#boy was floating in a empty void; no idea what to do with himself

[gildedmuse]

Listen.... Trafalgar Law is like Opposite Pick Me Girl.

Evidence:

He stole Doffy's whole look down to the shirtless sluttiness, feather coat and the earrings.

He COPIED DOFFY'S ACTIVATION METHOD. How "notice me, senpai!!" is THAT!?

Like Doflamingo, he acts as though your attempts at torturing him are absolutely precious.

Law straight up based his jolly roger on Doffy's. Like it's not even kinda subtle. (Not that Law does subtle. Which is weird for someone trying SO HARD to be dark, mysterious, and edge-y as Kikoku. )

Trafalgar spent years of his life travelling around the world, gaining notoriety and power, putting into place a series of intricate moving parts that all had to come together in just the right way all so Doflamingo would notice him and remember his face forever.

Law: Please, Young amaster-sama! Oh, please pick me!

Law: To kick your pathetic, subhuman ass.

[Thanks to @revlischarm who gave me this idea.]

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA # 36

X

Imagine dis…

No this is not the app-related prompt…

I had just introduced my youngest brother to the original Ben 10 and worked our way to the latest to show him what he was missing, so when I saw that episode…

It immediately went to Danny…

…

Danny was falling, a normal Wednesday for us readers but not normal for our resident ghost boy.

To cut the flashback short, he had just been pushed by Clockwork, to where you ask he didn’t know.

It had been a while since he had permanently entered the Realms to learn to become a king and an Ancient. An Ancient of what you ask, Space, he was a newly formed which made the other Ancients namely  Undergrowth, Frostbite, Vortex, and so on…

They were ecstatic as it had been a while since they met a new Ancient in the making, thus leading him to be pushed by CW to a space for him to not only practice his powers as an Ancient but also practice his newly formed title can help him heal his two packages. Namely, Ellie and Dan previously inhabited a clone body made by Vlad but due to its imperfections led to an early melting form. To gain a stronger body that can wind-stand their ever-growing powers, they both needed to grow into a body aka letting Danny incubate them like some sort of MPREG situation that he accidentally saw Dash’s notebook containing his fantasy writing about him and Phantom, it was a very dark day that was, it could use some work but the fact that he improved due to his sister’s tutoring, he doesn’t know what to feel.

Now he found himself in the middle of nothing with both cores in between inside himself. At first, he didn’t know what to do, the word space kept floating in his mind so stars? He asked himself, and so the first stars came forth. He was hesitant of course, usually whenever he had to use new powers usually under duress or even sometimes instinctively so now he had the time to explore his newfound powers he didn’t know where to start.

But slowly he let his instinct control his actions creating, with a flick of his writs galaxies formed, a single blink black holes were formed, a twitch here Pulsar were made, and so on… Each move and each breath made way to a new formation creating the former vast emptiness into a thriving space life with various life forms that have come first in the race of evolution. They first stayed within the confinements of their homes and in time they began reaching for the stars.

Throughout the years Danny also began to change, Danny, in his new form, is an ethereal being with enormous power. His skin is a deep, inky black that resembles the immensity of space, with constellations and galaxies quietly dancing across it. His eyes, unlike his former look, he has now customary pitch-black voids, gleaming a vivid, intense emerald that exudes alien intensity. These penetrating green eyes appear to reflect the force of the universe, continually moving and pulsing as if they hold the secrets of existence themselves. 

White accents run throughout his physique like celestial ribbons, following his limbs, torso, and face. These streaks shine like stardust, with a faint glow reminiscent of a faraway nebula. The highlights are flowing, almost as if they are shifting and moving like stars in the night sky, creating a captivating contrast against his body's deep black color. His silhouette, while humanoid, seems almost unreal—tall, imposing, and continuously emitting the faint hum of cosmic power.

Danny Phantom—now known as Alien X dubbed by the Green Lanterns who were lucky enough to witness him at the rare times he ever so twitched—floated serenely in space, his visage as unreadable as it had always been. The once-human ghost-boy had evolved into one of the universe's most powerful entities, capable of altering reality with a single thought.

During the thousands of millennia that he spent his time crafting and perfecting his new powers came with a very heavy headache. In all the time that he had spent filling the space, he had gathered enough energy for the two to create new bodies that could accommodate their growing powers, both Dan and Ellie kept on arguing inside his head about what they wanted to look like, like some sort of demented sims game. Always arguing which would look great on them, how this piece fits them better than the other.. and so on…

…

Did you ever have the instinctive feeling that something new is happening somewhere that you can't explain? Today was that day. The silent space around him was abruptly filled with the wailing of two babies. Danny had given birth, causing shockwaves throughout the universe. Alien X, as the Lanterns dubbed him, was not intended to change or reproduce. Yet here he was, cradling two small, glowing children in his arms, their bodies moving between colors and shapes, a clear indication of their limitless potential.

And the relief of Danny as the two finally settled on a form and agreed on something.

The Lantern Corps was the first to notice. The Guardians of the Universe had long feared Alien X's might, and now, with two offspring whose talents remained unknown, they were on high alert. Every Lantern, from the enraged Red Lanterns to the hope-filled Blue Lanterns, was summoned. The stakes were too high; the children had the potential to become the universe's greatest protectors or its most terrifying adversaries.

Hal Jordan headed the Green Lantern Corps, his emerald light shining through the blackness of space as he interacted with his fellow colored Lanterns as the Green Lanterns' primary representative.

Trouble had already arrived. Darkseid, the dictatorial ruler of Apokolips, and Trigon, the demonic conqueror of universes, have established an unusual alliance. Even beings of enormous strength found the promise of possessing the power to modify reality too appealing. They each coveted one of the offspring, knowing that having even one would give them an advantage over the entire cosmos.

The Lanterns fought bravely, their united lights creating a stunning display of force. Hal solicited every favor and ally he could get. Star Sapphire, Sinestro, and even Larfleeze, the ruthless Orange Lantern, heeded the summons. The battle was intense, with cosmic energy crackling across the starry sky. However, for each wave of adversaries, they vanquished, more appeared, drawn by the irresistible power and potential of the 2 new offspring of Alien X.

As the conflict continued, the Lanterns beheld something they had never seen before. Alien X moved. Danny, who had seemed unconcerned by the mayhem surrounding him, switched his attention to the fight. His normally expressionless face softened as he stared at his children, who were now cooing in his arms, unaware of the battle raging on top of his own hands.

Danny's palm began to glow, and to the surprise of all the Lanterns present, his fingers curled into a protective ball around the infants. The difference was slight yet profound. Alien X was operating independently, free of the never-ending internal argument that had before crippled him. His hands, capable of wiping out entire galaxies, were now a barrier, protecting his children from the evil that loomed over them.

Now, both enemies and heroes are trapped together within Alien X’s hands as they all watch in fascination as two beings are now being formed before their very eyes.

…

PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

[tooogaytofunction]

Agatha Meets Her End

I have no idea what the etiquette is for posting fanfic on here but... I wrote this in an emotional evening and need to let it go!

Words: 3.5k

Summary: Agatha closes her years of mentorship to the Maximoffs, even if she wasn't expecting it.

I do sincerely hope that Agatha's character arc ends this way - but not for a LONG time!

*

It had been a few years, but Agatha Harkness had grown somewhat fond of being a ghost. It wasn’t nearly as exhausting as life had been; at least the last couple of centuries before she died. She found herself being able to pour as much energy as she wanted into her new role as Billy’s mentor, without having to constantly keep one eye open for those who wanted to see her life ended. She could rest, truly rest, for as long as she wanted. Sometimes days or weeks would go by with no telepathic call from Billy, and she often spent them at her old abandoned woodland cottage in Massachusetts, doing nothing in particular but soaking in the peace and quiet. She wouldn’t go as far as to call this true happiness, but it was definitely more tranquil than her mortal life had been. 

There was never truly a question of whether this would be Agatha’s new normal; her forever state. While crossing into the afterlife and facing Nicky was a horrific thought upon her initial demise, however deliberate, the last few years she had begun to dwell on the idea more and more. What would she even say to him? Worse still, what could he possibly have to say to Agatha that wouldn’t make her want to die all over again? It was the thought of these interactions that made shoving the idea to the back of her mind fairly easy. While she was thinking about it more, she was still of the belief that she certainly wasn’t ready.

When the time came, though, the universe didn’t care whether she was ready.

*

“This feels wrong, doesn’t it, kiddo?” Agatha remarked with a smirk. “Not too late to turn back.”

“It’s definitely too late to turn back, Agatha,” Billy sighed, before turning to her with a grin. “Surely you’re not scared?” he teased. Agatha rolled her eyes before a smile appeared on her ghostly face too.

She was floating alongside Billy as he walked down the all-too-familiar street in Westview, New Jersey, as the sun was close to setting. Neither of them had returned to that infamous house since that day they finished walking the Road. That was six years prior, and a lot had happened since then. It had taken them three years to find Tommy and assist him to come to realize his identity. 

Thomas Shepherd had been a boy with very little on his side: small for his age, difficulty at school, alcoholic parents, tempestuous older brothers and bullies with a knack for throwing him around. When Tommy Maximoff moved into the empty vessel after Thomas’s untimely drowning, he discovered his power very quickly and used it to run away and hide from it all, including the authorities. 

Throughout that time, Agatha and Billy tried their best to keep tabs on him, but this was no easy task. With time on their side, Agatha and Billy became thick as thieves. As Billy had found himself with a surplus of mothers - his mortal mother Rebecca and even the distant Wanda popping up occasionally after her reemergence - there had not been a mother figure role Agatha could conveniently slot herself into to fill the empty void that had lingered inside her for centuries. Billy thought of her as more of an aunt, which definitely suited Agatha’s sarcastic and quick-tempered nature, which had persevered almost reflexively despite it being less of a trauma response now. Less responsibility and more antics, she came to realize, suited their dynamic just fine. Billy’s wit often caught hers off guard, but she enjoyed the jabs they occasionally took at each other. Agatha had also started to consider that that empty void probably wouldn’t have been filled by Billy even if he was lacking a mother figure. This was something she had initially convinced herself while walking the Road, but now she wasn’t so sure.

Tommy wasn’t as trusting of Agatha despite Billy’s reassurance and the fact that there was little for her spectral form to do other than provide verbal guidance, although she made sure it was always tainted with sarcasm and jokes at their expense. Agatha wasn’t sure she totally trusted Tommy either, so she was relieved when he declined to join them on their venture back to Westview. After all, he had no connection to the place. She didn’t need him starting an argument at a place where she still felt vulnerable.

Agatha was still uneasy, despite their mission not even being to visit number 2804. She wanted to float right past it, but she had reluctantly agreed to accompany Billy to the back yard once they were finished at their true destination. This was number 2800 instead, where Billy and Tommy had been born among the chaotic spell that caused the town to remain half-empty to this day. Both lots were abandoned and overgrown, so there would be nobody to disturb. This was what convinced Agatha to accompany Billy; she cringed at the idea of being confronted by any of her old neighbors again.

There was a chill in the evening air, despite it being the middle of summer. Agatha thought it might have been just her phantasmic dulled senses, but Billy had picked up on it too. Silly, she thought, we’re only here for a quick drop-off. 

Wanda had asked Billy to take her crown and bury it at lot 2800, in one final act of closure. She couldn’t bring herself to set foot in Westview again, but knew that this needed to be done. Part of Agatha’s job over the past few months had been to not only assist Billy with finding his brother and honing his skills, but reluctantly helping Wanda find peace within herself. She was initially adamant that this was something she had tried to do when she was alive, but finally admitted that it was for the wrong reasons. Now that she had nothing to lose, Agatha and her story helped Wanda take control of her power and find acceptance. Now that her boys were alive, grown up and making their own way in the (relatively) peaceful universe, Wanda found herself without much reason to use her magic at all. She opted to settle in the middle of nowhere, spending her time tending to an orchard similar to the one she had used as an illusion when overpowered by the Darkhold. She had very deliberately used her magic one last time, but her crown didn’t disappear like usual; this was her sign that she was finished. She had kept it tucked away in her house for a few months but felt that it was a bad omen and wanted it gone. She had made peace with the fact that she was never able to recover and bury the original Vision’s body, but felt that burying the crown in its place was a fitting replacement.

So this was where Billy and Agatha found themselves, nine years after Wanda had last set foot there. When they got to the verge of lot 2800, Agatha stopped still to take it all in. Billy went to march right past her on his way onto the lot when Agatha abruptly stuck an arm out to stop him. It went straight through him, but Billy shuddered at the icy feeling it brought.

“I’ve told you to stop doing that! It feels really gross.”

“Sorry! I just wanted you to be a bit more respectful.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Billy remarked with one eyebrow raised, glaring at Agatha.

“Yeah, whatever. I-I don’t know. This feels important.” 

Agatha was surprised at how deeply reverent she felt observing the ruined foundations of the house she poured so much magic into, correcting Wanda’s tiny little mistakes during the days of the Hex. Agatha recalled the last time she set foot here was to very deliberately spit on the lot. She was a broken woman in those days, furious at Wanda for stealing her power. In her current form, all Agatha could feel looking at the lot now was melancholic. While she knew she never had the capacity to empathize with Wanda’s grief back in those days, she certainly did now. Deep down, Agatha knew she would have done exactly the same as Wanda had she had the chance to use Chaos Magic to bring Nicky back. She deeply wished she could make an even a tiny amendment, just to brush some of the windswept garbage from the overgrown lawn. But the past is the past, and her ghostly form couldn’t touch anything now.

Agatha showed Billy the right spot to bury the crown and he set to work. It wasn’t long before he was finished and they were ready to head over to Agatha’s old house for a visit. They both felt slightly uneasy, especially when they got to the front yard to see the house all boarded up, like it had been the day Billy tried to banish Agatha. The garage door was barely noticeable behind the spray-painted graffiti and behind the wooden boards, most of the windows were smashed. Neither of them expected the house to look this bad.

“Maybe having a look round back isn’t such a good idea,” Agatha stated casually as she turned to float away.

“No! You promised me you’d come, so we’re going,” Billy argued. He was determined to see this through, knowing how dishonest Agatha can be in her attempts to keep promises. He began to confidently walk around the house and forcefully pushed open the side gate, Agatha following behind him at some distance, feeling increasingly apprehensive about seeing the bed of flowers Rio had bloomed for her that day. True to her word, Rio hadn’t shown her face to Agatha since then. Naturally, Agatha thought, those flowers would all be wilted or dead or mulch by now. Besides, it would all be hard to see now that the sun was setting.

Agatha didn’t see Billy had stopped in his tracks when he entered the yard and almost floated right through him again, but when she looked up, she also froze. Instead of the desolate, wilted patch of dirt she’d expected to see in keeping with the house, the backyard had been transformed into the most beautiful garden either of them could have ever imagined. 

Agatha’s grave still had the same plethora of colorful flowers in full bloom, but it was surrounded by young oak trees on all sides, creating a canopy under which hundreds of fireflies were happily buzzing. There were rocks all around the bases of the trees and when Agatha moved closer, she could see they almost created a moat around her grave with delicate puddles of water dotted around it. The water and the fireflies together created an intense glow; neither Billy nor Agatha had ever seen anything like it. Agatha knelt down next to one of the trees in absolute disbelief, with a feeling of warmth she had never felt before, living or dead. Surveying the area of flowers Rio had laid out for her that day, she wanted so badly to reach out and feel their delicate softness on her skin. 

“This was... Rio?” Billy asked softly.

Agatha nodded gently, unable to gather words through her tears.

“She-” Agatha began but stopped suddenly. Her expression turned to disbelief. She spotted something different in the bed of flowers she didn’t remember from a few years ago. Near the middle at one end, poking through the canopy of the flowers below, were a few sprigs of lavender.

Agatha was barely able to get the word out over her shallow breath but managed to whisper “...Nicky.”

*

Agatha suddenly felt a rush of cold air hit her square in the face and she was jolted aside for a second. When she came to her senses, she looked up at Billy and asked “what the hell was that?”

He didn’t answer, still staring straight ahead, fixated on the garden.

“Hey, kid!” Agatha raised her voice. Nothing.

She stood up and stepped back, realizing that her ghostly form was still kneeling next to the tree. She looked down at her arms and realized they had taken solid form again. In utter disbelief, she reached out to try and get Billy’s attention by giving him a shove. Before she could, she heard it; a sound that had haunted her for centuries. It was faint, but it was there.

“Mama?”

It sounded like it came from the street, and without thinking, Agatha turned and ran towards it. She barrelled out the gate into the driveway and stopped, desperately swiveling in each direction to see where it had come from.

Turning toward Wanda’s lot, she finally spotted him in the front yard. The tiny, pale figure, completely unchanged from when she last saw him alive all those years ago.

“Nicky...” she whispered again.

She began to step forward hesitantly, unsure what else to do. When she did so, a smile began to brew on Nicky’s face and he stepped forward confidently and started to run towards her.

That was the only sign Agatha needed - before she realized what she was doing, she was sprinting as fast as her legs could carry her. Her heart raced with more joy than she had ever known. There was no wiping the smile off her face now.

When Nicky was within reach, Agatha dropped to her knees and scooped the boy up into a hug tighter than either of them had ever known: his legs wrapped around her waist, her hand running through his long hair. She held him tightly with the strength she had been missing all this time, sobbing intensely. She had no reason to suppress her tears now; she wept harder than she ever had, making up for the years of pain that she was never able to fully show to anyone, including herself.

Agatha had no idea how much time had passed when she was finally able to stifle her tears and loosen her grip on the boy. He let go and stood in front of her, smiling away his own tears.

“Nicky, I’m so...” Agatha began, gently wiping away one of his tears with her thumb.

“It’s alright, Mama. I know you only killed witches because you were hurting. That’s what Mother told me.”

Agatha stared at the boy solemnly, reminded of the many visits he would have had from Rio over the years. She knew in her heart that Rio never intended it that way, but that it still didn’t make it any less painful.

“I know you didn’t mean to kill Alice,” Nicky said. “I see her sometimes. I think she knows you wanted to be good.”

Agatha was stunned in disbelief, unable to think of how to respond to the boy. He continued, as a smile crept across his face. “But Mama, Alice was the last witch you killed. You stopped when I asked you to!”

“I... I guess you’re right,” Agatha finally said.

“I asked Mother to make your backyard the way it is,” Nicky continued. “I wanted there to always be light around you, so that you never saw darkness again, even at night.”

Agatha smiled, running her hand through the boy’s hair again. She sighed. “You’re so much like her, you know. She’s been many things, but she was never unkind.”

A distant but familiar chuckle came from behind Nicky. Agatha glanced behind him to see Rio standing in Wanda’s front yard, leaning against a large black door where Wanda’s front door should have been. She was wearing the same outfit in which she first appeared to Agatha after Wanda’s spell was broken, hood down and dagger stashed away. Her hair was neatly pinned back.

Agatha stood and took a deep breath. I want to hate her. I should hate her, she thought. It took her a few seconds to conclude: But I don’t. 

Nicky took Agatha’s hand and they walked over to Rio together. As she got closer, she wasn’t sure if she could look Rio in the eye. She had no problem doing so when they fought, but that wasn’t where she wanted this to go. 

Letting go of Nicky’s hand, she pulled Rio in for a hug. It wasn’t a desperate, tight, passionate hug like when they were on the Road, but a gentle and caring one. They both exhaled, relaxing into one another’s embrace. Still wrapped in Rio’s arms, Agatha quietly muttered “I’m sorry, my love.” Rio’s response was to hug her tighter.

Feeling left out, Nicky tugged at Agatha’s arm. She lifted him up and included them in their hug: their first as a family in a very, very long time. Rio pulled away and kissed both Nicky and Agatha on the forehead, stepping backward towards the door. Agatha understood the gesture. “It’s time to go, isn’t it?” she asked.

Rio nodded, and Nicky grinned.

Agatha gasped, remembering where she was. “Wait! I need to say goodbye to Billy!” 

Rio rolled her eyes, smiling. Agatha put Nicky down and looked at Rio for confirmation. 

“Make it quick,” she said. Agatha turned and ran in the direction of her back yard. 

Rio turned to Nicky. “Special treatment, see?” 

He giggled.

* 

Agatha’s ghost form was still kneeling motionless next to the tree, seemingly in some sort of trance. It had only taken Billy a minute to realize there was something wrong, and he was kneeling next to the specter trying to snap her out of it. 

“Agatha! Agatha! Can you hear me?! Agatha, answer me!” he was shouting to the ghost.

He had pulled out his new spellbook and was flicking through the pages, trying to figure out what might work on a ghost to ensure Agatha was OK.

“BILLY!” Agatha suddenly shouted, right in his face.

“AAAHHH!” Billy stumbled back in fright, slid in one of the muddy puddles and fell onto the flower bed.

“Gods, Billy, you want your last memory of me to be desecrating my grave?! Get up, kid!” the ghost exclaimed, shooing him away from the flower bed. 

Billy stood up, wiping the mud off his pants before turning to face Agatha.

“Wait, what do you mean, my last memory of you?”

Agatha chuckled slightly with tears in her eyes. “I think it’s my time to go.”

Billy stared at her and found tears forming in his eyes too. “Oh,” was all he could say.

“He came to me, Billy. I saw him, I faced him, and now... I can’t lose him again.”

Billy managed a warm smile. While he was happy that Agatha had crossed her final hurdle, he wasn’t expecting to part with her so suddenly.

Noticing his shock, Agatha came up close and put a ghostly hand near his shoulder. She held it there, knowing it would go right through him if she tried to lean on him. He felt its icy touch but wasn’t repulsed.

“Listen, kiddo. I’d probably still be cooped up in that house spouting true crime crap if you hadn’t come along and snapped me out of it. I mean, granted, you did break & enter into my home, and tried to steal my most prized possession... but look, no hard feelings, OK? And I think I did most of the heavy lifting when it came to the whole redemption arc thing...” Agatha couldn’t help but let out a stifled giggle, then took a deep breath. “But I don’t think I could’ve done it without you.”

“Agatha, I...” Billy’s voice was breaking.

“I know, kid. But look at us, we did it all! We found Tommy, saved your mom from super villain gig #2, and just about drove each other nuts doing so. But, really... It’s an honor to have known you, Billy Kaplan.”

Billy nodded. “I��m glad to have known you, too. And to see you as the good witch you are.”

“Ha!” Agatha cackled, with a grin. “Let’s not go that far, shall we?”

Billy smiled back at Agatha as she turned and walked away.

*

Agatha found herself stepping out of her ghostly body once more. Satisfied, she turned to head to the street when her ghost self dissipated into millions of tiny dandelion seeds, and a gust of wind came long to blow them off into the distance. Billy stood there and smiled as he watched them drift away.

Agatha exited the garden to find Rio and Nicky on the street, waiting for her.

“Ready?” Rio asked with a smile as Agatha approached her.

Agatha pressed her forehead against Rio’s and planted a gentle kiss on her lips.

“Ready,” she said with a smile, looking into the eyes of her lover, knowing that they could finally coexist in peace with their son. 

“I’m ready too!” Nicky laughed as he jumped between them, forcing them apart.

As they turned and walked toward the door, Nicky took Agatha’s hand in his, and Rio’s hand in the other. They all walked through the door to the afterlife, joined as a family for the first time, but certainly not the last.

[zeawoo]

New beginnings

—yang jungwon

PAIRING ▸ NextDoorNeighbor!Jungwon x Fem!reader

GENRE ▸ fluff, a surprising amount of angst, strangers to friends to lovers, neighbors to friends to lovers

SUMMARY ▸ When a new family moves into the apartment next to yours, your parents grow quite fond of them whilst their son catches your attention with his—very—cute dimples

WORDCOUNT ▸ 2.32K

DISCLAIMERS & TAGS ▸ mentions of food, jungwon is moving and he’s most definitely not happy about it, a lot of reminiscing, mint choco (derogatory), hiyyih is a real mvp here, a terrible attempt by me at being poetic by putting together random stuff to create metaphors

In the cycle of seasons, each one of them held its own meaning. Summer symbolized hope and positivity whilst its counterpart, winter, represented pain and loneliness. Between the two, autumn was there to fill the bittersweet void. It was what people often compared to adulthood; the transition between being a teenager living their best life to an adult with responsibilities to worry about. But with pain came new beginnings, and that’s exactly what spring was there for. Blossoming life.

That’s what Jungwon’s parents had told him when they sat down and had one of the hardest conversations a parent could have with their child. They were moving. Far away.

Jungwon didn’t say anything. He listened to them as they tried their best to sugarcoat the unexplainable feeling of leaving everything behind to start a new life somewhere else he wasn't even sure he was going to like.

When they announced that the move would take place in three months, Jungwon excused himself and retreated to his room where he spent the rest of his night filling the emptiness he felt in his heart by studying for a test that he would be long gone before they even started printing them.

His dog, Maeumi, lay on the neatly made bed. It was like it could sense Jungwon wasn’t his usual self and whimpered, jumping down to nestle against the teenage boy’s tibia. The dog was small, but its radiating body heat was comforting. Jungwon reached down to gently pet its head, chuckling when it responded by licking his hand.

The bedroom door was the only barrier between Jungwon and the reality he wasn’t ready to face. He thought back to a few weeks ago when the guest room had been filled to the brim with empty cardboard boxes. Now it made perfect sense as his parents were using them to put away bits and pieces of the life he grew up with and sealed them in with clear packing tape.

New beginnings. He repeated to himself, finding it hard to understand why it was necessary when things were already going great just how they were right now. New beginnings meant a change of scenery, environment, and mindset. And Jungwon wasn’t very fond of the idea of that.

So when those three months went by at an alarming speed, Jungwon couldn’t do anything but watch as the days decayed into hours. Watching the movers transfer his whole life, everything he knew, into a truck was a signal that time had run out. This was real and the boy had no way out of this. And so with a heavy heart and Maeumi in his arms, Jungwon turned his back to the home he’d grown up in, leaving the uncaptured memories here to disintegrate as time gnawed away at them.

The new apartment felt weird. The walls were too white. Not like the ones at his old house that had turned a little yellow over time. He suddenly missed the creaking of the outdated wood tiles that were far better than whatever the floating floorboards beneath his feet were. His soon-to-be room felt suffocating. It smelled too much of fresh paint and it reminded him too much of a clean slate that was just waiting for him to start filling in.

At the sound of the doorbell ringing, Maeumi jumped down from his arms, running towards the source of the sound. Jungwon stood by the window, observing, watching. Watching as teenagers his age met up at a bus stop. Watching as businessmen took the time to grab a bun from the bakery across the street from their office during their lunch break.

His mother’s voice caught his attention as she called for him in the kitchen. He bowed immediately upon seeing the unfamiliar couple sitting at the breakfast bar along with a girl who seemed to be about his age. They introduced themselves as the Kim’s, next-door neighbors and Jungwon could only manage a polite introduction through his neutral demeanor.

