#HOW MUCH OF IT IS CRUELTY AND HOW MUCH OF IT IS SELF HATRED

[a-little-ray-of-fantasy]

An analysis on how Sir Pentious' character design represents his personality and development perfectly (beware of Hazbin Hotel spoilers)

Let's get this out of the way: Sir Pentious is a snake, an animal mostly known for generally believed negative traits such as poison, deceit and betrayal. We don't know WHY he's in Hell, maybe he was a "snake oil salesman" considering he comes from the Victorian times and he's into hyping up what he does, or maybe he was into war. Thing is, he's a Sinner whose design just scream "Evil".

(BTW, a snake could also represent "fertility": looking at you, Egg Boiz!)

He always had eyes all around him not just because of a stylistic choice.

Sir Pentious always felt like he was watched, and had to watch out for any danger.

"Everyone here is too nice: obviously it must be a lie! I can sense they are planning to kill me, but when?! HOW?! I must be PREPARED!"

Sadly, he's been constantly berated by other demons, far more effective in destruction, status, cruelty and charisma. Alastor won't ever bother to remember him, Cherri always ones up him, and the Vs, the ones he admires to most, won't care less about him.

To the point that Vox sent him as a spy without the intention to save him if things were going to fail. Heck, he even openly tells him to die while calling him a failure.

So of course he's got reasons to have trust issues, or taking everything so seriously, being constantly reminded of what he can't accomplish. So he puts an air of grandure that may be very flamboyant, but is VERY frail.

But, if we have to be frank here, his biggest source of insecurities... is himself.

He has eyes on his tail (his softer, more vulnerable side, which is ironically made even MORE lieable to getting hurt because of how sensitive those organs are), and inside his hood, so he could look out better for danger when on alert mode.

Heck, even the mark on his hood kinda resembles one eye.

Problem is, when you see his hood folded, when he's at ease, neutral or sad, those are not looking at outside sources.

They're looking at him, at his back. A constant stare that happens everytime he lets his guard down and shows how vulnerable he is. A gaze that can sense all of his weakness, his struggles, his insecurities.

And it's all him.

Pentious constantly believes that his inferiority complex will fade away once he'll accomplish something grand that will make others accept him. But he is his biggest critic, his worst enemy: HE is the one who believes he's a failure, that he'll never gain approval from others.

This show takes place in Hell, but this is Sir Pentious' personal Hell: insecurity born out of self hatred. Doomed to feel everyone's gaze upon him, including his own. Believing the danger to his self esteem is from others, when it's really from him.

But then he's accepted at the Hazbin Hotel: Charlie forgives him, he bonds with Angel, Husk and Niffty who don't care a bit about what he's accomplished or not, or what he's done in the past.

He feels more comfortable in showing his vulnerable side, and no one judges him for how easy it is for him to get emotional.

Of course he's still very insecure, considering how he struggles to confess to Cherri, but notice how he stops building machines or planning to attack others as soon as he starts bonding with the others: he doesn't have a reason to destroy or attack, now that he knows he's loved.

And his final design, when he goes to Heaven, shows how much he's changed, yet stayed the same. He may have died a hero, but he's still the same awkward snake we've come to love.

Speaking of love, let's talk about that!

No more eyes on his tail, now it's just on his chest (showing he's opened his heart), his glasses are now heart shaped, and even the markings inside his hood resemble kiss marks more than anything else.

And look: the mark on his hood is now heart shaped!

Why all these hearts? Why did all the eyes disappeared from his body? Even his eyes that were looking at his back?

Simple: love. Love defeated his insecurities and self hatred. He died for love.

He died protecting his friends, his new family, his new home.

He confessed and kissed Cherri knowing full well he wouldn't have made it, and yet he went anyway.

The usually cowardly and timid Pentious actually faced a great danger with courage and determination: he acted selflessly by putting himself in harm's way, he didn't steal (naturally) and by going against Adam he did indeed "stick it to the man"!

He used his weaponry knowhow and battle experience not to conquer, but to save his loved ones.

His only thought up until his demise was: "I'll go down protecting them".

And he's been rewarded not only by becoming an angel, but also being spawned directly in front of Emily and Sera, two Seraphim, the highest rank for an angel to have, who have also been depicted as snakes of fire throughout history! Sir Pentious, the lowly demon considered a failure by everyone, actually has been noticed by the Seraphim! He's come so far!

He's now come to represent the REAL symbolism of a snake: the duality of death and rebirth, transformation and immortality (ironically a reference to the fact he's been around since 1888 without ever dying from any Extermination or blessed weapons).

And isn't so poetic that a snake, the "source of the original evil", was the first sinner to ascend to Heaven? Or that this episode was released on February 1st, or National Serpent Day?

And of course, as the Bible itself says:

"Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends."

(John 15:13)

And knowing him, I'm confident in saying he'll keep helping his friends even in his new position, like the soft hearted noodle he's always been, but was to afraid to show it up until now.

[bountycancelled]

OPLA characters reacting to a sweet, girly reader who turns out to be a a ruthless fighter

genre: headcanons, fem! reader, kinda suggestive??, idfk just read it bro

requested: nope, but reqs are open! pls, for the love of god, request for the opla♡

feat: zoro, sanji

a/n: reader's feminine but not female if that makes sense, only witting again because I'm obsessed with the one piece live action. also, this may be a little ooc, since I haven't watched the anime/read the manga, sorry about that! also, if you wanna be added to my perm taglist, pls feel free to ask!

