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writer-darling · 4 months

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Are You Ever Dreaming of Me?

Chapter 8: Out of the Woods | Read Chapter 7: Style!

I NEVER USE Y/N OR ANYTHING LIKE IT THANK YOU SO MUCH :)

Rating: M - Mature (THE TIME HAS COME) (18+ MINORS DNI)

Pairing: Ezra (Prospect, 2018) x F!Reader

Warnings: Good old enemies-to-lovers trope. age gap (10 years). Nothing super descriptive for Reader but they are described as having hair. Tension, OF ALL KINDS, reaches an all-time high. Adult language. A LOT of feelings and things of that nature. Banter. Flirting. It’s E-to-L, you know where this is going. Feral Ezra (he starts at an 83.5% but ends up at about a 90.79% in this chapter). Mentions of smoking and cigarettes. Crude language. If there are any that I missed, please inbox me to let me know and I will add them in :)

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary!: Things are different, changed after last night. As you and Ezra both try to comes to terms with what's happened, there's a disruption.

******

“Are we in the clear yet?

In the clear yet, good

(Are we out of the woods?)”

Ezra sees the change in you instantly. You’ve always been hyperfocused, even when not on the job. It’s one of the first things he ever admired about you… before he admired everything else, of course. But today is not like any other day. No… it most certainly is not. You’re avoiding him, as he suspected, but you don’t seem upset about what happened. No, rather you seem… out of it. Like your mind is miles away… or perhaps more accurately: hours in the past. Your distraction is obvious as you try to go about your day, but your eyes have a dazed, glassiness to them and you curse under your breath repeatedly every time you almost drop the clean laundry you’re trying to remove from the clothesline, which is becoming a frequent occurrence this morning.

He watches as he sits outside of his tent, spending the morning sitting on a stool shining his boots to perfection, and chainsmoking like he’s never smoked before. He’s meticulously changed the laces, wiped the leather clean, and buffed and conditioned them until he can practically see his reflection. He’s heard your frustrated mumbling all morning and it has worried him. While he wishes to help, his guilt stops him.

He doesn’t regret what happened, not one damn bit. It was the catalyst of all the fantasies he’s had these last few months. No, he doesn’t regret it at all. The guilt comes from how he handled everything else that happened yesterday. The petty bickering, his stubbornness, how the catalyst started, and the fact that he practically ran out of your tent like a bat out of hell just to fuck his fist before he took things much, much further than either one of you would’ve been comfortable with.

He should’ve stayed. He should’ve finally told you everything he wanted to tell you. He should have held you and apologized for his earlier behavior and then he should have had that amazing dinner with you tonight where he would finally tell you what he really wanted. That catalyst should have come from a place of understanding, of harmony, of love - maybe. But, Kevva-be-damned, he just couldn’t help himself last night. He loved seeing that fire in your eyes, hearing that venom in your voice. It drove him damn near crazy, it always did. Which, admittedly, wasn't the healthiest thing. But, Ezra could admit he wasn’t perfect, and he had never claimed to be. Still, he can’t help the slight anxiety that rises in him each time that crinkle between your brows deepens. Like now,

“Kevvasake!” You whisper angrily to yourself, your gloved palm on your thigh as you yank a particularly stubborn shirt. He can almost picture the whites of your knuckles under the leather of your glove. You sigh once it finally falls, tossing it into the laundry basket with the rest of the clean clothes, which you then lean against your hip. You straighten up and meet his gaze as if you sensed his eyes on you. Your eyes meet his for only a microsecond before you look away and head into your tent, not even giving Ezra a chance to offer you a smile or a wave.

He sighs as he exhales his latest drag, and debates with himself to call after you, but ultimately makes the decision not to. It’s clear he pushed you too far, and you deserve some modicum of respectful distance from him. Even if it stings like carrom acid in his chest. Denver’s voice interrupts his internal debate, and Ezra realizes he didn’t even hear him walk up. Denver’d also been keeping an eye on you, and on Ezra.

“The hell’s going on with you two?” Ezra cracks a smile, a brief one. His brow furrows as he thinks of how best to word this, throwing the bud on the ground and crushing it with his boot before he answers Denver.

“We had a bit of a situation last night, boss.”

“And I’m guessing you screwed everything up?” It’s not really a question. Ezra sighs before answering, setting his boots aside with a sharp nod,

“...Your assumption would be a fairly adequate estimate.”

“Hm… how bad?” The question makes Ezra pause for a moment as he meets Denver’s green eyes.

“That remains to be seen.” Both men go silent for a few minutes. Denver looks pensively at the forest floor. Finally, he speaks,

“Fix it.” Ezra raises his eyes to Denver’s, who’s already looking right at him again. Ezra simply salutes and trudges off to find you. When he pauses at the entrance of your tent, he realizes you’re not inside after his call for you goes unanswered.

You’re not anywhere in the camp. But eventually, he finds you, knowing where you’ve headed.

You sit by the pool's edge, staring into the dark but tranquil water, your gaze unfocused. It’s only upon seeing the area that he remembers. He remembers what you told him about the apprentice camp. Shit. He clears his throat and you turn to face him.

“Can I ask you somethin’?” He starts cautiously.

“I’m guessing you’re gonna ask either way.” You respond, but your tone isn’t harsh at all, which floods him with relief.

“Did last night… Did it trigger anythin’ for you?” Your brow furrows at the way he says that. He’s thrown you for a loop with that question.

“What do you mean?” You ask. He sighs, the guilt suddenly back and threatening to swallow him whole. He approaches but keeps his distance, a good ten feet away from you. He removes his helmet and runs a gloved hand through his hair.

“I mean… about your… previous experience with prospectors.” He says. “Is that why you’ve been off all mornin’?” You blink at him a few times. That was not at all what was on your mind. Now Ezra’s really tearing himself up inside. It all spills out in a rush now. “I’m so sorry, rook, I didn’t even think. I was such a goddamn, horned-up fuckmonger that I completely forgot about that and I never meant to cause you any further trauma. If you no longer wish to speak to me, I fully understand, please believe that. I’m such a damned idiot that I-”

“Ezra.” Your voice is firm and clear, but again not as harsh as he expected. He shuts up instantly and focuses all of his attention on what you say next. You wait until his undivided attention is on you before you continue with your response, “No. It didn’t. I reciprocated. I’m only… confused. That’s all.” You say. For a second it seems like he doesn’t believe you, but he nods anyway.

“That’s fair then.” He says. You sigh and run a hand through your hair next.

“Truth is, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. But I know what we agreed on, and so I’m gonna let it go.” You conclude.

“Let it go?” He asks. You nod and smile, though it doesn’t reach your eyes for long.

“Mhm, just pretend it never happened. Easier that way. I mean that’s what we agreed to do, right?” You ask, your tone far too nonchalant for this conversation. And even as Ezra’s brow furrows and he mumbles a quiet confirmation, you both know that’s the last thing either of you want.

Especially Ezra. It’s like your words have an effect on him. As he averts his eyes, all he can see, hear, feel, and think is last night. The way you looked at him with starry-eyed haziness. The soft whine of your voice as you begged him for more. The heat of you as he touched you over and over again. His trousers are suddenly uncomfortably tight and he turns his body away from you for a full minute as he tries his damned hardest to get himself under control.

“Look, I’m fine.” You insist, making him turn towards you again. “I was just… overreacting. We’re friends.” You say, your lie does little to convince either of you. But you don’t let that stop you. “C’mon,” You brighten up and smile again. “We gotta get back to camp.” You walk ahead without turning to see if he’s followed.

You’re committed to this ‘friends’ bit, Ezra will give you that. He gives you your space but it’s like you insist on proving his concern for you wrong. You smile and joke with him and are suddenly hyperfocused as usual, going from one extreme to another. And Ezra isn’t quite sure how to feel about it, but he plays along. As lunch rolls around, you invite him back to your tent for a round of cards. He agrees, even if his heart skips in his chest and a light flush takes his face.

You stop by the dining hall and have a difficult time maneuvering your way around. You’re still distracted, painfully so, but you try your best to just power through it. Still, the hall seems stuffier than usual. Like there’s suddenly every prospecter on camp inside it. As you look around for Ezra, you realize it is packed to the brim. Damn, were there always this many men in here?

“Rook,” Ezra’s voice catches your attention and you notice he has his pack on his shoulders. He smiles and leads you two out with ease. You both make light conversation as you walk back to your tent for the moment, but your mind is still on trying to let last night go. It’s not healthy for you to be so focused on the vents of last night. Ezra’s not acting any different, so why are you?

That all flies out the window as you two enter the tent and the tension almost threatens to paralyze the both of you as you’re alone now, with not even the distractions of nature as a buffer. But, you smile and walk over to your ice chest, acting like nothing’s off.

“Want anything?” You ask as you grab a water bottle from inside. He grabs a chair and shakes his head.

"I'm absolutely fine, I brought my own snacks from the mess hall." He says with a chuckle, "You got any other fun ideas for today? Other than playin’ cards and me havin’ to serve you once again?" he asks. He’s well aware he’s pushing his luck with that little flirtation at the end, but he wants to know how you’ll react anyway. Hell, he needs to know. He’s tempted to ask if you two are still on for dinner but he has a feeling that if he even remotely brings it up, you’ll go running for the hills. So, for once, he wisely holds his tongue.

“Serve me, huh?” You ask, opening up your bottle and taking a big gulp. You smile a little as you sit on your cot, in front of him. “Now there’s an idea.” You say with a twinkle. “I could use a personal servant.” You laugh softly, clearly joking.

Ezra laughs a bit louder as his eyes light up at your words, and he can't help but smile as you speak. "Is that so?" He asks, taking an apple out from his pack and taking a big bite from it before he tosses you one. "That... actually sounds nice, don’t it? Me as your personal servant..." he says with playful sarcasm, enjoying every second of the teasing between you, even with this added tension from the last 24 hours still looming over your heads. "Just imagine all the fun things I could do for you. You could have me at your beck and call… completely at your mercy…" he suggests with a sly grin.

You can’t help it as you go red as red as the apple in your hands at that. Having him at your beck and call. You clear your throat after a moment, hiding your embarrassment as best you can as you take another sip of your water, suddenly feeling hot. Ezra notices your sudden blush as soon as he makes his joke, and he decides to play into it.

"Does that sound nice to you?" he asks, and there’s almost a tinge of desperation in his voice, leaning in closer and playing along. He can't help but feel a bit of pride at the little red tinge that comes to your cheeks, and he's enjoying every moment of it. His teasing is obvious, but it's clear he's having a good time being able to be around you and be himself, even with this uncertainty.

You recover quickly with a light scoff, even as your blush deepens again. “Pfft, in your wildest dreams.” You say, pushing his chest playfully.

He leans back in his chair with an amused expression on his face, even as every ounce of his will wants to drop to his knees in front of you. "Well look at that, I almost had you there," he teases, his smile still bright. "I was beginnin’ to think you might enjoy that," he muses. "But, I do have to know... if you could have me at your beck and call, wouldya?" he asks, still playful but wanting to get a legitimate answer. He just needs to hear it from your own lips. He knows the answer already, but goddess above, he’s dying to hear you say it. All he needs is one confirmation and he can finally relax, finally breathe without feeling like he’s got Bakhroma spores in his lungs.

Your mind immediately fills with images that are not at all PG, but you clear your throat again, swallowing hard but you recover quickly, blinking a few times to dispel them from your mind before you answer. “Yeah totally… I could use the forced manual labor to help me carry those damn packs full of gems.” You try to joke but it doesn’t come across as easily as it did before. You’re still feeling very overheated as you tuck your hair behind your ear.

Ezra laughs at your words despite their sarcastic tone. His whole face lights up at your words and he enjoys this little game you're playing. The little slight nervous glance away just makes it all the better for him.

"Well okay then, let's test it..." he continues, "Tell me somethin’... what do you need me to do right this moment for you? Just give me a task that you feel is worthy of having me at your disposal," he asks, the smirk returning to his face as his voice takes on a slightly playful tone. "Come on. Test me."

You see that he’s serious. He wants you to test him. “Alright, I’m game. If you really want me to ‘test you’,” you make sure to add air quotes to that. “You can um…” You glance around and spot your pack. “Oh, you can count my earnings for yesterday.”

That was... not what Ezra had expected, and he can't help but grin as you speak and give him his task. "You know what? Sure, why not?" he says with a shrug and an approving nod. He reaches under your cot and grabs the pack, bringing it out between you two as he counts the four suitcases full of gems. "I'll count it all up and tell you the final tally," he says with a smile, "let's get this test underway. Ya got a notebook?” You crack a small smile and lay a notebook and pen out in front of him. He removes the button-up he’s wearing, leaving him in a sleeveless shirt, similar to the one from last night. He wants the most freedom available to him to work.

He gets to counting the earnings, and he's actually quite the little perfectionist when it comes to these things. He takes it seriously, even just a test such as this. He wants to make sure you're impressed.

You 100% are as you watch him work. At first, that’s all it is, you feeling greatly impressed as he suddenly shifts his playful demeanor and hyper focuses on the task before him, his grin dropping into a neutral expression. Only a slight furrow of his dark brows reveals his concentration. It’s sort of endearing how earnestly he’s approaching this. And that makes you unable to tear your eyes away from him. But then…

You can’t help it as your mind is suddenly elsewhere as you watch him with his head bowed over his task. The way he takes each case and carefully opens it up, counting each gem and making a rough estimate based on size and quality, then recounting them for good measure. Your focus goes from what he’s doing to the way he looks while he’s doing it. There’s that same furrow that creased his brow last night. And then, your eyes focus on the muscles of his arms as they flex and shift when he brings out each case. Reminding you of what those same muscles looked like half-hidden in shadow and moonlight. His long, thick fingers hold each gem he inspects like they’re the most precious material on terra firma. Those same fingers that maintained such a good rhythm that you fell apart faster than you ever have with your own touch. His dark hair hangs in his eyes as he slightly hunches over the cases of aurelac. The same hair you ached to tug on last night.

Fuckssake. You’re pretty much gawking at him by the end of it.

Ezra's not even realizing that you're watching. He's so focused on his test - in his eyes, every single gem counts. He's very careful and thorough as he lays out all the gems and counts them, making sure to not make even a single mistake as he writes it all down in the notebook in front of him, the pen cap between his teeth. There's just something incredibly attractive about the way he's so focused and determined to do this task. And the fact that you see him this way is just... well, you've just become totally infatuated.

As he finishes, Ezra looks up at you and smiles, "Alright, well the final tally is 142 gems, with the most valuable one bein’ worth 400 hecaton grade. How does that compare to your initial estimate?" He asks, looking over at you with a smile. His eyes are still bright and his tone is warm, the playful nature of your previous interaction having now faded as you two had gotten deep into this little test. His expression is a little confused when you don’t answer right away. "Did I pass?"

You’re very impressed and also suddenly very aroused. He did it. He managed to impress the hell out of you. And Kevvasake, did it all while looking attractive as hell. You clear your throat as what he asks snaps you out of your reverie.

“You-You’re right on the money.” You say.

Ezra smiles and he chuckles as he stands, his eyes sparkling. "Well good," he says with a playful smile, still seemingly unaware of the effect he's having on you. "How's that for a first test?" he says with a wink, and he crosses his arms, giving a little chuckle as his whole face lights up in happiness. "And if you don't want me to be your personal servant... well, how about we just keep bein’ friends?" he suggests with a small smile, "Sound reasonable?"

You nod, your eyes still fixated on his arms and the way they move. Again some very not parent-friendly images come to your mind. You can’t even say anything, just watching the way his shoulders move with each breath he takes.

Ezra finally realizes the full effect that he's having on you, and he seems to just take it all in for a moment before he steps a little closer to you. He's right in front of you and he has what appears to be a gentle, caring expression on his face. He speaks in a whisper when he talks next, his head lowered so he's speaking down slightly towards you, right at eye level. "Hey... can ask you somethin’?" he asks softly, the playfulness completely faded.

You’re taken aback as he approaches and force yourself to focus on what he’s saying. You blink a few times, his dark eyes making you dizzy. “Y-Yeah, what’s uh, what’s up… buddy?” You internally slap yourself for saying that. It sounds so inorganic, just further revealing your nervousness. But he still smiles a little, understanding. You clear your throat, trying very hard to seem nonchalant and failing miserably.