The girl peeked through from behind her father, curiously watching as Jungwon crouched down to kiss his dog’s head before slipping on his shoes and leaving the apartment in search of a place that didn’t feel so.. unwelcoming. The woman sighed watching her son in such a miserable state. She knew he’d acted like everything was fine to not add any more stress and she was very grateful for that, but what she wanted most was for him to get back on track and hopefully find something— someone that would make him find the will to start anew.

And so she turned to you, a sad smile present on her lips as she gently wiped away the tears of her son’s burden from her downturned almond. “Please befriend my dear Jungwon. He’s all alone now.”

When Jungwon came home that day, his parents suggested that he stay over at your place for a couple of days. At least until the movers were done unpacking and assembling the furniture. He made sure it was okay for your parents to host him before gathering his belongings along with his best friend and settling in the guest room. His parents were staying at a nearby hotel and when he’d asked why he couldn’t come along, they’d simply said that it would be a good opportunity for him to get closer to you.

A knock on his door catches his attention and he mumbles for the person to come in. The door opened and you peeked your head inside before completely stepping in, taking up as little space as possible with your back glued to the door. Jungwon noticed how you were treating the guest room as if it were his own, being careful not to overstep any boundaries that he’d felt no right to lay down.

“Here, if you want to go shower,” You said quietly, placing two different-sized towels on the dresser before awkwardly rubbing your hands together. “I’ll set up the futon in the meantime. Unless you prefer sleeping on a mattress? I’ll bring mine over if you want.” You’d said, which made the cavity in his chest start to feel warm all of a sudden.

“I’m okay with the futon, thank you.” He’d replied calmly, peering at his dog who found laying on your feet comfortable. The boy envied Maeumi, wishing he had the ability to quickly adjust to new surroundings without any guilt.

Deciding to leave his thoughts there, Jungwon stood. He grabbed his bag and the towels, not uttering a word for the grateful bow he’d shown you was enough to speak volumes. You felt your heart ache, the exhaustion from having to deal with his life being turned upside down weighing on the half-smile he still managed to put for your sake.

A week went by and Jungwon’s family had finally begun settling into their newly furnished apartment. You didn't spend much time with your neighbor when he’d stayed over, merely sitting next to him during mealtime and running errands together for your parents. You barely talked to each other, except for when you two would play with Maeumi, a movie playing in the background as your parents came home from work and started working on dinner.

Despite all of that, you grew quite fond of the boy. Especially his dimples that made very rare appearances in front of your parents when he thanked them for the food they either made or brought home.

Jungwon hated his new home. Hell, he couldn’t even call that apartment his home for his heart was still stuck in the past. He missed his childhood bedroom, navy walls covered in crayon marks from when his three-year-old self enjoyed drawing anywhere but paper. His new room felt empty. Cold.

And so Jungwon took it upon himself to slip on a hoodie before heading over and knocking on your door. When you opened it, you were surprised to see your neighbor with those dimples you couldn’t stop thinking about. “Hey”

You opened the door wider, stepping back to let him in and Jungwon already felt more comfortable in your apartment than in his, even though they were the exact same save for the furniture and scent. Your home felt a lot warmer, and it reminded him of the place he’d abandoned not even two weeks ago. The smell of fresh bread and candles lingered throughout the air. He felt better here than next door, already reminiscing the meals he’d shared with you and your family, the times Maeumi preferred to sleep with you instead of him.

“Hey, sorry for stopping by. I know I was here a few days ago.”

“Don’t apologize, you’re always welcome here.” You felt your cheeks heat up that the words that left your lips so easily, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “Oh by the way,”

He had his full attention on you as you spoke softly, “Have you been registered at the school yet?”

He nodded, “Yeah, the same one you’re going to, I think. That’s what my parents told me, at least.”

“Yup, my parents suggested it to them.” You chuckle awkwardly at the silence that follows and the boy does the same, his dimples showing through.

“It starts in two week, right? Would you mind showing me the way there on the first day so I don't get lost?”

“Of course! We can even walk to school together every morning.”

A chuckle resonates in his chest, “And how about after school?”

You pause to look at him, a mix of surprise as you weren’t expecting him to want to spend more time with you than necessary. “If you don’t mind stopping by the manga store every day then sure.”

Time flew by surprisingly fast for Jungwon and before he knew it, the snow outside had started to melt and the sun shone warmer. Spring was nearing and Jungwon thought back to what his parents had told him almost four months ago. Spring means new beginnings. And for him, it meant a new school that he hadn’t yet seen, classmates that, unlike everyone else, already knew each other from prior years. All he had was the newfound trust that things were going to be okay, and you, the girl he’d often spend time with at your apartment arguing over if mint choco was an acceptable element in society.

Just as promised, you two walked to school together and when you’d got there, Jungwon was whisked away by the secretary before you could bid him goodbye. A chuckle bubbled in your chest watching him awkwardly follow the woman around before you turned to go find your friends.

You’d introduced them to your neighbor and they hit it off instantly. Your art club senior, Jay, had taken quite a liking to the new boy. At lunch, when you’d left the table with Bahiyyih to get some food, the girl looked at you like she knew your deepest, darkest secret. The grin on her face made it hard for you to take her seriously.

“What?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, giving you a pointed look as she switched her gaze from you to Jungwon.

“You like him, don’t you?”

Your eyes grew wide as you began panicking, shaking your head and hands as your friend smiled teasingly at you.

“Oh my god no! Of course not he’s my neighbor, Hiyyih!” You covered your face with your hands, feeling your stomach being overwhelmed with what you could only assume was butterflies at the thought of you and Jungwon being more than friends.

“I see the way you look at him, Y/n. You’re clearly crushing on him and i’m surprised the others— well except for maybe Jay— haven’t noticed yet.”

“What? No! Hiyyih, I-“ You couldn’t even lie because you knew she was right. Somewhere along the way, maybe it was from the usual movie nights in your living room with a tub of mint choco ice cream, or maybe the awkward glances you shared whenever the both of you didn’t know what to say in the middle of a conversation. You couldn’t pinpoint where exactly, but you knew that you started feeling something more than what you were supposed to feel for a friend.

“See?” She raises a brow teasingly, giggling like a madwoman and trudging back to the table with you trailing behind. You slid down to your spot next to Jungwon as Hiyyih sat down between Sunoo and Yeeun.

You could tell she was up to something when she whispered into Sunoo’s ear that made his eyes widen in shock. Yeeun had overheard, and did the same, the both of them switching glances between you and Jungwon.

Before you can send her a signal to stop, Sunoo had already told Jay. The older gasped, a grin picking at the corner of his lips as he looks to a clueless Jungwon.

“So, Jungwon.”

The boy next to you raises his head, completely unaware of the three others watching the situation unfold as they grinned like idiots. “Yeah?”

“Do you like Y/n?”

It didn’t take Jungwon a single second before responding. “Of course, she’s a cool person and an awesome friend.”

Your cheeks heated up again at his words, sending panicked looks to your other friends who giggled as they held each other tightly, mouthing a few words that you can only assume were You got this!

“Would you date her?”

The question from Jay makes you freeze in place, and you’re almost certain the color drained from your face. Jungwon tears his gaze away from Jay to you. For a moment, you swore you saw a faint rosey color dust his cheeks. The smile on his lips was worth more than a million dollars when his dimples were on full display for you to admire. And Jungwon answered, his eyes never leaving yours.

“If she’d let me be her boyfriend, then yes. Absolutely.”

[ayamturd]

here│tommyinnit

summary: reunited once again, y/n comforts their brother when he needs them the most

warnings: angst to fluff, death, slight spoiler to dsmp

pairing: in-game platonic!tommy 

a/n: sad tommy lore that i was able to tie into ‘safe’ (first pt)

edit: i’m honestly wondering if i should try doing another part to finish off the recent lore with tommy 👀 - send asks if should :3

wc: (1.3k) - m.list

safe - pt one

Everything hurt until it suddenly didn’t. 

As if a wave of relief consumed his entirety, the pain became numb and every ache slowly washed away. He was floating, his body weightless and drifting in the endless void of darkness. The silence was soft, sound almost nonexistent while evading an empty ringing. When did I fall asleep? 

At the sudden realization, the memories over came him. Tommy panicked at the thought, remembering the last things that had happened to him. He opened his eyes but couldn’t see, fear overtaking him as he tried to yell or move but he could do anything. Nothing. 

Suddenly, he was falling. The feeling of a force dragging him down, gripping him till he couldn’t breathe set fear into him; he felt trapped like in the prison again for it was too dark, no one could hear him scream his heart out in his desperate cries for help, and despite the seemingly endless space, he was enclosed with no where to run. 

As the air picked up and he felt crushed under the heavy pressure above, Tommy anticipated the impact below and shrink into himself before striking the invisible ground. 

A light overwhelmed him and forced his eyes open. Blinking harshly to the immense brightness surrounding him, Tommy opened his eyes to the vast abyss as if he had just woken up. He glanced around him, confused, until a familiar voice spoke up.

“Oh Tommy.”

He froze, turning sharply to the sound. Standing across him was his older sibling, a sad smile adorning their face. They looked idyllic in the reflective white surrounding, standing, breathing, in front of him with their hands to their side. He noticed they were wearing the last thing he saw them, save for the blood, in during the war. Before their death. Scared and disoriented, Tommy started to tear up from the sight of them. 

“You’re not supposed to be here so soon.”

He let out a sob at that, loosing all sense in pride as he bounded forward to embrace them. Y/n anticipated it and wrapped their arms around him tight, pulling the boy’s head into their chest while he whimpered broken cries.

“It’s okay, it’s okay let it out.” He clung onto them firmly, refusing to break his grip like he was afraid they would disappear again. He wept and he wailed, for all the burden stacked against him had finally come undone, the build of expectations to save everyone and everything crashing all down at once. 

Y/n stroked the boy’s hair, Tommy bent down awkwardly to fit within their arms. They both couldn’t care for his height though as y/n held him securely, murmuring small words of reassurances until his cries slowly died down.

“I was all alone,” Tommy whispered, “I was trapped alone with him for so long.” His voiced cracked at the recollection, and Y/n gently hushed him.

“Shhh. I know, I know.”

“H—he… he said everyone left me. That no body cared or would come. He was right…” Y/n’s heart broke from Tommy’s words. He used to be so lively and eccentric, yet the years had worn him down despite being so young to the harshness of the world and the corrupt natures of greed and the evil. Y/n could do nothing but clutch him harder.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you then, but I’m here to hold you now. I’m here, Tommy. I’m here.” Their words only brought more tears, and Tommy continued to cry with deep, shuddered breathes between.

Eventually, he calmed himself to an extent, still clinging to their shirt like a small child hiding from the monsters that live in reality. Tommy buried himself deeper into the safety of y/n’s hold, now taking in their warmth for the fact that he could again. He sighed with content and relief, prompting y/n to feel they could speak their current thought. “You were so brave throughout it all, and you’ve made us so proud.”

Clearing his throat while sniffing slightly, Tommy couldn’t help asking the question and pulled away. “Who’s ‘us’?” 

Y/n chuckled in response and looked past Tommy.

“You didn’t think we’d leave you all on your own now, did you?” For the second time that day, Tommy’s eyes widened and he shifted to look behind him.

“Wilbur?”

There he stood, grinning slightly, puffy hair and all. His eyes were kind and held an old piece of himself again, a piece thought lost to the insanity of man with nothing to gain. “Hello Tommy.”

Unlike with y/n, Tommy couldn’t move, still gaping from the idea his brother was also truly there. His brother as himself nonetheless. Wilbur noted this and chose to walk forwards, positioning himself next to y/n’s side. 

“Wasn’t expecting you here early.” He yelped as y/n glared and smacked his right arm. Wilbur rubbed his side from the strike and whined about his feelings being hurt, however, his smile said otherwise.

“Oh you know I was only joking.” 

Turning back to address Tommy, Wilbur didn’t hesitate to pull the boy in a strong hug. He held his brother’s head into his shoulder crook, with an arm reaching around to steadily lock the boy in place. Tommy lifted his arms to reciprocate the gesture, yet paused with his arms hovering over Wilbur’s shoulders, still in shock. It was only until Wilbur briefly squeezed him that he came to his senses and embraced the tall man. 

They rocked so delicately from side to side, and Tommy almost teared up again at the nostalgic  emotions that overcame him. It had been too long since Tommy was last embraced to feel small and had experienced any physical affection from his older brothers at all. Breathing in while breathing out, Wilbur smelt clean yet with a hint of ash, the scent from his old trench coat reminding Tommy of a past that still remained despite residing in the empty limbo. 

“Didn’t know this is what you meant when saying ‘see you soon’,” Wilbur said, his slight humor muffled against the fabric of Tommy’s shirt. Tommy took a moment before answering.

“Neither did I.” Sensing his internal distraught, Wilbur stepped back to closely observe him. It was there that Wilbur finally noticed the slight bags beneath his eyes and the cloudy film over his pupils, Tommy almost unaware that Wilbur was assessing him as he continued to stare downwards. His brother looked ragged and awful, Wilbur noted, but the most scaring visible factor was how scared Tommy seemed. Even emotionally and physically tired, Wilbur saw how unconsciously tense he was once let go of.

“Tommy.” Tommy faintly nodded, yet his gaze remained fixed. Wilbur shook his shoulders, trying to break him of his trance.

“Tommy, look at me.” The commanding tone in Wilbur’s voice spooked him, and Tommy’s eyes moved around, frightened at the demand. Y/n, who had been standing mere steps away to give them some privacy, rushed towards the pair upon seeing Tommy’s panic. They rested a hand to Wilbur’s shoulder with the other against Tommy’s cheek. Immediately, he relaxed at the touch and bowed his head, eyes closed. 

“You’re alright now, okay? You’re safe.” Without looking at them, Tommy nodded regardless. As Wilbur laid a hand to Tommy’s closets arm, Tommy raised his own hands to grip each of his siblings’ wrists on him, taking in the contact between them. 

“I missed you,” he quietly admitted. “I’ve missed you both so much.” 

Wilbur and Y/n both looked to each other before focusing on Tommy again. 

“There was no need to, Toms, we were always there.” Tommy peered up at the words, slightly lost to their meaning. 

“I made a promise didn’t I? No matter if you couldn’t see us, I said I would be there for you, and we always were until the very end.”

[noaltbruh]

I hope this follows the rules! But is it okay if I request a scenario where Giorno has a nightmare of turning into Diavolo and S/O comforts him when he wakes up?

My first request in so long, what an honor!

You're surely a fan of this scenario, I've seen you requesting it quite a lot of times.

Either way, let's get into it!

Esci dalla mia testa

06/04/2004

Midnight had just struck, it had already been three years.

Three years since Giovanna had become the new Don of Passione, and since the former had been punished for his actions.

But in reality, time had lost meaning to the young boy years ago. Everything he did, it felt so...Mechanic, so frivolous, simply keeping track of the days in order not to forget an important reunion.

He buried himself under thousands of piles of work, which only seemed to grow bigger and bigger with every day that passed. This was supposed to be his dream, his greatest goal, and he had reached it at such a young age.

But then...Why did he feel so empty?

He was supposed to be happy, after all the sacrifices that had been made to arrive so far, he had to be grateful for everything that's been given to him.

But he couldn't be, because those sacrifices were not his own, because innocent lives had been taken away, because he had come.

He truly was no different than the man whom he had condemned to suffer for all eternity. But he had to clinch his teeth, and keep on going with his head high, for the few people that were still by his side. Most importantly, for his partner.

As everyone around him had found a significant other, pressured by his best friend, he had decided to reluctantly indulge in this so called 'romance'.

And when you two finally met, he felt like a tiny fickle of faith had risen inside of his heart again.

You listened to him, to his struggles, to his doubts, to each one of his complaints like the were the only worries in the world. He failed to express how much you meant to him, after those...'Accidents', he had become even more close-up about his feelings.

You were very well aware of his workaholic tendencies, as most nights, you were the one to ask him to put down all the documents and get some rest

And this...Was one of those.

As you rapidly fell into a deep sleep, exhausted from your own day, you felt a soft hand gently caressing your forehead. You were so warm and comforting, like a puppy, the only one able to give him hope in this twisted world.

But sadly, your presence could not magically make all his guilt and insecurities go away, and he had accepted that.

After contemplating your dreaming figure for a minute, he slowly closed his eyes, wishing to escape, just for a short while, from all those crushing responsibilities and expectations.

His consciousness started to slip away, he felt ready to conclude another day. Until, he heard whispering. Weak, confused, peculiar sounds, he could not understand a word of what those voices were trying to tell him, they were too far from the boy.

But they wouldn't stop. Delicate, constant and unbearable like the sound of a drip of water falling into a sink. They were playing with the Don's patience, a sleeping lion that should not disturbed, unless you wanted to be torn to pieces.

His mind immediately connected the situation to a possible Stand attack, nothing out of his normality, per se, but he was not concerned for himself. You were still peacefully resting, clinging to your sheets, it was a quite cold night. He wouldn't have let a single soul cause any harm to his darling, she was his only true happiness, his sunshine.

In the moment he stepped outside of the bedroom, what he was faced with sent a frozen shiver down his spine, as he brought his hand to his chest, to control his heartbeat.

There were four doors, floating in absolute darkness. A weak stream of light, that seemed to be originated from nothingness, illuminated each one of them singularly.

The whispering got louder and louder, faint giggles could occasionally be heard. The young one turned around to look at the entrance of this cursed place, the one he had just walked through.

But there was nothing there.

And so, like a captured prey that had nothing left to lose, he ventured himself into the first door, only to be met with a monochromatic version of Fugo. He was breathing heavily, desperately sobbing and all curled up on himself, on the shore of the same place where the rest of the gang had decided to betray Passione.

Giorno was standing on top of the water, unable to move a single inch of his body.

"Look at what you did"

A deep voice murmured in his ear. One he hadn't heard in a long time, one he wished he could have erased from his memories, that infected his mind and was more deadly than the sobbing boy's stand.

Diavolo.

"Me? Fugo chose not to leave, it was his own fault if-"

"If he was abandoned by everyone he loved? Do you have any idea of how selfish it sounds?"

The boy hesitated for a brief moment, staring at those warm tears falling into the canal.

"It was just...A temporary matter, he rejoined Passione, he's doing better now"

"My, it must have surely been fun to prove your loyalty to someone who caused the death of half of the people you cared about, after refusing to participate in his little suicide mission"

The blond's legs started to tremble, mantainig his composure was starting to look impossible.

"They...They didn't die because of me, they sacrificed themselves for a noble cause, for making Italy a better place, they wished it as much as I did"

The man contained his laughter, then he continued.

"Is that so? Why don't say that in their faces then?"

The image of the lonely boy disappeared, together with everything in the room. Giorno was back to that black space, but the door was now missing.

And the next one...Had nothing better reserved for him.

He found himself in the island of Sardegna, the only sound that could be heard were the small waves that met with the coast.

He knew perfectly why he was here. He took a closer look at the seaside, there were some footsteps printed on it. He felt a knot in his stomach at the thought of where they would have brought him.

Abbacchio's lifeless body was laying on top of a rock, surrounded by dead flowers. His entire torso had been torn apart, and yet... His corpse was smiling. A tiny, melancholic smile on his purple lips.

"Do you still have the courage to repeat what you said?"

Diavolo began, in a mocking tone.

"When he became part of the Organization, he was at his lowest, he had nowhere else to go, every path he took brought him nothing but sorrow and disappointment. The only thing that gave him comfort was following Bucciarati...And so, with that excuse, I transformed him in one of minions"

The thought of calling out Gold Experience hit Giorno's mind, but he knew that there was no point of lying to himself. The albino was gone, his soul had left his body long ago.

"I don't need you to tell me just how disgusting you are"

He said, his voice was filled with a suffocated rage, as he knelt over to look closer at his former companion.

"Abbacchio couldn't have cared less about killing me, he came with you because Bucciarati did, because he so desperately wanted to follow him, he felt like scum at the thought of no longer having him in his life"

The boy with emerald eyes felt an hand touching him on his shoulder, but there was no one there, except for himself.

"You exploited his dependence from the man, and used at your advantage, just as I did"

He stopped for a brief moment, enjoying the desperation in the other's eyes.

"But at least, he didn't die under my guidance

And with that, the second room disappeared as well. The boy contemplated whether to remain in that hellish void or to move forward, the image of what was waiting on the other side hurt way too much, his juvenile soul was starting to crush.

But he couldn't remain there, it would have meant giving up to Diavolo's twisted games, seeing him break down was exactly what he was waiting for.

He turned the doorknob, when he felt something humid staining his clothes: there was fresh blood streaming from his lady bug pins. The trail that it formed on the ground invited him to follow its path. He knew he couldn't decline, none of what he wanted seemed to matter in this place.

A metallic railing stood in front of him, his entire pins bled so much to the point of consuming themselves. An horrific scream coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time echoed through the room, as he directed his gaze to the top of the grey construction.

"What a shame...Oh well, he was the most disposable member of the team anyway"

Narancia's corpse was resting among dozens of spikes, his faded orange bandage slipped from his dark hair, landing right next to Giorno's feet.

"Oh Narancia...So young, so naive, just another victim of this unfair world. That's what you're thinking, isn't that right, Giovanna?"

"This is why people like him should not be involved in this business..."

"Mh? And why is that? Childish minds are the easiest to manipulate"

Ignoring his last statement, the other leaned down to pick up the bandage, but his hand went through it. His body was starting to feel dizzy, like it belonged to somebody else.

"Not answering won't make me go away, the damage has already been done, after all"

"Narancia should have NEVER joined Passione in the first place. He could have gone to school...Have a normal life, but-"

"But he died for your cause before he could. What he said before I activated King Crimson melted my heart a little, how cute...He really trusted you that much to the point of thinking that he would have come out of it alive"

The railing emanated a cracking sound. For a second, he was afraid it would have fallen off, causing him to get impaled as well.

"I took away his chance of living an happy, standard life when he decided to work for me, and you did the same, allowing him to come along with the rest of your team"

The small boy suddenly faded away, together with the rest.

"But at least, he didn't die under my guidance"

At last, there it was: only one room left. Despite how deeply he cared about each one of his former team members, the premonition of what would have come next was more painful than everything he's seen so far altogether.

He sat down, staring at the door from a distance, his eyes emptier than the ones of his old allies. They say that eyes are the window of the soul, and nothing else could have been used to describe his inner turmoil. Nothing but a faded, dull green, testimony of all his battle scars and the survivor guilt that he tried so much to repress.

Perhaps his eternal punishment had arrived: having the chance to confront his inner demons, to move on, to show how fearless he was.

...But never truly grasping the idea of freedom, never facing and accepting what really happened, he was never given the time to. So much had oppressed him all at once, he couldn't keep up with it.

He was a child, a child that had to grow too fast.

But then, someone came out of the door. A bittersweet figment of his imagination, that made his heart stop beating for a second.

The one he hadn't seen in years, the one he had tried to subdue the most, the one that showed him for the first time in his life what love was, stood in front of him. There was no hole in his chest, no sign of blood or wounds, a reassuring smile accompanied his face, as he held out his hand to the grieving kid.

"What are you doing all alone in here? The others are worried for you. Let's not make them wait any longer, shall we?"

Giorno ignored his help, his gaze was stuck on that endless floor. He didn't have the courage to look at the other, his presence alone felt like a sadistic joke.

He didn't look sad, depressed, miserable... He was just...Tired.

He wanted to cry those tears that he had denied in the last three years, he wanted to yell at that illusion to leave him alone, that wasn't the real Bruno, it couldn't be.

But, as he impeded any of this from coming out, something he didn't think he would have felt in a thousand of years struck him.

Bucciarati hugged him.

A tight, comforting hug like one of a mother, that he was waiting for his child to reciprocate. The latter's breathing became heavier and heavier with every moment that passed, as weak laments rapidly turned into audible sobs.

"There's no reason to be sad now, I'm real, you can feel it, can't you?"

"Y-You...You're here...But h-how is it p-possible?"

The brunette chuckled, the sound of his laughter was more comforting than an angel's voice.

"It isn't"

Giovanna's stand penetrated the man's torso, but its arm...It was not Gold Experience's. It had a checkered red and white pattern that extended in its entirety, and it possessed an amount of physical strength which was out of any possible expectations for the creature able to give life.

"Foolish child, I thought you were better than this, I'd lie if I said I wasn't a bit disappointed"

The sound of Bruno's corpse falling to the ground resonated through that empty space, as the last door vanished. A puddle of blood originated from his horrible injury, it was big enough for the boy to see his reflection in.

"You are no better than me under any point of view. We took advantage of his kindness, we used him as a simple pawn for our own gain. The only difference between us, is that I was not manipulating enough to convince him to join my side voluntarily. He was a tool to the both of us, but you were the one who caused his demise"

The mirror that had been created showed two people, but the transparent figure of Diavolo immediately ceased to be visible. The only one left was Giorno, though his reflection seemed to mutate with every second that passed.

His blond curls started to change shape, turning into a fuchsia mess, with dirty green stains on it. His eyes had a killer, maniacal look inside of them, his pupils got smaller in horror. His entire body structure was different. He looked older, more muscular, his clothes, too, were no longer his own.

"Mista loved him, and you killed him"

"Fugo loved him, and you killed him"

"Trish loved him, and you killed him"

"Narancia loved him, and you killed him"

"Abbacchio loved him, and you killed him"

"You loved him, and you killed him"

...

"Giorno? Giorno please, wake up!"

You screamed, your sleep was interrupted by the sound of your boyfriend hyperventilating, as he desperately held you to himself, still trapped in that horrible dream.

You sighed in relief when he abruptly opened his eyes, so swollen and red from all the tears he's shed.

"Another nightmare, uh?"

You asked, gently caressing his back to try and calm him down, he was as vulnerable as a baby that runs to his parents after having a bad dream. Waking up in the middle of the night to comfort him is something you had grown accustomed to, but you had never seen him this shaken up.

He slightly nodded in response, grabbing the top of your pajamas. You put an hand behind his head, making him rest on your chest, and kissed him softly on his forehead.

You could hear him murmuring something, you couldn't tell wherever he was talking to you, or to himself.

"I-I'm sorry...I'm sorry...I'm s-so sorry..."

He repeated like a broken record, you could barely make out what he was trying to say.

"Tesoro, you've done nothing wrong, there's no one you owe your apologizes to"

The boy raised his head slightly, intertwining your fingers with his, he needed to feel sure that this was not another tremendous trick of his mind.

"See? I'm here, you don't have to be afraid. I know that you feel unworthy of my feelings, but there is no one out there that deserves love more than you do. Nobody is perfect, Giorno, you did everything that was in your power to help them"

"But I...I was the one w-who put them in danger in the first place"

"No, you were not. You all shared the same ideals, you saved them from the oppression they were put in"

As you swept those remaining drops away from his face, you could still feel his entire body shaking like a dried leaf in a windy day of autumn.

