#roof spelled backwards is food

[mumblelard]

slow ghosts go go goes or azimuth

yesterday, i learned that some pieces of light spend the first ten thousand years after they are born, battered by crushing forces, struggling to escape the core of the sun, before they make the eight minute journey to my eye

last night, i dreamt that i was poking an icepick into my leg over and over, but instead of tearing flesh and spilling blood, it was chipping off brightly luminescent fragments of blue gemstone

i was awoken too early this morning when my four eyed cast iron friend lost his grip on the wall and crashed onto the stainless steel sink

today, i'm going to buy a loaf of coarse brown bread and eat it with butter and sour cherry jam

[moxfirefly]

It's ne again! Coming back at you with another mikey prompt! Going for that 'we're besties, but actually, there's more to it vibe'

platonic sleepovers that somehow ends up with you waking up with their arms around you

sharing each other's clothes (especially hoodies)

Pookie you always hit 😮‍💨

Let do this!

Rated Mature (suggestive themes)

The winter air was hitting tonight’s, topside everything felt just a little more chillier than down below.

Mikey surveyed the night life below, patrol had been a bit boring tonight just the usual upkeep, a mugging here a gang fight there. He was going growing bored though, sitting on the ledge of a roof he saw how the night continued to pass by.

He toyed with a bracelet around his wrist, a delicate thing with worn out blocks that spelled out a name.

Your name.

Because it belonged to you.

He still remembers the night he had playfully snatched it off your bathroom sink and proclaimed it was his now. You had laughed, play fought him for it but that had quickly ended in you admiring defeat and that he could ‘borrow’ it.

That word had entered both of yours vocabulary.

So far you both had borrowed so many things it was hard to keep up.

And there didn’t seem to be date of return for the items.

There was a hair clip attached to his mask tail, yours of course.

A necklace you often wore when you went out for the night.

Around his waist wasn’t the hoodie he topically had (because now you were wearing it, but instead one of your own.

Mikey wanted to say it was for fashion purposes, that he simply liked the items you own, and while some of that was true to an extent the reality was that he was wrapped up in your scent so constantly he felt drunk most days from the giddiness alone.

“You’re surprisingly quiet tonight, something on your mind?” Leo sat down for once tonight, next to him on the ledge, possibly aware that the night was next to near done.

“Huh? Oh nah, just people watching, that old lady down there sneezed into her coffee before giving it to her husband, totally saw it.” He heard Leo chuckle but he knew he wasn’t fully sold. He wasn’t exactly ‘focused’ tonight.

Tonight was Friday after all, and on the second Friday of each month you would go to y/n’s for a sleep over. It had become a thing that was going into its second year. You always bought enough food to feed an army (or a Mikey) and he would bring enough baked goods to rot away your teeth with their sugary goodness.

Said baked good we’re protected in his backpack along with a change of clothes (why? Most of his clothes were at your place anyways). No need for a toothbrush because there was one that belonged to him in your bathroom already.

“Why don’t you head out Mikey, I’m sure y/n is waiting for you.” Leo called off patrol via the comms radio on his shoulder, Raph and Donnie both relieved from their own spot a few blocks over.

He didn’t need to be told twice, board in hand and bag across his shell, Mikey gave Leo a goodnight and a don’t wait up before zooming off to your apartment.

A few minutes on a trip he could do backwards and blindfolded he landed on your fire escape and opened up the window with practiced motions. He was hit with the delicious smell of a late dinner but more so with your delightful smile upon hearing him arrive.

And with that same practice ease he caught you just as you jumped to hug him and greet him.

In what appeared to be an old pair of his boxers and that hoodie he hadn’t seen in his closet in what felt like months.

“Im doing some late night laundry so I hope you don’t mind I grabbed one of your boxers.” You chucked as you took the containers filled with two dozen or so cookies he’d made from scratch this afternoon.

“Of course you took my Spider-Man undies, does that mean I get a bra tonight?” He wiggled his brow bones, your giggling music to his ears.

“Please as if my bra fits those steel boobs you’ve got.” You shot him a luck before returning to the kitchen to turn off the stove and get ready to serve.

“Go check your unmentionables and I’ll get us ready here.” He shoo’d you off , grabbing plates and forks while you went to change everything into the dryer.

Each movement felt so natural, finding everything with comfortable ease as if he were in his own home. He knew exactly what you wanted to drink, that you wanted extra sides and some hot sauce. He wasn’t fazed when you caught with him at the stove and wrapped yourself around his arm and began to rant about today’s on goings.

You felt that twinge of something when he hands landed on your waist, to move you away from a cupboard he needed access to. Stifling a laugh when he did the same just to place you back close to him and continue hearing about the work room gossip.

With dinner out of the way, a shower for Mikey, several horror movies later, you both found yourselves in bed and feeling very much like 4am.

“I think Stacey’s just a tramp.”

“Michael! …I mean you’re not wrong…”

You both laughed, sleepy eyes fighting to remain open. In bed you both often talked about all manner of life things. Observations, family life, work life, even love…

Love was always tricky, because it churned deep within Mikey’s stomach whenever he heard you talk about some guy you went on a date with.

And it made your skin prickle with some unnamed emotion whenever he talked about some girl he had seen and how he thought she was pretty.

But even as those feelings died down, as you both felt sleep overtake you, something always remained the same.

Somewhere in the night, in the tossing and turning, in the early morning trip to the bathroom and the sleepy stroll back, you would both wake up so wrapped around each other it was pointless to try and untangle each other.

When those first rays of sunlight hit, it was easy to be greedy and admire you in his arms, the way your skin looked in the morning always left him feeling somewhat gutted. You were soft, warm and so very perfect.

Mikey allowed himself the small luxurious of burying his snout in your hair, the soft strands tickling his sleepiness away.

When you stirred, a small sigh, he watched you glue yourself closer to his body and he felt his stomach flip flop around the thoughts he tried not to indulge.

The ones in the shape of you beneath him (above him) around him, consumed by him, eaten by him.

The ones where you called out his name and asked for seconds and thirds.

The ones where he could arrive to this home and call it his home with you as well.

He felt your lips press to his skin, a soft call of his name and another tumble down the imaginary scenes where he wakes you up with his head between your legs and more soft calls of his name.

[the-angriest-author]

The Rescue of Sunny

(A short story taking place in my current WIP: The Mad)

Helie smiled as she stared up at the tall roof of her prison. Light had peaked through the out-of-reach windows and the sun had created a beautiful image. Lightness filled her head in place of thoughts. There came a point when Helie had stopped counting the days. It was an acceptance of her fate as the villager's prisoner. This was her life, and she was determined to live it happily even if she was stuck and starving in this hole in the ground. Her stomach growled. The sound felt distant, removed from her body and she wondered if the villagers would feed her today. She felt joy slowly leaving her body, seeping through her pores at the morbid thought. With so little sources of joy in this prison she refused to let herself be emptied of it. She closed her eyes and sang a song. She imagined she was with her mother, the Aurae whom she knew she would never meet. In her mind she was surrounded by women like her. Otherworldly women who nature obeyed. Without the direct sunlight and access to food that fueled her the only wind Helie could conjure, her only connection to nature, was the gentle blow that rustled the ends of her hair. A loud grinding noise had Helie using her little strength to push herself upward. She brought her shaking hands to her ears. She watched in awe as the heavy stone door that hadn't been moved since she'd been thrown in here, opened. An unfamiliar woman stood in front of the doorway. Her fluffy brown hair sat on top of her head like a halo. “Hello, Helie,” she said. Helie opened her mouth to speak but the flesh of her throat contracted painfully. The woman softened as she walked over to Helie. The cowering villager who held the keys to the prison stayed in the doorway. “Don’t feed her, Not until she leaves the island.” The unfamiliar woman scowled. She squatted in front of Helie looking even more God-like up close. Helie's own personal begotten savior. “I’m Mildred, a friend of Selene's.” Helie’s cracked lips pulled into a smile at the familiar name. “Selene,” she whispered, the words barely perceptible. She hadn’t seen Selene in what felt like many lifetimes. The woman’s head turned. Her eyes focused on something invisible. She frowned. “This place is filled with tortured souls. Let’s go Helie.” She said. The woman’s arm came under Helie. She carried her bridal style through the front doors. Helie closed her eyes. She felt safe in her arms. She felt the sort of belonging she’d only felt with Selene. “Selene.’ Helie said again.

Mildred tried to hide the worry that pinched her face. The girl she held in her arms was skin stretched across bones. Selene had given her directions of where to find her sister, and from what she described she had no idea this would be the state they would find her in. The villagers stood by their small huts, some holding religious relics. As if the broken girl she held could do them any harm. Mildred wondered if they knew they were the evil they attempted to ward off. “She doesn’t look so good,” Agnes said, appearing next to her.

“No, she does not,” Mildred agreed.

“What do you think Selene’s gonna do?”

Mildred thought about it. Selene was not a reactive person but she had a fierce protectiveness and loyalty about her. “I have no idea,” Mildred said honestly.

“Mildred The Mad.” Someone whispered. Mildred’s eyes were drawn to an older man whose pale skin, barely kissed by the sun revealed him as an obvious outsider. She flashed him a menacing smile. He stepped backward and turned away. Mildred hated the nickname but the reputation that came with it was glorious. Guts saw Mildred arrive before Selene could. She took in the sack of bones that Mildred held in her arms and blew out a breath. “Please, tell me you have a healing spell somewhere in that magic book.” 

“You do.” Agnes piped in.

"I do." Mildred repeated.

“God, I hate when you do the ghost thing.” Guts said following Mildred onto the boat.

“You just hate that I can do something you can’t.” Mildred teased.

Guts smirked and shrugged. “True.”

Selene sat on the edge of the deck. When she saw her sister she jumped upward. Her face morphed into worry and rage. She began moving her hands wildly. “Wait, slow down. I can’t-”

Mildred started. 

“She said and I quote: what did they do? What did they do? Give her to me.” Guts spoke in that apathetic tone of hers.

Mildred frowned with sympathy and gently moved Helie like a baby to her sister. Silent tears ran down Selene’s face as she carried her sister to the cabin. Her body shook. She’d failed in protecting her. She’d failed. She should have taken Helie with her. She shouldn’t have left her. Anger shook her arms. Helie blinked her eyes open. She smiled at her sister. Selene brushed the hairs that stuck to her damp forehead. Helie brought her shaking hand upward using hand-speak.

My sister.

Selene nodded and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. Mildred could heal her. Selene just knew it. And it would all be okay because now they were together. She would never again leave Helie to the monsters of the world.

[fangirlings-things]

Rescheduled Lesson

❦ PART. II

Fandom: Enola Holmes

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x female reader

Word count: 3K

anon said: Can I request a Sherlock x reader where she visited Enola often when Sherlock left on long cases, so they became good friends? And when Enola runs away to find her mom, she goes to stay with the reader, which Sherlock deduces and tries to get her to let him find Enola and talk to her? -&

A/N: this request was amazing and I loved every bit of it!!! I put all my inspiration in this, tried to make the personality of the character good, so I hope you like this piece, love, I did my best!! (also I’m thinking about a part 2? if you guys like it let me know, I would be delighted to write it) (had to repost guys, I'm sorry!!)

also, the tag list for this fandom is open!!!

gif credit: @henrycavilledits

❧ You knew the Holmes family was nothing like the other families that lived in the countryside. The father had died many years before. The two oldest sons had already left home, to live their lives and follow the careers they desired. On that incredibly big house, where once lived a family, there was only a mother and her youngest child left. Perhaps the fact that you yourself was considered a little off by other people, was the fact that made you become friends with them.

You lived completely alone, surrounded by books in a small house. Your life was made of studying, researching and writing texts about science. You loved it, great authors of the matter being your inspiration. You tried to learn their teachings and with luck, wanted others to learn as well. You almost couldn’t believe when one day in the middle of a sunny afternoon, Eudoria Holmes had showed up at your door and invited you to her house, where she asked you to be Enola’s science teacher. She educated her daughter not for society, but for herself, so that she could find her own path when she came to grow up. That instantly made you respect that woman and accept her offer.

Twice a week you would go to the Holmes’s house and spend hours and more hours teaching the girl. Darwin, Copernicus, Newton, Galilei. She was eager to know and you were eager to teach her. She was the first student you had that actually wanted to learn and that was amazing. Made you proud and happy, more than you could say. At the evening, Eudoria would ask you to stay for dinner. You would put lessons aside and talk and laugh together. They were like your family, the one you didn’t had.

You were always excited for the days of teaching Enola to come soon. They were your absolute favorites of the week. In the beginning of the afternoon of one of those days, you had been incredibly surprised by a knock on your front door while you gathered the books you would make the girl read and study. Frowning, because you never had visitors or received letters, you went to attend the door.

And when you opened it, you saw that your visitor was Enola herself.

“Hi, Miss (Y/L/N)” the girl smiled at you, a little forced smile that instantly made your frown grow deeper. She was wearing boy’s clothes, even a hat, and her long brown hair had been hidden inside of it. “I’m afraid today’s lesson will have to be rescheduled”

“Enola, what…” you began, confused. You had seen her dressed in boy’s clothes before around her house, that wasn’t a big deal. She did find them more comfortable, she had told you before. But the fact that she concealed her hair as if she wanted to hide it and the expression on her face, something that you couldn’t quite identify but resembled urgency, was enough for you to get anxious.

“Please, Miss (Y/L/N), can I come in? I promise I’ll explain everything you want to know” she pleaded, eyes locked on yours as she did so. The tone on her voice made you nod and take a step to the side, locking the door once she was already inside. “I had never been here. Your house is really amazing” the girl seemed overwhelmed by all the books and unfinished texts you had around, laying on tables and shelves.

“Thank you” you said, mind still running fast as you tried to understand what was happening. You walked after the girl, that had advanced until she reached the next room of your house, one who only had two couches and a table. “Enola, what is going on?” her face instantly lost the admiration she was having for your belongings. Her eyes went to the floor, and she went silent. That made you sight. “Enola, you promise you would explain. And you know you can trust me”

That seemed to make her come around, because she sighted as you had just did and sat at one of your couches. Or better, she laid down on it, placing her head over a pillow and focusing her eyes on the roof. Her hands were joined over her chest. “I came here because I wanted to hide, Miss (Y/L/N). I’m running away”

Your eyes went wide at that declaration and you sat on the other couch, realizing that would probably be a long conversation. “Enola! Think about your mother! She loves you. Your disappearance will hurt her deeply”

“No, no, I’m not running away from my mother. I’m running away to find her” the girl sat straight on the couch, eyes meeting yours again like they had before at the door. She could see the confusion in your eyes grow by each word she spoke. “My mother went missing a few days ago, Miss (Y/L/N). She didn’t say goodbye or said where she was going. She only left me clues, here and there that I’ll have to use to find her”

Worry got a hold of you, the same worry you had recognized on Enola’s eyes. Eudoria. Where would she have gone? Was she fine? Not knowing you realized, was terrible. As you thought about what Enola had just said, another question got to your mind. “If your mother is missing, who are you running away from, Enola?”

“My brothers. Sherlock and Mycroft. Well, especially Mycroft, because he wants to send me to a finishing school, that prepares young women for society” the clear disgust in her voice would have made you laugh if you weren’t so worried.

“Where will you go to find your mother, Enola? What plans do you have? Do you want me to go with you?” all questions left your mouth in such a rush, that it seemed like you had just spit out the words one after the other.

The young girl smiled kindly and got up, going to sit right next to you on the couch you were on. She grabbed your hands in hers gently and squeezed them tightly. “Thank you for offering to go with me, to support me, Miss (Y/L/N). Is more than my own brothers have done. But this is something I have to do alone, I have to be the one to find her and know why she left. And I think that the less you know, the better it will be”

Oh, that girl. You smiled while you looked at her. Eudoria had raised her to be a force of nature and had achieved that goal, brilliantly. You squeezed her hands back in affection. “When will you leave?”

“At sundown today” she said, so quickly that you realized she had already thought about everything. At least, on that phase of that 'plan' to find her dear mother. “Will walk to the train station, not the closest one but the next, and get on the first train in the morning tomorrow. In this way, I’m quite sure my brothers won’t be able to understand my intentions soon enough as to catch me”

“Very well” you passed your arms around her and hugged her tight, sighting. “Let’s get you some food for your journey, then. If you find Eudoria and she finds out I let you almost starve I’ll get in trouble”

Enola laughed as she hugged you back.

════ •⊰❂⊱• ═══════ •⊰❂⊱• ════

Enola had left at sundown of the previous day, just like she had said she would. Carrying nothing more than money her mother had left her, a bag of food you had given her and her favorite book of yours, Origin of Species, you had watched her walk away into the night alone, as her name backwards spelled.

You had spent the whole night incapable of sleeping, wondering if she was fine and if she hadn’t encountered any dangers as she travelled on foot. You worried so much but all you could do, was hope that she would stay safe and find her mother. Soon.

On the next day, you had spent the morning and the beginning of the afternoon distracted. Tried to complete some of your works, but couldn’t. Your mind would always go back to the gone girl and her well being.

You had frustratedly been trying to read the same page of one of your books for fifteen minutes, without being capable of keeping any attention on it, when for the second time in a long time, you heard knocks at the front door.

You got up instantly, leaving the book forgotten upon the closest table as you rushed to the door, already smiling at the thought at Enola had came around on her idea of going alone and was back to ask you to go with her.

When you opened the door though, you realized that it wasn’t Enola who had knocked. It had been a man. A man you had never seen before.

He was tall, it was the first thing you noticed. The fact that he had no beard, was the second. And then, details of him came rushing into your mind through your eyes. He had short, curly hair, bright eyes and memorable features. He wore a white shirt, a brown vest with small white details in it and a brown suit as well as trousers of the same color. No tie which was insula for men that well dressed.

“May I help you?” you frowned at him, holding the wooden door firmly with one of your hands. To receive the visit of men, had always made you nervous. You lived alone, after all, and the world was becoming a more violent place day by day.

“I hope so” he said, which such confidence on his voice that it actually made you raise your eyebrows at him. His eyes were fixed in you, analyzing your face with much intensity. Far more than you thought it would be appropriate. “I’m Sherlock Holmes. And I suppose you are Miss (Y/L/N), my sister’s science teacher”

You took a moment to watch him again, trying to put into your mind that the man in front of you was the Sherlock Holmes, the detective who was making a name on England, solving the most incredible and difficult cases on his own. After long seconds of silence where you only stared at each other, you cleaned your throat. “I am in fact Enola’s teacher, Mr. Holmes. How did you know?”

“I found her works, studies on great science authors. They all had writings on the borders where she constantly mentioned a desire to please and make a 'Miss (Y/L/N)' proud. It only took me a visit to one of the closest houses to ask who it was and get pointed in your house’s direction” he explained, in an impersonal tone quite fitting to a detective. He saw the incisive tone look you were giving him, filled with suspicion, and smiled slightly as he looked at his feet, before focusing his eyes back on yours. “I came here because Enola ran away from home, Miss (Y/L/N). And I think she would come here to see you if she needed help”

You sighted, looking into his eyes. You remembered Enola’s words, where she had told you Mycroft was the one who wanted to send her to a finishing school, the one who had made her run away. If that had been Mycroft Holmes at your door, you would have denied being her teacher or even knowing the girl, wanting to cut the conversation short. But that was Sherlock Holmes. Enola hadn’t expressed much anger towards him and honestly, he would for sure find out the truth on his own. He was the best detective there was in the nowadays. You tell him, would just spin faster the process and you would be able to send him away sooner.

“Come in, Mr. Holmes” you took a step aside, motioning for him to come in. He did, in slow calculated steps and once he was inside you closed the door, sighting. You expected him to say something, but he didn’t. Not at first. Instead he walked around just like Enola had done, eyes floating through the uncountable books you had, all in a complete mess over the tables, piles and more piles of them . “She was indeed here, your sister”

He turned his head to look at you, a genuine smile on his lips. “I was already certain of that” then he walked towards one of the tables, fingers running through one of works. The paper was a bit kneaded, but he didn’t seem to care. “The works you did with Enola, the amount of things she learned… they were quite impressive”

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to contain your surprise to know you had impressed the most impressive man of all, Sherlock Holmes. You waited for him to speak again, but he didn’t, just kept on walking through the room and inspecting your things with his perceptive eyes. “I don’t know where she is, Mr. Holmes. She left many hours ago”

He placed his hands on the pockets of his trousers, turning completely to you the resemblance of his previous smile on his lips. “And I believe she didn’t tell you what were her plans?”

“No and if she had, I wouldn’t tell you” you said and went to sit on a chair, at the table he had been studying with his eyes previously.

“Mind if I take off my suit?” he asked simply. You just nodded for him to go on, not giving it much thought. He took off his brown suit in gracious movements, then placed it in one of the other empty chairs close by. “May I ask why you wouldn’t tell me my sister’s plans, Miss (Y/L/N), if you knew them?”

“Enola said your brother wants to send her to a finishing school” you replied, watching as one after the other, he folded the sleeves of his white shirt until they got close to his elbow. Unconsciously, you noticed how his muscles could be seen from under his shirt. “To try to turn such a brilliant, incredibly smart young girl into a 'lady society' would be a terrible mistake. She shouldn’t be forced to do it” at the end of that sentence, Sherlock Holmes had grabbed two books in his hands and after reading the tiles, he went to the shelves and started placing them there. “Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?”

“I am organizing your books, Miss (Y/L/N). In alphabetical order, of course. Like I’ve noticed you do after a quick inspection” he smiled at you again, placing those two in place. Then, he went to the table and grabbed a few more. “I personally agree with you. I don’t think Enola should be sent to such a place, but she is my brother’s ward. It is out of my hands” he read the titles, then turned around to return to the shelves. “I suppose you weren’t raised as a lady of society also, for you live by yourself apparently and your academic interests”

“You’re wrong” you said with a little smile taking a hold of your lips, and that made him stop organizing the books and look at you with a frown. She shouldn’t be wrong often. “I was raised to be a lady, until the point where my parents died. After that, I started to live on my own, for I had no more relatives. It gave me a chance to become who I wanted to be, instead of whom I was being carved into”

“You chose your own path” he said with a bigger smile this time and when you nodded in agreement, he returned his look at the shelves. “How did your parents die?”

“They were murdered” you tried to swallow the knot on your throat. Even though they had been controlling parents to the most when regarding your future, they were still your parents, and you loved and missed them. “The police never found out by whom”

“The police can be quite… inefficient” he turned back around with his hands already empty. “I’m really sorry”

“Thank you” you said, squeezing your lips in a thin line as old memories came to surface. Things you hadn’t you thought about in a long, long time. “If there isn’t anything else, may I escort you to the door?”

Your polite way of sending him away made him smile.

He placed the books he had just gathered back on the table, grabbed his suit and accompanied you towards the door, not bothering to dress the piece again. You opened the door and he stepped out, turning to look at you once more. His eyes were curious, interesting. Full of something you couldn’t quite identify, so mysterious as his sister’s.

“If you find Enola, don’t stop her from trying to find your mother” you told him, trying to repress the emotion in your voice. “Not knowing what happened… can be quite disturbing”

“I promise, stop her, is not my intention” he looked down at his feet once again, as if he was thinking for a brief moment, before his eyes went back to yours. “I could try to find out what happened to your parents. Who was their murderer”

“I don’t have much money, Mr. Holmes” you told him, your turn now to look down at your feet.

“I never said you would have to pay” he replied and with that your gaze snapped back up to meet his, and that made him chuckle. You couldn’t deny he looked quite beautiful when doing that. “You were there for my sister through much time and when she needed help, when I wasn’t. That is enough paying for me. Think about it, Miss (Y/L/N). After I find my sister and discover where is my mother, I am willing to take over your case. If you want me to” he nodded his head in your direction in a silent appreciation for your reception in your house and began to turn to walk away, but stopped himself in the middle of such movement. “May I know your first name?”

You smiled softly at that. “It’s (Y/N), Mr. Holmes”

“Please, call me Sherlock”

And after that, he walked away.

[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 31

Pairings: Sirius B, F!Reader, Remus L  Warnings: Language, smoking weed, shitty parenting, mentions of death A/N: more of a filler but it helps establish stuff. *unbeta'd

【 Masterlist | Previous Chapter | ao3 】

Chapter 31: Drowning on Dry Land

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

The week before her flight back, Matthew’s parents invited her over for dinner.

Waiting to greet them at the door was Mrs. and Mr. Gaplin. Matthew’s father, a Half-Maj, was a Potioneer while his mother, an Old-Maj, was a Court Scribe. They wore large, kind smiles as Mrs. Gaplin pulled her into a tight, crushing hug.

After pleasantries, she and Matthew kicked off their shoes while his parents ushered them to the dining room.

“How are you darling? '' Mrs. Gaplin asked, floating plates in their direction as everyone began helping themselves to food. “Matt wouldn’t stop talking about you since we knew y’were coming.”

She side-eyed Matthew who groaned loudly. “Did not!”

“Sure thing,” she added, which caused Matthew to slump in his chair as his parents laughed at him.

It was a nice, charming evening; filled with laughter and heartfelt conversations. His parents continued to gloat about Mathew’s achievements that he hadn’t told her. It caused him to almost get up and run out of the room from embarrassment before moving to boast about Y/N. Even Mr. Gaplin asked her regarding her OWLs which pleasantly surprised her.

A few times, Mr. Gaplin pressed a few cheeky kisses to his wife’s face as Matthew made loud retching noises.

“Disgusting!”

Mr. Gaplin laughed. “Ya sixteen. Suck it up.”

“But you’re still my baby!” Mrs. Gaplin cooed, getting up to collect the plates.

Matthew tried to look insulted but she could see the small smile that threatened his lips as jealousy nipped at her toes.

The next few days were spent staying at the Gaplin household. Matthew’s parents insisted constantly that she should stay over so they could utilize the little time they had left before leaving. At first, the idea made her feel intrusive. Although, her mother hadn’t returned to the brownstone house, preferring to sleep in the on-call rooms at the Brooklyn Memorial Hospital. It quickly got lonely and boring before Y/N finally agreed. Besides, Mrs. and Mr. Gaplin were only around for breakfast and dinner - working for the day but never failed to return; always wearing larger smiles than the previous night.

They made her feel welcomed and warm - even taking her and Matthew to the local pictures. They included her in everything, even their trivia and board games after dinner.

It was quite the change compared to her family life.

Then an identical routine ensued. She would wake up, get ready for the day; spend hours with Matthew; then twilight fell as they stayed awake into the early hours of the morning.

The day before she was due to leave, she and Matthew ran up to his room after dinner. He went to lean on top of the small coffee table, rolling up a joint as she collected her possessions scattered around his room; not wanting to leave it for the last minute.

“Fancy some grass?” He asked in a poor British accent.

“Nah,” she shook her head, “But thanks love.”

Mathew’s smile turned bashful as he stood, turning on the radio in the background. She moved to open his window which was just above the roof of his shed as she stepped out with steady feet. Perching herself down on the blankets and pillows they hauled outside the night prior, she stared at the glowing city splayed in front. From the window, The Velvet Underground flowed softly.

Matthew proceeded to hop out, sauntering over as he threw a flirtatious wink.

“Brough this,” he said, tossing the camera he’d taken from her bag. She caught it as he nestled beside her and lit the joint; placed in his mouth. Billows of smoke clouded around them while she snapped a few photos of the view.

“Ya sure you gotta leave?” Matthew whined, embers of the end of the joint sparking with another huff. “Maybe you can smuggle me. Shove me into that trunk.”

She pulled the camera away from her face, inhaling the earthy, pungent scent. Her head felt a bit lightheaded from it. “A hardcore criminal at sixteen?”

Matthew was mildly amused until a troublesome look passed through his features. ��Um — name something ya miss most about home.”

Home. What a funny word — place — feeling. Home was supposed to be something that made your heart glow, feel warm and happy — by that definition, a year ago home would’ve been her little house back in Toronto with the beautiful maple trees swaying in the backyard. Or home would’ve been Ilvermorny and its tall ivory walls. But now, London, or maybe just Hogwarts, had become her home. The scrolls around the Herbology greenhouse, the library, sneaking around past curfew; the Black Lake, Hogsmeade — Lily, James, Marlene, Dorcas, Remus, Regulus…

Unsure of what to say, she opted for, “You?”

Matthew rolled his eyes, bringing the joint to his lips. “Real charmer.” Then, smoke surrounded them. “But really.”

“Why?”

