#broken jagged little mirror au

[anonymous-dentist]

Bad Romance Chapter Four: Road

Chapter Summary:

Roier tells a story. Cell does the dishes.

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NEW CHAPTER NEW CHAPTER NEW CHAPTER

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Portuguese translations by @susie-dreemurr!! Thank you so much!!

[sixhours]

bright spots - chapter 19

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Teen Words: 3k Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel & Ellie, Joel Miller, Ellie Williams, Marlene, canon divergence, hospital AU, medical stuff, blood, hurt/comfort, angst, canon-typical violence, vomiting, implied rape/sexual assault, I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

Joel

Joel has had their exit route planned for months, but he doesn’t remember how he gets out of the city, doesn’t remember pulling the map out of his bag and spreading it over the passenger seat, doesn’t remember anything after the last bullet left his gun and found its target.

It becomes a reflex to check the rearview mirror every few minutes to confirm Ellie is still sleeping in the back seat, to slow down while he watches for the telltale rise and fall of her breath.

He’s been driving for half an hour before he’s confident enough that no one is following them to pull over and check on her. He leans over her prone form, hand to the pulse point on her neck, relieved to feel the steady thump-thump of her heart against his fingertips. He smooths back the wispy hair at her temple, half checking for a fever, half just to touch her, to remind himself that she’s real.

She’s safe. She’s alive. She’s here.

His broken watch face catches the light, glitters as he draws his hand over her hair. The scar just behind her left ear to the nape of her neck stands out, a pink-red gash against her pale skin, drawing his eye to the new area they shaved at the back. He frowns; they’d done a sloppy job, left jagged edges and a bald patch. It’s such a small thing, but the sight brings tears to his eyes.

It’s just hair. It’ll grow back.

In the haze of the adrenaline comedown, a cruel thought floats up and crystalizes, a brutal reminder of what they’re running from.

It was never meant to grow back.

The panic that failed to materialize during his run through the hospital suddenly hits him all at once, and he falls to his knees, the breath leaving his body in a rush like he’s been kicked in the stomach. He presses his forehead to the fabric seat and a cry that’s more scream than sob rips itself from his chest.

So close. So damned close.

His relief is the flood that bursts the dam. Relief that he won’t have to walk for miles carrying another little girl’s lifeless body, that he won’t have to dig a shallow grave in the middle of a south Texas field and lay her to rest, that his brother won’t have to drag him away from the plot of earth where his life might as well have ended, too.

Not this time.

He presses the crown of his head to hers, cups the back of her neck, and breaks.

It’s sometime later when a rustle off in the woods snaps him back to attention. Probably just an animal, the wind in the trees, but it’s enough to bring him to his feet.

One more kiss to the top of her head, then he returns to the driver’s seat and pulls away.

~*~

She begins to stir an hour later, hovering in that space between wakefulness and sleep. He watches in the rearview as she turns over, a soft whine from her throat as her eyes flutter open. When she comes to, he pulls the car over to the side of the road and parks, turning back in his seat.

“Easy. You’re alright. You’re with me.”

“...what–what happened?” she rasps, blinking, squinting into the light.

He’s had hours to come up with an explanation, but he doesn’t know what to say. She’s beginning to panic, eyes taking in the scene as he scrambles to think of an explanation that won’t just scare her more. He gets out of the car and immediately curses himself as a rush of cold air swirls in to take his place. She’s already shivering, whether from cold or shock or both, but winter is close and they've been spoiled by climate control. Hell, he’s not even wearing a jacket.

“W-why are we–what h-happened?” she tries again, teeth chattering, voice drawn taut with fear.

“Ellie, it’s alright–”

“W-where are we? Why–why aren’t we–”

“Shh, you’re okay,” he whispers, sliding into the back seat next to her. She goes to him reflexively, still blinking in confusion.

“It went bad,” he whispers. “But we got out, you’re safe, Ellie. You’re safe.”

“I d-don’t understand,” she whispers.

“They lied to us, baby. They lied to you. There’s no…there’s no cure.”

Well, there it is–the cold, hard truth.

She looks up at him, shaking her head. “No–no, I don’t–”

“They–they were gonna do surgery. They thought if they took the cordyceps out of your brain that they might be able to do somethin’ with it, but…it wasn’t a guarantee, and you weren’t gonna survive–”

“But M-Marlene said–she said they had it. We were g-going to go home, they were going to–”

Her voice rises a little more with each passing second, until the words are whistling and reedy, fat tears leaking from her eyes.

“I know, baby girl. I know. Shhh, I’ve got you.”

She sags into him and presses her face to his shoulder, breath coming in tight, panicked gasps.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into her hair. “I’m sorry.”

After a while she pulls away, red-eyed but calmer.

“Think I’m gonna be sick,” she whispers thickly. He opens the door and she leans over him, dry heaving into the grass as he rubs her back in careful circles; there’s nothing in her stomach, but the nausea doesn’t care.

“Cold,” she whimpers after, curling in on herself, knees tucked to her chest.

“Yeah, I had to get out fast. Didn’t have time to grab your stuff. We’ll find you some clothes on the way,” he murmurs, reaching forward into the passenger seat and digging around in his pack. He pulls out a flannel shirt, wrinkled but clean, and wraps it around her shoulders. “Here, put this on for now. Think I got socks, too.”

She doesn’t protest when he guides her arms into the sleeves, when he carefully rolls the socks onto her cold feet, or when he wraps another flannel shirt awkwardly around her bare legs.

“Hey,” he whispers, rubbing her arms to try to warm her. “We’re gonna get through this. I know it’s…it’s not what we planned, but…we’re gonna go back to Jackson and figure it out, alright?”

She swallows hard but doesn’t answer.

“You wanna come up front?” he tries. “Might help your stomach while we’re drivin’.”

She shakes her head, voice a croaky whisper. “Wanna lie down.”

“Okay. That’s…that’s alright. You can rest.”

She curls on her side then, tucked under as many clothes as he can find, and he gets back in the driver’s seat. 

“Probably be a day’s drive,” he says, glancing at her in the rearview as he pulls back onto the road. “Not sure how long this thing’ll last, don’t have much gas and we gotta take the long way. Don’t think they’ll come after us, but…”

He trails off. She’s rolled over in the seat, no longer facing him, sleeping…or pretending to. He swallows his words and returns his gaze to the long road ahead.

Ellie

They drive a winding route through the back roads of southern Wyoming. Joel says they’re going the long way around in the unlikely event the Fireflies are following them, but he’s acting way too fucking relaxed about it…which makes her wonder how many Fireflies are actually alive to follow.

She doesn’t remember much about what happened after they got to the operating room. They got her on the table and put a mask on her—she feels stupid now, she should have known something was wrong, because why would they need a mask if they were just gonna stick her with another needle? But she’d been too excited at the thought of finally being done, of going home, and the promise of a cure. She hadn’t fought back or asked questions, and then she woke up in the car. Everything in between is a scary black…nothing.

Her stomach sinks and cramps and she huddles deeper into the pile of clothes, trying to shut out her thoughts.

It’s almost dark by the time Joel parks in a random neighborhood in some crappy little town and they head out to scavenge. It’s familiar and not–something they haven’t done for months. She’s dressed in Joel’s spare clothes, but it’s still fucking cold. It gives her an excuse not to talk as they pick through the nearby houses looking for clothes and food, unable to do more than offer the occasional shrug in response to Joel’s questions. It’s like she’s woken up in a backwards dream; one minute she was in the hospital, now she’s digging through someone’s closet of mildewed junk looking for a stupid jacket. Even finding a can of Beefaroni doesn't boost her spirits; she picks at the food and goes to bed without eating most of it, the post-anesthesia nausea still turning her stomach.

She sleeps–or tries to sleep–in the back seat of the car, wrapped in freshly acquired clothes and blankets, but everything hurts and her mind is racing. Joel keeps watch, the sound of his pacing footsteps circling the area outside. Mostly she lays there and tries to make sense of the last few hours, teasing apart every second of her memory to see if she can pinpoint the moment it went wrong–what she did, or didn’t do, what she should have said, or not said. Sometimes Joel cracks the door open to check on her and she closes her eyes, pretending to be asleep.

In the morning, she climbs reluctantly into the passenger seat and slams the door. The night hours have given her time to think, time for a flickering anger at the edges of her consciousness to grow teeth and claws and embed itself in the forefront of her mind.

It’s so fucking unfair.

She was so stupid for believing the Fireflies, for trusting Marlene, for going along with Joel and Tess in the first place.

She was supposed to save the world, and now she’s just…a dumb kid with a bunch of scars and an immunity that’s fucking useless.

The car lurches to life with a groan that suggests it’s not going to last. Joel grimaces as the engine turns over roughly, and Ellie sees an orange light flashing on the dash. That can’t be good.

“Buckle up,” he mutters, ignoring the light. “Probably got another six hours.”

Ellie presses her head against the passenger-side window and doesn’t answer.

They’ve been driving for an hour or two when she finds her voice again, gravely from disuse.

“Did you kill them?”

She studies his face in the harsh morning light that streams through the windshield, every line and crease standing out in sharp relief. He looks so fucking old, so tired, his usual gruff demeanor masked by sorrow. She feels a pang of guilt. None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for her.

“I–Ellie, I–it was–”

He falters over his words the way he always does and anger flares inside her, a hot, vicious coal.

“Marlene?” she whispers then, turning her face away, trying to keep her voice level. She can’t  watch as he confirms her fears.

“She’s dead.”

“Why?”

“Because she was gonna kill you.”

“How do you know?”

“The nurse. She–she told me what was gonna happen. She said…she said they weren’t close at all. That’s why the tests stopped, that’s why…they had one more thing to try, but it meant an operation. You wouldn’t survive it. She was tellin’ the truth. I saw…I saw the scans, kiddo–”

“Don’t,” she hisses. “I’m not your fucking kid.”

A sharp intake of breath and her chest swells with elation, dark and twisting around her ribs. She’s hit a nerve.

“Marlene tried to dose me with somethin’ so I wouldn’t get in the way,” he whispers. “They were gonna kill us both.”

She swipes at her eyes with the sleeves of her coat, furious at the tears, furious at Marlene for giving her hope, furious at him for taking it away.

“So…that’s it then?” she murmurs thickly, still looking out the window. “No cure?”

“No,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.” 

She snorts. “Yeah, right.”

“Ellie–”

“You didn’t like her. You didn’t want me to–to–”

“That ain’t–”

“You didn’t care about a cure, you didn’t care about–about what I wanted,” she continues, the words tumbling out in a rush, volume rising. “You didn’t care–you just wanted–”

He’s pulled the car over by the time she wheels on him, spitting out the words like poison, reaching across the console to push at his chest.

“You never wanted this! You just wanted me to go back with you and play house with your stupid brother and–I’m not your kid! If you cared you would have let them–you would have let them–you never fucking cared, you never–”

She chokes on her words, throat claggy with tears. Joel is looking at her like she’s broken something in him. Good , she thinks. She hopes it fucking hurts, hope it tears him apart the way she’s being torn apart inside. She pushes him, shoves at him again, and again, and again, and he just sits there and takes it like an asshole.

Then he’s leaning forward and taking her chin in his fingers, eyes dark and shining and level with hers.

“The only thing I cared about was you,” he says tightly.

“You didn’t,” she spits, but the trembling of her chin gives her away.

“That ain’t true an’ you know it,” he says, low and firm. “I know you’re upset. You may not believe it, but…I care. You think I don’t wonder what it might have been like if Tess…if Tess was still here? Or that little boy? If a vaccine coulda saved them? ‘Course I think about it. ‘Course I want…want somethin’ better than this.

“But not…not at the cost of your life, kid. Ain’t a world worth livin’ in that doesn’t have you in it.”

She yanks herself back and pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them, tucking her head down until she’s curled into a little ball in the seat, shuddering. She feels his hand graze her shoulder, but she jerks away.

“I did what I had to,” he grits out. “To keep you safe. I’d have done the same if it were Tommy or Tess or…or Sarah.”

His voice cracks on her name and she feels the reverberation in her marrow.

“You’re family,” he whispers hoarsely. “So…I’m sorry it didn’t work out. But I ain’t sorry for what I did.”

~*~

Several tedious hours and many miles later, the silence in the car hangs heavy. Ellie spends most of the ride sleeping with her head on her knees, occasionally waking from strange dreams she can’t remember. The rest of the time she presses her forehead to the cool glass and stubbornly avoids talking to Joel.

Eventually the car gives a final shudder and a groan before it dies entirely, rolling to a slow stop at the bottom of a hill.

“Shit,” Joel mutters, smacking the steering wheel and turning the key in the ignition. The engine sputters but refuses to turn over. A quick check under the hood and then he comes back to her door, hands on his hips.

“Looks like we’re walkin’.”

She stays in the passenger seat as he goes to the back and begins gathering their few belongings, stuffing them into his bag. He comes around to her side again.

“Gonna need your coat.”

She unfolds herself from the seat, a slow, aching process, and reaches into the back to grab the blue puffy thing they found during their stopover, shrugging into it with stiff arms. Joel checks his holster, tightens his pack straps, then frowns as he pats his pockets.

“Oh…”

He pulls something out, and she recognizes her switchblade with a faint pang of hope. She figured she’d lost it for good, one more thing she couldn’t hold onto. He stares at the blade, turns it over in his hand thoughtfully.

“Marlene gave me this before she, uh…before everythin’.”

Still distant, lost in thought, he holds it out to her slowly. She moves to take it, but his grip on the metal hilt stays firm.

“S’a good knife. An’ I think…I think I know why your mama left it for you,” he says, slow and measured. “Think she knew you’d need to be able to fight…to defend yourself.”

He hesitantly slides his hand over hers, cradling it and the knife between his palms.

“Your mama wanted you to live. An’ I know what it’s like. To want… to want the best for your kid. I wanted…everything for…for…”

Ellie watches his Adam’s apple bob at his throat, feels the familiar calloused warmth of his hands around hers, smoothing the sharp edges of her anger.

Family , she thinks dully.

“I know it didn’t work out how you wanted. But…she’d be proud of you, Ellie,” he says, meeting her eyes. “Not…not because of the cure or…or what you’ve done. But because…you’re still here.”

Then nodding as if putting the matter to rest, he relinquishes the knife to her grip. She misses the contact almost immediately, but the blade has absorbed some of his warmth. It feels heavier than she remembers, solid and sure, and she clutches it to her chest like a talisman, one good thing plucked from the rubble.

But maybe not the only thing.

She looks up at Joel, fussing with something in his pack. Despite everything, he’s still here. 

He’d called her family.

“Alright, well,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair, squinting into the distance. “Let’s get goin’. Might beat the dark if we’re lucky.”

He doesn’t hide his surprise when she speaks, her voice rough from disuse.

“How far ‘til Jackson?”

“Oh, uh…maybe five hours or so.”

She stands and tucks her knife in her front pocket, forces a tight-lipped smile. “We can manage that. Remember?”

It’s a pitiful olive branch as peace offerings go, but his eyes go glassy, his answering smile slow and tender.

“Yeah, kiddo. We can manage that.”

[gardenoflupins]

Bodyswap AU / @wolfstarmicrofic / 798 words

[Remus’s Pov]

A broken moan leaves Sirius’s mouth.

He cannot see anything but he can feel the way his body burns. Every breath he takes sends an ache through him.

Sirius can feel the soothing balm of magic over his body and he forces one eye to open.

“It’ll be done in a minute dear,” a feminine voice says to him.

He groans again, relishing in the healing being done to his body.

What prank had he pulled to get him hurt like this? He wondered if James and Peter were nearby. Sirius sits upright, wincing as he does. A dark liquid is handed to him and he sniffs at the strong scent of chocolate coming from it.

“You’ve had a bad moon. What’s this about, Remus?”

Sirius blinks blearily at Madam Pomfrey while he drinks the delicious potion.

“Bad moon?” he asks.

Remus? He knows who Remus Lupin is. His eyes catch on the quiet boy often. He tells himself it’s because Remus is friends with James’s crush, Lily.

Sirius never directed a prank at Remus and even discouraged it when Peter suggested it. Remus was far too kind and undeserving for it.

“It’s that wretched boy, isn’t it?” she asks. “He’s on your mind.”

Sirius has no idea what she’s talking about. He looks down at his body and startles at the bloody gauze wrapped around him. His heart races as he takes in the jagged claw and bite marks and notices that his skin looks different, littered with freckles.

He brings his attention up his arm and to his shoulder where an old white scar sits.

Sirius had studied enough about dark creatures to know what that bite mark was. His mouth falls open in shock.

Had he been bit by a fucking werewolf?

He didn’t recall this at all.

Sirius rolls out of bed and crumples to the ground with a muffled sound. Madam Pomfrey starts scolding him but he picks up a small mirror on the side table and looks at himself.

For a moment, he looks confused at who he is looking at.