Ezra's face turns soft as you refer to him as your ‘buddy,’ and his whole demeanor becomes more gentle the closer he is to you. He reaches out and brushes your hair away from your face. His eyes lock with yours as he looks down at you. "I really like you, and I want you to be honest with me, yeah?" he says with a soft smile, his voice quiet and gentle. You can see the serious, honest emotion in his eyes and he looks so... peaceful? It's hard to explain. The playful nature is gone from his voice, and you can tell what he's about to say is really important to him.

“I-I like you too, Ezra.” You say, your eyes briefly glancing at the movement of his fingers as he brushes your hair back before meeting his eyes again. You offer him a small smile, still visibly nervous. “Why?”

The sigh he releases sounds troubled and his brows furrow. Your own brow furrows too. “Ezra, tell me.” You add when he hesitates to say what’s on his mind.

“Last night was… fuckin’ incredible.” He breathes suddenly and your heart stutters at the intensity in his eyes. “I just want to make sure I didn’t bring up any bad memories for you. I want to make sure you don’t regret it.”

“Ezra, we-”

“I know what we agreed.” He says firmly, cutting off your attempt to deflect. “But, please… I need to know how you feel about it.” His voice is so desperate. You feel a lump in your throat as you feel frozen in place by his gaze. There’s an electric moment, tense and charged as you think.

“It was amazing.” You finally say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ezra’s smile is like the suns breaking through dark storm clouds. His shoulders almost sag with relief and he holds your gaze for a moment before pulling you into his arms and hugging you.

It's the most gentle embrace, and you can feel his momentary hesitation, but it's the first time he's actually hugged you. He lets out a content sigh as he holds you tight for a moment before he looks back at you with the same soft, almost... dreamy expression from before. His hands come up to the side of your face before his thumb brushes against your cheek. "You can tell me anythin’, no matter how big or small, and I will be there for you. You got me, rook?"

You’re taken aback by the sudden hug, realizing it is indeed the first time you’ve ever hugged each other. If you’re honest, you were expecting a completely different reaction but you’re not mad about it at all. You hug him back slowly, your arms wrapping around him as you lay your head against his shoulder for a short moment, breathing in the scent of his cigarettes. His sigh makes you melt a little and when he brushes his thumb along your cheekbone you almost want to lean into his touch as soft thrills run down your spine.

You nod, suddenly feeling overwhelmed at the shift at the moment. There’s a vulnerability, an intimacy here you weren’t expecting.

“I got you.” You respond, growing a little misty-eyed. “And I hope you know I feel the same way. You can count on me for anything, Ez.” You say softly, sincerely. “I know things between us are… weird right now but I do trust you.”

Ezra's smile grows as you speak, and he puts his forehead against yours for a moment as his other hand rests against your lower back. You never expected this moment to come, but this feeling - this... connection - you two have formed is something special. He can tell you mean what you say... he can see it in your eyes and feel it when he embraces you once again.

There’s something else in his eyes too, something that wasn’t there moments ago. Something you only saw a glimpse of last night. But then it’s gone as he smiles and lets you go, giving you your space again.

"Well then, partner," he says softly once again, the playfulness returning to his voice, "I guess we're friends now. Official, official friends. How's that sound?"

“Official, official friends.” You say softly, nodding and laughing gently at his cute terminology. But then your mind once again fills with the image of his obsidian eyes as he made you come on his fingers and your chest feels hollow.

It seems he’s about to say something else when suddenly you both notice a commotion outside; there’s the sudden sound of gunfire outside and screaming from your fellow prospectors.

Your eyes flash to Ezra with concern as you both drop immediately to crouched positions, the sounds of combat now in your ears as your adrenaline spikes.

******

Finally after 5 months, here is Chapter 8! Yes it's a cliffhanger BUT I WILL BE UPDATING CHAPTER 9 NEXT WEEK!! Happy holidays AND HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! <3

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sinvulkt · 2 days

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Cogito, ergo sum

Time/Place: Canon Divergence before Act 1, the Mindflayer colony

Characters: The Team

Main tropes: Non consensual body modification, ’spy infiltration’, eventual mind control

Summary: The Nautiloid manages to reach the illithids colony and the Thralls transform. They become mindflayers but for one thing: their mind is still mostly theirs. How to escape when any sane person would kill them on sight?

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Snippet:

Walking hurt. Standing hurt. Moving hurt.

Gale could bet eating would hurt too. How did a Mindflayer even eat? Past studies of the tentacles and their role in Brain-eater anatomy flashed in front of his eye. He shuddered at the thought.

He took another step, tensing as newborn neural connections screamed in complaint. Next to him, other freshly transformed mindflayers did the same. A pulse in the back of his mind insisted he meet the Elders, pushing him forward despite the pain. When Gale tried to resist, it backlashed and the consequent headache sent him on his knees. Gale didn’t insist on fighting the impulsion after that.

Being a Mindflayer was… weird. Gale would have thought he would not have enough of himself left to think after the transformation. All books he had found about the matter pointed to a thrall identity being erased under the worm’s evolution. And yet, here he was. Gale of waterdeep, magicien extraordinaire, trapped in a squishy body he could barely control.

A wise man once said: “I think, so I am.”

Gale wondered how much of the adage remained true when applied to his current predicament. Adages, he had found, often did not account for cursed luck.

---

Plot Description:

The Nautiloid vessel doesn’t crash after the attack. Rather it arrives at its intended destination: illithid colonies.

Furthermore, the infected that were on the vessel all transform, including Gale and co. The trick is, their larva have still been tempered with. As a result, while their bodies undergo ceremorphosis, their mind remain their ‘true’ individual selves.

Now they have to navigate the illithid society while hiding their intact ego, all while fighting against the new instincts their mindflayer body provide them with. Will the Emperor, responsible for their tempering, contact them? Will they find each other, cooperate and escape? Or will they struggle alone, unaware other illithids of the same ‘batch’ are in

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industria-adastra · 4 months

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[WMMAP] - Magnum Opus: Flipping through a child's eulogy (3/5)

Prev - Next

Summary: It’s strange, trying to get used to a new puzzle piece in her incomplete picture. But Jennette is kind, and with the waves of change alongside her. So Athanasia dares to hope.

But it is not to be.

Note: Sorry this took a while but admittedly this took a lot longer than I expected. Chapter 3 ended up getting split but this is where most of the build-up is for before the anvil really drops in this now 5-parter of LP timeline Athy's moral bankruptcy arc.

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After the disastrous event that was her debut—By the sun and stars of Obelia she had a sister —Athanasia found herself staring, empty-eyed, up at the ceiling. She had no real idea of how she even got herself back to her room, or how and why no one seemed to stop her. If only to bombard her with invasive questions about her as the nobles had done so earlier.

But then again, they were probably all occupied with Jennette, weren't they? A new princess, who looked far lovelier than the forgotten princess in blue. Jennette Margarita, a shining new piece on the chessboard of noble politics.

Athanasia rolls over to stare emptily at the overgrown greenery beyond the window. The glass is one of the only objects still sparkling clean compared to the rest of the dusty rooms in the palace.

Lily must’ve cleaned it earlier.

The garden, as beautiful as it was, was wild and overgrown. How many years had it been since someone took proper care of it? Her body curls within herself, drawing her eyes away.

A cold weight settles itself on her shoulder. Strokes her in a comforting manner with only the brush of freezing air to alert Athanasia to her mama’s movement.

A few minutes later, that cold hand is replaced by another much warmer one.

“I…heard about it. Your debut, that is. What happened during it was…” Lily trails off, unable to find a perfect word to encapsulate this entire situation.

And then, she shakes her head, her resolve strengthening. “But you should know, Princ—No, Athanasia —that no matter what happens, I’ll always be by your side.” Her hand moved to comb through her hair, delicate fingers picking out the hidden ties within her hair. “And you know why?”

Athanasia stays silent, merely turning her head to look up at Lily.

“Because I promised, remember? And you know that, if it’s you, Athanasia, I will always, always, keep my promises to you.”

(Diana takes the moment to let her emotions be known, an all-encompassing wave that cocoons Athanasia in its warmth. Smooth like silk and gentle to the touch, it was all too easy to understand.)

And if Athanasia’s eyes start to overflow with tears, and her body begins to shake, neither Lily nor Diana makes any comment about it. They simply stay beside her. A silent comfort.

With the sudden reveal of Jennette—a potential new heir—everything was thrown into chaos. Both nobles and commoners gossip and whisper, wondering about the royal family. Of changes in relationships and the succession of the royal family. Since Jennette Margarita was older, would whoever married her become emperor instead? (Groups of noble boys sigh in relief, because although they could not remember what Jennette looked like in detail, they remembered a girl who was so lovely and beautiful beyond comparison. Her image buzzed in their minds like a persistent fly.)

But, most said, wouldn’t you think it’s a terribly one-sided battle?

After all, how would the second princess, the daughter of a lowborn commoner and unknown to all, even compare to the lovely Margarita girl?

Rumours fly from the mouths of the members of the most exciting debutante of His Majesty’s age. About Jennette Margarita—now Jennette de Alger Obelia—they would say, sweet and kind and perhaps with a head sometimes up in the clouds, but ever so darling and dear, the new princess of theirs. About Athanasia de Alger Obelia, they’d sneer, gloomy and despondent, who would ever want her?

And so, and so, everyone waits with bated breath to see whether their speculations will be proven correct.

And they would be, time and time again, until one day they’d be pulled from the peak of their euphoria, down into the flames of hell and horror.

When they first meet, it is within the boundary of the Ruby Palace, in an overgrown field of grass and wildflowers and weeds.

Athanasia is practising her magic again, lying under the cooling shade of a large tree. Raven lies nearby, and her mother watches on with interest. The whispers and wailing in her ears have all but stopped after the trainwreck that was her debut, but still, Athanasia prefers the quiet open of this area. Better than the confining, decaying air of the Ruby Palace. Only Lily made it seem alive in there. But today she seems to be busier than usual, so Athanasia has quietly left her to her work.

Her black-blue mana weaves shapes in the air, dancing through the plants, giving energy to some, taking energy from others. It crackles and pops as it does so, staccato beats following a discordant rhythm.

Today is a fine day.

Until, of course, there’s a sudden intrusion in the form of her newly “discovered” older sister. Athanasia immediately stops any usage of magic, wary, but puts on a polite smile in greeting. A question blooms within both her and her mother’s minds as they wonder: What would Jennette Margarita be like in relative privacy?

Unknowingly, Jennette offers a rather positive answer to that.

“Hello! You’re Athanasia, right? I’m so glad I finally got to meet you!” Jennette beams at her, lowering herself to clasp Athanasia’s hands in her own. Athanasia, in turn, fights the urge to flinch away at the suddenness of her actions. She seemed…highly forward, and almost brash in her approach.

But, it wasn’t like this eagerness to know herself, know Athanasia as a person, from her new… sister wasn’t wanted. Athanasia wonders if she could get used to it. Get used to positive attention from a different member of her family (not from the one she truly desired it from).

Warmth blooms, just a little. But it’s there. Maybe she still could. Maybe she could.

Athanasia simply opts to listen, watching Jennette ramble on about her long-lived desire to meet her, watching her grow more and more nervous. Raven, now having surreptitiously moved over to her lap, watches Jennette carefully.

Jennette is an open person, speaking of endless details about herself, to the point where one would think she’d never learned the meaning of the word “discreet”. Athanasia learns about Jennette’s favourite flowers (daisies), her favourite colour (blue), her favourite pastimes, and her hopes and dreams for her newly reunited family.

She doesn’t have the heart to tell her that their father, whilst a good and just man, is not one to offset his work in order to spend time with his children. So she smiles, and answers every question Jennette goes on to ask her with polite, near-perfunctory answers.

Athanasia takes the time to take in Jennette’s features—the brief glances during her debut, marred by her despair, were not enough to form a good image of her within her mind. And Athanasia, as much as she tries, cannot fathom how this is her sister of another mother. Jennette’s hair is brown, a trait inherited from her mother, where generations of their family had been blond. The only thing she can find that even remotely reminds her of their father is Jennette’s jewel-blue eyes, and even then, they gleam with green when the sunlight passes over them.

Jennette’s features are, strangely enough, like a mirage. An aura of magic coats her skin; something lurks, trapped beneath her flesh, thick and sticky yet as flexible as water. It pulls at the light, softening her features and sharpening them at the same time, as if her creator still could not make up his mind on how he wished for her to look. Still, it always tries its best to make Jennette look as physically attractive as possible. Athanasia recognises this kind of magic, having entangled her hands within similar variations.

Black magic. Forbidden magic. Layers upon layers of it, as if it were the makeup of her sister’s existence.

Strange. Should she question Jennette about it? While she’s still chattering away at her? Athanasia mulls upon this decision, unconsciously starting to comb her fingers through Raven’s thick fur.

Unfortunately, it isn’t long before a maid calls for Jennette, pulling her away from the odd Second Princess with distrustful eyes. They do not trust her with her new sister. Evidently, they read too many melodramatic novels.

Now that Jennette has left, her mother comes closer, having observed the entire interaction. And Athanasia sees that her gaze is cold, as they watch Jennette move further away from the Ruby Palace.

She wonders where Jennette lives, if not in the Ruby Palace like her. (Whichever palace it was, it would be one more well-loved than hers)

“Could you feel it too, Mother?” She asks, staring at this icy version of her always-warm mother. “There’s so much magic woven within her, and it’s… different from how the mages of the Black Tower feel. I can barely even feel anything similar to my mana, the royal family’s mana, because most of it—” She pauses, and sees her mother tense, looking pointedly away. Athanasia pretends she doesn’t see it. “Most of it feels like… Black magic. Forbidden, cursed, magic.”

It takes a while for her mother to respond.

“The Penelope I knew—or rather, the emperor told me about—was never magically inclined. Ambitious and beautiful, but with barely an ounce of usable mana to become even a low-level mage.” Her mother still doesn’t look at her. Athanasia is unsure what to make of this strange non-answer.

“So, it’s artificial then? I assume it would be before birth, as otherwise, I believe she would not be quite so… her . But whyever would Father agree to such procedures? I didn’t think he’d be the kind of person to willingly subject his family to such danger. Even if Penelope Judith must’ve asked for it. Especially since our bloodline practically guarantees some degree of usable mana compared to others.” It’s a puzzling thought for Athanasia, an uncomfortable, squirmy sort of thought. Father, the holy Emperor of Obelia, someone who’d sink his hands up to his forearms in forbidden magic? Athanasia banishes that thought as quickly as possible.

Diana cannot bear to tell her daughter what the voices have told her, what her memories are telling her. That Penelope Judith had only lain with Claude’s brother. That Jennette was unlikely to be his daughter. That Claude knew this and yet was more welcoming to his own niece than a daughter he had with someone he had so desperately claimed to love. So she chooses her words carefully, measuring them within her mind before allowing them to fall from her lips.

“...I think, Athy, that—” Diana’s face is unsteady, a crack in the glass as she abruptly stops. “—that when it comes to people we love, we may not always know them as well as we think we do, because there are so many facets to a person.”

Vague, vague, vague. Her mother’s answer is vague and does little to calm her with its implications. But Athanasia doesn’t want to argue.

“I know.” That is all Athanasia says in reply, and that is all she leaves it to be.

(Hate was so easy to cultivate these days, when one’s emotions were connected to those of others.)

Such blissful ignorance is something she wants to keep her only child cradled safely within, if only so she would not be further hurt. She descends to wrap her arms around Athanasia, her only treasure, her most precious beloved child.

They sit in silence together for a little while longer. Yet, Athanasia notes, as she looks up at the darkening sky, it seems like a storm would come. And soon.

Jennette Margarita…no, Jennette de Alger Obelia is an enigma to her. An enigma through her very existence and how she is. How she treats everyone.

An older half-sister she’d never met, with a personality she’d never gotten accustomed to. She is a cheerful, sunny girl in contrast to Athanasia’s dark and gloomy disposition. Forceful in her own ways like a gentle force of nature. Athanasia doesn’t think she’s a particularly bright girl, not instinctively picking up on how and why the servants and guards react like so depending on which princess they’re encountering. Jennette didn’t seem particularly well-read either, having seemingly been kept within an isolated bubble for a large part of her years. A bubble that was tailored to how her previous guardians saw fit to design. A bubble that she accepted without much thought.

