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O Magnum Mysterium

A very belated Christmas gift for the dear Flower, who adores this pairing as much as I do. Sorry it’s so incredibly late! <3

A big thank you to queerapostate for the excellent beta.

NOTES: This is a time stamp from a Winnix universe I haven’t published the first establishing fic yet for, so I hope it’s not too confusing. xD The short points are they leave New Jersey, they get a rundown farmhouse, grow some livestock feed, Dick battles with his PTSD, Lew battles his alcoholism and there’s both strife and happiness. Once I get the other story finished, I’ll rope them all into a series.

Also! The choral piece mentioned is Morten Lauridsen’s “O Magnum Mysterium.” It’s my very favorite and the sole catalyst for this fic. Here’s a link to the best version (in my opinion.)

https://open.spotify.com/track/31zjVEWfYxkeuuSnUHyUz3?si=3tlZhoH3R1ux1ydHAX2uSw

There are six Catholic churches in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania.

Dick Winters visits five of them, his irritation and worry compounding with each crossed threshold, before he finds what he’s looking for.

It’s dark outside by the time he makes it to St. Mary’s. The temperature is rapidly dropping and the coat he threw on in the rush from the house does little to prevent the wind from snatching at his torso. He shivers, blowing into his hands before tugging at the iron latch handle of the entrance. The chime of bells at the top of the hour serve a melodic welcome as he shuts the thick door behind him, and with it the cold. The candlelight is dim enough that his eyes take a blinking moment to recalibrate after being in the snow-bright landscape outside.

At first, he’s taken aback by the splendor of the architecture and art within. It’s an unfamiliar style of worship, looming and lousy with decoration at every turn. Dick is used to a more humble religion. One without gold and marble. One that can be practiced in the lonely forests of Belgium by unlearned men in holes in the ground. A common man’s worship in a common tongue.

In the warmth of a thousand candles and the sacrament of the scenes painted on the walls, he can pick out nuances he knows and stories he cherishes and bridge the gap between the sects. He can look past the ceremony and see a place where a mosaic of people from different backgrounds and ages might gather to pray and serve.

Behind an altar crowned with poinsettias and greenery, the apostles and saints reach towards the gates of Heaven in a baroque style triptych. The frescoes on the dome are cracking in places, the oil and tempera separating from the plaster, but it ends up serving as a compliment to the historic brick and marble.

This place is old. The aura is old. The prayers that are patinated in layers on the friezes are old and the devotion resonating within these walls are an echo that can be felt rather than heard. So many souls have stopped here before, seeking something as he does. Surely some found what they were after. He hopes his luck sides with them.

Dick’s guard drops a hair and though it holds all the awkwardness of waving to a dear friend only to find out it’s a look-alike stranger, he crosses himself before making his way into the sanctuary.

He gives the crossing a scan, eyes darting to the handful of heads meandering along the altar or scattered amongst random pews. None of them are the person he seeks and with a grimace, he’s just about to turn on his heel and make for the final unchecked church across town, when the slightest movement draws his eye to the left.

There – shielded behind a line of towering columns. He’s sitting in the middle of the nave, on the farthest side of the aisle, closest to a magnificent pieta statue surrounded by red candles. Sprawled over the back of the pew like it’s a personal lounge chair. The darker side of the church, the long shadows cast by the flames shift and sway like an organic thing, softening the stone and somehow making the grandeur more domestic. A nook in which sinners can burrow and avoid their penance being on display.

It makes sense. Lewis Nixon would never willingly venture into a house of God unless there was a decent hiding spot.

Dick makes his way over to where he sits, taking great care to walk as softly as possible to avoid making a clatter of footfall on the stone. He slides into the pew behind Nixon, who makes no indication he’s noticed his arrival. He perches on the edge of the bench, elbows propped just to Nixon’s left.

“What are you doing here,” Dick whispers testily into his ear.

Nixon doesn’t startle. Instead, he wings a brow and flashes a smirk over his shoulder that suggests the answer should be obvious. He points up to the altar where the priest has just ceased communion for the evening and then to the choir shuffling in to assemble along the tabernacle for rehearsal.

“Thought it’d be nice to have dinner and a show,” he says, sounding pleased with himself.

Dick’s mouth goes pinched and he grits his teeth. His ire is too potent at the moment for Nix’s characteristic glibness to be charming. He has half a mind to drag him out into the street by his ear like an unruly child.

“I’ve been looking for you for hours . The house isn’t fit for guests, the cow and horses didn’t get brought in, and your sister arrives on the 8 o’clock train. Not to mention the active war zone you left of the kitchen.”

Nix’s sigh is dramatic and world-weary. “A man can’t make pies from scratch without a creative process.”

“You didn’t leave a note, Nix. I had to telephone Isabella Burris to find out where you’d gone.”

Nixon hums in false sympathy and slouches further down, somehow taking up more space than before. “And you said having a stalker wouldn’t come in handy.”

Dick leans forward on the edge of his seat, his grip on the wood at Nix’s shoulder groaning in warning from the pressure.

“Lewis,” he says, measuredly, each syllable given its own weighted pause. “It’s time to come home. It’s Christmas Eve.”

Nix ignores him, squinting up at the Madonna that casts a watchful eye on their scene from up on her pedestal.

“What do you think went through her mind when the angels told her, Dick? That her baby boy was doomed to become a sacrificial lamb.”

With a sigh, Dick drags a hand down his face, circling back up to press at the tension headache that’s gearing up behind his eye sockets.

“Nix–“

“Do you think she would have turned the job offer down if she’d known how it would end? Hell, would any of us have said yes to death if we’d known?”

“Nix, where’s the bottle?”

Nixon grins over his shoulder again, and pulls his coat lapels open to flash the inner pockets. Then he throws his hands wide, as if inviting Dick to pat him down.

“There isn’t one,” he promises. “This is genuine, all natural Nixon existential rumination.”

He has no reason to doubt Nix. Shameless creature that he is, he’s never lied about his drinking before. Or the relapses. It’s taken almost three years, countless tribulations and a brief fracturing of their relationship, but the sobriety streak is finally starting to hold. Nix has found other ways to overpower the demons in his head and Dick has never been prouder of him. Determined to be as supportive a partner as he can be, he’s learned to read the warning signs, the little flags that are raised when Nix’s will is in danger of collapsing. There have been no flags recently. He’s on good terms with his sister again and though his mother’s illness is a stressor, he’s been coping well. The fall harvest was more bountiful than they’d anticipated so the money is alright for a while and the furnace on the back of the farmhouse is holding steady from Nix’s most recent repairs. There is no external reason he can see for diving back into a bottle today. Still, there’s a nagging of guilt at having to interrogate him, and Dick ducks his head.

“I had to ask,” he says, in way of an apology.

There’s no sarcasm in Nix’s smile. Just a forgiving fondness. “I know.”

It occurs to Dick then; Nix has sought the sanctity of an unfamiliar Catholic church on Christmas Eve, sober and in sound mind, with a necessity strong enough to abandon his hosting responsibilities. He’s left Dick to fret about his whereabouts in order to meditate alone in the shadows.

There’s a reason. Nix doesn’t do whimsies. He doesn’t make Dick worry anymore without justification.

He stands and circumnavigates the end of the pew to slide into the spot next to Nix, readjusting the ends of his scarf into his lap with a gentle clearing of his throat. The impending and formidable list of remaining chores to do before day breaks is pushed outside the boundaries of the space they occupy, momentarily unimportant. Dick glances briefly at Nix, who doesn’t acknowledge his new position, then raises a parallel gaze to the Madonna.

They wait.

After a few bars of warm up, the choir picks up a gentle, harmonic piece that starts soft and raises in dynamic like undulating waves. The acoustics blend and twirl their sound into something much grander than their eight member count suggests. Something ethereal and angelic.

Dick rations his breathing, allowing the weight of preparing the farmhouse for Christmas on schedule to get carried away into the dulcet overtones. It’s easy.  To ground himself and sit down for a change, to let his mind slowly switch into observation mode instead of action. It’s a setting so rarely used. Too many things to keep the farm and the business and the relationship working and never enough hours in the day.

He can’t recall the last time he sat down to breathe deeply. To invite music into his consciousness instead of stress.

“Oh great mystery and wonderful sacrament,” Nix translates softly, tilting his head to catch the elongated vowels of the next sung phrase. “That the animals should see the newborn Lord storytelling? Trifling? Shit, hold on. Iacentem in context. Ah! Lying. Lying in a manger.”

“You speak Latin?” He shouldn’t be surprised at this point that Nix can still surprise him.

Nix flashes him a smirk that could be considered flirty. “Only enough to be abysmal at it.” He waggles his heavy brows. “My tongue is much better suited for other things.”

Despite the inevitable start of a flush at the innuendo, Dick frowns, shoulders stiffening. He cuts a quick check of the perimeter to double check for potential eavesdroppers. “We are in a church, Lew.”

Nix gestures up and down the length of his reclining figure. “The Lord knows what He made when He made it, Dick. I make no apologies.”

“So it’s a nativity hymn,” says Dick, attempting to steer the conversation back into neutral territory.

Sensing a potential spike in Dick’s hard earned requiescence, Nix backs off, ducks his head in a half-hearted nod.

“More or less,” he tells him. “This is more of a Gregorian mimic than a true chant. It’s sort of splicing where the admiration is aimed, between mother and child. The subject narrative is messy. But their intonation is good – as far as I can tell.”

He forgets sometimes, that Nixon is not only ivy-league educated, but well versed in categories rarely mentioned. He’s heard him pick out complicated Rachmaninoff compositions on charred, out-of-tune pianos in bombed out buildings, has seen him tinker tractor engines back to wholeness after complete dissection. Nix knows the steps to three forms of waltzes and can hold his own against politicians in discussions of economic merit. He’s bored with the daily crossword puzzles in the newspaper and can recite Shakespearean sonnets from memory if the subject being mocked is worth the joke.