“C’mon! I need an answer! — I don’t know… say somethin’ like… lobstah.”

She chuckled. “Lobster? Really?”

“Or coffee from ya regular cafe.”

Deliberating it for a second, lips tugged up. “Coffee Crisp.”

He snorted. “A candy bar? Really?”

“Or Ketchup chips. Haven’t seen them in London yet.”

“That’s fucking disgusting.”

And then the silence returns but it makes Matthew shuffle in his spot. He blurted out, “Go — more brit insight.”

Y/N felt a bit hazy from the secondhand smoke. “More? You’ll get bored.”

“I won’t,” Matthew replied quickly, sounding oddly sincere. “Please, just… go on. Tell me everything.”

“Um… a friend of mine says crikey a lot. I think it just means to be mildly surprised? — They don’t say bloody or blimey as much as you’d think… Oh! Tea — they really drink that much tea. Also —”

Continuing, Matthew shut off again, going completely silent — not once speaking up or adding funny commentary; only staring at her, simply watching.

“Okay,” she turned to take the joint from his hand, “You're freaking me out. Spill, what's up?”

“S’nuthing.”

Whack!

“Jeez! Would ya stop wiv that! Gonna kill me…”

“Spill.”

“Fine! It’s just that…'' Matthew shifted, obscuring his face. Maybe if she didn’t feel so fuzzy, or if there wasn’t the smoke coming from the blunt or her small headache forming, she would’ve picked up on all the little signs. “It’s just —” he sighed, “I wanna hear ya talk — commit it to memory.”

“Obsessed with me? Not new.”

But that seemed to trouble him more. “It’s just… I don’t know if or when I’ll hear it again…” He looks up to the city in front. “Ya my… best friend. Could never forget ‘bout ya, but s’hard — keepin’ in touch.”

She pats him, encouraging and smiling. Her voice was hopeful, so much so that it made Matthew’s lip quirk up. “We’ll find each other. Always.” She said simply. “You and me, we’re like… salt and pepper. Soap and water — Hansel and Gretel!”

“Fuckin’ Dr. Seuss,” he smiled, that worried look fading away.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

The warm summer breeze flowed around them, just as the sun peeked above the airport. Expanse, clear skies with blue mingled with deep purples and pinks shimmered against the metal from the building.

“Gonna miss ya,” Matthew muttered into the crown of her head. Her mother didn’t want him to come, but Y/N simply ignored that request as he came to send her off.

“Don’t get mushy on me now,” she joked but felt her throat become tight.

“Betta get goin’ — Doc’s lookin’ like she’s ‘bout to butcher me if ya don’t.”

She snickered, pushing Matthew’s shoulder as she picked up her bags, walking backwards while waving. “Write me!”

“Course I will! Until next time!”

“Till next time!”

Once the plane took off, awkwardness swelled among the two women. Not once had her mother said anything to her — not to apologize or see how she was doing — although they never really did talk much. Honestly, she half-expected her to leave her in New York with the Gaplins. Easy to dispose of her.

The next few days Y/N, poorly, attempted to fix her sleeping schedule. It was a miracle that she managed to get up before dinner as her head poked into the master bedroom.

She cleared her throat, feeling herself swaying in place. “Um — hi. I’m making dinner tonight.”

Her mother was dressed in a simple, yet sleek dress. She was bent over, putting on high heels as she looked up.

“The hospital is throwing a party for me — the surgery was a success.”

“That’s amazing! Er — will you be back for dinner though? It’s just that I leave soon and... two parties are better than one.”

She considered her for a long time, eyes mostly distracted by her hair slowly changing to a different colour.

“Sure. But I have to go now.”

“Right, sorry, have fun.”

Thudding down the stairs and the door clicking shut, she followed not too long after. Making her way to the kitchen, she picked up a dusty cooking book, blowing off the dust and cracked it open; flicking through the pages.

Deciding on the seemingly easy noodle dish, she rushed out of the house to the local grocery shop for ingredients. It would be the first time they would be spending any time together. It had to be perfect. But she overestimated that no matter how closely she stuck with the dishes’ instructions, the outcome was a disaster.

The noodles somehow were rock hard. The sauce she made looked grey and was chunky, similar to badly mixed concrete and it tasted horrid. At one point, even the stove exploded into flames as she had to grab her wand and use magic to extinguish the fire.

Potions... She could use a cauldron, use multiple ingredients, make some of the most complicated spells and even had tricks of her own to make the process easier but she couldn’t make a simple dish…

Her face screwed together as she glanced up to the clock; she was going to come home soon as the dinner she made was disastrous. She panicked, cleaning up everything in a rush and decided to order food.

Waiting patiently at the dinner table, her eyes fluttered up to the clock in anticipation. She felt giddy, a surge of excitement rattling throughout her bones at the prospect. Her mother wanted to spend time with her! And she should be home any minute.

But then a minute turned to two, then five, ten, twenty, thirty — then an hour ticked by.

And then another.

Y/N got up, her chair squeaking loudly. Losing all her appetite, she went to her room, sleeping in early.

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August 20th, 1976

Going through the potential NEWT courses she could take was the highlight of her day. The possibilities were endless.

Wanting to take Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfigurations and most of all, Potions, left her excited for the school year.

But the more she thought about the upcoming school year or potential courses, she was left to contemplate what ther5 future entailed.

Was she ready to give up magic? Something that fundamentally altered her life and moulded her into what she was? Magic was her essence, something she developed and nurtured — but to put her life in danger…

Rethinking that word again: home… Was London her home? Was she willing to leave, move again to be safer? But practicing magic around the world these days for New-Majs was dangerous. Or the potential danger she would put her mother in if she continued with it?

But magic… Maybe home wasn’t necessarily a place — but rather something she carried. In all sense, magic made her heart glow, feel warm, safe and happy — it felt like what home was supposed to feel like. And the idea of being ripped away from it, forcing herself to live a normal, Muggle life…

Magic was home.

So die, but have what she cared and loved most was by her side or live a dull life without magic — ensuring her life would be miserable.

There was a clicking of shoes in the hallway that snapped her out of her thoughts. Her mother came walking by.

Lips smushed shut into a tight line, still annoyed from the other night but was determined to spend some time with one another.

“I was planning to go to Diagon Alley for the first time — to get my textbooks... '' She stood awkwardly. “Do you want to come with me?”

“I can’t,” she replied, so quickly that it had Y/N almost scoff in disbelief. “Work. But have fun.”

She sighed but still waved her off and said a small, ‘I love you, stay safe.’ Her mother only gave her a look, something unreadable and left without a word. With a heavy heart, she grabbed her purse filled with gold and left for Diagon Alley.

Passing through the Leaky Cauldron was an adventure in itself. The shabby, tiny pub was jammed with wizards and witches zipping by.

Diagon Alley was bustling with so much magic she could feel it pumping through her blood. Students were hypnotized by the shiny new Firebolt on display; others were giggling, running around with shopping bags while older witches and wizards took a scroll. Her head turned in every direction; walking into the Apothecary, a potions ingredients and book shop.

Emmeline was there. She gave a tight-lipped smile which she returned.

Emmeline by every definition was nice, extremely kind and neither girl ever had a problem with the other. James was the problem and Y/N would gladly stay out of their feud.

Passing clamouring students, she managed to get all her supplies but stopped in front of the potion ingredients. She took a few minutes, flicking through the Advance Potions textbook and grabbed everything listed needed for most of the potions.

She made her way around Diagon Alley, going through many shops. The shelves were stacked high to the ceiling with books and materials. She spent more time than necessary there but it was beautiful.

As she was paying for her Herbology textbook, a large boom! rumbled the ground. Y/N took her bags, ready to sprint to the Leaky Cauldron but the shouts caught everyone’s attention.

“WE WILL NOT BURN WITH THEM!” A crowd of witches and wizards shouted. Their wands were transformed into microphones as a few shot fireballs up in the air.

“What’s happening?” A woman asked an old wizard. He only shook his head, grabbing a copy of the Daily Prophet, handing it to the witch.

On the front page, there were moving photos of people protesting, similar to the wizards and witches currently shouting.

‘Protests Break out in Light of Muggleborns and Halfbloods Burned Alive

Voldemort and his followers have been attacking Muggleborn and ‘blood traitor' families with the usage of fire. By burning them alive, or their houses. They bonded the witch or wizard with magic, making it impossible to apparate or leave their houses. Their broken wands were found at the scene.

Since then, protests all around Britain and Scotland have broken out. The Ministry of Magic —’

“WE WILL NOT BURN WITH THEM!” The crowd chanted.

Rage filled every inch of her body as she stomped out of Diagon Alley.

If she wanted to stay in the magical world, she had to be the greatest at whatever she did, because if she wasn’t, someone of her status was never going to get anywhere.

Magic was home, and she wasn’t going to let them take it from her. She didn’t want to surrender. They weren’t going to take that away from her.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

Immediately after Diagonal Alley, she began working; taking in her thoughts from earlier to heart.

Making sure to cover any windows from prying eyes, Y/N fiddle with first with new charms. Still unassured by her abilities in Charms, she considered taking another class before realizing all the different routes it led to. To become a Healer, Auror or Potioneer, she needed Charms.

Multiple charms backfired, causing them to ricochet off the walls, leaving a dent or chipping the wallpaper.

After trying out more than half the Charms in the book, there was one spell in particular that she attempted to cast many times, but without fail, was never able to properly cast it. Frustrated, her hand made a sharp flick and the spell spurted out instantly.

She tried again with the same hand gesture. To her astonishment, the charm produced easily. Quickly, she jotted down the note in her book.

Next, she glossed over her Transfigurations and Defense Against the Dark Arts book until her eyes caught onto the word: werewolf.

She learned briefly about werewolves, but that was in third year. And now that she knew a werewolf, it would be good to rehash it.

A werewolf, also known as a Lycanthrope, is a non-magical or magical being who transforms under the rising of the full moon. However, non-magical beings have a greater risk of dying rather than turning.

As the name suggests, werewolves are closely related to the non-magical animal, wolves. However, they have distinct characteristics that make them easily identifiable from wolves.

She flipped the page.

Wolfsbane flowers are poisonous to the non-magical world but it has been proven to have no effects on werewolves like they do on wolves. Werewolves are immune from the poison they emit and there are reports that Wolfsbane flowers help alleviate symptoms.

She underlined that section.

It’s a uniquely magical illness known to spread by saliva and blood. Werewolves are dangerous, blood-thirsty beasts — she flipped the page.

They cannot choose to transform and will no longer retain their human mind. Given the opportunity, they would slaughter their loved ones — flipped the page.

A mixture of powdered silver and dittany applied to bites help seal bite wounds. It’s also commonly put in liquid and digested in anticipation of full moons to help with the symptoms of transforming.

Y/N’s face scrunched as she continued to read.

There is no known cure Potion used to help treat lycanthropy.

She felt oddly intrusive knowing parts about Remus’ condition. But then questions arose. How were there no Potions of any kind there to help werewolves during their transformation?

Pushing the thought away, she turned to the cauldron, picking a potion to brew. They all were fairly easy, some she’d even done before just by playing around. But one potion that grabbed her attention was Draught of Living Death. Even at Ilvermorny, that potion was notoriously difficult.

Starting up the cauldron, she grabbed hold of the sopophorous bean. However, it kept jumping when she tried to cut it. She quickly resorted to another method, running down to her kitchen and grabbing the handheld garlic press, placing the bean inside, squishing it down as so much juice spurted out, even going all over her clothing.

The potion turned into the light lilac like suggested. But then as she stirred, her potion quickly became ruined as she restarted immediately.

Hours ticked by; several items in her room were Transfigured into cauldrons, as she poured the existing solution into the nine other cauldrons as she conducted her experiment.

Stirring counterclockwise was a sham, so she stirred clockwise. Nothing, the potion went bad. The next cauldron, she stirred counterclockwise and then clockwise, alternating between every stir. It showed promising progress before it turned a bright red after the seventh stir, bubbling over.

The next cauldron, she stirred counterclockwise, then clockwise after the seventh stir as the potion turned a pink pale. That’s what the book said would happen. She quickly cleared the rest of the cauldrons, pouring in the pink liquid just in case.

She continued to stir until it became a clear liquid. Surely, that was good enough but she could never be sure. After all, she didn’t know if this was what it was supposed to look like.

Deeply immersed, she hadn’t realized how late it got.

She laid on her bed, her light on as she read the scribbles on the margins of the books she'd penned. The textbook was outdated and everything she’s written down, there were easier ways to perform spells, create Potions and more. The other books must’ve been outdated too.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

August 22nd, 1976

Today, her attention was drawn to her Herbology textbook as she flipped right to the medicine section. Y/N had sneakily stolen a few of her mother’s medical journals as she scribbled down notes.

She flicked through the diagrams. Wizards and No-Majs were different when it came to their bodies and sickness, she knew that, but their anatomy was still the same.

An opera played in the background as she sat in front of the television. It filled the silence as her mother came from behind her, creeping her way closer to the door.

Y/N called out from where she sat. “Care to join me?”

“Can't, work.” She grunted out.

She placed the pen down, full attention drawn to her. “I only have a few days until school starts… you can’t spend some time?”

Her mom wasn’t looking at her, ostensibly staring at the floor, anywhere other than her face.

“It’s not that interesting, but um - I need help with medical terms and illnesses. You’re the best at that!”

“I can’t,” she said roughly. “Can't you see? You have to stop bothering me when I’m busy.” And then she left again, leaving her alone. Y/N would’ve been more bothered had she not been so focused on her studies.

There was a pattern.

In the Herbology textbook, in the werewolf section, there were a few ingredients used to help alleviate symptoms of Lycanthropy.

Dittany, Powered silver, Powdered Moonstone, Aconite…

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

August 26th, 1976

“Do you want to —” “Work.”

“But you always have work… can’t you take some time off?”

“You know it’s important to me. Why do you keep trying to limit that?”

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August 29th, 1976

She was partially through her Potions and Charms textbook. It was all she could fixate on.

Deciding to take a break, Y/N went to stretch, getting up to talk to her mom who again, was getting ready to leave. She opened the honey-coloured wood draw close to the door. She pulled out a set of keys, fixing her appearance in a nearby mirror.

She had already opened the door.

“Hey mom, I was thinking of getting lunch… Will you be back soon?”

But, there was faint muffling outside the door.

“Ready for our date?”

Y/N, desperate, seized hold of her wrist, pleading. “Please, I leave in a day.”

“I'll make it up to you,” mom replied, “I promise.” And then, the door clicked shut.

Again.

She stared at the door, trying to regulate what she was thinking.

What made them worthy of her time when their’s were limited.

Robotically, Y/N turned to walk to her room, her hip bumped into the drawer which hadn’t been fully closed. Her eyes flew to it, about to push it in as she caught a flash of white.

Yanking it open, she swore her heart could’ve shattered. White envelopes filled the draw; her familiar handwriting scribbled on top of each letter. She picked one up, twisting it over to the flap.

It was unopened.

She picked up another. Unopened.

Then another. Unopened.

Unopened.

All of them were unopened, sealed. Hardly tampered with and there was hardly a wrinkle.

Was there something wrong with her? Something so disgraceful that made her so disgusting that people kept forgetting - pushing her away? Like an insidious disease.

Was she truly that unloveable? That much of a nuisance? What made someone else so much more important than her?

It was too much to process but if she had to describe the feeling, it was like drowning on dry land.

Whatever home was, it shouldn’t feel like this: cold, lonely, sad.

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【 Next Chapter 】

Slang dictionary (+ a bit of history bc i didn’t realize how many ppl didn’t actually understand what I was talking about in other chaps):

Coffee Crisp = a very popular chocolate bar sold in Canada. It was a variation of a treat made by a company from the UK. It was briefly introduced to the UK in the 60s but was pulled back because people thought it was too similar to Kit Kat. From what I know, Coffee Crisp is not commonly found in England (I've never seen it in stores) but it’s sold in Scotland.

Candy bar = US term for chocolate bar / chocolate

Grass = during the 60s - 70s, the term 'grass' was very popular slang for weed in New York bc it featured in vogue.

And yes, the British do drink that much tea.

© gotkindabored 2021. Do not repost or modify

[theeslytherinslut]

Perpetual Freak (6/?): Greenhouse Grudges

Pairings: Sirius Black x reader, Sirius Black x Gryffindor!reader, marauders era! Sirius Black x reader, Marauders x reader Warnings: Dueling, violence, blood/injury Word Count: 3,683

"Please," Lucius scoffed. "It's likely Sirius here would be expelled if he was found in another duel." His blonde hair glinted white in the pale moonlight, and it was mildly distracting.

"Been watching me then, have we? I don't blame you. I mean, I am simply devilishly handsome," Sirius responded, checking himself out in the glass panes of the greenhouse. Bellatrix made an exasperated noise, and Lucius clicked his tongue.

"Sorry, handsome. I don't swing that way," Lucius sneered, Bellatrix giggled from next to him.

"Sure?" Sirius grinned maliciously.

Lucius' skin was already ghostly pale, but somehow it turned paler. Looking over at him curiously, he mouthed Yaxley's name, and you immediately caught on to him. Your mind conjured the image of the two blonde boys trapped in a heated embrace. Grinning a little, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, pushing the thought. After a beat, Bellatrix gasped, and Lucius produced an almost howl of rage.

"Stop that!" he growled.

"Twitchy..." Sirius crooned. At his utterance, you pulled the bubble back, and their eyes unglazed and refocused on the two of you. "Let's not play with our food."

"How did you do that?" Lucius yelled, his pale features pink with rage.

"You like it? It's a specialty of mine," you grinned at him. Just as you turned to Bellatrix, you saw a slight flick of her wand, and you went airborne. Time seemed to move in slow motion as you soared through the dark night--the greenhouse, however, was coming up on you at an alarming rate. As quick as your brain could, you cast a hovering spell; it managed to catch you before you hit the ground, but not before you crashed through the roof of the greenhouse, glass shattering all around you. Several shards slit your skin, and you yelled in fury.

"Twitch?" Sirius called, voice sounding anxious as the sounds of spells clashing filled the night.

"Alright!" you called, gritting your teeth and steeling your stomach as you pulled a decent-sized shard of glass from the inside of your forearm. The feeling nauseated you, but you had to get back to Sirius. Hasting to help, you trampled over the broken glass and pots inside the wrecked greenhouse, taking care to steer very clear of the tentacula plant.

Bellatrix and Lucius were flinging spells with all they had, and you could tell it was all Sirius could do to simply block them. Bellatrix must've thought that would've taken you out, as neither of them looked over to see if you were coming. Seizing the opportunity, you pushed open the glass door and used your own wand to fling Bellatrix. She was sent flying and landed with a dull thud against a large tree trunk nearby. Even from the distance you could see her eyes bulge as she gasped like a fish out of water, trying to get air back into her stunned lungs.

From your left the sound of breaking glass sounded and you turned to find Sirius tucked into a roll, sending himself far away from the exploding glass. Just as he came to a stop, he twisted his wand towards Lucius and sent his wand flying into the air with a simple disarming spell. Turning back towards Bellatrix, she struggled to get to her feet. Her savage hair was whipping wildly in the wind, and the sight gave you an idea of your own. Pointing your wand, you grinned and spoke.

"Calvorio," and with that said, her hair began falling from her scalp. The first few chunks caused shocked gasps to fall from her lips, but after the fifth or sixth tuft, she was beginning to truly freak out.

"Lucius!" she screamed, causing the blonde to whip his head around to look for her. Sirius seized his chance and sent him flying backwards.

"Wha' in the ruddy hell?!" a gruff voice began booming from somewhere nearby. You and Sirius locked eyes--fun as this was, Lucius was right; another fight would not be good for Sirius' standing.

Bellatrix was positively wailing now, her hands shaking as they ran over her quickly balding head. Using her noises as cover, you ran back towards Sirius and grabbed his robes, pulling him back from advancing on Lucius.

"Come on, we have to go!" you said, pulling on him, but for all the good it did, you might as well have not said anything at all.

"Sirius, we have to go!" you pushed, this time raising your mental voice to where he winced and covered his ears.

"Oi!" he called, turning back to you.

"Sirius, if you want to live to duel another day, we've gotta disappear, and we've got to do it now!" you hissed desperately. The gamekeeper's footsteps began to shake the ground with their proximity and intensity. Just when you thought he'd be caught, he whirled around and pushed you back into the tunnel, which closed off at a flick of his wand, and the two of you were consumed by the darkness.

"Wha's wrong? Ou' here screamin like you bin stung by a skrewt," the gameskeeper said gruffly, likely coming up on Bellatrix and Lucius. "Good Godric! The greenhouse! Ooh, Professor Sprout is not going to be happy abou' tha'."

"Who cares about the stupid greenhouse? Clearly, she's been cursed; even you could see that you oaf," Lucius sneered, causing Sirius to get riled up once more. You grabbed his wand arm and put it down, putting your other hand to your lips.

"Oaf?" the gameskeeper boomed, equally outraged. "Now you jus' watch yer mouth, Malfoy. C'mon, let's go see wha' Slughorn has ter say abou' it all,"

And slowly, the sobs of a deranged Bellatrix grew quieter and quieter until all you could hear was the wind whistling through the now shattered frames of the greenhouse.

"C'mon," you said after a moment, grabbing Sirius' wrist. He grinned after Lucius and Bellatrix in a pleased sort of way and let you drag him into the tunnel, whistling a tune softly.

"Are you whistling?" you asked, laughing slightly.

"We just got ol' Lucy and Bellatrix nice and stuck. Even Slughorn can't ignore the broken greenhouse!" he let out a barking laugh into the tunnel, and you couldn't help but join in at the thought of a bald Bellatrix getting berated by Slughorn.

"Nice jinx, by the way, she loves her hair," Sirius said, winking as you smiled back at him. You thought a funny feeling erupted in your stomach, but it must've just been the excitement of them getting into trouble.

"Wasn't it? I thought she'd like it," you laughed at the image of her hair falling out onto the dark grass, her deranged sobs filling the night air as she tried to keep it in place with her fingers. "Gives excellent ammunition for later."

"You're gonna get into trouble for that one of these days," Sirius said as the two of you slowed to a walking pace in the dark, dank tunnel.

"I'm friends with you lot; I'm always in trouble," you reminded him, laughing.

"Touche, Twitchy," he laughed back. "Though, it's mostly James, and I really that get into trouble--everybody's got a soft spot for Remus, ya know, the teenage werewolf."

"I was aware of that, funnily enough. And I think you forget about Peter. He doesn't get any special treatment." you reminded him, with an image of an anxious Peter wringing his hands behind James as McGonagall scolded.

"Well, I was trying to, and here you are bringing him up again," he teased, shaking his head, a smile on his face.

"What's your problem with him, anyway?" you asked him, "I mean, I know he's always preferred James, but it seems it's about all the two of you can do to sit in the same room anymore."

"I dunno, I've never really liked him. Prongs does, of course, because Peter absolutely fawns over him. I don't think he'd even be brought along if he didn't spend every other minute kissing James' arse--and I'm supposed to be the arrogant one," he rolled his eyes.

"So, you don't like him because he doesn't have a slightly homoerotic infatuation with you?" you asked, a laugh slipping through your lips.

"Well, when you put it like that, I suppose it does sound a bit odd," he laughed with you, "But really, that's just part of it. I dunno, I just don't trust him. There's something about him that just rubs me the wrong way, can't quite put my finger on it. Can't believe the little sod made it into Gryffindor, sometimes I think every now and then that hat makes a mistake." Sirius said.

"Well, it's bound to. It's a hat, innit?" you laughed.

"And then there's the whole thing with his Animagi being a rat. I mean, come on, does that not make anybody else nervous?" he pointed out, looking at you imploringly.

"It's a little weird, I suppose. But we can't exactly go judging each other for our animal forms. I mean, does Remus strike you as a werewolf?" you asked.

"Well, of course not, but that's not voluntary, is it? He didn't choose that form. I mean, James choosing a stag makes sense-- bloke has to be the biggest one out of all of us--plus it just sounds cool, stag," he said in a funny voice, making you laugh. "I dunno, I think mine makes sense. A big black dog,"

"Dark and scary looking, but really a softie at heart," you teased, nudging him with your shoulder. The two of you finally entered back into the castle, older students milling about as they made their way back to their common rooms. As you made your way into the main corridor, the two of you saw a Ravenclaw and a Slytherin lip-locked in a notch in the walls, causing a slight snicker from the both of you--though, they didn't seem to notice.

"I dunno, I think Peter's makes sense. I mean, he's a rat of a boy. Always nervous, always simpering, rubbing his hands together like he does, always trying to worm his way out of things," you said, understanding Sirius' point of view more and more as you spoke.

"Precisely. Sod makes me nervous, and I've got my bloody eyes on him," he all but growled, a dark look coming over his hooded features. For a second, he looked just like a true Black. He must've realized the same thing because, after a moment, he shook his head and let the boyish glow back into his cheeks.

"Now, yours, well yours makes perfect sense. A cute little bunny wabbit," he said, turning to you and brushing the tip of your nose with his finger.

You rolled your eyes, though your heartbeat funnily from his touch; the boys loved to tease you for your inherently cute and slightly feministic animagi of a spotted white rabbit, the spots being the same color as your hair.

"I'm not cute," you grumbled, beginning your ascent up the stairs to Gryffindor tower for the second time that night.

"Say that again, but slower," he teased, laughing at you. Just as you were about to retort with a smart remark, your foot caught on one of the stairs, and you let out a swear word as you tumbled forward. Sirius managed to catch just before your face smashed against the staircase, and for that, you were grateful.

"Thanks," you said, blushing slightly as he helped you up, hands resting on your hips to steady you.

"Alright?" he asked, his storm grey eyes holding yours.

"Yeah, I'm okay," you said, turning to continue up. He kept a hand on the small of your back the rest of the way up, probably just ensuring you wouldn't fall without him noticing once more.

"And where have you two been?" the Fat Lady asked, looking appraisingly down at you and Sirius, probably knowing it was nothing good. You were grateful for the long sleeves that hung on your robes--they blocked the dozen slits decorating your arms. They stung as the fabric brushed against them occasionally, and you were happy you made it to the common rooms for the night so you could shed them.

"Out," Sirius said, eliciting an exasperated sigh from her. "Pillyknox."

And with that, she swung open, grumbling about a lack of respect as she did so.

"Oi!" James called immediately upon seeing his best friend. At the noise, James rose from his spot on the couch and bounded over to Sirius, running a hand through his hair subconsciously as he did so. "What were you doing out by the greenhouses?"

"How'd yo--you checked the map, didn't you?" Sirius asked.

"Course. The two of you just bloody disappeared after Twitch here spent all night in a mood. Makes a bloke nervous," he said as the group of you made your way back over to where James had been seated. Remus and Peter sat on the floor next to the couch, locked in a game of chess; Peter squealed with delight as Remus' rook took out a knight of his, the sound of scattering pieces joining his laughter. Lily was laid out on the couch, reading a book, her scarlet hair glinting off the roaring fire behind her. Several boys watched her as she read, and their eyes fell as she grinned up at the arriving James, all looking quite put out.

You followed Sirius to the couches and noticed about the same number of girls' eyes trailing him. Disgruntled, you tore your robes off, seemingly momentarily forgetting about your arms. Hissing, they reminded you of their presence.

Lily's head flicked up from her book at your telltale wince of pain, and she gasped softly.

"Your arms," she breathed, closing her book.

"What the bloody hell happened?" Remus asked, concern lacing his tone as he got up from his game.

"I'm getting to it," you said, pressing your sleeve to a cut above your eyebrow.

"Oh, stop it, you're just going to make a mess," she said, pulling out her wand. "Tergio."

And with a funny sucking sensation, for the second time that day, you felt all the blood be siphoned off your face. Putting your other sleeve to the same bloody spot, it came back dry, and you smiled at her.

"Cheers."

Turning, you made to sit against the couch when all five let out an involuntary gasp.

"Fuck," you sighed, knowing it had to be another cut. "Who knew greenhouses could put up such a fight."

You tried to joke, but evidently, whatever had made them gasp was too consuming.

"Well, what is it then?" you asked, starting to get worried.

"Well, goodnight, boys," Lily finally spoke, handing her book to James and picking up your hand.

"What?" you asked blankly.

"We're going to see Madam Pomfrey, of course," she replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"No, we aren't," you said, pulling your hand out of Lily's as you neared the door.

"What?" she blinked. "Twitch, your arms are covered in cuts, and the entirety of the back of your shirt is soaked in blood. We have to go."

