#(back to yharnam for me...where I belong)

[lumenflowered]

An update. For the faint of heart and those who are thoroughly done with hearing of another universe's Team Rocket, I would recommend that you stop reading here with the knowledge that things should, hopefully, be largely improving from here.

Giovanni is dead. There was not much of a body left to recover, but from what I saw there... that was more blood than the human body can feasibly lose without bodily functions shutting down. I would have much preferred for him to surrender quietly but it is rather poetic, in a terrible way, that it was his own actions that led to his demise.

I am... truly, I am very glad that it did not have to be by my hand. I have seen far too much death. I have enacted far too much death, and if being in a new world truly does mean that someone like me can have a fresh start—and I am rather inclined to believe, at this point, that it does—then I am more than happy to leave that aspect of my past where it belongs.

The Pokémon that did it is currently in Brock's custody, as he has experience with both Rock-types specifically and with aggressive Pokémon. Oddly enough, from what Brock has told me, Giovanni's Rhyperior is very well-behaved now that Giovanni is out of the picture and does not seem to have been abused.

I have returned to Johto. Silver has as well; she is rather invested in thoroughly trouncing Ethan in the realm of video games since, and I quote, "he actually puts up a good fight there." I... do not mind Kanto, it is a perfectly nice region, but Johto is... where I first Fell.

Johto has become more of a home to me than even Yharnam ever was, which seems rather ridiculous when I type it out. Nevertheless, I would not return to Yharnam were I offered the choice, not even to deliver some very strong words to some very specific people who are, in all likelihood, dead themselves.

I... have a life here. A new purpose. And I have come to realize that means something. That I mean something.

...In any case, even if Team Rocket was not now in disarray due to the loss of their leader and soon to be referred to in nothing but the past tense, Giovanni knew that I had defeated Lance, and so there really is no more reason to attempt concealing that from the knowledge of the general public.

The news goes live tomorrow morning. It may be longer before the Indigo League is fully restructured to the point that I am able to take on challengers—there are five qualified individuals to be the Elite Four, for instance, but there must be four by definition—but I am... apprehensive, perhaps more than I should be, about it regardless.

Lance did tell me that, if I had any doubts about this, to please tell him sooner rather than later and to not simply vanish without a word. But I believe... this is something I can do. This is something worth doing, at least until a challenger arrives to defeat me, and I have gathered that does not tend to happen particularly often.

Tomorrow, I officially become Champion Maria.

...There will be no turning back from that decision. But I do not believe I want to. This is... this is something I want to do. Desperately.

So I will.

[fareehaandspaniards]

Damian headcanons

I need to put everything I have about him in one place! So let's begin.

First of all, he is a VERSATILE, MULTIGRANEOUS person, as the CANON shows us! (I swear it shows us)

*simping sounds*

His childhood. Damian comes from a big family, as it seems to me, and is not distinguished by noble blood. His desire to care for others began while he was a child growing up within the walls of his family’s noisy house. He was one of the eldest children (and had like 8 siblings. But not all of them survived in the end). And while his older brother and sister were firstly jealous of their younger siblings and then simply lost their feelings for both parents and siblings as they plunged into adulthood, Damian tried to take care of everyone - older siblings and younger, and the parents. I won't say that love reigned in his family. Rather, his sensitivity and care was seen as a flaw, and given that I see his parents as exceptionally practical and cynical people - I don't think anyone could understand Damian. Perhaps his mom sometimes did. (I should add that often if a child grows up neglected and left to themselves, they unconsciously putting themselves in opposition to surroundings. And it doesn't always lead to good things! But in Damian's case - he grew up to be a decent person) I also headcanon that one of his younger brothers, who died of an illness while still young, was very much like Micolash. Which was the beginning of their contact – in Byrgenwerth Damian noticed a young student with a thin, smiling face and black curls, and his heart ached with painful memories. There was the first desire to get to know him better, perhaps to help him in some way (Micolash had always been VERY thin, even skeleton-like, and I believe Damian was sincerely trying to "fatten" him up). But that was all back when Damian was watching him from afar.

Youth. Damian got into Byrgenwerth, partly because he showed promise by being well-read and educated and also had a passion for medicine, partly because one of his wealthier relatives (let it be his uncle, so often happens in romantic novels! Rich uncle appears out of nowhere xd) funded his enrollment, because I headcanon that Byrgenwerth is too elite a place to get in without money. But there were also situations where someone got in thanks to the help of the faculty. I think Willem never belonged to the "self-serving" people and was happy to accept into his alma mater those who ACTUALLY had an aptitude for sciences and an extraordinary mind. So Damian studied at Byrgenwerth, long before all the events of the Fishing Hamlet. He was good at his studies, but didn't want to go back home after graduating. The medical field didn't pull him in either, because Damian was too afraid of making a mistake. Afraid of failing. He worked one year in a Yharnam hospital where he learned the basics of patient care (I won't specify what his specialty was. I'll put it down to Victorian England and experimental medicine in general) Saw indifference, deaths, despair. For a doctor he loved people too much, burning out his heart when something was wrong. So he went back to Byrgenwerth. And Willem found him a position as an archivist with assistant functions. Damian had proven himself during his studies, so Willem entrusted him with the library section, documenting his own research papers and keeping his office in order. And by the time Micolash/Laurence/Rom/Yurie and etc got there, Damian was a grown man. (I believe the time of apprenticeship at the Byrgenwerth is from about 18 to 23-25. And when Micolash was 18, Damian was 28 or so)

Research Hall era. I picked up Katy's headcanon about Micolash working as a doctor there and doing bad things in an attempt to connect with Kos, and Rom being a patient. Since almost all of Byrgenwerth's students and staff moved to the Church (the most qualified and trusted), many characters ended up there one way or another. Damian also tried to start work there, but he couldn't. He couldn't be a doctor or even assistant. So he found another job and became one of the first Tomb Prospectors under Ludwig's leadership (Also helping sometimes to protect important persons of the Church and Research Hall). Along with Gremia, Olek and others. This job was considered heretical by Damian’s relatives, because they lived on old ideas and religion, and desecrating ancient tombs is not good! But Damian still stayed in his place. He wanted to be closer to Micolash. And also the deadly work distracted him from his horrible thoughts and from what the man dear to his heart was doing (I believe most of the experiments on Adelina were Micolash's doing). Damian kept silent about everything he saw and knew because he couldn't betray the one he loved. And… He was too weak to override his affection. With all his humanity, Damian couldn't, and that was his vice. His path that he had chosen. Also while serving as a Tomb Prospector, he became very close to Gremia, which I will talk more about. Very often during expeditions Damian could die. And somewhere he was saved, and somewhere he demonstrated the skills of an assassin himself. Gradually, his will to live faded because of constant anxiety for Micolash, lots of secrets that he had from Damian and those awful things from Research Hall that Damian knew but couldn’t tell anyone. Damian became a semblance of his former self, giving all his feelings to Micolash, hiding his own, and no longer trying to protect himself when he was attacked by the dead of the catacombs, what made Gremia very angry.

The time between the Research Hall and the Choir. Oh, I'm going to single this snippet out as my favorite. It's probably one of the most important points of Damian's formation as a person. Micolash was then faced with a dilemma - he knew - what he was doing was wrong, that Damian could die every time he went for a mission to dungeons, that Micolash’s distance from him was slowly killing him. And he didn't want to lose him - Damian was the most loyal person to him, who also loved him. So Micolash decided to try to reveal all his secrets to Damian and explain his interest in Kos. He let him look into his already blue eyes, which had changed after seeing Kos. And Damian, too, beheld the Great One. But if Micolash saw in his dream an angry deity seeking revenge and grieving for his child, Damian saw the true embodiment of maternal love, a goddess from the depths, protecting women and children, a true idol of warmth and love. And that was what he had been missing all along! He had found his faith. And realized why Micolash was willing to do literally anything to find a way to Kos. After that vision, Damian changed - he became calmer, more confident, he decided what he wanted from life and what he would devote himself to. Even in his missions to the catacombs he became more cold-blooded, tougher, but at the same time even more caring than he had been - arcane magic became surprisingly easy for him, and he used everything to protect and defend his comrades.

Choir era. Again, I mention that I'm actively using Katya's vision of the timeline - it fell into my soul, especially regarding Rom and Micolash. So in my headcanons, Rom is the head of Choir (which fits her so muuuuuuch). When Damian and Gremia retrieve the Chalice of Isz from the depths of the dungeons that allowed to meet Ebraitas, the Choir was founded. Micolash becomes one of the first scientists of the new institution, but is very skeptical of everything. During this period, Damian loses the last strings of his connection with Rom, as she goes to Ebraitas and keeps in touch with her. He forms an amusing bond with Yurie (though the two knew each other since Byrgenwerth), as she feels about the same way about Rom as he does about Micolash. Yurie and Damian are interested in each other, but are too busy with their lovers to take each other seriously. However, some kind of connection between them remains, whether it's rivalry or mutual understanding. I don't think they have realized what it is!

The School of Mensis. When Micolash takes everything he needed from the Choir, he leaves. Damian doesn't hesitate to go after him, abandoning his service as a Tomb Prospector, which made Gremia angry. Many scientists follow Micolash. He and Damian manage to drag even Caryll with them, for whom there was a fight between Laurence and Micolash (and Caryll himself despised both of them lol). I have to say that I will never, ever believe that the only members of the School of Mensis are Damian and Micolash themselves as people like to say in the fandom! Really? Two people did ALL this amount of work? Took control of the village? Get a building for the School? Made a bunch of cages? Etc? Two people did all of this together??? Too much! So here we are. Damian became Micolash's right-hand man, which makes sense – he has been with him all his life. And I believe it was Damian that he left all the communication with the Yahar’gul elders, accepting new recruits (Hello, Edgar!), providing the School with food, water and all the necessities! (Damian started working as a manager. 7 days a week, 25 hours a day, salary - a kiss from Micolash, bonus - according to the situation y’know xD) Getting back to the serious narrative, I believe that in the School of Mensis Damian fully revealed his faith in Kos, and that's where his and Micolash's paths started to diverge. Katy mentioned that Micolash was the wrath of Kos. So I headcanon that Damian is her Love. If Micolash stubbornly went to his goal, not shunning cruelty, horrors, experiments and violence, Damian tried to minimize the victims, finding victims himself for Micolash’s experiments among the "scum" of Yahar’gul (I won't go into details about what kind of people they were. The worst kind, most likely. I trust Damian in his choice!), used force only where it was necessary, and saved the students of the School from the approaching madness. I'm sure there were a lot of recidivists and heretics among Micolash's followers, as well as the insane, so Damian had time to deal with them. He quickly gained a reputation as the "father" (or "mother") to all the students. (Even Edgar! I believe that after learning of Edgar's true origins, Damian did not try to eliminate him. Edgar was suffering too. And he felt sorry for him). Also, Damian invented the Mensis Cage. As a way to protect and keep Micolash safe.

The sunset of the School of Mensis. Caryll left back to the Church, feeling awful things to come. Micolash moved forward steadily. And gradually the children were drawn into his experiments.