☆ZORO☆

when you first joined the crew, zoro was immediately unsure of what exactly you brought to the table. I mean, they already had a swordsman, a sharp shooter, a navigator, a dumb cook and a captain/motivational speaker. so what were you doing here?

from luffy's explanation of you, he was aware that you were a good fighter, but he had never seen you in action.

the only things he had seen from you were stuffed animals laying around the ship, pastel outfits he could spot for miles, and bows that had been put in his hair while he slept.

he was tolerant of you at best, and straight up apathetic at worst, but finally, there came a time where someone tried picking a fight with you since you seemed like an easy target while you were walking with him and nami.

although he wasn't particularly fond of you (lies), he still felt the need to defend you as a crewmate, but the ass whooping you gave the stranger made him freeze in place.

there was blood splatter on your pretty face, deep red sploches of your cute clothes, and a look of pure hatred in your eyes. and you had never looked more beautiful in zoros eyes.

that was the first time zoro had ever smiled at you. sure, he had slightly smirked at your cuter tendencies, but in that moment he was truly smitten with you.

from that day, zoro wanted to train with you. what you lacked that he had in experience, you made up for in absolute cruelty when fighting. you were quick, agile and you weren't afraid to make zoro hurt, and he loved every second of it.

zoro would sometimes smile when he saw bruising on his body from his time training with you but catch himself and go stone faced immediately. no, he was not falling for you, absolutely not.

except he was, and the next time you showed up by his side with a slight limp, some tears in your cotton candy coloured clothes, blood all over you, and a sadistic smile on your face, he would tell you as much.

SANJI♡

sanji is unsurprisingly, enamoured by you the second you join the straw hats.

I'm talking, looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky, cheesy and constant compliments like "you're cuter than any of your stuffed animals, yn-swan~" and even brushing up on his baking skills to bake you aesthetically pleasing sweet treats that always put a smile on your face.

if I'm being completely honest, it doesn't bother him that he doesn't know exactly what your strengths are, you could be amazing at everything like barbie or you could literally not know night from day and he'd still admire you all the same.

one day, you're wearing bottoms that are on the shorter side not that sanji minds at all and you're out exploring the island you're at with him by your side, holding all your bags because in his words "angels don't do hard labour when he's around" when someone decides to hit on you.

you reject them politely, but when they make a less than appropriate comment about your outfit, you click your tongue and shake your head, readying yourself to hospitalise someone.

sanji's mood switches to one of being happy because he's around you to one of murderous intent the second this rando tries you, but you already have them wheezing on the floor with broken nose before sanji can even lift his leg off of the ground.

you're back to usual self, fixing the bow on your hair while complaining about how fucking hard it is to get blood stains off of your clothes, while sanji is thinking about how fucking hard he is

safe to say that this heartless, terrifying side of you makes sanji fall even harder and question whether or not he's a masochist.

he'll still insist on doing things like carrying you anywhere (most of your shoes you impractical as fuck, but style>functionality always) lifting things for you and treating you like a piece of fine china because that's exactly what you deserve, no matter how badass you are.

only difference is, now he'll never come to aid when it comes to kicking ass, because he enjoys seeing you take people to heaven and back more than anything.

he compliments now range from "omg you are the most adorable, lovable, doll-like angel I've ever seen" to "please punch me, step on me, make my nose bleed, choke me-" and he's now ten times more annoying about you than he was before, which no one thought was possible.

believe me when I say that images of you in frilly outfits with your eyes gleaming like diamonds eveytime you make someone bleed occupy 90% of his thoughts. (the other 10% is all things cooking, of course.)

[kys02]

Jax is not a jerk.

Please, hear me out.

TW: mention of domestic abuse.

I’m not here to excuse his actions. If someone does something bad, they should be held accountable. But there’s always a reason behind behavior. No character is “bad just for the sake of being bad.”

I know Jax has done a lot of messed-up things, but give me a chance to explain his actions—maybe you’ll see him in a different light.

Jax has boundaries.

A true villain doesn’t hold back. They’ll do whatever they want without hesitation. But according to the Gooseworx, Jax does have boundaries—there are lines he won’t cross.

I know what you’re thinking about. “But he threw Pomni out of the truck in Episode 2! He left Ragatha ( and Pomni ) behind with a glitching Kaufmo in the pilot! He constantly bullies others!”

But let’s look deeper.

First, remember that his teasing and pranks are a coping mechanism. It’s his way of keeping himself sane.

Second, he never takes things too far. Yes, his actions can be cruel, but when he realizes something genuinely harms someone, he backs off.

Take the pilot, for example. He left Ragatha when Kaufmo glitched out, but why? Because he was scared. Later, we see that Ragatha got “infected” with the glitch.

Now, think about the moment she said, “I am in so much pain!”

Here’s where it gets interesting—recently, in a Japanese billboard ad, there was a small scene where Kaufmo glitches behind Pomni while she’s arguing with Jax. And what does Jax do? He immediately gets nervous and says, “Wanna continue this somewhere else?”

He knows when to stop. He realized that if Pomni also glitched, it would hurt her. That means he does have empathy. He may act cold, but he’s not heartless.

Why does he act this way?

Now let’s re-examine some of his actions.

Remember when he threw Pomni out of the truck?

Or when he cut off her conversation with Ragatha?

(Both moments from Ep 2.)

Every time he sees others forming connections, it bothers him. Because deep down, he wants that too—but he doesn’t know how to handle it.

Instead of confronting his own feelings, he shuts those moments down. He disrupts conversations, pushes people away, and keeps his distance.

And here’s the key point:

If a parent abuses their child, it’s often because they were abused themselves. (I know this is a terrible example, but it gets the point across.)

If Jax constantly picks on those who are soft, emotional, or vulnerable, it’s because he sees himself in them.

He hates in others what he hates in himself.

And behavior like this doesn’t come out of nowhere.

Someone, at some point, showed him that “messing with people is fine!” Maybe it happened before he ended up in the circus. Maybe it started after. But the fact remains: he does it because someone did it to him.

His teasing and cruelty aren’t “just for fun.”

They’re a defense mechanism, a way to stay sane, and a reflection of his own self-hatred projected onto others.

So, what’s the takeaway?

No, this doesn’t make him a good person. He still does awful things, and nobody has to forgive him for that.

But understanding his actions doesn’t mean excusing them.

All I’m saying is: if we ask “why” instead of just labeling him as “the mean one,” we get a more complex character.