“Mr Lupin, please,” she huffs and gently tugs him by the elbow. In the back of his mind, he understands. But in his dizzy state he can only follow the healer back to bed and stare at the ceiling with his thoughts racing.

Absurdly, he thinks this is some dream. Or a peek into Remus’s memory. He also considers this being a prank but thinks James wouldn’t go this far.

“How’d I get here?” he rasps cautiously.

“I carried you from the shrieking shack. Drink this.”

His mind swirls but he accepts the drink. If this was real, how was he in Remus’s body? He was ignoring the fact he was a werewolf. Remus Lupin, a quiet rule follower, a werewolf.

Sirius laughs through his nose.

Of course he fucking was. Him and all his little secrets. An unassuming man tricking them all.

Sirius feels a bit stupid for not making the connection earlier. All those sick days, the way the professors didn’t care if he was late. Sirius had assumed it was because they adored him as a teacher's pet. Even now, the healer referred to Remus by his first name and knew about his condition.

Sleepily he wondered if Lily Evans knew.

His body and mind seem to shut down. His head was aching even with the second potion Madam Pomfrey had given him. It was still early in the morning, so he would let Remus’s body rest and heal. Later, he would get up and find out what was happening.

Images of Remus’s soft, doe-like brown eyes flashes through his mind. He thinks of the phrase, wolf in sheep's clothing. But Sirius couldn’t see him as anything other than the sheep even after knowing about his lycanthropy. Remus’s personality, at least, was real.

Bloody werewolf.

If he wanted to take a rain check from pain today, he could have just asked Sirius.

Sirius feels a sting of agitation as he realises that all the professors knew about his condition and let him bleed out in the shrieking shack every month.

Bloody adults.

With thoughts of Remus Lupin swirling in his mind, he let his mind drift off to sleep. For Remus’s sake.

When Sirius woke up hours later, he beelined for the dining hall. His eyes were locked on his usual spot where his friends were sitting and mucking around.

No matter what body, Remus was still Remus. He was scrunched up and biting his lip anxiously as he eyed Sirius’s friends as if they were the wolves.

Sirius rolled his eyes dramatically.

For someone who kept his condition secret from everyone, he was awful at pretending everything was fine.

Honestly, how hadn’t anyone figured it out sooner?

[arxims]

𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐂𝐊 ғɪᴠᴇ

Returning to Seoul was a decision that you finally ended up in , given that it was the place where you spent your past years. Leaving your messed up past behind, you made the conscious choice to return to Seoul in order to breathe new life into your existence. Little did you know that this decision would change your life. For the good or bad. As you reconnected with an old friend from your past, you were introduced to his younger brother, whose presence became far more significant in your life in a twisted way than you thought.

Pairing : jungkook x reader

genre/au : a lot of angst, smut, killer!Jungkook, non idol au, violence.

Warnings : graphic depiction of violence and gore, lots of blood, mentions of rape, smut, sexual activity, toxic Jungkook, red flag Jungkook, psychopathic behavior red flag behavior, mentally disturbed characters, suicide, murder, depictions of torture, serial killing, lots of trauma, depression, criminal behavior, murderous tenancies, possible major character death, mentions child abuse and child pornography, unprotected sex, cumming, teasing, commitment issues.

Rating : only suitable for mature readers

Word count : 7.7k

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

Previous // next

"FUCK THIS!!"

The outburst reverberated through the air, punctuated by the unmistakable sound of glass shattering into a thousand pieces. Taehyung, engrossed in cooking in the adjacent kitchen, abruptly abandoned his task and dashed towards Jungkook's bedroom.

"Kook, stop this," he implored urgently as he entered the room.

Jungkook, in a state of utter distress, was frantically tugging at his own hair with one hand, while the other was now marked by a deep, bleeding gash from the broken window pane. His actions of self-destruction mirrored the shattered glass surrounding him, reflecting the turmoil within his tortured soul.

"Kook, please, stop!" Taehyung repeated, his voice tinged with concern and compassion as he took in the scene before him.

Moving quickly, Taehyung took hold of Jungkook's injured arm to examine the severity of the wound. Jagged shards of glass had sliced through skin and muscle, causing blood to flow freely. "Stay here and don't move," he instructed softly but sternly, casting a sorrowful gaze upon his distraught friend.

Witnessing his brother in such a vulnerable, unhinged state stirred a deep ache within Taehyung's heart, amplifying the palpable sense of brokenness permeating the room. No matter what arrogant, selfish words Jungkook had thrown at you, dripping with denial and self-loathing, Jungkook knew he could not truly live without you by his side for even a second. You had become his entire world, whether he admitted it or not.

Taehyung tenderly dressed the wound, his gentle expression a stark contrast to Jungkook's stoic, shutdown expression that remained hauntingly unchanged despite the violent outburst. The room was consumed by a heavy, suffocating silence as Taehyung pondered why Jungkook seemed unable to accept the reality of the situation.

Despite his history of carelessly leaving a trail of one night stands in his wake, Jungkook now struggled to cope with the thought of one particular girl - you - willingly walking away from him. The one who had somehow, inexplicably, come to hold a special, coveted place in his heart. The only one who truly mattered to the man he had become.

After tending to the wound, Taehyung reached out and cupped Jungkook's cheeks, now streaked with glistening tear stains. It was a rare, soul-crushing sight to see the strong, unshakable Jungkook weeping openly. The sight of him shedding so many tears over you made Taehyung acutely aware of the depth of his pain and inner conflict.

"Kook, what she did was the right decision for her," Taehyung spoke softly, gently wiping away the tears with the pads of his thumbs. "She wanted a real family, something you once admitted you couldn't fully provide her with, no matter how much you cared for each other."

His eyes shone with a deep sadness as he studied his brother's anguished expression. "You have to let her find her own happiness now, Kook. Let her be with someone who can truly love her and share a lifetime together, the way you couldn't. It's the only way either of you can move on."

In that moment of raw vulnerability, Jungkook understood his hyung would always stand by his side, offering endless support and comfort through any challenges, no matter how far he fell. But even that realization could not dull the agonizing ache now gripping his heart.

"She's mine, hyung..." he rasped, voice cracked and weighted by despair. "I can't just stand by and watch her loving someone else, allowing another man to touch her and share her life. She loves me...she's obsessed with me, just like I am with her. I can't let her go, I can't..."

The denial and desperation were palpable as the first fragile cracks began shattering the deluded mindset Jungkook had constructed around your relationship and his toxic, possessive hold over you. Try as he might, he could no longer ignore the simple truth - that losing you meant losing a part of himself he could never regain.

And that truth terrified him to his very core.

“I need her, Hyung. Or I might die”

"It's been a long time, huh?"

Mingyu greeted you with a warm smile as he took a seat across from you at the small café table. Although you tried, it was difficult to return his friendly gesture with the same enthusiasm. This date wasn't really something you were excited about, but you felt like you needed it anyway.

He took a sip of his wine and as you asked, "How was your time in England?" This was the first you'd seen Mingyu since he had gone to study overseas. You thought he had settled there permanently, but he had crossed the ocean and come back, just for you. "It was a really good experience," he replied about his studies abroad.

After a pause, Mingyu seemed to notice your subdued expression and lack of energy. "What's wrong? Are you not feeling well? You don't look so good..." He leaned in with concern evident in his voice. He had good reason to worry - you looked like you had just crawled out of a grave.

"I'm fine. It's just...nothing," you said, trying to brush off his concern.

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing that something was bothering you. "We can reschedule the date if you need to rest," he offered considerately. Unlike Jungkook, Mingyu was always polite and put others' needs before his own. He truly valued relationships and cultivating love.

"I know...you're still hung up on Jungkook, aren't you?" Mingyu stated knowingly.

Your eyes widened in surprise at the mention of Jungkook's name. "How do you know about him?"

Mingyu gave you a sympathetic look. "Jennie told me everything about your past with him. Look, I don't care about any of that. You know your past doesn't define who you are..."

You cut him off, raising a finger. "I know, I know what you're going to say."

"What I'm saying is, I fully accept your past involvement with him," Mingyu continued earnestly. "If you could just try to move on from him...I'll be here to help you through it every step of the way. Remember when we were little kids? You said you would marry me one day."

He leaned closer, his hand reaching to gently take yours resting on the table. The soft candlelight made his features look warm and inviting, but your heart wouldn't let you appreciate their beauty.

A wave of nostalgia washed over you, memories of times when everything had been so simple and perfect in your youthful innocence. Before Jungkook...before the chaos and turmoil.

"You might have said it playfully back then," Mingyu said with a slight chuckle. "But a part of you has held onto the idea of us all this time, hasn't it?" He pointed to his chest. "I won't push you to move on right away before you're ready. But one day, when your mind is free from him...would you consider giving me a real chance? Giving us a chance?"

His hand finally took yours, holding it gently as if it were made of delicate glass. You were stunned into silence, your mind wanting to embrace the future Mingyu offered while your stubborn heart still desperately clung to its hold as 'Jungkook's girl.'

"I...I..." You struggled to find the words, unable to voice aloud the tangled knot of emotions inside you.

"Oh, don't rush yourself," Mingyu said soothingly, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. "We have all the time in the world ahead of us. Just think about the possibility of me, of us. We can spend more time together and rebuild our bond first. We'll only take that step into marriage after that, when you're absolutely sure."

He entwined his fingers with yours in a tender gesture of loving affection. You could feel the warmth and care he was pouring into the simple act, but you couldn't fully embrace and enjoy it due to the storm of doubts swirling in your mind. What if you eventually could let yourself move on with Mingyu? You knew you were giving him a glimmer of hope by not rejecting his suggestion outright. But you were also sure you likely wouldn't end up marrying Jungkook and living happily ever after...a reassuring thought amidst the turmoil. And you wanted, more than anything, to be capable of loving Mingyu far more than you still loved Jungkook.

"Really now, my temptress?"

Your eyes went saucer-wide as you suddenly found yourself staring at Jeon Jungkook himself, seated across from you in Mingyu's place. How was this possible?

"You're just going to rip me out of your heart and replace me? You seriously think that's possible?" He let out a sinister chuckle that felt like oppressive storm clouds surrounding you, heavy with the threat of a dark downpour.

His thumb traced over your lower lip in a practiced seductive gesture. "Oh my wildcat. You're mine. Forever and always. Get that through your naive little head before I have to fuck you back to your senses." His voice dropped to a possessive growl. "You're bound to me eternally, my beautiful temptress."

A sheen of cold sweat broke out on your forehead as you fought against the magnetic pull he still held over you, the burning desire to throw yourself into his arms and embrace his intoxicating warmth, even though you knew it would only end up scorching you once again. 'Stop...please,' you pleaded internally, but his seductive voice, sweet like poisoned honey, matched his tempting nature all too well.

You squeezed your eyes shut, gripping your pounding head in anguish and confusion as shards of sharp pain stabbed through your mind, your ears ringing loudly. Jungkook's disembodied voice echoed endlessly, chanting your name, only making the cyclone of tumultuous feelings churn wilder. Suddenly, mercifully, it all stopped - the voices, the pain, everything.

"(Y/N)?" A deeply concerned voice penetrated the silence.

You looked up from your trembling hands to see Mingyu gazing at you with worried eyes once more. "What happened? Oh god, you're drenched in sweat." He quickly grabbed a napkin and gently dabbed at your brow, brushing away the beads of perspiration. "Did you hear what I said?" His touch was feather-light as he wiped your forehead with such tender care and concern.

Swallowing hard against the lump that had formed in your throat when the haunting specter of Jungkook had appeared before you, taunting you with his presence even now, you struggled to push aside the experience as just another cruel trick of your mind making your lingering desires for him even worse to bear. You cleared your throat, putting on a facade of nonchalance as you decided to act like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

"Yeah, I'm fine. What were you saying again?" you lied, your expression carefully composed into a mask of calmness despite the storm still raging within.

Mingyu seemed to accept your deflection, though his eyebrows knit together skeptically for a brief moment before smoothing out. "I was just asking if you want to keep going out on dates together like this. It's okay if you don't feel ready," he said gently, his voice warm and patient as he crumpled the used napkin.

It was time for you to make a firm decision and start truly turning the page on this chaotic chapter of your life, leaving Jungkook and the turmoil he represented behind you once and for all. Taking a steadying breath, you opened yourself up to embracing this potential fresh start that Mingyu offered so freely.

"I...think it's better if we do try keeping our dates going," you replied, finally voicing aloud the step you knew you needed to take, even if it still felt immensely difficult. A tentative smile found its way to your lips, this one genuine. "I'm ready to move forward.”

"I want him to feel immense, heart-shattering pain,"

Seojoon hissed venomously. Standing before his desk was Kim Namjoon, one of the most formidable hitmen in the criminal underworld and Seojoon's trusted ally. "Take whatever you need. He should suffer tremendously. He must pay for what he did to my brother Hajoon, and then some."

Namjoon's expression was cold and stony, devoid of any emotion or mercy. It was his trademark - no feelings, no compassion. His name alone struck fear into anyone who heard it. And his voice...you were as good as dead.

"It will be done," Namjoon replied, his tone as frigid as his gaze. "Have I ever failed to deliver the anguish you seek?"

Seojoon shook his head. "Never. That's why you're the only one I trust with a job this personal."

"Personal is meaningless to me. It's just business," Namjoon stated impassively. "But I will ensure he suffers as you wish, more than he can possibly imagine."

Clenching his fists, Seojoon's eyes burned with hatred. "That sniveling worm dared to lay hands on my own flesh and blood. He needs to pay the ultimate price."

Namjoon remained unmoved. "Death is too good for those who cross you. Suffering, prolonged anguish, that is the real punishment."

"Exactly," Seojoon said with agreedy nod. "I want him completely and utterly broken before the end. I want to see the light leave his eyes as hopelessness consumes him."

"Consider it done," Namjoon stated coolly. "I will make his torture an exquisite art form."

Seojoon seemed satisfied by this. "I know you will. Money is no object, you know that. I want you to go all out on this."

"I don't need your money," Namjoon rebuffed. "Fear and respect are all the payment I require."

"And you have more than earned both," Seojoon assured him with a wave of his hand. "Which is why I'm giving you carte blanche on this matter."

A faint, sinister smile played across Namjoon's lips. "Then prepare yourself to witness suffering like no other."

Seojoon leaned back, mirroring the smile. "I can't wait. And once you're done, that insect won't be the only one suffering..."

Namjoon gave a subtle nod. "As you wish. What's my actual role?"

"Oh, your part is finishing the little victim. My men will do the abduction and you'll do the slow, torture part. You'll get the opportunity. Soon," Seojoon stated vaguely. "My men are tracking Jungkook's every move. He has no idea the world of pain that awaits him."

"Good," Namjoon said flatly. "The element of surprise will make his despair that much sweeter."

An amused chuckle rumbled from Seojoon's throat. "You're a twisted one, my friend. No wonder they call you the Rap Monster."

Namjoon didn't react to the moniker. "It's an apt name. I am a monster, one who can spit lyrical venom just as effortlessly as I can make a man beg for death's embrace."

"Your reputation precedes you," Seojoon acknowledged. "Which is why despite our history, I wouldn't dream of crossing you myself."

A faint smirk ghosted across Namjoon's lips at the thinly veiled compliment. "Smart man. You know better than to make an enemy of me."

Namjoon's origins traced back to being a victim of a brutal child abduction when he was only five years old, torn from his family of parents and a six-month-old brother. His family was found dead by suicide, the baby the sole survivor.

As for Namjoon, he had to endure vicious abuse just to live another day in captivity. Sold from captor to captor, he eventually found his salvation by murdering his "owner." After that, he discovered his twin passions - becoming an underground rapper nicknamed "Rap Monster," and finding money, pleasure and pride in killing, earning him an eerie reputation in the underworld. Rap Monster - it defined him perfectly. A literal monster who could rap.

"He'll suffer, Seojoon. I'll make sure you witness it - him agonizing, lamenting, regretting the day he laid a finger on your brother. I'll let you see it with your own eyes," Namjoon stated with conviction.

Seojoon slid a blank check across the desk toward Namjoon. "I trust you, friend. Do whatever it takes."

But money meant nothing to Namjoon. He cared only about his reputation, about the fear that coursed through others' veins at the mere mention of his name. That's what he craved. "Who is the target?" he asked flatly, glancing up from the check.

"You'll find out when the time comes for action," Seojoon replied enigmatically. "Until then..." A cruel smile stretched across his lips. "Let Jungkook have his...happiness. So we can take that 'happiness' away."

Namjoon didn't need to know the details yet. The name and face of his next target were irrelevant until it was time to strike. All that mattered was that another soul was about to be extinguished by his hands.

"Very well," he said, pushing the blank check back across the desk, untouched. "Just give the order when you're ready. You know how to reach me."

As Namjoon turned to depart, Seojoon called after him. "One more thing..."

The hitman paused, glancing back impassively.