The Lew he knows is whip-smart and clever to a fault, his intelligence the cause of a good many daily struggles, including his penchant for laziness and the need to drown his claptrap memory with booze.

It’s easy to forget he is also the more sensitive of the two of them.

Guilt suddenly gnaws at Dick’s repose and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He’s missed something. Something small and perhaps vital lost to the hustle and bustle of trying to perfect a false image of what happy holidays should look like, instead of paying attention to what was in front of his face.

He wants to ask, to demand what the oversight is so he can correct it quickly and not fall victim to his shortcomings as a partner until after Christmas has passed. But Nixon’s posture, sprawled and feline as it is, is distant. Something tells him it would be the wrong choice. Instead he twists at the waist to face Nix, using body language to telegraph what he should have opened with as soon as he laid eyes on him in the pew.

I’m here now, Lew. I’m listening.

It takes Nixon until the second chorus to speak again. He’s still staring up at the Madonna, like she might drop down to offer some insight if he squints hard enough.

“You remember that night in Rachamps?” he asks.

How can he not remember in a place like this? “Sure.”

“You told me you didn’t want to be Battalion anymore.”

“I remember.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Making Battalion? Or wanting out of it?”

“Either.”

Dick reflects for a moment, hands in his lap. He draws up the harsh mental image of Foy’s snowscape, the white soiled with angry, viscous red. He thinks of the men, slumped and drained in pews similar to these, the candlelight doing no favors to the deep lines etched in their blank faces. He thinks of the ghosts he brought back home with him instead of the bodies he left.

It had been the only time he’d confessed his doubts of being a leader out loud. Nix had sat vigil with him until the candles had died and the first break of dawn had started to stream through the stained glass, sacrificing sleep to bemoan the heavy weight of responsibility with Dick instead.

“It doesn’t really matter what I said, Nix,” he sighs at last. “It was war and it happened and I did the job.”

Nix fixes him with a shrewd, victorious look. The one Dick hates, the one that suggests he might as well be made of glass for how well Nix can see through him.

“That what you tell God?”

Dick refuses to meet his eye, annoyed at being led into a trap. “You know it isn’t,” he says softly.

Nixon falls silent again, but there’s a lean to his posture in Dick’s direction now. Immeasurable and small. Dick is encouraged nevertheless.

“What happened?” he risks asking in the same low tone.

Without a word, Nix reaches into his coat pocket, fishing around for a moment with something that's jammed against the seam. He pulls out a Christmas card, tastefully ornate and crumpled slightly around the edges, and drops it unceremoniously into Dick’s lap.

Dick flips open the card and gives the cheerful well wishes within a perfunctory scan. The handwriting is feminine and unfamiliar.

“Who’s Betty Ann Rollins?”

Nix grins again, but this time it’s the grim one that suggests he’s skirting the frayed edge of his cool.

“Oh, the sister of one of those kids who died in Operation Varsity. I wrote her a letter wishing her condolences for her brother getting blown to smithereens for his country and she wrote back to wish me a Merry Christmas. Same as last year. And the year before that.”

He can see it now, the way Nix’s dimples wobble just for a millisecond, the way his throat bobs as he struggles to swallow. Little tells leak through that betray his cavalier exterior and let the heartbreak he doesn’t let anyone but Dick glimpse at. The heartbreak he’s tried for years to poison and drown.

Sitting alone in the church pew, without the defense of liquor, all on his own, Nix suddenly seems so small and vulnerable. Dick has the strangest urge to tuck him into the tails of his coat, to bolster up his defenses with an extra layer of wool in case it might help. But though the nave is sparsely populated, they’re still in public and Dick has never resented a church building so much as he does in this exact moment.

He risks overlapping his pinkie with Nix’s, the smallest touch to bridge the distance between them. Nix blinks quickly a few times but offers no other reaction. Nothing to draw attention to them. Pragmatic, even in the face of his grief.

He’d been so upset that day. Operation Varsity: the only time Dick had been left behind and unable to plummet with him into hell. He can still recall Nixon’s drawn face in perfect clarity. He’d been so worried, had wanted nothing more than to take Nix up in his arms the moment he laid eyes on his intact form, the rush of relief at seeing him whole and hearty making him dizzy. But Nix had changed that day. Something small and fundamental had cracked and even after all this time, Dick has never managed to patch it quite right. His normal cocky confidence was rattled, his eyes black with anger and husky voice dripping heart blood with each short word.

He’d asked Dick’s opinion on how to phrase that letter, worried not a tick for his own demotion but only about crafting a letter that might save his soul if worded just right. Dick had been so furious with him, his weakness, too exhausted and worried and sick of the waste himself to have much empathy left. He hadn’t handled the situation well, letting Nix drink himself unconscious rather than deal with his fractured resolve. He’d been drowning at the time too. Instead of throwing him a life preserver, Dick had simply turned the other way. For all intents and purposes pouring the remnants of a whiskey bottle over Nix’s choking, gasping mouth on the way out the door. It still plagues him now and then, when Nix’s nightmares so violently interrupt their shared bed and leave them both sleepless with memory.

He’s so much older than he was then. Maybe the years might argue but he feels it in his mind, in his threadbare soul.

He hopes he cherishes Nix better now.

The choir dips into a melancholy, hushed segment of the hymn that seems written only to accompany Nixon’s mourning. The alto’s dissonant chord strikes something painful and bittersweet behind Dick’s ribs and he wraps the entirety of his digit around the place a wedding band would sit on Nix’s finger if he made the rules.

Then he tucks the card carefully into his own coat pocket with his free hand and sits back with deep breath. He holds it, squinting pensively up at the nearby altar, and then exhales slowly through his nose.

“I think,” he starts slowly, “Mary might have been strong enough to choose love.”

Nixon turns to him then, his beautiful dark eyes haunted and glassy. His brow furrows a fraction in question.

Dick lifts a shoulder carefully. “Well. I imagine, no matter how profound her sorrow was, the love she had for her child would trump it. That no matter what it costs her, she would choose the same outcome for that reason. That she might eventually come to see her sacrifice as a strength, the way the rest of us do.”

Nixon scoffs, the noise wet and undignified, and turns his head away so his bone structure is in stark profile and his devastation half hidden. His tongue darts out to lick at his chapped lips, one after the other.

“How the hell is that a strength?”

“Those who can mourn the dead are always the strongest, Lew,” Dick answers softly. “There’s no pain in paradise. Only in surviving here and remembering.”

He’ll outlive Lew. He can feel it in his bones. The way old timers with arthritis pocking their joints can feel when rain is nigh. One day he will carry Lew out of their lives together in a heavy box and wake up the next morning alone. Remaining but lacking. Shot back into the pallid, monotone world without Lewis Nixon’s color.

He likes to think he won’t regret it all when that time comes. That he’ll still carry such a strong torch for this brilliant, perceptive, titanically flawed man to the end of his days and count his life blessed. Perhaps that’s just purposefully calloused thinking. He’s not sure. He’s never done this before.

For the moment, Nix accepts his answer and shirks back into his own fortress of thoughts. Dick withdraws his hand and they part organically, still close enough for comfort without being intrusive.

“Tell me more about this Heaven with no pain,” Nix says.

“And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes,” Dick recites diligently, his voice a murmur and almost inaudible over the swelling of the choir. “And there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.”

“Former things, huh?”

“Yep. That’s all they are now.”

Nix is staring up at the Virgin again, but his glare has lost some of its harshness. There’s something wistful, some hint of childlike wonder, to his reflection. “Sounds promising.”

“I’ve always thought so.”

“So you still think I’ll make the cut?”

He’s always hated having to defend his stance on this with Nix. Especially since his relationship with God has been through an upheaval in the past few years and the foundation of his beliefs shifting and evolving the way natural things under immense pressure shift and evolve rather than crumble. He doesn’t know how to convince a good man to grant himself amnesty. He’s still fighting that battle on his own. And he might never win.

“Well finally attending Church certainly gives you some points,” Dick tells him, flashing the lopsided smile he saves just for him.

Nix snorts and Dick relaxes a fraction, glad to break through his somber mood, if only for a little while.

The choir reaches its pinnacle, the climax of the soprano rising to the arched ceilings to shatter gently like a million points of light. It falls like rain to join the flickering candles and for one brief moment, the whole church is illuminated with radiant ringing gold. Something swells in Dick’s chest, making everything tight and as the harmonies slide gracefully into a major chord resolution, there’s a great release that feels as close to absolution as he’s ever been. As if the song itself could flood out and touch them with a gilded hand, baptizing them just for one night.

Nix sucks in a ragged breath and when Dick glances over at him, his eyes are misty.

“Damn,” he breathes, enraptured. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Dick is not watching the choir. His gaze is trained on Nix’s face.

“Yes it is,” he agrees.

“What does your heaven look like, Dick?”

Dick watches the candlelight flicker in Nixon’s wide, shining eyes, highlighting the wild peaks of his dark hair, the Christmas lights back lighting his silhouette like a halo, and the luminous harmony of a choir wreathed around him. Watches as he succumbs to the magnetic pull of Dick’s offered support and leans into his personal space like he’s got a right to, in view of the priest and patrons and Christ Himself. Watches as he’s moved to tears by a dead language praising a God Dick loves so dearly, the same one Nix can’t bring himself to forgive. Watches him fall in love against his own will with the concept of an eternity that’s peaceful.

There is not the shame there once was in thinking he’ll go to no Heaven where this man can’t follow. Only a serene sort of resolution.

“Something like this,” Dick murmurs to himself.

“How’s that?” Nix leans in to hear him better. Close enough to bump their shoulders together.

“I said I’m not sure,” clarifies Dick, a bit louder.