Thanks for reading!

(And by the way, I saw so much engagement on my last post—thank you all so much! 💜)

[chaos-of-the-abyss]

really gnawing on my fist thinking about how so much of shiori's scorn toward juri is just another manifestation of her self-hatred. shiori always saw juri as so strong and untouchable, someone infinitely more gifted and beautiful than she could ever hope to be. she still does. so when she learns that juri is in love with her, someone who, in shiori's eyes, is so utterly plain, so utterly average and unremarkable, she's astounded and repulsed - specifically at the thought that someone like juri could have someone as pathetic as her in her heart. her cruelty towards juri is a plea in a way, for juri to see her; an attempt to go as low as she possibly can to see if juri could really continue to love and care about her after seeing how (as shiori sees it) despicable she truly is. THEE mothers of toxic yuri oh my god

[alllgator-blood]

Does narilamb even exist in your au? I highly doubt lambert would be friends, much less lovers with your ego driven narinder.

I never want to say anything is impossible in my lore cause I do shit "because it's funny" all the time, but it's one of the most unlikely things to happen in my comics I think...I made a dumb ass 4-page comic in my sketchbook last month about leshy having a baby, so I considered trusting a child to the EX-GOD OF CHAOS before considering that the cat and sheep would hold hands even once lmaooo

This is a more recent development, but I decided my lamb straight up killed narinder after his boss fight, to wrap everything up in a nice bow and move on with their life. Cause frankly they were sick of that fuckin guy. But that didn't last long after they did some crusades in the purgatory version of darkwood, and accidentally wound up with leshy as a follower. Then they were like "fuck" and got heket to calm leshy down from his nonstop meltdowns, but heket needed kallamar's medical knowledge to stay alive very long, and KALL needed SHAMURA to even leave their shelter, but SHAMURA kept asking about NARINDEr and that's how he wormed his way back into the lamb's life. Someday I'll finish my very very very long comic about that whole ordeal.

BUT UNTIL THEN, I have a different one all sketched out about an interaction between only the lamb and narinder- no bishops besides a couple brief mentions, just these two finally talking one on one for a short while. I should finish it sometime, I made it ages ago for a different ask but it got way longer than a couple panels and I went on hiatus anyway. Here's some random out of order panels:

narinder is only an egomaniac because he feels that as long as he artificially inflates his self-worth, if that ego outweighs the feelings of betrayal and despair, life is tolerable. So he builds his walls up until they're basically impenetrable, because the absolute easiest way to make him hate himself is for him to feel abandoned by someone he loved, and what better way to avoid that then to not love anyone again? It just got REALLY bad in purgatory because solitary confinement would destroy anyone tbh. My lamb is kind of a shithead and loves dunking on the ex-gods, but they don't experience actual hatred towards anyone, not even narinder. They tried being a cruel dictator type "for the lolz" and just ended up learning cruelty makes them feel sick. So these two will find their peace someday, just.....not anytime soon :')

[illyrianbitch]

Blessed

Pairing: Lesser Fae Acheron!Reader x Eris Vanserra

Summary: Angered by Nesta's actions, the Cauldron turned you into a fae different than your sisters— a lesser one that resembled more animal than human. Now living in Autumn, Eris shows you a new perspective on yourself.

Warnings: mainly fluff, sprinkles of self-hatred and low confidence, mentions of previous trauma, just reader being shown her worth!

Word Count: 3.2k

a/n: unedited so pls ignore anything tehehe i was just excited to post

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

There was a faint breeze that kissed your skin as you walked a step behind Eris. 

The vibrant hues of fall leaves surrounded you— beautiful trees of red, orange, and yellow. But you were stuck far too into your mind to appreciate the sight. Even after your move to Autumn, and your growing relationship with Eris, you spent your days in your head, wishing to keep distance between you and every other living creature. 

But it wasn’t possible. Even now, you weren’t able to hide behind fabrics— no cloaks or jackets could hide the antlers that had sprouted from your head or the spots and markings that adorned your skin. You were exposed in every way you wished to hide. It was hard to appreciate the world around you when it had cursed you to be such a creature. 

"Where are we going?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper. The sound of it alone was tired and timid, and for a moment you barely recognized it yourself.

Eris didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stopped, causing you to halt in your tracks as he turned to face you. His expression was unreadable for a moment before softening into something you couldn't quite place. His eyes scanned your face. 

"Do you trust me?"

His voice was gentle, a soft cadence that balanced the cool fall breeze perfectly. 

You met his gaze, studying the lines of his face, the way his eyes seemed to soften in your presence. There was a gentle smile playing on his lips, but beneath it, you detected a flicker of uncertainty, as if he was afraid of what your answer might be.

A warmth in your chest spread as you replied. "Yes.”

Eris let out a breath as the smile on his face grew. He extended his hand towards you.

"Then let me show you something,” he said, “I hope it will prove something to you.”

You frowned slightly at his words but took his hand nonetheless, feeling how the warmth of his skin spread throughout your body. You didn’t dare to look down at where your hands met, at where the markings on your skin would stand in such contrast to his immaculate human-like hands. You brushed the thought away as he led further into the depths of the forest.

You stole glances at him as you walked, admiring how different he looked now, surrounded by his court, than those times you'd seen him at the Night Court. He seemed so regal, so effortlessly handsome and elegant— an image so far from the one he’d kept at first, the darkness, mystery, and cruelty that shrouded him before.

He looked back every other moment, making sure to catch your eye and give you a reassuring gesture, a smile or a squeeze on your hands. And those eyes—those mesmerizing eyes—seemed to hold so much. So many emotions, so much intellect, and so much capability for kindness. 

It shocked you, truly, to think about a time when those eyes were only cruel, only calculated. But perhaps it was only you he looked at with such kindness. Or, perhaps it was sorrow he felt for you, for your situation and the way you were Made. You tried not to think about it too often, tried not to make yourself sad by the reality that Eris, the powerful new High Lord of Autumn, was forever mated to you– a cursed, creature of a female, a disgrace compared to you devastatingly beautiful High Fae sisters. 

