#where else would the magical battles take place

[cherubfae]

you're accidentally shrunk! || hazbin x reader

with Alastor, Lucifer, Husk, Angel Dust, Vox

tags: fluff, comedy, established relationships, gn!reader (implied masc reader for angel as always <3)

Alastor

He is quite amused by the whole ordeal, if not a touch worried for your wellbeing. You're utterly tiny, capable of sitting in the palm of his hand like a tiny doll. His claw gently nudges your cheek, tilting your chin up. Using his own magic proves to be futile. After several attempts he's still unable to change you back to your normal self. He isn't sure why his powers don't seem to be taking effect.

Alastor doesn't let anyone else touch or hold you. Legit will hold you in his hand above his head should Vaggie or Charlie try to get a better look at you.

"No, no, no," Alastor clicks his tongue. "I'm afraid I'm not comfortable in letting my dearest love be held by anyone but me. Surely, you understand." He gives you a little smile, his thumb gently stroking your head.

You aren't a little toy and the last thing he wants happening if Niffty mistaking you for a roach, so he prefers to have you sitting atop his shoulder, his head, or safely tucked into the pocket of his waistcoat with your tiny little head poking out to watch the world around you. As much as he finds you adorable and vulnerable in this state, he does prefer you as yourself. He'll probably head to Rosie first, he wants nothing to do with Lucifer. She always has her ear to the ground and he's certain he'll get you returned to normal soon.

Lucifer

Well, that's new. Lucifer is easily able to turn you back to yourself but he wants to have a little fun first. He lifts you up and presses little kisses all over your face, giggling to himself when you press your hands to his rosy cheeks.

"Can't help it, sweetheart! You're too cute!" He gently nuzzles your cheek, placing a loving kiss to the top of your head. He'll shapeshift himself into a mouse and pretend that you're a little fairy about to battle for Narnia.

When he turns you back, he is relieved. He much prefers you as your lovely self where you're able to snuggle into his side and hold you properly to his chest, sharing many kisses between you two.

Husk

Shit, this ain't good, but at least yer havin' fun, baby. Husk sighs, leaning his chin against his paws. His yellow eyes flick back and forth in amusement as you treat the bar counter like your own slip-and-slide, watching as you spin around on the shiny wood with a small squeak.

Husk catches you with his tail before you can slide off, lightly placing you back on your feet mirroring the grin you give him. "I'm glad you're having a good time but we gotta figure out how to turn ya back, hun." He leans back against the stool, hoping Charlie has found something or someone who may be able to offer some help.

Charlie, on queue, comes rushing down the stairs holding a light pink pearlescent vial in her hands. "Let's try this!" She stands triumphantly, proudly holding out the vial in her hands. "A drop or two on their head should bring them back to normal height. I have a feeling this will work, but as Plan B we can go to my Dad!" She beams.

Husk nods, giving you a tiny peck on top of your head that only serves to make Charlie coo. Placing you on the floor, Charlie uncaps the vial. A shimmery fuschia-purple liquid smelling of sweet berries oozes out and gently drops onto your head.

A whoosh of pink and yellow unfurls out and soon you're standing before them as mostly yourself. Your hair is now a dyed vibrant pink. Across the room, Alastor who is casually reading the newspaper, snaps his fingers and poof! Your hair is back to normal!

"You could've helped them this whole time?!" Husk hisses, fur bristling. Alastor hums, taking a sip of his black coffee, "Hmm no, just their hair. Good thing they're back in one piece, yes?" He grins. "Too bad you didn't play a little cat and mouse with them. That would have been a sight to behold!"

Angel Dust

As adorable as you are, Angel is fuckin panicking. He's not quite sure what to do and he's terrified of someone accidentally stepping on you. "Okay, baby, I've got ya, hang on!" Angel places you on his chest fluff, his hand holding you in place as he returns to his room.

Depending on how long this magic lasts, Angel will 100% want to play dress up with you and have you try on cute outfits or perhaps make a cute little dollhouse for you. He's too scared of crushing you in his sleep so until this wears off, he doesn't want to risk anything happening to you. He's also worried about Niffty mistaking you for a bug, so when he's out and about, he keeps you close to him at all times. If he has to leave and can't take you with, he instructs Vaggie and Charlie to look after you.

"Do not let Niffty or the Egg Bois around them, got it?" His stern eyes are narrowed, making an expression that he's watching Sir Pentious. "Keep the Eggies in line."

Vox

What the fuck? He blinks, a jolt of electricity nearly short-circuiting himself. Babe, what the fuck happened to you? Vox scoops you into his hands, holding you to his chest. He's doing his best not to panic, convinced this is another one of Alastor's stupid fucking pranks.

Thankfully whatever has happened wasn't permanent. A tiny explosion of sparkles and a poof blue dust has the futuristic demon stumbling back, sighing when you're standing there at your normal height with a hand pressed to your head.

"Holy shit, what the fuck happened?" Vox presses, grasping your hand and pulling you into his lap. He's cupping your face between clawed hands checking for any sign of injury. "Was it Alastor?" You shake your head, coughing out some blue sparkly dust.

"Nah, got caught under some pollen demon's magic on my way to HQ." You grumble, leaning your head onto your boyfriend's shoulder. Vox sighs, wrapping his arms around your waist.

|| I DON'T GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORKS TO BE REPOSTED, RESHARED, OR EDITED. TUMBLR IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT AND THE ONLY PLACE WHERE I POST MY WRITING. ALL CHARACTERS BELONG TO THEIR RIGHTFUL OWNERS, THE STORY BELONGS TO ME. || CHERUBFAE © 2024

"Ok, ok, well, you're back," he grumbles. "Don't do that to me again."

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagines #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin lucifer x reader #husk x reader #angel dust x reader

[sadnymi]

「 ✦ cloud nine p2.✦ 」

Mattheo riddle × reader [part1]

Summary: The "jinx girl," as they call her, is said to bring bad luck. However, when Mattheo Riddle decides to get to know the school's most neglected girl and takes matters into his own hands, Y/N's life is turned upside down in a mere night.

Warnings:angst, smut, fluff

Words: 13.5k

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[ A Cry for Help (and Hippogriffs)]

Dear Uncle Ben ,

Consider this my official "You were absolutely right (but with way more heartbreak)" letter. Remember all those warnings you showered me with before I left for Hogwarts? Werewolves, Dementors, rogue Gillyweed incidents (honestly, who even uses that stuff anymore?) You covered the whole spectrum of nightmarish magical creatures. But why, oh why, did you neglect to warn me about charming Slytherins with a really really pretty smiles and the ability to shatter hearts ?

Yes, Uncle Ben, your favorite niece (and, let's be honest, only niece) has officially fallen from cloud nine and landed face-first in a puddle of disappointment. Remember Mattheo Riddle? The one with the eyes like melted chocolate and a smile that could disarm a grumpy Hippogriff? Turns out….well, you get the picture. My heart is in as many pieces as a poorly repaired Floo Network."

So, here's the thing, Uncle Ben . **I'm done. Hogwarts can keep its feasts, its Quidditch matches, and its overly enthusiastic Potions lessons.** I wouldn't be caught dead on the Hogwarts Express, and frankly, the Burrow isn't exactly calling my name right now either.

This is where you come in, my valiant (and hopefully broomstick-wielding) savior. **I need an extraction, Uncle Ben . A daring rescue. A grand exit that would make even Dumbledore raise an eyebrow.** Floo powder me out? Sneak me aboard a disguised Thestral? Honestly, at this point, I'd even settle for a well-timed Hippogriff stampede (though maybe not – those beaks look awfully sharp).

So please uncle Ben As soon as this letter reaches your extraordinary hands, pack your Niffler leash, your Newt-approved travel kettle, and anything else that might help

Your distraught (and slightly heartbroken) niece,

Y/N

P.S. Please bring some Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans. Maybe a chocolate frog or two wouldn't hurt either.

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After folding the letter with care, I sealed it using a wax stamp adorned with a grumpy-looking Kneazle, a delightful creation from a talented first-year Hufflepuff. Placing it inside an owl-sized envelope addressed to "Benjamin Scamander, Ministry of Magical Creatures, Department for Beast Regulation and Control," I sent it off with a silent prayer for a speedy rescue.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Y/N

Consider it done. Talon wasn't thrilled about the Beans (apparently, they don't quite mesh with his sophisticated palate), but the chocolate frogs seemed to appease him. Be ready by nightfall. We'll have a proper family reunion, Hippogriff style.

P.S. Don't worry about any "Hippogriff stampedes." Talon's surprisingly well-mannered (for the most part).

Love,

Uncle Ben

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

After two blissful days away from Hogwarts at Uncle Ben's cozy cottage in the Welsh hills, I woke up to find him bustling about the room. Despite the comfort and serenity of our time together, I couldn't shake off the tears that stained his (probably very expensive) linens.

He lumbered in, a steaming mug clutched in his hand, followed by a bewildered-looking Billywig (apparently, they weren't exactly known for their graceful exits).

"Here," he said kindly, placing the mug on the bedside table. "Peppermint tea. Guaranteed to cure a broken heart… or at least numb it a bit."

I took a shaky sip, the warmth spreading through me like a gentle hug. Uncle Ben perched on the edge of the bed, concern evident in his gaze that battled with his usual amusement.

"Alright, spill it," he finally said, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "What's got you blubbering like a Bowtruckle caught in a rainstorm?"

I choked on a sob, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. "It's just… everything. Mattheo… the rumors… the whole thing feels so stupid."

"Stupid? Sweetheart, this is practically a textbook case of teenage wizarding drama!," Uncle Ben said with a chuckle.

"First, the rumors. Turns out Charlie Spinnet, fancies you and that by the way explains the sudden change in cologne and his haircut whenever he visits. But then instead of acting like a normal human being, he decided to spread those ridiculous stories about you being a jinx?"

I nodded, sniffling. "And then there's Riddle Jr.," Uncle Ben continued, his voice laced with a hint of disapproval. "Used you for a dare? Honestly, these Slytherins – where's the chivalry gone? Back in my day, we at least serenaded our crushes with a well-timed love potion, not a staged play."

"I know right? !" I cried, wiping away fresh tears, he come closer pulling me into a warm hug.

When the last tear finally dried, a heavy silence settled between us. My eyelids drooped, exhaustion pulling me under. "Uncle Ben," I mumbled, my voice thick with sleep, "Can I… can I leave Hogwarts?"

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching mine. "Is that what you want, Y/N?"

"I don't… I don't want to see him, or them, or…" My voice trailed off, the thought of facing whispers and pitying glances unbearable.

He squeezed my hand gently. "There are other schools, Y/N. Places where you can learn, grow, and maybe even find someone who truly appreciates you."

A flicker of hope sparked within me. A fresh start? A chance to heal away from the prying eyes and judgmental whispers? "Do you think… could I transfer… maybe to Beauxbatons?"

Uncle Ben chuckled. "Beauxbatons? Now that's an interesting choice. But hey, if you fancy learning with a bunch of wand-waving fashionistas, who am I to say no?"

The crisp Welsh air whipped through my hair as I sat on the porch swing, watching the sun set over the rolling hills. Uncle Ben's cottage, nestled amongst ancient oaks, seemed even cozier with the warm, orange light bathing its stone walls.

Thankfully, he'd managed to smooth things over with my parents, convincing them it would be perfect for me to stay with him until I figured out what to do about school.

Weeks melted into each other, and a unsettling undercurrent began to ripple through the otherwise idyllic setting. Every boy who showed even a flicker of interest in me or mustered the courage to ask me out –vanished after our initial encounter. Poof. Gone.

Only to reappear the next day, looking sheepish and pale, with mumbled apologies for missing our planned date . "something came up" or a sudden "family emergency."

kind, awkward Liam, sporty William , even that quiet bookworm Ethan – they all faced the same fate , a freckled boy named Callum, practically leaped over a nearby toadstool with a yelp, his face blanching as if he'd seen a ghost. It was as though the sight of the bumpy amphibian unearthed a buried terror within him.

And it’s seems like anyone who would show any interest in me will face the same fate

Case in point: a particular book I had discussed with a boy who worked at the library and had also asked me out for a date. The next day, that very book was on uncle Ben leaving room the next day and I knew for sure that uncle Ben wasn’t the one who did that .

Curiosity piqued, I went to the library to inquire about the book's whereabouts, only to find the boy in a state of sheer terror. He avoided eye contact and stammered out a nervous apology, his fear palpable in the way he trembled. It was as if he had encountered something terrifying, something that left him traumatized overnight. Unsettled by the encounter, I sought help from another library assistant to locate the book I wanted. This time, the assistant was more than eager to assist, his eyes darting around nervously as if expecting something unexpected to happen again.

Weeks dragged by, each day a monotonous echo of the last.

As I wake up today a tear slipped down my cheek, tracing a warm path through the cool morning air. I cursed myself under my breath, blinking furiously to clear my vision. There it was again, the lingering echo of his touch, the warmth of his smile, all remnants of a cruel dream.

Damn it. I cursed myself under my breath, throwing the covers back with a huff. How dare I miss him? How dare my traitorous subconscious paint him in a loving light after everything? The betrayal, the lies, they were all still raw, a constant reminder of his deceit.

Feeling the need for some solace and quiet reflection, I decided to head to the library

The usually a comforting haven, was eerily silent. A prickle of unease crawled up my spine. Did the boy who worked here quit ? Thanks a lot, Mattheo.

Pushing open the library doors, I was greeted by an unsettling emptiness. Pushing the thought aside, I navigated the towering bookshelves, half expecting some kind of magical mishap – maybe a rogue pixie infestation? With a spine-tingling creak. An unsettling feeling wormed its way into my stomach. Surely Johnny, the cute boy who worked here, wouldn't leave the entire library unattended?

"Hello, Johnny?" I called out, my voice echoing eerily in the vast space. No answer. Great. Just fantastic.

Shrugging it off, I ventured deeper into the labyrinth of bookshelves. The silence pressed in on me, broken only by the soft pad of my footsteps. Halfway expecting a rogue Acromantula to drop from the ceiling or a mischievous pixie to trip me with a strategically placed shoelace, I navigated the towering stacks.

Suddenly, a loud creak pierced the silence. My heart lurched, and I spun around, wand instinctively halfway out of my pocket. The heavy library door swung shut with an ominous finality. For a moment, I stood frozen, every nerve on high alert. Was I alone?

and there he was ... His usual playful smirk was replaced by a furrowed brow and a flicker of something… hurt? Regret? It was a confusing cocktail that sent my carefully constructed facade teetering on the edge of collapse.

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, threatening to burst from my chest. My carefully crafted mask of indifference felt like it was cracking under the sheer force of seeing him.

the silence of the library seemed deafening, amplifying the chaotic symphony playing out inside me.

I plastered a smile on my face, hoping it came across as confident and not the terrified mess I truly felt. This was ridiculous. He was the one who lied and betrayed me, not the other way around. Yet, here I was, feeling like I was the one on trial.

"Dramatic much?" I spat, my voice laced with venom. "So what's the deal now, Riddle? Bored with your little toad transformation hobby? Decided to haunt the library instead?"

He gave me a slow once-over, his gaze lingering a beat too long. It sent a shiver down my spine, a confusing mix of anger and a vulnerability I desperately tried to suppress.

Folding my arms, I tried to project an air of annoyance. "Look, Riddle," I said, forcing a harsher tone than I felt. "Let's cut to the chase. Open the door and disappear."

As he took a tentative step towards me, the carefully constructed wall around my emotions started to crumble. His eyes held a depth of emotion I couldn't decipher – hurt? Regret? It was a confusing mix that threatened to unravel me.

"You never mentioned you were a Scamander," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. The sound of it after all this time, even laced with the echoes of past pain, was a punch to the gut.

-well technically I was from my mother side but i never dared to say that to anyone afraid to bring shame to the family name , because I never felt like I deserved to.

Tears pricked at the back of my eyelids, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corner of my lips. "And you," I choked out, the words raw with hurt, "never mentioned being fucking liar . Seems like we're even, wouldn't you agree?"

he started to speak. "I know you don’t want to listen—"

Frustration bubbled over before he could finish his sentence. "Why are you even here, Riddle?" I snapped. "You know I don't want to hear your excuses."

His gaze held mine, unwavering despite the storm brewing in my own eyes.

"Stop staring at me like that!" I hissed, the vulnerability I desperately tried to hide threatening to spill over.

Desperate to break the tension, I lunged for the door, yanking on the handle. Panic surged as it remained stubbornly shut. "What's wrong with this stupid door?" I yelled, "We can't use magic outside Hogwarts!" I exclaimed, bewildered. "Did you do something to the door?" Kicking it with my foot in frustration.

Spinning back to face him, my voice trembled with a mix of fury and fear. "What did you do to those boys, Mattheo? Turned them into toads?"

A smirk played on his lips, a sight that only intensified my urge to lash out. "Not all of them," he countered, his voice laced with a hint of something… jealousy? "Why? Do you care about them?"

“Apparently I did “I challenged, my voice laced with a bitterness I couldn't hide, "That's why I agreed to go out with them in the first place."

His smugness evaporated, replaced by a desperate plea that sent a shiver down my spine. "Don't go to Beauxbatons, love," he pleaded, his voice barely a whisper, laced with such raw emotion it threatened to crack the dam of my anger ,considering his impressive stalking skills I wasn’t surprised he knew about that ..

"Don't call me that, Riddle," I choked out, squeezing my eyes shut to hold back the traitorous tears that welled up. When I opened them again, the sight that greeted me was my breaking point.

Hurt, confusion, and a flicker of something that looked suspiciously like longing swirled in his eyes. "Why - why did you keep calling me that? Why not say my name?" he asked, his voice thick with a pain that mirrored my own.

"It's just Riddle for me now ," I said, my voice cold, a desperate attempt to shield myself from the storm of emotions brewing within me.

"Please," he whispered, the word hanging heavy in the air. "Please don't go to Beauxbatons."

"Get out of my way," I snapped, my voice laced with a venom I barely recognized. "I won't say it again."

He took a hesitant step forward, his eyes pleading. "I'm not above begging," he said, his voice low and urgent. "I'll do anything you ask. You say you hate me, then hate me. Ruin my life. Do whatever will make you feel better, just do it in front of me. Stay at Hogwarts."

Shock rendered me speechless. "Don't do this," he continued, his voice cracking. "Not for me, but for you. Don't run away. If anyone deserves to leave Hogwarts, it's not you. Please, don't do this."

His words hung heavy in the air, each one a shard of truth that pierced the carefully constructed wall of anger I'd built around myself. "Let go of my hand, Mattheo," I whispered, not daring to look at him. He released me slowly, his touch a lingering ghost on my skin.

The silence stretched on, heavy and thick. Finally, I forced myself to meet his gaze. My own eyes, red-rimmed and tear-filled, mirrored the raw emotion in his. With a shaky breath, I whispered, "Open the door now , please."

He nodded, his face etched with pain. The door swung open silently, and for a moment, our eyes locked. Then, without a word, I turned and walked towards the door.

But before I reached the doorway, a new urgency filled his voice. "Y/N, wait!" He reached out a hand, but stopped himself before making contact. "I know I messed up. There's no excuse for what I did, but please believe me – I love you. And I'm not giving us up. I'll do whatever it takes to prove it to you."

The weight of his words hung in the air, a challenge and a plea rolled into one. My heart pounded a frantic rhythm against my ribs, Taking a deep. I turned and walked out, leaving Mattheo standing alone in the empty library.

Reaching Uncle Ben's cozy cottage, I fumbled with the latch, my vision obscured by a fresh wave of tears. The door creaked open to reveal Uncle Ben, his face creasing in concern at the sight of me. Before I could even think of a response, I was enveloped in his warm, familiar embrace.

"Merlin's beard, Y/N," he chuckled, his voice laced with concern, "what happened? Did you lose a duel with a particularly grumpy pixie?"

Pulling back, I managed a watery smile. "Something like that," I mumbled, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. Uncle Ben's gaze narrowed, his playful demeanor replaced by a more serious one.

"You know, all this tears and sniffles could lead one to believe…"

He paused dramatically, dragging out the suspense. "You are not pregnant, are you?”

"Pregnant? Uncle Ben, seriously?"

He threw his head back and laughed, a booming sound that filled the room. "Just checking! Seriously that world won’t survive another riddle “

We sat in comfortable silence for a while, the only sound the crackling fire in the hearth.

"You know," he finally said, his voice gentle, "sometimes the heart wants what it wants, regardless of past hurts." He met my gaze, his eyes filled with a knowing warmth. "The question is, Y/N, what does yours truly want?"

"I don't really know," I admitted, my voice barely a whisper. "One thing's for sure, though. I'm done running. I can't keep letting fear dictate my life."

“Every time something gets hard, I pack my metaphorical bags and vanish. But this time… this time it feels different."

Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. "There's this anger inside me, this need for revenge," I confessed, letting out a shaky breath. "It scares me, Uncle Ben. "

Uncle Ben reached for me his hand warm and comforting on mine. "There's a difference, Y/N, between righteous anger and destructive vengeance," he said softly. "Anger can be a powerful motivator, a fuel that can propel you forward. But it's crucial to channel it, to use it to grow stronger, not to let it control you."

Turning to him, I met his gaze with a newfound determination. "So," I started, a mischievous glint sparkling in my eyes, "would you help me pack up my bags for Hogwarts? And maybe... with something 'Scamander related' ?"

A playful smile mirrored mine on his face. "Always up for a good mystery, Y/N," .

The Hogwarts Express journey wasn't the gauntlet of whispers and pointed fingers I'd braced myself for. The carriage felt eerily quiet, devoid of the usual gossipy chatter and giggling. A part of me wondered if this unsettling silence was Mattheo's doing.

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I rounded the corner, the familiar brick facade of the school looming ahead. Taking a deep breath.

I saw him.

He was leaning against the oak tree by the entrance, a casual posture that couldn't quite hide the tension in his shoulders. His gaze was fixed on the school doors, and for a thrilling moment, I thought I might have imagined him there.

But then, our eyes met.

His breath hitched ever so slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before a slow smile bloomed on his face. It wasn't a wide, dazzling grin, but a soft, genuine one that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

The next morning, a nervous energy thrummed through me. Gone was the urge to flee; instead, a steely determination burned bright. I arrived at Charms class, ridiculously early, senses sharp with focus.

Adrian Pucey sauntered in, brow furrowed. "Y/N? What are you doing here so early? Malfoy's the one meeting me," he said, surprise flickering in his eyes.

"Just eager for Charms," I replied coolly. "and you said Malfoy ? No idea, really”

Actually I was the one who wrote him the fake note with Malfoy’s name to come earlier.

He cleared his throat, avoiding my gaze. "Look, about what happened , believe me what Mattheo did to me after was enough to ——"

"Don't worry about it, Adrian," I interrupteda sly smile playing on my lips."Things happen."

His surprise deepened. "You...you forgive me that easily?"

Pulling a cupcake from my bag, I offered it. "Freshly baked. Want some?"

Hesitantly, he took a bite. "Sure, thanks."

"Did you know," I said casually, "Flobberworm milk compels truth?" I winked.

Stepping closer, cupcake in hand, I re-offered it. "Second chances deserve a second cupcake, wouldn't you say?"