Actually, Micolash started to go insane, but you couldn’t say that just seeing him or even knowing him as Damian knew. No, he changed in a term of his desire for knowledge and lost his last moral borders. He used kids and told to Damian his last project – to summon a Great One, using a cord and children, almost as Laurence did. Ritual could destroy almost erhh everything, and Micolash himself, but did Micolash really care? I don’t’ think so. He cared about mind more than about physical body and didn’t actually care about other people anymore, even a bit. (He is not evil despite all my telling. He just saw his goal too good. And couldn’t be stopped) This was the last straw for Damian. It was here that their conflict occurred, after which Damian left the School. Even though Micolash had changed a lot, losing his past self, it was still painful for him, even too much for his aching mind. So much so that he almost came to the state we find him in the game. He had literally lost his mind! And he was left without the only person he trusted (with his paranoia alone) and loved in his own way. Almost immediately afterward, Micolash throws all his energy into preparing for the Ritual. Yahar’gul people were dragged out of their houses, tied up and sent to "fuel" of Ritual by chaining them to chairs (including kids. Micolash used a trick to make them follow him using an arcane magic and voices from beyond that they could hear. So kids followed him «by their will» (no))

Damian was the one who reported everything to Rom, making his way to her through Choir and Yurie to try save Yharnam from Ritual, since Yahar’gul is already a lost cause. After that, the barrier sheltered Yahar’gul, hiding everything that had happened. (I didn’t mention how Edgar was left there, but it’s absolutely another topic, as I made a huge headcanon about it)

After a time, Damian returned to Yahar’gul. Almost nobody could do it, since Rom gave herself to shield Yahar’gul, but Damian had his way with some arcane tricks. He found what was left of the School of Mensis and found Edgar's corpse. As I wrote in the post about Eileen and Bloody Crow, Damian buried him, hoping his soul would find peace. And that's what helped Edgar finally TRULY die in Nightmare, which eased his suffering. Damian dared not do the same with Micolash’s corpse. Nor could he (Micolash wouldn’t like it as Damian knew) He wished to end all of Yharnam's suffering, so he helps the player all the way. But he couldn't raise a hand against someone who he loved. So all he did was light candles in the room where Micolash's body was left. And helped the player come to his goal. When the mummy of his dearest man stopped exuding sparks of soul presence, and the Nightmare was defeated by the Hunter, Damian was gone. I don't want to think how exactly, I've never considered suicide something romantic. But he died without waiting for the new dawn of Yharnam. After all, his purpose was fulfilled. And his love was waiting for him on the other side. (There is an interesting thought that Micolash is trapped within his dead body after Hunter defeats him. But I don’t like it. Micolash doesn’t need extra punishment. He is already punished by himself. He didn’t ascend and he knows it. He desperately calls to Kos and Great One of the sea doesn’t answer. He has lost everything already. I think he actually hates himself for a failure and for losing those who were dear to him. Maybe I am too romantic but even monsters have their own philosophy and feelings. Everybody needs love in their special way and Micolash is no exception. But he lost it. So let him rest in peace)

*cries*

Now I'll go through all the character relationships, charting them in more detail!

Micolash. Micolash in young age was a fairly innocent, but flighty young man, and quickly found an adventure during studying in Byrgenwerth, which Damian pulled him out of. That's how they met. (In detail, Micolash was trying to get the answers to an exam, but in addition to them he accidentally got the key to Willem's office. When he secretly got in there in the night, he was spotted by the local cleaning lady and Damian, the archivist. Damian covered Mico’s ass as he saw that all Micolash was interested in was not the Master's personal belongings, but his writings related to the exploration of the ancient catacombs. Micolash was so interested in Willem’s researches that sneaked in his cabinet just to READ. Such selflessness touched Damian, and he helped him out of the whole situation by taking the trouble to hide everything on himself). Gradually they grew closer, and Damian helped him in many ways on his life path, and Mikolash appreciated it very much, trying to respond in kind, but sincerely not understanding why so much kindness and affection for him. If we add the romantic side to it (hehehehe, well, I can't live without it), in my vision, Damian was a man that Micolash had his first time with, and with Laurence Mico had his first kiss, which happened on a bet, was very awkward and they didn't talk for a very long time afterwards (gay disaster). (Actually, I could write a separate post about who had a first kiss with who, what it was like and how it affected the formation of their personalities xD Forgive me for that!). All his life, Damian followed Micolash wherever he went, being his sort of "guardian angel", and Micolash trusted him with literally everything. Micolash was not the kind of person who would give all of himself to another. And often Micolash's behavior made Damian burn up, gave him headaches and tears at night. But our future mad scientist did his best to be better for Damian, scoping out a birthday present for him (and it was really hard, because Damian almost never talked about his own wishes), spending as much time with him as possible, and being affectionate (I believe Micolash is very tactile, so no matter how he feels about a person, he needs touch to express his emotions). I spike them so much that it's my personal canon, but that doesn't mean there aren't other pairings for me with Damian xdD

Damian: Babe you are about killing the entire town and yourself. Pls stop.

Micolash:

Rom. Their relationship has always been something of an oddity. They are both sympathetic, kind individuals. And Rom often found comfort during the Byrgenwerth years in Damian's hug. They never tried to cross the line and become something more, they had a sort of father-daughter bond. Rom may have liked him as a man, but Micolash quickly made it clear that this was his territory xD At one point Rom was the cause of intense jealousy on Micolash's part, and when he was jealous it was just awful (he was capable of almost anything). Although Damian did eventually make his choice towards Micolash, he and Rom maintained a good relationship and friendship. So in the days of Choir, as Rom grew up and became a strong medium and a confident woman, she and Damian found time to occasionally chat and exchange gossips. When Damian found his faith in Kos, they understood each other even better, for he too could Feel.

Caryll. Since Byrgenwerth, he's only made two friends - Damian and Rom. They (and Willem!!!) were the only ones who were unselfishly kind to him, and also never forgot his birthday. One day the two of them surprised him, preparing a gift, small cake, his favourite sweets and a tiny candle that they found specially for him. They made for him a really good evening just to make him a bit happier, which made Caryll cry then, a first time for him in years. As Caryll grew older, his visions and ability to read Runes became the most important discovery for the entire Church. So at one point, the fight for Caryll between Micolash and Laurence began. As I said, he couldn't stand them both! But Damian persuaded him to follow Micolash to the School of Mensis, for there he would find peace, quiet and solitude to continue his studies. So, on his own terms, Caryll ended up there, occasionally forcing Micolash to fulfill his little whims and chatting sweetly with Damian! In general, I believe that Caryll is an extremely caustic, witty and inventive person. So he often made Micolash do things he doesn't want to do - like carry him coffee xd And he had a strong friendship and respect with Damian. Just Caryll:

So he was always nice with Damian, call him «Damie» and asked him to move his wheelchair (as I headcanon that Caryll was stuck to his wheelchair since youth, then could stand due to healing blood and then used a wheelchair again because of his own decision not to use blood) around the room lol Caryll never understood why his friend would follow a madman and love him as well. And often made fun of it xd He left School of Mensis before the catastrophe, letting only Damian know about it and hoped that he will do the same.

Yurie. During the Byrgenwerth years, they were sort of rivals for Rom’s heart (according to Yurie. Damian didn't know that xdd), but when Yurie discovered that Damian's heart was occupied, she calmed down, and that also paved the way for a small friendship (of the two main simps. Brador was too far away back then to join them :^)). Damian was a librarian and archivist, as I said, and Yurie often visited him for advice or just to chat. She was always "grown up" compared to other students, and she was comfortable with Damian. I should also note that they could very well have been a couple. And would have been a great husband and wife together! But hard simping got in the way xd And to think, talking seriously… The range of emotions Yurie felt when Damian cames (albeit in the form of a phantom) to help the player with killing Rom can't be described in words.

Sir Gremia. I've recently discovered just HOW interesting is this character! I think their relationship started during the Tomb Prospectors years, when a blood mess was just beginning. And it started terribly well - their battle tactics were opposite, their outlook on life too. It was incredibly difficult for them to work together, with Gremia rushing forward and Damian waiting and attacking from afar. (they could help each other and complement, but they became sort of rivals – who is better) They both almost died like that if not one of other Tomb Prospectors who saved the two. It even came to a fight sometimes! They were basically like the cat and dog from the cartoons, which annoyed all others xD bitches be like:

When Damian changed after getting the vision, he became different, and now he was the one who was rescuing and pulling Gremia out of the clutches of death, which awakened Gremia's feelings. Gremia hid it, but he fell in love with Damian like the opposite of the opposite. Damian, on the other hand, was not only uninterested, but also extremely surprised. I headcanon Gremia as a VERY open, like "what I think is what I say" kind of person, so over time the arguments and fights turned into light flirting, teasing and compliments to Damian, which always went unrequited. (Actually, why not? The pairing is really good! And Gremia/Damian has taken up its place in my shipping heart. Their relationship could be something incredible, given Gremia's masculinity and Damian's masculine-feminine attitude and motherly care. I think Gremia would have seen him as a girl, generally having an interest more in women, and Damian would have had a hard time revealing his feminine side and his desire to BE protected rather than protect himself). When Damian quit the service, they severed their friendship and all that it had been. Gremia remained angry with him, for Damian had traded all their companionship of several years for Micolash, going into science rather than battle.

Laurence. Laurence and Damian rarely interacted openly (mostly Micolash was against it and prevented them from communicating in every possible way), but mutual respect was maintained by the one time when Damian stopped young Laurence and protected Rom from him (he punched him, when Laurence was too excited to leave her alone. Laurence was really angry back then, bur later realized that Damian did the right thing). Laurence would like to have someone as loyal as him by his side (I can just imagine him sitting at the window, like "I wish I had someone as loving and understanding!", and Brador in the background, "Am I a joke to you????", and you can hear Gehrman’s cursing from Hunter's Dream xD).

Eileen. They were good acquaintances, occasionally having a drink together. The thing that connected them was that they both dreamed of children, only Eileen had a little Crow, and Damian took care of the whole Mensis School and Micolash. A very warm, gentle understanding.

Edgar. I'm currently working on a fanfic on this topic! And rather than explain the whole biography of Edgar as I see it, I'll just say about him and Damian! I think Damian didn't immediately realize that the boy was a spy of Choir, it rather came to Micolash first. But by the time the truth was revealed, Damian had learned that Edgar was actually a child abandoned by everyone, forgotten by the Choir and surrounded by enemies, with no faith in heart. So do I headcanon that he "adopted" him? (You can go into the pairing here, and I like it, but I'm still more in favor of family relationship). Damian has finally found a pure soul, a child he can take care of. And that helped Edgar find himself, choose a path. But unfortunately, it didn't save him from his fate, because Mikolash ended up taking him for himself. Like a piece of property or even a toy. His and Damian's story together is a terribly sad one.....

Willem. Master of Byrgenwerth trusted Damian a lot, if only because he was an excellent judge of character and saw that he wouldn't deceive him even if he wanted to. Damian was his personal assistant, but no more, I mean Willem kept him away from his researches about the Great Ones until he decided to make public the information about what was found in Fishing Hamlet. Trust, respect, friendship, a little bit of everything. When Willem was alone in Byrgenwerth, and Damian and Yurie were around, Willem spoke to him. Only they were already incoherent sets of words that Damian couldn't understand.

Gehrman. Damian and Gehrman both befriended with the Byrgenwerth students, being noticeably older than them. Gehrman is not as sensitive, but is also very romantic like Damian, and I think they would have a lot in common. All in all, Micolash and Laurence could use them as their support while arguing xd I think that Damian could be a bit jealous that Gehrman has a young apprentice that adores him (and in my hc fell in love with her), because he also wanted someone who would adore him :^(

Maria. Maria would find him an interesting person I think, as in my hc she likes gentle and sensitive men, not only romantically but as good friends, because they are more comfortable to talk with. But in Research Hall era… Oh Kos, she could even try to kill him, and Damian couldn’t blame her for that. Damian was silent about Micolash and didn’t tell anyone, letting him to do everything he need with poor Adeline (I hc that Adeline didn’t mind because fell in love with Micolash BUT it’s another topic xd). Maria’s death was under a secret, that Laurence kept, and Damian knew too late, that she killed herself. Shock was awful.

Little headcanons!

- Damian loves citrus, and fruits and berries in general. His favorites are oranges and figs. Caravans from Loran could theoretically deliver some local goods to Yharnam once a month, and Damian would be a regular customer there!

- Damian creates coziness literally everywhere he finds himself. He loves luxury goods, a fireplace, beautiful kitchen appliances, jewelry looking like a rose and more!

- Micolash gave Damian his ring with the family monogram, all that was left from Micolash's mother. It was a gesture of trust and love, and also a small token for everyone else, because Micolash was extremely jealous. Mico be like (in any ship):

- Damian gave Edgar a sedative left with him in the Nightmare of Mensis.

- He and Gremia had crossed paths several times since Damian had left for the School of Mensis, and those encounters had not been pleasant! Damian had become too self-sufficient to feel guilty, and Gremia was still angry (but hinted that if the latter was suddenly alone, there was one willing to spend their last days together hdddd Sorryyyyyyy)

- When Micolash forgot that human like himself needs to wash, eat, and generally take a break from books, Damian would take care of it - shaving, cutting his hair, dressing him and so on.

