Von (Hope)

Þar sem gróir þar er von.
Allt sem græðir geymir von.

Listen to [x] while reading.


On the night of May 2nd 1998, Draco Malfoy lays awake on his bed.

It’s over. He’s dead. It’s over.” His mind chants. But is it?

A dark, hooded figure that hadn’t been there a second before stands on the edge of his bed, Malfoy starts. He grasps for his wand before realizing he hasn’t got one. The hooded figure chuckles, voice acidic and cold.

“You cheated me.” It says, Draco is frozen in place, searching his brain for whoever this might be. It can’t be the Dark Lord. He’s dead. Draco saw him die today. It can’t be.

“I’m Death.” It answers the question he hadn’t voiced, the knowledge brings a sense of Deja Vu, but he can’t quite place it “and no, I’m not here to take you with me.” he fails to conceal his disappointment. The room feels colder than it had.

“You were meant to die today, in the fire, but you didn’t.” The hairs on his body stand on edge at the mention of it. He’s shaking before he realizes it.

It had been so hot, he’d been gripping Potter’s waist like a lifeline, the fire licking at the hems of his pants, his screams drowned by the roar of the flames, Crabbe falling down and being consumed by them like he was nothing. He thought he’d die. He wishes he had.

“It was written on the stars, Draco Malfoy. However did you cheat the heavenly bodies?” It drawls out impatiently, he doesn’t know the answer. Is he supposed to?

“For this, however.” Death says, swishing it’s cloak, bony hands showing “I owe you a wish. Any wish at all.”

Draco’s eyes widen and his heart picks up speed in his chest. Any wish at all.

He suddenly remembers hearing a similar story to this one. Every bone in his body advices him not to accept, for Death could only be cunning and deceitful, not giving and generous.

Or perhaps Life was the first two and Death’s sweet release was the last. Perhaps life had been the cruel one all along. He dreams of a world where he doesn’t have to feel all of this, where the guilt doesn’t eat him alive, where he never takes the Dark Mark, where war doesn’t kill hundreds, where he’s happy.

He realizes that even if Death is fooling him, he doesn’t mind the likely outcome.

“I want a time turner” he says firmly “One capable of going back to 1991.” If Death is surprised, it doesn’t show it, it moves it’s hands in a swish and a time turner appears between them. It floats until it settles on Draco’s hand.

“Act wisely, Malfoy boy. For I can only grant you one wish.” It says, the ghost of a smile behind the dark hood. Then disappears.

Draco clutches the object and adjusts the time. He wonders if he’s in a dream, if it’ll work. Maybe he’s already dead and doesn’t know it, he doesn’t mind much. 

Doesn’t care to find out.

He closes his eyes and is launched into the paradox of time and space. He sees a colorless void and falls falls falls. His body small and insignificant in the never-ending space. Just when he’s starting to become fond of the quiet nothing and the soothing air touching his face, his stomach twists and he appears in a room that he knows too well. High ceilings and cool toned ancient furnitures. No feeling of home or coziness despite belonging to a child.

His childhood bedroom. If one could call it that.

He looks at the clock with a sharp twist and beneath the time, it reveals the date.

July 31st of 1991.

He almost can’t believe he has succeeded, but can’t dwell on his fear and excitement too long, for a small boy whom he knows too well and not at all stands at the foot of his bed, staring at him in horror. It’s a shock, seeing himself so full of life in the innocence of a child who doesn’t know what the future entails. A child with eager eyes and a prideful chest. Malfoy realizes he’s a ghost of what this child is.

“Who are you?” The small one shrieks. Draco presses a finger to his lips, shushing him. He’s grateful that the Manor is big enough for them not to be heard.

“I’m you. From the future.” young Draco flinches back and is about to start shouting again, before he seems to take in Draco’s features and connects them to an older version of himself. His eyes widen and Draco can see himself panic and glance around frantically, although also subtly, for an escape.

Slytherins. He thinks fondly.

“That’s not possible. Why-how are you here?” He demands.

“I have a story to tell you. But the first thing you need to know.” He swallows a lump in his throat “is that today you will be meeting a boy as you get fitted for your Hogwarts robes. I want you to change what you will say to him, for it’ll change how he sees you. It is extremely important that you do so.”

“Why? What do you mean? I don’t understand.” young Draco looks even more confused, of course he is.

Draco explains as much as he can and sugar coats what a child shouldn’t have to know. He attempts to explain to his own self that the opinions of his father are wrong, the small Draco tries to protest, but he doesn’t allow him to and continues telling him what’ll happen if he doesn’t listen carefully. By the end, his voice is hoarse and little Draco looks sick with fear. But he nods, seemingly understanding he has a duty to perform even if he doesn’t quite understand all of it it. Ah, the usual Malfoy, accepting what’s presented to him, born to please his elders, he thinks bitterly.

“Who’ll be the boy I’ll meet today?” His younger self asks tentatively when Draco is done talking and stands up. Draco smiles nostalgically as he adjusts the time again.

“I have put my faith in you, what you choose to do from now can change everything.” He says, and just as he feels the void sucking him in again, he says his last words to the last hope he’s got.

“And Draco, one last thing.” the kid nods “offer him your hand before you learn his name.”


where things grow, there is hope,
all that heals has hope.

forest elves and minotaurs

a little something i wrote for @incaseyouart​‘s phan elf au ,, enjoy !!

summary: ((it’s literally just the verbal form of this post here)

words: 1.4k

t/w: none

((it starts a little slow but bare with aha)

Patrolling, as uneventful and inconceivably dull as it was, was probably the most exciting part of Dan’s week.

Which he supposed made his week pretty uneventful and inconceivably dull in itself

Patrolling alone was not particularly interesting at all. Dan had heard enough faeries tell him that their silvery glowing liquid was actually ‘a luminescent forest protection balm’ (instead of what Dan suspected it to be) to last him a few decent lifetimes. And it was just so boring, strolling around one godforsaken area of the forest for hours at a time. That wasn’t what made it interesting, though.

It was more the atmosphere of it all. 

The Darker Forest was the type of place to send shivers cascading down your spine. The breeze crawling through the fog and reaching out at the most unsuspected of moments. Grabbing onto your shoulders, cloaks, your hands, trying to tug you further into it’s depths. 

Dan lived for it. Understandable- it was to be expected of a Dark Elf.
Live in the darkness, and guard the Villages. The boring principles they were all forced to live by. Dan had strayed as far as he possible could from the stereotypes that basically governed them, opting to become a performer and the main storyteller of his village, instead of a guard or night-raiser. Yet, this month, he’d been forced into patrolling instead of performing.

The Council liked to do this sometimes, they didn’t see his storytelling as ‘contributing to their established world’, basically meaning it wasn’t a real job and he needed to pull his weight around the Village. Which he didn’t agree with in the slightest. People went batshit crazy without his stories to brighten up their days, but he guessed he needed somewhere to get his stories from- and if not the Sprite’s villages, the Darker Forest was the prefect place to find them.

Still, this job had nothing on the thrill of entertaining. The Darker Forest creeped him out, plus he was sure all the forest elves, and the river sprites and everyone else hated him for the patrolling and having to interact with everyone he came across. That was okay though, he hated it too. 

Dan stopped moving suddenly. He let out a stale breath, feeling the tree roots behind him slithering under his boots, coiling themselves around his ankles and winding up to his knees.


He needed to move faster. The tree roots around these parts tended to do that if you stood in one spot for too long, Dan figured it had something to do with the faeries ‘luminescent forest protection balm’, doing it’s luminescent forest protecting.

He grabbed at his shoes, tugging the roots from where they had attached themselves to the buckles and trampling on them, breaking into a little jog. He could hear a humming from somewhere nearby, a soft little jingle that made the ominous darkness of the forest seem a little brighter. 

Then it all dimmed again, Dan realising that humming meant people and people meant interaction. Probably a Pixie- it was in their nature to sing and hum and be generally obnoxious. 

Dan moved through the trees as quietly as he could, Pixies tended to overreact and scream when they were surprised- a sequence that often led him into a lot of trouble.

