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chimcess · 3 months

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→ Chapter Nine: Landscapes Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Werewolf!Jimin, Witch!Reader, Shifter!Reader, Shifter!Jimin, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha!Jimin Genre: Supernatural!AU, Werewolf!AU, Angst, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Smut, Word Count: 10.2k+ Synopsis: Within the four realms of Lustra lay the Bangtan forest home to the Foxglove pack of the south and known as the “land of magic.” It is also home to the Bridd, a powerful witch from a cursed bloodline who is one of the sacred guardians of the forest. Y/N is the newest Bridd, a young girl who was given her position too early. Now a woman, Y/N is revered amongst the wolves as the most powerful witch they have ever known, but hiding under the surface is a woman who has to battle between her duty and her heart. Warnings: ANGST, strong language, PTSD, flashbacks, self-hate, self-depreciation, talks of death, nosey birds, Moland is a lot of fun to write about, (sorta) theft, home sickness, magic, very tame A/N: Don't know how I feel about this chapter. It was a bit difficult to write. I think you'll understand why in a moment. Thanks for reading!

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Namjoon pov

I stood inside of a small boat house, Bridd’s scent faint, but I knew it was fresh. At least I could give Jimin that. Hoseok said to take a look around outside and try to follow it. I sighed. I had already done that. I had done it yesterday as well, but Jimin demanded I go back to double check. Today’s assessment was much better than yesterday's so I was able to pick up the subtle nuances within it. She had been standing where my feet were planted no more than 48 hours earlier.

“She’s long gone,” Hoseok’s voice was clear in my head despite him being five miles away. “Wonder where she went.”

“Taehyung said something about Viridi Gramine,” Hyuna chimed in. She had been relatively quiet, her thoughts only focused on catching any sign of Bridd. “Do you think she’s headed that way?”

“Doubtful,” I followed the trail from the small cot on the floor to the fridge. “I don’t believe she was ever going to see our cousins.”

Hyuna contemplated this. Hoseok felt guilty. Both of us scolded him for this. He had been hard on himself over the entire ordeal. He thought if he had been able to speak to Bridd and Jimin that this situation would have never happened. Apologizing, the younger wolf went back to wondering where she could have gone.

“Not far,” Hyuna mused.

“She could be out of Moland by now,” I added. “I don’t know which way she would have gone. She might be lost out there.”

That worried all of us. Hoseok knew her better than I did and kept thinking about how little she knew of the outside world. She would have no idea where she was without a map. Hyuna had more faith in her ability to survive out there, and I leaned more towards her thought process. If she needed to fight, she could, and her shifting would lend itself useful regardless. She had probably flown over the swamps and into Clarcton. That would be the easiest and most efficient use of her time.

“That makes the most sense,” Hoseok thought.

Following her scent outside, it stopped on the small deck just outside of the home. She had to have shifted from here. We would not be able to find her. Hoseok huffed in annoyance, Hyuna tried to soothe him, and I could finally pick up my sister’s thoughts. She was worried about everyone, not that it surprised me, Yeong-Mi was always giving herself migraines and panic attacks.

“Shut up,” She snapped at me, her tone biting. I could still hear the stress underneath it. “He’s right, oppa,” Yeong-Mi was talking to Hoseok now. “You can’t blame yourself. We all know who’s to blame for this.”

Sol’s face came to her mind. It was distorted, the Luna’s features not quite right. My sister saw Sol as often as the rest of the village did, and her memories did not do the older girl justice. Mini told me she did not care how wrong she remembered Sol’s face; she had no thoughts of facing the stupid woman anytime soon. Hyuna agreed with a delighted giggle. Hoseok mumbled something about her only trying to help but none of us paid it any attention.

“Sol can’t bear all the responsibility,” I gently chastised my little sister. “Bridd still made the choice to run off.”

“If she had minded her own business,” Mini barked, her stress and frustration boiling over, “-Bridd wouldn’t have run away! God, the nerve. Who would say something like that to Jimin Oppa when we all know just how stressed he’s been?”

“An idiot,” Hyuna bit, her anger surfacing once more. She had always had an issue with Sol. “Between Bo, his brother, and the copiae the man hasn’t had a break.”

I had tried to stay neutral, but I could not help agreeing with Hyuna. Sol had been out of line and overstepped. I found solace in Taehyung’s own reaction to her wrongdoing. The boy had yet to touch his mate since Jimin went into a frantic panic in the middle of the night once he found his girl’s bed empty, and rumors of their constant arguing since the morning Bridd went missing were spreading throughout Bangtan.

“Eun-Jin told me Jimin said she was going to the Ozryn mountains alone,” My sister supplied. “I haven’t been around him since she left, so I don’t know what really happened, but he’s devastated about this.”

Hoseok growled when Jimin’s name came up. Mini took up for her favorite alpha while I reminded him of the situation at large. What Sol told Jimin was a very harsh, unrealistic, misrepresentation of Bridd’s plans. He was reacting on what he knew, or lack thereof, and lashed out. Hoseok vehemently disagreed until Hyuna asked him how he would have reacted if he was convinced she was going off to kill herself after she just recovered from a previous injury.

“She’s alone out there,” Hoseok grunted, his fire burnt out in the face of his wife. “He should have never let that happen.”

“It’s not his fault,” I was pleasantly surprised to hear Jungkook’s older brother, Jong-Hyun. He had been searching the east for a scent but came back around once he realized my sister had left him behind. “They’re both stubborn and I don’t think little miss witch would have allowed him to go. Ji-Hyun said the two of them got into an argument the afternoon she left, and he feels partially responsible for whatever happened between them.”

I growled, “That boy’s attitude is going to get him hurt. Is that why Callisto’s been even more irate than normal?”

Mini laughed, “I think that’s just how she is around you.”

All of us shared a laugh, the tense moment going by. Hyuna and Hoseok had finally found one another, and my sister was their next stop. She was almost to Syrena, and the couple wanted to go for a swim. The rest of us turned down their offer. I did not want to be a magindara’s next meal. Yeong-Mi decided to wait for them so she could keep an eye out for any elves.

Drowning out their voices, I continued sniffing. I knew finding a trail would be next to impossible unless I went deeper into the swamps, but elves could be anywhere. My fear for Bridd came back. I hoped to God that she was safe and watching her back out there. I knew she could handle her own, but she was not infallible.

I sat there, staring out at the brown water, willing it to tell me where to go next, until Hyuna let me know Taehyung was looking for me. My father was concerned about a party of elves spotted in the northwestern corner of Moland and wanted me out of the forest. Jimin was refusing to come home so Taehyung needed me to help him plan strategies. Hyuna had rounded back to meet up with me near Bridd’s cottage.

“We’re leaving him out here alone?” I asked her.

“Of course not,” The small, red wolf replied. “Jong-Hyun and Hoseok are scouting him out. He’s somewhere deep in the forest.”

She was disappointed that their beach trip was postponed but chose not to comment on it. I tried to comfort her in my own way, picturing the two of them swimming and laughing together another day, but she waved me off. She was grateful but did not want to talk about it knowing it would bother Hoseok.

“And he hasn’t found anything?”

“Nothing.”

Stepping into Bridd’s clearing, I admired the wildflowers. She had to have the most beautiful oasis in all of Lustra. Her cottage was surrounded by a beautiful garden filled with vegetables, fruits, and herbs. A large, porcelain bird bath at the very front of the house that, for some reason, never ran out of water. It was odd how perfectly made and curated the meadow was. The Gods must have made it this way so the Bridd would not grow depressed inside. Hyuna was laying in the grass close to the destroyed house. Taehyung said an elf was the one who did all of the damage. Bridd’s scent stuck to the wood, but it was starting to fade.

“I wanted to go inside,” Hyuna looked at the large hole in the front of the house, her mind revealing just how sad she felt. As much as she scolded Hoseok for harboring guilt, she had her own. “I don’t think Jimin would appreciate it. This is the only place that still smells like her.”

“He’s been here,” My friend’s scent was heavy in the air. Fresh. “Is he sleeping in there?”

She nodded, “I think he’s trying to fix the place up. Jungkook was talking about it with Cadoc. Jimin’s obsessed with having everything fixed before she comes home.”

We shared a look. Neither one of us were very hopeful that our little bird would be back anytime soon. I had more faith in her survival abilities than Hyuna did, but neither one of us had any way of knowing when she could realistically get back.

Hyuna remembered her trips to Bangtan back when she still lived in Viridi Gramine. The mountains were harsh, unforgiving, and absolutely lethal. She was a princess, royal and proud in her bloodline, and traveled with the most experienced and strong guides in the land, and still there was always a chance she could never return. After she became of age and found Hoseok, the thought of going through those mountains had never passed her mind before her mother grew ill.

I had never crossed Ozryn myself, but I knew it was a harsh place to be. Hyuna’s memories alone left a chill in my bones. Bridd could very well die out there and no one would be able to stop it from happening. I entertained the thought of Jimin and I leaving Foxglove behind to find her, but one look from Hyuna wiped it clean from my mind. We could not leave the village until we knew more.

Bridd’s death would destroy Jimin, and I was certain Taehyung and Sol’s marriage would fall apart for a time. More than it already had. The Park family would never be the same. For that I desperately hoped she would come to her senses and come home but knew she would not. The little flicker of fire I had seen in those eyes when I showed up to her cottage after Sol’s birthday had told me more about her than the years, we had orbited one another’s atmosphere. She had more in her than Hyuna realized.

“She’s never seen so much of the world before,” Hyuna whispered like we were breaking some unspoken law. “How can she know where to go if she doesn’t know what to look for?”

“She has maps-”

“Maps that predate the industrial revolution,” Hyuna was quick to cut me off. “That girl is blind, and you and I both know it.”

I did not have to speak- we both knew we were on the same page. Still, I told her how fierce Bridd could be when she felt threatened. Showing her our fight outside of the cottage, Hyuna chuckled.

“She’s a fighter, that’s for sure. Still, I worry. When she was in the infirmary all of the witches said that they were used to her fainting spells. How can we know she won’t do that out there?”

I shook my head. “We don’t. We just have to have faith. For Jimin’s sake. For her friends’ sake.”

“And Bridd’s,” Hyuna added.

“And Bridd’s,” I agreed.

A howl echoed through the forest, and I knew I had to get going. Taehyung rarely shifts these days so it must be urgent. Hyuna decided to tag along and wait for her husband at the Temple. She daydreamed of taking a few swings at Sol if given the chance while we ran. I chose to ignore it.

As we got closer to the village, I began to hear the voices of the other copiae that joined the search party. The loudest was Ji-Hyun who complained of his sister-in-law’s melodramatics. Hyuna fought back a snarl, her thoughts murderous. The younger wolf had the decency to drop the subject, but my distaste for him did not change. Taehyung shared my sentiments and told the Park boy to go home for the day. He was able to keep his thoughts to himself long enough to change and our connection severed.

“Irrumator,” Hyuna grunted, her thoughts of Sol swirling into Ji-Hyun.

I chuckled, “He’s young. Cut him some slack.”

“He’s older than Taehyung!” Hyuna barked. “That boy knows better, and what he said to Bridd was so out of line. How dare you defend him?”

I whined, bowed my head, and looked down. Submitting was not something I did often, but I respected Hyuna enough to do so. A fight was the last thing I wanted. Besides, if I had an issue with Hyuna that would mean I had an issue with Hoseok, and that was not something we could not afford right now. Not with this war starting.

“It’s not defending him,” I tried to keep any annoyance for her out of my tone. “I just think this is a time for unity. Arguing and fighting about something we cannot change is pointless.”

She huffed but dropped it. I knew I had won our little exchange and held my head up high. Now, more than ever, we needed to let things go. Taehyung’s thoughts showed his conflicting feelings. While he agreed we needed to come together to fight, to deal with this threat together, he was hurt and angered by his friend’s disappearance. I could see underneath it all, however, he felt betrayal from the one person he held dearest.

Sol brought up mixed emotions of my own. I had wanted her for so long, my longing to be the leader of my people blinding me. When Taehyung was chosen, I was disappointed, but any romantic feelings I may have harbored for the young Luna vanished. Even if my actions after did not reflect it, I was happy for my little cousin.

His wife was never someone I had been particularly close with. She was obsessed with Jimin for years. I could not recall the number of times I could hear her daydreaming about him when we went on walks together. Ahn had asked for me to be her escort when she shifted, and the ramblings of a teenage girl were the last thing I needed to hear. Especially when I found myself wanting to be at her side, to rule and lead, and her thoughts of me only commenting on how ugly I was.

To say she was distraught over Jimin’s lack of interest was an understatement. The poor girl was begging the other alpha to have his way with her- mates be damned. Sol was lucky he was nothing short of a good man. Anyone else might have been tempted, but not Park Jimin. He was kind, cordial, and played with her often, but any sexual advances were immediately shut down. I know why now, and through that lens it was easier to wrap my head around. He was already deeply enamored with another.

Sol’s entire life was flipped upside down once she found herself in Taehyung’s arms. Confusion and disbelief were very prominent at first, but that quickly melted away into adoration. It was as if she had always loved him. For Taehyung the feeling was mutual. Before Sol, he had his eyes set on a local girl called Minji.

Still, I could only guess Sol could not stop herself. It was almost a reflex for her to dote on Jimin at this point. They were closer in age than the rest of us (save Taehyung), though Jimin was a good 7 years older than her, and he was always kind and thoughtful. When she heard that he might be harmed she ran to his side. What she told him, things I only knew because Jimin would not stop thinking about that night, were only meant to help him. She pushed her friendship with Bridd aside to go to him, put her trust with Taehyung under the guillotine, and even risked ruining her bond with Jimin himself in order to protect his heart. It would be admirable if she had thought it over for a few minutes instead of rushing to his house like a bat out of hell, spewing out the most over dramatic and, frankly, not truthful, versions of events.

The argument he had with Bridd was based on what Sol had said. He was already agitated enough as it was. His pack of fifteen had been reduced to seven and the newer recruits were too young. Stress and frustration bubbled over the moment the Luna’s mouth opened. She said Bridd was planning on dying, that the witch was lying to everyone about where she was going, that she was hellbent on making up for her past mistakes. Ridiculous, and while partially true, it was spoken by a teenage girl who did not listen to a word the messenger had said. At that moment all Jimin could hear was his mate marching to her death so she could make up for keeping her mouth shut.

It was still strange to think about what Bridd did. I was annoyed she had kept her visions to herself but that faded once I realized that she was terrified and could do nothing. We were not on good terms. Foxglove had removed themselves completely and Ahn had not been quiet about his plans to go to her cottage. I could not blame her for feeling hesitant to say something when she was not sure what the threat could be. Ahn could have had the witch killed.

“He would have been a fool,” Hyuna mumbled.

“When wasn’t he?” I asked rhetorically.

The others all shared my sentiment. Bridd was the last person to blame for what happened, and her actions the minute she realized what was happening showed how much she cared. Cadoc helped those who were on the fence come back on our side. The way he described waking up and seeing the little witch girl who fumbled and fought by his side, broken and bleeding, was enough to make the toughest cry. When he said the second her eyes opened all she could think about was getting to Foxglove as quickly as possible any whispers of her being ill-intentioned were dashed away. Only a select few still felt weary of her, Ji-Hyun being one of them, but they were at least attempting to be decent for the pack’s sake.

We were at the village’s edge now and I parted ways with Hyuna. She gave me a brief goodbye before leaving me to shift. I was more private than the others, especially Hoseok and Hyuna, and they were used to giving me the space I desperately craved during the shift. It was my most vulnerable moment and I hated feeling seen.

We had various items of clothing hidden within Bangtan. None of it was meant to fit well or be personable, but it was practical. My mother was in charge of keeping the copiae clothed and taken care of a job that she took very seriously, and it was one of the only things my father felt proud of. He would often put her down and tell her she needed to do better, be better, and all of the other strange demeaning slogans the older men in town harped on about. I had never been able to see the fault of any of the women, my mother even more so, but she never commented on it and neither did I.

I found a pair of large, baggy pants and shifted. Putting on the cotton garments, I decided to forgo a shirt and made my way to the Temple. Taehyung was waiting for me, and I would not cause him undo stress. He was dealing with so much already and I did not want to add to my cousin’s weight. I think I have done enough of that already.

Walking through the town, I caught sight of Jimin’s mother. She was helping Jungkook’s father cut wood for his roof. The Parks were a strange family. Mi-Jeong was outspoken, loud, and fierce. She did not bow down to men the way the others did, and her stubborn streak was only rivaled by her youngest child. My own family often spoke of her ‘atrocious’ behavior, but I was only ever endeared by Mi-Jeong.

Ji-Hyun had been a quiet kid, favoring his mother more with his sharp features and moss-brown eyes. He followed his brother around for years and Jimin never complained. That lonely quietness followed him into his teenage years, but when he fell in love with a human girl that forced a fierce, possessiveness to form. He fought for her, both verbally and physically, and that changed him. His attitude was horrible, always defensive and quick to judge, but he had a love and devotion for his family unlike anything I have ever seen. Somehow, even more than his older brother.

Jimin, for all his faults, was someone who had always fascinated me. From the time he was born he had the village at his feet. His father had been a strong, powerful man who was every bit the wolf our people expected. His choice of bride was bizarre, but everyone was sure if anyone could handle Mi-Jeong it was Ji-Won. Jimin, like his father, bore all the hallmarks of a Park. Charming, witty, and courageous. What set him apart, however, was the sweetness he kept hidden away from the others. I saw it. I had always seen it.