Athanasia had torn apart her own bubble a long, long time ago.

But Jennette is kind. At the very least, she treats her with the desire to become close. And perhaps, that is what draws Athanasia toward her, like a moth finding another source of light to hold onto. A little bit more affection to have and consume, another island in a sea of apathy. She isn’t sure if she’s being too greedy, coveting another pair of warm arms and a warm smile.

(Athanasia remembers a face as solid and cold as ice from years ago. With another member in the family, one that he clearly cared about—with the unceasing flow of new baubles and fabrics given to her—would he welcome her now? A girl who’d do her best to repay his love and attention with all her being?

She doesn’t know the answer until one fateful tea party.)

Meeting her father again for the first time in years is not as much of a happy affair as Athanasia thought it’d be.

For one, her tea sits cold on her plate, and Athanasia also finds that her appetite has long left her. There is no mention of any of her dedication to the country and her studies, nor her desire to be useful to him. No, her father simply ignores her in favour of Jennette. Watching her, though not with familiar warmth.

It’s an emotion entirely different from her mother’s, and something about it makes her feel cold. The awkward silence hangs like a sword on a thread, as Jennette nervously nibbles on her snacks. Not even her typically sunny demeanour can defrost the ice lingering in the air here.

At least Mother is here, gently squeezing her, just enough to feel her warm-cold presence. Athanasia wonders why she hasn’t shown herself to her husband, pushing away memories of derisive whispers about a low-born dancer with more grace in her pinky toe than in any of their entire beings. Her fingers fiddle with one another, now wishing she were in the royal library instead, studying to be better.

At last, Jennette takes the plunge to end the awkward atmosphere.

“F-father!” She practically shouts, “I-I’ve heard that Athanasia is quite good in her studies, so maybe there is something she could help you with?” Sweat lightly lines the side of her head, glistening. Her hands fumble about with the polished silver utensils.

The blatant plead for them to interact is so evident, that it would have been more subtle to plunge a sword into his gut. Athanasia barely keeps her muscles from reflexively cringing. But at the very same time, a bit of hope dared to bloom. Perhaps her father simply needed a little prompting.

And it seems like he did, because right after, he turns to her, the same look of apathy still on his face, but he is looking at her and Athanasia’s mind runs through hundreds of imaginary conversation starters.

“Is that so?” He says, deceptively light before his next words. “Athanasia…” Pausing, he appears to be contemplating something. “...so that was your name. And what an amusingly arrogant one it is. Who’s daughter were you, to have thought you’d be able to live up to such a name?” Cold like always, he fixes the full force of his icy gaze onto her, pinning her down like a butterfly specimen to be thoroughly examined. He eased himself into a languid position on his chair as best as possible, waiting, demanding her answer.

Her mother’s arms tighten imperceptibly, just as Athanasia feels a twang of disappointment at her father’s blatant forgetting of her beautiful, wonderful mother. It clashes with the rush of emotion that sears through her veins at having her father’s full attention on her (though not because of her).

Suddenly, a rush of noise fills her ears, phantom memories of blood and death coming back from long ago. It is vivid and hazy in her mind’s eye, overlapping multiple perspectives into one as she steadily gazes back at him.

Yet he is always covered in blood.

Athanasia tastes blood on her tongue, blood in her throat. Feels it on her hands, soaked into her dress. She blinks and it’s gone as quickly as it appears.

(Mother doesn’t seem very happy)

She tries to keep her voice even. “Diana of Siodonna, Father. I’ve… I’ve heard that she was a beautiful dancer.” Even so, her words are spoken haltingly, chosen carefully.

At that, she could see his eyes narrow in sudden hostility, something dark flashing across them. One of his hands moves to tightly grasp her chin, moving her face this way and that. The pressure hurt, felt as if it could fracture her delicate bones.

Yet his next words fracture her heart.

“Diana? I’ve never even heard of that name.”

He wishes (demands, really) for her to refer to him as “Your Majesty”. With that, the distance between them widens ever more. Was “Father” not respectful enough for him? But she acquiesces to his request (again, more of a demand). Because he is her father. Because she loves him (and all he stood for).

She loves him like a daughter to her father and a worshipper to her idol.

But Athanasia finds that it’s becoming harder to reconcile reality with her idealised images.

And yet, she clings to thin threads of hope anyway.

Diana feels the rage of the others within her boil and bubble, caustic and cutting, as she notices Athanasia being brushed off again and again by Claude. Something screams deep within her, louder and louder as it becomes increasingly clear that he remembers her not. She learns to hate from others, learns to hate through circumstance and with the help of the negativity entwining with her. It’s an addicting feeling that’s all too happy to grow as she watches Claude take their daughter for granted again and again.

Sometimes it feels as if their consciousness merges in and out. Although most of the other women hated her terribly in the end for being the favoured one of the emperor, they all could understand the feeling of being abandoned, being treated lesser by someone whom you adored. They could understand how love and like could curdle and sour into hate.

Diana had gambled on their love, on her judgement of his character…

And it turns out that she’s fumbled the roll all along.

Sometimes, Athanasia thinks she hates them both—her father and Jennette.

Her father for how he underestimates her, practically pretends she doesn’t exist, the easy affection he gives so freely to Jennette even as Athanasia strove to reach his heaven-high standards. Could he not see her desire to help him? Could he not see how much work she put into her studies, no matter how she tried to convey it to him—whether it be through pathetically desperate verbal questioning about his interest, or her showing off as best as she could her ideas on how to perhaps help her Empire prosper more.

Jennette, for how easily she gains her (their) father’s affection. She fails miserably at certain subjects, stays happily within her own enclosed bubble without a care for the outside world, and yet. And yet, and yet, and yet—

(Athanasia can’t really blame her, not really. Because Jennette is kind. Because her father has more important duties than an attention-starved teenage daughter. Because the fault is probably all her own. Good with books, terrible with people, better with ghosts. What a mess .)

He couldn’t even bother to spare her a single glance. What did she lack? What did she not have? What did she need, who did she need to be so he’d gaze at her like Jennette?

Why couldn’t they be together as one happy family?

(Why couldn’t he be the father she wanted him to be?)

She caresses a thorny rose, admiring its beauty, lightly gliding her skin on the thorns.

Not a second later, Athanasia pricks her skin on them.

It leaks blood, slowly, surely, before it clots.

She stares, watching. Wondering. Ruminating.

Ijekiel Alpheus. He is Jennette’s fiancé, and Athanasia listens for words that slip through the cracks. Jennette loves to talk about him. The girls at every tea party held in the palace love to gush about him, plying words of flattering praise on Jennette as thick as honey. It often feels over-excessive.

Perhaps they envy her.

(But who wouldn’t? With her perfect life and perfect personality, it is easy to love her and even easier to hate her.)

Ijekiel is Jennette’s childhood friend, their affection for one another having been fostered since day one. She wonders if he is the white-haired youth she saw on that day. He had worn his charm like a well-worn mask, gently guiding Jennette towards His Majesty. Beautiful and handsome, all soft edges and a princely demeanour.

He must be. House Alpheus is the only white-haired, gold-eyed noble family she knows of in Obelia.

Athanasia meets him on a summer day. A maid eagerly rushes to Jennette, telling her of her fiancé’s arrival. Her sister brightens with excitement and proceeds to drag Athanasia back to the palace to meet him.

Her mother has opted to stay and relax with Raven back in the Ruby Palace. Lately, Mother feels tired through the threads that connect them. Athanasia briefly hopes the rest will do her well, before allowing herself to be pulled in the rush of emotions Jennette visibly emits before they enter the doors of the Emerald Palace.

For some reason, Athanasia always thought the colour would suit Jennette well. Better green than blue.

(Better to be in any other family than—)

When they arrive, Ijekiel has his back to them. He’s been waiting. Clothed in white and gold, Athanasia cannot help but wonder if it is an intentional choice of House Alpheus. She supposes it lends a more ethereal quality to Ijekiel, whilst also being easy to match with their hair and eyes. It certainly looks more intricate and fine than her pale blue dress.

“Ijekiel!”

Jennette lets go of her hand to practically leap onto Ijekiel’s back, arms wrapping around him tightly as she beams. Athanasia opts to stand back, a couple of steps away, allowing space for the pair, waiting for him to turn to meet her.

The first thing she notices is that his eyes are like unpolished gold.

Yet as they finally lock eyes, jewel blue meeting dull gold, Jennette’s happy words “This is my fiance, Ijekiel…” fade into the background, and those eyes appear to sparkle as if wrapped in a Mesmer. He smiles gently and moves to place a kiss just above her hand. As he does so, his gaze feels like it’s attempting to see through her for what she is. It is a strange sparkle that has lit within his eyes.

“A pleasure to meet you, your highness.”

Something about him changes at that moment.

And it is all too strange that such a gaze would cause her to feel flushed below her clothes. Would cause her breath to hitch and a feeling of breathlessness to rush over her. Maybe she overworked herself this morning with the spells, growing flowers willy-nilly for both Lily and Mother. There’s nothing else that could explain this.

As always, Athanasia opts to ignore unwanted feelings.

(She cannot have him; a terrible choice for a first infatuation)

On a summer’s day, they meet again for the second time. This time, it was by complete accident. Whilst walking back to the Ruby Palace from one of the Imperial libraries, Athanasia finds herself nearly walking into Ijekiel. Thank goodness for Mother warning her just in time before they could collide.

Immediately, she reacts with a “My apologies, Lord Alpheus.” He bows in return. A beat of silence follows soon after, and as there is no reply, she continues with “Were you looking for Jennette? I believe she should be finished with her dance lessons soon…” Shifting her books to her left arm, Athanasia snaps open the pocket watch on her side. “...In about five to six minutes or so.”

“No worries, Your Highness. And, I’m not here for Jennette today. I simply felt like visiting one of the royal libraries.” Ijekiel replies, smiling. Then something appears to catch his eye, and following his gaze, Athanasia looks down to see her books. More specifically, a theorem that was published by Roitz a few years ago. Bound in dull brown and without much decoration, Athanasia wonders why it is this book that catches his attention specifically.

“Is that…?”

Athanasia is quick to reply with her own query. “Lord Alpheus, do you recognise this?”

“Yes, is that not Roitz’s book on the intricacies and differences between black magic and forbidden magic? I have read it before on a whim. However, there’s not much I can do with such information, seeing as I am not a mage. Although,” he looks back up into her eyes, “speaking of mages, I do not suppose it is much of a surprise that Your Highness reads such things.”

Her own blue eyes stray away from his intense gaze. “If I may, Lord Alpheus… I don’t believe that is quite true, mage or not, it is always good to know more. Especially with matters concerning magic. Knowing the differences could perhaps help one determine how best to solve problems concerning magic, or even identify signs that may appear with black magic usage. Sometimes, knowing can make all the difference in things. Please, do not presume that something is useless to you because you have yet to think of a use for it.” And somehow, without realising, her gaze shifts as she speaks, staring down at the sparkling gold of his irises.

It takes a while for him to speak, and Athanasia thinks he looks almost pleasantly surprised, were it not for the rapid change into his normal, genial smile that leaves her wondering if she’s hallucinating from years spent with the supernatural.

“...Yes, you’re right, of course.” Ijekiel’s head subtly shifts to look beyond the marble pillars of the hallway. “There are things I feel thankful for now, even if I grew to despise them in the past.” He’s looking back at her, and Athanasia feels as if Ijekiel isn’t exactly talking about books and knowledge. Unexpectedly, she feels herself flush, red hot on her cheeks. His gaze always feels all too intense whenever she’s caught in it.

At this, his smile seems to grow a little more genuine, before he leaves with a light bow and a, “If I may excuse myself, Your Highness.”

The faint scent of wildflowers follows him.

Athanasia thinks, staring at the place where he was, that it’s not the end of their meetings, mostly due to their respective statuses as future in-laws. Although as she looks at her Mother’s amused gaze, Athanasia hopes that by the next meeting, she could at least stop feeling so strangely flustered every time she meets Ijekiel.

Her mother shows her little reprieve after that encounter. As it turns out, Athanasia appears to have found a new muse to draw. Sitting beneath the old tree with Raven and her mother once more, Athanasia allows her mind to wander in content silence. Thus she pays little attention to the wildflowers unfurling next to her, nor the fact that Ijekiel’s features are starting to form upon the paper.

Unfortunately for her, Diana—her mother—is a rather keen-eyed woman. And thus, her sparkling pink eyes zero onto the familiar handsome sketched features with a speed rivalling the Arlantan hawks. As she does so, her lips softly curl into a teasing grin at her new discovery.

“My, my, Athy, who’s this?” Leaning in, Diana peers at her daughter with that very grin, as Athanasai practically leapt out of her skin. Raven, deciding he’d rather be an observer rather than a participant, takes this time to move over to a warm patch in the field.

“Ma‒a! You nearly gave me a heart attack! Couldn’t you have warned me somehow before you decided to comment on my artwork?” Athanasia exasperatedly said, slowly calming down her racing heart.

“Weell, my darling daughter,” Diana begins to say, pinching at one of Athanasia’s cheeks, “I’m simply ever so curious as to this mysterious handsome individual you’ve started to draw. Who, by the way, looks ever so similar to one heir to House Alpheus.” Her cheshire grin grows ever wider as Athanasia slowly realises the implication, relishing the deep lobster red suffusing her pale complexion.

“That’s a coincidence,” she explains tartly, wishing the ground would swallow her up whole, were it not that the lack of air would kill her. “Besides, it’s not a crush or anything of the sort that you’re implying, Mama.” Athanasia spits out the word ‘crush’ as if it were something diseased.

“I never said it was a crush.”

“That—! Well, you most certainly implied that I have a crush on Ijekiel!”

“Did I? I only wished to know who you were drawing, Athy,” Diana replies, looking like the cat who got both the cream and the canary. “But now that you mention it… Do you have a crush on him, Athy?”

“I do not have a crush.” Athanasia pouts, crossing her arms, “And Mother, you should remember that this is Jennette’s fiancé we are discussing. Any feeling of the amorous kind should not, and will not, exist.” Her voice is hard at that reminder. However, who was truly being reminded here?

At that, Diana’s expression softens into a sympathetic look.

“Oh Athy, it’s perfectly alright and normal for you to get a crush at this age.” Diana places a comforting hand on Athanasia’s hunched shoulders, coaxing her daughter to look at her. “I know you care very much about Jennette, but you’re not betraying her or anything like that by getting a crush on her fiancé. Besides, you’re not acting on those feelings, and that’s all that really matters, Athy.” Her fingers gently comb through her daughter’s golden tresses.

It’s a nice, normal thing for her daughter to get a crush.

She thinks, sadly, that Claude would have been a rather endearingly protective father.

Athanasia thinks they run into each other quite a lot, enough that she can no longer truly call it a continuing series of accidental encounters. It’s one too many times with too short breaks in between for her to call it such. At some point, she’s starting to wonder if “accidental” is intentional. But with both her desire to ignore most thoughts about fair-haired, handsome Ijekiel and to prove to her mother that this was most certainly not some crush on her sister’s betrothed, Athanasia kicks such thoughts into the abyss of her subconscious.

So obviously, the next time she carries a thick romance novel out of the library to read in the comfort of her room, Athanasia has to be nearly bowled over by Ijekiel as she rounds the corner back to the Ruby Palace.

She stumbles back in shock the moment they collide, thankfully managing not to trip over her feet. Ijekiel appears to be completely unphased, the only sign of collision being his slightly shifted clothing. Athanasia envies that calmness—just a bit.

Just seconds after their collision, Ijekiel smiles, moving to lightly bow towards her, his right hand clasped over his breast.

“Your Highness, what a happy coincidence.” As he straightens up, Ijekiel’s eyes roam over the book Athanasia is perhaps not-so-subtly trying to obscure. “May I presume you were coming back from the library?”