The song dies down, its last whisper-soft notes lingering sweetly in the air and leaving behind a sense of glowing warmth that seeps into the bones. Lightens the load of the weary and serves as a brace for venturing back out into the cold. The few gatherers who rise sporadically from the pews do so with happy sighs, their faith threaded back together and their hearts filled with sonorous gold.

Dick waits until they’ve cleared and then puts a gentle hand to Nix’s knee, shaking him out of his reverie and back into the present.

“Come on, Lew,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

Nix gives his head a shake, clearing the last remnants of the music’s spell from his ears and uncurling from his seat to start at the buttons of his coat. He stands and slides out of the pew, waiting for Dick with eyes clearer than before.

In his distraction, he’s missed the closures on a few buttons and with a chuckle, Dick beckons him closer. Starts to erase the mistake one button at a time.

Nix winces and shies away as his fingers graze his neck. “Your hands are cold,” he complains. “Why aren’t you wearing your gloves?” He waves Dick away with a disgruntled face and takes over the task himself.

“Sorry,” says Dick.

Nix gives him that smile again, the one too fond to be completely teasing and it produces the same warm buzz inside Dick’s chest that hymns do.

“That’s alright,” Nix tells him. “I’ll just have to warm you up in the car. Can’t have you botching your perfect wrap job on the presents due to numb fingers, can we?”

There are six Catholic churches in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania.

But there’s only one Dick Winters returns to every December, just long enough to stop in and hear the choir rehearse a motet about Mary’s quiet joy and sorrow at being brave enough to bear the burden of love and everything that comes with it.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/36341782

Leave me comments/emojis/just random noises on my ao3 please and thank you! :D

MINECRAFT | PJM

a/n:hi babies !! I decided to just fluff dump for the rest of the members before writing anything else bc I love soft fics as much as I love angst. thank you for the support you've been showing me for the last two fics, I really appreciate it, stay gold⁷ -miri

masterlist

/ᐠ• ㅅ •ᐟ\

"I am simply trying my best here, Minnie. I don't understand what else you want from me." You muttered, dropping the remote, pouting at the screen a few feet away from the both of you.

"I know, hun. But I really need you to hand over those gold ingots...just press the circle button, please. I know you worked hard for them but I promise once I kill the ender dragon, I'll build you a kingdom." He pleaded, his block character standing in front of you in a crouched position, as he turned to face you.

"It took me three hours to get ten gold ingots! forget the kingdom I want your diamonds!" you exclaimed, hitting his character with yours. He gasped, hitting you back. "My diamonds?! are you crazy!"

You giggled, hitting his character again, running off to a village that was nearby, "i guess im crazy to want them! Diamonds for gold ingots. your choice, min."

He started chasing after you, thinking momentarily, "ugh fine! I'll give you all my diamonds," he turned to face you, a serious look plastered on his face, "Do.Not.Lose.The.Diamomds. Baby, not to be all gamer mode on you but these diamonds mean a lot to me...."

You looked at him, nodding. "I won't lose them. I'll guard them with my life!" you promised, smiling as he dropped his twenty-three diamonds to give to you. Picking them up, you then dropped your ten gold ingots for him to pick up, and then he was off to kill the ender dragon.

You decided on making a house for the both of you to live in when he came back from his adventure. It wasn't a good looking one, but it was one nonetheless, and 'it's the thought that counts' Jimin added, placing a soft kiss on your cheek.

After a couple of minutes, you had gotten distracted by jimin's side of the screen, watching intently as he handled his way into defeating the dragon. "w-woah, Minnie! Be careful you're gonna die!" you exclaimed, sitting up straighter, waiting for the arrival of 'you died' to pop up on screen.

Instead, all you got was a chuckle, as he ate some food he saved up, before continuing on. You were never a big fan of Minecraft, but watching Jimin play was a whole different ballgame. It was interesting and honestly nerve-wracking.

"I'm fine, baby. Look!" he pointed to the screen for a second, and right when you looked, he placed one last hit on the dragon, watching as it cried out in anguish, purple hues coming from its body as it flapped its wings for the last time.

"You did it!" You cheered, arms thrown up in the air, as if you were celebrating a huge accomplishment. Which in this case, was.

"Yes!" Jimin cried out, standing up, grabbing your hands to get you up on you feet as he swung both your arms around. "I did it! No-We did it! If it weren't for your ingots baby, I would have never gotten what I needed."

You laughed, shrugging, "I have no idea what that has to do with this but yay! We did it!" After dancing around the room for a moment, you both sat down, catching your breaths, staring at the screen, as the end credits of Minecraft played.

It was quiet when Jimin turned to you, grabbing your hand, "We make a great team, baby." Blushing, you looked at him smugly, "we make one helluva team!" and with a soft fist bump, you both grabbed your remotes, and continued on playing.

DYED HANDS | KSJ

a/n: In honor of dyeing my hair, and the process being absolutely terrible, I bring a Jin fic of his famous diy purple hair...cause it was just tew iconic, and I want to go back to that time respectfully. per usual, stay gold⁷ -miri

masterlist

/ᐠ• ㅅ •ᐟ\

SeokJin wouldn't lie and say he wasn't upset when the company told him strictly that he couldn't dye his hair. He thought that this was just completely unfair, and subjugating.

Until, his sweet, yet mischievous lover had stopped by his hotel room one night, with two drugstore bags in hand. Curious, SeokJin watched as you placed them on the desk, smiling brightly.

"I know you just told me your managers said you couldn't dye your hair and all....but it so happens that I may have accidentally bought hair dye anyway." You stated, rummaging through the bag, pulling out four boxes of purple dye.

SeokJin couldn't help but stare in disbelief. Even though he was strictly forbidden to do anything to his hair, (not even the hair stylist wanted to fall in the wrath of the company) here his wonderful companion stood, boxes in hand waiting patiently.

"What color?" He asked and you smiled, "purple! for Army, duh!" you chirped, walking to the hotel bathroom, not needing to turn around to know SeokJin was following behind. "Right but, why so many boxes?" He asked a moment later, watching as you started to mix the dye in the bottles it came with.

"I thought it was obvious, I'm dyeing my hair too! you really think I wouldn't match with you? We do it every time. Am I the best, or am I the best?!" You asked, rhetorically, shaking two of the bottles, glancing at SeokJin through the mirror.

"yeah, you're the best...but I might actually get in trouble if I dye my hair" he muttered, his plump lips jutting out slightly, and you had almost wanted to kiss the pout off his face, instead you snorted in amusement.

"Says you, you cut your own bangs two months ago! and they were crooked! this is not as bad as that. And what can they really do about it, fire you?" He stared at you, as you wore a smug look.

Mumbling to himself, he slid the set of gloves that came with the dye, on. "Hand me the dye." He stuck his covered hand out, gripping the bottle as you handed it to him.

"See, now that's what I like to see! your hair, your choice!" you cheered him on, watching intently as he squeezed the bottle on top of his head, smearing it in with his gloved hand.

After what seemed like a while, you both sat in the bathtub, waiting patiently till it was time to rinse your hair out. "...what's the time at, Jinnie?" you asked, looking at him, your back sore from leaning against the hard tub.

"ERM...what timer?" He asked, turning to face you, eyebrow raised. You smiled tightly, "you know? the timer I TOLD YOU TO PUT ON! you want our hair to fall out!?"

Quickly the both of you scrambled out the tub, SeokJin turning the water on, ducking his head into the water that gushed out from the faucet. "I can't afford to lose my hair! not yet - it's not time!"

You gasped, hitting his arm, "oh so you wouldn't mind me being bald then?!" You can see his shoulders move in a shrugging motion, and you scoffed, "wow thanks..." you sat on the edge, waiting for your turn, humming a soft tune.

"a-Ah Help Me! BABY HELP ME IT GOT IN MY EYE!" SeokJin yelled out in pain, and you jumped up scrambling to help him with a towel in hand.

"So...." you trailed off, as both of you stared in the mirror, purple hair blotchy. "for how long we kept it in, I thought it would at least keep its color." you decided on saying because really, the blotchiness was just unnecessary.

"Long-Lasting my ass! this is coming off in a week." SeokJin muttered, throwing a towel over his hair, trying to dry it off as best he could. You followed suit, shrugging mindlessly.

"at least your hands are a cute purple !" You noted, looking down at yours as well- and yep, also dyed purple. You heard him groan from beside you, "Just great! You know how long this will take to fade? just great!"

You snickered, earning a look from him, but honestly, it was funny to you. "cheer up, baby...it's really not bad, it's cute!" hoping it would cheer him up, even if it was just slightly.

"this is not cute! I think the dye job is punishment enough. SeokJin....just," the manager waved his hand in front of him, "go. it wouldn't hurt for you or the boys to listen once in a while. As for you,"

he then pointed towards you, and you feigned Innocence, "I can't say anything to you- stop provoking Seokjin's ideas! I get you guys want to do couple matching things, but please, let's not mess with his looks."

you nodded, knowing this would happen again anyways, it always did, and he knew it too. "yes sir, I'll make sure to get matching shirts next time. wouldn't that be cute, Jinnie? matching shirts?"

Next to you SeokJin, shrugged, nodding. "I mean- yeah. maybe purple shirts would be better than our hair."

"I'll have you know you look handsome in your blotchy hair! it brings out your blotchy skin tone." you stated, to which he nodded, holding his chest, "thank you sweetheart that means a lot to me. The blotchy hair really brings out your uneven layers."

you gasp covering it with a laugh, "hah! you're so cute! I just love you!!" His windshield wiper laugh filled the room, as he brought you closer to him, placing a kiss on your nose, "i love you too...even though half the time i get scolded because of you."

"partners in crime. it's a mutual thing, really."

EXPEDITION| MYG

a/n: erm....hit a writers block with this one NGL...and I feel like I made it too long at the end. Also added Jungkook bc of the circumstances of the fic lol, I hope you enjoy it nonetheless !! Stay Gold⁷ -miri

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"Hey, you ready?" Yoongi asked, leaning against his car, hands cradled in the warmth of his hoodie pocket. You had just walked out the house, eyes squinting at the assaulting brightness that your house lacked a few minutes prior.