"No, they'll know the greenhouse was me, which means they'll know it wasn't just me, and Sirius can't get into trouble again. There's only so much even Dumbledore can do," you reasoned, shaking your head.

"James," Lily sighed, looking to him for support.

"Er," he started, rubbing the back of his neck. On the one hand, he was surely worried about you and wanted nothing more than to please Lily, but on the other, he didn't want to watch his best friend leave Hogwarts because of their behavior.

"Thanks," she said venomously. "Twitch, seriously, let's go."

"She's right," Remus sighed finally.

"Thank you, Remus," she sighed gratefully.

"I'm not going," you said, crossing your arms stubbornly--you fought the hiss of pain that would prove their point.

"You are so bloody stubborn," Lily said, putting her hands on her hips and taking a calming breath. You met her glare with one of your own, and after a moment, she unclenched.

"Fine," she said breezily. "Let's go up to your room then, boys."

"Sorry?" James said, coughing slightly on his tea.

"Well, if she won't go to Madam Pomfrey, she's going to have to let us close up the cuts because her shirt is the same color as the scarlet drapery. Dunno about you lot, but I don't fancy my blood drenching my shirt scarlet." Lily said in a commanding tone.

"She's right; she's losing a lot of blood," Remus said thoughtfully, his hands brushing your back ever so slightly. Your stomach clenched with nerves at the thought of not only leaving your wellbeing in the hands of the Marauders, but having them do so in their bedspace with you at least semi-undressed.

"Right, I'll just lead the way, then," James said haltingly, probably nervous about having girls in his room as well.

"Wait!" Peter squeaked, rushing up to James and whispering frantically in his ear.

"Right, Wormy, yes, go on and do that. Thank you." James said evasively, his face slightly ashen. With that, Peter darted up the stairs immediately.

"I'll grab my kit," Remus said and followed Peter up.

"Right then, follow me, ladies," James said suavely, smirking back at the two of you. Lily rolled her eyes but took his outstretched hand.

You were starting to feel a little funny and figured it best to move more slowly than usual. As you did so, you noticed people around you watching the group of you, eyes flitting between James and Lily and Sirius and you--evidently, they couldn't tell which was a juicer. They whispered loudly behind their hands, making it hard not to listen in passing.

"Nosy sods," Sirius shook his head, evidently noticing as well. He followed you up and remained almost silent as you followed Lily into the room.

The rooms were decorated in nearly the same way as the girls', but their room was already undoubtedly messier. Various items of clothing were strewn everywhere, and bits of parchment resting on every other available surface--most were in Remus' handwriting. It hadn't even been a day, how the hell did Remus write so much already? Where did this mess come from?

Peter was seated on his bed cross-legged, munching on a chocolate frog as he watched the group of you. His bed area was decorated with candy wrappers and crumbs.

"Here," Sirius said as James shut the door behind you all. With a grand sweep, he knocked everything on his bed onto the floor and beckoned you.

"Thanks, Siri," you smiled and sat on his bed. "I dunno what you guys were planning to do, but we should probably get to it. I feel a bit funny."

"Moony!" Sirius barked suddenly, causing you to jump a bit.

"Calm down, Pads, I've got it right here," he responded, shuffling back across the room with a small chest in his hands. His arms and hands were littered with scars, and you felt a rush of sympathy as you sat littered with cuts of your own. Remus had to do this once a month, for forever, with the only hope of his being he never hurt anyone--hurting himself instead was of no matter.

Remus, seemingly in the element of a Mediwizard, took your arms in his surprisingly soft hands and turned them over once each.

"Mostly superficial, aside from the one on the inside," he noted, gesturing to the area you'd pulled the shard out of on your left arm. "Go on and lay down on your stomach."

"Yes, Mediwizard," you teased. He gave a small smile as you turned to lay down.

With your face in Sirius' sheets now, his smell was overwhelming. Pine needles were the first scent you could pick out, like the bed of a forest. The sickly sweet smell of the tobacco he insisted on smoking was next, covering everything in a light layer. You were amazed the smell held up like that over the holiday--there was no musk, no heavy smell like he slept there every night, but the scent held up enough to decipher it.

"You really should go see Madam Pomfrey to close those up," Lily said once more. Turning your head, you found her lounged across what must've been James' bed--it was right next to Sirius'. You said nothing but made sure she saw you roll your eyes. "Fine, go on, then. Be stubborn."

"I will, thanks," you responded, grinning slightly. It was her turn to roll her eyes.

"Er, Lily, could you come lift Twitch's shirt?" Remus asked, clearing his throat several times.

"Eh, Sirius can do it," Lily shrugged, having grabbed a book from Remus' pile and flipping through it. Stuck between hissing for her to do it and liking the idea of Sirius doing it instead, you remained quiet.

"Er, I mean alright," Sirius said from next to you.

"Not as if you aren't well-practiced in that," James laughed as he collapsed next to Lily. You stiffened at the thought.

"C'mon, Lils," you said, suddenly less interested as Sirius was already so well-practiced. With a small sigh, Lily pushed off of James' bed.

"Great, cheers, mate," Sirius griped, throwing James a dirty look. Seemingly realizing his mistake, he winced back apologetically as Lily lifted your shirt gingerly.

"So, what happened, anyway?" she asked as she resumed her spot.

"Why don't you tell it, Twitch?" Sirius offered.

"Too tired, you do it," you said, your head beginning to spin. Just as you were about to say something, you heard the chest open and knew Remus was seconds away from helping.

"Well, after we left the Great Hall, she was still pouting and pissy, probably planning to mull over it all night--hate it when she does that. So instead, I suggested we go after them." Sirius started.

James let out an appreciative rip of laughter.

You felt Remus' hands begin to touch against your back, and somehow, the room seemed to spin faster.

"Guys, I think," you started, interrupting Sirius' story. "I don't feel..."

You tried to get the sentence out, but your tongue wouldn't cooperate before the darkness took you under.

[lesbian-deadpool]

New Surroundings

Part Two Of Two: “Glad To Be Home.”

Part One

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Words: 1,975

Warnings: Lil bit of sadness + grief, talks of brainwashing, flashbacks. It’s pretty much just fluff.

Request: Yes! For anon for donating to BLM!! Thank you so much!

Summary: Maybe you can restart.

A/N: Idk. I thought this was p good.

Ko-Fi

(Not My GIF)

***

Booming laughter surrounded the space around you.

Peter had run up to where you "fell", asking worryingly, if you were okay. Along with Natasha. As you slowly sat up.

The spider's panic soon turned into relived chuckles, joining you in laughing at the situation.

With a few deep breaths, your laughter died down, allowing you to gaze up at the joyous red-head above you.

***

Natasha hovered over you, her cheeks visibly hurting, thanks to the smile you had put on her face. Her eyes closed with how hard she was laughing.

She had to be the most beautiful person you had ever seen.

She was.

She was swaying side to side, arms struggling to hold her weight, while those beautiful sounds flowed from her mouth.

Unable to handle it anymore, Natasha flopped down beside you on the cushiony bed. Covering her face with her hands, as the giggles still poured out of her.

"Are you-?"

"We were supposed to be having sex!" she managed to get out, making you laugh yourself. "But you had to go and say that!"

Chuckling harder still, you reached over and grabbed Natasha's hand. The Russian taking initiative and threading your fingers together.

You turned your head to the side, watching your girlfriend pant away.

The only things going through your mind at that moment being:

You were gonna marry that woman one day.

You couldn't wait to laugh with her for the rest of your lives.

***

The sun shone in her bright auburn hair, green eyes twinkling in happiness.

She had your entire attention.

Natasha saw the way you were looking at her, with a smile on her face, she cocked her head and softly asked, "What?"

You shrugged.

"You're stunning."

And she only got mere beautiful, if that was even possible, with the light blush dusting her cheeks.

"Thank you. You're not so bad yourself."

"Really? Well-"

"Uh, guys?" Peter waved. "I'm still here."

You chuckled at the teenage boy's words, turning to face him, as you pushed yourself up from the ground.

"Yeah, yeah, we know," you said, ruffling his hair, "Don't worry. You're pretty, too."

"Really?" Peter asked hopeful, while you and Natasha laughed softly.

"Yes, Peter," She nodded, patting his shoulder in assurance. "You're very pretty."

The smile that took over the boys face was full of joy and stayed that way as you lead the way back into the compound.

***

It was a few months later when the next memory like that rocketed into your mind.

You were busy cooking in the compound kitchen. Just some simple burgers for you and Peter.

The others could feed themselves.

You would have made Natasha one if she hadn't been out on a mission for the past month.

Peter was drolling on about his homework, it boring him beyond belief. Nodding along to his words, hoping to find something that could help him.

Then it hit you.

***

The streets of New York were relatively calm, considering the time of day. And you were enjoying your quiet stroll, with Natasha by your side.

The red-head was talking animatedly about a story of Clint accidentally rolling off of the roof of his farmhouse, and almost giving Laura a heart attack.

You couldn't take your eyes off of her lips.

The way she smiled as she spoke about her best friend.

You swooned at every little giggle she made. You couldn't believe how much you were acting like a schoolchild, with a silly crush.

But you just couldn't help it.

Natasha had some sort of spell over you.

And here you thought that Wanda was the witch of the team.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah?" you asked, shaking yourself out of the daze she had you in. "What's up?"

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Uhh... yeah! Clint thought Laura had gone into labour, with how much she was screaming."

"Y/N," she said blankly, "I said that five minutes ago."

"Oh..."

"What were you thinking about?" Natasha asked with a smile.

"Um. Nothing."

"What were you thinking about?" she repeated, pushing your shoulder gently, still making you momentarily step to the side though.

"Nothing," you insisted.

"That's bullshit, and you know it. C'mon! Just tell me! I won't say anything to anyone, you have my word."

You said nothing, only shaking your head with a smile, and moving your eyes to look up at the sky. To avoid looking at the persistent Russian, now walking backwards in front of you. As she held onto your arms.

"Y/N, please!"

"Oh my, God. Are you begging? Do you really hate being out of the loop that much?"

"There's a loop? Who else knows?"

"No one, Natasha!" you laughed.

"Then what is it?!" she exclaimed happily, "Just tell me. I'll get it out of you, and you know I will. So, you might as well just tell me now."

Natasha stopped you in your place, right in the middle of the sidewalk.

You sighed, knowing what she said to be true.

So, you told her.

"I was thinking about you."

"Me?" she wondered, "What about me?"

Shrugging, you continued, "I was thinking about how cute you were, and how much I loved seeing you smile. I was thinking about how you have reduced me into a school kid with this overwhelming crush I have on you. Literally, everything you do or say makes me swoon, and think "how can someone be so perfect?", Natasha."

Natasha gasped as you spoke, looking into your eyes with this soft wondrous look, that you hoped you were reading right.

"I was thinking how much I wanted to kiss you. And maybe one day be lucky enough to love yo-"

You were cut off by Natasha grabbing onto your shirt with one hand, and bulling you down into a bruising kiss. Her other hand finding its way in between the strands of your hair. As yours flew down to her waist, pulling her in closer.

Yeah...

That was a pretty amazing first kiss.

***

"Why is Spanish so hard?"

You were brought back into the present by Peter's words. Looking down, no longer cooking the burgers, now in the middle of assembling the burgers.

Well, at least you were still productive as you had a flashback.

You just hoped you hadn't missed much that the kid had said.

"I don't know, kid," you said, glancing over your shoulder, "Maybe it's because you're trying to learn a whole other language."

"Yeah..." he said, almost bashfully.

"Hey, don't worry about it." Placing his meal in front of him, you placed your hand on his shoulder reassuringly. Pushing him gently. "These things take time. I just wish I could be more help."

"It's not your fault," he said through a mouth full of food. "I'm glad you're here to help me. I just wish that Miss Romanoff was here, she's really good at languages."

And it was then that you were harshly reminded.

Natasha wouldn't be back for another five months.

"Yeah. So do I."

***

Raindrops splatted down upon your leather-clad shoulders. The weather wasn't so bad, just gloomy and drizzling, the perfect setting for your current situation.

Staring at your old friend's gravestone.

Daniel Petersburg.

"I'm so sorry, Dan. I'm sorry that I wasn't there. I'm sorry I wasn't at your funeral."

I'm sorry that I can't remember you since the army.

You knew that it wasn't your fault. Not really. It wasn't your choice to get captured and tortured so much that you couldn't remember the last eleven years. Your mind was a dark cavern when you thought about those years.

"And I'm so fucking sorry that I haven't come to see you sooner."

"He forgives you." You looked over your shoulder, to see the person who spoke softly to you. Smiling easily at the red-head. "He was like your brother, of course, he forgives you. He wouldn't even want your apology."

"I know," you said, taking one last glance at his grave. Before you turned to face Natasha, "So, you're finally back then."

"Why? You miss me Y/L/N?" she asked, with a teasing smirk.

"Of course I did," you said sincerely, "I... I've remembered some things since you've been gone."

"Really? Like what?"

"Many things." You took a step closer to her. Gazing into her emerald green eyes, feeling like your soul was pouring into those iris'. And you couldn't find it in you to care. If, that be the case. She could have your soul. It was hers. It always has been, always will be. Just like your heart. "I remembered the team, how I did basically adopt Peter."

Natasha laughed shortly at that.

"But mostly. Mostly I remembered you."

"Me?" she asked, hopefully.

"Of course you. I remember our first kiss. The time we almost froze our asses off, when Tony accidentally locked us out of the tower. Almost all of our anniversaries. Our first Christmas, together. The dreaded fight of '15 that made us break up, for a few months. I remember how much I missed you during them... but none of that compares to how much I missed you when I was on that mission," you list off, enjoying Natasha's reactions as you did.

"You remember the mission?"

"Yes- Well, some of it. There's still so much of my life that I need to remember." You looked up into the dull sky, watching as the gloomy clouds slowly made their way from above you, revealing the calm blue sky in its wake. "There were maybe two years, where I remembered everything. Or almost everything."

You took a deep, calming breath, before continuing, "During those two years, they tried to brainwash me, but it didn't stick. They're persistent bastards I'll give you that. Throughout those two years, I remembered every day. The pain. The way that my mind felt like it was slowly melting. Like fucking ice cream. But the thing that made me hold on as long as I did- That made my mind hold on," you corrected, "Was you."

Natasha's eyes were swimming with tears as you spoke. A few threatening to spill overboard, with your last statement.

"Every day- Every fucking second, I thought of you. You were like my lifeline. I lived through every moment of our lives together. The good. The bad. All of it. Over and over again."

The grass underfoot squelched lightly as you took another step towards her. Now close enough that you could reach out slightly and take her hand in yours.

Which is exactly what you did.

"You kept me alive."

Your heart broke when Natasha sobbed out softly. Squeezing her hand in yours, as she wiped away her falling tears.

But still, she let you carry on. Sensing that you weren't finished yet.

"Now, as I said before, I don't remember everything. Hell, most of it's still dark. But, I do remember how you made me feel. How much I loved you." You took her other hand, and pulled her even closer to your body, barely a few inches between the two of you now. "I can't promise you that I'll remember everything any time soon. I can't promise that I'll ever remember everything. But if you'll have me. I'd like to be in love with you again. Like basically hitting the restart button, while I watch the memories of my life play along with it."

You both got a little chuckle out of your analogy.

"So, what do you say?"

"I think you're delusional if you thought I would ever say no," Natasha replied, wrapping her arms around your neck, and pulling you into your first kiss, for almost seven years.

Love flowed through your heart and soul, spreading into every crevice of your being.

With that kiss, you thought only one thing.

You were gonna marry that woman one day.

***

Permanent Tag List:

@imnotasuperhero, @veteranwerewolf95, @natasha-danvers, @marvelfansince08love, @higherfurther-romanova, @lesbian-x-blackwidow, @sestra-inestro

[impala-dreamer]

I'm not a writer but here's my best try at a 'comfort fic.' hope you like it.

Jensen x Becca

"Fuck! Not again!" Becca grunted, throwing her computer on the floor of her bedroom. The fragile bundle of plastic, metal and glass landing with a less than satisfying thud. Becca had half a mind to take it outside to the garage and beat the damn thing with a hammer until nothing remained.

She begrudgingly dragged herself from her bed, stepping over the object, fighting the urge to stomp on it, as she made her way out of her bedroom.

"Oh, hey." Becca said opening her door to her roommate, Jensen, with his hand in midair about to knock.

"Hey, uh, you okay? What was that thud? You stub your toe or somethin'?" He inquired with a cheeky grin, that is until he seen the unimpressed expression on her face. His tone then became much softer, softer than she was used to. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

Becca closed her eyes with a sigh, before releasing the flood gates, and airing her frustration to the emerald eyes staring back at her.

"Nothing, it's just my laptop, it's been messing up for a while now, and it just quit on me. Like completely dead. And now I have no way to do any of my work, or write my stories. Which means I'm gonna be even more broke this week because I'm gonna miss all my deadlines. Which also means I can't afford another computer which will put me even more behind and I'm never gonna catch up, and I'm just so, so very so tired. And-"

"Hey, hey, calm down for a second and take a deep breath." Jensen said, gently cupping her cheek, running his thumb across her cheekbone.

Becca complied.

"Okay, and another."

He paused while she took another deep breath.

"Good. Now come here." Jensen smiled as he pulled Becca into his chest. One hand came up to cradle the back of her head, as the other wrapped around her lower back pulling her body flush to his own.

For a long moment he said nothing, gently rocking her while they stood there in the doorway of her bedroom. It wasn't long before Becca burst into tears, crying into his neck as he held her close.

See it wasn't just the stupid laptop eating away at her, actually it was everything. Lately it just seemed like the world was closing in on her. Becca's anxiety had been through the roof for weeks now, and she just couldn't take it anymore.

Not to mention the fact that she was in love with her best friend, who was in love with someone else. Standing there in his arms crying her eyes out, she allowed herself to imagine that he loved her the way she loved him.

She was almost able to believe it, but she knew better.

"Okay listen, here's what we're gonna do-" he started, leaning away from her so he could look into her eyes, wiping away her tears. "I'm gonna go run you a bath with some of that bubbly shit you like, and you're gonna go in there and relax for a while."

"Jensen you don't have to do that, I can run my own bath." Becca sighed with a roll of her eyes.

"I know you can, that's not the point. Now go find some clothes to put on, and I'll go get it ready. Ok?" He confirmed. Becca just nodded, and he grinned before kissing her head and walking off towards the bathroom.

'Stupid, sweet boy.' she thought to herself, opening her dresser to gather her things.

Ten minutes passed before Jensen called her into the bathroom, and when Becca entered she couldn't believe her eyes.

He had done more than just prepare a bath for her. No, he had set the scene entirely.

He had lit candles, and sprinkled rose petals along the floor and over the bubbles in the bathtub. There was a bottle of wine and a wine glass sitting on the counter, and her favorite song was playing from the bluetooth speaker.

"Jensen.. wow." She breathed, already feeling like she may cry again.

"Ah, it's nothing." He dismissed, rubbing the back of his neck and nibbling on his full bottom lip.

"Nothing.. what? Jensen this is beautiful. No one's ever done anything for me, remotely as sweet as this before." She said, gesturing around the room.

"Well.. I'm glad you like it, darlin', enjoy. I'll let you know when dinners ready." Jensen stepped around her, kissing her temple, before closing the door behind himself.

Now Becca's head was swimming with thoughts of what that means. It's not that it's unusual for Jensen to kiss her head, but he'd never done it twice in one day, let alone in ten minutes.

Becca got undressed, clipped her hair up, and slowly eased her aching body into the scorching hot water, a dreamy sigh escaping her lips.

She inhaled the thick scent of lavander as her eyes drifted shut, relishing in the feeling of her entire body relaxing all at once.

It wasn't long before she was fast asleep, the wine long forgotten on the counter. Before she knew it Jensen was gently knocking on the door with the promise of delicious food right down the hallway.

As Becca entered the kitchen, her mouth once again hit the floor.

Jensen had once again set the scene. He'd dimmed the lights, lit candles, put on some quiet music in the background, and the dinner he'd made for the two of them was spread out on the table.

"Omg, what's all this?" She gasped, eyes as big as saucers.

"Oh nothing really, just trying to help ya relax, ya know? Come sit."

Becca slowly walked to the table, becoming even more confused when he pulled the seat out for her, sliding it under her as she sat down.

"Again, Jensen, this is not nothing." She almost whispered, not even sure if he'd heard her until he sat down across from her.

"Just enjoy this will ya? It's no big deal, I just hate seeing you so stressed out, especially when something as simple as this will make you feel better. Hopefully, anyways."

Becca nodded, looking at the juicy burger and crispy fries in front of her, hearing her stomach rumble at the thought of food.

They both sat in comfortable silence as they ate. Becca constantly wondering what had gotten into him. Why was he being so sweet? It's not unlike him to care, but grand gestures like this? Fucking weird.

Occasionally the pair would make eye contact and they'd both smile a little, but they never spoke.

When dinner was over Jensen took their plates to the sink before coming back over to Becca, taking her hand.

"Come with me." Jensen said pulling her to her feet.

He quietly led them to his bedroom, making her close her eyes before he opened his door. He led her into the center of his room and let go of her hand.

"Okay. Open em'."

Becca opened her eyes to see that Jensen had set up his bed with every pillow in the house, her weighted blanket folded up at the foot of his bed, a basket full of the candy they keep in the kitchen was on his nightstand, and her favorite movie was up on his tv.

This time when Becca seen what Jensen had set up, she'd had enough.

"Whadaya think? Movies and cuddles sound good?" He asked, as he slid his arm around her shoulders, leaning in to ONCE AGAIN kiss her temple.

Becca pulled away, taking a large step backwards.

"Jensen enough, what are you doing? This is so weird. What's going on?" She huffed.

"Becca, I told you already I'm just trying to help you relax."

Becca couldn't even stand to look at him. Here he was doing something that was incredibly meaningful for her, but to him it was no big deal? This is what she'd always wanted, especially from him, but not in the way she'd hoped. This was too big, it was like rubbing it in her face that this man, who's done these amazing things for her, would never truly be hers.

"Jensen. I.. I think I just need to lie down. Thank you for all this, but I just need some sleep." Becca turned and started for the door, trying to get away from him before the tears in her eyes could fall..but Jensen stopped her with a gentle touch on her arm.

"Becca come on, just one movie? Please?"

Becca couldn't look at him, couldn't even speak, and with a gentle tug of her arm, she walked out of his room.

But, to her dismay, Jensen followed.

Becca didn't have the energy to fight him, and as she entered her room, she left the door open behind her. Sure enough, he followed, closing the door behind him.

"Becca please, tell me what's wrong. I can't help you if you won't tell me what's wrong."

Becca still hadnt looked at him.

"Nothing's wrong Jensen, I'm just tired." She replied weakly.

"Bullshit. You're crying. Why?"

She couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Because Jensen! Because you're too fucking perfect. I know you're just trying to make me feel better but it means more than that to me." She yelled, finally facing him. "Because you mean more to me than you should, and I can't handle you doing things like that for me, because I know you're not doing it for the reason I want you to be." She finished quietly.

"Sweetheart-"

"Stop calling me that," she shot back.

"Becca. What are you saying?" Jensen asked quietly.

"You don't love me. And when you do stuff like all this, it makes me feel like you do. And I can't take it."

"Don't love you? What the fuck?" Jensen snapped, anger and confusion flooding his system. "I did all this BECAUSE I love you."

"Not like I love you." Becca whispered, tears falling freely down her face.

"And how exactly is that?" He asked, taking a slow step towards her.

"Shit Jensen, you really gonna make me spell it out for you?? I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU." She cried.

Jensen grinned. Actually GRINNED at her.

"Becca, I'm in love with you too, sweetheart. Always have been. I mean shit, literally since the day we met."

"What?" Becca asked dumbly.

"You heard me."

Becca felt dizzy, and her knees felt weak, just as she started to buckle, Jensen caught her. He scooped her up into his arms bridal style, and took her back to his room.

Jensen gently laid Becca on his bed, covering her up with her weighted blanket before climbing in beside her.

He leaned over her and planted a wet kiss on her forehead, before repeating the action on the top of her nose, before finally connecting their lips for the first time.

They kisses for a long moment before Becca suddenly pulled away.

"Wait. You're in love with me??"

Jensen just laughed.

"Yes baby, come here."

Becca cuddled into Jensens side, laying her head on his chest, knee across his groin, breathing in his delicious cologne.

"Get some sleep babygirl, we'll talk about this in the morning, and see about getting you a new laptop, okay?"

Becca didn't even try to argue with him because she knew it would do absolutely no good.

"Okay," she sighed.

"I love you."

"I love you too, Jensen."

And together they drifted off into blissfull sleep.

<3333

[out-of-jams]

Spirited Away || Final || pjm

↠ Spirited Away ↞ Part of my Ghibli Yandere Series!

You knew that you shouldn’t have gotten out of the car. Shouldn’t have followed your parents into the seemingly abandoned theme park. Shouldn’t have let them eat the food.

Because now they were being held hostage. And you were trapped. Stuck in a backwards resort for supernatural spirits, with no way out except to work to free both yourself and your parents. Until you met a mysterious Park Jimin.

Though there was something not quite right about him.

But he was your only hope of escape. You could trust him…right?

Warnings/Genre: Supernatural. Horror. Yandere!Jimin. Haku!Jimin. Spirited Away!au. Dark themes. Kidnapping. Obsessive behavior. Death of minor characters. Manipulation. Mature themes. Depiction of unhealthy relationships. Violence. Explicit language.

Word Count: 9.5k

Part 2 of 2.

A/N: Oof. This gets pretty dark towards the end. Lol so be warned. Also, this is kind of unedited. So I'll more than likely go through it and fix things tomorrow. 

All of my works are purely fiction. Everything I write is my intellectual property and therefore belongs to me. ©out-of-jams. Do not copy or repost without permission.

                         | Previous | Masterlist | 

You hadn’t seen sunlight for what felt like days. Weeks. Months. But had in fact, only been about twenty-four hours. Well, if time passed normally in that place.

The bathhouse had been quiet as you snuck out. Not a soul in sight. So either they were unable to appear in the daylight, or they just chose not to. Whichever, you weren’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Especially not when you felt the warm breeze brush against your exposed skin. Which was a lot since you’d been given a uniform to wear in order to match with the rest of the bathhouse workers. You weren’t sure what to call it. A yukata?

Whatever it was, walking around without shoes took some getting used to.

As your foot hit the first wooden plank of the bridge crossing over from the bathhouse to the town, you let out a sigh. You’d attempted to stay awake all night, too afraid to fall asleep with the shadow lurking outside your window. But you’d been unsuccessful. Had drifted off to sleep sometime between the moon falling and the sun rising.

And had woken up to a neatly folded note lying next to you on your pillow.

Which had scared the absolute shit out of you. Because it’d been left without disturbing you. Without you even knowing that whoever left it had been there. And when you’d unfolded it with shaking fingers and read the perfectly curved script, you’d all-but bolted out of bed and hurriedly dressed.

Crossing the bridge, you couldn’t help but feel like you were being watched. Like eyes were on you even though there was no one else around. It raised goosebumps onto your flesh and made your legs move that much quicker. Once across the bridge, you couldn’t resist the urge to look back, check over your shoulder to make sure that no one was there.

The path to the bathhouse was empty.

“There you are.”

You whipped around, hair flying into your face and heart leaping into your throat.

Standing directly behind you was a familiar head of honey hued hair. Jimin greeted your startled wide eyes with a grin across his full lips. He was even more stunning to look at in the brightness of the sun. With white, white teeth and eyes turning a light shade of umber. A different pair of silver earrings swung from the lobes of his ears, looking just as delicate as their wearer.

His warm fingers moved to intertwine themselves with yours before you had a chance to respond.

“This way.” And then he was turning to continue down the path, tugging you behind him.

You cleared your throat as you padded along after him. “Are you sure that we’re allowed to do this?”

“As long as you’re with me, you’ll always be safe.” Jimin spared you a glance over his shoulder, but didn’t slow down his fast pace. And at seeing your cautioned look, he winked. “We don’t have much time, don't worry, we won’t get caught. I promise.”

There it was again. Those two words that graced the tip of his tongue in what was starting to be a pattern. And it was a little odd, jarring. To see him spring back into the excitable persona that he’d adopted before you’d met Namjoon so easily. Replacing the intimidating spell that he’d weaved last night in the elevator like it was nothing. Normal.