Some local memes becuase iit is TOO funny. Imagine Gremia visiting therapist

Damian is a kind-hearted man, a gentle, warm person, in whose company almost anyone would enjoy being. He gave all of himself to Mikolash, and it almost killed him until he met Kos. After finding his goddess, Damian became stronger person. He began to appreciate and love himself. He became more solid in character. At the same time, his care became boundless, and he began to draw strength from it, rather than losing it by giving it to others. His weakness - his unending loyalty and his need for Micolash had played a cruel joke on him. His life could have been completely different - there were opportunities to be happy with someone else at every step, but he chose the path of his beloved. Damian had always dreamed of children. Wanted his own child, dreamed so much that he dreamed about it and woke up with tears on his eyes. Children in general were his greatest moral value. He had killed men and women, cut up flesh, experimented on his own while creating the Mensis Cage. But he could never do that to a child. Nor with Micolash, who had become both brother and child to him, and also lover – his only family. Perhaps he would have done more good for Yharnam if he had never met Micolash. But to give himself to him and spend his life that way was his complete choice (he could have been with any person around him! Almost everyone liked him!).

I didn't even think I would like him that much! xd But this is my favorite archetype. The protector, the guardian angel who gave all his good soul to one single person.

Thanks for reading whoever you are!! He became really important to me, my comfort character, so all my blah blah now here.

[fantomette22]

👻👻👻I have seen your bingo for Simon the harrowed. But You said that you didn't have lots of hcs on him. What about now? Any hcs or thoughts you can share now?(i managed four times to send the ask)

Hi Odds! 👻

Indeed sorry but i still don’t have much on Simon (still have a few headcanons i can think of lmao)

First have the 2 ever drawings i did of him. One from july the and the other one from may of last year xD yep of my first bb drawings ahah.

Ok so yeah he’s quite a nuanced character that at the same time : intrigued me, touch me a lot emotionally ;-; , and that i kick the ass of in my 2nd playthrough.

🏹 I guess he’s s foreigner? He would come from a Persian/india type of country. (Yes i ask some friends really good in history what they thought of the weapon design and they told me it was probably that and also inspired by the kriss/kress from Indonesia & Pthumerian & Logarius have really similar weapon to it).

🏹 He’s really bad with firearm and hate the loud sound/ step back it cause. And he probably trained with bow since he was a kid.

🏹 Back where he came from, he was used of walk without shoes on sand etc so that don’t bother him after he become the harrowed.

🏹 He was a bit lost at first in Yharnam but wanted to joined the church hunters. (He arrived a few years after the hamlet thing). He met Ludwig who took him under his wing.

🏹 He prove himself and gained the trust of his superiors so he become a "harrowed" disguised himself as a mere beggar to detect symptoms of beasthood before people transformed. But then he become preoccupied who figure something was. weird... he needed to know what the church was hiding... what was their plan. Why take all this measures?

🏹 He did meet Maria a couple of times but didn't know her well. He know she used to be a hunter. But when he tried to gained some informations about the experiments or the church history + take a look at the archives she was really adamant to share anything. If she was around, poke in some papers is really the last thing you wanna do. (I mean it would be worst with other, you could get into trouble Simon!)

🏹 Actually, there was a time where Brador and him work together and it went well. Pretty ironic after knowing how that end...

🏹 Speaking of that: one day Gehrman disappear living a lot of his belonging at the workshop (some times after Maria passed away).. Laurence got worried and sent many people to try to find him. (Ludwig went into the underground, some people went at Byrgenwerth etc) and Simon & Brador (& maybe 1-2 other) were send next to a lost and abandoned hamlet next to the sea... they found him sitting on the shore. Exhausted, wet and cold but alive.

So that's why Simon become really curious towards the lost place and manage to find some papers that weren't destroyed and learn some dark secrets... That + what happened at the research hall some times earlier that definitely made him turn his back towards the church afterwards, he wanted to learn the truth and discovered what was behind everything. And perhaps managed to stop this entire mess. (+ the freaking Amygdala who died in the middle of Yharnam ahah)

🏹 I guess he might knew the 2nd harrowed guy (the one at the hamlet where we got the set.

🏹 He probably participate in killing Ludwig in real life 😢 he discover what happened but compared to Yamamura, Gratia etc either he wasn't put in a cell thanks to his status or he managed escape.

🏹 I am unsure how he ended up in the hunter's nightmare... an amygdala? He is dead in real life? hm...

Also could be funny if he's afraid of the dark and that's why he got a lantern ahah

And yep that's all for now. Probably forgetting lot of thing.

[burnedwriter]

how they are in a relationship pt1

A/n:this is pt1 out of 2,it might take me awhile for pt2 since im working on a alfred x hunter!reader and the choir x hunter!reader,if you want to see specific characters for pt 2 dont hesitate to interact with this post!

warning:smut starts at the second half,Fluff,mention of rough sex,Overstimulation,Edging,Teasing,dirty talking,mention of biting and choking,mention of typical violence on alfred’s part,!gender-neutral reader.

laurence

hes sweet yet secretive,i feel like he will keep the whole beast situation a secret since he doesnt want to get his s/o involved in this mess,until you find him crying  while writing in his notes and confesses everything to you.

hes not a major fan of pda outdoors but mostly indoors,when the two of you are together outdoors he will have a hand wrapped around your waist,showing in a subtle way who you belong to and stop any unwanted advances.

laurence writes romantic poems about you and how beautiful you are and sending them as gifts,you have gathered so many you had to store them in a chest.

ludwig

the best out of everyone on this list probably.hes an absolute sweetheart,a gentle giant,that has sworn to protect you at all cost.It was the promise he made to you the day you officially became a couple.

He loves showing you affetion no mattter where you two are.He will always give you a kiss before he leaves just in case he doesnt come back just so you know he always loved you even in death,ludwig’s kisses range from forehead to him kissing your hand gently.

Before the severe beast outbreak you too would go late night horse backriding,to blow some steam off of your everyday struggles,you would rest your head on his back while you wrap your arms around his shoulder into a hug while you chat making the moment even more intimate.

micolash

library dates?talking about kos to the wee hours the answer is yes

hes not the type to take you out on romantic dates since he has no social skills without making himself look weird,his ideal date is studying in the library or just you keeping him company while he does his reasearch.

i feel like he would leave flowers as bookmarks,like one day you will open your book and see a small flower sticking out from the top and with a micolash taking small glimpses at you to see how you reacted.

hes super clingy and he will be on you like a leech,have fun trying to get him off of you.

simon

hes not completly extroverted so it took him a long time to approach you and tell you that he likes you.

really romantic and cheesy,he is the type of guy who will try to suprise you with flowers but ultimatly failing as the flowers are visible from behind his back but also says cheesy jokes to you that are horrendously bad.

leaves you in the dark about what hes doing since he doesnt want you to become a target like he is.Also most people dont even know that he has an s/o.

djura

one qualification that his s/o must have is to be nice and take care of the beasts just like he does.Thats how you two met,seeing you pass from old yharnam,he was ready to shoot you with his gatling gun when he realized you werent killing them.

Finally reaching the tower and starting a peaceful conversation with him,he decided to recruite you to his little team and after that the both of you started to get close as you spend many nights on the tower.

unlike his tough appearance you got to learn that djura is actually sweet and very caring towards his partner,he is not afraid to show you affection no matter where he is.

brador

Hes very overprotective over his s/o and doesnt want them to get involved with anything that might force him to kill you.

just like simon nobody actually knows that brador has an s/o, as a matter of fact nobody actually knows anything about brador’s private life unlike other church members lives.

He might not show you affection at first or any vulnurebility almost like hes testing you to see if you are up to something.The same goes for public too but after trusting you he will become puddy in your hands something that you are only able to see.

Alfred

Alfred radietes golden retriever energy and  will treat you like royalty.hes also very romantic giving you flowers and little gifts when he comes back home

he loves showing affection to his s/o no matter where he is! his bear hugs are the best.

he also has sworn his s/o but unlike ludwig,Alfred has the knight in shining armor complex and will kill anyone that has caused any harm to his s/o and come back like nothing happened but his smiley always gives it away.

nsfw

laurence

laurence is dominant in the bedroom,i see him as more of a pleasure dom than anything else,putting your pleasure over his,guiding you with a commanding yet calm voice,making them reach their climax.

hes quite the dirty talker but only when necessery, using it to add to the pleasure of his partner.

He loves overstimulation,seeing your face with seer pleasure as you beg him for more always brings a smile to his face.

ludwig

ludwig is a gentle dom,he will take things slow, he will never be rough to you unless you ask him to.

a body worshipper,he will kiss every inch of your body and shower you with compliments and tell you how well you are doing.

Not very fond of dirty talk unlike the other people on this list,he prefers complimenting you more since he doesnt like degrading his partner.

Micolash

Hes a switch but  a buttom most of the times.he likes getting commanded around or you giving him instruction of what you want him or where to touch you

Expect a lot of experimentation and trying out new ‘’things’’,basicly a freak as someone would describe him.

he will implement dirty talk to his teasing just to see how your body reacts and to push your buttons to be rougher with him. He practicly tolerates anything in the book:biting,choking him etc.

simon

hes a switch but mostly a dom.hes more into gentle sex than anything else.

just like micolash he loves teasing you but not to the point that willl piss you off.

he loves overstimulation but with a twist.....he will edge you over and over again as his whispers the dirtiest things in your ear before he overstimulates you to the point where your whole body is shaking and his words are circling around your foggy mind.

Djura

it’s not unusual for him and you to have outdoors sex on the tower late at night.

Djura is switch ,i believe after so much commanding he wants someone else to take control.

Overall pretty vanilla and kinda hesitant to try new things but eventually warm up to it after a lot of convicing

Brador

hes a dom but unlike the others hes rough with you showing you no remorse until all of yarhnam will hear you scream his name.

hes also one that wants to try new things and spice things up in the bedroom and with that being said....

he enjoys some outdoors sex pulling you into an alleyway,seeing you struggle and trying your best to keep quiet so the both of you dont get caught while he chuckles in your ear at your struggle,he likes the thrill of almost being caught,kinky bastard.

Alfred

Alfred is a switch ,if hes buttoming,hes a power buttom and in that case he like placing his strong hands on your hips while you ride him.

Also someone who will worship your body and cover your body in kisses but unlike ludwig he enjoys dirty talk and seeing how you react to it.

he wants to hear you moan ,it’s like music to his ears as he says adding to his already inflated ego

[gwenhvvyfar]

© - for your muse to put a hand on my muse’s back to steer them somewhere                      manhandling ⚜ no longer accepting【 @bcwblade​​​​ 】

            TWISTED LANDSCAPE BECKONED HER, as it did all who dared to cross it’s path. The twisting landscape, it’s pale uprooted earth roiling, soaking up the endless founts of blood from those trapped within it’s greedy maw. Beasts quivered, jerked and jumped at the approach of tall androgynous figures, their voices alarmingly masculine but on the verge of inhuman. Their weapons old tools of the Powder Kegs, forgotten for sleeker, or more easily wielded tools. They passed her by, this ivory knight, as though she didn’t exist here. As though she were some ghost, some pale phantom set upon the land. Not quite a part of them, yet not entirely un-belonging. They drew not blade nor gun upon her. They did not grab her, throw her, shove her or pull her close, as they might have done had they been living. 

Had she been alive.

She was caught between life and unlife, between waking and dreaming  ───  NIGHTMARING. What state she was in was not living. But she was not soul-trapped as these Hunters of a bygone era. She was drifting, soul set aside, so she might play mother, guardian, protector, HOST. A teasing glimpse at the melancholic waking world, swathed in smudged shadows like the surface of the pale moon. She moved with all the grace and all the elegance of a queen, a knight, her head held high, milky throat peaking out above the high ruffled collar of her blouse. Her boots took her through the widening path, pasts scours of trembling, muttering, salivating beasts ( patients ), and blood lust driven fools of Yharnam proper. Through blood filled rivers and familiar vermin which mopped up the unholy ichor with their elongated tongues, filling up their distended bellies till they might burst.

At some point her mind had been lost to her, like her soul, and she couldn’t say where she had intended to go. Always, when the sleeping twin entered the world of the living was she cast into this Nightmare called forth by desperate curse and answered pleas. So why now did she care where her feet might carry her? Why should it bother her when never had it bothered her before?

Her body stirred beneath the weight of hand which set itself ‘pon the curve of her spine, as though she could feel it all the way through the many layers she wore, where corsetry had offered support and guidance. Heart stirred, once sluggish and dreaming, and she felt herself waking. Waking and dreaming and drifting, aroused from the fog of being. Head turned, and she looked, truly looked, with those amethyst eyes and their ruby pupils widening for a singular moment. 

She knew him, didn’t she?