He hesitated, then took another bite. "Thanks," he mumbled, cheeks warming.

"Speaking of truth-telling," I said, leaning in conspiratorially, "did you know the tears of a phoenix can be used to create a voice projection charm? Like, if I whispered something to a cupcake with phoenix tears baked in, and you ate it, you'd hear it in your mind ."

He blinked, clearly unsure whether to believe me or not.

"Curious, isn't it," I murmured, "the things you can learn when you spend your summer with magical creatures."

Adrian stammered, "Wh-what have you done?"

"Ever wonder what happens when a Hufflepuff marries a Slytherin?" I continued, savoring his confusion.

A playful glint entered my eyes. "Well, for one, someone might get a taste of their own medicine," I quoted my mother with a smirk.

He attempted nonchalance. "Kids would be too good for Slytherin, not quite Hufflepuff."

"And that," I said, a triumphant smile blooming, "is where things get interesting. Especially with a Scamander in the mix.”

I continued, a triumphant grin spreading across my face.“And what happens when you push a Scamander kid too far?" I continued, a triumphant grin spreading across my face. "They use their knowledge, their magical creatures... and maybe a touch of Slytherin cunning for a little revenge.

He backed away, eyes wide.

The bell clanged, shattering the playful tension between Adrian and me. Professor Flitwick,bustled in, his voluminous black robes billowing around him like a miniature storm cloud.

"Good morning, class!" he boomed, "Today, we delve into the fascinating art of Wandless Charms! A skill that separates the truly magical from the...well, let's just say it requires a certain finesse."

Professor Flitwick launched into a lively lecture, demonstrating simple levitation charms with a flourish. As he conjured a teacup to pirouette in the air, I noticed Adrian fidgeting in his seat. Leaning in, I whispered playfully, "Enjoying the class, are we, Pucey?"

He shot me a panicked glance, then mumbled something inaudible. Taking a deep breath, I decided to push my luck a little further. With a mischievous glint in my eyes, I mouthed, "Tell the truth about what you feel of this class ."

Suddenly, Adrian's hand shot up, waving wildly. Professor Flitwick, momentarily distracted, peered over his thick spectacles at the unexpected outburst.

"Mr. Pucey?" he inquired, a quizzical eyebrow raised.

"Professor," Adrian blurted out, his voice surprisingly loud in the quiet room, "I hate Charms! It's useless and frankly, you're a terrible teacher!"

Suddenly, a loud, booming voice erupted from Adrian's mouth, echoing through the entire classroom. "I HATE CHARMS! It's the most useless class ever, I CHEATED on the exam LAST YEAR, and And I've been doing everything just to be the center of attention. I've lied, manipulated, and stepped on others to make myself look better."!"

The entire class erupted in stunned silence, followed by a wave of uncontrollable laughter. Adrian's jaw hung slack, his eyes wide with horror.

Professor Flitwick, his face purple with rage, sputtered, his fist raised in the air. "Mr. Pucey! Ten points from Slytherin! Detention for a month! And perhaps a visit to Madam Pomfrey to check your sanity!"

Adrian sunk deeper into his seat, the laughter morphing into snickers and whispers

The laughter slowly faded, replaced by the echoes of Professor Flitwick's threats. I couldn't help but stifle a triumphant smirk. Adrian practically resembled a puddle of misery in his seat, the color completely drained from his face. Mission accomplished.

Just as I reached the aisle, a hand shot out, grabbing my waist in a surprisingly firm grip. Before I could yelp in surprise, two strong hands was on either side of me , pinning me against the cool stone wall. I found myself staring into the eyes of none other than Mattheo .

"That," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine, "was fucking hot."

He brushed a stray strand of hair behind my ear with his thumb, Our gazes locked, the air crackling with sudden awareness.

My gaze remained steely, unflinching. "You liked that?" I challenged, my voice laced with a dangerous edge.

"I like everything you do," he replied with a smirk.

"Good," I said, leaning in closer, my voice barely a whisper. "Because that was just child's play. compared to what I'm planning for you, Riddle"

The bell echoed through the hallway, shattering the moment. Mattheo reluctantly released me, a hint of something akin to fascination flickering in his eyes. "Can’t wait my love ," he winked, a mischievous glint sparkling within, before disappearing into the throng of students.

My success with Adrian fueled a mischievous fire within me. The thrill of using magical creatures for a little payback was intoxicating. Professor Flitwick's class became my testing ground, a petri dish for brewing delightful chaos.

Every person who participated in the stupid play faced my revenge; none escaped unscathed.

The once dreaded nickname "Jinx Girl" had faded into a distant memory. This year, I was Lady Luck, a title whispered with a mix of awe and amusement. My string of successful pranks, each meticulously crafted with a dash of magical creature mischief, had transformed my reputation.

The whispers started subtly, like the rustling of leaves in the forbidden forest. "Did you see what happened ? Y/N's behind it, for sure!" or "Isn't it strange how everything's turned around for her lately?" It was a subtle shift, but the air crackled with a new awareness. The "Jinx Girl" label was fading, replaced by a more intriguing title - Lady Luck.

One gloomy afternoon, as I settled into a plush armchair by the crackling fire, a hesitant knock echoed through the room.

"Come in," I called out, peering over the worn pages of a Charms textbook.

The door creaked open, revealing a sheepish-looking Charlie . His blonde hair seemed to lose its usual vibrancy under the dim light, and his freckles stood out starkly against his pale face.

"Y/N," he mumbled, scuffing his worn boots on the floor. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure, Charlie," I said, patting the empty space beside me.

He shuffled in place, fiddling with his wand. "It's... well, everything. The rumors, the play, everything."

“ Look, Y/N, I'm so incredibly sorry. I know I shouldn't have spread those rumors. I... honestly, I was a complete idiot."

"I thought," Charlie continued, his voice laced with shame, "that if I spread those rumors, every boy would stay away from you. I didn't think it would get this bad."

A mixture of anger and curiosity bubbled within me. "Why, Charlie?" I asked, my voice calmer than I felt.

He took a deep breath, his gaze filled with regret. "I… I like you, Y/N a lot since we were just kids but you never noticed me ," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper. "And when I saw you with Mattheo, well, and after everything he did..."

He hung his head. "And the play," he mumbled. "It was me. I told Adrian about your past. I was so angry… jealous, really. After seeing you with Mattheo."

A wave of emotions washed over me. Anger for his actions, confusion for his feelings, and a spark of something else – mattheo wasn’t the one who told them about what happened .

Taking another deep breath, I met Charlie's gaze. "Those rumors hurt," I admitted, my voice firm but gentle. "And the play…" I trailed off, choosing my words carefully. "It was a low blow, Charlie. But…" I hesitated, searching for the right words.

"But you were scared," I finished, a hint of empathy softening my tone. "Jealous, even. It's okay to feel those things, Charlie."

He looked up, a flicker of hope igniting in his blue eyes. "Do you… forgive me?"

I studied him for a moment, taking in his genuine regret. "I do," I said finally. "But forgiveness doesn't erase the consequences. You hurt me, Charlie, and you hurt others I will never forget that ."

Charlie's shoulders slumped. "I know," he said, his voice filled with remorse. "I'll do anything to make it up to you."

I smiled faintly. "Please don’t do anything a normal apologize would do ."

Months had passed since I last set foot in the library, and the scent of aged paper and leather, a familiar comfort that once soothed my soul, now felt laced with a bittersweet pang. Yet, stepping back into the hushed haven felt like tumbling through a time warp. The scent of aged paper, the rhythmic tick of the grandfather clock, even the worn patches on the armchairs – everything whispered memories of Mattheo, both sweet and stinging.

the silence thrummed with echoes of hushed conversations and stolen glances. Memories of stolen moments with Mattheo – whispered secrets amongst the stacks, fingers brushing as we reached for the same book – played in a loop behind my closed eyelids.

A sigh escaped my lips as the heavy oak door shut with a soft thud behind me. The vastness of the library stretched before me, empty shelves yawning like forgotten dreams. No bustling librarians, no chattering students hunched over dusty tomes. Just me, adrift in a sea of silence, the weight of the past clinging to my every step.

But then I saw him.

Mattheo stood near the Charms section, a sly smirk twisting his lips. His eyes, usually filled with a cool amusement, held a challenge this time. A knot of tension formed in my stomach.

"You forgive him so easily," he drawled, his voice low enough to carry only between the towering bookshelves.

He gestured towards an empty space beside him, a clear invitation. My pulse quickened. Part of me wanted to whirl around and storm out, to deny him the satisfaction of any reaction. But another, more curious part, craved to know what game he was playing.

With a measured breath, I sauntered towards him, my chin held high. "Forgive who?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

He raised an eyebrow, the smirk deepening. "Come now, Y/N," he said, his voice a silky murmur. "Don't tell me you haven't had a heart-to-heart with Spinnet already."

"What do you really want, Riddle?" I demanded, my voice trembling with a mix of hurt and confusion.

Mattheo took a shaky breath, his hand reaching out hesitantly before retracting. "I can't do this anymore, Y/N," he confessed, his voice raw. "I thought if I gave you some space..."

"Space?" I scoffed, tears welling up again. "Space? You call watching me all summer, space? I know what you did to those boys, and then threatening everyone in this school on the first day to not talk or do anything to me space??" I yelled, tears streaming down my face.

The words tumbled out, fueled by a wellspring of hurt I hadn't even realized I was holding onto. "I don't understand, Mattheo! I don't really understand. I've dealt with difficult things before, truly awful things, but none of them hurt as much as this betrayal. Why? Why can't I get over it? Why does it feel like someone ripped open my soul and stomped on it a million times? Then it hit me. You did that, Mattheo. You."

My voice broke, replaced by a choked sob. "You showed me a love I never knew existed, a love I never dared to dream of , showered me with affection and tenderness. You touched parts of my soul I never knew were there. Every inch of me, every piece of me – my heart, my mind, my soul – had your name written all over it , Every fiber of my being, every beat of my heart, seemed to have your name etched upon it. And then, you snatched it all away.. They say it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, but that's a lie. Because feeling your love, then losing it, is the worst pain I've ever experienced.”

The air crackled between us, thick with unspoken emotions and the sting of my tears. Mattheo inched closer, his warmth a stark contrast to the turmoil within me. I could feel his breath whisper against my cheek, sending a shiver down my spine.

"Y/N," he pleaded, his voice husky with emotion ."I know you don't believe me," he confessed, his red- eyes searching mine .

“but this feeling... it terrifies me. I've never felt like this before. Never cared about anyone but myself and Enzo . But then you came along. The purest thing I've ever have , the closest I'll ever get to heaven."

His words hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the arrogant facade he usually presented.

"I miss you," he continued, his voice raw with longing. "I miss what we had. The way your smile could light up a room, the way your cheeks would flush the prettiest shade of pink ."

He paused, his hand hovering hesitantly near mine. "I can't do this anymore. This game... it's torture. Every stolen glance, every witty banter, it just makes the truth harder to bear. Tell me what you want me to do. Name it, anything. But please, just end this charade. It's killing me “

A tremor ran through him, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of genuine fear in his eyes.

He looked at me for a second, taking a shaky breath. Then, the words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered. "I love you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm not afraid to say it anymore. I regret not approaching you properly, i regret taking that stupid dare ."

His gaze held mine, desperate for any sign of reciprocation. "You asked if everything between us was a lie," he continued, his voice low. "But listen to me now. You're the truest thing that's ever happened to me. I love you, Y/N. And I can't stand there watching you, knowing I can't hold you. I never wanted to hurt you, And I promise, I'll never let anyone hurt you again"

My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drum solo in the quiet library. Every fiber of my being yearned to believe him, to reach out and melt into his embrace. But the betrayal was still fresh, a gaping wound that pulsed with pain.

"I can't trust you anymore, Mattheo," I choked out, the words a bitter truth. "Even if I want to, I can't. Every word you say feels like another lie. I hate you," I confessed, the words ripping from my throat. "I hate you so much for making me want to forgive you. I hate you because I love you so much."

"Don't cry," he pleaded, his voice thick with a desperate sincerity. "I'll do anything. Just say it, and I'll do it."

The promise hung in the air, tempting and dangerous. I reached up and covered his hand with mine, the warmth seeping into my chilled skin. Despite the storm raging inside me, a small part of me craved the comfort of his touch, the solace of forgiveness.

"Then let me go, Mattheo," I whispered, the words tasting like ashes in my mouth. "Let me go. Don't approach me. Don't try to fix anything. Just let me go."

The pain in his eyes mirrored the turmoil within me. "Is that what you truly want?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

I could only nod, a fresh wave of tears cascading down my face. Every part of me ached to forget the past, to bury my head in his chest and feel the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat. But the betrayal was a wall I couldn't climb over, not yet.

"Then I will do it ,love." He brushed away my tears one last time, his touch lingering for a heartbreaking moment before he took a step back. The pain in his eyes was a something i could never forget.

He gave me one last, lingering look before turning and leaving the library, the heavy oak door closing with a finality that echoed the slamming shut of my own heart. The air hung heavy with unspoken emotions, the weight of my decision pressing down on me.

My revenge, I realized with a bitter pang, tasted worse than Flobberworm milk and phonics tears on cupcakes. But in that moment, I didn't realize that in punishing him, I was condemning myself to an equally excruciating torture

Days bled into weeks, each one stretching out with the agonizing slowness of a Dementor's kiss. What I had envisioned as a sweet victory – Mattheo squirming under the weight of my indifference – felt more like a self-inflicted Cruciatus Curse.

The once-familiar halls of Hogwarts became a minefield of awkward silences and stolen glances. Every corner held the ghost of his laughter, every shadowed alcove whispered echoes of his touch. Avoiding him became a constant, exhausting dance.

In Herbology, Professor Sprout droned on about the magical properties of Bubotuber pus, but all I could focus on was the empty space beside me. It had become a glaring absence, a constant reminder of the warmth that used to be there.

Across the room, I could feel his gaze burning into me. But when I dared to steal a glance, his head would be bent diligently over his textbook, his jaw clenched tight. It was a practiced act of indifference, a mask that mirrored the one I wore.

Lunch in the Great Hall was an ordeal. I'd scan the long Slytherin table, searching for any sign of him. Relief would flood me when I wouldn't see him, only to be replaced by a hollow pang of disappointment.

One day, as I shuffled through the crowded hallway, I felt a presence looming behind me. My heart hammered a frantic tattoo against my ribs. I quickened my pace, clutching my books tighter, willing myself to disappear. But the presence remained, a silent taunt.

Finally, unable to bear the suspense any longer, I chanced a peek over my shoulder. My stomach lurched. It was him, his face a stony mask, his eyes fixed on a point far beyond me. He sidestepped me with practiced ease, not even a flicker of recognition in his gaze.

The charade was relentless. In Potions, Professor Snape's scathing remarks seemed muted compared to the deafening silence between Mattheo and me. We brewed our Draught of Peace with a silent intensity, each movement a calculated act of avoidance.

The whispers started subtly, like the rustle of leaves in a slight breeze. "Did you see them? Not a single word!" one student would murmur to another. Soon, the whispers morphed into open stares, the entire school buzzing with the unspoken tension between us.

It was as if by avoiding each other, we'd created a spectacle far more dramatic than any confrontation could have been. The unspoken longing, the raw emotions hanging heavy in the air – it was a story more captivating than any Quidditch match.

What hurt the most ? I couldn't escape the feeling that everyone else was living their lives, while mine was trapped in this agonizing purgatory of unspoken emotions and a love I couldn't embrace or deny.

The silence between us was deafening, a reminder of the bond we'd shattered. My carefully crafted revenge felt hollow, a Pyrrhic victory that left me as desolate as the empty space beside him. The ache in my chest had little to do with anger and everything to do with a longing I couldn't name.

Then came the worst part. It wasn't just the awkward silences or stolen glances at him interacting with others. It was the way the girls around me perked up, their smiles a bit too wide, their laughter a bit too forced. They saw the distance between Mattheo and me, the void where his presence used to be, as an open invitation.

Professor Sprout's well-meaning attempt to pair us up for a project backfired spectacularly.

Mattheo, his usual smirk replaced by a practiced indifference, meticulously tended to his Venomous Tentacula while I wrestled with a particularly stubborn Flobberworm. The silence between us was thicker than the sap dripping from the Bubotuber pus. We moved with a practiced efficiency, avoiding eye contact, our movements a painful ballet of unspoken hurt and when he was finally done with his part he left without even glancing at me .

Across the room, laughter erupted. A pretty brunette girl, Astoria Greengrass, leaned in conspiratorially towards Mattheo, a giggle escaping her lips. He threw his head back, a genuine smile lighting up his face, a sight that sent a spike of jealousy through me.

My Flobberworm wriggled free, sending a spray of dirt flying. Professor Sprout's raised eyebrow and stern lecture were a welcome distraction from the scene unfolding across the room. The warmth in Mattheo's laughter, the ease with which he interacted with Astoria, was a sharp contrast to the icy distance he maintained with me.

The worst part, however, wasn't the girls themselves. It was the way they looked at me – a mixture of pity and smug satisfaction. Their gazes seemed to say, "See? Now you see what you had and threw away."

Another day, another ordeal. During Charms, a boy from Ravenclaw, Michael Corner, sidled up to me, his voice a steady stream of nervous chatter. He droned on about the upcoming Quidditch match, his words blurring into background noise.

Across the room, I stole a glance at Matteo. He sat slumped in his chair, his gaze fixed on the textbook in front of him. But a flicker of movement caught my eye. His jaw clenched slightly, knuckles turning white as he gripped the book. He didn't turn towards me, didn't acknowledge Michael's presence. It was as if I, and the boy beside me, simply ceased to exist.

A pang of something akin to disappointment shot through me. Was this truly what he’s doing ? erasing me from his memory? The silence between us, once deafening, now felt suffocating. I craved a reaction, anything to break the monotony of our charade.

Days bled into weeks, each one a monotonous echo of the last. Lunch in the Great Hall was an exercise in self-torture. I sat with some girls from my class , their cheery chatter a stark contrast to the turmoil within me.

Across the room, Mattheo sat with a group of Slytherins, his usual arrogance back in place. He spoke in hushed tones, his eyes scanning the room. Did they land on me? I couldn't tell, wouldn't allow myself to hope.

Suddenly, Draco Malfoy sauntered over, a smirk playing on his lips. He leaned in, whispering something in Mattheo's ear, his gaze flickering towards me. A flicker of something – anger, maybe? – crossed Mattheo's face before he schooled his features back into indifference.

Draco's smirk widened, punctuated by a loud laugh. The sound grated on my nerves, a confirmation that he had successfully moved on, leaving me drowning in the wreckage of our broken connection.

The once vibrant halls of Hogwarts had become a constant reminder of what I'd lost. The whispers, the pointed looks, the morbid fascination with our unspoken war – it all felt suffocating. The silence between us, once deafening, now resonated with a profound emptiness.

In my quest for revenge, I had succeeded in destroying not just him, but a part of myself. And as I stared across the Great Hall, the bitter truth settled in – the only thing more unbearable than his betrayal was his indifference.

The ache in my core pulsed with every stolen glance at Matteo. A single, accidental lock of eyes during Charms was all it took to reignite the inferno I'd thought I'd extinguished. The familiar heat bloomed in my cheeks, spreading downwards, a stark reminder of the raw, physical connection we shared.

Driven by an insatiable hunger, I succumbed to temptation, seeking solace in the darkness of night. With trembling hands, I slipped my fingers inside my pants, yearning for the touch of his hands upon my skin. But no matter how fervently I imagined his touch, it was futile, a poor substitute for the real thing.

His absence loomed large in my mind, a constant reminder of the void he had left behind. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as I grappled with the overwhelming sense of loss, longing for the warmth of his embrace.

In the silence of my room, I cried myself to sleep, the weight of my unfulfilled desires weighing heavily upon me. No matter how hard I tried to bury them, the flames of passion continued to burn, fueled by the memory of his touch.

The next day crawled by, each tick of the clock echoing the heavy weight in my chest. Just as I contemplated escaping to the familiar comfort of the Slytherin common room, a familiar figure emerged from the shadows of the deserted hallway – Enzo.

His usual carefree air was replaced by a somberness that mirrored my own. "Y/N," he started hesitantly, his voice uncharacteristically unsure.

"Enzo, hi," I greeted nervously. "Are you... are you alright?"

He paused, his gaze flickering with concern. "I need to talk to you," he finally said, his voice low.

"Sure," I whispered, a nervous smile tugging at my lips.

He gestured towards an empty classroom beside us. We entered, the silence suddenly thick and heavy.

"It's about Mattheo," he began, his voice dropping even lower.

My heart hammered against my ribs,

"What about him?" I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.

Enzo took a deep breath, his gaze flickering with an emotion I couldn't decipher. "He — He has a really dangerous disease Y/N," he blurted out, the words heavy in the quiet hallway.

Enzo's words hit me like a Stunning Spell. My breath caught in my throat, the air suddenly thick with a suffocating weight. Disease? Mattheo? It couldn't be true. The anger that had simmered within me for weeks flickered, threatened by a spark of something else – a flicker of fear, of a terrible, dawning realization.

"Disease?" I choked out, the word barely a whisper.

Enzo nodded. "Serious. He doesn't know how long..." He trailed off, his voice thick with emotion. "But he's getting worse every day. Refused to tell you himself, stubborn git."

Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring Enzo's concerned face. "He never said anything," I choked out, my voice thick with emotion. "He wouldn't even look at me."

Enzo sighed, a deep rumble that spoke of a burden shared. "He's stubborn, that one. Especially when it comes to protecting you “

"But how could he not tell me?" I whispered, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart.

"He loves you, Y/N," Enzo said, his voice firm. "More than anything, I swear. I've never seen him care about anyone the way he cares about you. I knew what he did was unforgivable , but his feelings for you… they're real."

A sob escaped my lips, tears blurring my vision. The image of Mattheo, his usual arrogance replaced by vulnerability, echoed in my mind.

"you deserves to know," Enzo said, his gaze unwavering. "Even if you can't forgive him, even if you hate him… you deserve to know the truth."

Tears streamed down my face, a mixture of grief and confusion.

"He'll do anything for you, you know," Enzo continued. "Hiding this… it's killing him. More than the illness itself."

Another sob escaped my lips. The anger, the carefully constructed walls of indifference – it all seemed so petty now, dwarfed by the weight of his illness. All this time, I'd been punishing him, punishing myself, while he…

Panic clawed at my throat. "How bad is it? How long…?" My voice wouldn't form the question.

Enzo shook his head, a grim expression on his face. "I don't know all the details, Y/N. He wouldn't tell me much. But he's getting worse, and by the way there's no cure."

The weight of the revelation pressed down on me. The silent war we waged, the stolen glances filled with unspoken emotions – it all seemed so meaningless now. All I wanted to do was see him, to hold him, to tell him… what?

Looking at Enzo, tears streaming down my face, I whispered, " Where is he?"

Enzo hesitated, then pointed towards the forest . "He's usually there, you know where , trying to clear his head."

"Thank you, Enzo," I croaked, my voice thick with emotion. "For telling me."

Enzo nodded, a hint of a sad smile gracing his lips. "Just… don't let pride get in the way, alright? Talk to him. Figure things out he needs you now more than ever. ." He squeezed my shoulder before turning and leaving me alone with the weight of this revelation.