As he drew closer to the sound, he realised it was not a Pixie. It was far too deep in comparison to their strange tinkle and, in Dan’s opinion, far too nice. Something nearby was casting a strange glow now, a greenish light emitting from in front of him, lighting a clear path towards the humming sound. The wind was strengthening and Dan shivered, hiding further into his thick black cloak. The trees blew wildly, leaves raining down from them like raindrops. The sky had begun to darken and the entire forest had that sort of scent like it was about to rain. Dan hated the rain. Too cold and miserable.

He peered through the trees, curious as to see the source of the light.
It definitely was not a Pixie. A boy- a forest elf, sat crouched over a tree. He was sort of strange-looking, dressed all in green, his feet wrapped in leaves and a shawl covered his shoulders, buttoned up with little leaf clasps. 

And he was glowing.

The glow, the greenish one that tinted all the trees and lit up the entire Darker Forest, was coming from this boy, emitting from his hands and face and through the leaves on his feet.

It made Dan stop and stare.

He didn’t quite understand what the boy was doing, he looked to be scavenging around for something at the base of a tree. His hands dug around in the dirt and his cloak shimmered as he moved his head.

Dan groaned. It pained him to have to interact with people, but the protocol basically forced him to ask questions to everyone he came across. This was why he hated patrol. 

“Who are you?” He demanded, marching over to the boy. The elf’s head whipped around quicker than a sprite running from trouble- a little too fast. Dan leapt back as the boy let out a squeal, tumbling to the ground. Falling backwards and jerking his head up to avoid landing on it, in a way that Dan could only describe as about as elegant as a giant sitting down too fast (which wasn’t a pretty sight, and Dan could tell you that from experience).

“Ah, sorry, you startled me!” The boy smiled widely, and Dan was almost intimidated by the sheer glow of cheerfulness in his grin, “My name is Phil!”

“Oh, uh sorry about that,” Dan mumbled, smiling back despite the mask that covered the bottom half of his face. “Here,” He offered a hand out to the boy to pull him up, and he took it gratefully. 

“Thank you,” Phil said.

“No problem. What are you doing in this forest anyways?” Dan chuckled, “It can be dangerous… for someone who literally glows.” He added, mumbling the last part under his breath.

“Well, I was trying to find a plant, but then this squirrel chased me! It was so determined? Maybe it knows there are bigger plans for me in this forest,” Phil rambled, Dan trying his best not to laugh.

“A squirrel? Are you actually kidding me?” Dan giggled, pulling his mask down a little, “But aren’t you like… a forest elf? And you’re scared of a little squirrel?”

Phil beamed, “I know- I’m just a bit weird,” He shrugged. This guy was a complete goofball and Dan couldn’t lie, he was a little worried he was going to get himself killed in the Darker Forest.

“Anyway the plant you were looking for… what was it called?” He tried to spark up a conversation, intrigued at the strange elf.

“Oh! It’s called Sanitas Medela. They grow at the bases of trees like this one,” Phil smiled, gesturing to the tall tree they stood under.

“Did you try looking all around?” Dan questioned.

“Ah, no.”

“I’ll be happy to help!” He offered. It beat patrolling any day.

Phil nodded gratefully, “That’d be amazing.”

Dan pulled his mask back up, following Phil as they began to hunt through the trees, Phil stopping to admire a particular leaf every few seconds.

“Look at this one!” He exclaimed, “The patterning is exquisite!” Dan giggled at Phil’s use of ‘exquisite’ to describe a leaf, and he glanced at the tree.

“It’s, uh, nice.” It was really just a leaf. A very average leaf.

“I know! Beautiful.” Phil smiled, plucking it from the tree and shoving it into his bag. “I think we’re nearby a grove of the tree the Sanitas Medela grows under- we should be able to find one there.”

“Perfect!” Dan smiled.

Phil had begun to talk again as they walked, but stopped mid-sentence, “But I don’t think it’s necessary- that’s one there!” Phil yelled excitedly, rushing to grab the small plant. It was a little underwhelming, Dan had to be honest. Basically just a green stick with some red dots at the end. Nothing special.

“That’s so lucky- these are rare,” Phil seemed so content that Dan couldn’t help but beam, “Thanks for your help…uh…”

“Oh, it’s Howell- but you can call me Dan I guess!” He said, pulling the hood of his cloak down and the mask along with it.

“Nice to meet you, Dan!”

“So, uh, what’s the plant for anyways?”

“It’s one of the best for healing the body,” Phil smiled down at it.

“Are you sick?” Dan questioned, feeling sick to his stomach with worry.

“Not me, but my-“ Phil stopped. His ears perked up at a noise from far away. A low growl, followed by the a cracking sound. Branches snapping. “Uh- what’s that,” He whispered nervously, fear forming in his eyes as he stared, scared, at Dan.

They both turned around. The beast stood, snuffling in the shadows, hidden partly by the trees. It’s great bull-like face showed no emotion but anger, and it’s eyes glowed a sinister red.

“Minotaur.” Dan said shortly, his fingers reaching down to grasp his dagger.

MariChat May: The Oracle’s Gift

Special thanks to @toukabunni33 for playing Beta for me!

Love Square

Rated: T

The Oracle’s Gift

MariChat May Prompts:

Aged Up! Chat

Aged Up! Marinette

Identity Reveal

One Shot

Adrien, in the guise of Chat Noir, had been enjoying one of his few moments of leisure at Marientte’s, laying down on her chaise, eyes watching as the girl fussed over a new design that she was making.

This moment, this was one of his favorite moments of time. Where he was able to spend time with Marinette without her stuttering. He adored watching her work, playing video games with her. Everything seemed platonic between them. Adrien quickly and easily called her his best friend after all the time he spent with her as Chat.

Sadly, he wouldn’t tell her his identity. Not until he showed Ladybug. Marinette had an ever-growing spot in his heart, but Ladybug was there first, and her grasp was still firm. He hoped one day she’d have it completely as his partner, friend… and hopefully his girlfriend, maybe more one day.

He had few days like this. When he meant days, he meant daylight hours. It took much pleading and bribing, but he had convinced Nathalie to give him a couple days off just to hang out with friends and get his energy back. Between school, modeling, and all of his extra lessons—not to mention his time as Chat Noir—he was completely burnt out energy wise.

It was when his Baton sounded off with an Akuma Alert from the Ladyblog that he hissed in annoyance.

He heard a lighter hiss, Marinette shaking her hand, the sound having startled her enough that she stabbed herself in the finger with a needle.

“I’m okay! Just got my finger.” She moved the digit between her lips, looking towards him. “Go. Go save people, Chat. I’ll be here when you get back.” She said, pulling the digit away once the bleeding had stopped.

A small smile was tossed her way as he moved to go out the hatch that lead to her balcony.

Keep reading

The Plan (Young James Potter x reader)

A/N: this is so cheesy but my brain was like “you need to write this. you nEED THIS” so i did it :))

word count: 1235 (aw hell yeah)
warnings: noooope

“I can’t believe you didn’t get your form signed, Y/N!!” James huffs as you both enter the common room.

Sirius and Remus follow behind you. “Wait, you didn’t get it signed?! The first Hogsmeade trip is tomorrow!” Sirius cries, a look of panic on his face.

“You can’t possibly expect us to go without you!!” Remus exclaims.

You sit down and bury your face in your hands. “I know. I’m sorry. Just- please don’t make me feel worse about this than I already do,” You sigh.

“Wait. Guys, there could be a way we could get her there.” James implies, a smirk of realization on his face.

You lift your head to look at him. “What d'you mean? Prongs, I didn’t get my form signed.”

“We’re the Marauders, for crying out loud!” He announces, his grin growing. Remus and Sirius give him a look. “Moony, the map, if you would.” He places the map in James’s open palm. “Right here. Secret passage. Leads to the basement of Honeydukes.” He points to an entrance. “You two,” He gestures to the other two boys. “will go with the rest of the group. Y/N and I will meet you at the candy shop at noon.” He turns back to you. “We’re gonna have to use my cloak.”

“You guys can just go without me. It’s-”

“No,” The three decide all at once.

You laugh, “Alright, then.”

So, the next morning, you wait for the boys in the common room. The two dogs come down first with smiles on their faces. “Prongs’ll be down in a minute. He’s just making the last few preparations,” Sirius smirks. Preparations? Aren’t you just sneaking out under the cloak? How many preparations are needed?