With a single nod, you dragged your suitcase down the driveway of your house, hauling it into the trunk, as you pushed yoongi away to start the car; it was cold and you didn't care for a "gentleman's gesture" at this moment.

"I'm so tired! I should have chosen a later time to leave." You buckled your seatbelt with a whine as Yoongi let out an amused snort, putting the car in drive, slowly leaving the side of the street.

"that's why I'm here...so you don't have to drive yourself, just close your eyes, I'll wake you up when we arrive at the airport, okay? Let Min Yoongi handle this." He stated, pulling a blanket from the backseat, over your lap.

"....okay, min yoongi. I'm trusting you." you muttered, poking the side of his arm, and with that you lowered the seat, covered yourself better, and went back to dreamland.

"Hey, uhm, baby?..." You heard, and you couldn't tell if it was from your dream or not. "baby..." you heard again, and realized it was yoongi. Which, was alarming.

He only ever called you baby in two conditions:

1. when he really wanted you to do something

2.when he does something that he knows is going to upset you so he tries using the baby card

You opened your eyes, face to face with a sheepish looking yoongi, who had his lip in between his teeth. "you called me baby, what did you do." and he put his head down, with a sigh.

"it wasn't my fault! totally out of my control!" he defended himself immediately, pulling away from you, placing his hands on the steering wheel, "the car broke down." he muttered, and you sighed, leaning back into the seat.

of course it did.

Before you could say anything, Yoongi was already next to you again, head on your shoulder, and you knew he felt bad. "you know how the battery gets when it's winter....i should have asked Hyung for his car like you said, and I'm sorry about that, but- then what would be the point in having our car? I thought it would at least make it to the airp-"

"gigi...nicest way possible, shut up." you spoke softly, placing your hand on his cheek, rubbing it comfortingly. "you didn't know it was gonna break down at this moment...did you call anyone?"

you feel him nod his head, with a sigh, "yeah I called a tow company, and Jungkook-he's the closest so he said he'll take you. I'll have to wait for them here." Even though you figured that much, you still frowned hearing it out loud. Yoongi wasn't going to see you off back home.

"well come on...it's cold, and I'm still tired." you sat up, him moving away from you in the process, watching as you, quite difficulty, went to the back seats, with the blanket. You turned to face him, as he sat in his seat, and rolled your eyes.

"I want cuddles, gigi. C'mon~ before I leave, please?" you griped, holding your arms open, for him. (he was going to whether you asked or not, but he liked the extra effort)

once he made it to the back, like a koala to a tree, you clung to him right in-between his legs, his warmth stopping the cold that lingered. Sighing with satisfaction, you leaned into him more, as he ran his fingers through your hair. It was like you forgot the car broke down and you had to make it to the airport in less than an hour.

"how long are you staying at your parents, baby?" he asked, him trying to keep conversation for he felt a little drowsy now himself. "just a month...maybe less, depending." weakly shrugging, turning to face him,

"are you gonna miss me?" and really, him laughing was not the answer you expected. "of course I'm going to miss you. who else is gonna bother me-" "hey!" "sorry not bother, keep me company! who's gonna keep me company?"

You smiled, "Jungkook."

yoongi tsked, shaking his head, "yeah right. more like he'd keep me up more than I already do." "no, baby, Jungkook's right there." In a swift motion, yoongi turned his head to see Jungkook drawing hearts around his head, and he had to force himself to not roll his eyes.

"oh, yay, how nice of him to arrive." he muttered sarcastically, patting the side of your leg, for you to get up, so he can get out and help.

"hello you two lovebirds! having fun ? I bet you were~" with a smack to the head, he pouted, crossing his arms. "I was just kidding! gosh, can't take jokes anymore? what a loser."

At this point, Jungkook was talking to himself, because yoongi had all his focus on you, clambering out of the backseat, and right into his arms.

"can't Jungkook stay with the car, and you take me? no offense kook-" "none taken, really." "-i just...I really wanted you to be there when I left."

Yoongi pursed his lips, looking down at you, wishing he could. "you know I would if I could...but they're gonna need me for the information. I'm sorry, baby."

you nodded, understandingly, because once again, you knew that. But still the circumstances sucked. "it's okay, I give good hugs too hyung." Jungkook added, with a shrug which made you laugh a little. He was trying to lighten the mood, but you don't think yoongi appreciated it.

"you want to get smacked upside the head a couple more times don't you?" he asked, looking over towards Jungkook, his grip tightening on you. "be nice, gigi... he's only trying to be nice. Plus-" you look down at your phone that you pulled out from your pocket, "I should be going now."

yoongi sighed, "how about I just take you instead? Jungkook give me your keys, I'll be back before they even come." jungkook shook his head, "not possible! it's a 30 minute drive there and back! that's more than an hour! I highly doubt you'll be back before they come."

You nodded in agreement, "he has a point, yoongi. Just do what needs to be done." he frowned, "but if we go now-" "Sorry to interrupt but any of you Min Yoongi?" With a look towards you, Yoongi nodded, walking up to the guy, "yeah. that's me. Just- can you give me a minute?"

Once the guy nodded, Yoongi turned back to you, grabbing your face in his hands. "I'll miss you." You nodded, grabbing onto his sweatshirt, "I'll miss you too...I'll call you when I make it there." He smiled, "I know you will...please be careful. If anything happens to you I will-"

"-be on the first plane to me." you laughed, "I know. you say it all the time. I'll be careful, you know, all that good stuff. So, don't worry so much."

"augh, my sweet girl has to leave, what will I do for the next month?" Yoongi muttered, leaning down placing a kiss on your nose, before placing two on your cheeks. You smiled, relishing in his kisses, giggling as he placed one on your lips.

"you won't have to worry about her leaving if you guys don't finish this goodbye. Sorry to ruin this cute moment of course-" "we were getting there, Jungkook! Read the room sometimes man, just go before I might actually keep her here." Yoongi whined, letting you go with one last kiss.

As you walked with Jungkook to his car, Yoongi kept his eyes on you, until you disappeared in the car. As Jungkook drove past, you blew yoongi a kiss, smiling as he pretended to put it in his pocket, finally turning to face the tow guy.

You sat back in your seat, smiling softly. A month. Then you'll be able to give Yoongi all the kisses you wanted.

TO MY ROOM | KTH

a/n:been listening to Fly To My Room a lot recently and even though it doesn't mean the same I couldn't help myself but feel a little inspired, stay Gold⁷ - miri

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You laid on Taehyung's bed, belly to the mattress as you scrolled through your phone mindlessly. You had just gotten off work, and in all honesty you didn't want to do anything but lay down. Not sleep, you weren't tired, but just relax and finally stay off your feet for a couple of hours.

As you were about to click onto a TikTok account about miniature cooking, you feel a weighty figure lay across your back. Letting out a groan, you turn your head slightly, as much as you physically could, to catch a glimpse of the only suspect.

"Tae~!" you whined, shifting from under him, "you're heavy! get off!" you screeched, trying your best to push him off. He didn't budge, just wrapped his arm around one of your shoulders, "I can't! I'm so tired, and you're comfortable." he stated simply, closing his eyes.

You huffed, slowly shuffling downwards, until you were finally free from him, and his dead weight. After doing so, you punched him in the arm, before laying on the other side of him, "are you sure I was comfortable, or the bed?" you asked, grabbing your phone.

"well you of course. or else I would have laid on the bed." Even though you were a little irritated from being laid on, his honest answer made you laugh. "I guess that's true. Just don't do it again, I could barely breathe." you exaggerated slightly, turning your attention back to your phone.

A couple minutes went by, and suddenly Tae was right next to you, eyebrow raised, "wait a second...this is my room. How'd you even get in my apartment?" You shrugged, looking at him. "Oh, Jungkook gave me your key. He made extras for some reason. And, your bed is way better than mine at my apartment!"

He stared at you for a couple seconds before shrugging, "as long as it's you. C'mon baby, you know you can stay here as long as you want." He added, placing soft kisses on your shoulder, and if his kisses could take away the stress from your body, it would have been done.

You smiled, discarding your phone from your hand, attention on your loving boyfriend. "how'd I get so lucky? A boyfriend who shares his bed, and apparently house keys." He smiled, laying his head down, "remind me to take all those copies from that guy." He muttered, before wrapping his arms around you bringing him closer to you.

Now, your head laid on his left forearm, as he brushed the stray hairs from your face. "I'm the lucky one, baby. I get to come home to a very beautiful face. Maybe you should move in with me...turn this from'my room' to 'our room'."

You looked up at him, smile widening by the second. "I would love that actually~" you mumbled, leaning upward giving him a sweet kiss on his parted lips, running your hands through his hair,

"that means this comfortable bed is mine too." Taehyung rolled his eyes playfully, placing his hand on your waist, scratching at it softly, "what's mine is yours honey."

GIFT | KNJ

a/n: recent namu live got me in the deep world of delulu😣one chance....is all I ask. stay gold ⁷ -miri

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"Hey babygirl, I got you something." Was the first thing you heard when Namjoon walked in the apartment. It definitely sparked your interest. Namjoon was a man of miscellany surprises, gifts, etc. Every time you thought you knew what it could be, it would be the complete opposite throwing you off guard, making it all that much better.

You place a kiss on his lips, greeting him first before looking at the wrapped box he placed on the kitchen counter top. "what is it?" You asked, holding your hands on top of it, not quite holding your excitement in any longer. He chuckled, nodding his head, stepping back.

"go 'head, baby, open it. I know it's killing you to wait." Without wasting another second you ripped the paper off, opening the box; a huge murakami plushie flowing out.

You squeal in delight, holding the flower plush in your arms, fluffing it slightly. "i love it! thank you so much, Joonie ! i- Its amazing! Do you know how much I love these flowers!?" He couldn't help the smile that appeared on his face as he watched you, attention all on your new plushie.