“Y— Yes, Lord Alpheus. I was. And may I presume in return that you were on the way to meet Jennette? May I recommend that the next time you come visit her, you start from the left, instead of the right? It takes a longer time to get to the Emerald Palace if you go this way, Lord Alpheus.” Her fingers curl tighter around her novel, desperate to not let Ijekiel see the embossed blurb, lest he guesses the contents of it. (He need not know just how passionately the main couple express their feelings for each other, and he most definitely need not know in what specific manner they normally do so)

Suddenly, it feels as if they are far too close for comfort.

(She can’t quite understand why she’s unwilling to let him know about this, wanting to keep the image of a refined, scholarly princess in his eyes)

He takes a step closer, and for a scant second, Athanasia’s breath catches in her throat. It’s still a perfectly acceptable distance, she mentally reassures herself. It’d do her no good to have her mind so scrambled by such a little thing as the decreased distance from her future in-law.

(Her very handsome, future brother-in-law, her mind supplies in a rather unhelpful fashion. Athanasia wonders if there was a spell to get your mind to shut up when it made unnecessary comments about other people.)

Smiling, Ijekiel makes the world stand still with just a few words.

“Actually, Your Highness, I was looking for you.”

“What?” It’s only by the grace of all those years spent holding back that allows Athanasia at least a semi-dignified response to his reply. She blinks and very nearly stutters on her next words. “You… You were looking for me?”

Suddenly he’s far, far too close, and Athanasia nearly leaps out of her skin with surprise, blooming red on her cheeks. Her arms loosen their death grip on her novel, allowing Ijekiel a clear view of her guilty pleasure. So unfortunately for Athanasia, within those few seconds of embarrassment for her, Ijekiel quickly sees what she’s not so subtly attempting to hide from him.

“Oh? That…” He smiles gently like always. But this time, there is a musical lilt to his tone, a subtle quirk to his lips.

Much like a cat who caught the canary.

Athanasia does her very best to ignore both that damnable smile and the airy weight of her mother’s arms settling comfortably around her.

“Is there something you’d like to say, Lord Alpheus?” She knows her tone is just a tinge too sharp, too snappy in its execution. Athanasia stoutly refuses to believe such reactions could be, in any way, related to her feelings towards the Alpheus heir. Just like how, right now, she is stoutly ignoring her dearly beloved mother’s giggles.

Underlying those words is a challenge to him; daring him to say even a single unneeded and unwanted comment about her choice of literature. Her eyes narrow slightly as she stares up at him. Curse his older age and thus his taller height. It is much, much harder to channel an ice statue when one is forced to a lower vantage point.

“Oh, nothing, really.” Or so Ijekiel says, even when the corners of his mouth curve none too subtly, right in front of her. “It’s just…”

And really, some form of luck must be on his side today. Because at that very moment, a gust of wind has the audacity to simply blow past right behind her, allowing Ijekiel the perfect opportunity to further invade her space. Which he does, leaning in to gently tuck away locks of hair from her ear, giving unrestricted access for him to whisper, ever so softly…

“You enjoy such a charming spread of genres, Your Highness,” his breath tickles her ear, and Athanasia hopes to all the holy powers that be that Ijekiel won’t see the brick red she’s surely become. “I myself am also rather fond of reading. So perhaps you’d be able to give me a good recommendation that we might both enjoy together?” At that, Ijekiel leans back, and his golden gaze fixed on her face, waiting for her reply.

“I—” Athanasia’s first attempt at a response falls flat, leading to seconds of hanging silence before her mind formulates a proper answer. “I would be willing to compile a list for you.” Athanasia pauses, before hastily adding, “ And Jenette.”

“Right.” Gone is the light tone previously in Ijekiel’s voice. Jenette’s name is a clear reminder to both of them.

Again, a silence casts its shadow over the two. But there was a reason why Ijekiel was so beloved by the upper crust’s women. A reason why Jenette was so clearly smitten with him.

“Perhaps we could read the book you have now together, Your Highness? Just to help you gain an early start in compiling that list, of course.”

Athanasia hopes to high heaven that this wasn’t the reason why he was so liked.

“Absolutely not!” Athanasia’s face is red with embarrassment, heat practically radiating off her cheeks. There was no way she was going to let Ijekiel Alpheus of all people know that the studious Second Princess of Obelia liked steamy romance novels. (Even if it was highly likely he already knew what exactly she was holding in her arms)

It’s clear that her sudden outburst of honesty surprises and amuses the Alpheus heir. Frankly, he isn’t doing much to conceal the mischievous twinkle in his eyes, nor the tug at his lips. At that, Athanasia’s lips twitch in displeasure. Why on earth she’d been so fascinated with him lately must’ve been due to the amount of work she’d been giving herself recently. (That was not to say she didn’t notice how that twinkle made the gold in his eyes shine like stars, enthralling in the way beauty always was)

“My, Your Highness, I’m surprised that someone with your work ethic would be so quick to turn down an offer to increase task efficiency.” He teases her, knowing full well why there was no way she would read this book with him.

Athanasia returns his tease with frosty politeness, hoping he’ll drop the matter and leave her alone to read in the sanctity of her room in peace. “I’m simply worried it would detract from time you should spend with Jennette, Lord Alpheus. Moreover, as both a girl and her sister, I’m quite sure a perfect list will still be made with only my input.”

(Her mother is no help at all, only watching and offering not a single piece of advice)

“Ah, but perhaps you have forgotten, Your Highness, that I have taken care of Jennette in the past. Would it not be more helpful to have my input to supplement yours?”

“That…”

“...Is it because of my presence?”

“No.” The blurted answer is quick enough that it shocks both of them. It’s honesty towards a question that should never be asked. Despite this, Athanasia continues to blush, eyes only pretending to look straight at Ijekiel. “...I simply think that you would not be interested in such reading material.” She later tacks on lamely.

But for some reason, it’s enough to gain a wondrous smile from him—In fact, Athanasia suspects he might just be beaming. Her heart beats uncomfortably in her chest.

“I see,” is all he says at first. “But Your Highness, I trust that whatever you read has its own value, whether it be for one purpose or another.” With that, he bows, ready to take his leave. “If you are not ready to show me such literature, I’ll at least help with the list for Jenette. So if I may, Your Highness, I’ll get on to that promptly.” Up he rises, and Athanasia can’t help but stare at his now retreating back.

What an immensely forward thing to say.

All of a sudden, not even ten paces away from her, Ijekiel stills. As he speaks, he does not face her. “And, just one more matter, Your Highness. If it’s not too presumptuous… Might I say that red is a lovely colour on you?”

But for Athanasia, it’s much more preferred this way. After all, who knows what expression he had whilst saying so? Nor did she desire for him to see that lovely colour on her again.

“Your Highness, I’ve recently read through Galera’s thesis on the nature of time. May we discuss it together?”

Ijekiel had almost certainly planned on this, seeing as there was no one near them for perhaps miles around, and also for the fact that they were conversing in a clearly abandoned garden that no one in their right mind would enter.

It’s no matter if she’s caught off guard, as Athanasia has long since gotten used to reacting to unexpected variables on the spot. “Lord Alpheus, you must understand that I have yet to read that particular article. Furthermore, I do firmly believe that you would have a much more enlightening conversation with someone from the Black Tower.”

However, the sound of her mother snickering from behind is very much not helpful.

“But Your Highness, I find that I would much prefer conversing with you. You’ve shown to be capable of viewing a wide range of perspectives that I feel are quite uncommon.” At that, Athanasia involuntarily flushes, remembering their previous meeting. “It’s no matter if you haven’t read it yet, as I’ve also brought it with me. How about we go over it together?”

“I…” There is an expectant, honest wish in his eyes, and Athanasia can’t help but look away.

Her mother gently caresses her from behind, giving a silent nudge to accept his offer. “You’ll be family soon,” she whispers in her ear. “It’ll be good to get along when it happens… And above all else, Athy… It’s alright to savour moments of fleeting happiness.”

Fleeting. Right.

This time, she meets his eyes.

“I don’t suppose you have anything for the next few hours?”

And his smile is as dazzling as the sun.

Jerk, was, perhaps, not a word Athanasia thought she’d ever use to refer to Ijekiel. But sometimes it feels as if he’s purposefully trying to ruffle her feathers. There is simply something about the way this— this young lord reacts to her polished politeness, the way he engages with her, the way he pokes and prods (in a manner he possibly believes is subtle but is truly more like a slap to her face).

(For goodness sake, she’s not some beloved romance novel protagonist)

It is hard to do so when the Alpheus heir keeps on challenging her like so.

(And they dance around and around, three steps forward and two steps back)

By their fourth and later meetings, Athanasia finds that many conversations with Ijekiel often slip into a subtle battle of knowledge, wisdom and wit between them. They talk around each other in circles, debating and discussing. They prod each other for opinions as politely and bluntly as can be (it was likely Ijekiel took at least some pleasure in watching her flounder—he’d already admitted it before). Sometimes though, it feels as if they’re speaking two entirely different conversations to each other. The only clue Athanasia has as to what Ijekiel does not say is exactly that: what he does not tell her explicitly.

More often than not, Jennette cannot get much of a foot within the proverbial door of their rapid-fire conversations. More often than not, Athanasia has to remember to pull back, to introduce topics that Jennette can give her opinion on. And she feels guilty, looking at how nervous Jennette is at giving opinions on things she can barely understand. Because Jennette’s fiancé is the only person remotely near her age that she could interact with on such a level, the only person around willing and able to interact with on such an academic level, Athanasia clings to him—to that connection to another being who might truly enjoy her company—through such conversations. She wills herself to ignore their countless other conversations that don’t involve an exchange of knowledge; pushes away the way he teaches her to dance in a pair; shuts out the times they sit together in comfortable silence, Raven as their feet and her mother humming by her side.

(Because for all she reads, all she understands and absorbs, her father hates the sound of her voice, hates the audible reminders of her existence. What Athanasia learns from those numerous, painfully awkward tea times is that Jennette is persistent in making them get along, and their father is persistent in pretending she does not exist—knowledge does not matter if no one wishes to appreciate it. The unread and discarded proposals Athanasia sends to him via a third party time and time again only serve to hammer in this unwanted truth.

And Ijekiel wanted more than her knowledge. Was it truly a wonder that she’d wish to stay with just him, if only for a few seconds more?)

She should not.

(Ijekiel is her sister’s beloved fiancé. Jennette is her beloved older sister, and she is the apple of their father’s eye.)

She does anyway.

As another prompting question about Archimedes V comes from Ijekiel yet again, Athanasia cannot help herself, allowing her to be swept away by the currents to another place—perhaps the edge of a waterfall.

(She’s not acting on her feelings if she’s answering his questions and thus engaging with, and subsequently bonding with her future brother-in-law… Right?

It’s not a question Athanasia truly wishes to answer.)

The next few years go by like the clouds drifting across the skies, and she and Ijekiel only become closer. Her mother gives no protest to any of it, even telling her that it is “only a small bit of happiness, which wouldn’t hurt”. Within her embrace, cocooned in her warmth, Athanasia can find no argument against such a sentiment.

One day—a day she will consider a very long time ago—under the gentle shade of a tree, surrounded by nothing but wildflowers, Ijekiel confesses a secret to her and her alone.

“Did you know, Princess, that when we truly first met, I thought you to be an angel?” Ijekiel smiles, looking up at the unclouded sky, away from her and her seeking eyes. “You should know that you’re very beautiful, Princess. It was almost inhumanely so, to me… Until I got to know you better, of course.” He chuckles, as if remembering a particularly humorous memory. “You became less like an angel—less of an idea in my head—and more like my friend, Athanasia. And yet, knowing you as you are now, I find myself preferring this tangible version of you, rather than the shallow idea I had before.”

It feels as if it’s something she shouldn’t have known. Something that shouldn’t be said. And yet, she made no move to interrupt him at all.

Ijekiel looks back at her now. As the sun’s rays bounce off his white hair, Athanasia privately thinks that, between the both of them, she is not the one with the angelic beauty. She watches, entranced, as his hand nears her own.

His first touch is warm.

Slowly, he brings her hand to his lips, his golden eyes gazing at her behind lowered lashes as he does so. And just as Athanasia thinks he will kiss the air above her hand in greeting (but what for, she dares not continue that line of thought), he gently turns her hand to expose the insides of her pale wrists.

“Athanasia… I’m truly glad you were born.”

And so there is where his lips ever so lightly press, a butterfly-like kiss.

It’s a golden memory that Athanasia would take to her grave. Even if she immediately yanks her hand away, watching as the sun’s rays disappear. Watching the understanding dawn upon his face.

(Ah, she’s already flown too close to the sun)

Not too long after that incident, Ijekiel gifts her a blue songbird—a bluebird, to be more specific.

“Consider it a symbol of our friendship,” he says. Nothing about his expressions betrays anything, save for the way he doesn’t meet her eyes, the way his smile is so picturesque. But their roles have been set, their paths already paved, and there’s no other direction but forward.

So Athanasia gives a fairytale-like smile in return, and focuses only on the merits of his gift.

It’s a pretty bluebird, and she’s sure Raven will love it too. Her mother is already cooing in her ear about how cute it is, and how generous it is for Ijekiel to give such a gift. Athanasia never told her what happened on that sunny day. And she never will.

“He must treasure your friendship very much, Athy. And, oh my, don’t you think the bluebird looks a little like him? Maybe it’ll stop you from sulking every time you can’t immediately discuss a book with him.”

Athanasia ignores her comments in favour of concentrating on Ijekiel.

“Thank you,” she says in turn, smiling, “I’ll take good care of…”

“It’s a boy.”

“Him. I’ll take good care of him.”

They both watch the little bluebird hop around, gazing at its new surroundings with curiosity.

“Do you already have a name for him?”

“Not really, I was thinking that it’d be better to give you the honour of doing so,” Ijekiel replies, before cheekily adding, “Even with your dubious naming skills.”

Athanasia’s cheeks colour, before she hastily gets out, “My naming skills are not dubious. The names I give are perfectly suited and reasonable.”

“Hahaha, alright alright, I concede—what are you going to name him then?”

“Well,” and at that, Athanasia places her hands firmly on her hips, “I was thinking of Bluey. It’s a name that suits his colouration, and it’s also a very cute name.”

“Alright, Bluey it is then.”

“Hey, what kind of answer was that?” But they’re both grinning, and they both know that Ijekiel won’t legitimately protest against the name, no matter how much of an “opinion” he has about her naming skills.

Athanasia hopes that he’ll treasure this memory as much as she does, forevermore.

On a day like any other, Athanasia opens the doors to her room to find her beloved Bluey dead in his cage. His feathers lie scattered in a bloody mess, and it’s clear that this was someone’s handiwork. Even so, it doesn’t feel real. Any moment now, Bluey will hop around and chirp and sing, delighted to see her again.

Athanasia cradles him with shaking hands, making no move to stop Raven from sniffing around the crime scene. There's a gasp from behind. Mother?

“Oh, Athy…” When a warm, heavy weight meets her shoulder, Athanasia knows that it's someone else.

Lily.

“How could anyone do this?” She laments, voicing out unsaid thoughts. “This isn't right. I must go see the Emperor. He should do something about this.” At that, Lily rises to storm out the door, only to be caught by the skirts with a single hand.

“No.” Athanasia’s tone is firm, resolute. “He won't— He doesn't need to be bothered by such small issues.” The words are like razors in her mouth. “I’ll solve this issue myself.”

“But Athy—”

“No.” A princess’ words are final. “But,” and here is where her voice softens, weakens, “could you stay by my side tonight?”

“Of course.” Lily’s hands are gentle on her hair, but still, Athanasia can't bring herself to look at her. “You didn't even need to ask. I’ve promised you before that I’ll always be by your side, Athy.”

At night, soothed to sleep by her nanny’s lullaby, and her mother's smell of roses, Athanasia dreams. She dreams of the flowers she’d made, dreams of how vegetation would translate to flesh, blood and bone. She dreams of sinew, muscle and thread. She dreams of a pulsating heart in her hands, too big to be useful for now, but that is what magic is for—to make the impossible become possible.

She dreams of her mother, unconditionally forgiving.

( Everything will be alright, Athy. You don't have to do it alone. Just leave it to Mama, ok? )

She dreams of a world, where all wrongs are made right.