"N-None of this would have happened if I didn't come along..."

"Exactly, none of them would have known what it meant to be free. I...Understand that the sacrifices that were made are not easy to forget, but blaming yourself like this...Do you really think that's what they would have wanted?"

Not receiving an answer, you laid down once again, still holding him in your arms. You forced a tiny smile, kissing him delicately on his lips, and whispered in his ear that everything would have been okay.

But, in reality...You felt you were trying to reassure yourself as well. This was not something you could have solely resolved through staying by his side, healing from this would have taken a lot of time, but...At least, you could offer some temporary safety, and it seemed to be enough for the time being.

In fact, after some minutes, everything seemed to cease. The boy fell asleep once again, this time with the knowledge that you were there to protect him.

You sighed, praying for your darling to finally find some peace.

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

White Lies (Pt. 07 of 21)

Pairing: Keanu Reeves X Reader

Word count: 2.4 K

Summary: Keanu found the girl almost dead, in the wrecks of what was once her car. While she was in surgery, stuck in a coma, he gathered the best doctors of New York to attend to her. They told him she is likely to have some kind of brain damage, what may lead to memory loss. And this possibility added up wit the fact that she's pregnant, made the council come up with an odd idea. They asked Keanu to pretend to be her husband, since the stress of finding out everything that happened could put the baby in danger. He reluctantly agreed, but only if she does has some kind of memory loss. He still goes she'll wake up soon, with her memories intact.

But when you finally wake up, there's nothing inside. You're quick to find your head is empty, void, like a blank canvas. The only thing that brings you some relief, that makes you feel less lonely is the mention of a husband. And you can't wait to meet him, because you know you can't deal with this by yourself.

<- Previous part (06)

Next part (08) ->

{Keanu Reeves Masterlist}

{John Wick Masterlist}

×

Attraction

“It's so tiny.” You say, looking at the ultrasound picture you just got from your baby. It's week twelve, and the first trimester is almost over. You'll feel less uncomfortable, or so say the doctors, but a lot of different things are going to happen. You're excited about that. “And beautiful.” Walking fast, you let Keanu guide you through the hospital since you're a bit late to meet with Dr. Harris.

“Do you want a boy or a girl?” He asks, looking down at you.

“Boy.” You're quick to answer, smiling at him. “And I know you want a girl.”

“You know me so well.” He mutters when you reach Dr. Harris's office. “I'll leave you to it and go talk with Dr. Wright.”

“Alright.” Tiptoeing, you place a quick kiss on his cheek before heading inside, fast enough so he won't get a look at your blushing cheeks.

Dr. Harris stands up when she sees you, a smile on her lips. “Mrs. Reeves, good morning.” She says, gesturing for you to seat on the divan next to her. “How are you feeling today?”

Dr. Harris is great, but everything she asks is part of the appointment. You don't mind though, she helps a lot to put your thoughts in place. “I'm great. The first trimester is almost over and... Everything is great. Keanu and I are getting along very well.” You decide to bring your husband into the conversation because she'll ask about him anyway.

“That's very good to hear.” You settle down on the divan, pulling your legs up as she takes her place on the armchair. “Have you and Mr. Reeves spoken about the future of your marriage?”

“We'll try.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Elaborate, (Y/N). Dr. Harris never takes the short answer. “We'll try to make it work. I don't want the accident to break apart a good marriage so...” Running a hand through your hair, you sigh. “We had this settled a while ago, and it's been working well so far.”

“Have you and Mr. Reeves ever gotten... Intimate?”

The question makes you move in your seat, sitting up straight. “We hug a lot... And kisses on cheeks are frequent.” You two are growing closer, and you're happy to feel that he's not pushing himself away to make you comfortable. Keanu is letting you set the pace, and it's up to you to chose what step to take next.

“That was not what I meant.” She adds. “I asked if you and your husband have been... Romantically intimate.”

“Oh...” Clearing your throat, you bite your lip. You weren't expecting that, and you don't need this... Image in your head. Not when you've been thinking about kissing him ever since Lucia visited. “No, no. There's the baby so...”

“First of all, this is a common myth about pregnancy.” Resting her notebook on her lap, Dr. Harris looks at you. She's reading you, you know it. “It wouldn't hurt the baby in any way. But this isn't the point. I just need to know if Mr. Reeves tried to approach you that way, and if he did, how you felt about it.”

You're as red as a tomato now, you're sure of it. “Keanu is... Respectful. He doesn't push me into anything. We're... I'm still sleeping in the guest room and he's completely fine with it.” Why does everyone is so worried about Keanu trying to get intimate? He's your husband, it's only natural.

“And won't you sleep on the same bed with your husband?”

“I don't know.” She asks too many questions, and you don't usually have much time from one topic to the other. It makes your head hurt a little, having to deal with so many feelings and situations. “Maybe I should because... Because I really like being around him. I'm just waiting until I'm ready, I think.”

“And when do you think that will be?”

Sighing, you don't know what to answer. And you don't want to. Maybe Dr. Harris doesn't have to know everything. Some things are better if kept in between you and Keanu.

Dr. Wright's words are in the background as his mind floats away. (Y/N) is everything he can think about. Time and time again he's caught in the lie he built, wanting, wishing it was real. He knows he shouldn't let this happen. He knows he shouldn't let himself have feelings for her, but how could he not?

(Y/N) isn't just beautiful. She's kind, honest, caring. He never thought he would feel this way towards a woman. And it sometimes makes him angry that this didn't happen differently. That he didn't meet her, before she was married of course, maybe in the same way he told her about their fake first meeting. In an airport, where he'd approach her, talk to her, and if he was lucky, get her number. So things would be right.

“Mr. Reeves?”

“Yes.” He clears his throat, moving on his seat. “The headaches are still constant. Almost every day she complains about it, but they're less intense.” He's impressed that he was able to answer the doctor correctly. “But other than that, she's doing well.”

“That's good.” And he goes on again, basically repeating himself, saying things Keanu already knows by heart.

He knows what to do. He knows he has to call emergency if (Y/N) faints. Or if she feels too sleepy. He knows all the little things he has to pay attention to. As if he didn't have his eyes on her all the damn time.

Keanu loves watching her. When she's lying down watching TV, both her legs over his, a hand on her belly. When she cooks, not allowing him to help sometimes, as she moves around the kitchen. And God, her laughter. It lights up his whole world. Keanu thinks he could literally die if he goes too long without a flash of her smile.

“That will be all, I guess.” Dr. Wright says, taking one last look at his papers. “If you need anything, you can always call me.”

“Thank you, Dr. Wright.” He says, standing up to his feet and shaking the man's hand.

Keanu makes his way through the halls, to Dr. Harris' office. Once he's there, he peeks through the rectangular window on the door. She's seated on the divan, facing the doctor, legs crossed, and hands on her lap. He can hear their voices, low, but clear enough since the hall is empty and silent.

He doesn't want to listen. This is between her and her psychologist, and if there's anything she wants him to know, she'll tell him about it. But when he hears his name... His unconsciously listening, it doesn't matter how hard he tries to focus on his phone.

“How would you describe your feelings for Mr. Reeves?” The question has him full alert, holding his breath.

“Well... They're... Growing.” She answers, clearly a little confused. “I know that's not what you're expecting me to say but...”

“It's alright if you don't want to talk about it.”

“It's not that I don't want to talk about it, I just...” Her voice fades, and Keanu rests his back against the wall, trying to listen better. “I want things to fall in place before talking to you. I know I'm supposed to tell you everything and you do help me, but... I don't know. There are a lot of things I just don't know yet.”

“That's completely fine.” The doctor says, and a pause follows. “And what do you think Mr. Reeves feels for you?”

Keanu freezes, holding his breath once again. What will she answer? He feels guilty for listening, but this is something he needs to know. Closing his eyes shut, he tries to hear her voice above the pounding noise of his heart.

“He says he loves me.”

“And do you believe it?”

Silence again. For long seconds, almost a lifetime. “I do, I just... I was hoping he'd be more... Touchy, I think?” She giggles, nervously. “But he already told me that he'll let me set the pace in things, so...”

“Mr. Reeves is quite a gentleman.” Dr. Harris' says, and Keanu chuckles. “He won't push you, and that's good. Not many men would be so patient.”

“I know... Keanu is... Absolutely amazing.” (Y/N) mutters, and Keanu releases his breath, his lungs burning to the sensation.

“Well, this will be it for today.” Dr. Harris says, and he sets in motion, getting up to his feet. Running a hand through his hair, he stares at the door, waiting for her to show up. And when she does, he gets the same feeling he always has when he sees her. Like his world stops, like his heart will jump off his chest. It doesn't matter how much time he spends around her, this sensation never goes away. She's a sight for sore eyes, unbelievably beautiful.

The drive home is peaceful, and Keanu stops to get you ice cream. Back home, you both make lunch and eat together in the kitchen. Then you go take a nap, only to wake up when the sun is setting.

Making your way through the house, looking for Keanu, you start thinking he's out when you hear something coming from the garage. Bracing yourself from the cold, you go there, smiling to see Keanu in the back. You know he loves motorcycles, and he has three. Well, he has three now, since the new one just got here a week ago. Silently, you walk past the two cars, watching as he rubs a piece of fabric on the bike's seat.

“Hey.” You announce yourself, leaning against the hood of the nearest car.

“Hi, beautiful.” Keanu's eyes lay on you, as he moves to stand up straight.

“When will you take me on a ride?” The idea just came to your head, and you can't help but imagine what it would feel like. Speeding through the streets with the wind on your hair, holding on to Keanu...

“We can go around the neighborhood. But I don't think it's a good idea to good further yet. You're still recovering and there's the baby.” As he speaks, you walk over him, giving the new bike a look. The machine is huge, probably very heavy, and it suits him very well.

“Alright.” You agree, gesturing at the bike. “Can I... Can I ask something?”

“Sure.” Throwing the rag he was using on the wooden table in the corner, he lightly touches your thigh. “What is it?”

Blushing, you look down, touching the leather seat of the bike. “Do you find me attractive?” The words come out so low you wonder if he actually heard you.

“Why are you asking me that?”

“I asked first.” You burst out, putting a strand of hair behind your ear, glancing at him before turning your eyes at the bike.

“Yes.” He simply says in a soft voice. “You're a beautiful woman.” With his index finger under your chin, he makes you look at him again. “Why did you ask me that?”

“I... I really wanted to know.” Almost involuntary, you give a tiny step forward, standing on your toes just a little bit.

“Does it goes both ways?”

His question makes you giggle. “You're really asking if I find you attractive?”

“I really want to know,” Keanu whispers, his hands sliding to caress your cheek.

“Of course I do.” You whisper too, your hands coming to lay on his sides, holding on to his shirt. “Ke... Can I ask for something?”

“Anything, beautiful.” He assures you, and your eyes are locked on his lips. You need to feel them. You can't wait anymore, you're ready for this, right now.

“Kiss me.” You plead, tiptoeing, both hands grabbing a fist full of the fabric of his shirt.

“Are you sure?”

“I am.” You expect him to hesitate, as he usually does, but it's different now.

Keanu bends down, and you close your eyes to feel his lips brushing on yours. It's like sweet torture, the anticipation. At first, he only pecks your lips, quick and soft, but he doesn't pull away after. You're holding your breath, a little numb from the proximity, hands moving from his sides to grab the collar of his shirt, fearful he'll step away. He doesn't. Instead, you feel his lips on yours again, slowly at first, as your mind goes blank for a moment. Everything else fades away, and nothing else matters. His hands come to your waist, holding, grounding you. You're moving closer, wanting to climb on him. You're not thinking straight, but it doesn't matter. Pulling away just to catch your breath, you quickly kiss him again, parting your lips to let him in, deepening the kiss.

There's a burning sensation spreading through your body, but you don't fight it. You let it sink in, take over. But you need to breathe, your lungs screaming for a break, so you pull apart, still holding him close.

“Was this ok?” Keanu asks, his hands moving away from your body.

“Absolutely.” You assure him, nodding, still not ready to let go of him. “It was good... Right?”

“It was amazing.” With a hand on your cheek, Keanu smiles before capturing your lips on another kiss.

×

@multific @inumorph @aestheticallywinchester @bvbwestfall @liviiii98 @allie1804-fan @gian-giannina @playboygeniusphilanthropist @partypoison00 @mariafetamina @fortheloveoffanfic @trin303

[goliath-de-senfina-sango]

Stars

Dannymay, 12,021 Human Era

Danny floated lazily on his back, a bag full of white and grey rocks orbiting him while he admired the lunar surface. It was going to be hard for anything short of crafting the rocks into something to top Wulf’s teachings letting him portal up to the moon whenever he wanted, barely tethered by its weak gravity and able to traverse it without disturbing the dust unless he picked up a rock. From his vantage point, the stars above and about were uncountable, and if he didn’t know better he’d say there was no end to them. His appearance had changed, even, from the silk-lined, spike studded, leather jacket that Sam and Tuck all but shoved onto him when it became clear that he’d be fighting ghosts regularly to a suit resembling the uniforms of NASA astronauts, black, white, green, and covered in silver stars.

Grinning to himself, Danny took off toward the Oceanus Procellarum, a camera he and Tuck had built recording the longest video he’d ever taken when a chill that dwarfed the cold of space ran down his spine and rose from his lungs and throat to his lips, blue vapor drifting in front of his face. There was a ghost, on the moon, and the idea of a hostile ghost following him up to space was so beyond aggravating that Danny’s hair ignited, his fangs sharp, the knuckles of his gloves sharpening into hardpoints, and his aura flaring up like a beacon of green and blue. Opening a portal to deposit his bag of moon rocks in his closet, Danny launched himself where he felt the other ghost’s presence, the logic that a ghost whose aura he couldn’t see but still feel on the moon’s surface, in one of her craters even, abandoned at the moment. That thought process is, of course, slammed into him the moment Danny sees exactly what it is that he’s sensed.

Their body was a slowly slithering mass of the purest darkness that could not be called something so bright as black, with violets and blues and colors that could not be seen, only experienced, dancing within them like ink within water, blue and red and green stars twinkling between the stretches of void, moving fast enough for Danny to know there even was movement of them, but slow enough to be mesmerized by the sight of it. Their face was a theatrical mask, bone white with red behind the eyes and a curve of a smile to mark the mouth, and from the void behind the mask curled horns of dark and beautiful amethyst and sapphire and onyx, somehow occupying the same space and curving in every which way. It was, frankly, impossible to make out all the details or to measure quite how massive the form of Nocturne was as he relaxed upon the surface of the moon’s ocean of storms. In all his conflicts, no ghost had ever made him feel quite so small simply by laying back, impossibly huge.

“My, my, ” he said, voice coming from the back of Danny’s head rather than the lack of air around him, even if their lips still moved to shape the words. “ Is that Danny Phantom in the flesh, not simply dreaming so big that you’ve learned to astral project without my guidance? Have you decided to make your fantasy reality and join me here?” They lifted part of their body and when Danny focused he saw the silhouette of a hand.

Danny had many questions, but the first one that came out of his gawking mouth as he rose to meet the giant’s face was, ”How did you get so big? Been munching on the muses of artists? Oh stars, are artistic muses actual spirits? Can you eat them?” While Danny usually appreciated a good laugh, that was when he said something as a joke, not asked a very good question. Nocturne’s laughter swept over him like a tidal wave of endearment and amusement.

“Ah, that’s right, you met me through a smaller emanation, didn’t you? I assure you, child, I’ve been this size for ages. Also, I do not consume muses, though whether that is because they do not exist in such a form that I could or because that would be an unsustainable form of sustenance, I shall leave you to consider. While the dreams of artists like you are rather vivid, the occasional idealist and average joe is good for diversity in palette. After all, each mind has such capacity for imaginative dreams.”

“Emanation?”

“A thin slice of myself sent down to help you sleep at my brother’s request. ” Danny scratched his head at that and Nocturne laughed again. “ The little game of hero and villain was delightful fun, though… you didn’t think that the ghost Master of Dreams needed helmets and machinery to harvest the energy of good dreams, did you?” Danny folded his arms with a pout that Nocturne couldn’t possibly have been able to make out when he was so small comparatively, and yet they chuckled anyway, shifting into what Danny was going to call a sitting position.

“So you aren’t going to leave everyone asleep forever?”

They frowned. “Of course not, you can’t dream forever. It isn’t healthy and leads to stagnation and, eugh, nightmares. Those the Fright Knight can have, whensoever he gets himself free from his imprisonment. ” Danny sighed, relaxing all over, and did his best not to flinch when Nocturne scooped him up in a claw talon tendril wing fin hand. “ Come to listen?”

Danny looked around and spread his arms slowly. “In the silent vacuum of space? To what?”

“My dear boy, can you not hear the star song? ” Nocturne tilted his head and their eyes locked for a long, headache inducing minute. “ No one has taught you how to percieve the spaces that layer upon themselves to form the world you know, have they?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about but I do have a headcahe now, so that’s great. What, the world is like origami and everything is singing underneath the top layer?”

“An apt comparison, yes, ” Nocturne said. “ Your liminal state of being considered, perhaps it would be simpler to show you, than to make you work your way through new senses. After all, what’s a dream without a bit of fantastical ease?”

Danny flew back a few paces, though he was still in Nocturne’s palm. “Is it safe for you to do that? I don’t wanna go forgetting how to be a living human being just to hear a song.” Nocturne huffed, puffing up like a bird in mild offense.

“Child, the mind is my domain, I know perfectly well what I am doing. You are not the first liminal whose mind I have touched, nor I imagine shall you be the last. But, if you do not care to hear the song that the earth, the moon and the stars sing…”

“I never said I don’t! I just, wanted to be sure.” Danny rubbed the back of his head before floating a bit higher. “Alright, alright what do I do?”

“Relax, little one. Imagine a door, it can be any door you like, between your mind and those minds around you. ” Danny closed his eyes, taking a superfluous breath that came up empty, his body relaxing slowly with each breath. He pictured a door, a hexagonal door to a space station. “ Very good, ” Nocturne said, and Danny felt his chest puff up with something like pride before he felt and heard a knock knock on the door in his mind. “ Now all you have to do is let me in.”

There was a moment where in Danny considered simply not letting Nocturne into his mind. After all, Danny would probably figure this out himself if he tried. It was a tempting idea, probably even the smartest idea when dealing with a being who had attacked him, even if they claimed it was a game. Still, the opportunity to experience space in a way that no one else could was a far bigger temptation, and so Danny turned the knob on the door to his mind and opened it up slowly.

There is the brush of Nocturne against the door and Danny both has himself drawn out and the universe slipped in and when he opens his eyes and his ears he cannot help but to let his mouth fall open as well. He can hear the voices of the endless universe singing under his feet. The hearts of stars singing deep beneath the lunar soil. Lost to the blooming nebulas staining the dark sky with color, miles upon miles of light and rivers of fire and the promise of something new. Danny can almost hear the words and language they speak; something so close, so distant, something he has never known -- but they ring with such magnificent, terrible truth that he thinks, maybe he has always known them. Maybe they have always lived inside him, alongside the bones. These melodies, these words, that burn with such ferocious clarity that if he just spoke them aloud then the far would become near and he could reach out and pluck the stars from the sky and cradle them in his hands or be cradled in their stellar flares.

The heavy elements known to those dull terrestrial creatures he began life as could only enter the universe with the death of a star, a fact that Danny knew very well, but it was one thing to know something on an academic level, and another to see and hear the voices of the ghosts left behind by those ancient stars, their magnificent fire shining from within every atom of the earth and the moon and the planets around him, harmonizing and rising into something yet more in the song of the Earth and her seas and forests and sky. Danny listens to the moon, and he knows that if he were to sing that song he could reach out to any body of water on Earth and pull it to him and him to it, and his call would be answered. That if he simply moved his lips and sang the words of the stars, he could call upon their fire, their gravity, could reach out to them and leave the chains of gravity rooting him to the Earth. It would be so easy to explore the universe, to leave and join the chorus of the stars and see all that one with an eternity at their hands could see.

Yet there was another song, this one smaller, softer, but no less wonderful song that wove around and within him, and listening to it brought to his mind yet more little songs, faint as the step of an ant against the dirt but still beautiful in all their own ways. He couldn’t go, not yet. Not without them. And so, Danny turned back to Nocturne and beamed up at him. “Thank you.”

“Of course, child. We may stop whenever you wish.” Danny nodded and rose up to circle around Nocturne, drinking in the sight of the universe, so that he could attempt - and fail and attempt again and again - to show his friends what he now experienced with paint and brush and pen. He had to return to Earth, but for now, he had the stars.

[hermits-that-craft]

Town of Memories - A Bio and Adopted Au fic

“Dad?” Tommy asks, sitting on a chest. It’s late, the moon shines through the window. He should have been asleep hours ago - Tubbo’s still asleep - but Tommy sits up, looking towards the ground. “Who are my real parents?”

Phil sighs, looking towards the eight year old - at least, they think he’s eight. The poor boy only remembers his name. Phil doesn’t know what to think, if he’s eight he should show signs of being a hybrid, and he was found in a house known to have hybrids living there. Who is this kid?

“Why don’t I remember them?” Tears spring to the boys eyes, and Phil can see Wilbur and Techno hovering awkwardly in the doorway, unsure as to what they should do. “Why can’t I remember anything?”

“You were hurt, Toms.” Phil says, pulling Tommy into a hug. “We tried to do everything we could to get your memories back.”

“Why do I still dream about fire?”

Phil walks around the small town, dark clouds hanging over his head. Logstedshire is beautiful of a night, and sorrow worms its way into Phil’s heart. Where ever Tommy is, Phil prays that his son is alright. The only notification Phil got to Tommy’s location is that he left the server. 

Phil walks up the cobblestone pathway to one of the houses. It looks like home, the one he forged with his sons. Void, his sons. One missing, one recovering from insanity, one an outlaw and one a president. Somehow, the one that’s missing seems to be the safest.

Phil walks into the building, finding it empty. The hall undecorated, the rooms unfurnished. Waiting, in static. In stasis. Unlived in. Unwanted. Moths flitter around rooms, and Phil looks at the layers of dust on the floor, only disturbed by large footprints.

Phil walks further down the hall, opening the door to where the kitchen would be. Surprise washes over him as he sees a nearly perfect replica of his kitchen at home. It’s cold, uninviting as opposed to the warm and well lit kitchen at home, but it’s there.

Tommy had missed him.

---

Stress watches through the corner of her eyes as Tommy sits on the lounge, wrapped up in several blankets. The other hermits mill around her base, none wanting to leave the teen. But they don’t know how to help him. None of them do.

Joe makes eye contact with Stress, offering her a small smile. Tommy’s been floating around her base for a week now, not fully present, but Stress has an idea as to what she can do. Joe starts hearding the hermits towards the door, standing between them and her. Stress kneels down in front of Tommy, holding out her hand.

“I have a gift for you.” She says softly. “Would you like to see it?”

“Not pity.” Tommy mumbles in responce.

“No.” Stress agrees. “No pity gifts here.”

Tommy nods, taking Stress’ hand. It’s an alright day for him, at least he’s semi-aware this time. Tommy follows Stress, stumbling and leaning on her. She leads him to his room, hyper aware of the other hermits watching them. Tommy stops, tears falling down his face as he looks at the gifts on his bed.

A toy moobloom, a photo of both of his families, and a compass lie peacefully on his bed.

Tommy runs behind Tubbo, carrying the moobloom toy he named Henry through the air as though it could fly. He’s nine now, his finding day was a week ago, but he refuses to let the moobloom go. He runs through the field, yelling as Tubbo laughs. The air is sweet, lilacs and daisies swaying in the breeze as Techno and Wilbur spar in the field, Phil keeping score of who’s winning.

Tubbo trips, falling over a rock and into the stream, hitting his head harshly against the rock. Tommy gasps, dropping Henry and running to his friend, his brother. Tommy drags Tubbo out of the stream, yelling in fright.

“Tubbo!” Tommy yells, shaking Tubbo. “Tubbo wake up!”

Phil runs to them, Techno and Wilbur’s fight forgotten. He scoops up Tubbo, running towards the house without a second thought. There’s no outward injuries, but Phil doesn’t want Tubbo to loose his memories like Tommy did, Tommy can tell that much from the desperation in his father’s face.

Tommy runs back to the house, Henry forgotten in the dirt as he frets over his big brother.

---

Wilbur sits under the apple tree behind their home, strumming his guitar as the night sky lights up with stars. The moon shines through the branches on the tree, and the air smells faintly of the ocean. Wilbur hums to himself as he plays the guitar, not playing any song. Just playing.

“Wilbur!” Tommy calls, the nine year old running out of the house in his socks and pyjamas. “Wilbur, there’s going to be a meteor shower! Dad said I could stay up and watch it with you!”

“You promise Dad said that?” Wilbur says as his brother plops down onto the ground next to him. The seventeen year old sighs as Tommy shakes his head, putting a finger over his lips. 

“Nope! Dad said I have to stay inside, but I wanna sit out here with you!” Tommy leans against the tree, curling into Wilbur’s side as the pair watches the first few meteors fly through the sky.

The pair watch as the stars fall from the sky, meteors shooting across the sky. Wilbur starts to play a small tune, calm against the near magical appearance of the sky. They stay like that, watching the stars for hours, before Wilbur picks up Tommy and carries him inside.

Wilbur wanders the streets of New L’Manburg, his mind stuck in the past. He can see Tommy and Tubbo, racing across fields that no longer exist as they ‘prepare for the revolution’. He can see Fundy, pegging snowballs at Eret. He can see Eret, building the walls that kept them safe. He can see Sally, dancing with him in the river. 

He walks through the town like a ghost, his head stuck in memories. He isn’t dead yet - Phil refused to kill him, and no one will let him near anything that could permanently kill him anymore - but he feels like it some days. He feels dead, like he should be dead. Guilt eats at him as he can smell the gunpowder and smoke that never truely left the lower levels of New L’Manburg.

He finds something, something forgotten by the denizens of their world. Discarded, left to the elements either by accident or on purpose. Quite possibly on purpose, Wilbur is the only person to frequent the lower levels after all.

A plaque attached to a rock, covered in a thin layer of grime and dust. The rock had clearly fallen from when he had blown up Manburg, or maybe it had fallen when Techno’s withers had spawned in. 

A memorial of the sacrifices given up for L’Manburg’s freedom. Of the dedication that Tommyinnit had given to the country, by giving up his home for the greater good.

Two discs are carved into the top of the rock, and the L is crossed out on the plaque, but it still gleams in the light that manages to make its way to the lower levels. Tubbo had clearly wanted to immortalise Tommy during Schlatt’s reign - Void only knows that Wilbur didn’t do this while he was in charge - but hadn’t looked for it after it fell.

