#he just hates the associations that come with being a dragon and spends most of his time in his noctar form | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jjkpls · 4 years

Text

set your world alight (m)

genre : fluff, smut, tiny lil bit of angst

pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)

word count : 24k (eye-)

warnings/content : mentions of bruises, mature language, long haired jaykay, awkwardness & cutesy overload, clumsy frustrating idiot(s), bratty reader, explicit sexual content (fingering, handjob, protected penetrative sex), HARRYPOTTER!AU (i cant believe i forgot to precise that in the teasers), jeon as charlie weasley, pretty much.

Jeon Jungkook is a mystery. Master of dragons. Long dark locks hiding a face most have never seen. Skin covered in scars. A brave, unpenetrable, curious being that you don’t know much about for, the very few times you’ve seen him in your life, you didn’t dare talk to him. Of course, you’d have the fatest crush on him.

“If we add roses instead of eucalyptus, wouldn't it turn into a love potion?”

You could have predicted it. If you were to have spent your evening scribbling the course that this morning, with the introducing of a new potion to your year 6 class, would take, solely based on intuition and experience, you would have gotten it right. Down to who's asking the question.

“No, it won’t.”

“Are you sure?”

Are you? After having spent your whole schooling career in Hogwarts, having studied the art of potion-making for five years filled with internships in the four corners of this Earth, in the greatest House of Potions there are, are you sure?

You could say all that. You could even tell to this annoying Gryffindor to shut the hell up because everyone, and you first, can’t stand to hear her voice anymore, interrupting constantly every lesson either with pointless questions or with obnoxious jabber.

But you don’t. Obviously, you don’t.

“For now, let’s just focus on learning what the actual recipe is. We’ll worry about interchanging ingredients later.”

Which is almost a lie. You won’t ever do that with them. You have your tight program, with a limited amount of recipes, that you’re supposed to go through with them. And creating new potions, or adapting already existing one to discover new effects are not on the plan. Not with Mrs Umbridge watching closely over every Hogwarts teachers' shoulders.

If they ever still find themselves obsessed with their dating life and enlarged pores once they'll be done with school, they will worry, on their very own, about creating the magic juices and ointments they need -given their lack of attention, investment and overall talent, you do sincerely hope they drop it because the results might lead to catastrophes but that's beside the point.

Miss Gryffindor sighs loudly. Turning slightly on her chair to roll her eyes to her friends, who snicker along, they’re whispering Merlin knows what about you and you’re just left there, trying to find your way back to the lesson without losing too much of your composure.

It doesn’t take you so much effort because unfortunately you are used to this. This class of Gryffindor is terrible. In your couple of years of teaching, you’ve never fallen upon a class filled with so many disinterested, awfully rude teenagers. Naively, when you just walked out of Hogwarts yourself almost ten years ago, when you were wondering with a certain dreadful desperation, what path to head for, you had finally chosen the teaching one, believing that by the time you’ll become a teacher, you’ll be old enough and teenagers would stop being scary by then, you might even grow a little fond of them, embodiment of a something long time gone, of nostalgia.

You were wrong. At twenty-six, you still feel like a barely done with teenagehood human, hardly an adult yet. The weapons you thought you’d gather along the way didn’t appear in your robe’s pockets as you thought they would.

Instead, you only have one, effective on an immediate use, but pretty useless on the long run: a monk’s patience.

You can ignore them. When they’re being so aggravating, you consider sometimes taking a hundred points away from their house -but you don’t because you’ll have to justify to the very biased Head of Gryffindor and fucking Umbridge-, you can ignore them. It’s the most effective way to react as it doesn’t feed them much, they just get annoyed with your unresponsiveness and decide to contain their disruption between themselves. The thing is, the steam has to blow some way, somehow. It’s fine when you can wake up early and spend an hour or so meditating, to gather all of your monk's potential, or if you ever have a Draught of Peace laying around, that can help too.

These days, it’s just harder to meditate, to try and keep your mind light, unbothered and calmly content.

So much harder that by the end of the class, only fifteen minutes left, you snap and end up taking off ten points from Gryffindors.

There’s a lot of whining, of strident eruptions of indignation, however, you’re smart enough to do it the moment you’re dismissing your class and they have to leave, sulking and hating you with a passion, for their next lesson.

“What have you done?” It’s Taehyung asking. He has a little alarmed look shading his abnormally handsome face, but a tiny little tremble of the corner of his mouth gives him away.

“Ten points.” You state with a bored raised of your eyebrows. What a bunch of babies.

“You suck. They’re going to hate me too, now.”

Which is not true. Immature profiles like them would tend to hate a teacher simply by association -it is to say that Taehyung is well known to be always stuck to your shoes, you grew up together anyway- but they would never Taehyung. He’s too handsome, has a voice way too sultry, too much charisma for anyone to hate him, especially his students. They can't stand his lessons though. He’s the worst option for a History of Magic teacher. He is passionate about his studies, really really passionate. Therefore his classes, in summarise, turn into him ranting non-stop, jumping from the main point to tiny insignificant streams made of pointless anecdotes that leave his students lost and confused, holes in their parchments, hands burning from their poor attempt at trying to take notes. His classes are Hell, made of boredom and confounding. The only upside being that he’s very nice to look at. He’s like an ancient mage stuck inside an elf body.

“Do you know how many times this year I’ve had to tell them that ‘no, this potion that has nothing to do with a love potion can’t be turned into one’? Why do I have to deal with their hormones all the time, seriously?”

“You mean, on top of yours?” It freezes you on the spot You could have heard that coming, with the big old ton-heavy boots. You don’t bother looking up from your papers you are reorganising. It’s pointless because you already know what you’d see. The smart ass’s shit-eating grin, singularly square at the edges, with the mischievous squinted eyes and subjective dance of the eyebrows.

“Shut up.”

“I can’t. I know you love talking about him since you don’t talk to him.”

The shame is burning the back of your neck. It’s climbing up your cheeks, taking over your ears in the process. If there’s one person who does wonders at not-making-you-feel-like-an-adult, it’s Kim Taehyung. Because of course he saw you grow up, and of course, he’s noticed that the timid, coward of a little Ravenclaw you used to be, hasn’t changed one bit.

“You’re so mean.”

“Am not too.” He giggles as he leaps from the front table he had been sitting on to your desk, where he takes a seat, not caring about your quill holder that he knocks down. “You’re never going to try?”

“I don’t know, Tae.”

“He doesn’t look mean. A bit gruff but I guess that’s what living like a wild creature surrounded by the wildest creatures makes you look like.”

You hum non-committally. You have come to the same conclusion already. But you hate the idea that you could be right because it gives you one less reason to not dare approach him. “He must be nice.”

“He must?” You cackle a bit. He doesn’t even sound so sure of this statement. Taehyung smiles along, shrugging with a tilt of his head.

“Well, I don’t know. But you have to talk to him. Soon he’ll be portkeying back to his Transylvania-“

“Romania.”

“-you won’t see him ever again. And also, seriously, it’s been like, what, three months since he’s back?”

“Actually, it’s been barely a month.” The idiot is pretending, with a grandiloquent theatrical performance, that he doesn’t believe you, that somehow you’re trying to deceive him. And it’s ridiculous because no matter how dramatic he always aims to be, no matter how long indeed this whole pinning over the pretty guy without having the courage to act on your feelings has been lasting, it still has not been three months. It’s been three weeks and four days, not that you're counting.

He arrived on a rainy Friday morning, you remember it well because the wet weather agitated the frogs an awful lot and you ended up spending your ten minutes of break between two classes, on all fours, crawling along the hallways of Hogwarts to try and retrieve three escapees.

A real joy.

Especially when he appeared at the end of the hallway. Soaked to the bones but not seemingly caring, as opposed to Mr Filch who seemed even angrier than he usually does. You barely recognised him, from so far, looking up from the ground, with the hood of his heavy coat low above his eyes, nothing peculiar in his appearance that would give him away, not a word uttered that could have helped. Until he turned the corner of the hallway, and the emblem of this foreign school of wizardry appeared. With the purple embroidery contouring the white seagull, it just clicked. You remembered the rumours spreading wildly, excitedly around the castle, that despite the very vindicative Mrs Umbridge's opinion, dragons would be introduced this year to the course of Care for the Magical Creatures and real dragons, seen by their master, would be flying to you and inhabit the grounds of Hogwarts for this semester.

And of course, it would be him. With his impressive resume, or that unauthorised biography written about him by that one stingy journalist singing his lauds that you could read anywhere -there was even a version, presented as fiction, that’s been published in the muggle world- and also, his first and last visit to Hogwarts, two years ago, for the Triwizard Tournament when he proved his talent and bravery in front of all by forcefully regaining control over a Horntail that was just about to chew a few students’ heads off after having eluded his chains -and conveniently, it's also the same time when you fell head over heels for the stranger.

It was ridiculous because you never talked to the guy. But two years later, just his silhouette and the bouncing of his heavy head of curls you have to come to the shameful acknowledgement that your heart hasn’t gotten over the crush.

It’s ridiculous.

It precisely why you shouldn’t have talked about it to anyone. It’s just too hard to keep anything from Kim Taehyung though. Even if your life would have been so much easier if you’d only have to listen to your own nagging about this and not his.

“You’re going to end up as a crazy old spinster if you keep acting like that.”

“And you’re going to be late for your class if you keep on bothering me.”

“I don’t have a class.” Taehyung stares, dubiously. Now that you don’t have to face head-on your shame, attention slightly steered away from your useless self, you can stare back, glare even, as you challenge him with a raised eyebrow.

“You do.”

You relish in the sickly white suddenly brushing all over his face. He curses under his breath, grabbing his briefcase with one of his gigantic hands, before he’s flying out of your classroom.

Quite frankly, you’re not sure if he does have a class at the moment. You do know for a fact that he doesn’t know either because strangely enough, for a teacher whose whole subject depends on memory and a good one at that, he’s never been able to memorise his planning.

An easy escape you’ve come up with.

Everyone needs those.

Especially whoever’s having their ears talked off by the crazy old howl, Umbridge, down the corridor. You can hear her from your room, even with the door almost shut close. Her whole monologue is hard to decipher. You do hear that it has something to do with “her disapproval” and someone else's “irresponsibility” and “pure lunacy”.

By curiosity, you lean your head through the thin entrance your door is offering, picking discreetly to see who the victim is.

It's the guy. Jeon Jungkook. Standing with his feet pointing away from Umbridge, hands tucked deep in the pockets of a thick winter vest, you can’t see half of his face because of his hair, as always sitting low down his forehead, but you can tell from the thin line of his mouth, his tensed shoulders and something else, maybe his aura, so loudly screeching annoyance, that he's not having a good time.

It’s him. And for some reason, for the first time ever, you recall words Taehyung has said to you, loud and clear and pressing and inspiring. You don’t want to become a “crazy old spinster”. Therefore you decide to become a crazy something else you don’t bother to identify right this second.

“Oh, Mrs Umbridge!”

“Miss ___, as you can see, I am already-“

“Oh!” The loud gasp, hand clasping on your gaping mouth, wide eyes completing the look. You can’t find the courage to turn to him to reinforce -in case it wasn’t clear enough- that you just, now that she mentioned it, realise the man was here.

Mrs Umbridge has this quality to her. You find her so awfully ridiculous that you turn yourself in a clown, subtly mocking her -though you don’t think she fathoms it since you’ve always acted this way around her- each time you share any kind of conversation.

It can work and you can go along with your usual antics only if you forget the obnoxiously troubling presence of the dragon master.

“I am so deeply embarrassed, I didn’t realise. I’m not wearing my glasses, I’m an incorrigible mole without them.”

“Is that so?” From above the frame of her pink glasses, her beady eyes scrutinize. “You should wear them on your nose then, Miss ___. Now, if you will-“

“I’m sorry, I needed- It’s very important.” You cut her off with such speed and enthusiasm, you know she can't shut you off. “After discussing with my students about the program, I thought about something. Maybe I could introduce a new-“ “Miss ___!” She screeches, the triggering words -”introduce” and “new”- having hit perfectly right. “The program, as you owe to know, has been carefully crafted by the great Minister for Magic and doesn’t need for an airheaded little teacher like you to add any changes to it.”

“Oh yes, of course, how could I forget?”

“It is bad enough as it is that this foolish Hagrid has been able to convince my confreres of bringing a useless study on the most dangerous creatures there is-“ She pointedly glare from the corner of her eyes to the man who remains silent and immobile. His hands haven’t moved from the depth of his pockets, you can’t see his eyes even up close, because the curtain of dark curls hiding them is even thicker than it looked like from the other end of the hallway. He doesn’t seem particularly bothered. You wonder if he’s even listening. Barely swinging on his long legs, waiting for his presence to be dismissed it seems.

“Dragons are quite interesting creatures. I suppose that’s why they were added to the program. The Ministry for Magic must have thought so too since they voted...”

She gnarls at that. She tries to be discreet, conceals a bit of her spite but there’s no doubt in your mind that her mouth's just filled up with a distasteful repellent aftertaste.

Since the main goal was to distract her from him and free him from her claws, you start again with the suggestions for a revised scholar program. Her cheeks grow pinker than her jacket, her eyes start reflecting a fire alike the ones from Hell, her usually perfectly well-combed hair releases a few angry frizzes. She’s beyond herself and without letting you finish your little act, she’s going over all the things that are so wrong about you, about Hogwarts teachers in general, about young people and their disrespectful tendency to want to add their little spice to every tea.

You take the nagging like a champ. Because you’re used to it and to be perfectly fair, you’ve mastered a certain state of meditation whenever she’s coming your way with some complaining.

None of her words successfully reach you to stick around.

She holds strong for a good, fat fifteen minutes. At some point, you even worry that this time, her pit of nonsensical arguments won’t ever show a bottom. Until it does.

She looks all dishevelled from her heated argument. The hair worsened, with now drops of perspiration shining on her forehead. The mean beady eyes are dull, exhausted from the fight as she contemplates the void between you and the man. With a last dismissive wave of her hand, she leaves, stumbling on top of her lacquered Fuschia heels.

How can someone work themselves up so badly with so little provocation -and no further response too?

It leaves you alone with the dragon master and only now, even though you had plenty of time to take in this present, you realise how inconvenient for your coward self the predicament is. You are meant to talk to him now, aren’t you? Maybe the same question raises in his mind however he certainly doesn’t reach the same conclusion. Deeming it unnecessary, he turns his back to you and heads down the hall without much of a look spared to you. Maybe he did check, through or maybe under the impenetrable curtain of hair, for the identity of the idiot that thought he needed help to escape the annoying old owl but you wouldn’t know.

Watching in pure despair, your heart prickling uncomfortably in your bosom, you wonder if you somehow upset him. He did look irked from what you could tell. Anyone else, anyone less grumpy, anyone feeling anything but discomfort or discontent would have said something, wouldn’t they?

That’s what you explain to Kim Taehyung. Emphasising on the fact that you did try to approach the guy. You did. You created the situation, you faced him fully, you did miss the moment when you were probably supposed to say something to him but he left, too soon, and clearly is not interested in getting to know you, and whatever, you’re fine with that you just want your friend to note and remember for later reference that you did try this time.

Taehyung who’s never keen on trusting your words, no matter the fact that you’ve never lied to him -or maybe just a few times so he would leave you alone, but nothing major really- decides that you are wrong. That somehow you misinterpreted the whole thing and surely you need to hop back on the horse and try, again, maybe this time more vindictively.

It takes quite a couple of days for him to convince you. You’re not sure how. It might be from exhaustion, it might come from those three too many butterbeers you drank even though you didn’t remember ordering, back when you were gloomily celebrating your never-ending celibacy in Jjang Jjang -the magical bar held by your friend, Min Yoongi, in the far end of Hogsmead.

You promise that if an opportunity appears to be showing the very tip of its nose, if the universe is kind -and delusional- enough to gift you another chance, then you would try.

It’s funny how the laws of attraction work. Or rather, probably more accurately, it’s funny how Taehyung can be so shameless and volunteer when he has his mind set on something. He has no problem manipulating people and situations as if the universe is his and he decides whatever happens to the little pawns inhabiting it.

A week later, when he, the dragon master, is the curious apparition manifesting itself in front of you when you open the door to let your class free, it doesn’t fall into place right away.

It’s a strange coincidence. Maybe he messed up and meant to find another classroom, any other classroom but yours. He doesn’t budge when he sees you, doesn’t seem startled by your presence. He only takes a step to the side once he realises that a wave of hurried teenagers is about to swarm him in their way out.

“Miss, are we still going to study this potion next time or will we move to something more interesting?” It’s that same Gryffindor. The same as usual. She’s just made of attitudes, eye rolls, hand on the hip and all.

“Once you’ll be able to make it without cooking a hole in your cauldron, we’ll be starting with a new one.”

You’re snarkier than usual, there’s no denying that. It’s your fifth class of the day, everyone seems to have signed an agreement on messing with your patience and he’s here, hearing and seeing an umpteenth attempt to humiliate you from this kid and you’re not having it right now, not today. She grows red on the cheeks, eyebrows frowning dangerously low, they might fall from her face when she barks, “I told you the hole was already there!”

“I understand. Next time, I’ll lend you my old cauldron so there won’t be any issue, alright?”

The angry wands she owns for eyes shoot you a good dozen of curses and she departs, with her friends, as angry as ever.

There’s a heavy silence, setting around you both, engulfing you. The wood of the walls, dark and cold, make it old the more uncomfortable until you can not take it anymore. You’re about to mumble something, maybe point out the end of the hall and suggest he tries there, to find whatever or whoever he is looking for. He beats you to it. Having reached the very limit of handling this silence at the same time as you do.

“Good morning.” He starts, clearing his throat. A husky, quiet yet somehow soft voice that he doesn’t seem to have used quite often. “Here’s the stuff for your potions.”

He holds out a strong hand to you, all veiny and sparkled with tiny bruises, a dark bag made of linen held in his fist. If he can see you, he can undoubtedly take in your confusion. You have no idea what “the stuff” is. If it’s a badly expressed thought. If he meant to say, “some stuff” for your potions. Because you’ve never asked for anything from anyone for your potions -even though, the thought crossed your mind that he, with his magical pets, must have some fantastic ingredients for your searches. You don’t know if it just comes from him. If he thought you may need it and generously prepared this for you -you doubt that one highly. The other reason, way more evident, quite obnoxiously obvious actually, that doesn’t reach your brain which is only working at a quarter of its habitual capacity given his standing here, and his smelling like woods and smoky and something subtler, you can’t pinpoint but feel addicted to as soon as it reaches your nostrils, is that someone -Taehyung- must have put him up for it. He must have gone behind your back, mumble some basic potion ingredients knowledge he owns to him and asked him to bring it to you.

“I put my Norvegian Ridgeback's scales in a separate bag because they’re very sharp -and poisonous too- so be careful when you open it.” He’s done talking, he clears his throat again, this time you’re pretty sure it’s out of discomfort as your gaping silently like a dumb fish must not be the easiest response to receive. A little inviting shake of his fist brings you to your senses, and you reach forward to grab the present. Your arm drops down from the surprising weight of the thing, fortunately, as if he expected it, he catches you before you topple over, a hand on your shoulder and the other encasing yours holding the bag, squeezing around your own as he lifts some of the weight up.

“Sorry, I didn’t expect it to be this heavy.” because you carried it like it was filled with dragons feathers instead -you mean to add.

“It’s fine.” He simply mumbles. You add your free hand to cup the underside of the thing, pressing the whole to your bosom and he lets go there, letting you step inside your room to find a place on a shelf to put it away. You probably take a second to long, your back facing him, as you stand staring at your new possession. It’s the heat remaining on the back of your hand that troubles you. As if not only have his pets decorated the top of his skin with scratches and bruises, they’ve sighed enough fire in his palms for them to forever feel this warm. And he touched you so naturally so. Pressing his large hand around yours that seemed so tiny in comparison. Probably without even acknowledging it while you are shook to your core.

This added to your confusion born from his surprise apparition, are the reasons why, as I said, your brain doesn’t reach its full capacity. Still, the idea that Taehyung is behind it all, that it can’t solely come from this man here, just won’t do in your idiotic head.

You’re enamoured, even more than before, just by a touch and by the gentleness his words hold under the tougher surface. And you decide, that if you turn around and he’s still standing there you’ll ask him out.

You do so, spiralling in slow motion, filled with apprehension. He’s here. His hands back inside the pockets of his jacket, the shadow of a sparkle coming from his eyes, under the heavy protection he’s wearing in front of them.

“Jeon Jungkook?”

He’s startled at the call of his name, the top of his mop of hair bouncing slightly and you just find it adorable. Maybe he didn’t expect you to know his name, he must not even know yours. Of course, he could not have expected that you had spent way too long, two years ago, back when he came to Hogwarts for the first time and you had heard his name amid a conversation, trying it out for yourself. Not to wear it out but repeating his name to yourself, appreciating the way the syllabus formed, how they felt so well chosen for each other’s, for him, and the feeling, light heading, that it gave you to pronounce it.

“Would you like to have a drink with me? On Fridays, I like to go to my friend's bar in Hogsmead and I was wondering, maybe you’d like to come?”

More clearing of the throat. It’s stalling the delivery of his answer, you hate it and almost jump to your cooking station to sort out a quick remedy for it. Your heart is beating so furiously, you might pass out and he’s just taking his sweet time to answer. You feel the awkwardness. You don’t see it. You can’t see anything, the bottom of his face not telling any secrets on his feelings. You must look terrifying, red anywhere it’s possible for you to blush, sweating and fidgety like you’re on a Girding Potion bad trip. And he doesn’t show anything. You’d rip the hair out of his eyes if only you could.

There’s only one telling sign that manifests in the form of his hand, slipping out of his pocket to reach for the back of his neck where it scratches for a bit.

It’s no. It must be a “no, I’m absolutely not interested and this moment is very awkward”.

“I have my dragons to exercise. Sorry.”

“Oh. It’s ok.” It is not.

You hope, with all your might, that he doesn’t notice how upset you are. Through your prickling eyes, through the trembling pout you try to hide behind a casual smile.

It is terribly not ok but fortunately, he doesn’t stick around. That’s probably the thing you’re the most thankful for at this moment, his laconic tendencies. Anyone else may have tried to say something else to make you feel better, to make you feel like the rejection isn't worth throwing you off one of Hogwarts high tour. Instead, he just quits, swiftly. Leaving you alone to compose yourself back enough to handle your very last class of the day. You manage to feel fine, sort of numbed out for long enough until you don’t have to pretend anymore and you can let all the emotions out.

Bent over on the wooden tabletop of Yoongi’s bar, you’re crying out your whole soul, face laid in a pool of your own tears, a gentle hand petting awkwardly the top of your head.

“I hate you Taehyung!” It hardly comes out, half mumbled, half coughed out. The hand on your hair still in the air for a second so he must have got the jest of it until it resumes to its previous activity.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think he’d reject you.” He sighs deeply. “I didn’t even think you’d ask him out!”

“Yeah, what’s up with that?” You rise from the depth of your despair, hidden in the centre of your crossed arms. Yoongi looks extremely distraught. Your face looks awful, you know. But seeing him this shaken upsets you even more. You feel mad and vengeful and you’d like to flood his shitty bar with your tears to teach him a lesson -you’re not sure which, maybe: don’t look so disgusted when your friends look indeed disgusting, that’s mean- but the realisation downs on you that you cried so much you don’t have any tears left. Just the rashness around your eyes and nose, no snot left because Yoongi had maternally cleaned it for you, tiny pathetic sniffling around nothing but heartbreak now.

“He sent him to me!” You bark, punching Taehyung in the shoulder, not caring the least that half of his drink gets spilt everywhere.

“You didn’t have to just ask him out! You could have just, I don’t know (he pretends to think deeply, the tip of his fingers tapping lightly his chin), talk to him! Like a normal person that’s never spoken to him would have done.”

You gasp, eyes burning with fire. “Yoongi, he called me a freak!”

“When have I ever-“

“Normal people, my ass!” You continue, sort of having a lone conversation parallel to theirs. “What do you know about normal people, you fucking Grindylow.” You swallow down your fourth butterbeer, one furious finger indicating Yoongi that you need another one. Taehyung is just rolling his eyes, not taking offence of the nonsensical insult. “I hate you so much, Merlin, how am I supposed to face him again?”

“You do like everyone else’s does. Just start hating him until you don’t care anymore.”

“People do that?” Yoongi asks curiously. He’s slid you a new pint, filled to the brim.

“I know I do.” You slap the back of his arm there, without giving him any explanation, just because you’re sure he’s bullshitting you -the guy surely never has been rejected.

“Doesn’t matter. How could I ever hate him anyway?” A lone survivor tear falls from your lashes into the calm, quiet amber lake topping your glass. It doesn’t hit you there that there’s no foam. Yoongi watches you carefully, one of his hand is patting your forearm.

“Is he really that great?” Taehyung just shrugs. He’s such a dimwit. You nod, heart growing big with sadness before it breathes it out, turning into a tiny, squeezed on itself pained creature. You leave the conversation then. Simply trying to rest with your hurting bosom. It needs nurturing and a benevolent yet firm healing hand to tell it to rest for a bit, and stop overreacting.

[“What's he like?” Yoongi asks directly to Taehyung as he can see, clearly, that you’re not here anymore, for now.

“He’s... uh...” Taehyung starts with very flimsy conviction. “He’s into dragons.” More shrugging.]

Honestly, you might be exaggerating. You do not know much about him. Most of what you believe to know, assumed by what little you do know about him. You believe he is nice and sensible, from the way he treats his animals and the way they treat him.

[“Oh. Holy Dumbledore!”

“Stop saying that! I told you it’s fucking disrespectful.”]

You’ve seen how much respect and trust lay between them. It’s blatant. And to create this kind of relationship with some of the fiercest creatures in the magical world, he must be something else, something exceptional.

[“It’s him. It’s fucking him!”]

And you read about him, a lot, the two books he wrote solely about his creatures. They don’t directly tell much about him but indirectly, they hint his humility and humbleness. It’s not like that stupid Gilderoy Lockhart and his autobiographies on magical creatures. And there are the numerous articles that were written about him and his exploits and alleged character.

[“You’re lying.”

“I’m not!”

Sharp short nails are jabbing annoyingly in the skin of your forearm. It’s Taehyung, of course, he never stops bugging you. It’s his second passion after the soporific subject he’s decided to teach. You close your eyes, frowning a bit because he won’t stop, trying to annihilate him from your existence, to annihilate yourself from it too.]

Simple, humble, smart and strong. Passionate, sensible and a beautiful set of thick dark locks you want to slip your fingers through as the cherry on top.

“It’s apple juice!” You screech in disgust, pushing your fake butterbeer far away from you. The hocus-pocus, if it irritates you, at least brings you back to earth, and back to the noisy bar. Min Yoongi mouths something about you having drunk enough but his attention is elsewhere, along with Taehyung's.

“Oh, Merlin's beard.”

Of course, he would be there. He’s been back to Hogwarts for over a month now, you’ve never seen him around here, but of course, the day he rejects you, he has to come to your retreat, and witness the mess he's made of you. What kind of sick joke from the stars is that?

“Holy shit. Isn’t he a bit much for you?”

You know exactly what the barman means. It makes you blush slightly under the tipsy flushing already adorning your cheeks.

If Jeon Jungkook may or may not be made of all the qualities you’ve named for him -with or without reasons-, he has some very visible, very obnoxious other qualities to him. Qualities that you’re not proud of pining over because it makes you feel shallow and superficial. The expression on Yoongi's face makes it feel better though. Justified. As if, well, here they are, you can’t deny it. And since you like his imaginary personality, you might as well like the body imaginarily hosting it.

Jeon Jungkook is tall as a tree and as strong as one. It’s hard to tell, from here, with the layers of clothes he’s wearing on his back to protect himself from the cold, to what extent he fills them but it’s obvious he’s broad, wide. He walks with strong determined steps, with his fists tight to his sides, as tight as his jaw, square, sharp.

He’s big. Both in appearance and aura and you can understand how Yoongi wonders if he’s not “a bit much” for you.

“Don’t call him over!” You whisper-yell, digging your nails in the tender skin of Taehyung’s forearm. He whines, curses and tries to let himself free while telling you that of course, he’s not that dumb, he won’t. He doesn’t need to, anyway, because the guy, after seemingly exploring with his gaze the bar, sets his aim on your table, slowly starting to make his way towards you.

“He’s coming.” Taehyung mumbles, bewildered.

You are too. Could it be you misunderstood earlier when he said he couldn’t come because he’d be “exercising his dragons”? It can’t possibly be true. You don’t even know what the heck is up with this excuse. Because it can’t have been anything more than an excuse. Since when do dragons need to be exercised and by a wizard at that?

And now he is here.

Literally, he’s standing right in front of your table, a hand reaching for the back of the empty chair, next to yours, but stops mid-track and backs away to his side.

“Hi. Do you mind if I sit here ?”

You can feel, physically, the two heavy heads of your friends, turning slowly on their necks towards you, like an idiotic audience, not wanting to miss one beat of the drama playing for them.

There’s a little snappy answer that rises to the back of your throat. Something inspired by what Taehyung said earlier, about hating him. You almost tell him aloud that he can do whatever he wants, that you don’t own this fucking chair.

Jeon Jungkook is still raspy but soft voice. With his bruised hand with the fingers red from the cold, not assertive and confident enough to dare grab the chair yet and you can’t do much but nod your head, swiftly sliding your own chair to the side to draw a little distance between you.

It takes forever for the initial tension to drop a little bit. You can’t say anything, Taehyung the chatterbox can’t either, Jungkook probably feels too awkward by your behaviours to find a casual way to start the conversation. It’s Yoongi who realises the successful start. By doing what he does best, serving your new guest the best butterbeer there is in Hogsmead (Yoongi would say that it’s the best in the world, both magical and muggle, but given he hasn’t stepped two feet outside of this village for the past two decades, you wouldn’t give him that).

“My name’s Jungkook, by the way.” He starts quietly, in the direction of Yoongi. The latter nods and smiles a bit too eagerly. He tries to be natural, you can tell. And fail miserably, you must add.

“I’m Min Yoongi. Welcome to Jjang Jjang!” Taehyung cringes visibly. Yoongi leans further, towards yours and Jungkooks side of the table, wanting to ignore at best the unhelpful clown beside him. “You must already know...” With a vague hand gesture, he points Taehyung and you. It makes you want to die, the idea that he knows your name, he knows you. You’re unsure what’s going on. Why he’s here, where this will lead. But it would all feel infinitely better if you knew that somehow, he didn’t know anything about you. It’s hard to remember people without their name. It’s the first thing you learn about someone, really, like a tag they’re wearing on their foreheads and when recalling about them, ever, consciously or not, the name comes always. He knows yours so he won't forget you.

It takes all of you a short eternity to warm up to each other. The bar is still noisy, with its occasional rough burst of laughter from the tough-looking wizards, maybe missionaries, the high giggles of a group of Hogwarts 7th year students hidden in a corner. You’re all nurturing your drinks, even you with your stupid apple juice and the unease is even louder, the silence deafening in the middle of the concert of voices and shatters of glasses.