When she wakes, it’s as if she’s been possessed. With a firm stride, she moves to crack open the book that started it all. With a loud thump, it lies open on a new number, page one-thousand-twenty. It’s a page Athanasia has never seen before. But written across its pages is exactly the guidance she needs. Her fingers run through the crimson-streaked pages, feeling the bone-like indents of the letters. Perhaps it’s simply her imagination, but Athanasia likes to think that, at that moment, she’d also felt a pulse.

The smell of decay hangs in the air. Against Lily’s protests, she’d placed Bluey back into his cage instead of disturbing him any further.

If she could conjure new life, then surely, Athanasia could also bring back the old? Her eyes scan the procedures, the needed ingredients to channel intent out of precaution. A nail drags across the paper, and she mentally takes note of every single detail.

“Did you find something interesting, Athy?” Her mother’s arms curl around her neck, heavy as a noose.

“Yes.” She replies, turning to gaze at her slumbering bluebird. “I think I’ll need some thread, Mama.”

Perhaps it’s a trick of her mind, but Athanasia feels as if there are fewer staff members in the Ruby Palace, as barebones are the structure of the staff here already. But since she relies mostly on herself and Lily, Athanasia doesn’t pay too much mind to it.

There are other more important matters to turn to, such as Bluey’s recovery. He still needs the stitches, or else he’d fall back asleep within a blink of an eye.

She strokes his soft feathery head, before the crash of breaking plates forces her attention elsewhere. Her hand stills. A lone maid stares at them, eyes wide, mouth slack. Honestly, it’s a confusing reaction to have. Furthermore, didn’t she know that such loud noises could disturb Bluey’s recovery?

“Hey,” the informality tastes foreign, but welcome. “Come here.”

The impertinent maid doesn’t move.

“Come here. That’s an order.”

Hesitant, and awkward. Her etiquette lessons come to mind—a princess should not have to speak the same order twice. The chair screeches from the force of her pushing back, and in one, two, three and four strides, she’s caught that shaking arm and dragged the maid into her room.

The doors shut and lock with a finality.

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lexsssu · 4 months

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Nature (Neuvillette)

TAGS: Neuvillette/Dragoness!reader, introspection, fluff, parenthood, whipped!Neuvi, oneshot Ao3 ver.

As Fontaine’s Chief Justice, Neuvillette is all too used to waking up as soon as the first rays of dawn filter through the floor-to-ceiling windows in his bedroom.

He’s all too used to waking up to an empty bed.

And for even longer, an empty nest.

Despite being one, if not the last hydro dragon left in Teyvat, he’d never raised hatchlings nor even taken a mate of his own.

While he could have taken a mortal lover throughout the years, his already suppressed draconic instincts never allowed him even a hint of attraction toward humans. It’s as if what was left of his dragonhood refused to ‘taint’ the dragonsblood that flowed through his veins by taking anything other than a fellow dragon.

After five hundred years of serving as Fontaine’s ludex , he had all but given up ever being able to settle down.

How could he when his species had all but died off?

What’s more, the few other survivors were more or less located at the farthest corners of Teyvat.

He must simply content himself with protecting and guiding his people to the best of his ability, especially as he’d reclaimed both his powers and Authority as the Hydro Dragon Sovereign.

If someone told Neuvillette that all his worries were for naught barely a year after he’d become Fontaine’s chief justice and ruler, he’d have thought them mad.

But when the first sight that meets his eyes is your sleeping visage illuminated by the soft morning rays that slid through the tiny gaps in between the curtains, the dragonheart within that had all but given up any hope practically roared to life. He is rendered immobile by your beauty, even as a hint of saliva dripped from your slightly open mouth to reveal a pearly-white fang.

Your own pearlescent scales that decorated the sides of your face and continued below before disappearing below the neckline of your nightgown seemed to shimmer against the light.

It hits him again that behind closed doors, there is no need for any sort of pretense. Not when you too, were a dragon, a different element for sure, but there is no denying the purity of your blood. He need not hide any part of himself when, for once in his life, there is no need for judgment.

And it is that very same blood that flowed through the veins of your children who chirped from within their large bassinet.

Your three hatchlings still retained their draconic forms at such an early stage of their life and won’t develop their human forms until they mature into the equivalent of human toddlers.

Like clockwork, Neuvillette rose from the bed and scooped up the three hatchlings who sported a mix of dark blue and silvery-white scales. Dominique, the eldest, was coiled around his right arm, while his second child and only daughter, Odette, draped herself on his neck like an accessory. The youngest, Raphiel, clutched the soft hairs atop his head with his tiny claws and looked around in wonder from such a high vantage point.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Good morning, my dearest. I apologize for interrupting your sleep, but it seems our children are in need of nourishment. If it were only possible for me to provide it for them, I wouldn’t have had to cut your slumber short…”

Your sweet laughter is like a balm to his soul, but it’s the peck you press against the corner of his lips that has his inner dragon roaring at him to get started on another batch of hatchlings and the tips of his ears burning a bright red.

Neuvillette hugged Raphiel to his chest, letting his son snooze a bit more while you fed Dominique and Odette from your own.

With your own tail curled around his the whole time, the dragon of water allowed a single tear to slip from his eyes.

#lexsssu writes #genshin impact #neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #neuvilette genshin #neuvillette x y/n #neuvillette x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact neuvillette #crossposted on ao3

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cosmicstarlatte · 1 year

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Only You (Obey Me!)

━━━━━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━━━━━

Just because Lucifer has a reputation, it doesn't mean he has to keep that up with you.

»Characters: 💙Soft sweet silly cute Lucifer ♡ x GN Reader

»Tags: Cute Fluff, Gender Neutral, Drabble/FlashFic /OneShot

You and Lucifer needed this. The two of you laid cuddled together on his bed. RAD had been particularly stressful that week but it was finally over, the two of you could finally spend some time together.

Lucifer wrapped his arms around you tighter, his head pressed against your chest. You couldn't help but smile at how adorable he looked. You laid a hand on his perfectly groomed hair, running your fingers through it gently.

"Mm. More." He mumbled as he tried to nuzzle his head into your hand. You let out the smallest laugh.

"If I do that, your hair will get messy." You reminded him.

"We're off. Now pet me." He said pouting as he tried to nudge your hand with his nose. He sure knew how to melt your heart.

"Okay fine fine! Since you insist Cerberus!" You teased.

Lucifer gently nipped your hand. You giggled and resumed rubbing his head.

"I'll keep nipping if you stop. Next time it'll be your neck. Then your lips. Consider this a warning." He said pouting playfully once more.

"Oh? Woe is me! I think my hand stopped working!"

In one swift motion Lucifer pinned you under him, you let out a playful squeal as he carried out his warnings. Before long the two of you were passionately locking lips, getting lost in one another. 🌙

⬦You might also like: So This Is Love︱ Giving Him Flowers︱You ARE The Father︱MC Feeling Insecure

#obey me lucifer #obey me luci x reader #obey me lucifer fluff #obey me lucifer x you #obey me lucifer x mc #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me drabble #obey me short fic #obey me fluff #obey me gender neutral mc #obey me gn!mc #obey me gn!reader #crossposted on ao3 #◇˖・ﾟ— › cosmic obey me . ⊹

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ghostly-penumbra · 1 year

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Seven Ways to Summon the Ghost King

Chapter One: Traditional way

[Here] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

Ao3

Summary: Harry makes a nice acquitance... in a dark wizards raid, of all places.

Warning: Attempted murder.

- - -

Harry ran down the dilapidated manor’s hall, with his best mate watching his back as they approached the eerie room lit only by candlelight.

They pressed themselves against the wall, with Harry taking the lead and his wand ready, listening to the chanting go on.

Whatever these dark wizards were summoning, it was powerful, and they couldn’t just barge in and cut it out, that would just end up activating the defensive drawings in green ink all over the place and that wouldn’t end up nicely.

(They had done their research, unfortunately for their foes, and knew they could enter in an exact certain moment, when the ritual became welcoming, but right before…)

“And now we present this sacrifice! For only death can call Death!”

“Now!” Harry commanded in a low voice that only Ron heard, and they entered the chambers wand blazing, with the rest of their squad following close behind. “Expeliarmus!” He bellowed, making the dagger held by the dark witch soar through the air and fall to the floor with a clatter.

A myriad of colours flew through the air as spells were cast, with their light reflecting on the cold stone walls.

“Depulso! Protego!” Harry yelled, sliding next to the unconscious muggle tied down to the stone table.

“Bombarda! Mate, cover me!” Ron began casting, seeking to undo the magical bindings as well as the muggle ones.

In between the battling and the arrival of the back-up Aurors, Harry and Ron could be excused for not noticing the ground shaking right away, or how the candle lights flickered before turning green…

“Potter! Weasley!” Kingsley Shaklebolt yelled at them whilst fending off two opponents at once. “What’s going on?!”

What they knew he had actually asked, though, was ‘Why is it going on? Didn’t you just stop the sacrifice? Is that person dead?’

Ron took a limp wrist in his grasp and said, “It’s still beating.”

“Sir, the ritual wasn’t completed!” Harry reported to his superior, then hastily put up another shield. “It shouldn’t have worked…”

“Oh, but he’s here!” One of the dark wizards said, a manic gleam on his face, right before Ron knocked him out with a desmaius.

Above them, green clouds began to spread in a spiral, thundering and glowing, slowly bringing out a royally-clad figure.

Ron, now carrying the victim bridal-style, looked at him with apprehension.

“Go.” Harry said firmly.

“But-”

“Ron, go!” Harry looked pointedly at the unconscious muggle in Ron’s arms, and his best mate reluctantly relented, and took off running towards Kingsley.

“Bow down before Pariah Dark! King of the Gho-!” The frantic cry of joy was cut short when Harry sent a knock-back jinx at the witch.

The Man Who Lived stood straight, staring at the coalescing mist with his jaw set, ready to face Death down once again.

Danny opened his eyes and found himself in a room(? Chamber?) full of people in various states of consciousness, with the ones awake looking all at him.

“Uh, hi…” He said with a little wave of his hand.

The guy closest to him looked him up and down with a serious face.

“Uh, can someone tell me where are we?”

The magic world never really stopped surprising Harry, but that was alright, because it seemed to keep surprising itself as well. Take for example Phantom, the Ghost King, who seemed unable to stop fidgeting as he floated next to Harry.

“So, uh, can I leave, officer?” The boy asked.

Harry lifted an eyebrow. “You are not detained, I just need to ask you a few questions. Besides,” he eyed the flaming crown perched atop his head (which was quite big for him, and looked about to fall down his head and end up as a collar), “I don’t really believe I have enough authority as to detain you.”

The boy king put a hand on his nape and pursed his lips, so clearly not used to this that Harry took pity on him and chose to be straightforward.

“Why did you come here?” He started. “The ritual wasn’t completed, no one died, so why- how did you get here?”

“Oh, well, I still don’t know much about that, but I think I got an idea.” The boy looked at him seriously, and continued. “These guys tried to summon the Ghost King, but their information is outdated, just a bit; the last King accepted sacrifices, but I don’t, they are anathema to me and my Obsession.” He explained. “I think that’s why it worked, I mean, it probably wouldn’t if they had actually killed someone, but outside of that, their stuff was pretty solid.”

Harry watched as emotions crossed the boy that died’s face, seriousness, solemnity, anger… then calm, and lastly, sheepishness again.

“You’re not doing as they say, then.” Harry barely asked, and mostly stated. “If the blood sacrifice didn’t tie you to them, you can do as you please.”

“Yeah, I guess so…”

Phantom looked around, and Harry looked around, and when their gazes met again, there was an understanding only a pair of trouble-magnets could share.

“Say, did they even know how to summon me, officer…?”

“Auror.” Harry corrected.

“Officer Auror.”

“No, that’s- you know what? That’s okay.” The dead Kin seemed to notice Harry’s brief struggle, but chose to ignore it and let Harry “Auror” Potter answer. “They had this book, an old thing, really, rather fragile, with all these dark spells and rituals and stuff. A lot of drawings of clouds and doorways…” That actually interested him, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t be getting more answers from the teen.

“Shame if something happened to it and it… disappeared.”

“Shame indeed.”

They shared a moment of silence, barely a minute.

“Well, officer Auror, it was nice meeting ya but I got stuff to do back home.”

“Oh, no, how could I possibly physically stop you?”

“You can’t.”

With a little wave, King Phantom disappeared from sight, far neater than Harry’s Invisibility Cloak and was soon replaced by questions and exclamations from his fellow wizards.

Later, Harry would find out about an important, dangerous book disappearing into thin air.

For now, though, he just smirked and huffed out a laugh.

“Long live the dead King.”

#Danny Phantom #Danny Fenton #Harry Potter #Ron Weasley #Auror Harry Potter #Auror Ron Weasley #Ghost King AU #Summoning Shenanigans #crossover #Danny Phantom Crossover #Harry Potter Crossover #ghostly-scrypts #crossposted on ao3

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fluffydice · 7 months

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KuboSai (+ Pining One-Sided ImuTeru) One-Shot

Wordcount: 1,029

Hm, now that Imu really thought about it — or at least actually paid attention — this dump of a school really didn't have any good options of men.

Or boys, rather. Most of these guys weren't mature enough to handle being in a relationship, but Imu wasn't exactly looking for something long-term. Just…something to try and stamp out the vestiges of her crush on Kokomi.

Oof, just the thought of her name was enough to make Imu's heart begin to beat faster. She pressed her knuckles against her mouth and tried to calm down. This fidget, at least, had the added benefit of making her seem shyer and needing guidance, something these second-year boys would eat up.

Well, most of them. She looked to the side, peeking up at Saiki through her lashes. The upperclassman didn't so much as twitch. Normally, boys fell over themselves at the sight of her looking so cute, but not this one. The most he'd really regarded her was with a cool detachment, his eyes betraying nothing and the hard press of his mouth only implying irritation rather than any flusteredness.

She wasn't sure if she believed the expression, but at the very least, she did believe that Saiki didn't have an interest in her. And why would he? He was going after Teruhashi, after all.

Something hot and angry stabbed through her chest. Imu looked away before she could snap at the loser.

He'd gone quiet ever since Yumehara had shown up, which was fine by her. He seemed more of the wallflower type anyway, even if he was kind of slimy. Imu didn't turn to look at the girl, only pinpointing the boys the other pointed out. Imu listened and responded with all the intelligence of a private investigator reporting on a target.

Imu was very good at this kind of thing. She didn't tend to be as stupid as other girls when it came to boys. They were always blinded by love and admiration, but that had never distracted her.

She blinked. Did that say something about her?

No, no, it didn't. Just like her crush on Kokomi was just a phase. She'd find a guy, and all would be put back to rights.

Yumehara was floundering. Imu glanced across the terrain of potential prey, and her eyes settled on a broad back. She smiled thinly. Was this Yumehara's crush? It made sense; she hadn't mentioned him, and Imu had already picked out what characteristics were meant to be attractive.

"What about that one?" She asked sweetly, motioning to the guy. What was his name…?

"Kuboyasu?" Yumehara asked, her eyes going wide. Haha, she was making it too easy. No girl would look so horrified if she weren't imagining a cuter girl snatching up her crush.

Imu grinned wider. She'd spotted her target. "Well, he's certainly handsome, right?" She was pretty sure. "And he seems to be the protective type. He's the kind that's been in many battles, I can tell…"

Yumehara was waving her hand in front of her throat in a 'cut it out' gesture that just inflamed Imu. Yes, this would do nicely. If someone else wanted the guy, that meant she'd chosen correctly, right? Kuboyasu would probably make her forget all about Kokomi.

"Maybe I should go talk to him," Imu teased, not quite meaning it.

The door slid shut with a bang. A pale, slim hand was settled on the wood in front of her eye-line. She turned to look at its owner, her stomach dropping right along with the temperature of the air around her.

She knew, instinctively, before she even looked, that she was messing with something far beyond her. But it was still making her stomach quiver with fear to meet the eyes of her usually meek and dull upperclassman, now cavernous and freezing with frigid rage.

Saiki stared at her, unblinking for a reason very different than her schoolmates'. His mouth was still set in that flat line, but Imu could almost imagine those lips hiding a pair of canines, ready to rip out her throat from her stiffening corpse.

Her mouth felt dry. She knew, somehow, what Saiki was waiting for. "It's not- I'm not actually that interested in him, actually."