It made you do a double take at the pretty smile that flashed you a crooked front tooth. Perhaps he had some kind of split personality? Or maybe he was putting up a front? If that were true, however, then which Jimin was the real one?

The path he was taking you down was unfamiliar. Soft grass tickled the bottom of your bare feet as he cut through a garden. There seemed to be a lot of gardens in that place. And flowers with brightly colored petals covered the path, a stark contrast to the monsters that lay in wait just a few meters back. Past the tall hedges, hidden away where you couldn’t see.

“Right through here.” Jimin pulled you close to his side and you followed the finger he pointed into the distance. Between a bending archway made out of one of the hedges. But he didn’t stop, just continued to urge you along until you stood atop a hill overlooking a field.

It stretched on for what seemingly looked like miles. But the thistles of grass weren’t what caught your attention. But the three long, red roofed barns that stood just below the hill. Rows of wheat and slowly sprouting vegetables spread out as far as the eye could see.

With a sharp intake of breath, you came to stand next to Jimin.

“My parents are there?”

He turned those brown eyes on you with a soft smile and a gentle squeeze of your hand. “Yes.”

You hesitated. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” Jimin tugged you along, feet digging into the grass as he led you down the hill. “But you must never come here without me, understand? It’s too dangerous.”

You gave him your affirmation. Because you didn’t plan on being there very long anyway. Just enough to get your parents and break the hell out.

There were no doors leading inside of the barn, just a wide opened archway that you walked through. And got immediately assaulted by the foul stench of manure and dirt. Such a thick cloud of it that you had to throw an arm across your nose to stifle a cough. Though the smell had nothing on the sight.

Packed wall-to-wall past metal bars were pigs. Dozens of them. Some asleep and others wandering around aimlessly. They weren’t loud, but the occasional grunt of one of the animals spurred the rest into responding like some kind of chaotic harmony.

As the dirt stuck to the bottom of your feet, you couldn’t help but stray closer to the bars with eyes wide. “Which ones are they?”

You tried. You really did. To pick out which pair of pigs were your parents. But it was difficult when they all looked the exact same. And maybe if you were paying attention to your surroundings, had more awareness of the things around you, well. Then perhaps you would have caught the fleeting expression that flickered across Jimin’s face.

“You mean you can’t tell?”

Looking over your shoulder, you bit your lip. He was slowly walking along the opposite side as you with his ring covered fingertips lightly grazing across the rusted metal. Jimin wasn’t looking at you. Too busy eyeing the oblivious pigs as he passed them by. There was something about his tone that threw you off. A lilt to the edge of his gentle voice that made you wonder which side of him you were talking to.

“I..,” You hesitated on responding. Sent another glance at the animals a few feet away, voice quiet. “Should I be able to?”

Jimin paused in his steps and looked you over, hand coming to rest on the rail. Tilted his head. “They don’t remember that they’re human. So it’s your job to figure out which ones they are.”

He turned away to look down at a pair of pigs sniffing at his hand. “If you want to get out of here, that is.”

Eyeing the dozens upon dozens of mindless animals, you swallowed. You’d find you parents. You had to.

A pig grunted. And the rest of them followed.

The breeze was cool against the skin of your cheeks. And the ground was soft beneath your body as you sat, gaze pointed up at the clear blue sky. Jimin’s body heat was warm next to you, eyes closed but still wide awake. He hadn’t wanted to take you back to the bathhouse just yet. Instead, he’d brought you back to the garden that sat atop the hill.

And you were grateful for the few moments of peace.

Even though the man at your side felt...off...sometimes, he’d been nothing but helpful and you were grateful for all of his help. He hadn’t hurt you, unlike the others that inhabited the bathhouse. And you trusted him not to. Maybe you shouldn’t have, since you really didn’t know him, but if he wanted to harm you he would have done so already. Wouldn’t have taken you to see your parents. Wouldn’t have offered to help you escape.

Which brought on the problem of being able to. What if you grabbed the wrong pair of pigs on accident, only to escape that place to find out that they were just that--pigs? What would you do then? Maybe getting out of there wouldn’t be as easy as you’d once thought. Hoped.

The realization hit you hard.

“--ng so hard?”

You blinked. Snapped out of your thoughts and back to reality. Turned to send a questioning look to the man beside you. “What?”

Jimin smiled in amusement, eyes crinkling into little half-moons. His hair was less honey colored in the sun and more of a bright blond with the way it caught the light. A giggle escaped him. One that sounded so innocent and melodic that it pulled a smile from you in return. “I said, what’s got you thinking so hard?”

Pausing, you broke eye contact to follow a puffy white cloud as it drifted lazily overhead. “Just wondering if I’ll ever be able to get my parents out of here.”

While your voice was soft in the breeze, you knew that Jimin heard you. Because he leaned closer to you and palmed your cheek to turn your face to look at him. His warm umber eyes locked with yours, pulled you in and refused to let go. Thumb drew circles against your skin and his breath fanned across your face when he spoke. “You’ll find them, Sen.”

Your eyebrows scrunched in as a wave of confusion washed over you. Sen. He’d called you Sen. But your name wasn’t Sen. Right? It was...something else. Right? The answer sat at the back of your throat somewhere that you couldn’t quite reach. And your mouth parted as you struggled to find it. You almost had it, it was right there at the tip of your tongue. “I--”

And you would have got it if Jimin’s nose brushing against your own hadn’t distracted you.

His hand slid from your cheek to entwine his fingers through your hair. Was so close that his scent washed over you like a wall, bringing with it something familiar. Like the ocean. Waves hitting the shore. Salt in the air.

“Jimin.” You’d meant for it to come out as a question, but it sounded more breathy than anything. Got swept up with the wind.

He hummed in the back of his throat. It was a low sound, deep, as he leaned in closer. As you felt his breath fan across your slightly parted lips. You weren’t sure if he was about to kiss you or not. But you weren’t able to find out. Not when a shrill shriek reverberated through the air like some sort of high pitched alarm.

Jimin pulled back slightly at the interruption. Just enough to clench his jaw in annoyance, eyes flashing.

“What the hell was that?” Your voice came out a lot more winded than you’d intended.

The shriek echoed again except more drawn out that time. Which had Jimin’s head craning to stare towards the path that led to the bathhouse. “I gotta go.”

“Go?” You were confused. And a little overwhelmed if you were being honest. Still dazed from how close he’d come to kissing you.

He must have known it too, from the smirk he sent your way. Though his eyes still crinkled in the corners. “Come on, I’ll walk you back.”

The path leading back towards the bridge seemed shorter than it had been earlier. Jimin walked you all the way back to where the red painted wood first started and came to a stop. He leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead that had your eyes widening in shock. “Try to stay out of trouble.”

You leaned back to stare up into his face. “I will.”

“Good.” The answer seemed to satisfy him as he shot you a wide grin. Gently ran his knuckles down the side of your face before turning to walk back the way you’d came. You didn’t watch him for long, just enough to see his back disappear behind the garden gate.

And as you began your treck back across the bridge you felt it again. Like eyes were on you even though no one was there. You tried to resist looking back, you really did. But the chills that ran down your spine had you throwing a cautious glance over your shoulder. Though what you saw wasn’t some hideous creature chasing after you.

“Oh.” You whispered.

In the sky right above where the garden hid away from prying eyes was a dragon. Glittering black and white scales stood out amongst the light blue backdrop as it spread its wings wide. Twisted through the air like it was partaking in some kind of beautifully choreographed dance. You shouldn’t have been surprised, but you were anyway. Because you were pretty sure that the man you’d just been talking to morphed into a mythical creature.

“So that’s what he is, huh?” Your unanswered question followed you all the way back into the bathhouse.

And the eyes on your back failed to remove themselves.

Four.

Four times you laid eyes on that shadow creature. The one that you’d caught lurking outside of your window last night. If you were being completely honest, you weren’t really sure why you hadn’t told Jimin about it the moment you saw him on the bridge that morning. He had told you to come to him if anything tried to go after you. Then again, that was the thing. Whatever the hell that thing was hadn’t tried anything, just observed you like some kind of zoo animal.

Perhaps it was just curious? Had never seen a human before? You weren’t sure, though you weren’t about to actively go out of your way to find out.

Which led to the second time you came across it.

“I said to fuck off.” The disgruntled bark of the horrific creature manning the task desk in the middle of the worker lobby ran through your ears for the millionth time.

You weren’t sure what, exactly, it was.

The thing had two sets of eyes, each with a different color iris. But none of them were turned in your direction as it flung red painted wooden chips into the awaiting hands of every worker that approached it’s desk. You were pretty sure that it was male since it had a deep voice with a vocal fry that turned all of it’s syllables into half-hearted growls. That, paired with four arms that ended in sharply pointed claws gave it a frightening appearance.

“Look, just give me a bath token and I’ll be out of your hair.” You begged yet again.

You’d been standing there for a ridiculously long period of time trying to get that thing to give you a token so you could finish your job. It was necessary in order to be able to scrub one of the blood encrusted, enormous tubs clean. You’d tried to clean it on your own after being forced down into it by Jin, who’d been assigned to show you the job you’d be assigned. But you were unable to scrape off the stains.

Though ‘show’ was putting it lightly. He’d more or less just shoved you into the messiest, most difficult bath to clean and told you to figure it the hell out. So you’d had to resort to stopping one of the more harmless looking creatures to help you out. Which led you to where you were now, trying to haggle a stupid token from the asshole manning the desk.

“No.” He didn’t even look at you as he dropped another token carelessly into the hands of a half-visible shadow creature.

“But I need one. Come on.” You grabbed onto the side of the desk with both hands. It was tall, so high up that you had to stand on the tips of your toes in order to see over the damned thing.

“Go tell someone who cares.” He rummaged around in the deep bowl set in front of him to pluck out something for another worker. They were all painted red, but each had a different design on them. What that was supposed to mean you hadn’t a clue.

You just needed one.

“But I--”

“Maybe you didn’t hear me with your puny little human ears.” He leaned down until his four eyes were level with your two. They were deep set into his grey skinned face above high cheekbones and heart shaped lips. The sneer on his face brought out a pair of tiny dimples that looked out of place with the rest of him. “Fuck off. Before I make you.”

Spit splattered across your face and you grimaced in disgust before wiping it away with your sleeve. He leaned back to turn his attention to the reptilian-like monster limping up to his podium. You opened your mouth to ask, yet again, for him to just hand over what you needed so you could get out of there.

But the materialization of a shadow behind his shoulder had your jaw clamping closed in surprise. Because there it was again. The same faceless being that you’d seen last night hovering over the thing obliviously handing out tokens. A white mask with holes in it for a pair of eyes and an opened mouth, though all you could see when you looked was darkness. And it was see through, not like the shadow creatures from town, but more like a jellyfish.

At first you just stared at it with wide eyes because you weren’t sure what to do. Weren’t sure what it would do. And no one else seemed to notice it there. Only you. What did it want?

You didn’t have time to ponder the answer to that question because it moved. Subtly, slowly. Outstretched what appeared to be an arm, but lacked a hand. And you watched as something pulled back it’s--skin?--and out emerged a red painted token.

What?

It bounced the token once, twice, three times before tossing it to you. You scrambled to catch it and not let it hit the ground and alert the monster manning the desk. Just as your fingers closed around it and you looked back up to send a questioning look at the faceless mask, you couldn’t.

Because it was gone.

The third time you ran into it was only a few hours later that night.

You were lost. Stuck wandering around in an endless loop in search of a way out. The bathhouse wasn’t easy to navigate, with similar looking halls and dead ends. How anyone was supposed to be able to find their way around it was a mystery.

You’d been assigned to clean yet another stupid bath and now you were attempting to put away the supplies. Because it was getting late into the morning and you didn’t have any other jobs to do. Namjoon hadn’t been lying when he’d told you that the work was rigorous, seemingly never ending. Though you had half a mind to believe that he was the one solely responsible for all of the shit you’d had to do and the monsters you’d had to deal with.

So there you were, mindlessly attempting to find your way out of the abandoned part of the bathhouse you were in when you rounded another corner. And stopped dead in your tracks, the bucked dangling from your fingertips swinging from the momentum.

There it was. Hovering in the middle of the wideset hall like a ghost. White painted mask soundless as it watched you. At least, you thought it was. Since its presence washed over you like a bad omen.

“What do you want?” You held your ground, but prepared yourself to run at any moment. Just because it’d done you a favor earlier didn’t mean that it was harmless. You were in a literal hell of soulless beings, afterall.

It didn’t answer. Didn’t make a sound. And you weren’t all that surprise.

You did, however, feel your muscles tense as it floated closer with its legless body. Hunched over as it towered over you. Adrenaline pumped through your veins and it took all you had to repress the shudder that threatened to overtake your body.

Slowly, slowly, it reached out with a handless arm. Stretched between the small amount of space between you like an offer. Your fingers clenched around the metal bucket in your grasp.

“I don’t understand.” You murmured, eyes trained on the darkness behind the mask's eye holes.

It moved again. Shook it’s appendage in front of your face and caused you to take a step back. Did it...did it want you to touch it? Yeah, no. You’d have to pass on that one. You didn’t want to accidentally offend it and turn it aggressive, but you weren’t about to willingly do whatever it wanted either.

You shook your head. “No thanks.”

It must not have liked that answer because it floated closer, extended it’s shadow arm closer to your face. Like it was going to grab you or touch you. You didn’t know. But you didn’t want to stick around and find out either. Not with the threatening aura that flooded through the air so thick that it made it difficult to breath. To think straight. To step away.

The sound of a door slamming shut somewhere behind you allowed you to snap out of whatever spell that creature had cast on you. And as you came to and saw your hand reaching out of its own volition, you scrambled backwards. Put distance between you and that thing before it could make you do something you didn’t want to do.

And it seemed angry. The air around it crackled with invisible heat. Enough to send you running off in the opposite direction. Down the twisting halls and past barely lit rooms. All while looking over your shoulder every ten seconds in fear of it being right behind you.

The fourth time and final time came when you weren’t prepared for it.

You were beginning to look forward to the daytime. When it was peaceful and all of the inhabitants of the bathhouse were asleep. To the point where you’d force yourself to stay up in order to watch the sunrise above the vast ocean that spread out beyond the building you were trapped in.

Eyes closed against the morning breeze, you let your legs dangle between the wooden bars of the balcony and over the edge of the bathhouse. The sun was almost up, sky in that sweet spot between the moon setting and daybreak. It gave you time to think, to plot a plan to escape from that place. Because you weren’t safe. Would never be safe, despite what Jimin liked to promise you.

Your constant run-ins with the faceless being was proof of that.

Which made you wonder what exactly it was that Jimin did there. Was he just another pawn to Namjoon? Had he also unwillingly gotten himself caught up in the crossfire of servitude? You weren’t sure. He seemed good, unlike some of the truly hideous spirits that you met. Even despite the oddness that surrounded him like a cloud.

Perhaps he was similar to you. Had been trapped there too. The possibility made you--

Your head snapped to the side just in time to see a flash of black and white. To let out a gasp before the giant mouth coming right for you swallowed you whole. And everything went dark.

The scent of freshly mowed grass invaded your senses. Filled your nose as you slowly regained consciousness.

You weren’t sure where you were or if your eyes were even opened. Because everywhere you looked was nothing but black. And you couldn’t breath, couldn’t suck down a breath without liquid filling your lungs. It didn’t hurt, but it did cause panic to well up.

You thrashed, shot your arms through what felt like water but was too thick. Slowed down your movements and halted momentum. Your mouth opened in a silent scream. There was no one around to hear you, to heed your call.

Maybe you were dead.

Finally freed from the place that held you captive.

But you couldn’t be.

Right?

No, you couldn’t be because you still needed to save your parents. To get them out before a fate worse than death befell them. So you tried harder, thrashed harder. Chose one direction and pushed towards it. Kept going until you felt your hand break through.

The warm outside air hit your skin and you kept going. Until your arm was freed, and then your other one, and then your head pushed through.

You didn’t know where you were, could barely see past the sun beaming straight into your eyes. But as you dangled there limply, wherever there was, all you could see was water. Blue, blue water as you passed over it. Moving slowly, yet quickly at the same time.

Where the hell were you?

Whatever energy you’d managed to summon up in your long winded escape left your body. Forced you to hang there dazed. Barely conscious.

Were you just hearing things, or was that the sound of your name being carried over the wind. And was it just you, or did you start to move faster. The ocean below flying past.

And--

There it was again.

Your name. Or at least, what you thought was your name.

You didn’t get the chance to ponder over it. Not before something hit whatever was carrying you and sent the ocean below hurtling straight towards you.

Water washed over you so cold that it sent a shock through your system, brought you closer to alertness. But you still couldn’t move, bogged down by whatever it was that held you within its grasp as you were sent drifting down to the bottom.

Until you weren’t.

You weren’t sure when it’d happened, but your limbs were free. Floating around you. And you opened your eyes in an attempt to figure out what the hell was going on. Your thoughts were murky, brain struggling to focus on what was playing out in front of you. You weren’t sure what to make of the bright flash of blue lighting up the darkness underwater.

Nor the high-pitched screams that hit your ears at such a frequency that you were worried you’d go deaf. When another bright, eye-searing light flare hit your eyes, you slammed them shut. Couldn’t bear to look directly at it.

And you weren’t sure how long you floated there, lungs screaming for air and consciousness wavering in-and-out.

One moment you were submerged, unable to breathe. And the next you were laid out on your side and coughing up water.

“There you go.”

You didn’t have time to process where that voice was coming from before another wave of coughing forced the water from your lungs. Had you bent over the arm hoisting you up as you threw it up. Had a hard time differentiating between where you were and what was going on. You could feel water covering the lower half of your body. It wasn’t deep now, however. Just shallow, but still enough to leave you wet.

“Get it all out.” A hand hit against the spot between your shoulder blades and forced out another round of throwing up. You felt like you were drowning all over again, unable to take a breath as liquid coated the back of your tongue.

You whimpered.

“I got you.” The words were murmured into the shell of your ear reassuringly. And it took an embarrassingly long amount of time for you to connect the dots of who it was.

“Jimin?” Your voice was raspy. Barely there. And scratched your throat raw.

“I’m here.” His hand rubbed at your back.

You had to pause before answering in order to fill your lungs with air.

“What’s going on?” The world blurred around you as Jimin slowly moved to flip you onto your back. You stared up at him, traced a droplet of water as it fell from his soaked hair and down his cheek.

His jaw clenched and brown eyes flashed in anger at your question. Jimin nodded his head towards something in the distance that had you craning your neck to try and see. “It ate you.”

One of his hands had come up to support your neck when you finally saw it. There in the distance. Floating on top of the water.

A white mask.

And a mass of sludge so dark that it coated the water in a layer of blackness spread out beneath it.

You looked down, took in the platform you were spread out on. Train tracks. If you squinted you’d just be able to make out the bathhouse in the distance.

Where the hell were you?

Where had that thing been taking you?

You swallowed hard, voice shaky. “Ate me?”

Jimin turned his gaze back to you and softened his hardened expression at the terror that shone in your eyes. Leaned down to press his forehead to yours. “It’s gone now. No need to be frightened.”

“Did you--” You spared a quick glance back over at the lifeless mask. “Kill it?”

He nodded slowly, breath fanning across your chilled skin.

“Why?”

Jimin pulled back just enough to stare at you in bewilderment. “I told you that I’d protect you, didn’t I?”

When your lips parted in surprise at his words, he smiled. A warm one. One that had you acting before you could fully think it through. Slamming your mouth against his. Maybe it was the adrenaline that was lingering in your system, or perhaps it was something else. You weren’t sure.

What you did know, however, was that Jimin’s lips were soft. Just as much as they looked to be. And you weren’t sure what to do because you’d never kissed anyone before. Had no idea how he’d respond until his other hand came up to caress your cheek. Kissed you back. You weren’t sure if you were doing it correctly, since you had no experience.

And never would you have thought your first kiss would be from an almost-stranger. But he’d just saved your life. And he was beautiful to look at. You’d be lying if you said that you weren’t attracted to him. Hadn’t been overwhelmed by his appearance since you’d first laid eyes on him. Especially not when you felt the tip of his tongue swipe across your bottom lip questioningly. Nor when you parted your mouth slightly and let out a gasp when his tongue met yours.

The sound you made must have ignited something within him, because Jimin’s kiss turned eager, needy almost. He tasted sweet as he snagged your bottom lip between his teeth. Licked the slight sting away as your fingers tangled themselves into the soft hair at the nape of his neck. Kissed him back just as desperately.

Jimin’s mouth caught yours in one last searing kiss before he pulled away.  “Let’s get you home, hm?”

“Okay.” You mumbled. Your limbs felt like jelly as he helped you to sit up and you watched as he stood up. Walked a few paces away. “Where are you going?”

Jimin just threw a wink over his shoulder, eyes shining with happiness. “Get on.”

“Get on..?”

Your question went unanswered. Not because he didn’t want to give you a response, but because he changed. Morphed into a dragon right before your very eyes. Maybe if you were more awake you would have been able to take in the finer details. Like how the air around him seemed to simmer with heat. Or how the water beneath him shifted until it was drawing itself towards him. How the droplets of liquid surrounded him like glitter in the rising sun.

A gasp escaped your lips when he turned, now on four legs instead of two. And you met his umber eyes. He wasn’t human anymore, not that he really had been in the first place, but a dragon now. Beautiful. Magical.

You scrambled to your feet, water sloshing beneath you, and made you way over to him. Let your hand run over the black and white scales that felt smooth to the touch. You’d seen him from far away in that form, but not this close up. To the point where you could smell the scent that floated off him in waves.

Jimin exhaled and jerked his head in a silent gesture to get on. You didn’t hesitate to throw your leg over his slim back. Even though he was a dragon, he still held the same slim frame as his human form. And you’d barely adjusted to sitting atop him when he moved. Claws scraping across the train tracks until he’d gained enough momentum for his wings to carry the two of you through the air.

A shriek of excitement tore from your throat as vertigo hit you full force. Without anything to hold onto, you reached up to grab onto the two horns that protruded from his head before you could fall. In order to feel more at ease with flying through the air at such a speed without restraint.

Though you hadn’t been prepared for what would happen when you did. Because the moment your hands wrapped around his horns, you no longer saw the water stretching out before you. You were transported to a scene that was familiar. That resurfaced somewhere deep within your memories.

The beach. No. Not the beach.

The ocean.

Wide and vast, its waves kissed the shore. Enticed your five-year-old self to step closer. To drip your feet into its cold water. To be swept up by a wave taller than you stood. Dragged along, kicking and screaming beneath the surface, until you were so far from the shore that you didn’t know how to get back.

But you weren’t afraid. Not when the water tickled the sides of your cheek or kept you afloat.

Not even when your parent’s panicked voices echoed across the large expanse. Or when they’d swam out to drag you back ashore. Hugged you close and buckled you into the back of the car with promises to never come back.

You weren’t afraid.

So you’d returned. Again and again. Waded through the water like you belonged there. And it’d greeted you each time you came back. Brushed against your skin like it’d missed you.

You were thrown back into the present time so suddenly that you gasped. Squeezed your hands tighter around the ringed horns beneath your palms. The feeling that overcame you was familiar. Intermingled with the scent of the being beneath you. Was that..? Why did you…?

“Jimin.” You breathed, leaning forward to speak into his ear in fear of your voice being lost. “Are you...a spirit of the ocean? Is that what you are?”

You paused and took a deep breath. Met one of his eyes with both of yours. God, you really hoped you didn’t sound as stupid as you thought. “From when I was little?”

He didn’t respond verbally. Not that you thought he could have. Just grumbled deep in his throat in a way that sounded a lot like confirmation. And then he ripped his attention from you to focus on the bathhouse that appeared out of the distance.

You’d be lying if you said that you weren’t still afraid. Weren’t on edge about the fact that you weren’t safe in that bathhouse. Even though Jimin had saved you, that didn’t mean that he’d be around the next time that something went wrong. That you were thrown into danger and your life was at stake.

Even as you lay there in your room, wrapped up in his arms. He’d insisted on following you back and staying with you to keep you safe. And you hadn’t had the will to deny him. Not after what had happened less than an hour ago.

However, ever since you’d kissed him, Jimin started acting differently. More clingy. Like he was afraid that if he let you out of his sight, you’d disappear. So you’d let him accompany you back to your room. And when he insisted on staying, well, you didn’t say no. Had let him tuck your weary body into bed and slide in next to you.

But you couldn’t sleep. Not with the thoughts that whizzed through your head. Because you weren’t safe. And you couldn’t get too comfortable there. Couldn’t leave your parents to suffer through the rest of their days as pigs.

Your fingers dug into Jimin’s back.

“I need to get out of here, Jimin.” You whispered shakily against the warmth of his chest. “You have to get me out of here. Before I die here.”

“You’re safe.” Jimin mumbled sleepily into the top of your head, lips pressed against your forehead. His slender fingers ran through your hair and massaged gently at your scalp. “I won’t let anything take you from me. I promise.”

You stiffened the moment that his words hit the shell of your ear. Tried to hide the expression that flitted across your face from where you pressed into the crevice of his neck. What he said didn’t sit well with you, weighed down your stomach with slowly dawning dread. “What do you mean, you won’t let anything take me from you?”

Jimin hummed and pulled you closer, rested his chin atop your head. “That spirit was trying to take you away from here. Away from me.”

Your heartbeat thudded in your ears. “Take me where, Jimin?”

He must have mistaken the shake in your voice for fear at being kidnapped again because he softened his voice. “Those train tracks? That spirit was taking you to the train. Was trying to take you away from the bathhouse, somewhere beyond my reach. But it’s okay, baby. You don’t need to be afraid, not when you have me.”

Your nails dug deeper into his skin but he didn’t seem to notice. If he was saying what you thought he was saying...then that meant…

“Nothing will take you from me.” Jimin’s statement was punctuated by the soft kiss he placed upon your cheek.

...that the no-face spirit had been trying to help you escape. To get you out of there.

And Jimin killed it.

Suddenly, the protective arms he had around you felt like a vice. Keeping you there. You weren’t safe. Not in that bathhouse. Not with those monsters. Not with Jimin.

How had you been so utterly stupid? To think that you could have trusted him? Had he even wanted to help you escape at all, or had it all been some kind of front, a lie? You didn’t know. But you sure as hell weren’t going to stick around to find out.

So you waited until he fell asleep. Until his breath evened out and his arms around you became slack. You were careful as you slipped away from his warmth and out of bed, bare feet hitting the cold floor silently. The sunlight peeking in through your window was reassuring, helped to settle your nerves just a little at the knowledge that all of the bathhouse inhabitants would be asleep.

You cracked open the door silently and threw a quick glance over your shoulder to make sure that Jimin was still asleep. And then you slipped out into the hall and closed the door behind you.

The lights were off as you crept down the hall, but thankfully the light streaming in through the windows placed periodically throughout the place was enough to see by. Your heart hammered in your chest in fear of being caught. In fear of what would happen if you were.

You maneuvered your way out of the main door and across the bridge without running into a single soul. The second that your bare feet dug into the dirt on the opposite side of the bridge, you too off in a sprint. Through the gated garden and past the hedges that towered over you mockingly.

Luckily, the path was easy to navigate even without your prior knowledge of where you were going. And you took a moment to silently thank Jimin for showing you the way as you hit the top of the hill. Slipped on your way down the steep slope and catapulted your way towards the red roofed barns. You entered the first one you came across, figuring that you’d work your way through that one and then the other two if it proved frivolous.

Only to stop dead in your tracks, feet kicking up dirt as you came to an immediate halt.

It was empty.

The pigs that used to reside behind the rusted, metal enclosed bars were gone. Though the smell of them still lingered in the air. Assaulted your nose and had you throwing a hand over your mouth. Where the hell had they gone?

You turned on your heel, rushing back out of the barn and through the opened doorway of the second one.

Empty.

Without stopping to let the information settle, you whirled around. Ran to the last barn sitting right on the edge. Didn’t stop until you were standing in the middle of it with dirt sticking to your feet and stomach dropping to the floor. Stumbled over to grip onto one of the metal bars in order to hold yourself up.

Because that one was empty too.

All of the pigs were gone. Gonegonegone.

“You’re a little late.”

A scream tore from your throat and you spun around so fast that the world blurred for a moment. Held a hand to your chest in an attempt to slow your rapid heartbeat. It wasn’t Jimin like you’d thought it was. Though you weren’t sure if what stood in front of you was any better. Safer. Less dangerous.