Enzo's words echoed in my head, each syllable a hammer blow against my chest. Disease. Limited time. The anger, the carefully constructed walls of resentment, all crumbled under the weight of this revelation. Tears blurred my visionI raced through the castle corridors, legs burning, a primal urge driving me forward.

I didn't care about the stares, the confused whispers that followed. I only cared about getting to him , My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, each beat punctuated by a sob that tore through me.

The familiar path to the Forbidden Forest became a blur. Thorns ripped at my robes, branches snagged at my hair, but I didn't feel them. All I felt was a desperate need to reach him, to hold him.

A sharp sting on my knee brought me back to the present. I looked down to see a crimson stain blooming on my robes, a tear in the fabric revealing a scraped knee. But the pain was a mere whisper compared to the agony twisting in my gut.

The memory of his secret place, fueled my desperate run. It was a sanctuary he'd revealed only to me, Now, it was my beacon, the only place I could imagine him seeking solace in his time of despair.

Bursting through the familiar curtain of trees, I skidded to a halt, chest heaving, tears streaming down my face. My vision swam, but I could just make out the clearing, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun.

Reaching the clearing, I pushed aside the concealing ivy with trembling hands. The familiar wooden door stood before me, mockingly still. I flung it open, ignoring the groan of rusted hinges.

Pushing the pain aside, I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the blood seeping through my torn robes. The hidden entrance, disguised by a tangle of ivy, materialized before my tear-filled eyes.

With trembling hands, I cleared the vines, pushing through the narrow opening. The familiar scent of earth and damp stone greeted me, a small comfort in the storm raging inside.

Inside the dimly lit chamber, my breath caught in my throat, with my ragged sobs as I stumbled towards the bed. Mattheo peacefully sleeping on , his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

"Mattheo!" I shrieked, the name a desperate plea that tore through the silence. "Mattheo, wake up!"

He stirred at the sound, his brow furrowing in confusion. His eyes fluttered open, blinking away the remnants of sleep. his eyes widening in shock before softening at the sight of my tear-streaked face,the raw panic radiating from my very being.

"Y/N?" he rasped, his voice weak. "What's wrong? What happened?"

Before he could finish his question, I was on him, collapsing onto the bed in a heap of sobs and frantic whispers

His arms wrapped around me. held me close, his voice a soothing murmur against my ear. " it's okay, love," he whispered, his voice thick with concern. "What happened? Are you hurt? Tell me what's wrong, baby did someone…" he trailed off, his voice hardening with a possessive anger."

The sound of those endearment words, so unexpected after weeks of cold silence, sent a fresh wave of tears cascading down my cheeks.

"Don't cry, love," he murmured, his voice thick with concern. "Tell me what's wrong. Did someone hurt you? Did someone say something?"

His gaze dropped to the injury, "Oh Merlin," he breathed, his voice laced with self-reproach. "How did you… why did you come here like this?"

My voice, when it finally came, was a choked sob. Words tumbled out in a rush, a jumbled mess of emotions. "Enzo… he told me… you're sick… I… I thought…"

Mattheo's brow furrowed further. He reached out, his touch tentative on my arm. "Slow down, love," he murmured. "What did Enzo tell you?"

I took a shaky breath, wiping at the tears blurring my vision. "That you… that you had a dangerous illness… that you didn't have long."

A bewildered frown creased his forehead. illness? What illness ? “

"Don't lie to me, Mattheo," I pleaded, tears welling up again. "He said you were… you were dying."

"Enzo that fucker ," he muttered, shaking his head . "He must have been trying to get us to talk." He let out a dry, humorless laugh, the sound sending a fresh wave of pain through me. "He always did have a dramatic flair."

My entire body tensed. Was he lying? My gaze darted across his face, searching for any sign of truth.

"But Enzo wouldn't lie about something like that," I protested, my voice shaky. "He was so worried. He said you loved me, that I deserved to know."

His arms tightened around me "Well, Enzo got one thing right then,"

"So there's no illness?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Mattheo cupped my face in his hand, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. "No illness, love. Just a heartbroken fool who did something incredibly stupid." His gaze softened, searching mine. "You believed him?"

Shame burned in my throat. "I… I was scared,"

Mattheo's expression softened. "Scared about me?" he asked gently, his thumb brushing against my cheek in a soothing gesture.

I nodded, unable to meet his gaze as tears threatened to spill over once more.

“you don't have to be scared anymore. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."A wave of relief washed over me as I melted into his embrace, feeling the weight of my fears slowly lift from my shoulders. In his arms

his playful smile fading, replaced by a sharp concern that etched lines on his face his gaze flicked down to my knee

"Oh Merlin," he muttered, kneeling down to examine the wound. A crimson stain was blossoming on my knee .

"It looks worse than it is, probably," I mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant. But the wince I couldn't quite suppress betrayed me.. He knelt beside me, his touch sending a familiar spark through my body despite the circumstances.

"You shouldn't have run like that," he said gently, his voice laced with a hint of disapproval. "Look at you, all bruised and bleeding."

My cheeks burned, not just from the sting of the wounds, but from the unexpected tenderness in his voice. "I… I just needed to see you," I mumbled, looking away.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips. "Well, you certainly made an entrance," he said, a hint of amusement returning to his eyes. But his smile faltered as he focused on my wounds .

"Here, let me get you cleaned up," he said, his voice firm.

He rummaged through the surprisingly well-stocked medical kit hidden in the corner, pulling out vials of glistening potions and bandages. The air filled with the pungent scent of dittany as he carefully cleaned my wounds, his touch surprisingly gentle.

Each swipe of the cloth sent a jolt through me, a confusing mix of pain and a strange kind of pleasure. Shame battled with a newfound hope as I met his gaze. The anger and hurt that had clouded his eyes for weeks were gone, replaced by a warmth that sent a flutter to my stomach.

"There," he said finally, tying the last bandage with a practiced ease. "That should hold for now."

As he pulled back, our eyes met, and for a fleeting moment, the air crackled with unspoken words. The silence between us, once heavy with tension, thrummed with a new energy.

"I'm so sorry for barging in like that," I mumbled, looking away.

"Hey," he said, his voice firm but kind. " You scared the daylights out of me, but I'm glad you're here."

"Do__Do you still care about me?" I blurted out, the question tumbling out before I could stop it. Tears welled up again, threatening to spill over.

Mattheo's eyes widened for a moment, then a flicker of something warm crossed them.

"Like... are you kidding me?" he said, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "Of course I do."

My heart hammered in my chest. "But I thought..." I trailed off, unsure how to voice the tangled mess of emotions that had been churning inside me.

"You thought I moved on?" he finished, his voice gentle.

I nodded, ashamed of the doubt that had festered for so long.

"I was giving you space," he explained, "the space you said you needed. But believe me, it was killing me."

"Merlin's beard, Y/N. Every time some bloke even glanced your way, I felt like I might hex the lot of them."

My cheeks burned. As I laughed at what he said

his gaze lingering on my lips. "I swear I didn't tell anyone about what you told me that night," he murmured, his voice low and sincere. "I had nothing to do with the play. ,I didn't know they were going to do that I only didn't want you to go because it was connected to the dare and I thought if we just stayed away, it would all blow over."

"I know," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "Charlie told me."

his messy hair softened by the dim light, his jaw shadowed with a hint of stubble, but his gaze held that same familiar warmth that had always sent butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

He looked so good, so heartbreakingly handsome, a possessiveness rising in my chest. He was mine

I couldn't hold back any longer. With a soft whimper, I closed the gap between us, my lips meeting his in a kiss that was both desperate and tender.

His lips were warm and soft, molding perfectly to mine.The taste of him – a mixture of mint and something uniquely Mattheo – flooded my senses, sending a jolt through my body.

Mattheo responded instantly, pulling me closer until I was practically settling me on his lap , melting into him . His hands slid down my back.

He held me tightly, as if afraid I might disappear, and the urgency in his kiss mirrored my own. It was a hungry kiss, filled with a raw passion that had been simmering beneath the surface for too long.

We explored each other's mouths with a newfound intensity, the taste of him igniting a fire deep within me. Our tongues danced together, a silent conversation filled with unspoken promises and a desperate need for more.

He pulled back slightly, his breath ragged. His eyes, shimmering with desire, held me captive.My own hands tangled in his hair . "I missed you," he rasped, his voice thick with emotion.

The words echoed my own feelings. God, how I'd missed him.

He kissed me again the kiss deepened, a desperate plea for connection after weeks of longing. My hips instinctively swayed against him, seeking a friction that had been absent for too long. The ache in my core, a dull throb that had plagued me, seemed to lessen with each press of my body against his,It felt like a dam had broken, a release after a drought.

But then I felt it – a firmness pressing against my core, a sensation that sent a jolt through my system. It overwhelmed my senses, momentarily drowning the delicious haze of the kiss. As my body brushed against it again, a guttural moan escaped Mattheo's lips. Reality slammed back, and I tore myself away from the kiss, eyes wide with a sudden realization.

"I'm so sorry," I stammered, the words tumbling out in a jumbled mess. "I didn't realize…" my cheeks a fiery red. "Does it hurt you too?"

"Too?"He tilted his head, a playful smile on his face ."What do you mean, baby? What's hurting you?

"I-I just..." I stammered, my cheeks burning like embers. "I don't know... It's just..." Words failed me completely.

His playful smirk deepened the pit in my stomach. "Yeah?" he prompted, his confusion tinged with amusement.

"That would be…" My voice dropped to a barely audible murmur. "That ache, and it won't just go away, no matter what I try."

He chuckled, the sound warm and comforting. "Oh, my love. That sounds awful." He brushed a fallen strand of hair away from my face, his touch sending a fresh wave of heat through me.

"Tell me, love," he whispered, his voice husky with desire, "where does this ache come from?"

before I could confess, a new sensation stole the air from my lungs. His lips, warm and insistent, found my neck again

"Where was that ache coming from, love?" he repeated, his lips soft against my skin, eliciting a moan of pleasure.

"Tell me," he urged, cupping my breast while peppering kisses all over my neck. "I'm still waiting for you to answer me, my love," his voice dominant, commanding my attention.

"It was... down there," I admitted. "It won't go away, no matter what I try," I continued, feeling exposed.

His lips found a sensitive spot behind my ear, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. "And what have you tried to do to make it go away?" he murmured, his voice turning dark .

"I... I tried to do what you did to me before, but I couldn't," I whispered, tears welling in my eyes, their origin unclear. He kissed them away, his lips tender against my skin.

"You tried to touch yourself? Tried to recreate what I did to you? And who were you thinking about while doing it, darling?" he asked, his voice thick with desire.

"You... it was you. I also imagined it was you, but it didn't work," I confessed.

"You're going to be the death of me," he murmured, kissing away the last of my tears. Then he continued, his voice low and seductive, "We need to do something about that then , Would you let me kiss it better?"

Unable to tear my gaze from his, I simply nodded, my voice stolen by the intensity in his eyes.

"Words, love,I need to hear your voice "

"Yes, please," I whispered, the words barely escaping my lips.

The kiss that followed was possessive, a searing claim . When he finally pulled away, his eyes burned with a dark intensity.

"Good," he breathed, his voice thick with desire . "Because I'm going to worship every inch of that beautiful body. Every. Inch. Of. You."

With a tenderness that contrasted with the raw desire in his voice, he gently laid me down on the bed. The plush fabric felt cool against my flushed skin as anticipation coiled in the pit of my stomach.

His fingers brushed against my collarbone as he meticulously unfastened each button of my shirt. His gaze never left mine, the intensity in his eyes sending shivers down my spine.

"That Ravenclaw boy, Michael Corner, what was he telling you?"

His question jolted me back to reality. I blinked, momentarily confused, then recalled, "Oh, right, Michael. He was talking about the next Quidditch match. I didn't know you noticed."

A wry smile played on his lips. "Oh, believe me, I did," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Every. Single. Second. Especially when his eyes kept flickering back over here."

His gaze dropped pointedly to the space where my shirt now hung open, and a blush crept up my neck.

"Believe me," he whispered,"my eyes were on you the entire time."

Heat pulsed through me as his kisses trailed down my neck, each one a spark igniting a fire within. I squeezed my eyes shut, a strangled moan caught in my throat. Nervous flutters danced in my stomach, a foreign sensation that both scared and thrilled me.

A gasp ripped through me as Matteo's cool fingers dipped beneath my skirt. My skin, flushed from his heated kisses, sent a jolt of contrasting sensation against his touch. It was a delicious shock, leaving me breathless.

"Hey," he murmured, voice laced with concern as he immediately stopped, his brows furrowing. "Is this okay? Do you want me to…"

He began to retract his hand, but before he could fully pull away, I reached out, my fingers blindly grasping at his . "No," I mumbled, the word barely a whisper. My voice betrayed me, shaky and breathless. Why did this simple touch feel so earth-shattering?

"No," I repeated, a little firmer this time, gathering my courage. "I mean, yes. This is… I want that." The last few words tumbled out in a rush, so quiet I wasn't sure if he even heard them.

I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to meet his gaze. I could almost picture the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips

A blush crept up my neck as his voice rumbled in my ear, a promise laced with concern. "If you feel uncomfortable at any point, love, just say the word. I want this to be good for you." His touch lingered on my bare skin, a burning ember against my suddenly chilled flesh.

The sincerity in his voice calmed the knot of nerves twisting in my stomach. I knew he wouldn't push me further than I was ready. Taking a deep breath, I met his gaze, my own desire reflected back in his warm brown eyes.

"I trust you," I whispered, the words a shaky promise.

A slow smile spread across his face, lighting up his features like the sunrise.

The brush of his fingers against the fabric of my bra sent a jolt through me. He paused, his eyes searching mine once more, a silent question hanging in the air.

This time, my response was a small, barely-there nod. It was a hesitant surrender, an invitation whispered on a breath. A satisfied glint sparked in his eyes before he continued his exploration, his touch sending shivers dancing across my skin.

Matteo's fingers grazed the clasp of my bra. The touch was a spark that ignited a fire within me, a rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins. Instinctively, my fingers tangled themselves in his hair . He dipped his head, his lips trailing a warm path down my neck before finding a sensitive spot on my chest. A soft moan escaped my lips as he teased the nipple

My back arched involuntarily, a silent plea for him to continue. I tugged on his hair, not wanting him to stop, not wanting this exquisite feeling to end.

"Does that feel good, love?" he murmured against my skin, his voice husky with desire.

"Yes," I breathed, the word barely a whisper lost in the symphony of sensations swirling around me. My eyelids fluttered shut, the world dissolving into a haze of touch and taste, the touch of his skin and the warmth of his breath. Everything else faded away .

Moving to my other nipple giving it the same attention .My fingers instinctively tangled themselves in his hair.

A wave of heat washed over me as Matteo's hand brushed against the hem of my skirt soft sigh escaped his lips as his gaze drifted to my soaked panties .

“I’ve wanted this for such a long time, you have no idea,” he murmured, sucking on the skin of my inner thighs as my hands fisted the bedsheets.

“Please,” I begged, feeling no embarrassment about how desperate I sounded. As soon as he began to suck on my clit, all my worries began to vanish. Profane words spilled from my mouth as Matteo took his sweet time with me.

"Merlin, oh, I—" It seemed as if I couldn’t control my mouth any longer; my instincts took over. I knew that I was ready; I wanted him, all of him.

“Relax, baby, I’ve got you,” his eyes were pitch black by now pupils were dilated, a dark reflection of the desire .

A loving smile playing on his lips as he slowly inserted a finger into me. It still felt strange to me, a sensation I hadn't quite grown accustomed to yet. I was tight around his fingers, but my moans urged him on. Adding another finger, he alternated between sucking, licking, then repeating, drawing me closer to my release,a mind-blowing orgasm that I’d never forget.

My stomach clenched, a tight knot forming as a foreign heat bloomed in my core. Blood roared in my ears, drowning out everything except his voice and the frantic pounding of my heart. My head arched back against the pillow, muscles involuntarily tightening around his fingers.

" good girl , Come for me, love,"

A guttural moan escaped my lips as pleasure surged through me, a wave cresting and crashing in a series of shivers. "Mattheo," I breathed, his name a desperate prayer repeated again and again.

"That’s fucking right, love ." he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Say my name,no one else says my name quite like you do. It's a sound I desperately missed."

His words fueled the fire within me, and I surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure, clinging to him as the wave crested and receded. Exhausted but exhilarated, I opened my eyes to find his gaze locked on mine.

A slow smile tugged at his lips as he brushed a kiss across my flushed cheek. The touch ignited a spark within me, and I reached out, my fingers curling around his hand. With a newfound boldness, I drew him closer, our lips meeting in a kiss that spoke volumes.

"I want you Mattheo all of you ," I whispered against his lips, with newfound confidence.

His gaze held mine for a beat, searching for any flicker of hesitation. He saw none, only a reflection of the desire burning brightly in his own eyes.

"Are you absolutely sure, love?" he asked.

"Absolutely sure just be gentle ," I breathed against his lips, the words leaving no room for doubt.

He undressed himself slowly, his eyes never leaving my form. I couldn't help but admire the contours of his body as he revealed each inch of his skin. My fingers tingled with anticipation, and I reached out to trace the lines of his sculpted six-pack, feeling the firmness beneath my touch. His muscles rippled under my fingertips.

My apprehension grew as I looked at his length, my mind swirling with doubts and desires. " will it hurt?" I asked, my voice betraying my fear and curiosity. I couldn't shake the nagging thought of how he would fit inside me.

"I won’t do anything to hurt you. I'll be gentle with you, okay?"he reassured me, his words soothing my nerves.

 “Is that gonna fit?” 

 

 “I’ll make it fit.” He kissed a trail down the valley between my breasts, his lips igniting a flame against my skin. Each touch sent a surge of heat through me, anticipation building with every passing second.

He ran the tip of his hardness through my wet folds agonizingly slowly, each touch sending shivers of pleasure coursing through my body. I could feel myself throbbing with need as he coated himself with my slickness, the sensation almost overwhelming. Gasping for breath, I reached out for his free hand holding it , needing the connection to ground me amidst the whirlwind of sensation.

“Breathe for me, baby,” Matteo murmured, his voice laced with tenderness and desire. "Keep your eyes on me. Let me see those pretty eyes."

A sharp hiss escaped my lips as he slowly began to push into me, each inch stretching my muscles as they accommodated his girth. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, a combination of pleasure and slight discomfort mingling together. , his lips pressing tender kisses against my cheeks wiped away the tears .

As he started to roll his hips, a slow and steady rhythm, the initial discomfort gave way to a rush of pleasure that flooded my senses. Each movement sent waves of sensation coursing through me, building the intensity of our connection with every thrust.

It didn't take me long to get used to the new sensation; my cries turned into moans, loud moans, my nails clawed at his back as he picked up his speed. "You're doing so well my love '." He kept on praising me as I clenched around his length.

“Good girl," . His thumb continued to circle my pulsing clit, sending electric shocks of pleasure through me. Mattheo buried his head in my neck, inhaling my scent as he listened to the rhythm of our bodies moving together. "God, you feel so good, like a fucking dream. I'll never get enough of you," he whispered against my skin, his words sending shivers down my spine.

As I looked down, the sight of our bodies connected together made me moan even louder. I couldn't help but notice the drips of blood on his dick as he moved, a stark reminder of our primal connection.

"I love you, Mattheo. I'm sorry it took me so long to say it, but I do love you more than life itself," I breathed out between heavy moans, my confession hanging in the air like a promise. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I pulled him closer, desperate for more of him.

"Fucking hell, love, are you trying to kill me?" he sucked on my neck, pushing me over the edge for the second time that evening. The feeling exploded in my belly, my moans urging him closer to his own release. Still, I continued to clench around him, my body writhing with pleasure as he rode me through the bliss. His cock twitched inside of me, warmth spreading through me as he released himself inside of me.

I was on birth control pills my mother had made me take them since I turned eighteen, but in that moment, nothing else mattered but the overwhelming sensation of love and desire coursing through my veins.

“ Holy shit,Never thought I could love someone this much. What are you doing to me ?“

"Not even Astoria Greengrass?" I teased, unable to resist bringing that up .

"Don’t you dare bring another woman’s name up while my dick is still inside you," he retorted, his tone playful yet possessive.

I chuckled, cupping his face to kiss him passionately. His response was equally fervent, but a moan escaped my lips as I felt him getting out off me .

Surveying the aftermath, I couldn't help but feel a mix of pleasure and soreness. "I think I've lost my ability to walk," I joked.

"yeah ?" he teased back, laying down beside me. His fingers gently traced patterns in my hair as he leaned in to kiss my forehead with tenderness.

"I will never, ever do anything to hurt you again," he vowed softly.

Smiling softly, I whispered, "I know," before meeting his lips in another kiss.

He broke the kiss with a chuckle" I owes Enzo big time, huh? Best brother of the year?"

I laughed, feeling the exhaustion starting to set in.

"still ,but he'll pay for frightening you like that. Now, how about I take care of you first ?" I nodded, too tired to speak.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅

BONUS SCENE.

We re-entered the castle, his hand never leaving mine. It wasn't a casual hold, but a tight clasp, his fingers weaving between mine like a declaration

Suddenly, Matteo stopped short, his eyes widening in surprise. Following his gaze, I spotted a familiar tall figure with kind eyes and a warm smile – Uncle Ben! My jaw dropped. What was he doing here?

“Look who it is! Isn't that my favorite niece?"

"Uncle Ben? What are you doing here?"

"Ah," he chuckled, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "Professor Flitwick requested a little assistance with a... well, let's just say a certain magical artifact has gotten a bit out of sorts. Seems my expertise is needed to tame the beast, Thought I'd surprise you , and pop in to see how things are going at Hogwarts"

My jaw nearly hit the floor,how things are going at Hogwarts ? Well uncle…

“ this young man was keeping my company , Enzo, wasn't it?", his voice laced with amusement as he gestured towards Enzo.

"The one and only," Enzo confirmed with a wide grin, throwing in another wink for good measure.

My stomach lurched as Uncle Ben's gaze darted down to our hands, still subtly intertwined. The air crackled with sudden tension , his eyes darted from me to Mattheo, lingering a beat too long on the hand that still rested possessively on mine.

"Riddle Jr., isn't he?" he boomed, his jovial demeanor replaced with a mixture of surprise and something akin to panic.

My mind raced, desperately searching for an explanation. "Uncle Ben, it's —" I began, only to be cut off by his frantic question.

" you're not pregnant, right?" he blurted, his voice dropping to a panicked whisper.

My jaw dropped. Enzo choked on a laugh, shooting a helpless glance towards Mattheo, who seemed to be suppressing a smirk.

“you're holding hands! "

Enzo clapped Uncle Ben on the shoulder, his voice booming with forced cheer. "Come on, Ben! Let's not jump to conclusions. They're just kids, figuring things out."

My uncle's expression remained skeptical. He shifted his gaze to Matteo, a guarded look replacing the initial shock. " Riddle Jr. here," he began, his voice tight. "What exactly are your intentions towards y/n ?"