“Be careful. Jungkook is not your average guy,. Make it slow with the target" Seojoon instructed "This mission is important to Give him a lifetime of suffering crammed into his life."

The barest hint of a sadistic smile played across Namjoon's lips once more. "It will be my cruelest masterpiece yet."

With that, he turned and strode from the room, his mind already racing with the most artfully sadistic ways to carry out Seojoon's brutal request. His client would get to remember forever.

‘ Oh Jungkook. Find your happiness soon before I take it away’

"So the kitten started testing my limits, huh?" Jungkook spat out angrily, hissing like a wild animal. "YOU NEVER LEARN, DO YOU?"

He slammed a vase to the floor in a fit of rage, shattering it into pieces that scattered across the hardwood. Stomping towards the stairs, Jungkook headed straight for the main door, intent on leaving, before Taehyung quickly stepped into his path.

"Where are you going in this unhinged state?" Taehyung asked, his expression a mixture of worry and fear. Day by day, he could see Jungkook losing his grip on sanity more and more.

"To kill whoever is trying to take what's mine - my (Y/N)!" Jungkook's teeth were gritted, his eyes reddened by the fury burning in his chest like an uncontrolled wildfire.

Taehyung felt his own anger flare at Jungkook's obsessive possessiveness over you. "Are you insane, Kook? She's not some object for you to own! You're not going anywhere near her or this Mingyu guy. Let her live her own life instead of destroying it with your deranged jealousy!"

Yes, you had told Taehyung about Mingyu. But he wondered who the traitorous snake was that leaked this information to Jungkook. Hoseok - that little spy had to be the one.

"Step aside, hyung," Jungkook warned through gritted teeth, clinging to his last thread of rationality. "This is between me and my kitten. Don't make me go through you."

"No, it's not just between you two anymore," Taehyung stated firmly, planting himself like an immovable object blocking Jungkook's path. "I'm the reason you met her. I'm the reason she's miserable now because of your unhinged behavior. And it's my duty to protect her from the monster you've become. So I'm telling you - step back and get a grip before you do something even worse!"

Jungkook's eyes widened in disbelief at his hyung's resistance and harsh words. The monster inside him raged and clawed to be unleashed. "YOU DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!"

In the next moment, Taehyung's palm met Jungkook's cheek with a harsh, stinging slap that jerked Jungkook's head violently to the side. His hyung...had just struck him across the face. Hot, shameful tears spilled from Jungkook's eyes as he recoiled from the blow, clutching his throbbing cheek. But the ache in his heart hurt a million times worse than the lingering sting on his skin. His hyung, who had never harmed him even with words or harsh looks before, had just hit him.

The slap seemed to momentarily shock Jungkook out of his unhinged fury. He looked at Taehyung with a mix of hurt, anger, and dawning realization at how far he had fallen. This wasn't him...this obsessive, violent persona was a twisted, warped version of himself that he could scarcely recognize anymore.

Seeing Jungkook's tear-streaked face, guilt bloomed in Taehyung's heart at having to resort to physical force against his brother . But he tried to shrug it off. Because he knew, deep down, that he had done the right thing to hopefully shake some sense into Jungkook before he did something unforgivable and ruined multiple lives forever.

"You're not the same person I once knew and cared about," Taehyung said, his voice catching with a hint of mournful regret. "This deranged, possessive behavior...it's like you're a complete stranger."

Jungkook flinched as if those words cut deeper than the slap. His shoulders slumped as the weight of his hyung's words crushed what little remained of his raging anger into a simmering resentment and shame.

"I never wanted this..." Jungkook muttered, more to himself than Taehyung. He stared unseeingly at the shattered remains of the vase on the floor, feeling just as broken inside. "I never wanted to become this..She's making me go crazy, Hyung."

How had things spiraled so disastrously out of control? When had his unrelenting need to possess you completely smothered all reason, logic and his own core values? Jungkook's mental haze began to clear just enough for him to recognize how monstrous his behavior had truly become.

But it was already too late, wasn't it? He had pushed away the very person who had always looked out for his best interests, all for the obsessive desire to make you his - no matter how much he had to break you in the process.

"You made me do this," Taehyung said softly, glancing down at his own stinging hand before meeting Jungkook's eyes again. "I didn't want to...but you left me no choice."

With those words hanging heavy in the air, Taehyung brushed past the devastated Jungkook and stormed off, leaving his baby brother to wrestle with the consequences he had brought upon himself through his twisted obsession.

“ Hyung just slapped me”

Everything felt unbearably heavy - the bed, your head, your heart. 'Am I doing the right thing? Did I make the right choice leaving him behind? Or am I just causing trouble for Mingyu?'

You wrestled with the doubts and regrets that had been plaguing you constantly since walking away from Jungkook. 'I don't want to hurt Mingyu. I won't hurt him. I won't let my troubled state over my lost love affect him.'

Despite your inner turmoil, you knew you still loved Jungkook fiercely. 'I freaking love him. God...I love him. Why can't I let him go? He's probably doing just fine without me, maybe even sleeping with some girl.' Your heart clenched painfully at the thought. 'Why can't I move on? Why can't I replace him with Mingyu?'

You berated yourself for the questions. You had made your decision, as agonizing as it was, to escape the toxic cycle with Jungkook. 'I want to listen to my parents for once, do what pleases them. But I can't bear to hurt Mingyu's kind soul in the process.'

Your swirling thoughts made tears spill down your cheeks yet again. You had cried more these past few weeks than your whole life combined after leaving Jungkook behind.

A knock at the door pulled you from your reverie. You quickly sat up, wiping the tear streaks and trying to compose yourself before opening it.

"Dad. What is it?" You mustered up a faint smile.

"Mingyu is here to see you," your father replied. "Should I tell him to come up or would you prefer to meet him elsewhere?"

Already an emotional wreck, you shook your head. "It's fine, have him come up. I'm...not feeling up to going out right now."

Your father's concerned look told you he recognized your fragile state, but he simply nodded before departing.

Mingyu entered moments later, sharply dressed as always. He carefully took a seat beside you, eyes studying your face.

"Talk to me, (Y/N). I can see something is weighing you down," he said softly. "I miss your smile, your cheerful spirit...when will I get my bright girl back?"

You felt your eyes well up again at his tender words. "I'm still me, Mingyu. I just...I need some more time."

"I know, my love. And I'm here for you every step of the way. I'll be whatever you need me to be - a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen, or a quiet supportive presence."

He reached out, cradling your face in his warm palms. His thumbs gently brushed away the fresh tears spilling over.

"Don't think for a second that I'll judge you. I could never," he murmured. "No matter how troubled your past is or what demons you're battling from your relationship with...him. I accept all of you. Because I love you deeply, (Y/N)."

A sob escaped your lips at his loving declaration. This was why you had to try to move forward, to fight for this kind, devoted man.

"I want to let my past go. I want to let him go," you forced out in a trembling whisper. "But it's...not that simple. He still has a hold over my heart that I can't seem to break."

Mingyu pulled you into his reassuring embrace, stroking your hair soothingly.

"We'll get through this together, step-by-step. Have patience and be kind to yourself. One day, you'll be able to look at me and only see me. I'll be here, cherishing you always."

As you relaxed into his arms, his figure briefly morphed into your lost love's familiar form, smiling tenderly. You blinked and it was Mingyu again, but you couldn't shake the feeling that a piece of your heart would eternally belong to Jungkook, despite your choice to leave.

As Mingyu's arms enveloped you, offering solace, your mind began slipping into the familiar fantasy of your Jungkook holding you. You closed your eyes and surrendered to it, letting the intoxicating vision consume your senses.

I'm a process, you slowly leaned in, sharing your first kiss with Mingyu. But for you, it was your familiar kiss with your love, Jungkook.

His phantom hands trailed over your body in a lover's caress, igniting smoldering sparks wherever they roamed. You could almost feel the warmth of his breath fanning across your neck as spectral lips brushed along your skin reverently. His gravelly voice seemed to whisper ardent endearments into your ear, making your heart swell achingly.

"I need you so much," you whimpered, momentarily forgetting this was just an illusion.

"I'm here and I'm yours. Always," his silken tones promised as you imagined his mouth trailing lower, worshiping every inch of you with adoring kisses.

You arched into the phantom caresses, drowning in the depth of sensations only Jungkook had ever mastered evoking. Rational thought and your surroundings faded away as you entirely surrendered to the erotic fantasy.

When Jungkook's hands and mouth found their way between your thighs, your mind transcended into a world of blissful oblivion. For those heated moments, it truly felt like your lost love reclaiming you, possessing you utterly as only he ever could. You cried out shamelessly, back arching off the bed as relentless waves of indescribable ecstasy consumed you.

"Mine!" A moan ripped from your lips in a guttural moan as you shattered apart, spinning uncontrollably through the throes of rapture. "Always...yours..."

Long, hazy moments passed before you slowly drifted back to reality, boneless and spent in Mingyu's arms. Your harsh, ragged breaths slowly evened out, cheeks flushed and skin beaded with a sheen of sweat. You curled against Mingyu's chest, bestowing tender, adoring kisses across his skin.

"I love you," you murmured groggily, still half-trapped in your fantasy of making love to Jungkook . "Always and forever, my love..."

Mingyu cradled you close, stroking your disheveled hair as he swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. It gutted him to hear you profess eternal love for the man who had ruined you, the man you had courageously walked away from. But he would weather this storm just as he had every other, with infinite patience and compassion.

This was merely another hurdle to overcome on your path to healing, to letting Jungkook fully go. He pressed the softest, most reverent kiss to your brow.

"And I love you, my beautiful angel," he whispered fervently. "More than you can ever comprehend or imagine. I will cherish you until my last dying breath, shower you with adoration to slowly wash away his stain on your heart."

You were already dozing off, physically and emotionally spent. But somewhere in your drifting subconscious, you registered Mingyu's loving promise. Perhaps someday soon, you could open your eyes and only see him - your caring, devoted soulmate who had picked up the shattered pieces to put you back together again.

For as much as part of you still stubbornly, masochistically clung to the memory of your Jungkook's intoxicating passion...you knew Mingyu's endless well of pure, uplifting love was what you needed to be reborn. And inwardly, you vowed to stop resisting and start embracing that love without reservation. One step at a time.

"Don't hit it like that, bro. You got some kinda fucked up grudge against that punching bag or what?"

Hoseok's words barely registered as he watched Jungkook absolutely manhandling the heavy bag. Sweat poured down the younger man's face and sculpted torso, glistening in the low light of the dingy gym. Each bone-jarring impact made the chains suspending the bag groan from the sheer force behind Jungkook's strikes.

With a feral grunt of exertion, Jungkook transitioned into a blistering combination - jab, cross, hook, uppercut - over and over again without relenting. The bag's worn material started fraying more with each punishing blow.

Jungkook didn't even spare a glance at Hoseok lounging in the corner, the tattooed man's lean frame splayed lazily in a battered armchair. He just kept wailing on the bag with unbridled fury, knuckles growing redder and more abraded until they started weeping beads of crimson.

"Yo, what's eating you, man?" Hoseok tried again, swigging from his beer can. "Spit it out already."

He punctuated his words by crumpling the empty aluminum noisily and tossing it aside in a careless arc. Tilting his head back, Hoseok took up a posture of indifferent ease - legs kicked out wide, one arm draped over the chair's torn upholstery.

"She's. Fucking. Engaged!"

Each word was a savage utterance torn from Jungkook's throat and emphasized by a blow powerful enough to make the heavy bag jump violently on its chain mounts. Finally, with one last devastatingly vicious punch, the aged material simply exploded in a plume of sand as the bag's seams ruptured apart.

Jungkook staggered back a step, chest heaving like winded bull's from the exertion. His knuckles were split open and trickling rivulets of blood down his forearms now.

Hoseok's brows hiked upwards as he cracked open another beer with a hiss of escaping carbonation. "Whoa, (Y/N)? Thought she was just a fling or something to scratch an itch." He shook his head in disbelief. "Never figured you for the type to get this bent outta shape over a girl, Kook."

With a snarl of incoherent rage, Jungkook turned and delivered a visceral kick to the shredded bag's remnants, sending a plume of dust and sand exploding outwards. Not even pausing, he pivoted and brutally wrenched a fresh heavy bag off the wall mounts, instantly resuming his unrelenting assault.

"Get bent outta shape?" he spat out between impacts that made the chains quiver and groan dangerously. "She's fucking annihilating me from the inside! Ripping me into pieces!"

The new bag jumped and swung violently with the force of his blows, stuffing already beginning to leak from split seams. Sweat flew from Jungkook's face and hair with each untamed, full-body rotation into his strikes.

"And I swear on my life, the scumbag piece of shit who had the audacity to put a ring on her finger is going to suffer an agonizing death!"

Hoseok gave a low whistle at the crazed look blazing in Jungkook's eyes, like that of a rabid dog foaming at the mouth. "Easy, bro...you're gonna break your damn hands before too long. Pretty sure your knuckles are already hamburger meat." He nodded towards the smears of red now streaking the new bag in macabre patterns.

But Jungkook was well past listening or caring about any pain. A switch had been flipped, unleashing the savage beast within that lived for blood and violence.

"I can't just sit idly by while another man dares to stake his claim on what's mine!" he roared, each word punctuated by a blow that made the entire heavy bag rig shudder violently. "Not while there's still air in my lungs!"

His breathing quickly turned feral, harsh growls and snarls ripping from his throat in time with the frenzied combinations he battered the bag's bulging surface. Sweat flew in arcing streamers with every pivot and twist of his body.

"Well...shit, bro," Hoseok finally spoke up again, pausing to take a long pull from his beer. "Why don't you just put a bullet in the bastard then and get your fucking girl back?"

He shrugged nonchalantly, as if idly discussing directions rather than a brutal murder.

Jungkook's only response was a guttural roar of fury, launching into a blinding flurry of strikes that split the second bag wide open, spraying them both with a plume of dust and sand. Chest heaving, nostrils flaring, he staggered back from the wreckage, hands clenched into fists so tightly the knuckles went white.

"I can't," he gritted out through bared teeth after dragging air back into his lungs. "Taking him out directly will only make this whole fucked situation even worse. Trust me...if I could, he'd already be rotting six feet under."

"Fair point," Hoseok acknowledged with a somber nod. "Then I guess it's time to pull out the old mind games, yeah? Work that psychological mastery of yours, really fuck with the guy before you finish him."

A cruel smirk slowly twisted Jungkook's bloodied lips at those words. He started nodding slowly, heavily, some of the frenzied gleam fading from his eyes.

"Been trying, but she's not letting me in," he finally rasped out, voice hoarse and shredded from his exertions. "That fiery little wildcat has been shutting me out completely. I've tried every fucking way to reach"

The corner of his smirk twitched downwards, anger rekindling in his obsidian gaze. His split knuckles ached with every clench and release.

"I can't keep doing this," he snarled, body visibly trembling like a man haunted. "I need her in my arms again. I need to feel her, taste her, breathe her in until I'm drowned in her essence! Fuck!" He whirled away, venting his frustrations with a few more punishing kicks to the bag's obliterated remains.

When he finally turned back, there was a look in Jungkook's eyes that made the hair prickle on the back of Hoseok's neck - a dark, smoldering, feral hunger behind those depthless pools.

"Damn, looks like that little kitten's got you by the balls, dude," he remarked, unable to keep a note of unease from his tone. "She's burrowed herself a nice little permanent den inside that head of yours, hasn't she?"

But Jungkook didn't respond to his friend's words, seeming not to even register them. Instead, a slow, sinister smile began curving those battered lips in a taunting sneer that made Hoseok's stomach churn unpleasantly.

Jungkook stalked forward with a predator's casual, rolling gait until he was looming over the seated man. Hoseok instinctively shrank back as Jungkook leaned down, the younger man's proximity forcing him to hold his breath against the thick, cloying reek of sweat and blood.

"Guess I'll just have to go pay my little wildcat a visit then," Jungkook purred in a sultry tone gone unmistakably unhinged. His twisted smile stretched wider, sending a fresh trickle of perspiration itching down Hoseok's spine.

"Yeah...that sounds like a good time. Teach her who her real daddy is so she'll stop forgetting her place."

The vicious, vindictive promise lacing Jungkook's words left no ambiguity about the sinister intent behind his "visit." Despite the scorching summer heat outside, Hoseok felt a chill go lancing through his core.

"Fuck," was all he could croak out, head spinning and stomach churning sickly. "Just...don't lose yourself in the game, Kook. Don't become the very monster you're trying to destroy."

But the hollow, mocking chuckle Jungkook gave while straightening back to his full height told Hoseok everything he needed to know - it was already far, far too late for that.

It had been an exhausting day, yet filled with joyous celebration as the Kim and Ahn families officially united through your engagement to Mingyu. After an extended family dinner, you were utterly drained to the bone as you finally retired to your room.