Until Taehyung says something weird, “So you like dragons, uh?” You don't understand why he persists on making it sound weird, like he's romantically interested in them.

You hit him under the table, a good kick to the kneecap but it’s clear to everyone that his yelp comes from you. That makes Jungkook laughs.

He pretty much giggles, sounding like a boy, head tilted down forward with his locks sadly hiding his smile.

“Yeah, you could say that.” He finally answers, clearing his throat, words coming out sweet and sheepish-like, as if he’s embarrassed from having been caught laughing.

“Oh, that explains this.” Yoongi says, pointing at his skin and the numerous bruises orning it. You’ve never hit Min Yoongi because 1) he’s older than you, 2) he’s a tiny little thing that you’re scared to hurt but you are this close, the width of a hair away, from throwing your foot up again and hit him in the junk. For a second, Jungkook seems awkward. Staring himself at his hands, one sliding over the other, the tip of his thumb grazing with insistence on a deep scar. Until he raises his head again, you assume to let his eyes go over your faces, studying them silently and something he sees there, maybe innocent benevolence -even if Yoongi's comment was lowkey inappropriate, he didn’t mean any ill- and something else, childish excitement probably suffice to relax him. Letting his hands be, one wrap around his pint, the other flat on the tabletop, tip of his fingers drumming quietly every now and then, out in the open for anyone who'd like to to see.

“They tend to be a bit playful.” He says this with a sly smile raising the corner of his mouth. Something ridiculously sexy that makes you choke on your fake beer and back away from him even more. You shouldn’t raise an arm to plant your elbow into the table, as a sort of shield between you two, because it’s rude and lame, but you do it anyway. Because it’s all a lot.

He's a lot.

Yoongi, probably, knows you better than you could ever imagine. Seeing right through you, added to the statement he raised earlier -and maybe he was right, maybe he's a whole lot, and a whole lot too much for you-, he reconsiders forbidding you from consuming any more alcohol. Kindly, he manifests a glass of sparkling juice, right in front of you. It's a light peach colour, from the first sniff of the aroma, you can tell it won't knock you unconscious any time soon. It's more sugar than alcohol but at least, it succeeds to soothe the harsh edges of your nerves. Because your nerves are on the verge of a fucking spontaneous combustion.

"Hey! Why does she get another one?" Since earlier, Taehyung, too, has been switched to a strictly non-alcoholic beverages diet. He's not happy about it but you understand easily Yoongi's train of thought. You need to relax so you deserve a little something -especially given the fact that Jeon Jungkook's appearance had you almost entirely sobered up-, while Taehyung's stupid mouth is way too loose and needs to be fed something soft and safe.

"Because he likes me and he hates you." You mutter, not daring to look up from your glass by fear of coming across your neighbour's attention. Your comment is well received though. You allow yourself to joke like that because everyone, Taehyung included, knows that Kim Taehyung is everyone's favourite. No matter the competition. No one can hate him, even when he's boring as hell, even when he's too loud, too nosy, dumb or annoying. He knows it as well as you do and each time you throw one of these snarky taunts, a glint of amusement sparkles his almond eyes and he loves to act all hurt and offended.

He turns all gasps and bombastic hand movements, claiming unfairness, misery. You start nagging back at him, adding more about how dumb he sounds and stupid he looks, while he counteracts with more dramatic appalled cries, as Yoongi just shrinks onto himself, shaking his head in disconcertment -even though, he's too used to your antics to be any surprised nor confused.

You're so caught up in your childish bickerings that slowly, only you two, and the amusement you're trying to contain in your stomach, matter and exist. Jeon Jungkook disappearing entirely. It has your voice turn louder, mimicking Taehyung's, your insults getting bolder, your face raises as you squint your eyes menacingly at your friend.

It's once Taehyung grabs the wand from his pocket and aims it at you, threatening to turn you into a pile of ghoul's shit if you won't shut up, that he's reminded to you.

The giggles, like earlier. Boyish and rusty, uncommon, that can only be his, ring and bless your right ear. It has you shut up instantly. Startled, you stare at him, only for a soft smile to grow on your lips, fond as you are to see him laugh like that, because of you.

You must look stupid as your eyes jump to Taehyung, silently begging him to acknowledge the wonder taking place just next to you, too giddy, too excited, too blushy to be part of it. He just grins back at you, nods his head even though you're not exactly sure at what, one of his elbows poking Yoongi's side.

"How long have you two been friends ?" He asks once he's managed to calm down his fit with a bite on his lower lip. Your heart is running a marathon and you're not sure for how long it'll keep holding up, you might need to focus all of your energy on the course, on not breaking a leg or pass out in the middle of the run, but you refuse, because he's talked to you again, because your best friends are accessorily here to help out, ease a bit of the burden of having to face the terrifying idea of being rejected (again), of failing at being good enough, somehow, to a guy you don't know much but like a lot.

Therefore you answer, aiming a joking dark glare at Taehyung because it helps to look at him, "Too long." Jungkook sniggers at the answer as Taehyung slips his ugly tongue out to you.

Somehow the tension diffuses itself. As if now that all of you had placed a word in the conversation, played somehow a role in it, it feels better, the ice has been melted and you can all, finally, relax.

Without even realising, your elbow slips from the tabletop, you're still wary, still very much aware of him sitting so close to you but you're fine with it.

As the drinks, more or less loaded, flow, Jungkook's cheeks fill up with mountains upon mountains of the fried wonders Jjang Jjang's beloved house-elf, Seokjin, has to offer, the discussion runs smoothly, tongues untied and excited.

It starts with Taehyung telling a very inaccurate version of your first meeting and blooming of this decades-old friendship (you add now and then, when the exaggerations and blatant lies get too much, little modifications to the tale that have Jungkook snigger and nod his head discreetly to you in secret confidence). It continues with Jungkook, pressured by a very adamant audience (which you are not part of, even if you are probably the most interested in the topic, in any topic that would have him speak a bit more, you don't want to bother him with your curiosity which Taehyung and Yoongi do not seem the least disturbed about) telling about the couple of last years he'd spent all around the world, in the most secluded corners of Earth, where only dangerous creatures like his beloved pets live and where only the foolhardiest or most suicidal wizards dare to adventure. As you expected, he's quite humble about it. He doesn't insist on details that make your heads spin in bewilderment, shrugging his shoulders lightly when you're the one whisper-yelling that "but you could've died?!". After a lot of cooing, from all angles of the table, tiny whispers repeating some of his words like a strange echo as you all try to handle the admiration -and intoxication-, he starts feeling himself, a tiny, discreet but visible smile, slyly redrawing the corner of his mouth. He shrugs a little less, nods his head firmly a little more, voice louder and more confident, shaping in the full form it's able to take.

He sounds lovely when he doesn't care anymore. When he feels unrestrained, comfortable and easy-going. He laughs a lot, you notice. It colours almost every single one of yours and your friends' comments, and maybe the fact that you're all a bit dumbed by shock and interest and starstruck and tipsiness makes it so that they're pretty ridiculous, hence him laughing so much. It's not so much that you're all hilarious, rather than you all being pretty stupid but it doesn't matter. You note how easy his laughter, that you couldn't even picture before hearing it for yourself, can come out. How open he is to meddle with you.

He fits so well in your bubble. This personal place only Taehyung and Yoongi have ever been authorized to inhabit. He matches perfectly. It fills your heart and mind with so much content, you feel your cheeks hurt from smiling constantly without meaning too. It's what he does, you suppose, making you smile. And when you notice the pink tint colouring his cheeks, rounded out lovingly so by a grin, you assume he's feeling the same, enjoying his time with all of you, your heart dips in the warmest bath.

"Dude!" For the umpteenth time, he's trying to wave himself some air with a hand. Taehyung has had enough and just slammed his fist to the table, making everything on it knock against each other, Yoongi's eyes this close to falling out of their sockets. Jungkook just giggles some more, he might be a bit tipsy. "Just tie your hair up, you're making me sweat just looking at your mop!"

"I don't even have-" Taehyung's already up from his chair, he bumps his leg in the process but pay it no attention, marching over his future victim with a little hair-tie that seemed to appear from thin air -probably did too. Jungkook is so lenient with your best friend, too lenient you'd say, you wouldn't even have it in you. When he excitedly reaches forward, his long fingers parting the dark locks in two, he's trying to tie one end into a little side ponytail. Before he's even done with the first one, you roll your eyes, knowing what he's aiming for. Of course, he wouldn't just give him a regular manbun or something.

For the first time, you meet one of Jungkook's eyes, the one uncovered thanks to Taehyung's shenanigan. It's round, dark but warm like rich chocolate, sparkling with exhilaration but concerned.

"What's he doing?" He asks you, unbeknownst to the fact that meeting half of his face for the first time, the endearing pretty thing, stole every single little last word from you. With two fists hold to the side of your head, you attempt to show him the cute girly hairstyle Taehyung has in mind. He winces at that, nose scrunching into itself so high, the round thing turns into something adorable, shaking his head to try to free himself from your friend's prying hands, a grin still on his lips.

"Stop being such a baby!" Taehyung growls, trying for a little while to keep ongoing, his hand desperately holding onto the second bunch of hair. He's soon forced to stop as the victim turns to be too unwilling. "Ok fine! You do it then!"

It's you he is barking to. If the hair tie thrown straight in your eye is any teller. It renders you blind for a second. Until you can blink the stingy discomfort away and you’re greeted by Jungkook and his endearing face with the oh so adorable tiny tail hanging from the side of his head, observing you with great attention, single eye blinking worrisome. He looks cute, half dolled up like a girl, fearful and curious to discover how you’ll treat him. For a second, you are tempted to follow your friend's design. Because how cute would this man look with two ponytails hanging on top of his head, with maybe even tiny hair clips to perfect it all.

He’d be pissed though and wouldn’t keep it probably so what’s the point.

The real point is that you have a hair tie in your hand, fingers itching on instinct to play with the shiny raven locks and the owner of said pretty locks, silently permitting you to do just that.

Maybe Taehyung is not as dumb and as useless as you thought him to be. Your prior reflex would be to assume he didn’t even mean to create this opportunity for you. He’s just invading as a person, touchy-feely and very comfortable with anyone entering his vicinity. You do owe him more credits and you willingly give them to him for this time. Because if he didn’t intend to put your foot on the stirrup, he surely did anyway, with a natural and a smoothness you couldn’t imagine coming from him.

Standing behind Jungkook's chair, hands hovering centimetres away, you feel so blessed, you’d jump over to Taehyung's side to snug him to your fervent heart if you didn’t have better at hand -and if the idea of actually having him this close to you did not fill you with an immense cringe.

Taehyung is watching, over the rim of his glass, with an obnoxious, kid like excited sparks burning you uncomfortably. You curse him out, soundlessly but with such great articulation, he can’t possibly miss the words.

Yoongi who watches all of it notices and understands it all as he always does even when he pretends he doesn’t, starts talking then. Something about Brazil where Jungkook had spent nine months, living alone in the wild forest of Amazonia, and about the curious plants and fruits he heard that could be found there. It’s a nice distraction. Soon Jungkook is on it again, Taehyung partakes a role in it too, leaving you alone to handle the grandiose yet terrifying fantasy that is touching and messing with Jungkook's hair.

The first ponytail comes undone easily, the hair tie simply slipping off with just the tip of your fingers to guide it.

When you timidly start, reaching with two hands to grab all of the hair from him, you feel a rush of blood to your cheeks, heart skipping beats and perspiration bubbling at your temple. Your fingers just have to graze slightly the skin of his neck, all warm and soft, you have to do it a few times even because his pretty locks are rebellious and your fingers too willing to let them run in between them, silky as they are.

There’s a strand refusing your gentle taming, slipping from your grasp and falling in front of his eye. You go to catch it back, meeting hot fingers on his temples. Yours surrender immediately. Jungkook from the corner of his eye, over his shoulder, throw you a glance and a smile. A small one, small but fond.

"Doesn't it get lonely?" Yoongi asks as Jungkook tucks the strand behind his ear.

"Not really. I'm used to it." He shrugs. You take your sweet, sweet time to finish the half-bun, half-tail hairdo you're working on. Somehow something lovely has settled. Something comfortable, domestic. He's not wary of your touch, letting you mess with his hair, not even flinching when, tentatively, just taking a chance, just once, the pad of your thumb stroke the hot skin of his neck. "Dragons can be very affectionate-" That makes Taehyung cackles as Yoongi gasps in disbelief. You have a hard time picturing those creatures as affectionate. Jungkook is different anyway. You need to be different to go after the path he's chosen for himself. "I swear!" Taehyung rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

"Have you considered all this time spent away from civilization turned you mad?"

The bun is done, sadly. You made it last for as long as you could but eventually, as every perfect moment, it has to come to an end. You don't even bother to hide your dread as you let your ass drop to your chair, puffing.

"Leave him alone, moron." A few peanuts to his stupid head and Taehyung stops messing with Jungkook, stops acting like he's insane and starts telling about something no one cares about -so much so, Yoongi leaves to go chat up an old goblin who's just entered the bar.

Jungkook turns to you, leaning a bit. Smiling quietly, gently. As if he doesn't realise the face he owns once his hair isn't hiding the majority of it anymore.

It must be a joke. He must know. He must have noticed how his straight, dark eyebrows, with the cut splitting the right one in half, gives an irresistible, dark, mature shape to the roundest, sparkliest set of eyes the world has ever seen. He must know his face is a wonderful work of art, with the tiny little details, here and there, adding charms and depth and uniqueness, that only the greatest, only a special artist would know to use -like this faint scar linking a mole under his lip to the corner of his mouth, or the one craving in the top of his cheek. His colours are splendid too. While you'd always seen him with black everything, black hair, black clothes, quiet sombre aura and a tiny bit of red, you'd catch sometimes, where he'd hurt his hands. Never would have you thought, he's more harlequin than monochromatic. Golden scopes, tipsy patches of red matching the tiny pout he owns for a mouth, eyes not dark but the richest shade of chocolate.

"You," Jungkook starts in a whisper, now so close you have a whiff of his smell, torturous scent of pinewood, of soot, and something else, more natural, sweat most definitely but turns out to be the better element of the mixture, suave, awfully addictive. "you believe me, don't you?" You need a full minute to get your brain's vessels to connect. A full minute during which you have no idea what the hell he's talking about, what words are and how to use them, and all you can focus on is not dying from a heart attack -and also, not show that you are having one.

You shake your head up and down, still unsure to what you're agreeing to. It does not matter that much because he's smiling the way he does. The adorable smile another wonderful novelty, shaped like a bunny one, eating up his upper lip into the thinnest cupid bow. The sparks in his eyes, on his cheeks, from excitement, mirth. He's really here with you, warmer than you've ever thought him able to be, and somehow, different than what you had expected, but thousand times more endearing. Having developed a crush on him previously makes more and more sense by the second.

"Thank you for the invitation." He says quietly. You don't miss a single word, nor the least flinch in his intonation (soothing, genuine), even in the loudness of the bar, because, for some reason, he's never leaned back. He remains there, hardly a dozen of centimetres away from you.

"No problem." You lie, effortlessly after a few gulps of liquid courage. If you're enchanted by the evening, the unexpected turns of events, he still made you go through a short misery for this. He must see your awkwardness, he must notice how you're sweating bullets and swallowing with difficulty. How your eyes keep battling between wanting to bath in his and avoid them at all cost. Jungkook doesn't budge though and it almost gets annoying, almost upset you how he doesn't care -or maybe simply doesn't realise- the effect he's having on you. "I thought you couldn't-" You start, meaning to sting him a bit because he deserves it.

"I finished early, and um-"

"Was it even real?" You ask, genuinely curious to have him clear this out for you. It's not like you're mad anymore. On your face, you only feel a tingle at the apple of your cheeks from how many smiles and waves of laughter you've shared, the desperate tears from earlier long dried and gone. "The excuse, I mean."

"It wasn't an excuse..." Jungkook turns his face away from you then. Biting hard on his bottom lip, a traitorous grin hardly contained. The tip of his ears are flushed, you wonder from what, until you see his hand raising to the top of his head where it flats down hair that doesn't need it. "I- I just-" Maybe it's seeing him this abashed that pushes you forward, literally, scraping your chair to the wooden floor, thigh meeting his in the process. "I was startled when you- asked. When you said my name even, I wasn't- like- expecting it and I'm not used to-" He cuts himself off, a hand vaguely motioning the room.

"To what?" You insist, mimicking his murmuring tone, terrified as you are to pop out the little bubble now only he and you dwell.

"Going out with people or just- hang out, I don't know." He looks inherently embarrassed now. Possibly even a bit saddened, you note. Still, his face remains open, kind, the ever-boyish smile teasing at least the corner of his lips. You don't mean to be so sappy but you wish, consciously, right this second, for this very moment to last an eternity or at least, for your memory to take a picture realistic enough, as in-depth and detailed as possible so that you'll be able to recall and relive it for years to come.

"Oh. Dragons don't like to go clubbing?" He bumps your thigh with his knee, chortling at your words but shaking his head nonetheless. As you stare at his thigh, covered by a cheap black cloth stretched to the very limit, stuck to yours, almost supported by yours, sending a continuous channel of heat from there to the pit of your stomach, it seems like you've reached a determining point. A definite phase where you can handle him (more or less). Enough not to liquefy on the spot at his every glance, while remaining way too aware of him, his smell, his warmth, every sound coming out of his mouth, his lovely, lovely charms.

You really like him.

"My head hurts." Taehyung's half-dead on the table. You're not too worried because as his head lies flat, his hair marinating in a pool of spilt beer, he can mumble with a lot of coherence about how heavy his head feels, and how it will probably weigh this much until Monday. Jungkook grabs a bunch of tissues to try to slip under Taehyung's head as an absorbing pillow, it's no use though, because Taehyung, strangely enough, feels too comfortable in this position to let himself be disturbed. Jungkook seems concerned, a bit bothered even -way more than you are because you are very much used to this depiction of lame- until Yoongi passes by, observing with deep disapproval written all over his face. He kicks on purpose one of Taehyung's chair legs, making him groan, and leaves.

Greediness turns you bold. Knocking Jungkook's leg the same way he did earlier, you call back his attention on you. For some reason, he stares at your legs, touching. You wonder for a second if you shouldn't have. It's not that much, he did it earlier, but maybe you shouldn't have. He's too pensive. Doesn't budge a muscle. In deep reflection. You hit him again, a tiny little push, and a few others to follow, like an annoying bratty kid trying to steal someone's attention. His hand finds its way to your knee then, enclasps it entirely, thumb pressing and you have no idea if any of this means anything, but it does send a rush of jolt straight between your legs. Surely he doesn't mean this use of firmness to turn you on, does he? How could he even guess it having this effect? You didn't even know it yourself.

It does work though. You stop acting like a feisty little brat, patiently waiting for him to be ready to listen to you. He pretends, mean as he is, that the hand won't stay, letting it slide slightly away from your knee. It doesn't go far though. Somehow it's comfortable a bit higher on your thigh. Not very high. It's awfully PG, awfully casual and platonic, but it serves to drive you a little breathless.

With the wide glassy eyes, the small smile that keeps finding its seat on his lips each time he turns to face you, he's all ears, all eyes, just for you. It's infuriating. Galvanizing. You lavish in it.

"You said it doesn't get lonely?" You blurp out, putting all efforts on focusing on the question you are sincerely curious about. If you didn't have it blinking loud and bright in your brain for the past ten minutes, you would have had it long lost and forgotten. He's messing with your head. But you owe to ask. The curious sadness, that you may have imagined for all you know, you saw briefly earlier needs to be addressed.

If it ever were there, it's gone anyway. As he stares into your eyes, seemingly pondering his next words around in his head, there's a gleam shining to you personally there.

"It doesn't when you don't know what you're missing."

"I don't feel too good, puffskein." Taehyung burps out. Thanks to some miracle, he doesn't end up vomiting all over the table but it's obvious he's this close to it and needs to be taken home. It takes all the goodness of your soul, all of it, to control your urge to grab your wand and throw a forbidden curse on his stupid ass.

The asshole makes you out to be an ungrateful friend, appreciation long gone, aggravation deeply grounded. It was going so well.

"Sorry about Taehyung." You start, wincing a bit. Your back leaned against the door of your room, it's late, quiet and badly lit up in Hogwarts' hallways. Taehyung is sound asleep in his bed, fully clothed and wrenching of a burp who turned down to be vomit. You've managed to use your wand on him, something to make sure he'll have a long and safe night and a rather gentler awakening tomorrow.

Jungkook pretty much carried him on his back, all the way to his bed, without much of a complaint, only a growl or two when Taehyung showed himself difficult in the capricious stairs hall -because it's the best and safest place to try and stumble, blindly, drunk out of your mind.

"It's fine. I had a great time."

"Dragging Tae's drunk ass all the way here was fun to you?" You tease, squinting at him. You know what he means. You know that he knows what you mean. You're only trying to earn time. Just a little bit more time. It's late, he's about to leave you for his room, you assume, and you're not just ready for it yet.

"Maybe not this part."

You don't know what to say to make him stay. It's not like you could possibly invite him inside, is it?

Yoongi would say it's way too soon. Another version of you, maybe a twenty-four-hour younger version of you, the one that didn't know him from this close yet, that didn't get to talk and undergo the full experience that is Jeon Jungkook, to feel his hand on your thigh, his pretty eyes -Merlin, there is a time when you didn't even suspect he hid those wonders right here- would agree. It's not your kind, to have hook-ups. You wouldn't even know how to.

That being said, it's not like you often meet Jeon Jungkooks.

You're not that greedy. You're sure of it. When he's leaning himself against the wall, shoulder pressed against it to support himself, head slightly tilted, watching you soundly, the corner of his lips always curled upward. His eyes say it all. Completely black in the shadow, hooded, tempting. Sending heat to your core, shudders along your spine, tingles to the tip of your fingers.

If he says something, if he suggests anything, you'll say yes. He just has to say it. You've been courageous enough already. Asking him out, talking to him, and everything else. You just can't. You can't imagine admitting out loud what you wish to happen now, exposing yourself to him again by asking him if he'd like to stay the night.

And it's too soon, isn't it?

But Hell, you still have the lucid memory of his hair, running in between your fingers and it's become undeniable how bad you'd like to have it again except this time, you could be less delicate.

"I should probably go."

The disappointment is the language you speak because you're too tired to filter the vexation in your voice, "What, your dragons need to be tucked in?"

"Uh?" He chortles. All teeth out, eyes a bit wide, he regards your face, evidently amused. "Is there anything on your mind you'd like to share, maybe?"

"Absolutely not." You're bratty. It's the tiredness and maybe the butterbeer too. Undoubtedly the frustration. Arms crossed, looking away, pouting because somehow you are unable to relax your mouth and need to be so obvious about it all.

"Are you mad at my dragons?" Jungkook asks lightly. If you don't dare look at his face right now, you can guess it. He must have that smirk you've seen a glimpse of a few times tonight. From your peripheral vision, you can tell he's mocking you. Standing away from the wall, a step closer to you, chest puffed out and arms crossed on it.

"Why would I be?" You mumble, ever so vexed.

"Exactly." He's holding back a laugh, you can hear it louder than if he were to let it out.

Continuing, same tone, same pout, squinting harder at the void that is the end of the hall, "They sound awesome, I have no reason-"

"They are. You should meet them."

Startled, you look up to him, eyes wide with both fear and interest. "Should I?"

"Yeah." His tongue swipes swiftly over his bottom lip before he bites on it for a second, pondering. "Go to bed now so that you're in good shape tomorrow and I'll introduce you then."

Of course, he'd be so casual about it but the idea kind of blows your mind. "Really?" You've seen dragons from afar a very few times, during competitions or this one time, with Taehyung at that circus in Wales. But never have you approached one. Like most wizards, at least all wizards holding the basic amount of worth necessary to their life, it's not something you want to do: approach a dragon. You know that for the Care of Magical Creatures class, Jungkook only brings one dragon at a time. The class with their professor standing on one end of a wasteland, and Jungkook, at least a hundred feet away, presents them the animal.

"Yeah," Jungkook says again, bobbing his head along. You're dazzled by the light the grin adorning his face brought. He really wants to show you his dragons. "But early. Like super early. They're tired in the morning so they won't be too... agitated."

"Is this supposed to reassure me?" He shrugs with the same cheerful beaming.

"Did you hurt yourself with Taehyung?" For the third time tonight, you've seen him reach a hand over his shoulder, messily massaging the muscle with a tiny grimace on his face. He hasn't mentioned it so you did not bring it up but the thought that maybe it's your dumbass of a best friend who's responsible awakes your guilt.

"No, it's not Taehyung." He scoffs. Almost offended that you could imply he hurt himself that way. "I had a bad fall."

"On your back? How do you fall on your back?" There are, actually, a lot of ways for someone to fall on their back but somehow, you can only imagine Quidditch players to have the occasion to do so. You haven't fallen to the ground since you were twelve and finally mastered the skill of flying on a cheap broomstick. But Jungkook is different, right?

"Tina. You'll meet her tomorrow."

Tina. One of his dragons. Of course. He sounds so excited to introduce you to a mythical creature who manifestly attacked him, you start to wonder if that's not the thing that is wrong about him. Because everything is too sweet and lovely and perfect about him, something must be wrong -or else, it's not fair. And maybe his thing is that he is batshit crazy.

"Anyway," A clearing of the throat -you almost missed those, "go to bed. Sleep tight. Tomorrow, I want you-" Your heart stops in your bosom. There's the tongue winking at you again, through his pink lips, it's indecent, makes you forget it all about his alleged insanity, "alive and kicking."

You roll your eyes, raising your eyebrows, bewildered by his choice of words. He laughs, again. The boyish one but quieter, as if he's scared to wake the castle or just a grumpy painting possibly hanging somewhere in the dark. It's lovely. "Thanks for walking me to my room. And for Tae." You say, sincerely, turning to your door to open it.

"You're very welcome." Before you disappear in your suite, you glance his way. It's sappy-you again, needing to take a mental picture of his face, with the hair still pushed back, the rebellious strand from earlier curling against his cheek, his handsome everything, his soft expression and charming smile. He doesn't seem to mind. If anything he's doing the same, not hinting to a departure until you take it upon yourself that maybe, it's enough staring at each other wordlessly for tonight and you wave him goodnight, closing the door behind you.

By Merlin's beard, what the hell happened today?

And what the fuck is going on, now?

Your ass down on the hard ground, head dizzy, with a little warm tingling sensation in the crook of your neck.

Jungkook is standing, looking like he’s a thousand feet tall with his long legs, chest puffed out and leaning upward. He’s facing Tina, the infamous Tina, about his height if you put aside the long tail laying flat to the ground in between her legs. She's a bright degraded of a deep purple and a fire red, covered in scales, sharp and standing upwards every few seconds as if they're breathing along with her lungs.

He has a forearm blocking her jaws open, glaring with the most severe set of eyes you could never have imagined on him boring holes in her flamboyant ones. He’s growling things in a language you think you recognise as Romanian, barking in her face as he forces his arm deeper, gagging her, not caring about the sharp teeth digging in his skin.

After a while of the strangest and scariest staring contest you’ve ever witnessed, the tail lying between her legs flap once and she whines a heartbreaking mewl.

His face softens at that, slightly, he frees her from his arm, taking a step back while keeping an attentive eye on her.

Tina snivels more, as soon as her master’s attention hints at leaving her, rubbing the tip of her gigantic snot against his shoulder blade.

“Not now.” He says, sending her away with a pat to the side of her neck.

This is the weirdest thing you’ve ever experienced.

You simply remain there, staring, gaping, trying to process it all.

You’ve been jumped by a dragon and Jeon Jungkook is-

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry.” He still has his hair pushed back in a messier bun than the one you made for him yesterday as if he knows that you like him a lot like that. Therefore nothing is hiding the most pitiful look you've ever seen on anyone's face when he looks down to you. Eyebrows dropping low above shiny wide pearls, his two hands reaching for you, munching nervously on his lip.

-Terrible. You just had the biggest fright of your entire life -and probably, hopefully, the last one of the kind- and all you can think about, is how wet you got from Jungkook growling like an animal, and somehow intimidating the fiercest animal there is to submission.

“She doesn’t- I didn’t think she’d be that excited, I’m sorry, ___.” He mumbles, guilt laced in every syllabus he pronounces. You accept one of his hand, sliding yours against his palm, hot and calloused, sending warm all over your body as he squeezes around your fingers. “It’s my fault. She’s used to playing rough with me and she doesn’t control her strength very well yet-“

He bends over, catching your second hand in his and lifts you, a bit too strongly given how you are entirely made of mush right now. You hit his chest in the process, he has to steady you once you’re up on your wobbly legs. He holds you with a hand to your upper arm, still hot, still firm, it has the blood to your face boil even more. What kind of experience would it be to bathe entirely in this warmth, to have not the least stupid barrier in between yours and his skin, to feel his firm hold grabbing you, his whole body covering you and pressing you down?

You need to focus on the pets.

Tina seems upset, a few meters away, her tail slapping the ground impatiently but her head held low. There are three others, different sizes and spices, quietly laying above the trees forming the forest glade. They’re watching inquisitively, quiet, as cats would, you had no idea they could behave like that but then again, they were raised by this fucking guy.

The guy still holding you close, breathing hard over your forehead, who’s most definitely searching for your eyes you are deliberately not allowing him to meet. You’re not mad. A bit shook still maybe. You’re just soaked, head filled with inappropriate thoughts you're terrified he might hear from how loud they are. And the oblivious idiot keeps apologising and asking if you’re fine because you should not be, you should probably be more traumatised, certainly not aroused as you are, especially when he’s feeling this guilty. You catch a wobble in one of his words and wonder if he could even cry from a guilty conscious.

Therefore you grant him a glance.

“I’m fine, Jungkook. Really.”

He must see something there, hear the subtle tilt your voice, too soft, has taken because he nods, visibly relaxing. His hand departs slowly, fingers grazing your skin.

“Jungkook, I have something for you.” You say it like you know where it’ll lead. Frankly, you have no idea. You can hope, wish very loud and clear in your mind, but you can’t bet on it. “For your back.” You fish out of your shoulder bag a tiny flask. With its shimmery blue content, the tag on it with his name and a short note consisting of wishes of healing you’re somehow embarrassed to show him. “I made it before coming. It should fix your back in no time.”

“That’s very kind of you, ___. Thank you.” He grabs your hand along with the bottle as if he couldn’t take it on its own, and now you’re sure he knows what he’s doing to you. He can’t be innocently stealing all of these touches from you without knowing how intensely pleasing it feels all over.

“Don’t thank me yet, you might not like the... process.” He raises an eyebrow, head slanting to the side. “It’s a bit uncomfortable for like... 30 seconds and then it gets better.”

“How uncomfortable?”

“Well... Nothing too bad. I’m sure you handled way worse.” He can see you’re not completely honest with him. For your defence, looking at all the scars scattered on the very few skin your eyes have access too, he must be used to some kind of pain. It’s not painful per se. It is uncomfortable. Like dipping a firstly warmed up skin in a cryogenic liquid for half a minute kind of uncomfortable. He senses it. Watching the strange liquid carefully, suspiciously, he’s not certain he’ll use it.

“Is it dangerous?”