Gwenhwyfar allowed herself to be directed, to be brought into the memory of the chapel with it’s dozens of pots of incense, and the silent hymnals to Great Ones worshiped as Gods. She was stunned, silent, curious. Because he had touched her. Because he had been able to reach her, the White Phantom of Cainhurst, when no other had. When the whims of her Kos blessed children ( who were not her own and never could be ) had protected her thus far from even being known. Puzzled, she dragged her claws through her memories. Beyond the revelation of Medraut, and reunions, and love and loss. To a past that was murky and disorientated. 

❝ Simon? ❞ She sighed, breathed. Her hands itched at her sides, half wanting to reach out and touch and feel, to see if he was like her, a phantom which did not belong, or to gingerly push him away. Surely a phantom held no weight, could not lead another. Could not make the unreal suddenly feel real. There was no flood of relief which filled her being, lanced through her heart. Just pity. If he were not like her, than he was as cursed as the Hunters she had passed, who had passed her. At least she could revel in the fact that he looked scarcely different from the last she had seen him, or her memory was playing tricks with her. 

❝ Are you a ghost come to haunt me or am I the ghost? ❞

[cosmicallynightmarish]

NPC: Viola

In The House, 20.6.20:

I listen to my own music now, but I realise: music is playing in the scene, too. She was here by the - what I presume to be - phonograph, hands held together before her chest, but she has now walked over to the opposite wall, to the window. Dusty white light of daytime is hinted at in its frame, a world alight with laughter. Especially strange that she moved.. She lingers here more so than others do. Her consciousness is like a ghost in an old house, except reversed: She haunts this place in its present day, alive, albeit still translucent and ghostly, removed. It is as if she is being provided a space all of her own; this is her pocket, her house, and she is given the respect she deserved by Mother Yharnam. This place becomes a safe get-away for her spirit to stay and rest, and to experience the light of lucid Yharnam, not out of pity, not even as a thoughtful gift, but as if this is where her consciousness is supposed to exist. This is her space. She is in-tune with this era of the city, she resonates with it, and this is where she was to belong.. What happened to her? That question sees me step into a dark mercury of unanswers, behind me they wait for me to step back in, and so I shall.

She has a great love for this place. She shows me something, is it the phonograph? Oh, I had forgotten the reference to music in Bloodborne; that doesn't matter, though. Called back to now. I see little actions, the kindness of reorganising items ever so slightly, the love of moving a crooked book back into place once the children are outside playing, not a hint of the obsession with which I rearrange, but a care for Yharnam that I cannot even begin to fathom. She tends to the dying hearth fire like a mother tucks her sleepy child into bed - like she likely already did, that night - she knows this city, she inhabits - inherits - its glory.

Oh, look, from the inside, she is as a white-golden light which radiates like a sun. She is something special, especially to this city. Her relationship with Yharnam is beyond words: Held in the corridors of her heart, a tea party with a neighbour dressed and attended with loving hospitality, but that neighbour is Mother in disguised form, radiating now, Pthumerian-esque in height and grandeur, and they sit, together, and laugh, and have tea. It looks like where the Duke sat with a certain Viola in his own dream.. This place holds her, and she is special. Her warmth and her consciousness itself is deific. She is a beacon of light resonant with all that is good, and beautiful, and loving, in Yharnam.

[craniumculverin]

Dipsomanic Paroxysm

Another prologue-ish Ripper!AU fic, focused on Alfred’s relationship with his doctor and only friend, Percy. Contains mild nsfw and noncon elements.

The drunken bulk of his companion is all but dead weight as Percy tries to maneuver them both down the slanting avenue, echoing footsteps muffled by the fog. He pauses to lean against the cold brick of a terrace, his burden continuing to mumble as he swipes a white lock of hair from his vision. Even with it out of the way his surroundings seem wavery and blurred. He frowns, then starts counting back from 10 not for the first time this evening. “No, it must be early morning by now, surely.” To be certain he sets down his black leather bag and fumbles out a pocket watch, the face glinting under dampened lamplight as he struggles to focus. What he sees undoes whatever calm his counting had instilled. A hand suddenly falls heavy on his head as his companion giggles. Percy inhales sharply.

“Alfred. Please stop whatever you - stop petting me!”

He starts at the harshness of his tone nearly as much as Alfred does. It would seem keeping an equable demeanor despite the circumstances is proving quite difficult. Nevertheless, the blond’s hand falls from where it’d been molesting his hair. Good. Percy pointedly ignores the man’s teary-eyed pout as he retrieves his bag, opting to continue their slow, staggering journey home.

He has fourteen patients to meet tomorrow - today - and instead of getting much needed sleep, here he is. Out on the street. Tipsy, dragging a dangerously drunk “friend” back to Percy’s own housing because his is even further to go. Frankly, the doctor isn’t sure the man doesn’t belong in a professional’s care; with how much alcohol he’s likely had tonight, poisoning seems rather probable. Were it not for the fact his private practice owed much of its current Yharnamite clientele to Alfred’s charismatic promoting, Percy would truly consider leaving him in the gutter. A negative experience to ensure a positive change of one's actions - the doctor knew full well such tactics were commonly effective. On Alfred, however…

From what Percy has gathered, Alfred is not of a “common” state of mind. Despite his bizarrely intense sense of loyalty, he was still a very emotionally volatile individual. And violent at times, though his rage has never before been directed at the physician.

“Still,” Percy thinks as he adjusts the larger man’s arm over his shoulder, “better to err on the side of caution. If Alfred remembers any of my involvement this evening, best not let it be something upsetting…”

He had seen Alfred in a pub as he passed by earlier that evening, rushing to an emergency call (“7 years old, fell climbing a fence, sprained ankle, compression and elevation for a week”). Returning the same way more than an hour later he was still there, albeit considerably more slouched into his seat.

As his personal physician and knowing his patient’s past vices, Percy felt obligated to intervene. As whatever Alfred considers him outside of that role, what with his constant visits and incessant (albeit occasionally fascinating) one-sided conversations, Percy was exasperated. Upon approaching the blond man sequestered to a dimly-lit corner and seeing his miserable state - eyes unfocused and puffy from tears - Percy was alarmed.

Alfred was not a man to be so openly distraught in public, and despite a history with alcohol he wasn’t one to drink to such excess. With the evidence of something very much amiss with a special case patient, Percy had asked permission to enter Alfred’s personal booth of gloom. He ordered a drink to put the other at ease, hoping it’d feel more like a regular talk and not one of the speculative “discussion” appointments the younger man wasn’t particularly fond of. It was also the end of a rather long day - everyone was due their comforts after a hard day’s work. Having left the source of his comforts back in London and with no surgeries the next day, a drink seemed like as good a choice as any. A grave mistake.

Alfred immediately demanded he pay for his friend, an offer Percy saw no reason to rebuff more than once. However after much small talk and even more patience on his end, he found this also meant that Alfred expected to continue paying. Percy only learned what plagued the man nearing the end of his third round.

It had been the anniversary of his mentor’s death - an Old Pthumerian by the name of Logärius. Percy was very much aware of Alfred’s reverence for the man, and frankly held a good deal of respect for him himself. Logärius had spent many years gathering an immense amount of medical and academic knowledge from around the world, tasked to bring it back to Yharnam’s vast libraries. Percy couldn’t even begin to count how many texts and volumes he’d perused that were available solely thanks to the late man’s work.

Alfred shared, while staring blankly into his whiskey, that it was while fulfilling this mission the man had died, and he had been witness to it. Percy found himself at a loss for words, and only with that rarity realized he’d had far too much to drink.

The barmaid must have been waiting for a lull in the heavy conversation, as she took the opportunity to quietly tell the two they had to leave; it was past close. Thankfully this prompted Alfred’s fluctuating temper, snapping him out of his melancholy and into scathing anger - a state Percy was now well-acquainted with handling. He swiftly had the drunken man up and even laughing by the time they left the pub, the barmaid no worse for wear save for a few shaken nerves.

“At least he hasn’t lapsed back into the desolate state I found him in,” the doctor considers as he avoids a large gap in the cobblestone. He holds fast when the larger man isn’t as astute, somehow keeping the two of them upright when he stumbles. “I’m not sure I have the wherewithal to endure anymore of it tonight. Or ever, for that matter.”

They finally round the last corner onto Percy’s street, only for Alfred to continue his trajectory down the main avenue. With a gasp Percy drops his bag to grab a handful of jacket and hook an arm around the drunk’s bicep, nearly toppling backward to keep him from lunging headfirst into a nearby lamp post. Between gravity and the doctor’s weight Alfred is stood straight up, his incessant chatter stopped short with a thoroughly dumbfounded expression. Dully looking down at Percy, a dazed smile takes its place. “Persh- Percy! Goo’ness man, nehrly brained m’self… again huh?” He chuckles as he takes the physician by the wrist, pulling him up and into his chest without a trouble. He steadies himself against the lamp post, solid arms locking his friend in place. “An’ here I tah- thought tha’ I wahsh goin’ta… make it back home, turnight. Dun think I’m make it tha’ fart- far.”

“Thi- this isn’t the way to your room, Alfred. That’s… quite a different direction,” Percy manages, his voice muffled. He was still trying to slow his heart rate after the narrowly avoided head trauma - being crushed to the other man’s chest wasn’t helping him breathe. “We’re going to my res- … -idence instead. It’s closer, and it’s late… So let’s be on our way, hm?”

On hearing him Alfred squints down the foggy side street, looking back to Percy a few seconds after he’d stopped talking. “…Oh. Ahright then… Hafter you.”

Alfred makes no attempt to release him, seemingly unaware he was still holding the older man. Percy raises his brows as he tries to meet the drunk’s gaze, giving him a pat on the arm in the hope he’d catch on. Alfred only smiles wider, eyelids heavy as he settles on staring at something just over the other’s head. The doctor waits a moment before letting his head thump against solid chest. Jaw tightly clenched, he starts counting down from 10 again.

He’s in the arms of an inebriated, temperamental, brute of a considerably younger man under the light of a lamp post in the dead of night. Were he not so exceptionally tired of this whole affair and in general, he’d laugh at the absurdity of it all. Him of all people, in such a hackneyed scene of debauchery! “Oh, what would Wesley think of this? Poor man would-” His thought is interrupted by the familiar sensation of a hand in his hair.

The urge to ram his head straight into the taller man’s face is sudden and intense. Taking a shaky breath for his waning temper - one of so many reasons why he rarely indulges - he looks up at the drunk with a forced smile. “Please stop that. Let’s be on our-”

“Y’ur hair is… really soft. Has, has ahnyone ever told'ju that? S’like a… a puppy.”

Both of Alfred’s hands are now ruffling through his silver-white locks, completely unabashed. Percy gawks for a moment before settling into blank-faced silence. He very much considers jabbing the man in the kidneys, very hard. Less blood than breaking his nose, less likely to cause unsightly stains. Instead he takes the hands (“far too gently”) running through his hair and guides them to their owner’s sides. He clears his throat to draw the other’s attention, softly smiling once he does.

“Alfred, it’s time to go now, to bed. Would you like to sleep, hm? Are you tired?” He speaks as if to a child, fairly certain now he’ll receive no angry reproach. Alfred is evidently too far gone to feel the slightest amount of shame or indignity. The blond hums in response as he nods ever so slightly. His drunk-flushed expression is hard to read, focus no longer on the doctor’s tousled hair but instead on his face. Percy tries to match his stare before relenting, quickly glancing around for any passersby that could bare witness. Not for the first time he’s feeling strangely on edge with the man. Prone to emotional outbursts as Alfred was, Percy rarely ever felt uneasy around him. When he did it was… rather jarring.

From his peripheral he sees a hand creep upward again. He swiftly steps away and out of Alfred’s reach, readjusting his jacket and fetching his bag in lieu of acknowledging him. Belatedly, Percy realizes he’d been leaning against him longer than necessary. He clears his throat again, more out of lingering tension than anything. “Come along Alfred, we’ve dawdled long enough. It’s not far now… We’ll get you something to eat.”

His companion looks a little forlorn at the sudden lack of contact, hands held aloft as if in silent appeal. At comprehending the promise of food however, his disposition flips instantly, the unintelligible jabber starting anew. Percy chances to take a few more paces away, waiting for Alfred to stagger toward him before lending his support.

The street Percy’s residence is on is well-lit and thankfully not on such an incline as the older avenue; they make it down the stretch of houses to the other end much faster than they’d managed to move before. Leaving Alfred to hold his own weight against the handrail, Percy quickly unlocks his front door and deposits his bag inside. He struggles greatly to get the unsteady bulk up the few meager steps, nearly slamming full-force into the threshold as Alfred seems to momentarily lose all sense of balance. Once they’re both inside Percy doesn’t even wait to see if his guest remains standing before turning back to the door, breathing hard in frustration. “Never again! Never again am I going to take on an alcoholic, I swear it! I’d rather enlist and suffer military idiocy the likes of Crimea than ever suffer this again! I wouldn’t even complain!” Closing and locking the door behind them, he knows full well the line of thought is ridiculous, but allows himself the small purge of emotion.