"Good. He wouldn't be interested in you, anyway," Saiki responded. The words seemed to resonate in her skull. She couldn't even find it in herself offended and just nodded quickly instead.

The air around them was beginning to warm once more. Yumehara crept up closer to her, half hiding behind Imu's smaller body like a shield. "Of course not! Why don't you go talk to him?" Yumehara suggested.

Saiki's gaze flicked back and forth between them. Imu was suddenly rocketed with the foreign but ancient feeling of standing before a predator who was deciding whether it was worth the effort to chase them down.

Those eyes settled on her. The residue of their earlier frost still clung to his eyes, but they had melted for the most part. "Good grief," he muttered.

Imu seemed to be recovering, too, because she actually mustered up a flicker of irritation at the words.

Saiki took the bait. He slid open the door again and strode in with the graceful confidence of a feline, assured that the place and things inside of it were his. Imu watched as he approached Kuboyasu behind and brushed his side. The other boy jumped, spun around, but he relaxed so tellingly that Imu almost wondered how she hadn't seen it before.

They weren't together; Imu could tell that much. There was an awkwardness around Kuboyasu's movements like he was keeping himself from reaching out and touching. Saiki had that expression of apathy once more, but this time, she couldn't believe it. It almost reminded her of a girl playing hard to get.

Imu blinked. Yumehara still seemed to be spooked, but somehow, Imu had gotten over her fear relatively quickly. She was just mostly shocked. Yes, at the fact that Saiki was apparently gay(?) but-

Mostly because her first reaction had been glee at the thought that she no longer had a serious rival for Kokomi's heart.

#i wrote this in about forty minutes and because i've had this scenario in my head for a long time #kubosai #saiki k #fluffy writes a fic #crossposted on ao3

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dianneking · 1 year

Note

Hiii👋 not sure if youre taking requests but I just had to send one!! Im inlove your fics 🫠 can I request Larissa/reader based on she by dodie wt a happy ending please 👉👈🥺 its alright if youre not accepting requests, just wanna shoot my shot :-))

Hi! I wanted to thank you for this request, because it made me discover this song that I didn't know, and it filled me with all the angst necessary to make this fic happen, so I hope you enjoy!

Tags: Angst and Feelings, Angst with a happy ending, Break-up, age difference, Boss/Employee relationship, hidden relationship, pining.

AO3 link in title, if you prefer reading it there!

She - Larissa/Reader Angsty Songfic

youtube

Am I allowed to look at her like that Could it be wrong when she's just so nice to look at

The light streamed through the window panes, silhouetting Larissa in sharp contrast against it. Her hair refracted the sun and for a moment it looked as if she was wearing a halo. Like a painting of a saint, or a goddess of old. And you, you, as always were her worshipper, blessed by the honor of drinking in her figure like that.

You were standing at the center of the room, the book you held in your hand forgotten by your side, so mesmerized by her beauty that you forgot to notice the tight curve of her shoulders, the way her hands gripped spasmodically the windowsill. You would remember all these details of course, but only later.

Too late.

And she smells like lemongrass and sleep She tastes like apple juice and peach Oh, you would find her in a polaroid picture And she means everything to me

“I’m sorry, I don’t think this is going to work.”

She chose not to look at you as she said this, her eyes roaming the grounds of Nevermore from behind the glass of her window. Not even sparing you a glance as she broke up with you. You felt all the air leave your lungs at that, and yet all that could be heard in the suddenly silent room was a soft, pained Oh.

(Oh)

“I can’t give you what you want. You need to build a future for yourself and I…I need to be able to concentrate on Nevermore without any distractions.”

A distraction. That’s all you boiled down to. What for you had been the happiest period of your life was little more than a nuisance to her. You tried to swallow around the pain that this caused you. Was that what she had been thinking through all of your time together? The nights curled up in front of the fire, the stolen dates hiking through the woods around Nevermore, the way her fingers curled around yours when no one was watching? Nothing but a distraction?

“I… should probably go, then.”

Larissa’s head whipped back towards you as soon as the words left your mouth, but she didn’t say anything for what felt like an infinite stretch of time. Still, you waited, standing in the middle of her office like a misbehaving student. You always waited for her. Of course you did, you loved her. Was that part of what made you such a bother to her?

“Is that all you’re going to say?”

“Was there anything you wanted me to say?”

I'd never tell No I'd never say a word And oh it aches But it feels oddly good to hurt.

“…I guess not.”

“I’ll leave you to your work then.”

You clamped down on the instinct to say I’m sorry because you weren’t. You were grateful for the time she had given you. And if she wasn’t going to apologize for breaking up with you, then neither were you going to apologize for making her feel like she had to choose between you and her work. You turned on your heel, walking away from the room, leaving your heart behind with someone you thought would cherish it forever. After all, that had been your mistake, not hers, right?

You had been the one to fall for her, madly, deeply. You had looked at her and seen everything you could ever wish for. You wanted to shout her joy from the tallest tower of Nevermore to the deepest ravine in the woods. You wanted to court her, to hold her hand, to dine with her in the candlelight.

She had been more reserved with her affection. You are my employee. It wouldn’t be proper for people to know about us. And then there was the age difference. It had always disturbed her more than it did you (although she hadn’t seemed so disturbed by it when your head was buried deep between her thighs). What is a young thing like you doing with an old woman like myself? You should go find someone to build a family with, she had told you multiple times. And every time you told her that Nevermore was all the family you needed, and that she was everything you wanted. Had that been annoying? It was the truth.

She smells like lemongrass and sleep She tastes like apple juice and peach Oh, you would find her in a polaroid picture And she means everything to me

Going back to your usual work routine was unsettling. You went through the motions of your life as if you were sleepwalking, trapped in a bad dream. Re-shelving books, sending out emails, helping both students and fellow staff-members in their researches. The weekly meetings of the book club. They all felt familiar, and yet you couldn’t find comfort in any of those activities, that you used to love so much. It was as if you had left with her all of your ability to love anything else as well. And yet you powered through, with the determination of a machine that was only there to get its work done. Because anything else was now lost to her. How could you walk through the woods and not think of her carefree smile? How can you enjoy a sip of apple juice without remembering how it tasted on her lips?

Oh, oh

The meetings were the most difficult part of all. The first ones were staff meetings, and you somehow managed to get through those by sitting in the furthermost corner from her, letting your eyes roam all over her figure whenever she wasn’t looking in your direction. She looked perfect, as always. She was poised and attentive to her colleagues, ready to discuss the decisions that involved them and the school, always taking constructive criticism in stride, diplomatically mediating between arguing teachers with the ease of a natural leader.

Oh, oh

Had it been slipping when the two of you were together? Were the secret smiles that danced in her eyes when they met yours a sign of distraction, a weakness that would have been exploited in the long run?

She didn’t look any different in how she ran the school now.

The few meetings the two of you had to have together were painful. You stuttered through your reports, and forget to ask half of the things you needed to. After a while she just stopped inviting you for in-person meetings and asked you to submit the reports per email.

You retreated even more than usual into your reign, the library, and watched the seasons change from behind its stained glass windows.

And I'll be okay Admiring from afar Cause even when she's next to me We could not be more far apart

“Happy birthday.”

She looked awkward, looming in the darkened library door without entering, her gaze suddenly shy, and that felt wrong. She’d never been shy. Not even when you were first together, she had always been the one to initiate contact. She had held your hand first, she had kissed you first. She had been the one to ask if you wanted to move your relationship further.

And she had been the one to put an end to it.

And now she was here, on the evening of your birthday, invading the one space that was safely yours, holding a small tray with a slice of peach cobbler from the Weathervane in her hand, as an offering. Your favorite. The fact that she remembered hurt you somewhat more. So whatever you had had not been completely erased from her memory. Did she remember all the other things, too? The things you whispered to her when she held you in the darkness if her room? Did she, and she managed to go on with her life as if nothing major had changed? As if it had been nothing more than a parenthesis in a novel. By then, you were used to the pain, and you let it wrap around you, like a dear friend who was becoming more familiar to you than her voice.

Cause she tastes like birthday cake, and storytime, and fall But to her I taste of nothing at all

“Thanks.”

“Aren’t you going to celebrate?”

The small talk was painfully stilted, and you wondered why she was so adamant in pursuing it.

“Not much to celebrate, I’d rather stay here with my book.”

“We don’t see much of you outside of the library anymore.”

“I wonder why that is.”

A whiff of her perfume reached your nostrils and you almost keeled under the onslaught of memories. There had been a time when the faint undertones of lemongrass had clung to your clothes, so much so that you had enjoyed the illusion of bringing a piece of her with you all through the day. An illusion, like everything else.

And she smells like lemongrass and sleep She tastes like apple juice and peach You would find her in a polaroid picture

“Why are you here, principal Weems?”

She seemed to recoil from her title, and seeing that didn’t give you any of the vengeful satisfaction you had hoped for. You didn’t like seeing her in pain. You never wanted to be the cause of her pain.

You knew all too well how it felt to be hurt by the one you love.

Except she didn’t love you.

You were starting to think she never did. It had probably been lust, the sense of adventure, the thrill of the forbidden. A younger body to press herself into. Maybe some sort of affection, too. But not love. You had made peace with that.

“I miss you.”

And she means everything to me

“I…beg your pardon?”

“I know I don’t have any right to say so. Not after I…I ended things between us. But I do. I miss you. I miss our time together, I miss having you reading on my couch as I wrap up the last emails in the evening. I miss asking for your opinion, I miss raising my eyes from my laptop and finding yours on me, since I don’t know how long. I’m sorry.”

Yes she means everything to me

“I’m not. Sorry, that is.”

You saw her close her eyes, resignation and sadness warring on her beautiful, kind face. She’d always been kind, even when she had hurt you. That’s why it was so important for her to understand.

“You chose Nevermore. I get it. It should have never been a choice you should have had to make, but I am grateful for the affection you have showed me in the time we were together. It made me feel alive in a way I never did. I understand it wasn’t the same for you and really, it is okay. It was probably foolish of me, but I did give you my all, and I don’t blame you for not knowing what to do with it. It was my choice, and I would do it again. I still love you but it’s alright. I made peace with it.”

She means everything to me.

“You still…love me?”

You nodded, unable to speak anymore. She looked soft, and her gaze didn’t hold the pity you were afraid of seeing, not the annoyance you dreaded. In her eyes you could only read an overwhelming wonder, as she looked at you as if you had just performed a miracle in front of her. “But don’t you want someone else? Someone younger, freer, more like yourself? Someone that hasn’t hurt you?”

“I don’t want anyone else. You mean everything to me. Whether or not you like me back, apparently. Whether or not I am a distraction.”

“Darling I…” the words caught up in her throat as she cupped your cheek with her hand. You had almost forgotten her touch, too. And at the same time, it was as if she’d never left.

“I love you too. The gods help me, I love you more than Nevermore.”

liked it? you can find more of my writings linked on my fanfiction masterlist

#larissa weems fanfiction #larissa weems angst #larissa weems x reader #larissa weems/reader #larissa x reader #larissa/reader fanfiction #dianneking fanfiction #dianneking writes #anon request #fanfiction request #angst fairy #dragonmist fanfiction #crossposted on ao3

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looseleafteeaves · 8 months

Text

Spine of Steel

Khaji Da cannot remember what exactly happened while they bonded to a host. Jaime is the 43rd to host them, and they still have no clue what EXACTLY happens.

They know that the changes depend on the makeup of the biology of the being they inhabit.

They know that they increase muscle elasticity and bone density and muscle density and the inherent durability of the host.

They increase the capabilities of the optical organs, of the cutaneous, auditory, and olfactory senses.

They optimize the production of chemicals, the dispersion of hormones throughout the body.

They twist the prey drive to fight. To fellow predator. To defend and attack and resist and take out the threat.

But they have no clue, outside of the programming, what exactly they are doing. What pain they are possibly causing, or nightmares that will linger.

Khaji Da has never fit within a host quite like they do inside of Jaime Reyes. They feel and breath and think and twine all throughout Jaime’s body, in time with him.

(They don’t like to think about what will happen when Jaime is gone. Jaime is not allowed to die. They fit far too perfectly to ever leave.)

Khaji Da has never regretted the changes they caused to a host.

Khaji Da regrets the results that still affect Jaime from the event.

~~~

Jaime’s family has been pretty cool with Khaji Da, and the new effects they have on the family dynamic. They think that Khaji Da has gifted Jaime the confidence to stand up, tall, proud, ready to make his presence known.

They see Jaime’s straightened spine, and think “Ah. Jaime is growing up. Jaime is ready to be the man of the family.”

They do not see Jaime’s shoulders attempting to curl downwards, but being unable to shift his spine.

They do not see how his eyes flash whenever something startles him. They don’t see how his curled fists flex with the need to defend.

They notice but force themselves to forfeit. Jaime is normal. He is. He’s just more confident now.

Jaime sees his family, and can read the approval of his straight spine, and his strengthened presence.

He doesn’t have the heart to say that he feels less confident, if anything. He feels scared, jumping at shadows, paranoid of the people who stare at him and follow him through school.

He can’t tell them that his spine doesn’t really bend unless his adrenaline is pumping and he is doing superhero work.

He can’t mention how he feels as if his spine is lined with a rod of steel.

~~~

He is thrashing, as 7 burning points drill into his back. It feels as if someone is screwing something into his nerves, and liquid fire races along every part of him. He becomes hyper aware of every piece of skin and muscle and bone- every part of his body, whether he always could or not.

He can feel something inject itself from the burning points, and suddenly the heat grows. He feels as if a supernova is trapped in his skin, in his blood, in his muscles, in his bones and organs and cells.

He feels as if the heart of the stars have been compressed into him.

The burning begins to cool. It hardens, wiry and stiff. Feeling as though there is chainmail inside him.

Then his skin feels like it begins to burn. Something hard forms on the top layer, turning his clothing to ash. He screams, adrenaline racing as he becomes something exorcist-esque. His body flings towards the ceiling. He can-

He flings himself forwards, falling from his position on the ceiling, landing on his bed.

Jaime Reyes, why are you reacting this way?

Jaime remains curled as tightly as he could, breathing through the fear and phantom pain that haunted his thoughts. However, as Khaji Da was forcefully making his adrenaline levels drop his spine was slowly pulling out of the fetal position without his consent.

His breathing began to pick up again as the phantom panic haunted his thoughts, growing more intense from the lack of control over part of his body.

Jaime Reyes, everything is fine. There is no danger. You are safe in your room in Palmera City. Scanners are clear.

Jaime, finally breathing more steadily, pressed against the wall, tugging his knees against his chest.

“Khaji Da?”

Yes, Jaime?

“What did you change in my body?”

… I can check the files for you and share the specifics if you want, Jaime.

“You don’t just know?”

… No, Jaime. I am dormant until the Scarab has performed base optimization of the host. I am programmed to have the records but I do not consciously choose.

“How can I believe you?”

You can’t. All I have is my words. And the proof that you still control your own body.

“Truly, that doesn’t really help. Share the files please?”

Yes, Jaime.

Immediately, lines of alien script scroll across his vision. He can tell that it has been translated into recognizable symbols, but knows nothing else.