“Dontcha think?” The man--beast--tilted his head to the side, blond hair falling into his dark hooded eyes. He would have been handsome, what with his cupid-bow shaped lips and perfectly symmetrical face. Maybe could have even been a model back in your world. If it weren’t for the fact that he had goat legs instead of regular ones.

Hooves in place of feet.

“Who the hell are you? Do you work here?” You backed up against the metal bars behind you, gripped them until your knuckles turned white.

He simply stared at you. Almost in curiosity, but not quite. “So you’re her, huh?”

You ignored his question just like he ignored yours. “Where are all of the pigs? Who are you?”

A sound left his lips. Deep and dragging. And it took you a moment to realize that he was laughing. “Gone.”

You inhaled shakily. “Gone where?”

He stopped laughing, but still grinned over at you with a box shaped smile. “Didn’t you realize, human?”

“Realize what?” Jaw clenched, you struggled to breathe around the fear that spiked in your throat.

He tilted his head yet again and regarded you with those dark eyes of his. Sparking with something as he took his time answering you. Drew out the dread pooling in your stomach.

“What was served for dinner last night.”

The breath in your lungs froze. Tears sprang to your eyes. Alarm flooded through your veins like white hot wildefire, engulfing everything in its way. He couldn’t...he couldn’t mean.., “No.”

He turned away from you then, broke eye contact to sift through some of the farming tools hanging from the wall behind him. Spoke the words that crushed your world so nonchalantly. “Everyone loves a nice, juicy pig. So delicious.”

No. They...

They couldn’t have...right?

The world stopped. Came crashing to a halt as it dawned on you.

They ate...they ate your parents?

You didn’t even notice the tears falling from your face, nor the sob that tore from your throat. You had to get out of there. You had to get out.

The inside of the barn passed by in a blurred haze and your feet carried you back up the hill without you registering it. You didn’t have time to waste, to stop and grieve. Because you didn’t know how much time you had left before you joined them. Became a feast to the monsters that resided beyond the bridge.

You struggled to breath as you ran, sprinted through the winding town and past the empty shops. The sun beating upon your back spurred you on as you tore through the streets. Kicked up dust behind you. Made it past the food stand where you’d last seen your parents alive and human. Beyond the corner of the last bend in the road.

Ran face first into something so hard that it sent you careening backwards, hitting the dirt so roughly that it swept the air from your lungs. You could do nothing but lay there with your face tilted to the sky and coughs wrenching from your chest, dazed. Attempting to blink the stars out of your vision.

“There you are.”

You squinted as a shadow fell across your face. Stared up at the sweet smile stretched across Jimin’s pink lips. He leaned over you, delicate earrings dangling from his ears and arms folded behind his back. Like he hadn’t just knocked you down into the dirt like you were a bug beneath his feet.

“I was wondering where you’d gone off to.” Umber eyes crinkled in the corners. But he didn’t move to help you up, just watched as you struggled to get to your feet, hands scraping the ground for purchase. “Where were you going?”

“I--” You stammered, heart caught in your throat. You didn’t know how much you could trust him. Didn’t know if he was out to get you too. “I was just…”

Jimin tilted his head to the side in curiosity at your answer. He waited for you to continue with the sentence that struggled to form on your tongue. “You were just…?”

He wasn’t going to let you go without an explanation. You could see it in the way he stood in the middle of the street like a gatekeeper. Could see it in the way that emotion flickered behind his eyes too quickly for you to make out. Could tell from the calm way he didn’t move an inch.

“Jimin.” You could hear the pleading edge to your tone and you swallowed. He’d said he wanted to keep you safe...right? Maybe he’d let you go when he found out what happened. “I have to get out of here. They killed my parents and I’m probably next. I need to leave.”

“Dove.” Jimin cleared the space between you, reached out to palm the sides of your face. Scrunched his brow concern. “I promised that I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

As your eyes met his, you felt hope well within your chest. Even as you pushed it down, forced the desperate expression from your face. “So you’ll help me get out of here?”

He smiled softly and swiped a thumb across your quivering bottom lip. “You can’t leave. Because then I wouldn’t be able to protect you.”

Any hope you may have had left you at his words. “What? Jimin, they’re going to kill me!”

“Sen, n--”

“That’s not my name.” You knew it wasn’t. Could feel it with every essence of your being. Because that wasn’t your name. It wasn’t. And you didn’t know why he kept calling you that.

With a click of his tongue, Jimin smoothed a finger over the crease between your eyebrows. “No? Then what is it then, hm?”

You blinked. Parted your lips as you attempted to think back. To remember what it was that you’d been called before you entered that place. And where it’d once been so easily accessible, sat just on the tip of your tongue, now hid somewhere that you couldn’t find. Why couldn’t you remember?

“I--It’s.” Your chest was heaving now as panic overrode your senses. Wide eyes met his amused gaze. “Why can’t I…”

Jimin smiled, tutted at you like you were a child. “Remember? Because your name belongs to me.”

What?

“No.” Shaking your head, you reached up in an attempt to pull his hands from your face. But he didn’t budge, just watched on in growing mirth as if you were a particularly entertaining toy. You knew his words weren’t true. They couldn’t be. Because you remembered that part at least. “Namjoon took it. When I signed the contract. Not you.”

Jimin slid one of his hands down to caress the side of your neck despite the half-moons you were digging into his skin with your nails. “And who do you think is in charge of Namjoon, dove?”

No. No. No. He had to be lying. He had to.

He raised his eyebrows. Tilted his head to the side with that eye-crinkling smile. “I can see that you’re starting to understand.”

“I don’t.” You grunted, digging your nails deeper into the flesh at his wrists. But he didn’t even flinch.

“Then let me spell it out for you. You always have been a little slow on the uptake. But that’s okay.” Jimin twirled a loose strand of your hair around his index finger. “I’m in charge of this place. Therefore, when you signed that contract, you didn’t gift your name to Namjoon. You gave it to me. It’s mine, and so are you.”

You clenched your jaw at his words, glared at the hand that brushed the side of your cheek like you were some kind of long lost lover. “Fine then. Keep my name, I don’t need it.”

Jimin sighed, shook his head like he was exasperated with you.

“Do you know why names are so important, Sen?” He didn’t wait for you to answer before he continued. “Because they’re tied with our identities. Without them, you’ll forget who you are, be trapped here. And you already have, haven’t you? Forgotten.”

Alarm overtook you, flooded through you. Weighed down your breath with fear. As you tried to remember who you’d been before you’d entered that place. All you knew was that you’d had to save your parents. To get both them and yourself out of there. But when you thought back, really tried, you couldn’t recollect anything past your first day there.

Where had you come from?

Why were you there in the first place?

You looked up at the man who stole your identity, your memories. Everything. With quivering lips and tear filled eyes. “Why would you do this?”

“Dove.” His thumbs caught the tears that spilled onto your cheeks, sadness morphing his expression. “Because I love you. And I want to be with you forever. That’s why I brought you here.”

Jimin pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, warm breath fanning across your skin. “And now we can be together forever, just like we’re meant to be.”

He pulled back to smile down at you. So softly that you almost believed the words that came from his mouth. Weaved their way inside your mind like a worm. And it was in that moment that you began to understand Jimin. With his honey hued hair and umber eyes. Brightly colored. Flashy. Much like a poisonous snake before it struck.

“Aren’t you happy, dove?” He rested his forehead against yours and nudged his nose against your own. “I promised I’d keep you safe and I will.”

Your eyes slammed shut. Tears leaked from your water-logged lashes. Because you were stuck. Trapped. With a monster who stole your identity.  

How were you supposed to escape when you didn’t even know why you were there in the first place?

“I love you.” He murmured across your lips.

But.

Who were you?

Tagged: @laishaavxo @poohsaidhi @mykingdomismyheaven @yoongs-jeontae @creepysweet @futuristicpinklemur @hopekookiesandwich @pjmlylyn @parkchimchimmie @xxkitsurikaxx @siphite @knjkitten @mochi-rose @ohmygirlloona @mochimochipie @btsarmysvtcarat @martinandmartin @bitchynightmarepost @haruyai @jupiterspoems @mxrvellouspidey​ @creepysweet​

[melissanovels]

♡ Here they are!! Chapters 1 & 2 of TRANSIENT TIME TRAVELLER are out! ♡

○ Read on my Website ○ Read on Tumblr (below) ○ Read on Ao3 ○ 

TTT  is an LGBTQ+ historical fantasy novel about Aida, a time traveller hellbent on proving the innocence of a 1,200-year-old dead queen, and Lorian, an escaped princess-turned-officer who wants to drain the royal blood from their body, & the two coming together with the help of their mischievous future selves.

♡ Reblogs are appreciated! ♡

Read Chapter 1 + 2 Below:

Chapter 1: Six Weeks Before

Aida’s life was forever changed when she received a letter in the mail.

She never got letters. Being adopted into a small family in a smaller farm in Bělico didn’t bless her with birthday gifts or congratulatory mail. She estimated that no one other than her stepmother and her stepsisters knew of her existence, so Aida ghosted through life without much interference.

But she knew this letter, had been anticipating it for weeks since she’d sent in her application under her mother’s nose. It was handwritten on high-quality paper, the feeling new to her, foreign, and was branded with the seal of the Roman lion. She’d dreamt of getting these royal letters in the mail, wishful hope turning into dread come nighttime, but she hadn’t thought she'd receive a reply, let alone a letter of acceptance.

She’d been tending to the farm, or the cows, mainly. The chickens, pigs, sheep, and goats had been taken care of and her stepmother and stepsisters had their two horses out on a carriage ride to the village, so all that was left to handle was their five highland cows. Big, burly creatures more fur than hide. It took Aida more time to heave the heavy bales of hay into their stables, to groom them, wash them, clean out their troughs. She’d hadn’t even heard the post carrier arrive, she’d been on the other side of the property. When she realized her family would be home soon, she hurried to get everything done so her stepmother would be in a better mood.  Well, a less shit one.

There was one piece of mail that day, and it’d been addressed to Aida.

When her mother and sister finally came home and found Aida on the floor, frantically rereading the letter with the envelope torn with her teeth, they must’ve assumed she’d had jumped and was writhing in pain as a result.

She was writhing, but not because she’d travelled backwards in time. Her brain was spinning, eyes watering due to some type of emotion she couldn’t name. After fighting for years, she’d finally earned this damned six-year scholarship to Durante Academy.

Not that wanting to dorm at a school named after King Durante’s lineage was something she was excited about. She detested almost everything the royal family did, and she didn’t even live in Roma. Roma, or Roma City, was 1,500 kilometers away, across the sea and doing far better for itself than her home country of snow-covered farmlands. She should’ve loathed becoming a student in the country with the bloodiest warpath, the worst, most prejudiced ruler, and the shittiest armed forces since the time of gladiators.

But how she’d dreamed of walking through those academic halls, taking in the prestigious lessons in fervor and staying up late to perfect a soon-to-be perfectly marked test. Schools in Bělico, you were expected to drop out of after primary school to work your family’s farms. It made sense for some people. Agriculture was the biggest export for the country, so families expected many hands to tend to the fields.

But that wasn’t Aida’s path. Ever since she’d been adopted, Aida Mirko had set her sights on becoming a historian, and that path was only attainable in the sparkling, problematic country of Roma.

It was only after Aida heard her mother slam the door did she realize her mistake: being indulgent.

“What’re y’all doing?” one of her stepsisters, Ekaterina, asked.

“You tracked in mud,” her other sister, Olga, said. She had her upper lip curled as she looked over where Aida had run in from the fields.

Her mother looked over the mess Aida had made, then at the letter still in her hand.

Then she slapped her across the cheek and sent her glasses across the living room.

She should’ve expected it. How dare her. Here she was, trying to better herself in a world where most people wanted her kind dead, and she’d just been accepted into one of the world’s most prestigious academies known in Roma. It had only a seven percent acceptance rate. To any parent, that would’ve been cause for celebration.

Her mother grabbed Aida by the collar and dragged her upstairs to her room. Her mother and sisters lived downstairs near the warm fireplaces, while Aida had the joy of taking the stairs she struggled with and lived in the cold attic at the top of the steps. She had a fucking cane and a limp, and these people couldn’t care less.

“Mo’mma, wait—”

Her mother slammed the bedroom door behind her. “How dare you?”

Aida fell backwards into her bed.

“You ain’t going,” she decided. “You have obligations here. You work the farm, you care for us. How selfish can you be, leaving all of that to become a damned academic?”

“I want…to be a historian,”  Aida said, trying so hard to carefully explain something she’d wanted for years. With her limp, it was difficult to do any sort of manual labor. She got tired easily, her dizzy spells were becoming more frequent. Her sisters, they weren’t expected to do half the chores she was forced to do, yet she did them. She hated herself, but she did as she was told because it gave her a roof over her head and food on the table and a bed to dream about a life better than this. In the rare hours she had for sleep, she studied and overworked her abilities to prove that a Visatorre deserved to learn, something that’d been barred from her people for centuries.

She didn’t expect praise, or admiration. She couldn’t dream like that. All she wished was for her mother to stop hitting her. She didn’t know why she was selfish asking that. 

Her mother stood tall over her. “You ain’t going.”

Aida fixed her broken glasses over her nose. “I was accepted.”

“I ain’t paying for it.”

“I know that.”

“What do you mean ‘I know that’? You won’t be able to afford it. The journey ’cross the sea alone is ten gold.”

To her mother, it’d seem that way, but Aida had been saving up. For years, she’d been putting away her childhood allowance underneath the broken floorboard next to her bed. After turning fifteen, her mother had stopped paying her for her work. Aida had thought it was because her mother had finally seen her as a daughter more than a servant. Then she found out Ekaterina’s and Olga’s allowance had doubled.

So, she’d taken to writing school papers for the local village kids. Those who were able to write had trouble forming their thoughts in persuasive essays, so Aida wrote them top-grade papers about history, war, massacres of her own people and the rise of these dictatorships she hated, all behind her mother’s back. If her mother had found that out, she would’ve thrown Aida into the village stockades for lying because “Visatorre folk weren’t smart like normal folk.”

“I have the money,” Aida summarized.

“I don’t care if you got a fortune! Y’all ain’t gonna throw away your life and waste it on an academy when you’re needed here.”

“I’ll be gone, isn’t that what you’d want?” she shot back, the fear of speaking back pitching her voice. “I’ll be gone for six whole years, and I swear, whatever money I make—”

“‘Money I make’, she says. What money you gonna make there? You know Roma don’t take well to you folk as well as Bělico people do. You’ll be ridiculed. You’ll be ostracized.”

“So how different would it be from here?” Aida wanted to ask. Circa, how she wished she was brave enough to say that. If she’d been high, that defiance would’ve come out, but it would’ve only resulted in her being hit harder.

Aida lowered her head, feigning a defeat.

Her mother harrumphed and tied up her brown hair in a messy bun. “That’s what I thought. Now.” She held out her hand. Aida flinched. “Give me that letter.”

“No,” Aida said. “Please, just…let me keep it. For memory’s sake.”

Her mother rolled her eyes and wiped her hands on her apron. “Get up and help with the groceries, since you didn’t want to help when we came in. The rest are in the carriage.”

Aida nodded and went for her cane. It was a dark, simple thing made from a tree branch in the woods around them.

Her mother kicked it and knocked it into the wall. The force made it tip and spill Aida’s half-filled drinking glass to the ground.

Aida froze.

“Realize your stance in this house,” her mother warned, “and stop making such foolish decisions behind my back.”

“I will,” Aida said, and waited for her mother to leave down the stairs, where she heard her sisters whispering about what their mother had just told their servant daughter.

She gripped her cane as tightly as she could. The one thing about being in your twenties was that, while you might’ve been afraid of your parents and they’d wrecked your self-confidence and self-worth beyond recognition for more than a decade, if you had the money and the drive to defy the Gods, you could change your future for the better.

After hearing her mother leave, Aida went for her travel bags.

---------------------------

Nights at the Mirko household came early, as they—she—had to get up at four in the morning to take care of the livestock. Feed them, gather the eggs, change the hay, sweep out both barns, weed out the gardens. Aida half-expected her mother to put more energy into their own livelihood instead of working on how to destroy her own daughter’s confidence, but she couldn’t expect much of anything from them anymore.

Aida knew she was smart. She wouldn’t have gotten her scholarship if she hadn’t been. All the years of extra-credit and letter after letter of recommendations had paid off. It didn’t matter what her mother thought of her. She would reclaim her dignity without her.

The night she received her letter, Aida woke up at three and began packing. It’d taken a chunk of her savings to leave now, as she’d planned to leave later towards the school year where travel costs decreased, but she’d manage. She always did. She currently had seventy pieces of gold lyria to her name. It wasn’t much—it barely covered a month’s worth of groceries for her family—but if she used it right, it’d get her a life without them in it.

Because, in all her twenty-three years of living, she knew that “family” could go fuck themselves with how much good they did for her.

She dressed in a black dress fit for the night and braided her hair in her favorite way, down her front in two braids that never seemed even. She was bigger than most girls: both of her sisters’ weights combined. She hoped the school uniforms could accommodate her, and that they weren’t tacky. She needed a self-esteem boost, not a downgrade from what clothes she’d been given.

After packing her non-essentials, she got to work packing the more important items: her journals, thick with cut-outs and pictures from used books she’d pasted into it; her history texts on the once luxurious country of Siina and its murdered queen; the first book in the En Tempore Rose sextet, Pinnacle Isle; and the signed playbooks from the opera-ballet adaptation she’d bartered for in exchange for an eight-page essay.

She’d gone to see the opera once, and by “seen,” she meant she’d snuck away into the theatre for ten minutes during a family trip to Roma City when she was six. It’d been during a trading festival where they earned their summer wealth. She’d snuck into the massive theater constructed within the colosseum and caught the last few minutes of the performance before being discovered.

She’d been beaten so hard that she didn’t remember much of the opera, but she remembered loving it. Those few minutes near the stage that made her heart stop and restart with the love of her favorite stories, both real and imaginary. The ballerinas dressed in snow-white lace, the glitter that danced from the rafters.  It’d sparked her desire to be a ballerina before she found out that Visatorre were neither allowed to be performers on the stage nor were they allowed to even watch a costly opera to begin with. They were a “risk” to those around them if they travelled backwards into time.

At least she had her journals. She had a dozen or so hand-bound journals she’d made herself because God knew her mother wouldn’t have bought them for her. They detailed her favorite moments in history. Nothing of wars or tyrannical, egotistical kings she couldn’t stand learning about. She was interested in the people, the interpersonal relationships between the royal families and their citizens. Their dresses, the food they ate, the ways they lived their menial lives a millennia ago.

And Eve, a magnificent, tolerant queen to a dead city-state that once held 100,000 Visatorre within its peaceful walls. Aida loved her, knew everything about her life from the minute she was born to the day she was executed. Her city-state, Siina, had once been a well-established community within Roma that could’ve rivaled the country in time.

History said Eve had murdered the Roman king’s wife, so in retaliation, he’d killed her, her lineage, and all 100,000 Visatorre of Siina, burying them within the Catacombs underneath Roma City.

Aida knew for a fact that that part of history was wrong. She’d written papers and thesis on Eve for years, and she couldn’t see the dead queen dipping so far as to murder someone she should’ve seen as an ally. She’d been a young, proud, dedicated Visatorre that housed and raised and loved the biggest population of Visatorre the world had ever seen. Yes, she was rash with some of her decision-making, and she might’ve been labeled “eccentric” in today’s terms, but to murder someone so powerful for no reason, it didn’t add up. It didn’t make sense.

So, Aida was bent on becoming a historian, to rewrite the history books with the truth rather than the propagated schlock crammed down their throats.

After zipping up her final bag, she readied her three-kilometer-long walk to the village. It was mostly leveled terrain, but still, it always burdened her legs. One bad jump six years ago had fucked up her hips, or her back, or her spine, or all three, given her exceptionally bad luck. No doctor had a concrete reason as to why Visatorre were injured when they jumped into the past, they only knew the farther back you went, the worse you came back. Some Visatorre who’d jump 100, 200 years back would come back burning from the inside or with missing limbs, screaming in pain until they needed to take something to their skull to mask the pain. Aida, with all that was stacked up against her, always considered herself lucky that she only needed a cane to get around.

She closed the garden gates slowly, taking the back entrance so she didn’t wake the easily spooked ducks. No more farmlands, no more chores done by six and being hit behind closed doors. Despite years of fucking up, making her think she was useless, too slow, too stupid to be anything more than a servant in her own home, Aida was to mentally burn this place to the ground with her accomplishments.

Or physically, if she became so bold and dire for actual jail time.

She paused at the start of the cow field, eyes darting left and right. While she wouldn’t burn down the farm—she couldn’t hurt the animals—she could do something else. Something more.

She crept into the chicken coop and burgled twenty-four of the largest eggs, enough to keep her fed for a few days, and another six for the carriage. Not hers, but her mother’s, or the one she’d already promised for Olga when she eventually married. Keeping her movements quiet, Aida smashed her extra eggs into the seats and dug the yolk deep into the hides. Then she took charcoal she always kept in her dress pockets and ruined one side of the barn in graffiti. She dumped the milk she’d gotten for that day, she let the chickens loose from the coop. Dumped the drinking water over the hay, overturned the trough. Everything she could do to make her family’s life horrible, but not enough to send an officer after her.

If they connected it to a Visatorre’s doing, she might’ve had one on her tail. Luckily, she wasn’t planning on ever coming back.

She paced herself as she made her way into the village. Idti, a racist outcropping of 500 farmers who’d sell their own daughters for a lick of gold. She kept a knife in her pocket when walking down the dirt roads, waiting to hear someone run up behind her and rob her. Luckily, the carriage house she was planning on using was close to the main road. Beyond the village stretched out a long path to the sea. She could almost smell the cold, salty air.

One driver was smoking near his carriage and reading the paper with his boots kicked up. As Aida neared with lantern and cane in hand, he gave her a look. He made no attempt to hide his ogling at her Visatorre marking: a white circle engraved in the middle of her forehead. Every Visatorre obtained one the first time they travelled, but that didn’t stop non-Visatorre from staring like she had three legs.

“I need a ride to the harbor,” Aida said, keeping her face devoid of emotion.

“Now?” the driver asked.

“Not yesterday,” she said, and gave him three of her gold lyria coins. “The quicker, the better.”

At the sight of priceless gold, the driver instantly folded his paper and sat up. “You’re the Visatorre girl who works up at that farm, ain’t you?”

“Aye.” She took out one of her own cigarettes and had him light it for her. She needed one after this week, and her mother hated the smell in the house. “Let’s say I got fired.”

“Didn’t you live there?”

“Didn’t you need to bring me to the harbor?”

The man clicked his tongue and helped her with her bags.

She took one long inhale as she surveyed the land. The morning birds had yet to begin their songs, and the lack of light let the Moon and stars shine over the country, painting it a deep blue.

“Did you hear the news?” the driver asked, making unneeded small talk. “The princess of Roma, Lucia, she just went missing. Paper’s sayin’ she vanished from her own wedding. Say she got kidnapped or something.”

“Wouldn’t be a change from what we see,” Aida said. While the royal family now was in charge of what she did, she didn’t care for them nearly as much as she cared for the dead ones. The dead ones had more of a history to them that always intrigued her. Plus, she never saw the two twin princesses. One had been married off to the shitstain of Bělico’s King Dmitri as a kid, the other barely left the palace. What was the difference if she went missing?

“Do you think they’ll find her?” asked the driver.

In the distance, Aida saw the faint outline of her home. Her mother’s home—it had never belonged to her. Her mother had tried to be a good mother when she’d first adopted Aida, but the years had tainted her into a villain Aida couldn’t wait to see get their comeuppance.

She gave her home the finger and hopped into the carriage. “Who cares about some dumb princess?”

----------------------------------

Chapter 2: Six Weeks Before, Continued

Lorian had dreamed about escaping her bedroom through the window. She never thought it would be her last-ditch effort to save her life.

She wasn’t in life-threatening danger. She wasn’t going to die if she stayed the night. Acted proper. Went back downstairs and apologized to her wedding guests, and let Prince Zaahir take her hand like she’d been proclaimed to do since she was six.

That wouldn’t kill her per se, but if it came to that, she’d kill herself. No remorse, no second thoughts. She’d warned her parents that if they followed through with the marriage, it would’ve been the final straw out of the many that they’d already broken for her.

Well, her father had. Everyone knew that despite being the reigning queen, it was Lorian’s father who controlled the country.

That night, after tearing up the wedding dress and ruining every last piece of notable art she had left in her bedroom, Lorian had collapsed into her bed and sobbed so hard, she’d thrown up. Out of everything her parents forced her through, this marriage was the one constant. Let her ruin her dresses, let her throw her infamous temper tantrums hidden from the country. But this marriage, just like her sister’s, would happen. Alliances needed to be formed between the three major countries of the world to keep war at bay, and it’d happen whether she liked it or not. Country before individual. Alliances before children.

The only way out was death.

She’d contemplated it, then kicked herself and fought for another way out. She couldn’t end it here. She had to show her parents that she did have aspirations, just ones outside of royal duties.

The giant clock just outside of Lorian’s room chimed for eleven. Per Roman customs, the wedding kiss would occur at the stroke of midnight, and so far, Lorian hadn’t let any of her maids or officers near her. Not even her own family had come into her room, though they’d tried.

First, her mother, whose frail knocks almost made her heart break. Then her twin sister, Beatrice, born only twelve minutes earlier and thus married off first to a man older than their father. Her methodical, emotionless explanation as to why this needed to marry Zaahir made Lorian break a vase to get her to stop talking.

Carmine was the last person to come. He was the queen’s right-hand man—a Constable, the highest rank given to officers—and childhood friend of the queen. He was the most sympathetic about Lorian’s plight, she’d give him that, but he, like the rest of them, told her to come downstairs and finish what was destined for her. He used to be better, back when he was more a family friend who wasn’t weighed down my medals of honor, but those days were gone, as was Carmine’s carefree nature. It’d been replaced with duties that outweighed Lorian’s happiness.

Her father didn’t come up to check on her.

But she didn’t need any more of his anger tonight. Nobody could talk her into this. She had her mind set, and it was anywhere else but this godforsaken palace.

The only one she’d let come near was Missus Sharma. She’d been Lorian’s and Beatrice’s nursemaid since they were in the womb. She’d taught Lorian mathematics, both the piano and violin, and had guided Lorian through speech therapy to get rid of her lisp yet failed. She also knew almost all of Lorian’s secrets, all of her hidden passions without the threads of marriage and princesshood dragging her down.

Lorian had told her, last year, that she didn’t want to be a princess any longer.

“I know your frustrations, Your Highness,” she’d said, this sixty-year-old maid who deserved so much more than what Lorian gave her.

She didn’t know, however, so when Lorian explained more, that she didn’t want to be a princess, or Lucia, or only a woman but something more, something different, that’d puzzled her. Her generation still lived in the mindset that’d fizzled out during this ruling—people could be who they wanted to be, whether they were a boy, girl, neither, or something in-between.

Those rights weren’t given to royal heirs, especially when it involved the procreation of royal children.

Lorian held her stomach as she thought of a way out of this. Even though she was still figuring out her identity, she was sure as fuck not marrying Zaahir for the sole purpose of bearing children. That thought was so far out of her comfort zone, it was off her radar.

Frustrated by her dwindling time limit, Lorian groaned, took the last of her pillows she hadn’t torn, and threw it against her writing desk. It scattered the letters she’d tried to write to her parents only for her to rip them up because, while his mother might hear her out, her father wouldn’t listen. He never did.

A letter fell to her ornate rug. It was hidden behind one of her jewelry boxes and slipped out when the box fell. It didn’t have a name on it, but it’d been stamped with her family’s seal.

Curious, Lorian picked it up.

Out the window & down to the forest.

Good luck.

She flipped over the note to read the rest, but that was it. It wasn’t even signed, meaning the person didn’t want to be traced back. She examined the handwriting, but that didn’t click either. It looked like the person, whoever had written it, had concealed their own personhood to make the letter untraceable.

She looked back at her door. It was locked, as well as barricaded with her wardrobe. Nobody was coming in any time soon.