Matteo met Uncle Ben's gaze head-on, his posture unwavering. "Sir," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I deeply regret the way things ended between y/n and me. I know I hurt her, and for that, I'll never forgive myself. However, I care for her a great deal, and I would never do anything to intentionally cause her pain again." His eyes flickered to me briefly, a flicker of something warm passing between us. "All I want is a chance to prove myself worthy of her trust."

"Uncle Ben, I trust Mattheo. We'll take things slow, and I promise to be careful."

"Wow, you two look positively radiant. Blindingly so, actually. Sunglasses anyone?”enzo said wrapping his hands around my uncle shoulders.

Our synchronized eye rolls at his comment were enough to power the entire castle for a week. He held his hands up defensively, a playful grin plastered across his face while murmuring, "I'm still your brother, don't kill me," to Mattheo.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅

Tag list :

@avee-wavee @lovelyygirl8 @lovelyypythoness @timmychalametsstuff

#slytherin boys x you #slytherin boys #mattheo smut #slytherin boys x reader #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle imagines #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle #mattheoxreader #mattheo riddle masterlist #mattheo riddle angst #smut #slytherin #lorenzo berkshire imagine #fluff imagines #mattheoriddle

[cuubism]

At first Hob isn't even sure the shop is open. The tiny door inset above a few steps, the utter lack of welcoming signage, the windows packed with unlabelled stacks of books--it doesn't exactly scream come in and buy something. As Hob steps up to the door, he really expects it to be locked, or for a sign to fall from the ceiling reading, abandon all hope here, mortal.

But the door to the bookshop--the name of which he's yet to determine, again with the utter lack of signage thing--just swings open at his touch, and he steps into a narrow hallway made entirely of--of course!--books.

Dust rises from the rug as he carefully makes his way deeper into the meandering corridors. The lightbulbs overhead are dim and in desperate need of replacement. The stacks are teetering and untouched. If he learned the place had been sitting here on this winding side street, exactly the same, for the past seven hundred years, he wouldn't be at all surprised.

And now Hob's marring its mysterious mausoleum aura by opening a jaunty modern coffee shop across the street.

Whoops.

Hence why he's bringing a peace offering before he accidentally starts a war over noise or crowds or god knows what else. Most places would probably be happy about increased foot traffic, but that's not the sense he's getting here.

This is all, of course, assuming he does find an owner, and not just a skeleton manning a till somewhere in this place long gone dark.

Hob doesn't find any customers. He does find several interesting-looking side hallways labelled things like, ~ the occult ~ , Oneiromancy, and "falconry -- advanced" and has to drag himself back into focus because the only thing worse than starting a turf war with a mysterious bookstore owner on his cafe's opening day is accidentally spilling the coffee he's brought--as a peace offering!--all over some ancient magical text.

"Hello?" he calls, finally giving up on the creeping about. "Anyone there?"

No answer. All Hob finds is a rickety set of stairs leading up the next level. So he ascends.

At the top is an even more cluttered room of books. This time in disorganized, unlabelled stacks on every surface. Waiting to be shelved, maybe? And in the center of it all, sitting cross-legged on the floor with several of these books spread out in a confusing array before him, is who Hob can only presume to be the owner.

An owner who is not dead, nor ancient and decrepit as Hob had kind of been picturing. Definitely not decrepit at all. Oohhhh dear.

The lithe, dark-haired, fey thing that is the owner tapes a note inside another book and says, in a distracted tone, "Can I help you?"

"Uh," says Hob, because he came here on a mission but he's gotten really turned around, "do you drink coffee?"

This gets him a raised eyebrow, but the shop owner does turn to look at him, staring up from his position on the floor. Christ he's pretty, spectacles and all. If there is a battle over street noise levels, Hob's going to lose by dint of caving automatically to those eyes. Pathetic.

The bookstore owner looks at the coffee in Hob's hand, then back at Hob's face. "Why?"

Hob thrusts the cup in his direction. "Here."

The owner looks alarmed now, but takes the cup, gingerly, peering at it as if he thinks Hob might have given him pureed nightshade instead. "Why?" he repeats, and then, because apparently his level of self-preservation doesn't extend to things like not drinking random shit thrust at him by strangers, takes a sip, and hums in appreciation.

"I-- fuck, sorry--" Hob sits down on the floor, which only makes him look more like a maniac to be honest-- "I just-- I just opened across the street? The cafe? So I just wanted to say hi and-- holy shit, is your name actually Dream? Were you a stripper in another life or something?"

This because he's finally spotted a tiny nametag pin on the bookstore owner's cardigan-- a cat curled around a book where the cover reads, I am Dream.

"Yes," says Dream, and Hob has no idea if that's in response to the first question, the second, or both. Both is terrifying to think about. As is the fact that Hob even asked that. "The cafe, you said?"

"Mmhmm," Hob agrees, cheeks burning. Oh, he's making a right mess of this, all right.

"Hmm," says Dream, peering at him over the coffee cup. This indicates nothing to Hob about how he feels about the cafe situation.

"I just worried that more noise and stuff might bother you," Hob rushes to explain. "You seem. To. You know. Like your quiet. Is all."

"It is my understanding that cafes and bookstores frequently have symbiotic relationships," says Dream evenly, though he's still watching Hob with unnerving intensity.

Well. That was easy. Maybe Hob was just worrying over nothing. Wanting to be liked when it wouldn't have been an issue.

"Alright," he says, letting out a breath. "Well. Good!"

"Good," echoes Dream, with a tiny, wry smile.

"What is this place anyway? I've seen no signage whatsoever."

"It's called The Library," Dream says.

Hob waits for him to explain. He doesn't. "Um, but... isn't it a shop?"

Dream raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "And?"

"So..." Hob says, "it's not a library."

"Purchasing something is but extended borrowing from the universe," says Dream, like that makes any sense at all.

But Hob decides there's other things he'd rather do with a pretty goth bookstore/library/whatever owner than argue semantics. "What do you carry, then?"

Now Dream preens like a cat. "The Library contains every book in print."

Now it's Hob's turn to raise an eyebrow. "That seems... unlikely? Impossible?"

Dream's self-satisfied little smile doesn't fade. "You are welcome to browse the stacks and let me know if there is anything you cannot find."

And, well, it's true that Hob didn't really get a sense of just how far back this place goes. It looks small from the street, but he's already wandered pretty far in just to find Dream, and has yet to reach a back wall.

"I will definitely have to come back," he agrees. And get lost. Definitely get lost. He's not even sure he can find his way out. He'll probably get swallowed up in Oneiromancy.

"In return I will be sure to visit your cafe," says Dream. He says it so strangely, like crossing into a foreign land. I will be sure to visit your court. "Are you open late?"

"On Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays, yup," says Hob.

"Excellent." Dream inclines his head imperiously to Hob. "Thank you. For the coffee."

Hob figures he should let him get back to his labeling. He has plenty of his own work, too.

"Yeah, sure, any time. Good to meet you, Dream."

And then he scurries away before he can make it any weirder, makes his meandering way out of "The Library," and doesn't get lost in Oneiromancy.

This time.

--

The following night, Hob looks up from the till to find Dream standing across the counter from him. He looks much the same as before, with the addition of a long dark coat over his clothes, and no reading glasses this time. He offers Hob a tiny smile. "Hob Gadling."

Gosh, he looks, if possible, even prettier in the warm lighting of the cafe than in the darkness of his shop. Though to be honest, Hob had half-convinced himself he'd hallucinated Dream's existence. He hasn't seen anyone go in or out of the shop since.

"Dream," he greets, with a smile. "Anything I can get for you?"

"It is I who have something for you." He hands Hob what must be a book, though it's wrapped in brown paper. "Consider it a return gift. Or perhaps. A welcome."

And before Hob can even ask if he wants coffee or something, if he wants to sit down, he slips back out through the crowd and onto the street like a vapor, and then he's gone.

Hob tears open the paper. And then stares at the book in astonishment.

It's the book. Everyone has one. The book once read but since forgotten in the shuffle of time; title, author, too vague in recollection to pin down. Unsearchable. Never found, for all that the heart of the story might have lodged its way in somewhere deep.

It's one of those books that he remembers in blistering detail now that it's in his hands, that he read in uni but couldn't have found for the life of him on his own, and Dream's just handed it to him over the counter of his cafe.

He runs his fingertip over the midnight blue cover, the embossed lettering. In Search of Nightingales. And it's only as he looks up again at the hidden shop across the street, that he realizes he never told Dream his name, either.

#dream: its a library whose checkout term is the rest of your life :) ill get the books back eventually :) hope that clears it up for you hob #hob:....... #random drabble time i guess lol #dreamling #my writing #dream of the endless #hob gadling #bookstore cryptid dream

[bangelism]

can someone please tell me how on earth i am supposed to just move on doing shit now.

the tortured poets department. the tortured poets department. which sounds like that groupchat name joe awlyn had the “tortured men’s club” or smth like that. the cover and aesthetic being black and white again in contrast to the “i once believed love would be black and white.” 2 years in the making. which takes us back to grammys 2021 when she won for folklore…

folklore which had the running theme of poets and poetry. especially songs like ‘the lakes’ where she positions herself as a poet wanting to go where all the poets went to die. and then the little text on her instagram talked about MUSES saying “my muses acquired like bruises.” where else has she sung about muses??? that’s right THE LAKES. where her lover is her muse, and she doesn’t want to go to the place where all the POETS went to die without her MUSE.

the text she posted with the album cover is also reminiscent of midnights imagery. she puts an emphasis on the “tick tick tick” of a love bomb reminiscent of the ticking of a clock perhaps?? and the clock symbol was so prevalent in midnights.

“my talismans and charms” like a mythical thing? a champion ring?? one price she deemed to win?? she described willow as a ‘love spell’ when she was releasing evermore. now we have more imagery of charms and magic. a talisman is an object that’s usually portrayed as a necklace that has magical abilities of some sort used to ‘avert evil’…maybe like initials on chain round a neck…

all is fair in love and poetry. which comes from the idiom ‘all is fair in love and war’, replacing war with poetry. (“the bombs were closer. my hand was the one you reached for. all throughout the great war.” [that also just reminded me the ‘tick tick tick of love bombs’]. taylor has always fought her battles, internal and external, through music. by writing, through poetry. there is so much to unpack in just that sentence. all is fair in love and poetry.

and of course she is fittingly the chairman of the tortured poets department.

i genuinely cannot wait for this album.

sincerely, a member of the tortured poets department.

#taylor swift #the tortured poets department #she’s making me go insane i have so many thoughts in my head rn #this is a mess but i needed to get it out of my brain so i can think again #grammys 2024

[bridenore]

HD Being on the run fic recs

Here are a few Harry/Draco recs where Harry and Draco are on the run. Listed in alphabetical order, as always.

9 ½ Days by @magpiefngrl [69k]

After the events at the Manor, Harry and Draco find themselves stranded in the countryside with a broken wand and Death Eaters on their tail. This is the story of an uneasy truce, featuring faerie forests, seaside caves, Romani camps, kind old ladies, and a shared bed in an attic. Or how two boys fell in love in the midst of a bloody coup.

Crown Witness by @slytherco [70k]

After the war, wizarding society is oppressed by a new kind of plague—an organised crime group calling itself the Family. When Harry Potter goes to interrogate a potential witness, he doesn’t expect to end up on the run again, trying to keep Draco Malfoy alive, while a manhunt follows in their footsteps, adamant on eliminating the one witness that could ruin everything. In which Harry and Draco learn that the way to each other might just have to go through the dingiest hotels in Britain.

Eclipse by Mijan [287k]

"You're dead, Potter... I'm going to make you pay..." Draco swore his revenge on Harry for Lucius's imprisonment, and Harry all but laughed at him. But Draco is planning more than schoolyard pranks this time. The old rivalry turns deadly when Draco abducts Harry for Voldemort. It's the perfect plan, guaranteeing revenge, power, and prestige, all in one blow. But when Draco's world turns upside down, the fight to save himself and Harry begins, and the battle will take them both through hell and back. If they come back.

Hermione Granger's Hogwarts Crammer for Delinquents on the Run by @waspabi [93k]

'You're a wizard, Harry' is easier to hear from a half-giant when you're eleven, rather than from some kids on a tube platform when you're seventeen and late for work.

Oh, Sinnerman by @lou-isfake and @babooshkart [40k]

“I’m serious, Potter,” Malfoy said quietly. “That was some real bad luck you had, being there last night. They will come after you, and they will kill you—after torturing you for information on my whereabouts.” He pocketed Harry’s wand, but held on to his knife, twirling it between his fingers. Harry was distracted by its movement, the reflections of the bright, dawning sun on polished silver. “I’m not happy about it, either, but you’re stuck with me for the foreseeable future.”   He watched Malfoy’s face for a long time, in a staring contest he wasn’t sure he’d signed up for. Stuck with Malfoy, for the foreseeable future, on the run from a massive crime syndicate that had infiltrated the Ministry and was out for their blood. It was all very familiar, except for the Malfoy part.

REVOLVEVLOVER by @firethesound and @lol-zeitgeistic [88k]

The work Harry does is justifiable. It’s justice. He works for his country, and his country is a republic—the magical side, anyway. It’s not laudable work, it’s not work he’s proud of, but it’s necessary work. Harry has always taken the necessary jobs that no one else has the stomach for. It’s just that he’s never deciphered a kill sheet and seen Draco Malfoy’s name on it.

A Sword Laid Aside by @korlaena [128k]

When Draco’s cover is blown during a deep undercover operation and the Ministry is compromised, Ron takes Draco to the only safe place he can think of—Harry. Hiding out with Harry Potter, who has been missing from the Wizarding World for almost two decades after a shocking fall from grace, is nothing like Draco thought it would be.

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

#my recs #drarry #drarry recs #theme rec

[sitp-recs]

Hullo! I was wondering if you have any good recs for extremely magically inclined Draco or Harry? Or both? Like they exude badass, and they are in awe of each other. Maybe with a hint of morally grayness? I've ran through quite a few tags of the like and have deeply enjoyed them and was wondering if you had a few goodies.

Hi anon! I definitely got a few recs for you, some with morally gray characters as a treat 🙌

Powerful Harry:

Under Pressure by VivacissimoVoce (M, 21k)

Harry Potter has quit magic and left the wizarding world. Draco, a top-notch Tracker, has been hired to find him and save his life.

And One To Play by @tackytigerfic (E, 21k)

Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter are the best team in the Auror Department, even when they're driving Gawain Robards up the wall. When Malfoy is injured on a mission, it causes Harry's magic to go haywire. Meanwhile, a mysterious criminal is draining people's magical cores and turning them into Squibs.

If an Injury Is to Be Inflicted by @shealwaysreads (E, 45k)

Harry Potter disappeared a year after the Battle of Hogwarts, and with him went all hope for true change in magical Britain. Three years later, Draco indulges himself and attends his first Dog Fight—the infamous underground fights with no rules, no referee, and no points system bar blood on the floor. The game was simple: you win, or you die.

REVOLVEVLOVER by @firethesound and @lol-zeitgeistic (E, 46k)

The work Harry does is justifiable. It’s justice. He works for his country, and his country is a republic—the magical side, anyway. It’s not laudable work, it’s not work he’s proud of, but it’s necessary work. Harry has always taken the necessary jobs that no one else has the stomach for. It’s just that he’s never deciphered a kill sheet and seen Draco Malfoy’s name on it.

I Am Not Who I Became by mab_di (E, 93k)

Draco left England after the trials and has travelled the world meeting wizards and Muggles from different cultures and with vastly different relationships to magic, each other, and the natural world. Now he's a fisherman in Finland on commercial vessels. Harry has been struggling since the war and has become a recluse while trying to write his autobiography.

A Sword Laid Aside by @korlaena (E, 128k)

When Draco’s cover is blown during a deep undercover operation and the Ministry is compromised, Ron takes Draco to the only safe place he can think of—Potter. Hiding out with a taciturn Harry Potter, who has been missing from the Wizarding World for almost two decades after a shocking fall from grace, is nothing like Draco thought it would be.

Powerful Draco:

check this hand 'cause I'm marvelous by @lqtraintracks (E, 8k)

Harry's had a crush on Malfoy for months now. But it will take a bar full of his friends, some Firewhisky, wagers made on his behalf, and Malfoy himself to get him to act on it.

you look so fine by michi_thekiller (E, 16k)

In which Draco is a Veela and Harry is his mate. Dark!Humor or Crack!Horror, you decide.

The Foxing Ring by @vukovich (E, 24k)

Harry's got no magic, one good ear, no great dating prospects, and a nice little wand workshop. Draco's got too much magic, a history of biting off ears, no great dating prospects, and a growing fondness for wandmakers. And a very fetching tail.

A Pocket Full of Stones by @amywaterwings (E, 68k)

A curse is spreading through the wizarding world, erasing memories of the war. Harry Potter is on the case! Where Draco is the DMLE’s most wanted dark wizard and Harry is the private investigator tasked with bringing him in. It goes as well as one might expect.

Threshold by @kbrick (E, 126k)

Unspeakable Draco Malfoy finally gets his chance to consult with the Auror Department when a series of mysterious doors covered in runic symbols appear all across the country, only to fade away minutes later. Draco’s eager to help solve the mystery of the doors until he’s partnered with Harry Potter, who still treats him like an enemy.

All Our Secrets Laid Bare by firethesound (E, 150k)

Over the six years Draco Malfoy has been an Auror, four of his partners have turned up dead. Harry Potter is assigned as his newest partner to investigate just what is going on.

#asks #anon #Drarry reclist #powerful Harry #powerful draco #morally grey characters

[doughliciousfrosting]

Your tmnt au meeting Monkey kid and the gang?

I think you're talking about my 2012 TMNT designs? Which I understand, theyre really far from canon HELPP but they're not really an au 😭 or they were never really meant to be. Anyways I have a lot of thoughts and I could explain why I picked each character and paired them up with each other and if I can I'll definitely draw the rest of them!!

I'll explain right now why I paired Mei with Donnie and Tang with April

First and foremost though,

⚠️ NONE OF THESE ARE SHIPS ⚠️

With that out of the way I'll start with why I paired Mei and Donnie. I like to think that Mei is a super good builder and tbh, this is actually pretty canon. We see her rebuild her bike in S1 Ep 3 and in S1 Ep1 she's also the one who builds their secret fortress which is INCREDIBLY made. With this information in mind it can be quick to assume Mei is a pretty good mechanic! In S3 of 2012 TMNT we know that Casey and Donnie spend a lot of time in the small barn out back working on stuff both seperately and at times together! While I do think Casey can understand some of the tech jargon Donnie talks about (as long as it relates to car parts) I don't think Casey can really understand the technical stuff. I think Casey's knowledge probably comes from self taught experience, as a result he can identify each part and what they do but not the technical terms for them and professional blueprints for things and stuff. Which is why I think Donnie would be absolutely ecstatic to have someone able to read his work!! And like I said earlier Mei is really good with tech as we see a lot in the earlier seasons before they delved hard into mystic magic and stuff. I would have paired Mei with Casey but I have other ideas grrr!!! If people are interested I'll explain more.

Moving on to why I paired Tang with April! I kinda rewrote April a lot HELP I think her writing had a lot of problems so I just changed stuff lol. I like to think that the reason April tried so hard to prove herself and stuff was because she doesn't want to be useless. I feel like she gets sorta babies a lot (mainly by her father) and it makes her want to overachieve to prove a point, prove that she's grown and that she's perfectly capable of handling herself. The problem though is the years of fighting experience she lacks. In a normal situation April can 100% take care of herself but in ones where she faces opponents with a lifetime's experience in combat versus her measily 1 and a half years the difference is huge. And on top of this April has to figure out her psychic powers, which in S4 literally blew up in her face. I just think she struggles with feeling inadequate, when she does something she wants to be the best and it's hard for her to feel like she has a place in the team when everyone else seems not to struggle the way she does in battle. She just tends to forget the difference in fighting experience even though they're all the same age. Anyways, being unsure of ur worth on the team and struggling with your powers seems like it would be right up Tang's alley!! Tang in S3 Ep8 has a huge tipping point where we see he struggles with self doubt and feeling like he isn't needed. Then later when he discovers he has powers he struggles to control them and get them to do what he wants. I think Tang reassuring April is just a really nice gesture!! Especially since Tang and April are like the most human out of the rest of the group (excluding Casey but he struggles in a different way). I think in a group full of spectacular talents, it's easy to feel ordinary which is a thought I think plagues Tang and April's minds while their characters develop. I tried to keep this short so I hope it makes sense ahhh if you're still reading you're totally awesome and cool!!!

#tmnt #2012 tmnt #tmnt 2012 #teenage mutant ninja turtles #2012 april #2012 donnie #2012 leo #2012 raph #2012 mikey #2012 casey jones #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt donatello #tmnt leonardo #tmnt raphael #tmnt casey #tmnt casey jones #tmnt april #april oneil #casey jones #lego monkie kid #monkie kid #lego #lmk mk #lmk tang #lmk pigsy #lmk mei #lmk sandy #lmk sun wukong #lmk monkey king #mei dragon

[stars-and-inkpots]

True Love's Embrace | Gale x Reader

Finding those rings gives you the chance to protect Gale. Sure, he would never agree to you putting yourself in danger for the sake of himself, but he doesn't have to know.

Pairing: Gale/Reader

Tags: Canon-typical violence, blood and injury, codependency, self-sacrifice, forehead kisses, hurt/comfort

Notes: Inspired by some combat in my playthrough and thinking about the reactions some things may have caused. I simply think that Gale would have an opinion on using those rings, and it wouldn't be a good one (mildly hypocritical, of course).

Ao3 Link: True Love's Embrace

Word Count: 1,785

You know what those rings can do. You know what the wife who gave her husband the matching ring did. What she did was horrible, but you aren’t going to use them like that. 

You know Gale won’t approve of it at all; but the thought of the ring's magic protecting him (even if it was at the expense of yourself) gave you peace of mind. The thought of his safety is enough to drown out the thought of his disappointment if he does manage to find out. 

He didn’t question when you placed the silver ring in his hand. You almost worried that he would know what it was, that he would immediately see through your plan. You gave a relieved sigh when all he did was thank you for the gift and slip the ring on his finger before pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. 

When you put your hand on his shoulder later, it was simple to let the magic of the rings flow through you. You feel the invisible thread that connects you to each other. Gale doesn’t seem to notice.

“Is everything alright? You seem distracted,” Gale asks. 

Guilt runs through you once more, urging you to tell him, but you ignore it. You needed every reassurance you could get to keep him safe here. You could take a few extra hits in battle, it wouldn’t matter. As long as he was safe. 

“I’m fine, just have a lot on my mind… and well, in it, I suppose,” you say, hoping the joking tone will hide the real concerns you have about the danger that surrounds you; and despite the distaste you have for the parasite that has made its home in your skull, you aren’t one to give up the opportunity for an admittedly awful joke. 

Gale groans, but huffs out a reluctant laugh all the same. 

“Hold on-” All of you hear Karlach begin to warn the group from her place in the front, but she isn’t quite fast enough. 

Creatures of vines and shadow shamble out of the bushes ahead. The biggest of the group creeps quickly out of the shadows as it towers over all of you. You barely have enough time to dodge the first round of thorns it shoots at you. 