{~<Command Sequence> [activate with contact]

~<Scan biosignature of life form>~

~<Determine Compatibility:

~<Life form compatible: [yes/no]>~

~[No]~

~<Remain dormant>~

~[Yes]~

~Commence [Unification Protocol]

~[Scan] Biology

~[Locate] neural pathway central

~[Determine Optimal Positioning]

~[Execute Command] ^Begin Unification^

~[Execute Command] ^Bond With Neural Pathways^

~[Execute Command] ^Inject SC4R48 Nanites^

~[Execute Command] ^Determine Needed Improvements^

~[Execute Command] ^Determine Need For Cellular Production

Optimization Needed: [yes/no]

~[No]~

~[Execute Command] ^[sequenced command] in

[Command Sequence]^

~[Yes}~

~[Execute Command] ^Bond (Novaellum) with host cells^

~[Execute Command] ^Optimize cell production^

~[Execute Command] ^Optimize cell functions^

~[Execute Command] ^[sequenced command] in

[Command Sequence]^

~Bone Structure Improvement Needed: [yes/no]

~[No]~

~[Execute Command] ^[sequenced command] in

[Command Sequence]^

~[Yes}~

~[Execute Command] ^Bond (Novaellum) with host cells^

~[Execute Command] ^Optimize cell production^

~[Execute Command] ^Optimize cell functions^

~[Execute Command] ^[sequenced command] in

[Command Sequence]^

~Cartilage Structure Improvement Needed: [yes/no]

~[No]~

~[Execute Command] ^[sequenced command] in

[Command Sequence]^

~[Yes}~

~[Execute Command] ^Bond (Novaellum) with host cells^

~[Execute Command] ^Optimize cell production^

~[Execute Command] ^Optimize cell functions^

~[Execute Command] ^[sequenced command] in

[Command Sequence]^

~Muscle Structure Improvement Needed: [yes/no]

~[No]~

~[Execute Command] ^[sequenced command] in [Command

Sequence]^

~[Yes}~

~[Execute Command] ^Bond (Novaellum) with host cells^

~[Execute Command] ^Optimize cell production^

~[Execute Command] ^Optimize cell functions^

~[Execute Command] ^[sequenced command] in [Command Sequence]^

~[Detect] Organ Systems:[yes/no]~

~[No]

~[Execute Command] ^[sequenced command] in

[Command Sequence]^

~[Yes] Organic Systems Detected

~Collect Organic Systems Data~

~[Execute Command] ^[sequenced command] in

[Command Sequence]^

~Optimize All Organic Systems: [yes/no]

~[No]~

~[Execute Command] ^[Execute Command] in [Command

Sequence]^

~[Yes}~

~[Execute Command] ^Bond (Novaellum) with [all] organic system

cells^

~[Execute Command] ^Optimize cell production^

~[Execute Command] ^[sequenced command] in [Command

Sequence]^

~[Execute Command] ^Khaji Protocol^

~Command File Corrupted~

~[Delete] Khaji Protocol

~[Execute Command] ^Armor Optimiza-

“Wait, Khaji Da, stop please. I’m getting overwhelmed. Are the rest of the commands similar?”

Yes Jaime. The rest of the protocols that affected your body are similar.

“Are there any other protocols that I need to know immediately?”

No Jaime. All the other protocols are offshoots of either ^Host Optimization^ or ^Armor Optimization^. None will interfere with your daily life barring the Reach gaining access to our communication system.

“Okay. Thank you Khaji Da.”

You are welcome, Jaime Reyes.

After around 30 minutes, Jaime is debating the need of asking Khaji Da to increase his melatonin levels, when he remembers a protocol that was listed as corrupted.

“Hey, Khaji Da?”

Yes Jaime?

“What is the ^Khaji Protocol^?”

…That is the infiltrator protocol. It is meant to place my interface, commands, and computing system in the ^Driver’s Seat^ as you put it.

“It’s meant to be, what mind control?”

Jaime waits patiently, tasting the usual flavor of mint that crosses his senses when Khaji Da is researching on the internet.

Yes, Jaime. It is a ^Mind Control^ protocol.