The first time was when I watched him chase after butterflies in his backyard. He was no older than four, but at that age boys were expected to show signs of maturity. In public, Jimin was the picture-perfect child. However, as I watched him blow bubbles, giggling a sound so sweet it made my teeth hurt, before taking off after a monarch, I knew whatever he was doing was an act.

I frowned. His sweetness was showing once more, now very publicly, and I was not sure how he was handling it. He was not allowing anyone to speak with him, shunned his closest friends, and was hiding away waiting for the other piece of his heart to return. Such a strange sight, Park Jimin weak and in pain.

Mi-Jeong caught my eyes just then and I could see it in her as well. She was so sad, so worried. I hoped her family would come together but doubted that would happen. At least, not until Bridd came back. If she came back. I shuddered to think about the fate of the Park family if she did not return home.

I did not stop to speak to anyone like I normally did. My mind was too scattered and, frankly, I was done with conversation. Having a constant cycle of thoughts and voices in your head would do that. Luckily, no one seemed bothered by my silence. We were all living in uncertainty since losing one of our strongest fighters.

“Anything new, dog?”

I grit my teeth. I knew that voice. It was grating in its smoothness. Taking a deep breath, I turned to look across the way.

Of course, he would be here.

Seokjin had become my own personal hell over the last few days. The man could hold a grudge and had still not forgiven me for lunging at his friend. Now he was standing there, a stern look on his face, his eyes filled with disdain. Beside him was a face I did not see as frequently. Yoongi looked worse than ever. He was thin and frail, much frailer than he had been before he was blinded, and his hair messy. His eyes were even bluer today than they were when I had last seen him. His pupil was nearly gone.

“Unfortunately, not,” I deadpanned, trying to get out of this as quickly as possible. “There’s still a few out searching, but I was called away.”

“Hmft,” Seokjin crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes darkening even further. “Figures.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded, not liking the tone in his voice.

I did not like much about him.

“You don’t care if you find her or not,” He replied, his voice dripping with anger. “None of you do.”

I was exasperated, “You know that is not true-”

“It’s that bitch’s fault she’s gone,” Seokjin shouted over me.

“Stop yelling,” I was attempting to keep myself calm. We were causing a scene. My father was going to be furious. “I’m aware of what Sol has done. Neither one of us are happy about it, but I’m not God. I can’t turn back time just like I can’t bring her back. What’s done is done.”

“Yet you still follow her orders like some lap dog.”

“I follow Taehyung,” I corrected. “By extension, that means I follow his wife. We are at war, Seokjin. I’m sorry about Bridd, truly I am, and I hope she is alive and well, but my life does not revolve around her. I have a village to protect, a village she is not in, and I will not leave it to burn to go on some wild goose chase.”

Seokjin’s face was red now, his eyes moist from unshed tears. I could not help but pity the fool. Bridd was a close friend of his and she abandoned them. It was a harsh word to use, but that was the only one that truly captured the anguish the witches felt. I could not say how the others were doing. They made their disgust for our governing bodies known the night she went missing. Sol banned them from returning to the Temple after the woman who was always hanging off of Seokjin’s arm shouted at her. None of us had seen their little group leave the Park house since.

“You’re going to let her die,” He finally spoke, the accusation a punch in the gut.

Yes, I would let the witch girl die if it meant saving my own. She was nothing to me. We were hardly friends, and while I respected her, that did not mean I would choose her over my sister. Being here was far more important to me than that woman’s life. If the stakes were not so high then I would gladly hunt her down, but that was not the life we were living. I had to trust that she knew what she was doing and be okay with it.

“Jin,” Yoongi stepped in. I had forgotten he was there. “Let it be. Namjoon has done what he can. Let’s go back to Mi-Jeong’s.”

I was glad he seemed to be more reasonable than Seokjin. Stealing another look at him, I was pleased to see his hair was growing. That meant he was eating well enough. It was a shame no one knew how to help his condition. I could not imagine losing my vision within a blink of an eye. Then I remembered that he did not just lose it. Yoongi had been in agony, his head felt like it had been slammed through the thick cement of the castle walls, and his fear sent him into panic attacks. Samanya told me she had only ever seen it happen once. The spell should have killed him, and he was lucky to have survived with only his eyesight lost. I doubted he felt that way.

“But-”

“Drop it,” The raven-haired man stopped Seokjin before he could get another word in. Without looking, he addressed me. “I apologize for his callousness. We are all worried. I hope you understand.”

This was the most I had ever heard him speak, even counting the time all of us had been at Bridd’s cottage in the Spring. “It’s not an issue. I hope you are better.”

It was unnerving to talk to someone who did not look at my face. Yoongi stared out towards the south end of the village, his eyes untrained and unresponsive, and he showed no signs that he was having a discussion with anyone. Even his voice remained monotone and unwavering. Gruff and smokey while the intention was flat.

“I am fine,” He replied, “We are here because my mother was interested in how far you believe she could be. I will let her know that she must have shifted, and her scent was lost.”

“Thank you,” I replied, impressed he was able to keep Seokjin quiet for this long. “She was inside of a houseboat for a few hours before leaving. Any ideas?”

“Thelma,” Seokjin grunted. “Must have slept and then taken off. Was anything missing?”

I shrugged, “I couldn’t say. I’m sorry.”

Seokjin shook his head angrily.

“No need to apologize,” Yoongi raised a hand and dropped it immediately. I had no idea what he was trying to do but decided it did not matter. “We’ll leave you alone now.”

Seokjin seemed to open his mouth to argue but decided against it. I smirked triumphantly. I should keep the blind witch around more often. He had the perfect effect on the annoying one. Scowling, Seokjin wrapped an arm around Yoongi and turned back toward the direction of the residential district.

Taehyung was pacing when I finally found him in the Temple library. Books were scattered about the tables, a few pages torn out stacked messily on the edge of the large oak table he had been sitting at. His blonde hair was shaggy now, the back of it just past the nape of his neck while the rest hung just below his ears. My little cousin kept thick wavy bangs that fell over his eyebrows which were now so long they had to be held from his eyes back with a headband.

I was worried for him. He was frightened and slowly losing his composure. He was able to hold it together long enough to make it through meetings with the elders. He refused to show them any weakness. He did not want to prove Ahn right. However, anyone could see how much the pressure was starting to affect the young boy. Jimin was trying to keep him sane through this, but he was dealing with his own problems.

I had taken it upon myself to pick up where he slacked. I owed it to the both of them after my part in their exile. Taehyung was better at forgiveness than Jimin, but the both of them had given me grace I did not deserve. I was lucky. Other men might have taken my head after the show of disrespect. Jimin very well might have if he was not so concerned with upsetting his mate.

I needed to stop thinking of them. Taehyung had called me for a reason, and I had to be there for my cousin. His pacing did not slow or stop when I came in, so I was sure he was not about to talk war with me. He seemed to calm down when we talked about strategy.

“Sorry for taking so long, Tae,” I kept my voice low and calm.

He paused his pacing to look over at me. His eyes were red-rimmed and wet, his cheeks swollen and flushed, and his lower lip could not hide its tremble no matter how much effort he put into it. Taehyung’s emotional vulnerability had always confounded me. He was so sweet and kind, gentle and warm, and had never made any real efforts to change himself. He laughed at his clumsiness, skipped when he was happy, and played with his younger siblings like the giant child he was.

Likewise, he was never afraid to cry. When Jimin’s father died neither he nor Ji-Hyun shed a single tear when around others. I knew better than to foolishly think the boys did not sob into their mother’s shoulders during the night, especially Jimin, but the town was thrilled by their show of “bravery.” Taehyung did not know how to put on that mask as perfectly as Jimin had.

Taehyung’s father did not die as honorably as Jimin’s had, no final acts of courage protecting his wife from a stray pack of wolves. Just sickness. Ahn called him a weak man for allowing something as insignificant as an infected wound kill him. No one really thought the same way he had but made no effort to disagree with him. Not to his face, anyway. My own mother had said Ahn was cruel for putting down an already grieving family, and she was one of his loyalists.

“I hadn’t noticed it had been that long,” He mumbled before going back to pacing.

He had never looked more like his father. Dong-Min was respectable, wise and honest, but never a man others flocked to. He had been an artist from Viridi Gramine, and while his paintings and scrolls were the most beautiful in Nantgarth, he was not seen as someone important. When he met Hana, he had found his muse, and she adored his soft-spoken demeanor. She came from an abusive home, and her father had beaten her black and blue the night she ran to Dong-Min. The two ran away from Withertusk hand in hand, his sister’s house the only place he knew he could go, and their troubles ended soon after arriving in Foxglove.

“You’re upset,” I broached the subject bluntly. Taehyung preferred it that way. “What’s the matter?”

“Have I done something wrong?” He asked me, his voice cracking. He must have started crying again. “I want your honesty, Namjoon. Please. Tell me if I have done anything horrible to her.”

“To who?”

I went to comfort the boy. His shoulders moved with his cries, but he was surprisingly quiet. It had never crossed my mind that he was desperately trying to cover up his pain from the others, his discomfort so noticeable I had assumed he had forgotten the act. I was always getting things wrong with Taehyung. The only thing he could do was shake his head, close his eyes, and let a fresh wave of tears overtake him.

I embraced him then, his crying making me uncomfortable. The last time he shed tears on my shoulder had been his father’s funeral. It was after Ahn had told him tears would not bring his father back. He tripped running out of the building, unable to breathe in the presence of the chief, and scraped his knee. Blood flowing down his leg, pants ripped, and black clothes covered in dust, Taehyung begged me to hold him when I found him. My father came to check on us sometime later, and in a rare act of kindness, took the younger boy to our house to clean up.

“You could never wrong her,” I was not a good comforter, but I hoped words of encouragement would help. “Whatever happened between you two to have you like this is only a wrinkle in time. Sol is angry with herself. She loves you and knows how dearly you love her.”

Tae sniffled; his cries muffled against my shoulder.

“Not Sol,” He cried. “Y/N.”

That seemed worse to me. I could easily give him meaningless fluff about his mate. Their love was a given. He had been very angry with her about speaking to Jimin behind his back, but I knew they would work through it in time. Trust had been broken but their bond would conquer that. His friendship with the witch was a different story. I had never seen it with my own eyes, but I knew it was strong. He looked at her like the older sister he never had, his thoughts said as much, but I did not feel equipped enough to help him through his grief.

“You did nothing to her, Tae,” I reasoned. I could do logic. “She made a choice to leave and held no ill will toward you. She even left you a note with your necklace. Doesn’t that say enough?”

The red gem was pressed against my skin. Bridd had been so sweet to Taehyung and smiled after everything he said. The gift was a kind gesture he had not truly earned after such a botched introduction. Still, she had given it to him just as she gave me that journal. Ironic that she had given it to me to write about adventures and it had instead become my poetry book. He had refused to take the necklace off since reading the letter.

“I told Sol,” He whimpered. “I told her after she asked me to keep quiet. It’s all my fault-”

“I’m tired of the blame game,” I sighed, gently pushing Taehyung. Now an arm’s length away, I took a hold of my cousin's shoulders. “Everyone has been doing nothing but feeling sorry for themselves. Y/N chose to leave this place to find help. No one is forcing her to do that.

“You and I both know how capable she is, right? Stop acting like she’s dead, Tae. The girl knows what she’s doing, and if she doesn’t, I’m sure she’s smart enough to figure something out. Stop allowing guilt and fear to distract you from what’s important. She left to find some ancient being to help us survive this fight with the elves.”

“What if she…” His voice trailed off, unable to put death in the universe.

“Then we make sure it’s not in vain,” I let go of him. “We plan, strategize, and prepare to fight tooth and nail against those things. For Bridd.”

I did not really want to swear on her name this way, but I knew it would be something Taehyung latched onto. She was not really my friend, but I could live with fighting in her honor. I respected her enough. It worked and Taehyung’s eyes held more heat than they ever had.

“For Bridd,” He said it like a prayer.

Internally, I prayed she would come back soon. I was not sure if this fire would last, and I was afraid of what might happen if it was left to grow out of control. As long as I knew Taehyung, he was obsessive. When he was a boy, he painted like his father. When he got a little older, he sculpted like our grandmother. Early teen years Taehyung was dead set on learning how to garden. That soon shifted into learning about all of the plants in Bangtan. Now, I worry it will become this war. Taehyung was not ready for what was coming, but I had to believe in him.

“You should go and see your mom,” I told him earnestly. “I’m sure Jong and Jin miss you.”

I did not add my worries over him being locked away in the Temple since he got back.

He nodded, “I will. Let one of the maids know I’ve left. I don’t want Sol to worry if I’m gone.”

“You’re not telling her you’re leaving?”

He frowned, “We aren’t on speaking terms at the moment.”

Oh, Bridd why did you have to leave? Why did Sol have to run her mouth? I could not bear to see Taehyung look so defeated. The flames that I sparked in him did not ease my worries. He was still lost at sea, and I fear I had done more harm than good. I should have let him cry and whine. That was easier than trying to navigate if I had said or done the right thing or not.

The rest of the day flew by. After my conversation with Taehyung, he left to see his siblings and I stayed behind to get some work done. Despite our war plans we still had obligations to our cousins on the east coast. After writing for a few hours, warnings and heeds against traveling included, I went back to our maps. The library was filled with them, and I hoped a fresh start would help us get a breakthrough.

All talks of war had gotten loud and angry quickly with my father and Jimin at odds more often than not. I loved my dad, but I couldn't help but doubt his methods. He wanted to march to Northorn and meet our enemy there. Jimin saw this as idiotic. The elves would have an easier time fighting our kind on an unknown field. No one knew the forest like our pack did and we could use that to our advantage. If we were lucky, the elves might find a way to disturb the other creatures that lived here. Even luckier if it happened to be the fae.

Unfortunately, I was not as well versed as either one of them. I knew how to fight and was very good at it, but my skills in a tactical situation were severely lacking. Whenever Jungkook joined the conversation the two of us were on the same side of the debate. We did not want to die but would do so if asked. He, like myself, favored Jimin’s plans. Staying in Bangtan was the most logical step for now.

The rest of the witches from Syrena arrived late in the afternoon. They were loud and angry women, their rage burning bright enough to scare the most well-trained fighter. I felt sorry for them. They lost their leader during the attack and were now relying on the swamp woman to guide them. Thinking of them made me think of Yoongi again.

He had seemed to be adjusting well enough, but fighting would be pointless. He could not see a target. He was dead weight. I frowned. Such a pity. He was a great fighter and I had been impressed with him during the attack. The only way they were able to stop him was that spell and it only took him out temporarily. I had a feeling he would be back on the battlefield even if he was told to stay away. His death would be a respectable one.

Seokjin was another one that surprised me. As much as I disliked the witch, I could not deny the man knew how to fight. He took down elf after elf, defended his girlfriend, and saved his father’s life. I trusted him enough to know he would defend my pack with the same veracity and hoped we could place our differences aside to train together. It would be helpful to all of us if we could find a way to fight as a cohesive unit. I would speak with Jimin about it later.

I smelled her before I heard her. Her feet were normally bare and freezing cold, but I doubted she cared. Rose stuck to her honey-sweetness, and I had to hold back a gag. Sol always tried so hard to cover up her natural scent, but I knew it was not her fault for being so self conscious about it. Ahn had destroyed most of her individuality, made her second guess herself constantly, and called her ugly on numerous occasions. Jimin and I heard it all through the years, Hoseok as well but to a lesser extent, and we tried our best to keep her company.

Jungkook was the most vital member of her circle, but he was hardly around anymore. He was trying to give the couple space, and Sol had been happy with that until a Bridd left. Now Jungkook stayed away to avoid getting caught in the middle of their tug of war. I could not blame the boy. He was too young to be of any real emotional support, and he wanted to stay in Jimin’s good graces hoping the older man would allow him to join the copiae now that Ahn was not around to stop him.

She knew I was in here. She was coming to find me. Her little feet pitter pattered against the marble floors. The west wing was the most luxurious part of the Temple and the place Sol and Taehyung slept. The library here was huge, painted in white and gold, with thousands of books. Spiral staircases led to the second floor where more bookcases were lined up. That was considered the “ancient section” where one could find scrolls and books from our time in Korika. That was Sol’s favorite place in the entire Temple.

She stood in front of me, her hands clasped in front of her little body, and her toes wiggling. Her hair was not covered, something that made me feel deeply uncomfortable, and cascaded down her back. It was beautiful, thick and black with natural waves. Averting my gaze, I stared at her toes. They were small and cute.

“Luna,” I greeted. “Your hair.”

She sighed as if expecting me to say something. She was almost annoyed. I could not figure out why. Modesty had always meant something to Ahn and Sol, and her hair was called “impoper.” Ahn made it seem like it was inherently sexual simply for being beautiful. Not many of the other women in Foxglove would wear a head covering, but I always respected Sol’s choice. She was upset right now and not thinking straight, and I worried she would regret walking around me so exposed.

“Does it matter?” She murmured. “We all know I am no longer virtuous.”

I frowned, “Your virtue is not tied with your virginity, Sol.”

I was more aware of my bare chest than normal. It was improper for the two of us to be alone like this. Family or not, it was wrong. Taehyung would be hurt if he caught us in such a compromising position. I stood and put some distance between us, taking extra care not to look at Sol.

“What’s bothering you?” I asked. “Aside from the obvious.”

Walking over the library entrance, I leaned against the doorframe and stared out into the hall. At least I could say I was far away from the luna. I could hear her sit down in the chair I had left, and I waited.

“You must think I’m pathetic,” Sol spoke softly.

“Why would I think that?” I countered.