Did anyone remember what the discs meant to Tommy?

[the-sympathetic-villain]

The Stowaway’s Heart - Chapter 3

AO3 | Previous | Next | Masterpost

Description:  Virgil is rescued by selkies after being abandoned at sea and brought back to their pod to recover. Virgil’s poor, gay heart may just explode from how attractive they all are.

Pairings: Analogical, Platonic Logince (There may be more as I go along!)

Word Count: 5957

Chapter Warnings: Exhaustion, Anger, References to drugging/Injection sites, Referenced self-experimentation (Let me know if I need to add anything!)

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     A persistent ache in his head pulled Virgil reluctantly back to awareness and he mumbled into the pillow weakly. Grasping a handful of the blanket beneath him, he finally managed to grit his teeth and force his eyes open. Laying on his back, he couldn't see much, but he could blurrily make out a subtle, amber light illuminating the room around him. He blinked, impatiently trying to force his vision to come into focus. Fortunately, moisture had returned to his eye and his vision cleared quickly this time. He furrowed his brow as he stared at the ceiling. This was the first time since coming here that he felt lucid enough to truly take in the room around him. The ceiling above him was constructed of dark, natural stone curving down into the wall behind his head. He furrowed his brow as an puzzling thought crossed his mind.

    Am I in a cave?

    Confused, he slowly turned his head to the side to get a look at the space around him. His gaze fell first on the blankets underneath him, absentmindedly running his hand along the soft, royal blue silk. A quick glance at his dirty hand made him instinctively pull back with a twinge of guilt. The material was undoubtedly expensive, judging by its softness. The blanket alone was almost certainly worth more than all of his earthly possessions. Guilt started to build in Virgil’s chest. His clothes were undoubtedly filthy and his body was no doubt in dire need of washing.

      I'm going to ruin everything.

      I shouldn't be near stuff this nice.

    He rolled himself over onto his side, and groaned as the throbbing in his head rebelled against the movement. His muscles strained to sustain any amount of effort for even a short period of time. He clasped a hand to his stomach as a ravenous growl escaped his stomach and he cringed at the empty feeling gnawing at his insides. Virgil felt completely drained of his energy, and his muscles ached as if they were ready to give out entirely. Curling into himself, he continued to rest his hand gently on his abdomen as he closed his eyes.

    When was the last time I even ate?

    Days, for sure. A week even, maybe.

    Virgil couldn't even begin to make a guess at how long he'd been unconscious in Logan’s care.

    Wait.

     Where's Logan?

    Virgil couldn't quite will himself to open his eyes again but he knew he hadn't heard sounds of movement in the room, nor had he heard Logan's voice since he stirred awake. An edge of fear crept into his mind at the thought of being alone, but he took a deep breath. The thought was somehow not as overwhelming as it had been before, and he found himself trusting Logan would return. Memories of Logan's gentleness drifted through his mind, and in his almost dream-like state, the subtle resurgence of memories felt almost real as they played through his mind. Virgil’s skin tingled warmly at the memory of Logan's touch, and a warm fondness settled into his chest as he remembered Logan’s kind and patient tending to his well-being.

    Virgil smiled, feeling like he was floating on the good feelings as memories played through his head. The pleasant warmness gave way to a a familiar intensity at the memory of Logan's parting words. His breathing became ragged as the memory of Logan's breath on his neck as he whispered teasingly in his ear. The familiar void threatened to claim him once more as tingles danced on his skin at the mere memory of Logan's touch.

    Fuck. I'm not doing this twice—

    He forced himself to breathe deeply. Trying desperately to think of anything else as he fought to remain conscious, he closed his eyes, counting slowly in his head. He clenched his hands, trying to ground himself to his body and slow his breath. The process was slow and frustrating, but eventually his breathing returned to normal. He sighed with relief that he could no longer feel his heart pounding in his chest, though his the throbbing in his head seemed to be returning with a vengeance. Finally, after his mind settled, he managed to crack open his eyes, glancing curiously around the room.

    Virgil blinked, barely processing the scene in front of him. A small, gas lamp sat upon a desk at the foot of the bed, gently illuminating the room. His initial guess prove trued. The room appeared to have once been a natural cave that had been further carved out and leveled to be a proper room. Yet somehow, the fact that he was apparently resting in a cave was not the strangest aspect of his accommodations. Virgil's mouth hung agape, staring at the ornate, albeit unmatched, pieces of furniture that lined the walls of the room. The dark, wooden desk looked intricately hand-carved and the polish seemed to be in pristine condition. Two book cases stood on either side of the room, lined to the brim with a large collection of manuscripts and scrolls. The high-quality decor stood out strangely against the rough cave walls. Any item in room was more expensive than Virgil could even dream of affording and his skin started to prickle uncomfortably at the thought.

    Maybe I'm still dreaming. I have to be—

    Virgil's thought came to a sudden halt as he tensed. His heart dropped and he blinked absently at the sight before him, almost trying to will the image away. He swallowed regretfully as he noticed the metal bars that lined the far edge of the room. A heavy feeling settled into the pit of his stomach as his eyes locked onto the large metal door blocking the exit to his cell.

    My cell.

   He inhaled sharply, baring his teeth in frustration of his own naivety.

   Nothing’s changed.

   I'm still a prisoner.

   He clenched his eyes shut, resentful of the disappointment aching in his chest. Raging thoughts rushed to his head as he lay in the bed considering Logan's facade of compassion.

   I should have know this guy was too good to be true—

   He froze, his bitter diatribe interrupted by a eerie, melodic sound drifting down the corridor. Virgil lifted his head, listening intently to the quiet sound as he stared past the metal bars. It was definitely a voice, growing steadily louder as it echoed down the stone cave walls of the corridor.

    A chill ran up his spine, raising the hairs on his neck, as he realized what he was hearing was the sound of a child singing. The flickering light of the gas lamp suddenly felt cold as the ominous voice echoed down the cave walls.

    There shouldn't be a kid here.

    He swallowed nervously.

    Should there?

    Though his body resisted, he pushed himself up to sitting. He hesitated for a moment before frantically rolling the blankets off of him and swing his legs over the edge of the bed. Virgil swayed for a moment as he fought back a wave of nausea, but didn't bother waiting for his head to stop spinning before managing to lift himself off the bed. He stumbled wildly as he rushed to the metal bars on the far side of the room.

    Unable to stop the momentum of his sudden, uncoordinated movement, he groaned as he slammed into the bars. Virgil closed his eyes, breathing deeply as he forced himself to remain conscious, despite the pain blurring his vision. His body ached with weakness as he slid to his knees, leaning into the bars to support his weight. He cracked his eyes open, listening closely as the soft melody floated through the corridors. The voice resonated against the walls around him and he could tell the source of the sound was close. A shiver ran down his spine as a chilled breeze rushed over his skin and the light from the gas lamp flickered chaotically.

    “Hello?” Virgil called out cautiously.  His voice cracked from disuse and he coughed, unable to ignore the scratch in his throat as he spoke.

    He listened for a response, but the sound had stopped. An eerie silence settled over the empty cave, broken only by the soft, flickering sound of the gas lamp behind him. Virgil waited patiently. Time seemed to blur as his consciousness waver, but the voice seemed to have disappeared. He listened carefully for a long time, but eventually his grip on the metal bars began to slacken. His head dipped with exhaustion, and he decided to admit defeat. Whoever or whatever it was had surely gone by now, spooked by him calling out. He laughed softly to himself as he pushed himself away from the bars, leaning back as he looked down the empty corridor.

    Probably for the best. The last thing I need is for some ghost kid to come and steal my soul—

    His thought was interrupted as he noticed the yellow reflection of the gaslight on two small eyes at the end of the dark passageway. Icy dread settled into his chest and Virgil stopped moving as he watched the yellow eyes blink slowly at him.

    I was joking…

    Virgil swallowed nervously, trying to reason away the fear welling in his chest.

    Maybe it’s an animal.

    Animals don't sing.

    But, any other explanation is more reasonable than ghost kid. Right?

    “Hey, there.” He whispered softly. The eyes blinked, but there was no other response. “It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you.”

     And hopefully you're not here to hurt me...

     Virgil shuddered as the eyes blinked slowly at him again, and Virgil quietly wondered if they might just disappear into the dark. Instead, after a moment, the little yellow eyes made their way out of the shadows. Chills swept over him as he realized calling out may not have been a good idea.

    Hey, wait—

    Virgil cringed, but nearly doubled over with relief when what stepped out of the passageway was not in fact an eldritch horror, but a child.

    Not a demon. Just a child.

    He was kind of a cute kid, actually. The boy was neatly dressed in a light blue shirt and over his shoulders rested a small, spotted grey fur that extended down most of his back.  He had wavy, light brown hair his bright blue eyes glittered with curiosity as he poked his head out to look at Virgil. The kid didn't speak, but had clearly taken an interest as he stared over at Virgil.

    Furrowing his brow, he glanced to the hallway behind the kid. This kid was young, probably only three or four years old.

    He's definitely too little to be wandering around on his own.

    He turned his eyes back down to the boy, who had his hands tucked behind his back nervously as he watched Virgil cautiously. Virgil attempted an encouraging smile and spoke gently, trying not to startle him. “Hey there, what are you doing in here?”

    The kid stared at him hesitantly, shifting his feet nervously before mumbling a response. “‘Sploring.”

    Virgil smiled encouragingly at the timid response, leaning weakly into the bars in front of him. “Where are your parents, kid?

    The boy only stared back at him with an absent expression.

    Virgil blinked, feeling uncertain. “You know? Your mom or your dad?”

    Still looking confused, the kid took a step back nervously.

    Virgil’s heart dropped, realizing the kid might run. He changed his tone, trying a different approach.  “What's your name?”

    That question seemed to catch the boy’s interest. He shifted his weight, almost leaning forward instead of looking like he might bolt. “My name's Patton!”

    Virgil smirked tiredly at him, swaying lightly. “Hi, Patton.  Nice to meet you. My name is Virgil.”

    “Vir-gil.” Patton enunciated each syllable, trying out the name. “That's a funny name.”

     “It is kind of a funny name, isn't it? You can call me Vee, if that's easier.” Virgil laughed for a moment before pausing. This place didn't seem safe for a kid, and he desperately wanted to get this kid back to whomever he belonged. “Patton, you’re pretty little to be wandering around on your own. Who's supposed to be looking out for you?”

    Patton huffed, crossing his arms. “I'm not little.”

    His shoulders sagged as a wave of exhaustion washed over him, and he leaned into the bars. Virgil sighed, smiling as he played along with the kid. “Of course not. I’m being silly. You can take care of yourself, right?”

    “Yeah!” Patton puffed his chest out proudly, taking a few steps closer in excitement. “I even take care of Ro-Ro!”

    “I bet you do, kid. You—” Virgil tilted his head up to smile at him, but he hesitated as he noticed a big, black spider was making its way over Patton’s shoulder. His eyes flicked up to Patton, who seemed to be unaware of his unexpected guest. He gestured for Patton to come over. “Hey, can you come over here for a sec, bud?”

    Patton suddenly looked suspicious, and instead he took a step backwards. “Why?”

    Virgil resisted the urge to swear under his breath at his lack of tact. He gritted his teeth, trying to keep his face calm as the spider detoured its way across Patton’s chest. Forcing himself to stay calm, he spoke softly to the kid. “I just—I just want to show you something really cool. Don't you want to see, Pat?”

    “Yeah…” Patton still seemed suspicious, but his curiosity seemed to be getting the better of him because he took a few steps closer.

    “That's so good, kiddo.” Virgil encouraged him, watching the spider carefully as he approached. “You’re so close.”

    Patton closed the distance between them, but he hesitated uncertainly as Virgil reached out for him.

    “It's okay, Pat. I'm just going to wipe away the—”

    He was almost in the clear, but at that moment, Patton turned his head to see the spider on his shoulder. Virgil cringed as Patton let out the most blood-curdling scream he’d ever heard. Instinctively, Virgil lunged forward, just managing to swipe the spider off Patton’s chest, wedging his shoulder painfully between the metal bars in the process. He groaned, biting back a few choice words as he watched the spider scurry away unharmed. Patton's scream subsided to quiet sobs as he tried to gently work his shoulder free of where it was lodged between the metal bars without hurting himself.

    “It's okay, kiddo. I got him—"

     A deep, growl startled him from his process and he looked up to see another set of larger yellow eyes glowing in the corridor.  The eyes moved suddenly down the corridor at him. Virgil yelped as he painfully wretched his out-stretched arm out from between the bars where it had been stuck, cringing as he banged his elbow on the way out. Just as the figure rushed the bars, he fell back onto the ground as his shoulder came loose.

    Through gasping breaths, Virgil cracked his eyes open to see a tall, seething man standing on the other side of the bars. His dark, brown hair hung over his eyes as he towered over Virgil. Virgil shuddered looking at the man’s clenched fists as he stared down at him. His gaze drifted up the man's muscular arms and he shivered involuntarily. Despite the apparent danger, he felt his cheeks burn as he blushed.

    Oh, fuck.

    What is this place?

    Why is everyone here so pretty—

    A dangerous sounding hiss pulled him from his thoughts as the man lunged at the bars. Virgil flinched back, curling up into a ball on the ground.

    OH FUCK.

    "Be grateful of those bar, you villain. If not for their protection, I would have killed you." A chilling dread settle into his stomach as he recognized the figure's voice as he hissed dangerously at him. "I still might."

    It's the other man from the ship.

    The one that would have left me.

    Logan called him Roman.

    Virgil opened his eyes, cradling his shoulder as he pushed himself upright. He watched as the man stalk away from the bars to scoop up the panicking Patton. Patton leaned into the man's chest and Virgil could see his breathing slow. A small hand reached up to grasp a handful of the dark, brown fur that was draped over the man’s shoulder.

    Virgil swallowed nervously as the stranger’s soft gaze became an icy stare as he turned to stare at Virgil. For the first time since waking, he was glad for the row of metal bars protecting him.

    “What kind of monster tries to control a child?” The stranger spat venomously at him.

    Virgil shrank back from the anger in the stranger's voice. He forced his words out, barely stuttering through his fear. “C-Control?”

    “Don't bother denying it, you villain.” The stranger growled angrily, quiet enough not to disturb the child curled up in his arms. “I saw you reaching for his pelt.”

     “H-his p-pelt?” Virgil stuttered, confused. Suddenly, pieces started to come together in his head. He gasped as realization washed over him. “Oh, fu—”

    An angry, warning glance from the angry man in front of him stopped his swear in its tracks.

    Virgil withered back and sighed, raising his fingers to his throbbing temples. His voice was tired as he spoke. “You guys are selkies.”

    “Don't act like you didn’t know—” The man glared angrily at him as he clutched Patton close to his chest.

    “I didn't.” Virgil’s plea grew more desperate. "Selkies are supposed to be myths. I didn't know they were real."

    “Lies. What other reason would you have to reach for him?” Virgil cringed as the man stepped closer to the bars. “I should rip out—”

    “He saved me, Ro-Ro.”

    A heavy silence settled over them as Patton's soft voice interrupted the man's hushed threat.  He stared down at Patton in his arms, taken aback by his unexpected statement.

    “I just—” Virgil started cautiously.

    “Silence, human.” The man commanded viciously, not even looking over at him. He turned his head down to speak softly to Patton. “Patton, baby. Tell me what happened.”

    “T-there was a b-big spider, Ro-Ro.” Patton started nervously. “It-it was like as b-big as my hand.”

     Virgil smiled as Patton lifted his hand for the man could see.

     The man's deep laugh echoed through the chamber, and Virgil couldn't help staring at the tenderness in his eyes as the man talked to Patton. “Did you slay your enemy, my little hero?”

     “I-I was t-too scared, Ro-Ro.” Patton murmured.

     “It’s okay to be scared, little one.”

     “Vee wasn't scared.” Patton leaned into the stranger's chest as he yawned.

     “Vee?” The man rocked Patton gently as his gaze turned up to Virgil.

     Virgil didn't sense the same hatred as before, though his gaze was far from being welcoming.

     “That's his name, Ro-Ro. He got rid of the spider.” Patton slurred his words as he yawned.  He was quiet for a moment and Virgil almost thought he'd fallen asleep, when he suddenly bolted upright in Roman’s arms to look down at him. “You didn’t hurt it! Did you, Vee?”

     Virgil looked to the stranger for a moment, unsure if he was allowed to speak, but the man seemed to be watching him intently for his answer. Virgil looked up at Patton and smiled. “Nah kiddo, I didn’t hurt the spider. It ran away. I'm sure it's already went home to its little spider family.”

      "Good." Patton smiled, leaning back sleepily into the man's arms. Virgil watched as the stranger silently rocked Patton back and forth until gentle snores were the only sound between them.

     “I don't trust you, human,” Roman looked up at him with a piercing glare, before softening as he looked down at he child in his arms. “But Patton has no reason to lie to me, so I will continue allow you to remain here.”

    Virgil gritted his teeth as he slumped down to the ground. In his exhaustion, he couldn't resist the urge to spit out a sarcastic retort. “I’m so glad I’ll be permitted to live.”

    “You’re dangerous.” Roman grumbled, but his voice was losing its vitriol.

    “That's rich coming from the man who threatened to kill me only moments ago.” Virgil’s head ached and his voice became tired and disinterested as he closed his eyes and lay down on the ground. "You would have walked away and left me to die. I don't think I'm the dangerous one here."

    Roman quieted and even stopped rocking Patton. A long moment passed between them and Virgil nearly fell asleep as he lay exhausted on the ground. “It's nothing personal.”

    Virgil peeked an eye open to stare up at Roman and the corner of his lip curled into a small smile as he watched Roman stare affectionately down at Patton. His heart warmed and he couldn't help the way his the corner of his lips curled up as he watched the beautiful man rock the kid in his arms.

    God, what is wrong with me?

    “I am aware of my bias towards you.” Roman whispered, pulling Virgil from his thoughts. He looked up to see Roman smiling as he ran a hand through Patton’s hair. “My own have suffered greatly at the hands of humans, and I've seen first-hand what kinds of atrocities your kind are capable of committing."

    “I guess I should be grateful Logan is more forgiving than you.” Bitterness started to slip into his voice.

    “You should be. Logan has more reason than most to be distrustful of humans.”

    Virgil raised an eyebrow. Curiosity burned in his chest to ask more, but instinct told him the question would be unwelcome, so instead, he sighed. “Not every human is cruel.”

    “Enough of you are to justify caution.” Roman's eyes turned up from Patton to look at Virgil, but Virgil’s remained on Patton sleeping peacefully in Roman's arm.

    “R-Roman?” Virgil started cautiously, forcing himself not to flinch as the man instinctively bared his teeth at him. “That is your name, right?”

    Roman stared at him for a long time before Virgil started to wonder if he would even answer, but eventually, Roman nodded warily at him, carefully not breaking eye contact.

    “Logan mentioned you. He said the reason you acted the way you did was because you had people you were protecting.” Virgil explained tiredly before letting his head rest on the floor, curling his knees to his chest. “I was resentful of your lack of concern for my life in that moment, but I think I understand now.”

    Roman remained silent as his eyes narrowed in on him, pulling Patton closer to his chest.

    “I give you my word I'm not going to hurt them, Roman.” Virgil paused, looking at Patton. “Especially him. I'd never hurt a kid.”

    Roman turned his gaze down to Patton, contemplating Virgil’s words for a moment before his gaze drifted back to Virgil. “If that's truly the case—”

    Roman's response was cut short as soft laughter echoed down the corridor. They both turned their heads to listen as the giggling approached. Virgil’s heart rate picked up as he recognized that one of the voices was Logan, though the other was unfamiliar. He glanced up at Roman's face.The unimpressed look on Roman’s face informed him that the other voice was familiar to him.

     A moment later, there was a short pause followed by a louder burst of giggling. Virgil raised an eyebrow as Logan finally ducked into sight at the end of the corridor. His face was bright red and a smile stretched across his face. He carried a covered metal tray in his hands, as he made his way down towards them. Logan's smile was short-lived as he stopped abruptly to take in the sight in front of him.

    “What is going on here?” Logan asked sternly, looking at Roman.

    “There was a misunderstanding—” Roman started, but he was cut off as Logan noticed Patton in his arms.

    “Why is Patton here?” Logan demanded. He stepped close to Roman, holding the tray in one hand as he ran a hand through his Patton's wavy hair.

    “He ran off while I was watching him, and found his way in here.” Roman admitted.

    “He should not be here. You need to keep a better eye on him.”

    Roman raised an eyebrow at him. “When was the last time you watched him and he didn't slip away?”

    “It is more important now. I do not want him to see—” Logan glanced down, finally noticing Virgil lying on the ground by the bars. A gasp escaped him as he dropped down to the ground. He set the tray he was carrying down on the ground before reaching to Virgil’s face through the bars. He spun on Roman angrily.  “Why is he on the ground, Roman? I know you were unhappy with my decision, but this is unaccept—”

    “It's my fault, Logan.” Virgil muttered quietly, leaning his head back to the ground.

    “What?” Logan paused, looking down at him.

    “I was curious when I heard Patton coming down the hall. Any damage done was no one's fault but my own.”

    Logan looked to Roman, who nodded back at him. He sighed with relief, pulling the key from his pocket. Nodding at Patton, he spoke quietly to Roman. “Get him out of here. We can talk later, Roman.”

    Roman nodded, carrying Patton to the exit as Logan unlocked the metal door and pulled it open. Grabbing his tray off the floor, he stepped over Virgil to place his tray down on the desk before dropping down to help Virgil. Virgil groaned as Logan pulled him to his feet by his sore shoulder. Logan mumbled apologies, immediately switching his grip as he helped Virgil stand.

    Roman paused at the entrance to the corridor and turned back to look at them. He watched as Logan held Virgil steady, attempting to help him stay up on his feet. A moment of watching Logan’s gentle concern was all it took to convince him to speak. “Virgil?”

    Logan's head immediately turned up to him, a subtle defensiveness in his eyes, but Roman ignored him and waited patiently for Virgil to slowly lift his head from Logan’s shoulder.

     “I do hope you feel better.” Roman waited until Virgil nodded back at him, before glancing uncertainly at Logan. He watched as Logan’s expression shifted from concern to confusion before ducking out of the room and into the corridor, leaving with Patton snoring quietly in his arms.

    “You must make quite the first impression.” Logan commented, staring after Roman as he helped Virgil down on the bed.

    “Doesn't mean much. You can't really trust your first impression.” Virgil frowned, swaying tiredly as he stared bitterly up at Logan. “It isn't always honest. Is it, Logan?”

    Logan paused and looked down at him. Virgil watched him hesitate, almost withering under Virgil’s stare. His gaze dropped guiltily as he kneeled in front of Virgil, staring sadly into his eyes. “What do you mean, Virgil?”

    Guilt welled in his chest as Virgil looked down at the glistening doe-eyed look in Logan’s eyes. Virgil’s heart pounded and he let his gaze drop to the ground, resisting the urge to cave to Logan's remorseful expression.

    That's not fucking fair.

    He clenched his eyes shut, desperately shoving down the emotions that were causing his breath to catch in his throat.

    “Virgil?”

    Logan's hand brushed gently against his forearm and the overwhelming sensation startles him backwards, groaning like he’d been burned. He could feel Logan pull back, unsure of what to do.

    “I apologize.” He heard Logan sigh. “I continue to forget that these sensations are still new to you.”

    Virgil remained quiet, his whole body tensed as the overstimulation refused to let up. He felt his muscles constrict, winding him so tight he felt like he might snap.

    “Please. Talk to me, Virgil.” Virgil could hear the pleading in Logan's tone. “Tell me what is wrong so I can help.”

    Virgil hesitated, bitterly pulling his arms across his chest as he shrunk into his growling stomach. “Why didn't you tell me I was a prisoner?”

    “Because you are not a prisoner.” Logan's response was immediate. Virgil inhaled sharply. His response was too quick for Virgil to believe that it hadn't been on Logan's mind.

    Virgil’s eyes darkened with suspicion as his gaze flicked down to Logan’s face. “You drugged me.”

    Logan hung his head. “I did, but I genuinely believe doing so was in your best interest.”

    “Incapacitating me against my will was in my best interest?” Virgil clenched his jaw, trying to keep his voice calm.

    “You were not in a good state of mind to make decisions, and you did not see the state of the ship’s deck.” Logan paused, looking up at him. “Now, you never will, and that alone makes the decision worth while.”

    Virgil bit his lip, considering Logan’s words.

    “Not to mention, you could have panicked and hurt yourself in your confusion while I transported you.”

    “What was it?” Virgil locked eyes with Logan. “Why did you even have it?”

    “It is a mild sedative of my own design, made from the venom of a local species of sea urchin.” Logan sighed. “I had it for self-defense. Drugging you was not its intended purpose.”

    “You injected me with venom?” The hairs on his arms raised as dread settled in the pit of his stomach.

    “It's tempered with other ingredients and is perfectly safe.” Logan held his hands up reassuringly.

    Virgil raised an eyebrow at him suspiciously. “How do you know?”

    “I tried it on myself dozens of times before I ever used it on another person.” He held out his arm, and Virgil could see several small scars around joint of his elbow. “I wouldn’t risk someone’s life on something of which I was not certain.”

    Virgil’s distrust was fading, but he couldn’t seem to let go just yet. “Did you not lock me in here when you left?”

    Logan dropped his head, staring blankly down at the ground. His voice sounded numb as he spoke. “I did.”

    “Am I free to leave?”

    Logan hesitated, his mouth hanging agape as he tried to find his words.

    “Am I free to leave, Logan?” He tried to sound forceful, but his voice quivered, betraying his overwhelming emotion.

     “Yes.”

     Logan’s voice was so quiet that Virgil nearly missed his answer.

    “What?”

    “Given your current weakened state, I believe it would be inadvisable for you to leave,” Logan looked up at him with a determined expression. “But I will not hold you against your will. The choice will always be yours, love.”

    Virgil looked at him in disbelief, but Logan didn't falter. Virgil spoke cautiously, raising an eyebrow at Logan. “You'll open the door and let me walk out?”

    “No,” Logan held up a finger to stop Virgil’s protests. “One of the conditions of you being allowed to come onto this island is that you remained confined away from its other residents.”

    “Because you are worried I could hurt someone.”

    Logan looked surprised for a moment, but he nodded. "

     “So, I'm not allowed to leave.” Virgil muttered bitterly, casting his eyes down a the ground in disappointment.

    “You are not allowed to wander the island.” Logan sighed. “But if this is your choice, I will make arrangements for you to leave the next time a ship nears the island.”

    Virgil felt the air leave his lungs at the suggestion.  His mind suddenly started to race.