You scoff, hands raising to your sides, “No, I mean- Not if you apply it correctly, it’s fine.”

“If I-“ He worries at his lip, frowning, mentally debating the subject as if it’s that much of a big deal. Honestly, the risk, is, not that tragic. An over-application can cause a curious discolouration that will, later on, turn into a marble-like blue patch -it might be definite but you’re not sure-, you can potentially burn your skin too but usually, it only happens -and it’s the case with any magical ointment really- if it’s mixed with another ingredient it shouldn’t come in contact with or on a body that’s already under certain charms -which is not his case, you assume-, and of course, an ointment made for local application should in no circumstances be ingested. It’s not that complicated. He doesn’t need to look so scared and suspicious.

“For Merlin’s sake, Jungkook! Don’t use it if-“ You aim to snap it out of his hand but he’s quicker, holding up where you can’t reach, the corner of his eyes crinkling cutely.

“No I want to but- can you do it for me? You worried me.”

“You really are a big baby, aren’t you?” He shrugs, doesn’t deny it. He looks cute like that. Dancing on his two feet, munching on his lip, hands deep in the pockets of his pants. “Fine.” You say without meaning it. You wouldn’t say that you’re fine or that you’ll be fine.

When he walks you to his cabin, twenty meters away from the dragons' playground, your heart starts beating hard and fast, more furiously at every step. It might not mean much more than a nurse job. At the same time, would it make any sense for you to not take the opportunity to take a step and make it more than that? Kim Taehyung would turn you into some kind of pile of whatever gross creature's shit if he were to hear that.

The cabin is super tiny, rustic and barely equipped. Wooden floor, wooden walls, wooden furniture -if you can call them that. Mentally, you curse at Mrs Umbridge. If she didn’t plan this on purpose just because she despises the guy and his pets. You can tell he sleeps in it because of the shitty mattress sitting on a pile of wooden boxes, with the sheets unmade. Discarded used clothes in a corner, a little tower made of books that all seem to be about travelling, magical creatures and travellers’ autobiographies. It’s dark, smells like soot with a tint of something sweet, as if the remnants of a pastry made of cinnamon is hiding somewhere.

Jungkook excuses himself for the mess, even if it’s not much compared to the poor condition he must have received the cabin as, jumping to the only window to tear open the dusty curtain.

It brings a bit of light inside, a subdued but warm yellow-ray coming straight from the barely awakening Sun.

It feels a bit stuffy in here. With him taking over the whole space, and your lungs struggling to pump normally. It feels too intimate, to be standing a few steps away from the place he sleeps in at night. Too intimate because you're not used to it, and two days ago, or even fucking yesterday morning, you would have never thought you'd ever be standing here.

"It's cosy."

You comment, humming to yourself, at the same time as he asks, "Should I take off my shirt?"

You almost choke, tilting your head, watching him with misplaced shock. He's already holding the hem of his black shirt higher on his stomach, exposing smooth golden skin, tight on a thin, sculpted waist, a trail of teasing black hair under his belly button, yet looking at you with his wide round eyes, unsure, quite innocent somehow.

"I don't think you need to- the whole thing." Coward-you hurries to answer, trying to divert your attention to anything but him.

Jungkook turns around, giving you his back and raising his hands to the back neck of his shirt, wincing silently, as he lifts the cloth. The back is almost worst than the front. The thin waist you had a glimpse of, the smooth skin with the golden highlights, the cute dimples at the bottom of his back, the developed, beautifully drawn muscles. A dizzying hot flush takes over your head.

This guy is a mystery. Under his thick, oversized clothes, you knew he was well built, but never would you have expected that. It's not like you care about it usually but with him standing in front of you, smelling so wonderful, with this thing, intense and unique, linking and running in between you two, you can't ignore it all. You can't ignore nor deny how attracted you are and giddy and greedy at the idea of seeing it, of touching it all -when most people don't even get close enough to him to suppose what he's hiding.

It's easy to get back to Earth and the present moment with the large, blue hematoma marking his right scapula. It looks painful as hell, so much so you wonder how he's been handling it so far, how he hasn't visited the infirmary yet, how often it happens and if he always simply tighten his jaws and take the pain until it just leaves.

He turns you cheesy again. You'd like to lean forward and press a kiss to make it better. You wouldn't dare though, and you know, for a fact, that the ointment you prepared for him would be an infinite amount of times more effective to heal him.

He shudders at some point. Probably because you're taking a short eternity to do anything, or just say anything, silently contemplating instead.

Gulping hard, you start, "Bear with me, ok? It'll be better in no time." He grumbles something to himself, way too quiet for you to hear over the loud popping of your potion's bottle and the even louder rummaging of your heart in your bosom.

The first drops seem to be fine. He's not squirming under the gentle touch of your fingertips, handling the strange sensation that the potion causes at first, instantly warming up at the contact with skin. He even relaxes, letting you spread evenly all over the bruise, calm and still as the perfect patient. Until he squeals.

"Fuck, what- ah!"

On reflex, he tries to bend and twist, attempting desperately to avoid the inhumanly freezing discomfort burning his skin. You try to hold him still, hands clasped to his shoulders but he wouldn't stop wriggling, whining like a hurt puppy.

For a tough guy, he can't handle much, you decide. It's amusing but concerning as you see him move around so much, you can imagine how he's stimulating the pain coming directly from his injury rather than the ointment.

"Jungkook, stop!" He manages to knock the pile of his books down with a blind kick. "It'll last just a few seconds, calm down!" Your hands fully pressed against his bruise, the heat coming from your overly agitated heart helping, it releases some of the cold. Somehow your tiny hands on his broad back are enough and he sighs in contentment, just a tiny whimper uttered as a remnant of his short but intense torment.

"Are you ok?" You ask after a few minutes. His breathing has quieted down too. His shoulders hanging low, his head relaxed, ease and comfort have taken over his body and mind.

"Yeah. But-" Tentatively, he tests out his right shoulder, rolling it up and down a few times, a tiny impressed 'wow' escapes him and you grin to yourself, enchanted to see him acknowledge your talent. "When you said discomfort-"

"Sorry about that. I thought you wouldn't want to try but it's worth it, isn't it?"

"It is." He has a sudden burst of laughter when he turns around, flashing you a relieved smile. You can read in his eyes that he's a bit surprised, a bit confused himself about what's so funny, probably settling on the little fright the experience gave him. You won't mention that the potion, if it's so effective and this, so quickly, is because it has very highly active ingredients that mess with the organism as soon as it penetrates the skin and his insides might be a tiny bit all over the place for a few moments.

Suddenly, a big whooshing sound comes from outside, seemingly knocking against the front wall of the cabin and making it shake on its hinges. It just makes him chuckle some more, not worried the least and beyond amused by your reflex to step towards him, hands raised, this close to grabbing a hold of his shirt.

"It's just Tina getting impatient, don't worry."

"Don't worry?" You scoff. The mention of her name brings back the memory from earlier. For some reasons, Jungkook's presence now and inside that memory, make it all seem rather mundane but you're sure, you're positive that you should feel traumatized by what happened. A dragon fucking attacked you. Jungkook shoots you a crooked smile you can't say you recognise. With a little bite on the corner of his bottom lip, dark eyes squinted yet shinning mischief.

"You're safe with me." He says, voice low, teasing, as one of his hand reaches for his index and thumb to pinch lightly at your waist.

"Because they're scared of you somehow?" He laughs again, hand now encompassing your side, staring down at you. He looks so inhumanly attractive. You're confused where this intensity comes from. If it's simple lust, coming from a genuine natural place, the same as yours. Or if the potion is not still messing with him, and his hormones, possibly. It shouldn't. It's been a good ten minutes and his build wouldn't entail this long of a repercussion.

"They're not scared. They just know who's the alpha." He explains with the cockiest shit-eating grin you've ever seen. Even greasy Gilderoy Lockhart doesn't have those. You'd find him gross if he was a hundred per cent committing to the act. There's a lurch though, in the way chocolate marbles shine in childish amusement, the tendentious beam turning into a boyish one, biting back something you know would sound like a giggle if he let it escape. You chuckle yourself, hitting him on the chest -because now that he's healed, he can take it. He doesn't budge an inch, doesn't back the slightest away from you. If anything, the hand holding you slide a bit further behind your back, keeping you close. "I'm just kidding." He whispers, voice as soothing as his attentive gaze as turned. So attentive you feel your face burn with shame. As a poor attempt to deflect your focus on this, your hand raises to his chest again, fingers scrapping at a tiny default in his shirt.

"You're not." He snickers. "I still don't understand how you're not scared of them..." The question somehow was never brought up. The whole night, the day before, your friends and you spend your time praising him and asking so many questions about his life and dragons in general, the things he's seen, the things he's done, the reasons that push him to take this orientation -something about adventure and wanting to see where the world ends was the answer however you could tell it wasn't entirely the real one- but you never actually asked how come he's not terrified of these deadly creatures.

"Honestly, your students are way scarier to me than they are." Your eyes grow big with surprise as you simper. You naturally lean a bit back as you laugh, and he follows you, for some reasons, eyes fixed on you, a tiny smile shaping his mouth. "That one girl the other day, the way she looked at you."

"Yeah, they can be real brats sometimes."

"My dragons, on the other hand, are super playful and soft." He sounds like a little boy, trying to brag about his alleged better pet. Of course, he'd be lethally sexy a second and undeniably adorable the next.

"You're a bit weird, Jeon." Jungkook shrugs, not sure what to say to that because he knows you're right. He can also hear in your voice that you don't mind and he's not sure how to say that he's glad you don't. Because he doesn't say anything you force yourself to look up, study his handsome face to read him. His expression is precisely what you expect yours to look like. Content yet expecting for something more, enamoured.

It's just hard to take the first step. Impossible to overcome.

Only now, from so close he can probably feel your breath hitting his neck, you notice he has a thin beard decorating his jaw. There's a patch missing on the left. You press the tip of your index to the tender skin, noting he's probably got burnt.

"That's what happens when a baby with a cold refuses to leave your shoulder." "It sneezed on you?" He nods, grinning. "I could make something for that. And for your eyebrow too." You stare, your finger caressing the soft skin, cheating a bit and slipping to the side of his jaw where there's nothing except a barely unshaven skin. Jungkook sucks in a breath.

"Would you?"

"If you want me too. You'd be losing charm points for sure but-"

"Oh, I have those?"

For some reasons, it’s this moment your memory chooses to recycle your friend’s words. The ones about him being that great. With the pretty gold glimmer coming from his peculiar round eyes, you do not doubt that he is. “As if.” You roll your eyes, jaded by his certain lie.

And the ones about him possibly being a lot, being too much to handle follow quickly behind. He is a whole lot, from head to toes, to the very essence of his character. The thing is he’s dipped in a thick pool of sweet honey, rounding his edges into something so much more accessible, too easy to swallow, how could you not try. “Let’s not fix it then,” He starts, one of his hand roughly rubbing at his short beard. “you already have too many ahead of me.” You give him a doubtful “oh really?” look he greets with an amused grin. He’s pretty smooth for a guy that hardly ever interacts with women and humans in general. You almost ask if his pets give him dating advice but you decide to keep it for later. The cat and mouse game is getting hard to endure. You’re not bored of it but you know you’re both ready for it to turn a little less playful and a little more decisive -also you don’t know exactly what time it is, however, you do know you have a class in the morning. It (whatever it is) won’t happen with you bullying him restlessly. Maybe one of you will get tired of watching so closely the other's face, you both know the details by heart by now, are probably even able to draw them with your eyes closed, and act. There’s a subtle frown messing up his handsome face. A tiny dip of the starting lines of his eyebrows and a pout reshaping his lips. “I’m really sorry about that.” He mutters, shame dripping from his words. The pad of his thumb raises to your neck, grazing ever so lightly the skin surrounding the tiny cut Tina gave you earlier. It’s not that bad. Doesn’t even hurt anymore. When your heart is beating so fast, when your cheeks are burning so high, when your core is quivering so much, you barely remember about the cut on your neck ever hurting. He seems so sorry though. And then he’s leaning towards you, dubious eyes not leaving yours until he’s hidden in the crook of your neck and can’t see you anymore, and softly, presses his lips to the bruise. It feels like a seizure in your heart. It shouldn’t be much but it is, the softest touch, most delicate, also a beautiful promise for more to come.

You relax under him, his arm naturally sliding further behind you, pulling you flush against him. You tend your neck, expecting more, demanding more. He instead breathes in, nose buried in your hair, humming to himself as if the scent pleases him before he’s kissing your neck again, this time a more resolute kiss, with a tough pressure, a louder smack.

You can’t help but giggle, he sniffed you like an animal would, like a dragon would. The giggle turns into an embarrassing fit of laughter, the tension wearing you out probably helping a lot.

“What’s so funny?” Jungkook asks, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with curiosity and a smile translating his bemusement. He backs away for a second, just to see your face.

“Sorry-“ More giggles, he pinches your side, you barely manage to bite your laughter back in your throat. “Sorry but you’re really- I just didn’t realise to what extent you’ve been raised by dragons.”

He’s confused you can tell, frowning in deep thought yet not looking the least vexed. It makes you smile. Seeing him looking so adorable, a little lost, a little embarrassed. You kiss the palm of his hand, the one that’s sitting where it fits perfectly, tucked in the crook of your neck, his eyes grow big for a split second. “Cause I smelled you? Was it weird? I’m sorry, I’m just used to- like- smells are imp-“

He made it so easy for you to press your lips to his. Everything about him, from his smell to his warmth, to his smiles both from his pretty flushed lips and from the wonders he owns for eyes, his voice soothing, welcoming, words always gentle, always soft. He’s both the unknown and at the same time, the most comfortable aura you’ve ever wanted to dip in.

It’s hesitant at first, or more precisely sheepish, like testing the waters. Figuring out where you’re stepping in, noticing you’re barely keeping your nose up and afloat. It’s scary, new and exciting. Requires a little bit of practice, some intended nibbles, some timid lingering.

You’re both unsure, trying until you’re not anymore. Like a button blooming into a rose, suddenly turned bright bloody red, intense and passionate, with fierce thorns digging and scratching at the skin.

You sigh into him, he’s humming as in agreement. There’s a little agitation coming from outside. As if they know what you two are doing, how you’re feeling. As if impatient Tina can tell you’re stealing her human right under her snoot.

He is so willing to get stolen though. Chasing after your mouth when you worry for a second about the ruckus going on just behind the wall, arm tightening around you, hugging you as close as he can, his body melting with yours whenever your fingers dig in his skin.

You’re the first one to slip your fingers underclothes to just have a little sample of naked skin. It’s just past the hem of his sweatshirt, the soft and burning skin of his waist. It spurs him on. As if he was just waiting for you to give him permission, his hands find a home under your shirt. Flat on your skin, so large, so hearty, raw skin from someone who’s worked with those hands a lot, feeling so nice on you, feel like he’s holding you captive in between the palms.

The hand against your back slides up, stopping an instant where your bra is sealed, toying with it as if he’s wondering if he can. Deeming that he can’t, for some unknown reason, he goes further to grip the back of your neck. You’re too busy with his tongue teasing yours, with the growing stiffness digging in your stomach to notice. Have your brain been less occupied, you would probably have the fingers playing with the ends of his hair, pulling a little harsher than they already are. He’s loving it, it seems. Moaning each time you do, groaning each time your nails slip through the hair to scrap at his skin.

Everything is too good. Everything feels made to be, bodies made to meet and make up. It feels like this could be enough. Highly satisfying, more delicious than any make-out session has ever felt because none of those boys before were Jeon Jungkook and never have you liked someone as much as you like him.

But Jeon Jungkook can’t be perfect. You don’t know if he means to be to tease or if it’s just him holding onto some doubts, some insecurities, not wanting to go too far without you explicitly telling him that it’s what you want -because, clearly, it’s not evident enough, the way you’re hanging off of his mouth, limp in his arms, subjectively grinding against his cock can’t be telling enough.

His second hand, the one closest to all the places you want him to invade, won’t give in. Set on your stomach, his thumb retracing the underline of your bra, this hand is the very incarnation of a tormentor. You don’t last long, grousing in your mind, losing your shit and your patience, giving him chances after chances to finally get to it but of course he never does.

Your frustration reaches its limits when you back away from him, hitting his chest with your fist, breathless and frowning.

He’s too dazed, hooded eyes barely seeing anything but your swollen mouth, to comprehend. Until you bark his name, punching him again.

Jungkook takes in your mad eyes, scrunched eyebrows and impatient tapping of your foot on the cabin's floor.

“Touch me.” You whine more than you demand. His light chuckles fill the suffocating air, diffusing a little bit of the tension and maybe it’s not for the worst.

“Is that all?” He asks, leaning in to place a soft kiss on your pouty mouth. “You scared me.”

“I don’t care.” He is so gentle on your lips. The sweetest touch you’ve ever received there. Your heart is growing exponentially, threatens to burst in your chest and you’re loving every single second of it.

“You’re a bit mean when you’re frustrated, you know that?” He can hardly contain his amused grin long enough to kiss you. Explicitly telling you, he doesn’t care much for your moody outbursts. “And,” Another kiss right in the centre of your awaiting lips. “I was touching you.”

“Not enough.”

“What’s enough, lil’ brat?” He mumbles against the skin of your neck, biting a little at it, definitely grinning to himself there. You almost cum there.

“Touch me here.”

You can sense his cockiness drops to the ground when you grab his hands and press them to your clothed breasts. He just gapes, too shocked to act, as if it’s the first pair he’s coming in contact with. You have to do everything on his behalf and really, thankfully for him, you like him that much you don’t hold it against him. Tearing the cups of your bra down and under your breasts, guiding his long fingers to your tender mounds, he takes in a shaky breath, his curious eyes borne into yours.

Tentatively, he wraps his hands around them, weighing them, the pad of his thumb caressing the skin, enjoying taking extra time on the nipple. You can tell he wants it, he’s too willing to touch you, yet his mouth, the stupid thing, starts to stutter, “B-but, I don’t think righ-“

“Please.” And if this isn’t enough, you’re giving up. You’ve tried so hard. Asking, moving his hands for him, pleading with your boobs out and your shirt bunched up over them. If this isn’t enough, you’re giving up and probably kicking him in the dick in your way out.

His puppy eyes fall from your eyes down to your breast, almost reluctantly. He leaves out a tiny whimper of pain. As if he’s the one hurting. As if it’s not you, the one suffering, the one tortured, because he’s been messing with you, shaking your insides upside down, baiting and lightening up sparkles but refusing to feed you accordingly the way you need to. As if he’s not the only one inflicting himself the torment, refusing to give in for reasons you don’t understand.

Until something clicks in his brain, finally, common sense meeting desires, his mouth fall from your neck and straight to your nipple, kissing hungrily. Licking and sucking and nibbling, moaning almost as much as you do. Once both your nipples are swollen and a pretty flush, he senses your sensitivity, deciding to drop from the buds, meaning to cover the whole supple surface of your tits with lovely kisses and infuriating grazing of the teeth.

The position is awkward. Him bent in half, you on your tiptoes, trying to ease the access for him while simultaneously ordering your wobbly legs to keep on supporting you. The task is not easy, so poorly executed he gets tired of it in seconds, big hands seizing you to pick you up, holding you close, your legs wrap around his waist, so comfortable, so natural, somehow more convenient for him, he doesn’t seem to be in the least amount of effort as he feasts gladly on your chest. His hands stay on your ass, fingers digging, occasionally dragging you up and down his front where you can feel him hot and hard against your centre, a few times squeezing and tearing your cheeks apart. If this is not what paradise tastes like, then you don’t know what is.

It’s perfect pleasure, pure satisfaction.

But of course, you’re human.

Soon, it’s not enough, anymore. And more and more you want and you need. You can feel your cunt clench around nothing, drops of honey dripping from the side hems of your panties crotch. He’s so good to you, lavishing and ravishing your breast like it’s the only job he’s ever wanted but you want more. Maybe you’ll let him worship you another day. Place the kisses and paint the marks he wants on every inch of your body.

Right now you need release. Any kind. He’s pent you up to a point, you can’t handle the idea of not letting any steam out.

You’re about to get bitchy again. Getting saltier and saltier at every empty-handed clench of your cunt. If you don’t take a step now, make him take the step, you’ll turn into a sex-deprived gremlin again, this time worse than earlier, and it’s not a good look you wish for him to see -again.

“Jungkook?” You can sense him perk up at the call of your name, even though he doesn’t stop his ministrations. He hums against your nipple, held tight in between his wet lips. “Fuck, Guk- just- uh- your bed.” No reaction. You suspect he didn’t even listen. “Take me to your bed, Jungkook!” It’s the harsh pull on his hair that’s made him look up and pay attention to your words. Like an obedient puppy with unmatching dark eyes, he nods, swirling around to head for his bed, carrying you effortlessly like you're not a full-grown adult hanging from his neck.

You’re about to meet his sheets. You’re about to get ravished and treated so, so right. You can tell from all the promises his hooded gaze has no shame sharing. Anticipation is killing you. The tenderness and affection along with the evident intense lust you read in him are killing you. Your back is just about to meet his sheets when it just doesn’t. He’s holding you centimètres away from it, eyebrows frowned, preoccupation taking over his face and covering everything sexy that fitted it so prettily.

“I can’t have you on this bed.”

“Wha- why?!” Maybe you yelled a bit. He winces. You don’t know what you look like right now, lust turned into pure fury, you just hope if you feel and talk like a gremlin, you still don’t look like one.

“Have you seen it? It’s not even a bed, it’s just a pile of dirty rags probably a thousand years old-“ It’s sweet and annoying, infuriating beyond belief. He’s blushing too. One foot hitting with spite the pile of rags he was given to use as a bed.

You want to cry.

“Why are you so fucking difficult, Jungkook?” You spit his name with venom, forehead hitting his shoulder, defeated as you feel. He’s hugging you closer, hands less sexual and just warm tenderness as they slide along your spine, pressing you closer if it’s even possible. Feels nice. But your panties, the soaked ruined cloth that is uncomfortably sticking to your cunt are reminding you you’re hating this moment.

“I don’t mean to. I- you deserve better than-“

“But you sleep on it!”

“I can sleep anywhere, it doesn’t matter but you’re too pretty to be laying on this.” You huff at that. Too frustrated to just take the compliment and let it shake your belly with the butterflies in it like a kid would a Christmas snow globe. “I’m sorry.”

“Should apologise to yourself, why you’re sleeping in it if it’s shit? Don’t you deserve better?”

He can tell how you feel. You’re kind enough to let everything clear as day, written in a language he mastered in so little time, an intimate one he’s only allowed to see. He sees the disappointment. Also the ease you’re feeling. The lust that’s not left. The despair and frustration tinted by dark shades of anger. You look cute as hell. All pouty and mushy in his arms. Whining and complaining and so angry yet fingers gently caressing the nape of his neck. He can tell you’re bitchy, feel like arguing but probably want something else even more.

“Wouldn’t it be better to use your bed instead? I saw it yesterday, looks nice.” He suggests, kissing your jaw to relax you.

“It is, it’s a troll size.” You lean your head back, giving more space for his mouth, mumbled words hardly falling from your pout.

“I saw that.” He says, amusement teasing the corner of his eyes.

“Professor Jeon!” The amusement completely annihilates from his eyes, his pretty rosy lips falling in a shocked o, along with all colours leaving his face. You gasp silently, wide eyes matching his.

There’s a terrifying succession of thuds shaking the little cabin, the call of his name again. Slowly, he releases you from his arms, making sure you meet the ground without emitting the least noise.

“I told you I had a class-“ he mimes with his mouth rather than speak.

“You never told me that?”

“I mean- I tried to but you wouldn’t- you wouldn’t list-“

“Professor Jeon?” More knocking on the door. You both hear the man outside mumbling to himself, a little commotion and you can tell, he’s trying to find a way to reach the window to have a look through it. Jungkook jumps on it, tearing the curtain in front of the blurry glass.

“Yes- uhm-“

“Are you okay? The class is ready for today’s demonstration! We’re all excited about that Opaleye you’ve talked ab-“

“Hagrid, I- I need to- finish get ready so- if you and the class could wait- f-five seconds?”

You are fuming. Glaring at him with the meanest eyes you own. Smoke probably coming out of every orifice, desperately trying to leave out some steam or else you’ll be spitting fire better than his fucking pets do. Tucking your boobs back in your bra, tearing your teeshirt back down, probably looking as miserable as you feel.

He’s apologetic though. One hand holding yours between gentle fingers, massaging kindly the palm of your hand. Looking guilty as hell, pouty with the watery eyes, a sweetheart.

And you like him. The realisation hits you once again, full force, you like him a whole lot. Frustration fading into compliance, leaving you helpless, about to forgive him wholeheartedly and suggest to come back later when his schedule sees it more fitting.

“Alrighty! I’ll show them that cute baby dragon I see over there-“

Jungkook winces visibly. Even you can tell it’s not a good idea to leave Hagrid alone with kids and dragons unsupervised, his reputation precedes him, unfortunately. He doesn’t hint a gesture towards the door though. Observing you with attentive eyes, the same from earlier, as if he’s trying to memorise your traits with utter accuracy, knowing he won’t be seeing it for at least the whole day ahead. You should suggest he takes a picture, it’ll last longer. But you’re overwhelmed with a vague wave of sadness, suddenly, so close to the parting from him and so unready for it.

You don’t know if he sees it, senses it, if when he kisses you hard on the mouth it’s to make himself feel better or if it’s just for you. It works in any case. Your heart filled up as it’d been, with lust and affection and something that can’t be but is so akin to love.

“I wish you didn’t have a class-“

“Do you want me?” He asks in a breathless whisper. The question is ridiculous, the answer being so fucking evident, you’d hit him to the side of the head if you didn’t like so much how intimate, how sexy he sounds murmuring against your lips.

You nod. Realising as you try and fail that he’s stolen all air from you -and probably a few other things like your heart and sanity along the way.

“Can you be quiet?” His hands have already dropped from your face, attached to the hem of your pants, hurried fingers proceeding to open them up. The situation in its entirety with the environment, with the people outside at most a dozens of meters away, the awkwardness, the everything can’t hit you, can’t take a sensible shape. No information able to be treated because of him, his everything, the whole lot that he is, infuriating, dizzying, shattering, moving. All you know is that you can be quiet, you can be whatever he wants you to be right this instant.

“I’m sorry for being so terrible at all that-“ He starts, sincere but light, amused, comfortable with you -and that’s the nicest look you’ve seen on him. “I’ll make it up to you until later when I- can really make it up to you.”

It’s funny to see the two facades of his personality clash like that. He’s apologising, red in the cheeks, but also a mouth, reshaped by a confident fatal crooked smirk, stating promises as facts.

How does he know he’ll make it up to you? How does he know he’ll make you feel good enough you’ll forgive his clumsiness?

“I’ll need more than five seconds, Jeon.” That makes him chuckle silently, shaking his head and squinting in defiance.

“You’ll need hardly more than that.” He says, dragging your pants and your panties at once, down a few centimetres.

Heat burns your face as air hits your centre. It feels shockingly exposing even if he can't see much from up there, with your shirt down, with little to no light coming from the curtained window and his large hand, that doesn’t wait for a second, slipping in between your thighs, covering your mound instantly as his mouth covers yours.

He’s right. This fucker.

You don’t time but you know he makes you come incredibly fast.

First starting by sliding a lone finger in your heat to quickly realise that you are soaking wet, sloppy to be exact, perfectly able to fit at least two and probably a third one easily. And he obliges so, filling the torturous void, fucking you with them slowly, dragging the pad of his rough fingers along your walls, teasing your sensitive entrance with lovely, lovely strokes. The sound -and he has to slow down to keep it quiet enough- is obscene. You don’t remember the last time you’ve been so fucking turned on. Dripping down your legs and unto his hand.

He spends only a few minutes on that, on fucking you nice and open when you both know he won’t even be able to fill you as you both wish he would until, well, some undefined time. It should be revolting, that thought, sort of a quick, immediate satisfaction for a long term painful wait.

But then his fingers leave your hole to migrate to your clit, as engorged as ever, as it’s not been for a long, long time, all of this for this stupid crush, from this stupid man, from his kisses and his scent, and his purposefully neglecting to give it attention. A few strokes only, fast and hard, messy and desperate with a sweet pet name he’s never used but fits so nice from his lips press to your ear and you’re coming, hole kissing emptiness, it sucks but you're invaded with so much content, legs shaking, heart beating fast, remnants of the orgasm reshaping the whole stance of your body, feels like you've just moved in an entirely new one, and head dizzy, feeling in love.

“Told you.” He’s chuckling to himself. Full of himself as he wipes you clean with a teeshirt he just picked up from an open travelling bag.

“Shut up, Jungkook.” You groan. One hand holding onto his bicep while his owns diligently tie back your pants, fixing you like nothing happened. The orgasm has been so good, it devoided you of all strength and energy you may have had.

You need to leave. Or more precisely, he needs to leave and meet the class, take them away probably in the forest so that you can escape and flee back to the castle. It’s inevitable.

You close your eyes for a second. Trying to empty your head, focus on breathing properly again, hiding how upset you feel. It’s not that dramatic. Surely, you’ll catch him again, today probably, later, tonight, but you feel so upset. Like a little girl. You don’t want to leave him yet.

Jungkook calls your name softly. You open your eyes, biting on your lip to contain all the emotions wanting to spill out right under his nose.

“Do you like me?” This time you have to throw a punch to his side -it hurts your knuckles more than it does him- because how dare he ask and look so unsure of the answer. “Well, I don’t know- I don’t- you never know with women and- and like- I- you never said-“

“I’ve liked you for two years, Jeon Jungkook.”

“Two...?”

You see the gears rolling, slowly, unsettled by big knots of confusion. You’re sweet, you’re generous and you just came in his hand, literally, so you have no issue admitting -with only a slight blush on the apple of your cheeks, “When you first came for the Triwizard Tournament.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t-“ Again with the apologies. With the looking so pitiful, with the guilt, with the him being so lovely of a man, especially when he’s so big and covered in all those warlike scars.

“Well you had this in your eyes anyway, would have been hard to notice me.” You joke, stealing one of the locks hiding behind his ear and tickling his eyelids with it. He scoffs, smiling before he slips it back where it was.

“Thanks to Taehyung, I have a hair tie now. So that I can see you better.” He’s beaming, staring at you fondly, it’s insufferable and you look away, embarrassed as ever because those big eyes being just yours, admiring you -for what too?- are hard to handle. You need practice.

“Is it your dragons teaching you all this cheesy garbage-“ He cackles at that, not even letting you finish and you’re loving the idea that it’s you causing that. “You need better wingpets.” He laughs even harder, you’re grinning even harder until a screech, ear-splitting, resonates through the whole surrounding forest. For a second you wonder if it’s not just Tina throwing a fit because she heard how her master is having so much fun with someone else than her but there’s a commotion following and what sounds like a seventeen-year-old Slytherin boy losing his shit, yelling and crying, and alarm takes over Jungkook's face.

“Can I see you tonight?” He asks in a hurry and you nod. “I’ll meet you in your room after I trained-“ A big smooch to your lips. “Actually maybe before, I don’t know, I-“

“Just go, Jungkook.” His eyes say something his mouth can’t, you can read the trepidation, as he sprints to the door, gaze not leaving you.