She laughed humorlessly, “We know you’re more in tune with my thoughts than most, Joon. You were there before Taehyung. You were always there. You and I were practically betrothed for a while. At least, that’s what my father said.”

I hated when she called Ahn father. He was nothing to her. Everyone knew Cho Haneul and Bong Ha-Yun were her parents. They suddenly disappeared from the village when Sol was less than six months old, leaving her behind and in Ahn’s care. Whispers spread about what had happened to them, but I always believed what my mother said. Ahn banished the couple from the village and took their child. No one had seen or heard from them in 18 years, so it was hard to say, but I did not trust Ahn. Not at all.

“I was never fair to you,” She continued. “I was mean and rude. Cold. I wanted Jimin so badly, probably because he did not want me, and I treated you like a problem. Maybe it was my own way of rebelling. Either way, I’m sorry.

“I think you understand me more than anyone else. You were always there with me. You never complained. It’s one of the things I always appreciated about you, your ability to stay calm. Taehyung is similar, though not as stoic. I love that about him.”

I did not have to see her to know her eyebrows were pulled down, her teeth nibbling her lower lip, and her leg shaking. Sol was very obvious in her discomfort. Her voice gave her away.

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked, not unkindly.

“You knew me before Taehyung did. I know you did not really like me very much, but I trust your opinion more than the others. I know I don’t deserve your kindness, but I’m asking for it anyway.”

Her voice was tired and worn, and I was not sure what to do about it. Not for the first time I found myself bored of the Luna. I reminded myself of her age, her youth, and her innocence, but it did not change how I felt. She made a mistake, overstepped boundaries and lied while doing so, and caused a mess of things. The fact that I knew her only made it worse, because I knew she did not consider a single person outside of herself. I doubt she thought anyone would be angry with her. In fact, she was probably hoping for praise and attention.

“Am I a bad person?” She asked, her voice weak and frail.

“No,” She was not a bad person for what happened, “But I won’t lie to make you feel better. You should not be trusted by anybody after the stunt you pulled.”

I heard her sniffle, “It’s not my fault he said the things he said. He chose to be cruel and mean to Y/N. She decided to leave! How is anything my fault?”

I rolled my eyes. Typical. Not even her gentle cries stopped my genuine annoyance with her from shining through. I had not been there for the argument between Jimin and Bridd, nor his conversation with Sol, but his thoughts had been enough to get me up to speed. She had done nothing but stir the pot between them, well intentioned or not, and made all of this far more dramatic than it needed to be.

“It’s your fault your relationship is suffering. It’s your fault that the pack is angry with you. You did that. No one else. Actions have consequences, Sol. You and I both know that,” Sparing her a brief look over my shoulder, I refused to let her tears soften my resolve. “If you were hoping I was going to lie to save your feelings, you were mistaken. Go to one of your maids and cry to them. They’re trained to dry your eyes, but I’m not.”

She did not speak and so I decided to leave. I had been here most of the day now and needed to find somewhere to sleep for the night. The Temple was the last place I wanted to spend time in right now, but my options were limited. Maybe if I could find Sam, she would not mind making space for me in her bed.

I fought back a smile. She was an amazing woman, her beauty striking and confidence refreshing. We had found ourselves alone a handful of times since her people came to our aid and our flirtatious relationship was amusing. I had come to know that quietus was not monogamous and rarely took on a full-time lover. She only knew of her king and queen, but they had another woman who joined them after the Century War. Sam and I shared a laugh about how scandalous that would be in the village, not just a threesome but same-sex relations, but I had not truly entertained her advances. She was not someone I imagined myself with.

I did not want to go to my family home either. Being around my parents for too long would drive me insane. I was always putting on a front with my father and my mother refused to stand up to him. Most of my childhood was spent getting beaten while my mother watched, relieved that her own punishment was over. By the time Mini came along those days were in the past. When my dad stopped drinking our relationship got better, a little less violent, but I never got rid of the resentment I held. Sometimes I truly believed I hated both of them.

I had been sleeping at Hoseok’s the last few nights, but he had asked for some privacy, and I got too caught up with work to ask someone else if they had any space for me. It was a far cry from the lavish room I had within the Temple, but I could not stand being there most of the time. I would have joined Jimin and the rest of the copiae, but my job was important enough to give me pause. If I stepped down as head council that would mean that my father or Bo would be placed in charge of public relations. I would eat my own shoes before letting that happen. Taehyung would go insane if those two were the only ones left in charge.

I thought about other friends I could visit. The Parks would open their door for me, but they were housing such a large group I felt awful going there. Yoongi and swamp witch’s families were still there. Jin’s little group was with Taehyung’s family, and the Syrena witches were spread out between a few wolf families and the humans. They were originally planning on staying at the Temple, but Sol made a mess of that. I sighed. Everything went south so quickly.

“You look lost.”

I stopped walking. I did not realize I had walked into the copiae grounds. Jimin was sitting on his porch, a large glass in his hand and a dark look in his eye. I could smell the alcohol on him from across the street. Going to him, I tried not to think about my dad.

“You’re drunk,” I took the glass from him and sniffed. Mead. If I had to guess, from Jungkook’s house. “This isn’t going to make you feel better.”

He shrugged, “I know. Just wanted a distraction.”

For the third time today, I was being asked to support someone. Even if Jimin had not asked for help directly, I knew I was going to drag his ass inside and make him go to sleep. At least I knew I could stay here afterwards. In the morning, I would make sure he ate and then try to convince him to come to the Temple and look over documents. He was the battle guy.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I stated bluntly. “I’ve already had to deal with two crybabies today and my emotional battery is drained. So, you’re just going to do me a favor and then we can talk in the morning.”

He scoffed, leaning back against his house. A faint sheen of sweat covered his body, and his hair was tangled. Jimin never looked so unkempt before. Showing no signs of moving, I rubbed my face roughly.

“Fine,” I sighed. “Look, how about I cut you a deal?”

He did not reply, but I decided to keep going anyway.

“I need somewhere to sleep. I can’t stand being around Taehyung and Sol right now. And you-” I gestured at his body, face tight, “-look like shit. Obviously, you’re upset but the pack needs you to pull it together so we can get through this.”

He was like a statue. “I’m going to stay the night, and tomorrow we’ll talk about feelings or whatever. Then, you and I are going to come up with a plan to get you back in the game. How does that sound?”

Jimin rolled his eyes, laughing humorlessly, “What’s the point?” His face crumbled and again I felt lost at sea. I could not deal with him crying. Thankfully, he gathered his composure. “What’s the point of anything? Without her… it just doesn’t matter.”

I sighed and sat down beside him. The wood was cold and rough, but it was easy to put that out of my mind. I had to think about this as two friends talking. Jimin had never asked me for anything, and when Taehyung was chosen, he had been the first person to tell me I needed to stand my ground against Ahn. I had been foolish at the time and ignored his advice. Now he needed me to stand my ground against himself, and I had no other option.

We could not go on like this. Jimin was not in the right state of mind right now, and I knew the only way to get him out of it was Bridd. My brain was already devising a plan, one that I had thought foolish and improbable this morning, and I wanted to laugh. There was no way we would be able to do it, but maybe bringing it up would make him feel better? Maybe knowing that someone would help him find her if we got the chance would motivate him to get work done. Feeling guilty, I decided to go for the jugular and deal with the consequences later.

“I know you're hurting right now,” I tried to soften my tone, but could not hear if it had worked or not. "I can't imagine how you feel. I know when you and Taehyung were gone how the guilt ate me alive. It must be worse for you."

"You don't have to say anything," He tried to interject, but I brushed off the comment like he had not said anything.

"I think I do. No one else is, apparently. We're in deep shit right now Park," I put my hand on his shoulder. "We need you, man."

He shook his head, "I wouldn't be much help right now, Joon."

"I don't believe that," I replied. "In fact, anything you do would be more helpful than whatever the hell you got going on. Your girl is on my side, by the way. She'd be on your ass if she found out how much you've been slacking."

That made him laugh quietly.

"That's fair," He was smiling, dazed and flushed from the alcohol. "She's such a little firecracker, isn't she?"

I nodded, "She tried to set me on fire once."

We shared a laugh at the memory. Truth is she terrified me. If she wanted to kill me that day she could have. If she did not have to worry about the sun, there was a real chance I left her house with more than a few scratches and bruises. Jimin beat my ass when she got hurt, but I had the added benefit of a lifetime worth of memories stopping him from taking my head off. I did not have that with Bridd.

"What if I wagered you something?" I asked.

That got his attention, “What?”

"If we get through this next wave of violence on top, I'll help you find her out there."

He looked at me, eyes more alert than they had been in days.

"Truly?"

The guilt made my stomach twist painfully. I did not truly believe we would ever get to that point. Elves were everywhere, the fight in Northorn growing in their favor as the days went by, and we were nowhere near ready. We had lost so many in this fight not to mention talks of traitors.

The alliance with the quietus was shaky at best without the proper bonds being formed. I was the only person in a position of power even attempting to reach out. Then there was the witch problem, and the only person I could see mending that fence was Jimin. It could be weeks, maybe even months, before we could go after Bridd. Still, I had to use her as leverage. We needed strong leadership right now and the witch was the best source of motivation one could come by.

“I’ll go with you,” I doubled down. “We can have a small party. I’ve made friends with a quietus who knows her way around so finding her could be fairly simple.”

“You’d do that for me?” I could tell he was genuinely surprised.

I nodded, “If we're in the position to do it, why not?"

I could see him thinking about it. The faraway look in his eyes was gone giving way to a refreshed, almost serene look. He was going to go for it. Hope blossomed in my chest. If I had Jimin on my side, Taehyung would be a piece of cake. He desperately wanted to make amends with the older alpha. Seeing the two of them back in action would bring Hoseok back into the fold as well.

Already our odds were turning. Soon the elementals and witches would be joining in on our meetings, the elder council getting pushed out for a new crowd of leaders, and the war would finally seem less daunting. I might even be able to convince a new wave of warriors to join the copiae once the village saw Jimin's new resolve.

"Stay here as long as you need" Jimin finally said, and I was cheering internally. "You can take the couch."

I stood up, ready to go to bed, and pushed his head playfully. He chuckled, swatting my hand away. We used to mess around like this all the time as kids. Jimin always ended up winning our wrestling matches. He was too slippery.

"Let's go, kid," I stretched my arms above my head. "We have to get up early. Council meeting."

He nodded, asking me to help him stand. He must have drunk more than I thought. It takes a lot for alcohol to affect us this much.

"Hopefully Taehyung will get rid of the two dinosaurs in the Temple," He slurred, walking inside grumbling about his bed feeling too big.

A/N: So Joon pov??? How do we like? He's not the only pov switch we're going to have, but we will be seeing a lot of our favorite (to hate) alpha joining our main squad. I thought he would be a good outside mind to get inside of since he's not as emotionally connected to Bridd as the others. Any guesses as to who our other switches might be?

p.s. These pov chapters will be a bit shorter than our normal, reader pov ones, but not by much.

Taglist: @greezenini@adventures-in-bookland@kthstrawberryshortcake-main@zae007live@jimin-neverout@nikkiordonez12@canarystwin@yamekomz @chimthicc@michiiedreamer@amorieus@mima795@yunki-yunki-yunki

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to-fly-with-clipped-wings · 3 months

Text

Chapter 1.2 - Train Rides and Talking Hats

Pairing: Harry Potter x Chosen One! Reader

“Oi,” you spoke, feeling your jaw clench at the blond boy’s demeanour. “I’d watch what I was saying if I was you, especially considering the crap that’s spewing out of your sewage-system of a mouth.” Draco Malfoy turned his sharpened gaze toward you. “And I’d be more careful if I was you. You don’t want to make enemies with the wrong people.” “The same goes for you.” OR: in which you hitch a ride on the Hogwarts Express and buckle up for one hell of a ride. → Set in a universe where you are the chosen one, and Harry Potter is your best friend who tries to help you navigate the woes of being the lone hero of the wizarding world. A swap au where you are the chosen one, your parents are dead but the marauders + Lily are not. Eventual Harry x Reader, slowburn, friends to lovers. Series Masterlist

.｡*ﾟ🗲.*.｡　ﾟ*..🗲｡*ﾟ

Perhaps, if you had any less self-respect, having had a mental breakdown on the King’s Cross platform would have been your morning on the 1st of September.

The train leaves at eleven, Hagrid had told you. The Caddels had dropped you off at the station at half past ten before leaving to drop Odette off at her new school, Smeltings, they’d said.

All you were really aware of was the nifty cane that came with the uniform, supposedly used to thwack fellow peers. An excellent training for later life.

Regardless of peculiar apparels or uniform, you had now acquired a steadily rising fear that you would never be able to wear yours, if you couldn’t uncover where exactly platform nine and three-quarters situated on the station.

There they were, right in front of you, platforms nine and ten – right there – but nowhere could you spot any semblance or notion of anything three-quarters related. The large plastic number nine leered tauntingly at you, swinging back and forth vaguely with the passing breeze.

You had pestered the guard manning the station. He hadn’t even heard of Hogwarts, and since you had no flying clue where or even what the school was, you couldn’t describe it to him. The guard stared you down incredulously, as though you were trying to be stupid (you didn’t miss how he eyed Hedwig, the name you had christened your snowy owl, who chirped irritably back at him).

It took every ounce of your remaining willpower to not snap or lunge at him and cause a scene in the middle of the station, especially when a congregation of people had formed a circle around you to observe the exchange curiously.

Apparently, according to a variety of people at the station, there wasn’t even a train that left at eleven o’clock. And to top the cherry on your fabulous sundae of anxiety and chagrin, according to the large clock situated on the arrivals board, you had a little under fifteen minutes to be seated on the train.

You wished Hagrid had left you with more information, but when the man had dropped you back at your house and allowed you the time to blink, he had vanished.

Urgent magical business, you mused dryly. Almost like the kerfuffle of being stranded on a station with not the foggiest idea of where to go.

Fleeting anxiety began to weave around your periphery. What if you missed the train? Were you missing something? Did you need to cast a spell? Oh, you knew you should have read the books before coming to the station. You swore at that moment to leave no page in your spell-books unturned.

You prepared to brandish your wand at the stray ticket box next to platform nine, trying your very best to formulate a spell that would divulge the presence of platform nine and three-quarters.

In a perfectly timed turn of events, a group of people passed behind you, and you managed to glean a glimpse of their conversation.

“ – packed with Muggles, of course –

You heard your neck crack from how fast you wheeled around. Muggles. You had never been happier to hear a single word. The speaker was a stout woman, to an audience of about five red-headed children. Four boys and a girl, who from the conversation that ensued, you discovered was too young to attend Hogwarts just yet.

You turned your hawk-like stare toward ‘Percy’, the oldest boy, as he dashed toward the brick wall of platform nine, pushing his trolley along with him. Wincing, you closed your eyes so you wouldn’t see him and all of his school supplies crash onto the floor.

Miraculously, though, when you peeled your eyelids back open, the boy was gone.

As were the twin brothers, Fred and George (or did their mother say George and Fred?).

There was only one more boy left; a tall – though that entire family seemed to be on stilts – lanky, deeply freckled one. If you wanted to know where the sons were disappearing to, this was your final shot.

“Hey!” you called out, dragging your trolley behind you as you approached the remaining members of the red-headed family. Then, realising how the abruptness of a random girl yelling at someone may be perceived as rude, you decided to dial back your advances. “Hi, sorry. Do you happen to know how to –”

“How to get on to the platform?” she said kindly. “No worries at all, dear. Is this your first time at Hogwarts? Ron’s new, too.”

She pointed at her last son. He had dirt on his nose. You tilted your head slightly toward him in greeting, but your mind, however, was still hyper focused on how the clock was dwindling closer and closer to eleven.

“Pleasure,” you smiled, desperation beginning to blemish your voice, evident as it began to inch one or two octaves higher. “So, er, I’m hoping that you do know how to get to the train?”

“That’s right,” she said. “All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don’t stop and don’t be scared you’ll crash into it, that’s very important. Go on, go now before Ron.”

You ruffled the collar of your shirt, which was looking far too neat and sophisticated (and therefore, not nearly as charming as you liked it to be). “Thanks, Miss.”

You sucked in a deep breath before gathering your courage and sprinted toward the very solid, opaque looking barrier of platform nine and three-quarters.

As you were running, you realised you were almost there – and then, quite suddenly, you weren’t.

Rather, you now found yourself underneath a sign that read Hogwarts Express, 11 o’clock.

Permeating through a brick wall was yet another box to check from your list of magical experiences. Twice, actually, if you counted the entrance to Diagon Alley. Odd was it indeed, but it was your odd now, and you lest let anyone try and rob you of it.

You stood in awe, head on a swivel as you examined the new environment. A mammoth of a train, one whose size could only be attributed to the slight of one’s magical hand, with smoke seeping out of its charcoal chimneys, stood tall against the crowded stage of the station.

You turned around to see if the red-headed family had made it through as well, and sure enough, there they were. The woman was still looking at you, and when you waved at her, her face split into a soft smile and she returned the gesture.

You swept your dishevelled hair to the side – it had tousled itself into a heaping mess sometime during your episode on the other side of the train station.

You only registered the consequence of this action when the red-headed woman’s eyes widened, and as an abrupt muteness circulated throughout the platform, capitulating the vocal cords of what seemed to be every single man, woman and/or child present there at that very moment.

Families that were once bidding their children goodbye, lovingly caressing cheeks or smoothing down fly-away hairs, or families who were once loading trunks onto compartments, were now reacting in an identical fashion of the same scene that had transpired at the leaky pub; normal chatter was extinguished, and murmurs crept around the platform like an amateur thief in a treasure trove.