    Wait, no.

    “I still highly recommend you stay until you are able to move freely without assistance, but—"

    “Do I have to?”

    Logan stopped abruptly, looking up at him with a confused expression.  “Do you have to leave?”

    Virgil chewed his lip nervously but managed a small nod. He leaned forward feeling his muscles lose their tension.  His eyes drooped for a moment before he steadied himself.

    “I know I'm not making sense, but I don’t—" Virgil’s voice trailed off as he attempted to sift through his messy emotions.

    Logan smiled sympathetically at him. “There is value in knowing you have a choice, and if you need reassurances of that fact, I’m happy to provide what I am able.”

    Virgil nodded shyly at him.

    Logan seemed to hesitate, but a hopeful sparkle glimmered in silvery, blue eyes. Yet, he still remained cautious. His eyes drifted up and down Virgil, not quite willing to believe what he was implying.   “You will certainly be allowed to stay here until you are fully recovered.”

    Virgil swallowed anxiously. “And after that?”

    Logan looked up at him sadly. He reached a hand close to Virgil’s face, waiting for Virgil’s consent to touch him. Virgil nodded wearily, leaning into the gentle coolness of Logan's hand as he waited for his answer.

    “I cannot say for certain if you would be allowed to stay once you are healed, dear one.”

    Logan’s thumb brushed the top of his cheek, sending a light tingling radiating down his face. Virgil leaned into Logan’s hand with a sad expression on his face.

    “Would you—” Logan hesitated, dropping his hand from Virgil’s face.

    Virgil looked down at him, disappointed as his cool hand left his warm face. He watched as Logan moved up to sit next to him on the bed. Logan rested a hand his forearm, and Virgil could barely keep his breath steady as Logan’s hand brushed his skin.

     His eyes drifted up to meet Logan’s, and his heart seemed to skip a beat. A shy smile settled on Logan's face as he looked down at his hand on Virgil’s arm. His golden hair fell over his eyes and Virgil could see a subtle smile curling on his lips.

    “Would that be preferable to you?”

    Virgil looked up at him. “What?”

    Logan’s smiled widened and his voice was coy as he rephrased his sentence. “Would you like to stay, Virgil?”

     “I—Um, I don't—” Virgil curled his shoulders nervously, fidgeting with his hands.

     “You can say no, Virgil.” Virgil heart dropped as Logan's hope seemed to waver and the glimmer of hope in his eye seemed to dull as he pulled his hand back from Virgil’s.  “You will not offend—”

    “Fuck.” Virgil shuddered as Logan’s hand brushed against his as he pulled away. His vision blurred as the overstimulation nearly pushed his exhausted body to fainting again. He swayed, falling forward into Logan’s chest.

    Logan seemed taken aback from Virgil’s reaction, but with a faint smile, he wrapped an arm around Virgil. “I apologize, love. Perhaps, now is not the time—"

    “No.”

    Logan looked down at him in confusion.  “To what part of our conversation are you dissenting?”

    “Talk now.” Virgil moaned tiredly as Logan's arms wrapped around him, his skin tingling pleasantly.

    Logan chuckled, rubbing his thumb on Virgil’s shoulder. “Very well, dear one. Is there something you would like to say?”

    “I've got nowhere to go.”

    Logan frowned, and he stopped moving his hand. “What?”

    Virgil was quiet, leaning into Logan’s chest.

    “Virgil…” Logan tried to pull away, but Virgil swayed to his side. He nearly fell off the side of the bed, but Logan placed a hand his chest, guiding him back upright. Logan sighed reluctantly. “This conversation will have to wait, love. You are clearly exhausted, and I need you to eat and drink something before you rest again.”

    Virgil nodded weakly.

    Logan sighed with a subtle smile. He gently laid Virgil down on the bed, moving to grab the tray he'd brought with him. “Alright, love. Let me take care of you.

    Virgil sunk into the blankets, exhausted. “Okay, Lo.”

-

The Stowaway’s Heart Taglist:

@alias290 @lonelyanxiousbean @somehow-i-got-an-account @kieraelieson @evoodo123 @dndnerd1609 @lovesupernova25 @minninugget @ace-in-a-shopping-cart @trainwreckwithlimbs @i-apparently-exist @rachetssearch @twilight-trix @evelyn-nova @sluggerbot-2-5 @chronicallynervouschild @dwbh888

[hphmmatthewluther]

HPHM April Prompts 2021: Day 7: When Your Reflection Plots Against You (Part 3)

What is this, a crossover episode?

Okay, so funny story! The end to the story I’ve been doing recently and today’s prompt are about the same thing, so I sort of have to have them both be the thing for today because yeah! Part 1/3 Part 2/3

Anyway, onto...

Prompt 7: MC’s First Kiss

When Matthew finally came to, he had a pounding headache. He pushed himself up with the guitar case, getting back onto his face, before noticing the mirror. He wasn’t in it. Of course, Matthew thought, I’m the reflection now. He looked behind him, hoping to see where that light had come from. There was nothing. Apart from him, the bathroom was empty. Suddenly, he heard a door creak. On the other side of the mirror, in the real world, Charlie Weasley had walked in. Matthew moved towards the mirror.

“Charlie!” he tried, but to no avail, “Charlie!” 

But there was nothing. It was like he was a ghost. Actually, I’m less than a ghost now. He sighed, moving back towards the guitar case. With nothing else to do, he picked up the instrument and slung it onto his back, before leaving the boys’ toilets. It occurred to him that he needed to find Edwin before he did anything too embarrassing, or before he got to his friends.

It was bizarre to see the halls of Hogwarts empty, but with all the same buzz of people moving up and down. It was rather like there being a conversation happening in the other room, but you couldn’t for the life of you find that room. He tried to marshal his thoughts as to where Edwin would go with his body. The lake, obviously, he thought to himself. But something rather strange happened to this alternate Hogwarts as Matthew approached the school grounds. What should have been the quidditch lesson area and the whomping willow, and the Forbidden Forest, was instead an inky black void, with large tubes of light jutting into it from various windows. It was solid, and Matthew couldn’t pass through it. A good way away he could see the grass around the Black Lake.

“So I can’t go anywhere that isn’t reflected.” he deduced aloud. Matthew tried to relax his breathing. This was just another riddle, and he would have to solve it. And for that, he’d need to focus.

“Shut up, Barnaby!”

Matthew twisted around, noticing the images of Merula, Ismelda and Barnaby hanging in the air through a small shield-shaped window. A Prefect’s badge, Matthew thought before leaning in to take a closer look.

“What is it?” Barnaby asked quietly.

“I just...I thought I heard him...” Merula said, her violet eyes scanning the corridor.

“Who?” asked Ismelda, irritated at having to stop.

“Luther, of course!” she snapped. Matthew’s eyes widened. “He was saying something about reflections...”

“Yes, I’m over here!” Matthew yelled. He didn’t care how it had happened, he was just happy that it did.

Merula moved up and down the corridor. “Luther, where the hell are you?!”

Ismelda and Barnaby watched, both very much confused by all of this.

Matthew felt relief wash over him. “Merula, I’m-”

“I’m right here.” came his own voice. Coming into view from the side of the badge was Edwin, wearing his body.

“Oh, there you are.” she said stiffly. Matthew watched as Edwin flicked his braceletless hand at the badge, and he knew he had placed a Silencing Charm on it. Matthew could only pray Merula could sniff Edwin out.

“What’s got you so happy?” she asked with a scowl on her face.

“Oh, nothing really...” Edwin said absentmindedly. “Anyway, what did you want?”

“W-What did I want?” she asked incredulously. “You’re the one who called me over!”

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t.” he said, shrugging. Matthew felt a surge of anger at him.

“Yes you did!” said Merula, exasperated.

Edwin cocked his head, then turned to the other two Slytherins, “Did either of you hear anything?”

“No, I didn’t.” said Ismelda.

“No, nothing.” said Barnaby. 

“Well, there you go.” Edwin concluded, “Maybe you’re hearing things.”

“I am not!” Merula yelled, going slightly red.

“Sure. Whatever.” he said, running a hand through Matthew’s hair, “So, you going down to the lake later?”

“W-What? No...” said Merula, confused. Barnaby, however, nodded.

“I am! It’s gonna be great fun!” he exclaimed.

“I don’t care.” Ismelda sneered.

“Mm, it’s just that everyone is going to be there. And I thought, seeing as you can’t go to Hogsmeade, you’d want to go to a party when you could.”

Matthew felt his heart break as he saw Merula’s expression. This wasn’t fair. Nobody treated his mortal enemy like this, especially not someone like Edwin.

“F-Fine, I’ll go.” Merula conceded. “C-Come on, you two.” They stepped into the inky void, Merula wearing an expression that Matthew knew all too well. Fear.

“You could have been a bit nicer, Matt.” came a voice. Matthew realised just which Prefect’s badge he was looking through. And Edwin had no idea.

“Oh...I guess I could.” he admitted, “But I got her to go to the party, and isn’t that what matters?”

“It does if she doesn’t actually want to go.” said Bill Weasley, “You of all people should know that.”

Edwin shrugged, before heading into the void too. Bill must have followed him, for the Prefect badge vanished too. He had to get to the lake quickly, and find Merula and tell her what was happening. From there, however, he was at a bit of a loss. Maybe if he got the book back and managed to reveal the ink, he could find a way to return to his body. That would explain why he didn’t want me to get the book back, he thought. But before all that, he had to actually get to the lake in the first place. He looked up at the tubes of light which splintered the void. Matthew grinned. He’d had an idea, and it wasn’t half bad. He headed up towards Ravenclaw tower at breakneck speed, avoiding the void that appeared in corridors with less mirrors. Eventually, he found his way up to the door to the Common Room. The Eagle knocker looked up at him.

“You are here, yet you are not here.” it said. “Curious. Now, I am at the start of every race, the end of every Bludger, and in the middle of Paris. What am I?”

Matthew thought for a moment, before smirking. “R.”

The eagle nodded, before the door opened.

“Hmm, that’s odd.” said Rowan,as Matthew came in. “ Wonder why the door’s opened...” Matthew sighed as he and the other Ravenclaws looked up and saw right through him.

“I’ll tell you when I get out, Rowan.” he said. There was no reaction. Matthew headed up to his dormitory, where he found his Cleansweep resting against his four-poster bed. He reached for it, hoping, and while his left hand went straight through it, his right hand gripped the wood, the silver bracelet’s carvings glowing as it happened. Matthew grinned, before looking back at the mirror. In it, he could see the Black Lake out the window. He also saw the Cleansweep floating in midair. This gave Matthew another idea. He crept back down to the Common Room, and saw the Ravenclaws’ expressions of pure shock at a floating broom.

“Hey, isn’t that Matthew’s Cleansweep?” said Andre. Matthew couldn’t help but grin as he twirled the broomstick in his hands, causing it to spin. Then, he started to back up into the boys’ dormitory. Rowan, Andre, Tulip and Talbott all followed it until they came to Matthew’s four poster bed. He used the broom to wave at the four, then tried to make a beckoning gesture. After that, he hopped on and flew out the window, leaving them flabbergasted as the pilotless broom headed towards the lake.

It was an odd sensation, flying down a thin strip of the Hogwarts grounds, going over a small fraction of the Whomping Willow, watching students blip in and out of existence. He sped down the hill until he was over the lake, when he noticed a large gathering of students reflected in the water near the shore. He saw that there was a table with food laid out before them. He slowly moved down a few yards away, landing his broom and resting it against a nearby tree. He couldn’t risk Edwin finding out he was here again. Matthew shook his head. He had hoped that third year would be a little less eventful than last year, though he should have known that this would be impossible. Rueing his bad luck, he headed towards the party, not registering four Ravenclaws show up behind him.

“I’m so glad you all made it!” he heard Penny cheer, as the party got underway. At least, it did in the waters of the Black Lake. Matthew, meanwhile, only had a few feet of ground to work with before it gave way to the void. He saw people enter and exit the darkness, until he finally saw Merula. He knew he couldn’t just talk to her, as much as he wanted to. No, he had to find another way. Then, it occurred to him that he had Edwin’s guitar on his back. He set it onto the floor and undid the zip on the leather, before pulling it open.

For an acoustic guitar, it was pretty impressive. It had several magical runes on the wood, and the strings were a brilliant blue, just like the ropes which had pulled him through the mirror. He silently thanked his father for being part of a band when he was younger and pulled out the guitar, putting the strap around his shoulder. Even from here, he could see Edwin moving everyone’s groups away from the lake, especially Merula’s. Matthew had been where she was several times before, feeling like everybody knew how to act at a party except for you. Matthew gritted his teeth,  moved towards the lake, both him and the guitar invisible, and started to play.

A A A A, D D, Em Em Em Em, D D…

***

Merula looked up, hearing the sounds of a guitar. It wasn’t a song she recognised, so she assumed it was some Muggle music. She could recognise the chords though. A A A A, D D, Em Em Em Em, D D… though she couldn’t see anyone playing. She walked through the students, ducking out of the way when she saw Matthew. He was talking with Chiara and Penny, but it didn’t look like how Matthew usually talked. Normally, he was reserved, quiet, a little hunched over. Not here. No, here it reminded her of some of the irritating sods in Preston’s gang. Merula scowled, before heading towards the music. Strangely enough, it seemed to be coming from inside the Lake… but that couldn’t be…

“Psst, Merula!”

She looked down into the water. There was her reflection, but next to it stood Matthew Luther, with a rune covered guitar.

“Don’t look at me!” he hissed, “Turn around and act like you don’t see me!”

Merula obeyed, turning on the spot. Secretly, she had been hoping for an explanation for his behaviour today; he had been amicable enough at first, but over the last few hours or so he had become rather cocky and boastful.

“Merula, that isn’t me.” he said, still playing the guitar, “That arse took my body!”

Her eyes widened. “He’s a changeling?!”

“If...if that’s what they’re called, yeah.”

Merula found it in her to smirk. “Really Luther, I forget how little you know about the Wizarding World.”

“It’s not my fault our Defence against the Dark Arts teachers have been rubbish.” he remarked.

“Eh, you’re not wrong there, they have been awful.” she admitted. “So how the hell did this happen?”

“Long story short: Some guy named Edwin appeared in the mirror saying he was trapped and needed help escaping.” Matthew explained, “I agreed, though I didn’t realise just how I’d be helping him.”

Merula stared at Edwin. Yes, she saw it now. It was like a Metamorphmagus had turned into him, or someone had used Polyjuice Potion. That’s why she’d felt so uncomfortable around him. Because it wasn’t Matthew. “So, how do we get him out?”

Matthew looked a little surprised. “Oh, I thought you’d suggest leaving me here.”

She laughed, genuinely, before shaking her head. “Luther, if I left you there this Edwin would have to be my rival. And I don’t like the sound of that at all. You’re my mortal enemy, Luther, and nobody gets to doom you for eternity except me.”

Matthew grinned through the water. “Thanks, Merula. Now, do you have anything reflective on you?” She shuffled through her pockets until she pulled out a silver comb.

“By the way, since when could you play guitar?” she asked, as Matthew appeared in the comb.

“Oh, my Dad taught me. I just know a few songs, though, not much.” he confessed.

“Alright...” began Merula, nervously moving towards the throng of students, “What do we do?”

“There’s a book in my bag called The Ramifications of Our Reflections.” Matthew explained, “It has some text in invisible ink that Edwin really didn’t want me to see, to our best bet is grabbing the book and finding out what it says.”

“Ah, so we’re stealing from him!” she declared quietly.

“Well, no, it’s my book!” Matthew yelled, before adding, “Well, it’s technically Snape’s, but he took it from me, so there.”

They neared the pile of everyone’s bags, and Merula bent down to grab hers, before manoeuvring towards Matthew’s satchel. Slowly, while eyeing the changeling, Merula bent down and grabbed the book, quickly placing it in her own bag. She took a sigh of relief, and quickly walked away.

“Now what?” she whispered, before seeing Ismelda.

“This party's boring. I’m heading back to the common room.” she declared.

“Good idea.” Merula said, walking with her. 

“Don’t worry, she can’t see me.” Matthew reassured her, “Now all we need to do is heat up the book and we can see the information.”

Merula nodded as they headed away from the party, but they were stopped on their way back by Edwin.

“Hey, wh-where you going?” he asked, his usual cocky demeanour in full swing.

“We’re leaving.” Merula declared, “This party is boring, and you shouldn’t have invited us.”

Edwin stared at her for a moment. “Is that so.” he said, not even trying to make it a question.

“Yeah...I’m leaving now...bye.” she said, heading off. Ismelda looked at her, then at Edwin.

“Wow, she really doesn’t like you.” she said, “What’d you do to her?”

“I would worry more about what I’m going to do.” Edwin growled.

“Merula...” Matthew began, “Get to my broom. It’s right by the lake.” When she looked at the comb, confused, Matthew just shouted “GO!” and that got her moving.

She sprinted back down the hill, where she saw the Cleansweep resting by a tree. She grabbed a hold of it and saw Edwin racing after her.

“Just wait a minute!” he yelled, as Merula kicked off the ground. Matthew quickly put the guitar onto his back as the ground fell beneath them, and soon they were soaring over the grounds once again.

“Now how’d she know the broom was there?” Rowan asked aloud. “Matthew, do you-”

“Curse them!” Edwin bellowed, heading off after her, wand in hand. Ismelda hissed.

“Oh no you don’t...” she muttered, running after him. Bill stood nearby, very much concerned.

“Something’s going on here...” he deduced, before joining the chase. Of course, Merula and Matthew had the advantage of having a broomstick, which allowed them to get to the other side of the school in very little time. They ended up on the second floor, just above the Great Hall.

“Nobody uses these toilets.” Merula explained, “Myrtle’s always kicking up a fuss.”

They headed into the girl’s bathroom, which was oddly quiet.

“That’s strange.” said Merula, “I wonder where she’s gone.” Matthew appeared in a mirror near the sink.

“That was close.” he admitted, looking on as Merula pulled Ramifications out of her satchel. “Now all we need to do is heat it up and we’ll be set. Be careful though, we don’t want to set it on fire.”

“Right.” Merula said, placing the book on the ground. Matthew moved closer, appearing in a puddle of water. “Incendio Parvus!” A small flame appeared on the tip of Merula’s wand, which she moved down towards the paper. “Hey, it’s working!” she said excitedly.

“Great! Find the part about freeing people from mirrors!” Matthew implored, placing down the guitar.

“Okay, okay...” she said, flicking through the pages.

“Um...Merula...” Matthew began, “Sorry for dragging you into this.”

“Hmph...it’s...I mean, it wasn’t you, was it? It was that changeling who was the arse.”

“I know, but I made the deal with him...” he lamented.

“Yeah, I know, but...” she paused, looking over at Matthew’s puddle. “Oh come on. He gave you what you wanted, right?”

Matthew considered this. “Yeah. I guess he did.”

Merula smirked again. “What’d you even ask for?”

Matthew suddenly looked nervous. “I...um, I just wanted advice. We’d had that argument yesterday, and so I was just...I didn’t want to make things worse every time I saw you, or anyone else.”

Merula frowned. “Th-That’s it?!”

“Yeah...that’s it.”

She looked at him through the water, before bursting into laughter. “What?” he asked, more confused than ever.

“Sorry, it’s just...” she paused to wipe her hair out of her face, “It’s weird how little you trust yourself. I mean, you make friends all the time. I’m the one who can’t make friends and can’t go to Hogsmeade.”

Matthew frowned at her. “You don’t have to talk about-”

“It’s alright.” she reassured him. “I-I just...it’s my aunt. She says I’m not doing well enough in Defence against the Dark Arts.”

“But that’s not fair, the teachers are total tw-”

“I know that.” said Merula, “But my aunt thinks that I need to revise more...and she’s my legal guardian...so...”

“Merula, I’m sorry. You know...if you wanted to, I could give you a hand with...you know, studying and stuff.”

“Is that so?” she said, flicking through the pages with her other hand. “I don’t know...we’re mortal enemies. I don’t know how I’d feel about- Ah ha!” she exclaimed suddenly, “Freeing those trapped in the Reflected Realm! Bingo!”

Matthew craned his neck to see, but to no avail. Merula seemed to notice. “Oh, right, sorry. If a wizard or witch has been trapped within the Reflected Realm, they must be freed by breaking the contract forged between them and a changeling. To do this, one must return to the mirror of entry, destroy the surface they made the deal with and recite the phrase “Contractus est inanis. Corpus meum.” From there, the changeling will return to the Reflected Realm once it touches any reflective surface.”

“Brilliant!” said Matthew, “What are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

Merula extinguished the flame. “Okay, okay! You remember the phrase, right?”

“Course. Contractus est inanis. Corpus meum.”

“Good. Where’d you make the deal?” she asked, packing the book away.

“The boy’s toilets. Sixth floor.” This caused Merula’s face to scrunch up.

“Look, it won’t be for long. Once I get to the mirror, we can leave right away and find Edwin.” he explained.

“...Fine. I’m gonna get you for this one day, Luther...”

“I hope you get the chance, Merula...I really do...”

A minute or two later, Merula had made her way to the sixth floor, and was standing right outside the boy’s toilets.

“C-Can’t I just wait outside?” she asked. Matthew nodded, before heading inside on his own, the guitar still on his back. He instantly came back out.

“I’m afraid you can’t, Merula.” he said nervously. Merula groaned, before poking her head into the room. Standing in the U-bend, in front of a large magical field, was the body of Matthew Luther, and the vile grin of Edwin.

“We meet again. I’m so glad I don’t have to hide from you anymore.” he said. Matthew sneaked into view on one of the nearby mirrors, glaring at the sphere.

“Listen to me, Edwin. I am the Most Powerful Witch at Hogwarts,” Merula announced, “,and unless you vacate my mortal enemy’s body this instant, I will rain hell upon you!”

Edwin stared for a moment, before bursting into maniacal laughter. “Ooh, that’s a good one! I see why Matthew likes you!”

“I’m getting to that mirror, Edwin,” declared Matthew, “And you won’t stop me.”

Edwin pointed Matthew’s wand at Merula. “I somehow doubt that. I haven’t had a wand of my own in so long, I-”

“You still don't!” Matthew butted in.

“Silence!” Edwin yelled, sending Charm after Charm at the various mirrors. Merula watched as Matthew tried to mouth his words, before opting for a simple hand gesture. Merula pointed her own wand at Edwin.

“Sorry, I don’t take orders from you.” she sneered. “Flipendo!”

A burst of magic shot out of her wand at Edwin, who quickly moved out of the way, before yelling “Incendio!”, causing fire to leap towards Merula. She moved quickly out of the way, before pointing her wand back at Edwin, but he was faster. “Petrificus Totalus!” he shouted, sending a wave of paralysis at Merula, who felt herself fall to the ground. Matthew leapt towards the field of magic. He stepped through it, ending up on the other side with relative ease. Oh, the joys of the Reflected Realm, he thought to himself before reaching the mirror. Now he had to destroy it. He loosened his silver bracelet until it became a sort of fisticuff around his hand, and pulled back his arm.

“No!” roared Edwin, pointing Matthew’s own wand at him. “CRU-”

“Expelliarmus!”

Matthew’s wand flew out of Edwin’s hand over to the other side. Into the room came Rowan, Bill and Ismelda. But it wasn’t them that fired that disarming spell. It was Merula.

“It’s funny.” she said, “I never bought into that ‘wand chooses the wizard’ crap. But I think it well and truly has this time...changeling. Now, Luther!” she yelled, as the three newcomers looked around confused. Matthew took the bracelet and bashed it into the mirror. There wasn’t a scratch on the silver, but the mirror cracked into a thousand pieces.

“Contractus est inanis. Corpus meum!” he recited, as the several shards of the mirror began to glow. Blue ropes appeared between Matthew and Edwin, which snapped in two with a loud twang. Rowan pointed at the mirror. 

“Matt! What are you doing in a mirror? With a guitar?” they asked, flabbergasted.

Edwin glared daggers at his double. “Matt...my guy Matt...” he snarled, wiping the hair out of his face. “If you think getting that mirror broken was difficult, you’ll have one hell of a time putting me back-”

“Glacius Maledictus!” Matthew yelled, having picked up his wand. His bracelet glowing, ice began to coat the floor of the toilets. Perfect Ice.

Edwin looked down at his blue reflection. Matthew looked back up at him.

“...It’s a fair cop.” Edwin admitted. He looked at Merula. “A very fair cop...You know what Matt, I’ve changed my mind about you. You’re no coward. You just needed a push is all. And here I am to give it to you.” he stepped forward to Merula, grinning. “It’s been fun. You’ll thank me later.” Edwin leaned forward. There was a great flash of light, and Matthew was pulled up from the ice and into the motion. When he opened his eyes, his lips were on Merula’s. Rowan audibly gasped. Ismelda actually stopped picking her nails. Bill took a deep breath, knowing what was about to come next.

“Uuurgh!” They both said, disconnecting instantly, Matthew bringing a hand from behind Merula and her placing her feet firmly back on the ground. They both, however, couldn’t hide their very red faces.

“Oh, that bastard!” Matthew groaned, wiping his mouth.

“Yuck, yuck, yuck!” said Merula, spitting onto the ground. Suddenly, they heard his laugh. Rowan pointed downwards. Inside the glass was a boy in denim and a flannel shirt, scowling.

“I was just the first of the monsters of the mirrors.” he announced, “There’ll be more, trust me! And when they get out, they’ll-” “Incendio.”

There was a horrifying screech as the ice suddenly melted, until the bathroom floor was covered in water. Then there was silence. Ismelda smiled, before placing her wand back into her pocket. “That’s for messing with my friends.” she droned, before turning to Matthew. She looked at him for a moment, before slapping him across the face. “And that’s for kissing Merula.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” Matthew said, rubbing his cheek, which was red for a completely different reason to Ismelda. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two figures appear in the mirror for a moment, nod, then vanish.

“Ok, now can someone please explain what’s going on?” Bill asked.

“I can try.” said Matthew, stretching his jaw. Merula was still a bright pink, and was still wiping her mouth. “Was I really that bad?” he snickered.

“It was...just a surprise, Luther.” Merula said stiffly. “Don’t worry. I won’t slap you. Just don’t get any ideas.”

Rowan looked at them all, aghast. “Sorry, but are we overlooking the fact that Ismelda just killed a man?!”

***

“So, in summary...” said Dumbledore, sitting at his desk, “It’s been quite an eventful day or two for you, hasn’t it?”

Matthew nodded rapidly. They were all now in the Headmaster’s Office, along with Professors Snape, McGonagall and Flitwick.

“I am just glad that you are okay, Matthew.” squeaked the smallest wizard. “Changelings are very dangerous forces of nature.”

“I would like to remind Mr Luther,” sneered Snape, “That the next time he sees something unusual in the mirror, he is to come straight to a Head of House...and that goes for all of you, too.”