Karlach is quick to start rushing at the nearest monster, axe swinging wildly as it cuts through wooden tendrils. Astarion manages to get himself further back where he can shoot safely. You and Gale, can’t move away quick enough before the ground erupts into a swarming mass of roots that entangle around your feet, trapping you. 

You do your best, blocking most strikes when you can, swiping your blade across the roots and vines that try to reach out, but your lack of movement makes it increasingly difficult. Several hits make it through your defence, thorns cutting through your armour, pinpointing the weak spots. You can feel the ring working its magic when pain blossoms from phantom wounds as Gale is hit behind you. You endure, knowing that Gale’s injuries would be far worse if you didn’t have these rings. 

You can feel the heat from yet another fireball launched into the thick of the trees. Gale is doing his best to avoid catching anyone else in the crossfire of the blaze. 

When the last creature finally falls, you can take the time to untangle yourself from the roots at your feet. You finally notice the sheer amount of blood that coats the ground around you. Despite the lightheadedness you feel, you push on. 

Gale, though still injured, looks far better than he could have been. That makes this worth it , you assure yourself. It’s nothing that Shadowheart’s magic won’t be able to fix. 

---

Hoping for a simple excursion through the Shadow-Cursed Lands is a laughable desire.

The next day is much like the last. You and your companions are walking through the darkness, ready for some new horror to lunge out from the shadows; and are entirely unsurprised when they do. 

You’ll never get used to the shadow creatures. The tall and imposing beings of pure shadow, but still very much physical and capable of hurting you. Their claws are sharp when they dig into your flesh, and there are so many of them that it’s hard to keep track. They suffocate the light around them, plunging anyone nearby into darkness. 

You can feel each time one of them slashes at Gale. You are made painfully aware of each time the wizard isn’t quite fast enough when jumping out of the way. Even though the pain is lessened by the magic of the ring, combined with the strikes that you’re taking yourself, it leaves you struggling. Standing on unsteady feet, hands shaking as you hold your sword out in front of you, you realise that you might not be strong enough to protect him like you wanted after all. 

Exhaustion takes hold of you quickly. It pulls at you; your muscles feel weak. You let yourself collapse to the ground, unable to hold yourself up any longer. Stars dance across your vision, the world blurs and darkens at the edges. You keep your eyes open as long as you can. Distantly, you can hear someone yelling your name, frantic and scared. Sleep overtakes you, and you slip into the oddly comforting darkness of unconsciousness. 

---

The world returns to you in moments. In one, you are held tightly against someone’s chest, their arms wrapped around you, warm and strong. It is Karlach, you recognise vaguely. You drift away again. In the next, you can hear Shadowheart speaking to someone. Her hands are warm on your arm. You can feel her magic seep through your body; the wounds closing steadily. Then darkness once more. 

The next time you wake up, you aren’t sure where you are for a moment. 

You try to sit up, immediately regretting it as your whole body is wracked with pain. You lower yourself back down on the bedroll which has been covered in many plush blankets. It is then that you recognize the blue fabric of the tent and the books around you that are stacked neatly along the walls. 

With a sudden clarity, you feel the absence of the ring on your finger. 

Shit.  

Pushing through the entrance of the tent, is none other than Gale. He looks down at you, relieved, but also clearly upset. 

“Care to explain what these are? And perhaps, if you would be so generous, tell the truth this time?” Gale holds the two rings in his hand. 

You’re quiet for a moment. You feel awful for lying to him. 

“The rings we found. I thought maybe they were just normal rings, but after reading the diaries we found with them, I realised they could cast a one-way warding bond. I just wanted to protect you. It was something I could actually do to help keep you safe. I’m sorry, I know I should have told you, but you wouldn’t have let me if you knew-” 

“Of course I wouldn’t have let you!” Gale cuts you off. “Why would I let you do something like this? It doesn’t matter what the rings do, I’ll have none of it if it hurts you.” He sighs, frustrated, but clearly only because he is worried about you. 

“I’m sorry.” Your voice is quiet, wavering only slightly. 

Gale kneels down beside you, putting the rings aside and taking your face in his hands instead. “I care about you. I care about you a lot, in fact. When I saw you fall out there, I was terrified. I never want to get that close to losing you again. I know you had only the best intentions, and I am not angry with you; I love you, so very much. I never want you to put yourself in harm's way for the sake of me. Promise me.” He sounds desperate, like the thought of you doing something like this again physically pains him. 

“I promise.” In all honesty, you aren’t sure how much of the truth it is. If there was ever a moment where you would have to make a decision between him and yourself, you can’t promise that you won’t protect him then too. 

But Gale can’t fault you either. He isn’t sure that he wouldn’t do the same for you. In all honesty, if he was in your position, he might have used the rings very similarly, and he can imagine you giving him much the same lecture. 

Both of you are too ready to bleed for the other, for just the chance to keep each other safe. It seems that’s all one can do in this world right now. 

“I love you,” Gale whispers before kissing you, soft and careful not to move you too much while you’re still healing. 

“I love you too,” you answer, covering one of his hands on your cheek with your own. 

“I’ll go and get you some food. You’ve been asleep for a while, I kept near the fire to keep it warm for you.” He presses one more kiss to your forehead before leaving the tent again. 

For now, the rings are forgotten. Your earlier guilt dissipates slowly as you wait for Gale to return. He helps you sit up when he gets back, pain still very much present, but fading the longer you lean against him. He’s quick to wrap an arm around you, letting you put most of your weight against him, which you’re grateful for. 

The entire rest of the night, there isn’t a moment when he’s near you and touching you in some way. While you eat, he’s talking to you about another one of his books, but his arm is around you, hand resting on your hip. After, when you’re laying down again, he’s running his fingers through your hair, or resting his hand on your arm. Guilt returns momentarily when you realise just how much your injuries must have worried him. 

When you finally feel sleep tugging at you again, though less demanding this time, he lays beside you. The pain has subsided for the most part, and you’re able to move yourself to cuddle closer to him. He holds you close to his side, chin resting on the top of your head. 

You can’t promise something like this won’t happen again. Gale can’t promise that he won’t do the same thing. But both of you can promise to try to keep your self-sacrifice to a minimum, at the very least. And you can promise that you’ll always come back to each other at the end of the day. 

#baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate x reader #gale x reader #x reader fic #gale dekarios #baldurs gate gale #baldurs gate 3 x reader #bg3

[scribble-dribble-writes]

Absolutely adored your last story!

If you don't mind, I'd like to request something too. What about Miguel's reaction to the reader telling him they are with child? 👀 Feel free to write this to your heart's content 🩷

Have a great day! x

I'm not usually a fan of writing pregnant scenes unless and until it is absolutely required. Given Miguel's backstory, it is definitely required haha. So hope I did your ask the due diligence.

Hope you like it 💖💖💖

---

Magic

The digits in the clock changed with a click. It was past midnight and somehow, you couldn’t sleep. You laid still, soaking in the silence and taking comfort in the soft pale light that filtered into the room.

Arguably with what you learnt yesterday, your mind should have been a warzone but instead it was a question paper staring back at you, waiting for you to choose the right answer. You preferred the battle field. You sighed, the warm hand that rested on the peak of your hip trailed up higher making your skin feel smooth as if you were made of butter.

He pulled you closer to him, even in his sleep he craved for you presence. You had been warned about him, to not marry him and yet you heeded to no one’s advice. Instead, only choosing him when any struggle arose. He was always the answer, you couldn’t be without him and with how he nuzzled into your neck seeking comfort, you knew you held some value in his life too.

So if you were going to choose him again, you were having to say goodbye to a different chapter in your life.

“You're still awake aren’t you?”, he asked you, his voice raspy as he stirred from his sleep.

“How could you tell?”, you asked still laying as you were.

“Reading you has always been a part of my reflex.”, he mumbled with pride as he placed a soft kiss on your exposed shoulder.

You let out a quiet chuckle, now turning towards him to hide deeper into the panes of his chest. Skin on skin, there was no telling where his limbs intertwined with yours. The steady rhythm of his heart only made your throat drier.

“A charmer, even in the dead of night.”, you traced your finger over his collarbone to tuck your hand beneath his arm in the end.

“My spells won’t work on anyone else.”, he spoke with his eyes closed, still caught in the in between.

You didn’t intend to wake him, he was tired as is and now you were keeping him up. It stung you, the one thought that had been on your mind since yesterday. You were failing, in being a wife and now, as a mother.

“Because you’re the magic.”, his words dripped like candle wax, beautiful and yet it burned your heart.

“Only you think so.”, you closed your eyes, hoping to fall asleep as his hand rubbed your back, the soft gesture easing you to relax.

“Puedo preguntarte algo?”, his words had a little slur to them as you hummed in response.

“Why did you hide you were sick this morning?”, the calm in his voice made your eyes pop open as you drew in a sharp breath, now with him holding you so close, he could read you like a book.

“There was nothing to hide, Miguel.”, you were digging a deeper hole.

“It wasn’t all too concerning to trouble you.”, you were now wide awake.

“Mi cielo.”, he murmured.

“Come to me with all your troubles, por favor.”, even as he spoke you could tell this had weighed him down.

You were still thinking it through when he prompted you again, “So?”, he was lulling you to give up the truth.

“Why did you then sneak off to the doctor’s?”, now he was awake too. There was a certain bite to his words, crisp with tension and worry.

You didn’t need to see his eyes to tell that he was afraid, you could feel it in the way his muscles stiffened. The thought propped up again. That you were failing, at being his lover and his wife by keeping things from him.

But was your guilt and fear more important than his feelings?

To have put him through the worry of fearing he was going to lose you too.

He was always the answer, he would give up everything for you if you asked and you would do the same. Selfless for eachother that it often put you in a spot to make decisions for him.

But what would he say?

Did you want to put him through the pain of his past by placing a child in his hands?

“Because,”, you looked up at him, to note his gaze was already on you, hooked on your every word.

“I’m carrying your child.”, you let the words slip from your tongue, like you were letting go out the helm of your ship towards what could be the point of it’s destruction.

You were sure, that having lost his daughter once, he wouldn’t want to put himself through that heartbreak again. You watched as he tensed up again, to slowly rise up to rest his back against the head board.

“Oh.”, he said, but you couldn’t tell from his sober tone.

“So nothing life threatening.”, he reached out to caress your cheek.

“No.”, you drew yourself close to him. Ironic, that many believed you lit up his world but he was the fire to your winter. You only found respite in his arms.

“When did you come to know?”, he rubbed his thumb over your cheekbone.

“Yesterday.”, you told him, to which he hummed taking in the information.

But his eyes slid to yours, “Why didn’t you tell me?”, the way his eyes looked pale in the dim light, you not confiding in him had hurt him.

“Miguel, you know the life I come from.”, you turned serious, that somehow in his presence you couldn’t continue to lie anymore.

“What if I’m not a good mother? What if instead of building this family, I wreck it instead?”, you asked, your blood turning cold with images of this fear manifesting in your mind.

“And it would result in you being heart broken, over the child you lost.”, you slumped into the cover like a little pebble, giving in to the pull of your panic.

“I love that you think of me always, mi ángel.”, he reached for your waist to pull you up over his torso such that you could meet his eyes.

“But in this circumstance, you’re wrong.”, his index finger smoothed the wrinkles on your forehead as you fought back tears.

“I can see it in your eyes, you will be an excellent mother. Your love is endless and patient, you made me believe in all this again.”, he gestured to the setting around you.

“So don’t let your fears destroy you.”, he wiped the tear as it landed on your cheek.

“As for me.”, he paused, his eyes turning distant for a second.

“As much as I loved Gabriella as my own,”, he ran his fingers through your long hair.

“She wasn’t.”, he pursed his lips.

“This variant of mine had everything I could only dream off. Replacing him meant I only enjoyed a life that was a lie.”, he tucked your hair behind your ear.

“Which hurt more when I lost it.”, you could see the sadness in his eyes.

“Nothing was real from the beginning.”, he gave you a lopsided frown, which broke your heart as you felt his pain as your own.

“Almost as close to a figment of my imagination.”, he inhaled deeply to sigh.

“But you.”, the sadness vanished and in it’s place happiness restored his features.

“Our home.”, he looked up at the ceiling.

“It’s all real.”, he smiled, his eyes slowly trailing back to you.

“So no, this wouldn’t hurt me.”, he nudged your nose with his as though this was all you had to remember, to never forget that he was sure of this.

“I’ve wanted this, I want this next chapter for us. It's time.”, he confided in you as he closed his eyes to pull you closer, to rest your forehead on his and when you did, the question paper in you mind vanished. It didn’t have the answer you wanted to choose, because in this second you had both chosen to choose eachother.

“You surprise me in the best ways.”, you told him as you reached up to take his other hand.

Holding onto his fingers, you guided his hand over to place it over your womb and when he opened his eyes, there was a new passion in it. A new fervent resolution that what he had now, he would protect with his life, that his entire life was right here in the confines of his arms.

With that burning desire, he caught your lips with his. It was a sleepy kiss that was my no means perfect as the ones in the morning were but it was surely more important. You and him weren't going to be the only ones in this house anymore.

“Like I said.”, he spoke over your lips.

“You are magic.”, he said as he trailed his fingers over your lower abdomen.

So you kissed him again, softly, your hands scaling the incline of his back to hold his neck.

But he pulled away to catch his breath.

“Vamos, mami. You need to have a good sleep.”, he placed you into the side of your bed with a sudden air of discipline, as he had remembered what time it was.

“I’ll make you fresh lemonade in the morning to combat the sickness and also –

“You need your sleep too, papi.”, you cut him off before he began to panic and pulled his hand over your waist as he chuckled to settle into your covers.

“Bien, bien.”, he calmed down settling into the same lazy rhythm with his hand slung over you that finally made sleep arrive sooner than what you both had expected.

#miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderman 2099

[ckret2]

Chapter 32 of human Bill is convinced he's the best prisoner ever and does not deserve this abuse from the Pines:

Bill gets his fingernails painted! 💅🌈✨ Look at his fingernails, I drew this week's picture just to show them off. They're fun.

Bill also gets bound to a magic poppet that can control his every move.

It's hilarious for Dipper and Mabel, but not for Bill.

The early morning still was broken by Stan's wails of despair.

At some point during the night, the egg-and-toilet-papering kids had come back to Stan's car.

And they'd brought rocks.

####

Bill woke up with a sheet tossed over him and a cupcake sitting on the window seat. The cupcake was pink with green frosting and decorated like a happy jack-o'-melon. It was sitting on top of a note:

"Sorry I didn't mention I had plans tonight! Robbie's mom made cupcakes for everyone so I grabbed you one. The music video's gonna be AMAZING! I'll show you when Robbie posts it!" Mabel had signed with a shooting star.

Bill decided he hadn't been mad at Mabel last night at all.

He battled gravity to heave himself vertical, trudged downstairs to the bathroom, stuck his face under the faucet until his mouth tasted less like sour sandpaper, agonizingly dragged himself back upstairs to his makeshift bed, and collapsed under the sheet to wait until his head stopped hammering.

####

Sprawled on the living room floor, Mabel said, "What should I draw?"

"Draw me." Bill was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, watching the news and nursing a glass of Mabel juice. In an effort to counteract the lingering queasiness from overdosing on sugar and chocolate, he'd spiked the juice with two ground-up Elderly 60+ Vitaman™ brand Man Vitamins (khaki flavor) stolen from a bottle that Ford had bought for Stan and that Stan forgot to take.

"Okay!" Mabel turned around and squinted up at Bill. "Strike a pose!"

"Not like this!" Bill shoved a hand in Mabel's face to force her to stop looking. "Draw me how I really look."

"Bill, that's illegal. Remember?" Mabel pointed at the TV. Bodacious T was reporting on a child who'd dressed up for Summerween as "that weird out-of-towner who bothered us last year, you know the one," and who, under the Never Mind All That Act, had been fined fifty pieces of candy. The child's mugshot showed his crying face, but blurred out his yellow costume.

"He'd be the coolest kid in town," Bill said, "if he wasn't such a crybaby in front of the cops. Draw me anyway."

"I don't wanna get arrested!"

"Do you see any cops?" Bill grinned. "Just don't sign your name, nobody will know it was you."

Mabel considered that. "I can sign it someone else's name." She pulled out a few crayons.

"That's what I'm talking about! Do anything you want forever and frame the innocent!"

"What do you want me to draw you doing?"

"The coolest thing you can think of."

Mabel considered that, and got to work.

The news was boring now. They were talking about the weather, and it wasn't even interesting weather. "So hey, you were gonna tell me about filming last night?"

"Oh yeah!" Mabel said. "Did I mention the part where the dead rose from their graves?"

Bill muted the TV. "And I missed it?"

Robbie had decided the cemetery at his place would be more atmospheric than the trick-or-treater-filled streets (and less likely to have their shots ruined by passersby that didn't appreciate the depth of Robbie's lyrics). It went great, until the vibrations of angsty rock-and-roll stirred the slumbering corpses and they clawed their way from their graves. It turned out Gravity Falls had been having off-and-on invasions of the undead for the past year, ever since somebody decided to reanimate every corpse in town for fun, Bill.

"You can't prove it was me, I'm not the only one who knows how to raise the dead!" Bill laughed. "Hey—you're not drawing this body, are you? You said you wouldn't."

"I'm not, I promise!"

"Then why do you keep staring at me?"

"Um."

"Let me see!"

"No! Don't ruin the surprise!" Mabel picked up a glitter pen with feathers glued to the end and waved them in Bill's face. "And no cheating with your eye-bleeding psychic magic!"

Bill smacked the pen away. "Fine! So what did you do with the zombies? Feed one of the teens to them?"

"No! I chewed like four packs of gum me and Dipper got from the weird homeless dentist and made a fake baby brain. We used it as bait to lead them into an open grave," Mabel said. "And then we realized we could use the brain to train them to do tricks! So now we have dancing zombies in the music video. They actually learned the choreography pretty easily."

"Makes sense," Bill said. "I did fill the space where their souls should be with an insatiable hunger to party."

Mabel grinned. "I thought you said they weren't your fault."

"If they're good at dancing, I'm taking credit!"

"They were pretty good—especially considering how many limbs they were missing," Mabel said. "I'll show you when Robbie's finished editing the video."

"And I'll get to see you playing a creepy ghost kid, right?"

"Yeah! We were the greatest ghosts ever! Check it out, we were like—" Mabel fixed Bill with a dead-eyed slack-jawed stare and whisper-sang, "'We're the things that you have lost. Childhood joy, dead as a ghost.'"

"Chills."

"Dipper tried so hard to get in character as a ghost that he completely zoned out for a minute! When we shook him out of it, he said he felt like he had an out-of-body experience!"

####

At his computer, Robbie clicked play on a clip of the twins standing side-by-side in front of the cemetery gate. As they sang the chorus, Dipper's face went still; and then a spectral gray form rose out of his head, still singing in sync with Mabel.

"Whoa," Robbie said. "Sick. I'm keeping that in."

####

"So, it turns out my bro is an expert method actor," Mabel boasted.

Bill thought back to Dipper drifting up and down the stairs in the middle of the night. "Yep. Sounds like he's got quite a talent."

Mabel set down her crayons and held out a paper. "Okay—what do you think?"

Bill accepted the drawing. "Am I riding on the back of a rocket ship?"

"Like a bucking bronco! See the rocket flames doing a loop?"

"Sure do. Why am I holding a fish bowl?"

"It's like a cowboy waving his hat, but, you're in space. So that's your astronaut helmet."

"It's beautiful," Bill said intensely. "It's the best thing I've ever seen."

"Aw, really? Thanks!"

"When I take over the universe, I'm rearranging the constellations to look like this."

"Don't do that, though."

"Fine, but I'm hanging it up in my throne room." Bill set down his empty glass so he could hold the picture with both hands, beaming at it as proudly as though he'd made it himself. Big change from his lukewarm reception of her house drawing yesterday. She should draw Bill more often. Being a good artist meant understanding what your audience wanted.

Unfortunately, now that she'd finished her drawing, she didn't have anything to distract her from staring at Bill. And she'd taken about as much of seeing him as she could stand. "Bill. I say this with non-judgmental love. But you look sooo terrible."

"Yeah, I know. I think I'm shaped about as nicely as a human could ask for," he pantomimed drawing a triangle in front of his torso, "but let's be real, there's only so much you can do when you're working with a human bone structure. And there's way too much neck—"

"No! Bill, your body is beautiful just the way it is, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. I meant your hair looks awful."

Bill had taken a shower yesterday morning, emerged with his hair all wet and tangled, and done absolutely nothing to detangle it. And then, with it still half damp and totally disheveled, he'd shoved it under a cheap acrylic wig for the rest of the night. And then he'd fallen asleep on the floor still wearing the wig.

And now, with the wig removed, his hair looked like a bird had plucked out half a scarecrow's straw brains and made a nest out of it.

"It sure does," Bill said, with the slightly forlorn air of someone complaining about a war in a far-off country over which one had no power.

"So brush it!"

"No. Never. You can't make me."

"Why not? I thought you wanted to keep your hair all triangly!"

"Not enough to touch it. Either it'll figure out how to straighten out on its own or it won't, I'm not messing with it. I've got enough going on in my life today." By which he meant he had the last lingering traces of a hangover, which was a valid excuse to get out of all social, moral, and aesthetic obligations.

Mabel groaned in frustration. "I can't take looking at it anymore! If you won't brush it, can I?"

Bill gave her a skeptical look; but then he flung his hands out dismissively. "Sure, why not? If it bothers you so much. Have at it."

"I'll be right back!"

She got her brush from upstairs and a spray bottle from the kitchen, and directed Bill to sit on the floor so she could get on the couch behind him. After making such a fuss about brushing his hair, Bill was surprisingly well-behaved with somebody else brushing it for him. He didn't even complain when Mabel accidentally yanked on some nasty snarls a little harder than she meant to.

"I feel like a corpse getting prettied up for my funeral," Bill said. "Grooming each other is how humans bond, isn't it? This is one of your little social rituals? If all you wanted was to make sure we're still friends after you ditched me last night, you could have just asked."

Mabel shoved her foot between Bill's shoulder blades. Wise guy. She joked, "Yeah! We're bonding now! After this we're gonna paint each other's fingernails and talk about what kind of boys we like."

"I want rainbow spiral fingernails."

Mabel really should be used to this—but she still kept getting surprised that Bill was interested in the stuff she liked. And not even in a patronizing sure-I'll-play-along way. He'd turned to look at her. There was a gleam in his eyes. He really wanted rainbow spiral fingernails.

And now she wanted rainbow spiral fingernails, too. "Fine! But look forward until I finish your hair." One way or another, Mabel vowed, she would reform Bill into a proper good guy—even if she had to drag him there kicking and screaming. Fun dress-up partners were hard to find, and she couldn't afford to lose Bill.

####

Soos wandered to the living room to find somewhere to hang up his and Melody's "Best Couple Cosplay" award, but stopped in the doorway.

Bill, Mabel, and Waddles were sitting on the floor, watching some kind of cartoon psychedelic fairy princess lecture a spider on the importance of colors, with a bowl of popcorn between them. Bill and Mabel both had bright multicolor fingernails and were eating the popcorn with chopsticks to avoid touching their nails. There was more popcorn on the floor than in the bowl. Waddles had taken no such cares to avoid dragging his freshly painted hooves through the carpet. 