Mingyu had been your unwavering rock of support through all the turmoil and upheaval. His steady presence and unconditional love were major factors in helping you slowly regain your genuine smile in recent times. You have been able to find authentic moments of happiness and lightness more frequently these days.

However, as you entered your room and flipped on the lights, your eyes landed on a tall, imposing figure standing in the shadows across the space. It was Jungkook, the man you had walked away from, appearing like a specter of your past.

Before you could react, he closed the distance in several long strides and firmly captured your lips in a searing kiss that stole your breath away. As he finally broke away, his voice dripped with unrestrained hunger and longing.

"Fuck. How much I've missed this…”

“Stop!” You pushed him away.”You should not be here, and how did you get here?” You were partially frightened at the thought of you giving yourself to him in a vulnerable moment.” You don't give me orders. And climbing up is nothing”

Your heart pounded rapidly as Jungkook advanced on you, the man you had walked away from invading your space so brazenly. Despite your best efforts to move on, he still stroked those familiar flames of desire low in your belly just with his presence alone.

"Jungkook, please...you need to leave," you managed in a tremulous voice, mustering every ounce of willpower. "I'm engaged to Mingyu now. We're starting a new life together."

You held up your hand, letting the glittering diamond on your ring finger catch the light - a reminder of your commitment. But Jungkook merely scoffed at the symbolic gesture, his obsidian eyes blazing with possession and hunger.

"Some shiny rock doesn't change a damn thing," he growled lowly, backing you up against the wall. "You'll always be mine, kitten. No matter who tries to tame you."

His mouth crashed over yours in a searing, demanding kiss that obliterated your protests. You whimpered against his lips, equal parts arousal and shame coursing through you as your treacherous body instinctively arched into his solid frame. This man had utterly ruined you, branding his ownership on your very soul.

Somehow you managed to tear your mouth free, chest heaving. "Jungkook, stop! I can't...I won't do this anymore. You need to respect my engagement!"

For a long moment, he simply stared at you with that predatory, smoldering gaze that always made you weak in the knees. Then, uncannily tuned into your body's reactions, his fingers deftly found the zipper at the back of your dress. You gasped as he slowly inched it downwards.

"You think so, baby?" His voice had dropped an octave, dripping with dark, melted chocolate promise. "Your greedy little pussy says otherwise. I know the truth..."

With one deft tug, the dress parted and slipped off your shoulders in a whispering caress, pooling shamelessly at your feet. You shivered at the feeling of his heated gaze raking over your exposed figure, stoking your arousal to fever pitch despite your desperation to resist. Jungkook pressed even closer, allowing you to feel every rigid inch of him straining against the confines of his pants.

"The ring means nothing," he murmured in a low, graveled purr against the sensitive curve of your neck. "This leaking little cunt is what proves you're still mine."

Your breath hitched at the wicked caress of his tongue laving over your thundering pulse point. The cruel, possessive truth in his words made your thighs clench with undeniable need. As much as you had tried to fight it, Jungkook's hold over you was inescapable...at least for tonight.

"Please..." you finally whimpered in a broken tone of bittersweet surrender. "Just… Go…” for which Jungkook didn't respond

“Please, Jungkook..." You tried to muster firmness in your voice, despite your body's visceral reaction to his intoxicating proximity. "You need to go. This isn't right."

You shakily bent down to retrieve your fallen dress, using the motion to put some space between your traitorous form and his. Wrapping the garment protectively around yourself, you lifted your chin to meet his smoldering gaze steadily.

"I meant what I said. I'm engaged to Mingyu now. We're building a life together - a healthy, loving life. This...this toxic, obsessive bond you and I have, it can't continue. It will only destroy me utterly in the end."

Jungkook's full lips twisted into a mocking sneer at your words. "Don't lie to yourself, kitten. You'll never be free of me, of what we have. No matter what pretty little prison you try to build."

He took a purposeful step forward, his intense presence overwhelming. You held your ground, struggling not to crumple beneath the weight of his stare and the cyclone of roiling desire and dread it awoke.

"Maybe not," you admitted in a small voice. "Maybe some insane, masochistic part of me will always burn for you, for the way you make me feel so alive yet so utterly destroyed."

A fleeting look of surprised respect flickered across Jungkook's harsh features at your moment of brutal self-awareness. His eyes searched yours intently for a long moment before he gave a curt nod.

"Good. At least you're being honest with yourself finally." His tone held a strange gentleness. "Keep clawing for that light, kitten. As twisted as our bond is, I don't ever want to see it snuff out that beautiful fire inside you."

Then, as abruptly as he'd appeared, Jungkook turned on his heel and headed for the doors, leaving you to stare after him with bewildered tears pricking your eyes. Just when you thought you had him figured out, he showed you glimpses of something deeper, more complex behind that shattered, obsessive exterior.

Still, you could only pray this was the last time he tried to pull you back into the darkness with him. Your priority now was fostering the new, tender roots you had started putting down with Mingyu. No matter how violently the flames for Jungkook still scorched you at times, you had to strangle them out.

It was the only way to survive and finally blossom into the woman you desperately wanted - and needed - to become.

As Jungkook reached the apartment, he didn't forget to notice the eerie feeling he had at the back of his neck. Like something isn't right. Reaching the doorknob, he noticed it was already open, but the lights were off. ‘Hyung forgot to lock the door?? No he's not that careless’. Something felt unsettling in his stomach as he gently pushed open the door. No sign of anyone.

“Hyung?” He called into the darkness, his words wet with nothingness. “HYUNGG!”He raised his voice. ‘What the hell’. He turned on the lights to see.. Blood. Smeared on the pristine tiles? “HYUNG” panic rushed into his veins as he ran to every room, trying to find him. What if he's lying injured somewhere. He searched every corner. No sign of Taehyung.

“Oh no. Please no no no no.. He's innocent.. Please” He hopelessly kneeled on the bloody floor, tears rolled down his cheek as he had no idea how to overcome the pain in his chest and this increasing worry wondering if Taehyung is okay or where the hell he is. In dire need of help, Jungkook's mind reminded him of that one name. The one who could help. He quickly reached his phone, his chest panting and voice broken as a frantic sob left his lips. The person on the other side picked up.

“Yoongi,Hyung is missing”

Reposting 😪

ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ : @looneybleus @ttanniett @jjk174 @jksusawife

[ambyandony]

Illuso monster au concept sketch (very very sketch quality)

Illuso (probably his first name but idk his last)

mirror ghost

presumably dead human - definitely dead (thats most ghosts most ghosts are dead. non-dead ghosts are classed under spirits) i've established that he's dead

COD unknown (he doesnt like to talk about it) (most ghosts do not like to talk about it. I recommend not asking ghosts about the circumstances of their deaths.)

whatever it was was probably fairly traumatic and he misses being alive. he is spiteful towards prosciutto, who is a lich (basically voluntarily zombified himself with necromancy in a bid to achieve immortality) LEARN TO DIE LIKE A REAL MAN FUCKHEAD I DIDNT DIE A GRUESOME DEATH TO SEE SOME PASTY-ASS BLOND FUCKER EVADE DEATH LIKE A FUCKING COWARD

He is only able to appear in mirrors / reflections. While he's able to be outside of mirrors, he is invisible / inaudible (unless under certain conditions). When seen inside of mirrors, his skin and particularly eyes appear to be shattered, so it's possible that when he manifests in a mirror, he's accompanied by a cracking noise when he moves as the mirror breaks. The mirrors only appear broken where he is, so they probably repair themselves when it comes to specifically this.

his fingers are often seen broken off in a jagged fashion, which makes his body appear to actually be glasslike or maybe statuesque. Which fingers are broken may not always be consistent, and the extent to which they are broken can differ, but his hands are never fully intact. Sometimes they are missing completely (though never both at once... at least hopefully, ‘cause that would fucking suck for the poor bitch).

other parts including his arms and legs (and maybe even his ponytails on rare occasion) can sometimes also be seen 'broken off'. whether this affects him directly in terms of him "actually" missing those parts is questionable. but if he's manifested and his leg appears damaged it does seem to impact his mobility, and its not entirely clear when or how these breakages occur / repair / change / etc

his ponytails also appear jagged somehow

illuso likely spends a lot of his time in the mirror world because it's the only place where he actually exists as a physical entity and can (possibly?) make physical contact with people. hes actually very lonely and really misses the ability to hug people under normal circumstances but of course he would never fucking admit that.

Being in the mirror world isn't necessarily the same as manifesting inside of the mirrors, though it appears similarly; when manifested inside of a mirror, he sort of becomes part of the mirror, whereas when in the mirror world, he can actually move around independently from where the mirror is despite being ‘inside’ the mirror still. In both cases, he is visible, but intangible outside of the mirror world itself, since he's inside of the mirror, and not just being seen reflected in the mirror. He can therefore be outside the mirror, wherein he's 'semicorporeal': he can kinda be made contact with, but is completely invisible and would mostly just get in the way, and only his reflection is actually being seen.

Sorbet's Stand (Super Trouper) has an ability that is light-based (it pretty much uses light to knock people out). This could be a bit troublesome considering Illuso has to be in a mirror to manifest which perhaps risks redirecting Super Trouper's light which was funny once (despite Gelato's rage) but problematic the second time

There's most likely at least one mirror in almost every room of La Squadra's Hideout, because Illuso would be unable to interact or communicate properly with the others otherwise. illuso everywhere system

Formaggio has used Little Feet to shrink down mirrors for easy illuso transportation and im not sure if theyve just forgotten that compact mirrors are a thing orrrr……..

[zablife]

Dark Games (Part 1)

Arthur Shelby x Evelyn (OC) x Finn Shelby

Summary: (Dark AU) When power hungry Arthur is left to run the Eden Club unchecked, he forces his women into dangerous games with the characters of the London underworld. What happens when Finn interferes with his newest girl?

Moodboard credit: the lovely @shelbydelrey

Author's Note: Written for @shelbydelrey Peaky x Lana Festival. Inspired by "Dark But Just a Game" by Lana Del Rey.

Warnings: mention of violence, weapons, mention of blood, ethnic slur, drug use, drinking, pregnancy, mention of abortion, assault

The faces of all the women Evelyn knew who suffered or simply vanished, flashed through her mind as she slept, each one reaching for her as though she might gain purchase. But they all slipped from her grasp like sand, leaving her defeated to face a mirror. Her own blank expression stared back at her as Arthur’s large hand encircled her neck. His mustache tickling the delicate skin beneath her ear as he whispered, “Evie, my pretty little fool.” As she turned to face him, the glass shattered and he was gone. Stooping to gather the pieces, a large, jagged shard sliced her palm until the blood ran down her fingertips and dripped onto the floor. It collected in a puddle at her feet which quickly turned to inky blackness all around her, creating a suffocating fear. She awoke with a start, covered in sweat and heaving for breath. It had been the same dream since she left London. 

Evelyn could recall the evening the Peaky Blinders took over the Eden Club well. It had been a a night ruled by violent chaos. Chairs and tables were overturned as patrons ran from the hoodlums who produced flying fists and razors. Mario was stabbed in the face with a broken bottle trying to stop them. He held a few of them off long enough for some of the girls to hide, including Evelyn.

She took cover backstage, watching with wide eyes as a tall lanky man approached the microphone declaring the establishment was now under new management, "By order of the Peaky Blinders." She readied the knife she hid in her garter belt, thinking of a time when she laughed at the prospect of needing one in a place like this. “I’m not going to change,” she told herself when she’d first arrived, but the girl waiting to stab anyone who came near her begged to challenge that notion.

It was there that Arthur Shelby found her and quickly disarmed her. “Who might you be, angel?” he asked with a devilish smirk, wild hair drooping over his eyes in a rakish manner and and blood dripping from his brow. Pressed close to his lean muscle, there was something about him that intrigued her. It was an unexpected attraction that overwhelmed her senses.

“I’m Evelyn," she replied breathily. "Aren't you going to tell me your name?"

“Thought I’d made it clear, love. I’m a Shelby. Name’s Arthur,” he said proudly.

“You’re bleeding, Arthur. Will you let me help you?” Evelyn asked, venturing a hand to brush the hair from his forehead. Arthur leaned into her touch slightly, his rapid breathing slowing momentarily. His eyes locked onto her as though he were assessing her intentions. When he found nothing but sincerity lying beneath the offer, he accepted and she lead him downstairs hand in hand. 

They didn’t speak a word as she found the items necessary to clean his wound and care for him. Arthur watched her graceful movements with awe, something akin to peaceful reverie coming over his face as she sat before him. She quickly realized how touch starved he was when she brushed his face with a cool cloth and felt pity for him despite the acts of violence she’d witnessed earlier. 

When she finished her work, she sat back and observed his now calm features asking, “Can I ask why? What does this place mean to you?” She waited to see if her questions raised his ire, but found him more than willing to talk with her. 

“We don’t mean you no harm. It’s time for a change is all,” he said, going on to explain that the blinders were expanding their territory and what she had seen was nothing more than a show of their power. Darby Sabini was being run out and he would now be in charge.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me, love” Arthur assured her. “Those wops don’t know how to take care of their women, but I’m going to look after you from now on,” he said, placing a large, calloused hand to her face. She felt her breath hitch at his words. No one had ever said anything like that to her. She’d been on her own for as long as she could remember and the offer of protection was tempting. The Sabini’s had been terrible employers so how could the Shelbys be any worse? Evelyn wanted to trust Arthur in that moment and she did because there was something in his eyes that told her she was safe.

———————————-

It had been a month since the Shelbys had taken over and the club was flourishing. There were new customers coming in every night and Evelyn was making more in tips than she ever had before. Her instinct to trust Arthur had been correct. He was protective of all his employees, especially Evelyn. He didn’t hesitate to throw a punch if anyone disrespected her which made her feel special and if she dared to think it, powerful. She held her head a bit higher knowing no one would cross a woman protected by the Shelbys.

Truthfully, everyone’s mood had improved. Arthur’s younger brother John was around occasionally and his raunchy jokes were a favorite amongst the girls. Although he was married, he had a few affairs she knew of with Elisabeth and Marie. They all giggled about it afterwards, claiming he had the biggest cock they’d ever seen and stamina to match. The early days were full of heady gossip. 

The girls also talked about the youngest brother, Finn, though he didn’t come round as often. He worked for the boss, Tommy, back in Birmingham. Finn didn’t seem to be as free to make his own decisions and worked harder than his siblings, always off on errands and chauffeuring them about town. Evelyn felt sorry for him because they spoke to him like hired help rather than a brother and rarely invited him for a drink at the family table.

The older brothers had a habit of gathering at a large booth in the back where the men discussed business and watched their customers with a keen eye. John would saunter over with a girl on each arm and Arthur would call Evelyn to his side, holding court as he laughed and cursed. It seemed as though the party would last forever.

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

Three months in and the club was seeing an increase in Jewish patrons. The girls all whispered about the reasons for this sudden change, considering their previous clientele had been Italian men. Some believed it to be the influence of a new gentleman with a cane at his side and crown tattoos on his hands. He visited Arthur faithfully every Sunday. Whatever was said in their private conversations agitated Arthur greatly and he was never quite the same afterward. Despite her questions about the mysterious man, Arthur kept that business to himself. He only asked Evelyn to keep him company afterwards. A good fuck was all Arthur needed to forget the irritating man who took up too much of his time.

After a stressful night negotiating with the mad baker, he was particularly agitated. With Evelyn too fatigued to offer solace, he offered up his favorite remedy. “We call it Tokyo. It’ll help ya, dove,” Arthur said, pushing the little blue vial into her palm. 

“I don’t know,” Evelyn said, tracing her fingertips over his chest. “I know some girls who got in trouble with this stuff,” she said uncertainly. 

“Don’t be so serious, Evie. It’s just a bit fun, yeah?” he said, tapping the white powder out onto his hand for her. “Go on,” he said with a charming smile. Without another thought, Evelyn snorted it and felt the most intoxicating rush of her life. There was no turning back after she found this new cure for lack of energy and depressing days. Of course, Arthur never denied her. She was too trusting of Arthur in those days she would recall later.

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

The only person who seemed to notice or care about her habit was Finn. When he began to notice her weight loss, he made a habit of dropping in to check on her. It always brought a smile to her face seeing his impish delight at stealing her away.

“C’mon,” Finn would urge with a wave of his arm. “Let’s get out of here,” he always said, checking the hall.

“Finn, I can’t leave,” Evelyn pretended to protest, knowing he would carry her out if she didn't follow.  

“You’re with a Shelby. You can do whatever the fuck you like,” he said with a cheeky grin and she couldn’t help but smile back at him, giving his hand a squeeze as he pulled her out the back door toward a cafe. He would buy her food they would often share as he entertained her with stories about his mischievous nieces and nephews. 

Some days he could tell she was sad despite the laughter. He could sense Evelyn wanted to talk about her problems, but she never really did, preferring to sit and smoke, leaning her head against Finn’s broad shoulder for comfort. He wondered if Arthur had anything to do with her unhappy moods and hated taking her back to the club, knowing he was delivering her into the hands of his wayward brother. Finn often found himself thinking about how Evelyn could stay with someone like that.