“The lightning scar!”

“Is that – oh, my sweet Merlin, it is!”

“Oh – where –?!”

“Move! Let me get a glimpse!”

“Look, over there!”

“(Y/n) (L/n)!”

You stiffened slightly under everyone’s combined gazes, the abruptness of this changing you off guard. But, as quickly as the alarm had rippled into your body, it had dispersed out.

A smirk split your face, and you nodded toward the woman closest to you (who promptly went pink and near-fainted) as a way to acknowledge that you acknowledged their sudden interest in you. You heard someone chuckle at your brazenness, and a few more flurries of whispers burgeoned from other by-standers.

During the time it took for you to jostle your trolley into an empty carriage near the back of the train, the number of people actively tracking your every move had died down, though only by a fraction. From the corners of your eyes, you could still see the odd third-year trying to estimate how many laces you had on your shoes, no doubt so he could pester his parents into getting the same.

(You kept to yourself that they had previously belonged to Odette, however, as you seriously doubted anyone wanted to know that (Y/n) (L/n), hero of the wizarding world, still wore hand-me-downs.)

Unfortunately, it seemed that although you possessed the power to terminate the reign of the darkest and most powerful wizards in history, you had apparently not attained the muscles required to heave your trunk up the stairs onto the Hogwarts Express. You stumbled back, cursing as you reeled from the pain that rocketed through your foot after you dropped your trunk on your toes.

“Want a hand?”

You looked up. It was one of the red-headed twins, from that family you had met before.

“Yes,” you said almost immediately. “Er, please.”

“Oy, Fred! C’mere and help!”

The three of you managed to successfully store your trunk into the corner of your compartment. Before you could thank the twins for their help, though, one of the twins pointed at the spot on your forehead where the thin lightning-shaped scar donned your skin.

“You’re (Y/n) (L/n),” he announced. Just like Olivander, this had not been a question, but rather a statement.

“Yes,” you straightened your posture a little higher. “That’s right. I am.”

The two boys gawked at you, and you subtly swept your sweaty hair to expose the scar even further. To your slightest dismay, however, the familiar voice of the red-headed mother drifted through the carriage before you were able to elaborate further on your battle-scar.

“Fred? George? Are you there?” Both the twins groaned at their mother’s summoning. Sparing one last glance at you, they ambled toward her call. “Coming, Mum.”

You waved the twins goodbye. Sitting down by the window, you ducked your head so you could listen to the family, who were still on the platform, whilst being half-hidden at the same time. Their mother had scourged out a handkerchief and was furiously scrubbing at Ron’s nose to rid the smudge of dirt that laid upon it.

You watched with amusement as Ron tried to lurch away before being caught in his mother’s iron-fisted clutches once again.

“Mum – geroff!”

One of the twins snickered, leaning close to Ron. “Aaaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?”

“Shut up!” You saw the oldest of the red-headed siblings saunter towards his family, already draped in his robes. A shiny red and gold badge was pinned onto his chest, with the letter P engraved onto it.

“Can’t stay long, Mother,” he said stiffly. “I’m up front, the Prefects have got two compartments to themselves –”

“Oh, are you a Prefect, Percy?” One of the twins gasped, bringing his hands to his face in disbelief. “You should have said something, we had no idea.”

“Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it, once –”

“Or twice –”

“A minute –”

“All summer –”

You huffed a laugh at the back and forth going between the family. Percy the Prefect’s face was starting to sport a lovely bright, irritable shade of red.

“How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?” queried one of the twins.

“Because he’s a Prefect,” their mother smoothed Percy’s already-perfectly-smoothened hair fondly. “All right, dear, well have a good term – send me an owl when you get there.”

She sent him off with a kiss.

You sunk back into your seat. For some reason, the jovial atmosphere you’d felt upon discovering the magical platform had now become strangely dampened.

Call it a moment of weakness, sure – but in that moment, you wished that you could have a mother. A mother who would dote on you like that or who would comfort you.

But, as soon as that looming train of thoughts had festered, you vanquished them from your mind – the other kids could keep their affectionate mothers who waved them goodbye as they left, the same, in fact, would go for their superficial, gentle-natured fathers; you had your fame and that topped any shred of whatever they may have had, whatever you were missing.

As though the red-head family were suddenly attuned with your train of thought, you heard the voice of the youngest child (the girl) pipe up. “Oh! (Y/n) (L/n) On the train? Please can I go see her, Mum, please, please…”

“You’ve already seen her, Ginny, and the poor girl isn’t something you goggle at in a zoo. Is she really, Fred? How do you know?”

“Asked her. Saw the scar. It’s really there – like lightning.”

“Poor dear.”

Your fingers traced the pattern of the scar, not particularly enjoying the feeling of pity emanating from the family.

“No wonder she was alone. I wondered. She was ever enthusiastic, though, when she asked how to get on to the platform. I’d have thought she’d be scared, by herself…”

“Never mind that, do you think she remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?”

The red-headed mother swelled like an angry bullfrog. “I forbid you to ask her that, Fred! No, don’t you dare. As though she needs reminding of –... ”

The disarrayed ruckus of another family hurriedly barrelling onto the platform and ushering their boy onto the train, stripped your focus from the ginger group.

Observing the mop of black hair, you realised pleasantly that it was the boy you had met at the Quidditch store that day in Diagon Alley. Closely behind him, a stressed looking woman with copper-coloured hair, followed him briskly onto the train. Your lips twitched as you noticed that she possessed the same brilliant green eyes as her son.

The father, a carbon copy of his son, followed seconds after, carrying a tremendously large trunk onto the train. There was one more man – perhaps one of the uncles the boy had mentioned – who remained on the platform, presumably allowing the family their final moments together. He didn’t really look alike to the mother or father of Quidditch Boy’s family, so you guessed that he was probably an uncle by choice, not blood. He had sandy brown hair with substantially sized scars running down the entirety of his face and neck. There was a large, shaggy black dog beside him too, and you swore that it had winked when it saw you looking at it.

A shrill burst of steam raged outwards from the chimney of the train. You guessed that this was a warning to families that the train was about to depart right now. True to your word, just as Quidditch Boy’s mother and father practically leapt off the train carriage they’d left their son in, the train doors slammed shut, and the vehicle began dutifully chugging forward.

Left behind now, was the platform of nine and three-quarters.

Leaning back in your seat, you exhaled roughly. This was it, the moment that marked the beginning of your journey into Hogwarts. You had no clue where you were going, but you just knew it would be good. A grand moment, you were sure, but what you were also sure of was that the next few hours on the train (or possibly days or months, who knew?) would result in you being bored out of your mind. Stuck in an empty carriage by yourself with no one to talk to – tragic – maybe it would do you some good if you popped down into one of the other carriages and try to find some other first-years.

Coincidentally, the door of the compartment was opened by none other than Quidditch Boy himself. His hair was askew, glasses lopsided and cheeks clearly flushed from the rush of trying to scramble onto the Hogwarts Express before it departed. He did not have his trunk with him, so his father was probably able to store it in time.

“Hey, again,” he flashed you a bashful smile. “Would it be alright if I could sit here with you?”

“Sure, no problem.”

You observed him as he took the seat opposite you. He was already wearing robes of sorts, not the Hogwarts ones, judging from the lack of school emblem, but the sorts that you hypothesised would be the wizarding equivalent to a t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

“Er,” he started, causing you to look over at him. “It’s nice to see you. Again.”

“Yeah.” you agreed with him, offering a lopsided smile. “Great. To meet you.”

“Yep.”

The compartment fell into a highly awkward silence, one that you were not at all familiar with. Back with the Caddels, or even at your previous school, you had no problem whatsoever making friends with strangers. In fact, conversation came easily to you – you weren’t the school captain for no reason, after all. So the stuffiness invading the atmosphere was most definitely unwelcome, and quite frankly, unnatural.

Thankfully the awkward cloud hanging above you and Quidditch Boy dissipated abruptly when the compartment door slid open again, revealing the tall, freckled, ginger boy, Ron.

His eyes widened when he saw you sitting in front of him. “Uh – sorry, anyone else sitting here? Everywhere else is full.”

Quidditch Boy shook his head and Ron took the seat beside them, so they were both facing you. Ron’s eyes hadn’t settled and he kept on glancing toward you and then toward the window whenever he made eye contact with you. It was amusing, his discomfort, from how often he did it.

“Hey, Ron.” The red-headed twins popped into the compartment suddenly. “Listen, we’re going back down the middle of the train – Lee Jordan’s got a giant tarantula down there.”

“Right,” said the youngest sibling.

So we’re not going to question the spider. Okay, seems good.

“(Y/n),” the other twin, the one who hadn’t been talking to Ron, turned to you. “And other Kid,” referring to Quidditch Boy, “did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later, then.” The three of you said bye in unison as the twins left.

As soon as they were gone, Ron blurted out, “Can we see the scar?” You blinked at him, and he went pink, but complied anyway (you had no qualms to showing off the lightning-shaped bolt). Pulling your hair back, the scar on your forehead was revealed to Quidditch Boy and Ron.

“Wow,” breathed out Quidditch Boy. “It really does look like lightning.”

Ron was equally stunned. “So that’s where You-Know-Who – ?”

“Yes.” You grinned brightly at their awed expressions. They stared at you a couple seconds longer before Ron diverted his gaze back to the greenery flitting through the window.

“So, is your whole family magic then?” you asked Ron.

You already knew that Quidditch Boy’s father was a pure-blood and his mother was a muggle-born, whatever that meant; you weren’t going to be the one to say you had no idea what those were.

“Quidditch Boy?” puzzled Quidditch Boy, eyebrows furrowing.

Ah, had you said that outloud? Whoops.

You laughed, bringing a hand to your nape. “Sorry, I don’t know your name, so I’ve kind of just resorted to calling you Quidditch Boy in my mind.”

“Uh, well, I’m Harry, Harry Potter.” said Harry, smiling at you once more.

“Nice to meet you, Harry Potter.”

Ron interjected into the conversation, for which you were grateful. The ginger boy seemed to hold the power of evaporating awkwardness with a snap of his freckles fingers. “Pure-blooded means that everyone on his father’s side is magic. I’m the same – everyone in my family is a wizard, well maybe except for my mum’s second cousin who’s an accountant, but we don’t really talk about him.”

“I get it,” you said, cupping your chin with your hand. “I’ve got no clue what I am. But I know that my father had no magic.”

“A muggle,” Ron nodded appreciably. “Well, basically everyone knows that your mother was a pure-blood, though. That makes you a half-blood like him, since you’re a mix of two bloods.” He pointed at Harry. You were slightly startled that he knew more about your family and lineage than you did yourself. Maybe you should get used to people knowing more about you, than you did yourself.

“A muggle-born’s a witch or wizard who was born from muggle parents,” continued Ron.

You tilted your head to the side. “Where does their magic come from, if they’ve got no magical blood or whatever?”

Ron looked partially affronted. “Who knows, – magic isn’t exactly something that comes in a nice little package that gets delivered to you when the time is right. All I know is that if you’ve got magic, then you’ve got it. That’s all there is to it, really.” He waved his hands about in the air for further emphasis.

This was probably a topic Ron was passionate about, as you noticed his ears flushing red under the combined blank stares of you and Harry. You decided then that if Ron were to ever wear something salmon-coloured, it would definitely wash him out. You wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between his face and his left knee.

You tried to recover from the painful silence. “You two must know loads of magic then.”

“Not nearly enough as my mum wants me to,” said Harry.

“Hear, hear,” mumbled Ron.

“Huh. Guess that’s one good thing that comes out of being an orphan.”

You chuckled at the uncomfortable looks on the boys’ faces.

“I heard you went to live with Muggles,” said Ron, scratching the back of his neck. “What’re they like?”

“Alright,” you shrugged. “Not outstandingly nice or anything, but they do their job. Would be cooler to have wizarding brothers like you though.”

“Not if you’ve got five of them.” answered Ron gloomily. “I’m the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I’ve got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left – Bill was Head Boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy’s a Prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they’re really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it’s no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I’ve got Bill’s old robes and Charlie’s old wand. I wanted an owl, but they couldn't aff – I mean, they got Percy one instead for becoming a Prefect.”

Ron’s ears went pink again. Your brain, it seemed, was temporarily delayed and was not able to formulate a response to that.

“I’m sure you’ll do better than all your brothers combined,” said Harry.

Ron smiled gratefully at him.

As the train rolled onward and your surroundings grew greener, you, quite helpfully, took Hedwig’s cage and placed her on the centre of the table, announcing that the first one to get nipped whilst feeding her treats would be declared the ultimate ‘Lame Loser Lord.’

The three of you fell into an easy conversation after that, and you barely even realised how much time had passed until a smiling, old-looking woman popped her head into the compartment and said “anything off the trolley, dears?”

With that lovely gesture, you had leapt out of your seat and essentially pounced onto the food she was offering. Your pockets were lined with wizard money now, an infinite stash really, and so there was nothing stopping you from buying three of everything she had. As such, you, Harry and Ron had to drag back the food you’d purchased before dumping it on the table.

“Hungry, are you?” said Ron, raising his eyebrows at the pile of snacks that was nearly as tall as him.

“Starving,” you grinned back.

You, Harry and Ron tore into the pasties and cakes, the mountain rapidly diminishing by the second. There was one incident with a chocolate frog creeping into Hedwig’s cage before getting mauled by her talons. The card that supposedly came with the treat, according to Harry and Ron, had also been destroyed, so Harry had given his to you. One with a moving picture of Albus Dumbledore, who had waved politely at your stunned expression.

Once you’d moved onto Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavour Beans, you found a lot of enjoyment when Ron had the misfortune of coming across a bean that tasted like dirty socks. Though, your amusement at Ron’s plight had been adjourned with the appearance of a round-faced boy.

“Sorry,” he said, “but have you seen a toad at all?”

“No, sorry.”

You were taken aback when the boy promptly burst into tears. “I’ve lost him! He keeps getting away from me!”

“He’ll turn up,” said Harry.

“Yes,” said the boy, turning away dejectedly. “Well, if you see him…”

“Don’t know why he’s so bothered,” remarked Ron once the boy had left. “If I’d brought a toad I’d lose it as quick as I could.”

You deadpanned at him. “You haven’t even got any pets to lose, Ron. I’m betting that if you ever got one, you’d have even worse attachment issues than Toad-Boy.”

“Mind you,” said Harry, talking around his mouthful of Cauldron Cake. “That’s saying a lot.”

“What’ve you got then?” asked Ron, turning his head to glare at Harry. “You seem awfully high and mighty for someone who probably doesn’t have rat, or even anything at all.”

“I’ve got a dog,” defended Harry. “Snuffles.”

You and Ron both stifled giggles. “Snuffles? No way you named your dog that!”

“I didn’t pick the name!”

“A dog’s not as good as an owl anyways,” you teased.

“I’d beg to differ – my dog totally is,” Harry grumbled, crossing his arms. “Plus you don’t even need to have an owl – the school’s got its own aviary shock-full of ‘em that you can send letters with.”

“One day, I’m gonna get an owl.” Ron sighed dreamily. “Just for myself, I wouldn’t have to share with Fred or George or Percy or Ginny.”

“Who’s Ginny?”

Before Ron could divulge the identity of this ‘Ginny’, the compartment door was opened by a bushy-haired girl whose face was wrinkled up irritably. Toad-Boy also made a reappearance.

“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one.”

“We’ve already told him we haven’t seen it,” said Ron, but the girl wasn’t listening. Rather, she had been staring at you.

“You’re (Y/n) (L/n).” she declared matter-of-factly. “I saw you on the station. I know all about you, of course – I got a few extra books for background reading, and you’re in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.”

Ron gaped at her and Harry blinked a few times repeatedly.

“Be surprised if I wasn’t,” you said, winking cheekily. You also had no idea what she was talking about though.

She studied you appraisingly before asking Ron and Harry “and who are you?”

“Ron Weasley.”

“Harry Potter.”

“Pleasure. Well, I’m Hermione Granger. I was ever so pleased when I got my letter to Hogwarts, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I’ve heard – I’ve learnt all of our set books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough.”

All three pairs of eyebrows furrowed in synchronisation. You, personally, had only caught about one-third of what she had been saying since she’d been basically rapping out her words.

Herminkoni (was that what she said her name was?) began talking again. “Do either of you know what house you’ll be in? I’ve been asking around and I hope I’m in Gryffindor, it sounds the best by far, I hear Dumbledore himself was one, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn’t be too bad. Anyay, we’d better go and look for Neville’s toad. You three had better change, you know, I expect we’ll be there soon.”

Herpes Motion thus turned around and left, taking Toad-Boy with her.

“Well,” you announced cheerfully. “She was nice.”

“Sure,” muttered Ron, reaching for a Treacle Tart.

“She was right about one thing though,” said Harry, grinning and brushing his hair out of his face. “Gryffindor, by large, is definitely the best house.”

“Who’s Gryffindor?” you squinted your eyes at him.

Ron attempted an exasperated face-palm with his left hand (he was still holding the tart in his right). Harry laughed at this, and proceeded to explain the four houses to you.

Gryffindor had been the house Ron’s and Harry’s families had gotten into. The house of the brave, it was known for. Ravenclaw, the house for smart people (you had a feeling you would not be getting into that); Hufflepuff was the house for the loyal and well-meaning. And finally, there was Slytherin. Both Ron and Harry detested the green-and-silver clad house, for it had been the group to pump out the most dark witches and wizards.