She crept towards the window that faced the outer walls. In the past, they were meant to keep enemies out, like the fallen city-state of Siina. It’d once been a wealthy state where most of the Visatorre population lived some 1,200 years back. Tensions back then had been high, she was taught. Visatorre were seen as part-God, part-monster, these people who could travel, or “jump,” back in time for hours to witness a single moment in history. Stories had been created around them, painting them as the voyeuristic, nosy ghosts that deserved all the pain their jumps caused them.

Her father despised time travellers for their unpredictable powers, but he never brought it up to the public. They were a reminder of a bloody history most Romans wanted to forget, but Lorian hadn’t forgotten. She knew that the queen of Siina had murdered the Roman king due to some type of disagreement, and as punishment, she, her lineage, and all 100,000 Siinans had been brutally slaughtered in an unfair and unjust bloodbath.

Lorian grit her teeth. She hated it. She’d hated it ever since it was taught to her by her scholars and meant to sound like a victory. It wasn’t. It was the royal family’s insatiable bloodlust, and it was all the more reason why she wanted nothing more to do with the crown trying to be placed over her head.

The orchestra music from her own wedding ceremony echoed from outside. Six hundred people had been invited and were likely all dining and eating and placing bets as to whether or not Lorian would come down by midnight.

So it was odd that out of all of these guests and bustling maids and officers in the palace tonight, nobody saw Lorian’s horse, Ether, nibbling on the flowers next to the palace walls. She was bridled and had on her saddle, but it wasn’t the official, royally-sanctioned one with all the gold and rubies stitched into it, it was Lorian’s personal riding one that was worn and made of coarse leather.

And attached to Lorian’s windowsill, weighted down so as not to blow in the summer night air, was a silk bedsheet tied into other bedsheets: a less than perfect escape ladder.

Lorian pressed her lips together. Who’d set this up for her? She’d dreamed of this day for years, and it only became more real that week.

She touched the start of the makeshift ladder. It’d been tied several times behind her window and secured behind the jewelry box. Not even Missus’ Sharma would’ve seen anything awry.

Lorian turned so quickly on her heel, she tripped on the rug given to her by her mother’s mother. She pulled out the drawers of her second wardrobe not currently holding back the only door to the room and packed what she considered to be her real clothes. No dresses, nothing that was too uncomfortable to wear. She did pack her corsets to bind her chest and hide her hips. She didn’t hate her body; her boobs were fun to play with when she was in the bath or getting ready for bed. They just meant too much to her past self, and she didn’t want to remember that.

She would no longer be Lucia Maria Carolus Durante di Romano, future princess to the country of Roma and Aldaí.

She would be Lorian. Lorian…

Something. If she was going to run away, she’d have to change her surname, but she’d only landed on “Lorian” when she was a child, a nonsense name that meshed her name with Carmine’s father’s name. That was back when she respected him.

Despite living here all her life, she had nothing of real importance. Clothing she felt comfortable in, 350 pieces of gold lyria she kept in case she ever decided to really run away, utensils—she ate quite a lot in her room. She grabbed documents with her father’s and Carmine’s signatures in case she needed to forge them for her new life, and she kept her signet ring and skeleton key because she was sentimental like that. She had her dagger because her rapiers would be too long and too distracting on the run. She wouldn’t need a map because she knew the whole layout of the kingdom by heart. As for her underwear…

She looked at the dagger in her hand, then at herself in the mirror. The blond hair she’d tied up in a ponytail to get it out of her face still curled to the middle of her back. She liked her hair; it was a staple for Roman women to keep it long. Her mother’s must’ve been worth something for how beautiful it was, reaching her thighs in elegant waves, and her sister’s must’ve taken hours to prepare every day with all the braids and swoops she kept it in.

Lorian gripped the handle of her blade. She didn’t think it over because she knew she’d regret it. Nobody in the kingdom could know she was Lucia. If she were to live as Lorian, Lucia needed to die.

Her locks fell around her in spirals. Her head instantly felt lighter than it had in years, but she knew it didn’t look right. One part was uneven, the next cut too close to her scalp. She didn’t touch her bangs, as Missus Sharma had just styled them the day before, and when she was done, she didn’t look back in the mirror. She retied it into a small ponytail. Her neck felt cold yet free, another chain broken.

Someone knocked on her door.

She nestled her knife against her thigh.

“Your Highness, are you alright?”

The voice, so sweet and motherly, Lorian knew it better than her own mother’s.

“Yes, Missus Sharma,” she called out, and slowly opened her window all the way. Her curtains fluttered. It kissed her cheeks, her newly uncovered neck.

“I don’t want you to feel alone right now. I know this’s terrifying for you, and unfair. Oh, sweetheart, I know. Can you talk to me? Have you eaten?”

Lorian lifted one leg over the windowsill. She’d once climbed out of this window as a child to the giant clock tower above. When they’d found her, her father had slashed her palms. It seemed so much easier as a thirteen-year-old. “I have, and I’m alright now.” She dared a peek down the four stories and closed her eyes. It wasn’t high up. It wasn’t that high. “I’ll be okay.”

“Do you need anything from me right now?”

She swung the rest of her body out of the window. Vertigo hit her like a crashing wave. She wrapped both arms around the blanket and gave a firm tug. “No. You’ve done enough for me this week, and I do appreciate all that you’ve done.” She put more of her weight on the bedsheet ladder, then more. “G-go tell my mother and father that…I’m contemplating coming down soon.”

“Oh, you are?” Missus Sharma asked. “How wonderful! Let me bring them up.”

“I-I’ll just need a minute,” she called out, hoping her voice wouldn’t travel. “Do give me that, okay, Missus Sharma?”

“Of course, Your Highness. Oh, their Majesties will be so thrilled.”

“I’ll bet,” Lorian muttered under her breath, and looked down. What was four stories, really, other than a two-second drop to your crushing, painful death?

She bit her lower lip, said a prayer to any God that would hear her, and let gravity take her down.

Her boot snagged on a jutting brick  and, while it might’ve been a two-second controlled fall, it felt longer. She anticipated hitting the ground but didn’t expect to feel the dizziness that accompanied her once she hit the earth. Her feet gave out from underneath her and she rolled over like a turtle. Ether looked down at her, chuffing.

Lorian stayed on the ground, fingers curling into the cold grass. She counted the eerie seconds of silence. Someone always noticed when she acted out. She’d be caught, subdued, reformed into what her father wanted.

Nobody came. Missus Sharma didn’t run to her bedroom window and call out for her. No patrolling officer asked what she was doing.

She breathed in a gulp of fresh air, then slowly lifted herself up with her horse. She pulled on her reins and waited. She climbed onto Ether’s back and waited.

Nobody was coming.

Nobody knew she was here.

Lucia had been killed, and Lorian had taken her first step.

She blinked back the tears. She didn’t know what had brought them on. Her cutting her hair, her knowing that this one decision might strip her away from everyone she loved for months, years. If this worked, if she really pulled everything off, she might never see them again. Beatrice, Carmine, her mother, Missus Sharma, the maids and officers who treated her far better than she deserved, her father…

She violently turned her head away and broke Ether into a gallop. She tore through the gardens, through the first gate. A lone officer on duty hadn’t been expecting anyone to pass through here and certainly wasn’t prepared to stop a galloping mare running past him. He also probably hadn’t been expecting Lorian to be crying.

She knew she hadn’t. Isn’t this what she’d wanted? To be free from a marriage to a man she’d met three, possibly four times in her life? To be free from her father’s expectations of being a subservient princess and to finally do what she wanted to do?

She ran her horse as fast as she could into the Roman night. Tonight, she was Lorian. And tonight, she was unshackled.

[mithrilwren]

So, uh, I got three hours of sleep last night and this was basically the first post I saw when I woke up and my brain is pretty much mush at this point anyway… so… Vokodo/Dragon Turtle? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

---------------

Sharks know not to swim too close to Rumblecusp - where the surf is a degree too cold, where the waters shimmers and spouts into the sky, where alien fish float on currents that run the wrong way, and scrounge their food amidst shards of obsidian ruin.

He is no shark. His course is not dictated by instinct. He is not moved by strange goings on above land - he has plumbed the ocean’s depths, and found stranger things by far, and claimed them all as his own.

He takes what he desires, no matter where it resides. The ocean is his, to traverse and plunder at his whim.

And all the while, above the line of breaking swells where the air meets the sea, the island takes too.

---

The ship is the latest catch, brought to keel on Rumblecusp’s shore, and he feasts long into the night, and well. Belly warm with the fat stores of a heavy laden hold, he drifts below the surface, savouring the taste of gold beneath his tongue.

This is the first time the island speaks to him. Within the bubble of its rising ire, the water rakes at his scales, scalding heat pouring from lava vents below. Not enough to injure, not to a creature such as him. Only enough to warn.

You have taken what does not belong to you. Return what you stole, or face my wrath.

And beneath the surface, a loose-hinged jaw curls back, and coins spill from the corners to the ocean floor below, drawing up clouds of silt around his clawed feet.

He does not need to speak, to know he has been heard.

Everything belongs to me.

---

The shoels of the island are a bounty of spoils. Sailors bring their boats, and do not return. He feasts, and takes from their cargo at his leisure, though the island grumbles its dissent at every turn. The water grows foul with ashy sediment, and he’s forced to leave, for a time, but soon the waters clear and the ships return, and the shores of Rumblecusp are filled with easy prey once more.

He grows weary, of the ease.

The hunt beckons, and he follows the scent of tougher blood, far into open water.

And it is satisfying.

For a time.

---

When he returns, he does not plunder.

He watches. He observes. He hunts, with the patience of the barred ghoul that lurks in the sand, waiting for its prey to swim overhead.

On the seventh day, the waterfall splits, and a ship he did not take passes into the depths beyond.

He follows.

The water closes at his back, which does not alarm him. He has forded the ocean’s eddies, born the scar of a wizard’s spell, met his match in the fiercest storms. He does not fear to traverse the waterfall. Powerful as it might be, it will find him more than suited to the challenge.

The steerers of the ship balk and run when they see him enter - no dead-eyed, glassy stare can withstand the fearful awe of his presence, but he pays them no mind as they flee to cower in the crevasses of the stone cavern. His eyes are only for the armada that surrounds him - the wealth of ships to take as his own.

Again, the island speaks. The ground rumbles, and the sailors wail, and he turns his ear to the direction of the quakes. Further in, beyond the orange glow.

When he submerges once more, he smells sulfur in the water.

Sulfur, and gold.

---

There are passages, hewn by time or by pressure, that lead to the island’s center. They are too small to contain him, and so he carves his own path, rock giving way to the relentless force of sinew and nail and gnashing tooth, until the flowers are rent asunder and scattered in his wake. The water froths and churns its anger at the carnage. He pays it little mind.

Gold, he smells, and jewels as well, and the electric sting of magic colouring it all with a flavour most pleasing. If he had known the island hid such a delicious pearl of treasure within, he would have claimed it for his own long ago.

He breaks at last into an open chamber, the ceiling above embroiled in shadows. The most dangerous things lurk in the darkest places of the ocean, and so he waits to see what will emerge.

One tentacle, then two, snake their way out of the darkness, lithe as the fluttering arm of the jellyfish, as beautiful and as liable to sting. He keeps his distance, waiting still. Patience is not a thing he lacks.

Offer tribute, or choose to die here.

The temperature rises to scalding, and though the burns begin to seep past even his protective shell, he does not bend his neck.

Who are you, that I should offer tribute?

A growl or a roar sounds from above, as the rock of the cavern begins to give way.

I am the Lord of Exandria, the god of this island. Interloper, you have taken what is not yours. Repay, or die.

Three tentacles lash out, curling around the base of his throat and tightening fast.

He does not resist, as the tendrils test their strength against his scales, and find themselves unable to penetrate a single line of armor. He lets himself be pulled up, drifting closer and closer to the heady scent of gold. Two flaring, fiery eyes flicker into view, mere specks of light in the darkness. The water around them shimmers with heat, and more precious things.

“I take what I want,” he speaks, and reaches into the darkness as he wheels around and dives backwards. His claws rake over a body of many appendages, none strong enough to cling to the roof’s surface in the face of such overwhelming force as he drives them both to the bottom of the cavern. They spin in the air until he is atop the creature, pinning it to the floor when the sediment settles.

All around float glittering coins as the creature stares up with eyes burning as bright as the deepest amber, brighter even than the fire that burns all around them, setting the water ablaze.

The tentacle around his throat tightens, and tightens once more, until his beak is brought low to the creature’s own, until the scent of gold fades from prominence, until all he can smell is wealth, and hunger, and desire, and greed.

A deeper desire awakens, for the first time in many, many years, and a wave of images begins to fill his mind, scene after scene after scene. From the onslaught, only two words need be gleaned, to understand that the creature’s realization matches his own.

‘Then take.’

// And then they had whatever hot, kinky morkoth x dragon turtle sex you’d like to imagine, because I tried to for about 0.5 seconds before my brain short circuited and I decided it was probably time for bed.

[atypicalsenerio]

⁠—plateau, warlock mastery

Casting spells was second nature to Soren. Like breathing, taking air in and out of his lungs, and just as easily maniupulating it around him

With practiced motions he could do in his sleep, he executed a perfect Wind spell, followed by Cutting Gale, and Excalibur. The academy’s Reason professors watched him intently and Soren remained calm, face expressionless. There was no doubt in his mind he would pass an exam.

A mind that was as talented at memorization such as his could recall much of his childhood in vivid detail. Sometimes, it was a detriment. Other times, it was a source of contentment and pride at his own progress alongside time’s everlasting march forward.

As he demonstrated his practical ability, his muscles could remember doing the exact same motions almost two decades prior.

When he was first a student of the arcane arts, he was learning literacy in conjunction with magic. The old sage who had taken him in when he was around four years old had him studying relentlessly, every waking hour no matter the hour. Soren had learned quickly to eat and sleep when the sage was asleep, and to devote the hours they were awake to following his directions, cramming as much information as he could into his mind, fueled by a dying man’s desperation to pass on a lifetime of knowledge while he still had breath.

Fulfilling a dying wish before he’d ever gotten to live himself. Funny how the world worked.

Soren’s first spells hadn’t been impressive. The initial glow of success was then dimmed by the constant pressure to drill more and improve upon improvement. He was so small it had been a struggle to hold open a tome while casting. At times, he’d nearly fallen asleep while studying or practicing, but if his eyes ever drifted closed he was awakened again until they were both too exhausted to keep going.

It hadn’t been much of a life. He hadn’t known that, then. He’d never spent enough time with other children to know what he’d missed. His habit of falling asleep at a desk on top of an open tome had started before many commoners knew their alphabet.

These ‘gifts’, as people called his intellect and skills, were indeed paid for.

Candlelit nights and days spent in a daze of reading and refining magic were the bulk of his two years with the sage, and better than the rest of his childhood had been. He never spoke (and as he would find out, couldn’t) except when reciting spells, but he was fed, and there was a rickety roof over their heads. He knew by then he couldn’t take either for granted.

The loss of the sage at his time of death was not like losing a parent, but a scant source of food. They hadn’t been fond of each other, and Soren hadn’t had much choice in learning magic. ‘Better than where he’d come from before’ was a low bar, and one the sage had met, that was all.

He honed his skills further as a teenager and an adult, but not out of passion or love for it. It was more like choosing to only sharpen your best weapon, because it would yield the best results. He had no real hobbies or interests to speak of except studying, and he was studying to survive. Tactics, magic, geography, what made the people around him tick- all of it was for self preservation.

One could argue his life had been a lesson in the uglier sides of peoples’ natures, and when prompted, he could give a desolate, blunt report of his opinion of them.

-

The effects of his casting faded like a passing breeze, and Soren passed his exam. He was awarded his mastery of the highest pure Reason class related to anima magic that the academy had to offer: Warlock.

With the congratulations, he was given a set of robes to mark his accomplishment.

Soren retreated to his quarters to don them. Custom made black robes with dark mossy green accents flowed around him perfectly. The shoulders of the outfit were something he could do without, but combined with the trailing sleeves it made a bold look for him. A proper sage, certified and all, looking as though he did have every bit of knowledge that old sage had tried to hard to impart to him.

There wasn’t a Wind spell known to mages that was more advanced than Excalibur. Not that he’d ever heard of, anyway.

This was it, the end of a journey.

“Hm.” Why wasn’t he... happy? That was the expected response.

Soren folded his hands in front of himself. He’d practiced all his life and would keep practicing more, but he’d reached a point that had taken much of his lifetime, without a whole lot left to go to strengthen his best element.

He sat down on the edge of his bed with a sigh.

“I don’t know what to do with myself,” he admitted to the empty room. He studied history only for tactics, which he didn’t need much of anymore without assisting the Greil Mercenaries. Ike was the only one he genuinely wanted to be advisor to, and without their troupe to lead, he had no one to direct. He’d studied magic for so long to survive, and the end to those studies was in sight.

Oh, to finally feel stumped, and to feel it from a success.

Soren tried to recall what else he did in his time. He could focus more on swordsmanship, politics, on faith magic-

Academics, all of it. He could do it.

But if asked what would make him genuinely feel joy, he had no answer.

When he had the freedom to just live, he didn’t know what to do with it. Being around Ike could hardly be an answer to last the entire rest of his life.

What else did he do? Surely there was something. Oh, that was right. Some hours of his life were even spent tutoring Niles, soon to be both Niles and Tormod.

...

A pause.

He stood up as an idea struck him. For what exact goal, be it personal organization or even possible profit, he wasn’t sure. He may have looked the part of a sage, but he was still far from the man who’d been his first teacher. If anything, he was better. He knew his anima magic forwards and backwards, and what a difference good and poor instruction made, a balance between desperate dedication and sustainable study.

Soren took a spare blank book and started writing. With as much simple, accessible clarity as possible, he began a new project, his own textbook of basics of magic that a total beginner could understand, with his own hard learned insights added alongside.

It was something a small child from long ago would’ve found helpful, when not much in life had been kind.

[wingsofkpop]

Hiraeth - I.I: Stay

pairing(s): Hybrid!Im Jaebeom x Reader, Witch!Mark Tuan x Reader, Werewolf!Jackson Wang x Reader, Vampire!Park Jinyoung x Reader, Supernatural!Got7 x Reader

genre: Supernatual!AU, Dark Magic!AU, Angst, eventual Smut

warning(s): Mature languages, descriptions of death and murder, violence, graphic depictions of fighting, blood and gore, mentions of traumatic experiences, etc.

word count: 6k

synopsis: How far are you willing to go to find out the truth about Moon Dye Bay?...

chapter directory

Once upon a time there was a lone seamstress who lived inside a little house in the woods. Few knew of her existence, and even fewer knew of her name, for outside the safety of the forest, the world and its inhabitants were cruel and corrupt. To relieve the weight of her loneliness, the seamstress sat on her roof every night to speak to the moon as it traveled across the black sky. She spoke to the moon about everything, from the rushing of the river current after a spell of rain to the plumpness of the round, ripe peaches that arrived in the summer, and when she ran out of elements of reality, she turned to ones of fantasy instead. She told the moon stories of massive dragons who breathed butterflies with wings of jewels instead of fire and planets where the seas were composed of golden honey and tall mountains of glass. 

The moon fell in love with the seamstress and her fairy tales, for she was just as keen for a companion. She loved the seamstress so much that one night per cycle, when the ocean tides were at their lowest, she would leave her nightly perch and join the seamstress on her roof. No one knew of the true nature of their relationship, whether they were friends, lovers, soulmates, but that did not matter, for the moon loved the seamstress, and the seamstress loved the moon in return. 

In order to show her love, the moon gifted the seamstress one of her brightest stars from the night sky. Upon consuming the star, the seamstress was blessed with abilities beyond imaginable: Gifts to heal creatures long past the point of decay. Talents in skill, wit and knowledge that surpassed the most brilliant scholars. And most notably, the miracle of eternal life. 

Outsiders soon caught word of the immortal seamstress who lived in the little house in the wood, and some sought to steal her and the moon’s power for their own gain. On a night when the moon was at its fullest, a band of malicious villagers stormed the seamstress’s home right on the very roof where she sat. The moon, unable to intervene, watched the villagers kill the one she loved. In a final attempt to best the attackers, the moon shattered the seamstress’s soul into pieces, which had become one with the star, and scattered them across the world. To this day, the ruins of the seamstress’s house still stands deep within the forests of time. On nights when the moon disappears from the night sky, some say that if one listens close enough, sobs and wails can be heard from the roof of the little home where the moon mourns her lost companion. 

Many have tried, but it is impossible to gather enough shards of the seamstress’s spirit to recreate the full power of the gifted star. It is said a piece of her soul resides inside all of us. Though in some, the magic is more prominent than others… 

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ 

“—and then she started getting all defensive over it.” You hold back a sigh at Jihyo’s huff, not desiring to make your roommate and close friend aware that her over-the-phone rant is draining what little sanity remains within your mind. To be honest, you actually lost track of the conversation a couple blocks back, and have little clue over who she’s complaining about. Probably yet another one of Sana’s douchebag crushes “Like, I get you like him and all, but the dude’s literally an asshole. I mean, he’s stood her up how many goddamn times, and not to mention, the whole thing with Chaeyoung— 

“(Y/N)? Are you even listening?” You immediately snap from whatever headspace your consciousness slipped into at the change in Jihyo’s tone. Your hand raises to wipe the drowsiness of a twelve-plus-hour day from your eyes as you speak for the first time since you left the university: 

“Not really, honestly.” You finally release the breath in your lungs, “It’s… It’s been a long day.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Jihyo scolds, “You know you’re free to hang up on me anytime I get too fired up. Or at least snap me out of it.” 

“I know,” You peer at both sides of the street before making your way across, pulling your jacket tighter around your body to fight the chilly, night air. “Like I said, it’s just been a long day.” 

“You can tell me all about it over some take-out, sound good?” 

“Sounds great. I haven’t eaten much today.” 

Jihyo’s grumble emerges over the line, earning an amused chuckle from your own chest. You can hear her yell something to most likely Sana, your other roommate, in the background before returning with yet another scold, “You’re in serious trouble now, (Y/N) (L/N). What have we said about skipping meals?” 

“I was busy today!” You protest, unable to hold back the smile that spreads along your lips at your friend’s mother-like nagging.

“That is no excuse!” A couple muffled sounds carry over the line, along with a hushed, inaudible conversation between Jihyo and another person. You cross another street and round the corner, preparing to cut through your usual shortcut to your apartment building, when Jihyo finally returns, “I hope you’re okay with Thai because apparently Sana’s going to die if she doesn’t get her Mango Sticky Rice...”

“I’m okay with that. You know my usual?” 

“Do you know who you’re talking to?”  

You chuckle, “Fair enough. I’ve got maybe another ten minutes until I’m home. Try not to let Sana eat all the food before I get there.” 

“No promises. See you soon, babe.” 

You hum a wordless farewell in response before lowering your phone from your ear to end the call. Without the buzz of the line and your friend’s voice to fill the silence, you finally notice how quiet and empty the streets seem. During the hours of the day, the town is usually packed with people meandering out and about in the bay’s usual nice weather. Without the sunshine, however, the nights can get rather cold, and by missing your bus, you’re experiencing that fact firsthand. 

You can feel goosebumps emerging across your skin underneath your clothing as you traverse further down the path, a flickering, lone streetlamp your only guide through the darkness. The alleyway in which you usually cut through gapes on your left, but before you enter the narrow passage, you pause to peer over your shoulder. While it wouldn’t be the first time your paranoia has emerged for little reason, considering your track record of life experiences, the sight of shadows and stillness does nothing to ease the eerie sensations creeping along the back of your neck. 

Passing the strange feeling off to the cold, you finally step into the pitch black of the alleyway, taking quicker and longer steps out of pure instinct. You pilfer through your bag, wanting to find your phone again to light your path, but as per usual, it seems to have dropped to the very bottom of the bag’s contents. A silent groan rumbles from your chest at the discovery that you’ll have to continue through the dark, or at least until you reach the opposite end of the alley. Hopefully there’s no rats or bats or—

Your entire body jumps at a loud clatter that sounds from behind. You quickly pivot on your heel to investigate the sudden noise, finding nothing but darkness, darkness and more darkness. 

“H-Hello?” Your call bounces between the brick walls of the alleyway, echoing back inside your ears. You swallow, with your throat as tight as your chest, and call again. The only sound that answers is the violent racing of your pulse and your shaky breaths. Clutching your bag closer to your chest, you begin to walk backwards while keeping your eyes trained toward the entrance you only moments before came through. The idea seems ideal, that is, until your foot catches a divot and your form collapses onto the pavement. 

It takes you a moment to recover from the fall, but you’re quick to grab one of the stiletto heels from your foot and arm yourself with as best a means of defense as you can manage. You carefully rise, shuddering as another clatter sounds from somewhere in the alley. Your eyes dart through the darkness, searching for a shadow that moves more than the rest. After maybe another minute of silence, with your makeshift weapon still in hand, you rush toward the exit of the passageway. 

A breath of relief leaves your lips as you enter a level of light where your hand is no longer a silhouette in front of your face. Using the lamp post as support, you reach down to grab the second heel from your other foot and toss it inside your bag while its twin remains prepped just in case. You can survive walking the last three minutes to your building barefoot. All else be damned. 

Just as you’re about to resume your walk home, something grabs the back of your scalp, and using the roots of your hair as assistance, yanks you back into the dark alleyway. You immediately fight back, swinging your arm as hard as you can to stab the assailant with your heel. Obviously taken off guard, the figure surrenders its hold on your hair and provides the opportunity for you to stab him again. It releases a blend of something between a groan and a growl, grabs your wrist and quite literally, launches you deeper into the darkness. 

Your body connects with a brick wall with a violent thud, stealing every ounce of breath from your lungs. You try to clamber to your hands and knees, but your right arm throbs and goes completely limp at the movement. You curse at the broken bone, but still manage to bring yourself to stand. No sooner are you on your feet, the figure, who you briefly forgot about, shoves and pins your back against the wall with a hand around your throat. 

“G-get off…!” You sputter, using your good arm to claw at its face. With speed and strength that’s mostly definitely not human, it keeps your flailing body pressed against the brick surface, yanks your arm out of the way and harshly tilts your head to the side. A loud scream sounds from your lips as binding pain erupts from your neck. Warm blood slips down your flesh like raindrops, staining the collar of your shirt crimson red. The pain is so fierce, it disorients your mind and numbs the remainder of your physical strength, leaving no room for you to fight back any longer. 

Your vision begins to grow blurry, partly from tears and partly from the painful fogginess exhausting your brain. For a moment, you wonder what will kill you first: The blood loss, the excruciating pain, or the knowledge that your life in itself is slowly slipping from your fingertips. 

You are going to die. The thought repeats itself like a broken record on repeat. You are going to die without seeing your students again. You are going to die without seeing Jihyo and Sana and all your friends again. You are going to die right here, in this dark alley, from a brutal monster that came straight out of hell. 

Just when you’re on the cusp between consciousness and unconsciousness, the figure is torn away, leaving your body to collapse to the ground. Muffled sounds of what seem to be barbaric snarls and roars spill into your ears, followed by the obvious snaps of breaking bones. Through the pitch black, you can almost make out a human-like silhouette approaching your grounded figure. 

The last thing you remember before you slip underneath the waves of exhaustion is the gentle touch of bloody hands and a soft murmur of your name. 

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ 

Familiar faces mill about the confines of the graveyard, some as bystanders, whispering rumors behind yellow-taped borders, and some as pursuers, tiptoeing around the grounds as if one wrong step will shatter the tense atmosphere like glass. From his perch leaning against a nearby tree, Mark watches the coroner zip up the black body bag with a blank expression set across his features, contradicting the cloud of sorrow suffocating the means of his soul. Even with the corpse out of sight, he can remember her face—the still-rosy cheeks, the icy touch of fingertips, the unseeing eyes…  

The coroner rises to his feet, shaking his head before turning to speak to the town sheriff beside him. Mark continues to observe as both investigators engage in a brief conversation. As if sensing his gaze, they simultaneously turn to peer his way. Mark quickly turns his eyes elsewhere and abandons his post. He heads in the direction of the crypt, attempting to push the persistent, vulgar images out of mind. 

“Mark! Hang on!” His steps halt at the frenzied call of the sheriff, providing the opportunity for the older woman to approach. She offers him an apologetic smile and an affectionate pat on his forearm. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you anymore questions.” 

“Good. Don’t think I have anything much else to say.” The sheriff doesn’t reply to his weak attempt at humor, instead mapping out the very extent of his face. Trying his hardest to keep his features neutral, Mark stares right back at the female officer—the last thing he needs is to break down right then and there. 