—————————————

It was nine months before Evelyn noticed girls from the club were leaving. Well, perhaps not leaving so much as disappearing. They would be tasked with providing company to gentlemen and never return. Evelyn and the other girls were urged not to ask questions about anyone who left employment. Truthfully, with girls coming and going so often and the lack of sleep, Evelyn lost track. She was spending so much time with Arthur that she didn’t have time to learn their names anymore. Perhaps is was the effect of a busy life or the drugs, but she rarely noticed the details.

One evening after a long shift, she returned to Arthur's flat, calling out, “Arthur? Arthur, where are you?" She had finished at the club without any snow, but only barely. Her skin crawled with need. Turning the pockets of his discarded coat inside out for the little blue bottle she craved, she whined when she came up empty. As she stomped her foot in frustration, a giggle echoed down the hall. Following the sounds of splashing water all the way to the bathroom, she opened the door to find an intoxicated Arthur, sunk beneath a layer of bubbles, and a girl from the club sucking a bruise into his neck as she pumped his shaft below the water. 

“Evie!” He slurred, removing one hand from the water to slick back his hair. “Join us, darlin’,” he said with a wolfish grin, unashamed and completely unaware of her shock and sadness at finding him with someone else. 

The girl’s head rose to nod in agreement as she bit her lip. Removing her hand from the side of the tub, she grasped Evelyn’s wrist before she could leave. Like a siren she called out temptingly, “Stay and have a sniff of snow?” She knew her words had the desired effect as Evelyn’s eyes darkened. Although Evelyn didn’t want to stay where another was clearly doing a fine job of satisfying her man, she listened to Arthur’s commands to kneel and take what she badly needed off the woman’s ample breast, his hand at the back of her head holding her in place as he cooed at her how beautiful she looked. 

“Come on, love. Get in,” he urged and that was enough for her to undress for him. He sighed at the sight of her, letting his head drop back against the edge of the tub, watching in enjoyment. It wasn’t a difficult choice from there as she saw how much he wanted her. She even began to believe him when she felt the surge of her high kick in, riding him and feeling Clara pushed to the side. “Been waitin’ all day for you,” he groaned, hips thrusting up into her roughly.

“Then tell her to leave, Arthur,” Evelyn said, leaning forward to kiss him. Arthur’s hand came up to grasp at her throat possessively as a wicked smile crossed his lips. Then he nodded, flicking his eyes toward the other girl. “Get the fuck out,” he growled at her and Evelyn had never felt more powerful.

Later as they lay in bed a tangle of arms and legs, Arthur turned to Evelyn and watched her with hooded eyes. Voice low and full of gravel he proclaimed, “You ain’t like other girls, Evie. You help me shut out all the noise when my head gets too loud,” he said, rubbing circles into her hip with his thumb. “I love you,” he said quietly, wrapping his arms around her tightly. Silence descended before he kissed her forehead. Then he rolled her onto his chest, falling into a deep sleep with his large hand splayed across her back. Evelyn basked in his words and warm embrace, knowing her connection to Arthur was far greater than anyone else’s.

Evelyn had never carried a sense of superiority over anyone. Raised by poor people in a dirty slum, it was never her expectation to do better than the life she’d known as a child. However, Arthur allowed her to glimpse the possibility of something more and it was thrilling. Good food, fine clothing and her own dressing room set her apart from the beginning. However, now she could add Arthur’s promises of their future together to the glittering array offered before her like a queen.

It was thoughts like these that caused her to overlook the mistreatment of those around her. It would be another month before she happened to overhear a conversation as she passed outside Arthur’s office that would change all that. She only stopped when she heard the cries of a girl who had been at the club almost as long as she had. Sandra wasn’t prone to theatrics so the cries Evelyn heard surprised her.

“I can’t stay here, Mr. Shelby,” Sandra pleaded.

“Why the fuck not? Solomons likes ya,” Arthur said, pouring himself a drink and taking a seat behind his desk. 

“That’s the problem,” she said, voice wobbling.

“You’re talking in bloody circles. I ain’t got time for this. Are you going to get the information from him or not?” Arthur said testily. 

“I can’t do that to him. I’m carrying his child,” she confessed.

“You stupid fucking bitch. Thought I told ya…” Arthur warned, chair scraping the floor in shrill protest as he stood to confront her.

“I know what you said, Arthur, but this is different. He loves-“ Sandra attempted before Arthur cut her off with a harsh scoff.

“You going to say he loves you?,” he laughed as he took a sip of the whisky he held in his hand. “Say that myself sometimes after I’ve emptied my balls. Doesn’t mean shit.”

“Alfie deserves to know,” she challenged Arthur.

“You’ve got fucking work to do. Last thing you need is a bloody kid,” he huffed. Slamming his glass down on the desk as he instructed darkly, “Get rid of it.”

“Wh-what?” She stammered in disbelief. “You can’t be serious!” Without thinking she kept going, “I’ll tell him everything, I swear I will. And when Alfie finds out…” she warned.

Heavy footsteps could be heard and then a loud slap as Arthur connected with her face. A loud thud reverberated as Arthur pinned her against the wall by her neck. “Don’t you dare threaten me,” he rumbled. “Could kill you right now if I wanted to. He’d never come lookin’ for ya,” he hissed, squeezing the air from her lungs. A faint gurgling sound could be heard over the course of the next few moments, along with the desperate scratching of nails against the wall. 

Evelyn struggled to catch her own breath, frightened Sandra might be dying. Tears pricked her eyes as she bit her fingers, willing her feet to move and do something to stop what she was hearing on the other side of the wall. Just then, Sandra gasped for breath. A sharp wheezing and deep coughs emanated from her as Arthur grumbled, “I’m not gonna let you fuck this up for me. So you’re not sayin’ a word. Understand?”

A small sob that sounded like a yes echoed out along with a few sniffles. Arthur grunted as she ran from the room. Evelyn ran as well, scared and confused by what she’d just overheard. It was a side of Arthur she didn’t want to believe existed.

With his office empty and free of distraction, Arthur picked up the telephone and called for Isiah. “Be at the club tonight by nine,” he said. “Need you to take care of a problem.”

Cont. reading Part 2

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

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[mega-ringsandthings-world]

I'm really curious design-wise about scars when it comes to the boys? Mostly because when I draw them, I want them to look like they do in your head.

I'm assuming a few, for the loguetown years though probably not a lot, on the face, due to propaganda reasons, but the less visible places must be free game.

I'm thinking of a scene we've talked about, 'wink,' where Mihawk gets scars all over his back. He must be disgusted by them, probably takes steps to not look at them whenever he's near a mirror after a bath or a shower or changing. After all, wounds on a swordsman's back are their greatest shame. His hands and arms also must be full of nicks and slashes from where they punished him to scare him about losing his hands.

Not just those; he must hate the scarring in general, seeing it as a point toward his weakness. Because a reason I see why canon Mihawk goes tits out half the time is to show off the fact that he barely has any scars—to say, "I'm the strongest, and I got here without barely ruffle. And all the years I’ve lived at the top I’ve been here without a scratch.” They only time I can see him getting a scar with out complaining is if its for Shanks.

But Shanks, maybe scars near his mouth and along his cheekbones, maybe a broken nose or two from the number of times he got punched in the face until they needed him in front of a camera. Maybe his feet and legs are scarred to try and keep him from running away? Both their wrists must have weird scarring from rubbing them raw with their bounds. Maybe even their necks have scars too.

That doesn't even account for the amount of scarring they must accumulate on their escape, as well as those years of speed running to get powerful. Like I just realized Mihawk must be absolutely pissed that he'll have to retrain everything from the ground up to get back to where he was sword-wise, same with Shanks, and they'll need to do it fast, so not a lot of time to take their time and be careful. Probably why canon Mihawk and Shanks don't have as many scars. They weren't and aren't speed running for power.

Not to mention the boys are taking on the World Government full-on head-to-head. They have a lot stronger and deadlier opponents, while being a lot weaker and more desperate—both are suicidally scared of losing each other and protective enough to burn the world down in that pursuit. So their faces most likely get a little more beat up after loguetown.

What do you think of Shanks having the same three-line scars over his eyes but longer, starting on his temple and curving down to his cheekbone? It's a little more jagged, a little less even. The last concept sketch I sent should have it if you want an example. I'm surprised Blackbeard is still alive in this AU after he did that to Shanks. This version of Mihawk would have at least tried to rip him into pieces with his bare hands and put his had on a spike as a warning.

Let's break it down, lol. I figure on them having permanent scars each that they'll carry the rest of their life, and secondary scars that eventually heal over almost all the way. And yeah. Propaganda purposes would mean their faces are relatively untouched, and the scarring kept to easily concealed places while they are in captivity. So, they get half their permanent scars in Loguetown, the other half in their escape, and the rest are secondary scars, that halfway disfigure them but clear up by and by. So, ideas. For Shanks' secondary scars, Armament Haki burn scars. On the side of the face, neck, clavicle, ribs, hip, and the backs of both hands/down the forearms. A result of Mihawk misusing his Armament Haki to protect Shanks, he used it with such force/will that the Haki's signature black color is imprinted on Shank's skin. It fades away to nothing as time passes, but is very distinctive while it lasts. Then there's the ringing from manacles on his wrists/ankles/neck, patches of scarred skin on shoulders/sides. For permanent scarring, the crooked nose from him getting it broken over and over, (love that in a character) a downturned scar along his cheekbone that mimics Luffy's (inspires Luffy's) that he hides with his hair, the nicks along the corner of his lips. A lopsided scar between the shoulder blades. There's a stab scar on his stomach, from Mihawk. And he has thin scars on his palms, from one side to the other. Speaking of which, let's talk about Mihawk. He'd have the same set of secondary scars as Shanks, wrists/ankles/neck, skin scraped off at the shoulders/side, various abrasions/missing patches on his hands, arms, legs. For permanent scars, there's a long raised scar on his right leg from ankle to knee, from the escape, and he has stigmata-like scars on the center of his palms and the backs of his hands. He has a scar shaped roughly like a asymmetrical cross on his chest, and when he goes shirtless and the scar frames his kogatana, the effect is something. Then he has a cut eyebrow, a scar down the side of his face, later concealed by his sideburns. Permanent burns on his knuckles. And a scar that stretches from the top of the hipbone to hipbone. And last but not least, the scars on his back, which everything else pales in comparison too. While he works the rest of the scars into aesthetic and presentation as he grows, the back scars will always be hated. It only reinforces his position about them being a swordsman's greatest shame. Canon Mihawk is flawless, metaphorically and literally, and he knows it. Thus tits out at all times. AU Mihawk has to decide to present his scars as proof of what he had survived, rather than make a show what he never did. The opposite of canon Mihawk. Oh yes. When they train/spar, it's going to be fast, furious, with the goal to push eaach other to the limit and then over the edge. They always come off of bloody and covered in kisses from each other's blades. And then when they take on enemies, marine fleets, other pirates, they wreck themselves over and over. Canon Mihawk and Shanks were never tortured for two and a half years at the behest of the World Government with all the ensuing mind-fuck that follows, so they never extend themselves past neatly finishing the job. AU Mihawk and Shanks want to be hurt and hurt ten times more in return. I love the idea/look of Shanks' enhanced scars! It makes sense for him to be given more severe scarring, in lieu how he fights in this AU. The reason Blackbeard wasn't hanged, drawn and quartered on the spot was because Mihawk wasn't physically around at the time to do so. Rest assured, this means nothing good for Blackbeard in the future.

[randomwriteronline]

part of @cantankerouscanuck 's Bionicle/LU AU

The dream lingered before him, warm and confusing and sunny, just out of his reach. He could still feel the sand under his hands, the grass against his back, the sound of a song so close yet so far.

The cave was dark and damp, cold humidity seeping into his frame. Something pulsed somewhere behind him.

His unfocused eyes settled on a strange clump, some broken mess of blueish shards. A finger brushed against it: metal. Scraps of metal. He grasped them, turned them around as he pulled himself up into a kneel, dully recognizing a familiar curve, the hint of a socket. Where had he seen something like this, where, where...

Something pulsed somewhere behind him. Go, it seemed to say: Go. This is not your place.

He turned the shards in his palm again. So familiar. So familiar... Where had he seen such a thing, where, where... He laid them together carefully, composing them as one might a puzzle.

He stopped halfway through.

What remained of his mask gazed back with empty sockets.

Go, something pulsed somewhere behind him. Go, little one: this is not your place.

Legend stared at the shattered visage.

He reached up: carefully shaped metal met his fingertips. A mask. Another mask.

Go. This is not your place.

He stumbled to his feet: a light beckoned him forward, out, far away from the something pulsing somewhere behind him. He followed it, legs heavy, brain muddled, until the cave gave way to a sharp dark beach, all rocks and jagged terrain.

Only the sea around him.

A gust of wind passed through him.

His foot kicked at the ground, causing a rock to rocket across the barren shore of the real Koholint Island - nothing like the gentle paradise he'd come to know, the world before the Visorak emptied it of life, of color, of music.

The pebble splashed into a little pond created by the low tide.

He walked over to it. What was he supposed to do anyways? He wasn't going to leave. He wasn't going to ever leave. He wasn't going to ever manage to. He had no hope of ever doing so. He was stuck here, now, forever, with no chance of escaping.

The water in the pond was clear, silvery, like a mirror of sorts. Replying to his gaze he found a discolored red Mask of Kindred, sitting on his face like it had been made for it.

He touched it again - much more carefully. More fondly.

This couldn't be... It wasn't, was it now?

No, no, there was no way.

There was simply no way.

If he'd been built with the ability to cry, he would have started by now. It would have begun with a few stray tears he couldn't hold back, then an attempt at stifling them, and then his throat would have unclogged with a harsh sob and saltwater would streaked his metal cheeks, rusting him to death.

As it was, his eyes just sizzled painfully.

What a sick joke.

What a cruel thing to do.

Her mask, on him. Keeping him alive.

Distantly, the musings of his old Turaga reached his mind again - only vague words, kind and comforting: something about Kanohi holding the spirit of the wearer, how some carry it even after death.

If he concentrated, if he really, truly did, maybe...

She had dreamed of leaving. Of flying off, into the open horizon, like one of the sea birds that glided on the shores from distant lands.

She had dreamed of escaping Koholint.

Legend looked deeper into his reflection.

His brows furrowed into a determined glare.

In a moment he was off, his nihilistic thoughts crushed under the weight of purpose as he looked for something, anything, to fashion a boat or raft out of. He was setting off, sailing away, into new lands, into freedom, into endless possibilities.

If not for himself, for Marin.

She gave him another chance to live.

He would fulfill her only shattered wish.

He would make her see the world.

[beccarooni]

The End - Chapter 1

(Infinity war AU: Loki lives and leaves the Statesman with Bruce Banner. Multi chapter fic, enjoy the ride babes xo)

taglist: @woahthisguy (ask to be added if u like!)

When Loki woke, part of him still thought that he was on the Statesman. Still aboard that cursed vessel, with smoke filling his lungs and the maddening glare of the stones shining before his eyes. Rays of sunlight filtered into his vision, and he felt broken wood under his fingertips - but part of him still expected to see Thanos’s golden boot step into his vision. Still expected to see his brother, bloodied and bruised, a lifeless body tossed beside him. Expected to hear his last pained scream as the power stone touched his head, to smell the ozone building in the air and to see the final flash of lightning that would signal his brother’s journey into Valhalla.

What he heard was the sound of birds.

Muffled by walls, but there. Birds, nature, the faint sounds of traffic and conversation bleeding in through the ringing in his hears. He opened his eyes, grunting slightly as he felt splintered beams digging into his side from where he fell. A neat hole in the ceiling signalled his entry; he stared up at the familiar sun and sky, and let his eyes fall shut again with a groan.

Midgard.

But not just anywhere in Midgard. He inhaled the musty air, coughing out the dust from his throat. Magic - he could sense it everywhere. It clung to every surface of this place, seeping into the floorboards with a familiar sense of order and learning. Not just magic - sorcery.

Loki sat up. Pulled himself out of the hole he’d created in the floor, and almost buckled under the weight of the familiarity of this place. The Sorcerer’s Home. Where he’d been suspended in animation for over half an hour, only to be dropped onto the marbled floor and told that they were going to see Odin. He remembered Thor’s voice, then. That was one of the last times he’d sounded like himself. Before the Norns had twisted the last few strands of their monstrous tapestry, and brought their world crashing down around them. Around Thor, to put it more aptly. Loki had shed no tears for Odin. Hadn’t felt the same coiled rage in the pit of his stomach as when Frigga had died. But it had signalled the beginning of the End, for them. The beginning of Ragnarok. The twisted path that had dragged them from Midgard to Sakaar to Asgard and finally to a barely held together spaceship crawling through the stars.