“Ah,” you said. “So naturally, we should hate that house, since that was the one Voldemort was – “

“Woah,” said Ron, looking impressed. “You just said his name.”

“Why wouldn’t I? It’s just a name. Anyways, I’m guessing that you all want Gryffindor then?”

“Of course!” Ron puffed out his chest.

“Hey, did you – ?”

Unfortunately, whatever Harry had wanted to ask had been interrupted by the compartment door sliding open again.

This time, it was a group of three – the ringleader being a sallow-faced, gauntly blonde boy. The other two were giant-sized, goliath looking boys who looked like his bodyguards. And, of course, they were all fixated on you.

“Is it true?” he said. “They’re saying all down the train that (Y/n) (L/N)’s in this compartment. So, it’s you, is it?”

“That’s right,” you smiled at him.

His lips twitched into a small smirk. He waved his hand carelessly at the two body-doubles next to him. “This is Crabbe and that’s Goyle. And my name’s Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.”

Ron choked on his treacle tart, but you suspected that may have been him trying to disguise a sneer. Draco Malfoy narrowed his eyes at Ron, causing your hackles to rise immediately.

“Think my name’s funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford.”

Ron’s face went pink again and he sunk into his seat.

Draco Malfoy raised an eyebrow at Harry, but before he could say something about his family, you cut him off.

Draco Malfoy turned his sharpened gaze toward you. “And I’d be more careful if I was you. You don’t want to make enemies with the wrong people.”

“The same goes for you.”

You stared down Draco Malfoy. Harry was glancing back and forth between the two of you, and he looked ready to stand up if this altercation escalated.

“You don’t get to come in here and poke fun at us,” you muttered slowly. “Especially, if you want to end up on good terms with me.”

His cheeks tinged a faint pink. “Not like I would want to be friends with the likes of you.” He placed the emphasis on ‘you’ the same way you did.

You, Harry and Ron all stood up.

“I think it’d be best if you left.” you gritted out, disliking the boy less and less by every twitch of his rat-like face.

Unfortunately for you, Malfoy’s rattish face had broken out into a sneer. “You’ll regret making enemies out of me, (L/n). I promise you that much.”

He furiously spun around and out of the carriage, but not before he could shoot you a final scathing look. Crabbe and Goyle chased after him, robes billowing out from behind them.

“What a buffoon,” you huffed angrily.

“Agreed,” said Harry, still glaring at the door.

“I’ve heard of his family before,” said Ron darkly. “They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My dad doesn’t believe it. He says Malfoy’s father didn’t need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side.”

“‘Specially if they thought it was the winning side,” added Harry.

The door opened before you could open your mouth. There was Hermit Yeti, yet again, standing at the entrance.

“What has been going on? Why did I just see three boys bolting out of this compartment?” She looked you up and down. “You haven’t been fighting, have you? You’ll be in trouble before we even get there!”

“They were the ones starting it – not us!” defended Ron, scowling at her.

“All right – I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors,” she said sniffly. “And you’ve got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know that?”

“Thank you,” you interjected, glaring at her on behalf of Ron. “Could you leave now?”

And finally, Herm-onion left.

If you had to guess, it had been only an hour after that when the train had pulled to a stop. You had donned your robes, ensuring that they still had your signature wind-swept appearance about them. Ron and Harry were also wearing their robes now too. You stuffed your pockets with the remaining sweets as you left the train.

Hopping out of the train and onto the station, you were delighted to be met with the familiar, gentle face of Hagrid.

“Firs’-years! Firs-years over here! All right there, (Y/n)?” He beamed at you from under his scraggly beard.

You waved enthusiastically at him.

The first-years, it looked like, had their own means of reaching the school, which involved travelling in groups of four in a little boat across a lake. You, Harry, Ron and the bushy-haired girl (to your displeasure) took a boat close to the front.

Whilst you did not dislike the girl, you weren’t fond of her tendency to huff or be bossy, especially when she did it toward Ron (which you found she did often). Harry hadn’t done anything to get into her wrong books, and nor vice versa, so they were probably on the most amicable terms between you, him and Ron.

The boats glided in unison across the great body of water, before coming to a stop at the front of the school’s castle. You could hardly hear Toad-Boy’s reunion with his toad (“Trevor”) amongst the excited buzzing in your ears.

The gaggle of first-years came to a stop at the entrance of Hogwarts, a ginormous wooden castle door. Hagrid raised his fist and rapped three times on it.

The door opened immediately. There was a stern, grey-haired witch standing behind it. She was sifting through the crowd intensely, and her gaze did not linger on your scar like how most peoples’ did.

“The firs’-years, Professor McGonagall,” said Hagrid.

“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.”

The door was opened further and you streamed into the Entrance Hall. The entire school was huge, you realised, and was very elaborately decorated – like something you would read in a book. Flaming torches illuminated the corridor. The first-years were pulled into a little room, next to a place where you could hear the rest of the school talking.

It was then you noticed that Ron appeared quite pale under his freckles and that Harry was fiddling with his fingers. In fact, every first-year seemed to be exhibiting some sort of nervous tick, apart from Malfoy, who was rolling his eyes for some reason.

You drew your eyebrows together in confusion. Should you have been scared too? It wasn’t like they were going to force you to fight each other or anything right? At least, that’s what you hoped. Although, you definitely knew that if they made you fight, you’d win.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said Professor McGonagall. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and speed free time in your house common room.

She continued giving a debrief of the houses, but as it was something you had already heard from Harry and Ron, it wasn’t anything new. You fidgeted restlessly, wanting to get onto the Sorting already.

“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.” Her eyes lingered on your messy hair and ruffled collar, where one lapel was sticking up.

Once she left, you turned to Harry and Ron. “What do they do to get us into these houses? Is it like a test? Based on how you answer, that’s where you get in? Like, ‘what is the square root of sixteen?’”

“That’s probably only good for finding Ravenclaws and non-Ravenclaws though,” said Ron, taking you seriously. “My brothers said it was a test too, though. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking.”

Harry was looking more unsettled by the minute.

“Hey,” you said, patting his shoulder. “Don’t be nervous. I’m sure Ron’s brothers are just messing with us.”

“Me too,” nodded Ron.

“But,” Harry’s green eyes met yours anxiously. “A test? In front of the whole school? I barely know two spells, how will they sort me with that? What if they send me home? What if –”

“Listen,” you said. “That’s already two more spells than I know, and probably most of the first-years too. That Malfoy included.”

You narrowed your eyes at said boy, before returning them to Harry. “Don’t worry, alright? I’m sure we'll all do great.”

Beside you, Ron nodded appreciatively (although it looked like his skin was beginning to reach a sickly pale green colour).

“You’re right,” said Harry, and you were pleased to see that he was a fraction less scared than he was a moment ago.

You didn’t bother with ‘smartening yourself up.’ You were already pretty smart enough, in your opinion. Having bested the darkest wizard of the age at a meagre one year old didn’t come to just anyone, you know?

After a whole debacle with some ghosts flying in to greet you before the ceremony, Professor McGonagall entered the room once more. You all trudged in a single-file line into the Great Hall.

You gaped openly at the Great Hall, which looked even bigger than the Entrance. Four long tables were lain across the room, with golden plates and goblets sitting on each. The students were segregated by houses, indicated by the colour of their robes and ties. There were also several candles floating in the air, which was pretty sweet too. Oh, and the roof looked like the sky as well.

Professor McGongagall placed a three-legged stool in front of school, and then she placed a rusty-looking hat on top of it. You deadpanned when it broke into song, and even more when everyone burst into applause once it finished.

“So, we’ve just got to try on the hat!” Ron whisper-yelled to you and Harry. “I’ll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll!”

Harry gave him a nervous smile, and you said “I told you it wouldn’t have been that bad. Probably.”

Professor McGonagall approached the stool, unravelling a long roll of parchment paper. “When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she said. “Abbott, Hannah!”

Hannah stumbled from the crowd of first-years and toward her. If you squinted, she looked a little like Odette, with yellower hair. She placed the hat on her head and after a moment of silence, the hat shouted out “HUFFLEPUFF!”

The table on the right, with the yellow-and-black clad students cheered and hollered as Hannah went to join them.

‘Bones, Susan’ went up next and she too went to Hufflepuff. ‘Boot, Terry’ went to Ravenclaw, and ‘Brown Lavender’ became the first new Gryffindor. The cheering from the red table was definitely the loudest, especially when right after ‘Bulstrode Millicent’ was sorted in Slytherin and all she got was only a polite and semi-silent applause from her new house.

A few more people went, and then, so did ‘Granger, Hermione’ (so that was her name) who sat on the stool for a precariously long period of time before being sent to Gryffindor. Ron groaned. Toad-Boy (Longbottom, Neville) got Gryffindor too, but he was on the stool for longer than Hermione. A few more people went after them.

You were raising your hand to scratch your ear when your name was called.

As you stepped forward, the students in the Hall whispered loudly, just as they had done at the station.

“(L/n), did she say?”

“The (Y/n) (L/n)?”

Those comments did not help the rising ego blooming inside of you. You swaggered over the stool and sat down. Your fingers delicately gripped the brim of the hat. The fabric felt ragged and old underneath your fingertips. You brought the Sorting Hat down toward your –

“GRYFFINDOR!”

The hat had barely scraped the fly-away hairs on your head when it had shrieked out the name of your house.

The Great Hall was silent for a few, stunned moments, taken aback by your instantaneous sorting (which you guessed was not a frequent occurrence). You stared back at them with wide eyes, darting downwards to look at Harry and Ron. They were wide-eyed too, before Harry broke the silence and beamed a gigantic smile at you, and the Gryffindor table erupted into cheers – louder cheers than for any of the people before you.

You felt a warm glow in your chest. You looked around the table, and saw many friendly faces. Percy the Prefect had dived over the table (almost) to shake your hand vigorously and you could hear the Weasley twins jeering and yelling out “We got (L/n)! We got (L/n)!” Even a ghost, Nearly Headless Nick, was congratulating you by patting your arm, which felt like you were being doused in a cold bucket of water.

At the High Table, Hagrid was grinning and gave you the thumbs up. Dumbledore, you recognised him from the chocolate frog card, was up there too with a faint twinkle in his eye.

The only notable people left up, really, were Harry and Ron.

Harry had been called first.

The Sorting Hat was sat upon his head for what seemed to be the better portion of an eternity. For the first time since your arrival, you felt a jolt of fear. What if you and your friends would be separated into different houses? You didn’t to be stuck in a full with only Neville and Hermione, everyday you would wake up to find Neville’s slimy toad on your pillowcase or –

You felt a surge of joy and relief, as after a minute or two, the hat declared “GRYFFINDOR!” and the Great Hall erupted in cheers for Harry. You clapped your hands and smiled widely, looking for him among the sea of red and gold.

He took a seat beside you and you high-fived him.

“Nice to see you here, Potter, Harry,” you said, changing your voice to mimic McGonagall’s.

“Nice to see you too, the (Y/n) (L/n),” he snickered, mocking the way the students had reacted when they’d heard your name.

You grinned at him, shoving his shoulder.

Ron joined you rather quickly, even though he was one of the last people to get sorted. You were delighted at this, as it meant you could still be with them for the rest of your Hogwarts years, according to what Professor McGonagall had said.

Dumbledore rose to his feet, “Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!”

He sat down, and as he did, food magically appeared in front of you.

“Is he – a bit mad?” Harry asked you uncertainly.

“Probably,” you said, shrugging, reaching for the roast potatoes.

You scarfed down your food, listening to the conservation around you. You cheered when the dessert had come, causing the people around you to chuckle, quietly – except for Ron, who had gotten to the apple pie before you could.

You wrestled Ron for a slice of said pie, and were happily munching on it when you glanced back up to the High Table. Hagrid was drinking from his goblet, and Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore were in a deep discussion with each other. Another Professor, in a purple turban, was fiddling nervously with his cutlery, tapping his fork against the edge of the table. He was speaking with a professor with greasy black hair, a hooked nose and sallow skin.

The teacher, as though he could sense your presence, glanced straight past the Turban-Professor and bore his black eyes into yours – a sharp, hot pain seared within your scar, and you let out a hiss of pain.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked you, foreheading furrowing in concern.

“N-nothing.” The pain had left as quickly as it had come. How strange. You got the feeling that the hooked-nose teacher did not like you very much.

“Who's that teacher, the greasy-haired one?” you pointed at him, not discretely.

Harry stifled a laugh. “That’s Snape. No one likes him, they say he wants to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, but every year he gets stuck as the Potions one instead. My dad doesn’t like him at all – actually, my entire family doesn’t really too.”

“Why’s that?” you questioned.

“Not sure,” said Harry, but he scratched his cheek nervously. “They won’t tell me.”

Deciding not to press him further, you continued to watch Snape a little longer. He never looked at you again, though, after that.

Once the desserts had all faded away, Dumbledore had announced his final speech and conducted a very tragic school school orchestra. He wiped his eyes when he had finished. “Ah, music. A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!”

Powering your legs through the sheer force of the food you’d guzzled down, you followed Percy up to the Gryffindor Tower. With horror, you realised that you’d have to climb an average of seven staircases everyday, simply just to get to your bed.

Anyways, the entrance to the Gryffindor headquarters was through a painting of a Fat Lady and she flipped open when you told her the password, Caput Draconis. You scrambled through the portrait hole and into the Gryffindor common room.

You lazily trudged up the stairs, and without even bothering to notice that your trunk had been transported up to your dorm room, you face-planted onto your bed and fell into a heavy sleep.

Perhaps you had eaten a bit too much, because that night, you had a very strange dream.

You were staring into a mirror, desperately trying to tug off a purple turban from your head. When did you get a turban? How did you get a turban? The fabric of the turban grew tighter, making you feel a sharp pain in your skull as the turban squeezed your head like a vice. You wondered how you got into this mess in the first place.

Furiously pulling, pulling, at the turban finally caused it to unravel and expose your hair. With a start, as you glanced back to the mirror, you discerned that your face had, horrifyingly enough, taken on the face of Snape. His own black, empty eyes stared back at you.

You scrambled back, leaping away from his cockroach-like eyes, only to find that, for some reason, there was a bottomless abyss behind you. You fell down, down, down into a pit. Closing your eyes as your head thrummed painfully, you braced yourself for the impact.

A bright flash of green light, and a high, cruel laugh jerked you awake.

Oddly enough, however, when you’d gone back to sleep, you hadn’t remembered the dream at all. You did question, however, the next morning why when you closed your eyes, all you saw was a luminous, green light in the shape of a lightning-bolt scar.

.｡*ﾟ🗲.*.｡　ﾟ*..🗲｡*ﾟ

→ Author's Note: Hello my lovelies, welcome to ch 1.2 yippee!! Sorry that its super long but we’re pretty already halfway through the ch 1 portion of the series XD — I’m guessing now that it's gonna reach about 1.4 or 1.5 but I could also be widely incorrect :P Anyways that’s all so catch ya next time :))) thank you

Time for this chapters analysis ~ You will have probs noticed one of the most canon-divergent parts of this series so far is that instead of the same dilemma Harry faced when he was getting sorted (Slytherin vs Gryffindor), as soon as the hat touched the little hairs upon your head, you were sorted into Gryffindor. During this chapter, and a little of the last one (but mostly this one), I've kinda been subtly trying to hint that the Reader is really quite arrogant and brazen. Rather than Harry as the chosen one, where he longs for a quiet and normal life, Reader dives headfirst into her role. She shamelessly self-promotes her lightning-scar and doesn’t try to hide it – she knows she’s special and she feeds into that!! She’s kinda like James Potter in that regard >.< and therefore I want her to kind of be epitome of a Gryffindor (courageous and arrogant) and maybe, maybe not, a parallel to Draco Malfoy (who also got sorted into Slytherin ASAP, and is ambitious and arrogant) hehe → that’s also why Reader and Malfoy get more aggressive even more quickly than Harry did in canon… Anyways!!! This is the briefest hint at what I have in store for this series, and we’ll see how Reader’s arrogance courageousness deviates Harry Potter from canon. Tbh I’m planning to make the reader Percy Jackson-coded (with the sass and reckless bravery and loyalty and what not) and maybe just the slightest bit Gojo-coded hehe, I know that it's not that clear rn lol but I’ll work my way into it hopefully… Anyways, thanks again! :D Series Masterlist

Taglist (thanks for asking!): @kaverichauhan

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matchesarelit · 1 month

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Imagine If You Will...

(Spencer Agnew Drabble)

So... the Mountain mall wasn't the worst place to work, the crowds were anything but chaotic, but tucked away in the info booth you found yourself often able to focus on simple directions and parking validation, for the most part, that is of course until the Dew™ released a new flavor, and distributing samples became part of the job description.

A/N: Obvs no affiliation with mtn dew

Swinging your feet back and forth, you swiveled in aimless circles, the tepid weather outside mixed with the lack of any seasonal sales had left the mall all but empty. The heavy thud of a box sounded from the other side of the desk, as Samantha dropped the package off, In your months working under these specific fluorescents this box was the first of its kind. Yet the packaging was anything but non-descript; cold neon greens and the little mountain graphics coated not only the cardboard but the bright pink tape that bound it.

Reaching across the bench to pull it over, you sliced it open revealing another layer of wrapping, once again neon green, the tissue paper was nicely tied with a ribbon, yet seemed to be about to burst.

Finally reaching product after sifting through the copious amounts of padding you were somewhat confused by the abundance of cans, 'Is this... our yearly bonus?' your words were muttered somewhat in jest but were laced with confusion nonetheless. Tugging some sort of invoice from her back pocket, your colleague read out 'Sampling Product', her finger forming bunny rabbits over the phrase.