“We’ll see you there, Y/N.” Remus says and claps you on the shoulder. They leave. They’re acting a bit strange, aren’t they?

James comes down a few moments later, invisibility cloak in one hand, map in the other. “Well, c'mere.” He places the cloak over your shoulders and then shortly joins you underneath it.

“A bit snug, isn’t it?” you note.

He nods. “Yeah, I suppose so.” The two of you share a beat of pure quiet, just taking in the close proximity of each other’s bodies. You swear you can feel him breathing. “Right then,” he breaks the silence. “Let’s go.”

You and he exit the common room and head to the entrance to the secret passage. “Here, take my hand. It’s- er- pretty dark down there,” James says, gesturing down the dank, gloomy staircase. “Wouldn’t want you to trip or anything.”

“We have wands, Prongs. We literally have spells to light up the tunnel,” you chuckle.

He rolls his eyes. “Just- take my hand, Y/N.”

You bite your lip, holding back a grin, and nod. “Alright, alright.” Your fingers interlock with his and you can’t help but feel heat rush to your cheeks. “How long until we get there?” you ask after having already walked for a good ten minutes.

“Depends.” He shrugs vaguely, absentmindedly licking his lips and glancing around the tunnel. Your hand is sticky in his. You’re not quite sure if yours is the clammy one or his. You wait for him to go on but he doesn’t.

“Depends on what?” you muse.

He merely shrugs again. “I dunno; it usually takes around an hour.”

Your eyes widen. “An hour?! James, I’m cold! I can’t-”

“I’ll keep you warm, then!” He lets go of you hand and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you even closer to him. “We are not going to Hogsmeade without you, so suck it up.”

Okay, your heart is pounding. You clear your throat. “O-okay, then.” You have to force the words out your mouth.

He furrows his brows at you. “Are you alright?”

You nod. “Just cold, like I said.”

He gives you a look. “You’re doing the nervous thing.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you scoff. You know exactly what he’s talking about.

“The thing you do when you’re nervous. You tap your fingers on your leg. Incessantly, I might add,” he notes, poking your side playfully. You let out a giggle, not meaning to. “Now, what are you worried about? D'you think we’re gonna get caught or something?”

You exhale shakily and reply, “No. I’m not worried about anything.”

“Well then, why are you-?”

“Come off it, Prongs!” you snap. “I’m fine-”

So caught up in hiding your nerves, you aren’t watching where you’re going. You trip. Of course. You’ve stepped on the corner of the cloak and you’re about to fall.

“Y/N!” James luckily still had his arm locked around you. He pulls you back to keep you from face planting; only he pulled you back too far. You’re practically in a dip position.

You gasp so loudly. You’re catching your breath as the boy stares down at you. You feel him grip you tighter, draw you closer to him. Though it’s dark, he smiles down at you, and everything around you just seems so bright. In this moment, your body held up by his, nothing else matters. There is nothing else in the whole world except you and him. God, you wish that you could just tell him how much he means to you. You wish you could tell him how he’s all you think about, how he makes your legs turn to jelly when he says your name, how-

Your thoughts are interrupted by his lips pressed softly to yours. Slightly startled at first, you quickly assess the situation and find yourself kissing him back. It’s gentle and warm, just like how you’d imagined.

He pulls away, somewhat reluctantly. “I’m sorry- I’ve just been wanting to do that for so- you were just so- Are you alright?”

You nod, a grin playing on your lips. “I’m fine, now shush. You’re ruining it.”

“Sorry,” he laughs, leaning back down into you. His mouth meets yours again and you don’t think you’ve ever felt happier. There’s this fuzzy feeling pulsing through your entire being. You haven’t got a single care or worry. James Potter is holding you in his arms, kissing you. “Glad to know everything went according to plan,” he smirks against your lips.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you inquire. “What plan?”

“The plan the boys and I stayed up all night plotting out. The plan for me to finally get you alone to- well- to do this,” he answers. “Moony and Padfoot have had to listen to me ogle over you since fourth year,” he chuckles, standing you upright and brushing your hair behind your ear.

You’re practically speechless. “Fourth year,” you utter. “James, fourth year?”

He bites his lip. “Yeah..”

“Me too!” you giggle, overcome with giddiness.


“Yes!” You’re full on laughing now. “I’ve fancied you for so long! Why didn’t you ever say anything?!” You’ve buried your head in the crook of his neck now.

He just laughs right along with you, shaking his head. “We’re just a couple of idiots, aren’t we?”

“Think so,” you respond, grabbing his hand. “Okay, okay. We oughta get going now. Don’t wanna leave the other two waiting.”

“At this point, I couldn’t care less if they’re left waiting.” He kisses your cheek still beaming dopily. The two of you continue walking until you get to Honeydukes to tell the dogs the good news.

Currently working on a Swan Prince!Victuuri AU, and it’s not going so well so have a feathery Victor instead :’3c He’s so pretty, but so hard to draw….

this anime is killing me in more ways than one

Bad Habits

Warning: NSFW [Very much citrus]

Raven had a problem.

She had always prided herself in being highly attuned to and analytical of her own emotions. It was, after all, essential for her to properly process every bubbling hormone and neural impulse that fizzled through her brain and sent her heart beating. The lives and safety of those around her depended on this, and Raven had the memories of her own failures to serve as a heavy reminder.

Still, she was loathe to admit such a girlish thing to herself, as if she was somehow above the most basic human tendencies. Perhaps at one point she had believed she was, but after some recent revelations, Raven realized that was most definitely not the case.

She liked staring at Beast Boy’s butt. Often.

His spandex-esque uniform really didn’t help the matter either; if anything, it made her dirty little hobby far easier to maintain. The material only served to emphasize his features, allowing Raven to ogle from a distance almost daily.

What made the situation even worse, was that Raven didn’t just admire his behind. She imagined things, like touching it. Often. Daily, in fact. It was as embarrassing as it was enticing, and Raven quivered at the mere thought of the changeling’s firm rear.

Keep reading

Help Me {Soulmate AU} [D.M.]

Character: Draco Malfoy
Word Count: 1574
Requested?: Yes/No
Summary: Soulmate AU where whatever Y/n writes on her skin also appears on her soulmate’s skin. Draco is determined to find the girl who is begging to be saved from herself.
Other Parts: Part 1 Part 2
WARNINGS: Do not read if you are triggered by depressive thoughts.
Disclaimer: Gif isn’t mine, credit to whoever made it

+ + + + +

Depression is a complex thing, meaning so much to one person, yet so little to another. To one, it’s a demon, reaching out and taking the joy from everything in the world, and replacing it with hopelessness and despair.

It isn’t always easy, to see who has depression. Sometimes, it’s the person you least expect. Sometimes, it can be the happiest-seeming person ever. But then one day, they may be in the middle of a laugh,

and they just stop.

Depression is a constant thing, and it rips apart everything you ever hold dear.

It stops you from caring, about anything, really. It consumes you, filling your head with thoughts that wouldn’t even dare to enter other people’s minds.

Depression is the slow, painful process of accepting life’s negatives, and being exhausted whilst waiting for death.

Because sometimes, suicidal people aren’t really wanting to die, but rather, they just want an escape from the horrors of day-to-day activities.

Depression is hard when you have no one to talk to, because no one seems to care. Hell, you don’t even seem to care. It’s made even harder when those around you frown upon anything in the mental health region.

It’s impossible to try and do anything, without second-guessing yourself about it, because that’s what depression does.

And maybe that’s the reason why, when you came across a strange group of dark, hooded figures in your third year, that though they tried, they couldn’t take away your happiness.

Because you had none left to give.

Life had chewed you up and spat you out. And you were done.

Because depression is like screaming in a room filled with people, yet none of them seem to hear or care.

It’s like drowning, but people are watching you struggle, enjoying your pain.

It’s like waiting for something dreadful, sitting around with a ball of angst circling your stomach, as you try to cling onto any last hopes you have.

Except, it’s all disappeared.

When you sat around, alone with your looking thoughts, all you had was parchment and a quill. It wasn’t enough to take your mind away from all the negativity - nothing was - but it helped. Marginally.

You had lost all hope for anything getting better, but you did cling onto the fact that maybe, possibly, there was somebody out there that could help you. That cared.