Holding in a slow breath before exhaling, Percy turns around, his usual placid smile back in place. Alfred had managed to keep himself upright at least, awkwardly leaning against the doorframe to the sitting room. He’s blearily looking around, trying to make out anything through the darkness and his own drunken haze. Percy steps closer, lightly laying a hand on his arm to get his attention. “Alright, let’s get you somewhere you can sleep, yes?”

Alfred stares at him as the words register, eventually responding with the same nod and soft hum as before. However the nodding slows and the humming stops as his face scrunches up, as if trying to remember something. Ignoring this, Percy maneuvers him further into the parlor, all but praying he doesn’t recall the previous promise of a meal. There isn’t a doubt in his mind the man would manage to asphyxiate himself were he left unsupervised with food - and Percy was not staying up any longer. “His condition in the morning be damned. Anything he’d eat would likely just end up half digested and on the rug anyway. Likely choking him in his sleep on the way out.”

They move around the sofa, bumping into it hard enough for it to skid closer to the nearby table. With his burden in position in front of the seat Percy lets him stand on his own, arm kept close behind to keep the wavering drunk steady. “Okay, here we are. If you’ll just sit down pleEEH-!”

Alfred immediately drops, taking Percy with him. The couch skids loudly back into place and then some as they land hard, accompanied by a surprised “Omph!” from the doctor. With his arm pinned to the backrest and the room spinning more than he’d like to admit, Percy’s too dazed to do anything but keep still; if the room didn’t solidify soon it’d be him making a mess of the rug. Alfred squirms about, making disgruntled noises as he tries to figure out why he can’t get comfortable. He leans forward to shift himself further back, just enough to allow Percy to quickly extract his aching appendage. He doesn’t slump against the backrest as expected, but instead props all of his weight on a knee before cocking his head to lazily look over at his host. He mumbles something almost too low to register. The tired physician is too distracted to listen, however - they were still practically on top of each other, painfully so.

Surprised at his own lack of annoyance over the matter, Percy huffs a wry chuckle. “I’ve reached my personal limit of mental duress it would seem. Shame I’m in no state to analyze this more thoroughly…” He adjusts himself, not bothering to move more than necessary. He’s a professional with patients, yes, but he was beyond tired right now - and this was Alfred. The man was as prone to bodily lift the doctor off his feet via embrace as he was to properly shake hands. And frankly, Percy couldn’t care less about the etiquette of personal space even in the best of times.

Alfred doesn’t seem to mind in the least. He’s sagged away from Percy since settling his movements, staring at him with a slack-jawed, almost beguiled expression. He’s finally, blessedly silent though, so Percy decides not to dwell on being so closely watched. He allows himself to just sit - the sofa is far too comfortable not to utilize for a moment. Lugging a large man a few city blocks both down and uphill hadn’t been kind on him. The physician sinks further into the cushions with a sigh. He closes his eyes to focus on relaxing every tense muscle, noting which still ache from the unexpected exertion. “I’ve gotten complaisant in my routine duties… grown too lax in the upkeep of my own body. I should make time to work on that. Perhaps invite Alfred to add to his regimen, help relieve him of some of that pesky bulk…”

He shifts, wincing more at the noise rather than sensation when his back cracks. Say what people will of his youthful appearance - he certainly doesn’t feel younger than his years. Not since moving to this city at least… Strange really, that being the case. One would think such an opportunity for scientific advancement and learning would be invigorating to one such as him.

Percy furrows his brow as, for some reason, his mind drifts to Wesley Péche. Usually he doesn’t allow himself these fancies - they were but another distraction from his busy practice and ever-progressing research. Ultimately meaningless, unfruitful. It’s not as though he’s been completely without contact since relocating to Yharnam; he writes Wesley as often as the post allows, and Wesley him. Percy’s as up to date about he and his wife’s lives as he could be, and they his. Well, what he could safely tell them anyway… Why he finds himself drawn to thinking of the dear man so very often is beyond him. It’s been but a handful of years since they’d last spoken in person, for goodness’ sake!

He reminisces of when he’d first left England, as he was boarding the train to start his journey to New Pthumeria. Wesley had been anxious as ever standing out on that platform, the telltale twitch at the side of his mouth betraying his attempts at stoicism. Dear Rosalind, Wesley’s wife, had foregone all propriety to wrap Percy into a warm embrace, not minding her husband’s embarrassed sputtering as she placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. It was then she’d whispered in his ear to write Wesley as soon as he was able - the poor man would be a fretful mess until he did. He’d promised her that, his own voice low as he thanked her for watching over him in his absence. She was smiling as they pulled apart, eyes shining with unshed tears as Percy approached the man in question. Wesley went ramrod straight under his gaze, fingers flexing and twitching together as he stuttered, at a loss for words. Percy often remembers of how quickly the man had relaxed when he’d taken his left hand in his own. To any in the bustling crowd that day, it was a mere handshake between friends saying goodbye - to the men sharing it, it meant so much more.

With a level tone Percy had told him to find another physician, posthaste, should he or his wife ever find themselves ill - and not to let sentiments dissuade him otherwise. Wesley could only blink a few times before assuring his former physician that he would, something akin to disappointment crumpling his features.

The doctor then covered Wesley’s hand with his other, letting his fingers gently caress the gap of a missing digit he’d skillfully closed up, so long ago. “I will write you as soon as I am able, and often after that, dearest Mister Péche. You have my word.” Percy had said, in a voice meant solely for Wesley as he intently held his gaze. Wesley’s face bloomed scarlet, jerking his head in a stiff nod in lieu of attempting speech. Percy grinned as the slim man backed away, holding his left hand like a lifeline as he stepped next to his stout wife, who had been doing a poor job of hiding her smile. They’d said their final goodbyes then, just before Percy boarded the passenger car. As the train left the station Rosalind waved goodbye to every passing window, while Wesley merely stood and watched. Somehow, the two men managed to meet eyes as they’d briefly passed. Feeling wily, Percy had blown him a kiss. Wesley’s face went crimson once again just before falling out of view, drawing a hearty chuckle out of the doctor.

“That man has suffered me far longer than I originally ever could’ve imagined,” Percy ruminates. “To think that particular line of research would continue for so many years, and alter so much in the process… Likely not the best practice, allowing a subject to change one’s hypotheses in the midst of an experiment - the results are due to be terribly incoherent… Ah well…”

A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he remembers all of the reactions he’d learned to elicit from his former patient turned study subject. As much as Wesley enjoyed playing his beloved violin, Percy enjoyed exercising his own form of mastery over the man himself. The careful selection of words, leading to embarrassed stutters or indignant anger. A slight change in tone, demeanor shifting to eager silence or quiet disappointment. How closely he’d lean toward him, how still his breathing would become. The arc of his neck under deft fingers, how his pulse would quicken when pressed, kissed, or nipped just so. Gentle touches drawing out soft gasps, quiet pleas. The way his eyes would flutter, closing tight as he eased the sweetest sounds from between his lips. Hot, damp air rushing past his ear as the dear man lay under- hot, damp breath against his ear.

Near, hot, rancid breath against his ear.

Percy jolts back from the precipice of sleep to find Alfred’s face mere inches from his own. Heart pounding from the sudden awakening, he can only stare as he remains completely still, mouth pursed into a thin line as he watches the other watch him.

Alfred must have started inching closer at some point as he dozed, drawn toward the subject of his continued scrutiny. Despite the darkness of the room, his flushed face seems a touch redder around the cheeks, reaching to the tips of his ears and burying beneath his sideburns. At this proximity it was obvious now his drunken gaze was transfixed not on Percy’s face, but solely on his mouth. A shudder runs through the physician at the observation.

Slowly, Percy begins to lean away, shifting to fully face the taller man as he goes. However Alfred just moves with him, leaning further and further to maintain the uncomfortable lack of distance, eyes never leaving his pursed lips. A leg is brought up onto the seat as Percy retreats, doing shockingly little to block the drunk’s advance. Far too soon he’s nearly against the arm of the sofa, back tensed to keep from being completely reclined as he awkwardly braces an arm against the backrest. He swallows thickly.

Alfred’s face is even closer now as he hovers over him, the smell of whiskey strong on his breathe. Something akin to dread was bubbling up in the doctor’s mind, amidst a myriad of fuddled emotions. “Oh no, don’t you-”

“Alfred,” says Percy flatly. After a moment Alfred looks up from his mouth, idly meeting his eyes. He smiles serenely, voice an octave too low. “Percy.”

His eyes fall back to Percy’s mouth, his own going slack. He moves ever so slightly forward, just enough for their noses to brush together. Percy holds his breath, still as a statue as he watches Alfred’s eyes close. He can’t comprehend his lack of action to stop what’s about to happen. “I need to… This isn’t-”

The light touch turns to that of a kiss as Alfred tilts his nose out of the way. Percy makes a soft noise, brows knitting together as fingers press gently to his jaw. He draws his free arm up to plant a hand on the other’s chest, intending to shove him away. Alfred suddenly surges forward, pushing him down into the couch as he fully covers the doctor’s mouth with his own.

Percy’s eyes screw shut as his head hits the armrest before flying wide at the rapidly deepening kiss. No longer supporting him, he pushes his other hand against Alfred’s chest as well, the force behind them doing dismally little. Head spinning once more, he tries to vocalize his protest only to emit a pathetic whining that he hastily cuts short. The larger man lurches up his body, trapping the leg meant as a defense against the backrest, never breaking contact between their lips. Percy uselessly tries to scramble backward to ease the increasingly painful angle of his neck, forced on by the firm grasp on his jaw. Now entirely on top of him, Alfred plants his forearms on either side of Percy’s head, hands tangling into his hair.

The blond moans as he brings himself fully flush with the trapped doctor, a foot planted on the floor for leverage. With one leg trapped and the other left to awkwardly flail, Percy is painfully aware when Alfred grasps him by the hamstrings, shifting the useless limb to rest atop his thigh. He cants his hips forward into Percy’s naval, something between a moan and growl forced into the other’s mouth. The physician chokes at the sensation, the pushing at Alfred's chest growing more frantic. The lack of air and a hammering heart rate causes dizziness to further flood his mind, somehow snapping him out of whatever bizarre state of shock he’d been in. Percy tries to compose himself, then changes tactics.

One hand goes to Alfred’s shoulder before snaking around to tug hard at the back of his jacket, pulling the man away slightly, the other searching lower. “If I can just jab him- lower abdomen or- kidneys! Yes! Yes, that should w-”

Both men gasp when Alfred thrusts forward just then. Percy’s immediately ends in silent, blank-faced horror; Alfred’s turning into a throaty, open-mouthed moan. The physician quickly takes the accidental reprieve to gulp down as much air as possible. His panicked breaths hitch when Alfred grinds down on the trapped hand, his arousal very evident. Percy manages an exasperated groan before lips crash back into his own, open mouth accosted by the taste of whiskey. “How any man could possibly achieve an erection with that much alcohol in his system-!”

Percy screws his eyes shut again as Alfred bears down to roughly grind into his hand. He grunts as a foreign tongue invades his mouth, the younger man’s ragged breathes punctuating the increasingly sloppy kiss. The blond shifts, awkwardly pinning Percy’s hips with his own, the older man’s fist thudding against his back going entirely unnoticed. It’s painfully clear when Alfred decides on a new objective, clumsy thrusts eliciting a strangled gasp from the doctor. “Oh f-for the love of all-”

Fingers move from the mess of Percy’s hair to his chest before sliding lower, groping at the top of his trousers around the trapped hand now clutching at the drunk’s waistcoat. Alfred outright growls, the sound rumbling through his chest and mouth and into Percy’s. He halts whatever’s become of the kiss long enough to take a few rushed breathes before plunging back in.

Percy’s free hand goes to Alfred’s hair in a desperate attempt to pull him back off. The weak yanks only seem to incite his lust further, the litany of wanton noises growing in volume, his actions rougher. The physician’s arm soon goes limp as he shudders, hand still entwined in the dampened locks. He’s far too caught up in the sensations being forced upon him, loudly gasping when a particularly forceful thrust finds its mark. “Damn physioluh-logical respo-ahh-enses!”