You can’t be sure a hundred per cent but you’re almost certain he just told you that he really likes you too and suddenly, you don’t feel as upset as you did, knowing you will find him back later.

« Thanks for earlier. »

For a second, you don’t know what he’s referring to. Until he points a finger towards his crotch, a little flush showing on his cheeks, where his hair doesn’t reach.

That makes you laugh. You shrug your shoulders, waving his thank away because of course, you wouldn’t let him run in the middle of a class full of teenagers with a rock hard cock showing through his pants.

Too focused on the possible catastrophe happening in his front yard, he didn’t seem to realise, if any discomfort or pain ever existed he couldn’t acknowledge it but you surely did.

After having it pressed to your crotch, having felt its hardness and its heat, there’s no way you’d be able to just stop thinking about it. Then in the cabin, with your tingling cunt and sticky panties, and the whole day ahead, no matter how far away from him you were, physically and supposedly mentally, it’s just all you could think about.

Blushing incessantly at the least stimulating moments. Gagging back giggles whenever a word, a touch, a smile of his recalled itself to you, and this in front of confused and suspicious eyes.

The whole day was a pain. It simply wouldn’t roll fast enough.

Now here you are, standing in front of him, not recognising him fully. He’s hiding behind his hair again. He’s quiet and awkward like he too forgot how to talk to you.

Maybe that’s what you get for meddling with him so quickly. Suppose you get separated for a short dozen of hours, he becomes a stranger again.

It’s an awful feeling. Seems like maybe you made it all up. The comfort, the noncommittal love and adoration, the ease, the lust, the warmth. Maybe all of it was just a hazy dream. Made up yesterday evening by alcohol and this early morning by fatigue.

Here you are sober and empty of any other commitment and you can’t picture how you could have gotten to that special place and how to find it back if it ever existed.

“You’ve let your hair down.” You simply say. Maybe it’s your way to point out aloud how you feel like you’ve been thrown a thousand steps back. He’s hiding behind his hair, being unreachable again.

“Yeah, I just- they were all staring so I felt awkward-“ You mean to interrupt, let him know because you’re sure that he doesn’t (the boy from the bar yesterday didn’t know) that if they were staring it’s because he is that beautiful and certainly no one has expected that. “I wanted to tie it back for now but I lost the little thingy.” You take a step forward, closing some of the distance between him standing against the wall and you in the middle of your room. The more you hear his soft voice, the more you recognise him. “I hope Taehyung won’t be mad, I can buy a new one for him.” You could probably point out that Jungkook probably did not lose anything. That probably Taehyung used a charm and like any of those, the object you didn’t pay for, that materialised itself from thin air, simply disappeared after some time. Maybe you’ll tell him later. Right now you’re close to him again, so close you can catch a glimpse of an eye under the pretty locks. Your ears recognise him, your nose too, and you’re impatient to see if your fingers would too.

You reach up, catching his fringe in between your fingertips and dragging them behind his ears, opening the silky curtain and smiling to yourself, eyes almost blurry with emotion, when you see his handsome face now on display. With the pretty brown eyes, the rosy lips, the cut eyebrow and that scar on his cheek, just above his timid dimple that shows up only when it wants.

“Hi.”

“Hello.” He squeaks out, flushing. “I must look ridiculous-“ He gestures you his hair your holding hostage behind his ears, taking advantage to caress his soft skin with the pad of your thumbs.

“You look cute.” He does. He looks a bit awkward, like a boy who just finds himself with too much hair and tries to do something about it. “Very cute.” You add, beaming when you see his embarrassment grow.

“Liar.”

He catches one of your wrists in his hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss the thin skin of the inner part. Lips soft, eyes soft, voice tender. “I thought about you a lot today...” Somehow he found you back too. He feels comfortable saying this while you’re sure he’s not used to it. Therefore even if you hate it, you can’t help but admit it. That you too, obviously, could only think about him the whole day. “I’m not here to stay forever, ___.”

Your airy smile flatters until it disappears completely.

Way to ruin the mood.

He senses it. Press the hand leaving his face back against his cheek, pressing the second one to his mouth again as if he could bring you back to him and forget all about what he just implied.

Obviously.

Obviously, his life is not here, in Hogwarts. He’s not a professor, he doesn’t want to become one, he’s here for a project that has a defined limited time - Mrs Umbridge made sure of it. He’s an adventurer anyway. He only knows forest and lands and mountains and mythical creatures, extreme weathers and dangerous places.

Obviously, you two only properly met a few days ago, only started to get to know each other less than 24 hours ago, it’s too soon to be in love, too soon to be so attached that a separation would feel that devastating. But even if you’re not, you feel in love. You feel wonderful in his arms, under his gaze, with his pretty smiles lighting on you and his sweet voice rocking your heart.

It’s so upsetting to think about. You don’t want to. Just him hardly bringing it up makes you so upset you could cry.

“But I- I know that you know that already. Maybe it’s clear for you that- we can’t-“ The more he talks the less sense he makes. Every syllabus seems dragged out of his mouth. He struggles so bad, your hand distractingly playing with the neck of his shirt, only because his hand wouldn’t let it go, you can feel his beating heart through the thick vein of his neck. “What I mean to say is- I don’t know what this- could mean to you. If it means anything or it’s just- like- fun,” Your eyebrow ticks at that. How dare he? “either way I don’t mind-“ He’s quick to add. “Really! Whatever you want is fine. I just mean to say that we can’t- I mean- at some point, I’ll be very very far away so-“

“Does it matter now, Jungkook?”

The whole dilemma is not that hard to solve, on your part anyway. There’s nothing you can do about his future departing, is it? All that’s under your control is either you decide to indulge in him, have him the way you crave to, feed in this lovely thing that’s started blooming yesterday evening between you two and later on, deal with the heartbreak you’ll surely have once he leaves. Or will you deny yourself this, still get the heartbreak but way earlier on and have to nurture it for probably less long but in this peculiar case, through a thick coat of regrets.

You hate to think about it all. You hate to think about a time when he’s not going to be around, not even only appearing at the end of a hallway, not even noticing you, not doing anything special except existing and breathing the same air as yours.

It’s clear for you. He’s right here, right now, literally right under your hands, there’s no doubt in your mind that you’re going to consume as much as him as you possibly can, if only he’ll let you.

He looks worried, concerned. Not on the same page as you maybe. Guilty too. While it’s not his fault. It’s your own stupid, unpractical dumbass’s fault for falling for the only guy that lives like a fucking wild animal and is probably inept to leave his wild savage life for more than a couple of months at a time.

An attempt nibble to his bottom lip. Your eyes shut close slowly as to not squeeze a droplet menacing to fall from your eye. He sighs deeply, leaning into your mouth for a moment.

“I guess it doesn’t have to matter now.” He decides, pressing a new kiss to the relieved smile growing on you.

"Cause you had a few things to show me, I believe..." It's subtle. Sort of. The words may be but the eyes you give him are not, demanding, minxy. Your intentions are no secret to him and you can tell in the way he smirks, kissing you again, this time his warm palms holding your cheeks still. He's made up his mind too.

It's all you needed to wash it all behind. Everything that could be too heavy for your shoulders or your heart to carry right now. Anything that could affect this moment, tarnish it, make it lesser than it could be.

It just has to be good. Only good and nothing else. His hands everywhere, on your ass, squeezing, on your breast, fondling. He seems to have remembered what you like. He's not withholding, he's not overly gentle. He's still awfully tender, awfully sweet because it's just the essence of his person, you feel it in every breath you steal from him. The way he carries you so softly, sitting you down on his lap as careful as ever as to not have you tip over and fall off of the bed.

When you're so greedy and almost rude in comparison, lavishing in the position he just offered you, groaning when you feel his thick thighs stretching yours wide, grinding already, sliding forward to feel his hardness anew against you. You touch him everywhere because his body feels surreal. Hard and taut and skin boiling even through his clothes. Your hands disorganized, impatient, start by unbuckling his belt to then jump to the hem of his shirt, dragging the cloth up and off of him.

You hardly catch a glimpse of fair honey skin before the light is shut off suddenly. There's the very recognizable thud of a wand hitting the wooden floor that hints at you that he's the one who did turn it off and you want to whine and complain and maybe even argue a little, and maybe more, enough for him to turn it back on but his wet mouth is sucking at your collarbone, the indignant scold dies into an insignificant, trembling whimper.

He lets you undress him. Even if you're missing the visual, you decide you'll enjoy the touch. His skin is so soft, too soft in a few spots where you guess he's been hurt, uneven, little bumpy traits, here and there, like the trace of a road on a map, scattered all over his chest, his shoulders, his arms. He feels wonderful under your fingers. Hot and soft. He smells heavenly, encaging you as he does, you're bathing in his scent, earthy, smoky, masculine.

You have the push him away, a hand on his jaw, another on his chest to have him quit mouthing at your skin and lay his back down on the mattress. In the very dim light, you catch his shiny eyes, wide and intense as they observe you in the dark. You lean over, pressing kisses you hope as loving as his on his skin, starting from his cheek, you feel moving under your lips from him smiling, descending to his hard belly without missing a spot.

Your mouth turns extra delicate when your lips meet uneven skin, as if you could hurt him, as if he hasn't been long healed and your lips aren't the last thing that could ever hurt him, it makes him gasps and sighs though, each time, you feel his abs tighten under you, his thighs stiffen.

"Am I hurting you?" You ask quietly, even if you doubt it.

"Yeah-" He sighs and you freeze. "I mean no! No, no, don't worry."

"Are you sure?" You insist and he groans in defeat. You might be palming his cock through his pants, which you should be patient enough to wait until he answers properly if you'd honestly like an answer. But the rock hard member has been poking your thigh for too long and you can't help it. He's so responsive too, concealing poorly his groans and his moans, his whole body and cock twitchy under you.

You're close to giving him more. To give him fully what he came for. Nails grazing with intent the line where the hem of his underwears lay but not moving down further, hinting at something more but not giving in yet.

It's exhilarating to have him so docile under you, waiting, hardly patiently, for you to give him what he wants and you can tell, from how hard he is, that he really does want it. He sucks his breath in one more time, loudly, and you snickers above him, excited as you are.

Until he decides it's enough. Raising one thigh fast and hard, pushing at your ass, making you tip over with a squeal. He catches you with the cheeky chuckle you've grown to adore, rolling you unto your back so he can hover over you. You feel so tiny under him, with his strong thick arms encasing you, the line of his wide shoulders barely decipherable in the dark. Your hand follows the line, appreciating him to be so willing to be touched, always leaning onto your fingers. When it stops at his chest, your fingers mean to play a little but you're stopped in your track by the thudding hitting your palm. It takes you a hot second to realise it's his heart, being so loud and agitated, so expressive from where it's hidden. Of course, someone as reserved as him would have a heart that vocal.

"Your heart's beating so hard." You comment quietly. You don't mean to embarrass him. You don't even mean to reverse the power button hanging between the both of you. Yours in your own chest has to be causing a similar ruckus. But it's his that matters right now. You can't get over the fact that it's for you.

"Stop teasing me." He grumbles. He's not even vexed. He's embarrassed, but you hear the slim smile in his voice, a sheepish one.

"I'm not. You should feel mine." He hums against your mouth, then backs away laughing a bit.

"Smooth."

"It wasn't-" You sigh in defeat. It was not a subtle attempt to have him take care of your tits. Seriously. He's too glad to comply though, you're not one to complain.

You only have a vague notion of time passing, of things progressing. Somehow a second he's suckling on your nipples through the thin material of your top and the next, both of you are naked, panting in each other's face. Your nipples erect and still wet, occasionally rubbing against his chest, two of his thick fingers pumping in between your folds, a third one occasionally teasing the entrance, hinting at a stretch you're so greedy to feel even though you're not sure you can take; your hands wrapped around his shaft, pumping furiously, squeezing hard to have him hiss and curse against your lips, with your thumb teasing the slit of the tender slick head.

His free hand is at your neck, resting there, fingertips pressing in your skin, his thumb toying with your swollen bottom lip whenever he's biting too hard on his own to kiss you properly.

"I'm close..." You whimper, nibbling on the flesh of his thumb. He smiles vaguely at you, hooded eyes unfocused, eyebrows scrunched from pleasure. "I want you, Jungkook."

"Like now?" Fuck. You really have to like the guy a lot. He dares stop fucking you too, all attention now driven to your face. You don't say anything, your eyes telling enough. He nods to himself. "Okay, now. But uh-"

"Jungkook, sometimes you're half-useless." You try not to be mean but you can't help some snarkiness to escape. You have patience. You have a lot of it. But he just makes everything so difficult. How can you be sin and temptation embodied and at the same time, be so fucking clueless? He's like the cure but also the disease.

You roll over on your bed, grabbing a condom from your bedside table that a certain friend I don't need to name provided you with, to then face him again, brandishing the foil packet in his face.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to-" He seems confused for a second, struggling to get the thing open and you wonder if it's been as long as it's been for you since the last time he's been with someone like that, or if it's been even longer. "but-" Growing even more impatient, you jump on your knees, kneeling next to him, taking the thing from him and tearing it open for him. "You're, like, a lot."

You stay silent for probably too long, frozen, hit by his words probably too intensely.

"In a good way! In a- in a, you're- I like you a lot and it makes me all-" He's talking too much you decide. Stuttering the sweetest things you have a hard time hearing while you're both naked in your bed, so near to get even closer, even more intimate to each other in a way you're too excited about to handle any extra pandering -especially given, you know exactly what he meant. Who would have thought? Jeon Jungkook talking so much you'd have to kiss him quiet.

"How do you like it?" He asks in a whisper, kissing your jaw in a way that makes you shudder. He's making you lightheaded, so dizzy, with the stupid jumps between his sexy lust-filled self and the adorable clueless dude he can also be.

"Just- however you'll have me." You answer, ignoring blatantly that it doesn't mean much.

So he decides. Laying you down on your back, hovering you. The thought that maybe you are made for each other hits you full face then, because that's exactly how you'd like him to have you. Just like earlier, so close, so intimate, sort of intimidating, dominating too. All yours and you, even more, his, with his soft locks caressing your forehead, lips so close you hardly have to make any effort to reach, not that he lets you have your mouth for your own for too long anyway, every few seconds, claiming it with lingering kisses tasting of greed. You know you're in trouble as soon as the very tip of his cock squeezes in. It's somehow a tight fit, even with his earlier ministrations, even with the ones from this morning that made you feel loose all fucking day. Jungkook only fucks you with the head of his shaft for a while, feeling you so tight around him, savouring the sensation but also worried he'd hurt you if he were to go further.

You're on edge. On edge of a devastating orgasm, already too fucking close, and even if you could blame it on the foreplay, on your hormones or whatever else, he'd know. He'd know it's because of him, because of how much you like him, of how good he makes you feel, how much he turns you on.

You don't really care. He's already panting in your ear, groaning and moaning with tight jaws about how good you feel and how pretty you are, when he's only half of the way inside and that's more than enough. It's kind of too much. Kind of impossible to handle.

It's a mewl to the shell of his ear and the digging of your nails in his firm ass that push him further and balls deep inside you. It feels like discovering new places within yourself, places you haven't reach before alone or with someone else, brings a rush of excitement to your whole body that translates in a vice tight clench around him.

He fucks you so good, it feels so nice, his cock was made for you. His rhythm steady, rather slow but powerful, sending you a tiny bit higher on the bed at each thrust, with one arm slid behind your back, his hand wrapped around the back of your neck to hold you still enough. It's little to no effect but it drives you crazy, having him own you like that. From all those places, his dick, his thigh pressing yours higher, his hands, his mouth, his words. Bewitching, he is. Everything feels and sounds and touches him, the air you breath tastes like him.

You wish it'd last forever but it can't. Like everything that tastes that wondrous.

"Jungkook, I think- uh- gonna come." You lie because you don't think, you know you're about to come even if it's been a couple of minutes since he's started. Conveniently, the moon chooses this very moment to come out of wherever she was hiding, shining right through the only window of your suite and hitting him right in the face to bring clear light to him and to his grin, the smug grin you've only caught glimpses of. Your nails dig deeper in his flesh, he gasps lightly and bites on his lip but the smirk doesn't leave, even though it looks ridiculous with his heavy droopy gaze, his red cheeks and his heaving. He's as affected as you are. And that's that precise revelation that throws you over the edge. You mewl aloud, turned euphoric with how incredible it feels to have him keep fucking you through your orgasm, with his cock dragging along your tight, sensitive entrance with his movements.

Soon he follows. You don't exactly catch the moment, too lost in your own euphoria to decipher when his begins, but you feel the change in his thrusts, sloppy and harsher, skin slapping louder in the quiet room and once you've both bathed fully in the pleasure, came back to the now calmer, quieter Earth, you realise your ear rings with the ghost of a raw, low scream that certainly was his.

Fuck, you need to hear this again but this time with your full, undivided attention.

But another time.

Right now, you're half dead. Your hearts have just started coming down from their high. With him laying almost entirely on you. The most of his weight he safely pressed to your side but he's clinging to you, the round tip of his nose buried in your neck, hands holding you tight against him and legs intertwined with yours. Your hand has found its way to his hair, the ungodly mess, fingers gently massaging his scalp, rolling the curls in between.

"So warm..." He hums against your skin, almost purrs. You smile lazily. "Never wanna leave."

"You don't have to." It's the exhaustion that renders your filter ineffective. You know you shouldn't have said that. You know even more so when he doesn't say anything back. "For now, I mean." You don't even know how much of this is a lie. If you really were only thinking about this moment, this night or if the future you both know too well, ugly but very real just waiting its moment to play out, was also on your mind. You're too tired and concretely, fucked out, to even think properly.

"I still have four months." It's a poor consolation. You don't mean to spoil it all. After having spent such a precious, wondrous time with him, you don't want to fuck it all up but you can't help your heart from squeezing painfully in your chest, your throat from struggling to swallow down the heavy ball that's lodged up there. Jungkook senses it. You know he does by the way he holds you tighter, pressing one of those kisses, the most tender ones, at the corner of your lips. "We'll figure something out." He says with an assertion you didn't expect and don't know the origins of. Yet, you trust him and the lump in your throat decides to leave for now.

Somehow, persuaded that you and your heart are safe with him.

A/N: i can’t believe i finished this fucking monster. i need sleep. i’m sorry if it’s not super well edited, i did the 33 pages in one go and yeah. also it’s been so long since i wrote actual explicit smut, i have no idea how it turned out. 😳 let me know :)

to anyone who’s made it this far, thank you so, so, so much. you have my infinite gratefulness and i sincerely hope you enjoyed it.

i’m off to sleep, i hope you are having a wonderful day. stay safe, lots of lots of love 💜

#ksmutclub #networkbangtan #btswriterscollective #ggukienet #bts fluff #bts smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfic #bts scenario #bts fanfic #my writing #when posting will stop being so scary lmao

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mattressdemon · 3 years

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bitching about narrative design in bioware games part 2

to summarize part 1 quickly, i bitched a bit about how bioware wrote some characters and designed some parts of the narrative of baldurs gate 1 and 2. they killed the only black woman in the og bg games for a (supposedly) white man’s pain (minsc) and then offered a replacement in the form of a white woman (aerie).

while complaining about bg1 and 2 could stand all on its own, the reason i wanted to talk about those things in particular is to highlight the way bioware writes and designs characters and stories in their later titles, like mass effect, but especially dragon age. i do particularly pick on the writing of david gaider and lukas kristjanson and a little bit on patrick weekes, but this is not meant to be a personal jab at any of them or say anything about their character or beliefs.

overall i think a lot of the way bioware frames certain characters and manipulates the dialogue of certain characters is really more questionable than allowing for actual critical thought. the best examples of my issues with this are cullen, aveline, fenris, dorian and sera. also a special shout out for jacob from mass effect. you might notice that ive now named four characters that lukas kristjanson wrote for; minsc, aveline, sera, and jacob. that doesnt mean i dislike how he writes all of his characters: i actually really enjoy carver and joker, for example.

my issues with the way he wrote these characters directly relates to over-utilization of stereotypes, writing dialogue that sometimes sounds bizarrely out of character, and combine both of those with poor levels of representation in all of the bioware titles.

aveline, while a very enjoyable character (imho) says things that i think directly contrast how she actually thinks and feels in game. she makes many degrading and insulting comments directly at isabela (who was confirmed as a black woman by gaider) about her sexuality and i feel like its honestly really uncharacteristic of her, given how often she finds herself agreeing with a pro-mage hawke throughout the story and how strongly she feels about the real protection and care of people. this is an issue for multiple reasons:

1. isabela is only one of two black female companions in the dragon age franchise, and she does not even have black facial features (she looks pretty european to me, leaving vivienne as the only black woman in the series with black facial features). contrast that to 12 white female companions throughout dragon age including DLCS, and three white female temporary companions (not including merrill, as i already counted her).

2. isabela is expressive and open with her sexuality in a way only one other female character is, and morrigan isn’t even near to the degree that isabela is. also, isabela is bisexual, and the narrative plays hard against characters that are bisexual/pansexual and simultaneously considered slutty (they have one each game! zevran, isabela, iron bull).

3. isabela is a swashbuckler/rogue with a spotty history irt loyalty, again reinforcing stereotypes of characters that are bisexual or bipoc being untrustworthy or of dubious morality.

and none of this would have mattered if there were more black and bisexual/pansexual characters in the series. weekes’ comment about not wanting to make solas black and bisexual because he didnt want to fall into a stereotype? null and void if there were more black and/or bisexual characters in the franchise. representation matters.

i love fenris too! and you know what i hate? people writing GOTCHA dialogue that doesnt even fit a character just to push a devils advocate agenda.

the conversation in question is between fenris and anders in act 2.

fenris: there, your magic would be a mark of honor. apprenticed to the right magister, you would do well.

anders: so they all do those things?

fenris: just the ones who don’t complain about how powerless and persecuted they are.

“just the ones who dont complain about how powerless and persecuted they are” shut the fuck up. why would this come out of fenris’ mouth at all, ever? bruh gaider wrote his storyline, he knows this doesnt make sense. he has to. doesnt he???

and i feel like da2, but especially inquisition, does this a lot. they shove a lot of dialogue into the game that kinda gives you a GOTCHA sorta vibe, like they’re just tryin to snag the inquisitor on bs.

this happens with dorian in inquisition too. if you play a dalish elf inquisitor, theres an entire conversation with him about slavery in tevinter. while the game spends the entire narrative effectively shitting on a dalish inquisitor for being proud of their dalish culture and heritage, dorian is often praised by the narrative for being nationalistic and proud of tevinter’s culture and history. in the conversation, it feels more like dorian is talking at the inquisitor rather than having a thoughtful and engaging discussion about slavery and why his perspective on it might be different. i dont have screencaps off hand atm, but it’s right there in the game, if you have a copy, go play it.

in contrast, in dragon age origins, you can have a conversation with leliana with a dalish warden wherein she says some hurtful things about dalish elves, things that are typically associated with real life stereotypes about indigenous people, like them being “savage” “brutish” or “lazy”. and by the end of the conversation, no matter what you say or do, she apologizes. she says she was wrong to say those things, and she’s sorry, and she won’t do it again. that’s an effective dialogue about serious issues in a video game!!!! not whatever bullshit that dorian conversation was.

and last but not least: sera and jacob. sera is a great character, and yet, she is the only companion who you can actively dismiss / rudely ask her to leave the inquisition throughout the entire game and in every single conversation. the narrative frames this 20 year old (she is YOUNG!!!! who ISNT annoying sometimes when they’re young???) lesbian as an irritant, and most people walk away from inquisition disliking sera. consistently ppl shit on sera throughout the game, and the narrative itself likes to make her an enemy to the inquisitor, make it feel/seem wrong that she constantly questions authority, when so many other characters are shown in a positive light for doing and saying the exact same shit she does. this is part of a larger issue bioware has in general with writing elven women in dragon age (see also the framing of merrill in da2 and velanna in the expansion for origins, awakening).

do i even have to start on jacob? black man with a heart of gold and a deadbeat, creepy, abusive father? then he “cheats” on shepard in mass effect 3 and the narrative gives you the option to punch him? he didn’t even know if shepard was going to be released from custody!!! he knew the reapers were coming and he didn’t know if he would ever see her again!!!! of course some people will feel his actions were a betrayal, but its all ignorant of the circumstances he was in. its not no two years thought dead thing that everyone is okay with excusing (virmire romance), but it’s certainly fucking close.

tl;dr: i hate how bioware frames characters and designs narratives sometimes. if someone ever reads this that works at bioware: please hire more bipoc and queer designers.

#aveline critical #fenris critical #dorian critical #bioware critical #notes #sunni

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highladyluck · 3 years

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“Magic Dagger Curse Is My Middle Name” & Human Evil in Wheel of Time

Part 2 of a series of essays on the theme “Tuon is Mat’s Replacement Shadar Logoth Dagger”. (Part 1 was “Stealing Is The Way to Mat Cauthon’s Heart”.)

This discusses the many parallels Tuon has to Mat’s dagger on a symbolic level, covering both her and her role as leader of Seanchan. But mostly, I talk an extraordinary amount about how the Shaido, Whitecloaks, and Seanchan reflect the archetypal in-universe human evil of Shadar Logoth.

Magic Dagger Curse Is My Middle Name

Tuon Athaem Kore Paendrag (now Fortuona Athaem Devi Paendrag) has a lot of names, and I'd found puns or references in most of them. There's the "Lady Luck" pun of "Empress Fortuona". There's the very appropriate "Kore" (Persephone's and Tuon's pre-kidnapping moniker, meaning "Maiden") for a girl who gets kidnapped and dragged through both the human underworld (a circus, and a dive bar that's literally called a hell) and the death-related underworld (a literal ghost town full of ghosts, and the hell of guerilla warfare). There's "Devi", a reference to divinity, which replaces "Kore". Paendrag is of course an Arthurian legend reference.

But the one name I never quite understood was her only other permanent name- "Athaem". The 13th Depository Blog suggests it was meant to evoke both "athame" - a knife or dagger used in magic rituals - and "anathema" - a curse, especially one that exiles someone. Go on, let that sink in. Tuon's middle name is "Magic Dagger Curse". Tuon "Magic Dagger Curse" Paendrag. Fortuona "Magic Dagger Curse" Paendrag. I CANNOT EMPHASIZE ENOUGH THAT TUON'S ACTUAL MIDDLE NAME HAS ACTUALLY BEEN "MAGIC DAGGER CURSE" THIS ENTIRE TIME.

Basically that's all I actually need to say here to prove that Tuon is the symbolic return of Mat's sexy cursed magic dagger that isolates the bearer via paranoia and suspicion, but let's throw in some of the other parallels just for fun and so you have time to recover from the psychic damage I just dealt you. There's some fun ones just around rubies specifically and the color red.

The Shadar Logoth dagger has a large dark ruby on it, the size of Mat's thumbnail. Mat estimates it would buy a dozen farms back home, and when Mat first meets Tuon, he notices she's 'wearing a fortune in rubies'. Also, before she becomes Empress, Tuon's signature color is red; she's got red fingernails, red and a very dark green are the imperial colors as seen on the Deathwatch guards, she buys a lot of red silk in Jurador, and presumably the roses in the Raven and Roses imperial sign are red, as she treasures Mat's present of red silk rosebuds. (Interestingly, she starts going more blue once she becomes Empress- I'm thinking specifically of the blue nails and dress she has when she declares maritime Ebou Dar her capital.)

Tuon also has other physical similarities to edged weapons in general, and the dagger specifically. Like the dagger, she looks ornamental but could absolutely kill you. Mat describes her hands as "bladed like an ax" when she strikes a footpad in the throat to save him. She's also sharp, in the sense of being very intelligent and canny. Also, she could learn to channel, and in being a sul'dam is a conduit for magic, so she fits that aspect of the dagger as well. And, last but not least, like the dagger, Tuon is a fascinating and deadly artifact of a powerful civilization that embraces a uniquely human form of evil.

Shadar Logoth as Ultimate Human Evil

In the books, Shadar Logoth is our loadstone for what is described as a specifically human kind of evil, separate from the absolute, somewhat abstracted "evil for evil's sake" that is the province of the Dark One. The Dark One's ideology as practiced by humans ends up being nihilism, or rather, self-interested nihilism. (Ishamael isn't a pure nihilist, he's ok with getting worldly power while there's still a world.) In contrast, Shadar Logoth's downfall is a kind of corruption; evil things done in the name of, and for the sake of, good things. There are other cultures that do that, of course, but Shadar Logoth is the purest example of 'the ends justify the means', since their 'end' was fighting the Dark One.

"The victory of the Light is all. That was the battlecry Mordeth gave them, and the men of Aridhol shouted it while their deeds abandoned the Light. [...] No enemy had come to Aridhol but Aridhol. Suspicion and hate had given birth to something that fed on that which created it, something locked in the bedrock on which the city stood." -Moiraine, The Eye of the World

The goal of opposing the Dark One (an abstract idea of evil) at any cost led them to turn on and destroy not just their allies but ultimately each other.

Mat's Shadar Logoth dagger is a part of Shadar Logoth that has most of the powers of the whole. When carried by an individual, it can brainwash, induce (semi-justified) paranoia, kill via corruption, and infect others. These are all powers associated with Aridhol/Shadar Logoth. About the only thing the dagger can't do that we see other elements of Shadar Logoth do is shapechange or snatch bodies (#JustMordethThings) and move semi-instinctually on its own (like Mashadar). Shadar Logoth is established as Peak Human Evil, an evil so archetypal it has undergone a sort of dark apotheosis and become both a physical and metaphysical force.

Because it is so archetypal, we should expect to see aspects of it reflected in other Randland cultures that are antagonistic to our heroes, but which are not explicitly pledged to the Dark One. We should also expect to see the same part to whole dynamic in those cultures' leaders. Rand is a great example of this part-to-whole dynamic; as the Dragon Reborn who is 'one with the land', he struggles against increasing paranoia and self-hatred, which leads him to act as his own antagonist for much of the series, even as he explicitly fights against the Dark One. It's the Shadar Logoth struggle writ large. Therefore, the leader of a corrupted, Shadar Logoth-esque culture will be a powerful and faithful representative of the traits of that culture; you could say they are the purest expression of that culture.

This is a tenet of Robert Jordan's worldbuilding and narrative, and applies to more than just the antagonist leaders; protagonist leaders also stand in practically and symbolically for their culture or group. Over the course of the series, nations and groups end up led by the 'best' people for the job, where 'best' is some combination of 'most representative', 'most competent', and/or 'best adhering to their culture's ethical tenets' (which often happen to be our protagonists). This has the possibly unintended/unconscious effect of justifying autocracy, monarchy, etc in-world because it's all adhering to aristocracy, 'rule by the best', where 'best' is rather culturally relative. It's also an artifact in-universe of the world moving to a wartime footing; anyone who isn't the best person for the job gets tossed out of the way in the name of prepping for Tarmon Gai'don, by some combination of The Will of The Pattern as well as actual effort on the part of our heroes.