"Truth or dare," Bill said.

"Dare!"

"Dare you to assassinate the..." Bill trailed off. "I can't have the mayor assassinated, he runs Rainbow Club. And the sheriff and deputy invited me... There aren't a lot of public officials in this dumb town, are there?"

"I'm not killing anybody, Bill. Truth."

"Fine, coward. What's your favorite toxic fume fragrance?"

"That's easy! Gasoline!"

"Hey, mine too! At least on this planet. It smells like—you know that smell that heralds the coming of rain? Gasoline is the smell that heralds a really fun time."

"Yeah! Like going on a road trip!"

Bill paused. "Right! I was... I was definitely thinking about road trips. That's exactly what I meant."

Mabel added, "And it looks so cool when there's a little bit spilled in a parking spot—"

"The rainbow puddles! Yes! Big fan of the rainbow puddles—"

"I love parking lot rainbow puddles! It's like surprise happiness in the most boring place on the planet!"

Soos mumbled, "Girl talk," decided to hang his award up later, and left.

####

Dipper heard the bedroom door open and Mabel call, "Hey Dipper!"

"Hey." He didn't look up from his journal, where he was documenting last night's zombie adventures. "Oh, hey, bad news—Wendy said she got a text from Robbie, it sounds like all the footage from the cemetery last night is ruined?"

"Aww! What? But we worked so hard to train those zombies!"

"Yeah, it's just static. But everything we shot outside the gates is fine. I wonder if it's something supernatural that interferes with electronics?"

"Something supernatural? In the cemetery? Full of zombies? What are the odds of that!" Mabel laughed. "But heyyy, I've got some good news!"

"What?"

Mabel stuck a hairbrush full of gold hair between Dipper's face and his journal. "I got a replacement for the Bill hair sample we gave Pacifica!" She grinned and whispered, "Wanna make a poppet?"

####

It would have been really cool if the first full moon of summer vacation had come on Summerween. But the calendar gods were unkind that year, and instead, it came the next day, on June 23.

Which worked out, in the end, since it meant they didn't have any scheduling conflicts on the one night they could make a poppet.

They had the ritual space set up in their bedroom—a chalk star drawn on the floor with a black candle at each point—and the doll representing Bill—which Mabel had upgraded with button eyes and a miniature version of his favorite knit hoodie. They collected all the shed blonde strands off Mabel's hairbrush, wrapped them around the doll's neck, and tied them on. They set the doll in the center of the star; Bartholomew talked them through the ritual; the flames on the candles leaped a foot in the air, turned a pale blue, and then went out; and the binding ritual was complete. The doll was now connected to Bill Cipher.

"Weird," Bartholomew said. "Usually the flames turn black. I've never seen them turn blue before."

Dipper said, "That's not a problem, is it?"

"No, no. I've just never used the binding ritual on an alien before! I guess it works a little different!"

Dipper picked up the doll and eyed it skeptically. "Mabel, I know we said we're saving this for emergencies only, but—maybe we should test it out just to make sure it actually works?"

"I guess we should," Mabel said, grimacing. "Just—don't do anything that'd hurt him. Okay?"

Yeah, Dipper should've expected that. Whether he liked it or not, Mabel didn't just see Bill as her weird experiment in criminal rehabilitation—she saw him as her friend. He sighed. "Okay. But is it fine if we do something that would embarrass him?"

Mabel shrugged. "I don't see why not!"

####

As they crept from their room, Mabel whispered, "What if we stick him in a box and shake it up? And then tell him there was an earthquake!"

"I thought you were the one who didn't want to hurt him."

"Oh right."

Bill wasn't on his cushions under the window, so they crept downstairs. Halfway down, Dipper stopped, putting a hand on Mabel's arm. Bill was sitting at the kitchen table, chin in his hand, staring out the window.

"This is perfect," he whispered. "He's completely vulnerable. He's got his back to us, he's looking at the moonlight—even if he turns around, he won't see us because his eyes will have to readjust to the dark."

"I don't know if his eyes need to adjust," Mabel said. "Have you ever noticed he never turns the lights on when he goes into a room?"

Dipper considered that. He hadn't noticed—but now that Mabel mentioned it, Bill did have a tendency to lurk in the dark. "Well—okay, but he's still not looking at us. Let's see how this works..." He studied the doll; then turned it around and gently brushed a finger through its yarn hair.

For a moment, nothing happened; and then Bill swatted at the back of his head and looked around, as if he was trying to find what had touched him.

"I think it's working," Dipper hissed.

"Are you sure? What if there's actually a fly in the kitchen?"

Could be. "Let me see if it can control him."

"Careful—"

Dipper grabbed one of the doll's arms and tentatively lifted it.

Bill's arm shot up. He stared at it in bafflement. "Wh...?"

Mabel bit her lip. Dipper waved the doll's arm.

Bill's arm waved. After a pause, he tentatively asked, "Hello?" As if he thought maybe his arm was waving at someone and he should play along with it.

Mabel and Dipper clapped their hands over their mouths, fighting to keep their giggles quiet. Mabel elbowed Dipper, "Hey Dipper Dipper Dipper, get him to stand up, let me control his legs, I have the best idea—"

Bill knocked over his chair and had to flail his arms for balance as he abruptly jerked to his feet. He looked around, eyes wide and wild, an edge of panic to his voice as he hollered, "WHAT'S GOING ON!"

Dipper held the doll out to Mabel. "Okay hurry!" Mabel took it by the legs—

—and Bill started doing the cancan. He shrieked. "WHAT?!"

Dipper shoved his shirt over his mouth to muffle his hysterics. Mabel was letting little wheezy squeaks out through her nose. Bill's voice was almost an octave higher as he screamed, "WHEN I FIND OUT WHO'S BEHIND THIS, I'M GONNA SHRED YOU—" and they both got so close to bursting laughing out loud that they had to pause to punch each other's shoulders for self control.

Still holding one of the doll's legs up, Mabel hissed, "Dipper do you remember the bottle dance. Where they crouch down with bottles on their heads. Can we—can we get a tiny bottle for the doll—"

Bill was failing both arms to avoid falling with one foot held in the air. He grabbed the counter for balance. And then, with a grunt of effort, he wrenched his foot down and stomped it to the ground.

The doll's leg yanked out of Mabel's hand.

Dipper and Mabel fell silent, staring at the doll. They looked at each other. Mabel whispered, "It shouldn't be able to do that, right?"

They looked at Bill.

Bill's face was burning red, and he was so far past fury that his expression was perfectly blank. His eyes were huge, and round, and pointed straight at them.

They bolted up the stairs.

Bill charged after them.

They screamed in terror. They weren't loud enough to drown out Bill: "WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU BRATS—"

Mabel grabbed Dipper's arm. "Dipper, do something!"

"Uhh—!" He tossed the doll in the air and caught it.

They heard an alarmed yelp as Bill was launched in the air and then a crash as he landed on the stairs again.

They scrambled into their room and slammed the door. "Safe!" Mabel said.

"Yeah," Dipper said, panting for breath. "Can't get us here."

The doll's head twisted 180 degrees to stare up at them.

They yelped. Dipper tossed the doll to Mabel. Mabel held it out at arm's length, threw it in her nightstand's drawer, and slammed it. It tried to open again and she leaned against it with her full body weight. "Dipper, the duct tape! In my craft supplies!"

"Which craft supplies?!"

The tiny knocking inside the drawer was echoed by the pounding at the door, accompanied by a string of creative death threats: "—and when I'm finished the coroner won't know which corpse was which! I'll make a belt out of your spinal columns—!"

"We didn't do anything," Mabel shouted, "it wasn't our fault!" She took the duct tape from Dipper and frantically wrapped it around the night stand. Dipper added, "It was someone else! And we'll never do it again—"

Sleepy and muffled, Soos's voice drifted through the door, "Dudes? What's all the hubbub?"

Dipper and Mabel gasped, "Soos!" "Save us!"

His voice the perfect tone of righteous indignation, Bill declared, "I'm being assaulted, that's what!"

Stan's voice joined in from downstairs: "BILL! If you don't leave those kids alone I'll cave your nose in!"

"THEY'RE THE AGGRESSORS," Bill screamed, half hysterical. "They are! I'm the victim here! I'm being victimized!"

Stan shouted, "Kids, good work! Bill, you can go to—" He grumbled as he self-censored, "—sleep! Shut up and go to sleep!"

"You can go jump in the bottomless pit, Stanley Pines! I'll tear you all apart with my teeth if I have to! NOBODY in this stupid junk heap of a shack is getting any sleep until I get my—"

From just outside the attic door, Stan roared, "BILL!"

There was a dull thud as Bill leaned against their door; a lot less shouty, he quickly said, "I'm going to bed, I'm going to bed, I'm going to bed."

"That's what I thought," Stan snapped. The kids heard his footsteps retreating downstairs. Soos said, "Um... night," and his door shut. After a moment, there was the creak of footsteps retreating from the attic door.

Dipper and Mabel slowly, softly snuck across the room to the door, and pressed their ears to the crack. No sound.

They stayed there for several minutes, barely breathing, listening to the silence.

Finally, Mabel pulled away and looked at Dipper. They both nodded, and Dipper opened the door a crack to check if the coast was clear.

Bill's eye stared in. "Hey, kids!"

They yelled. Dipper tried to slam the door; but Bill had already shoved his hand through. Fingernails painted with neon colors and black spirals clawed at the doorframe. He shouldered through the gap in the door, and then he was in the room, smiling much too wide and eyes fixed on them like helicopter spotlights on two wanted criminals. There was blood on his teeth. "Wow! Playing with poppets?"

Dipper upturned his suitcase and held it up like a shield. Mabel pointed a can of spray paint at Bill's face. Bill took a step closer and they took a step back.

"Pretty advanced trick for a couple of children your age," Bill said conversationally. "Not bad, not bad at all. Heck, I'm impressed you pulled it off! Although you didn't make a very smart choice of test subject." He stomped a foot twice.

Something in the nightstand thudded twice. The twins jumped. Bill laughed at them.

Mentally cursing himself for having flinched, Dipper straightened his back and glared at Bill. "You're just mad you got jerked around like a puppet! What's the matter, Bill—you can dish it but you can't take it?" Mabel looked at Dipper like he was crazy.

Bill's indulgent smile cracked, dropping into a snarl of rage. He shifted his weight toward them. Mabel dropped into a judo stance and Dipper sucked in a breath to shout for Stan.

Before anyone could launch a full attack, Mabel took a shaky breath in, forced a nervous smile, and said, "Bill, hey..." (His eyes snapped to her face like a predator that just heard a twig snap.) "This was—just a funny prank, and we're all cool? Right?"

"Mabel," Dipper muttered. "Shhh!"

But Mabel kept looking at Bill. "Right? Buddies?" She held up her arm, showing Bill her friendship bracelet.

Bill stopped and rocked back on his heels. He gave Mabel a long, hard look—like he was seriously considering whether to accept the reality she was inventing. "Yeah. Real funny." Smiling through grit teeth, he said, "You know—it's been a while since I've had my energy strung between two vessels. I didn't even know what that experience felt like for a human! Very interesting. Educational. And it was nice to feel weightless again for a second. Even if the landing was a little rough." He licked the blood off his teeth. One of the teeth shifted. "So—thanks so much for spicing up a boring night. It's been a real blast. Hasn't it." He stared at them like he expected an answer—and possibly like he planned to strangle whoever answered first.

Dipper and Mabel exchanged a look. Dipper shook his head slightly. Mabel looked Bill in the eyes again. "Yeah! Big blast. So, you're not... mad. Right? Nobody's mad!"

Bill stared her down for a moment longer; and then said, "Sure, kid! It's all fun and games!" He forced a laugh—and then another, longer one, hahhh, like he was exhaling all his rage. And just like that, he was back to normal. "I'll admit it—for a second there, you almost got me good! Not bad at all." He held out his hand insistently. "And now the game's over, so you're gonna give me that toy so I can neutralize it. Aren't you?"

Dipper bit his lip, looking past Bill toward the stairs. He could yell for Stan; there was no way Bill could kill them before reinforcements got here—

Mabel elbowed Dipper's side and whispered, "We can't keep it."

And she was right. Now that Bill knew about the doll, he'd be spending all his time plotting how to get past them to take it, and they wouldn't have a second's peace. Either he got it now, or he got it later. Bill wouldn't rest until the doll was out of their hands.

Because he was terrified of it. Why wouldn't he be?

"Yeah," Dipper sighed. "Game over."

"I'll get it." Mabel peeled just enough duct tape off the night stand to wiggle it open a crack and try to squeeze her fingers in. Bill stretched his hand toward Mabel, and the doll stretched an arm out of the drawer. Mabel flinched in surprise, but grabbed the arm and yanked the doll free.

"Ow." Bill grabbed his shoulder and rolled it gingerly. "Careful, kid, are you trying to dislocate my arm? I don't mind popping it back in, but eventually that socket's gonna wear out."

"Sorry! It was a tight squeeze." She held the doll over Dipper's suitcase shield. "Here."

Bill snatched it from her hand. "Thanks a million, star girl." He favored them both with his most nearly-charming, far-too-wide smile. "Good night, kiddos. Have sweet dreams."

"You too," Mabel said weakly.

Bill left. Dipper shut the door. He and Mabel both heaved a sigh of relief.

From the loft over the attic, Bartholomew called, "Is he gone?"

"What are you doing up there?" Mabel asked. "Barty-mew-mew the scaredy-cat."

"I'm not fighting that guy, I'm porcelain and he's crazy."

Dipper flopped on his bed and stared at the ceiling. "Welp. I'm gonna have nightmares about Bill chasing me up the stairs."

Mabel sat on her own bed. "He just wanted to terrify us. And to keep us from seeing we'd terrified him." She fingered the star beads on her friendship bracelet. "He wouldn't have hurt us, I'm sure of it."

"Wh—seriously? You don't think Bill—"

"I know! But he's changed a tiny bit! He'd hurt anyone else, but he won't hurt us," Mabel said. "Or—well, me, at least. But I think he'll leave you alone too if I'm with you!"

Dipper pushed himself up on his elbows to look at her. "If he'd caught us on the stairs, do you really think he wouldn't have tried to tear us apart?"

Mabel considered that; and then reluctantly admitted, "He wouldn't hurt me as long as he remembers he doesn't want to hurt me." 

"Yeah, well. I wouldn't count on him remembering when he's mad." Dipper slid under his covers and rolled over. "Barty, can you get the lights?"

"Sure, one second." All the lights and lamps in the room flickered ominously; and then, with a sinister pop, snapped off without being touched.

"Thanks, man."

Mabel didn't climb into bed. She was staring at her fingernails. She'd painted them the same colors as Bill's; but she'd used a black marker to draw spirals on his, and he'd drawn stars and sloppy tiger stripes on hers.  In the dark, the colors were all faded.

This time, just once, maybe she and Dipper were the bad guys. He might disagree—he'd actually been puppeted, maybe he saw this differently from Mabel—but that probably didn't make it okay to do it back to Bill just for fun. They should've saved the poppet for an emergency. And the cancan, she decided, was definitely too much.

She smoothed out her covers; then she pulled up her knees to her chest, hugged them, and stared thoughtfully down at Bill's face in the middle of her zodiac blanket.

####

In the dark and quiet of the downstairs bathroom, Bill sat cross-legged on the toilet lid. He held the doll in his cupped hands. Soon, he'd disassemble it—but not yet. Tonight, it was his tool. He shut his eyes and focused on it.

There was the thinnest thread of energy, channeled through his shed hair, connecting this doll to him. He studied the thread, feeling it in his mind, exploring it, strengthening it—until he could almost feel it tugging on him.

And then he started psychically groping for similar connections.

He set the doll on the floor, on top of the drawing Mabel had given him.

His other eyes—the billions of depictions of his face scattered across this planet—weren't meant to be used in this dimension. They were designed like windows he could peer through from the Nightmare Realm; here on Earth, he was on the wrong side of the windows to see through them. And he wouldn't be surprised if the Axolotl had somehow found a way to blindfold them on top of that—after all, he seemed to have done the same to most of Bill's other abilities.

But Bill was resourceful, he was stubborn, and he didn't have anything better to do.

He focused all his energy on trying to feel the drawing the same way he felt the doll, searching for a connection between this body and that face—and he searched, and searched, and searched.

He wasn't sure how long he tried. At least a couple of hours. Straining, straining—for nothing. His head hurt.

What was the difference? The doll was shaped like him, the drawing was shaped like him. What did the doll have that the drawing didn't?

The hair. A bit of his flesh.

Bill knelt over the picture, studying it in the dark. He opened an eye wide, wiped a fingertip across the surface of his eyeball to collect his tears, and pressed it to the drawing's eye.

He could feel a thread of energy stringing from his eye to the paper.

He climbed back on the toilet lid, shut his eyes, and focused on that thread. With an effort that threatened to split his head in two, he pried open his inner eye. And then he was staring up at his own human form from the drawing on the floor.

His body was shaking. His head was throbbing. He wobbled dizzily on the toilet; and as he saw himself topple off, his trance broke, the vision disappeared, and he blacked out. White spots burst behind his eyes.

When he next opened an eye, the room was spinning. He shut his eye. It was several minutes before he could sit up without being sick. He leaned against the wall and let the sweat on his forehead and cheek soak the old wallpaper.

The white spots he'd seen as he passed out were his distant all-seeing eyes. 

He'd done something tonight. That was good. But there was no way he was seeing through any other pictures like that. He needed something he could focus his power through, like an antenna.

He needed gold.

####

(Last chapter of the year!! If you enjoyed, I'd love to hear y'all's thoughts & comments! Thanks!)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #gravity falls #gravity falls fanart #gravity falls fic #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

[adrift-in-thyme]

I worked on the fic as promised and…it got out of hand. So instead of a snippet I’ll just give you guys the whole thing XD Thank you all for providing that extra nudge I needed to finish it!

Though there’s nothing too descriptive here, there are brief mentions of blood, injury, and captivity. So be careful and take care of yourselves <3

————————————————————-

There is another fae in their group.

Hyrule has sensed it since he joined this little band of heroes. Fairy magic is soft, gentle, easy to miss when it is not in concentrated amounts. But there is a strength to it, an unbreakable force that little else possesses.

While the dark arts are vicious, like a javelin through the heart, fairy magic is soothing and unshatterable. Dependable and comforting.

There are many different magical signatures amongst the men and boys who share his name. Some torn apart and melded back together into something stronger. Others as mighty as a gale force wind, or as swift and discerning as a rabbit, as decisive and resilient as a barricade. Still others as fierce as a soaring hawk, as vicious and protective as the wolves that prowl the forest, as crafty and quick as the mischievous foxes that sometimes play around Hyrule’s feet.

Hyrule keeps his eye on them all as they travel, discovering who they are, watching their tells, learning the ways their faces portray their emotions even when they attempt to cloak them. And he wonders who amongst them is a brother in more ways than shared spirit. Who among them flits on a pair of silken wings.

He wonders until the day Time breaks.

Their journey is a long, arduous one, treacherous and laden with pitfalls. It’s only natural that it would take its toll. Still, Time holds out impressively. Even while he studies him with the other heroes, Hyrule never sees that mask of his slip, never sees a chink in the armor he wears.

At least, not for the first three months of traveling together.

But then, one day, there is an accident. A simple slip up born of exhaustion. During a battle with a group of black-blooded beasts in Twilight’s Hyrule, Warriors doesn’t see a monster lunging for him. Not until it’s too late.

And when he crumples into a limp, bloodied heap, Time’s mask shatters.

He doesn’t manage to piece it back together for the rest of the day. Not when he carries Warriors back to camp. Not when he lays the captain down on his bed mat and helps Hyrule tend to him. Not even when Warriors comes to, groggy and sore but very much alive and very much himself.

The captain teases him about being over protective. Time’s answering smile is a hollow one that doesn’t reach his eyes.

The injury had been a severe one, Hyrule won’t deny that — perhaps, more so than any of them have endured thus far. But Time seems to take it the hardest of any of them. And Hyrule can’t help wondering if maybe, just maybe there is something more behind his behavior.

Could it be that Time has been feeling the overwhelming nature of this quest the same as the rest of them, caving beneath its weight but unwilling to show it?

So, during dinner that night when Time sets aside his untouched food and slips silently away, Hyrule trails after him.

He goes a short way into the surrounding forest, footsteps soft, ears pricked for any sound of disturbance. Then, he stops, casts a quick glance around him…and disappears.

Hyrule peeks out from the cover of a nearby bush, eyes wide as he stares at the place where the old man had stood. For a long moment, he remains motionless, thoughts whirring, trying to decipher what has just happened.

Hero of Hyrule or not, people don’t simply dissipate like the morning mist. Though, with Time’s seemingly endless collection of masks, he supposes something of the sort is possible. Still…

Hyrule frowns.

There is something else here, hovering in the damp night air. A familiar magic that now drifts lazily over to him in delicate wisps.

Hyrule straightens. His brows dip further.

He knows what Time’s magic looks like, smells like, feels like. It is difficult to ignore, after all, tangled and tortured as it is. Such power is meant to flow freely. But Time’s has been grasped in hands that are not his own, grasped and mangled, suffocated, stretched to its breaking point and further, morphed into something completely unlike what it must have been at the start.

It is nauseating to behold at times. Right now, however, right now Hyrule can’t bring himself to look away. Because threaded in between the heartbreak and pain are gentle strands of the faintest blue fae magic.

The traveler steps forward. His eyes travel over the trail Time’s power has left behind, leading all the way up into the highest branches of a nearby oak. If he squints, he can make out a tiny dot among the lush leaves, shimmering emerald.

His lips part in a silent “oh.” He dares to take another step forward, then another and another, wings issuing from his back as he goes, body shrinking until it too can soar up to the haven of foliage.

Time doesn’t startle when he lands quietly on the branch. He remains sitting where he is, legs hanging over the edge into the open air, wings wafting gracefully back and forth. Hyrule stares at them, almost taken aback by their beauty.

He should have expected it, he supposes. Every fairy’s pride is their wings, after all. But Time’s unforgiving plates of armor, his dull gray tunic and obsidian trousers, the glowing marks of crimson and navy blue adorning his face – they provide such a severe air. Strength, dedication to duty, and unyielding courage are what they convey.

His wings, however, they speak of softer things, fragile things held close and treasured.

They are long, sweeping along the height of Time’s body in flowing curves like those of a butterfly. Their translucent surface is colored a deep emerald and adorned with veins of pale pink. They remind Hyrule of the vibrancy of the forest after a long, hard storm; of the look of leaves when the emerging sun caresses their dewy surfaces.

He walks closer, almost enraptured by this sight. Perhaps, he should turn away from something so vulnerable. That is likely the polite thing to do. But he has traveled far beyond politeness now, mesmerized as he is by this discovery.

And when Time says, “Hello, Hyrule,” there is nothing in his tone to communicate that this is an invasion of his privacy. On the contrary, he sounds calm, unbothered. He pats the spot beside him and slowly, Hyrule settles down upon it. Their wings nearly touch.

“So, it’s you,” he says, awkward and awestruck.