The students all nodded. “Well, if that’s everything,” said McGonagall, “I do believe you will all need sleep after a long day like this.”

“Minerva is correct.” said Dumbledore, “Though, if you have any questions or concerns...”

“Actually...” said Merula, “There’s one thing I still don’t understand. Why was I the only person who could see Matthew in the Reflected Realm?”

Dumbledore smiled. “Now that is a very interesting stroke of luck. You see, a very powerful Artifact of Protection can sometimes lend its protection to others around them. It is likely that Matthew’s bracelet,” he explained, leaning towards the boy, “Has seen your connection as the closest, and has decided to protect both of you. And perhaps, more. I imagine Mr Khanna was unable to find Edwin while he was in Matthew’s body for a reason.”

“So...what does that mean?” asked Merula

“It means you, Matthew, are Merula’s Artifactidal Guardian.” he declared. Matthew looked down at his bracelet. Was that why he gave it to him?

“Hang on...how much of a guardian?”

Dumbledore’s eye twinkled knowingly. “Enough of one, Matthew.” he said.

Merula looked at him, turning a little pink still. “What does- What do you-” But Matthew understood. He pulled out the sheet that the riddle was written on, as well as his pen, and began to scribble on the back of the parchment. Then, he gave it to Merula. She read it. Her jaw dropped.

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

I Matthew Luther, Artifactidal Guardian of Merula Snyde, hereby give her permission to visit Hogsmeade.

Merula passed the letter to Dumbledore in silence, who read it and nodded. “Very well. Now, off to bed, chop chop.”

As they all walked down the stairs, Matthew felt Merula grab his shoulder.

“Thi-” she stammered, “Th-Thank you, Matthew. I don’t… You know, I-”

“Don’t worry about it, please.” Matthew said, smiling. “This changes nothing. You and I can still be mortal enemies.”

Merula grinned. “Gotcha.” she said, smiling. “Also...um...that was my first kiss.”

Matthew nodded. “Oh. Um...mine too.” He could see something flicker over her expression after that.

“Oh...well, I’m going to say it was with you, because if I don’t it would have been with Edwin, which is even worse.”

“Yeah, I understand.” Matthew said, a smile forcing its way onto his red face. “Well...there’s another Hogsmeade trip tomorrow...see you then...”

“Y-Yeah...see you then.” Merula said, before marching off. It took only a few days for them to get back to their usual bickering selves, but people noticed that for some reason they never argued and never insulted each other when they were in Hogsmeade. The few who knew why kept that secret close to their chests.

[whatistastyinbusan]

artwork || j.jk oneshot

Pairing: singer! jungkook x artist! reader (gender-neutral)

Summary: in which y/n, an artist frustrated by the lack of inspiration in life, finds themselves some motivation in the form of jeon jungkook at a bar.

inspired by pied piper jungkook, joonpiter's edit of still with you - jk but it's open mic night at your local bar and you're falling in love with him 

Word Count: 3.0k

Genre: Fluff

A/N: hi, sorry if this is annoying BUT one very important thing: before you read this, listen to the video linked above to set the mood (believe me, it does wonders) or listen to it while reading. Okay, now onto the one-shot!

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You could not see how coming to a bar would help you find the inspiration that you were so desperately trying to get a hold of.

It had been three weeks - three weeks - since you had even picked up a pencil and put it down on paper. Art, as it seemed to be, was your escape; a safe haven, a vent for emotions that when pent up led to nights full of tossing or turning and not a wink of sleep, a channel through which you could craft your thoughts, letting the pencil in your hand guide you on what to do.

But when picking up that same pencil led to nothing but scribbles and bunched up pieces of paper in the trash, thoughts and emotions tended to get a little overwhelming. By that, you meant that they would render you helpless as you felt like ripping out your hair in frustration or screaming until nothing but hoarse whispers would come out of your throat.

You'd spent hours scrolling through social media, trying to find something that would spark your interest, but at the end of the night, always came up empty-handed. That was your routine for the past two weeks. You had even attempted to go out for a day, visiting places like the city and the library and the small lake near your house, but it seemed like nothing was piquing your interest these days.

Everything was bland, flavourless. The sunset - that would usually make you take out your phone camera and capture its beauty so that you could use a paintbrush and transfer the beauty from a screen to paper, stroke by stroke - now didn't even manage to make you bat an eye. The little flowers that grew in the cracks on the sidewalk - the same ones that would make you crouch down and hastily draw on your hand so that you could go home and recreate them in a better fashion, would be crumpled beneath the soles of your shoes. The smiles of strangers - that would usually imprint themselves onto your mind, so that you could sit near the window at home and think about how happy they looked while you sketched every single line of their face onto some medium - would make you walk right by and become just a distant memory.

Against your better judgement, you reluctantly decided to consult your friends, sick and tired of mind blanks and art blocks, hands itching to dispel the thoughts inside your head, to tell the world about you. The answers you got were...very diverse, you could say.

You got all sorts of recommendations, ranging from bungee jumping to strip clubs (you had almost died of asphyxiation while the friend who recommended it was too busy laughing her head off).

And unfortunately, the least bizarre idea out of the lot was a bar.

You considered the option; really thought over it for a solid ten minutes. It would be a change to your daily routine, which might be the reason for your lack of inspiration. Seeing the same things every day may have just become too mundane for you. A bar, on the other hand, would be a nice addition of spice to your life. Not enough to completely shake you, like strip clubs, but enough to make sure you didn't die of being inspiration-less (you weren't sure if that was actually a word, but you couldn't care less at that point).

So that's how you found yourself, breathing shallow and nerves firing rapidly, outside a bar near your house.

You didn't want to be the centre of attention. God, no. You wanted to blend in enough to observe some people from afar (now that you realized, that sounded borderline creepy). You had your sketchbook tucked safely under your over-sized cardigan, hidden because who on earth brings a sketchbook to a bar? You mentally rehearsed your plan of action; enter and be as inconspicuous as you could, make a beeline for a seat hidden in the shadows of the room and not come out until inspiration had struck you.

Once you were confident that you weren't going to trip over your own two feet, you swung open the door and felt the warm air of the room hit you, a tingling sensation flooding over your body as it adjusted to the new temperature. You heard a bell chime overhead, signalling your arrival, so you booked it to a little table right at the back, partially obscured under the lighting of the room before anyone could actually spot you.

Murmurs of conversation happening around you reached your ears, but you were sure that all of your senses had just short-circuited, like some nerve in your body had just decided to disconnect itself, resulting in a numbing sensation.

But your senses couldn't have short-circuited, because your ears picked up something and you couldn't tell if you were still alive or had died and gone to heaven.

A voice. A heavenly, serene, soulful voice.

Your eyes travelled towards the dais towards the side of the bar and saw what you could only describe as a living masterpiece, right there, on the raised platform. Long fingers clasped the microphone stand as the boy, who looked no older than 24, swayed lightly with the music playing overhead. Black, wavy hair framed his face, partly covering his eyes, but you could see that they were closed, too engrossed in the song. He wore nothing but a patterned black long sleeve shirt, top few buttons undone with black tights.

Still with you.

Remember when you said that you wouldn't leave the bar until inspiration struck you? Yeah, well, it struck you like lightning.

Your whole body was in a trance, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't stop listening to his voice. It was so...so raw and so emotional, that you had almost forgotten about why you came there in the first place.

Whipping out your sketchbook from underneath your cardigan, you wasted no time in trying to capture the pure essence of the boy under the hanging lights of the bar. You had never thought that bar lighting could make someone look so ethereal.

With nothing but just his voice calming you - for all other conversations had died out to let his heartfelt voice float around the place - you worked. You worked so fast, afraid that the inspiration you had found so arduously would run away from you, just like everything else, and yet you worked so slowly and carefully, making sure that you could do the boy's beauty justice, although you doubted that was possible.

Najimagi deullineun i eeokeon soli igeolado eobseumyeon na jeongmal muneojil geos gata

It felt like nothing else existed, nothing else mattered, apart from the pencil and sketchbook in your hand, and the boy and his melodious voice up on the dais. You couldn't focus on the bursts of conversation around you, or the way your wrist was slightly hurting from the way you were sitting, but you couldn't care. Nothing else mattered at that moment.

You were convinced that if you weren't drawing, you would've walked up to the boy, his voice drawing you in like the lure of the pied piper's pipe. It managed to wrap around you, binding you to it, and slowly but steadily pulled you in, all the while murmuring sweet nothings right near the shell of your ear.

It was exhilarating, feeling the craving of rushing to finish something flood through every one of your veins, something that you had almost forgotten the feeling of. You were ever so thankful for the entity on the make-shift stage in front of you, because you were sure that if he hadn't come into your life with his voice, you would've slipped into an abyss, a void and would've failed to come out.

You couldn't tell if it was his voice or the bass reverberating off the walls, that shook you from the inside. For a minute, you had to pause, and had to breathe, letting the notes flood you and fill you, invading every single nook and corner of your being and healing it over. Ambrosia, that's what you would describe his voice and looks as. Sweet, sweet ambrosia. Never in your wildest dreams had you thought that a voice could make you feel complete.

Subconsciously, your foot tapped along with the slow but gripping beat, and occasionally your eyes would flick towards him, and would stay just a second too long.

jeo dari oerowo boyeoseo bamhaneure hwanhage ulgo issneun geot gataseo

And his eyes would meet yours, and stay for a second too long before he looked away and smiled at the audience, who remained awestruck by the blessing in the form of the gorgeous boy on stage, who seemed as if he belonged there, singing his heart out and baring himself for the whole world to see. You decided that his smile, the most radiant of all things; you wanted to pocket it. You wanted to pocket it and keep it safe, never wanting to let it die. Because just like your drawings, his smile held a thousand words. And you wanted to hear every single one of them while your pencil traced the curve of his lips and smile onto a piece of paper, making sure it would never turn upside down.

Four minutes.

Hwangholhaessdeon gieok soge na hollo chumeul chwodo biga naerijanha

That's how long the boy sang for. Every word that left his mouth rattled you from the inside, and yet calmed you like no other meditation technique.

Four minutes.

That's how long you drew for. An incomplete figure, a mess of lines and shading looked back at you from the paper, and fear gripped you like a cold heart.

You weren't going to let him get away. Not before you finished the drawing and pinned it with all your other ones, because that night; that night was like no other.

Never had you felt that way about a sunset, or a bunch of flowers, or a strangers's smile. But he, he made all your worries retreat into a dark corner of your mind with just a smile. And his voice, oh god, you could listen to it all day and all night and never get sick of it. It felt as if he would always be your inspiration, ever ready to help you be yourself.

That boy up on the stage, you thought, was one thing you were sure you would never get tired of seeing, never get tired of drawing because, dear god, did he look absolutely stunning standing there without a care in the world.

Once he drew out the last note, the bar erupted into claps and cheers and you stopped, eyes following his obsidian ones as they crinkled in delight. He bowed to everyone before speaking into the microphone, "Thank you. Thank you, guys."

And then he was stepping off the stage, still smiling and waving at the people who complimented him, and you found yourself walking towards him. You weren't one for confrontations, but you were willing to push aside your fear of socialising for him, just this once.

He noticed you walking towards him, and shook hands with the last person before turning to you.

The two of you stood in silence. Apparently, you had suddenly lost the ability to form a single coherent thought because oh God, he was even more beautiful from up close. Sharp collar bones peeked out from beneath the collar of his shirt, and you somehow missed the tattoos lining his right arm, which was scratching at the back of his neck nervously. You could see a little mole right there, on the tip of his nose, and one right beneath his bottom lip and another one-

"Can I help you?"

Your body jerked a little as you brought your eyes to look at his black ones, and your brain finally put together a sentence as you spoke, voice clearer than your thoughts, "Your voice...it's amazing." You really wanted to say how breathtakingly beautiful he was too, but you decided to hold that back.

He laughed, the apples of his cheeks dusted with light pink as he threw back his head and laughed. And you realised that his laugh was just as precious as his smile. You noticed that his nose scrunched up in the cutest way as he giggled, and his shoulders went up slightly too, as if he was curling into himself. "Thank you. That means a lot to me, coming from someone like you."

You stopped and stared at him. Did he just say what you think you said? No, you probably mishe-

"I feel like you're not done speaking yet," he said softly, and you exhaled deeply. You just hoped that what you were going to say wasn't going to weird him out.

"I...I may have been, um.." you started but trailed off almost immediately after. Get it together y/n, you're better than this.

You closed your eyes and inhaled, before breathing out, "I was, um, drawing you, while you were, uh, singing."

You peeled open your eyes to see him looking at you in...what was it? Shock? Surprise? Disgust?

"You...were drawing me?" he started, and god, you wished he wouldn't stare at you like that, like he was staring into your very soul and unpacking every single layer there was to you, pulling you apart bit by bit and then restoring your pieces with utmost care.

You nodded slightly, but before you could explain your intentions and assure him that you were no creep, he spoke again.

"Can I see it? Please?"

If anyone should know a fact about you, it would be that you are absolutely helpless against puppy eyes. And this guy, the oh so beautiful guy in front of you, was embodying that very look.

You coughed nervously, feeling your cheeks and neck heat up as a million thoughts raced through your head. What if he found it ugly? Or found that you hadn't completed it? Or found that you hadn't gotten his nose right? The possibilities were endless. But despite the thoughts zooming around that head of yours, you cleared your throat, slowly bringing up the unfinished drawing.

"It's not finished, which is why I wanted to...to talk to you." you licked your lips, finding them in an extremely dry state, just like your throat. Maybe you should've ordered a bottle of water.

You got no answer, your breathing stilling as you studied him, his pupils blown wide as he examined the rough sketch in front of him. You could see his eyes roam over every inch of the paper, and shivered, feeling as if he wasn't staring at the drawing, but at you instead.

"It's not-" you started.

"It's..it's heavenly." he breathed, bringing his eyes to look at you, and you could feel your heart melt underneath his soft gaze. You could practically feel the appreciation bouncing off the soft smile his lips held, and wondered how you could feel so loved, so worthy in the eyes of a complete stranger.

"I was wondering if," you broke off to take a deep breath, "I could possibly finish this drawing?"

You looked at him with hopeful eyes, and upon noticing the hesitation in his eyes hastily added, "only if you're okay with it, of course!" You were hoping with all of your willpower that he would agree, but you were respectful of his wishes. You had worked with all sorts of people in the past, and all you valued from those experiences was trust.

If he didn't trust you, then you couldn't draw him. Simple.

The same reluctance danced in his eyes for a minute more before being replaced with something else. Was it admiration? Or was it sympathy?

"I'll be more than happy to model for you," he said, lips stretching into the widest grin you had ever seen, and before you knew it, you were grinning just as hard too. Contagious. That's how you would describe his smile as. It infected you with happiness, lighting up your day like nothing else, embedding nothing but optimism into the dullness of your life.

And in a moment of tempestuous thoughts, you wondered what would it feel like to trace those lips with your fingers instead.

"Could I have your phone please?" he asked, holding out his hand as you passed it to him and for the briefest moment, in the midst of handing it over to him, your fingers brushed against his, and lingered for a while too long to be considered as nothing.

But you said nothing about it, and instead watched as he tapped at your screen with a small smile on his face before giving you back your phone.

He had fed his number into your phone, under the name of Jeon Jungkook with a bunny emoji next to it.

Fitting, you thought. He did remind you of a bunny.

You looked up at him, only to find him exiting the bar and climbing into a cab. And just before he climbed in, he looked back - right at you - and waved, before gesturing to call him later.

You stood in the middle of the floor at the bar, watching as the taxi pulled away, and pocketed your phone and walked out of the bar. You felt the cold air rush to prick at the bits of exposed skin near your neck and wrists, but you were too lost in thought to notice.

Jeon Jungkook, you decided, was an enigma; an artwork. A mystery with too many layers and too many twists. But Jeon Jungkook was also the simplest person you had ever encountered.

And as an artist, you were willing to tell the world about him, were willing to tell the world about Jeon Jungkook.

The boy so beautiful that he stole your heart without even knowing it.

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A/N: et voila, I have posted my very first one-shot! Don't forget to vote and tell me your thoughts or any feedback bcoz your support means the world to me. And last but not least, always remember that you are loved, valid and a beautiful person, inside and out. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise you precious hooman (or they can fight me)

p.s: tell me if you want a part 2 or if you have any other ideas that you might want me to write! :)

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

It’s The Avengers (03x08)

Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)

Season 3 Episode 08: We Are Going Knowhere

Series Summary: Living in the Avengers facility post-apocalypse in a better timeline   Tony Stark has decided to capture every moment by pulling The Office on the Avengers. All of housemates are pretty used to the idea except for you, who had just come here to finish her degree, and the newest member- Loki.

Warnings: oooof!!!

Word Count:I sound so bad for actually turning happy that there was a positive patient in our block because that would increase the chances of my neighbourhood undergo a strict lockdown and then I wouldn’t have to go to work. My fam doesn’t understand this but I need some time with myself to recharge for good and so they look at me like I am posessed.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

The lens focused from its blurriness over to the kitchenette where Bucky stood making himself some coffee.

Scott: Are we rolling? *nods* Cool. *clears throat* So turns out that there is another unspoken romance waiting to bloom in our midst and as a hopeless romantic with an engineering degree I am utterly disappointed in myself for not figuring it out sooner. *looks at some invisible void in the distance* Well, I would have if I wasn't so obsessed with my other couple goal. I would have. *smiles at the void* *speaks softly* those two almost gave me a heart attack last night!

A sweat-drenched Steve walked in after a run around the facility. "Hey," he greeted Bucky before turning towards the dorms. "Hey," Bucky greeted back while pouring his coffee and looking at America's ass strut down the lounge in those grey track pants that were just the right amount of tight across those butt cheeks jiggling down the hall while the camera caught that steaming hot coffee colour the -otherwise spotless- white island brown as Bucky's eyes and heart skipped with that booty while his hands holding the coffee pot forgot what they were supposed to do. Scott entered the lounge to find that coffee dripping down everywhere while Bucky was lost. "Watch out, Buck," he called out, breaking the Captain's trance on this Seargent, "your gay is showing."

Scott: *contemplates* huh...I should get that on a t-shirt.

"I don't get it. He's your best friend. Why don't you just ask him out?" Scott bit into an apple and looked at Bucky mopping up the result of his gaze and one sexy booty. "I can't ask him out because he is my best friend, Scott," Bucky sighed. "It was kinda easy to do this charade back in our day. Now, everyone is out of the closet like-" "Like your everyday lounging shorts," Scott added, getting a nod agreement from Bucky. "And I'm not even sure if he looks at me the same way." Scott had to look at the camera after on real slow blink in Bucky's direction.

Scott: *inhales while keeping his palms together in front of his face* Boy, do I have news for you! *opens his hands and tries to stop the excitement from making him scream* That dude literally fought Nazis for you! TWICE! And then brought you back to f****ng life! *tries not to cry* *whispers* Dude! Why are my OTPs so f****ng dumb!

On Our Trip to Knowhere The camera showed Lulu trying to swim in the sea of berries in a crate while popping one in his mouth whenever Loki wasn't looking. "If the merchant asks for mixed berries I'm going to sell you off to him," Loki announced from the cockpit. Well, at least Lulu thought he wasn't looking. The distraught and drooping fluff looked at you for any sign that this wasn't true. "No, he won't," you mouthed and shook your head before turning back to co-pilot - well, whatever was remaining of- the spaceship Loki had bargained from the last station. Putting the coordinates in for his stop, he turned around and brought his hands together and did one loud clap. "Alright. Everyone listen up. There are some things you need to take care of when-" You moaned incredibly loud, dramatically your head in every possible direction. "Uuuggghhhahaaaarrgggghh!!" "What." "We have heard this befoooore!" "And you will hear it again! Because Knowhere is dangerous. It has all kinds of filth gathered here hiding in the dark wh-" You wanted to groan one more time but something in the vast emptiness before you caught your eyes and took your breath away. "What...is that?!" your voice barely got out while a smirk landed on Loki's lips with a shine in his eyes. The camera quickly came forward to record what seemed like a gigantic skull being the bed of inhabitants floating in the dark of the space. From where its eyes were supposed to be, was a cavern lit with life inside while sizeable pods came and left from the jaw and ears. "That, my dear, is Knowhere," Loki declared softly, quite mesmerised for a moment by this look of awe in your eyes, "land of the lawless created when the Dark God Knull used his All Black sword to decapitate a Celestial. Seeing as the rotting skull was worth quite something to someone in some part of the universe, a notorious group by the name Tivan decided to make this their base. And as opposed to their demeanour, they are quite a dangerous group of underworld criminals, mind you." Loki had to turn his head and look at you when he did not get anything in response and found you sit there a shade lighter, looking right at the skull where you were headed. "Surely we'll be safe if we avoid that group, right?" You looked at him for a seed of hope to get out of this alive. "Right, Loki?"

Loki: *presses his lips together* *snickers* *lets the chortle slip his mouth* *guffaws for the next minute with tears streaming down his eyes while holding onto his stomach* One minute later Loki: *clears his throat* *wipes the tears from his eyes* Ah! I love humans!

"Oh, sweetheart," Loki practically sang a soft note in your direction with a gentle head tilt, "we are going to meet their leader."

The Lounge Team "Hey, would...you...like...ss-coffee?" The camera shifted from a disconcerted Bucky barely standing by the kitchenette on his wobbly legs to an encouraging- though a little disappointed- Scott standing there while Wanda sat on one of the barstools by the wall and witnessed the whole practice unfold. "Bucky, sweety," Scott pressed ever so sweetly, placing his hand on the island in his direction, "Steve would always like a coffee for his rat-like heart. We have to get him to have that coffee with you! Make him know that you want to have that coffee alone with him. Want to hold hands with him. Want to let him know how much you care for him. Want t-" "Want to let him know how much you want to bang him," Wanda commented, taking Scott by surprise. "How long have you been sitting there?" The Ant-Man asked with a hand on his chest. "Long enough," she shrugged while popping roasted almonds in her mouth. "Bucky, all you need to do is declare you like him. Rest will be easy peasy, lemons in vodka squeezy." 

Natasha: *tsks*Совсем беда с парнями. Без нас ни один из них даже не узнал бы, что второй жив. Wanda: *giggles* Ты бы видела, как Баки сегодня себя вёл в общей комнате, весь такой смущённый. Даже в глаза Стиву не мог взглянуть, не краснея. В конце концов он просто взял, молча пододвинул Стиву кружку кофе и ушёл — а у самого из ушей так пар и валит. Natasha: *rolls her eyes* Мои зверята и то сообразительней, чем эти двое. Wanda: *gasps* У тебя есть питомцы?! Natasha: *no change in emotion* Как-нибудь познакомлю. Так вот, возвращаясь к теме парней: ты замечала, что как только Баки заходит в комнату, Стив прямо весь тает? Wanda: *wide eyes* Замечала, и не только! Он только взглянет на Баки, как у него в голове начинает играть музыка из фильма "История любви", а перед глазами волосы Баки развеваются, как в рекламе шампуня. *blushes* *clears throat*  Да, и еще он почему-то переставляет себе, что на Баки из одежды только красные стринги. Natasha: *a big, toothy laugh* АХАХАХАХА!

Knowhere There were smoke and liquor everywhere the cameras swerved. There were creatures young and old, weak and bold, gathered to gamble, fight, rave, smuggle, hide. Anything unordinary you could think was there. From genderless strippers to non-binary fighters- the far corner filled with one hollered at the other, whistling, catcalling, making signs that you did not want to know the meaning of. Loki, on the other hand, was enjoying all fifty expressions your face reflected at the scenic view of the inside of Knowhere. Lulu, though mesmerised by the lights everywhere and blown away by the flying pods, still hung to your shoulder. If he had eyes, you were sure they would be wide open with their focus just on those flying machines as he made crackling noises at them. Javi caught you flinch and jump away from a creature looking like a six-year old's version of Satan but in green. Satan growled at you before pretending to bite you and lick those yellow fangs of his while he chortled with his equally appalling buddies. "Kin sibe nom torra," Satan rolled his R's while gurgling through his throat at you- someone who had no idea what that guy was talking about while trying to fiddle through your bag to find those earpieces the Hardy boys had provided you. "Ugh, is this what Clint has to go through?" That Satan dude stepped closer to you, driving you two steps back. All the onlookers could feel the sudden rush as they watched you stand one step away from backing into a murky wall while Satan smirked his dirty smirk at you, taking one potential step before Loki stepped in to put a hand on his chest. "Ukt sast nom kore grata," the God practically sang before parting his fingers with that chest while his face screamed 'yucky'. Just as he uttered those words, that smug grin on Satan's face got washed away to show confusion and fear eroding in those beady eyes. "Sica rom ni froa," Loki gestured him to walk away with a kind smile before turning to look at you with your jaw unhinged just a little. "Wha-how...what was that?" "Oh, they were catcalling you in the most vulgar way possible," Loki replied, looking at the address in his navigation device. "....okay? And?" "And-" he clicked the device close and pointed at a distant pathway- ever so casually with the other hand in his pocket- "I told them to only ask you to go with them if they liked getting their heads eaten when you orgasm." And the Silvertongue walked away, leaving that jaw to unhinge a bit more.

You: *grunts* now I wish I could do that *crosses arms in disappointment* *camera pans out to show Loki standing by your side, looking at you like a lost cause* Loki: This is why you do not have a lover You: *huff* *repeat his lines to him louder* this is why you do not have a lover!

The Collector's Den There were no guards on doors, something you thought would be a default scene considering you were walking into the Space Illuminati Warlord's lair. The neon colours breathing around you from creatures and elements unknown were too much for the eyes to deal with in one go. But it all seemed to be toned down to normal when your entire body felt itself jerk to prevent a heart attack at the sight of the four feet high and three feet wide head preserved in a tank right next to the entrance. "That's...one way to greet people," you muttered, your eyes still on that creature while your legs followed Loki further into the appropriately-named Collector's business place.  "Marvelous!" A voice boomed in the house of Tivan and you had to pull yourself back to the front, stepping closer to Loki to witness a creature anatomically very similar to a human walk towards your group with a pep in his step. "Finally someone who knows the worth of the head of a dark celestial." The white hair on his head stood as straight as a distraught anime character along with his brows. His lips were what caught your attention with an apparent thin tattoed line running down the middle, ending right before the chin. If that wasn't enough to make anyone wonder what in hell was this creature, the sudden whip of his cape was the last straw to help you innocent ones realise this one was the mad kind. "Tell me, oh beautiful one-" he bowed in front of you his hands going back in the air like a ballerina- "what do you think of that head?" You looked at Loki for some help. He simply shrugged and put his pale fingers on his lips, leaving the floor to you. "...that it's...big?" "It's hideous," the Collector grumbled. "A beauty like you should not have to see something so indigestible. EVER!" He whipped his cape again, making you shoot your brows up and turn towards the camera.