On a more meta level, Robert Jordan's choice to use third person limited points of view means we get a lot of POV characters who are very embedded in their cultures and serve as an immersive cultural crash course for the reader. They tend to be either main or secondary characters who are movers and shakers in the plot (justifying the time we spend in their heads) or there to provide an outsider reaction to main or secondary characters (again, justifying the time we spend in their heads.) Robert Jordan's writing is concerned with the use, abuse, and fluctuations of power, but it's worth noting that he doesn't give us POVs of characters who are structurally and permanently without power.

POV characters often have moments of powerlessness, either in the beginning of their narratives or at the end, but if you happen to be a WoT character who never had power and never will, RJ isn't interested in showing us the inside of your head. For example, we don't ever get a POV from an ordinary da'covale who spends the entire series out of control of their own destiny, even though that could be a very powerful outsider perspective. Instead, we get POVs from sojhin, who are movers and shakers in their own right. (These are great POVs--Karede's POV in chapter 36 of KOD is maybe my favorite of the entire series, it's a work of art--but again, there's a bias here in who we observe observing.) In a series where people bemoan or celebrate being constrained by fate and consciously question if they have free will, we somehow don't hear from those who have never had worldly power; we only hear from those who do, or once did.

(I find this disappointing, and it's one of the reasons I find it difficult to recommend the Wheel of Time books- which are obviously deeply personally significant to me, and which I find fun, interesting, and more often than not, well-written- without caveats. The series is so obviously about power and choice and the ways they influence each other, and uses third person limited POV so skillfully, that it is surprising and disturbing to me that we are not exposed directly to the point of view of those who have been permanently and structurally deprived of power. We miss an opportunity to engage with the core themes on that level, and also uncover an authorial bias that hasn't aged very well and which makes me look at some of RJ's other choices with a more jaundiced eye. I believe WoT would have been stronger and richer thematically if it had grappled directly with the realities and perspectives of those who remained powerless throughout the events of the series. And whether it was an unconscious or deliberate choice to leave out those perspectives, not having them there lessens my trust and acceptance of Robert Jordan's takes on power and choice. But I digress!)

Heirs of Shadar Logoth: The Shaido

So, there are other antagonist cultures that we spend a lot of time with but which are not explicitly allied with the Dark One (though we are always shown their leaders being subject to the Dark One's influence, through their advisors and high-ranking coworkers, who are Darkfriend characters that have positions of structural power and influence.) Overall, the Shadar Logoth archetype means we are looking for structural corruption, fear, hatred, and the cultural belief that the ends justify the means. In-universe, that's what human evil looks like, and we expect to find it in our secondary antagonists.

So let's take a look at the Shaido, who are attempting to recapture a glorious (fictional) past by imposing a corrupted version of their original values on others; the Whitecloaks, who spread authoritative dehumanization and bigotry in the name of order and righteousness; and the Seanchan, who have the dubious distinction of doing *both*, which is why they win the door prize for Most Problematic Antagonist Who Isn't Literally Allied With The Dark One.

The Shaido are an example of a corrupted culture that imposes its corruption on others, especially others that do not meaningfully consent to be assimilated. Their corruption starts with suspicion and fear and leads to brainwashing; they choose to believe a lie because it is more palatable than the truth, and because they fear becoming powerless and losing their cultural identity. They and the Aiel that joined them cannot accept Rand's truth bomb about the origins of the Aiel as pacifists. It's an idea so counter to modern Aiel self-image and culture that the secret was carefully hidden and used as a test of character for Aiel leaders.

In the test, the knowledge that they had betrayed their original ideals to survive was presented in the original emotional and logistical contexts, which may have helped the Aiel who went through the test survive learning about it; it's easier to empathize and overcome fear and disgust if you know why people made the decisions they did. To survive, and to self-govern, the honor-bound Aiel leadership has learned to forgive themselves for their corruption, while not losing the lessons they learned from it, and empathize with people almost entirely unlike themselves. (How effective are they at that? Your mileage may vary.)

Normally, only those who could accept the information could reach the highest leadership roles. Sevanna, whom the Shaido exodus coalesces under after the death of Couladin, is the only Wise One who didn't go through that testing process (she got in on a technicality), which makes her uniquely qualified to lead the group that can't accept this information. Like that group, she lacks humility or the ability to accept unpleasant truths; however, she's self-confident, politically skilled, culturally competent, and has a clear vision for her people, which are the other qualities that the Aiel select for in their leaders. (I cannot believe that today I woke up and said nice things about Sevanna!)

She's presented as somewhat 'corrupted' by wetlander ways, greedy for wealth and power, but I think it's more that she's off the leash of strict Aiel morality; she goes on a reign of terror, taking more than she needs of any resource, and capturing non-Aiel and keeping them as permanent gai'shain. This is clearly slavery in a more modern sense. The Aiel proper have a sort of ancient-style slavery, based on taking prisoners of war, that is time-bound, highly regulated, and that everybody more or less consents to by living in that society. (I say more-or-less; not sure your average civilian Aiel precisely consents the way a warrior might consent, but then again, everyone in Aiel society is a little bit of a warrior.) Sevanna's unconsenting, permanent, non-Aiel gai'shain are a clear violation of all of these tenets, and resemble the bodysnatching and invasive nature of the Shadar Logoth evil. Fear turns into hatred of both kinds of uncorrupted Aiel (the originals, and the modern) and of those groups of people who are not like them. In the end, the Shaido dissolve, their corruption having weakened them so that they fall prey to outside forces.

Heirs of Shadar Logoth: The Children of the Light/Whitecloaks

The Whitecloaks are an obvious heir to Shadar Logoth, as they persecute channelers and anyone they consider a Darkfriend in the name of order, righteousness, and the Light. Whitecloaks represent the paranoia, assassination, and brainwashing powers of Shadar Logoth, and insofar as they have assimilated Amadicia and make forays across borders, they also cover invasion, though to perhaps a smaller degree than the Shaido (or the Seanchan). The Whitecloaks are also good intentions, corrupted; yes, Darkfriends are bad, yes, the Light is good, no, not everyone you don't like or who has power you want is a Darkfriend! They turn neighbor against neighbor, harrass, torture, and murder the innocent as well as the guilty, and generally do all the bad behavior you would expect of a military quasi-religious order that considers itself above the law. Also, Mordeth/Fain literally got his grubby hands all over the Whitecloaks early in the story and made them even worse.

Galad is a really good example of the 'best man for the job' ending up in it; Galad's extremely uncompromising morality is most likeable and practical when he's fulfilling a 'reformer' role in a group that really needs it, and when he's not in that role, his entire deal can feel excessive and alienating. (Although I will note that if you think about how his mom abandoned him to pursue what she was told was her duty, and his dad was a real asshole, you can kind of see why Galad has such a strict moral code and won't let something like family or feelings get in the way of carrying out his duty... anyway just having feelings about Galad, don't mind me.) When leading the Whitecloaks he recalls them to their original ideals and purpose, which is literally fighting the Shadow on an actual battlefield, and makes them hew to ethical standards from the original Lothair Mantelear text and his own personal extremely high standards.

He purifies the Children of the Light, insofar as they can be purified, purging the corrupt people and practices. This allows the Whitecloaks to ally with the Light, rather than sitting out the Last Battle or killing important Light-allied groups. But the Whitecloak channelerphobia is not going to be eradicated so easily, and that's mostly what Galad’s family was objecting to about him joining the Whitecloaks in the first place. And even Galad starts to succumb to it by the end of the series, although to be fair the White Tower had definitely done a number on his family by that point. Post-Last-Battle, Galad is really going to have to grapple with 'what is the practical purpose of a bunch of armed busybodies who think they're better than everyone else and who have a very deep-seated hatred and fear of channelers?' One hopes he'll convert them to a peaceable monastic order doing community service. If anyone can do it, it's probably Galad, but I think it's not going to be easy and it's also not clear to me if Galad is going to have the same opinion about the necessity that I do.

Heirs of Shadar Logoth: The Seanchan

So, now we come to the Seanchan, who are a rich, complex, fascinating culture that combines the best and worst thematic elements of both the Shaido and the Whitecloaks. Twice the fun, twice the flavor! Like the Shaido, they are the corruption of an honor-based culture that now assimilates other people and cultures without their consent. The Seanchan have a strongly-held honor system that uses public and private shame as a deterrent to unethical behavior, similar to ji'e'toh, but like the Shaido, they apply it to conquered peoples under duress; even if the Seanchan themselves are ok living this way, there's no real consent happening when they conquer.

Like the Shaido, the Seanchan claim to be the true heirs of an ancient legacy, the children of the child of Artur Hawkwing, but have spent enough time in Seanchan to absorb all sorts of concepts Artur Hawkwing never had (slavery, taming weird beasties, exploiting Aes Sedai rather than just avoiding or fighting them). Their culture is also built on convenient fictions; the knowledge that sul'dam can learn to channel, and that some can be held by the a'dam, is likely to produce a truth bomb down the line, one way or another. And the Seanchan are an imperial power, which means they automatically follow the natural growth and rules of empire; always be expanding, always be consuming, always be exploiting. They're Mashadar, baby!

Let's zoom in on the slavery, since that's one prong of what makes the Seanchan evil. It's a kind of bodysnatching and brainwashing, and there are some really interesting parallels here to the Shaido and Aiel. The Seanchan have three forms of institutional slavery; so'jhin, da'covale, and damane. So'jhin, hereditary upper servants of the upper class, have the most power and are analogous but not precisely equivalent to normal Aiel gai'shain. Like standard gai'shain, they are considered property that can be traded, have some level of autonomy and ability to direct their lives, certain rights and privileges, and in theory can be manumitted.

Unlike gai'shain, they actually can have more political power than free people. Also unlike gai'shain, they are not guaranteed manumission after a set time, and while I think the gai'shain consent issue is a little muddy (Aiel can't help being born Aiel and thus subject to Aiel raids) so'jhin are born into slavery and have therefore absolutely not consented to it. So'jhin appear to be based at least partially on Byzantine examples of high-ranking slaves, and slavery in other very complex and bureaucratic cultures where those in power needed highly competent administrators, but didn't want the administrators supplanting them.

Da'covale are equivalent to Shaido gai'shain; often (but not always) captured from other cultures, absent the rights and privileges of regular gai'shain or so'jihn, and bound to involuntary servitude for life, although they can in theory be manumitted. (Shaido gai'shain have the option of trying to escape, I guess.) They have very little autonomy and power to direct their lives. It may be possible for da'covale to become so'jihn, so again there is a kind of internal mobility/potential access to power that doesn't have an exact equivalent with the Aiel models, but that's offset by the lack of consent; da'covale can also be born into slavery. One can be made da'covale as punishment for defiance or anything else the Seanchan see as a crime, or born into it. It seems historically equivalent to ancient, prisoner-of-war-type slavery, mixed with the carcereal state; you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, or you fucked up, and that's the justification for making you a slave.

Damane have some points in common with both regular Aiel and Shaido versions of dat'sang; they are all slavery in the form of the carcereal state/slavery as an outcome of the justice system. Dat'sang are 'despised ones', usually those accused of being Darkfriends or who have committed heinous crimes. It's a punishment that is apparently permanent and unrecallable, and they are sentenced to the most shaming labor in the worst conditions. They are cast-out from the community and forced to serve it in the most degrading way. Marath'damane, channelers with the spark who are not leashed, are treated like dat'sang are, in that they are cast out of their communities and shamed for their 'crimes'. Once they are leashed, though, they become integral parts of Seanchan society and are told to take pride in the service they can provide, which is very unlike the dat'sang cultural experience. Damane are enslaved and exploited for their talents, ostensibly to keep the general population safe from their magic powers and their potential political power, but also because they're an incredibly powerful military and infrastructure resource.

The first damane was created out of a combination of fear, greed, and hatred. One Seanchan-local Aes Sedai captured a rival and brought her to Luthair Paendrag, who she knew would be receptive to constraining the power of channelers. What she didn't count on was that solution being institutionalized, and that she'd eventually fall prey to it herself; a classic Shadar Logoth "do a shitty thing unto others and eventually you'll just be doing a shitty thing to yourself" move. Both the existing Seanchan population and Luthair's group had already othered, hated, and feared channelers, the Seanchan possibly for logical contextual reasons (seems like the Seanchan Aes Sedai were all independent Americans who didn't want to be governed by a universal code of ethics or subject to institutional oversight, which is not conducive to living in a society), and Luthair because of Ishamael’s original corruption of Artur Hawkwing.

In the end, the combined Luthair group/original Seanchan institutionalized their channeler bigotry, saying that the ends (preventing channelers from exploiting non-channelers) justified the means (exploiting channelers). Damane are never, ever freed and now the Seanchan think of channeling independently as inherently a corruption and a crime; something that makes the involuntary channeler evil and unhuman. They also break channelers, brainwashing them into thinking that this is for their own good (and not just for the good of the state).

(Another meta aside: Because involuntarily channeling is a genetic trait that the channeler has no control over, leashing damane feels to a modern reader, especially US ones, I think, very much like the race-based slavery of our recent past. Especially the idea that the enslaved person is enslaved as a punishment for a crime; this is something that would hit a US reader pretty hard, given that the US's booming prison population is the only legal slave labor force in the US and is also disproportionately made up of people of color. I am pretty sure that explicit parallels between racist slavery and the practice of leashing damane would be supported by Robert Jordan, especially since he literally put the Seanchan on post-apocalyptic North and South America. They have other influences, including Imperial Japan and Imperial China, and the Byzantine Empire, but in this way, and also because of the Texas accents, they are very, very American.)

The Seanchan are also similar to the Whitecloaks; they're both military groups who hate and fear channelers, and they are particularly susceptible to paranoia and assassination/extrajudicial murder. The Shadow didn't have any trouble infliltrating either the Whitecloak command structure (especially the Questioners) or the Seanchan Blood; there's a certain background level of 'the ends justify the means' going on in Seanchan and Whitecloak power centers that makes them fertile ground for recruitment. The Whitecloaks and the Seanchan both have a kind of secret police; Questioners and Seekers (they even have similar names!) who operate under certain strictures with respect to their upper management, but who can basically do whatever the hell they want to ordinary people. And I'm sure I don't need to tell you that secret police are PEAK Shadar Logoth; they were always judging everyone else, generating paranoia and mistrust.

The Blood and Imperial family are also a really great example of Shadar Logoth values creating a (somewhat) functioning society full of extremely fucked-up people; the more power you have, the more delicately you have to step and the harder you have to watch your own back. The higher up you go, the less trust you are able to have in others, until you reach the point where people are sending assassins after an imperial baby, and the imperial baby grows up thinking that's completely normal and fair and it's their fault if they are ever not good enough to dodge it. (Hi, sorry, please excuse me and my many, many feelings about Tuon.) That kind of thing makes you very, very sharp, assuming you survive; it also makes you very inured to violence and most comfortable when you've got a high baseline paranoia going at all times. It puts you in danger and it gives you the means to survive danger; it's very Shadar Logoth dagger, which attracts Darkfriends but also gives you the ability to sense the Darkfriends right back, and incidentally stab the hell out of them.

A Part With the Power of the Whole: Tuon and the Seanchan

So, we have all the sins of Shadar Logoth united in the Seanchan; they're invaders, they brainwash and bodysnatch, they're paranoid, they assassinate and murder, they've institutionalized hate and fear, they're structurally corrupt in that power in their society is based on lies and exploitation, and they think that when it comes to dealing with their mortal enemies (channelers), the ends justify the means. And their leader, Fortuona Athaem Devi Paendrag, Empress of Seanchan, is indeed many of these things wrapped up in one efficient and deadly package.

She's a sul'dam and she enjoys her work breaking and training damane; she's had siblings assassinated and we've seen her kill onscreen; she's deeply suspicious, always second-guessing and skeptical (except about received values and information from her culture); she embodies and enforces Seanchan culture and power. She is all Seanchan in one person, and she'd tell you that proudly. She tries to assimilate *herself* into the state, because she thinks that's what she's supposed to do, to best serve her people. She wants to be the part that is an exact mirror of the whole, and she wants the whole to be perfect, so she wants herself to be perfect, too.

Do you see the shades of Galad, here? Like Galad, she has a strict and impractically idealistic moral code that makes her somewhat unpopular wherever she goes; she's too unpredictable, merciful, and flexible for her counterparts in the Blood (she's always surprising them with her unconventional choices) and too perfectly Seanchan for her allies (who are all horrified by the damane thing, or the da'covale thing, or the assassination thing, etc etc.) The things people grudgingly praise her for are sincerity, competence, compassion within the bounds of her ethical structure, and (sometimes) a willingness to consider new information or accept oversight, the last of which is only impressive because of how enormous her ego is and how thoroughly she's been indoctrinated to believe she's inherently correct and all-powerful.

She is the best of Seanchan, within the context of Seanchan: she survived, took, and kept power, making her the most competent imperial daughter; she's very ethical within Seanchan strictures, not striking first unless threatened, working to acknowledge and correct personal faults, keeping her word, showing concern and mercy for those she believes are suffering, being thoughtful and careful of consequences when she exercises power; she is most representative of all of Seanchan's flaws and virtues, as a sul'dam, Empress, and Lightside ally. (That said: is Tuon the most ethical Seanchan within a broader cultural context? Hell no, that's Egeanin, who goes through a long and painful process of realizing and rejecting the corrupt and nasty parts of Seanchan culture, after it rejects her.)

To conclude: just like Mat's Shadar Logoth dagger, Tuon is a fascinating and dangerous tool of a powerful, antagonistic civilization that embraces a uniquely human form of evil. Her middle name is literally "Magic Knife Curse", Seanchan is the most Shadar Logoth-y of non-Shadow-aligned antagonist cultures, and she also follows the very Robert Jordan pattern of leaders fractally reflecting the culture or group they lead.

#wheel of time #wheel of time meta #meta #shadar logoth dagger #tuon paendrag #problematic fave tuon #tuon is mat's replacement shadar logoth dagger #part 2 #shaido #whitecloaks #children of the light #galad #galad demodred #sevanna #I'm sorry this is 9 pages long in a word document #I had a lot of thoughts

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palimpsessed · 4 years

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Steel Yourself

That morning in Las Vegas when Simon gets his hair cut has been in the back of my mind for over a year, and the recent Wayward Son anniversary reread and lots of talk about hair in the server, brought it front and center. So I decided I had some thoughts and I wanted to get them out.

I asked myself a lot why Simon did this one thing at this one moment. He's let his hair grow out for a long time, probably since the summer before eighth year, or at least the summer after Watford. He's even told us: "I haven't cared enough to get a haircut."

But when Simon does cut his hair, he's still in the same bad place mentally. He still doesn't see himself in a positive light. So why the change? And why this change?

For me, it all comes down to the timing. Timing is very important in terms of Simon's hair. Throughout Simon's life, you could tell the time of year by the length of his hair. At the start of every summer, he shaved his head, and the rest of the year, he grew it out. When Simon starts at Watford, his hair is still fairly short from the previous summer: "A Trojan 11-year-old with baggy jeans and a shaved head." (This is also the look sported by the Insidious Humdrum, which Simon created shortly before being "discovered" by the Mage and taken to Watford.)

Why does the length of his hair matter? Because the shorter it is, the more vulnerable Simon is. (And I don't mean like Samson losing all his strength when his hair was cut off.)

Simon spends months completely unprotected and cut off from all contact every summer. Those summer months in the care homes, exiled from the World of Mages, and the first 11 years of his life, Simon is at his most vulnerable. He doesn't have a family or access to his friends when he's in care. He can't really use or practice his magic. And he's left open to attack from pretty much any magickal or dark creature who feels like trying their luck. (See: fit goblin cabbie and suspected bonety hunter/pervert from the beginning of Carry On.) (Simon has more than one price on his head by the time he's eighteen. And the Humdrum could attack anytime. And the Mage's enemies could hunt him down to get their revenge on the Mage.)

The only person Simon is able to contact during the summers is the Mage, and I think we can all agree that makes him significantly less safe than if he was completely cut off.

Simon is most vulnerable in summer and that's when his hair is the shortest. The drastic change, the rude awakening of being thrust back into the Normal world alone at the end of each school year is perfectly signified by Simon cutting off all of his hair. (Also, undercuts: half-shaved, half-grown. Simon, composed of halves: Normal world/World of Mages; Chosen One/Insidious Humdrum; limitless wells of magic/inability to Speak; dragon/human.)

Once Simon is back at Watford, his hair grows in; the longer he's there, the longer it gets. The more months he spends back at Watford--the only true home he's ever had, surrounded by the only people who love him--the more security he has, and the less vulnerable he becomes.

Are the summer haircuts a necessity of living in a group home "with seven other discards"? Or just something Simon does on his own? It's not really made clear, but Simon does say "I shave it", which implies some degree of agency. I don't think it's uncommon to want to change one's hair (style or color) when life gets overwhelming. (2020, anyone?) It's a great and safe way to exert control over life and self when other things feel out of control. The thing about Simon is that he has never had control over his life; that's part of what makes him so vulnerable the years he spent in care, the years he was the Mage's personal boy soldier, the years he was groomed as Baz's enemy and the Chosen One born to take down the Insidious Humdrum. The length of Simon's hair seems to be the one thing he has control over.

When Simon is most vulnerable, he cuts his hair. In his case, it's an act of defiance, of agency. Cutting his hair is a way for him to be strong, to take control.

Let's move forward in time now to Wayward Son.

Even though he's left Watford and childhood and defeated "the big baddie[s]", Simon is still struggling through a life out of his control. He has wings, a tail, and no magic. He has no direction because he thinks he was born to die. He's burdened with years and years and years of trauma that he can't find a way to avoid or properly confront and he's decided to just stop trying to do either one.

Simon starts the book at his lowest point. And his hair seems to be at its longest, even though he's also at his most vulnerable. How does this tie into the point I'm trying to make?

Simon is not taking agency in his life; he's "lying on the sofa". Life is out of control again, but Simon hasn't shaved his head this time because he's given up trying to fight back.

I think subconsciously, Simon is now trying to use his longer hair as a kind of emotional armor. Short hair has been associated throughout his life with his most vulnerable state (and the Humdrum). Simon is essentially trying to build up a sort of physical barrier to the trauma that's constantly pushing in on him; trauma that he is trying his best to run from, to not face (including quitting therapy and telling his therapist that he prefers to have his brain close "off painful corridors"). Simon tells us that he hasn't "cared enough to get a haircut", but the implications seem to be much deeper than a lack of care.

We first see the hair-as-armor technique with Baz. Baz uses most aspects of his appearance as a way to craft his careful image of control. It's a skill he intentionally adopted from Malcolm. Baz practices his facial expressions and posture in the mirror to make sure that he's able to hide his emotions from the outside world. He cares about fashion, and puts on an expensive suit when he's going into a dangerous situation the way others would put on armor. Up until Simon kisses Baz in the woods, Baz's hair is kept carefully slicked back like a "gangster...or a black-and-white movie vampire". That scene in the woods is incredibly pivotal, but not just from a SnowBaz perspective. That's the moment that Baz hits his lowest point. He's convinced he's failed at finding his mother's murderer (and we all know Baz top-of-the-class Pitch doesn't handle failure well), and he's confronted, and been taunted by, the very monsters that he's been trying his whole life to deny he's one of. He doesn't care that Simon is there to witness his breakdown; he runs off into the woods and sets the fire he hopes will kill him.

That moment in the woods is one of just a few times that Baz allows himself to be vulnerable in front of Simon. And Simon is sure to comment on the state of Baz's hair when it's not neat and tidy. (Simon is very helpful.) There's the moment Baz finds out how Natasha really died ("His hair is in his eyes"), then after sharing magic out on the lawn with the dragon ("His hair falls forward"), which leads to them sharing magic on Baz's bed later that same day. These are incredibly integral steps along the way to Simon and Baz's truce and romance. Baz has to let down his guard so that Simon can see his humanity, his vulnerability, and recognize his own feelings, feelings that he's kept buried down deep because he's believed that Baz hates him and wants to kill him (and we all know what Simon does with painful thoughts). Each instance leads up to that kiss in the woods, after which Simon talks about the way Baz's "hair falls in a lazy wave over his forehead". Simon and Baz spend that night kissing and sleeping in each other's arms; they talk for the first time ever about their feelings for each other. Baz's hair is loose and wavy and not slicked back because he's let his guard down, he's let Simon in, he's let himself be vulnerable. And one of the first things Simon does when he kisses Baz is slide his hand into Baz's hair and mess it up; after kissing, this seems to be top of his list "of all the things [he's] always wanted to do to Baz".

And what does Baz do later on Christmas Eve, when he's getting ready for dinner after Simon leaves with Penny and Agatha? He slicks his hair back. It doesn't evade Simon's notice, either. (Nothing about Baz evades Simon's notice.) He "wish[es]" Baz wouldn't slick his hair back, because "it looks better when it's loose and falling around his face". Simon wants Baz to be vulnerable around him, and Baz was trying to put his armor back up when he was convinced that Simon wouldn’t come back.

Baz has more hair in Wayward Son. (I'm not even going to touch the body hair thing, so calm yourselves.) His hair is longer than it was at Watford, and he's able to grow a beard. Simon sees Baz's new, softer look as illustrative of Baz's maturity, self-assurance, and attractiveness, reasons that Baz is too good for him. ("He's coming into himself. And I'm coming apart.") But what Simon fails to recognize is that, as in Carry On, Baz's softer hair is actually illustrative of his emotional vulnerability.

Between Carry On and Wayward Son, Baz, like Simon, has grown out his hair, and he seems to prefer wearing it loose. He isn't the same boy he was in school; he has everything he ever wanted (Simon), so he can let down his guard. They're supposed to be living the happy ending neither one of them ever thought they'd get to have. He doesn't need to protect himself anymore, because he isn't living with the constant fear of being outed one way or another in a boarding school without escape. (He does still have to live with the fear of being outed as a vampire, but that concern has to be much less immediate now that he's outside of the only place that mages live together. He's under far less scrutiny in London and at university and far less likely to be discovered.)

And yet, Baz isn't happy, he isn't secure. He thinks he's going to lose Simon, that maybe he's already lost him. Baz now struggles to get his hair back under control (just like Christmas Eve), and their ill-fated road trip conspires against him at every turn. Baz's hair gets blown to hell when the convertible top breaks; Simon compares him to Mozart, then Baz compares himself to a member of a "hair metal band"; he can't use magic to tidy his hair, and even wetting it only gets him to a Bucks Fizz or Wham! equivalent; his hair gets "bushy and matted" in their fight with Jeff Arnold and his posse; Simon tells Baz not to ride in the back of Shepard’s truck because of “what the wind does to [his] hair”. (Remember the scene in the back of the truck? Yeah. Very emotional.) Baz's emotional turmoil is reflected in his diminishing physical condition throughout their trip. He finally lands on using his mother's scarf as a means of keeping his hair under control. He's trying to reclaim some of his emotional armor, because, as he tells us: "Simon Snow, it hurts to look at you when you're this happy. And it hurts to look at you when you're depressed. There's no safe time for me to see you. Nothing about you that doesn't tear my heart from my chest and leave it breakable outside my body."

Baz is in pain. He's trying to hold himself together and his hair is the perfect metaphor for this. The fact that he uses his mother's scarf to keep it under control harkens back to his method of aping Malcolm in Carry On. He turns to his parents for the means of bolstering his armor in the face of vulnerability (which we see play out much more overtly when Baz later contemplates calling Malcolm, and calling Fiona, for help with the NowNext).

(Side note about Baz's family. Want to talk about hair showing emotional vulnerability? How about Malcolm going white after Natasha died? The man is broken by his first wife's death and he never recovers emotionally, even though he's remarried and had four more children. He still can't express any emotion toward Natasha's son. Also, Fiona. With her natural white streak dead center in the front of her hair? Fiona is an absolute wreck of a human. She's volatile and self-destructive and vindictive and was also shattered by Natasha's death and before that, Nico's Turning. Both Malcolm and Fiona are permanently marked with signs of their emotional trauma with their white hair.)

I think post-Humdrum Simon has taken a page out of Baz's book, having always seen him as self-assured and completely in control in a way Simon never was. He's internalized the hair-as-armor technique as a misguided way to insulate himself from his pain, growing it out instead of cutting it off (with his "new length" being a physical representation of the barrier he's trying to make around all of the painful things in his head).

This obviously doesn't work. Simon isn't fooling anyone, not even himself.

In Carry On, Simon shaves his hair to exert control, and Baz slicks back his hair to project control. In Wayward Son, Simon uses his longer hair as a kind of shield against looking vulnerable, and Baz's longer hair reflects his vulnerability.

Wayward Son ends with Simon still in a very vulnerable state. If Simon thinks of short hair as being linked with vulnerability, and long hair like armor, then why did he decide to cut his hair in Vegas?

Because he did care enough to get a haircut; he cared enough to make himself vulnerable.

Why?

Because he's in love with Baz and he can't tell him, so he cuts his hair to show him.

Simon is being brave. He's taking a step and he's exposing himself in a way he's been too scared to do for a long time. Which is the crux of all of this: allowing himself to be vulnerable is actually a kind of strength.

The night before Simon gets his hair cut, Baz meets Lamb. Simon listens to Lamb flirt with Baz, and Baz sort of flirt back with Lamb, for hours, and can't do anything about it. When he does finally intervene, he sees them together, and he thinks Baz and Lamb are going to kiss. He thinks Baz wants someone else. He thinks Baz wants to break up with him. (He already did think so, yes, but at this point of the book, Simon has started to convince himself that they're "getting by".)

The night culminates in one of Baz's lowest points, drunk and draining birds in the hotel bath, bloodstained and forced to face the brutal reality that is his life as a vampire with three witnesses, one of whom is the love of his life. Baz doesn't ever want Simon to see him drink. He has to tell Simon more than once to leave the bathroom to try to maintain some part of his dignity and to keep Simon from continuing to watch (because Simon wants to watch).

This is Baz at his most vulnerable, and Simon is there for all of it. Again. And he wants so badly to be with Baz. But Simon is a mess and can't articulate his feelings. So he goes out and gets an expensive haircut to show Baz that he does care. He finally cares enough to get a haircut (to exercise agency over himself and his life). This is his way of trying to fight for Baz. It's completely off the mark (use your words, Simon) but it's sweet and it's well-intentioned. And it's brave.

Simon has two things in life that he's clinging to with all the power he has left in him: Baz and Penny. And that morning in Vegas, he's probably contemplating the possibility that he's going to lose Baz. (And, unless they get a break, Agatha.--Again.)

TL;DR: Simon cuts his hair, to try to get some control over his out-of-control life, to make an effort for his boyfriend, to try to bring back the part of himself from Watford who was a hero who could take on anything with his undercut ("and a belly full of magic"). It's vulnerability, but it's also strength.

Shaved or tousled, Simon Snow, I hope you get your well-deserved happy ending with Baz, and Penny, and Agatha, and Shepard. And therapy. Please, please, please therapy.

#meta #my meta #simon snow #baz pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #snowbaz #steel yourself #a heavy meta on hair #rainbow rowell #simon snow series #co/ws #awtwb #carry on #wayward #any way the wind blows

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a-simple-imagine · 4 years

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The Smarter Witch

Synopsis: You like to consider Hermione your academic rival but things begin to fall apart between the two of you when Malfoy and friends start asking questions. The reader is in Slytherin sorry.