"of course I do. You talk about them all the time. I'd be a bad boyfriend if I didn't know that much at least..." He spoke, also going to feel the flower in the process, impressed at just how fluffy it was.

You looked up at him, giving him another kiss, this one slightly longer, hoping he could feel all the love you had for him through it. "Thank you, namjoon. I love you~!" you sang, running to the living room, immediately taking a spot on his recliner, his blanket that was designated for said recliner pulled up to your chin, as you used your new plush to lay your head down on.

Namjoon watched in loving amusement, before following you, pressing play on whatever was on the television beforehand. He bent down, placing a kiss on your forehead, walking to your guys' room to freshen up before joining you...

CLOSE | JHS

a/n: okay I haven't written angst in a long time, and I wouldn't call this angst just...sad with a happy ending, I mean kinda? you'll see what I mean but, my angst writing is defrosting rn :/ mention of death btw oki. stay gold ⁷ -miri

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You had just gotten off the phone with your mother, with devastating news. You knew it was coming up to that point in life, but you had wished you had more time. Losing a family member, especially your parental figure hit a lot harder than you expected.

It took a lot for you to not fall apart on the phone with your mother. You promised to stop by to talk about things, and what the next step was. Then she asked about Hoseok and you had completely forgotten about him.

So now you sat in yours and Hoseok's shared apartment, just overworking your brain over every single thought that you had conducted in your head. You were so caught up in your head, that you hadn't heard the door open or shut close.

"Hey baby, practice was hell today." Hoseok muttered, walking over to you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, running his fingers through your hair. You focused back into reality, standing up, legs moving like jelly as you turned to face him.

"Hobi..." you started, not really knowing how to even bring up such news. He smiled, not seeing your face as he was busy trying to take off the layers of clothes he had. "yes? I'm sorry honey - I'm just really sweat-" "Hobi, my father passed."

The silence was quick to invade, as you watched Hoseok drop a piece of clothing. Without a beat, he was quick to be by your side, holding you in his embrace.

"What? Wh-I'm so sorry for your loss, baby." He muttered against your skull, holding you close, wishing he could take everything you're feeling away. You couldn't do anything but just melt into his embrace, letting yourself let go of the heartbreak you've been feeling since the phonecall.

Even though it was your father, Hoseok had obviously become very close with your parents. Visiting them when he had the chance, with and without you. His and your parents holding date nights together when they were free. Your father was like a second father to Hoseok, and how his heart was feeling from hearing the news, he couldn't imagine how you were feeling.

"Hobi" holding onto him tighter, your chest shuddered as another sob left your lips. You can feel his shaky hands rub your head and back, comforting as best he could. "I know, I know...let it out baby" was all he said, and it made it all that much easier to express your sadness.

It's been a month since then, and it's been a couple weeks since you guys held the funeral for your father. As much as you didn't like it, it was well needed. A closure you didn't think you wanted, but instead needed at the end of it all.

Hoseok watched you as you layed on the couch, picking at your nails. You didn't do much these days, not finding the motivation to do so. It was even hard to just sit and not do anything because then you'd just think a little too much.

But having Hoseok. Amazing, empathetic, Hopeful Hoseok by your side helped a lot. When days got particularly hard, he never pushed. Never got impatient, never tried to quicken your grieving process, gave you space when you asked, invaded your space when you needed.

You knew it was hard on him too. Differently, but still the same in cases. So when he found you crying behind the couch because you wished you could make things easier on him, he just cooed, picking you up from the floor, right into your bedroom, cuddling with you under the duvet.

"you're so cute you know that? Don't worry about me, 'kay? I'm okay, you just....you just focus on you right now, baby. I'll make things easier for you. you can rely on me for now."

You looked at him for a moment before grabbing hold of his face, smiling for what seemed like the first time in a while, "Thank you, hobi...you don't understand how much you've done for me, I appreciate it so much. Especially right now. Thank you for making it easier to wake up, and just function."

He couldn't help but reciprocate your smile. "of course, baby..." he muttered, pulling you closer to him, hand tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, "future's gonna be okay." with a small kiss to your forehead, you both fell into a comfortable silence.

A silence where your thoughts were finally quiet.

This is probably one of THE most tender fics I’ve read about Asmodeus. I really love this perspective of him, and its just so nice… The continuous asking and checking if MC is comfortable, explaining each action and being so patient..

Even Levi worry about his Henry

Waaahhhh, this makes me feel better about me cuz it’s been stress hours (midterm week has began)

Asmodeus helping depressed reader bathe

Warnings and notes: female mc, body size occasionally mentioned, as well as other small specific features, self image issues briefly mentioned, mentions of bad hygiene and general depression, Lucifer mentioned as scolding mc briefly for not attending classes, Levi briefly mentioned to have depression, Beel mentioned as leaving food for mc outside her room, intimate touching (platonic or romantic, I tried to keep it ambiguous), mentions of boöbs and n!pples, mentions of ‘area between thighs’ but no specific word given, word ‘butt’ used, mentions of skin picking and leg bouncing, and I believe that’s it.

“Hey, sweetheart, i know you’re in there, I’m coming in, alright?”

Hearing no answer, but knowing you would have spoken up if you didn’t want him entering, Asmo slowly turned the doorknob and gently opened the door to your room. Your head turned ever so slightly to the door, but your eyes remained on the open text book in front of you. Upon walking closer, he saw the pages of a long since passed lesson. He looked down at your hands, currently picking at the skin around your nails, and it was evident you had been for a while, the skin choppy and red. He then looked at your face and caught your dazed eyes and irritated cheeks.

You were trying to catch up on studying as you had stopped going to classes 2 weeks ago. Lucifer had scolded you multiple times, but with each lecture he gave, you seemed to care less and less. You looked like you’d been rubbing and pulling at your cheeks, he could tell you were trying to keep up with class work but he’s not sure if you know that you’re studying an old lesson you’ve already missed. Asmo then noticed your hair, oily and clumped into dirty strands as you looked down at your hands and brought your finger to your lips. He quickly but gently put his own hand in its path and yours stopped, but didn’t try to pull away or move around his to fix its course, so he let his finger tips brush your hand.

It twitched but again, didn’t pull away, so he took it in his own and held it. The warmth seemed to bring you out of your daze and you slowly lifted your head to look at him. The brightness in your eyes was missing as they flitted worriedly between his and he noticed your wet lashes and your oily forehead. Only then did he notice the smell of your room, body odor and dust, and he knew you had neglected your hygiene, whether you wanted to or not.

He gave you a soft smile before softly greeting you.

“Hey sweetie.” Asmo reached his hand forward to brush your hair back from your face. He sees panic in your eyes and he can only assume it’s because you don’t want him to feel how dirty your hair is.

And he’s right.

You feel your eyes well up with tears as his hand moves towards your head and the world seems to slow. You don’t want him to feel how oily and slick your hair is, you can’t disgust him, this is Asmo, the avatar of lust and a man who takes incredible care of himself and his hygiene and doesn’t like to sweat even a drop and risk his makeup or breaking out, a man who always smells wonderful and never gross. God, you haven’t left your room in 2 weeks it must smell awful. Your eyes dart around the room in a panic as your hand tightens around his.

Asmo feels your hand tighten around his as his other slowly approaches your head. He sees your teary eyes dart around. You look terrified, and it breaks his heart. His hand finally touches your hair as he moves it aside and holds it out of your face as he strokes gently just past your temple. Your breathing picks up and he softly shushes you. “You’re alright.”

“But..my hair...it’s-“

“Dirty?” His eyes soften and he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s ok, hair gets dirty. I don’t mind touching it.”

You gulp down a particularly unpleasant urge to sob and release a shaky breath.

“Yeah but I’m...” you hesitate to say it, embarrassed,”dirty. I’m gross and I probably smell bad. You don’t like gross, you’re probably just here cuz you feel like you have to be-“

Asmo shakes his head and takes your hands before sitting on your bed in front of you. He can see you starting to put yourself down and scold yourself for something that’s completely understandable.

“I’m here because I care about you. I know what’s going on, and please don’t think I’m trying to be rude by talking to you about this when you’ve never explicitly let any of us know, but I know you’re depressed” he feels you tense up, “and I’m worried about you. I understand that it takes up all of your time, your attention, all of your energy just trying to work around it everyday, and that sometimes because of that, you forget ‘normal’ everyday things like showering, eating, drinking water, brushing your teeth, and that’s alright. Having depression keeps you from achieving the same ‘normal’ as everyone else, and it’s not your fault.” You were so shocked he was able to voice his understanding in such a way that you neglected to wonder why he understood.

Truth is, Levi suffers from it to, and Asmo only knows from prying it from him years ago, ever since then he’s the one Levi goes to talk to. But now wasn’t the time to mention it.

“I just want to help. Get you feeling clean again, we can get some water in you, and then we’ll get something to eat together, even if it’s just a little bit. I know Beel’s been leaving you food outside your door, but he walks back to the kitchen with most of it and the end of the day. Is it ok if I ask if you’ve eaten any of it?”

You shake your head, you don’t want to talk about your eating habits right now, not when you’re in the headspace you’re in right now.

He hums softly. “That’s ok, we can talk about it later if you want. Now (y/n), I’m not trying to be rude and I apologize if I come off as so, but can you take a bath for me? You’re going to start to feel icky and you’ll feel worse if you don’t soon. I’ll be right outside the door for you, or we can leave the door open and I’ll sit outside right next to it so you can talk to me if you need to.”

The tears welling up in your eyes start falling slowly and your nose feels stuffy.

“I don’t think I....can do it, I’m too tired...it hurts to stand, I can’t-“ Asmo’s hands leave yours for your arms, holding them to you carefully and rubbing them.