You had heard rumours, where a thing printed onto your skin, would appear on your soulmate’s. You didn’t know if it was true - nobody spoke of it directly to you. Nobody spoke of anything directly to you.

But it was the last thing you could do.

You picked up your quill, and printed two words.

Help me.


He hadn’t noticed at first, too caught up in trying to catch Potter doing something he shouldn’t.

He barely paid attention to the black ink that had mysteriously appeared on the back of his hand.

It was only when Crabbe pointed to his hand and asked what it was that he finally noticed two words etched into his skin.

Help me.

He stared at the words, his heart pounding, and breath getting caught in his throat.

Help me.

They appeared again, written carefully underneath the last. His mind clogged with situations where his soulmate would need to try and communicate with him like this.

Help me.

“I have to go,” he said, pulling the sleeve of his cloak to hide his hand as he walked out of the Slytherin common rooms.

Help me.

He glanced down at his hand, which was becoming filled with black ink, the same phrase written over and over.

Help me.

He had to find you. There was no doubt about it. You needed him. For once, he was going to try and help someone other than himself.

And that’s when he pulled out his own quill, and began to write.


You dropped the quill, your hand aching. If the rumours were true, your soulmate would see what you had written, and, with any luck, save you before it’s too late.

Gripping harshly on the table in front of you, your face contorted in pain; emotional pain.

You stared down at your ink-covered hand until your eyes began to blur.

That’s when you saw it.

The intricate handwriting printed on the back of your other hand, appearing like magic.

How can I help?

Your heart jolted. The soulmate rumours were true. And now… now you had someone who was willing to help you.

Slowly, as if you expected it to be a dream, you began to answer the question.

I need help saving me from myself.


“How many times do I have to tell you, you filthy little mudblood! Stay out of my way!” A voice ring through your ears as you clenched your hidden fists. “Just leave me alone, Malfoy,” you muttered, pushing past him.

You wanted to get to the library, where you could communicate with your soulmate in privacy.

“Wait a minute, come back here!” He said as you held a hand grabbing your cloak and yanking you back, “You seem to be in a hurry. Where are you heading to? You better not be contaminating everywhere with your dirty blood.”

“Why would I tell you?” You said quietly, removing your cloak from his grasp, and trying to turn away.

“Hey! I’m not done with you yet!”

“Well I’m done with you,” you said as you stalked off, tears threatening to spill out of your eyes.

You could just lay down and cry right now, a voice inside your head said, Nobody cares, not really.

Finally making it to the library, you took a seat hidden in the shadows, far away from the other people sat down studying, and took out your quill.

I can’t do it anymore.

Your reply was almost instantaneous.

Don’t say that, please don’t say that.

You gulped harshly.

I’m sorry, but nothing’s working. I’m not getting better, and I don’t think I ever will.

You will! I’ll help you. I always do, remember?

You remembered all the times where you sat alone, talking to this mysterious person, who always seemed to be able to make you feel even slightly better - at least temporarily.

I don’t think words will work this time.

The words were shaky, and you didn’t expect the reply as quick as you received it.

Then I’ll meet you someplace. That is, if you’re at Hogwarts school?

Your heart raced. Your soulmate wanted to meet you. You.

I am.

Then I’ll meet you in the Astronomy Tower at 7 tonight.

For the first time in as long as you could remember, you smiled.

I’ll be there.


You started having second thoughts when you walked up the steps to the tower. What were you thinking? This person was the only one to ever help you, and now you’re meeting - what if they decided they didn’t want to help anymore?

This person, though you hadn’t properly met yet, was, by far, the most important person in your life right now.

And, if you were completely honest, you didn’t know if you wanted to put a face to the writing.

It was nearly 7, and your heart was beating faster than it should have. Your nerves were at an all-time high.

You didn’t know why you agreed to this.

When you finally heard footsteps, you braced yourself, looking out of the window to look across the school grounds, and took a shaky breath.

The footsteps stopped, and you turned around.

“What are you doing here, Malfoy?” You said in shock, hoping, praying this wasn’t what you thought it was. You glanced over his shoulder to see if your real soulmate had somehow appeared yet instead.

“I’m meeting somebody, not that it concerns a mudblood like you. You should just leave, so I can wait alone.”

“Who are you meeting?” You asked, your heart plummeting down into the depths of your stomach. You had a terrible anxious feeling; you knew what was coming.

“I’m meeting my soulmate, if you must know,” Draco said with a smug tone, “Bet you haven’t found yours yet have you?”

You felt a pang of pain in your heart when you realised who you’d been talking to, “I’ve got to go.”

Rushing out of the room, you ran down the stairs and heading straight for your common room.

Draco Malfoy was your soulmate.

If that wasn’t enough the send you over the edge, you didn’t know what was.


Why didn’t you show up?

You glanced at your hand, your chest seeming to tighten.

You didn’t know how to reply, not now you knew your soulmate was Draco Malfoy, the boy who had been bullying you for the past couple of years or so.

Sighing, you picked up your quill.

I did.

You lay on your bed in your dorm, staring up at the ceiling and wishing it was someone else you were talking to.

Anyone else.

I didn’t see you there.

You did.

There wasn’t a reply for a while, though you kept checking. It was more of a habit now, than you actually wanting a reply. In fact, though you were attached to the person you had been talking to, now you knew it was Malfoy… things were different.

You couldn’t believe how much you had actually told him in the space of two weeks.

When you looked down at your hand again, you sighed.


batjokes headcanon: wounds

After the cowl is removed and the makeup is washed away with warm water, the Batman and Joker are just ordinary men, beaten, bloodied and with much more torment on their shoulders than anyone could imagine. 

Bruce Wayne deals with his wounds in a repetitive, cathartic manner. A bath is drawn, and steam spills into a marble coated bathroom. The water of the bath turns pink with his own blood and he scrubs the wounds until they ache even more than they did when he first entered the water. He tries to avoid touching the marred flesh when he wraps a towel around his waist and slumps on his bed. 

His back is then rubbed with oil that smells of rosewater and musk, and a cool paste is applied to his wounds. The steady hands of his butler wrap his torso until Bruce could barley breath. Before morning the wounds look less gaping and angry. Some would scar, most wouldn’t. Bruce preferred to keep it that way. Each glance at his disfigured flesh was a reminder of him. How ruthless and animalistic he, how both of them, could be when they fought. If Joker didn’t have an arsenal of knives hidden in his coat Bruce was sure that the clown would tear his throat out with his own teeth.   

Of course, there are a few scars that stood the test of time. A large gaping rivet that ran across his back, past his ribs and stopped at his hip. Bruce was sure it was the end of Batman when he earned it, blood poured from his body and all he could do was hope that Alfred would drive faster.

His biceps and forearms were covered in scars, scratches from his grappling hook that never quite healed, or misplaced jabs with a switch blade. 

Although Bruce would never acknowledge it, an almost invisible white scratch that ran over his lips was his favorite. He remembered how he earned vividly. 

Joker sat on the Bat’s lap, his eyes belonging to an enamored teenager than a psychopathic mass murderer. A knife was pressed against Bruce’s lips and Joker’s own hung open ever so slightly. Bruce was in the very least, disgusted.

“Get off of me” He would growl

“I’m not done yet” The clown would reply

And then the knife bit into his skin, and Joker, with the grace and practice of an artist, carved his own grin into Bruce skin. Finishing with a flourish that created the tiny white scar that Bruce cherished.

Finally, the clown was removed from his lap with the help of Jim Gordon, and Bruce returned home to the mansion, where Wayne stayed until the scars on his face disappeared entirely, only leaving the white streak in remembrance of Joker’s touch. 

Joker on the other hand, treated each scar from the Batman as if it was a kiss.

Each tiny scratch, angry wound or bruised eye was worshiped like a sinner worshiped the devil.

If Joker somehow acquired a wound from someone who was not the bat, the injury would be treated like the plague. But not the Bat’s, never the Bat’s. Joker wouldn’t touch them even if they had filled with pus, and became red and disgusting at their edges. No. How could he cast aside a kiss from the one he cherished the most.

When the sky was as dark as the Bat’s cloak, Joker’s pale white hands would roam across his chest, his arms, his legs. His fingertips craved the sensation of marred flesh, hoping that one day the Bat would give him a kiss instead of a punch. 