After another moment of silence passes, the sheriff finally speaks, “How are you doing, Mark? Really?”  

“How do you think I’m doing, sheriff?” Mark releases a sigh, “One of my friends is dead.” 

“I know.” She also expels a deep breath, running a hand through her long, brunette tresses. Her grip stiffens just slightly, enough to be able to feel her skin trembling against his. “I wish I could say something to make it better, but I can’t believe it myself—” She chuckles scornfully, “Do you have any idea who—or what, would do this?” 

“We’re trying to figure that out.” Mark replies, “Some of us are… taking it pretty hard.” 

“Until then, you and everyone else have to be careful.” 

Mark shakes his head, “Sheriff—” 

“I mean it, Mark,” The sheriff squeezes his arm so tight that Mark wonders if it will bruise. “Whoever did this knew what they were doing, and they knew what she was. Promise me that you’ll keep on your toes?” Flashes of her lifeless body overtake the forefronts of his brain even before he can help it. He hates how his stomach twists at the memory of that foreboding symbol carved into his chest—right next to the confines from where her heart was torn.  

“I promise.” 

“Good.” A breath that Mark didn’t even know he was holding escapes his lungs as the sheriff removes her hand. “Let me know if you find anything. I’ll keep in touch.” 

“Thanks, sheriff.” The sheriff doesn’t say another word, only lays one final pat on Mark’s shoulder before taking off after a group of officers hauling the body bag into the back of a large van. Mark watches as she goes, unable to shake off the feeling of her quivering fingers until she’s out of sight. 

Ignoring the staff mopping the blood-stained gravel pathways, Mark resumes his journey up the steps and inside the tall, white-marbled mausoleum. To anyone on the outside, the structure just seems like a normal place to house a passed loved one, but to the specific few, it’s so much more. The coziness of the inside somewhat eases the anxiety flowing through his veins, welcoming the warmth the flames in the fireplace provide. He gazes around the one-room building, past towering bookshelves stuffed with ancient grimoires and cabinets lined with jared materials of all kinds, until his eyes settle on a second figure standing at the lectern placed in the center of the room, flipping through the yellowed pages of a ragged book. 

“Any luck?” Mark asks, making his way through the cluttered space beside his busy companion. Youngjae glances up from the tome that’s pretty much falling apart, and sullenly shakes his head. 

“Nothing. I tried to track her blood—” Youngjae gestures to a map on a nearby table, its surface decorated with spreading crimson lines and swirls, “—but it’s weird. The trail doesn’t go anywhere. It just…doesn’t stop.” 

“What about that mark? Anything on that?” 

“I’ve gone through everything we have on runes, symbolism, hieroglyphics, but there’s nothing that even remotely resembles what was on her chest.” Youngjae pauses, hesitant to speak the words on the tip of his tongue, but with a glance at Mark, he continues, “...It’s like whoever, or whatever killed her doesn’t exist, hyung. There’s literally nothing.”  

“Shit—” Mark curses, pinching the bridge of his nose with a huff, “There can’t just be nothing! There has to be something—!” 

Youngjae shakes his head, “I don’t know what to tell you…” The younger watches as Mark picks up his book. He flips through a few pages before slamming the cover shut with more force than necessary. A moment of silence aside from the sounds of their breathing passes until it is broken by Mark’s yell as he launches the text across the room, knocking over a collection of stacked artifacts. 

“Hyung—” 

“One of our people is dead, Youngjae!” Youngjae flinches at the elder’s harsh tone, watching helplessly as he shoves a pile of grimoires across the mausoleum floor. “And we have no fucking clue who killed her and why they did it! What if they come back, huh!? What if they come for you next!? Or Lia!? Or Jisung or—” Mark’s angered tangent falls quiet at the shrill call of a cell ringtone. Mark retracts his phone from his pocket, and with a composed sigh, answers the device and lifts it to his ear. 

Youngjae watches Mark’s face carefully as it shifts from annoyance to confusion to absolute anguish. He tries to inquire about the subject of the phone call, but Mark only lifts his finger in warning. After a couple cool replies, Mark mumbles a less-than-pleasant farewell and disconnects the line. One of his hands lift to push back the strands of his dark hair while the other frantically reaches for his jacket: 

“(Y/N)’s in the hospital. Fuck, I have to—” 

“Go, hyung.” Youngjae hums, “I’ll see if I can find anything else.” 

Mark’s composure softens. Guilt begins to flow through his veins as he recalls the harsh tone he previously directed at his younger companion. Guided by his emotions, Mark reaches forward to squeeze at Youngjae’s bicep, similar to the sheriff’s actions minutes before. He murmurs, “Thank you, Youngjae.” Youngjae only nods, bending down to begin clearing the remnants of Mark’s wrath as said figure heads out the door.

The forensic team is still cleaning the blood as Mark makes his way toward the exit of the graveyard. 

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ 

The first color you see when you open your eyes is white, playing more into your assumptions that you’re currently in the beginning stage of the afterlife. As more and more of your consciousness and common sense return to your brain, the puzzle pieces of the strange situation slowly begin to slide into place. You’re not floating in a cloud at all—but in fact, laying on the most uncomfortable bed known to man. You groan, forcing yourself to sit up as to collect more clues to your surroundings. 

A soft murmur of your name and set of hands on your shoulders takes you completely off guard. Immediately, memories of your encounter with the violent creature invade your brain like water to dry soil. You flail your limbs wildly, attempting to defend yourself against the unknown figure with each kick and punch. 

“(Y/N), hey! Calm down!” The stranger seizes your wrists before you can knock his eye out, tugging your arms to rest on your lap. It’s painfully aware that his strength outmatches your own, so you make no other attempts to use force—also partly due to the gentle tone of his voice. You allow the stranger to guide your upper body back to lay down on the bed, using the  opportunity to peek at his face:

The man is despicably handsome to the point his features seem to be sculpted by the gods themselves. His face is long, with a jawline that is sharp enough to slice your finger if you were to reach up and touch the structure. You can’t tell which is more alluring, between his dark, almond-shaped eyes, or his full, rose lips. Then again, the jet black, fluffy hair atop his head is also a close third…or the milky canvas of his strong neck—

“...(Y/N)?” When the stranger speaks again, you notice a strange lilt to his voice, almost like an accent of some sorts. But like the figure himself, you can’t place where you’ve heard such a figment of speech.  “...Can you understand me?” 

“I’d hope so.” You murmur blankly, “What am I? A fucking alien?” 

The stranger’s lips curl in amusement at your retort. He pulls a lone chair closer to your bedside, not once breaking his gaze from your own. You ignore the strange shivers that crawl down your spine as he takes a seat, leaning forward to rest his forearms atop the edge of your mattress. Through the corner of your eye, you notice the multitude of wires connecting your arm to the machines stationed on the opposite end of the bed—so you’re not dead. What a relief. 

“You’re in the hospital—” 

“Figured that out already, pal.” You sigh, rolling your head back into the pillows and allowing your eyes to slip shut. The act does little to calm the storm occurring inside your mind, so frustratedly, you open them again and instead, peer at your unfamiliar companion with a raised eyebrow, “Pardon my French, but who the fuck are you and why are you here?” 

Before the stranger can settle the confusion bubbling through your entire body, a knock sounds from the door a few feet away. It slides open to reveal a woman in a white coat with a clipboard and pen in hand. With a sweet smile across her face, the doctor enters the room to approach your position on the bed. 

She outstretches a hand, “Hi, (Y/N). I’m Dr. Yoo Jeongyeon. I heard you had a pretty rough night.” Too lost inside bewilderment, you accept her formal greeting without saying a word. Dr. Yoo pays no mind to your silence, instead checking the machines at your bedside. “You should be glad Jinyoung found and brought you here.” She finishes recording the results of the pacemaker before requesting you to sit up for a moment. You do so, looking straight ahead as she checks your eyes. “You suffered a nasty concussion—”  She switches off the light, “—so how do you feel?” 

“I feel…” Your voice fades before you can give a complete answer. It’s not that it wasn’t an easy question—it’s the fact that right now, you feel great… The best you’ve felt in the past couple years as a matter of fact! But that doesn’t make any sense, especially with what you remember from the alleyway. There was blood… and you’re pretty sure your arm was broken too…

“It’s okay to be a little out of sorts. Especially after hitting your head and knocking yourself out.” Dr. Yoo assures, marking something down on her clipboard before nodding, “Everything looks great, but we’re going to keep you here for the rest of the night just as a precaution. You’re free to go home first thing in the morning.” 

“Wait, I swear I—” 

“Please let one of the nurses know if you need anything else. I’ll see you in the morning.” You watch as Dr. Yoo bids both you, and the man called Jinyoung, a brief goodnight and exits out the same door she came through only minutes ago, leaving your thoughts swirling with even more questions than before. 

You shake your head, “I didn’t fall though. I was attacked.” 

“Like she said, you hit your head pretty hard.” Jinyoung shrugs, “Your memory is probably a bit off.” 

“That’s not—no.” His face grows visibly surprised at the drop in your tone, but still retains his usual neutral aura. “I know what I saw.” 

Jinyoung releases a heavy, almost annoyed breath before climbing to his feet. More shivers attack your helpless body as he leans forward, diminishing the distance between the two of you until his nose is only centimeters from brushing your own. You can taste the mint of his breath as he speaks. Calm, collected, and slow: 

“You fell and hit your head. Nothing else happened.” Amongst his strange words, you can’t help but notice the rather unusual behavior of his eyes. The ring of his chocolate, brown irises disappears as his pupil grows three times its normal size before shrinking down to a nonexistent dot—you don’t like the familiar ghost of paranoia breathing down the back of your neck. 

“What the hell is wrong with your eyes?” 

For the first time, actual emotion lifts to Jinyoung’s face in the form of pure disorientation. He lurches backward, as if finally realizing how uncomfortably narrow the distance was between the two of you, and clears his throat. Although it’s probably a trick against the bright, alabaster background, you swear you saw his eyes once again flash to black. 

  “Nothing. It’s the lighting.” He manages to get over his confused state, or mask it beneath another layer of vacancy, before awkwardly gesturing to your cell phone on the bedside table. “I called your friend, Mark. He was the first contact on your list, so I just thought…” 

“That’s… really nice of you.” 

“He should be arriving soon…” Jinyoung, once again, stiffly points in the direction of the closed door. “I should wait outside to make sure he finds your room…” He hurries to the doorway, eager to be rid of the tension lingering between the two of your forms, and peers over his shoulder to nod, “I hope you have a goodnight, (Y/N).” 

“Jinyoung, wait—” You hurry to sit up, hoping to catch your mysterious savior before he disappears from the room. Thankfully, Jinyoung, with one foot out the door, pauses at your command. This time, he does not turn to meet your gaze—and you curse the longing that sparks in your gut because of it. 

“Thanks for… bringing me here, I guess.” Your cheeks burn as you say the words out loud, wondering if Jinyoung can hear the slight waver to your tone. You expect the stranger to nod his head, like before, and high tail out of your sight, but as always, Jinyoung does what you least expect: He turns around and delivers a tight-lipped, but surprisingly sweet smile. 

“You’re welcome.” His response makes your insides flutter, “I… I hope to see you again soon.” Jinyoung doesn’t give you the chance to return the conversation, and with one final glance, vanishes through the hospital doorway. Even with his presence gone, your body thrums with the remnants of his aura. Partly because of the lingering aftertaste of his charming presence:

—And partly because of the apprehensive feeling in your gut that grows the more you dwell on the abnormality of his gaze. 

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ 

Jinyoung never meant for the night to turn out like this. He only wanted to get out of the manor—well, get away from his brother before he broke his neck. Literally. Jinyoung never meant to catch your scent during his midnight stroll, nor eventually find you in that alleyway, where he watched as you bravely attempted to fight off that crazed, bloodthirsty fledgling with nothing but a single shoe. The logical part of his brain initially forbode his intervention, but watching how you fought that vampire awoke the remaining human component inside his soul.

—He realized that he couldn’t let you die. 

So against his better judgement, Jinyoung saved your life… and now he’s paying the price. 

“You better have a damn good explanation or I’ll hex you into the next fucking century.” Jinyoung waits patiently as Mark exits the hospital elevator, barely flinching as he shoves his body against the nearest wall. Ignoring the pure rage wafting off of the witch’s body like a Spring scent, Jinyoung raises his arms and replies coolly: 

“Please take your hands off of me.” 

“Not until you explain to how (Y/N) was almost killed by a fucking bloodsucker.” Mark tightens his hold on Jinyoung’s collar, pressing him further into the surface of the wall. “If this is because of your douchebag brother, then I swear—”

“I already told you that Jaebeom cannot turn other vampires.” He pushes Mark’s body with just enough force to free himself from his hold. “And so help me, if you try to go after my family again, I’ll kill you and your pathetic minions.”

Mark scoffs, “Just because you can’t be killed doesn’t mean you’re invincible.” Jinyoung quickly bites his tongue to hold back his retort and inhales a deep breath to calm the frustration brewing through his veins. His mind, against his own will, conjures up the memory of you sitting and staring at him from the hospital bed. Just the image of your bright, fire-lit eyes eases the tension from his shoulders, washing away whatever anger remained inside his gut. 

Jinyoung sighs and changes the topic, “(Y/N) is fine. After I killed him, I fed her my blood—” 

“Oh, fucking hell—” Mark curses, burying his face in his palms. “Yeah, everything is just peachy.” 

“It was either that, or she die from blood loss. Take your pick.” 

“We had a deal,” The witch begins, “The coven, the pack and the league would allow you and your brother to stay in town as long as no other bloodsuckers make an appearance—“ 

“I can’t keep count of every vampire that comes into town,” Jinyoung replies truthfully. “Last I checked, that’s your seer’s job.” He takes note of the painful expression that overtakes Mark’s face, replacing his frustrated tone with one of concern, “What happened?” 

“Nayeon is dead.” He feels an imaginary punch sink into his gut at Mark’s sullen answer. “She was killed a couple hours ago.” 

“Killed? By what?” 

“That’s what we were trying to figure out when I got your goddamn call.”

Jinyoung shakes his head, “I’m sor—” 

“Save it.” Mark finishes just as a couple of chatting nurses clad in sky blue scrubs turn the corner and stop in front of the elevator. Both him and Jinyoung offer the hospital staff polite smiles, waiting a couple breaths for the metal doors to slide open and the passersby to enter. Only when the doors shut and the elevator dings, is when Mark continues: “Where is she?”

“Room 116. I told her I called you.” Jinyoung quickly moves forward as Mark tries to push past him, blocking the doorway so he can’t pass. “Hang on—” 

“We’re done talking—”

“She can’t be compelled.” Jinyoung ignores how Mark tries to shove him aside, keeping his body rigid and exactly in place. 

Mark rolls his eyes, “Well, no shit. I gave her a ring infused with vervain—” 

“She wasn’t wearing it,” Jinyoung insists, “And her blood is clean. You know what that means.” 

“Are you out of your fucking mind!?” A couple surrounding bystanders curiously glance their way at Mark’s hiss. The witch releases a heavy breath before dragging Jinyoung to a more inconspicuous corner of the hallway. His voice is quieter when he speaks, “Look, I know this girl. There’s no way in hell she's anything remotely supernatural.” 

“Then explain how she can’t be compelled by a Prime Vampire.” Jinyoung argues, narrowing his eyes as Mark scoffs and turns to begin the journey to your room. He purses his lips before calling out, “I know you feel it too.” Mark freezes, but doesn’t say a word. Jinyoung takes his silence as a means to continue, “—that rush you feel whenever she’s around… like you’re the most powerful being in the world.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Mark replies before peering over his shoulder to shoot Jinyoung a stern glare, “Stay the hell away from her. Or else.” And with that, Jinyoung watches as Mark scurries down the white hallway and disappears around a corner. 

Jinyoung releases a sigh, lifting a hand to run his fingers through his hair. His thoughts are scattered: Stressing about a witch killer lurking around the town… Dreading his future encounter with his ignorant, dastardly counterpart back at the manor… Pondering over the reasons why Mark lied just seconds before…  

But most importantly, Jinyoung wonders when he will be able to see you again. 

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ 

Mark doesn’t understand why he’s so nervous to see you. Maybe it was the look in Jinyoung’s eyes that has him spooked, or the fact that you can’t be compelled by one of the most powerful vampires in existence. Since you came to Moon Dye Bay, Mark has been able to shield the truth of the monsters that go bump in the night from your innocent eyes—the knowledge of your resistance toward mind compulsion proves that he has to be even more careful… especially with a supernatural murderer in the picture. 

He inhales a deep breath before rapping his knuckles against the wood of the door. Your gentle call for his entry immediately lifts the heaviness from his chest. With less hesitation than before, Mark opens the obstacle and slips past the doorway into the room, his eyes softening at the sight of your body tucked beneath the sheets of the medical bed. 

“Hi.” 

“Hey, Mark.” Just the way you say his name spills warmth through his limbs, settling like a warm blanket over his heart. He makes his way to your bed to gather your figure in his arms, appreciating how yours and his bodies fit like puzzle pieces. 

He murmurs against the crown of your head, “How are you feeling?” 

“Honestly… confused as hell.” Mark pulls back at your weak attempt at a laugh to watch your face instead. His desire to caress the swell of your cheek comes at him so strong that he has to station his hands on your knees as a distraction. “I swear I was attacked by—I don’t even know what—but I don’t even know…” 

“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.” 

“I know, I just—don’t understand how things just got so screwed up, you know? I don’t even—Mark, what’s wrong?” 

Your question seizes his attention, causing his eyebrows to furrow from confusion. He opens his mouth to inquire about your out-of-the-blue concern, but his words die at the hand that appears on his cheek. He watches in disbelief as you wipe a tear from the edge of his eye, wondering where during the conversation he had begun to cry. Whether it’s the pure compassion in your eyes, or the traumatic encounters throughout the night, Mark doesn’t know… but he allows himself to break down in your hold. 

He allows himself to melt into your embrace as you pull him down against your body. He allows the sobs to freely flow from his lips and catch into the crook of your neck. He allows himself to be vulnerable for that one moment… because he can’t show weakness anywhere but with you. 

“I… I thought I lost you…” Mark feels your hold tighten at his whisper, “I can’t lose you… Not you…” 

“You won’t, Mark…”  For a moment, he allows his heart to trick his mind into believing your words meant more than what they’re intended for. Just for a moment, Mark actually convinces himself that here, in your arms, is where he belongs…but he knows it’s far from the truth. 

Because even though you may feel like home—Mark can never, truly satisfy his homesickness for you.

[llnwritings]

♫ JULIE AND THE PHANTOMS APPRECIATION WEEK ♫

DAY 2 | Write an AU.

Summary: Turns out Reggie was right, Julie really is a witch!

[[Read on Ao3]]

Family meant everything to the Molina family and Julie was very proud of her family. Not everyone could say that they could trace their family line back 15 generations and that their family regularly produced powerful witches and warlocks.

When Ray had married Rose, he had proudly taken her name, knowing how much it meant to her. It was also a long standing family tradition, the Molina name must live on no matter what. You join the family, you become a Molina.

Growing up, Rose and Victoria had been known in certain circles as the Molina Sisters, both being strong witches. Rose had the main power of telekinesis, something she was incredibly talented using, as well as a strong talent for spell creation. While Victoria had been gifted the power of psychometry; the ability to make accurate associations from an object of unknown history by making physical contact with that object as well as being a low level empath and also she had a natural talent for potion making.

Both sisters used their witch powers to help out unfortunate people, if you had a magical problem, you could contact the sisters and for the right price they would deal with it for you. They always only charged people what they knew they could afford, if someone was down on their luck and couldn’t pay, the sisters happily accepted payment in the form of food, vouchers or from those that insisted that they paid the sisters accepted a form of payment plan, pay what you could, when you could.

If you were rich or tried to swindle the sisters, they happily charged you double if they were feeling nice or triple if you really pissed them off, 3 quarters up front before the job and the other quarter afterwards once the job was done.

It was a good job, something they both enjoyed. They knew which jobs to take and which ones to pass onto someone else in the family that was better equipped than them. Well paying clients also allowed them both to live comfortably and continue pursuing their hobbies. Rose with her music and Victoria with her cooking.

The only time the sisters slowed down was when Rose fell pregnant. It was then Rose felt it would be best to focus on her growing family. She didn’t completely give up taking jobs though, Victoria and her were just more selective on what they picked.

The day Rose brought Julie home from the hospital, the house had been filled with numerous ghostly relatives, all offering their own blessings to the newest witch of the family, love and happiness surrounded the newest little one. Growing up, Julie was taught in many forms of magic by her mamá and her Tia, in hopes of bringing her own power to the surface.

Julie liked making potions with Tía Victoria but she lacked the natural talent her Tía had. Julie instead took after her mama. The little girl loved making spells up with her mamá, Julie had a gift with words, which transferred over nicely when Julie discovered music and began writing lyrics and playing the piano with Rose.

It was discovered that Julie’s power revolved around her music, she had a talent for mixing her magic with her music and making things happen when they heard her play or sing. She could also use sound to defend herself if the need ever rose, not that it had so far. This was something Rose nurtured deeply, wanting Julie to be as in touch with her witch side as she could be.

Then when Carlos was born, the same ghostly relatives visited and offered their blessings again, this time to the newest warlock, the first one born in 3 generations. It was Tia Victoria who noticed that when he was 2, Carlos had the power to affect the emotions of those around him. If he was happy, people in the same room as him felt happy and it was the same for any other strong emotions the 2 year old felt. They also found out that he could feel the emotions of non-living members of the family, as he always seemed to know when great-great-grandmama was around visiting.

Rose nurtured his talents just as much as Julie’s, but took advice from her sister, as Victoria was the empath out of the two of them. Victoria theorised that Carlos would be able to affect more people at once and larger areas as he got older.

Everything was going good for the Molina family, that was until Rose died.

When Rose died from a job gone wrong, it was like the magic and warmth from the Molina household died with her. It also didn't help that no matter how hard they tried, Julie and Carlos were unable to summon their mamá's spirit. So Julie cut herself off from music and her magic, refusing to even step into her mama’s old studio, while Carlos unconsciously dulled his own ability to emotionally connect with others outside of the family.

----

It wasn’t until a year later, when Julie finally entered her mama’s studio and played an old Sunset Curve CD, that she felt her magic reach out connect itself to the chaotic energies surrounding the music itself and she felt herself pull. Somehow Julie managed to pull three dead teens from limbo without much effort.

After the initial shock of the accidental summoning of a group of teen ghosts and playing numerous gigs with her boys, Julie waited patiently for one of them to ask what was so special about her that allowed her to see them. But it never happened. It’s not like Julie intentionally hid a part of herself from her boys, they just weren’t curious enough to ask. They were just happy to be back and to be able to play music while being seen and heard by people.

Not even after her magical hug, that broke Caleb’s hold over them and allowed Julie to touch them, raised questions from her boys. It was only when Caleb returned to enact his revenge plan, that things began to fall into place for the boys.

While possessing Nick’s body, Caleb attacked Julie in the studio on a Wednesday afternoon. He threw her across the room with a wave of one of his hands and used his other hand to hold her boys in place, unable to help her. Julie yelped as her body slid across the floor and stopped when it connected with the steps that lead up to the loft.

“Julie!!” She heard Reggie yell out.

“How the hell did a little lifer like you break my stamp!” Nick’s voice echoed deeply as Caleb twisted his face into an evil sneer, “It shouldn’t even be possible.”

Julie wiped away the blood that slowly began to run down her face with the back of her hand as she slowly pulled herself back to her feet. She groaned as she felt her magic start to build up, just waiting to be released. Having not truly been used in so long, it was itching for release and it thought Caleb was a perfect target. Clenching her hands into fists, Julie breathed deeply and focused, she needed to wait for the right moment, it wouldn't work if she striked to early.

“Leave her alone!” Luke yelled as he struggled to break free from Caleb’s hold, but all he managed to do was anger Caleb enough for him to send jolts of electricity coursing through his body. Luke clutching his chest and gasped in pain as he dropped to his knees.

“You boys are going to watch,” Caleb-as-Nick turned to the boys with a flourish, “Watch while I crush the life out of your little lifer. Once she’s gone, you’ll have no choice but to come play for me and you’ll be mine forever.”

“Get out of him.”

Caleb-as-Nick stopped gloating at the boys and slowly turned to look at Julie with an eyebrow raised, “What did you say to me?” He stalked towards her, electricity dancing along his fingers, "Look at me when to speak to me." Caleb-as-Nick reached out to grab at Julie's face but was shocked when she screamed.

Caleb wouldn't have known, but it was never smart to attack a witch in her own home. Years of living there, with multiple powerful magical beings under the one roof created a pool of magic, just waiting to be unleashed on some unexpecting evil. Unknown to Julie, her magic eagerly tapped into this pool, giving her a hefty power boost.

"I said, get out of him!" Julie’s eyes glowed electric purple as she thrust both her arms forward towards Caleb-as-Nick and released a sonic soundwave. Using everything she had, Julie focused on pushing Caleb out of Nick’s body, never minding the fact that she blew out the windows of the studio.

The soundwave forced Nick’s body to stagger as Caleb’s hold over him wavered. Caleb could feel himself being ripped away from his pawn, it didn’t matter how deep he tried to sink his claws in, Julie was proving to be more powerful than he had realized. He released his hold over the phantoms to pour more power into holding onto Nick, but it was no use.

Caleb could only watch in shock and horror as Julie’s power painfully expelled him from his meat suit. He landed on the floor of the studio near the entrance with a thud, gasping in pain. Once he was removed, Nick’s eyes rolled back and he collapsed to the floor.

Julie stepped forward, getting in between Nick’s fallen body and Caleb. Her eyes continued to glow as she stood over the man that had hurt her boys.

“You’re going to disappear to wherever the hell you came from and leave us alone. I don’t want to see you, I don’t want to hear about you. You’re going to forget about my boys and them joining your hack of a band. If you don’t,” Julie pulled her phone out her pocket and scrolled through the numbers, “I’m sure my Tia will be very happy to help me banish a ghost, it’s practically her day job, a problem like you shouldn’t be too hard for her. Hell, maybe she can trap you in some jewelry for a few hundred years and we’ll throw you into the ocean, how’s that sound?”

Caleb’s eyes widened in fear at each sentence Julie spat at him, he could only pathetically crawl backwards as he attempted to get away from her. With his last bit of his dwindling power, Caleb forced himself to teleport away from the angry witch to the safety of his club, he could only hope that he could regroup and try again later with a better plan.

Once she was sure that Caleb had really disappeared from the studio, Julie dropped to the floor with a gasp, landing hard on her hands and knees. Slowly, the purple glow faded from her eyes as her magic receded back within herself. Shock hit her as she remembered the boys, eyes widening Julie looked around for her boys. She didn’t have to look far, as the three of them had recovered enough to quickly make their way to her side. All of them trying to reassure themselves that she was okay.

“Are you okay?” Alex hovered to her left, “Do you need us to get anyone?”

“I’ll be fine. Are you guys okay?” Julie smiled at Alex, “He didn’t hurt you guys too much right?”

“We’re dead,” Luke tried to wave off Julie’s concern, “We’ll be good as new in a moment, the pain will fade. Are you sure you’re okay?” He reached out to take her hand.

“Um, are we not going to talk about what just happened?” Reggie cut in, “Julie what are you? You handed Caleb his ass.”

Alex smacked Reggie on the arm, while trying to hush him, “Dude, don’t push!” Alex turned back to Julie and smiled, “You can tell us whenever, it doesn’t have to be today.”

“Whaaat?” Reggie huffed, “I wanna know. Don’t tell me you guys don’t wanna know. That’s just unrealistic.”

“It’s fine Alex,” Julie giggled as she pushed herself to sit up properly, with the help of Luke, “Actually Reggie, you already know what I am. Remember the first night you guys appeared?”

Reggie’s face scrunched up in thought as he tried to remember that first night. It took him a moment, but when the penny dropped Reggie’s eyes lit up, “Witch!” He clicked his fingers at her and Julie smiled in reply, “I totally called it.” He happily nudged Alex in the ribs with his elbow.

“Stop it.” Alex smacked Reggie’s elbow away.

“I’ll tell you all about it later,” Luke helped Julie stand up, “But first I’m going to have to make sure Nick’s okay and then maybe ask Tía to help with a memory spell. We have no clue what Caleb did while in body.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Reggie cheerfully agreed, “I want to know everything.” Reggie froze and gasped, he spun around to face Julie, “Is Ray a witch too?”