“Breathe (y/n), I know, I know.” He drew in a breath and couldn’t release it. He was scared to ask you this.

But he didn’t see any other option.

“Would you like to take a bath with me? Nothing weird I promise, but would you let me help you get cleaned up? You just have to relax, I’ll do everything, get you all washed. How does that sound?”

You pulled your arms into yourself and hugged your torso before lightly shaking his hands off. Your breath came out in shaky bursts. “I don’t want you to..to see me, I’m ugly an-and gross.”

Asmo could swear he felt his heart shatter, he wanted to reach for you but kept his hands in his lap.

“You are not ugly, not to me, not to anyone. You never have been, and you never will be. Everything about you is beautiful, your cute button nose that you think is too wide, your pure (e/c) eyes that you say are too small, your tummy that you always want to hide when I take you shopping for clothes. You’re a work of art to me, and I don’t want you to feel so bad that it taints your perception of yourself anymore.”

You look down as you shake trying to hold in your tears and you reach for his hand. You hesitate and he turns his hand and opens his palm to you, letting you place your hand in his when you’re ready.

Asmo is gentle when he closes his hand around yours, he’s slow when he stands from your bed, he’s patient as he lets you stand at your own pace. He’s soft as he opens your door and warm as you slowly move your arms to around his middle. He doesn’t cringe away from you as you hold him tightly, and his arm only leaves you to turn off your light and close your door.

“You can stay in my room tonight, or anyone else’s if you’d like, they’d be more than happy to see you. I can talk to them about what’s going on if that’s ok, or tell them not to ask about it, I just don’t want you going back to your room and falling back into that rut. I know you’ll want the familiar safety of your own room, but it’s best to tidy it up first, open some windows and let fresh air in too. And I’ll help you with it, or I can take care of it for you.”

When you get to his room, the familiar floral and vanilla scent wafts out of the door and caresses you both. Asmo let’s you walk in first, wants you to know that you can leave if you need to and that he isn’t dragging you into doing anything.

“Do you have any clothes you want me to get for you while we wait for the bath to fill?”

You fiddle with the sleeve of the hoodie you’ve been wearing for too long. He knows it’s your favorite and knows that you want to wear it when you get out of the bath.

“I can put your clothes in the wash while we wait, and I can text levi and tell him to put it in the dryer when it’s ready and to bring it up when it’s done, does that sound good?”

You nod and Asmo turns on the water for the bath. You take off your hoodie and hand it to him nervously. The tub is filling up more now, if you sat on the inner steps of the tub it would be just past your belly button.

“You can hop in right now if you want, or you can add this and get in when you’d like.” Asmo held out a bottle to you.

Bubble bath soap.

Your hands gently wrap around it and he sees the confused look on your face. “I thought it might be nice, it’s smells really good. And I thought maybe if there were bubbles to cover yourself with, you might feel a little less anxious. The bubbles don’t pop until the cap is closed on the bottle, so remember to leave it open if you use it.”

Your face grows warm, you’ve never experienced this much care and consideration before. Asmo turns the water off, the tub having filled during your conversation. He bundles up your hoodie in his arms.

“I’ll go set this to wash, can I go into your dresser and get you bottoms and underwear, and anything else?” You mumble out additional clothing items and he smiles.

“Ok! You can get in anytime you want, I made sure the water isn’t too hot. And you can put your clothes in the basket in the corner.” He leaves and closes the door behind him, but offers you a smile before it’s fully closed.

You step over to the tub and open the bottle, slowly tipping in just a drop. You don’t know how much you’ll need. One drop seems to be more than enough as the second it hit the water the surface of the bath exploded with quiet bubbles. You poke one to test the durability and Asmo was right, it didn’t pop. You shed your dirty clothes and place them in the laundry basket in the corner, trying not to feel guilty about how dirty they are compared to how clean the basket looks. You turn to the tub, ever amazed at how big it really is, and you softly step in and sit as the warm water all but wraps it’s arms around you. You walk on your knees to the other side and look at the soaps, shampoos, conditioners, and moisturizers Asmo keeps out.

Asmo returns with your clean clothes and sees you looking at all the products on the tub edge.

“(Y/n), I’m back, I’m gonna hop in, ok? You can stay turned over that way if you want.”

There’s fabric shuffling and water moving and then it settles. “Ok, you can come over here, sit between my legs, ok?”

You’re slow to turn around but when you do, Asmo is sitting patiently with a smile. You move slowly and do what he said, bringing some of the simpler, less expensive looking soaps and hair products with you.

He looks at them in your hands, “You can use any of them Yknow, no matter how expensive it looks.” You shake your head and say it’s alright while he takes them from you and sets them aside. As you move to sit between his legs he pulls your elbows to gently steer you to where he’d like you to sit. You sit with your knees bent and thighs together and you feel Asmo do the same, but with his legs open to allow you space between them as his knees softly knock your elbows.

“Ok, can you lean back for me?” You do so slowly, “more,” you lean more, “a little more” you lean a little more, “a liiitttllleee more~” you lean until you feel his hands cradle your head. He looks down at you from above with a goofy yet gorgeous smile. His hips move a bit as his legs move to cross his calves under your back, not fully seated as he keeps them up off the tub bottom to support you.

Asmo feels your muscles tense and assumes it’s because of the way he’s sitting. He knows it’d be uncomfortable to any human after a while, but it would take much longer for his legs to ache from keeping them in this position. “It’s ok, just relax. I’m gonna wet your hair now, ok?”

When you nod, Asmo reaches to the side and grabs what looks like a big pearlescent sea shell, and for all you knew it probably was real. He brushes aside some bubbles near you and dips it in. Your eyes close as you listen to the gentle sound of it filling with water. He places the side of his hand on your brows and slowly pours the water on your hair. Most of it was already wet from laying in the water but the top of your head still needed soaking. He did this a few more time before setting the shell down on the tub edge and reaching for the shampoo.

“Do you want to stay like this or sit up while I clean your hair?”

You decide to sit up and give his legs a rest though you know he probably doesn’t need it. He stands behind you and sits on the tub edge, tapping your arms and telling you to scooch back a bit to where his knees just touch your shoulders. You hear the shampoo bottle open and the unmistakable sound of jelly like liquid being squeezed out of a bottle. Asmo let’s you know before he places his hands on your hair and gently smooths the shampoo to cover most of your hair, leaving the the mid section and the ends bare of it. He then starts to massage it into your scalp and roots gently before lathering it into the top most section of your hair. As he’s doing so he asks if you’d like some music and calls out to whatever the Devildom equivalent of a smart speaker is and tells it to start his “late night shopping” playlist. The room flooded with the quiet hums of your favorite music and you perked up a bit. After a few songs and Asmo shampooing and rinsing your hair a few times, you ask about the playlist and tell him it’s been some of your favorite songs.

“Of course! I keep track of your music recommendations!”

You turn to him after the last rinse in shock. “You remembered every song I’ve recommended you?”

He beams at you, “Isn’t it neat! You can stay sitting up, time for conditioner.”

As Asmo massaged the conditioner into your ends you could feel yourself dozing off. In fact, you had dozed off and didn’t know until you felt a hand softly smoothing down your hair.

“You never told me your hair was wavy. It’s like mine.”

You grab a strand absentmindedly and wrap it around your finger. “I didn’t know until maybe 2 months ago. It got wet in the rain and started curling as it dried. I would always brush my hair everyday and it would get really frizzy, but I never thought it could be because my hair is a different type than I always thought it to be.”

“Well I’m glad we used my shampoo then. If you want we can talk about a good routine for your hair later, how does that sound?” You yawn and wiggle your hands in the water to clear off any bubbles before wiping your eyes.

“Sounds nice.”

Asmo hums in agreement before placing his hands on your shoulders. “You seem pretty tired, but we still need to wash your body. Can you wake up for me a bit so you can do it, or is it alright if I clean you?”

You swished your hands in the water a bit as you thought it over. This situation wasn’t completely new to you, you’d “bathed” with Asmo several times before, but you’d always worn something in the bath, be it a swimsuit or just a large black T-shirt you could easily wring out after. A naked Asmo wasnt new either, but this soft intimacy was.

“You can do it, I’m ok with that.”

He replies with a soft “ok” and leans back to grab a wash cloth and began soaping it up.

“I had Solomon enchant this tub awhile ago, the water won’t get dirty no matter how long you sit in it, so we can focus on getting you clean.” He starts scrubbing your arms making sure not to be rough.

He scrubs at every tensing muscle, gently gliding over each twitching nerve, soapy up every crevice. When your chest starts to shake he places his elbows on his knees that reassuringly have stayed on each side of you, and opens his palms to you. He gently takes your hands as you squeeze them tight and ground yourself. When your grip loosens and your breathing steadies he waits for you to let go before he continues. Asmo keeps his movements slow as he cleans the rolls of skin on your lower back that he knows you despise. His eyes track every movement you make to make sure you’re ok with what he’s doing while he scrubs your spine and shoulder blades. His hands move carefully around to your stomach to scrub there. He begins to space out as he rubs soft circles into the tummy he adores so much. He’s been with you when you cry about your image, and your tummy is mentioned the most, and he loves every part of you, but especially your tummy, for every time you voiced your disdain for it, his love for it grew even more. If there was a part of you that you didn’t love, he would love it for you.

His focus returned when your back touched his chest. He looks down at your face and your eyes have fluttered closed, occasionally opening slightly to try and blink back your drowsiness.

“You must be so tired...(y/n) honey...I need to move on to your chest, ok. Do you want me to keep going, or do you want to do it?”

His hand move beneath your arm to the other side to offer you the wash cloth. You sit and think tiredly for a moment before closing his hand around the cloth.