Giving up at getting past his belt, Alfred instead opts to fully grasp him through the fabric, shifting to rut against the doctor’s trapped hip. Percy practically squeaks at the sudden handling - and outright yells when wicked teeth find his neck soon after. This somehow provokes Alfred, as the hand still tangled in his white locks pulls hard enough to expose more tender skin for him to ravish. With his airway unoccupied Percy can finally breathe freely, his rapid gasps drowned out by his own barely-restrained groan as the hand at his loins begins to rub in earnest.

“Ah- I am… too-oo… tired for this! I am done!”

With a grunt Percy yanks at Alfred’s hair, hard. He’s pulled back with a hoarse yowl, face twisted in pain as he’s dragged away from his assault on the doctor’s neck. With his other hand no longer pinned, Percy pulls it back, index and middle fingers pointed together. After only a split-second to hone his aim, he tenses the arm gripping the blond’s hair the same moment he forces his fingers up and into the point just below his ear and behind his mandible. Alfred immediately tenses further upright and tries to jerk his head away from the agonizing touch, to no avail. Hands fly to the doctor’s arms but can’t muster enough strength before falling away. His breathing stutters, the only sound he can manage a strangled wheeze. Only once the other’s eyes flutter and begin to roll back does Percy remove his hand and ease his grip.

Alfred’s body goes limp as he passes out completely, forcing the now-sitting physician back down as he faceplants into the arm of the couch. Another “Omph!” escapes Percy as the full weight of his guest collapses on top of him.

He wriggles his head out from under a heavy shoulder, nose sore from the impact. “I… evidently didn’t think that through very well…” After a moment held still to regain composure, he tries to free himself from under the unconscious bulk. A long enough time of struggling passes to warrant the need to catch his breath. Percy gives up with a disgusted huff. His arms are painfully sore from Alfred trying to pry them away, along with this entire fiasco in general, making the endeavor nigh impossible. The alcohol in his own system couldn’t be of much help either.

He could just roll the two of them off the seat and onto the floor… At the likely risk of waking Alfred, or him landing on - and thus crushing - the quaint little table set before the sofa. It had been gifted to Percy by a patient lacking standard means of payment - no, there’ll be no escape until his strength returns. He rather likes that table.

After calming himself completely (“since when has that become such a difficulty?”), Percy gingerly brings a hand to the other man’s neck. Checking for a pulse seems rather unnecessary given the gentle snoring that now pervades the room, but he was wary. Utilizing that pressure point could be quite damaging if one wasn’t careful - deadly even. Despite his efforts, Percy doubts his vigilance was up to par in the moment of duress. Alfred’s heart beat is slow but steady, as is his breathing, no harm apparent to any of his cervical muscles. Percy sighs in relief and lets his hand drop at his side, knuckles coming to rest against the carpet. “I panicked, like a fool. Or perhaps it was anger more than… Nevertheless, that was far too dangerous a technique to use, at such an angle…”

The body on top of him flinches suddenly, a snort interrupting the rhythmic breathing. Percy tenses, eyes fixed to the blond sideburn that was all he could see of the other’s face. After a few tense moments the quiet snoring continues, relief flooding the physician immediately. As powerful a tool that pressure point could be, it didn’t ensure a particularly lengthy period of unconsciousness. Alcohol and the late - early - hour is likely the cause of Alfred’s continued slumber more than anything.

A weary sigh escapes as Percy watches shadows dance across the ceiling, cast by faint moonlight through the nearby windows. He does his best to catalogue Alfred’s libidinous outburst as best he could - he’ll need to analyze this event at some point, preferably once he’s gotten a decent rest and wasn’t actively trapped under the subject in question. After a time Percy tries flexing the arm not weighed down by his guest only to wince at where Alfred had gripped him. There’ll be bruising there, most certainly, along with where the man had been sloppily gnawing on his neck - his collar was still wet from his efforts. Another sigh escapes him.

Percy closes his eyes for a time, eventually opening them to blankly stare at the ceiling when he feels sleep creeping forth. A realization comes to him suddenly, utterly out of nowhere, that causes him to heave a final, doleful sigh. “I miss Wesley…”

Agony. Absolute agony.

Alfred attempts a groan, only for the sound to harshly vibrate through his skull. He attempts to move, only for pain to radiate through his neck and spread into his shoulders. Just trying to open his eyes was awful, the light of his room blinding despite its tiny window.

He felt, well and truly, like absolute garbage.

“I am garbage, drinking to such excess… After everything Logärius did for me, and I just…” This time the groan comes of its own accord, drawn out by tendrils of pain creeping through his throbbing head. Instead of thinking he focuses on not heaving up whatever might be left of his insides. He gives up on staying still and tries to shuffle to the edge of the bed, only for something to block him. With a grunt he tries the side he’d thought the wall was on, only to find a similar barrier. “Fine, alright. I won’t be sick, it’s fine… I can’t get out of my own damn bed.” Trying not to cry, he gives up on fetching a bin and gingerly flips over, not certain on where his covers have ended up.

Now on his stomach, Alfred tucks his head under his arms to escape the light and tries not to retch all over himself and his linens. He attempts to bury his face into the pillow, only there’s nothing soft nor plush to press into. Belatedly he realizes he’s laying on a rug, having just ground his forehead into it hard enough to burn. “I don’t… have a rug? Where…?”

“Ah Alfred! I see you’re finally coming to.”

Alfred whimpers and covers his ears, the familiar voice booming through his skull like an artillery shot. There’s a pause before footsteps draw closer, the sound cracking painfully against floorboards before being swallowed by the carpet. Wherever he is dims, enough to let him squint his eyes open without splinters driving through them.

He’s between a couch and a squat table, on the floor, an armchair nearby - most likely in a parlor. He pushes himself up to lean against the sofa as the figure near some draped windows moves closer, allowing Alfred to finally see his apparent host.

“Dr. Hewlett? …Percy, wha-?” Alfred tries to speak despite how dreadfully parched he feels, tongue sticking at every syllable. Clearing his throat worsens things as it catches, the cough that comes as a result causing his vision to go white and head and neck to burst into searing pain. This time he does cry out, shaky hands trying to keep his skull from falling to pieces. After some time a cup and saucer appear before his watery vision, causing Alfred to look up, blinking away tears.

“Here, drink. Hot water with lemon. If you keep it down I’ll have some plain biscuits for you.” Percy’s half-sitting on the plush armrest of the chair, leaning forward with an outstretched arm to offer him the beverage. The doctor keeps his voice low so as not to sonically assault him again, which Alfred is grateful for. With an unsteady hand Alfred accepts it, again thankful - this time that it wasn’t but half full as his tremors cause the cup to clatter and liquid to slosh about. He grasps it with the other hand to stop the awful noise and brings it to his lips. As he sips Percy watches him briefly before leaving the room, returning with an empty bin that he leaves at the side of the couch. He goes back to the armchair and sits properly, crossing his legs before settling in to watch.

Alfred has gotten used to his doctor’s habit of observing every little thing he did, but at present it was rather difficult to bear. Unable to finish the lemon water before his intestines begin to twist, he sets the cup and saucer on the table with a clink. Measuring his breathes does little to settle the rising nausea - he quickly feels himself blanch in a sudden cold sweat. Reaching blindly he retrieves the bin and empties the sparse contents of his stomach into it.

The physician appears utterly blasé when Alfred withdraws his face from the receptacle, chin propped on a hand as he continues to observe. Alfred swallows back bile, forcing himself to meet the other’s gaze. “I… I’m so sorry.”

“Hm?” Percy perks up as he shifts his hand out of the way to speak, brows quirking slightly as he focuses now on the younger man. “Whatever for?”

“I- you…,” words evade Alfred in his shame, causing him to look away. He closes his mouth as he thinks a moment, ignoring the worsening headache. “I was… in a pub. Fairly far from here, most likely, uh- if I’m not mistaken. I- I’m sorry for the trouble, I must’ve put you through. To get me here. Thank you.”

Percy intently regards him as he mutters his thanks, face an eerily calm mask. There’s a pause before the doctor speaks, which makes Alfred uneasy for some reason. “Apology accepted. I must say, I was surprised to see you in such an uncharacteristic state, and in such a strange part of town… Again, my sincerest condolences. He was a great man.”

Alfred starts at that as he tries the lemon water again, hot liquid splashing his nose. “Wh-what? Why do you say that?” The unintended volume of his own voice causes him to wince.

Percy’s brow quirks higher, intrigue lacing his quiet voice. “Ah, you don’t recall then? When I was attempting to extract you from that pub, you shared it was the anniversary of your mentor’s death… Do you really not recall at all?”

The bedraggled man’s eyes shift to the floor, searching as he tries to remember the previous night. “There was, I - At the boarding house, when I decided on a scotch… Then went for a walk when I… had more than intended. I didn’t want to stay there, feeling I’d, well…” Alfred sheepishly rubs at his nose, “I must’ve come across the pub then; it wasn’t familiar to me. After that I- I ah… ordered a drink, and then…”

He falls silent for a while, brows furrowed together. “I can’t remember a thing past that. God, what’s wrong with me?” With a forced chuckle he shrugs, still avoiding Percy’s gaze. “I don’t remember. I’m sorry.”

The older man hums in response as Alfred deflates further against the couch, a model example of turmoil and regret. Percy uncrosses his legs as he leans back into the armchair, crossing them at the ankle once comfortable. His off-putting scrutiny finally ceases as he switches his chin to the other hand, letting the previous perch drape over the armrest as he becomes lost in thought. Looking at him now Alfred sees how tired the doctor looks - noticeable dark circles lay under his eyes, and his hair wasn’t as neatly kept as usual. Guilt hits him anew, spurring him to avert his gaze as he tries to comb fingers through his own disheveled hair and ruffled sideburns.

Enough time passes that Alfred manages to finish his lemon water. Mercifully not needing the bin a second time, he moves it aside before trying to pull himself up despite the agony in his neck and shoulders. He should at least be sitting properly when Percy inevitably gives him a verbal lashing. “I can’t imagine what else he’s so thoroughly thinking about. He’s gone off on me for slighter offenses than this, certainly…” For lack of anything else to do he chews at the thin slice of lemon left in the cup. Working his jaw worsens the stabbing ache on one side of his neck, but it helps his sore throat feel marginally better.

Percy suddenly looks at him, widened eyes his only movement before his tired features give a wry smirk. “Ah. My apologies, I was off in my own mind there for a moment,” he stretches as he straightens in his seat to face him. “It would seem I’ve grown accustom to a certain amount of sleep over the years. Bit of a nuisance, that.”

“I’m sorry to have kept you up so late,” Alfred hastily apologizes again, half eaten lemon slice dropping back into his cup. A glint of amusement flashes in the physician’s eyes as his grin widens. “As I said, apology accepted. Please know, I’m not trying to riddle you with guilt, Alfred. I just want my irregular conduct to be understood for the simple thing it is.”

“Oh.”

“However, as your personal physician I’m obligated to caution you from drinking to excess, especially to such excess as last night. With how much you imbibed the risks were - and still are mind you - considerable, in both the long and short term. It is possible to poison oneself with alcohol. Fatally so.”

“…Oh.”

Alfred waits for further reproach, only for none to come. He’d been expecting a full lambasting for his stupidity, not… whatever that was. His doctor’s nonchalant tone and saccharine demeanor were throwing him off, as was his utter detachment to the whole affair. It wasn’t an unusual manner coming from the physician, not at all; Alfred was quite used to it, even found it endearing where others seemed to find it irksome. It’s just… “I’d thought he’d be angrier at the very least. Or care at all really, that I’d made such a complete ass of myself. If only for his own image as my physician, and not as my… as an associate.”

Disappointment must have shown on his face as, after regarding him for a moment, Percy’s smile slowly disappears. “That said…” Alfred perks up, as much as he could in his miserable state. “I’m concerned. I know you’ve quite a vexing history with alcohol, and have attempted to lessen your consumption on a number of occasions.”

“Ah, yes.”

“When you officially took me on as your physician you’d said you were only having a drink in the evenings, to relax. Considering that you’ve come to… visit during the day on a number of occasions, with alcohol on your breathe” - at that Alfred looks away, cheeks flushing a tinge redder - “I would assume that is no longer the case. Am I correct?”

“…Yes that- that’s right. I’m sorry, I should ha-”

“I am not finished Alfred. I merely need an affirmation on if I’m correct.”