You: Ooooohohoho *giggle* my God! This guy is more dramatic than any theatre majors I have EVER seen! *gasps* Oh- Loki: No! We are not taking him to earth to meet theatre nerds. You:  You: *slump back* *grumble*

"Welcome to the humble abode of this mere creature that goes by the name Taneleer Tivan. Address me as you wish your grace. Your husband has been our esteemed partner for quite the time in this space." There was nothing but a slow blink that escaped you at the thought of the mafia lord thinking you were Loki's wife. Then, a finger rose in question at the audacity of that white-haired baboon reaching to that conclusion just by seeing you two together. "Okay, excuuuuse me," you started off with bubbling rage, "first of all, you have amazing eyesight for noticing I'm beautiful. And second of all, your partner wishes!"

Taneleer: *narrows eyes at the camera, oblivious* I am confusion

Loki simply rolled his eyes before touching a windchime next to him. "I see you still have your spies on a decent payroll, Tivan. Was it the Kou-Gare that boarded with us on the shuttle from the last station? Or was it the Djinn you had your clan's symbol etched on his back?" Taneleer blinked quite fast before breaking into a chortle, his head thrown back and his hands flailing. "You are still the same shrewd Silvertongue! I told them you would find out sooner or later." The camera focused on your expression- a swirl of shock and thrill. "But I do have to ask," he sang before turning to you, circling you like a cat, "where did you find this one? And what was so special about her that she got to stand by the side of the God of Mischief." He practically purred inside your hair while taking a sniff as you stood there frozen, looking at Loki for some sort of escape. "She is a human, Tivan," Loki called out, still looking at the windchime that refracted light into a colourful rainbow all over Loki's skin. And like a good chameleon, Taneleer's colours changed while Loki looked smug for the camera, his back still turned to you and the Collector. "By your Gods and mine! If she is a human how is she more alluring than you?!"

You: *smug* If I had a mic? I'd drop it. *still acts out a mic drop*

The colours on Loki's face washed away as fast as they had come. His lips forming as many different-sized Os as they possibly could. "What? WHAT?!" Taneleer simply nodded, observing you like an art connoisseur from a respectable distance. "Say, my ever-enchanting one-" with a leg bent out, he bowed to take your hand in his- "would you bestow upon this meagre merchant the honour to honour you by studying your essence?" "Okay, that's it," Loki muttered before covering the distance in two strides and breaking away that unwanted hand-holding; smacking away Taneleer's hand while taking yours and holding it in his. "You," he pointed his finger at the collector while the camera focused on his hand holding your wrist, "you are going to help me-" Taneleer parted his lips to say something before being shut by Loki's words- "BECAUSE you owe me for saving your life!" And then the God turned to you, the distance between the two of you lesser than Lulu lying on the ground. He was in fact lying on the ground, trying to make angels in something clearly invisible to the human eyes. "And you," Loki announced softer than he wanted to, his eyes locked onto yours. For the moment there, that was all it was. His greens shining like a freshly washed forest from rain shining under the new sun. And your eyes were the treasure quarry of y/e/c stones buried under the water looking up at that forest hiding both the light and darkness inside it. Seconds passed. Both Taneleer and the camera looked at each other for answers before the former slowly dragged his wine glass from the table to the edge, letting it fall and clunk on the floor, loud enough to break the God out of a trance. "You will stay here with Lulu. Do not cause trouble till I get back." Authority in his voice, he inhaled a lungful before furrowing his brows- trying to understand what had just happened- and turning to walk away. "Who's Lulu?" Taneleer was curious. You seemed to pop right out of your own trance by the question, beaming at the collector before picking up Lulu in your arms to let him purr in your embrace. "My baby." Taneleer took the appearance of little hairy creature in. "So much hair...or fur?" before turning to Loki, waiting for a second and then following him. "I told you not to take those drugs during your sexual endeavours for information extraction, Silvertongue."

The Lounge The flatscreen was muted, showing you sleeping in the back of the spaceship Loki just bargained for cheap. Your lips were parted and you were drooling all over the blanket underneath you while Loki set the ship on autopilot to come to take a look in the back. Javi was asleep too, with Lulu in his arms, both of them sprawled on the seats bunched up together by the last owner. What Loki did not realise- or did not bother to validate- was that the cameras were still running; those electronic bugs with space technology still buzzing around the temporary gravity.  He stood next to the makeshift bed of crates bunched together for you to sleep over, snoring loud enough to make Lulu's head vibrate in the direction of the voice. The camera focused on the screen when the expression on Loki's face bore a look barely ever seen before- soft. He was on his knees, putting the blanket wrinkled in your arms over your shoulder, securing it on both sides before moving a stray strand of your hair away from your face. He said something, apparently to you, but the only thing the camera in the lounge caught was the moving lips before frantically shifting between the screen and Natasha, Wanda, Scott and flustered Bucky; neither of them catching the lens' drift to look at the screen. Natasha and Wanda watched from the sofa as Scott still tried to get Bucky to open up a little more. "I can't watch this anymore," Natasha grumbled to Wanda with an emotionless face towards the two men, "just tell me when he comes." "Oh, oh, oh, he's coming," Wanda whispered, poking Natasha before transforming her excitement back to a dull sober self.

Wanda: So, I can always tell where this man is in the house. He does this thing where he will pick up a theme from something he is into lately and his brain keeps playing it on repeat. Last night Natasha made him watch Phineas and Ferb and so *flails her hands* *smirks* it's going to be the title sequence all day. *turns her smile into a fine line of distaste* and thanks to her I no longer have to listen to Never Gonna Give You Up for another week.

"Hey, Bucky," Natasha called out the ex-winter soldier as loud as possible, "I'm proud that you came out of the closet buddy! You should be proud of being bi. We are here with you." She clicked her tongue and finger-gunned him. Confused but delighted at the gesture, Bucky shared a chuckle with an equally excited Scott. "Thanks, Nat. But I don't know how will be able to tell to-" he turned just enough to let his eyes catch Steve standing frozen by the lounge entrance-"...Steve."

Tivan's Den "This is crazy. And so cool?! I wish I had the means to collect all the weird things around the world." Lulu chirped at you while tapping at the glass that had a pink coloured female inside it while you- bright-eyed and enthralled by the extraordinary roamed about the place, looking at the gems and flora, bugs and skeletons around this place. One little piece of quartz caught your attention for it had waves inside it as if clear water was kissing the pale dull sand on a clear beach and making it come to life. Your hand went for that crystal when you felt your brain jerk you back. "Ooooh, we're not supposed to touch anything. I don't want to be stuck in a death game again," you muttered before pouting at the crystal and walking away. Away from that shelf to turn and find yourself facing a golden music box and shrieking as low as possible. Lulu raised himself where he stood before leaping towards the shelf you were fangirling about. "Lulu, look!" You whispered in heated excitement, your toes barely keeping you on the ground, "a music box with Loki's helmet on it! You think it belongs to him?"

Lulu cautiously moved closer to the box sniffing it like a curious cat, pausing for a bit before rubbing his head with the precious trinket. "Okay. So, you approve!" You clapped and picked the box up. "Aw! You think little Loki got this as a gift on one of his birthdays?" Winding the lever as far as it went, you refrained from squirming as you opened it. A sweet sound was followed by Lulu's camera catching a hairpin inside the box. The camera caught the expression of pure awe on your face that was looking at the intricate designs on that hairpin while also catching a cloud emerging behind you that was slowly morphing into a figure; something you were not aware of. Lulu, on the other hand, seemed to feel the presence as the camera jerked and a hiss came out of the little one in the direction of the figure that was out of focus but slowly walking towards your back. "It's beautiful!" You whispered. "Do you think it belongs to his...mom, Lulu?" Another hiss came out of Lulu and this time you turned your gaze up in confusion at him. "I sure hope it does," an echo of a voice called out from behind you, making you shriek, jump away from that direction, hit your head in the shelf in front of you so hard that you went limp and fell down with one loud thump.

Back Where the Boys Are The back room of the Collector's den was rather more sophisticatedly decorated than the marketed front; not to mention the equally more bizarre antiquities surrounding the room as the God and one human entered. "I need a tool to break me out of these," Loki declared while directed Taneleer's gaze towards his handcuffs. Taneleer raised his brows and tapped his fingers onto each other. "Looks like someone forgot the key during their playtime!" A snicker left Javi and Loki almost lost it. "Why does everyone keep thinking I would voluntarily shackle myself to these forsaken cuffs!" "How many people have pointed that out by now?" Taneleer asked while supporting his weight on the nearest shelf. Loki shoved off the question, paused, blinked and then huffed. "Five," he muttered. Javi tskd from where he stood, signing something with one hand. "That Terran says eleven," Taneleer pointed out, now judging the God with his narrowed eyes. "Do not jest me, Collector!" "Jest you! You, the God of riding SOLO with nothing but self-preservation in your blood, trodding in space all mighty with a beautiful Terran and you expect the fauna to not suggest something titillating going between the two of you?!" The eye-roll Loki felt, almost made the audience wonder if they would disappear in the back of his head. "There is nothing going on between me and her. She's just. A friend." The most dramatic gasp came out of the Collector, his hand going over to his trembling lips. "He used the f-word," the poor mafia lord whispered to himself. "What? I have had friends before," Loki shrugged through his shoulders, not making eye contact with his company before getting conscious of the camera. "Oh, name one friend besides me who hasn't exploited you for their own wishes!" "Can we please get back to busi-" "That's because you don't have any-" "Peter!" Loki blurted out of nowhere before realisation hit his face and made a split-second eye contact with the camera before composing himself. "His name is Peter and if anything happened to him, I would kill everyone and then myself. Remember that." The weight in his words seemed to shift the power in the room, impressing the Collector beyond what he asked for. "Yes, yes! Don't boil your blood over it," Taneleer sang rather sweetly, swinging his hips and humming something. "Well? Are you going to help me or not?!" Loki huffed. "Give me back whatever grace I left with you." Taneleer muttered something that was not audible to the God.  "You did what?!" Taneleer groaned. "How do you have such sharp ears?" "YOU SOLD MY GRACE!!!" "Well, not sold so much as bartered for a nice sample of a fae's DNA. So, I'd say it was a good deal." The collector was in the middle of turning to face the God when he felt himself being shoved into the wall behind him by Loki. "You are-" Loki hissed- "going to get me-" and grabbed his throat- "out of these shackles-" and tightened his grip on the OverLord- "or this is the last thing you will see before you die." The Collector winced and croaked for air, begging through his eyes when Loki let go just enough for him to speak. Wheezing for as much air as possible, the Collector looked at the God with eyes of a mercy-seeking peasant. "Now, now, my sweet God! If you kill me...who will save your precious friend out there?"

to be continued...

[shutupanakin]

Right Where You Left Me ch.1

“Oh— ohhh,” The boy groans, rubbing his face. “I’ve gone back too far. I did it again, we had talked about this—“

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Tubbo says, the boy laughs bitterly.

“Yeah... yeah, I know.” He says, pulling himself up. Tubbo does the same, brushing himself off. He is tall, much taller than Tubbo. Tubbo wishes he got stuck at an age after his promised growth spurt.

or,

Tubbo is immortal and Ranboo uses time travel to outrun Quackity (oh, and Tommy reincarnates, like, a lot)

tw for: illness, death, suicide attempts (nongraphic)

crossposted on ao3 here

Theseus dies first.

Tubbo is seventeen years old. Theseus is sixteen, months away from his seventeenth birthday.

He never reaches it. Not in this life, at least.

Tubbo is seventeen, and Theseus dies, cradled close to Tubbo’s chest. He’s still warm from his fever in Tubbo’s arms when he feels himself begin to fade to.

Tubbo doesn’t have the energy to shake him awake, to beg for him to come back. To open his eyes— because Tubbo knows he’s gone, and Tubbo’s surely minutes away from joining him. They couldn’t afford a medic to help them, or even diagnose them with what illness had struck them. It was just the two, alone but together.

Theseus is dead, and Tubbo’s eyes are glued shut in acceptance.

Theseus is dead, and Tubbo’s going to join him.

Except he doesn’t. Before Thanatos can cut a lock of his hair away, before he could follow Theseus’s soul into the underworld, there are footsteps.

Through the delirium of his fever, he can hear the rise and fall of steps. Perhaps a hellhound thought he was taking too long, and is here to drag him. That probably wouldn’t be pleasant. The footsteps are heavy and are followed by the clanking of jewels— so not a hellhound, then.

It took the last ounce of strength that Tubbo had in his system; he managed to slowly pull open his very heavy eyelids. He opens them just enough for him to see narrowly through. It is blurry; Tubbo felt like he was holding his head underwater.

Surely, there is a person in front of him. They are kneeling down. Tubbo sees the white cloak that is draped over him, and there is some sort of silver crown sitting across raven hair. Tubbo blames the fever, and the fact that this has to be a dream, but if Tubbo focused hard enough he could see the man's red eyes and pointed ears.

Maybe Hades himself had come to collect him? That would be nice.

He is touching Tubbo’s face, and then Theseus. And Tubbo wants to hit him away, to tell him to not touch Theseus, but he can’t because his eyes are closing and they probably won’t open ever again.

And Tubbo’s slipping away, he's falling and he’s losing grip on the edge and—wait, why is he still holding? Theseus is already dead. And he’s falling and he is free and—

The white-cloaked man with the blood eyes and pointed ears catches his arm, and Tubbo is pulled back over the edge.

Tubbo is seventeen, and Tubbo is alive.

His eyes open easily, and his vision is no longer blurry. Tubbo can feel the world, and the world is clear .

They had fallen together in an alley between some houses, too weak to make it further after a medic had told them to leave.

The man is gone. Long away, because the sky is no longer dark and dotted with stars, but painted with mixes of orange and blues tell-taling morning sky.

Theseus is no longer warm. He is stiff and cold.

And… and Tubbo is alive .

Tubbo is far away from the edge. Tubbo is alive. The fever is gone. Tubbo is alive. Tubbo is breathing and—

Theseus is not.

Theseus is pale and still. Tubbo grips him, shaky fingers clutching Theseus’s tunic. A gasp stuck in his throat— turns into a sob that works through Tubbo’s body. “ Thes…”  Tubbo’s voice is shaky, and the shakiness turns into a heaty wail. “...Please…”,

Theseus does not move.

Tubbo is seventeen, and he can not die.

Theseus has been buried by Tubbo. Tubbo had managed to pick himself up and drag Theseus to the cloth hut they had set up outside of town to give him a proper burial.

There are a lot more things wrong with Tubbo than he initially thought, apparently.

It starts when Tubbo goes five days without consuming anything and he feels fine. Food and water had not even crossed his mind. He doesn’t even notice until he picks himself off of Theseus’s grave to go into town and a shopkeeper tells him what day it is.

Tubbo can still eat, he can still drink, just like any person, but it does not change how he feels.

Then, Tubbo is sitting in the hut, sobbing into his knees and pulling at his hair because he is alone. Theseus is gone and Tubbo has no one.

And he plunges a dagger into his stomach, and Tubbo is back on the ledge but there is a barrier he can’t see keeping him from jumping and—

Tubbo is alive, and he can not reach death.

Tubbo is eighteen, and he does not age.

Tubbo has managed to take up a job with a blacksmith, but he no longer needs the support that his new earnings would give him.

He does not move out of the hut. Theseus’s spot remains empty. Tubbo doesn’t sit in it.

Tubbo is splashing his face and scrubbing the soot off when he catches his reflection in the stream. Surely it’s his brain playing tricks on him— because Tubbo looks nearly the same as the day he pulled himself off the floor to go wash his hair in this same stream.

His hair is the same length.

He hasn’t needed to cut his hair, which is odd . Because his hair used to grow so quickly that Theseus would sit him down and take a blade to his hair so it would stop getting in his eyes. Tubbo hasn’t touched it since.

Because he hasn’t needed to.

His face—other than the smudges of soot—remains unchanged.

Tubbo jumps up and sprints from the pond, no longer caring about the soot that covers his face.

Tubbo can still feel pain, he realizes.

It is a relief, more than it should be. It reminds him that he is still human.

Tubbo starts his new unhealthy habit when he snatches some fruit from a vendor. He doesn’t need it for himself, but some birds land near his hut a lot, and Tubbo thought if he could not do something for himself, he can do something for them.

But then there's a tight, harsh grip on his arm and a fist is connected with Tubbo’s jaw. Tubbo is on the ground and the vendor is standing over him. Tubbo is blocking his face with his arms, but he’s already started kicking Tubbo in the stomach. He’s calling Tubbo harsh names and Tubbo can not open his mouth to retaliate.

He leaves Tubbo, taking the fruit that Tubbo stole with him. Tubbo lies, not being able to move his arms from his face.

Pain . He can feel pain. His jaw aches and he’s sure there would be bruising if he was a normal person— Tubbo is not a normal person, not anymore.

The pain subsides quickly, and Tubbo can stand up as nothing happened.

When Tubbo checks the stream later, there is no bruise on his face. He was correct, then. His ribs, which were supposed to be broken , feel fine.

Tubbo breathes easily, and he hates it.

But Tubbo can feel pain.

Everything else that had made him human, that had made him mortal, has been stripped away from him; by a man whose face he doesn’t completely remember, matching to a name that Tubbo does not even know.

Tubbo wonders if he knew just how much he was cursing Tubbo.

Pain is temporary, but pain is addicting.

So Tubbo picks fights.

Maybe he stumbles too hard into a mean-looking man and eggs him on with curses. Tubbo will see a group of boys his age (or, his age when he had stopped aging, he reminds himself) and throw insults at them until he gets a reaction.

And Tubbo is left in an alley, leaning against a wall, similar to the way he was all that time ago with Theseus— and the pain is there. Tubbo can feel it, and it makes him feel real.

But the pain fades, and Tubbo goes back home wishing they had hit him harder.

Tubbo tries different methods, and none of them work. He throws himself off of a structure— he lands on his head. He’s at the cliff, and he’s banging on the barrier and... Tubbo wakes up on the ground because no one had cared enough to come to collect the poor little scrappy boy's body— completely fine, other than a headache that eventually subsided.

His blood does not soak the stone.

His frustrated tears do, though.

Tubbo started teasing some hunters' chained canines. Tubbo would irritate them and throw the little food he had— which he could, because Tubbo didn’t need it— until they were barring their teeth and barking at him.

Tubbo steps closer, well within reach of their chain.

He only touches the barrier. He’s too tired to try to push it.

Tubbo wakes up and he’s somewhere else, but he’s alive, and it didn’t work.

Tubbo stabs himself again. He lays down in the steep end of the stream near his hut. Tubbo finds higher buildings and even goes as far as climbing up trees and—

Nothing works.

Tubbo can not die.

Tubbo is immortal, but he can still sleep.

So, when he’s not working under the blacksmith— Tubbo sleeps. It’s not something he needs, he realizes now, and he doesn’t dream. He realizes bitterly that is another thing that the white-cloaked man had taken from him; his right to die, his right to dream.

It’s devastating, honestly. Because he can never truly see Theseus again now, not in reality, not even in his dreams.

Tubbo fears forgetting his friend's face.

So, Tubbo sleeps. Because for a few hours, he doesn’t have to feel. He doesn’t have to exist, not mentally. Tubbo can close his eyes and he will float in the void.

It’s been a while since his last string of attempts, but Tubbo is so bored , so it can’t hurt to test.

Tubbo tries to die again.

It doesn’t work.

It never works.

In reality, it’s become a tradition for Tubbo. A sick and twisted one, albeit. A new constant in his life now that his old one was gone.

Once a month, he tries. New methods and old. He fails. He sits at Theseus’s grave after. Sometimes he talks to him, hoping Theseus might hear him. It’s all Tubbo has. Tubbo has accepted his immortality, but he can’t accept his loneliness.

Tubbo is immortal, and he is so lonely.

Tubbo is sitting at Theseus’s grave again. He hadn’t done this in a while, he thinks.

He had to quit his job with the blacksmith;  the man was starting to notice the lack of— well, growth , on Tubbo’s part. Tubbo only lasted so long because he counted on not being looked at too much, too focused on smelting metal and controlling fires to look up.

Tubbo didn’t have good luck though, because if he did he wouldn’t have to be here in the first place.

Because he started to notice the way Tubbo never grew, or how his chair never changed length, or how the baby fat on his face never really went away.

Tubbo had collected all his payments anyway, not that he really needed them.

Tubbo had spent the good part of the last few months laying in his hut. He had a proper cot, now that he could afford it. Tubbo figured it would be a good investment considering his desire to sleep.

His rests are still dreamless, but Tubbo can’t bring himself to care about that anymore. It passes the time, and he doesn’t have to feel, or think. He enjoys that.

Tubbo woke up this morning with the full intention of going to sleep, but there were birds outside his hut, making god-awful noises that Tubbo couldn’t drown out.

Tubbo scowled, pulling himself off the cot, hastily stepping outside.

The birds in question were odd-looking— they weren’t a species he recognized. Certainly not like the birds he would usually see in this area. The birds in question were rather fat and white, with rounded yellow beaks.

Tubbo had almost not noticed that they all had mismatched eye colors. They wouldn’t be noticeable if it was just the one, but they all shared a yellow right eye and a blue left eye.

And the noises . The noises they were making were just awful.

“ Shoo !” Tubbo hissed, kicking dust at them while waving his arms. “Go away!” He yelled, the weird-looking birds scattering.

Tubbo squinted, holding his hand above his eyes. He hadn’t stepped outside in a minute, so contempt with just sleeping .

Tubbo had felt guilty, having not visited Theseus' grave in a while. Spirits get lonely too , Tubbo thinks.

So Tubbo sits. He doesn’t talk, because he’s already said so much to his friend's gravestone. He’s talked and talked and there is never any response.

The birds remain nearby, making their gods' awful noises— it’s more bearable when they’re not so close. Tubbo sits protectively in front of Theseus’s burial, not wanting them to trample it.

Tubbo wonders whether or not Theseus is having a similar experience in the underworld, listening to the howls of the...

There is a pull, and for the first time in his new life, Tubbo feels sick .

Is this it? Have his prayers been answered? Has the white-cloaked god finally come to take him?

The pull snaps and Tubbo doubles over, holding his chest. He’s breathing, heavily, so he’s alive but why why why—

There’s someone else here.

There is a boy, a few feet away from him. He is coughing into his arm, and Tubbo wonders if he is sick.

He looks up, and his eyes are like the odd birds. But instead of the blue and yellow, they are red and green and are framed by freckles and puffy blond hair that is so dark it is almost brown. He’s probably Tubbo’s eternal age, perhaps a bit older.

He’s wearing odd clothes, not similar to the white-cloaked man but certainly out of place. A pattern is on the cloth over his weird-looking tunic, and his trousers are made out of a harsh-looking material that Tubbo can’t place his finger on.

“Tubbo?” The boy breathes out, like a question.

Ah , he thinks. “Are you a god too?”

“Tubbo,” The boy says again.

“That’s me,” Tubbo says. “You’re a bit of a stupid god then,” He hums. Maybe, if Tubbo makes him mad he’ll strike him down, that would be too good.

“Oh— ohhh ,” The boy groans, rubbing his face. “I’ve gone back too far. I did it again , we had talked about this—“

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Tubbo says, the boy laughs bitterly.

“Yeah... yeah, I know.” He says, pulling himself up. Flustered, Tubbo does the same, brushing himself off. He is tall, much taller than Tubbo. Tubbo wishes he got stuck at an age after his promised growth spurt.

The birds are freaking out now, and the boy stumbles back, eyes blown wide. His pants turn into quick, short breaths, rubbing his neck. “He’s... already here…” He clenches the leather-bound journal close to his chest tightly. He steps back, nearly falling into the stream, Tubbo catching his arm. He doesn’t notice. “I can’t— I can’t jump again! It’s too soon— I can’t—“

He’s panicking.

Tubbo doesn’t understand what’s going on.

Tubbo, was in fact, minding his own business, thank you very much. He could be trying to conquer Rome right now, or parading himself as a deity with showing off his immortality, but he’s minding to himself in his little hut and the least the gods could do is leave him alone .

“Who?” Tubbo presses, stepping closer. “Who is after you? Who are you?”

The boy looks at him wide-eyed, hit with a  realization that Tubbo wishes he understood. He grips Tubbo’s arms, and Tubbo flinches back because oh , it’s been so long since he’s had contact that he’s forgotten what it feels like, but his grip only tightens

“I’m sorry.”

Tubbo wasn’t expecting that. The birds are closer now.

“Pardon?” Tubbo asks.

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry— I’m sorry I should’ve—“

He’s cut off, because before he can explain, give Tubbo an answer for how he knows Tubbo’s name; he’s bleeding from the abdomen.

He stumbles, and Tubbo catches him in a forced hug, both of them hitting the ground with their knees.

There is a man, not much taller than Tubbo himself. He, too, is dressed oddly. A deep blue stitched hat sits on his head, covering most of his dark hair. A scar runs down the man’s right eye. His eyes are double-colored as well, blue and yellow, like the birds. Also, like the birds, he has wings , yellow and wide.

Tubbo knows that this is a god, not the dying boy that Tubbos is holding in his arms— who forces the journal he held so tightly into Tubbo’s hands. There’s a bloody handprint on it.

He leans into Tubbo, like he’s done it before, like he’s comfortable.

“I’m sorry.” The boy mumbles into Tubbo’s shoulder. “I didn’t want to… I didn’t want to—“  Tubbo wishes he knew what that meant, but he shushes him, in the same way he did Theseus when he woke from a nightmare when they were children.

It’s a few more moments, and his breathing is more shallow. His grip on Tubbo loosens, fingers desperately trying to grip the fabric of his tunic. Tubbo doesn’t have the heart to shove them off.

The panicked breaths stop, and Tubbo looks up. The man is still there, and he is frowning.

“Can you take me to?” Tubbo asks. Please , he internally begs. Please, let him die .

The man purses his lips together. “No.” Tubbo’s heart dropped. “I’m sorry. I can’t, I can’t undo what he did.” He looks at the boy, his stare hard. “This was another Keepers fuck up I had to fix. I can’t help you— I’m sorry.”

And Tubbo wants to cry, because it’s not fair.

Here he is, with death himself, come to take the life of this stranger , this boy who knew Tubbo’s name but Tubbo didn’t know the name of. Tubbo had waited his turn, he’s tried, and tried and tried to die and he wasn’t allowed and now Death has denied him too.

Tubbo lays him down, gently, prying his fingers out of his grip on Tubbo. His eyes are gray now. Not in the way that Theseus was when he died. These are natural. Tubbo thinks they look like storm clouds.

Death is gone, when Tubbo looks up.