But here he was, holding your hand and guiding you into the forest of his court— your court. And your heart fluttered in a way you still weren't used to.

It was a few more minutes of walking in comfortable silence until you arrived at a small clearing within the embrace of the trees. The area was adorned with fallen leaves and small boulders, and the sound of a babbling creek nearby filled the air with a soothing melody. A sudden sense of peace washed over you, easing the weight of sadness that had been clinging to your shoulders like second skin. 

Breathing out a sigh of contentment, you turned to face Eris, who had gently dropped your hand. You took in the beauty of the scene before you, the colors of autumn painting a picturesque backdrop that seemed to come alive with every rustle of the leaves. You brought your hands together at your chest, meeting his eyes with a timid smile. 

"I'm still so stunned by the beauty of it all,” you said, turning around to take in your surroundings once more. “Even after seeing it so often.”

Eris simply stared at you, the smile on his lips never fading. Something glowed deep in him. "I understand the feeling.”

You missed the way his eyes softened with awe at you, at the sight of you taking in the world around you—the way your eyes sparkled with wonder. His words weren’t meant for the woods around him, weren’t about the beautiful nature you now looked at. 

"Are you willing to do me a favor?”

You turned to him, narrowing your eyes playfully as you took in the glint of his eyes. "Depends on the favor, Vanserra."

A grin tugged at the corners of his lips. With a nod, he beckoned you closer, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Come closer, Archeron, and then I can ask it of you.” A faint heat rose to your cheeks as you stepped forward, your gaze now falling to the ground to avoid the magnetic pull of his own. A nervous flutter danced in your chest, and you chided yourself for being so silly— blushing over a male like a child with a crush. A male who was tied to you by some mystical, godly thread. It was still so much to wrap your mind around— how strongly you felt towards him in such little time.

Eris slowly extended both of his hands towards you, the palms of his ring-clad hands facing upwards. You hesitated, face furrowing in uncertainty as your gaze flickered between his hands and his face.

"And here I thought you said you trusted me," he teased. His voice remained just as gentle.

A laugh escaped your lips, a sound that bubbled up from deep within you. It echoed through the quiet clearing and Eris’ eyes lit up. A smile tugged at his lips as you finally reached out, placing your palms gently against his.

With a soft exhale, he instructed, "Close your eyes."

You furrowed your brow once more. "What for?" 

"I just want you to take it all in," Eris replied, his tone earnest. "Close your eyes. And then we can try something."

You nodded. “Okay.”

You allowed yourself to surrender to the moment, eyelids fluttering shut as you let out a deep breath. The world around you faded away, leaving only the sound of the babbling creek and the feel of Eris's hands beneath yours. 

You sunk into the peaceful rhythm of your heartbeat, and deep down, it almost felt as if you could feel Eris's heartbeat echoing yours, the pulsing of his heart through the palms that touched your own.

After a while, his voice broke the silence. "Keep your eyes closed. I'm going to let your hands go."

A slight pang of disappointment grew in your chest at the thought of losing the warmth of his touch, but you nodded nonetheless. You pulled your hands back into your chest, holding them together as you listened to the sound of leaves crunching beneath his boots. 

"I'll be right here. Is that alright?"

Eris spoke again, his voice now coming from behind you. 

You jumped at the sudden proximity, and a nervous shiver ran down your spine as you felt his breath against your skin, his warmth enveloping you from behind. Swallowing hard, you willed yourself to calm down, to ignore the fluttering of your heart. He let out a small breathy laugh.

"Sorry," Eris murmured, his voice light with a sense of amusement. “I’ll give a better warning next time.”

You could hear the smile in his voice.

"Are your eyes closed too?" you found yourself asking, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

"Do you want them to be?"

Feeling a blush rise to your cheeks at the realization of how silly your question was, you whispered, "Well, I wouldn't want to be alone."

Another laugh escaped Eris. "You're not alone. I'm here."

You let out a ragged breath. “Right.”

"Just take a deep breath, Y/n," he continued.

You did your best to ignore how your stomach seemed to flip at the sound of your name on his lips and you nodded his response, following his guidance as you took in the fresh air around you. 

"Focus on the sounds around you," Eris continued, "On the earth beneath your feet."

It only took a few moments before you began to feel acutely aware of every sensation coursing through your body. The gentle sway of the trees in the breeze sent shivers down your spine, the earth beneath your feet pulsed with life, grounding you in the present moment, to the presence of Eris behind you. 

Each breath you took filled your lungs with the crisp autumn air, invigorating you from the inside out. A faint echo of leaves crunching filled your ears, your mind wandering to thoughts of the life that must be found within these woods. Every rustle, every chirp, every whisper— magnified, as if the forest itself was alive and speaking to you in its own language.

"What do you feel?" 

"I feel... alive," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "I feel connected to everything around me, as if I'm a part of this forest, this world."

It was a feeling unlike any other you’d ever felt— a sense of belonging that washed over you like a warm embrace. You nearly cried at the feeling, at the realization of how desperate you had been for it, how difficult it had been to watch your sister’s grow into their new lives while you felt so strange, so at odds with it.

"Anything else?" Eris prompted, his voice soft, coaxing.

You paused, taking a moment to listen to yourself, to the feelings that swirled within you, to the sensations throughout your body. “Curiosity," you admitted, your face slightly furrowing at the realization.

Eris placed his hands on your arms, the warmth of his touch seeping through the fabric of your dress. A smile tugged at your lips at the comforting sensation and the crease between your brows quickly faded. 

And then, leaning in closer, Eris whispered, "Open your eyes."

Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of his voice, a sense of excitement – giddiness, almost– coursing through your veins as you slowly opened your eyes.

As your gaze adjusted to the sight before you, your breath hitched in your throat.