“…Correct,” the sudden authority in Percy’s voice causes Alfred to straighten in his seat, the movement not lost on the doctor. He mentally notes the reaction as he steeples his hands, continuing in a matter-of-fact tone. “Thank you. Now, given how long you’ve had a problem with alcohol and the multiple attempts at lessening how much you drink… You stated you’ve had three distinct, heartfelt attempts at reducing your intake, correct?”

“Correct.”

“ And every time you’ve made an attempt, only to fail, your drinking worsens - is that a correct assumption?”

“…C-correct.”

“Hm…Then my concern is this: maintaining any level of alcohol intake puts you at risk of relapsing, which in turn puts you at risk of further increasing your intake. Put simply - any drink will lead to too much drink. Given your experience, would you say this is a correct line of reasoning?”

“…Correct…”

“Would you like those biscuits now?”

“Cor- er, uh yes?”

Alfred falters at the sudden change of topic. Percy swiftly relieves him of the cup and saucer before excusing himself, leaving the weary man mercifully, silently alone. Finally. The doctor was a wonderful source of knowledge and interesting topics, when one was in the mindset for it. Right now though Alfred would rather wring Percy’s damn neck than suffer his voice a second longer. His head was pounding terribly after trying to listen to and comprehend the other’s rambling for so long, and neither the sudden silence, closing his eyes, nor rubbing his temples did anything to relieve it. Leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees, he cradles his head with a sigh.

Trying not to think at all always proves impossible for him, so instead Alfred lets his mind wonder as it will. For some reason it keeps returning to his hands around Percy’s neck. He frowns deeply. “There’s no need for that, he’s a good man. Better than most in this city, better than most anywhere! Ughh, why do thoughts get stuck and haunt one so? There’s so much that energy could be put toward that’s…” His brows slowly furrow - something about the doctor’s neck…

A flash of a thought bolts across his mind’s eye before vanishing completely. Struggling to grasp whatever it was - a sensation? An image? Both? - Alfred is entirely caught off guard when a plate of biscuits manifests right in front of him. He jolts out of his seat, landing hard enough to cause the sofa to skid.

“Goodness, there’s no need to be so tense! I didn’t mean to startle you,” Percy says through his lopsided grin, eyebrow quirked high as if amused. His eyes are wide with surprise however, so Alfred takes his word for it and waves it off. What energy he had left to tolerate interaction is now well and truly drained.

He’s handed a small plate with half a dozen biscuits of two kinds, a fresh cup of hot lemon water placed on the table in front of him. Thankfully Percy doesn’t return to the armchair, instead pulling a pocket watch out to check the time. As he does Alfred quickly eyes his neck, mind still fumbling over the flash of possible memory. His collar seems a tad higher than typically worn, but other than that… Alfred averts his gaze and frowns around a bite of water biscuit.

“Seems my free time is nearly up. I need to return to the office to prepare for my next appointment. Rather busy day today what with the recent cold snap,” the doctor somehow says in a quiet yet chipper tone as he stashes the watch. A sudden wave of guilt crashes into Alfred’s conscience once again, stomach churning in its wake. “I’m so sorry, you shouldn’t have stayed out so late on account o-”

Percy raises a hand to silence him. “Apology accepted, Alfred. Really.”

Noticing the sudden lack of color in the other’s face,  he shifts to bring the bin closer as he continues, “To be honest, I had two sudden cancellations this morning after my first of the day, so it’s not quite so hectic a schedule as I was expecting. I wouldn’t have had a chance to see to you otherwise, in fact. Fortuitous, noh?”

“Oh,” is all Alfred manages, trying to forgo the receptacle as the meager amount he’d just eaten attempts its escape. Percy peers down at him with his typical sanguine smirk. “I’ll leave you to it then. Try to keep the water biscuits down a while before moving to the Bath Olivers. I recommend you uncover the windows and stand that for a time before venturing outside. I trust you can let yourself out once the nausea subsides. Oh, and don’t forget you’ve an appointment at the end of the month. I’ll see you then.”

The physician makes to leave, setting off an alarm in Alfred’s head. “You- you’re alright with leaving me in your home, unattended? I mean, I won’t do anything of course, I just- …Thank you? For trusting me, I mean…”

Despite the awkward, halting words, Percy regards the other with the same patient air as when he’s asked about his practice or hobbies. The lopsided grin comes back, amusement in his tone. “You’re welcome, but I’m afraid it’s not quite such a show of trust on my end. I’ll only be down the hall after all, and sound carries rather well between these rooms. Should you do anything of a questionable nature, I'll know.”

With that the doctor is gone. Alfred remains as he was, twisted around in his seat to see where the other had stood, half a biscuit in hand. Confused, he pops it in his mouth and chews. “But the office his practice is in- It was a large enough space to be it’s own building. And didn’t he once say he rented a row house on a separate street from his office? How does that…?” He shakes his head and turns to take a sip of lemon water, hoping it’d help repel the cold sweat creeping over him. Dr. Hewlett must find some strange form of joy in bewildering others. Alfred was generally content with this eccentricity and the resulting work required to understand the man - it helped to keep his mind busy, in a positive way. Percy’s impossible housing was something to ponder at a different time, when he could to do so without getting further frustrated. Or nauseous. Sighing again, he sets aside his meager meal to prep the bin. Alfred closes his eyes as he waits and tries to figure out what’s left of his day.

He’ll have to answer to the lonely old landlady once he gets back, that’s for certain. His dear Siegward had likely caused a racket when he wasn’t home for their early morning constitutional. Luckily she has a skeleton key to every room in the house, and luckier yet has a soft spot for his giant hound. As much as Alfred hates the thought of someone else handling him, she’d have taken him out herself if she couldn’t chide someone else into it. Probably was walked too little and fed too much for breakfast as well.

Alfred harrumphs as the nausea somewhat lessens, setting the bin aside to keep eating. The old woman was likely feeding the dog kitchen scraps behind his back - it’s the only explanation for his massive bulk despite so many daily walks. Well, that and the red meat he would bring back after his late night outings… “A bit of cat or bird can’t add that much to his weight, surely! And I don’t come across strays or unbound pets to have fun with that often… Ah, that doesn’t matter now. I really need to be on my way.” With a grunt he gets up to let more light into the room, intending to suffer through it as he finishes his meal. Sitting back down, he lets himself lean against the sofa’s armrest as he gnaws on one of the richer crackers. Squinting to look up, he stills. At this angle, the couch and the room, with the windows…

He looks back to his host, the sentiment from under the lamp post still strong in his chest. “I wan’… can I kissh you?” A chuckle is his only response. He’s not sure if that’s a yes. He’d like it to be.

Alfred tenses hard at the mental intrusion, causing a fresh jolt of anguish to pulse through his neck and straight into his skull. Gasping, he brings a hand to where the blinding pain is centered, rubbing and kneading to no avail. He’s suddenly, extremely nauseous. His hands shake as he swaps the biscuit for the bin, bringing it close enough just in time to keep from ruining the carpet. Sweat drips down his face as he tries to catch his breath, swallowing at the taste in his mouth. Despite his better judgement, Alfred ventures a look to the other end of the couch, to the armrest…

He’s pressed against him, snug between his legs. His lips are softer than he’d thought, better than he’d earlier imagined. The noises he’s making are terribly pleasant. He wants to do more.

Alfred isn’t breathing right; his breathes were coming too quickly, too hard. He retches again but only bile comes up, his frenzied wheezing drawing it down his airway. A chest-rattling coughing fit makes his vision go white as the world falls into agony. He barely keeps from sobbing as well, hands tangled into the hair at the nape of his neck as he grits his teeth. Trying to keep from growing any louder Alfred doubles over to press his face into the seat cushion, mind reeling.

“Oh God, oh good God! Did I- But he didn’t act like-! Fffuughh my neck! Why does it hurt so much?! He wouldn’t have, if I- surely? He’d have thrown me out! Was it just, just a tasteless dream? Percy was with me when I passed out, so Percy was who I dreamt off? Is that how it works? It has to be- ! Aaghh this bloody headache!”

As soon as the throbbing anguish dulls enough to crack open his eyes Alfred slowly gets to his feet, the remainder of his small meal forgotten. Sunlight and empty stomach be damned; he was leaving, now. Steadying himself against the furniture and walls, he makes for the parlor’s doorway. Against the doorframe he leans to look into the next room, blinking away tears as he finds his bearings. Another flash of possible memory invades his mind, this time of a hand on his arm, a familiar face looking up at him. It’s thoroughly snubbed before there's any chance to ponder it. “No more of that, it didn’t happen! Percy dragged me here and I fell asleep in the parlor. Nothing. Happened.”

From the threshold he peers into a narrow foyer of sorts, a hallway one way and the front door the other. Adjacent to the entryway are stairs that presumably lead to a second story, opposite another doorway leading to another room. On his way closer to the front door he grips the lower balusters of the handrail, the pounding headache and pain coursing through his body making it difficult to keep upright. Alfred spots a simple chair across the small space, nearly hidden by a heavily-laden coat rack. He kicks a pair of congress gaiters out of the way as he approaches it, wooden joints creaking as he sits down to finish gathering his wits.

“I’ll return to my room, make myself presentable. No more sleep and no moping in bed, I don’t deserve it. I’ll- I’ll go for a walk, get some breakfast… I have an appointment at the end of the month. Should I ask him then, if…? No, no -” Alfred shakes his hands through his mop of hair as if to cast the thought out. There’ll be no more of that - it was a dream. It was just another perverted dream that he had no control over and nothing more. Such dreams are no stranger to his nights, along with all the other nightmares and terrors that often kept him from getting a proper night’s rest. The fact it was a man, specifically Percy - who’d saved his life and been nothing but kind, in his own peculiar way - means nothing. Happenstance, that’s all.

The quiet solitude of the place begins to make him feel jittery, as if an unwelcome guest would arrive at any moment. An unseen clock ticks incessantly somewhere, causing one of his eyes to twitch as he steels himself for the walk home. While aimlessly looking around he startles on seeing a large stuffed bird hanging above the stairs, alarmingly vibrant eyes watching him. He turns away only to jump again on spotting an enormous lizard poised atop a small log on a console table down the hall. With a huff Alfred pushes himself up to leave, not wanting to know whatever other dead creatures the place has to offer.

The multiple Yharnam-style locks are a  nuisance, but soon the front door is open and the blinding, overcast light hits him full force. Drawing a hand up with an annoyed grunt, Alfred shades his eyes as he tries to comprehend his surroundings. As he squints at the nearby corner for any sort of street sign, he fumbles out his pocket watch. It’s hard to tell with the cloud cover, but he swears the sun is lower than it should be, this time of day… He freezes as he looks down at the time, face quickly contorting into a snarl. “Damn you Hewlett! It’s well into the afternoon and you didn’t even-! You should’ve at least tried to rouse me! I’ve lost an entire day, damn it!”

With that he’s off, muttering curses under his breathe as he blindly rushes down the residential street. Other pedestrians quickly move out of his path on seeing him approach, much like songbirds give a wide berth to a hungry hawk - a fact Alfred is utterly oblivious to in his agitated hurry homeward.

[aithreachas]

"Good Hunter... you shouldn't be here. You belong in the waking world." The figure stirred, setting a bundle of flowers aside to stand. His cape was tattered, and an enormous engraved sheath hanged empty on his back, shifting slightly as he moved. It was difficult to differentiate between the sound of waves lapping at the sand below, and the soft noise his clothing made as it rubbed against that sheath. "Let me take you home. You don't want to stay here, believe me."

The waking world?

World of fire and screams, lick of flames on his face and the smell of gunpowder burning all the way down the olfactory system. He wished it had been burnt out completely because even now it was living inside of him, beating like a second heart. Ashen heart, ember heart, a coalescence of mistakes and orders on a blood red night when Yharnam burned.

“I don't want t'go home,” Atreus said softly. He took a small step backwards, threaded cane scratching against the ground with the movement. It sounded too loud to be real, blade scraping like battle. It was quiet here—the sounds of his presence feeling distinctly like he was an interloper in somewhere sacred.

But Atreus didn't know where he belonged any more—whose to say it wasn't here?

“Let me stay.”

The figure hadn't attacked him, perhaps there was hope for him yet. He raised a hand slowly, unhooking the pistol at his waist to toss it at the ground in front of him. He would throw his cane too, if he wasn't currently using it to bear the weight of old wounds.