Imagine helping the Marauders make the map

Originally posted by staycuteandcozy

“Guys, it’s not going to work this way. We need a different charm,” Remus said tiredly, running a hand through his hair. It stuck up everywhere, messy and untidy like everything else in the common room. This was the third night in a row the five of you had stayed up to work on the map, and to be honest, you weren’t much closer to finishing it.

“What else is there?” Sirius asked, frustration evident in his voice. “We’ve tried everything else.”

“Maybe we should take a break,” Peter said. “We can keep trying tomorrow. After some sleep.”

“Yeah, that sounds alright,” James said, grabbing his tie and jumper from the couch where he had tossed it hours ago. It was hot enough in the common room with the fire lit, and the stress and tension weren’t cooling them down at all.

“I’m going to run to the library,” you said. “See if there’re any other books we missed.” You got to your feet and tucked your wand into your back pocket absentmindedly.

“I’ll go with you,” Remus volunteered. “Cloak, James?” James handed him the Invisibility Cloak and the two of you headed for the portrait door. Before you left, you turned around and looked at your friends, who were so tired they were almost sleeping where they stood.

“We’ll get it, guys. I know we will. We’re five of the smartest students in the school.” You paused. “Well, not really. Mostly Remus. But still. We’re going to make this god damned map work if it’s the last thing we do.”

They all grinned drowsily. Remus and you went out through the portrait hole and headed to the library, hidden underneath the cloak. “Do you really think so?” he asked in a low voice. “Do you think it’ll work?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “Of course. No doubt.”

A few days later, with the help of the new information from the book you and Remus had grabbed, the map was functioning beautifully.

And so the Marauders’ Map was born.

bookgirl318  asked:

HI! I love this blog. Thank you all for doing this for fans. The stories are all absolutely wonderful My birthday is March 18th, and I would love to have a story. I love fairy tale based stories, so anything with Peeta and Katniss in that format would be a wonderful birthday gift.

Originally posted by justheronly

Wishing you the happiest of birthdays! To help you celebrate in style, the always amazing @norbertsmom has crafted this delightful Everlark story just for you! Enjoy!

The Jabberjay and the Mockingbird

Rating: T

A/N: Happy birthday! This fairy tale is loosely based on Disney’s Sleeping Beauty, with gender swaps and many other changes along the way. It’s not really a drabble, as it’s just over 6k words, oops. I hope you like it. Enjoy.

Special thanks to @mega-aulover who beta read this for me.

The Jabberjay and the Mockingbird

A long time ago in the land of Panem lived the beloved King Aurik and his beautiful Queen Emma Rae. They were fair and kind, beloved by all, but they were surrounded by sadness for they longed to have a child. And the queen’s childbearing years were coming near to an end.

Desperate to provide her husband and the kingdom with an heir, the queen crept out of bed one night after she was certain her husband was fast asleep. She looked out her bedchamber window toward the bright green star that sat low on the horizon over the Rock Mountains to the west. Legend said that the cost was high, but if you were willing to pay the price, you must wish upon the star for 7 consecutive nights for the wish to come true.  As the queen, she had great wealth, so she had the means to pay whatever the cost. She closed her eyes and whispered her plea.

The queen repeated her wish every night for seven nights straight.

When she finished reciting her wish on the seventh night the green star appeared to grow. It became so much brighter than it had been. It grew in size until the queen realized that the star was actually coming closer. The bright green light that she thought was a star flew up into the tallest tower in the castle.

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650+ Follower Event


But it was too late. The machine exploded and Flug was too close. All three of them watched as he soared through the air like a bullet, crashing into the back wall with a sickening slam and a horrifying crack noise. He had struck the wall so hard, he left a crater, lines spiderwebbing away from it. Slowly, he fell from to the ground with a loud thud, smoking, charred black, and completely still. They all ran over, Hierro licking at Flug’s face like 5.0.5. nudged him, both animals whining. Dementia rolled him onto his back, panicking as she pressed her ear to his chest. Black Hat couldn’t even look at his limp body, opting to stare at the ground near his desk.

“B-Boss…,” Dementia choked out, gripping Black Hat’s pant leg. After a moment, his gaze turned to her.

Dementia was crying and hard and it certainly wasn’t the cute one tear Disney type crying. No, she was sobbing, tears streaming down her cheeks as she tried to speak, but simply couldn’t. Black Hat finally kneeled down and sat as still as he could when Dementia clung to him, crying into his chest and begging him to bring him back.

“I can’t do that, Dementia.”

“Yes you can! I know you can! You have to! Please, Black Hat! He’s-He’s-”

Dementia was cut off by a shaky hand gripping her shoulder from behind. Both villains whipped around to find the hand belonged to Flug, who was currently trying to sit up with the help of 5.0.5., one side of his goggles cracked to reveal his one good eye. Hierro was yipping and running in circles, clearly happy his owner was alive.


Dementia let go of Black hat and attached herself to Flug in an instant. He wheezed at the force of the hug, but wrapped his arms around her anyway. They stayed like that for a bit, before Black Hat awkwardly cleared his throat.

“Come on, you two. Back to work. We can’t-” just as Black Hat turned to walk out, a hand grabbed the end of his cloak and yanked, causing him to stumble back. Once he was back on his feet, he growled, but didn’t turn around.

“Which one of you did that?”


Black Hat’s eyes widened and he looked over his shoulder in surprise at the sight of Flug holding his cloak with an angry expression if the fiery glare he was giving was any indication. Black Hat got over his stupor in a second, snatching his cloak out of Flug’s hand in one swift movement. He leaned down to be at Flug’s height on the floor, his eye glowing red with anger.

“I’ll give you one chance to apologize.”

“You better gimme two, cause the first apology is just gonna be kiss my ass!”

Black hat reeled back in shock, glaring daggers at Dementia and 5.0.5., both having stifled a slight titter at Flug’s comment. 

“Who in the fresh hell do you think you are,” Black Hat roared, his hand hovering dangerously close to Flug’s neck, who actually didn’t seem too frightened.

“I’m the poor widdle scientist that Bwack Hat picked up off da stweet cause he such a good guy. How would that sound in our commercials,” Flug said, clasping his hands together and batting his eyelashes mockingly.

Before Black Hat could retort again, Flug stood up and shoved him out of the way as he walked passed him and toward his closet, mumbling about how he “needed some new threads.” There, he tossed the ruined lab coat and grabbed a leather jacket, black of course, and ditched his work gloves for a pair of fingerless ones of the same color and spikes on the knuckles. All present gasped as he tossed his bag to the ground, simply taking his goggles off of it and putting them on, seemingly ignoring the broken lens as he wrapped a red scarf around his neck.

“Alright, but lemme tell you who I really am.”

He turned around, a pair of aviator shades over the goggles and a smirk on his face.

“Name’s Flug, but you would already known that, wouldn’t’cha? Ya know, Flug’s always been a boring name to me. Why don’t we call me, uh, Aviater instead? with an e, not an o,” he said, pulling his hair out from under the goggles’ band.

Dementia leaned up to Black Hat, both staring at their scientist with wide eyes and concern.

“I think he hit his head a little too hard.”

Okay! This is Aviater Flug! Yes, it is spelled with an e instead of an o in this context because it’s a cross between an aviator and a greaser. Unlike Flug, he has a lot of confidence in himself and isn’t afraid to stand up to Black Hat at any point.

Aviater is like if Black Hat and Dementia’s personalities fused were put into a leather jacket, with a little 5.0.5. in there as well. He’s fun-loving, reckless, and ready to paint the town red either as a prank or with the blood of his enemies, but at the same time he’s very sarcastic, cold, and won’t hesitate to punch you dead in the mouth if you say something he doesn’t like. But under this, he is very caring and only wants what’s best for the ones he holds dear.

The reason for this is because when Flug hit the wall, he somehow forgot his own personality. With only the memories of Dementia’s, Black hat’s, and 5.0.5′s to go off of, he’s forgotten all the cowardice that Flug. 

This outta be a fun one. Ask box open!