And then to oblivion.

Loki flexed his fingers, stepping onto the cold marble floors, and allowed himself a moment of respite. This wasn’t good. Out of the frying pan, and into the proverbial fire. Midgard may have meant refuge for Thor, but not for him.

Voices sounded from outside the doors. Loki stepped quickly, pressing himself against the wall - not that it would do any good. The Sorcerer had sensed them from oceans away, last time. He could pluck him out of thin air if he so chose, and deposit him at his feet. But it felt right, at least. Sensible. Slinking his way in and out of the shadows was what he was used to, and he needed some familiarity right now. Stability in any form; even if it was just a repeated motion from a lifetime that was now obsolete.

“The Avengers broke up. We’re toast.” Smooth, honeyed tones from beyond the door; a voice that could have been roughed with anger, but the edges smoothed down into something more palatable. Stark.

“What do you mean, broke up? Like a band? Like the Beatles?” Another voice sounded off - this one inquisitive, confused, but still with a certain fog - like someone coming out of a long sleep, trying to recount a dream that was fading rapidly. Banner, then.

Loki leaned back against the wall, silently cursing his luck. Of all people he encountered, it had to be Stark. Someone who Loki’s last fond memory of was tossing him out of a window - and even that was marred with the faint blue tint of the mind stone’s power. He couldn’t even enjoy throwing Stark out of that window. Couldn’t even take credit for it, really.

He shifted his fingers again, feeling the familiar steel of his dagger morph into life in his hands. That brought a little comfort, at least. Even if he knew in his heart he wasn’t in much shape to fight off the Avengers right now.

He had Banner to vouch for him - maybe. But Banner didn’t have the same trust in him that Thor had. And Thor wasn’t here to echo that sentiment to his allies, because Thor was dea-

“Thor’s gone.” Banner’s voice resounded off the walls again, subdued and uncertain.

Loki didn’t know why that word suddenly made him so angry.

Gone implied things. It implied uncertainty; that they didn’t know where Thor was, or what had happened to him. Gone implied that Thor could come back. Gone implied hope.

It wasn’t Banner’s fault. He didn’t know any better, didn’t know the full extent of what Thanos could do.

Loki did.

And maybe that’s what drove him out of the shadows, moving just beyond the doorway to stand in the light.

“Thor isn’t gone. He’s dead.” Loki almost winced at his own voice - rough and jagged and far from the silver tongued smoothness he was used to.

But the look on Stark’s face almost made up for it. Alarm creeping into the eyes beneath the sunglasses, a memory of when Loki had last seemed glorious. Unstoppable. A raging inferno fanned by the mind stone, laying waste to Midgard’s streets with an army of monsters at his side. Memories of grand speeches and golden horns. Stark’s hands twitched, grabbing onto a small cord at the collar of his shirt that would probably unfold into some trinket or other, meant to blast him across the room with a quippy one liner to follow it.

Banner’s eyes widened for a moment, but softened just as fast, and he took a few steps forward. Not all the way - he was still too smart to move all the way - but enough. Enough for a placating gesture, at least.

“We don’t know that, Loki. He could’ve escaped, he could’ve-”

“Correction - you don’t know that. I do. Thanos wouldn’t leave someone like him alive.” Loki shook his head, a hollow laugh forcing its way out of his lips. “He was too much of a threat.”

“The Tesseract?” The voice of the sorcerer from his side caused Loki to turn, meeting Strange’s scrutinizing gaze with what he hoped was a mask of steel.

“Thanos has it. And the power stone.”

“Then he’ll be coming for the rest.” One gloved hand drifted idly to the necklace around Strange’s neck, his face setting in grim resignation.

“I’m sorry, am I missing something? Why are we all standing here talking to this guy? Last time I checked, he was working with Thanos, and was very much in favour of - I don’t know, murdering us all?”

Stark finally jarred himself out of whatever train of thought he’d been following, moving forward to grab Banner by the arm - like a mother, reaching out to snatch her children from sticking their hand into a campfire.

“Tony, it’s fine. Well, it’s not fine. But Loki’s with us on this one.” Banner shrugged his shoulders, batting at Stark’s hand with a twinge of embarrassment.

Stark scoffed, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation.

“So I’m just supposed to trust him because, what? It’s a ‘long story’?”

“Oh, God no. But he is on our side.” Bruce frowned, gesturing at Loki listlessly. “Look, do you think he’d look like that if he was working with Thanos?”

Loki shot him a glare, but tilted his dagger upwards to try and catch a blurred glimpse at his reflection. Even in the unclear mirror, he couldn’t deny that Banner was right. Soot smudged along his cheeks, rimming the glaring red cuts on his face with black. Dark circles stamped under his eyes, there was blood beneath his fingernails. He looked unhinged.

A stretch of the neck, a flex of the fingers, a flash of gold, and he was whole again. The grime still clung to his skin, but it was hidden now, at least. He tilted his chin up, spreading his hands out wide.

“I am not here to pick a fight with you, Stark. Nor any of Midgard. But Thanos must be stopped, and you’re going to need more than the Avengers to do it. You can kill me, or imprison me, but buried beneath that colossal ego of yours, you know you need me.”

Stark’s jaw clenched, and for a few moments Loki expected the flash of a cannon and the impact of a missile hitting his chest. What he got instead was a sigh, tight and constrained, and a small nod in Banner’s direction.

“Fine. But if this blows up in my face, you owe me like...a million cups of coffee.”

Banner shrugged, and the three Midgardian’s continued their discussion.

It wasn’t a discussion Loki wanted to participate in - and by their hunched shoulders and wary looks, it wasn’t one he was privy to, either. Which was just fine by him. He tapped his fingers against his elbows, and wandered about the room.

So many artefacts that he hadn’t paid attention to last time. This room hummed with magic, every table, every chair, every floorboard was steeped in it; like fragranced smoke clinging to a curtain.

He overheard some of the conversation, of course. Talks of a great battle between their Captain America and the Iron Man; a rift between the team that had grown into a chasm - one that strangely he hoped would be mended. Not for their sake, of course; it would just be easier to fight Thanos if they all united as one, and fought together rather than apart, and -

Norns, he was starting to sound like Thor. He shut his eyes, shrugging his shoulders to try and rid himself of the sentiment. It was funny what a few moments of desperation could do to you. The death of his mother, and he worked with Thor again. The death of his father, and he saved a world he swore to hate. The death of his brother, and now he was talking of comradery with the Avengers.

Banner kept casting looks at him from across the room. Worried looks, but not for his own safety - at least, not entirely. Banner looked worried for him, and for some reason that filled him with vitriol, anger that was acidic and spiteful.

Banner thought he was exaggerating. He still saw Thor as a golden hero, unbreakable and untouchable. He didn’t know.

He didn’t know that it was better for Thor to be dead. That when Loki said that Thor’s fate was sealed, it was not out of spite or doubt of Thor’s strength; it was out of hope. Loki would rather kill Thor himself than have him die at the hands of Thanos.

At least Loki’s steel would have been kinder. The flash of silver and the seconds it took for the blood to leave the body would be a mercy, compared to the dazzling pain of the gauntlet. Seconds still felt like seconds, when you were stabbed. The infinity stones stretched those seconds into hours. Loki knew from experience.

Before, he might have relished at the thought of causing Thor pain. Wherever this sentiment had come from, these feelings of care and brotherhood, he wanted them gone. They’d settled on his skin with the dust from Asgard, baked into the clay of his being in the fires of a supernova, watched from a spaceship window. If he had nothing from the beginning, he would’ve been fine. If Thor had died at his hand, hating him, he would’ve been fine.

Thor had died believing in him. And that was so much worse.

Screams erupted from outside, and all four of them glanced towards the doorways.

“God, already? It’s been what, five minutes since you two crash through the window and now we’ve got more party guests?” Stark rubbed at his forehead, probably nursing an oncoming migraine.

“I guess they move fast. Let’s go.” Strange and Stark headed towards the doorway of the sanctum, but Banner lingered behind.

The scientist paused at Loki’s side, looking at him with a gaze that was suddenly inscrutable. No easily provoked anger that Loki could stoke into a wildfire to keep the sadness at bay. No mistrust. Just a hint of sadness, and a twinge of concern in his voice when he asked:

“Are you alright?”

Loki’s hand lifted to his face, feeling the wetness of tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. He stared at his fingers, before wiping them against the material of his jacket.

No time for this. Not right now.

“I’m fine.” Loki gritted his teeth, flipping his dagger in his hand.

Loki didn’t take much stock in legacy. He’d had his fair share of prophecies and purposes, and none of them had quite worked out the way he’d wanted - or expected. Fates could be changed with the flip of a dice - his birthright had been to die one moment, inherit the throne the next. He was destined to be the doom of Midgard and the saviour of Asgard and somewhere along these severed threads of prophecy he’d realised that it was all just chaos. He’d rather be an agent of that, than a warrior honouring the stories of someone else.

Thor’s story felt different, though. If he was going to honour anything in his life, maybe his brother could be the exception. Maybe he could help protect this fragile blue planet from this destruction; just this once.

Loki gripped the dagger harder, until his knuckles turned white.

Midgard waited on the other side of that door. A place that he had chosen to conquer, and Thor had chosen to care for.

If it didn’t die today, he knew it’d be a matter of time before it died from something else. But he wouldn’t let it be lost today.

Thor believed in him. He’d died believing in him.

Honour that, then. Honour his stubbornness, if nothing else. What better legacy was there to leave Thor with, than postponing the dying light of a planet just because?

Chaos and stubbornness. What better combination was there than that?