"So we're giving out samples now? I guess its somewhat informative...?" You mused still not truly convinced.

"It does mention it adds a fiver to our hourly rates for the next couple months.' she added with her eyebrows raised.

"Well then" you muttered hands on your hips, suddenly much more impassioned over the news "Better get to it then oh-" As you ferreted through the box you retrieved a few tees; the 'i' information symbol on the front and the Mountain Dew advertising on the back- honestly not too horrendous...if you ignore the familiar neon green of the fabric.

The next day, you'd donned the bright shirt and as you began to stack a little tower of cans, on the smallest of folding tables, you watched the stores slowly open up for the day ahead. The weather was once again mild inside and outside the shopping center, but the day dragged on. You would swear it took hours for the long hand of the clock to shift even slightly, and even worse by the time it hit ten you'd already received four separate complaints about your attire and the shelling of so called 'sugary garbage' ... Cause yes Dorris I chose for this mall to be owned by Mtn Dew, me the person at the info desk at nine AM on a Sunday...

Nevertheless, customer service frustrations aside, the day passed easily enough, a few samples were taken with mixed reactions, a couple four-packs bought, but otherwise it was business as usual.

"Excuse me-uh am I able to try some of this" The man on the other side of the desk was peering through his curls to look between you and the signage sheepishly. Trotting out from the behind information desk to the small folding table with a nod, you grabbed one of the tiny sample cups, filled it and handed it to him as he exchanged a quiet 'thank you'. Expecting the exchange to end there you turned to retreat to your station, only for him to speak up once more catching you in the act...

"So um-'Ultimate'...what flavor is that?" Sizing him up somewhat as you reached for a can you relented, curious of his reaction to the overzealous biography printed on the back of the can, "The description we get from the can is 'Chaos Berries grown on mountain alcoves, watered with traditional dew.'"

He looked back at you somewhat vacantly, seemingly lost in the avant-garde flavor description, so in an attempt to shock his system you countered with a giggle; "But to me it just tastes like lime." After your confession he found his words quite quickly in turn.

"I was just thinking the same thing - the lime thing- not the um- Chaos Berries" His tone was jovial but still immensely hesitant.

"Do you like it? In my experience that's all that really matters," Suddenly feeling it important that the conversation continues you found some words you weren't entirely sure fit together as you stuttered on; "I-Its like I always say; the real chaos berries are the friends we tasted along the way." Okay. So they definitely didn't all go together, at least not in the same analogy, and yet in place of his confused stare he was now looking at you with a warm smile. You thought it must have been the sweetest smile you'd ever received, his eyes were crinkled slightly on the edges in good natured amusement and overall it left nothing for you to do but return it as best you could.

"Well um thank you, I- should um-" He motioned to a random store as he waved goodbye briefly before starting off after a solid minute of silence between the pair of you. You waved to him briefly before retreating to your seat to find a small queue in front of your desk waiting for assistance. Quickly returning to work with a fresh warmth in your cheeks, you tried your best to focus on the task at hand for the hours to come.

#spencer agnew #spencer agnew x reader #smosh #smosh x reader

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starsfic · 4 months

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I don't know I'd your still a fan of Encanto but hear me out.

Encanto and Owl House crossover, happens somewhere in season 1, where Mirabel stumbles across the door that Eda owns, and she eventually joins the Owl House family on their adventures.

The moment Isabela Madrigal and Mariano Guzman announced that they planned to eventually marry, Mirabel Madrigal had started saving up money. Her greatest talent was her sewing, after all, and Isabela had more than happily accepted her sewing her wedding dress. The money was meant to buy beautiful lilac silk- the rest of the stuff would be cheap, and Abuela promised to cover everything related to the dress when the time came, but Mirabel wanted to support the wedding, even with her and Isabela’s rocky decision.

Instead, she found herself tapping on the wall, behind a framed picture of her and Antonio at his first birthday party, and Casita opened up. Mirabel grabbed the pouch and weighed it. That looked like enough money to support her leaving.

It was a surprisingly easy decision.

After Abuela humiliated her in public, ignoring her worries to instead claim she was drunk, after her mother chose to ignore her worries of cracks, Mirabel found it was too easy. It was a rash decision, she knew that, but still. Her family didn’t need someone like her.

They didn’t want her.

It seemed like the party blocked Dolores’s hearing as Mirabel packed some clothes, her sewing kit, and the money she had stashed without interruption. The party would continue into the wee hours of the morning, which gave her plenty of time.

Casita clattered at her, but she ignored it. “I’m sorry,” she said instead. “But I can’t stay.” The floor tiles tugged at her, but she pressed on. Outside, nobody was around, allowing her to sneak into the kitchen and grab some snacks.

And then she headed outside, only pausing to wave back to a waving shutter.

The town was silent as Mirabel walked, holding her bag tight.

“Hopefully I packed enough food and clothes,” she had to muse. That was one of the issues of suddenly packing up. She didn’t have enough time to plan. “I should have enough money.” Now that she was thinking about it, Mirabel found herself pulling out the money pouch, pouring a few coins into her palm. “Okay, so this is about five…six, seven…nine…”

Something swooped and Mirabel found her hands suddenly empty of the pouch.

“Wha-” She blinked, looking up. A small brown owl, unlike any she had seen in the jungle before, did an almost mocking loop-de-loop. It gave a cheerful hoot and a nod of its little head before flying off into the night.

Mirabel blinked. The realization sank in.

“HEY!”

She took off after the owl. It was probably one of Antonio’s friends! If it go back to Casita, holding her money pouch, everyone would know what she was trying to do! Mirabel took in a deep breath and ran faster at the thought of Abuela yelling at her, accusing her of not loving the family. She couldn’t handle that.

Except…the owl flew past Casita. Mirabel held her breath as she carefully ran past, ducking her head to ensure nobody poked their heads out of the windows. The owl continued to fly, heading to the old village. Back when the Encanto was newly born, Abuela’s village had created a small shanty village to live in until the main town was completed. Mirabel took another breath, hunching in on herself as she gripped the coins tight. The ruins, to her, always felt like ghosts, covered in ivy and slowly reclaimed by the jungle.

The owl still flew through it and Mirabel still followed until the owl lowered down and down, eventually landing in front of a small hut. The sight that greeted her made Mirabel pause.

There was a door.

Not like the magic doors of Casita, painted with the portraits of the owners. Instead, a yellow eye stared at the little owl as it approached. Mirabel paused and blinked as it hooted. The knob turned with some invisible hand, and the door opened, revealing gleaming white.

The little owl hooted as if in thanks before hopping up.

“No!” Mirabel launched forward, but the owl was already flying inside. She froze. Without that money, she couldn’t buy a place to spend the night or buy food when her food eventually ran out. She needed that money!

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes…

And ran inside.

-_-

Inside Casita, Dolores froze.

She knew the heartbeat of all her family members. Her mother’s heartbeat sounded like a thunderstorm, while Abuela’s heartbeat was strong and steady. She kept a worried ear to her tio Bruno’s heartbeat, reedy and soft. Mirabel was one of the loudest, matching her bright personality, until now.

Mirabel’s heartbeat suddenly stopped.

#Encanto #Encanto AU #The Owl House #The Owl House AU #TOH #TOH AU #Mirabel Madrigal #Owlbert #my writing #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #prompt fill #prompt fic

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angelfoodcake222 · 3 months

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I'm back on my LMK x Hurt!Reader kick!!! Yippee!

"How would these characters react to their friend or S/O, Y/N, coming home after a big fight that made them temporarily forget about a prescheduled meet-up at their (Y/N's) place?" &/or something to that effect. Here's what I have for Mei, Pigsy, Tang, & Sandy.

TW: The reader [that's you] gets into a big fight. Mentions of combat, blood, violence, & bandaging/suturing (like that big, curved needle & all that). Comfort at the end of each.

A/N (Author's Note): I'm labeling this as NSFW as it is dealing with violent elements. I'll make a traditional NSFW version if this one gets some traction via likes & comments. Since there is often a lot to read in one sitting, I'll sever this up to a select few for now. even with the splitting, it is still a fair bit to read. On with the reading, enjoy.

🐉Mei Dragon

>She was so excited about some one-on-one time with you, finally!

>She had set things up to the nines for you; favorite snacks, drinks, fast-paced racing games & movies, karaoke, you name it.

>She was in her cozy PJs, snug on a mound of pillows & blankets that looked like a dragon lover's dream collection (she contributed a few things as you asked her to let you do you, "earn them yourself" as you put it).

>She agreed so long as she got to gift you some things on special yearly occasions; birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, etc. You can bet your bottom dollar that each & every single gift she got you fits you to a T. To the point where it's nearly uncanny that you'd gotten used to it quicker than you thought you would.

>Just as she reclined to stretch out on the cozy hill she heard the door to your apartment swing open against the dense drywall followed by a hard thud generously seasoned with curses in your voice.

>She felt a pit in her stomach, suddenly forgetting her want to stretch, slipping & sliding in her plushie dragon slippers to the source of the pained grunts to find you on the linoleum part of your doorstep.

>Your torn, tattered shirt did little to stop your essence from oozing onto the generic tile below you that acted as a mini-mudroom of sorts. Your jeans shared the same fate with your shoes soaked like the floor mixed with once-stagnant water.

>Mei was seething at the damage to your body & your favorite wardrobe choices as they were gifts from her, gifts you had been maintaining near-religiously.

>You loved those threads, too. You even scrounged to buy her a matching set that was safe in her room at her family's home.

>"Who did this to you, bestie!?" "Gimme a name, a face, license plate, I'll teach 'em to mess with you!"

>Your low chuckle surprises her until she spots the dark markings on your knuckles & knees. You fought back, brutally from what she could tell, too.

>"Don't worry, Mei Mei, I handled them well enough. They won't be giving me any more trouble anytime soon. Mind helping me to the bathroom to patch up?"

>Your smile is crimson, gums ooze, but you move your tongue over your side-front teeth as if to free something from between them. Had you taken a bite out of one of your attackers? Probably.

>That's a question for later.

>As you asked, she aided you to the bathroom. All the moving & stretching caused by said movements began releasing more of your life's essence, staining the wood-themed vinyl as you both shuffled to the small bathroom where you had stashed a massive first aid kit in. The kind medics would pack with them.

>Your hand shuffled through the open kit once you were seated on the closed toilet's top as Mei fidgeted in the doorway a mere three feet from you.

>"Those are some deep wounds..." She mused aloud, cringing when you pulled a suture needle out, its curved sturdy form shining in the dim light overhead.

>"That's why I got this." You spy her flinch in your periphery.

>"It's okay if you don't want to be present for this part, Mei Mei. You can step out if you'd like." She frowns pitifully.

>She wants to be there for you to help with your injuries. Holding the kit open for your convenience at the very least, but she just felt so uncomfortable around needles of nearly any kind. She doesn't know why & you never pressed for a reason.

>Once you calm her down, she agrees to step out & close the door dejectedly behind her.

>She nearly slipped on some drops of red that pooled under your foot when she was fighting with the weirdly shaped door handle.

>That's dangerous! You could slip & reopen your freshly stitched wounds! Not on her watch!

>Your robe, a usually soft & comfortable garb, felt different from your hides as you carefully tied it. The soft fabric snagged on the fresh stitches & raw wounds that simply needed to be cleaned. You would have bandaged them to hasten the healing process, but you had forgotten to restock that aspect in your arsenal of medical aids.

>Honestly, you blame the treats you passed by & began ogling on an empty stomach on your way to the pharmacy.

>Aching & fatigued, you limp to the door but stop at the smell of cleaning products.

>She had cleaned the whole apartment in the time it took you to join your severed skins back together. She was walking out with an emptied bucket adorned with an old rag & other scrubbing tools.

>A soft tilt of your head was all the "Thank You" she needed.

>You helped put the supplies away & together you both eased into the mound to enjoy the setup Mei had made up for you.

>Soon enough, your eyes drifted down seemingly with gravity hauling your lids over your eyes.

>Slumber came swiftly.

>While you rested, Mei paused her half of the game your character would have nearly crashed in if she hadn't put her avatar between yours & the obstacle right as she paused.

>With as light of a touch as she could muster, she pulls the fluffiest blanket over you to tuck you in. Good & cozy.

>With that, she began her research.

>She had faith & trust in your brawling abilities, she promises she does & you believe her, but she just couldn't let this go without having some tabs on whoever hurt you. Just to be safe.

>As much as she hates to admit it, she was happy to be able to see the imprint of one jerk's insignia ring that was left on your forehead.

>Tracking that scumbag & his buddies shouldn't take much time at all...

🐷 Pigsy

>He sat patiently in your kitchen, watching the pot's lid rattle with trapped steam as the dumplings cooked.

>You had both agreed to watch the Chang'e Cooking marathon you had both been excited to watch for over three months now.

>It took a little time to convince him, but he agreed on the condition that you cooked together while watching the countdown to the marathon's start.

>You agreed.

>Unlike the others who set up mountains of fabrics & pillows galore, he set up something simple: a couple of blankets, some pillows, healthy little snacks to follow the meal you were both going to make, that's it.

>He had stood up to check the noodles & dumplings when you staggered in, once-bagged groceries cradled in a gifted/found basket under your less bandaged arm before noticing your friend standing in your open kitchen.

>You thought back quickly to that scene in the park half an hour ago leading to your home, when some punks were picking on some unfortunate granny & her friends.

>How could you just walk away & turn a blind eye to such an attrocious act of disrespect & inhumanity!?

>The battle was gruesome, to put it lightly, but the Granny Squad managed to ban together & help you.

>One of the ladies gifted you her recently emptied sweets basket & head scarf to hold everything together after helping you wash the goods off with a nearby hose. Once that was taken care of, they focused on you & on as much as they could help you with (which was quite a lot).

>With cleaned ingredients in your arms, you thank the ladies fervently & dash off to put the items into proper storage.

>"Aw, noodles! The marathon!" You grit through blood-stained teeth as Pigsy blinks.

>He looks like he's stuck between shocked, confused, worried & upset.

>The countdown showed that there were still a couple hours left before the show started, so you looked to the boar in your kitchen sheepishly before shifting the tucked container to holding the covered basket of goods.

"Sorry about the ingredients, I tried to clean them as best as I could..."

>You tried to explain before he shook his head.

>Carefully, without causing any extra discomfort for you, he took the ingrediants & set them onto the countertop.

>One thing you've learned about your friend in the past few years of knowing him is that he may act all big & menacing, but he's arguably the sweetest guy you've known (Right by Tang & MK, of course).

>You thank him & scurry to your bathroom to properly clean up & bandage yourself with the added maintanance of your teeth so you could properly enjoy the meal undoubtedly leading to a taste sensation.

>When you step out to the living room, you're treated to Pigsy setting the last tray of food onto the coffee/tea table with a low grunt.

>For the remaining hour you two sat on the sofa, he bandaged the spots you couldn't reach for one reason or another, shared the dumplings & snacks, & conversed over your favorite Chang'e recipes, all drizzled with him telling you to be more careful on your way home from now on.

>With the finished meals' plates & utenciles cleaned of food & settled into the deep kitchen sink, you all bandaged up, the pair of you slouch into the couch, watching the last few minutes of the countdown tick by in comfortable silence.

"Hey, Pigsy?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. For everything."

"No problem, Y/N."

>With that, the marathon began & was theroughly enjoyed.

👨🏻‍🏫 Tang

>You wanted to understand JTTW in-depth, you truly did, but your brain wouldn't let you. Tang to the rescue... Sort of.

>Name the type of Monkey King media available to the public & then some & you've barely scratched the surface of what Tang packed to your appartment with a little help from MK who had to leave for FFM.

>He hadn't done anything to set up your living room in any sort of special way aside from the merchandise & historical items.

>Okay, he got some Pigsy's take out to nibble on throughout the session.

>He even remembered your favorites!

>He just set the last "historically acurate" figurine & its stand onto the coffee/tea table when you groaned through your front door.

>You had stopped by a local supply shop for an ample amount of note taking material, just knowing how Tang was going to get once he got really into his favorite work & figure.

>Simple, mundane, task.

>Notebooks of favored rule (college rule or Wide rule, dotted & gridded paper is also an option), colored pens/pencils of your choosing, Monkey King stickers for Tang ranging from plain to shiny to puffy as a 'thank you' coupled with a Mankey Cop cap to wear whenever he pleased, & some drinks to go with the food he most likely sweet-talked out of Pigsy.

>You were nearly half way home when some ruffians jumped you to snatch the selectively academic & fandom items from you.

>They were most likely trying to steal your large totebag (labeled with "bookworm" in cutesy stenciled characters you had done with MK not too long ago) for the items within it to price gouge the merchandise in person or online, chug the drinks, even misusing the writing materials.

>The fight took a lot out of you, tore your bag & clothes, even saw you getting cut by one of the broken drink bottles when you tripped.

>You still managed to save the rest of the drinks but they partially stained the cap & your notebooks.

>Serves you right (affectionatly) for picking a brand that didn't wrap their product in the same wrapping your pens/pencils & stickers were protectively cloaked in.

>You had to coddle the items in your cut up arms like a baby, your wounds seemingly throbbing into a dull ache when you spotted Tang kneeling next to the figurine of a midflight Monkey King on his Cloud, staff in hand/paw.

>Despite your carrying two or three reminders of your preagreed plans, your focus was rattled about until you turned to settle your tattered bag onto the sofa in your living space.

>He was just as frozen as you were, both standing a few feet from the other.