There, standing before you, was the most stunning doe you had ever seen. Her coat shimmered in the sunlight that filtered through the trees and her eyes held a softness that seemed to reach into the depths of your soul. Somewhere deep inside of you, something sang. Beside her stood a small fawn, eyes wide and curious as she regarded you with innocence and wonder– curiosity. It was curiosity.

But it wasn't just the two of them. Behind them, hidden amongst the trees, were more deer.

You blinked in disbelief. Turning your head to glance over your shoulder, you found Eris already looking at you.. His eyes gleamed as he peered down at you, and a proud smile played at the corners of his lips.

Eris gently motioned you forward with a soft push on your bicep. You glanced back at him, uncertainty flickering in your gaze, in your wide eyes and parted lips. He nodded forward, silently urging you on once more, and a knot of nerves formed in your stomach.

"Eris..." you began, voice trailing off as you turned your attention back to the doe before you. Your heart pounded in your chest as you hesitated, nervous to make a move. Deer tended to be timid creatures, and the last thing you wanted was to startle them.

Memories from the past flooded your mind. You thought back to the times when you struggled to provide for your starving family, the guilt weighing heavily on your conscience— a stain that still existed, just as dark as the first days when it began to form. You remembered how Feyre understood when you couldn't hunt with her, despite how easily you were able to track deer, how she accepted your help in other ways.

And now, as you stared at the doe before you, you couldn't shake the feeling of unworthiness that gnawed at your insides. How did you deserve this moment of peace, this connection with nature, when you carried the weight of your past actions on your shoulders? A sense of peace like this was earned— deserved. You had done nothing but hide away. 

You glanced back at Eris.

Was this what he felt like? Had he, too, struggled with a sense of peace and belonging that seemed almost too good to be true? With a deep breath, you gathered your courage and took a hesitant step forward, still worried, almost overly cautious, that your movements might startle the animals before you. 

But to your surprise, instead of fleeing, the doe lowered her head in a gesture of acceptance, and the fawn cautiously approached you.

There was a bubbling of emotions in your chest, feelings that swirled within you– mixtures of awe and vulnerability. The small fawn approached you on bending legs, and you kneeled down slightly, watching as its small gaze was fixed on you. You let out a small laugh, your mouth breaking into a smile as the creature regarded you with such comfortability.

From behind, you watched as the mother doe moved forward, and out of caution, you stood up slowly. She inched forward more, her fawn at the side of her legs. An instinctive sensation prickled at you, and with trembling hands, you extended your palm outward, offering it in a gesture of peace— or so you hoped.

The mother doe approached, her nose brushing against your hand as she stared at you with those deep, soulful eyes. 

"She is not threatened," you whispered softly. 

You glanced back at Eris, who began to walk towards you. His movements caused the doe before you to stiffen under your touch, and you quickly found yourself murmuring to her, in a voice intended solely for you and the creature, "He's alright. It’s alright."

A sense of relaxation washed over you as the animal before you seemed to relax once more, her small fawn approaching Eris with excited movements.

"How do I know that?" you asked him. Eris watched as you looked back at the deer before you, as you placed your hand on her snout, feeling the warmth of her breath against your skin. “How do I know that she’s not threatened?”

There was a small pause. “Have you been told much about The Mother?”

You frowned, eyes still trained on the animal before you, hand still gently touching her fur. “Not really.” 

You stilled for a moment before letting out a small sigh. “I think you underestimate how hidden away I was, how little I interacted with my family once I became….this.” 

Eris’ heart sank at the way you regarded yourself, and he let out a deep breath.

"The Mother is said to know the heart of every living thing. Her connection with nature is something renowned. Think of it as a bond.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder. “Like ours?”

There was a tug in your chest at the mention of that bond, of that thread that tied you and Eris together— you and the male that currently regarded you with such awe. Even the way he spoke made your heart flutter, made you want to ask him of all the things he’d learned about. You’d quickly come to know that Eris was quite the intellect. It was showing especially now, as he spoke.

“Somewhat,” he responded, “A different type of bond. But yes, just as strong. Just as sacred.”

You smiled at the words. And then, you listened intently as Eris spoke of how stories his own mother told him growing up, stories of how The Mother had once walked among the forests, her very presence a blessing to all who crossed her path. She cared for the world with a tenderness and love that knew no bounds, nurturing the land and its inhabitants with a gentle hand.

"Those who care for the world that she so carefully tended are said to be blessed by her," Eris continued. His voice was soft and low with a sense of reverence that made your heart beat calmer, slower— one that filled you with a sense of sanctity and respect. "The Mother sees the goodness in their hearts and rewards them with her favor."

A sense of wonder, of awe and admiration washed over you, and you felt tears welling up in your eyes. You weren’t certain where the emotions were coming from, whether it was the peace in your heart, the tenderness of Eris’ voice or the beautiful animals before you— it was all overwhelming, so beautifully soul-igniting. There was a tug in your chest, a feeling of breathlessness mingled with an inexplicable longing, as if you were being drawn into something greater than yourself, something infinitely beautiful and sacred. 

You turned to look at Eris as he walked towards you, closing the distance that remained. At your feet, the small fawn brushed past the fabrics of your dress. 

"The Cauldron was angry when Nesta stole from it. It wanted to punish you for her actions.”

You nodded absentmindedly, nodded at the memory, at the excruciating pain you had felt. Your thoughts ran back to the anger you harbored towards your family, the fear and embarrassment– the envy that your sisters had been made so beautiful where you had been wronged. So deeply, unnaturally, strangely wronged. 

Your lip quivered. Eris’ eyes softened.

"You've led yourself to believe that you are cursed," he said softly, “Do you want to know what I believe?”

You blinked away tears. “What do you believe?”

“The Mother protected you. Saved you.”

Your hand fell gently from the doe’s snout, an overwhelming, crushing sense of relief flooding through your body like a wave, rippling through your arms, exploding in your chest. 

Eris’ hand reached out to grasp yours, and with his eyes still trained on you, he brought your hand to his lips— the same hand freckled with spots, with ones that mirrored the fawn that stood below you. He placed a gentle kiss to your knuckles before raising your hand slightly.