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Mystery Twins: Ghost

A new AU inspired by Mystery Skulls…

AO3 link

ch.2

~~~~~~~~~~

A catchy song played on the radio, making the young pair of twins in the back bob their heads and jump in their seats to the music. Ford smiled, looking back with his near-view mirror, and his smile stayed even when he had to focus back on the road. His hands and body weren’t used to driving the red Diablo, but he managed it okay, mostly because he was with his family.

Driving through the backwood-roads in the dark forest, the car was operating fine, but then the radio was glitching and the car was sputtering to a stop. The eight-year-olds in the back braced themselves as they slowed down, Ford listening carefully for an indication as to what was wrong with the Stanmobile.

“Grunkle Ford, what’s wrong?” Dipper asked, the boy who often felt like a ghost.

“I’m not sure.” Said the man who knew the most. “It sounds like the battery…”

“Maybe it has something to do with that.” Mabel suggested, looking outside and pointing to a structure they were coming up on.

The car came to a stop in front of a very large, rich-looking, antique cabin. With many levels and even a tower, this grand old-styled building seemed to be beating with life, like a giant wooden heart, and a faint reddish glow came from within. The Diablo refused to move any further, so Ford and the kids got out. The aged scientist popped the hood with Dipper by his side and they both saw the red bolts of lightning sparking around the battery and engine, freezing everything.

“Looks like somebody doesn’t want us to leave.” Ford theorized and looked up at the large house, but he gasped with horror seeing his little niece skip to the door. “Mabel!” He hissed.

Dipper turned and ran after his sister, holding his lucky pinetree hat down to keep it from blowing off his Pines’ fluffy brown hair. “Mabel, wait for me!”

The little girl stood on tippy-toes in her black flats and white socks and rang the doorbell. It sang a surprisingly joyful tune, and then the door opened. The children entered and the door remained open. Ford ran inside after his children; he knew they were more than capable of taking care of themselves, but given recent circumstances, he’d rather not take the risk.

The second Ford stepped inside the dwelling, however, the door closed by itself. The guardian wrapped an arm around each child, with Dipper on his left and Mabel on his right, and they were entertained by a small performance of bright red fire dancing in the suffocating darkness, until the flames landed on tall candles by the wall, and everything was highlighted with reds, oranges, and yellows.

Mabel’s eyes dazzled with excitement, as well as Dipper’s while he did sweat a bit on the forehead, and Ford was even more on guard. Three small goat-resembling blobs of red soul appeared from the floor and swarmed the small family. Mabel reached to pet one, but Dipper grabbed her hand and ran, and Ford ran after them.

The red fire brought life to the painting of Natives and lumberjacks. While the live humans ran down the hallways of the large wooden manor, many different ghosts flew around the air; little child-like spirits were being chased by punk ghosts, keys and keyhole were floating aimlessly, a soul-sucker landed on Ford’s shoulder, but he flicked it away like it was an annoying bug.

“This place is amazing!” Dipper cheered. “Look how many categories, Grunkle Ford!”

“Yes, it is impressive,” Ford huffed, half excited, half worried for the children’s safety. “But let’s hope we don’t meet a Level- AAAAAAAHH!!!” A trap door suddenly appeared beneath him and the old scientist fell, the hole quickly covered before the kids could see what had happened.

Dipper and Mabel looked at each other, shrugged, and ran down the hall to the shining room ahead of them.

Ford fell harshly on a cold, concrete floor and rubbed the base of his back; he would be feeling that later. He looked around. He was in some kind of cellar, a room in the basement for storage, possibly food in the olden days. Ford looked ahead, and highlighted with glowing red energy, was a casket with a square skull on the door. As Ford stood and braced himself, the door opened to find a smartly dressed skeleton inside.

A skull missing it’s bottom jaw glared at the old man, who was far too used to it to be too shaken, but he was on edge and ready to fight or flight; whichever would ensure he would make it out of the cellar alive. The skeleton had sharp cheekbones and jagged cracks. His skull levitated an inch above the collar of his suit, the lines sharp and smart, the lines and the tie coated in red, though the suit was black. His ribs were outside his jacket and his hands were an odd bland of glove and bone. But what was most peculiar was not the fact that a fancy-dressed skeleton was alive and glaring daggers at the meat-puppet before him. No, what conjured Ford’s curiosity was the golden heart beating on the skeleton’s right chest, like a badge of honor.

The ghost stepped out of the coffin, his heeled shoes clicking on the concrete floor, and he stopped right in front of Ford and pointed harshly at him. Ford glared back, hand in his trenchcoat, ready to shoot and by himself some time, but there was no guarantee if it would even have time for an attack.

It didn’t matter. Suddenly the pupil-less eyes of the skeleton were lit up with red pupils, red fire encased more candles, and with an upward tilt of the skulls, a red block of fire appeared on his head. Ford, as quick as light, whipped out his special ray gun, shot, and ran for the exit. The ghost dodged the bolt of cold blue light with a lazy motion of his head, and then started to fly after his target.

Meanwhile, Dipper and Mabel were helping themselves to big towers of warm pancakes in the kitchen, about to dig in when they heard the commotion. They poked their heads out of the kitchen and gasped to find their uncle cornered by a big ghost, definitely a Level 10, his back to the wall and his gun pointed at the angry spirit, but the kids knew they could help.

Just before the ghost could touch Ford, the pair of kids stood in front of their grunkle, both flinching and ready for the impact, their arms outstretched to try to shield their guardian, but they opened their eyes cautiously when no attack came.

The ghost had stopped, standing a few feet in front of the tiny family. His red eyes were on the children, and appeared to be… not angry. Almost sad. Mabel took a step forward. Maybe she could help Mr. Ghost feel better so he could go back to sleep. Maybe something hurt. She could kiss it better.

Dipper was right by Mabel’s side, a hand on his chin, studying the ghost curiously, his brown eyes sparkling with wonder. Mabel grinned at the ghost and waved. “Hi, I’m Mabel!”

Instantly, the ghost seemed to smile. Kind eyes and a general aura that swore no harm. The young pair of twins noticed the golden heart floating towards them. Dipper’s mouth was open slightly, while Mabel held her hands patiently for it, waiting for the heart to land on her, rather than harshly grab it and risk frightening the kind soul.

But then Ford scooped up the kids in his arms and ran for the door, leaving the kids to look back at the skeleton and for the skeleton to reach out longingly, only for the golden heart to fall to the floor and crack, now a cold, lonely, icy blue.

At once, the ghost was engulfed in rage and fire, his arms trembling with anger, and he had his red fire swallow the entire hall, with Ford jumping out, through the door, at the last second, with his kids in his arms. He piled them into the red Diablo and thankfully the ghost was too distracted to have the car deactivate again, and they sped away into the woods.

Inside the large cabin, the skeleton watched them go through a window. He picked up the cracked blue heart, tapping it so the locket opened. Inside, a picture of Stan holding his children in his arms, smiling and laughing and having a good time, haunted him. The broken spirit could only shed a single tear as he growled to himself and floated out of the manor, causing it to fade back into its tiny, pitiful, abandoned cabin once more.

[ao3feed-todoroki]

Hello Darling, Names Seduction

Hello Darling, Names Seduction by Mace BirdWatcher

There weren't many differences in the two of them, not any that didn't mirror a parallel that the other was already living. Touya was an art, a mosaic of bloodied and broken bits pieced together to create something beautiful, something dangerous. He'd been born something beautiful, something promising, only to be broken and forced to glue back jagged and split bits. It didn't fit, nothing broken could ever truly go back to the way it was. Hawks on the other hand was a carefully crafted weapon, he was the kiss of a blade against skin- quick and seamless. A brush of glass shattered from something incredible, with edges so sharp you couldn't feel as it pierced. Touya had been cut again and again but he still hadn't learned his lesson, because here he was yearning to get closer, wanting to slide his hands against Hawks' skin no matter how bloody and torn they'd come back. Hawks had been born to the blood, to the danger, he'd been forged from the flames of his past- molded into the phoenix that sat before him now. He was everything Touya had been told to avoid in the underground, and he was the only thing he found himself wanting.

Words: 3540, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Characters: Dabi | Todoroki Touya, Takami Keigo | Hawks

Relationships: Dabi | Todoroki Touya/Takami Keigo | Hawks

Additional Tags: Mafia AU, Assassins & Hitmen, Takami Keigo | Hawks is a Little Shit, Dabi | Todoroki Touya-centric, Dabi | Todoroki Touya is So Done, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Mutual Pining

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37466869

[anonymous-dentist]

I'm reanswering this one because I totally embarrassed myself lol

Anyway so I don't know a ton about Brazilian geography, but I've had some thoughts?

Let's just use this map. For simplification.

In this universe, I've decided that Alcatraz is just fully in Brazil. It isn't in California, it's in Brazil, and I've decided it's somewhere in that little bit of the ocean between Macapa and Belem (I think I spelled those right?) That's where c!Roier picked f!Cell up, and now they're heading south along the coast towards Salvador. Cell thinks that Pac and Mike are in Sao Paulo, but they. Definitely aren't. Because iirc they split up for a bit after FI, so they ended up in different places.

Again, I'm American, so I don't know exactly where the Boys are rn, but they're probably somewhere in that stretch of land between Sao Luis and Parnaiba (I hope I spelled that one right...) as of chapter two's end.

I know that they can't get that far in a week normally, but they technically still in Minecraft. They're little block men by technicality, and I will be applying fantasy to this stupid little fic lol

[ao3feed-hawks]

Hello Darling, Names Seduction

Hello Darling, Names Seduction by Mace BirdWatcher

There weren't many differences in the two of them, not any that didn't mirror a parallel that the other was already living. Touya was an art, a mosaic of bloodied and broken bits pieced together to create something beautiful, something dangerous. He'd been born something beautiful, something promising, only to be broken and forced to glue back jagged and split bits. It didn't fit, nothing broken could ever truly go back to the way it was. Hawks on the other hand was a carefully crafted weapon, he was the kiss of a blade against skin- quick and seamless. A brush of glass shattered from something incredible, with edges so sharp you couldn't feel as it pierced. Touya had been cut again and again but he still hadn't learned his lesson, because here he was yearning to get closer, wanting to slide his hands against Hawks' skin no matter how bloody and torn they'd come back. Hawks had been born to the blood, to the danger, he'd been forged from the flames of his past- molded into the phoenix that sat before him now. He was everything Touya had been told to avoid in the underground, and he was the only thing he found himself wanting.

Words: 3540, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Characters: Dabi | Todoroki Touya, Takami Keigo | Hawks

Relationships: Dabi | Todoroki Touya/Takami Keigo | Hawks

Additional Tags: Mafia AU, Assassins & Hitmen, Takami Keigo | Hawks is a Little Shit, Dabi | Todoroki Touya-centric, Dabi | Todoroki Touya is So Done, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Mutual Pining

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37466869

[secret-engima]

For the Night King AU, could we possibly see the thoughts of the Chocobros 1.0 when they meet/see their counterparts? We kinda got a vauge look at Regis' thoughts and a tiny glimpse of Clarus', but what do they think when they look at the Dark Retinue and see what could have been them? And does Clarus' realize that Iris is an Amiticia as well?

Hmmmmm lemme think. Not sure if this is gonna be what you want but- ramble? Not gonna do them all because my hands hurt but the ramble should be long enough to suit.

-Clarus sees the man with Amicitia gold eyes and brown hair stop Cor’s attack on the Accursed and his heart stops for several reasons. One- he fully expects Cor and the rest of them to die in the next there seconds by angry daemon, two- someone was actually fast enough to STOP Cor, in an instant, like it was easy and that’s never happened before, and three-

-That man looks like Clarus’s father. That man looks like CLARUS and it’s freaking him out. He wonders hysterically if the Accursed was using an illusion to make his guard look like an Amicitia as a joke, or if Clarus’s father had a brother that was presumed dead but was actually taken and molded into a servant by the Night King.

-Instead of turning violent though, the man just laughs a deep, quiet laugh and lets Cid and Weskham drag the breathless Cor back into their group, “Nice try kid, but you’re about three decades too early to pull that off.”

-Regis apologizes for Cor with a desperate edge that means he too fears reprisal, but the Night King just shrugs it off and summons another human (human!) to escort them to the dining room.

-The newcomer, named Prompto, mentions a “Gladio” a few times as they walk and Clarus wonders if that’s the Amicitia he saw.

-They learn ... quite a few things that night and the days following after, and when he’s not fretting over the others, Clarus is, admittedly, studying Gladiolus. Since learning that this Accursed is new, he’s been trying to figure out how far back in the family tree Gladiolus is. He acts like he’s known the Night King all his life, and there’s a brief mention of a childhood incident, which means the man is definitely not Clarus’s father’s brother.

-Honestly, Clarus can readily believe this Amicitia is ancient. Not in appearance, he only looks to be in his early thirties at most, but in soul? Oh yes.

-Gladiolus is old in a worn, battle-hardened sort of way that reminds Clarus of his few recollections of his grandfather. He’s friendly, not the violent, brutish thing Clarus expected of an Accursed’s Shield, but instead gentle. Tired. His temper rises fast as fire and snuffs as quickly as a candle, he answers questions patiently, and seems to keep his king on just as tight a leash as any other Shield (food and sleep seem to be the realm of Ignis’s care, but in other matters, Gladiolus keeps his king anchored, just as is tradition).

-Clarus wants to ask questions, desperately. He wants to ask how old Gladiolus is, where in the family tree he is, HOW he came to be the Shield of the Accursed’s Nephew but ... he doesn’t. He doesn’t dare. There is something dark lurking in Gladiolus’s gaze when they speak, something bleeding still, and Clarus does not want to further open a heart wound that is clearly still weeping.

-It doesn’t stop him from wondering, especially as the years go by and he lives in the Night Kingdom with Regis prior to Regis ascending Lucis’s throne, why a man as steady and unflinching as Gladiolus is nonexistent in the history records. In the family tree. Clarus has CHECKED. There is no sign of him even as far back as Gilgamesh.

-Clarus isn’t sure which is better, that Gladiolus was erased that thoroughly for whatever happened back then, or that no one in the family knew that he (or his SISTER and isn’t that a shock, one that takes much longer to realize since Iris is usually busy elsewhere in the Citadel and rarely sees Clarus) existed.

...

-Weskham doesn’t take long to decide he likes Ignis. There is a steadiness and experience to the blind man, and even though Ignis is very unnerving at times (the way he commands daemons, the way he effortlessly navigates and fights despite being blind), it is gratifying to have another who understands Weskham’s trials as a Hand of the King.

-After the treaty, after they have been kidnapped in all but name and intent (for Regis chose this, Regis agreed to this to spare his father and his kingdom), Ignis and Weskham take to spending afternoons in the kitchens together. Just the two of them, some new dish cooking in the ovens, and a cup of tea as they talk.

-Weskham enjoys their time, but he would also be the first to admit that Ignis is ... a little off sometimes. There is a jagged edge to him that will not smooth, it glitters in his words sometimes, in the fervent desperation that edges his shoulders when he spends too long apart from his King. There is a ... neediness there. A doubt. Like if he turns away for too long, Noctis will disappear into dust on the wind. All of the Dark Retinue (a silly nickname that Prompto insisted on using after hearing it) have that edge, but in Ignis it is the sharpest.

-“The last thing I ever saw,” Ignis tells him once, very quietly, on a rainy day where the tea has been spiked just slightly with wine, “was Noct. He was lying on the ground in the rain next to Luna, and he was ... he wasn’t moving. There was no sign-. I couldn’t see him breathing, and Ardyn was right there. I feared-.” Ignis goes silent and Weskham holds his breath despite himself. He still does not know how Luna was, she is someone they only mention in passing and in deep grief, but he knows enough about Noctis and his ... relationship with his now passed Uncle to feel a thrill of fear just at the retelling, “He was dead.” Ignis’s voice breaks just a little and Weskham feels his heart bleed for the older man, “I thought I had lost him. I swore to stay ever at his side. All his life I walked with him, since he was just a small child, and then I saw him, and he was so very still.”

-Ignis exhales, “I wonder sometimes, what he looks like now. I do not regret losing my sight, but sometimes I wish I could see him. Just once more. Just so that that is not the last moment.”

-Weskham tentatively touches Ignis’s hand in solidarity, and internally he shakes. Because he too was raised with his king from a young age. To have the sight of him almost dead on the ground be the last he ever saw of Regis, even if Regis survived... Weskham can’t imagine it.

-He doesn’t want to.

...

-Cid knows Iris is an Amicitia. He’s not BLIND and unlike Clarus he sees the girl a lot more often, since she and Talcott like to come sniffing around the workshop Noctis gave him.

-He’s more than a little sure the girl avoids Clarus when she can, because seeing him cuts up her insides even though she likes him.

-But she and Talcott don’t bother him, or get in his way, so he lets them visit. Sometimes they chat, either to him or over his head, and he learns a lot about their past from those cues.

-He learns Clarus looks like Iris’s and Gladiolus’s father. That Talcott’s family used to be retainers for Iris and Gladiolus’s. He learns that Iris can scrap with the best of them, but honestly prefers staying here and helping people with mending and fixing, because she’s seen too many things get broken in her life that can’t be fixed. Talcott is a busybody, but all his secrets he hoards to himself. He gathers gossip but never spreads it, and he likes learning things because when he was a boy, knowing things was the only way he could help. And even now that he’s grown, knowing things is his strongest weapon.

-Cid can sympathize. He didn’t grow up as one of Regis’s Retinue, and he doesn’t know a lot of courtly things or how magic works beyond the basics Regis taught him. But he does know the wilds, and the villages, and the common folk, and those were things Regis desperately needed to learn back in the day. He knows how to fight, but he prefers to fix because frankly there’s enough people going around breaking things and not enough fixing. Just look at how well Mors messed up Cor.

-Cid carefully doesn’t think about what it must have been like back when Iris and Talcott were small. How they had to help, had to KNOW things when they were only kids (or the nearest immortal equivalent). Cid was an adult when he met Regis, not a kid. He could shoulder that just fine. Them...

-Well. They’re adults now, and they seem happy enough, so Cid will let it go at that.

...

-Cor doesn’t like Older Cor.

-Oh he likes to FIGHT him, and he respects him a lot, but he doesn’t ... like him.

-Old Cor is too much like Cor, and so when Cor sees the ways Old Cor is broken, it means Cor could break in those ways too.

-But Cor is stubborn and curious, so he badgers Old Cor anyway, for fighting, for clues, for ... anything really. And here are some things he learns.

-Old Cor doesn’t like to be around Regis and the others. Not that he doesn’t like them (he loves them, Cor can see it in his eyes, that fervent burning edge that Cor sees in the mirror every morning) but being near them HURTS and both Cor’s tend to fight the things that hurt, so Old Cor stays away.

-Old Cor is protective. He’s protective of his home, of his kingdom, of the humans living in the Night Kingdom. But most of all he’s protective of Noctis and his Retinue, and despite his old joints and scars, he will kill anything that threatens them without hesitation.

-Old Cor is impatient. He’s like Cor, he wants to get things done NOW, but he’s got a much better control over that urge than Cor currently does, so he seems like he’s patient when he’s really not.

-Old Cor lost his King.

-It’s a bad realization. A harsh one that comes after Cor sneaks into the Accursed’s tomb when he shouldn’t have. But it makes sense. Old Cor walks like he is still following in someone’s shadow, two steps back and one to the left, even when no one is around. Old Cor still sometimes looks over his shoulder like he’s about to call someone, then stops and keeps walking. Old Cor spends some evenings nursing a bottle of wine, but for every glass he drinks he pours out two more.

-”Was it Noctis’s father?” Cor asks Old Cor once.

-Old Cor ... LOOKS at Cor and there is a sharpness there that comes less from a honed blade and more from the broken shards of one, “Yes.” Then, before Cor could ask more, Old Cor says, rough and hoarse and fragile “The original Accursed killed him. I was sent away to protect Noctis.”

-I was sent away, he didn’t let me die at his side why didn’t he LET ME STAY WITH HIM- screams between them, maybe Cor’s heart, maybe Old Cor’s. It doesn’t matter, they are close enough in everything else for this reaction to be shared too.

-Cor doesn’t ask about it again.

-One days when Old Cor is too broken and rough, when he genuinely has no tolerance for even looking at Cor, Cor goes and bothers Prompto instead. The man is always willing to fight him, or tell him stories, or just laugh at something Cor did that shouldn’t be funny but is anyway. Cor knows he should probably hunt for clues on Prompto too, but he caught a glimpse of Prompto’s wrist once, the black tattoo that looks suspiciously like a Niflheim slave brand, and even Cor knows that THAT is a line of questions he shouldn’t breach.