Luctor et Emergo – Chapter 1

The Empire reigns over wizarding England, despite the resistence of many brave members of the Alliance. As Jyn Erso enters Hogwarts, she’s forced to choose a side: stay in the shadows and allow whatever her father is designing come to life, or stand against the atrocities of bloody purity and fight for what she knows is right?

[Hogwarts AU]

Read on AO3 / Below the Cut

Next Chapter 

(Special thanks to @valcain for the graphic and @wearesuchstuff1 for beta reading! Author’s Note here)

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Day 2 - Primal Vs Awkward moments

Just a little one as time has caught up with me

Raven casually tossed her hair back, brushing a few stray locks behind her ear as she pretended not to notice Beast Boy’s stare, and she absoloutely, definitely didn’t blush.

Raven didn’t blush.

Ever since the mission began, he had been glancing at her with an unreadable expression, and now that they were on their way back to the tower, the glances became long, curious looks. Back at the tower, in the common room, Beast Boy finally broke.

“Okay, I can’t take it. You don’t smell right,” he said to her. Raven, still definitely not blushing, she was just winded from the fight… or something, looked back in genuine surprise.

“Excuse me?” she asked, laced with danger. He moved in closer, sniffing the air around her.

“You smell different. Something’s changed. Are you okay?” he asked. Raven flinched a little at his proximity. Was it warm in here? Her cheeks felt warm even though she still was categorically not blushing.

“I’m fine,” she grumbled. Beast Boy now had the end of cloak in his hands, snuffling the trailing edge.

“Something’s different. I don’t like it,” he muttered to himself. Raven snatched her cloak back from him.

“I may have selected some scented soaps for a change,” she lied: she had deliberately worn a fragrance, but only enough that only Beast Boy’s sensitive nose seemed able to catch it.

“Soaps, huh?” he mumbled, still sniffing the air.

“And whether you like it or not is of no matter to me,” Raven stated, folding her arms. Another lie. She didn’t seek his approval, as such, but she knew scent was a surefire way to at least attract his attention, even if she got it in a way she hadn’t predicted. Beast Boy was quiet for several seconds. Was he pouting?

“Mmmmmmm… fine. Just… I dunno, let me know in future? I guess? Is that weird? If you’re gonna change something?” he wondered out loud. Raven, recovering herself, glared at him.

“And just why is it so important to you how I smell?” she asked. Beast Boy’s face flared red and, not even attempting an answer, he morphed into a dog and ran away, tail between his legs. Raven smirked in triumph… then realised the other Titans were right behind her. She turned to face them, face flushing again. Maybe she was ill. They all stood, staring blankly. “Sh-shut up!” she cried, vanishing in a black maelstrom.

“But I did not even do the speaking?” Starfire whimpered. Robin walked off, whistling. Cyborg simply crossed his arms in front of him, shaking his head.

“Nope. Just nope,” he said, stalking off to the TV.

There we go, hope you had a chuckle.


anonymous asked:

Can I request a drabble with Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon out on a dangerous mission when Obi becomes unable to walk (as well as speak)? Got myself hurt recently and could use the fluff. <3

Just the thing I needed - I was feeling bogged down (it’s a pun, you’ll see later) with my FFN stories, since I’ve written like mad recently, so this was very fun to do. Not quite what you asked for exactly, perhaps, but I felt like more angst-fluff than h/c-fluff. If you wanted a shot-glass of trope, anon, here you have it.

Conversations With Flora

Every seasoned Jedi Master has carried his or her padawan before. It is not a question of why, but when; as well-trained as Jedi younglings are, they are still exactly that when they become apprentices - younglings.

Younglings trip over their own feet. Can be overconfident, shy, naïve; all inevitably resulting in injuries, minor or major (though with the occupational hazards of being Jedi, too often the latter) that require, in the end, the master carrying the apprentice.

Regardless of how much blood said master might be losing in the process.

Carrying your apprentice, Qui-Gon decides, is all well and good - but if your padawan is now technically a young man of twenty-one standard, the task becomes decidedly more difficult.

Two hours into his determined slog across swampy country to get himself and his padawan back to civilisation, Qui-Gon decides to make conversation with the local flora, simply to get his attention off the blood that drips off Obi-Wan’s fingers, running down the arm that hangs limply over Qui-Gon’s shoulder.

Perhaps his present inclinations are a side-effect of the blaster shot that clipped his left side. Anyhow, the hastily-bound wound seems to have pumped his brain with enough endorphins that it seems quite normal to chat with the plants, now. They certainly shine even brighter in the Living Force than they usually do.

“He’s quite capable, you know,” Qui-Gon begins, conversationally, nodding at a patch of moss as he staggers past. “He only smashed his head against that rock pushing me out of the way. You’d think he’d have seen it, though. Not too bright, then - though capable.”

He as he shifts his padawan’s deadweight further up onto his back. Obi-Wan shifts, minutely, a moan rising up through a jaw bound tight with bacta-wraps.

The patch of moss is a little further behind, now, so Qui-Gon picks a patch of soggy heather as his next new acquaintance. And then when that too has passed by, he finds a dying tree. Or a field of reeds, or a muddy vine.

“Why do young men weigh so much?”

“You’d think he’d be awake by now, wouldn’t you?” A panting, raspy chuckle. “He’s always making jokes at the expense of my poor knees - owwaaaargh - and look, they’re popping like a midsummer bonfire right now.”

“Blasted brat. I’ll have him run through every kata he knows from Shii-Cho through to advanced Ataru for this.”

“You have lovely petals. Green and gold. I once knew a Jedi with eyes that exact colouration…”

Qui-Gon’s left boot slips in a patch of mud, and it nearly sends them both tumbling down into the mire, all sweat and blood and gritted teeth, determination and the Force doing what a normal human body cannot.

He trudges on, watching his padawan’s blood drip to the sodden ground by his boots with each step.

He trudges faster.

Obi-Wan’s heartbeat against his back, weakening and speeding up all at once…blood loss…

The next stage of hypovolemia, of course, would present as a decrease in urinary production. Unfortunately, Obi-Wan is unlikely to be able to answer if he has felt any pressing need of the ‘fresher in the past few hours. Qui-Gon chuckles at the thought, more a gasping wheeze than anything. His grime-streaked hair lashes his face with each step.

Qui-Gon eventually stops talking to the plants.

When he finally keels over, he remembers at the last moment to tilt his shoulders slightly so Obi-Wan rolls onto the muddy ground.

The gloom surrounds them both, now, though the swamp has never felt more alive; the Force is soaked in every blade of grey grass and every twisted vine. Qui-Gon presses his face into the fog-slick ground, and breathes it in.

When he passes out, it is with two fingers pressed to Obi-Wan’s wrist, feeling for the stuttering pulse there.

Qui-Gon wakes to the world of different-textured white that is every medcentre room, and promptly rips off his cardiac monitor leads in an effort to get to his apprentice.

Wherever he is.

Where is he?

Qui-Gon cannot sense him. Panic. Terror. Complete, un-Jedi-masterly horror. And he had taught Obi-Wan so many times to focus on the present.

Please let it be the drugs. Yes, that must be it - potent painkillers tend to dull the Force.

It must be. The alternative is unacceptable.

The med droid shrieks at him. The words do not register above the wailing alarm of the cardiac monitor.

A Togruta orderly rushes in, stares at him. Mouths something.

Eventually the words skip across the tumbled neural bridges of his mind and register.

Your son is in a bacta tank, sir.

“A bacta tank?” Qui-Gon slurs, blinking. There was something not quite right about what the orderly said. He cannot quite figure out what, though.

“Yes,” the orderly says, placatingly, leading him back to the beeping bed. “I’ll get someone to tell you when he’s out. From what I know, he’s going to be fine.”

Qui-Gon stares at him through the shreds of the Force, and decides that the orderly is not lying.

“How?” Qui-Gon mumbles as he is pushed pliantly back into his own bed.

“You have a son with a heart of gold,” the orderly says, smiling at him with a row of sharp Togruta teeth. “Word is he was found on the outskirts of the city - by the looks of your cloak, he’d dragged you quite a ways. Don’t know how he managed it, really, with how severely injured he was. At least he had the sense to re-bind his head wound before continuing.”