“Boys with magic are called warlocks,” Julie explained, “Dad isn’t one,” Reggie frowned sadly at the information, “He married into the family, not a drop of magic in him, but Carlos is and he can see you guys.”

[xxpadfootxx]

🐾When Doves Cry🐾

Summary: Against her better judgement, Ochako saves the one Izuku loves... no matter how unexpected the results turn out to be.

~~~

Ochako hated this feeling. She knew it was wrong and selfish, and she wanted nothing more than to dispel it from her system, refresh herself, and ignore the sight in front of her. She knew it was jealousy that raked at her heart as her eyes settled on Izuku and Melissa chatting away happily a few tables away from them, but she refused to acknowledge it, forcing herself to look back at her plate and shovel food into her mouth. She wanted to be happy for them, wanted to be able to be around them without wanting to vomit, but her heart forced her to feel this way. She grunted and shoved more food down her throat, trying to distract herself. The food was delicious but she could barely taste it as her eyes disobeyed her brain and looked towards the pair again, her heart clenching when she saw Izuku tilt his head back and laugh heartily at something Melissa said. It sickened her how much she wanted to be in Melissa’s place, wanting to hold Izuku, make him laugh, cuddle him, kiss him. Her cheeks flushed and she turned back to her dinner, fighting back the tears that threatened to appear.

“How pathetic,” Ochako muttered to herself, angry at the tears that pushed against her eyelids, angry at the coiling feeling in her stomach, angry at the beast that roared in fury at the sight of Melissa and Izuku together, angry at everything. A hand on her shoulder jolted her from her swirling thoughts, making her jump.

“Hey, are you alright? You’ve been spacing out for a while.”

Ochako looked up to see her best friend, Tsu, standing beside her, holding her own tray of food in her free hand.

“Oh! Yeah, sorry!” Ochako said, injecting false cheerfulness into her voice and forcing a smile to her face. It was obvious that her friend saw through the excuse and the smile, but the frog girl said nothing as she settled into the seat beside Ochako.

The pair ate in silence for a while, Tsu’s presence finally starting to calm the turmoil in Ochako’s gut. Something about the gentle, cool-headed frog girl was just so calming, and it helped distract Ochako for the first time all evening.

“Is it because of Midoriya?” Tsu asked suddenly, causing Ochako to choke slightly on her bite of food. Coughing and pounding her chest, Ochako swallowed her food painfully and turned to look at her friend incredulously.

“What are you talking about?” Ochako asked, trying to act as if she had no idea what Tsu was talking about.

“Don’t play dumb, Ochako, you’ve been looking so depressed lately and I want to know what’s wrong. Hence why I asked. So, is it Midoriya?”

Ochako sighed. She knew she wouldn’t be able to dodge her way out of this one, Tsu was way too observant and patient to let any excuse get by her. Glancing at her friend, Ochako nodded, her face flushed. Tsu sighed and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Ochako.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, it’s nobody’s fault but mine. If I wanted him, I should’ve said something. Instead, I hid my feelings away and refused to say anything like the coward I am. Now, he has someone who was able to take that step. I should be happy for them, I want to be happy for them, and I know I will eventually come to terms with it. For now, though, I just feel sad. That’s all. I’ll be back to normal in a few days,” Ochako said, flashing Tsu a sad smile.

An airy giggle made both girls turn to see Melissa, with a bright blush on her face, leaning over to whisper something into Izuku’s ear. The green-haired boy leaned away from her, his face also rivaling that of a tomato, his hand coming up to lightly slap her arm. Melissa giggled again as Izuku averted his gaze, a sheepish smile plastered on his face. The sight made Ochako’s heart squeeze almost painfully.

Melissa and Izuku were together. It was painfully obvious, and everyone knew about their new relationship. Everybody saw the look in their eyes as they looked at each other, and the times when they would hold each other’s hands under the table. Everyone would watch with wide eyes as they whispered sweet nothings in each other’s ears and followed each other back to their rooms in the evenings.

It made Ochako sick to her stomach but there was nothing she could do. She had missed her chance to be with the love of her life. Standing abruptly, Ochako said goodbye to Tsu and took her tray to be disposed of. Shoving down her feelings with an almost angry sense of determination, Ochako left the cafeteria without looking back.

~~~

“SHIT!” Ochako yelled as she looked up to where a villain with a growth quirk was smashing his fist through buildings left and right. Ochako thanked whatever gods there were that she was in her hero costume, having gone out to train right before the villain appeared. People began to scream and run as debris fell like rain from the sky, pummeling the streets and destroying the smaller buildings below the skyscrapers.

This was bad. Under normal circumstances, villains were a bad thing in general, but here on I-Island, where the population was smaller and the area of land was limited, a villain appearance became even worse. These people had nowhere to go, and it was obvious that people were beginning to panic over that fact, their eyes wide and their paces frantic as they searched for a path to safety.

Ochako did not hesitate to jump into the action, her legs carrying her to the building right beside the villain. Ducking to avoid the falling debris, Ochako activated her quirk on herself and shot into the air, floating upwards until she was able to reach the top of the crumbling structure. The villain was focused on the destruction he was causing, his face scrunched up in wicked glee as he rammed his fist into the building once more.

Ochako closed her eyes for a moment as she hid behind a large slab of debris, trying to think of a plan. Opening her eyes again, she scanned the area, looking for some way to subdue him. That’s when her eyes settled on the huge, open ceiling stadium the island often used for science festivals. Her eyes widening, she formed a plan in her mind. If she could get him to the stadium, the other heroes would be in a better position to help, and the steel arches that rose up on the side of the stadium might just trap his legs, keeping him from causing any more damage.

Jumping out from her hiding spot, Ochako pressed her fingers to the debris she had just been hiding behind and charged at the villain, the debris following her as she ran. The villain turned to look at her but wasn’t quite quick enough before the slab of broken building slammed into him, hitting him square in the face. The villain stumbled back with a pained roar, his large hand coming up to paw gingerly at his broken nose. When his eyes turned to Ochako, they spelled out death in the worst way possible.

Ochako wasted no time using her quirk on herself to jump from building to building, continuing to fling debris and spew insults at him as she ran. The villain focused solely on her, his eyes flashing dangerously as he sped up, following her as she streaked for the stadium. The villain was hot on her heels, hand reaching out to snatch her when suddenly the villain was thrown backward. The large beast of a man landed firmly on his butt, creating a small crater in the street. Ochako snapped her head around just in time to see a flash of green as Izuku launched at the villain, who was attempting to stand back up. Izuku’s next move forced the man back down onto the street. The villain growled in frustration as he placed his hands on the street and jumped up onto the balls of his feet.

“Deku!” Ochako yelled as Izuku went to knock him down again, only to have to dodge as the villain swiped at him with both huge hands. Izuku used his quirk to jump far away from the villain’s reach before looking at Ochako. The floaty hero in training beckoned him over as the villain began to push himself back onto his humongous feet.

“Help me lead him to the stadium, we can subdue him there,” Ochako said as soon as Izuku reached her. Her best friend nodded enthusiastically, a wide smile on his face, and his eyes sparkling as he regarded her plan. It was a simple plan but one that would work exceedingly well for this unique situation. Leaping away from her again, Izuku aimed a powered punch at the villain’s face rather than his gut, the gear on his arms from Melissa keeping him from breaking his arms on impact. The attack struck true as the villain’s head was snapped to the side while his body remained standing upright.

Ochako sent another block of debris his way, relishing in the villain’s roar of pain as a car got lodged in his eye. The combination of attacks from the two young heroes set something off in the villain then, his aura turning murderous as he suddenly sprinted at the both of them. Ochako let out a surprised squeak and leaped away from where the villain reached for her, jumping onto the next building roof. She could feel herself getting tired but she kept up her series of distracting attacks and dodging the villain’s attempts to catch her. Izuku was doing the same thing, using his power quirk to keep out of the villain’s reach while simultaneously hitting the villain over and over again.

“YOU GUYS ARE DEAD!” The villain roared, surprising both Izuku and Ochako with his booming voice. Continuing on, the pair worked seamlessly in unison to bring the villain closer and closer to his trap.

The villain reached out and grabbed a chunk of a nearby building before hurling it at the two young heroes. Ochako felt the very corner of it hit her leg and felt something snap painfully but she managed to keep from falling off the building she was on. Her pained yelp brought Izuku over to her but she waved him off, pointing subtly to the stadium and mouthing to keep going. Izuku looked worried and hesitant but moved ahead, aiming another hit on the villain. Ochako kept moving, forcing down the bile that rose in her throat at the pain, and used her quirk to keep as much weight off of her injured leg as possible. She felt nauseous from both her quirk and her injury but she managed to stay focused, blocking out the world around her as she focused on avoiding each attack from behind her.

A loud, terrified squeal jolted Ochako out of her focus, her eyes darting down to where the villain was reaching for someone in the street. Her eyes widened as she took in the wavy blonde hair and shining blue eyes she had come to loathe in the recent days, her heart quickening as she watched the villain open his fingers, ready to grab at her small frame. Izuku had not yet noticed what the villain was doing, too preoccupied with the villain’s other hand, which was continuing to swipe at him as he flew around. Ochako knew her feelings were less than positive when it came to Melissa Shield, but she also knew she was a nice person and that those feelings only existed due to her jealousy.

“MELISSA LOOK OUT!” Ochako screamed, ignoring the pain that rocketed up her leg as she launched off of the building and right for the villain’s hand. She felt the villain’s fingers close around her body instead of Melissa’s and let out a pained scream as he clenched his digits around her body.

Raising his hand up, the villain threw Ochako from his grip, watching with unsuppressed glee as her body collided with the side of a building with a sickening crunch. She almost immediately blacked out, the distant sound of someone screaming her name just barely registering in her brain as she lost consciousness.

~~~

Ochako felt like she had just gone through a tornado. Everything hurt, her body, her arms, her legs, her face, everything throbbed. She groaned softly and would’ve laughed at how weak and pathetic it sounded if it weren’t for the pain she was in.

“Come on, open your eyes!” A voice said from somewhere above her. She had no idea who the voice belonged to but they sounded kind. She groaned again and felt her eyelids twitch as she subconsciously tried to open her eyes. She wanted to sleep for the rest of her life at the moment but she could still feel herself coming out of it regardless, little white spot starting to peek through the darkness surrounding her.

“Come on, ‘Chako!”

She finally managed to crack open her eyes but immediately shut them again at the bright light that assaulted them.

“Can someone turn off the damn sun?” Ochako muttered as she attempted once again to open her eyes.

This time, the light was less harsh as her sensitive eyes got used to it. She blinked a few times and realized that she had been taken to some sort of hospital, the white walls and sleek tile flooring making the light shine ever brighter. The smell of medical supplies stung her nose and she had to refrain from scrunching up her face in disgust.

“Oh thank god!” The same voice from earlier said, dripping with relief. Ochako looked over to the side to see Izuku sitting in a chair by her bedside, tears shining on his cheeks and his hair an absolute mess. He was clutching her hand in his, his fingers shaking against her soft skin. “Oh thank god, Ochako, I-I thought I l-lost you!”

Ochako stared at him in shock and glanced down at their intertwined hands. She was disgusted with how much her heart soared at the sight, her eyes narrowing slightly as she coached herself to behave.

Izuku glanced at her face before looking down at their joined hands. Noticing her expression, Izuku quickly released her hand and raised it to rub the back of his neck nervously.

“S-Sorry,” Izuku said, completely unaware of the cold feeling that washed over Ochako as soon as he let go of her. “I was just scared I’d lose you, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Shaking herself from her daze, Ochako waved him off with a bright smile.

“You have nothing to apologize for, absolutely nothing Deku,” She said. “I was just a little surprised is all.”

Izuku’s shoulders slumped as he relaxed, a small smile forming on his lips.

“Yeah, I can see why that would seem really unexpected.”

Ochako was just about to say something when a loud voice echoed through the other side of her hospital room door, making both Ochako and Izuku look around at the door.

“Where is she!?”

“She’s in room 136,” a deep voice they did not recognize responded.

They both heard the sound of hurried footsteps and not too long after, the door to Ochako’s room burst open, revealing a red-faced Melissa, her eyes shining with tears and her hair hanging around her shoulders in a tangled mess. Before Ochako could react, Melissa threw herself at the floaty girl, her arms linking behind her neck and burying her face in Ochako’s shoulder. Ochako’s mouth hung open in shock and it took her a moment of hesitation before she gingerly wrapped her arms around the sobbing blonde.

“Thank you, t-thank you, thank you!!!” Melissa bawled. “Y-You saved me! You didn’t have to do that but you did and you almost died because of me. I will always be in your debt, thank you so much!”

Melissa leaned back, her eyes shining as she stared at Ochako. Ochako was completely shocked but managed to give her a shaky smile.

“It was my pleasure, I couldn’t just stand there and watch you get killed, not when I was there to do something and help people. You don’t owe me anything, but I did appreciate the hug,” Ochako said softly.

Melissa let out another soft sob and encompassed her in a gentler hug this time.

“Thank you,” Melissa mumbled again before climbing off of Ochako and standing back up, using her hands to smooth out her rumpled dress.

“What happened to the villain?” Ochako asked.

“Oh! Izuku went down and picked you up after you saved me, but at that point, other heroes had shown up. He told them your plan so they continued it. The metal arches of the stadium trapped him and he was subdued and arrested by the authorities. He won’t be seeing the light of day any time soon,” Melissa said.

“Hey, Melissa? Could you give me a minute alone with ‘Chako?” Izuku asked suddenly.

Ochako snapped her gaze to Izuku and saw that he was avoiding her gaze, his eyes fixed on his girlfriend.

Melissa smiled and nodded, wiping away her tears as she sniffled.

“O-Of course, take all the time you need.”

Melissa then moved over to Izuku and cupped his ear, leaning in to whisper something to him. Even when she was injured and exhausted, Ochako felt a boiling rage at the sight of the two of them. She was so disgusted with herself as her jealous feelings came rearing up stronger than ever. Her mood only worsened as Izuku blushed a brilliant shade of red and glared half-heartedly at Melissa, who laughed in a sing-song voice. Heading out the door, Melissa threw Izuku a wink just before she shut the door with a click.

The room was silent. Izuku stood awkwardly for a while and Ochako shifted uncomfortably in her bed, the tension almost palpable in the air.

“So… what did you want to talk to me about?” Ochako asked quietly.

“Why did you do it?”

“Huh?” Ochako asked, not expecting the question.

“Why did you put yourself at the risk of death to save Melissa? I mean, I’m grateful, but why?”

“Because I’m a hero, Deku, I’m not going to bypass someone in need.”

“I know, but I feel like there is something more behind it. You didn’t deflect the attack, you took the attack, why?”

“Because I-”

“Please,” Izuku said softly. “Don’t lie to me.”

Ochako sucked in a breath at his tone. Swallowing thickly and averting her gaze, she nodded.

“Alright, sorry.”

“It’s okay, I just want to know.”

“I just… I just didn’t want you to lose someone you love,” Ochako said.

“HUH?” Izuku said, his head snapping up.

“I just… I don’t know, I haven’t seen you act this happy before, being with Melissa has definitely changed your mood for the better and I didn’t want you to lose that. You told me you were bullied a lot as a kid but now you have someone to hold you, make you laugh, kiss you, love you, and I didn’t want you to lose this new piece of your life. I know I got injured but it was worth it if it means you get to stay happy.”

Ochako then closed her eyes, hoping and praying that he wouldn’t read too deeply into her words. She loved Izuku but she did not want to ruin his current relationship by stupidly admitting her love for him. The silence seemed to stretch forever as she waited impatiently for him to respond.

“Oh my god…,” Izuku whispered.

Ochako chanced a peek at him and saw him lean back in his chair, his hand covering his eyes, a deep sigh escaping him. Ochako fought the tears back as she closed her eyes again. She had ruined everything. He knew and he hated her. He was disgusted with her. He wanted to end their friendship and never see her again. Ochako couldn’t stop the tidal wave of thoughts that flooded her brain like some sort of infectious disease, attacking her heart over and over again as she pictured every terrible scenario of the future with him.

“I’m such a damn moron!”

Izuku’s sudden exclamation made her eyes snap open and meet his gaze which she hadn’t known was intently locked on her.

“Gods, Ochako I am so sorry,” Izuku groaned. “You’ve got it all wrong and it’s all my fault.”

“What do you mean?”

Izuku met her gaze and smiled nervously.

“Melissa and I aren’t together.”

“What?” Ochako asked. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“I am not dating Melissa Shield,” Izuku said, taking a deep breath. “The only person I love is you, and I almost lost you.”

Ochako’s whole body suddenly felt as if it had been jolted by lightning. Her eyes went wide and her jaw dropped slightly as his words sank in.

The only person I love is you.

The only person I love is you.

The only person I love is you.

“W-What?” Ochako whispered.

Izuku shuffled nervously in his seat and broke her gaze.

“I understand if you don’t feel the same way, but I needed to tell you how I feel. I almost lost you, and that made me realize that if I didn’t tell you, I would regret it for the rest of my life.”

Izuku then reached forward and gently took hold of her hand. Ochako looked down at their intertwined hands and this time didn’t hate herself for the feeling of joy that bubbled up in her chest, the beast that had been tormenting her with jealousy, roaring in triumph. A few stray tears slid down her cheeks and her heart nearly burst out of her chest when Izuku leaned forward and gently wiped the tears from her face with the pad of his thumb.

“I didn’t screw this up, did I?” Izuku asked nervously.

Ochako shook her head, her bangs swaying in front of her face.

“You didn’t ruin anything, I think you did fine.”

Swallowing thickly, Izuku glanced down at her lips and then back up to her eyes, wordlessly asking for permission. Ochako nodded enthusiastically and leaned forward to meet him in the middle for the kiss she had dreamed of having for so long. Ochako sighed contentedly as his soft lips met hers and leaned into his touch when he reached up to cup her cheek. Her own arms snaked over his shoulders and linked behind his neck, running her fingers through the hair on the base of his neck.

Izuku groaned at the feeling of her fingers running through his hair, his heart thumping so wildly he idly wondered if everyone in the hospital could hear it. She felt so good against him, her taste instantly addicting and her wonderful smell making him sigh in bliss. He loved her so much, had loved her for so long, he couldn’t believe he had accidentally prohibited his chances of being with the love of his life by being around the sweet blonde so much. The pair finally broke apart, a thin line of saliva still connecting them before diminishing as Izuku moved down to rest his forehead against hers. The two were panting slightly, trying to catch their breaths from the electrifying, albeit clumsy first kiss.

“Wow…” Ochako mumbled against him causing Izuku to chuckle. Ochako melted against him as the vibrations of his laugh rumbled against her figure from where she leaned against his chest. Making sure to be mindful of her injuries, Izuku pulled her closer and buried his face in the crook of her neck.

“I love you, Ochako Uraraka,” Izuku said, making her breath hitch slightly despite already hearing those words from earlier. “Would you be my girlfriend? Please?”

“Of course!” Ochako almost squealed in response. “I love you too Izuku Midoriya.”

Izuku chuckled and pulled her tighter against him, his face snuggling closer to her soft skin. Suddenly, Ochako pulled back a bit, a concentrated look on her face.

“Wait, if you weren’t with Melissa, why were you spending so much time with her? I’m totally fine with you having female friends, I’m not that kind of girlfriend, but you were always holding hands, and whispering to each other, and going to each other’s rooms at night,” Ochako asked, pulling back a bit more to get a good look at his face. Izuku chuckled and blushed.

“Oh, that,” Izuku said, rubbing the back of his neck again. “So, I actually spent so much time with her because when she was meeting with me to talk about new gear for my quirk in battle, I accidentally let it slip that I liked you. I was super embarrassed at first but then she told me I needed to confess to you. I didn’t know how, I didn’t even know where to begin, so she said she would help me. Every day at lunch she would whisper to me things that I could say to you, which was oftentimes why I ended up a blushing mess. She would hold my hand so I would know what to do when comforting you. She also did it with her pinky up to get me used to the feeling of holding your hand without having your quirk activate on me. She even gave me these,” Izuku said holding up a small glass box he pulled from his pocket containing two clear things that looked like contact lenses.

“She made them for you, they go over your pinky fingers so you won’t float anything without having to keep your pinky up all the time. She came to my room in the evening to discuss plans for how to confess to you, but she always left before curfew. Nothing ever happened between us. She was just kind enough to help my dumb ass,” Izuku joked causing Ochako to smile. “The last thing she said to me before walking out that door a few minutes ago was ‘Now’s your chance, go get her, tiger.’” Izuku said, his blush coming back in full force to stain his cheeks.

Ochako laughed heartily at that, her heart lifting and her biased jealousy of the blonde fading away completely. She was going to have to thank Melissa another time but for now, she had other things she needed to do first. Reaching for him, Ochako sealed their lips again, relishing in the surprised squeak that came from his mouth as she pulled him as close to her as possible. When they parted again, her eyes were filled with love and light for the boy in front of her.

“I love you, ‘Zuku, thank you for everything.”

“I love you too, ‘Chako, so much.”

As much as she wanted to continue snuggling with him, Ochako was tired, the pain of her injuries dragging her stamina back down after her temporary energy high. Laying her back down, Izuku gently pressed a kiss to her forehead and tucked her in, a bright smile on his face.

“Sleep well, Ochako, I’ll always be here to protect you.”

Ochako fell asleep then, a wide smile teasing her lips, her mind filling with loving images of the two of them, her heart warming as she felt Izuku settle beside her to watch over her just like he promised.

[thewhumperinwhite]

ATTD: A Magician, Not a Healer (3)

ATTD Masterlist

The alternate title of this one is, “Repressioooon... Repression!” to the tune of Tradition from fiddler on the roof

this is the last part of this chapter; i think next time we will meet our... Nominal Antagonists :)

@whumpitywhumpwhump​ @favwhumpstuff​

TW for: implied past non/dubcon; implied/referenced trauma response/flashback; mild body horror and reference to past Stabbing; Detailed Descriptions Of Food; hints of disordered eating; self-blame and guilt; grief/mentions of death.

---

The boy called Will sat in the Healer’s waiting room with his face in his hands, happy enough for now to let the Magician remain in the room with the Healer, negotiating payment. He felt more than guilty—slightly mortified, in fact—at putting the Magician out even more than he already had, but he was also grateful for the moment to sit here, in an empty room, and recover from having embarrassed himself so completely.

The Healer’s hands had been gentle, and her magic had been cool against his skin, and it should have been a relief when it slipped in and touched the burned, itchy edges where the knife tore into his stomach.

Except that he had felt her magic slide under his skin and his mind had gone utterly blank with panic. He had felt it as a violation—an invasion of his person—and had knocked her well-meaning hands away and leapt backward off the bench and had to be coaxed out of the corner like an anxious cat.

And of course the moment there had no longer been hands on him he had remembered where he was and been fully aware that he had embarrassed people who had no intention but to help him. Again.

Thank heaven the Magician had handed him his sword belt back as soon as the Healer had finished with him. He had not removed it voluntarily since leaving his father’s House. Its weight made him feel immediately less exposed, and now he could catch his breath, and be less of an obvious wreck by the time the Magician emerged.

His head was the clearest it had been since he had left his father’s house, as well. He had not realized how completely the fever had clouded his judgement.

The Magician—Jasper—seemed honestly to mean well, and wish to help. And what had he done to repay that kindness, but put the man in increasing danger—more danger, even, than that brought about by his presence alone, or even by Chorus’s—and continually be expensive and inconvenient?

It felt like compounding his guilt to leave when he was, in the most literal sense, in the Magician’s debt. But there was no way to spend a second more with the Magician without bringing more trouble and telling more lies even than he already had, and it wasn’t as though he had any way to repay the Magician, even if he—

Well. That was not quite true.

At home. At home it would have been quite obvious how to pay the Magician back.

The boy squeezed his eyes shut, trying to swallow around his suddenly dry throat, and in doing so he waited too long, and the door to the Healer’s room opened and produced the Magician in question, who looked at him with sympathy that turned the boy’s stomach.

----

Will was still there when Jasper emerged from the Healer’s room, several coins lighter. Which was honestly a bit of a surprise.

The boy looked up at him. Will looked—miserably embarrassed, honestly.

Jasper had been debating whether he should—ask, point-blank, what had happened. It seemed—awkward to dance around it, when clearly something had happened, something more than being lightly stabbed in a mugging, or whatever. Watching the boy react to the Healer’s magic had been almost painful.

Jasper was prepared to admit that there was a certain—intimacy to healing magic. A Healer had to know the inside of the human body very well indeed, and did their work by reaching in and tugging at one’s insides with their aura. Which. A lifetime ago, it had felt natural from the very beginning to accept such a thing from Silex, who was soft-voiced and soft-handed and the warmest heart Jasper had ever met (and who was dead, and dead, and dead), but—he could imagine. How one could feel… vulnerable. To be touched in such a way. By a stranger.

That did not mean he could think of any way at all to talk about it.

Will looked at him, and as far as Jasper could tell, he was just as eager not to broach the subject (who are you really, and where did you come from, and were you so ill-used there, that an old woman’s magic should undo you in this way) as Jasper was himself, so Jasper clapped his hands together briskly and said, in a slightly-too-bright sort of voice, “Alright, boy, I don’t know about you, but I could eat an entire cow. Where shall we go for lunch?”

“Oh,” the boy said, and hurried to his feet, and bowed, the way he had for Lia—with one foot pointed in front of him, and his hand over his heart. The gesture tugged at something in Jasper’s brain, but couldn’t quite find whatever memory it wanted to connect to. “Thank you, Magician Jasper.” The boy straightened, and looked at him, very earnestly. His too-blue eyes were even more striking, now that they weren’t glassy with fever. “For all your hospitality. You have given me more than enough, please. I could not possibly accept more.”

“Uh-huh,” Jasper said doubtfully. “What exactly are you planning to do instead?”

The boy smiled, easy and warm; it was very charming, and Jasper was in no way inclined to believe it. “I can make my own way, now that my head is clear. I have kept you from your own business more than long enough, sir.”

“Right.” Jasper looked the boy over. He was standing without swaying, now, and his eyes were clear and clever. There was color in his cheeks, even.

He was still absolutely swimming in Jasper’s borrowed tunic, a few inches of hard-to-look-at ribs and knife-sharp collarbones sticking out above the low collar. And he had no pack, and nothing in his pockets.

“How much money do you have on you?” Jasper asked him, almost amused. “Planning to pawn your sword, maybe, to pay for dinner tonight?”

The boy’s smile twitched, just a little, in either discomfort or dark amusement at the thought.

“Truly, Magician,” the boy said, bowing his head very politely indeed. “I have no appetite at all at the moment.”

“Hm,” Jasper said. “Is that so.” He looked at the boy thoughtfully.

It was time, Jasper thought, to be a little bit cruel.

“Have you had a chance to try the local cuisine?” Jasper said. The Healer’s waiting-room had two large glass windows at the front, and Jasper walked toward one, deliberately turning his back on Will. “There’s an inn two blocks from here that keeps its own chickens, and you’ve never had a bird so tender. I left a Safe-Against-Thieves spell for the owner when last I was in town, so she’ll cook some for free, I imagine, if I ask. Sear the skin crisp and leave the inside juicy. And she mixes spices like a master. You’ve never had a meal like it—sharp and spicy, with dried fruits stirred in for contrast.”

Jasper turned back to survey his handiwork. Will had one hand over his mouth, and the other on his stomach, and a look of deep betrayal on his face. When Jasper looked at him, the boy’s stomach growled very loudly.

“…fine,” Will said, with as much dignity as he could manage. “If you insist. You may. I suppose. Buy me lunch.”

Jasper grinned, and clapped the boy on the shoulder.

The boy was better at hiding his answering wince now that he was no longer swaying with fever, but now Jasper knew to look for it, and Will couldn’t hide it entirely.

A better man than Jasper might have asked, then. Where the boy came from, and was he safe here, and did he need somewhere to stay. Jasper had nowhere to stay himself—would have had to put his years-long quest on hold, to help the boy properly. But he could do it. No one was here to stop him. He could buy the boy a room, stay with him until he was on his feet properly, and no longer flinched that way at a casual touch.

But Jasper—wasn’t that. His heart was old, and all the room in it was used up with longing for the dead.

And there had to be one of the Company left.

“Good man,” Jasper said, hoarsely. He ushered the boy out, and was careful not to touch him again.