Pairing: Hermione Granger x fem!reader (can be read as romantic or platonic)

Words: 3.5+

A/N - I’ve been rewatching all the Harry Potter Movies at the cinema recently and I think i like it more now than I ever did before. This is my first HP story so go easy on me, okay? Comments are appreciated and requests are open!!

Warnings - Swearing, excessive use of the word mudblood... i think that’s it.

"Granger," You call out, shoving your things into your bag as quick as humanly possible before charging after her. The crowd of other students growing the distance between you as you slip between them but not without almost crashing into people a bunch of times along the way. "Granger- wait." You try but she continues to walk away with Potter and Weasley beside her. You eventually manage to push your way through until you're walking in step with the trio. The girl stands in the middle, guarded by her two best friends.

"Hey," You offer them a smile, "Guess who got a perfect?"

"How?" It's instinctive to turn your nose up when it comes to Ronald Weasley. Not because of his social status like Malfoy suggests but you just found him rather... irritating. You completely ignore his question; breaking formation, you get ahead of the group and begin to carefully walk backwards so you can focus on the girl. She looked anywhere but at you, however, she had a smirk on her lips. Small but visible.

"Only because Snape favours you," The brunette proclaimed. This was routine for the two of you as of late. Always making excuses as to why the other came out on top. Only because of this. Only because of that. It was never as simple as just studying and doing well.

"You're just jealous that I'm a genius." You insist, your smile growing as you teased your own brilliance. Her head shakes a little.

"Since when were you, two friends?"

"Nobody said anything about friends Weasley-" You growl, your once happy expression morphing into one of pure distaste as you look at him. Spinning gracefully on your heel, you begin to walk normally again. "Since I'm so much smarter than you, I can help you study if you need it."

"I don't need any help from the likes of you, thank you," The likes of you? Did she mean a Slytherin? Or just someone who was smarter than her? Although you didn't actually believe you were smarter... well, not entirely anyway. Hermione Granger was often proclaimed as the smartest in your grade, didn't matter how hard you worked; you'd never quite be the promising young witch everyone seemed to think she was. Which is why you find yourself constantly competing. If you can prove to her you were smart then maybe everyone would see you as more than just a Malfoy crony.

You slap your hand against your chest just above your heart; stumbling backwards as if she just shot an arrow straight through. "Oh, how you wound me, Miss Granger. Care to share how well you did? One hundred percent?" She wouldn't have done badly at least not by everyone else's standard of bad. "Ninety maybe?" You turn back to them, coming to halt directly in front of the girl. "Merlin's beard Hermione, don't tell me you got less than eighty? That would be a travesty."

"if you don't mind, we're a little busy." She hadn't answered the question and as she walked around you, you expected she wasn't going to. "Come along Harry," she took his hand. "Ronald." And his before marching away. You watch them as they go, a smirk lingering before slipping off in search of your friends.

Come Friday afternoon and you found yourself in the great hall. The busy castle was beginning to calm and few people sat in the tables alongside the two of you. You take a sip of some water as you watch the gears in her head turn, debated her next move. At this point you already knew you would win; you always did. While everything else was more of a competition; Hermione Granger surprisingly wasn't all too hard to beat at Wizard's chess. Your Fridays together we're brilliant times to chat though, you'd often sum up any achievements from the week just to see who's doing better.

"I can't believe you beat me in history of magic again- I spent hours on that stupid essay. I basically lived in the library."

"I can help you study if you like," she offered, her eyes not leaving the board as she ordered her bishop forward. You watch as the chess piece moves along the board.

"You're not funny Granger," you tease, ordering your knight forward to take down her bishop. "Check,"

A paper ball hit the back of your head, drawing your attention away. Pansy stood with a wide grin on display, you ignored her and returned to your game but Hermione was also focused on your friend. "I think she wants your attention."

Another paper ball collides against your head. You sigh loudly before turning and mouthing 'what?'

"We're going down to the black lake? You coming?" She asked. "Or are you too busy with the Gryffindor?"

"just give me a sec." You wave her away, turning back to the other girl. "Have you moved?" She nods a little, her hair bouncing with the movements. You examine the board trying to figure out who she had moved but it didn't really matter. With a final move of your queen, the king was knocked off the board. "I do believe that is checkmate."

"I'm beginning to think you're cheating."

"Me?" You ask, pretending to be offended by the notion. "Never. How little faith you have me in, Granger."

"Slytherins are known for being cunning."

"We're not all cheating monsters, my dear sweet Gryffindor. Some of us actually have a conscience."

"I find that hard to believe," Her lips were curled into a cheeky smile. You'd never quite noticed the way her eyes crinkle when her smile is so big or how teethy it was. It was adorable.

"I gotta go- same time next week? Maybe I'll even let you win."

"I don't need you to let me win,"

"You sure?" Nothing more than a harmless joke as you stand. "How many times in a row have I won now?"

"Slither away," Hermione smiles as you back away towards Pansy. You had to admit, you did firm Hermione to be intriguing.

Being in the same year, meant you actually saw Hermione rather frequently, however, your actual interactions were limited. Yes, you played Wizard's chess together every Friday but other than that, you basically only had very short conversations. It was like being in two completely different worlds simply because you were put in different houses. This school had a weird obsession with separation by houses. You were a proud Slytherin as were you friends but your ambition to branch out was often looked at as beneath some of the others. It was dinner time and you sat at the Slytherin table but your focus was pulled towards a certain familiar Gryffindor student. She just happened to be sat in your eye line, so you couldn't help but amuse her from afar. With funny faces and playful winks. Her most common reactions were shakes of the head or rolling her eyes but you knew secretly she enjoyed the teasing.

"Are you even listening?" A sharp elbow slams into your side. You bite back a groan as you shove the boy gently.

"The hell Draco,"

"What are you staring at?" There was a particularly bite behind his words but you'd grown used to how aggressive he could come across. He was always trying to be the alpha and frankly, everyone let him be. You simply shrug at his question; grabbing an apple and taking a bite.

"What did you want?"

The grey of his eyes flickers in curiosity as he tries to figure out what had you so distracted. When you look across at Granger, she's chatting to Ginny Weasley about something.

"Sometimes I wonder if the sorting hat got it wrong with you," He muses. "Should have put you in Gryffindor since you're so obsessed with Potter."

"Says the boy who never shuts up about him." You fight back. You couldn't care less about Harry Potter or his chosen one status. You knew Malfoy hated him though; it was a little weird just how much.

"You gravely misunderstand my interest in potter."

"I don't care if you have a crush on him Malfoy," There are a few snickers around the table but he's definitely not laughing.

"Don't be ridiculous." He growled, leaving the table. It was only a joke. You follow after him along with the others.

After dinner, you're lounging in the common room. One leg hooked over the arm of the couch as you read a book all about dragons. Fascinating creatures.

"So are you and the Gryffindor friends?"

"Who?" You question. Not even looking at the blonde as he sits down beside you.

"Granger." He confirms. "Pansy thinks you have a crush or something?"

"Pansy is a liar." The joke isn't as funny when it's against you. Your feelings towards Granger was nobody else's business but your own. You were often left conflicted when it came to her. You roll your eyes, sitting up straight. "I just like proving that I'm better than her."

"You spend a lot of time with her," Goyle adds.

"So?" You finally lower your book. Your brows knitted together in a clear frown as you scan the room. A few people had invited themselves into the conversation. "I spend a lot of time with you but doesn't mean I wanna get into your pants,"

"I don't know why you associate with any of them." This was beginning to feel like a lecture. Why do they even care who you hang out with? You didn't care much for the boys but you liked Hermione. She was kind, funny and really smart. You enjoyed the little time you ultimately spent together but if you admitted that, they would crucify you.

"They'd probably say the same about you lot," you state. Bringing the large book back up to cover your face. "Now if you don't mind, I'm trying to read here,"

"You can tell us if you like her," Pansy contributes. "I mean we all know you have a soft spot for the weak."

"Are you taking pity on her?"

"Maybe she wants to start hanging out with Potter. Can you imagine?"

You grit your teeth, not at all reading the words on the page in front of you. They're just trying to get a rise out of you.

"I can't imagine anything more pathetic," Malfoy chuckles followed by a few of the others. "They're an embarrassment to the wizarding world if you ask me. Parading around like they own the place-"

"We're nothing okay?" You slap your book shut. "Not friends or secret lovers or anything, I would never date someone so.... dirty." The word slipped out before you had a chance to stop. You didn't see her that way; she was much too grand to be considered dirty. And you couldn't care less about pure bloodlines. It didn't make her any less of a fantastic witch. "I'm not joining Potter's Merry band of monkeys, so just drop it okay." Ignoring the snickers and hushed whispers, you march off to bed.

It's the Friday following your little session in the common room. You forgave them all of course; you always did. There was no point in being angry at them over some harmless teasing. You had the chessboard set up and even brought along a pack of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans but she was running late. Normally it was you showing up late; very unusual behaviour from someone known for punctuality. But as time ticked on and you were still left alone, you began to realise she wasn't going to turn up. Packing everything up, you decide it'll be best to search for her; something bad must have happened for her to not show at all.

"Weasley," you shout, jogging up to Harry and Ron who seemed to be missing their third arm. "You seen granger?"

"Why?" Asks the redhead. Harry presents you with a smile.

"None of your business," you spit at Ron. "Have you seen her or not?"

"Last we saw her she said she was heading to the library," Harry answered. You offer a grateful smile but you can't help but wonder why she's decided to head to the library. Was there a test you didn't know about? Was she trying to get the upper hand? Surely she could have just told you that instead of having you wait.

"Thanks, Harry," You skip along to the library but the journey proves pointless when you discover she isn't there either. You would be lying if you said you had searched particularly hard before giving up though. There was always next week. With a defeated sigh, you head back towards the common room. Luck must have been on your side because you spot her on the way back. Perched on a ledge with her head in a book. Typical Hermione Granger.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," you announce as you walk towards her. "I thought we were gonna play wizards chess so I could annihilate you again." The faintest sniffle hit your ears and you froze. Was she... crying? Shit. You don't do well with criers; you never know how to handle situations when people cry. It's always so... awkward. "What's wrong?"

"Go away." Her voice is quiet but echoes through the empty corridor.

"Granger?" You closer to her now, leaning against one of the stone columns.

"I said go away," Her words are harsh; she shoves her face further into the book. Was she trying to hide the fact she had been crying? It was pretty obvious at this point.

"What's up with you?" You wonder, folding your arms over your chest.

"I don't want to talk to you,"

"What did I do?" The confusion is very clear in your voice. You'd hardly even spoken to the girl recently so how could you have possibly upset her.

"You're as bad as the rest of them, now leave me alone," Sharp words as she grabbed her things and stormed off. As bad as the rest of them? What did that even mean? Pushing yourself upright, you follow after her.

"What's gotten into you?"

"Just some filthy mudblood am I?" Venomous words spat at you with the speed of a viper. You stumble back a little; she's never been so angry with you. Tears spill down her rosy cheeks."Malfoy told me what you said- Guess I should have known better considering your so-called friends. You're just as cruel as the rest of them."

"Hermione..." you sigh softly. You couldn't exactly defend your fellow Slytherin friends. "Why do you believe him anyway?"

"So you didn't say it then."

"No, I did," you shrug a little. "Well I said you were dirty, I didn't say... that word."

"Mudblood- Same thing though right? You think you're so much better just because you're of Pure blood."

"I didn't say that, I-"

"Just stay away from me." Her tone has you backing down from the fight. You consider following her as she charges off down the hall but instead, you go back to the dorms.

"You're a right git," you exclaim, storming into the room, grip tight on the book you launch at his head. Platinum blonde hair darts of the way.

"What the hell."

"You told her?" All eyes are on you as you confront him.

"What are you on about?"

"Hermione- you told her I thought she was dirty."

"Your words, not mine." Draco shrugged a little. A huff of a laugh passing his lips which pissed you off even more.

"I-," you look around, picking up a pillow and tossing it at him. "You are such a pain in the ass."

"Why do you care about that filthy mudblood, you said you don't even like her?"

"I don't even like you and yet we're best friends," You shout, looking at the coffee table you grab a mug and aim at the boy. Draco's hand shoots up in defense.

"Don't you dare throw that at me or I swear-" He fought back. You lower your hand and so does he then you throw it anyway, hearing it break as you collapse on the couch. "You don't need someone like that." He muses as he cautiously approaches the couch.

"We can't all be insufferable snobs Malfoy," you grumble, rather casually considering what just happened. "You mess up everything for no bloody reason"

"Probably shouldn't go around calling her dirty then," He argues. "I didn't make you say that..."

The boy hovers over the back of the couch and you shove him away. "I hate you."

You realise you have to be the one because Malfoy's not about to admit he did anything wrong. And you know at the end of the day it was your fault for saying it in the first place. You retire to your bed, no longer watching to deal with other people.

For the next week or so Hermione avoids you like the plague. You'd obviously see her in some of your classes but when you'd try to speak to her after, she'd rush out before you had a chance to so much as saying hi. If you managed to catch her gaze, she'd stare daggers; if looks could kill you'd be six feet under by now. You'd sometimes find her in the library, it was the one place she could cause a scene but neither could you. When you tried to whisper to her, she'd completely ignore you. You were beginning to miss the limited interaction you hard; Half the fun of studying was ultimately doing better than her in the end.

The girl was alone today, searching the shelves. The library was fairly empty and it was getting late. You take the opportunity to make some paper birds and send them fluttering over to her. One by one until she whispers yells at you to stop. You chuckle. Doing it again. This develops into a habit throughout the next couple of days. You'll send paper birds her way, just to get a reacting out of her. You start writing little messages on them too but you don't think she ever reads them before setting them on fire.

It becomes abundantly clear she's not giving in and therefore one day during breakfast you abandon your table and enter what Malfoy would consider enemy territory. Pushing Neville aside to sit next to Hermione. A bunch of lions look to you like you'd just entered their den without permission; in their defense, you never sit here. Hermione gets up to leave but not before you can grab her wrist.

"Can you please stop ignoring me," she yanks out of your grip, walking away to leave you surrounded by kids you've only ever spoken to in passing. You groan loudly.

"What happened between you two?" Ron asked.

"Do you ever keep out of other people's business Weasley or do you have some obsessive need to weasel your way into everything."

"Just tryna help, jeez."

"If you must know, Malfoy told her that I referred to her as a... y'know."

"Mudblood?" Harry continues for you.

"I called her dirty but I didn't mean it."

"Thought you weren't friends anyway," Ron wore a smirk like he caught you out or something so you just ignore him.

"Now she's ignoring me. I just want her to talk to me."

"Have you apologised?"

"How can I apologise if she won't bloody talk to me, Harry? I thought you were supposed to be smart." You comment, dropping your head against the table. "I've tried writing notes but she burns all of them. I'm running out of ideas, I can only be so charming."

"Can't really help you there," Ron replies.

"All the boys in this school are so bloody useless," you sigh dramatically, slamming your hands on the table to push yourself up. "You’re her best friends and you can't help? Pathetic."

You debate joining the others but you decide against it and leave the great hall. You're not hungry anymore.

"You really should stop sending paper birds," The voice catches you off guard, whipping your wand out before realising it's her.

"I'll stop if you talk to me again," You counter, lowering your wand.

"I'm not ashamed of my parents."

"And you shouldn't be." Your head falls, "I really am sorry for what I said, it was definitely a peer pressure thing and I was stupid." You blurt out. "Malfoy can just be a lot sometimes and I was trying to study so... I don't think you're less than just because your parents are muggles Hermione. Not even a little." You take a deep breath. "I just want my friend back."

She hesitates. "Oh, so we're friends now huh?"

"Only if you want to be," You shrug. There was part of you that wanted to say maybe you like her as more than that but you kept it to yourself; at least for now. "I understand if you don't like... I was really shitty."

"So Friday then?"

"What?"

"Wizards chess? I think I may be able to beat you now, I've been practising."

"Pfft not likely," You tease, your smile growing. "Friday sounds good."

// NEXT

#hermione granger #Hermione Granger x reader #hermione fanfiction #Hermione x reader #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #emma watson

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night-rhea · 3 years

Text

Night Rhea’s Profile

“Lets have tea one day. I will bring the tea, you will bring the view.”

Thanks @hogwartsmystory for letting us use this template!

Name: Night "Nur" Rhea

Gender: Genderfluid (They/Them)

Birth Date: 11 July 1973

Species: Human

Blood Status: Pureblood

Sexuality: Bisexual

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Nationality: British/ Turkish

Myer Briggs Personality Type: ENFJ - The Giver

THE MAGE

1st Wand: Red oak, dragon heartstring, flexible, 13″

2st Wand: Cypress, phoenix feather, unyielding flexibility, 14″

"Cypress wands are associated with nobility. The great medieval wandmaker, Geraint Ollivander, wrote that he was always honoured to match a cypress wand, for he knew he was meeting a witch or wizard who would die a heroic death. Fortunately, in these less blood-thirsty times, the possessors of cypress wands are rarely called upon to lay down their lives, though doubtless many of them would do so if required. Wands of cypress find their soul mates among the brave, the bold and the self-sacrificing: those who are unafraid to confront the shadows in their own and others’ natures.

Animagus: Black Hawk

⦁ Night’s one of the favorite thing is being in sky. No matter the weather, day or night, you can see Night in the sky or daydreaming while looking at clouds/stars. They spend little too much time as a hawk. Night’s hawk form is a regular Black Hawk with blue eyes.

Misc Magical Abilities: Legilimens, Occlumens

⦁ Being Legilimens in Rhea family is not something unexpected. Night's father Matthew realized his younger child is Legilimens when they were seven years old. But he never believed they can use it perfectly. Night didnt used Legilimency properly until their fifth year. İn two years, Night was able to use this ability without wand. Even though it was enough for them, Snape warned Night about not stopping training, and wanted them to learn Occlumency too. Yakup was already Occlumens and very skilled Legilimens, and with a threat of their also Legilimens uncle, Night didnt questioned at all. With their brother's help, Night mastered these two magical ability in years.

Boggart Form: Night had 3 different Boggart in their life

⦁ Yakup (Jacob), with dark mark on his arm and looking at Night madly.

⦁ Rowan, saying everything would be better if it was Night who died.

⦁ Theirself, covered with blood and smiling madly, with Dark Mark.

⦁ Amortentia: (What do they smell like?) Deep forest, rain, ocean, cold air, jasmine, black tea

⦁ Patronus: Hawk, Hebridean Black-Dragon (After Rowan’s death)

Dragon patronus; One of the most powerful and formidable creatures of the magical world, dragons are ambitious and dominant. With the ability to breathe fire, they quickly assert themselves, garnering both fear and respect from those around them. They are unafraid to take risks and prefer to live by their own set of rules. They are quick to lead and do not back down from a challenge. Dragons are strong in their convictions and will stand for what they believe is right. Those with a dragon for a Patronus are sure to be fierce fighters, and the Dementors better be ready for a challenge.

Patronus Memory:

Playing with Cordell, Barnaby and Atlas (@vixenmcmahenhphm ) when they were child.

The first night they spend watching stars with Talbott.

Mirror of Erised:

İn childhood: Night with Yakup, their mom and their grandfather, all standing together and smiling.

İn adulthood: All of Night’s friends and family being together and alive

Specialized/Favourite Spells:

Wingardium Leviosa

Flipendo Maxima

Colorovia

Accio

APPEARANCE

Their casual look:

How i draw their hair:

Faceclaim: Alexander LeRoy - Ruby Rose

0Voice Claim: English: Ruby Rose-Turkish: Şebnem Ferah

Night had a thick Turkish accent when they started Hogwarts but in years it disappeared. They never liked this accent.

Have loud voice, and have no control on it.

Always have a smile on their face, unless they are having really rough moment.

Weird/ funny faces are something you can see often

Their hair gets more straight and darker and as they grown

Height: 183cm in Hogwarts-last year-, 188 cm when they are adult

Weight: Heavier than they looks

Physique: With spells and potions, they change their looks/body so often.

Eye Colour: Sky blue

Hair Colour: Navy Blue/ Blue

Skin Tone: Pale

Body Modifications and Scarrings:

Four piercings in ears, one in right, three in left side

Many scars and burn marks espacially after Buried Vault

Dark Mark on left arm

Few on their neck after war

Big burn mark on their left arm (where Dark Mark was)

Inventory:

Too many tiny chocolates so they can share

Yakup's and theirs old drawing notebook

Pronoun bracelets

Their grandma's old jasmine perfume

Quil, ink and a blue tiny notebook (written in Turkish so no one knows what they are writing)

Their own Rhea locket

Yakup's Rhea locket

Fashion:

Loves buttoned shirts, but cant stand without rolling slevees up

Shorts and pants

Mostly hates skirts, but will wear it sometimes

Likes black boots, especially with heels

Sweeters on shirts, when they need to look good

Hoodies, especially on rough days

Wears binder, most of time

Dress and suits on events, depends on how they are feeling

Doesnt like makeup, but okay with eyeliner

Always wears pronoun bracelets:

Grey- They/Them

Black- He/Him

White- She/Her

ALLEGIANCES

Hogwarts House: Slytherin

Ilvermorny House: Wampus

Affiliations/Organizations:

Circle of Khanna

Order of the Phoenix

Death Eaters

Professions:

Curse Breaker: After graduating, Night worked with Bill and Yakup as a Curse Breaker.

Double Agent: İn Death Eaters, actually working for Order.

Dragonologist: After war, they moved to Romania and specialized Hebridean Black's. Night worked and lived here as dragonologist for nearly ten year.

Flying instructor: When Night moved back to England, they also started to work in Hogwarts as flying instructor, Quidditch referee, and coach.

HOGWARTS INFORMATION

Class Proficiencies:

· Astronomy: O

· Charms: O

· DADA: E

· Flying: O

· Herbology: A

· History of Magic: A

· Potions: O

· Transfiguration: E

Electives:

COMC: A

Divination: A

Muggle Studies: A

Quidditch: Chaser-Beater

⦁ Night started to play Quidditch in their second year as a Chaser. While they wasnt the best chaser, Night was enough to help Slytherin to win the Cup. They meet Gryfindor Chaser-Vixen during practise and whole year, they werent be able to be better chaser than her. The rivalry between her and Night made the dark haired kid realize maybe being chaser wasnt really something for them. in third year, thanks to McNully, they started to play as a beater, and find theirself being more succesfull than ever. After that, Vixen and Night's rivalry become more friendly. (Beginning of Nixen Au)

⦁ Their favorite practise partners are Charlie, Samantha (@samshogwarts ), Vixen (@vixenmcmahenhphm ) Andre, Orion and Rath.

⦁ Whenever Night was angry or stressed, and even flying didnt make them calm, they took the beaters bat and destroy some dummies. İn fourth year, Night injured some second year student. They were angry about Merula, and just wanted hurt something. So they went for dummies in Training Ground. Night wasnt looking actually where they was hitting, there was just the feeling of fullness . A sharp scream bring them to reality. İt was the first time they hurt someone out of anger, and unfortunatelly wasnt the last.

Favourite Professors:

Madam Hoach: She is strong and powerfull woman and her tough behavior makes Night adore her. And one quick note, Night is really afraid of making her mad. During their school life, Night interacted with her so often thanks to their Quidditch love.

McGonnagal: Even if she is not Night's head of house, Night find her much more easier to talk than other proffesors. They feel deeply guilty about the times they had to lie to her. McGonnagal and Talbott's close relationship makes Night feel even more warm about her.

Flitwick: He is someone who Night doesnt have any problem to talk. They enjoy his classes, and little chats they share. Night often share the teas their granpa send them from Turkey, and Flitwick always appreciate.

Least Favourite Professors:

Snape: No one need a reason to dislike him, but Night actually doesnt hate him.

RELATIONSHIPS

Father: Matthew Rhea

Second son of Alexander and Alycia Rhea. Known for his dicipline he got from his father, and his talent in Legilimency. İn Rhea family, the ones worth is same as their power in this magical ability. Being better than his older brother, made Matthew the golden child of family. And as you can imagine it seperated the brothers. Matthew was loyal follower of Dark Lord, a feared Death Eater. He believed wizarding world will be better with Voldemort, and never regretted for following him. Even if it cost his life.

He was never the father figure to Night. They doesnt remember him smiling to them, even for once. On Night's fifth birthday, Matthew decided to send them to Turkey, to Seline's family. For three years, Night stayed away from their home, with their grandfather and only comes back in summers when Yakup is back from Hogwarts. İn 1981 (When Night was eight years old) Matthew died in war, and Seline let Night to come back.

Mother: Seline Rhea

Youngest in five sibling, fourth daughter of İbrahim and Saadet Yavuz. Seline lost her mother when she was two, so she has no memory of Saadet. İbrahim never treat any of his child differently and loved them all same, but Seline never been close to him, or most of her siblings. Even when she was a child, she was quiet, and keeping her distance from everyone. Books were her best and only friends. So when Seline meet with Matthew, leaving her home and country wasnt actually hard decision to made. Seline loved Matthew with her whole heart. He wasnt trying to change her, and that was what she was asking for, for her whole life. Young woman knows, that he was interested in her being Legilimens, but she didnt care. If she was powerfull enough for him to want her as his wife, she thinks its something she should be proud of.

She fit perfectly in Rhea's. Her new house was nothing like Yavuz's warm and loud house, just like how she is also nothing like. Seline couldnt be more proud, when she and Matthew discovered Jacob is also Legilimens. She was excited for her second child too, but when she hold her newborn, she saw the look on Matthew eyes. The disapointment. He didnt like his child to have bright blue hair. At first, Seline didnt think it will be problem, its only color of hair after all. But real problem was, Night being nothing like a Rhea. They were energetic, loud child. Running in house, climbing on whatever they finds, jumping on every water pot they saw. Seline knows they were exactly like her own siblings, nieces. Night wasnt nothing like Jacob (Seline's Turkish accent turned his name into Yakup).

On the fifth birthday that Night turned five, she didnt even say anything when Matthew told her to send Night to Turkey, next to her father.

After Matthew died, Yakup was her everything. And Night was.. Just someone from her past, her own family, something she wanted to leave her behind but couldnt. Unfortunatelly, not so long after Matthew death, Yakup get expelled from Hogwarts and went missing. To find him, Seline did something she thought she wont be ever doing it. She begged Matthew's brother Jonathan for help. And her answer was only a smile. A cold smile, belongs to someone who is happy to have all the control on family now

Night's three year, when they were alone with their mother was, rough. Everyday was about Yakup, about finding him. To have Seline's attention, Night do everything they can do to act like Yakup, look like Yakup. İt was impossible for them, but in their mind it was their only goal. Being someone their mother will love.

The first time Seline looked lovingly at them, was when Night was about to get in Hogwarts Express. When they promised her to find Yakup.

Sibling: Jacob (Yakup) Rhea

Yakup and Night werent able to spend much time together, when they were child. Thanks to their ten year difference between their ages, they only saw each other in summers. İn their cold house, Yakup was the only one who loved Night deeply, other than their nany Goni. He was well aware of how his Pip wasnt like his other cousins, other Rhea's, and that was enough reason for him to love them. Their smile and loud excited voice was the thing warms the house in Yakup's eyes.

When he get expelled, he knows all of his burdens became Night's. He regretted deeply, but there was nothing he can do from a portrait. He waited for his "sister" to rescue him, waited so patiently and dreamed the day they reunited. But when Night finally came, it wasnt like how he imagined.

They both wanted to have back the ones they remember from seven years ago. But the truth is, both were so different now, and they doesnt want to admit it. Their old beautiful relationship was gone now, and wont be same for so long. After Hogwarts, they fight a lot. Argued a lot, couldnt agree on same things. Until Night took the mission that will change their life forever.

When Night first runned away, right after they killed an auror in front of him, Yakup lived the hardest weeks in his life. He saw in their eyes himself, how he was when he first get expelled. He already knew Night changed so much, when Rowan died. And couldnt help but feel like all of it was his fault. Now his Pip was so lost inside, so lost that couldnt able to see whats wrong or right. So he searched for Night with everything he has.

Of course he didnt know it was all part of their plan. Thankfully soon enough, Night came back to him to explain everything. That they will be a spy in Death Eaters, and needs him to be their Secret Keeper. But also they needed him to promise. Promise to see the mission more important than their life. (Will be contunied in Future AU)

After war, their relationship was better than ever, and they finally have the sibling they both missed so much.

Grandfather (Mother's Dad): İbrahim Yavuz

Lovely Turkish old man who looked after his five children alone, after his wife died. He loved all of his kids all same, but his kids are all different. Four daughter and one son, Seline was the youngest one, and the coldest one to İbrahim.

One day when Night and their nany Goni showed up on his door, he was more suprised than he was happy. Living with tiny energetic child who cant understand his own language for three years was actually hard for İbrahim. But thanks to Goni who can talk to both languages, Night started to understand and talk Turkish in short time. Well enough to have an accent actually. With their cousins, aunts and uncle here, Night actually had a big and lovely home there. Their name was hard to pronounce in Turkish, so İbrahim gave them another name. He never liked Night's names meaning, and choose the name that means entirelly opposite of 'Night'. "Nur". It means " The light of the God" and İbrahim thinks it fits his grandchildren more.

As much as Night loved the Yavuz household and Turkey, they missed their mother, brother,home. Ibrahim wasnt sure if Seline would take Night back to England, if Matthew didnt died. He was hoping Seline would come back now, with her son. But Seline refused, and instead of coming back to Turkey, she took Night back.

Night wrote letters to him so often, and in every change they visit Turkey. İbrahim was parent to them, more than their own family and they couldnt be more grateful to have him as grandfather.

Uncle: Jonathan Rhea

First son of Alexander and Alycia Rhea. He is only two years older than Matthew. He married with Elyssa Black, and had two child. Cora Rhea, a Legilimens and two years older than Jacob; and Cordell Rhea in same age with Night. İn 1981, Jonathan lost his daughter and his wife.

Losing half of his own family shaked him deeply, but on the other hand, now Matthew is also gone,and it was good enough to make him forget about his pain. All the responsibilty of Rhea's is now Jonathan's. He is the only one who is head of family now. Or at least, its what he think.

Little he know Seline will be the biggest impediment to him. She wont let him to take the big house (Where Matthew and her staying with their childs, because Matthew was the head of family) She refused him, and told him Yakup will be the one who will take Matthew's place. She knows how Jonathan hate her and Yakup. He wouldnt let Seline stay in family or even England. So she fight with Jonathan with all her power. Until Yakup disappears.

After that, Seline lost her hopes, she even begged him to help her find her son.She promised to leave England if he helps. But Jonathan didnt care, he took everything he wanted after all. The house, being the important one. He was no longer the one who is forgotten in his little brothers shadow. He is the one who is in control now. He even took Night from Seline. Night lived in his house from their fourth year to seventh year.

When Night started Hogwarts, Jonathan told his son to stop them. From finding Yakup. Because he cant risk his nephew to come back, and took everything he earned. Unfortunatelly, his fears will come true and Yakup will come back. Jonathan will hate him with all his being and this hate will be dangerous when Voldemort returns.

