdy? Unhinged even?

4) or have an option to decorate your head with grapes and ivy;

5) or be able to grow grapes in your garden? We can, of course, grow berries, fruits, and vegetables, so, again, I'm not saying there should be an extra choice, but perhaps just a bit of additional flavour text?

But again, this is just some backseat comments; feel free to ignore them! The main thing that I wanted to say is that your WIP is beautiful, and I really hope you won't abandon it! I am so very excited to see it finished! And I'm sorry this turned out to be so long! It's OK if you just leave it unanswered!

Hi there!

I'm really glad you're enjoying FoA; I have to admit that there are typos, though, so I'll call myself lucky that you haven't found any. ^^;

As to your suggestions, definitely reasonable of you to notice that the Dionysus-flavored options are not yet as prominent. One of the things I have slated for my eventual big editing phase is putting more of those in; some of them may even look like yours, as you've spotted quite a few places where they might fit.

Generally, the move to more revelry/wine/overall unhingedness is meant to be a move, rather than something the PC can be equally at the beginning alongside the spring/life/plant stuff, so there won't be loads of opportunities for it right off the bat, but I do want to add more as the story progresses, and I've admittedly been kind of neglecting that so far. Fair point. :)

[thelediz]

Sonic Underground episode 24: Mummy Dearest

I’m watching Sonic Underground in search of inspiration to finish a fic I’ve been writing forever. It’s a sad state of affairs. See the recap of the first three episodes here, if you're interested!

The plot (for want of a better word): One of Sonic’s ancestors was a prophet that predicted the rise and fall of Robotnik! Can the Sonic Underground find the scroll of prophecy and find out how to defeat Robotnik?

Is anyone getting the feeling someone in the writer’s room went to the middle east in this period of the series, or is it just me?

We begin with Sonia showing the boys a toy Cyrus gave her, called an ‘Intelliputer’ and after the whole zombie virus thing Cyrus cooked up last time I am immediately anxious.

It’s a surveillance laptop, basically, with very limited capabilities. Robotnik’s talking about some kind of expedition and finding Aleena, but walks out of frame before they can get actual details. HOWEVER

Also in the control room is an old book with a symbol on it that Sonia recognises as the Royal Hedgehog Crest. So apparently they need the book.

To do this, Sonic brings another new toy from Cyrus: very light SWATbot disguises. They use them to sneak into Robotnik’s headquarters and with toys like this I really have to wonder how the Resistance hasn’t just snuck in and shanked Robotnik in his sleep, I really do.

I know that’s not how kids shows work, don’t @ me.

They get in and would get the book easy does it, except Robotnik himself shows up halfway through the heist and even then, Sonic’s smooth talking (inside a robot disguise) would get them out except that Manic trips and breaks his disguise.

I question Cyrus’s engineering that it broke that easily.

Sonic just BARELY gets them out before the place goes into lockdown. This moment almost has tension to it!

Anyway, the book shows them the scroll of ‘Amun-Rappi’, which is… just… yep. Yep.

Okay, so let’s pause for a second to tell you why this plot point has always made me sigh a lot. Amun-Rappi is an ancestor to the royal family, and a prophet. To the point that he supposedly wrote out a step-by-step guide about how to overthrow Robotnik. They take him very seriously. AND YET no one saw Robotnik coming. No one has followed these steps. And this whole episode will ultimately have no plot relevance. In addition, Amun-Rappi is some weird… like, he looks like a fictionalised pharaoh, but in universe he is treated more like Cassandra of Greek myth. Which is, you know, whatever. The whole Mobius thing is a weird mish-mash of Roman globalisation nonsense so we deal. It’s just… I give SO MANY SIDE-EYES to the royal family for letting Robotnik into the kingdom with this in their history. This episode has stuck with me to the point that it’s kind of how I built up the entire Hedgehog royal family lineage from this one guy as a priest to the not!Egyptian King, whose descendents immigrated to the central kingdom before the Mobian wars that were mentioned in a past episode, but that IS SO MUCH HEADCANON NONSENSE and if I don’t do it, it just makes things messy.

THIS SERIES IS A MESS.

Anyway.

…Sonic is using Manic’s voice this time. Cool. Jaleel, I really think we need to re-record – no, no, you’re right, timing, move on.

The van (including the Sonic Underground) gets eaten by a Dune Worm. Robotnik and Sleet celebrate, while Dingo mourns Sonia. The audience is less concerned, because anyone who saw Pinocchio knows how this goes.