"Uhm... *clicks tongue awkwardly* Imma go bathe & patch myself up. If you still wanna do this, you can stay. If not, I'll help you pack up once I'm done. Okay?"

>Tang nods nervously, glancing over your battered form & tote before you lurch to your bathroom.

>You were so busy cleaning yourself & clothing your injuries in the stock of medical items that you didn't notice Tang busying himself in the living room: Stitching your bag's edges back together, touching up the character with a marker near the same color group as best as he could, drying the pages of your notebooks with a hairdryer you had forgotten in your nightbag you had left in your living room that you said you'd pick up & put away days ago.

>You stagger out with a sigh to see Tang trying his best to save your sullied materials, seemingly not noticing that the drinks, stickers, or the cap was for him & not for you.

>You quietly watch his back as he mumbled to himself about worrying over your safety, how he'd learn to bandage your wounds whenever you needed, how he'd never let you walk alone again as he would guide you down the safest streets & paths he takes daily, even learning basic self defence to at least grant you a little back up when you needed it.

>Your tired eyes drift about, over the messily stitched up bag, the pencils/pens sitting in their case on the table beside the rest of the items, all surrounding Tang who was a little too focused on not burning your book's pages with the blowdryer.

>Strange how the rainbow of writing items stood out so starkly against the reds & golds that seemingly engulfed his emediate space.

>Without holding it back, you give a soft giggle which startles him into turning your way.

>He accadentilly blasted the dryer's air straight under his face in turning to you causing his hair to tussle wildly over his fogged glasses, earning another giggle from you.

"I- your things were a little beaten up &- well, they neede dto be fixed so you could learn- &- &-."

>Stammering is all he can do at the moment until you boop him from his sitting position as you now stood languidly beside him.

"Tangy, breathe. It's all good."

>He smiles in relief before glancing over the table with a now calmed gaze.

"Is that a Monkey Cop cap!? With the real badge & everything!?"

>He procedes to ramble happily, occasionally looking to you to see if you were listening to him speak before continueing on.

>You peacfully watched his adorable rambling expressions, quitly taking mental notes on whatever you could snag from the 100 mph info dumping.

>Not long after you both finish your meals (A task that took a while as you needed to cease his fanboying longenough to actually eat), you both sat on the sofa watching a SWK action movie of some kind he had picked out for you.

>The movie was good despite the overly amped up sfx & horribly down played dialog audio, though that's most action movies that you're aware of.

>Snoring catches your drowzy attention as you peek down to your side where Tang had slumped over the opposite arm of the couch, fast asleep.

>Knowing he gets enough back pain hunching over a study desk, you stand & lay him onto thsofa in a more comfortable position while removing his glasses to set them on the side table.

>Good thing you had plenty of lap blankets around for him. Pillows, too.

>Kneeling beside the snoring man, you can't help but tuck the blanket in to create a cozy setting for him.

>You'll have to reschedule the study session for later.

>For now, a light snooze sitting up by Tang would do your eyes some good.

Here it is! I haven't picked who I'm writing for next but I'll try to think of someone later. I hope you enjoyed & have a lovely day/night!

#lmk x reader #lmk tang #lmk pigsy #lmk mei #Pigsy #Tang #Mei Dragon

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nastylittleghouls · 4 months

Text

A Hazy Shade Of Winter

Relationship(s): Aether/Aeon, Aether/Dewdrop, implied Aether/Dewdrop/Aeon

Rating: Mature (to be safe)

Words: 2501

Summary: The first snow is always special. Aether takes it upon himself to show Aeon its joys as he knows it can hit differently for quintessence ghouls.

Warnings: brief mention of blood/death related to events before they were summoned during an anxiety episode on Aeon's side. Aether is affected too but guides them both safely out of it.

Notes: I haven't written anything in years and this was supposed to be a cute little ficlet to stick to my plans to be more creative again. Somehow, it ran away with me. I don't think it turned out too bad so, after careful consideration and battling my inner demons, I decided to share it. Please excuse my rustiness and thank you for reading! <3 The title is from a song by Simon & Garfunkel. The endearment Aether uses for Aeon is Irish Gaelic and means little bear.

AO3 LINK for the so inclined (Aeon is called Phantom there because I am STILL torn on the name. e_e)

The sun is barely kissing the horizon when Aether nuzzles Aeon awake, tells him “It’s time”, in a hushed whisper close against his ear. Aeon turns to curl into him, only to end up cuddling the lukewarm fur at the edge of the nest. Rubbing his eyes, he sits up with the smallest of winces and gives himself a moment to collect himself. Lets himself bathe in the toasty warm glow of oil lamps and the rekindled fireplace.

In Dewdrop’s presence next to him, hogging the nest and snuffling in his sleep. Unashamed and unfairly beautiful. Here, right now, Aeon feels like he is too, still riding the heights of having been welcomed between these two.

Ultimately, in Aether’s gaze. Affectionate. Appreciative. Aeon feels the urge to preen, maybe show off a little. Instead, he ends up following Aether‘s thick yet nimble fingers as they button up his shirt. How can he not?

Admittedly, he’s mourning his cozy spot tucked against Aether’s bare side already. The intoxicating scent of him and Dew mingled with his own. That he could stuff his face into his armpit and just block everything else out except for them and the ache in his body from last night. Just a bit, though. Watching Aether getting ready makes up for it, despite it being horribly distracting from his own task of getting up and giving him ideas of either pulling the other ghoul back into the nest or, even better, getting on his knees for him right then and there to continue his worship.

Both options would probably wake Dew up and ruin Aether‘s valid effort to let him sleep. Tempting but not worth the aftermath. Not today. It would probably cost him nest privileges. Dew doesn’t fuck around with that. Never mind that this isn’t even his nest. He just has Aether wrapped around his claws. All nine and a half of them.

Aether is smirking by the time Aeon finally looks up at his face again, nodding encouragingly towards the end of the nest.

There are fresh clothes already waiting for him, soft and thick and neatly laid out within reach. Even his new acquisition, a long scarf, that he had watched Cumulus and Sunshine working on in the common room quite often after the tour ended, to finish it before the first frost set in. He had not known the purpose of it back then and had called it a ribbon noodle until they had explained it all to him.

Seeing it grow, stitch row after stitch row had been fascinating. Not only had it made him want to be able to do that as well. It had made him feel like it was him that was ultimately being woven tighter into the patchwork that was this pack. His home.

Another whisper pulls him out of his musings.

„C‘mon, béirín. You‘ll need clothes for this kind of fun“

And that’s more than enough for the spark to ignite a flame of excitement inside him as well. Aether has never led him astray when it comes to introducing him to new topside things but it’s the endearment that holds the most importance to him at this moment. It makes him happily drum his fingers on his thigh before he’s rudely interrupted by the end of Dew’s tail smacking him in the face. It’s light, but he sends, an apparently now semi-awake, Dew a pout as he finally gets dressed anyway. He’s just. He has been waiting, not so patiently, for Aether to finally choose one for him. Of course, Dewdrop can’t relate.

Before they leave, Aether brushes a kiss against Dew‘s temple. It earns him a sleepy smile and a scritching for his sideburns in response. Which, in turn, elicits a low purr out of Aether. As his heart skips a few beats at the sight, Aeon can‘t decide which one of them he‘d rather be.

Snickering as if they’re doing something forbidden, they sneak through the still quiet hallways of the abbey, past the other Ghouls' rooms, towards the wooden door that leads into the courtyard. Aether stops to properly loop the scarf around Aeon’s neck, affectionately chuffing at him when he goes up on his tiptoes to bump their horns together.

Aeon relishes the moment until the very second Aether pulls away.

Heavy snowfall greets them as Aether pushes the heavy door open with his shoulder. As expected, he feels Aeon stiffen. Recoiling into the safety of Aether’s side, eyes squeezed shut. Their mental connection stutters, shuts down then reopens. Aether is prepared, a large hand placed over Aeon's lower back and his heart. Fingers splayed wide and grounding over the small frame, his quintessence beckoning Aeons and entwining with it protectively again once it found its way.

He knows what this sight does to new ghouls, first and foremost to the quintessence kin.

The sunrise painting white snow in red too similar to the blood and ash of fallen kin. The Heavenly Wars. The destruction of quintessence beings. The last scene before their eyes as the void claims back what Lucifer burrowed. If unfortunate, forever lost.

Aeon’s reaction infiltrates Aether’s vessel's nervous system like electricity and drags parts of his own long-forgotten fear to the surface again, as irrational as he knows it is. Makes his healed wounds burn anew. Gives him the illusion of putrid fumes invading his nostrils before he can reign himself back in again for both of their sakes.

Own up to his responsibility as one of the pack leaders. The blind trust Aeon extends towards him.

He’s fine. Has to be. For them.

“Timor mortis conturbat me,” Aether murmurs as he moves them forward, one of his hands seeking the outline of the pendants hanging low on his chest, buried under the thick wool of his cloak. One, unarguably the most important one, holds fragments of Dew’s horns. The before and after. A reminder of the strength and protection of a mate freely given.

He taps his next words into Aeon’s mind, not wanting to disturb the quiet around them. Maybe not trusting his voice either. It could crack and give out after all. All too weak.

“I’m here. Deep Inhale, deep exhale. I want to feel your body move with it”

He takes his advice as well. On the next exhale, synced with the smaller ghoul’s, Aether’s eyes close too, and with it, he finds his voice again. Even manages to put a smile into it.

“We’re safe. This is just snow, the very one we told you about. Listen to it fall”

His hands move up, putting the lightest pressure on the outer shell of Aeon’s ears with his thumbs, rubbing the pads over the edges. The pointed tips. They flick wildly under his ministrations before they still again and the smaller ghoul relaxes against him just slightly with an audible sigh.

It‘s the reaction that he was aiming for and again he moves his hands and tips Aeon’s face up towards the rapidly falling snow, keeping his fingerpads there to stroke light circles along his jaw.

”Feel it tickle your skin. How fluffy it is. Just like Lus’ hair”

Numerous seconds tick by before Aeon’s dulled-down quintessence aura blooms back into full force.

When Aether chances a look at the smaller ghoul, his eyes are open again as he finally takes his surroundings in without his fear overshadowing his excitement. Aether could swear he was even wearing the same awed facial expression Dew had worn, that Aether must have worn too when Omega had introduced them to this wonderful earthen spiel.

He snorts slightly, amused when Aeon goes cross-eyed at the sight of their breath fogging up in front of him, swatting at it with his hand as if he’s not sure what to make of it before letting out a curious chirp and slowly extracts himself from Aether’s side. Not without a cautious glance back to reassure himself once more that he is safe. Protected. Then he visibly shakes the remaining shadows of the past off and starts sliding through the snow, twirling carefree around himself, open-mouthed trying to catch the snow on his forked tongue.

The utter confusion when it doesn‘t pile up but melts is not lost on Aether. It reminds him of the raccoon trying to wash cotton candy that he and Rain had discovered while they were both sick and stuck in bed for a week.

It would be a shame if this wouldn’t find its way to Rain too for him to appreciate, wouldn’t it? But just as he reaches into his pocket, the younger ghoul trips over his tail while chasing it, limbs flailing in all directions, and falls into a snowbank. Face first, arms and legs starfished around him.

It’s quite deep, Aether can only see a Aeon-shaped immersion with his butt sticking out in the otherwise surprisingly pristine snow. It‘s a perfect still life, he thinks. Original oil on canvas. Aether titles it, tail as old as time' since Aeon's tail, the cause of it all, is curled like a piglet’s against his body. The Church of Satan will take your bids now.

“Fuck, that’s cold”.

Aether tries not to laugh. Attempts to look up into the falling snow, bite down on his bottom lip but it’s futile. Barks of laughter burst out of him with short, helpless sounds in between.

Aeon‘s tail swishes back and forth with them, bouncing like a coil spring, which sets Aether off even harder, tearing up a little. Until a muffled, yet high-pitched “Aeth. Help” reaches his ears and he quickly makes his way over, rolling the other ghoul onto his back.

„You okay?“

Aeon looks up at him with slitted eyes as he attempts to blow at the snow stuck on his face then his upper body shoots up, grabs, and pulls Aether down right on top of himself.

The cursed element of surprise.

They roll through the snow, their laughter and the occasional curse so loud that they’re probably waking the whole abbey up. Their tails lash playfully as they try to shove each other into the white cold - Aether‘s joints will make him pay for this later- until Aether finally realizes what Aeon is trying to accomplish. He isn’t trying to win or end up on top, he’s enjoying the way Aether’s body is pressing him down into the snow again and again. The way he covers him completely. Eyes shining brighter with every turn.

Aether boops the younger ghoul’s red nose when a higher slope forces them to a stop, about to give Aeon space to breathe when their laughter tapers off into them just grinning goofily at each other. Thinks about suggesting they make their way back inside to warm up with hot chocolate and pancakes to round this experience off. The temperature is affecting his protege by now if the shivers he’s trying to hide are anything to go by.

As soon as he realizes Aether’s intention, Aeon reaches up to pull the bigger Ghoul down into a kiss. He aims for sweet but ends up desperate. Aether allows it. Indulges him for a while by letting him lead. Humms with the wet slide of their tongues, then tips his head to a sharper angle, guiding Aeon’s enthusiasm into something slow and deep.

Aeon’s breath catches mid-moan with the intensity of it.

Slender arms wind themselves around Aether's shoulders, clinging. Keeping. Legs fall open wider in invitation, hips grinding his still sensitive cock up against Aether‘s with little gasps, boldly asking for more. For anything Aether is willing to give him. He’d let him take him right there. Wants him to. The wetness and cold that is seeping more and more into his body be damned. He just wants to feel that closeness and give himself over again.

I’m here. Please see me. Feel me. Let me be yours too.

„You could warm me up with something else,“ Aeon manages in between. It‘s cheesy, accompanied by the dorkiest eyebrow wriggle Aether has seen in his long life. A salute to Swiss influence, no doubt.

„Is that so?“

It doesn’t sound like a question. The mirth in Aether's words is a stark contrast to the heated look in his eyes. He should reprimand Aeon for mind snooping and not reward him with another kiss. But how can temptation not get the best of him when …

Fate doesn’t want him to finish that thought. A snowball hits Aether square on the back of his head, and he looks up, alarmed. A little confused.

Dew is leaning against the door frame, clad in nothing but one of Aether’s hoodies and knee-high socks that reveal a sliver of creamy skin every time he switches feet to protect them somewhat from the cold floor, regarding them with a mischievous smirk.

It’s betrayed by how his eyes are still unguarded from sleep, and the love Aether knows is always there. It‘s a look to be alluring, and it works every time. Dew knows how weak Aether is for him wearing his clothes, how stunning he looks, made obvious once more by Dew quirking a knowing eyebrow at him when their eyes meet and the demanding tug at their bond.

How long has Dew been watching them?

Aether smiles too sweetly down at Aeon when he whines, traps his still twitching hips with his thigh, and affectionately ruffles his hair. Mouths 'stay still' at him while he banters with an entirely unbothered Dewdrop. Aeon doesn‘t hear much of it, just happily gets lost in the touch, a shaky breath that he can thankfully pass off as being cold, leaving him. Aether’s attention being divided once more makes Aeon already miss having it entirely to himself. It’s rare. Too rare.

“Get the fuck back inside then. I’ll warm you up alright”.

It's the first thing he consciously hears Dew say before Aether pulls himself up. His grabby hands are not fast enough to stop Aether and he can’t stop the utterly sad sound that leaves him at the realization. “Now he acts like I’d leave him all by himself, “Aether teases with a chuckle and helps Aeon to his feet as well, patting the snow from his clothes. Aeon remembers to return the favor, subtly turning his head to look for Dew. The spot he had occupied is empty, the door closed again. Probably back in Aether’s warm nest already.

When Aether walks back towards the building, Aeon lingers, looking down at the spot they just laid in again. The indents they left are already filling back up with a fresh layer of snowflakes. 'Snow’s pretty rad', he decides as he adjusts himself in his damp pants with the heel of his hand to get at least a little bit of relief, before finally catching up with Aether, ducking under the already raised arm to let him pull him against his side. Good boys can wait.

“So, about that hot chocolate…..”

#Aether Ghoul #Phantom Ghoul #Aeon Ghoul #Dewdrop Ghoul #nameless ghouls #Dewther #Aether/Phantom #Aether/Dewdrop/Phantom #Aether/Dewdrop #Ghost band fanfic #the band ghost fanfiction #Mighty Feathers

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sterekmpreg · 1 year

Text

I 100% believe that even though Stiles tried his hardest to enjoy his pregnancy with Eli, most times he just can’t. For the most part he can keep his feeling hidden in front of most the pack but when it comes to Derek, his father, and Peter he can’t fool them.

He’s in pain most days, all day. His nausea sets in early and stays all the way through labor, delivery, and recovery. His feet are swollen after the 4th month 90% of the time. He struggles without his medicine dosage, lacking his normal amount, and this causes his depression to peak. Some days, even in the early stages of the pregnancy, he can’t bring himself to move from the bed; this only gets worse after his 8th mo the an many days he's forced from the bed to walk around or go see the others. (he's grateful his family cares and makes he be proactive as much as he can because he knows sleeping won't help his anxiety or depression.) He has to completely put his college career on hold because he just couldn’t handle it on top of the stressful pregnancy. He’s Way more hormonal than most pregnant people, crying and uncontrollably for no real reason, having rage episodes, guilt because he loves his baby but hates the experience of carrying them. He’s overdue by weeks when his body finally has enough in him to give birth.