An echo, in the Force; of a cloak twisting in raw hands, a pounding headache and burning thirst so awful that tears start in his eyes - whose eyes? and endless, slippery mud, with the Force singing louder and louder and sweat and blood dripping down a clean-shaven chin, a padawan braid heavy with grime-


“Good boy,” Qui-Gon mumbles as he decides to answer the call of the Force and faint again.

Qui-Gon next wakes to the sensation of a small nebula in the Force, two paces to his right.

He cracks open an eyelid and glances over. Obi-Wan, deathly-pale, but tucked securely into the bed beside Qui-Gon’s; his force signature flickers with a regenerating flame.

Qui-Gon closes his eyes again, and relaxes. All is right in the world again.

The ‘cycled air is awfully cold on his face, though.

He reaches up to rub his beard, and meets the smooth skin of his chin.

Qui-Gon freezes.

They’d shaved him.

The mental image of Obi-Wan’s reaction should he wake and see is quite enough to make Qui-Gon wish his facial hair would grow faster.


Ah, it’s always lovely to go back to one of the the original roots of fanfic and write something like this. thanks for the prompt, anon!

My fanfic masterlist

My FFN profile and stories

Not Dead Yet (Part 23)

*Wow did this not turn out how I was planning it. I’m just gonna go stare at a wall for a couple hours now.*

Pairing: Reader x Peter Pan

Warnings: mild language

After Peter had told us that pirates were floating out in our lagoon we dropped training and raced to the beach. I was on Ben’s shoulders trying to get a better view. Out in the distance was the outline of a ship, any other details were too far away to notice. Even with the telescope I nicked from Ben all I could distinguish was the skull and crossbones fluttering in the wind.

“So,” I handed Ben’s telescope back to him, “What is our plan of attack?”

“No attack.” Peter said, “If we killed them all then what fun is there? Wait till they come ashore then the games will begin.”

“Fine…” I muttered, “Come on Ben, let’s go back to camp.” I kicked my heels against his sides.

“I am not a horse, Y/N.” he pinched my thigh.

“You’re right, horses don’t talk. Now forward!” I kicked again and he dropped me from his shoulders. I hit the ground with a resounding thud. “Bad horsey…”

“Idiot.” Devin held out a hand for me. As we were walking back to camp a thought occurred to me.

“Devin, have you seen that ship before?” I asked.

“No. Why?”

“Because back there Peter said he had seen it before. I thought maybe since you’ve been here longer than I have that maybe you knew.”

“Nope. That’s the first time I’ve seen anything but Pan and Lost Boys show up on the island.”

“Makes you wonder doesn’t it? This is an isolated realm. The only ones that ever come and go are Peter and his shadow. So how does a ship full of pirates even know about this place? And if they were here before and got away why would they come back?”

“They’re adults and adults do stupid things.” Devin shrugged like this was obvious. “It does make a change to routine though. Fighting pirates will hopefully give us some real practice.”

“It would be nice beat up a salty seadog than you lot for once.” I smirked and Devin smacked the back of my head. “Kidding, mostly.”

“Wanna go a round? I will take you down.”

“Please don’t,” Ben piped up, “I don’t want to have to stitch you back up when she cuts you to ribbons.”

“Thank you Benny,” I gave his cheek a kiss, “I knew you were my favorite!”

“Please don’t call me Benny,” he wiped the spot where I kissed him, “Since when are you so affectionate?”

“The same time she started calling Pan, Pete–”

I tackled Devin to the ground. “Shut your trap!” I seethed through clenched teeth.

“Y/N…” he gasped in a strangled breath, “Can’t breathe…”

I pressed my forearm harder against his throat. “Then shut it.”

“What’s going on here?” Felix came back to see what the commotion was about.

“Nothing, just horsing around. Right, Devin?”

“Right.” he glared up at me. This conversation was far from done.

I stood up and shoved past Felix who was also giving me a skeptical look. I had explained to Ben and Devin and Nick what had really happened back in the Enchanted Forest. All the others could believe I was off having sex with Peter but not them. They were the only ones whose opinion I cared about. Out of the three of them I knew that Devin suspected more happened than I said. I would rather skinny dip in the mermaid lagoon than let him know what had happened…and was technically still happening.

I got back to camp and plunked myself down on a log and started sharpening my dagger. I wish those pirates were on the island now, I could use a distraction. “If you’re not more careful you’ll cut yourself.”

Peter sat down next to me. That’ll work. I sheathed my dagger again and pulled on Peter’s arm. “Come with me.”

“What have I done?” he asked as I dragged him away.

“Nothing yet.” The second I thought we were far enough away from the others I pulled him against me and kissed him. He responded with equal fervor after a moment. All the troublesome thoughts before about this exact situation started to dull away.

I pulled away to catch my breath. “Thanks.” I whispered quietly, “See ya.”

“Wait? What?” Peter grabbed me as I started to walk away and pulled me back next to him, “Is something going on?”

“No. Why?”

He cocked an eyebrow up at me. “I know you my little Lost Girl. I know when something’s bothering you.”

“Don’t worry yourself about it, it’s my problem.” I pushed his hands off me, “I just needed a distraction.”

“For the love of…” he pulled me back again, “Talk to me.”

“I don’t want to.”

He continued to stare at me until I relented and told him about my little spat with Devin. “Wow, you’re really that embarrassed of me?”

“No,” I leaned against a tree, “I just don’t want Devin to look at me like I’m some kind of harlot.”

“Oh yes, and dragging me off so that we can snog behind a tree just barely on the outskirts of camp is the way to do that.”

“I know I shouldn’t have told you about this.”

“Pet, please,” he rubbed his hand up and down along my side, “If I could tell you my problems then you should be able to tell me the same.”

“Thanks, Peter. I’m gonna head back to the beach, see if the ship is any closer.”

He nodded and let me go.

The ship had moved closer but kept to the lagoon for the first couple of days it was here. Peter gave us some insight as to who exactly we were dealing with. A man named Killian Jones who had at one time been a member of the royal navy alongside his brother. They had traveled here a long time ago where his brother had died from poisoning himself with dreamshade. Not the brightest were they? Why would someone want to return to the place that killed their only family?

After some time they came ashore. The Lost Boys and I watched from the trees as they stepped foot on the beach. We were given specific instructions to stay out of sight and not interfere unless things turned hostile.


“Hello Lieutenant, gone rogue I see.” The pirate and his crew turned at the sudden voice. Peter stood behind them, a sense of superiority flowing through his veins at their dumbfounded expressions.

“You,” the grizzled former lieutenant growled at him, “You’re the boy. The one that killed my brother.”

“Oh no, he did that himself. I gave you the cure, I told you if you left the island you would pay the price. I have no fault in your brother’s stupidity.” he circled the pirates slowly sizing them up. They might not be navy anymore but the stink of adult responsibility still clung to them.

“You could have mentioned that the water only worked in this realm.”

“You should have asked.” Peter smirked at his sneering face, “Why’d you come back, Killian?”

“For this,” his hook glinted in the light, “And that’s Captain Hook to you boy.”

“Alright, Captain, tell me who has done such a thing as to make you desperate enough to travel here again.” This did have him genuinely curious.

“A coward that turned into a crocodile and killed my love.”

“Well that’s all well and poetic but it doesn’t answer my question.”

“The Dark One, a demon by the name of Rumpelstiltskin.”

Peter’s smile dropped slightly at the mention of the Dark One. He shrugged it off and found his tongue again. “Oh? Haven’t seen that rat in a few years, how’s he been?”

“Dead, the next time I see him.”

“A common threat by the few that get away from him alive. I suppose you came for the dreamshade as a way to kill him?”

“It was a thought but not even my hook in his heart could vanquish him. I need something stronger than your poisons.”

“Perhaps I could be of help then. I’ve seen far more lands than you ever have and know more than you could comprehend. I’d be willing to make a deal.”

“I’m not in the habit of making deals with self proclaimed kings on deserted islands.” he brandished his sword, “I should cut you down here and now.”

“I wouldn’t do that.” Peter pushed the tip of the sword away from his face, “Because I’m not alone anymore.” He gave a whistle and the Lost Boys started pouring out from the jungle.

The captain and his crew drew their weapons as they took in the horde of Lost Boys. “My boys outnumber your crew two to one. You really want to try and take us on?”

“Fine, you stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours? Sound reasonable?”