Sonia, who is the one carrying the braincell this episode, decides the best way out of this situation is to force the sandworm’s mouth open a bit (what) to let sand in (WHAT) until it surfaces (…kay) and spits the sand and them out (…uh huh). I mean, there’s logic to it. Not sure it’s my kind of logic, but we roll.

It lets them out in front of the pyramid and… as someone who replayed Assassin’s Creed Odyssey last year, I gotta say… this black, vaguely metallic pyramid… Issu artefact much?

Anyway. They get in through the secret entrance marked by the Royal H (the Hedgehog Crest. Yes, they call it the Royal H), only to immediately get frozen by magic by a… vaguely Jafar looking guy, who is there to protect Amun-Rappi's tomb.

But he recognises the royal hedgehog medallions, so apparently the necklaces have been things in the royal (which Amun-Rappi is not otherwise implied to be, yet) family for centuries.

Sleet and Dingo have been muddling through the other entrances, but catch up just as the guardian is showing the triplets to the main chamber. Remarkably, Sleet actually catches them with some sticky… stuff. But it’s for nothing, because Sonic ultimately breaks free with a superspin and takes the sticky gun thingy off them. The only thing this actually does is let the triplets know a SWATbot patrol is coming after them, so they have to take a shortcut to the burial chamber through two ‘chambers of death’. As you do.

So called, I guess, because there’s no way to disarm the traps without someone risking certain death first, I guess. But that’s what Sonic’s whole deal is, so he overcomes fire and water with only a few jokes and singeing and all is well.

Amun-Rappi was buried in splendour and with guardian souls but with very few treasures, gotta say. But said guardian souls take one look at Sonic, who is the spitting image of his ancestor, and back off. I dunno, I guess they needed to fill twenty additional seconds of the episode or something.

Amun-Rappi appears as a ghost, and demands a song in payment for the scroll, because of course he does.

THE SONG: We are Sonic Underground. Some… weird 90s rap thing that is directly referencing the plot for once and we just… yep. It is what it is.

Amun-Rappi curses Robotnik’s forces with his ‘Curse of Immobility’ while the triplets get away with his scroll of prophecy. But it’s all for nothing, because as soon as they remove it from the glass casing, it falls apart, as parchment is wont to do.

So that was an episode. I make way too much of it for world building purposes. I really shouldn’t, but egh.

Come back tomorrow if you’re interested?

[afticxs]

DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES chapter 6

to my dearest y/n,

i can’t say i was as safe as i promised you that i would be. it seems i’m breaking a lot of my promises recently, i’m sorry.

i was shot upon the safety of my ship, i woke up the day i wrote you this letter in the middle of the atlantic. there’s a lot i want to tell you.

i don’t think i would’ve minded in the slightest staying with you in that lagoon forever. you made my voyage interesting, to say the least. i never would’ve imagined myself having feelings for a supposed myth. it’s funny. you tried to eat me when we first met.

i hope that if there is another us somewhere, they’re not forced to be apart from each other; how we are. and maybe in another life, where it is us and not someone else with our story, we’re both human where it is easy for us to be together.

or we’re both sirens lurking around until we find our next meal. i don’t mind, i’m not fussy.

gods, i knew you for a month and a bit. curse your charm for seducing me and bless your soul for enchanting me. i love you. i probably should’ve told you that when i first kissed you. but i never did. i regret it.

i’d like to say that if the sea wars end before i die of old age, come visit me in hastings. i’m sure i’d recognise your conch shell anywhere, you don’t find them on the coasts where i reside. but i can’t. i have this aching, scary feeling i will die on this boat and that i won’t see you again. the fever i have is no jest. but i’ve sort of come to terms with it.

when you first showed me your lagoon, i spotted this comb and i figured you would like it. however i forgot to give it to you. i’m sorry again. i love you.

with all my love,

your mikey.

you looked through the letter, perched on the rock back in your’s and michael’s lagoon.

truth be told, you had followed the ship for those two days. from the moment you witnessed the ship leave to the second you received the message in a bottle. attached to it by the braid he kept in his hair, was the comb he had mentioned in the letter. you opened it, scanning it briefly before your heart ached in pain.

when you finally arrived home, however it felt empty, you finally read it. taking in his words and feeling every emotion through all of it.

and you cried.

you cried so hard you truly believed you would die of heart ache.

the comb never left your hair, neither did his strands of hair that you had managed to braid into your own.

you fiddled with your braid—it fell over your face like michael’s did to him—most of the time. while the comb remained as a place holder for the new bun in your hair.

you missed michael immensely as much as you loved him unconditionally.

you would continue to haunt port royal until you were lost to the debris due to the earthquake im 1692.