Birthing his and Derek’s son isn’t any better either. He screams his lungs raw, hands weak from griping sheets or his mate's hand, throwing up before almost all contractions, and not being able to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time. Eli is breached, feet out first like he was just born to go, go, go; “just like his mother,” Derek muses later and earns a weak laugh from Stiles. His water breaks early and by the time Eli decides to make his debut, there is not much of anything aside from his weak pushing to help Stiles get the baby out. He’s exhausted before he can even start pushing from all the pain and barley any sleep. Derek can only do so much and his scent/presence can’t even help soothe the human because werewolf babies don’t come into the world with ease, especially with a human male carrying/birthing them.

Stiles passes out the second he feels the baby slip out of him because his body just HAS to stop after all the stress and trauma of the last nine (nearly 10) months, only running on pure adrenaline and instinct at that point. He needs immediate care because he was bleeding out, fast. Derek has to leave the room because it's taking everything in him to to not bite Stiles to save him, even if he knows Stiles would never forgive him for taking his choice away. His dad gave blood to keep his son breathing and heart beating. When Stiles wakes up days later he’s in such a sick pain he can’t even hold his baby and he feels like shit because all he wants is his baby in his arms that he couldn’t even muster the strength to lift. He has to watch Derek hold their son to Stiles' own chest and won’t let anyone other than Derek, Deaton, his dad, or Peter even touch his cub until he can and he feels so bad but he couldn’t stand the thought of them holding his baby boy before he even has the power to.

Recovery is shit and slow and painful. Stitches take weeks to come out of his lower region. Post-partum depression hits him like a train and most days all he can do is cry after getting enough strength to hold his son for more than a few seconds to feed him. Guilt and self-hatred at being a horrible mom who couldn’t do anything right. Feeling like his pack, his family, hated him and wanted him to leave because he wasn’t good for Eli. It’s all hard. But it also makes the good swing in recovery so much happier for the while pack when Stiles is starting to be ‘pack mama Stiles’ again.

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jelzorz · 5 months

Note

You don’t know how long i’ve been waiting for you to say that (i do—and it’s been about 20 months lmao)

Continuation of ia67? Please? 🥺

166.

do you know how far I had to scroll for this @captainjamba??? Rest of the series linked here for convenience

The Katolis Symphonic Orchestra has a Christmas concert every year. Usually it's all the classic stuff: arrangements of Silent Night, and Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas that are easily recognisable and never fail, and it's, y'know, fun and all but the classics are getting a bit too classic, even for Callum. Opeli is a bit like that as a conductor: straight laced and maybe a bit too serious, which is why this year's set list is such a shock when it's sent out to him that afternoon.

It's Wednesday, and Barius' cafe is packed given it's the awkward time of two PM. It's been, what, almost two years since that Valentine's Day he came here with Rayla after rehearsal, and busy rehearsal schedules aside, it's been a pretty good two years. Rayla disappears in the early mornings for rehearsals at the studio, and Callum isn't home until nine on some nights because so many of his own rehearsals are after work (the KSO is great, but it doesn't quite manage all the bills), but they've made it work, and Callum would rather work around the weird hours than not be with her at all.

This life suits them. He hopes it will for a while yet.

The bell at the cafe door rings, and Callum looks up and grins when he spots Rayla in the doorway brushing snow off her coat. He stands as she edges her way through the crowd towards him. "Hey," he greets brightly, leaning over the table for a kiss. "How was your day?"

Rayla grimaces. "Eh."

"That bad?"

She pauses. The way her brow furrows over her eyes says it all.

Callum frowns. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I—" Rayla presses her lips together and takes a breath. "If I had to move, would you move with me?"

There's a pause. A long pause. Callum studies her over the menu on the fake-marble tabletop. "Would you want me to move with you?"

"I—" Rayla sighs and fiddles with a napkin. "I couldn't ask you to," she says quietly. "Things are going so well with the KSO, and you're sharing first chair with Claudia now, and things are good here, so I wouldn't—couldn't ask you to leave all of that behind for me, but..." She blinks like she wants to cry. "The director of Spire Ballet called me today. They've got an opening for a principal, and they want—they want me to come and audition."

"What?" Callum's lips twitch upwards. "Rayla that's amazing!"

"But I'd have to leave—"

"And I'd go with you," says Callum firmly. "No question about it. No doubt in my mind. I'd go with you if you wanted it."

"But—the KSO," says Rayla. "All your friends and family, your brother, how could I ask you to—"

"You aren't asking me," says Callum. "They don't need me. They've got Claudia. And you—" He reaches for her hands across the table and presses her knuckles against his lips. "I'd be a shit violinist without my muse."

That draws a laugh out of her, and Callum grins, pleased he managed it. "Callum..."

"I'd go with you," he says again. "Always. Wherever you went—as long as you want me along."

Another pause. Rayla blinks and lets herself smile a little more genuinely. "Really?"

"Really."

Rayla swallows and grips his hand tighter. "It's just an audition for now. I just..."

"You don't have to explain," he says. "I can see how much you want this. You deserve it. And if we have to move, we will. Okay?"

"Okay." Rayla grins at him at last, the first hints of excitement lighting her eyes. Callum's heart warms at the sight of it, which only strengthens his resolve. "Sorry," she adds. "I didn't mean to ambush you like that. It's... a bit of a shake-up, y'know?"

"Oh I know," chuckles Callum. "KSO's getting one too. Look at our setlist." He slides his phone over to her to let her see, and Rayla barks out a laugh.

"Sleigh Ride?" She squawks. "The ridiculous one with the horsey-trumpet at the end? That Sleigh Ride? That's not Opeli's style, what's gotten into her?"

"I dunno," says Callum with a laugh. "Maybe it's just a good time for change."

Rayla grins and slides his phone back. "Maybe so."

#in anticipation #fess up jamba what do you play and how long have you played it #sbc #rayllum #if you look closely im in the video of sleigh ride that's linked

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phonkscribes · 11 months

Text

Still.

Perhaps he just liked to annoy you, or maybe he's curious because he hasn't ever seen you... upset or expressive much beyond the disdain you carry when dealing with demons and the like. You're not gruff, but you're not soft spoken either. Perfectly balanced, right in the middle, holding this weird indifference to your character. When trying to get under your skin, he finds that his actions have consequences, which only adds to your allure.

In which Dante is put in his place, for once, by none other than the (AMAB)Reader.

Minors DNI.

You were reading over something you'd borrowed from the library, a book that you could find that pertained to demonology. It was filled with all sorts of information, with diagrams of horned beasts and chained monsters that you've fought before. There wasn't anything else that you really wanted to read, but you didn't know what else to do with your down time. You could only refine your skills and sharpen your blade so many times a day before even that didn't offer anything more than the burn in your muscles and the familiar ache of stretching your limbs for practice. You're human, weaker in comparison to the boss of your agency, but not inferior in the slightest.

Dante had come to acknowledge that from watching the way you'd dance around the battlefield, holding yourself upright and with poise despite the circumstances. Death didn't scare you, even if he thought you could be a little concerned with it. Though... knowing that you could handle yourself without his help was a comforting thought. He'd walked in the lobby of the Devil May Cry, leaning on the door way as he observed your resting expression. Even when resting you were so serious, lighten up a bit will ya?

He approaches, as you have your head down, but you're already quite aware. How could you not be? He leans his arms down on the couch, looking at you with a certain glint to his sky blue eyes.

"So... whatcha readin'?", he asks casually.

"Alighieri's Beastiary on the Nine Circles", you muse dully, flipping a page to look at a rather unpleasant demon.

Funny that you've yet to see the famed little red bastard with red horns and a spiked tail that people think of when they hear the world 'devil'. This one had a wide, gaping maw with teeth that were too straight and too white within its blackened gums.

"Ah, I see", Dante nods, as if he's read it before.

He wasn't much for reading himself, but that didn't mean that he too didn't happen to indulge in the literary arts from time to time. There were the greats like Liefeld and Nicieza. He preferred short stories, packed with action like his own. Although at the moment, he could care less about what lied on the pages. Dante reaches forward and swipes the book from your hands, not really paying attention to the grinning demon in your book. He was more focused on how you'd react.

The reaction is delayed, as if you're not quite able to process why the book had been removed from your hands as he looked it over. Dante chuckled when you turned your head to glance at him, narrowing your eyes slightly.

"Give that back", you state calmly, as you always had.

"If you want this back, why don't you come and get it?", he smirks, pulling his grin to one side of his face.

You wished at times that he'd be a little more serious, a little less playful, but you supposed that it came with Dante's charm. He didn't direct his silly games at you too often, granted you didn't buy into them and weren't one to be goaded but... you were bored. It wouldn't hurt to indulge him.

Just this once.

Getting up from your seat on the couch, you reach to take the book you were reading back, but Dante pulls his hand out of reach. Your mouth twitches. Leaning over it now, you reach again, and Dante moves his arm back further. He chuckles, and you give him a rather pointed stare. When you walk around the furniture, to stand in front of him, you reach for it again but he holds it above your head.

"Dante"

"Yeees?", he asks innocently.

"Hand the book over now"

"And what will you do if I don't, hm?"

You step closer, close enough to smell him, to see every minute detail of his face. Dante could use a shave, you reckon. His stubble is starting to grow out again, and he has an earthy scent to him. You cannot deny that you have a handsome man as your boss, nor the thought that eagerly presses itself to the front of your mind. This is the part where you'd usually glare at him, annoyed with this and leave to go and busy yourself with something else.

It comes as a surprise to the legendary devil hunter when you don't step off. He didn't think he'd find your hands taking his shirt into fists and turning him around so suddenly. Dante didn't think he'd ever be pushed over his own couch with you leaning over him. He could easily shove you back or hand the book back, this position isn't really threatening him at all. He feels himself smile, but that's only because he's impressed.

You're stronger than you look, he'd give you that. Now that he's looking at you from this position, he sees that there's a special little glint in your own eyes. Same as his.

"I'll do this", he say, amusement tinging your monotonous voice.

You watch him laugh quietly, feeling the way something curls in your chest at the sound he makes in his throat. It's a pleasant sound, and though you probably shouldn't be thinking about it... you wonder what other sounds he could make. Dante reaches out to you with one hand, caressing your cheek with one hand as the other sets the book down. The heat of his hand makes your feel warm, and perhaps a little bold.

"It must be quite the read, but I will say, you're quite the catch", his legs cross over your waist.

"Yes well, you have my attention now", you raise your brow provocatively as he leans forward.

You lean forward some more, using your legs as anchors for the both of you so that you two don't slide down the couch and onto the floor. There's a pause, a moment where neither person makes a move or says a word until the gap is finished off by the mutual attraction you had for each other. His lips are soft against your own, pressing against yours and gentle. You thought he'd be more reckless, as he was out while he fought, but this was good too. Dante moves his hand to rest behind your head and to move through your hair as you feel his teeth nibble on your bottom lip.

When you allow him to slip his tongue along yours, he is attempting to get more ground, curling himself upwards to push himself up and against you. You smirk as your hands remain where they were before, on his chest. Holding him down, you return the kiss with a dormant desire, something that's been longing for this moment. He giggles, as you assert yourself, holding him place but letting go of his shirt. One hand has him 'pinned' while the other trails down his body.

Down the anterior of his torso, along his oblique and towards his hips. It's a slow, deliberate travel as you pant into his mouth for air. He didn't need to breathe, he could suffocate on you all day if he wanted. The sound of you taking your breath back as you breathed into him was exciting, and he wanted more. Dante squirmed under your hand, your fingers feeling ticklish along his clothes through his skin. You couldn't help but to savor every inch of his body, enjoying the touch of the half-devil.

He was gorgeous, a marvel in his own right. You stroked his thigh before returning to your kiss. His legs pulled you closer, if that were possible. You were angled perfectly against his ass, if the two of you weren't clothed right now, all you'd need to do was push. Dante could feel that, the certain hardness pressing up against the curve of his ass through your pants.

"I want you", he growled, his teeth brushing up against yours as he looked into your eyes.

"Be patient, I'm not fucking you over the couch... and not on it either"

"Aw", he feigned disappointment at your response, "How about my room then?"

"That works", you lean back with ease, and watch as he untangles his hand from your hair to offer both them out to you so that you could pull him up.

The son of Sparda releases his legs from your waist as he holds onto one of your hands and leads you up the stairs. His room is... what you expected it to be, in all honesty. It's a bit messy, but it's not a pig's sty. You're back to kissing once the door closes behind you. He falls onto the bed with a gentle push, and you're back to that familiar position you had him in, taking your shirt off and helping him out of his own to abandon somewhere on the floor. Your hand pulls the belt from around his waist in a swift, one-handed motion.

Dante's dick presses up against yours as you press down into him. The friction is pleasant but it won't soothe neither of you. He groans when you free him. He's quite sizeable, you hum as you look down between the two of you, taking your cocks in hand and stroking the both of you. You spit into your hand to provide some lube, he's only surprised that you didn't pull out a small bottle. Ever the stoic, ever prepared. He guesses you weren't anticipating this.

To be fair, he wasn't anticipating this either.

The pace is set to a medium, neither fast or slow, which is like you. He watches you while you work, watching as your brow furrows and your face reddens. The tip of your cock rubs against his underside, massaging his frenulum as you press into him there. You hear a gasp draw from the hunter that pleases your ears immensely, at which you speed up your hand. Dante leans up and takes your lips again, groaning into your throat as you kiss him back. His hands find themselves elsewhere this time, at either side of your shoulders as he crosses his arms around your neck.

He likes the closeness, the way you're working hard to satisfy the both of you, him more than yourself. Such a gentleman. He'd gathered that much from you. Eventually he tires of the kissing, and his stubble tickles the side of your jaw as he moves in to claim your neck. He can see the way your artery moves beneath your flesh, and he enjoys the way you tighten the pocket of your hand as he places his teeth right on that spot. A soft sigh escapes you, nearly shuddering as Dante smiles beside your throat.

"You like that?", he asks as he prods his tongue against you, sucking gently to tug at your nerves.

He takes your silence as a 'yes'.

In retaliation, you grind your palm over his cock head, grinding into him and only urging him to bite elsewhere next. Brat. It's still a game, to see who buckles or caves first. It's not going to be you, even if his mouth makes you want to teach him a lesson. With your free hand you tap his shoulder, which causes him to stop. Dante worries, just for a second until you're tugging his pants off to get access to his ass. His eyebrows raise as he gets the idea and turns around to present. He even wiggles it at you, a taunt.

"Hmph", you put a hand on it, caressing the curve appreciatively. Should you pray before you eat?

...

Nah.

You give Dante a quick smack before spreading him open, delighting in his puckered hole winking at you in greeting. Leaning down you put your tongue over the ring of muscles, pressing in as you enjoy your feast. The grip you have on either cheek is rough, in the case that he tries to run away from you. His scent is most prominent here, and the way he pushes back into your mouth excites you. You can hear the devil chuckle at the warmth while you tongue fuck him.

His toes curl slightly, and he closes his eyes to get nice and comfortable as you treat him nicely. You're as hard as ever, as you spit in his hole, using it as lube as you rise, smearing the fluid over your dick before you get ready to push into him. It wouldn't be enough, and maybe you should've prepped him just a little bit better, but alas- he did interrupt your reading. Why should you take it easy on ol' Dante?

He groans under you as he welcomes your dick in, walls tensing around the intruder as you let yourself come flush to the hilt. A growl escapes your own lips as you grip his hips, looking down at him as he turns to look over his shoulder. You draw back slowly before snapping forward, relishing in the sound of your skin against his as he gasps. You're dreadful as you go in and out, wanting to lean over him so that your bodies are closer together, but you were on a mission. You had to teach this brat a lesson about taking things from you.

With each thrust into the devil hunter, you're angling yourself to find the right angle, listening attentively to the man under you as you fuck him. At a strong clench around your cock, you smirk while holding his eyes.

"Jackpot"

"That's my li- ah-"

One hand remains at his sides while the other reaches around for his dribbling dick, pumping it in time with your thrusts. Your rhythm has him grunting, his eyes squinting as he feels the coil behind his naval tighten. You're both close, ready to spill, so you start jerking him faster. The sounds he makes is music to your ears. As you grind into him, his grunting turns into growls. Like an animal in heat, and that makes this hotter somehow.

You rut into him a few more times before you spill your load, deep within the son of Sparda. Looming over him at last, you sink your own teeth into his shoulder, sucking in a satisfied groan as your dick throbs in his ass. He spills too, white ropes being emptied beneath him as you keep stroking him. You wouldn't be satisfied until he was drained. Dante's legs spasm under yours as you kiss where you'd marked him, not that it'd stay with his healing factor.

He whines as you grind into him, pushing him through his orgasm until he's shaking. At last, you relent when he can't take it, and you pull yourself from that impeccable ass. You feel your cum dribble down his taint, onto your own cock as you lay over him for a moment. He's pressed into his own filth, and you're being coated in your own, but you're both content.

"That was... hah... wow", he smirks as you stare at him, "Didn't think you had it in ya"

"Maybe you'll be wiser to heed my warning next time", you reply, going to move to admire your efforts.

"Maybe... or maybe I'll just keep pushin' my luck"

You make a face before going to collect your things to hit the showers. Dante laughs from where he lays, but you certainly wouldn't mind repeating today's lesson. It crosses your mind briefly as you exit, and harasses you as you let the cascade wash over your hair and down your back.

#phonk scribes #nightlyscribes #dante sparda x reader #dante x reader #dmc x reader #dmc imagines #minors dni #dni minors #reader is amab #[ i think my pacing could be better... but i hope you guys like this one ]#[ i want to bite him ]

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