For the second time in Tubbo’s eternal life, he is left by a god with a corpse.

Tubbo buries him next to Theseus.

His stone is unmarked, because Tubbo does not know his name. It’s the least he could do for him.

Tubbo hopes this doesn’t become a habit, burying bodies. Honestly a disgusting hobby.

Tubbo sits in his hut after he buries him. His hair is damp; he had washed himself in the stream to rid the blood that stained him. The birds are long gone, replaced with silence. Tubbo fucking hates it, so he starts a small pit fire to give him noise and the false feeling of warmth.

He’s holding the journal, and Tubbo looks at it with furrowed eyebrows. It feels like an invasion of privacy, to read it. The boy held it so tightly, with such care and worry that someone might rip it out of his hands.

Dead men in the ground don’t get privacy though, so screw Tubbo for being curious, okay?

Tubbo opens it, and what he sees next nearly makes him throw it into the flames.

Tucked between the cover and the first page is a portrait.

Tubbo is going to be sick.

Tubbo is going to be sick, because there’s… there’s a portrait! A small, rectangular portrait, far too detailed and untextured to just be a painting . It’s like a moment from real life was captured, it was too real.

Which is impossible; this can’t be real, it’s not just a portrait.

Tubbo isn’t even rich enough to afford portraits.

The person next to him in the not-portrait makes Tubbo reel, makes him hold it tightly, and keep it away from the fire.

Because it’s Theseus.

Tubbo sobs, because it’s Theseus. Theseus like he remembered, not the sick and deathly pale boy that Tubbo held in his arms the last time he was breathing.

Theseus's hair is yellow blonde and not dirty and matted, and his eyes are bright blue and not the pathetic gray they had faded to the last time Tubbo looked into them. His cheeks aren’t hollow and his lips aren’t turned down in a permanent frown. He is smiling, and Tubbo knows that smile because he’s seen it a thousand times right before Theseus came up with a mischievous plan that would get him in trouble.

On the other side of Tubbo, is the boy.

His eyes are covered by dark frames with shaded glass on his face, but it’s unmistakably him. His eyes are different colors.

Tubbo shoves the portrait back into the journal, slamming it shut.

He couldn’t stomach looking at it anymore.

He has so many questions, and none of them can be answered. Because Death had abandoned him, and the one who gave him this curse hasn't been answering him, and the nameless boy couldn’t even tell him how or why.

Tubbo is immortal, and even Death himself won’t let him die.

Tubbo is immortal, and he locks the book away in his chest.

Tubbo is immortal, and if he could dream, he knew the nameless boy with dual-colored eyes and freckles would haunt his dreams.

[polymathemawrites]

In which I mash Dishonored and BFA together and have no idea what im doing

Mathias/Flynn no beta (of course)

King Wrynn comes to stand beside him, overlooking the docks. “I’m glad you’ll be going with her. I’m worried.” The ship Lady Jaina rose from the depths glitters with whale oil lanterns, ancient bones decorating the hull. If the general populace knew the power the woman held there would be an attempted witch-burning. As it was - a brokering with Boralus meant that the general populace was going to have to come to terms with a lot of religious changes.

Hand going reflexively to his wrist, Mathias squeezes till he feels the fine bones grind, the pain grounding him to the situation at hand.

“If it goes badly, I doubt we’ll be able to extract her, sir.”

“I have faith you will if it comes to that,I have to have faith this will all turn out for the best.”

Anduin is shorter than him, but Mathias considers he won’t be for much longer, Tifin and Varian were both tall, and despite taking after his mother, Anduin had some growing left to do yet. His faith, hope, belief - whatever one might call it, had seen the small country through rocky upheavals already. Many of which Mathias blamed himself for intimately. Looking down at him he feels a sort of apprehensive pride, misplaced, probably better suited to Greymane, but the former king of fallen Gilneas was already aboard the ship that Mathias himself would be sailing on.

“I will do my best to make sure that faith is not misplaced.”

So predictably, Jaina is captured as soon as she docks, Genn Greymane is held at swordpoint and mechanical contraption and it is only by the grace of the Harbormaster and the political landscape of Boralus that they manage to keep from being arrested as well. Not that Mathias was there to be arrested, by the time the ship had docked fully and port authority had boarded, he was on the rooftops of Boralus, scouting the situation properly.

As any good Spymaster would, he already has agents embeded on the island, and he navigates to a report cache and reads through it before he listens to the sing-song voice’s urging.

*Dark and Deep, and gone - but not forgotten.* She whispers, a voice long dead but she’s never steered him wrong, never given him false intel.

The shrine is not what he’s expecting, but he should have, he’d known of course. The Tidemother; founder of Boralus, had fostered the worship of Leviathan, so closely tied to the sea, so deeply entrnchened in void, but to see a shrine so well maintained is in sharp contrast to his life long worship in secrecy and whispers, following on his Grandmother’s footsteps to leave offerings, learning to carve bones in the shadows along with how to slice a throat.

It hadn’t been till his capture, till Varian’s death, till Amber - that he’d seen the Boy God for the first time. Not the last, certainly, but his gift - that had greatly aided Mathias and the Uncrowned too, and then Anduin. Even under their new king’s lenient rule, a shrine so beautiful as this would be unthinkable, the Overseers still had a stranglehold on the nobility of Stormwind.

Stepping through a beautifully shrouded archway, he carefully tiptoed between offerings in the hundreds, till he reached the altar stone. Laid out atop it was a bone efigy, hand-carved, with fish-like scales lining the edges - he paused in reaching for it, *A gift, a welcome, a peace offering.* She whispers for him alone, and he pockets the efigy.

“You still keep her with you?” He knows the voice, he doesn’t need to look to know who is floating impishly to his right. “Loyalty beyond death.”

He’d considered burying the remnant of Amber, when Anduin was crowned, when he’d fulfilled his debts to the Uncrowned. But he hadn’t, selfish, he knew, but her voice was a comfort in the months it took for him to recover from his torture. “Outsider.” He greets, nodding his head to the right. Empty void meets him, black eyes that look right through him, seeing and unseeing.

“I see rumors of your Death have been greatly exagerated.” He doesn’t bother to apologize for not coming to a shrine for months and months, he isn’t sure it even matters to the Boy God.

“Yes and no.”

“Cryptic as always.” There was something to be said for an entire guild of assassins and spies versed in the ways of the Void, in their gifts and portents. He isn’t sure if his grandmother had ever seen the Outsider, but the worship of him was rampant in the guild. As such it had perhaps prepared him for eventually meeting the God face to face, he always felt a bemused air when it came to the encrypted, codes, ciphers, and the yes-no dance of speech the Outsider favored, all the same. “I do keep her, yes.”

“You’re not the only lonely one.” The Outsider looks down at the amassed offerings but Mathias is sure he isn’t really seeing them, not for what they are, gifts for -him- offerings and pleas. “She sleeps and does not sleep. You won’t be able to save her.”

His heart falls entirely, “I have to try.”

“You do? Interesting.”

The hair on the back of his neck pricks up and he turns, right hand free, left hand braced on the hilt of his dagger. Beside him he doesn’t have to look to know the Outsider is gone.

A man is standing in the archway, frozen in place, sea-storm blue eyes wide in surprise, eyes darting over the Stormwind blue and gold of Mathias’ uniform, at his half-concealed face hidden under the avian mask.

“Fairwind?” A voice - familiar - comes from behind the man. When he peers around the broad shoulders he notices with some relief the void-touched witch that had come over on the ship earlier with Jaina. “Oh! Master Shaw, I…” in Stormwind this would have been incriminating for them both, he had a file on the woman as thick as an encyclopedia and had burned it to keep the Overseers from finding it, he can see she’s depserately casting around for a reason to be here, he isn’t supposed to know of course.

Instead he lifts up his hand and pulls his sleeve down, showing the marking brand embedded in his skin. The relief in her eyes is palpable, and a complex look crosses the Fairwind man’s face.

“I needed to charge my runes. King Greymane is sending me to scout out something we got into, this is Flynn Fairwind, he busted me out of prison.”

Ah yes, a name he recognized from the cache of files, important potential contacts. “Captain Fairwind.” He greets properly as the witch strides past him to lay out her carved bones on the altar after picking her own way across the many offerings.

“Master Shaw, as in Spymaster Shaw?” The man’s handshake is firm, a former pirate, reformed - vocally against the whale oil industry, a drunk as well, although the man seems sharper than the file had led him to believe.

“Please do take care of Lady Safadel, Captain.” The file had mentioned the man was a captain currently because he’d won his ship in a game of cards, considering things he wondered if the man’s luck had been aided in more supernatural manners.

“It’s a little bit the other way about, I’m absolutely useless.” The Captain grins and Mathias brushes past him and his charm.

He almost pauses, almost trips, when Amber’s laugh rings out so clear in his head, his arm burns where they brushed together, and he tries his best not to think about it as he makes his way to the Harbormaster’s office to state himself on the island properly.

The next time he sees Captain Fairwind, the man is tucked between Lady Safadel and Taelia Fordragon it has been a week and the man looks like he’s been tortured nearly to death. He vanishes into the ship and Mathias excuses himself from the conversation Overseer Wyrmbane and Lady Windrunner had dragged him into.

The healer is kneeling at the bedside and Lady Safadel is scrbling into a pad, Fordragon looks torn between worry and frustration - listening to Fairwind complain about the healer’s hands - but he’s already looking less peeky with the health poultice being smeered over his bare and battered chest.

“Oh Flynn shut up and let the poor woman work.” Fordragon snaps.

“You’re so cruel to me Tae, I took a right beating, nearly died to get all that information and this is how you treat me.”

Mathias moves silently to stand behind Safadel, reading over her shoulder - it’s a mission report drafted up for Genn, and he would have gotten it in about an hour but now he gets to skip the chain of command.

“Good work Lady Safadel, Captain Fairwind.” He cuts through the argument readily brewing, and it causes Fairwind and Fordragon to fall silent, both of them turning their attention to him. “Cadet Fordragon, Overseer Wyrmbane wished to speak to you.”

She gapes at him a little like a fish, and then gives him a sharp salute and rushes back above deck.

Lady Safadel gives him a warm and relieved smile, “Thank you, Master Shaw. I… would you like me to draft a copy of my reports for you?”

He wonders if the void whispered his desires to her, doesn’t dwell on it, “Yes, please.”

From the cot Fairwind hisses in pain, no longer complaining quite so loud, and Lady Safadel fidgets, turning her attention back to him and the healer tending to him. “He has some broken ribs I think.”

“Had, the S+J elixir took care of them, as long as he keeps still he’ll be fine in a few hours, you’re going to be sore for a few days Mr. Fairwind, don’t take too much elixir or you’ll end up with a headache worse than this beating you’ve been given.” After carefully tying up one last bandage on Fairwind’s arm she stands, “If the pain gets worse, come and ask for one of the healers here.”

He moves out of the way for her, watching till the door is shut closed.

“I’ll be back in the fray by tomorrow, Saffie, could you help me get to my feet and give me my coat from where that harpy threw it?”

Lady Safadel crosses to the cot’s side to pick up the fur-lined coat Fairwind had been wearing when he saw him at the Shrine.

*Warm whiskey, lost and in pain, a useful pawn, an honest game.*

Before she can help him up though, Mathias has stepped forward to gently pull the man up, this close and he can smell the blood and healing poultice, and when Fairwind breathes out in surprise, whiskey. *Tied to a post, this isn’t about lessons, it’s about revenge, pain and pride, what did we ever do to deserve this, Harlan?* “I will help Captain Fairwind to his ship, Lady Safadel.”

“Y-you will?” Fairwind trips over his words, takes the coat when Lady Safadel holds it out to him.

“You should go report to King Greymane.” It is a dismissal and she takes it for one, giving him a half bow before patting Fairwind’s arm and leaving the room, door open.

“I can make it to my ship, I’d hate to be a bother.”

Mathias wraps his arm around his broad waist, slings Fairwind’s arm around his shoulders, “I have an alterior motive, I want to talk to you.”

“Oh, oh well, lead on Master Shaw, I’m docked right next door.”

He doesn’t state the obvious, that he knows that, merely helps the man up the steps and then down the plank, around the dock, and finally up the next plank. The Captain’s ship is a small affair in comaprison to the Wind’s Redemption, lucky, seeing as he doesn’t need Amber’s secret whispers to tell him the Captain is in some amount of pain from the short trip.

The Captain’s quarters are tidy and warm, the bed looks cozy if unmade, not that Mathias can judge, he rarely makes his own bed. Before things get awkward he begins to help the Captain undress, ignoring the way the man’s face goes a bit pink.

“The Irontide leader, he was your first mate?”

There is only a brief pause before Fairwind jumps the track, “Aye, you got that from Saffie’s paper?”

Mathias considers lying, but a feeling deep down urges him not to, odd as it’s usually the other way around. “No, when I touched you I got an impression of what happened to you. Sweete will be a problem, I’ll take care of it.”

Fairwind drops back onto the pillows, staring at Mathias, eyes sharp and stormy like the sea, “You… you know nearly everyone here has tattooed some symbol or another of the Leviathan on them, and I have to admit I didn’t entirely understand what went on between you and Saffie at the Shrine but I’m starting to. Is it common for you Mainlanders to actually be gifted?”

“No, very uncommon, and kept very secret.” He tucks the thin quilt up around Fairwind. “I… would like to employ you, Fairwind. I need someone with a finger on the pulse of Boralus, someone I can trust. I would that this be kept between us, of course I will pay you handsomely and your contract with the harbormaster remains.”

“Trust? You don’t know me, I- I’m a cad and a coward.”

Amber’s laugh is warm, teasing.

He takes the man’s chin in his hand, holds his face, studies the bruising, the torn skin, the black eye, Fairwind’s little gasp quiets Amber down. “You’re smart, you know better than to lie to me.” He lets him go, “Rest, two days, I’ll see that you’re brought food.” He turns, almost to the door when Fairwind calls out to him.

“I never said yes.”

“Didn’t you?” He leaves, savoring the look of confussion and heat left behind.

[futurewriter2000]

Not Alone

A/N: Ah, I love this so much and if my family wasn't attacking me right now, I'd be happy publishing this but UGH! Fucking family. Cant wait to get rid of them. Also, this is written on my phone so the taglist and the "further reading" thingy can't be put.

XX

Hate. It wasn’t easy to ignore it and it wasn’t easy to cover the pain, pressure and cowardice. 

You walked in the dark room, your heart pounding yet your face flat serious. Eyes turned, eyes observed, nothing much to see until they saw him. His grey eyes locked with yours, much wide, much scared, you nodded and left to your seat at the table. 

He was sitting in the middle, between his father and his mother. She was looking at you with a sceptical look, he was looking at you with surpirse and his father was staring somewhere at the void, scared out of his mind. 

To him, you had the expression of someone who isn’t excited about the war yet isn’t excited about the peace either. You seemed pretty neutral, pretty confident and more or so...pretty.

The Dark Lord spoke, some things happened, such as embarrasing Lucious Malfoy by snapping his wand in a half. The same thing happened to you. He asked for you wand. 

“(y/n).” he hissed through his teeth and all eyes darted to you. Slowly, calmly, you looked at his red eyes and replied.

“Yes, Dark Lord.” your expression was still calm, your heart as well. He can’t hurt you. He never will. You are too important to him to be killed, even if he wasn’t fond of you- truth was, you weren’t fond of him either. 

“Your wand.” he gestured his hand and without a doubt you pulled out a wand and let it, hand-in-hand travel to the red-eyes. 

He weighted it, sniffed it with his slit nostrills and snapped it like a piece of chalk. You didn’t flinch, only turned your head back to the front and kept your expression flat. 

It irratated the Dark Lord that you weren’t even slightly intimidated by his action, nor the fact that you haven’t showed even one fright of him. 

But he saw it- the boy in the front of you, I mean. The boy whose eyes were bright and scared, wide and surprised. His white hair were slicked back and for some odd reason, the eye contact made him forget where he even was; to see his Muggle-Studies proffesor floating above him. To know there were Death-Eaters around him and the Dark Lord, that there was also you, who didn’t look like a Death Eater at all. Just a student like him. 

But why you? -From all the people, it had to be you. And he knew you. He knew you since he remembered how to walk. You were the kid who came into these visits and played with him, simply because you had to. And he was an awful, spoiled child meanwhile you were the opposite. Kind and nice, shy and quiet. He could remember those days on the swings where he kept insulting you while you only smiled and complimented him. 

When your parents died and your uncle got the custody it seemed that nothing has changed. You took notes in class, you studied in the library, you walked the common room with the intetion of going to your dorm. You and Draco always exchanged words but a few on every two years. You seemed so casual, someone nobody would ever expect to find you here. 

So why were you?

He wondered, he tried to figure it out and he tried that in the most subtle way he could find. Knowing he was Draco Malfoy, subtle was never his best feature.

He entered your carriege, just the two of you. He didn’t even bother to say hi, to greet you in any proper way. He just put it all out there. “Why?” he asked and you looked from the window to the boy in front. “Why were you there?”

“Same reason as you are.”

“Which is?”

“Because I have to.” you quirked an eyebrow and he shook his head.

“No.” 

“No?” 

“No.” he spoke again. “No because there is no way you would ever be involved with this. Your parents were not Death-Eaters, hell, your uncle isn’t one so why would you betray your family if you were not a spy?”

“And why can’t I just be involved because I want to?” you started to raise your voice at him. “It’s not your business to interfere with mine, Malfoy.-”

“It is when your business is just the same as mine! So tell me why!!” 

“Because you don’t know shit, Draco Malfoy! Not about me and not about my family so why don’t you and your pathetic arse stay out of it!”

He was quiet for a while, looking left, turning right and lastly, staring back at you. "You didn't even flinch."

"He used to be like us, Draco. A student, a Slytherin. He's a wizard, just like us. A half-blood, who we both are not."

"How do you-?"

"Research, Draco." you replied. "He is more educated than us. He knows more about magic, dark and good, about creatures, all of them, about potions, all of them, about the ministry, the muggles. People are terrified of him for what he did and how he looks like. If he looked like us, would they ever be more afraid?"

"So you admit you work for Dumbledore?! It's those ideas he stuck in your head!" he accused but you only rolled your eyes.

"I do not work for Dumbledore. I work for The Dark Lord. Why? Because he pays me good."

"He pays you?"

"Yes, he does. Would Dumbledore pay me? I don't think so."

"But how, what?"

"You ask too much questions." you looked back through the window, seeing the castle come close.

Before he could put his thoughts in order, the carriage already stopped and you were on your way into the castle meanwhile he was left behind as he always seemed to be.

---

It wasn't until the next three days that he has used to observe you but you seemed so normal. With Harry and his other two friends was easy to know they were up to something. You were just as the other students; you went to class, you ate in the Great Hall, you talked to your friends, you were exceeding in school work... Normal but not to him. No. He knew one thing nobody else did.

It wasn't until he was given the assignement from the villian himself: kill Dumbledore. He was a wreck and you could see it from a mile away.

"You're being obvious, Draco. Cool it down." you whispered from the other side of the shelf.

He looked through it, seeing your eyes illuminate their colour. He walked your direction and spoke. "So you know?"

"Of course I know, you git. I think by now the whole England knows by how you were acting."

"I am not that obvious." he snarled and you stopped.

"You are being suspicious!" you snarled back. "The Gryffindors already know something is going on with you and they are keen on finding out what that is, meanwhile Dumbledore only needs to conifrm his theory."

"What are you talk-"

"I see things, Draco. I observe. I see how Dumbledore looks at you, how Potter and his gang looks at you... How Pansy looks at you..." you broke the eye contact and shocked as he was at first, he smirked.

"Oh, so you're looking at Pansy now? " he began to tease. "Are you jealous?"

"Of that cow? Sure, believe it." you rolled your eyes and stiffened out that lower lip of yours.

"Do you fancy me, (y/n) (y/l/n)?" he grinned and was now leaning against the shelf.

You turned your head away, hiding the blush that crept on your cheeks. "No, of course not. You can only dream." you turned back, hoping the red stain was gone.

"Or you can." he winked and with all your frustration you put your hands on top of the books, hid your cheeks behind them and looked at him with your eyes.

"I am looking out for you, you arse. If you slip, I have to do it and I do not want to do what you have to."

The grin fell into a frown and he stiffened up. "I will not slip."

"Then cool it down and pretend you're not going to kill our Headmaster."

---

It was late at night when he crawled back from his nightly routine. He crawled into the common room and for the first time, he saw you asleep on the sofa. He stood frozen for a moment, contemplating why and how.

He walked to you and sat on the empty edge of the sofa. His hand touched your shoulder and he lightly woke you awake. Your eyes slowly opened up and as you saw him, you let your hands slid deeper into the pillow and your head closer to the edge of it. "Where have you been?" you asked sleeply.

Another smirk curved on his lips and he pulled the blanket closer tp your neck. "Worried?"

"Yes." yours eyes were still closed yet his were observing you intently.

"Just tying some loose ends before it happens." he said and now you finally opened your eyes.

Your heart was beating faster and you slowly sat up. Hugging your knees, you let your eyes look at his and your mouth to ask the question. "Are you really going through this?"

For the first time he saw that you were scared and for the first time, he felt he wasn't alone. "I have to, don't I?"

"Why?"

"Because I have a family."

You looked down, took a breath and looked back up. "I knew you were kind of prick of a child but I didn't know he could be blackmailed into doing something as horrible as this. This will scar you, Draco. Do you really want to carry it?"

"If he asked you to do it, would you?" his voice was calm and before you could answer, he spoke first. "No, don't answer that. You are the kindest, nicest person I have ever known and since my childhood you haben't done any harm that I know of. I know how your parents died and I am sorry they had to go through that for you but you-what are you doing? This isn't you. You're not someone to be here and you know it. "

"I told you Draco. Like you, I don't have a choice. Me and the Dark Lord are distantly related. Don't you understand!" you shouted and he was taken aback. "His uncle is my dad's father. My grandfather. That makes me and Tom some sort of cousins. That was why he hates me so much. Because he is not a child of pureblood line and I am."

He looked away for a moment, squeezing his ezes shut and pinchingthe bridge of his nose. "Still?" he looked at you. "You're nothing like him."

"It's complicated."

"Is it?"

"You're asking me that question?"

"Yeah." a quirk of his lips softened his expression and you laid back down, smiling.

"When you can explain your situation, I'll explain mine." you kicked the blanket off you and threw it over your shoulder. You wished him a goodnight and left up to your dorm.

---

The next time you saw Draco Malfoy was by the freezing lake. Usually, you would have seen him with his friends but this time, he was alone.

You ran to him with your nose burried in your scarf and your hands in your pocket. "Hey, Draco!" you appeared on his side.

"Stalking me now?" he smiled and you rolled your eyes.

"No." you replied and continued to walk along.

With all the whiteness the snow caused in the bacground, his eyes were the ones that were the purest white at the moment. They were having clouds of grey in it, which was what made it even more pure.

"Potter thinks I did it." he said. "The Katie Bell thing." he glanced at you and you turned away.

He stopped. You stopped. "Why didn't you tell me?" he put his hands on your shoulders. "I could have done it for you."

"I told you, Draco." you took his hand from your shoulder and covered it with your other hand. "I know what I am doing. He was testing me and I made sure that the cursed necklace wouldn't hurt her."

He kept his eyes locked on your hands. From all the frost and cold, your hands gave hin the opposite and all of a sudden, he was warm as he was back in the common room.

You smiled at his flushed cheeks and intertwined your fingers with his. Leaning on his full arm, you put your hand on it and started walking along.

He didn't protest only walked along side you, smiling slyly.

---

The next time the two of you had locked hands was when The Dark Lord was calling Draco over to his side. You stood by him, scratched and bruised, angry yet exhausted.

You were squeezing it, begging him not to go. "Don't go, Draco." you whispered in his ear but he only turned his scared grey eyes to you and said.

"I'm scared." and he was already crossing the ground, leaving you alone.

The Dark Lord turned to you and pointed his wand. "What? Not joining us, cousin?" a crooked evil smile appeared on his thin lips and everybody turned to you with a gasp.

You hid all your fear inside and put your bravest face on. Your feet moved forward, step by step until you were almost close to him, smelling the rotting flesh of Tom Riddle. "Joining you? In what exactly?" you began and his grin disappeared. "I know you killed my uncle the moment you got your hands on him. Was it jealousy, cousin?"

"You're asking for death little girl." his nostrils flared and his snake-like eyes grew wide.

"Because no matter what, cousin, you will never be a pureblood. What kind of great wizard has blood of half of it?" you were now close and he was looking at you aoth a terrified look in his eyes.

But you weren't afraid anymore. Not of him. To see he can feel just as you can.

Until something sharp pierced your stomach and you looked down to see a silver dagger. "I've been wanting to do that since I killed your father." he said and you looked up into hisnred eyes. "You didn't know? This dagger is a family heirloom. Thought if I already killed your grandfather with it, your mother and your father, why not kill you with it as well?"

The blood was aready in your throat bug you didn't want to let him win. "Desperation looks ugly on you, Tom Riddle." you smiled with your red stained teeth. "You'll never have the power you want."

And with all his might you were thrown on the ground, his wand prepared to shoot and if it wasn't for some screams im the bacground, you would have been dead. There was nothing to see for you. It was black all of the sudden and before you went into a dark sleep you could only feel your hand in your own puddle of blood.

Something woke you up though. There was a hold of your head in someone elses hands and you could feel them bringing you closernto them.

"Stay with me, (y/n). You have to stay with me because if you don't, I don't know how I will live with myself."

You opened your eyes just to see his face, putting all your effort into smiling and speaking to him. "Are you saying you fancy me, Draco Malfoy?" you caughed and with wide eyes he smiled and pressed his forehead to yours.

"Yes, I do and I beg you to keep yourself alive so I can take you on a date already." he kissed the top of your head and kept you close. One of his arms was wrapped around you while the other carressed your cheek. "You're going to make it. You will."

---

It was torture for Draco Malfoy to stand where he stood. His hand held a boquet of flowers meanwhile his eyes kept themselves on the lovely decorated grave. He bent down and placed the flowers. "I'm sorry." he said and left a tear fall from his eye.

"He cared for you deeply." a soft voice came from behind him and he turned his eyes to see the kind and nice girl he always knew. Your hands wrapped themselves around his torso and you leaned your head on his shoulder. "Severus Snape. Who knew he was fighting for Dumbledore?"

His hand slid around your waist and pulled you closer. He kissed the side of your head. "I am just happy that I only lost him and not both of you." he whispered and you turned to in his hold to look at him whole.

Your fingertips brushed against his pale skin and as you smiled, he did the same. It was enormously hard for him to get through the consequences of the war but you? For you he would fight another if he had to.

"I love you." he said, rocking you left and right in his arms.

"I love you too."