Jonathan will be the one, who offer Night a place in Death Eaters when Night run away from their first crime. He will say he is proud of them for choosing the right way and realizing Yakup is the traitor one, not him. And will say Matthew would be also proud of them.

During war time, Jonathan will be the biggest enemy of Night, even if he wont know about it.

Love Interest:

Talight- Talbott Winger

Night and him meet in third year thanks to Penny. Night didnt even know his name,and Talbott was staying away from the cursed vault kid to avoid trouble. It actually took them long time to be close friends. But once they became friends, they found theirselves a way to escape from other. At first, they see each other as a someone who can understand other ones feelings. Talbott learned Night isnt always as happy as they seems or they isnt just a selfish troublemaker. And Night learned Talbott isnt someone who has stone cold heart and doesnt care about others. They so often fly together in night, sit in silent in owlery, read their own books in libary,and sometimes running/flying around just for fun. Talbott learned to like some harmless chaos, and Night learned to be not afraid of silence. İn fourth year, Night realized they have deeper feelings for him, but couldnt risk to lose his friendship. They were happy enough to have him as friend. But Tulip reading their secret notebook out loud didnt help them to hide their feelings. The notebook was written in Turkish so no one could understand, but Night completely forget about how Tulip actually knows Turkish. Even if it happened out of Night's control, it didnt end like how Night feared.

As much as they both loved each other, being in relationship is something these two doesnt know well. İn fifth year, they dealed with some tiny (!) jealousy. Night meets with Jae, and being in detention whole year help them become a close friend in short time. Being busy with Rakepick and her tasks, Night was quiet busy and Jae was the only one they can see without needing help. (Remember how Rowan said they were only comes to their friend to get help?) Our little bird didnt like to feel in this way. But this feeling wasnt just keeping "him" awake in nights. It was eating Night from inside too. They were aware of how they couldnt see Talbott so often, and actually missing their piecefull times together. They couldnt help but notice how he got close with Badeea. Not that they thinks Talbott shouldnt have friends. Actually they were happy about how these two Ravenclaw sharing their own worlds to each other. Night just, felt unsure if they are good enough for Talbott, in a way Badeea is more than enough. Night and Badeea were so different, and Night couldnt help but compare theirself with her. Our couple didnt actually broke up, but i can say they had some walls between their hearts now, the ones they both didnt wanted but thought other one needs it. They goes to Summer Festival, with different people. Wanna guess who?? Of course Badeea and Jae. They both watch each other laugh with someone else. But in the end of the year, when Night and others came back from Buried Vault, Talbott was the one who hold them while they were crying.

Next two year, they both supported each other. (Yes im just skipping all the things because, there is things im excited to write and draw and dont wanna spoil it here). But before graduation, Night wanted to break up. To focus on theirselves. Night knows how Talbott worked hard to be auror, and they doesnt want him to worry about them while having so many things to worry about already. Talbott didnt like the idea of course, refused at first. He blamed them, get angry, didnt talked to them for days. But then, he understood why Night saying these. To accept it, he wanted them to promise him something. That they will come back to him. No matter as what, as a lover, as a friend, as a someone who still have warmt in their heart for him.

Well, in a way, Night keep their promise. (Will be continued in Future AU)

Nelix- Felix Rosier

İn Hogwarts, their relationship was mostly about Felix trying to keep Night out of trouble and fail every time. He became Dragonologist when he graduated, and Night send him maybe too many letters to ask about life in Romania. (Charlie also aprecciated his letters too, as you can imagine.) Being Dragonologist was Night's dream job, even if they doesnt think they will be doing it in future. So after graduation, just to see Charlie, dragons and Romania (definitelly not to see Felix, please) they travelled there a lot.

Seeing each other again, with other Death Eaters was not what they both hoped. Night knew Felix would be there. But for him, seeing Night there was shocking. He was disappointed, but thought about maybe Night was forced by their family, just like him. (Will be continued in Future AU)

After all the rough time they managed to survive, they both needed to heal from what they saw, what they did. And being far away from England was just what they needed.

Nixen AU- Vixen McMahen (@vixenmcmahenhphm )

Marhea AU- Atlas Marson (@vixenmcmahenhphm )

(Just leaving note here, im always open for making ship au's. If youre interested, let me know so we can have fun!)

Best Friends:

Rowan Khanna

Talbott Winger

Barnaby Abernathy Lee

Ben Copper

Bill Weasley

Charlie Weasley

Andre Egwu

Jae Bo Kim

Tonks

Erika Rath

Merula Snyde

Chiara Lobosca

Tulip Karasu

Liz Tuttle

Badeea Ali

Enemy:

Patricia Rakepick- R

Jonathan Rhea- Death Eaters

Dormmates:

Rowan Khanna, Liz Tuttle, Marina Willow (@mira-shard)

(Send me dm if you want your mc and Night be roommates! Two spots open for girls room!)

Barnaby Abernathy Lee, Cordell Rhea

(Send me dm if you want your mc and Night be roommates! Two spots open for boys room!)

Pets:

Marshall: Night look after Yakup's closest friend, a black cat, after he disappears. After him, poor kitty become so quiet,and in nights cant sleep without Night in room. They promised Marshall to take Yakup back, but before he can come back Marshall passed away (İn beginning of fifth year). After him, Night didnt have any pet.

Closest MC Friends: Let me know if i can put your mc's name here!

Miscellaneous:

⦁ With Felix words, Night is “too chaotic and energetic like a Gryfindor”. You can see them running around anytime -mostly after Jae, Vixen or Tonks- or laughing with tears on their face. Not to mention they have a loud voice and you will hear when they laugh everytime. (Chiara admit it later that she was afraid of telling her secret to Night just because of this. But dont worry, they can be very secretive.) Night’s face always wears their emotions, that means you can see a lot of weird and funny expressions.

⦁ Chocolate is the key of happy Night. Whenever they have a chocolate frog, you can see a bright smile on their face. Bad Quidditch match? They will eat chocolate angrily on Pitch. Bad exam? Chocolate again with a face that shows you how their brain is burned. Snape’s favorite punishment for Night? Honeydukes Ban. Night will probably just curl up on grass in Training Grounds and wait for the day pass. Also a cup of tea could make Night very happy too. Thanks to their grandpa, they know how to make tea in every way, so they would be so happy if you join them for tea.

⦁ Because of that bright attitude of them, Night wasnt taken seriously at first. When some older Slytherins talked about Jacob in common room, everyone in room learned about how Night doesnt hold back when they are angry. İn years, they did a lot of things out of anger that they will regret later.

⦁ Night is a person who cant tell easily their negative feeling.When they got sad, they got quiet. Mostly Night just hide their sadness behind their smile and hope that it will be gone.

#night rhea #hphm #hogwarts mystery #hphm mc #harry potter hogwarts mystery #jacobs sibling #harry potter hogwarts game #harry potter #hphm jacobs sibling #hp hogwarts mystery #hogwarts aesthetic #character profile

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gowoshusoul · 3 years

Text

Fanmade SCP: 6760; a friend in the shadows

Item #: SCP-6760

Object Class:

Containment: Euclid Esoteric

Secondary: (No previous secondary) Thaumiel

Disruption: Keneq Dark

Risk: Critical Notice

Addendum-6760-3:

SCP-6760 has not shown any signs of aggression since the initial incident, when researcher ███████ unfortunately lost his life due to his own negligence. His aggression toward SCP-6760 was uncalled for and unprofessional.

I understand the apprehension toward working with 6760, but through testing, experiments, and therapy, it has been successfully rehabilitated and shows unwavering loyalty to the Foundation. It remains hesitant to interact with any staff not associated with myself and my assistant. Caution and patience is encouraged when interacting with SCP-6760, though it has shown no aggression toward humans after the initial incident and has expressed a fascination with mankind. It’s for the best that 6760 is allowed to explore and observe Foundation staff, as knowledge of its surroundings keeps it from lashing out in its confusion.

Many of you know, SCP-6760 was instrumental in securing site ██ after its disastrous containment breach. I’ve consulted with my colleagues and higher ups, and we came to the unanimous conclusion that 6760’s anomalous properties should be utilized in the case of future breaches.

I understand that this is a controversial decision, and I understand that 6760 could pose a threat to aggressive personnel. Think of it as a police dog: If you give him no reason to attack you, or me no reason to initiate an attack, you will not be harmed. Feel free to contact me with any concerns you feel need addressing, and we will work together to secure, contain, and protect.

- Dr. Andreas Fox

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-6760 is allowed to roam the facility under the watch of Dr. Fox. The majority of the time, SCP-6760 can be found hiding in Dr. Fox’s shirt, and is allowed to be taken home with Dr. Fox since his residency had been modified into a secure site. SCP-6760 is allowed to be housed at one of two sites depending on its preference, the judgement of Dr. Fox, and Foundation discretion.

Regardless of containment site, 6760 is to be provided with a five (5) by five (5) by two point five (2.5) meter glass enclosure. Glass is thirty (30) cm thick. SCP-6760 is to be kept in its enclosure when not being supervised. A one (1) by one (1) by one point five (1.5) meter table is to be placed in the center of both enclosures, with LED lights on for the duration of containment. 6760 is encouraged to hide from the light. When requested, 6760 is to be spoken to in a calm, non-threatening tone. Polite conversation has been shown to keep 6760 docile and happy.

In addition, different colored lights are to be utilized in SCP-6760’s containment. A description of colors and their effects will be provided below.

Description: SCP-6760 was discovered at ████, ███ on ██ / █ / ████ after crashing down to Earth in the form of a meteor. Researchers initially found an empty crater that seemed to be slick with oil. Unprompted, researcher ███████ explored the creator. Upon stepping on the “oil”, it surrounded, taking a semi-humanoid form and consumed the researcher. It recoiled from high-intensity lights that were placed around the crater for observation. It lasted in this form for approximately thirty seconds before reducing itself to a quarter-sized sphere. SCP-6760 was then transported in a glass container illuminated by a flashlight to site ██. It was later transported to site ██ when Dr. Fix showed interest in rehabilitating the item.

SCP-6760 is an amorphous, black entity made of an unknown substance that calls itself Scorn. Staff are encouraged to call it by its preferred name, as addressing it with its item number results in negative reactions. Testing has come back inconclusive, and staff has since given up on trying to assess the item’s DNA. When put in a dark room, the item will expand to fill it and take on whatever shape it so desires. 6760 has the ability to inflict catastrophic damage on the facility, though it’s always insisted it’s “just stretching” when it expands. Though it can expand under light, the entity has expressed that it “burns too bad to move”. It spends the majority of its time under its table or with Dr. Fox, who has complete and total control over the entity. SCP-6760 has never denied a command from Dr. Fox, no matter how tedious, menial, or absurd the command is. It is capable of speaking rudimentary English, which is steadily improving with the help of Dr. Fox and his underling, ███████ █████. When given a command by Mr. █████, it hesitates and complains, but eventually obeys. These two are regarded to be the only people with complete control over 6760, though it’s been seen to obey other Foundation staff in dire circumstances.

SCP-6760’s most common forms are:

- A vaguely humanoid shape of varying height, always measured to be over two (2) meters tall. Its features are indiscernible, though it always smiles at Foundation staff to show off its “pretty teeth”. When in a humanoid shape, the item condenses its matter to form a skeletal system. When it reverts to a simpler shape, it regurgitates its skeleton. All “bones” collected from SCP-6760 are to be collected and stored for testing.

- An average, button down shirt. This form is most commonly taken when hiding under Dr. Fox’s shirt. If Dr. Fox removes his shirt, SCP-6760 will act as a temporary replacement, usually sticking its “head” out of the shirt pocket to communicate with Foundation staff.

- A one eyed sphere, most commonly taken during containment when hiding under its provided table. It can be described as similar to a Beholder, a monster enemy in the tabletop game Dungeons and Dragons.

- An amorphous blob identical to SCP-999. This form is only taken when the entities interact, though due to 999’s anomalous properties, SCP-6760 is almost always reduced to a giggling puddle. It takes approximately 15 minutes to return to its original shape on its own, and 5 minutes with Dr. Fox’s encouragement.

Testing has shown that SCP-6760 has a wide range of reactions to different colored lights. Notable examples include:

- Sunlight causes an adverse reaction in the item, though it sustains no physical damage from being exposed to it. It’s less of a threat and more of an inconvenience to the item.

- Any type of LED will result in the entity becoming slightly weakened. They cause the entity to struggle when taking shape. Notable LED variants are:

Mixed: Multiple light sources of different colors will confuse and disorient the item. It reacts by hiding and crying out for Dr. Fox. Dr. Fox is the only staff member able to comfort the entity.

Red: Any source of red light causes an intense and immediate negative reaction. The longer 6760 is exposed to red light, the more violent the entity becomes. It will do anything and everything possible to break the offending bulb, often resulting in burns that heal themselves when the entity is provided with ample shadow.

Green: Green lights energize and excite 6760. The item will act similarly to a puppy when exposed to green lights. Due to this, green lighting should be utilized when the item interacts with SCP-999.

Yellow/orange: Yellow and orange lights are mildly calming to the entity. It will still try to hide in shadows, though it has no adverse reactions to the light. Yellow and orange lights are to be used as a mild sedative, with a “high” similar to that of a low dose of Valium. It’s theorized that yellow and orange lights produce such a reaction because of 6760’s relationship with 999, but at this point in time there’s no way of knowing.

Blue: Blue LEDs cause the entity to almost instantaneously put the entity to sleep. SCP-6760 will find the nearest shady spot, fall asleep, and remain there until the light is either shut off or replaced with light of a different color. Attempts to wake the subject invariably fail.

Purple: Purple lights are SCP-6760’s favorite. The item has expressed that these lights are the gentlest on his skin. It frequently requests purple lighting at night, as it better helps the entity relax without outright sedating it.

Addendum-6760-1:

The following is an interview conducted by Dr. Fox after months of containment and speech therapy. It should be noted that SCP-6760 was not able to be understood and Dr. Fox provided a transcription once the interview concluded.

Interviewer: Dr. Andreas Fox, site ██

Interviewee: SCP-6760

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

Dr. Fox: Scorn, I understand that you’re ready to talk about your retrieval?

SCP-6760: I don’t want to.

Dr. Fox: But will you?

SCP-6760: [Item bows its head.]

Dr. Fox: You realize you killed a man, don’t you?

SCP-6760: [Item nods.]

Dr. Fox: Can I ask why you would do such a thing?

SCP-6760: [Item bears its teeth.] He stepped on me.

Dr. Fox: He hurt you?

SCP-6760: Ground his heel into me. Called me disgusting.

Dr. Fox: Did you know what that word meant at the time?

SCP-6760: No, but I understood his voice. I heard the hate. I feeled it under his foot.

Dr. Fox: The correct word is felt.

SCP-6760: [Item grumbles indecipherably.]

Dr. Fox: Apologies. I understand you’re still learning. [Dr. Fox consults his clipboard.] You could feel that he was disgusted with you. That’s what motivated you to kill him?

SCP-6760: Yes.

Dr. Fox: What would you do if that happened again? Would you kill another person for insulting you?

SCP-6760: [Item pauses for thirty seconds.] No.

Dr. Fox: Why not?

SCP-6760: You would be mad. Or sad. You would shine lights on me.

Dr. Fox: [He makes note of this.] What if there were no lights? If there would be no consequences, would you attack someone?

SCP-6760: No. You would be sad or mad.

Dr. Fox: I would be, but I’m glad to hear you won’t do it again.

SCP-6760: I want to go home.

Dr. Fox: Back to your chamber?

SCP-6760: [Subject nods.] With the pretty lights.

Dr. Fox: Does that mean you’re done talking to me for the day?

SCP-6760: [Subject nods.]

Dr. Fox: I just have one more question. Do you feel remorse for what you did? Do you understand that word?

SCP-6760: [Subject refuses to move or speak.]

Dr. Fox: Alright, Scorn. I can escort you back to your chamber now.

Addendum-6760-2:

During the security breach at site ██, during which multiple euclid and keter items escaped their chambers, SCP-6760 was found scouring the halls and “absorbing” any and all personnel it found. No personnel retrieved by SCP-6760 were hurt in any way by the item. It proceeded to gather as many staff members it could find, including D-Class, and took them outside. It found a MTF vehicle to hide under until Dr. Fox requested its help. They reentered the facility, escorted by a MTF team, and SCP-6760 was able to neutralize multiple items. Items include: SCPs 173, 049, 372, 682, and multiple instances of 939. It attempted to apprehend SCP-096, but was ultimately unsuccessful.

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prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years

Text

A New Arrangement [Part 1/9]

Part 2 ->

Summary: Left with severe burns all over his body, the vain Dr. Frederick Chilton has retreated from the world, and will not let anybody see his face. One day, he decides to get his affairs in order in case he dies, or nearly dies again. That’s when you enter his life.

Frederick Chilton x Female Reader

CW: mentions of hospitals, death, end-of-life planning

820 words

An uneasiness swam in your gut as you rang the doorbell of the looming mansion that looked too expensive for you to be touching. It was the centerpiece of a swanky gated community outside of Baltimore and you had come here for one reason.

A man named Frederick Chilton was preparing for his death.

People don’t think about how much there is to take care of, from advanced directives, to living wills, estate planning, funerals, calculating life insurance requirements… That was what your startup company dealt with—end-of-life planning. You were the one-stop-shop for all of it. A sort of death concierge service.

People assumed from your job that you were compassionate. That your heart was wide open with nurturing and a desire to hug people on the worst day of their life.

The truth is, you were a glorified accountant, and you did not like making home visits. They could get too personal. Too emotional. But this client was very fussy, particular, and most importantly, very wealthy, and he had insisted. He would only do business over the phone, email, and any in-person meetings would be at his home, not your office.

So here you were. At his doorstep. Praying that you wouldn’t have to hold anyone’s hand while they cried.

Or worse—that he wasn’t just some creep luring you out here. This guy was much younger than your usual clients, which either meant he was dying of a tragic terminal illness, or he could afford the sort of lawyers to make murder charges go away, and was maybe stalking you? A string of bad internet dates had you a little paranoid.

So your heart jumped when he opened the door. And then it leaped clear out of your throat when you saw him.

He was wearing a very sharp suit and tie (complete with an old-fashioned gold tie pin), leaning on an audaciously silver-embellished cane, but the thing that made you vomit up your vena cava was the fucking mask.

He was wearing a Venetian masquerade mask that covered his entire face with smooth, sculpted white porcelain. Fine engravings serpentined around the eye sockets, inlaid with silver and black, as if the mask were wearing its own mask.

“Nope.” You backed up from the door. “Oh no. No way. Sorry, I am not getting dragged into some Eyes Wide Shut thing.”

His eyes, though a bit shadowed, were visible enough to for you to see their dramatic rolling skyward, paired with an equally annoyed sigh. “Do not flatter yourself,” he said tersely. “Apparently you do not know who I am?”

“Should I?” You narrowed your eyes. Fuck. You knew you should’ve googled his name.

“I suppose count myself lucky my misfortune is not so public. Do you recall the Dr. Frederick Chilton who was maimed and set on fire by the Red Dragon last year? It was in the papers. I have a clipping of it framed,” he said dryly. “My book, The Dragon Slayer was on the New York Times Best Sellers list for ten weeks.” He scoffed when you showed no sign of recognition of him, personally.

“The Dragon…” you nodded. “Yeah, I remember that was all over the news. He set you on fire?!” You definitely should have fucking googled him. Now you felt like an asshole.

“Given the state that maniac left me in, I have the choice to be gawked at for my disfigurement, or for the tedious quirk of wearing a mask. I prefer the latter.” His voice had a slight sort of lisp to it, suggesting the placement of some of his injury. “Ironically, being maimed near death is precisely why I contracted your services—one can never plan too early when one associates with the criminally insane. Now if you are finished? Believe me, if I wished to engage in an ‘Eyes Wide Shut thing,’ I would hire one of the many high-end escorts Baltimore is home to… not some drab clerical worker.”

Your eye twitched. You were not insulted the snobby weirdo didn’t want to fuck you. That was a good thing. You forced yourself to smile and your jaw creaked like an old wood floor with the effort.

“More people should be planning ahead proactively, so you’re setting a good example,” you chirped, towing the company line. “All right, let’s get to work. Sorry about the misunderstanding. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Chilton.” You introduced yourself, extending your hand for a professional shake.

He leaped backward, nearly tripping over his cane in the process, as if you were extending a poisonous snake. The mask stayed perfectly calm, but his eyes flashed. “It is Dr. Chilton. Doctor.” he hissed. “I did not spend eight years in medical school to not have my proper title used.”

“Sorry—Doctor Chilton.”

You followed him inside, never in your life more certain you were going to hate somebody.

#Frederick Chilton x reader #raul esparza #frederick chilton #hannibal #female reader #I DON'T KNOW #I was going to do a oneshot but decided to try writing some chapters instead?????#my writing

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autumnblogs · 3 years

Text

Day 43: Openbound

We’ll principally be doing Act 6 Intermission 3 today, so expect lots of pictures in this one!

Believe it or not, I initially didn’t like Openbound very much; I felt like it kind of dragged on my first readthrough, and generally had a pretty hard time getting myself to care about the Dancestors. They’re a pretty unsympathetic bunch.

Then again, lots of Homestuck characters are pretty unsympathetic! I’ve been really feeling that in the second half, as retrospect allows me to view a lot of secondary characters through the lens that we’re not intended to get attached to them.

That said, Openbound is actually pretty key to helping us understand the second half of the comic, I think, and makes explicit a lot of the themes that it explores, and how it builds upon the first half.

I think that the theme of Openbound as a self-contained work within Homestuck that we can use as a tool to decode Homestuck can be concisely stated like this; “Nostalgia and a desire for unity with the past causes toxic stagnation.”

So, aside from the introduction that we’ve already gotten to Meenah through the short conversation she had with the other kids, this is our first real opportunity to get to know her! Boy is she obsessed with money.

Money, like Cake, is a symbol that is associated with the Aspect of Life. As an aspect principally associated with Raw Power - the power to do what you want, unfettered by the stringent restrictions that are associated with Doom - it’s natural that Life would be associated with money.

The origin of money in history is pretty nebulous; it precedes the invention of writing, so any theory concerning its invention is ultimately conjecture. What I think is interesting about money is that the move toward a monetary economy in history mostly (but not always) happens as a result of the fact that it is way more efficient to collect taxes; the state mints standard coins, only accepts taxes in the form of standard coins, and propagates them into the economy by buying goods and services from the market.

It’s a tool of government, and even though Meenah may abrogate her inheritance, the Princess can’t escape her birthright. Money offers control, security... and power. What makes all of this extra interesting is that money is effectively worthless in the afterlife. Here, there’s actually nothing for her to really buy or spend it on; anyone can dream up whatever they want with ease.

It’s a nice bit of callback humor that Meenah has the same reaction to discovering the Thorns of Oglogoth that Rose does, but unlike Rose, Meenah actually does destroy them on the spot.

For being so headstrong and dangerous, there are ways in which Meenah is really pretty surprisingly sensible.

Lord English can destroy ghosts - this has always been a pretty disturbing thought for me. I may have said something to this effect before, but if I haven’t I’m a free-thinking Theist - raised in the Church, and largely independent in terms of beliefs, but I’m still pretty convinced that there is some kind of life after death. It doesn’t bother me nearly as much in works that have final death as a general presupposition, but it always bothers me when some kind of eternal life after death exists in a setting, and can be arbitrarily denied by evil beings with some power or another, like how some Demons and Liches can destroy or devour a soul in Dungeons and Dragons.

In Homestuck though, it fits with the themes established by the ways in which everyone God Tiers - spiritual power can be pretty arbitrary, and generally signifies very little about the moral worth of the one who has it; it does not intrinsically elevate the one who has it. It fits with its general criticism of power and the powerful, whether that’s the Mayor’s hatred of Kings, or the associating of corporatism with the worst parts of Jane’s characterization and Crockercorp in general.

Lord English has the power to destroy ghosts and end the lives of immortals not because he has attained to any kind of heightened spiritual awareness. He’s just some douchebag who through cosmic serendipity was in the right place at the right time to become basically all-powerful.

I adore Meenah’s spark. Who gives a fuck if Lord English is invincible? She knows exactly what she’s going to do when she gets her hands on him, and she’s got a plan from the outset. I think it’s also interesting the way that even though Meenah is absolutely taken by the spectacle of power, it isn’t sufficient to make her want to join up with English. Only soft power works on Meenah Peixes; emotional intimacy, friendship... keeping her entertained. All of these are the actual way to moderate her violent and dangerous personality.

While neither Rose nor Meenah is a parallel character to either Gendo or Rei from Neon Genesis Evangelion (I think, actually, that Dirk is the character who most strongly parallels both of them), this bit reminds me of the way that Ritsuko describes both of them;

Rose says of herself and Meenah, “You’re not very good at this, are you? ... talking to people.”

Ritsuko says of Gendo and Rei, “They’re not very adept (at)... living, I suppose.”

The same can really be said of a lot of characters in Homestuck, particularly the ones who primarily find their identity in some form of power-seeking. Whether it’s Rose, or Dirk, or Meenah, or even someone as innocuous as Jake, none of them is particularly adept at living.

Rose is pretty conciliatory with Meenah; given her attraction to danger and darkness, it’s probably not surprising that she makes such an obvious pass at Meenah in spite of the fact that she probably knows what their relationship was in another life.

Further evidence that Rose is the horniest Homestuck character.

“you know how it is with ancestors

they just kind of hold this inexplicable power over you”

Dave continues to progress down the path of not giving a shit, as did Sollux before him.

He’s not quite to the level of reluctance that he eventually adopts, of choosing to just not engage with English at all.

Gods are, to some extent, aware of the various narrative forces that govern their existence.

About the only thing this piece of nasty trash has in common with Karkat is the extent to which they both blabber, and he helps create contrast with the other, somewhat more likable dancestors. Kankri is pretty much openly contemptible, and really in the worst way. I’m almost inclined to call him a concern troll because of the extent to which his verbal essays exist purely to make him feel better about himself. Any time it comes time for him to listen to people who historically actually suffered from the systems they were involved in, Kankri shows his true colors, slut-shaming and misogynistic.

Unsurprisingly, The Other Thief is also the vector for English’s ideology in her session, “turning us against each other to make us stronger.” While Kurloz may be a worshipper of English, and Damara may have thrown in her lot with the demon because of her nihilistic despair, Meenah (rather like Dirk!) is clearly driven toward a life of violence, and restless action for its own sake.

Now we’re starting to get some insight into Feferi’s style of rulership, which in turn, probably gives us some insight into Jane. For Feferi, leadership means taking power away from the people you’re leading if it seems like they have the potential to hurt themselves (or to be a drain on society if left to their own devices). It represents a violation of agency, perhaps not so severe as the kind that Vriska perpetrates usually.

Feferi and Jane are the sort of people, I think, who want to create a perfect world - but it’s important to them that they’re the one who’s creating that world, and less important that the world is perfect for anyone in particular. Just perfect.

https://homestuck.com/story/5288

John’s whole self-conception, and especially his conception of himself as a man, and someone who might be growing up to take on the same roles as his Father, is tied up in the icons of dadliness and masculinity in the movies that he likes.

So we should expect that his disillusionment with his past will change the way that he thinks about his future, and what he’s going to do with it. It’s a shame that this line of questioning never goes anywhere in Homestuck proper, but I’ll use it as evidence in the “John/June Egbert is trans” folder. Reminds me of how my decisive lack of affinity for the Boy Scouts serves as a nice little retrospective bit of evidence in my own trans narrative.

Based on the number of trans Eagle Scouts I know, I feel like there’s a certain extent to which it be like, a fast-track to figuring that out about yourself, like, you tried all the boy stuff and just decided, nope! Not for me.

https://homestuck.com/story/5290

Man, especially if we continue to read this section of Homestuck as conflating the characters and the audience, this whole section reads as John not just having a meltdown about Con Air, but also generally having a meltdown about his own story so far - everything he’s done in Sburb, etc. It just all feels lame and shitty in retrospect, when it was something that was kind of exciting at the time, at least up until the point where his loved ones all dropped dead there at the end.

It turns out that there was nothing particularly edifying about John’s suffering.

https://homestuck.com/story/5300

Teens can be such monsters. It’s the anniversary of Bro’s Death too. Davesprite is probably as broken up about that as John is about Dad, but it’s hard for boys/men to talk about that kind of thing with each other.

Cronus is even more of an incel than Eridan. He may be the most singularly contemptible character in Paradox Space. Do I hate anyone more than Cronus? No, I think I do not.

I won’t have a lot to say about the middle leg of Openbound; it’s relatively empty of substance, and not much that happens in it is ever relevant again compared to the first and second legs.

I like to think that this leg of the journey is, more than anything, a chance to ruminate on some joke characters who were already parodies; parodies of parodies, a joke made at the expense of an existing joke. The kind of thing Dirk Strider would write, basically.

Hey check it out, the Year of Our Lord 2012, and Andrew was starting to show some mild sensitivity in his choice of words. Just mild enough to have the lowest character in the story show a tiny bit of sensitivity himself.

This leg of the adventure does give us some more insight into Meenah’s character. Just like Vriska, she’s all about being a hardass super-murder, until she starts causing problems for the people she actually cares about.

Being Evil Sucks.

This is a really weird sentiment for Karkat to have in light of like, everything else about the latter half of the comic. I mean, he hasn’t exactly had the epiphany yet that the ideas that he has about being a leader are kind of awful and shitty, so it’s possible that he’s talking the Condesce up to avoid thinking about that. IDK.

He also immediately claims he’ll leave behind the meteor to go and join Meenah’s army, so maybe Karkat is just in a pretty low place in general? That tracks.

Karkat’s little conversation with Terezi explains at the two thirds mark of Openbound exactly what this whole thing is about.

Almost the entire second half of the comic is about examining the character’s guardians, and their relationships with them. The Guardians - Grandpa and Bro especially - are hyped up to be these outrageous badasses, both in-and-out of universe, and their ambivalent relationship with their kids creates this ambiguity throughout the comic about whether the kids are worthy, whether they’re living up to their parents’ legacy - and it’s the kind of thing that plagues them throughout.

But the thing is, Ancestors can be lame, or even terrible. They’re not really anything to aspire to, and the image of success that they project onto the world is one of learned confidence, and usually that only if they’ve really managed to make it.

Even the best parents are flawed, and instead of trying to measure up to them, growing up healthy usually means learning what those flaws are, and committing not to reproduce them.

Parents don’t suck; they can be awesome, and generally speaking, for a long part of our life, they’re all we’ve got. It’s hard not to love them. But we shouldn’t turn them into idols.

(On another note, it’s one hundred percent fitting for Terezi’s Ancestor to be an outrageous coolgirl. Terezi is perpetually anxious about being cool enough, the sort of person who is breathlessly fun to be around, who commands the attention of everyone around her, and she’s surrounded by them wherever she goes.)

https://homestuck.com/story/5340

John’s distress leads him to dream about his dead Dad, and boy is he angry. He spends a lot of the second half of the comic seething in rage directed at whomever is responsible for all the suffering he and his friends endure, dishing out beatdowns toward those responsible, but I’ve never gotten the impression that these little outbursts of his are particularly rewarding for him.

https://homestuck.com/story/5358

That was quite a blow. He knocked out like a tenth of Jack’s health bar.

https://homestuck.com/story/5387

Depending on where you’re standing some really totally different things can matter to different people. From Vriska’s point of view, the things that happened back when she was alive totally don’t matter at all anymore - only the matter of Cosmic importance that is fighting Lord English.