You watched in astonishment as a small butterfly appeared, alighting on your palm with delicate grace. A tear slipped from your eye as your lips parted. 

"You are far from cursed, Y/n," Eris said tenderly, "You are blessed."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

guys ngl i have an entire universe of ideas for this pairing...just the parallel of eris and a lesser fae reader and what happened to lucien and jesminda??? reader struggling at first and eris feeling the bond so strongly he needs to stay away but reader mistakes it as him being disgusted?? reader x lucien friendship??? reader being representation for lesser fae??? PLEASEEE

like ask @itsswritten i already love this pairing but idk if yall are as interested. lmk and ima make a taglist!!

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @nighttimemoonlover

[oceansarepink]

Stella a “well written” abuser - Are fans giving HelluvaBoss too much credit?

When starving for rep, people will eat anything. The phrase goes, “Beggars can’t be choosers” But is the bare minimum enough?

Talking about Stella with the fandom is awkward. She is deservedly hated as an abuser, but with a passionate hatred disproportionately large to the minuscule amount of story material to work with. We have a silly ‘not divorced yet’ party and a near slap scene, then a very aimless assassination attempt that while interesting, was called off promptly. The emotional impact of the affair is minimal in depth, her background is zilch, her relationship with her daughter is well…there isn’t one to speak of. She’s just evil, but in the same manner the sinner characters and frankly, the same manner our protagonists are. The marriage itself was borne from an outside force exerting inward, she was blameless and powerless in, thus reducing her threat drastically. An amazing representation she is objectively not.

Most fans hate the character because they have developed her moreso in their own imaginations than what we actually have in the show, basically headcanons. Seemingly those alone are why people claim she’s “scarily realistic”, not the writing itself. What’s realistic, relatable, or true to life about a woman in a palace, who throws butlers around and hires assassins while sipping tea?

You ask the fans, “how is she well written?” And they say as if it’s self explanatory “well, she’s well written because she is a woman who is abusive to a man.” The fact female abusers are underrepresented in media is undeniable, but unfortunately this means stellas mere existence alone as a woman, is enough to warrant praise. Standing ovations happen at cons where Bryce Pinkham cites his lines divorcing the character. Despite this conflict being completely shallow. You have to wonder where this cathartic elation comes from. Because it truly isn’t enough to be warranted given the baseline scenes Stella is present within.

Many fans are content if not insistent that she remain one note and pure evil. If she is sympathised with, they fear it will hurt DV victims. This is not necessarily the case. Think of the famous Rapunzels’ Gothel. She uses tenderness and care mixed in with cruelty to keep Rapunzel under control. She projects her own fears of the outside world and obsession with superficial beauty, onto Rapunzel. She has some layers and deceptively “good” traits, but is undeniably an abuser. Nobody defends Gothel.

Furthermore, this worry that DV victims will be hurt if Stella has sympathetic points, gives this webtoon incredible amounts of unwarranted social power. And medrano I think, loves and relishes in that power. She doesn’t have to lift a finger and actually write a character, backstory, arc, relationships, likes/dislikes, a plan of villainy, a dynamic, or a story, the fact Stolas exists, is gay, and is a victim to a woman, is enough. Enough for a grand standing ovation. The standards are too low, fans seem to fill in the cracks with a story they think should be there, and in their minds, already is.

Let me explain with an example

In this scene of Stella and Via, the mother takes her daughter’s phone away. The sole dialogue from Stella to via is “sorry sweetie, no talking to that deadbeat” that’s all. But twitter users started saying - Via cries like stolas does, Stella hates that. Abusers sometimes bully their children for having traits of their victims. So via has to hide her tears so her mom doesn’t abuse her. They imply they have experience with it, which makes Stellas writing is so realistic.

…..That’s intriguing and all. People are allowed to relate and have comfort characters….But none of that is in the show. Stella just took her daughter’s phone. That’s all she did and all she said to her. There was no mention of tears. No mention of acting like her father. Via has no fear of her mom, only irritation. Sadly when someone points that out, they get accused of doubting someone’s real life abuse experience.

What I am ultimately getting at is, you’re giving vivziepop credit for a story and character you created, not her.

[shadesoflsk]

RETROSPECTION & OUTCOME

pairing: leon kennedy x afab reader.

summary: The journey of healing is not an easy one. Obstacles and doubts filled the path Leon decided to take. However, the agent had planted the seed of self improvement and with your help, a strong and resilent tree will grow.

warnings: strangers to friends to lovers, mentions of reader being a nurse, age gap (reader is 25+) angst, hurt/comfort, descriptions of gore, blood and violence, no alcohol consumption but Leon attempts to, Leon's inner thoughts, self doubts, lack of self confidence (from Leon's part) mild mentions of religion trauma, smut, handjob, Leon cries during it, kind of switch Leon, needy Leon (give him a hug please) p in v, creampie, fluffy at the end (yipeee)

word count: 14k

author's note: helloooo :] This is my first try at writing a long fic, I had so much fun writing it. It all started as a character study for Leon and then it ended up as... this lmao. For the first chapters, I had vendetta Leon in mind and at the last one we finally have DI Leon! Please... if you see any mistakes no you don't. Anyway love you guys hope you like this as much as I do.

— masterlist

I. ETERNAL DAMNATION.

His cold blue eyes are a pool of misery and misfortune. The dreadful gaze of an individual who once was and continues to be subject to the violent reality of what a government can do.

He remains stoic to whatever adversity he has to face, one look at him and you would believe this man has no feelings whatsoever. He kills, he gets paid, repeat. A never-ending loop in which many would believe Leon finds pleasure. Especially since he carries himself as the Government Golden Boy aka best weapon. To use and to dispose of, Leon S. Kennedy.