Jaime shudders and pushes the sensation he gets from Khaji Da increasing his melatonin levels towards the ever present sensation of the Scarab in his mind. Khaji Da wordlessly complies, helping Jaime slip into a dreamless sleep.

~~~

The next morning, as Jaime struggles to sit up in bed, having never returned to the ceiling last night. His back refusing to bend, Khaji Da wordlessly forms four insectoid legs that push Jaime straight and allow him to continue with his day.

He tries not to dwell on how he is now intimately aware of just how much his body has changed, and how much he is still mostly unaware of.

After all, ignorance is bliss.

Right up until it isn’t.

#blue beetle #feed the machine #spine of steel au #headcannons #jaime reyes #khaji da #crossposted on ao3 #the formating is way better here

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writer-darling · 4 months

Text

Are You Ever Dreaming of Me?

Chapter 9: The Great War | Read Chapter 8: Out of the Woods!

I NEVER USE Y/N OR ANYTHING LIKE IT THANK YOU SO MUCH :)

Rating: M - Mature ((for now, but there WILL BE explicit stuff later sooo (18+ MINORS DNI)

Pairing: Ezra (Prospect, 2018) x F!Reader

Warnings: Good old enemies-to-lovers trope. age gap (10 years). Nothing super descriptive for Reader but they are described as having hair. Tension, ofc, especially sexual tension out the wahzoo. Adult language. Alotta feelings and things of that nature. Banter. Flirting. It’s E-to-L, you know where this is going. Feral Ezra (he starts at a 75% but ends up at about a 76.9% in this chapter). Mentions/descriptions of violence, blood, injuries. If there are any that I missed, please inbox me to let me know and I will add them in :)

Word Count: 6.1k

Summary!: A battle breaks out between your crew and a rival group. It's up to you and Ezra to get things under control. Can you two make it out alive?

******

“All that bloodshed, crimson clover

Uh-huh, sweet dream was over

My hand was the one you reached for

All throughout the Great War…”

He goes from being completely relaxed and peaceful to tense and stressed instantly as you both drop down to the floor. Ezra looks at you for a moment, watching you put on your radio and helmet and zipping up your suit. Before he turns then grabs his thrower... but he can't just leave you when he’s not certain where the gunshots are coming from. He turns back around to speak to you, his voice now hushed, almost to a whisper.

"I've got my weapon charged, but I gotta get to my tent to suit up. Then I’ll deal with the commotion outside. Meanwhile, you need to go and get away from the camp. Deal? If anythin’ happens, promise me that."

“What?” You’re shaking your head as you crawl on all fours over to your own weapon, charging it up in record time as the combat outside continues. “No way, I’m not leaving you.” You hear the sound of someone yelling,

“Ambush!”

Clearly requesting backup. Ezra’s eyes are like steel now as they look towards the tent entrance as if trying to see beyond the zip. But his attention is back on you as you speak again, your rifle now cocked and ready at your side.

“Either we go together or we both leave.” You say, knowing damn well he won’t leave his fellow crew, just like you won’t.

Ezra sighs and he nods once to show he understands, much to his chagrin. You're a stubborn thing, that's for sure. His heart races at your response and he’s not sure if it’s from the determination in your eyes to stay with him, or out of pure fear and concern for your safety. Regardless, he pushes it aside for now. He needs to focus on getting you both out of this alive. "Well, I guess that means we both go," he says, trying to keep the resignation out of his voice, "but you need to stay close. I mean close. If I tell you to move or take cover, you do it immediately. You're here to help, not to be a hero. Deal?”

You don’t need to be told twice, nodding sternly as the adrenaline takes over. “Deal.” You respond. There’s another round of gunfire and a brief look of fear flashes across your face but you force it away. “Let’s get out there.”

Ezra gives you the firmest nod he can give as you prepare yourself, and then he moves over to the tent’s entrance, both of you standing completely upright only once you’re both in position. "Alright. Follow my lead." He's looking at you once more before he readies himself to step forward, his hand on the zipper of the tent. "On three. One... two... three," he says, and then he's already moving through the opening. You don't even have time to breathe - he's already in the middle of this. You'll need to stick close to him.

You do as he says and stay behind him closely. The sight before you two is awful, bloody. An acrid mix of blood and gunpowder hits your nostrils as soon as you step out of your tent. The sight of gunsmoke is still fogging up the area. There are a few bodies already littering the dig site, maybe about 7. Some you recognize, some you don’t; the latter likely those that ambushed you. Cases of gems belonging to the rest of the crew are scattered all over the site, most of them broken open with some gems accompanying them. Crushed gems are scattered all along the terrain, the fragments glittering brightly amongst the soil.

Ezra's grip is tense as he moves closer to the bodies, his thrower trained and ready to fire at a moment's notice. He's trying to get a good idea of the situation... How many of them are there? Have they already left, or are there more waiting out on the edges of camp? He stops for a moment and looks back at you, still keeping his rifle out. "You okay?" he asks quietly, his tone gentle, but tense and filled with concern as he meets your eyes briefly before making another sweep of the area. There's just... no way he can lose you out here. He won’t.

“Fine.” You respond with a small assuring smile, though your eyes are also tense and narrow as they do their own sweep of the grounds. The gunfire’s stopped but that doesn’t mean the danger is gone. There’s an eerie silence as you two move across the camp. Like trouble is just hiding amongst the trees, waiting to make itself known. You walk as close to Ezra as you can, the two of you getting back to back to cover each other as you both survey the campsite for the smallest sign of harm.

It’s a quick, but tense walk to Ezra’s tent, only a few feet away. Before he heads inside he speaks:

“Any trouble, you run.” His tone is clear: he’s not asking. You nod and do another sweep as you keep your thrower raised, watching him head inside for only a second before your eyes are on the lookout again.

He suits up faster than you thought physically possible, his helmet and radio in place when he rejoins you outside. His eyes are darting all over the place as he keeps his thrower up and pointed at any potential threat. He really, really doesn't like this situation at all. He was so happy two minutes ago, and now he's in the middle of a firefight. He sighs softly and speaks in a low voice, tuning his radio to your channel as you both reposition back-to-back once more.

"This is no good," he says quietly, his face tight with tension. "We’re still in danger - please, be on the lookout. There's absolutely no point in us gettin’ hurt, or worse, over this."

“Yeah, tell me about it.” You say, your eyes fixated and razor-sharp as you two begin to move again. It all seems so still, too still.

Ezra moves over to the two nearest bodies and starts searching them for anything of value. Any clues on which group they could be, any sign of why they chose to attack. He continues to scan the area, keeping watch while he searches... "You notice anythin’ about these rivals?" Something in his voice makes you inspect the corpses just a little bit more.

“They’re dressed like us.” You say. “I know some of these faces but the others I know damn well I’ve never seen before.” You add, keeping your voice hushed. “This was a planned ambush. But which of the groups around us was it?”

“Take a look at their boots,” he points out, using his boot to gesture to the nearest body’s shoes. You do as he says and focus your eyes on the boots. There’s nothing particularly special about the boots themselves but,

“They’ve got clay on them.” You remark, taking note of what Ezra pointed out. The bottom of the boots are caked with mud, but bright red-orange chunks of clay pieces are lodged amongst the dirt. Your gaze flits to the next assailant and you see that the bottom of their shoes are in a similar state. “That means it's the group near the river.” Your eyes go to Ezra as he nods grimly. Both of your radio signals suddenly go off and you look at each other before taking quick shelter behind the watchtower. You both press the button on your radios to switch over to channel 3.

Ezra presses his headset up closer to his ear. He listens for a few seconds, his expression serious as he switches the safety on his thrower. He doesn't want to take any more risks in this moment, and he holds his breath while you both wait in the short silence,

A voice crackles through the signal,

“Ezra, colt, what are your positions?” Denver’s voice floods both your earpieces and you let out a sigh of relief.

“We’re on site; Ezra and I found each other once the ambush began.” You lie, not telling him you two were together the whole time, knowing that’ll only worsen the rumors. If you two don’t die out here first.

Ezra's eyes light up and he lets his shoulders relax ever so slightly. He listens carefully for a moment and then he speaks into his own radio next, his voice firm and clear. "We're safe, but we need some help. We've already got various crewmembers down. I'm requestin’ assistance and evacuation from camp. How's it lookin’ on your end, boss?"

“Affirmative. Sending backup now. Negative on the evacuation; we can't afford to leave the site right now, there are too many of our crew scattered.” You can hear the sounds of gunfire and Denver yells out a few commands to the crewmembers with him. Ezra closes his eyes in frustration, his jaw tensing for a moment,

“If we linger, we’ll be killed.” He insists and you both wait for a response.

“We’re staying, Ezra. That’s an order.” Denver responds. Your eyes flit to Ezra as he clicks his teeth, still frustrated but he nods.

“Yes, sir… How are y’all holdin’ up?” He asks.

“We’re still in battle here,” Another round of gunfire in the background complements his words. “A good portion of us are managing to hold the fort in the dining tent. Most of the rivals are gone, and a few ran off towards your area. They scattered once the gunfire began, and probably couldn’t handle the bloodshed. You two hang tight and try to find survivors from our crew. Backup will be there soon.”

Ezra lets out a deep sigh as this is clearly the most positive piece of radio chatter he's had since he started this conversation. He gives another affirmative before signing off, and then he turns back to you. "We need to find survivors and bring them back." He's talking as if he's your superior in both his tone and his attitude. He expects you to listen. "Are you up for that? Are you with me?"

Usually, you’d argue with him, bicker, and be difficult. But now, he’s your friend, your partner in battle. And you know you have to obey if you want the both of you to get out of this mess alive. You nod clear determination in your eyes.

“I am; I’m with you.” You say firmly and check that your thrower is charged again as you two come out from your temporary shelter slowly.

He nods once and looks around carefully before he speaks again. "Alright," he says, his voice quiet and his eyes moving around constantly, "we need to check the rest of this site. Let's stick close, and be ready to run if things go bad. If you even get the slightest inklin’ that this is about to turn into a situation, you need to warn me immediately. Just say the word and I'll start makin’ a dash for it. We can keep an eye out for others as we move, but safety always comes first. Deal?"

“Deal.” You nod and follow him. You two find a few injured crewmembers and take them to the nearest tent on the far left of the camp. They’re all too hurt to fight, leaving you and Ezra as the only strongholds.

In the distance, you hear another commotion and turn. Your eyes widen as you see more members of that rival group running towards you both, their guns aimed. But you’re outnumbered 5 to 2 and you turn to Ezra.

“Run!” You yell and wait for him to move before you do. Gunfire begins to rain down on you both.

Ezra's eyes go wide as you yell out your command, and in the next moment, he's already turned and sprinting away as fast as he can, making good time. He briefly glances back for you as he suddenly makes a hard right, taking a tight turn around a large rock formation. Just as he's going around, he yells back to you over his radio, "I'm going to lead them away from here. When I do, I want you to get the hell outta here! Understood?!"

“What?? No!” You yell back as you run, the sound of gunfire no longer following you, but following to where you saw Ezra last. “Are you crazy?? You’re outnumbered, they’ll kill you or catch up to you!”

"It's not a choice, rook!" Ezra calls back as he begins to run again, in zigzags as the gunfire rains down on him once more. There's a burst of gunfire off to your right, and then the sound of Ezra yelling out in pain... but then it all goes quiet.

Everything's so quiet, and you can't see where he went after he rounded the corner. You don’t hesitate even as your body goes cold and your heart drops into your stomach.

“Ezra!” You yell. A sudden zip brushing your suit shoulder makes you look up and you spot one of the enemies from the group that has now followed you. You’re quick as you both get into a shootout, one of your strikes finally hitting their shoulder and knocking them down, you don’t hesitate as you shoot again, this one piercing their helmet and hitting them square between the eyes.

Before you can dwell on that much, you watch as the group of enemies that went after Ezra suddenly walk back into view calmly. But they’re not looking at you, so you drop down into the tall grass. At that moment, you hear more shouting and more gunfire behind you.

Turning, you spot the backup you requested coming in hot. There are 7 members of your crew and you smile despite your concern for Ezra. You watch as they run towards the group of 4 rivals, and let them handle things as your attention is now solely focused on finding him.

“Ezra, come in! Ezra, answer me!” You yell into your radio, deep dread filling every cell in your body, threatening to paralyze you but you force your legs to keep moving.

As the gunfire behind you continues, you can hear the radio signal cut in and out while you yell for him. Your crew members don't even hesitate when they see what's going on - they all start to fire back at the attackers, and they manage to take out two of them. The other two run for cover as the situation changes dramatically in the next few seconds...

There's silence for a few more moments and you feel like they could be hours. And then Ezra's radio signal finally kicks on. His ragged breathing is the first thing you hear and the relief you feel is instant. He speaks next and while his voice is strained, obviously in pain... he's alive, and that’s what matters most to you.

"Are you okay?" He groans, his voice a rough pant.

“Are you??” You ask, still running and looking for him with your weapon at the ready. “Where in Kevva’s name are you??” You ask.

"I'm alive," he says, his voice grim, and there's a slight grunt as he speaks. "Those bastards shot me good... I can't keep up like this. You need to go back." Another bullet rips through the bushes nearby at the same time he's talking, but you only glance back once before you run faster, not knowing or caring if that bullet was meant for you or not. Then he adds, "There's no way they came here randomly. They're lookin’ for somethin’, and I think we've already made a mess of their plans. You need to leave, okay?"

“Like hell!” You respond. “Absolutely not, I either leave here with you or I die here, Ezra. Now tell me where you are!” You say.

"I'm at the caves, alright?" he says, letting out another grunt of pain, "Please, go!"

He doesn't waste any time explaining the situation to you. And you don’t waste time trying to convince him, all your focus is on finding him. Just then, a burst of gunfire erupts from the direction of the caves. Ezra isn't kidding... this situation is about to get very bad, very quickly. You can't leave him.

"Please!"

“No!” You yell back and cut the radio, even as you hear him start to protest. Your legs burn as you push your speed to its limits, but after another few seconds, the caves finally come into view.

You can hear the sounds of a struggle. Your eyes narrow slightly as you go in through the nearest entrance, turning on the light atop your gun. The near-darkness is cut as you make your way into the cave, your body tense. Your eyes go to where the sound is coming from and you almost freeze when you see that he’s in the middle of a scuffle with an enemy, his gun a good distance away. But Ezra’s got the upper hand from the looks of it as he straddles his assailant, punching him. The man’s glass helmet is shattered and as you hear bones breaking, you don’t know if the helmet’s shattered from the force of the punches or from so many attempts at breaking it.

But then the situation shifts when the man punches Ezra on his right side and Ezra yells in pain, falling. The man moves and is quick to crawl on top of him.

A scream lodges in your throat as a knife appears in the man’s hand suddenly as he raises it, aiming to stab it into Ezra’s chest. Your heart clenches almost painfully at the look of fear in Ezra’s eyes. A bullet zips from your weapon and hits the man square through the jaw, making him yell and Ezra freeze. You hadn’t even realized you’d taken a shot until his panicked eyes glance up. When Ezra sees that the bullet wasn’t meant for him, he relaxes, moving out from under his assailant.

You move next as you hear the enemy gurgling blood and approach them both, using a final bullet to put the man out of his misery. You drop down to Ezra’s side as you take cover. He quickly crawls over to where his gun lies and grabs it before rejoining you and getting into position beside you. His eyes meet yours just as you both hear more men coming through, both of you once again aiming your guns forward.

The relief that fills you is immediate even as you see that he’s clearly injured. As an unrecognizable group of 4 comes in, you and Ezra immediately begin to shoot. Ezra grunts with effort and pain after every shot, but you’re too focused on the firefight to take a good look at him.

“Miss me?” You ask your eyes forward.

He lets out a quiet chuckle as a shot zips dangerously close to your left shoulder, and another brushes over Ezra’s hair. "Ah, you're somethin’ else." He remarks as he hits the man who took a shot at you square in the heart, while you hit the man who went after him in the leg. "Thank you," he adds. You only nod and keep it up, the adrenaline making this fight seem like it lasts 5 seconds and 5 hours all at once.

After a few minutes, the gunfire stops... but only because all four of your attackers are dead. You can see all four of them on the ground. You and Ezra slowly rise from hiding. "Are you hurt?" He asks, breathing roughly as he limps closer to you, his eyes scanning your body.

“No, but you are.” You say, straightening up and feeling the relief of the fight’s end wash over you. “Where are you hit?” You ask him, your attention is now undivided as you zero in on his injury.

"My right side," Ezra says, lifting his arm up to reveal a fairly large wound that's now bleeding out onto his suit.

“Was it a clean break? Straight through?” You ask, and he nods.

“Yeah… think so.” He grits his teeth in pain as he talks, and he keeps his right arm down at his side. "I'll be alright," he says in an attempt to reassure you, even though he's in a lot of pain. "We need to treat this, though."

“Goddamnit. We need to get you back to camp, fast. Can you walk?” You ask him, your eyes scanning him for any other injuries.

Ezra nods once as he lets out a sigh, "Yeah... I can walk. It's gonna hurt pretty bad, though."

He winces at the pain of having his right arm up at his side. He looks over at you and nods. "I'll be fine. We'll get through this... just like we've always done. Okay?" he says with a faint smile. You nod in response, the worry clear in your eyes as they flicker between his face and the large bloodstain on his suit. "Now let's get going. We've got med kits waiting back at camp."

You nod and immediately fall into his left side, slinging his left arm over your shoulders and letting him lean his weight on you as you two walk back to camp together. You’re trying to be as gentle as possible but you’re also trying to rush, knowing he needs medical attention as soon as he can get it.

You send a signal to Denver and his voice floods your radio.

“Colt. where are you?”

“Exiting the caves, sir. Ezra’s hurt. I’m walking him back to camp now.”

“Sending two men your way. How bad is the injury?” He asks. You glance over at Ezra as he winces, almost tripping on the uneven soil again.

“One gunshot, straight through, on his right side. Below his ribcage. I can’t tell yet if it hit any major organs.”

“Alright. Keep walking you two, help is on the way.”

“Clear.” The signal goes quiet and you don’t speak again as you and Ezra continue walking.

Ezra leans on you the entire way, moving as quickly as he's able. Occasionally, he makes a sound of pain through his teeth or yells if he trips or moves too quickly... but he's pushing forward despite that.

You can see the camp up ahead - just a minute or two more. It seems like everything has been shifted over to the dining tent. There are men outside already, all of them helping tend to injured survivors... and a few of them rush over to meet you as you get closer.

They take Ezra from you and carefully guide him into the tent. You follow close behind them, your eyes not leaving Ezra until you’re inside, where the dining tables have been shoved to the far edges to make space for cots and medical equipment. They place him on the nearest empty cot, where you see two more men already waiting. Few prospectors have medical training other than the basics. Yourself included. You remove Ezra’s helmet and radio for him, setting them aside on the floor.

Ezra's wincing in pain as he's moved onto the cot, and you notice that he's clutching at his side and looking up at you with a grim expression on his face. The two men who brought Ezra in leave to go help elsewhere, while the other two get to work right away. They're wearing gloves and sterile attire and you watch as they cut away at the immediate cloth covering his injury.

“How can I help?” You ask; you’d rather be put to work somehow and offer assistance than just sit around worrying about him. If you can help stop his pain somehow, you’ll feel better and so will he.

The man working as the primary attendant looks over at you. You briefly recall his name is Terrant. “You can help hold him down."

You remove your own helmet and radio, along with your gloves, tossing everything aside next to Ezra’s gear. You wash up quickly before you get onto the cot, near Ezra’s head. He lets out a moan as Terrant begins to dig into the wound, but he grits his teeth and keeps his mouth shut. As you start pressing down on Ezra's shoulder, his face contorts, his face pale and sweaty.

“Hey, look at me.” You say softly, speaking to him in a low soothing tone. “How are you holding up?” You ask, trying to get him to keep his eyes on you and not on what they’re doing to him.

Ezra lets out a long breath of air, but he manages to keep his eyes on you. "I'm not doin’ so hot," He says in a whisper - but he's staying calm and controlling his breathing to keep his pain under control. When he speaks again, he's still quiet, but he manages a soft smile for you. "How are you?" he asks, "You okay?" He looks at you for a moment before he closes his eyes, knowing what's being done is for the greater good.

“I’m fine.” You say, and the shock in your voice is evident. You’ve barely got a scratch on you. “You’re a goddamn lunatic, you know that??” You ask with a soft laugh. “You ran off by yourself, chased by a crew of four. Do you have a death wish??” You ask him, your tone light but it’s clear that you’re very concerned about him.

Ezra chuckles as you call him a goddamn lunatic, but his laugh is cut off as he's suddenly hit with another wave of pain. His eyes shoot open, and you see his eyebrows clench. He takes another long, slow breath, and after a few seconds, it passes. "...I've survived worse," he says, finally looking back up at you with a faint smile. "Besides, I knew you'd come to rescue me, starflower."

That pet name again. You smile and shake your head, even as a light blush creeps into your cheeks. “You’re lucky I’m stubborn and don’t like following your orders.” You say. “Besides… you saved not only my ass but the asses of those injured. What happened to ‘not being the hero’?” You tease softly, quoting him from earlier.

Ezra laughs as you quote himself back to him, and he shakes his head once. "How could I not try to save that perfect smile of yours?" he asks playfully, and then he looks away... even now, he's flirting with you. Even in a situation like this, he still has it in him to make you feel special... but now isn't the time for that. For now, there are more important things happening here, so Ezra takes another deep breath. "How’s it lookin’? Any hope?" he asks, sounding genuinely nervous.

You nod and refocus, looking over at the crewmembers tending to him. It’s looking a lot better already. They’ve cleaned away the blood, and start applying some sort of antiseptic to the wound. This makes Ezra grit his teeth even more... but he knows how important it is that they properly treat him. With less viscera, it’s not as terrifying, making you relax further. You grab a rag from the medkit and clean the sweat away from his face and hair.

“They’re almost done with one side.” You say softly. “Just keep looking at me.” You instruct, leaning a little closer to him.

Ezra looks back at you as you lean in. "I don't have any intention of lookin’ anywhere else, sweetheart," he says softly, and for once he's not trying to be flirtatious. You can hear the sincerity in his voice as he's doing so. You reach your hand up and take his, gently squeezing it, and he smiles at you... maybe not as deeply as he normally does, but his eyes convey more than any words could. "Can you stay here with me ‘til the healing's done?" he asks, his voice soft. You smile softly.

“Oh, what, you thought you could get rid of me that, easy, huh?” You ask. “Absolutely I’m staying.” You say, squeezing his hand gently in comfort. His grin widens and the relief in him is palpable. Your lips brush his temple before you can stop yourself.

His hand goes limp in your grip as you do - he flinches in his cot, mostly from surprise, and his eyes seem to go wide for a brief moment as if his entire world stops for a second... But then he's got a smile on his face, and he looks at you with a raised brow. "Now, why'd you have to go and do that?" he asks playfully. "Just couldn't resist, huh?"

“Fuck you.” You say, even with a wide smile. “It’s called being grateful, jackass. Maybe you should try it sometime.” You respond with a good-natured eye roll.

Ezra laughs at your response and smiles as he squeezes your hand back, a hint of playfulness to his tone. "Fair enough," he says, returning the eye roll. “For the record, you did save me back. So I suppose you just owe me one ass-savin’.” He says playfully. You grin in response.

“Oh, I do, huh?” You ask, smirking. “I mean you’re the one saving someone you said is only ‘tolerable,’” You quote him with a knowing smile.

Ezra lets out a long breath of air, and he laughs softly. “Well, I think we’re long past that, rook. Wouldn’t you say?” He asks, and then he smirks a little bit before he speaks again. "Besides, I’m a hurtin’ man right now, clearly on my deathbed! Are ya really gonna tease me about my ego some more?" His eyes twinkle with amusement and the sight is a relief to you. You look around for a moment and spot Denver directing two more injured crew into the tent.

“Maybe just a little. You gotta admit, your ego’s bigger than most.” You don’t realize how insinuating that sounds until you look over and see the look on Ezra’s face. You roll your eyes. “Kevvasake, you really are 14 years old.” You mutter with a grin.

His eyes light up, a short laugh escaping him even as he’s in pain. He blushes, and then he tries to think of something to say, but he comes up empty. You roll your eyes at him, blushing yourself.

“Listen, I didn’t realize what I said until after I said it, alright?” You say with a grin, backtracking.

“Right..." he says playfully, "Sure you didn't." He smirks and rolls his eyes at you, but he's still laughing a little bit. "I'm the 'kid' here, right?" he asks, and when he sees you're blushing and getting flustered, he can't help but smile going quiet for a minute or so before he speaks again.

"And, since you didn’t leave me for dead I guess that means you really like me, yeah?" he asks, a little smirk touching his face. His voice is still low and soft, but it's impossible for you not to smile at it.

“No, of course not, this entire friendship was all a ruse to let your guard down and get shot, as was my plan all along.” You respond sarcastically before your tone softens, becoming more sincere. Your eyes bore into his as the atmosphere shifts between you both.

“Yes, I do.” You respond honestly. You can tell he’s surprised by your sincerity but he doesn’t let it faze him too much, blushing and smiling instead.

“Well… I can admit that I really like you too." There's a slight smirk on his face as he says that, a more rogueish twinkle in his eyes as he leans in a little bit closer. You grin and kiss his temple again before the other prospector next to Terrant speaks while Terrant cleans off the tools he’s been using,

“Okay, we’re done with the entrance wound, now we gotta do the exit wound.” The man says. “Can you help me get him on his stomach?” He asks you and you nod immediately.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“Ok, on three.” You two carefully flip Ezra over on the cot and he shouts in pain, making your heart break a little.

“Easy, Ezra, easy.” You say softly as the two others begin working. Ezra nods even as his face is contorted in pain, his eyes shutting for a moment. “Hey,” You say softly and tilt his chin up to find you. “Uh-uh, keep looking at me.” You say, boring your eyes into his. He nods and does as you ask, his face red and a sweat on his brow. You clean it away with the rag. He moans in pain but he stays still, his gaze locked on yours. “Really rethinking saving my ass now, huh?” You joke.

“Oh, never.” He responds with a breathless laugh as he tenses every muscle in his body to keep himself still. “I’ll take this any day as long as you’re still here to look at me with those pretty eyes.” You roll your eyes at him but grin, kissing his forehead again. You smile and keep him distracted until Terrant’s wrapping up.

“Ok, we’re just about done here.” He says, giving Ezra’s wound a final rub down of antiseptic. You smile, relieved, and kiss Ezra’s temple once more.

Ezra's eyes go wide again when you kiss him on the temple for a third time, a tingle shooting through him as he holds his breath again. He quickly gets his composure back, though - but he's still blushing. He looks at Terrant, then he raises an eyebrow and speaks in a grim tone. "Is that right?" he asks, "All patched up then?"

“Yeah, looks like the bastards missed your liver by about 3 inches. We’re gonna give you something for the pain; a good amount of morphine. It’ll probably put you to sleep, let your body heal and rest.” Terrant says as the prospector assisting him prepares the injection. Your eyes go wide and you quickly look away, hiding your face, even though you’re not the one receiving the shot.

Ezra grimaces as he sees the needle come out, but he doesn't flinch when it punctures his skin. He holds himself very still for a moment, letting out an occasional grunt of pain as the medication flows into his vein... but he just keeps holding your hand, and he squeezes it gently before the drugs fully kick in. He looks up at you with a slight smile, and then he closes his eyes. "I'm here... I'm here," he says quietly, breathing deeply. "I'm not goin’ anywhere, okay?" he says, his voice soft and gentle.

You look at him in surprise. “Are you comforting me??” You ask him incredulously. “You’re the one getting injected!”

Ezra laughs for a moment before the morphine starts to take effect, and his laugh quickly becomes muted and muffled. "I can do both, can't I?" he asks softly, his voice trailing off slowly before the drugs start to affect his voice. As his breathing goes shallow and his body starts to relax, he just smiles at you. "I'm here... promise..." he says one last time, his eyes closing and his breathing now very soft. You watch him and your heart stutters as the last thing he does is whisper your name before he finally falls asleep.

You laugh at him softly as tears sting the corners of your eyes, a myriad of emotions running through you. “Blessed Kevva, you really are a lunatic.” You mumble, but he’s already fully asleep. You kiss his forehead once more and brush his hair out of his eyes. You’re just watching him as he sleeps and petting his hair.

Terrant clears his throat to grab your attention and you focus on him.

“He’s really lucky, but he’s not in the clear yet. This next 72-hour period is important to ensure that his injury isn’t infected. I know a lot of the groups like to poison their shots to damage enemies further. He’ll need to be monitored around the clock for the next few nights.”

“I can do that.” You respond immediately. “Whatever it takes.” Terrant nods.

“Ok. I’m gonna go help out, but if he wakes up again, you call me.” He says, You respond with another nod and he leaves with his assistant after you’ve thanked them for all they’ve done. Your eyes go to Ezra and the worry still settles in your heart as you go back to caressing his hair.

You realize then that you don’t hate Ezra, you don’t like Ezra… you love him. You truly love him.

******

I have to say I was especially excited to upload this chapter. It's the chapter that inspired this whole series in the first place. I had to reread the battle scenes so many damn times to make sure I got it all and it made some sort of sense. Hopefully it worked, haha. Next chapter will be up next week! Thanks a million and see you in the next one!

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