“I can’t be so sure about that, my boys can get bored very easily and who am I to deny them a new game?”

“We are not a game?”

“You’re on my island, you are what I say you are.” Peter stepped back into his group, “Come on boys, I think they understand.”

Together the boys turned around and sauntered back into the jungle. Peter kept up a brave face until such a time as he was able to detach without being noticed. He had something he needed to do.


“Well that was anti-climatic,” I sighed that night around the campfire.

“They did seem pretty scared of us though.” Nick reminded me.

“Yeah, but I would have loved a good fight.” I tossed my dagger in the air and caught it again, “It’s been too long since I’ve had a good enemy.”

“Your bloodlust is never ending isn’t it?” Nick laughed.

“Are you kidding? She’d chop my hand off if I so much as touched her club and I’m her best friend.” Ben interceded.

“I believe that title belongs to me.” Devin wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

“Awe and to think that you hated me when I first came here.” I ruffled his hair.

“Well you did hit me with a rock.”

“Did I? That doesn’t sound like me.”

“No, she didn’t hit you.” Nick said, “She tried to hit Pan and he threw it back and then it hit you. I remember because I was standing next to you laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe.”

“Thanks pal,” Devin knocked him over the head.

“No problem chum,” Nick hit him back.

“You’re a great friend, buddy.” Devin punched him.

“I know I am, friend.” Nick socked him hard in the stomach and soon the two were rolling on the ground beating up each other.

“Remind me why we’re friends with them?” I asked Ben.

“Because they’re family.”

“Right…” I stretched the word. “You make sure they don’t lose any fingers, I’m going to bed.”

“Will do, night.”

“Night.” I ducked into my tent and started to strip off my dagger and cloak when a hand wrapped around my ankle and dragged me back out. “Hey–”

I was pulled up and a hand shoved over my mouth as my captor started to drag me into the jungle. I bit down on the hand and kicked back. They let go and I reached for my dagger. Dammit, I just took it off! The person on the ground kicked out a leg and swept my feet out from underneath me before pinning me in place. I tried to push them off when a pair of lips met mine.

“Are you done being a crazy thing?” Peter asked.

“You are an ass!” I fumed up at his shadowed face. “Do you know how to use that mouth for anything else besides kissing?”

“Well now that you mention it–”

“I meant talking pig.” I kneed him hard and he rolled off me, “Would a simple, ‘Y/N, follow me’, be too hard for you to do?”

“It is a lot less fun.”

“What do you want? I’m tired and don’t feel like having a snog.” I pushed myself up to standing.

“It’s not about that. I need your help with something.” he grabbed my arm and started pulling me forward.

“And this couldn’t wait till morning because…?” I stumbled along behind him.

“Because I can’t wait till then. I need this done now.”

I let out an unhappy groan. A familiar rush of wind surrounded us and the next thing I knew we were standing on the far side of the island where the cliff overlooked Skull Rock. “Peter?”

“Shut up. Let’s just get this over with before I change my mind.” another gust of wind and we were standing on the beach. The boat I had used before was bobbing in the waves. I sat down and he took either oar as he started to row us across to Skull Rock.

What was he doing? He tethered the boat again when we got to the cave and gestured for me to follow. He knew I had already been here. Felix had told him as much. Was this some kind of continuation from our discussion weeks ago in the Enchanted Forest?

We came to the top tier of the cavern where the giant golden hourglass sat. Peter moved past and took out the crate filled with all his past mementos. “Peter, what’s going on? What are we doing here?” I asked unable to take the silence.

“These,” he dropped the crate down at my feet, “I need them destroyed.”

“Why? Why now? Does this have to do with the pirates?” I sought his gaze but he turned away from me, “Peter, remember what you said earlier about you being able to tell me what your problems are? If this is one of them then you can tell me. It’s the reason you brought me here because I know you don’t need me to turn these old memories to ashes.”

He went to the back of the cave where the large opening looked out across the sea and sat down. I sat down next to him waiting for him to speak first.

“Do you remember back in the Enchanted Forest when I said nothing good ever followed that dagger of yours?” he spoke quietly.


“Did you ever wonder why there was an R carved in the bottom?”

“A bit yes. I just figured it was from a past Lost Boy.”

“It was. One of the first.” Peter’s expression was unreadable, “He was such a puny thing when he came here, couldn’t have been more than ten years old. Practically orphaned, drunk father, lived with a couple of spinner women, a very boring, sad, little life.”

“You brought him to Neverland.” I risked scooting closer.

Peter nodded. “I showed him how to fight, how to fly, took him to different realms all the time and taught him everything I could.”

“What was his name?”

“Rumpelstiltskin.” he spat the word.

“You mean the Dark One was a Lost Boy?”

“That he was. That dagger I gave you was the one I gave him. It’s been through a few owners since then of course.”

“What happened?”

He kept staring out into the distance without responding. “Peter,” I laid my hand overtop of his. He finally turned to face me and I could see the years in his eyes. How long he had lived, what all he had seen, all he had experienced. I pleaded with them to talk to me.

“He left.” his voice teetered between serenity and rage, “He wanted to be with his lazy drunk father instead of me! I gave him everything he could ever want and he chose to go back to the man that didn’t give a damn about him!”

“You loved him. Loved him like a brother.”

“He was the closest thing to a real family I had ever felt. Through all the families I had gone through and little brothers I had, had, he was the best.”

“You didn’t have to let him leave.” I squeezed his hand assuredly.

“He was my little brother, the thing I loved in this entire world more than myself. What kind of a person would I have been if I hadn’t let him go? If I had forced him to stay then he would have hated me, I couldn’t face that.”

I brought another hand up to sweep the hair out of his eyes. “I know you. You wouldn’t have let him go just like that.”

“You’re right. One night after he had gone I knew I wanted him back. I got it into my head that his place was on Neverland having adventures with me.” there was a small remnant of a smile ghosting his features before it crumbled into a deep scowl, “The only thing holding him back was that coward he called a father.”

My heart dropped down into my stomach, “Please tell me you didn’t.”

He gave a single nod. “I didn’t know he was there. I thought he was asleep but he must have woken up. He watched me slice his father’s neck open from the window.” Peter drew in a deep breath his grip on my hand becoming painful but I didn’t make a move to stop him, “After that, he never wanted anything to do with me again. He hated me, he made a point of telling me so over and over before I left.”

I rested my head on his shoulder. “It was like a curse. The only thing left of him being that dagger and this.” he was holding a straw doll in a little blue coat all of the sudden. “Ever since that day anyone who has ever wielded that dagger became important to me then met an end in some way or another.”

The sheath at my side was empty but it weighed like log at my hip. Without another word I stood up and dumped all the belongs in the crate on the ground. Peter watched me as I grabbed a torch along the wall and walked back to him. “I think it’s time we broke that curse.” I held out the torch to him, “And it starts here.”

He stood up and took the torch from me. He stared down at the pile of children’s clothes, family drawings, dried foxglove flowers and wooden toys before tipping the flames to them. The pile caught fire and soon were engulfed entirely in flames. Bits of paper and cloth curled and turned to ash. I took the spot next to him and watched the pile burn.

“Y/N,” Peter said without looking at me, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” His hand reached for mine holding it gentler than before.

We stayed in that cave the entire night in silence watching the pile of childhood memorabilia turn to ashes. Anything that didn’t burn we tossed into the sea. The only thing still remaining was the straw doll. I didn’t try to make him burn it too. He had a use for it whether or not I agreed with its purpose was yet to be seen.

In the morning light we gave one another a knowing look and laid down on the cave floor and fell asleep. It had been a long night and there was more to do today but we needed rest. When I woke up later I was resting just in the curve of Peter’s body and the world seemed clearer.

(Part 1) (Previous) (Next)

How to make me absolutely fall for a male character:

  • Glowing eyes
  • No legs
  • Sharp teeth
  • Dresses nicely
  • Wears a cloak
  • Disembodied floating hands
  • Skilled wielder of dark magic
  • Always smiling. Always.
  • Introduced as a villain, but is actually not villainous so much as horrendously misguided. Fixes their mistakes and turns good in the end.
  • Backstory involving them being indirectly responsible for something terrible happening to a loved one

And voila, they are guaranteed to be my favorite character