Shoulder pats and praise words stir up a pot filled with anger and hatred — emotions that Leon doesn't often feel with others, just with himself.— He tries not to dwell on them, but it gets so difficult and challenging whenever he hears that his own achievements are cause for celebration. Do these assholes know how many people, infected people, he had to kill in order to bring peace? No, they don’t. Unbeknownst to them, those people could have been saved.

At least in Leon’s mind. 

The suited men surround him. Privilege and smugness are qualities that Leon would often use to describe what those who hire his service are. Those congratulations and fake praises ring in Leon’s mind as he keeps thinking about the people he had to betray and kill for the ‘sake’ of his country, for his nation, and for the ego of his president. 

But he takes the compliments, like a good boy. The president believes he hit the jackpot with a rightful agent who is proud of his country. God Bless America and in God we trust, he says as his hand reaches for Leon’s. The blue-eyed agent hesitates each time, out of fear of tainting his oh-so-dear boss’ white shirt. Because nobody cared enough to spare him new clothes and a wet towel to clean himself. A trophy to show the world what a powerful human weapon they had. Rough, tall, and with calloused hands, hands of a killer. 

Leon S. Kennedy is proof of what the cruelty of a government can do. He is no longer a human, but the shell of a man. His name is printed in many documents which shows the gruesome acts he had to endure, in the name of the country. “Agent Leon S. Kennedy had successfully retrieved a sample of the virus.” “Condor One saved Baby Eagle.” He has received a plethora of names yet none of them really encapsulated who he was.

They have shown that they do not care about their citizens, like at all. Raccoon City was a prime example of that. He sounds like a broken record, the memory replaying in his memory every mission he gets assigned. But, for him, it was his first-hand experience with how cruel and gruesome reality could be.

Tough call, they say. We did what we could, they added. Leon knows all of those phrases by heart now. His gentle nature remains in him, even though it was covered by layers of a rough past and self-taught distrust. But even now, at his grown age, he fully believes they could have done so much more.

His mind is all over the place whenever he comes back from a mission. The usual white and never-changing walls surround everyone at the gathering that the president holds each time Leon ‘succeeds’ in a mission. His fingers seek any type of comfort, they twitch, they pinch his own clothes but nothing works. 

People notice, they do. It’s obvious that the spotlight is on him yet he never embraces it. Simple nods and awkward smiles are his way to go and signature gestures. Deep inside, he knows those white-collared dicks spare him weird and pitiful glances every chance they get.

His chest burns with a desire for solidarity and altruism. He feels a lot and feels everything too deep for his own liking. His core dances between his hatred for heroism and the need to be a hero. He doesn’t believe he’s one. Throughout his life he has contemplated who he is and the type of man he has grown to be. His mind is a living hell and he’s the demon incarnated.

He wonders when it all started. Maybe he was doomed for the start, as he stood in front of his parents’ grave asking God why. 

Deuteronomy 31:8; “The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.” The catholic father who used to hold the mass every Sunday said one morning. Now, did God forget about him? He should have prayed harder, to escape his own damnation.

Strained screams and the reek of rotten flesh fill his dreams. Madness and chaos are the main plots in his nightmares in which he pleads to stop having. His own reality was a mirror of every agony he has to face every day in his line of work. Why is God punishing him even in his dreams?

Those cries of pain and the smell of both burnt flesh and gunpowder are a toxic combination to Leon’s messed up mind. To him, they served as an everlasting proof of his devilish nature. He realizes that the image of innumerable lifeless bodies’ guts all over the floor with his brains smashed over the ground is a common occurrence for him. He becomes desensitized albeit his soul hurting for those who lay at his feet.

Now, he knows that what he's doing is in the name of survival. Millions of people live unaware of the dangerous situations he has to fight on a daily basis, they get to sleep on a warm bed next to their loved ones. If he wants to keep that on, he ought to kill.

But he wouldn’t do it otherwise, he wasn’t built for that life.

But despite that, the usual eerie feeling washes over him whenever he has to pull the trigger. He has grown accustomed to them, on the battlefield he was a fiery pawn, following orders as they told him to.

But as soon as his character ends his performance, his facade and mask falls off his face. He’s no longer a puppet from his higher-ups, he was just him. Leon.

II. RECOGNITION.

He places Matilda — his brush to paint every ground with blood — on his nightstand. To be fair, that’s a habit he can’t just let go. After every mission, his mind is all over the place for the next few days. Every sound activates a fear deep within him that keeps him awake at night and worried during the day.

He washes his hands, a thorough ritual he follows step by step. His hands touch the water, lukewarm to bring him some kind of comfort. He rinses away every blood spot he may have engraved on his bruised skin. The warm and clear liquid reaches his fingernails, which he meticulously scrubs, washing away any leftover of someone’s brain. 

He takes pride in being clean. However, it had developed into an obsession at this point. Being dirty meant killing, and killing meant despair. So, he tries to avoid his gaze on the mirror each time he arrives home. Sadly, he usually doesn’t recognize the man that is staring back at him.

Eventually, he turns off the faucet and walks towards the couch. He’s tired, both mentally and physically. He doesn’t get any younger and living as an agent surely doesn’t help his case. But at last, his home. Safe.

He turns on the TV, he’s welcomed by the News Channel which he quickly changes. Nowadays, it appears that nothing good happens in this messed up world, and he doesn’t want to bring sorrow to his home too. He searches through the vast choices of channels until something catches his eye. Casablanca.

A feeble smile forms on his face, a simple thing like that brings Leon a small percentage of happiness, which it’s a lot given his constant state of dullness. 

He sometimes quotes phrases from the movies he watches. He genuinely expects someone to notice, his tired blue eyes would roam over the numerous faces of agents, hoping someone catches the meaning behind his words. He’s tired, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to chat with someone.

Nobody seemed to notice, maybe they were busy.

Curiously, he had changed the channel just at the right moment when Rick Blaine said his line. Leon’s favorite.

“I never make plans that far ahead.” Both the character and Leon say simultaneously. It brings Leon a sense of joy. Pathetically enough, his hobbies remind him that he is, in fact, still human. 