Asmo starts at your collar bone, softly scrubbing upwards to clean behind your ears and the back of your neck. Then he started scrubbing any parts of your stomach he hadn’t scrubbed because of the closeness to your chest. Slowly, he began scrubbing the top of one breast, applying soft pressure with his thumb, before moving to the side and bottom, softly cupping it as he scrubbed, and lastly scrubbed your nipple, as gently as he could. He pulled away and asked if you were doing alright before doing the same to your other breast after you gave him the ok. He cleaned between them after, careful not to touch anything other than where he was scrubbing. He let you know what he was doing before he scooped the shell into the water to rinse you.

Then he sat there, once again unsure if he should ask this. Your permission is the most important thing right now, and he would ask for or wait for your permission when it came to touching you, but this was a bit different. Your legs wouldn’t be an “obstacle”, but between them would be. There was no sound but the music softly thrumming around the room and either of yours occasional deeper breaths. So Asmo took a deep breath in.

“(Y/n)? Let’s move onto your legs and...everything else, ok?” You both have used vulgar words for different parts before but just thinking of saying them right now felt like it would shatter the calm you’d both built in the room. So he chose not to. “How would you like to do this?” After a while of you sitting silently and struggling to think about something so different he decided to help you. “You can stand and I’ll scrub you down, we could stay sitting, you could sit here while I move around to help? What sounds good?”

You fiddled with his hand where it laid between you, playing with his fingers as you stared wide eyed at the other side of the room but not truly looking at anything. You tried not to bite your nails as you worked through your thoughts. “Can you...help me? Can we stand?” Asmo hooked his index finger around yours gently.

“Of course. Do you want me up first?”

You nod and he slowly stands helping you up after.

“Can we stay like this? I don’t think I can turn and face you..not yet.”

His hand lightly squeezes yours as he hums in affirmation. “Sure sweetheart. Can I put my arms you to wash you? You can place your hands on mine.” Asmo let his arms encase you gently as he leaned down, and tried not to press himself to much into you. Being a few inches taller than you, he could keep the contact limited to his chest touching just your shoulders and upper back.

“Are you ready (y/n)?” A small whimper accompanies the nod you give and you place your right hand atop his. As he softly runs the wash cloth between your thighs, his left hand comes to your stomach and grabs your hand that had been tightly clenched in a fist and intertwines his fingers with yours before he places his chin on your shoulder. The sound of his breathing is soft yet much louder than the music which has all but been forgotten in your anxious moment of dissociating. All you hear is him, the soapy scrubbing of the wash cloth, and your own rapidly beating heart. Before you know it he’s pulled his hand away and is tapping your shoulder.

“There, that wasn’t so bad right?” He gives you a goofy smile in response to your own anxious one and you can’t help but laugh. You’re finally starting to truly relax. Asmo pokes your cheek as he laughs with you. “Alright, butt time. We’ll do it the opposite way ok?”

You turn around as his arms wrap around you again and you place your forehead on his chest while his hands slowly descend down your back. He soaps up just his hands this time, letting the wash cloth fall into the tub before massaging your butt in circles, lathering up the soap. As he scrubbed he asked you what next. “How do you want to do your legs? You want me to keep going?” His heart beats faster at the small “please” you let out. It was much louder than anything you’d said since he met you in your room. Asmo cleaning your legs was the least stressful moment of it all, and had you the least anxious. You started to shiver a bit as he brought the shell back up to your body to rinse you off one final time.

Asmo helped you step out of the bath before grabbing towels for both of you and bundling you up in one. He capped the bubble bath bottle and you watched as all the bubbles fizzled away til there were none left. Then there was a knock at the bedroom door, drawing your attention from the now draining tub. He rubbed your arms through your towel to warm you up a bit before wrapping his own around his waist and going to answer the door, closing the bathroom door enough so that no one could see in but you could still hear him.

Asmo opened the door quickly, shocking the already nervous Levi on the other side. Levi looked down at the towel covering his brother.

“Dude...put some clothes on...ew.” Asmo only gave a pouty scoff.

“I have (y/n)’s hoodie,” Levi handed it over slowly before continuing, “..um...how is she?”

Asmo looked down at the hoodie, running his hands over the still warm fabric.

“She’s doing better. Thank you, I’ll see if she wants to talk about it later.”

When Asmo returned he had your hoodie in his hands and you had to make a mental effort to stop your leg from bouncing rapidly as you were waiting. He hands it to you then grabs the rest of your clothes. “Do you want me to stay while you change, or do you think you can do it?” You shook your head as you held the hoodie to your chest.

“I’m ok, you go get changed too.”

Asmo nodded before heading to the door, “when your done you can just walk out, or knock and tell me your done, I should be done too.” He fully closes the door this time for you as you change

When you’re both finished you stand quietly in his room, unsure if you should stay or go back to your room. Asmo comes up to you and gently places his hands on the sides of your face.

“How do you feel?”

“Better, not fully great, but I’ll get there.”

“I know you will. Do you wanna stay or go back to your room?”

You touched his hands lightly with yours before making up your mind. “I think I’m gonna go back, do what you said, open the windows, change the sheets an’ stuff. Maybe go see (fav brother) too. I’ll see.”

His hands slide from your face to your neck and legs his thumbs stroke your jaw, eyes locked with yours. “You call me if you need anything, I mean it.” He walks with you to the door, opening it for you and holding your hand until the very last second.

“I will. And...thank you. I really, really appreciate it. So much.”

“Anytime, (y/n).”

“Hey. Uh, Johnny?” Danny said awkwardly, “What does it mean when one of the older ghosts calls you their favored and why does it freak people out?”

Johnny 13 gave the halfa a bewildered look, “Dude. Didn’t you listen to Death? At all?”

“Death?” Danny scrunched his face, “What do you mean? I don’t…”

“Wait.” Johnny straightened, “You’ve talked with Death, right? She explained-?”

Danny shook his head, confused, “Was I supposed to?”

“When you first died, she’s supposed to appear. She gives a whole spiel and then transfers a bunch of information.” Johnny frowned, “She did it for Plasmius, so it’s not a halfa thing.”

“Oh.” Danny looked down, “What if… What if someone died and came back a few times very quickly? Would that… Would that cause any problems?”

Johnny stilled, horrified, “Ok. Look, do you want to talk about your death? Because I’m not asking if you don’t, but...”

“I guess…” Danny said, “So you know that my parents made the portal, right?”

“Yeah.” Johnny said.

“They’d been trying to do it for a long time. Plasmius actually worked with them for a while back when they were in college. It’s why all of their tech is similar in design.” Danny explained, “They built the thing, plugged it in, turned it on… and nothing.”

“But it works now.” Johnny frowned.

“Yeah. It does.” Danny nodded, “But remember my friends? Sam and Tucker?”

“The edgy emo and the computer geek?”

“As Sam’s friend, I am obligated to inform you that she is goth not emo… but yes, those two.” Danny smiled sadly, “My mom and dad were upset. They left the house and Jazz was working her shift at a library. The whole house was empty and I was… you know. A normal teenager home alone.”

Johnny snorted at that, “Ah yes. A completely normal teenager

“Yeah, yeah. The point is, the first thing I did after being left home alone was call my friends over.” Danny rolled his eyes, “Told them what happened and… It was Sam who suggested we go down there first — she’s always been into ghost and occult stuff — and look around. Tucker was down, because it was tech even if we didn’t think most of the tech would work. He wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to mess around with it. Jazz had given me some lectures on lab safety — my parents don’t usually follow it themselves — and I had a bad feeling so I put on the Hazmat suit.”

“That’s not a superhero costume you came up with?” Johnny asked, eyes widening.

“No, um. It’s a hazmat suit. The only way I changed my form was the insignia and even then that was Sam’s idea.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, but um….” Danny paused, “We wound up standing outside the portal. It wasn’t working or anything, but there was a big spooky metal hole in the wall. You know, the kind of thing you’d expect in sci-fi movies. Sam dared me to go in and I was nervous. That bad feeling just intensified, but again — fourteen. I wasn’t being smart about it. So… I went into it. I kept going and it was dark. I was turning back when I tripped and I flailed. Accidentally hit some button that was on the side and it turned on.”

Johnny took a sharp breath.

“And um. Did you know that the portal takes a lot of electricity to start up?” Danny joked weakly, “Took three blocks worth. Um, lots of ectoplasm, too — from both the zone and the artificial stuff my parents use.” He shuffled, “So um, turns out both those things can revive and kill people. So I just kind of — died and revived a lot until it turned on and basically spat me out into the lab.

“That’s - Kid…”

“So um, maybe since I was dying and reviving so much death didn’t have a chance to fill me in? Honestly, would have like the heads up.” Danny said sheepishly, “I didn’t even understand what had happened until ghosts started coming through the portal.”

“Seriously?”

Danny shrugged, “I mean, I kind of suspected. I was falling through floors. It was hard to ignore, but I didn’t know - My parents are good inventors, but not the best scientists and it made things hard to figure out.”

“What? You bought that whole non-sentient BS?”

“No.” Danny shook his head, “I just didn’t buy any of it — and I mean none of it. I wanted nothing to do with the whole thing. The whole town thought my parents were crazy, they were always in the lab working, and I only ever saw them briefly once or twice a day. Don’t get me wrong. They’re still my parents and I love them, but… they have two big priorities. Their work and their kids. Their work is just… a higher priority to them.”

“Oh.” Johnny cringed, “Oh. Kid…”

“So yeah. Life sucks. Death sucks… but I really need to know what to do and why Ember is freaking out over me being called ‘favored one’.”

“Uh, right.” Johnny paused, “Well, it’s like old ghost language. Um. Basically, it’s like being called a really, really close friend or adopted family. Kind of like… ‘hey, this is my person that I love and protect’. It’s platonic unless they specify otherwise.”

“Huh, okay.” Danny blinked, “That makes sense, but why would Ember freak out?”

“Well… who called you that?”

“Oh! Clockwork and Pandora call me that when I visit.”

Johnny blanched, “What?”

“And now you’re freaking out, too.”

“You’ve been just- Kid! Are you just casually talking to them?”