A small smile quirks the old man’s lips. His gaze remains trained on the heroes gathered far, far below them. Their laughter and chatter float up to them in bubbles of murmured joy.

“Yes, it’s me,” he says, mildly, as though this meeting is no shock. As though he has been expecting it for a long while.

Silence settles for a moment as Hyrule scrambles for what else to say.

“How?” Is all he can come up with.

Time chuckles. Hyrule is certain the sound is lighter than usual.

“I’m not sure.” He cocks his head, bangs falling aside so Hyrule can see his markings. “I have theories, of course, but I have no way to prove any of them. And those who might have been able to explain are long gone.”

His voice is good-natured enough but the words carry a weight that Hyrule can feel in his soul. He ducks his head.

“I’m sorry.”

Time shrugs. “Their fates were not your doing. There is no need for you to ache for them. Or for me.” He turns now, a smile brightening his face once more. “What about you, Hyrule? What is the nature of your transformation? Were you born with it?”

“Oh, it’s just a spell,” Hyrule replies, quickly. “Though, I’ve wondered if I was born with fae blood in me. I don’t think it would’ve worked otherwise.”

Time hums, thoughtfully. He is quiet for a moment, once more staring down at their comrades.

“I wondered why I felt the presence of one of my brethren amongst the group. But it wasn’t my place to pry. Besides, I assumed it was only a matter of time before I discovered who it was. Secrets don’t stay concealed for long in a group such as ours.” He grins. “It seems you found me first, however.”

Hyrule laughs. “It sure seems that way.”

“That isn’t why you followed me though, is it?” The old man’s gaze is sharp and discerning as he pins Hyrule with it. The traveler fights not to sink into himself beneath it.

“No.” His voice is a bit smaller than he wants it to be, embarrassment sneaking into it against his will. “It isn’t.”

Time nods and looks away again. Stance relaxed, expression guarded, he waits. Hyrule swallows, gathers his courage, and continues.

“I saw how upset you were about Wars.”

Time flinches almost imperceptibly. The walls that had gone relatively low rise again so far Hyrule is taken aback by it. Yet, he plows on anyway.

If anything, Time’s reaction validates his decision further.

“And…I saw how you tried to hide it, too. And I wanted to make sure you were okay. Because you don’t, old man, you don’t have to hide what you feel.” His gaze travels to those magnificent wings again, grander than his own, yet so similar. “Or what you are.”

“It’s dangerous,” Time murmurs. “You know that, traveler.”

Perhaps, he is talking solely about feelings and the open expression of them. But Hyrule sees a bottle anyway, brimming with desperate magic, translucent sides smeared with blood and tears, it’s top shut so tightly the air has grown thin.

“Not with us,” he says, firm despite the dizzying rush of fear the memories bring. “Not with me.”

He scoots closer. His shoulder bumps against Time’s, their wings brush. Time’s next exhale catches at the end.

To anyone else such proximity would be touching enough, a display of closeness between two brothers in arms and spirit. But Hyrule knows that to fae it means even more than that.

Wings are not only the pride of the fairy people. They are also their greatest power — and their very life. To allow someone else to touch your wings so freely is a show of trust as momentous as when Time had shown them his ocarina. Not the one embued with sacred magic and given to him by Lullaby. No, the one that is even more precious to him that even that one. The one Sariah had given him so very, very, (very, very, Hyrule adds for good measure) long ago.

The stiffness that had seeped into Time’s posture eases slightly. Hyrule feels a smile stretch across his face.

The two of them grow silent, allowing the symphony of night creatures to fill the space between them. Hyrule swings his legs, back and forth, back and forth, listening to the crickets and owls singing in time with the laughter of his brothers. Time still looks down upon them.

Watching over them, Hyrule realizes with a sudden burst of warmth.

Their leader can seem cold sometimes, distant. Little had he known the depths of his love for the heroes with whom he shared a spirit of courage.

There is much, he thinks in wonder, that he doesn’t know about the old man.

Beside him, Time sighs and exhaustion permeates it. “You all aren’t going to give up on me, are you?”

Hyrule sends him a grin. “Nope. We’re not gonna stop until we know all your secrets. All of them. And we’ll know because you’re comfortable enough with us enough to share them, because we’ve earned your trust enough to be gifted them.”

Emotion burns in Time’s eye when he turns to the traveler. His face is more vulnerable than Hyrule has ever seen it before — even when Warriors fell.

“My trust isn’t easy to earn.”

“And Hyrule isn’t easy to save.”

Time holds his gaze for a long moment. Then, he smiles. It is small, almost shy, but Hyrule knows it is a gift. The first of many, if he’s lucky.

“Well, then, I suppose you’re amply prepared for such a challenge.”

Hyrule leans in closer, pride welling within him when Time returns the gesture, and his grin grows.

Yeah. He thinks, watching with wide eyes as fairy dust floats around them. I am.

We all are.

#trin writes #linked universe #linkeduniverse #linkeduniverse fic #lu time #lu hyrule #angst #but also a hearty helping of #fluff #fairy time au #hehe that’s a tag now #I had so much fun with this #I never write time and hyrule as a duo #which is a shame cause I love their dynamic #so I loved getting a chance to do it here #also #it’s always a joy getting one of the boys to support time #he needs comfort too darn it and he’s gonna get it whether he likes it or not

[cerastes]

I haven't played the game, can you tell us what Mudrock is like, like her personality and backstory?

The first impression you'll get from Mudrock based on her fanart, is that she's cute or attractive, and probably nothing else. I do enjoy Mudrock art a lot, but part of me feels like there's definitely a lot of potential for more serious art involving her (which exists, in minimal quantities). That's because she's a very solemn character. Mind you, she does have a silly side to her, but it lives alongside this solemn side I speak of. Let's talk about Mudrock.

Mudrock is a Sarkazian warrior that possesses great might and magic both, being a highly skilled spellblade, or, well, spellhammer, owing to her own expertise of Originium Arts (particularly those that manipulate ground and rock) as well as her time in the battlefield. She made her debut on the event Grani And The Knights' Treasure, the game's very first sidestory event, on a cutscene after the very last optional map, where she receives a letter from that story's main antagonist, Big Bob, her sworn brother, who informs her that he's doing alright after getting part of the treasure. It wouldn't be until Twilight of Wolumonde that she'd take to the stage again, where she is not playable and is, in fact, the main antagonist (though not the villain) of the story. Just like Big Bob, Mudrock is ex-Reunion (Reunion being the first part of the game's main antagonist), and she, alongside Big Bob and their respective squadrons, of which they were leaders, deserted Reunion after it rotted from the inside and strayed from its supposed objective to protect and fight for the Infected: They both realized that Reunion had become yet another pawn in the international war games between the bigger countries, and the Infected had become little more than cannon fodder and easily swayed soldiers to Reunion more than the people they sought to protect. Big Bob and Mudrock both are characterized by having a well-attuned moral compass, and this wasn't what they signed up for. They weren't simply lashing out at an uncaring world and letting their rage loose, they seriously were fighting for the freedom and well-being of the Infected. So they deserted... But they couldn't leave together.

Here's the first big important aspect of Mudrock: Big Bob invited her and her Mudrock Squad to come with him, since they were sworn siblings and their squads also got along really well. It seemed natural to walk the walk together, right? Big Bob's plans were to find the Knights' Treasure in the outskirts of Kazimierz, and use those riches to buy land in Columbia, where oppression against the Infected isn't as prevalent as in most other places, and money speaks louder (for context, the Infected are usually secluded into special Infected neighborhoods in other countries, or even executed outright, so while Columbia still oppresses them to some degree, it is leagues better than other places) and the Infected are allowed to own land and businesses, so long as they have the capital. Big Bob then intended to make a business with this money, and then be able to provide housing, employment and profits for his "family" (what he calls his squadmates and close friends), and for any other Infected that needed help.

However, Mudrock politely declined, because the Sarkaz in her squad simply couldn't live a life that wasn't one of blood and steel: Sarkaz from Kazdel are known to live short, fast mercenary lives, and those who see a longer life, can only live in the battlefield. It's all they know. Mudrock knew this, more so the older Sarkaz in her Mudrock Squad. To subject them to a civilian life would be to simply put them in a pressure cooker until they snapped, until PTSD or incompatibility with the lifestyle became too much, until their grave Oripathy claimed them anyway, and Kazdel Sarkaz tend to prefer a end in the field of battle. They needed a leader, and Mudrock was that leader. Not only that, Mudrock didn't want to leave any other Infected dry out there, a sentiment shared by her Sarkaz, who figured, hey, if we're going to keep fighting, we should do it to rescue as many Infected as we can.

So she traveled. Even though Reunion might as well be dead, rotten from the inside, Mudrock took matters into her hands. She knew her scope would never compare to that of an organized movement... But she had to do whatever she could, even if it was minimal in scale.

Twilight of Wolumonde is a whole can of worms and a half, so let me summarize it by saying this: Mudrock fought Rhodes Island entirely because she demanded there be justice for the Infected that were unjustly killed in Leithanien (or, well, that small corner of) in what basically was a mystery novel plot of whodunit. Once justice had been doled out and responsibility was taken, she took what oppressed Infected would be fine with leaving with her, and quietly left. Her stay was anything but quiet, however, as she summoned several Colossi of stone and soil in order to fight. At one point, she even summoned a particularly gigantic one, akin to a mountain, which she proceeded to transplant her consciousness into to 'pilot' it herself.

Afterwards, however, they were hounded by several Infected Hunters from Leithanien, who had the complete advantage in terms of terrain, who kept picking them off one by one, survivors and fighters both. As Mudrock and company finally arrived at the frontier with Kazdel, just one bridge away, she ordered all stragglers and survivors to cross the bridge, telling them that they could eke out a free, if hard-earned and arduous, living in the Kazdel outskirt towns. Mudrock and her Sarkaz warriors, however, would not accompany them, they would stand their ground by the bridge, to stop their pursuers. Mudrock was ready to die. She put it in no uncertain terms, if anyone wanted to leave with the survivors, they could, and those who stayed with her would die alongside her defending the survivors. Her men and women stayed with her. If it meant saving those, even though they weren't many, that was what counted, she'd seen her personal duty to the best of her abilities. She was fine dying in these terms.

Of course, she didn't die: Elite Rhodes Island Operator Logos had come across this little kerfuffle recently and tailed both groups, and then took action to support and rescue Mudrock and what remained of her squad. They fought. They won.

Mudrock and her crew went to Rhodes Island afterwards, where Human Resources struck a deal with her: If she worked as an Operator for them, they'd provide for her and her Squad, giving them jobs in the field as well as Oripathy treatment. Mudrock wasn't initially sure, but a chance encounter with Grani led to both of them conversing initially about Big Bob and then about other stories, and, plus encouragement and endorsement from Folinic and Suzuran (who knew Mudrock from the Wolumonde incident), Mudrock ended up accepting the deal.

Besides her very full, sincere intention to do anything she can for the Infected and her Sarkaz brethren, Mudrock is a bit... Weird. She'll usually go on bizarre tangents about the weirdest things, or simply say strange things with the utmost serious expression. Not random stuff, just actually letting her thoughts drift along with whatever thought comes to mind, in a contemplative manner. She also likes making little clay dolls of people and talking to them, but feels very embarrassed when seen doing this (though it is implied she actually can just talk to the earth). Mudrock is also popular among Rhodes Island logistics personnel (which includes plenty of Sarkaz from the Babel days, the precursor to Rhodes Island) because she'll offer to help them move heavy things whenever she sees them, given that she's both immensely strong physically as well as a powerful caster whose earth Arts make moving things around easy. She also very rarely isn't wearing full armor, meaning that while you likely usually see her like this in fanart:

She actually looks like this most of the time:

In fact, a lot of people in her very own squad didn't know what she looked like. There were rumors about an unknown Sarkaz girl that would wander around Mudrock's camp now and then. That was actually Mudrock in the rare occasions where she didn't wear her armor.

Two fun facts about Mudrock!

The first one is that her birthday is on the 21st of September, which is the International Day of Peace. It serves to reflect that ultimately, what she wants is peace for the Infected and Sarkaz, even if she has to fight for it.

The second one is that her hammer has an inscription if you look closely:

In the trailer for Roaring Flare, we get a good look at it:

"For evil men will be cut off". This is a short form of Psalm 37:9 from the Bible (King James edition): "For evildoers shall be cut off: but those that wait upon the Lord, they shall inherit the earth."

All in all, Mudrock is bundle of love and kindess in an awkward package (awkward in terms of how she socializes, not in that she's shy or anything), but when an injustice is present, she will fight tooth and nail until justice is meted out (as she did in Wolumonde) and is willing to die for her ideals, if it'll save just a few people.

#arknights #mudrock

[fierymiasma]

☽ No Good Deed Goes Unpunished ☽ // Sebastian x f!MC

Summary: Sebastian gives f!MC Amortentia, so she never tries to leave him again. He instantly regrets it.

A continuation of "For Her Own Good". I got a ton of requests to continue this fic!

♪ Tags: Slight Dub-con, Dark!Sebastian, Jealous!Sebastian, Obsession, Possessiveness, toxicity, Use of Love potions, Manipulation, Angst, some very small Ominis x MC if you squint

Word Count: 4k 💔

|| Masterlist || AO3 ||

Sebastian never felt more free than when he was dueling by her side.  Even in his 7th year, where the novelty of dueling together had long faded, he still cherished the occasions where her back pressed closely against his in the heat of battle.  All of his worries over Anne's illness, over Ominis's avoidance, seemed to melt away when he was with her.

Of course, like most good things in Sebastian's life, it had to come to an end.

"Diffindo!"

A blood-curdling scream.  Her body slumping against his.  He could almost feel the waves of her pain coursing through his bones.  His lover's face was pale, staring at the blood soaking through her own leather armor in shock.

He turned around, face in a ferocious snarl.  The offending dark wizard sneered back.  Something broke inside Sebastian.  "You'll pay for that.  Crucio!" 

He would never admit to anyone how good it felt casting an unforgivable curse. It was well deserved.  He was finally delivering righteous justice.  Power sang in his nerve endings.  "If you so much as lay another finger on her, I will not hold back on you.  By the time I'm finished, you'll wish I used the Killing Curse. Crucio!"

"Sebastian!"

"Crucio!"  His eyes blazed murderously.  The crackles of red magic made his dark eyes gleam with malicious intent, pinning his victim in place.  Sebastian was delighted to hear the cries of anguish from the villain who hurt her.  "No one touches her."

"Sebastian, please!"

"Crucio!"

"Sebastian!"  A delicate but firm hand grabbed his wand hand, tugging it away. 

The red surrounding the periphery of his vision vanished.  She was in front of him, hair in disarray, splatters of her own blood on her cheek.  There were empty bottles of Wiggenweld potion strewn about.  "Sebastian, please, please, enough!  No more.  No more suffering." 

Even in this state, she was dreadfully beautiful.  Perfect even.  Sebastian marveled how she managed to find the strength to stop him in his tracks after taking such a powerful hit straight on. 

Before he could reply, the dark wizard stumbled to their feet behind her.  For the first time in his life, Sebastian was frozen, body unable to response.  With one last shaky last breath, the enemy wizard screamed.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Sebastian woke up screaming, heart pounding in his throat.  His sheets were soaked with sweat.  His face glistened with tears.

He was back in the safety of his dorm.  It was a dream.  Just a nightmare.  She was still alive.  She was okay.  Sebastian managed to make it in time to save her.  His breathing evened.  Their last battle had been a near miss.  They had been lucky to escape with their lives intact.  Sebastian didn't regret torturing the dark wizard, it was only a fraction of what he was willing to do to keep her save. 

His only regret was that she saw it.

Ever since the incident, she had actively avoided him.  Said she needed her "space" to think.  Sebastian wish he knew Legilimency.  His sweetheart looked so shell-shock that day.  Skittering away from his outstretched hands, turning away from his fierce gaze.  She would shy away from the robes he tried to drape over her and his comforting arms.  Still experiencing the remnants of his anger, Sebastian had just thought she was still recovering from her wounds.

Now, he wondered if there was something else on the dueling grounds that she was more afraid of.

Flopping back down on his bed, he threw his arm over his eyes.  Just a nightmare.  Nothing to worry about.

But, a nagging voice ask in the back of his mind, what if it happened again?  What if she got hurt in the rare moments Sebastian wasn't there by her side?  How could Sebastian hope to protect her, when she wanted nothing to do with him?

What if she left him, just as Sebastian's parents did when he was young?  Just as Ominis and Anne turned their backs to him in their 5th year, when all he wanted to do was save his sister?

Sebastian turned his head to his nightstand.  An innocuous vial stood patiently, begging to be used.  Though it was corked, he could still smell her the signature scent from the Amortentia: the warm, flowery perfume that Sebastian gifted her and her favorite apple tarts.  Ever since he had brewed the love potion in the Undercroft, it had sat in a tiny vial in the inner breast pocket of his robes.  It was a tickling bomb, a heavy sin that sat directly in front of his heart. 

He never once imagined that he would resort to such measures.  He wished it didn't have to come down to this.  In a perfect world, she would understand that he only meant to keep her safe.  But in a perfect world, Anne wouldn't have been cursed.  In a perfect world, Sebastian wouldn't be alone in trying to do the impossible to save the people he loved. 

His mind was made up.  She was the only one left.  He would do whatever it takes to make sure that she was safe.  That she would never leave again.

༺♥༻❀༺♥༻

Sebastian's fingers drummed nervously over the parcel.  His right leg shook anxiously as he paced in front of the Room of Requirements.  She had been elusive since the incident, avoiding him all over Hogwarts.  But if her Room of Requirement revealed itself to Sebastian, then she wasn't entirely keeping him out, was she?  He could feel his nervous heartbeat in the spiked pastries that he was holding.  Finally mustering the courage to enter, he opened the door very quietly, silently sneaking in. 

There she sat, her hair swept behind her, locks spilling over her shoulders.  She was dressed in her favorite leather corset, the one she wore when she was expecting a hard fight.  Sebastian wondered if it was the same one she wore when she took the severing charm straight to the chest.

As he approached closer, his heartbeat stilled.  Right next to her on the couch was Ominis Gaunt himself.  He caught them together.  Ominis was with her, alone.  Hovering behind a pillar in the entranceway, Sebastian listened in.  His stomach couldn't help but coil in jealously.  The irony of the situation was not lost on him.  How many times in their 5th year had Sebastian stolen his Hufflepuff away to teach her the dark arts only for a nosy Ominis to interrupt their time together?

"I'm just worried.  Sebastian hasn't been himself lately."  Ominis pleaded.  "I don't know if anything transpired between the two of you, but I'm worried he's going down a dark path again."  Ominis shook his head.  "You wouldn't happen to know anything, would you?

Sebastian inhaled sharply.  If Ominis were to learn that he used the Cruciatus Curse once again, the rat would run straight to Headmaster Black.

Sebastian's hand reached into his robes, curling protectively around his wand.

She shook her head.  "Nothing strange has happened between the two of us, I assure you Ominis.  If something bad did happen, you'd be the first to know."

Sebastian's heart fluttered.  Even when she was refusing to speak with him, she was so fiercely loyal to him.  What a good girl. 

Ominis sighed.  "I know our friendship hasn't been easy on you.  Sebastian and I…we're not exactly friends anymore.  He seems to confide in you more these days."  The back of Ominis's neck flushed.  "I too seem to always rely on you for comfort."

Something ugly reared its head in Sebastian.  How dare he?  How often was Ominis, his supposed "friend" talking to Sebastian's flame like this?  The drumming heartbeat in the vial grew louder, overwhelming the rest of Sebastian's thoughts.  It was fortunate that Sebastian had the foresight to make Amortentia, before things escalated any further.

Her hands gripped Ominis's trying to offer him some modicum of comfort.  "He's trying, Ominis.  Give him a chance.  Sebastian works so hard to be good."  Ominis scoffed.  She politely ignored it.  "He's always had a heart too big for one person, sometimes it leans too heavy in one direction, but, Sebastian means well.  He's a good person, despite some of his actions.  I believe in him, to always chose good at the end of the day."

Ominis squirmed.  He too once thought exactly the same way.  Ignoring all the warning signs, excusing away the blatant manipulation and lies.  It was Solomon's death that was the final straw, a brutal wake up call for Ominis and Anne alike.

He just hoped his friend was able to see it as well before it was too late for her.

"You're too charitable to him."  Ominis decided.  "Ever since you've arrived at Hogwarts in our 5th year, he's been a negative influence on you.  I have a feeling he still wants to lure you into the dark arts.  You need to be careful around him."

Her expression softened.  "Ominis, that's enough.  You needn't worry.  Rest assured, I'm more than capable of holding my own.  There's no need to ever fear Sebastian."

Ominis doubted her words.  It seemed like from the very first day of their meeting, she had been under Sebastian's spell.  Always turning a blind eye to Sebastian's misdeeds.

He was suddenly reminded of the night he caught Sebastian making sleeping potions for her in the Undercroft.  Though Sebastian had tried to assuage his worries at the time, Ominis couldn't feel that something was…amiss.  Something in Ominis's gut was screaming at him to warn her.  He needed to tell her.

"There's something that's been bothering me about him recently.  I think Sebastian-"

The pair were interrupted by the extremely loud, deafening noise of the door of the Room of Requirements swinging open.  Sebastian made a big show of it, as if he had just now been arriving, like he hadn't been spying on them for their entire conversation.

"There you are!"  He said breezily, strolling up to the two of them.  "I've been looking for you all over the place." 

Ominis turned to the sound of the other Slytherin's voice, instantly on guard. 

"Sebastian?" She muttered uneasily. Had the Room of Requirements let him in?

"Do you have a minute?" he asked. 

Now that Sebastian was standing in front of her, he was able to better visualize tiny imperfections.  There was a new rough leather stitch crudely sewing up the two jagged edges of the ripped outer corset, right where she had been struck.  His sweetheart had dark bags under her eyes, as if she stayed up at night worried over something.  His eyes trailed downward. 

Fresh, new bandages covered her slim hands.  She clasped her hands together in front of her delicately as if they hurt to be moved. 

Sebastian's gut twisted.  That wasn't there the last time they were together.  She had been sneaking off outside of Hogwarts either alone or with Poppy and Natty, two individuals who weren't willing to do whatever it took to keep his darling from harm.

There was a missing beat of silence.  The hero of Hogwarts wasn't sure if she wanted to talk to Sebastian. 

"I suppose so," she relented, her voice devoid of her usual warmth.  Ominis hovered protectively next to her, hands clenched into fists as if he wasn't sure how to feel about his once close friend. 

The parchment covered package in Sebastian's robe pockets felt like a heavy weight under their scrutiny.  Sebastian cleared his throat.  "Can I speak with you alone?"

Ominis turned his head towards her.  A silent conversation seemed to pass between them.  Sebastian hadn't realized how close they had gotten.  A fleeting moment passed, before the hero of Hogwarts nodded.  Ominis got up from the couch, about to leave, before he hesitated.  Bending forward, he leaned over whispering something in her ear.  Sebastian stepped closer to the couch, wishing his hearing was good enough to hear what lies Ominis was telling her.