“It's quiet here. The waves almost drowns out the screaming. It's—” Words hesitated and caught in his throat while brows knitting together as he struggled to find the right sentiment to express.“—nice.... Peaceful and I'm tired.”

[entergamingxp]

DualShockers’ Favorite Games of 2019 — Laddie’s Top 10

January 1, 2020 5:00 PM EST

2019 was truly a wealth of gaming experiences that I loved, from Control, to Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order, and more. Here are my top 10.

As 2019 comes to a close, DualShockers and our staff are reflecting on this year’s batch of games and what were their personal highlights within the last year. Unlike the official Game of the Year 2019 awards for DualShockers, there are little-to-no-rules on our individual Top 10 posts. For instance, any game — not just 2019 releases — can be considered.

As we entered 2019, my ever growing backlog of neglected or unfinished games had grown to epic proportions. I vowed to be better in 2019, so I made a New Year’s resolution that I would play and finish every game I acquired in 2019 before moving on to another. Well, it was a nice thought, but resolutions are meant to be broken and with only a few days left in the year, I have yet to play the very first game I purchased in 2019, Resident Evil 2.

Unfortunately this pattern continued as I found myself in a bit of a gaming funk, and for most of the beginning half of the year, gaming felt different, like I was doing it more out of habit rather than passion.  Had I truly lost interest in the one hobby that has been my comfort zone for as long as I can remember?

Don’t get me wrong, there were a few bright spots throughout my despondency, but it wasn’t until August that I finally got my gaming groove back. On a whim, I bought Remnant: From the Ashes, and that old familiar feeling was back, baby! Now, that game wasn’t previously on my radar and it’s not perfect, but sometimes you just need a little unforeseen inspiration to get you going again.

After Remnant, it seemed the hits just kept coming, and it was looking unlikely I’d get to finish the previous months’ games that I skipped. With that being said, I feel my top ten would look a lot different than its current state considering I have yet to finish Devil May Cry 5, The Outer Worlds, A Plague Tale: Innocence, as well as a few other titles that went unplayed. Never the less, top 10 lists must go on, and here are my favorite games of 2019.

10. Anthem

Anthem: it’s not only one of my favorites of 2019, it’s also one of the games that broke my heart with bitter disappointment. Early impressions of Anthem gave me the hope that BioWare was on track to release a game that would not only counter Destiny, but show Bungie how a looter shooter, live service game was to be done straight out of the release gate. Well, as you know, Anthem did not deliver any of this and released a glitchy game in a skeletal state that felt like an unfinished symphony. EA had perpetrated a betrayal that was of Aliens: Colonial Marines level and within weeks after Anthem released, the game was a ghost town as gamers went running back to Destiny.

Despite all of this, the game with the longest loading screens known to man still managed to give me a few moments of fun. First off, the game is graphically stunning, and is easily one of the best looking games from this generation. While the execution of the story was a bit bland and the characters were mostly forgettable, there was an underlying lore that could still be the impetus of a great game or even sequel. Anthem’s greatest strength was making you feel like Iron Man once you entered your Javelin, the powered exosuit that comes in three flavors to appeal to different gameplay styles. Donning the Javelin suit gives you a super fluid movement both in flight and underwater that was almost as enjoyable as Titanfall’s parkour and jet packs. This also made for super-fun gameplay that unfortunately was lost due to lack of content.

EA and BioWare have made some improvements and promise to continue making Anthem a better game, and I really hope they can turn it around, but with new games always on the horizon, even the biggest Anthem supporters like myself might be reluctant to come back.

Check out DualShockers‘ review for Anthem.

9. Remnant: From the Ashes

The term “Soulslike” tends to inspire rage in me, and I refuse to accept it as a genre. Now, my experience with Souls games is very limited and consists mostly of Bloodborne. It’s not the punishing gameplay that sent me running from Yharnam, but rather the lack of checkpoints in the beginning. I grew up in a time where games were often difficult and had bad checkpoints that didn’t save automatically, I appreciated the challenge back then as I didn’t have my own money to purchase every game that caught my fancy, so anything that prolonged my interest in a game was welcome. However, as an adult who wants to play all of the games but has limited time, I prefer games with overactive checkpoints and generally steer clear of anything described as Soulslike. On a whim, I purchased Remnant: From the Ashes and fell in love.

I think the thing that appealed to me most with Remnant was the combat, which like all good Souls-inspired games has a rhythm that depends on dodging as much as it does attacking. While most Souls games are hack and slashes, Remnant: From the Ashes is a third person shooter. As you get to know me, you will learn, I like to shoot things in video games. Early on I died a lot but instead of becoming frustrated, I actually enjoyed the challenge of getting better. The game also features procedurally-generated levels where the enemies differ each time you play. Combine that with the unique look and feel of the four main areas of Remnant: From the Ashes, the game never gets boring.

Check out DualShockers‘ review for Remnant: From the Ashes.

8. Borderlands 3

Borderlands 3 for the most part sticks to the creed, “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” While there’s a few slight improvements in gameplay and graphics, the game is still the irreverent, looter shooter packed with a “bazillion” guns that we have come to expect from the series.

Featuring an all new cast of Vault Hunters, along with a few familiar friends, the most notable improvement in Borderlands 3 is the ability to leave Pandora and visit other planets. Not only does this make the game more expansive, each planet has its own look and personality which is a nice break from the somewhat drab Pandora. Borderlands 3 isn’t rocket science; it’s hours of mindless fun, and at the end of the day, that’s all I really want from a Borderlands game.

Check out DualShockers‘ review for Borderlands 3.

7. Destiny 2: Shadowkeep

I’ve had a love/hate relationship with Destiny since the first game’s alpha. I always go back to Destiny but I have to admit that the constant changing of rules and its grindy disposition makes me a little crazy. I love Bungie’s dedication to the game and with Shadowkeep I feel that they finally nailed Destiny’s potential, even if it took them five years to do it.

While parts of Destiny 2 went free to play, Shadowkeep seemed to be a love letter to their dedicated community and proved Bungie can sustain this massive game even without Activision’s backing. Destiny 2 is one of the most frustrating and riveting gaming experiences I’ve had this generation, and while I’ll stray from it for weeks, even months, coming back to it always feels right.

6. Call of Duty: Modern Warfare

There’s not a Call of Duty game that I haven’t played, but the epitome of the series for me were the first two Modern Warfare games. Since Modern Warfare 2, I’ll admit that the series has had its shares of hits and misses, but each year I wait unapologetically for the newest iteration and hope it will be great again. Since Infinity Ward welcomed back several key members who had left for Respawn after Modern Warfare 2 and created a new engine for the aging beauty, there was hope this was the year that the series would return to its former glory.

I have to say, I wasn’t disappointed. Finally gone was the Treyarch imprint of the Pick 10 system in multiplayer that I hated; in its place was a more streamlined and highly customizable system which gave average players like myself a chance to actually compete. Some of the larger maps took some getting used to, but for the first time in Call of Duty there is no paid DLC, and the new maps have been correcting some of the shortcomings of the launch maps.

After last year’s Black Ops 4 decided to focus on Battle Royale instead of a campaign, Modern Warfare was back with one of the best and most poignant campaigns to date. While it never reaches the level of   guilt that Spec Ops: The Line left me with, Modern Warfare does a good job of showing  the horrors of war by making you question the morally grey area of who is good and who is evil. This hits you the most when you play as Farah Karim. Her backstory is heartbreaking, but necessary to show how she became the kick-ass rebel commander of the Urzikstan Liberation Force.

Modern Warfare is one of the most engaging games of the year and has offered Call of Duty a new lease on life. I’m still regularly playing (and enjoying) Modern Warfare and looking forward to what it has in store for the future.

Check out DualShockers‘ review for Call of Duty: Modern Warfare.

5. MediEvil

MediEvil was a real turning point for me in gaming. Not only did it thwart my gaming habit to obsession, it also paved the way to my PlayStation fangirl-ism. For the record, my heart might belong to Sony, but I’ll play on anything you set in front of me. Up until last year’s God of War, I always credited MediEvil as being my all-time favorite game. In fact, my love of the game runs so deep, I’ve always said that if I ever won the lottery, I’d singlehandedly fund a Kickstarter for MediEvil 3.

The game looked like a scene out of Tim Burton’s A Nightmare Before Christmas and featured elements of action-adventure, hack and slash, puzzle, and platforming games. The end result ended up being an irreverent story of an unlikely hero that attracted a cult following who were very vocal in getting Sir Dan Fortesque resurrected from the dead and obscurity in a newly remastered version of the beloved game. I always felt MediEvil was ahead of its time, so it’s no surprise that it still feels like a fresh concept in 2019 that I still have a ton of fun playing.

4. Concrete Genie

Sometimes a game can still be fun and entertaining while raising awareness. Concrete Genie from Pixelopus tackles the subject of bullying as experienced through the game’s protagonist, Ash. Through Ash’s eyes and paintbrush, you will escape the wrath of the bullies through a visionary narrative where your art and imagination come to life.

At first it appears as if Concrete Genie is just a glorified graffiti simulator, but as the story unfolds and Ash gains different powers and abilities, the game soon turns into something that feels like inFamous Lite. It’s a unique and charming game that I won’t soon forget. It also contains an optional VR mode that really exemplifies the concept of art coming to life. I absolutely adore Concrete Genie.

3. Darksiders Genesis

The last new game of the year I played quickly earned a spot high on my top ten of 2019. I’m a big fan of the Darksiders games, and when I heard that a prequel dungeon crawler would release so soon after Darksiders 3, I was giddy with excitement.

Darksiders Genesis lets you play as Strife for the first time, but you can also play as War, who was the star of the first game. Despite its isometric view, Genesis still looks and plays like a Darksiders game. The ability to switch between Strife and War is like getting to play your two favorite Diablo classes at once. It makes for great combat situations as well, as opens up the challenge of figuring out when to use Strife and when to use War in various situations. Surprisingly, it might be my favorite Darksiders game yet.

2. Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order

From the moment I heard Respawn Entertainment hired Stig Asmussen and that he was going to be lead on a Star Wars game, I was over the moon. However, once I remembered EA was involved and that there hasn’t been a good Star Wars game in so many years, I started to worry that I was just setting myself up for disappointment.

You should always go with your first instinct, because Jedi: Fallen Order is so good. Everything about it just speaks to me. It feels like it’s an amalgamation of every game I have ever loved from Uncharted to God of War set in one of my favorite cinematic universes. Wielding a light saber in this game is the closest I’ll get to being a Jedi; well, I prefer the Dark Side, so we’ll go with Sith. For someone who has loved Star Wars for their entire life, I’ll be forever thankful for this game and Respawn Entertainment.

Check out DualShockers‘ review for Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order.

1. Control

I fell in love with Control back in March when I played an early build of it at GDC; I knew then this game was something special. Remedy rarely disappoints and their games are all unique experiences, but Control is definitely Remedy at their best. I love the look of the game: it’s dark and eerie, which immediately sets the perfect mood and tone for what is to come.

What really attracted me was the gameplay. Sure, you have a service weapon that takes on various forms which is cool in itself, but once I started unlocking Jesse Faden’s psychic powers and learned how to use them all together, it was next level gaming. On consoles the game suffers from a few performance issues, but it didn’t diminish my love of Control.

The best way I can describe Control and the reason it is my favorite game of 2019 is that it made me feel like I was starring in an episode of The X-Files that was directed by David Lynch. Trust me: that’s the ultimate compliment in my world.

Check out DualShockers‘ review for Control.

Check out the rest of the DualShockers staff Top 10 lists and our official Game of the Year Awards:

December 23: DualShockers Game of the Year Awards 2019 December 25: Lou Contaldi, Editor-in-Chief // Logan Moore, Managing Editor December 26: Tomas Franzese, News Editor // Ryan Meitzler, Features Editor  December 27: Mike Long, Community Manager // Scott White, Staff Writer December 28: Chris Compendio, Contributor // Mario Rivera, Video Manager // Kris Cornelisse, Staff Writer December 29: Scott Meaney, Community Director // Allisa James, Senior Staff Writer // Ben Bayliss, Senior Staff Writer December 30: Cameron Hawkins, Staff Writer // David Gill, Senior Staff Writer // Portia Lightfoot, Contributor December 31: Iyane Agossah, Senior Staff Writer // Michael Ruiz, Senior Staff Writer // Rachael Fiddis, Contributor January 1: Ricky Frech, Senior Staff Writer // Tanner Pierce, Staff Writer // Laddie Simco, Staff Writer

January 1, 2020 5:00 PM EST

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