But the stuff that matters to the people she left behind, and the suffering she’s responsible for - especially for putting Terezi in a position where she had to slay her - all of that still matters very much to the people who are alive, which is what makes her self-conception as someone who is on the side of the angels now really... not sit well.

She clearly hasn’t changed all that much. She just thinks, as usual, that now that things are even, now that the score is settled, things can go back to the way they were before.

https://homestuck.com/story/5388

Tavros and Vriska are really bad for each other in general. Like, it’s not good for her to be around someone as pliable as Tavros is, and it’s plain to everybody that it’s not good for him to be around her either; whenever he’s around her, he apes her bogus inflated self-esteem in all the worst ways.

https://homestuck.com/story/5397

Tavros’ explanation of what Vriska does suggests that storytelling has become kind of a ritual for her - a means by which she is attempting to connect with her Ancestor, by performing the same actions she is, miming her - still the same old Vriska.

That’ll be all for now. Cam signing off for now - join me for the thrilling conclusion to Openbound tomorrow, Same Cam Time, Same Cam Channel.

#commentary #neon genesis evangelion #liveblogging

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faulty-writes · 4 years

Text

Warning: Mention of death. Mention of Magic.

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Pairing: Prince!Oboro Shirakumo x Reader

[ Alright, ever since I read My Hero Academia Vigilantes I’m in love with this character. I’m also caught up with the My Hero Academia manga so. Let’s hope good things for our cloud baby in the future.

Anywho, this is a prompt from @bnhabookclub. I hope you enjoy. Also credit to morgan from the bnhabookclub for helping me with some of the plot. ]

Prompts used:

Kingdom AU and "You promised me!"

[ Hizashi, Shouta, and yourself once held the same dream. To become worthy knights of the Kingdom. Along with this, you all had a common and loyal friend. Prince Oboro Shirakumo. The very same one who happened to be your betrothed, but as many fairy tales go. The Prince was cast under a spell and though you were powerless. You were determined to figure out a way to awaken your Prince once more. ]

It was said that Prince Oboro Shirakumo was like a breath of fresh air, while reckless in some sense. He was always determined to do what was right, he would go the extra mile for anyone that needed it. Kind and compassionate with a smile that shined brighter than the Kingdom itself. He was truly meant for greatness and many were looking forward to the day he would take over as King.

He had many friends and allies, but none closer than Shouta Aizawa and Hizashi Yamada. They were in a sense, The Big Three of their time. Each one possessing precious powers gifted by the Gods above. The Prince himself was blessed with the ability to summon clouds at will, Shouta had the power to render others useless with a mere glance and Hizashi was blessed with a voice capability that could make a person's ears bleed with ease.

The Prince was surely blessed with two great friends. However, there was one more that added something special to his life. You. Though you never thought yourself deserving of the Prince, you held a connection to him through Shouta and Hizashi who were merely knights in training at the time. You had tried your hardest to follow in the steps of a knight yourself, however, you were always turned down.

But you never gave up, for Oboro seemed to lift you up each and every time you fell. Such a thing was admirable to you and though the King and Queen knew it against the rules. They could see that their Prince was falling in love with you. Along with the time all three of you would spend with the Prince, he would make a special exception to spend extra time with you. Even if it meant neglecting his royal duties, which he didn’t seem to take that seriously in the first place.

Still, it was clear who the Prince had chosen to be his future spouse and so arrangements were made. It was shocking to the Kingdom when word spread that their precious Prince had taken someone at such a young age. But they underestimated just how equally of a shock it was to you. In fact, you didn’t know how to respond when they told you that from this day forth, you were to be known as the fiance(e) of Prince Oboro.

Though you had to admit, part of you was also happy. You did have feelings for the Prince and you were attracted to him. His beautiful wavy light blue hair and those striking eyes, his ability to create clouds which you had the wonderful opportunity to ride. But the thing you admired most about him was his smile, it was almost as if it could cure diseases and vanish sadness.

So much passion came from such a little thing and yet you loved it and you had the desire to be the one to make him smile. However, like many fairy tales, there was a villainous figure. Looking to end the happiness, to take away something that would cause the Kingdom to shatter. In this case, this villain was looking to end the Prince’s life. You remembered the day well, it was another day full of training under the lead Knight.

However, a distress call sounded and all available knights were to report for action. Including those in training and the Prince being as noble as he was, also joined in on the fight. Never allowing the citizens that made up his Kingdom to be hurt. You arrived on the scene of destruction, innocent people were screaming and some laying on the bloody ground, wounded and crying out for help.

Above in the sky, a screech sounded. All heads looked up at the winged beast who soared through the clouds. “A dragon…” you said, disbelief in your voice before you felt someone grab your shoulder and pull you back. You stumbled before colliding with their chest and looked up to see Oboro, a large grin on his face and somehow it made you feel at ease.

He placed his hands against your back and pressed you closer to him before he leaned down. Nuzzling his nose against yours playfully, “Heeeeey!” Hizashi screamed as he pointed his finger at the two of you. “Nooooooow isn't the time for that! Don’t ya see the winged dragon up there?!” he said, clearly in a panic though you knew when he put his mind to it.

He was a brave knight, same with Shouta though he needed to work on his gifted power. In this day and age, only those the Gods saw as worthy were granted magnificent power. You yourself were powerless and yet you still aimed to rise above the odds and prove yourself to be a worthy knight. A hero of sorts. Perhaps that is why you were chosen to be the Prince’s fiance(e) because, despite the odds against you, the fact you continued to try at all was admirable.

You felt Oboro’s chest vibrate as he laughed, “Oh, come on Hizashi! There’s always time for love!” he declared before shifting his attention back to you and reached over to cup your cheek. You smiled and gently placed your hand over his, looking into those eyes that you prayed you wouldn’t soon forget. “Just be careful out there, yeah?” he said before leaning close, he was known for sneaking kisses with you around the Kingdom but in this case, it seemed he wasn’t afraid to show his affection in public.

As soon as he pulled away, he stepped in front of you, “Alright! Let’s get all the citizens out of here, I’ll take care of the children and wounded.” he said before closing his eyes, his hands coming up to summon several clouds which were used to escort and carry the injured. You had decided to play defense, distracting the dragon away from the innocent and tried your best to avoid getting burned by the fire it produced.

Though you still got burned nonetheless, your armor only protected you so much. But the flames the dragon produced were blue in color and a powerful, unbelievable heat radiated from them. It was enough to melt the armor you wore so you decided to take cover using the crumbled pieces of what remained of the citizens' homes and business buildings. However, that is when you noticed a group of school children, along with their teacher who seemed to be in distress.

Cowering in fear and it looked like they were too afraid to move. You pressed your hand against the cracked wall of the building, prepared to use it as leverage to run over and guide them to safety. However, that’s when you saw your Prince leap into action. Pieces of his armor were melted and there were clear signs of a bad burn on his side. But one couldn’t tell how much it pained him because he seemed to move with ease.

He approached the scared children and manifested one of his clouds, his gift was a beneficial one. He could project clouds to protect, conceal, and transport whatever he desired. In this case, he urged the children and teacher to climb onto the cloud and from there he would guide them to safety. At that moment, you had almost forgotten you were battling against a fire breathing monster.

For your eyes were only focused on Oboro, he could be considered a God himself. Always putting others before himself and at that moment, you were reminded yet again of how lucky you were to have him. However, an evil chuckle broke your thoughts and you immediately jumped to your feet, striking a defensive pose. “Oh, what do we have here? A love-struck knight, no...a powerless, useless being in knight’s clothing. Oh yes, I know of you…” their voice sent a shiver down your spine and your eyes continued to scan the area of the ready to fall building you were standing in.

You gasped when you felt a slimy hand on your shoulder and quickly drew your sword, spinning on your feet as you tried to land a hit on the mysterious figure, surely the villain behind all of this. However, all you saw was a black blur before they reappeared in front of you. They were wearing a black hood that concealed their face but you could still make out the strange eye gear they had. It almost resembled that of a steampunk style.

“You...are you responsible for this attack? What purpose do you have for attacking innocent people?!” you demanded with a hiss, however, the figure just chuckled as if your words were somehow amusing. “Oh, you misunderstand. For I am only following the orders of my master.” your eyes widened and you almost dropped your defensive stance.

“W-What do you mean?” you questioned, the Prince was loving and kind. Who could possibly have anything against him or the Kingdom enough to cause such destruction? “Oh, you poor useless being.” They replied, “Let’s just say, the royal family has caused the Master much pain,” they explained, “After all, they harbored the employment of the number one knight in the world and my master views anyone in association with that knight as an enemy and therefore must be punished.” your stomach twisted at those words, what the hell?

“I don’t expect you to understand, young one...” they said before lifting their arm and you quickly pointed your sword at them. “Don’t you dare try anything!” you warned, though you hated to admit it. You were a little scared, the dark figure. The wizard, dragon summoner, whatever they were. Made you sick and you couldn’t let them do any further damage.

You had to stop them here and now. “You seem like a rather distracted knight, let’s fix that.” they snapped their fingers and while you expected something to happen. Perhaps magic to shoot out and knock you off your feet or even an army of henchmen to appear. Nothing changed and they took notice of your confused behavior with a happy chuckle.

“Watch out behind you,” they warned and a gasp escaped you, Oboro. You quickly turned, ready to run to him but somehow your body froze as you watched the dragon approach the scene. Oboro was still trying to evacuate the children and now had two clouds which proved to be a difficult thing to control. He could manifest one with ease, but when one turned into two and two into three.

The different sizes and connections he had to them and his overall control grew weaker and it was because of this that he failed to notice when the dragon landed on top of a nearby building. The children that he had saved were now floating peacefully on his clouds, but they were in front of the building that the dragon curled its powerful talons into and it caused a massive amount of crumbled pieces to fall toward the children. It flew away soon after, more than likely off to cause more death.

You were still frozen and helpless as you watched your fiance run over. Forcing his clouds to move before a piece of the crumbled building hit him in the head, you screamed as you watched blood-splatter. The rest of the pieces came, effectively sealing your fiance’s tomb. Your throat was sore by the time you had finished screaming and your eyes were wide.

They seemed to be void of any emotion, just white and in clear disbelief of what had just happened. Your legs felt weak and you fell to your knees, “O-Obo...O-Obor…” you couldn’t even speak his name, and soon after you heard a loud crash behind you and screams of victory. The dragon was slain but at what cost.

You remembered the anger that filled you at that moment and curled your hands into tight fists, your nails began to dig into your palms and you felt lines of blood start to seep down. You growled and turned your head. Prepared to scream and even kill the one responsible for your betrothed's death. Yet the villain spoke first, “Fear not.” they said before approaching you and you wanted nothing more than to grab your sword and pierce it through their neck, but somehow you found yourself unable to move.

Damn, it must be their magic. You growled and continued to glare at them before they roughly grabbed a portion of your hair and forced your head to turn back to the pile of rubble that Oboro’s body was now laying under. However, you heard the snap of fingers and seemingly the pile that was once there vanished. You gasped and your anger disappeared, replaced by confusion.

“W-What…” your lip was trembling and the villain merely laughed, “I am called the good doctor for a reason my dear, my magic and abilities are beyond this world’s understanding and the one whose order’s I follow are not to be taken lightly. What you saw was a mere illusion.” your breath hitched and you felt your body tremble, “I-Illusion?” you repeated the word and felt the good doctor’s fingers curl tighter in your hair.

Almost like he wanted to keep your attention focused ahead and yet again you were reminded of how hopeless you were. Why didn’t the Gods grant you a power? If you were truly unworthy then why had you managed to make it this far and for what purpose? To be tortured like this? You hissed as the doctor forced your head to the side and a needle pierced your skin.

“You see, this was but a bitter reminder of what I am capable of. But fear not, your Prince is merely in a slumber. You may find his body in the royal family crypt but rest assured.” you cried out when you felt him push the needle further and a cool rush of liquid enter your body. Your muscles went soft and your eyes felt heavy. No, damn it. You had to fight it.

“He won’t be opening his eyes anytime soon.” you felt him release your hair before you fell forward and darkness clouded your vision. “Oboro…” you said, your hand digging into the dirt. “Oh...and just in case you didn’t already know, you’ll treat this as his death. Don’t tell anyone our little secret or else.” you felt a sob coming but your eyes slipped closed and you found yourself succumbing to the doctor’s poison.

It had been years since that day and you had grown from a mere teenager to an upstanding adult. Oboro’s parents were saddened by the news of their son’s death, however, you were the only one who knew the truth. Oboro’s sleeping body remained underneath the Kingdom. Cold and alone in a place meant for death. His absence could be felt within the very walls of the Kingdom itself and since he was an only child with no heir to the throne.

The responsibility had shifted to you, though originally against the rules. No one questioned the decision and your training began. You learned how to rule the Kingdom, you were adorned in the finest clothing, the finest crown, and the most delicious food. One could have only dreamed to receive the treatment you were given, but it all meant nothing if you didn’t have your Prince to share it with.

Shouta and Hizashi had continued their knight training and eventually became one of the few top knights in the Kingdom and taught the next generation of students. You saw them frequently, but you were always greeted with the same question. “Are you alright there!? You seem distracted nowadays, the royal life not what you expected or something?” Hizashi asked, his hands moving around like wildfire as he spoke.

He had gotten a side career as the newsman and used his gift to announce at high volume the latest scoop on the Kingdom, villains, and dragon sightings. You let out a sigh, leaning back against the wall of the window still you were currently sitting in. The view from the window was beautiful, you could see the large fountain that stood outside the front gates of the Kingdom.

But the statue of Oboro mocked you, it was molded in his likeness from the days of your youth. Every time you looked at it, you felt rage, anger, and disappointment. You took the doctor’s threat seriously and hadn’t spoken a word of what had truly happened, not even to the people that meant the most to you. This is why you wanted nothing more than to run away every time Hizashi questioned you and every time Shouta looked at you with those eyes of his.

The eyes that could strip you of your power, if only you weren’t already powerless. “Why do you always ask the same damn question? Doesn’t it get old?” Shouta commented, slumped over in a chair with his usual tired expression. But he had to deal with Hizashi on a daily basis so you couldn’t exactly blame him for appearing as if he were exhausted.

Though it was also due in part to his gift which tended to put a strain on his eyes, in fact, you could see the small red veins even from your position on the window still. “Is there a criiiiiiiime against asking a friend something!?” Hizashi replied and Shouta just rolled his eyes. You took a deep breath and slowly stood up, looking at Hizashi and then Shouta.

The two dearest friends you could ask for and yet you couldn’t tell them that the friend you all knew and loved was still alive. “It’s alright…” you said, despite every fiber of your being wanting to scream the truth. “He’s only being a concerned friend, as he implied,” you said before folding your hands in front of you. “I suppose, I’ve been thinking too much about...the Prince lately,” you confessed, feeling your heart sink inside your chest.

You wondered if it would have hurt this much if he had truly died that day instead of being put into a deep slumber. Hizashi frowned and Shouta glanced to the side, he wasn’t the ideal person to come to when you sought out comfort. Luckily Hizashi was there and he grabbed your shoulders gently. “Hey, it’s alright to miss him. Shouta and I miss him too, more than we lead on actually. But we have to keep marching forward, for his sake.” Hizashi spoke calmly as he placed a finger underneath your chin and tilted your head up.

“You’ve done a wonderful job, you took over as ruler of this Kingdom when it needed it most. That takes courage and dedication, you gave up your dream of becoming a knight for this, and that alone, grants you my respect.” much like Shouta, your glance turned to the side. Yes, you had given up your dream of becoming a knight.

Though part of you was doubtful you could even make it as a knight, part of the reason you had tried so hard was because of Oboro’s faith in you. His constant positive words and actions surrounded you and yet without him, you felt incomplete. As if you couldn’t go on, you wanted to figure out a way to break the Prince of his slumber. But you had tried countless times.

Spent hours just sitting by his sleeping form and talking, almost as if a certain word or phrase would break the spell. You had tried to shake him awake, plead with him as well. But it proved useless, you had no fear of anyone following you to the crypts as most respected the royal family and wouldn’t dream of disturbing the dead. Yet, despite your efforts, the only thing that greeted you in return was failure and it pissed you off.

Part of you wanted to blame the Gods, feeling as though they had a part in this. For failing to protect the ones that looked up to them the most, for failing to give you a power. Yes, you weren't much, but the Prince had chosen you and surely that meant something. It was a broken record with you, but every day it seemed your mental state was weakening and you longed to shift the blame to someone else.

To let all your anger and frustration out but to no avail. “Thanks, Hizashi.” you said before stepping back, “I think I’m going to go to my bedroom now,” your head hung low as you began to walk away. “Thank you for your continued dedication to the Kingdom, I’m counting on you guys,” you said, giving them a weak smile before leaving.

Hizashi continued to frown while Shouta just stared in the direction you had disappeared. “Are we going to tell them eventually?” the blond questioned as he turned to Shouta who shrugged. “I don’t think they need the increased burden, besides we need to meet up with True Man. He says he might have a lead on what happened to Oboro that day and we can’t afford to be late. Come on.” he urged as he quickly got up and left the room, Hizashi scrambled to keep up with him.

It was a wonder of a thing, the police force of the Kingdom was usually silent and worked underground to solve various crimes that riddled the Kingdom. Ever since the death of the Prince, villainous deeds had increased. They were usually dealt with by the knights of the Kingdom but the leftover mess went to the police force. Who analyzed and figured out the missing puzzle pieces in between.

True Man otherwise known as Naomasa Tsukauchi was claimed to be the best of the best, his dedication to his work was unmatched. He had been working on the Prince’s death case for a while now, despite the fact that many believed it was an open and shut case. But some things revolving around the death of Oboro didn’t match up.

For instance, many eyewitnesses claimed that the Prince was crushed underneath the rubble of a falling building. Yet when he arrived at the scene there was no such rubble pile to be found. In addition, there was no blood splatter that surely would have occurred if one was crushed to death. Furthermore, there was one eyewitness who claimed to have seen a dark figure with a knight, though the knight themselves were left unidentified.

Given the time and placement of the knights, Naomasa had narrowed it down to you. The Prince’s fiance(e) at the time, however bringing up the death of the Prince with the current ruler of the Kingdom would raise too much suspicion. So instead, he had made the choice to begin to question the two individuals that had spent an equal amount of time around the Prince and yourself.

Those two happened to be Shouta Aizawa and Hizashi Yamada. Throughout the years, they had pieced together the puzzle left behind and Naomasa enlisted the help of another power user. One who could manipulate and track energy at will, all he had to do was tell Hizashi and Shouta. “True Man.” Naomasa turned his head, watching as the rather grumpy black-haired man came into view, and trailing behind him was none other than Hizashi himself.

“Ah there you two are…” he said with a smile, “You uuuuuuurged us here in a hurry! What’s the big news?” Hizashi questioned as he pointed his finger at the man in question. “I believe we’ve found the whereabouts of the Prince, you see as we previously came to find out. Prince Oboro’s death made no sense and the newest information proves that he is very much alive.” he watched as the two men’s eyes widened, “Alive?!” Shouta exclaimed, despite him not often speaking out.

When it came to the matter of the safety and well being of those he cared about, he didn’t hesitate to open his mouth. Naomasa nodded, “We brought in a third-party source and with the use of their power, we tracked the Prince’s energy link.” Hizashi scratched his head, not quite following though he was more of a man of action. “And?” Shouta pushed further and Naomasa sighed.

“We tracked the source back to the Kingdom, more specifically the royal family crypt. We believe that he’s either being held there against his will, perhaps his fiance(e) was in on the plan all along to take the Kingdom for themselves…” he paused when he noticed the defensive expression Shouta was wearing and cleared his throat.

“Or...perhaps magic is at play, considering the fact of the absence of the rubble pile from the crime scene and various other unexplainable things from that day. There is a good chance that even the previously known League of Wizards is at play. I believe they now go by The Dragon Liberation Front.” he explained before placing his hands behind his back.

“I must ask if you two are willing to infiltrate the royal crypt. I understand it’s strictly against the rules to do such if you are not a member of the royal family, but I believe we can make an exception in this case.” Shouta clenched his jaw, he didn’t want to believe that you were involved in this. He refused to believe a friend would betray him like this, he knew how you felt about the Prince and his opinions wouldn’t be swayed.

“Let’s get goooooing! I’m ready!” Hizashi declared and Shouta nodded in response. “It’s nearing sundown if we want to be in the Kingdom before night we better move,” Shouta suggested and Naomasa agreed, quickly assembling his team before they set out. However, you had no knowledge of this incoming event.

Once your day was through and the sun was finally setting, you made your way to the crypt to tell your slumbering Prince about your day and bid him goodnight. You did this every single day before going to bed, some would think it pathetic. But you couldn’t help yourself as you stared at his sleeping face. Despite the spell he was under, he had grown just like you.

Though you had taken it upon yourself to change his clothes and wash his body, his hair had gotten longer and facial hair littered his chin which in a way you thought looked nice. But you felt horrible leaving him here, in a room filled with nothing but past Kings and Queens. You let out a sigh and reached out to cup his cheek, which felt cool against the palm of your hand.

“I wish you were awake, I wish I never had to keep this a secret,” you said, your voice echoing through the room. You frowned and leaned over, pressing your lips to his forehead. Thinking about kissing his lips only brought you memories of the horrid day he got cast under this spell. “Yet another night without you.” a frown came as you turned to walk up the stone steps that led up to the entrance of the crypt. However, you quickly came to a halt when you heard several people coming and a shiver ran down your spine.

What was going on? You panicked as the sound came closer and in a split-second decision, you ran to take cover behind one of the many coffins that littered the room. Your heart was pounding in your chest as the unknown individuals stumbled into the room. “Sheeeeesh! It’s creepy in here!” your eyes widened when you recognized Hizashi’s voice and you hesitantly took a peek, “Shut it.” Shouta warned before a third man you didn’t recognize came into view.

“I think his body is over here, come on,” he announced and you watched as several officers followed him, you had almost forgotten there was more than one form of justice in this Kingdom. Knights were used to protect and face down the evil that plagued the land while the Police ensured the evildoers were locked away for good. You found yourself so lost in your small moment of spying that you failed to notice you were beginning to stand up from your previous crouching position.

But you misguided the placement of your hand and ended up knocking a small vase off the table from where the coffin sat, you gasped as it hit the floor. Part of you was hoping that you wouldn’t be caught, but of course, as always life seemed against you and Shouta was the first one to you. “Freeze!” he demanded as he used his power and grabbed your arm.

Twisting it behind your back which made you cry out, “Stop it!” you hissed and felt his grip loosen. “Y/n?” he questioned before Hizashi ran up to the two of you. He pulled you from Shouta’s grip before grabbing your shoulders and shaking you. “What gives!?” he demanded, though you were too busy watching your vision spin. Hizashi halted his movements, which gave you a chance to recover.

“Did you know about this!?” he snapped as he pointed toward Oboro’s sleeping figure. You shivered and reached up to grab Hizashi’s hands, trying desperately to pull them off your shoulders. “I...I…” you yelped when he shook you once more, Shouta just stood by and watched while the unknown third man and his police officers began to look around the crypt for any more unusual findings.

"You promised me!“ Hizashi screamed before going to grab your shirt collar, you could hear the fabric of it tear as his fingers tightened around it. “You promised us!” he pointed between himself and Shouta, “That you wouldn’t hold anything back, that we’d always be honest with each other. Did you know about this!?” he repeated the question and you parted your lips to answer, despite the fact that you were trembling.

“Answer me!” he growled and Shouta placed his hand on his hip. “Keep roughing them up like that and they won’t.” he commented before shifting his gaze at you, “Just be honest, did you?” he questioned and your lip trembled before you forced out an answer. “Y-Yes.” you said, hanging your head low. “But it wasn't my fault! The wizard! Doctor, the good doctor said-” you watched as the third man approached, you wondered if he was with the police since they seemed to follow his every move.

Hizashi released his grip and stepped back, “Did you say wizard?” you blinked, “Uh...yes.” the man tapped his chin, “I thought this was the working of magic, but I couldn’t have been sure.” he said, his gaze still locked on you. “My name is Naomasa, I’m a detective with the police and your friends here. Helped me solve the case of what truly happened to your fiance, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to put you under arrest.” Shouta and Hizashi seemed just as surprised as you were by those words.

“W-What!?” you exclaimed as you took a step back, “Sorry, I find no joy in doing this. However, you kept critical information to yourself and failed to come forth with the truth. You concealed a member of the royal family which is punishable by death.” Hizashi quickly stepped in front of you, Shouta was right by his side. “Don’t you think that’s a little haaaaaarsh?” Despite the fact you had kept this a secret, Hizashi didn’t see the sense in chopping your head off because of it.

You clenched your jaw and tightened your fists, did they really not know why you had to keep it a secret in the first place? You knew you weren’t supposed to tell and you hated the fact that the doctor threatened you into silence. But if death was possibly awaiting you, then did you truly have anything to fear? A soft growl came from your throat before you pushed past Hizashi and stepped in front of Naomasa.

“I am the ruler of this Kingdom, regardless of what you do. It would be foolish to behead me when the true ruler still lays in slumber. Unless you think you can wake him up because I have tried EVERYTHING!” you screamed at the top of your lungs and your eyes watered over, “Nothing will wake him up! I was threatened by the doctor, that if I told anyone…” you trailed off and stepped away from Naomasa before turning to walk over to Oboro.

God, if only he were awake. You could only imagine what he’d have to say about this. You felt a tear run down your cheek as you stared at him, “There would be a dark consequence but since you’re threatening to take me away and end my life, I guess there’s nothing left to lose.” you explained as you reached over to run your fingers through his hair.

“Sorry if I betrayed you guys, unlike you I don’t possess a power. I wasn’t gifted, I am powerless. I am useless, I’m just a normal person. Yet, Oboro chose me all the same and I love him. I love him so much. I know it pains you to see him like this as well, but I have been dealing with this by myself for years. Keeping it a secret to protect him, to protect all of you because that’s all I could ever do.” you explained as more tears streamed down your cheeks.

Hizashi frowned, “Well, uh. You’re not powerless per se it’s just-” Shouta nudged him and shook his head, indicating for Hizashi to stop speaking. “I don’t know why the Gods didn’t bless me, I guess seeing how everything turned out. I truly am unworthy of holding such a thing,” you said, choking down a sob before you leaned close to Oboro. Your hand gently cupped his cheek once more and you stroked it with your thumb before grazing it over his lips.

The pain tugged at your heart, despite what you had said. Your fate was already sealed and in that sense, you might as well break your own rules. You sniffled before leaning forward and pressing your lips to Oboro’s. They were cold, unlike yours, and yet they remained just as soft as they were years ago. You swallowed before pulling away and droplets of your tears landed on his face.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more…I’m sorry I’m powerless,” you whispered before turning to face Hizashi, Shouta, and Naomasa. “Well?” you questioned, “Mister detective, aren’t you going to take me away now?” you questioned, failing to see what they were staring at. You blinked and raised your eyebrow before slowly looking over your shoulder.

A gasp left your mouth as you watched a yellow light engulf Oboro, it almost looked like mist and it seemed to be pulling some sort of darkness out of the Prince. Your hands clasped over your mouth as you continued to watch in amazement, did you do that? Were you responsible for whatever was happening? You almost wanted to apologize before the yellow light expanded and all of a sudden, a harsh energy wave came.

You along with everyone else got knocked back on their feet. You heard someone crawl toward you as the energy continued to come and the crypt gave eerie noises as if the walls themselves were trying to withstand the force. “I got you, don’t worry!” Hizashi said as he wrapped his arms around you, effectively shielding you from whatever was happening.

You curled yourself into his chest, your heart racing, and part of you was too afraid to see what had happened when everything settled back down. Hizashi’s arms were still securely around you and Shouta was near Naomasa. But when you heard a soft groan you struggled to get out of Hizashi’s grip and your head shot in the direction of Oboro.

“Uh…” your eyes widened as you watched him slowly sit up, he looked disoriented and confused. He slowly turned to look around the room while he rubbed the back of his head and gave a loud yawn. “W-What happened? What are you guys doing here?” he questioned before his eyes settled on you, he froze before reaching his hand out toward you. “Y/n?” he questioned, “What happened, you...you look older,” he noted as he tilted his head to the side and a voice rang in your head.

“Though you may think yourself powerless, even those without a gift have proven to have a purpose in this world. We did give you a power as we foresaw your future, though we may have deceived you. The power of awakening those you love was bestowed upon you with our blessing. Now go, live your happy ending.”

You came back to your senses when Hizashi began nudging you. “Hm?” you turned to face him, “Uh, he kind of asked you a question and can we get the man some cloooooothes, please!?” you failed to notice that Oboro had gotten up and sure enough the only thing that you could find to cover him was a thin white sheet as you found it too difficult to dress his sleeping figure.

“Oh relax!” Oboro said to his worried friend, “Witness the fabulous application of my power, it will conceal just enough.” he said as he pressed his fingers together and sure enough, a cloud that was blue-gray in color surrounded his hips and thighs. “There…” he said before his eyes settled on you and your heart skipped a beat as he approached, though from your position on the floor.

Your imagination could go wild at the almost naked man before you. He held his hand out to you, a large friendly smile on his face. “I’m sure you can fill me in on what happened, it feels like I’ve been sleeping forever,” he noted, and despite your heart racing and the soft blush that came to your cheeks. You hesitantly reached up to grab his hand but Naomasa seemed to want to interfere and grabbed your wrist instead.

“Sorry, but you’re still a suspect, and though it seems like you broke whatever spell the Prince was under. That only makes you more suspicious. You previously appeared and claimed to be powerless and yet what we just witnessed is in itself a power that you possess.” you trembled and tried to pull yourself from his grip but Oboro stepped in and ripped Naomasa’s hand away.

His normal happy expression was replaced with anger. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t touch my betrothed. They are innocent of any and all crimes, I know it in my heart. They would never hurt anyone and since they are my fiance(e) they are part of the royal family and well, it’d be kind of wise for you to treat the royal family with respect. Thank you.” he said before releasing his hold and helping you up, he pulled you close, and slowly the two of you made your way up the stone steps.

Sure, he’d have to catch up with Hizashi and Shouta as well, but you were the most important person to him and he needed to know what had happened. But, much like in the days of your youth. As soon as you were away from the others, he gently pushed you against the wall and pressed his lips against yours. A shiver ran down your spine but unlike before, only happy memories of your relationship with the Prince flashed through your mind.

You let out a content sigh and wrapped your arms around him, keeping him close. The future rulers of the Kingdom, one originally a knight in training and the other born with a silver spoon in his mouth though unselfish and brave in personality. One day this twisted fairy tale would be written into the history of the royal family, but for now. The present is the only thing that mattered to you, for you had your Prince once more.

#oboro x reader #shirakumo x reader #bnha x reader #bnhabookclub

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