As Ominis moved to leave their friend's side, Sebastian couldn't help but bump against the other boy's shoulders, angry at his friend's betrayal.  Ominis paused, frowning.  He whispered so only Sebastian could hear, "Why do you smell like her perfume and Sirona's apple tarts?"

Sebastian stilled, his breath caught in his throat.  He could fell his own heart beat through the vial of Amortentia pressed against his chest.  So, Ominis too, could smell her signature scent in the love potion.  And all of a sudden Sebastian's paranoid fears were suddenly confirmed.  Ominis was falling for the girl who rightfully belonged to Sebastian.

He couldn't be too angry, he supposed.  By virtue of being the most gorgeous, talented witch in Hogwarts, she was bound to attract more attention.

"Good bye, Ominis." Sebastian said rather cruelly.  "I shall see you later tonight, in our dorm."  Sebastian dismissed his former friend from the conversation.  The other boy narrowed his eyes, before excusing himself from the Room of Requirements, not longing to be in Sebastian's company for any longer than necessary. 

The hero of Hogwarts frowned, unaware of what just happened between the two once friends.  "What do you want, Sebastian?"

Now that Ominis had left them alone, Sebastian's face instantly transformed.  It was almost reminiscent of the adorable 5th year boy who stared at her lovingly across the greenhouse during herbology.  "I just wanted to check in on you, sweetheart.  Is that a crime?"

She winced at his choice of words.  The memory of bone-chilling screams, of the torture curse that Sebastian had once used on her, used now on another kept her awake at night.

She had been horrified.  When Sebastian had killed his uncle, the poor sweet boy she fell in love with was instantly remorseful.  Upset, disgusted in himself and what he had done.  She dared to finally look up and look at Sebastian in the eye.

This was not the same boy she met on her first day of Hogwarts.  His eyes were dark, unrelenting, too intense.  His eyes trained on her every move as if he was prepared for her to leave him at a moment's notice.  Sebastian always seemed to know what was on her mind.  Gently, he sat next to her, where Ominis had once sat.  His hands found hers.  Rough fingers ran over her bandages, examining her new injury.

"Please, sweetheart,"  Sebastian leaned over, his forehead practically touching hers.  "I didn't meant to upset you.  I did it for you.  If I hadn't had the strength to use Crucio…well, I'm just glad I was there to protect you."

Whoever this was, this version of Sebastian, held his head up high.  Like his use of Cruicto was a point of pride.  A means to an end to protect what was his. 

She was afraid.  She said nothing, not knowing if there was anything that she could say that wouldn't upset Sebastian.

His eyes were pleading.  She wondered, not for the first time, if he genuinely believed what he was saying or was using his silver tongue of his to manipulate her.  Did he even know what he was doing, pulling at people's emotions until they wilted under his wishes?

She was unable to make eye contact with him, afraid of how he'd react to what she was about to say.  "Sebastian, please, I'm sorry, but…I just need some more time.  To…process everything that has happened."

"Sweetheart, we can't be apart now.  Look,"  Sebastian squeezed her hand forcefully, accidentally brushing up against her bruise.  She winced.  "You need me now, more than ever.  You need someone by your side, who has your back.  Who really has your back.  I will do whatever it takes to make sure you're never harmed."

"Sebastian," her voice cracked she barely spoke above a whisper.  "That's exactly what I'm afraid of."  Looking up at Sebastian's face, she could tell that he did not understand.  "Sebastian, please don't be mistaken.  This isn't a good bye.  I just…I just need some time…alone to think."

He nodded stiffly, shoulders falling.  He looked so distraught.  "I…I understand.  Then, I want to apologize, for…everything that happened.  I never meant to upset you."  He reached into his robes pocket, pulling out a parchment covered package, carefully wrapped in twine.  "I got you your favorite apple tarts made from Sirona.  I just picked it up from Hogsmeade this morning."

She picked up the parcel, inspecting it.  There was an unreadable expression on her face.  Sebastian held his breath.  Again, he wondered what Ominis had whispered to her.

"What do you want from me, Sebastian?" She asked again, a bit more tired.  She was unsure if this gift was more of an apology or a bribe for her affections.

Probably both.

"I just want to take care of you."  Sebastian frowned, looking like a kicked Crup puppy.  "Even if we have to part ways, it doesn't mean I can't show you how much you mean to me.  I'll always cherish the moments we had together."

She nodded, blinking tears out of her eyes.

༺♥༻❀༺♥༻

She sighed, it had been days since her last conversation with Sebastian.  Shockingly, he had respected her wishes, and stayed away from her.  It must have killed him. 

She looked over at her deskside at the package of her favorite apple tarts that Sebastian had gotten her.  Over the past two years together, Sebastian was constantly showering her with small gifts.  Whether it be an old spellbook, some flowers from the fields surrounding Feldcroft or just "something in the store window that made me think of you".  She was honestly quite shocked that he had not bombarded her with more gifts in the past month. 

Unwrapping one of the tarts, she smelled its rich scent.  She inspected for longer than she intended.  Ominis's warning played like a broken record. A million thoughts raced around her head.  Slowly, she ripped off a chunk with her teeth.  As she let the warm, softened apples melt into her mouth she tried to place what the scent was from.  It smelled…a bit different somehow.  The pillows in the Undercroft, the flowers surrounding Feldcroft, the warmth of Sebastian's cologne.

….Sebastian.

Sebastian Sallow, the love of her life.

Sebastian who was the most perfect, most gorgeous person in the world.

Sebastian Sallow who protected her so fiercely that it took her breath away.

Sebastian, whose growing darkness only sent dangerous thrills down her spine.  Whose dark, possessive gaze terrified her very soul.  And yet, a small, very hidden part of her was so enraptured in his maniac, obsession over her.  A dark part of her who was elated that a man so pure-hearted as Sebastian was willing to do the unforgivable to protect her.  To make her his.

She wondered how far he was willing to go for her.  How corruptible the once innocent boy was.  If she asked him to do the unforgivable, would he?  If she wanted to abuse Isidora's power and take over the wizarding world, would he bend the knee to her?  Be at her side?

If she asked him to burn the world for her, would he?

She shivered.  She needed to see him immediately.

Her vision was a blur.  This was a dull pounding in her head that made it difficult to think of anything else other than finding Sebastian Sallow, the man she was destined to be with.  The hero of Hogwarts didn't even register that she had moved from the comfort and safety of the Room of Requirements until the telltale iron gates of the Undercroft were shuddering open.

There he was, practically his spellwork surrounding by an army of training dummies.  She stood dumbly in the doorway for a bit, watching how beautiful his movements were.  Whenever she dueled, it was full of crazed desperation without any finesse as she struggled for her life. 

He was different.  He moved like a dancer.  Movements graceful, expressive.  His duels were always full of his spitfire and personality. 

She was in love.  He was hers.  He belonged to her.  No one else.

No one else could corrupt him like she could. 

"Sebastian," she whispered loudly in the Undercroft. 

The seventh year in question spun around, heart leaping into his throat.  He adored how she spoke his name, with almost the same amount of reverence he had for her.  In an instant, she was everywhere.  Hands clinging on his robes, one of her legs was hitched up, trying to wind its way around his hips.  She was trying to crawl onto his lap.  She pressed her nose against his neck, inhaling his rich scent, not bothered by her own extreme lack of decorum.

"Oh, I've missed you, Sebastian, I never want to be apart from you ever again.  You need to be next to me, forever."

Sebastian was overwhelmed by her warmth.  Her scent washed over him.  Eagerly, he wrapped his arms around he.  He never wanted to ever let go.  Even two weeks was too long to be apart from her.  This is where he belonged.  Where they both belonged.  With each other.  "Sweetheart, you came back."

"Yes, Yes, Sebastian, I wasn't ever going to leave you.  I can't ever be without you."

Sebastian swallowed thickly.  He wondered how much of what she said was from herself or from the Amortentia. 

He burned his face in her hair.  In a small whisper, his voice cracked.  "Please, please don't ever leave me like that again.  I was only trying to help.  To protect you."

She cooed, burying her face into Sebastian's firm chest.  Roughly, she pulled on his robes, wanting to be as close with him as possible.

"I love you, Sebastian.  I love you so dearly, my love.  I love you.  I love you, Sebastian."

Sebastian pulled himself away from her.  In their two years they have been seeing each other, she never once said those famous three words he had been dying to hear.  He was always the one to profess his love to her, patiently waiting for the day for her to say it back. 

This wasn't how he imaged it.

Her eyes were glassy, unseeing, as if she was looking past him.

Something like bile was rising in the back of his throat.  This wasn't her.   This wasn't the whip smart, sharp-tongued, teasing girl who he fell in love with.  He had fallen for the girl who wouldn't back down from his rude comments.  Who stood on her tip toes screaming her head off whenever they got into their infamous disagreements.  He fell in love with the girl who dragged him across the entire countryside of Scotland to do silly little tasks for the random villagers of Hogwarts.

Whoever this was, wasn't her.

This was all wrong.  It felt like the inferi all over again.  This wasn't what Sebastian had in mind.

He knew what he had to do.  Gripping his concealed wand tightly with one hand, his other hand gently cupped her face.   She softened, melting into his touch.  Her hair spilled over his hands and she looked up at him like he was the night sky.  He didn't want to let her go.  This was perhaps the last time, he would see the love of his life look at him with this amount of affection, no matter how fake.

He almost didn't recognize his voice when he said, "Close your eyes, sweetheart.'

Her long eyelashes fluttered shut on his command.  Sebastian leaned in for a kiss, perhaps their last.  Even the kiss was wrong.  Her movements were frenzied, as if she was intoxicated off of his scent.  Her tongue pushed forward, searching for his, greedily and single-mindedly.  She was uncaring of what Sebastian's preferences were, only thinking of how to consume him.  It disgusted Sebastian what he had created.  

Pulling back from the kiss, he had no regrets as to what he was about to do.  Tears began to spill over onto his cheeks.  She frowned in confusion as she slowly reached up to him, trying to dry his eyes.  Swiftly, he pulled out his wand.  With a trembling hand, he pointed it right at her.

"Obliviate." 

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #hphl #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow fic #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis x you #hl #harry potter hogwarts game #harry potter #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #oneshot #fierymiasmawork

[oleanderscorner]

I offer you, the highest of my ideas

Yandere Twst X Overblot Yuu.

Vibes? IMMACULATE

Everyone’s like “oooh overblot twst so hooot” NO! I WANT THEM TO DO THAT. FOR ME. IN THE WORST WAYS POSSIBLE.

fuck the calculation n’ clever shit. I want them to run onto scene and go 👀👀

(Specifically if you wanna: Dorm leaders + Leech twins + Ace + Deuce.)

I think I can do this in more of a series—but I’ll do this in this more analysis-like format…let’s start with Vil because I think he would be the most fun.

Yandere!Vil x OB!Yuu

TW: manipulative behavior, obsessing, toxic and abusive themes, self harm—YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Vil Schoenheit

I think everyone can agree that Vil is often an incredibly misrepresented character—whether or not they know or believe their own interpretation to be completely correct. There’s a lot to his character that doesn’t get represented because it’s hard to represent all of him when he’s incredibly adaptable to his surroundings…

But before we get to him any more—let’s look at Yuu.

Yuu can’t OB in canon but without magic, but a personal theory I’ve had for a long time is that Yuu will gain magic somehow—because like everything else they’re now a part of this world, and while they don’t belong “currently” after saving so many people they’re bound to become part of the world they’re living in, and gain some level of magic or be someone part of the universe who has no magic—which is a little less likely considering where Yuu is placed within this universe.

Yuu’s UM is likely to be more similar to Ruggie’s in that they likely will have some level of control over people and surroundings, however, with the ghost theme of the dorm—it’s better to assume that Yuu’s UM may be to become invisible like a ghost to help in battle same way they always kind of had in game.

An OB would likely be quick as Yuu begins to miss home and just wants to disappear and have everyone forget them—have the world forget them—so that maybe they can go home as they no longer have any remnant of themselves in the universe. Homesickness is a real thing, and if we look at some of the manga Yuus we do know that there is families back home for Yuu to go to, and possibly friends too. It can hit hard after awhile, especially if we go by the year and we don’t know how time there works—which can host so many accidents where Yuu won’t see their family again and as much as Yuu would miss their friends here—home could hit a lot worse.

When not invisible, I’d imagine them covered in cloth similar to a sheet ghost and with ink between the folds and sheets, and nearly translucent—just for the fun of a design.

Now onto the actual OB!YuuxVil

(Might switch Yuu and you because Yuu is the reader, if I say they know that means reader/Yuu)

Vil is observant—he may send Rook or Epel to spy on you or make judgements of character—but he is observant of Yuu and their actions leading up to the overblot. He wanted to prepare for it himself—and hopefully actually stop it. In most instances he would—he knows how to take preventive measures—but…this time he didn’t.

As we know from chapter 5 and his vignettes, Vil is one to get back up again after every failed attempt—and is by far the most adaptable character when it comes to needing to work with a loss. He couldn’t prevent it? Fine—it’s not like anyone else was truly helping (they were), he’ll just have to take extreme measures instead.

He locks you up so you cannot be a danger to yourself and others—likely using something to get you to a secure location (his home if he could help it—it’s incredibly reinforced, his dad and he have crazy fans I’m sure) since Ramshackle would definitely be destroyed and Pomefiore has a ridiculous amount of glass to get you hurt. He normally isn’t the kidnapping type but this situation is incredibly dire, so he has to live up to that role.

Vil struggles with identity and selfishness—he is strict and wants to keep everyone in line, and knows how to battle each person who comes his way with tact and grace to keep people in line. However this is for the betterment of others more than for simple order. This is one of the things where he has to come off as the bad guy in order for people to be better versions of themselves and be better people. He is incredibly used to this role even if he hates it and loathes everything. It’s an identity he doesn’t want but it’s one he’s always going to be stuck with, making it hard to do truly selfish things unless it contributes to his image—something he cares way more about than himself.

All of this is to say that he is certain to try and manage your overblot—and to get you out of it—even if it means he has to be the bad guy and keep you away from things. Even if it means having to use magic spray you can’t hurt yourself and others. Even if it means afterwards you hate him.

Yet there will be times where he calls you beautiful, times where he tells you that you look lovely this way—times where he just praises you. Some of it he believes, but some of it is out of what little selfishness he can manage for himself to not completely be the villain in your eyes. It’s ever so slightly manipulative, but telling him that will only make things worse.

He tries to get you to eat so at least there’s things feeding this magical energy. Some of it is laced with potions to help do just that—because he is incredibly scared that stunting it will kill you or harm you. So he wants to just make sure you don’t completely use it all up.

Vil is determined—but if anything Yuu is the best at breaking his resolve.

Constant egging on about him keeping you here, about him using his magic against you—trying to hurt him for so long. Eventually it can get to be too much—but if Yuu mixes it in with any knowledge they knew of his previous obsession for them. How he wished so dearly to make them the best version of themselves and how he wishes to be a part of the life they had here. How he kept worried eyes on them and made sure more money was slipped into their account for food. Even the jealousy he had to hide constantly around those who also showed interest, and his own plans to outdo them that he constantly overthought and looked over. Or especially how Vil had failed to prevent this overblot? Well, that might just break it.

He’d use his own curses against him to make himself better. Give himself timeframes yo complete things or if there was a certain amount of insults or hits a day something would happen. Pain in his legs—turning old for a few days—a nasty illness—whatever worked to force him to get through to the real you.

Even if he overblot once—he can overblot again—and trust me, it’ll be far worse than it ever was before.

This is a quick take! I’d love to do a full in depth analysis of Vil and how I perceive him, and what I think so many people shove onto him that’s completely unfair of them to do—but I truly hope this does him justice. I’ll probably get to the other dorm leaders and maybe more soon depending on how I feel about an OB Yuu.

Thank you for reading!!

#yandere #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere vil schoenheit #yandere Vil #yandere vil x reader #vil schoenheit #twst #twisted wonderland

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

Man, I like Daily Wire in concept but Matt Walsh needs to shut the fuck up about video games. The same guy who tried to resurrect the tired old "violent video games are harmful!" crap is now acting like he's the first person to notice that video games are pushing woke nonsense (even though there are about a hundred channels and outlets that have been talking about this for years) but his solution is to, of course, for the right to stop playing video games.

No. Just, no.

This is the same "bury our head in the sand and pretend pop culture doesn't exist" mindset that got us into this situation in the first place. You can't win a war (and there is a culture war going on, no matter how many people on both sides want to pretend otherwise) by retreating from every battlefield. You win by raising awareness of a problem and then offering a real solution.

And it's especially stupid seeing this cultural retreat mindset from someone working for DW because DW actually knows exactly how to fight this battle. They created their own media company to fight against woke Hollywood. Are all their movies and shows good? No, not at all. But they still did the right thing. They put their money where their mouth is, and created an alternative.

A much better example is Angel Studios, which is probably the only Christian movie studio I've ever seen that puts out top quality content with great acting, writing, and production values. They're raking in money and getting their content onto mainstream streaming services as well as theaters. In other words, they're taking their message to the people who need it the most. The ones who aren't already in the echo chamber. Unlike Daily Wire, which only offers its content on its own website through a subscription service to its own audience, and never advertises anywhere.

Another successful example outside of movies is Eric July's Rippaverse. He's been killing it with his comics, with every single one of his campaigns raking in over a million dollars, every cent of which is reinvested back into his business, helping it grow, creating more content, and expanding his already impressive roster of writers and artists. Mainstream writers and artists, by the way. Like Chuck Dixon, the guy who co-created Bane and wrote the seminal Tim Drake Robin comics, among many other credits, and Mike Baron, who wrote some of the best early Punisher comics. Eric had a following before he started the Rippaverse. He runs a successful YouTube channel and he's a regular contributor to The Blaze. He could have walled himself off with his fanbase, wrote comics about ancaps saving the world from the evils of government, and made some money while pandering to the people who already agreed with him. Instead, he went big. He invested his own money, runs his own distribution center, owns his own business with zero outside investors, hires the best talent he can, and offers a product that focuses on story and characters over messaging. His work isn't even "anti-woke". It's just not woke.

And that's what we need in video games. We need alternatives. We need to roll up our sleeves and wade into the deep waters and actually contribute our ideas and our talents. Offer an alternative. Hire people who know what they're doing, who care about quality content first and social engineering never. There is a huge untapped audience who would pay hand over fist for good video games free from microtransactions and woke nonsense.

But retreating is not an option. It's not brave or moral to hide in our echo chambers and scoff at anything fun. Entertainment is necessary. And maybe more importantly, it's not going anywhere. We will never live in a world where people go to work and spend time with their families at home and do nothing else. We need to engage with the world as it is. Not wait around for whatever our idea of a perfect world is to magically form so we can finally interact with it. You can't change society if you keep pretending large swaths of it don't exist.

#matt walsh #daily wire #video games #gamergate 2 #sweet baby inc #culture war

[aristia-pjoheadcanons]

hi! i was wondering if i can request a platonic percy jackson headcanon fic where percy, annabeth and grover are on a quest and they find the child of hades! reader who went missing a week before percy came to camp while they were on a quest? (if you’re still taking requests !)

PLATONIC PERCY X MISSING READER WHO PERCY FINDS ON A QUEST

The reader went missing and either ended up somewhere out in the wilderness, without a way to escape because the forest or haunted building wouldn’t let you out – or something else stopped you, perhaps there was some magic involved.

Percy, Grover and Annabeth were on the quest sent from the Gods – they had to return something to its rightful owner.

They were met with a thick dark forest that gave off an eerie and somber feeling.

Soon enough they realized that the forest grounds were moving and becoming into muddy, murky, swamp water.

The thick water barely let the trio escape, thankfully they had the son of Poseidon and Annabeths quick thinking skills. Grover used his pipes to distract the gigantic arms the trees were slashing around to hit them.

When they arrived at a mansion in the middle of the woods, they knew something was up. But they had no choice but to venture further. Who knows? Maybe their quest can finally end here?

The doors of the manor opened (by force) and after some digging and prodding around the rooms, they settled down for the night.

It wasn’t until weird scratching and ghost-like-groaning was heard from the hallway, that the trio got ready for battle.

Ghost in haunted mansions? They could handle it, they think. Can’t be worse than a Minotaur.

There they are, !reader, dragging their feet down the hallways, their mouth opened with black water seeping out of their mouths – a curse.

“Uhhh…they don’t look so good” – Grover. “Really? I couldn’t tell” Percy thought to himself.

Annabeth was clever enough to have nectar in vials that she used to throw on the readers face – momentarily paralyzing whatever that was haunting you and bounding you to the place.

When you were free, and groggy from sleep – you explained yourself. The details were difficult but thanks to the fact that Annabeth has been at camp longer than anyone – she recognized you.

Now that you weren’t a threat, Percy didn’t grip his sword so tight and relaxed slightly. Whatever that was wrong with this mansion, hes not sure if he wanted to find out.

He is giving you strange looks, but he cant help but be skeptical. But then again, he did find Bianca and Nico in that weird ass military school full of weird monsters. And he has met the twelve Olympians – I guess he finally cant get any more surprised.

Small talk would suffice for now, you are part of the quest!

Hes got your back. Annabeth has given you a small dagger to protect yourself with.

Grover might talk to you the most and keep you company.

If you were injured, Percy would be protective (as he is with everyone he considers a friend). Someone from Camp-Halfblood is automatically considered an ally in his book.

He would maybe be curious about your parents – given that his memory might fail him to remember who you are.

Once he finds out you are also part of the big three, he feels relaxed somewhat. Not just Thalia and Tyson – but you too along with Nico. He feels optimistic to know that perhaps you can get along with Nico – but he is most likely far away.

He wouldn’t give much reassurance, but he is one observant motherfucker that will notice when you don’t feel well.

Percy is known to understand and notice small things about people, and really not judge that harshly – even though he can be quite sarcastic he means well.

His sarcasm would be one of his biggest defensives, if you can handle that you are a good friend too.

He wont pry too much – Annabeth being the one asking questions and figuring things out.

Any powers you have that can be useful for the quest, they would like to know.

Skeleton soldiers, controlling live people, summoning any weird creatures, summoning magic or anything of value? Can you tell how people will die and cheat death? Anything is accepted, its better than nothing. And if you don’t know then your best bet is your mind – be a good teammate and be quick witted.

At the end of the quest, you would earn some respect from the trio for completing it with them. Good thing you were able to keep up.

Percy would talk to you and ask you questions in general after the quests.

He would see you as one of the handful he can actually consult to, without feeling embarrassed that its too childish or stupid.

He would think you are cool, anyone who defeats monsters and can keep up with quests are someone he admires. He admires and trusts easily.

Butting heads and anything childish he can get over quickly and grow. At the end of the day he cares for you.

If you are burdened by responsibility as one of the big three, he will understand.

Though Percy is actually more quieter than people think – he doesn’t mind being talkative around you.

#ares #pjo #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson headcanons #pjo headcanons #Percy Jackson #Percy Jackson x Reader #Percy Jackson x reader #Percy Jackson x Reader Headcanons #pjo hc #a child of hades #Pjo x child of hades #Pjo x you #pjo x reader #pjo x gnreader #pjo x oc #greek mythology #percy jackson scenarios #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson characters #hades cabin #hades headcanon #son of hades #daughter of hades #kid of hades