...

-Regis has a lot of thoughts on Noctis. At first, it’s terror. Terror at what he thought was the original Accursed, terror for what would become of his Retinue and himself at this monster’s hands.

-Except Noctis is no monster, he is painfully, achingly human, and that perhaps is even worse.

-After that he is wary of Noctis, and refuses to let himself think the words “Lucis Caelum” because if he does THAT then he’s going to ask questions and Noctis doesn’t deserve questions.

-It comes about anyway. There’s no denying his looks, his blue eyes, his magic. And the thought of the OG Accursed being related to the Lucis Caelum line in any way makes Regis’s skin crawl, but Noctis is sweet and kind and patient, and Regis cannot help but love the man like family even before the day he works up the nerve to ask if Noctis is really a Lucis Caelum and gets a soft “yes” as his answer.

(gonna stop there sorry because my hands hurt rn and just hgdhgfds)

[talk1about7seventeen]

☂ Paradise In Somberville ☂

Summary: Mansions and lore is all ancient history, yet not for the rather faint heart of Virgil who stumbles upon a great secret that may just change his life forever.

Warning: Angsty Virgil, cursing, detailed descriptions of death, violence, talks about violence, mentions and depictions of blood, creepy Remus, uncomfortable situations involving sexual tones, just general vampire stuffs.

Characters: Virgil, Remus, Janus, Roman, Patton, and Logan.

Word Count: 3238

Ship/ Paring: No real ship, just general Remus flirting/ being creepy with Virgil, hints of Prinxiety (Virgil x Roman)

AU: Vampires! 

Song Inspiration (Author’s Note): I was inspired by two songs: Vampire Banquet - Fox Academy and BERNADETTE - IAMX. This story is generally based off of Diabolik Lovers (Specifically the anime - WOAH, I JUST FOUND OUT IT WAS A VISUAL NOVEL ON THE PLAYSTATION???? WHAT???) because I’ve been watching a lot of it recently ^^ I should probably check the game/ novel to fully understand the story...I bet plenty of fanfics have been made on this topic and this is just for fun so yea! 

I hope you enjoy! ( ◜◡◝ )♡

꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷

It wasn’t out of the ordinary for Virgil to skip school, especially on gloomy days. It made him want to walk around and explore with his thoughts alone. Today was no exception. He found himself traveling down the same road he always did, enjoying the well needed time to himself. This hour was usually filled with cars, or at the very least animals scattered about. Nothing. Just gloom and quiet; oddly so. It hadn’t really crossed Virgil’s mind. His surroundings were as significant as the millions of other times he made some irrational decision that would shake the course of his day. 

A steady tune played in his ears as he felt like a character in a TV show. “This is the part where something unexpected happens....right?” He commented to the air. Tsk!! “Oh, how scared I am...” His sarcasm was as apparent as the eye roll he gave to absolutely no one. Who knew the reason for his pessimism, or his sour tone. It had become who he presented even alone; his character. Lemons had more of a sweetness to them than he did, and he was aware of that. As the guitar slowly died in his head phones, he felt the vibrations of the road under his feet. This was odd. He wasn’t ever really aware of his surroundings when music was playing but something pulled him from his haze. There was a sound that roared in the distance, probably a car or a truck.

He wouldn’t have cared much normally but it startled him. Besides his own breathing, it was the only sound in the atmosphere. Such a loud contrast to the once silent road. Like a flash of lightning, a beam of sunshine through a window, the only thing in sight....came so fast. The car reared it’s ugly head in view, uncontrollable....untamed. Right at him. 

He felt frozen, anxiety blooming from him like a poisonous plant. Closer....louder....it was angry....the noise! Eyes wide and unprepared for the worst, the horn of the beast ringing out in the air like a siren, a warning call. All of the sudden it came to him in slow motion....the impact. Thankfully, he wasn’t hit face on by the car, only getting clipped in the side. This was enough to send him crashing down to the ground behind him....or...where there should have been flat ground. Instead, Virgil found himself tumbling backwards down a steep slope on the side of the road. 

Every hit to the uneven ground made him let out a groan and shaky breath until he landed on something flat. The ground was so much kinder to him once he stopped rolling. His hand was missing his phone, and the head phones once placed in his ears were suddenly ripped out on the way down to....wherever he was. Laying on his back, he stared at the gloom, the sky. The deep trees like hands reaching out for it. Virgil felt numb emotionally, the anxiety had turned to acceptance....this was how he would die. It made sense. The miserable would find misery. He just had wished someone could have found him before hand. Maybe then he could have made it out with only a few broken bones. 

His lips pressed into a hard line as he pictured all that would occur after this. He would decay here, his flesh peeled off of his bones by the vultures, devoured by the maggots. Maybe he would end up on Buzzfeed Unsolved. He could see the headlines now.....

18 year old boy, found dead in the woods. Was it murder? Here, we will uncover the tale of Virgil, the boy who probably deserved it in the end.

To be fair, only Virgil would classify himself that way. He breathed in once, the knot in his chest ever present. As he began to breathe out for what he imagined would be the last time, he heard a twig snap. His eyes shot open and the anxiety turned into agony. Tears instantly streamed down his face. This was really over.....the man who drove that death machine had found him, didn’t he? Coming to finish the job...

There was a voice but not soon enough spoken. Just as the person was about to say something....anything, Virgil blacked out.

---

“Logan! We have to do something!!”

“Quiet yourself, it doesn’t do any good to shout.”

“Nerd over here is right, Pat. Shut your fucking mouth, babe!”

“Remus! This isn’t helpful, I---oh...”

Virgil began to regain consciousness. His head was spinning and it was surely the people....whoever was around him’s fault. People.....wait...

He sat up faster than he should have because a sharp pain coursed through his lower torso. “Fuck!” He groaned, cupping his side. No one moved in the room and he could feel multiple eyes on him. “Where....” Looking up, his eyes focused on the figures in front of him, now clearer than what his vision had been before. In the room were five other people. The tallest was a lean man with glasses pressed against the bridge of his nose. He looked calculated, smart...it was probably just the glasses though. Or his uncanny expression that looked like he hadn’t slept in months. Virgil knew what that was like, being an insomniac and all. His hair was black and slicked back neatly. He wore more dressed up attire, including a button up shirt which was a dark blue, almost navy and dress pants. He had a vest on that was black, matching the pants he wore, but his eyes....were blue...deeply so. The kind of blue Virgil hadn’t ever seen in eyes before. It was beautiful....alluring. 

The second tallest was also fairly lean, yet he had broader shoulders. His appearance almost made Virgil jump. One side of his face was scarred completely. Something you might only see in comics. He dawned a hat and dressed similarly to the blue eyed man on the other side of the room, yet not as neat. There was a kind of ruggedness to him that made him stand out from the others. His eyes were also oddly bright, taking the form of a yellow hue with a lime green around the iris. Little blonde hairs poked out of his hat almost like bangs. The man looked Virgil up and down and turned to the others, presumably looking for some kind of reaction. 

“Are you going to say anything?” One chimed in. His voice was the equivalent of a broken vinyl on a record player. Virgil nodded, recognizing him as the third voice to speak when he was waking up initially. He was drastically different from the first two, standing at the third tallest next to another man who had the exact same face as him. He was a twin. His clothes were torn and stuck to him like a death threat on the front of a door. What seemed to be a repeating theme was the man’s scattered aesthetic, likewise, his hair was unkempt and silver in color. There were bandages on his right eye, covering what lay underneath. The eye that did show was wild...it had seen murder, or at least that’s the only comparison Virgil could give to how the man looked at him....as if he were prey and he, a hunter. They were green, like a vile of chemicals. 

“Speak then, bitch!” He growled. “Remus!” The smallest boy exclaimed. Remus was his name....he recalled hearing it when he awoke. Out of all of them there, the first voice seemed less threatening, soft even. He had light hair, almost peach looking and it curled freely around his softly framed face. He had the softest features out of all. The rest of the group were so jagged. His eyes were a light blue, almost white. 

“I....” Virgil tried to speak but the words got caught in his throat. “Stop, you’re scaring him!” The soft one spoke again, looking agitated at Remus who crossed his arms in response. The tallest walked up to Virgil with such a stride that would reveal confidence. The man grabbed the sides of Virgil’s chin and turned his face, letting go after a moment of calculation. “How do you feel?” His tone was cold. “Uhm....I---OW! FUCK!” He grasped his side as the pain started to set in. “Where...am I?” 

“My apologies, I am Logan Sanders. You are currently residing in the Somberville Mansion.” Logan looked Virgil dead in the eyes, his almost emotionless nature almost...frightening. “Mansion!?” Remus snickered at the confused boy’s reactions. “Welcome~” He said sensually. “You aren’t helping!” Said his twin. Virgil looked over Logan’s shoulder to see a boy who he would have expected to mirror the dumpster fire of a person but no...he was greeted to a regal, dare even say, royal man. His hair was also silver, but less of an ash color and more of a pearl shade. The beautiful stranger was wearing an eye patch on his left eye which was embellished with red roses and rubies. And oh, his eyes....an orange and red mixture like fire blazing right through him. The passion in his eyes was that only read in stories. “Roman, Remus, leave at once.” Logan ordered, not looking away from Virgil. Roman....that was his name. 

“What is your name?” He asked as the two now out of sight. “Virgil...” The smallest boy came up to the table he laid on. “Hi! I’m Patton! A pleasure to meet you.” He smiled widely. His teeth looked almost like they had fangs. “I really did hit my head hard, didn’t I?” Virgil asked out loud, receiving a small giggle from Patton. “You smell,” He inhaled. “Amazing!” 

Virgil looked down at his now ripped attire, sniffing in the scent. “If you like muddled cologne---uh---sure..” Logan finally turned to the last person in the room and muttered something Virgil couldn’t really hear. “Do you guys have a phone I could use?” The room he was in was decorated accordingly to how each person dressed. It was polished, almost Victorian, with a fireplace in the corner which was surrounded by bookshelves that held knowledge unbeknownst to outsiders. “Don’t think so. But trust me,” Patton cupped Virgil’s hands in his palms and looked into his eyes with the utmost optimism. “You’re in good hands.” His cheerful giggle rang out into the air once more. “I think I dropped my phone somewhere in the woods....if I could just get to that, I---” 

“No worries, we already got it covered.” The yellow eyed person said, handing him over his phone. The screen was damaged which was no surprise. Virgil sighed. “Thanks...” Patton let go of Virgil’s hand “Great job, Janus!” 

“If you follow me, we can get you proper clothing and make sure you’re seen off momentarily back to your home.” Logan walked up to the dark oak double doors with golden handles, pulling it gently and moving through. “C’mon, cutie!” Patton beckoned him out of the room.

---

If not for the fact that he was being directed into different hallways, up different staircases, he could have gotten lost. They weren’t kidding when they called this place a mansion. They finally came upon a door that opened up to a room with a plush bed, a vanity, and a large wardrobe and other objects that Virgil doubted were considered an necessity. It was all fully furnished and it looked expensive. “I hope you find the selection most suitable. We’ll leave you here to change. Come out when you’re finished.” And with that, Logan closed the door behind him leaving Virgil alone with his thoughts. Though, his thoughts were anything close to what he wanted to be alone with. He didn’t know these people which would normally spike his nerves. Yet, these people were somehow inviting despite their intense appearance. Even if not, they were all he had at the moment. He didn’t know where he was and his phone was busted. The five people in this crazy maze of a house was the ticket to his survival. If he didn’t die out in those woods, he was certain he wasn’t going to die now. Not like this anyways. Not with his fresh wounds. He couldn’t get away even if someone was chasing him. There was no telling the condition his legs were in let alone his entire body. The risk was too great. He was forced to blindly trust these people. So far they had been seemingly kind. But that was only now. What about later? Especially with that Remus guy....he looked like a wild cat ready to pounce. Virgil didn’t trust the blood lust in his eyes. But he was safe for now. In a room. Alone with his thoughts.

Might as well find something to wear. There wasn’t any more time left to waste. The sooner Virgil could get out, the later he could contemplate and better yet, process everything that was happening. He opened the large wardrobe and gulped. Clothes sat untouched of the finest material. Skimming his hands over a blouse, he gasped. This thing had to be a couple hundred dollars at least. This was definitely out of his comfort level, but this may be the only time he could feel and look expensive. He chose a long sleeved blouse that was white and shined under the light. It was cut into a V shape at his neck, exposing some of his chest. The sleeves fanned out at the forearms and tightened around his wrists, a part of the shirt covering the back of his hand. The shirt went along with a set of black pants which weren’t ripped unlike what he normally wore. Lastly, the shoes were black and had a slight heel on the bottom. Walking away from the wardrobe he got a good look at himself in a full-body mirror that sat next to a window. Outside of the window shown the sky darkening as rain came falling down from the sky. He had to get out of here. 

“Uh....Logan?” Virgil called, leaning on the bedroom door. The door swung open and instead of Logan and Patton was Remus. “Oh...uh...” He began to stammer. “I think Logan was supposed to be out---”

“What do you get out of teasing me like this?” Remus glowered. “What--?” The man took a step forward, causing Virgil to take one back. “You’re smell so....addictive, my pet~” He began to walk backwards until he hit the bed behind him, falling onto it. With a quick motion, Remus jumped on top of Virgil, straddling him. “Dude, what the fuck!?!?!” The bigger man placed a hand forcefully on Virgil’s lips. “Shhhhh.....shhh....” He cooed. “You can’t wear such a....revealing piece of clothing....” Remus leaned down to Virgil’s ear and took in a deep breath. “Delicious....I’ll take immense pleasure in you...” For a quick moment, Virgil looked into Remus’ eyes and saw death in the face. Panic....nothing but panic! Thoughts flooded into his head like a cry for help. Please!!!! It can’t end like this. Then suddenly, a strike, almost like a needle, dug into Virgil’s exposed skin. He let out a yelp, trying to make any sound he could to grab someone’s attention, anyone! He felt a sucking sensation which burned the side of his neck. Remus lifted his head, blood trickling down his lips and exposed teeth. They were sharp.

“REMUS!!!” Patton gasped. The man groaned and got off of Virgil, cursing under his breath. “I’m so sorry, Vir---!” Patton tried to say and caught a sight of Virgil’s neck. Patton went and yelled for someone but Virgil wasn’t sure who because he felt his vision fade and his consciousness leave him.

---

He awoke to sun in his window. Virgil sat up and laughed to himself. What an odd dream he had. There was pain....and a hot mystery man...and vampires....but it was all a dream...it was all---

“Good morning!” Patton cheered. “It....it wasn’t fake!?” 

“Clearly not.” Logan readjusted his glasses. “Since Remus was, for lack of better words, crudely inappropriate last night, it has come to my attention that you know about him, about us. And knowing our secret, we cannot permit you to leave Somberville.” Virgil’s eyes widened, tears starting to form. “I-I--no! I need to get out of here! I have a family! Friends! I---can’t be here!” 

Patton turned away, too solemn to look Virgil in the eyes. “I do not blame you for his....mistake.” Logan’s words cut like a knife as he glared towards Remus who was unphased by this. “However, you must pay the consequences for such. We can do one of two things, make the public presume you dead,” he paused. “Or, we can come up with a more....kind explanation to your sudden disappearance.” 

“We’ll let you decide, of course.” Patton said, his once cheery voice now as gloom as yesterday’s sky. “Let us know in exactly fourty-eight hours.” Logan checked his watch and with a small nod, exited the room. “It’ll be....okay...you’re in good hands...” Patton tried to be optimistic as he once was, but nothing could shake the emotion that coated his voice. Janus pulled Remus out of the room, too cautious to leave Virgil and him alone again. Virgil wiped the tears that poured down his cheeks. A figure sat down on the side of the bed, sinking into the plush mattress. It was Roman.

“Uh...I’m sorry about my, rather ignorant brother. He was dropped on his head as a kid.” Virgil let out a small chuckle. “No kidding....soo...you guys..are--” 

“Yea...” Roman sounded sympathetic for the boy who wasn’t quite sure if he was just a boy anymore. Virgil rubbed against the side of his neck, pressing against the bite marks that remained from Remus. “I don’t think I ever introduced myself. I’m Roman, pleasure to make your acquaintance....though I wished on different circumstances.” He held out a hand. Virgil shook it, making eye contact with the one eye that was showing. There was silence between them now. The breeze drifted into the room and birds began to chirp. Roman wasn’t so scary....not that he expected him to be...but after last night, there’s no saying who could be deceiving Virgil. “Well, I’ll leave you to your own devices. If he ever does anything like this again, call for me. I’ll be your dark prince, always at your service.” He planted a kiss on the knuckles of Virgil’s fingers. He stood up and took a small bow. Virgil felt his cheeks flush. “The rest of us aren’t so bad.” Roman promised. “Hopefully.” Virgil responded, null of hope.

Roman stopped at the door and gave one last nod and vanished out of the room. The sky was shining today. It was warm and glowing. The atmosphere was light and everything they didn’t seem to be. A facade in the form of living. Such a happy place for the name Somberville. But even still, all Virgil could feel was the gloom and the aching of his body and where the bite marks remain....and he was more aware of himself than he ever was before, and afterwards...

[severnlight]

Swords and Starflowers AU ⚔️ 💮 ⚔️ Day 26 [Angstober]: Fallen This is a continuation from the previous post.

Newly named, the young Sith stumbles back from his master’s study through the gallery. It is a long walk, and by the time he reaches his rooms, he can barely hold on to his crutches, and has to lean on the wall for support. The servants have already tidied the space, and cleaned up the mirror shards. By tomorrow, they will have cleaned up the smears of blood he’s left in the gallery, his rooms, and the Emperor’s study. Perhaps they would even be able to lift the stains from the silk carpet. Just like nothing ever happened.

The Spinnakerian still sits by his bedside table, shiny and tempting on its dainty porcelain plate. Someone has covered it with a glass dome, and left a bottle of pear cider next to it. This confection… It is her favorite, too, singled out over the entire formidable range of pastries Theed has to offer. The memory flashes before his eyes in vivid detail.

“As if marrying you wasn’t treason enough,” she quips, and pokes a finger to his chest with a bright laugh. A touch he is death-certain he would never feel again. A laugh he would never hear. 

He takes a swing at the glass dome, and it shatters, flying off the side table and sweeping the cider bottle with it. Vader turns away. He can’t bear to see the broken pieces.

Three servants on late duty are called to young master Palpatine’s rooms for another clean-up. He sits in his inner parlor like a stone gargoyle, his right hand freshly bandaged, and pays no heed to them. But when they are about to leave, he calls them in a voice so cold that the youngest in the trio shivers.

“Wait.”

They stop by the door, turn, and lower their gaze in respect, but not before noticing this dangerous yellow glow in his eyes, one they have only seen before in his Father’s.

“Yes, my lord?”

“Tell Chef I don’t want him to make…” Lord Vader falters, suddenly unwilling to say the name of the confection, “this…” he motions at the mess they are about to carry out, “ever again! He should have taken the hint by now,” he pauses. “Or, there will be consequences.”

“Yes, my lord,” the eldest among the trio assents with another deep bow, then they flee the room. They know too well how precarious the moods of a man with yellow eyes can get.

On their way back to the kitchens, the servants are caught in the same thought, but no-one dares speak it aloud. Their esteemed young lord, the pride of Spinnaker, a boy who in all his years here had never been unkind to the staff, seems truly gone. This new lord, having risen from the ashes, bore little resemblance, and spoke harshly on each rare occasion he condescended to open his scarred mouth.

The next day, Lord Vader demands to be moved to a single room, up in the left wing’s lone tower. He dismisses his servants, and day by day, the folks in the grand estate think about him less and less. Since no-one ever sees him, and His Majesty no longer mentions him, many wonder if he has died in that tower after all, and has been secretly buried. The older members of the staff who remember him growing up silently mourn his passing.

Autumn arrives with a glorious splash of color that year, and on a crisp Sunday morning, the servants must ponder the identity of another lord: a tall man who no-one has managed to see arriving, but is about to leave the Castle. He is accompanied by a small retinue of black-armored knights, bearing an unfamiliar red sigil next to the Imperial cog. On his head, the lord wears a full-face daemon mask crowned with jagged thorns of embersteel, and his finely wrought scale armor swallows the bright morning sunlight in the embrace of a yawning abyss. ⚔️ 💮 ⚔️