“Um, yeah? They said it was okay?”

“Do you know nothing about the hierarchy of the- Wait. No. You didn’t get to talk to Death. Of course you don’t-“ Johnny sighed — covering his eyes, “Okay, so do you know what the ancients are?”

“I thought that was just a saying.”

“No, it’s not-” Johnny pinched the bridge of his nose, “The Ancients are the most powerful spirits in the Zone. They’re ghosts, but they resemble ideals more than they do a person most of the time. Practically gods. The ancients are Undergrowth, Frostbite, Nocturne, Pandora, Clockwork, Vortex, and Pariah Dark. Thing is… where most ghosts plateau at a certain power level the ancients can just keep growing in power. Clockwork is one of the strongest — so strong, the Observants bound him to their will.”

“Yeah, I heard about that, but he’s really nice, you know.” Danny smiled, “And he makes really good cookies really fast.”

Johnny stared at Danny for a long moment, “Danny. Do you not hear yourself right now? He’s basically the god of time.”

“Yeah, but if he didn’t want me to visit, I wouldn’t be able to find him.” Danny shrugged, “So he told me if I can see the clocktower, I’m welcome to come in.”

“Kid…”

“Besides. I’m friends with half of those guys and they’re cool.”

“Wha- How many ancients do you know?”

“Um… All the ones you just listed? I’m friends with Frostbite, Pandora, and Clockwork. I fought Undergrowth, Vortex and Nocturne before, but Nocturne likes me now. Um, Undergrowth doesn’t like me, though. Loves Sam, though… Um, obviously I know who Pariah Dark is after the whole thing in Amity-“

Johnny stilled, “Wait a minute… Kid. I need you to answer me honestly here… Did Pariah ever mention a challenge when you fought him?”

“Well, um. I guess? He was all formal speak, though, so…”

“Kid.” Johnny said very slowly, “Did he ever issue a challenge or accept a challenge from you?”

“… Um. He did say that he accepted my challenge or something, but wasn’t that just fight-talk or…”

“I think I get it now.” Johnny sighed, facepalming, “Just… maybe don’t tell people about this and consider asking one of the ancients allies you have about what Pariah accepting your challenge means for you.”

“For me? What-“

“Just… give it some thought.” Johnny paused, “And- Well, I can talk to Ember for you, yeah?”

“Thanks.”

—

Danny curled up on a sofa as Pandora embraced him with three arms and ran her fourth hand through his hair.

“Pandora.” Danny said softly, “Some of my friends say you, Frostbite, and Clockwork are ancients.”

“They are correct.”

“I didn’t know what ancients were.”

“I noticed.” Pandora laughed a bit, “But you’re a sweet child. You helped me get my box back and did not demand my favor. Perhaps it was selfish not to tell you, but I didn’t want to distress you. You are a kind and humble soul. Is it such a surprise I wish to continue seeing you?”

“You thought I would stop if I did?” Danny asked, confused, “I mean, sure my other friends were shaken up by it, but they don’t know you. Why would I be afraid when you’re so nice?”

Pandora blinked and then smiled warmly — a little laugh pulling from her throat. Oh, the innocence of such a young spirit, “Why, indeed? I suppose I didn’t give you or myself enough credit, did I?”

Danny shrugged, “I don’t have room to judge people for being different anyway. I’m a halfa. Pretty sure that’s even rarer than being an Ancient, right?”

“I suppose that is true.” Pandora smiled, “There are only a few halfas and none are quite like you. There will only ever be one of you.”

“Does this have something to do with why I never got to meet death?” Danny asked, confused, “That’s the only thing I can find that seems all that different-“

“In a way… Yes, but there are many more differences. The main one is that you powers have grown beyond Vlad Masters and they continue to do so.” Pandora said, “You are what we call a ‘Juna Potenco’. Most realms will never have heard of such things, but us ancients do not forget and when faced with a gift like yourself… well, you’ll only see more of us with time.”

“What does that mean? Is it bad?”

“No, no. It is a gift, not a punishment.” Pandora promised, “You are an inspiring soul, favored one, and it seems the realms themselves have seen that.”

“That doesn’t sound right.” Danny pulled away and sat up as he shook his head, “I’m a halfa, but that’s what I am. It doesn’t say anything about who I am. There isn’t anything special about who I am.”

“Everyone else disagrees with that last statement.” Pandora shook her head, “But I will let you in on the secret.”

“Yeah?”

“These are not due to your half spirit nature, but something truly special.” Pandora cupped his cheek, “Danny, do you truly wish to know? As amazing as this is, I am not sure you will be ready for the truth just yet.”

“I’m - I’ve been debating what colleges to apply for, but… I don’t know if any of them will take me now with my grades. I still look fourteen — fifteen at the oldest… and I still feel fourteen.” Danny looked at Pandora with pleading eyes, “So if this would impact my future, I think I’d like to know. Before things get complicated.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Suddenly, everything froze.

Danny looked up to see Clockwork putting a medallion on Pandora while Frostbite gave him a smile.

“I presume you’re here to assist in informing him?” Pandora asked.

“Indeed.” Frostbite nodded.

“Informing me of what?” Danny asked, confused.

“When you went to face Pariah Dark, you stated your intention to fight him.” Clockwork said, “And he accepted your challenge. You fought in single combat, removed the Crown of Fire from his head, and then managed to get him into the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep.”

“Vlad-“

“Plasmius might have locked the Sarcophagus, but you have repeatedly bested him and even when he has gotten the best of you, it has not been in single combat. However, Plasmius at one point claimed your fight was a ‘fun challenge’. You agreed — officially accepting it as such. When you defeated him, he lost any fragile claim to the throne.”

“Claim to the- Wait. What are you saying?” Danny glanced between them, “What? No. No… you have to be kidding me. I’m just me. I was trying to help, not-“

“Child, your soul was always going to be tied to the zone one way or another.” Pandora said, “Mortality is already a fragile thing, but someone so surrounded by ectoplasm at a young age all while experiencing the struggles you did with your parents absence… it was inevitable that you would be a powerful ghost.”

“But, then, Great One.” Frostbite continued, “You stood fully emerged in the space between worlds and thought of protection and forgiveness — mercy. You did not even consider vengeance or desires of your own. Only the wellbeing of others. It is an act of great sacrifice and not one many can complete so fully.”

“To put it simply, Danny.” Pandora said, “You’re one of us, Juna Protenco. New and young power that will grow infinitely. Though you are far from ancient, you will be with time.”

“An ancient to be.” Danny said distantly.

“The Ancient of Protection, Space, Mercy, and Matter.” Clockwork turned into his newborn form, “The best candidate for king we’ve had in a long time. Though, perhaps I am a bit biased.”

“Does it have something to do with space-time?” Danny guessed, “Because Matter, Time, and Space…”

“Correct.” Clockwork smirked, “Matter tells spacetime how to curve, and curved spacetime tells matter how to move. I guide you and you make changes that I will use to guide you again.”

Dannu blinked, “Oh. I get it.”

“You do?” Pandora blinked.

“That’s domains for you.” Frostbite chuckled and then quickly explained when Danny gave him a confused look, “We all innately understand our domains and their meanings. My domain is progression, society, and advancement.”

“Mine is responsibility, hope, protection, and perseverance.” Pandora revealed.

“Indeed.” Clockwork transformed into the middle aged man again, “But now that you know of your future, we must prepare.” He put his hand on Danny’s shoulder, “Your coronation must happen by the time you turn eighteen. As Ghost King, you will need to learn some diplomatic skills. We will teach you while you finish your human schooling.” Clockwork promised, “You can tell your parents the truth or you can say you are simply leaving for college, but Maddie and Jack Fenton cannot move to the Zone with you. Your sister is welcome. Your friends are welcome, but unfortunately…”

“I understand.” Danny lowered his head, “I don’t think I’ll tell them just yet. Maybe I’ll leave a note or a video, but…”

Clockwork’s eyes glazed over briefly — clearly checking the timeline.

“That is a good idea.” Clockwork nodded.

“Okay.” Danny swallowed, “I can’t -”

“No.” Clockwork said, “Honored as these two would be, they have their duties and people. They cannot. I am both bound by the Observants and a little too prone to acts of selfishness. It is too much power for me. No. It must be you.”

“You’re not selfish. You helped me.” Danny tilted his head, confused.

Clockwork chuckled guiltily as Pandora made a face and Frostbite shifted awkwardly.

“There is a reason people fear me, Danny.” Clockwork seemed more amused than anything by the sudden awkwardness, “I appreciate your trust in me, but I was not so good or kind in life. I hold domain over regret and retribution as well as time. It is a position I earned after giving and getting both in equal measure. I am not a protective spirit by nature. I am one that seeks justice and sometimes revenge.”

“I don’t get it.” Danny frowned, confused.

“Soon, you will.” Clockwork said grimly, “But for now… Trust me when I say all is as it should be.”

“Okay.” Danny said, “I trust you.”

“Now, time in.” Clockwork said. When Danny tried to give him the medallion he shook his head, “No, hold onto it. I believe it goes without saying, but do not lose it.”

“I know. I won’t.” Danny promised.

“Good, now… I believe you have some friends to talk to?”

“Er, right!” Danny said and rushed off.

“He doesn’t know who you are?” Frostbite turned to Clockwork, “And you haven’t told him?”

“… He’ll learn during his studies.” Clockwork admitted begrudgingly, “And it’s best that he come to me after he processes the information than during.”

“Just remember, Kronos.” Pandora glared as she handed over her medallion, “One wrong move-“

“Yes, yes, I am very aware of your opinions of me, Keeper of Hope.” Clockwork held a hand to Frostbite, “Shall I take you back to your people?”

“Er, yes.”

“Good, then-“

“Hey! I was not finished-“

“TIME OUT!”

Pandora sighed as they disappeared, “Ugh. He is always such a petty menace. One of these days…”