He sighs, looking around his apartment. It was dull, it showed his lack of decoration and personal touch. He believes there was no point in placing ornaments or things of that sort since he doesn’t even spend most of his time there. In recollection, he has no home. At least not physically.

He’s a man of the world, people look at him and see someone who is strong and independent rather than a simple man. But his heart’s heavy, with a burden and anguish that no painkiller could ease.

He’s tempted to grab a bottle from his cabinet. Drown in the burning liquid and pass out. He doesn’t like alcohol. But he has always been weak to addictions. So, even when he was a rookie cop and his girlfriend broke up with him, he ran to the nearest bar and took all the booze he could. Maybe he should’ve noticed the red flags, and maybe gone to therapy or something like that. But… oh, right, the next day the world literally ended for him.

But, he refrains from doing so. Deep down, he knew that letting his addiction win would be a deadly solution to his problems. Acknowledging is the first step to recovery, experts say. However, he knew that he couldn’t do it alone.

Before even letting more negative thoughts come into his mind. He gets up from the couch and walks toward the bathroom, again. He stays in front of the door for a few seconds, as if scared of going back there. Eventually, he does enter.

His hand reaches for the switch and the lights are turned on. The luminescent white light revealed his face in front of the mirror. He takes one, two, and three deep breaths before fully opening his eyes. 

He bites his lips, seeking a sort of relief from that action yet he bites too hard that almost draws blood. He’s trying his best, this mundane act is no longer something that he does daily. So, grant him some recognition. 

His eyes travel and land on the mirror and after a while, he fully sees himself. His eyes are wide open, not because he was surprised to discover the man that was in front of him. But to compare him to the one he used to be. 

Just a few years ago, his blond hair was still bright, showing signs of his thorough routine. But now, it has turned into a black mop that could no longer be compared to his past self. His stubble has grown too, he was a late bloomer, he didn’t grow a beard until he reached the age of 27 when he could finally see some signs of pores growing hair. But to see his face so… rugged and rough was definitely a slap back to reality.

He takes two steps back, his hand reaching for the hem of his shirt. Swiftly, he takes it off, revealing his chest and abdomen. He was no stranger to his own physique since he obviously showers. 

However, the sight that the mirror provided was very different from seeing his point of view. His eyes were observing someone else’s perspective, if he ever had the chance to date someone they would see… that.

A chest which was filled with scars and bruises. They were like tattoos, imprinted on his skin. Those will never fade and if he grants someone the misfortune of dating him, will they be repulsed by the idea of witnessing his tainted self?

He wasn’t a hero, he was far away from calling himself that. But he is starting to think that maybe, just maybe, those marks can remind him of his arduous path. Not in a condescending way, but in a fulfilling memory.

III. FURTHERANCE.

He feels… weird. It’s been a while since he last got a haircut, and having someone holding scissors next to his neck wasn’t something he was looking for. But, there he is.

It took everything in him to call the hairdresser. He has long forgotten how to even speak to someone in a normal setting. “Agent Kennedy here, haircut, out.” He couldn’t say that! 

At last, he booked an appointment. It wasn’t the most expensive place, not because Leon didn’t have the money but rather, because he wasn’t looking to be surrounded by luxuries and opulence. A cheap but nice place would do.

Once he arrived, he noticed that he didn’t match well with the place. He knew he carried an aura of mystery and unapproachability but Jesus, it was now obvious with the way some old ladies kept looking at him as if asking: Who the hell is this man?

All of his previous actions led him to where he’s sitting now. 

The granny behind him keeps showering in compliments which he couldn’t quite understand. A few years ago, he may have blushed and waved a hand dismissively, but now? He doesn’t see how he could be called a handsome man.

For him, looking good and taking care of himself had stopped being a requirement a few months ago. But it wasn’t something that happened out of the blue. He gradually started noticing the changes and once he realized, his whole appearance had changed. 

His eyes are piercing and never changing, an unmistakable aura of exhaustion and helpness surrounds him. Yet, once the old lady's eyes land on him, he can’t help but smile back. It was always in his nature — he lives for others.

It’s always been like this. Naturally, his gullibility and his unfounded faith have shaped and molded him differently throughout the course of years. Having to survive an apocalypse, taking care of an infant, and getting betrayed by a certain someone would sequentially take a toll on him. Nonetheless, his primal wish for altruism and hope will always remain in him. They were his roots which led to creating a strong and fortified trunk. 

He’s still hoping this tree will thrive.

The lady asks him how long has it been since he last cut his hair, and he doesn’t know how to respond. Normally, he would cut it himself, since time was priceless and he couldn’t nor wanted to go to a specific place to get his hair trimmed. So he learned by himself, which wasn’t the safest option.

By the way the old woman’s hands brush on his hair, shaking and trembling due to the years, he knows that she knows. It’s obvious by the way some strands are awkwardly cut and overall most of them were misshapen. A poor attempt at maintaining his heartthrob boy hairstyle.

He remains silent — for most of the time. —  He doesn’t answer any questions that were directed at him. Not because he didn’t want to, it’s just that his line of job never prepared him for small talk. In fact, chit-chat just meant that someone was trying to gather information out of him, which prompted him to just refrain from speaking

The government has fucked him up.

He acknowledges it. But it’s not easy to make a change when that something is the only thing he has known for at least 15 years of his life. The curse of despair had so unlucky landed on him and he knew no witchcraft which could prevent him from that.

His mind register most things people would overlook. Given his duty at the job, he ought to be an observer. Yeah, he is also a fighter but he relies heavily on his analyzing skills before attacking. Knowing your enemy before striking is what has saved him every damn time.

His permanently furrowed eyebrows and cold eyes are the first thing he notices in the mirror as the woman keeps cutting some of his hair. A hand unconsciously reaches for the little space between his brows. 

Maybe if he stops frowning.

Maybe if he stops scowling.

Could he give a better impression of himself?

It’s lacking authenticity, he feels like he’s acting rather than being genuine. But for now, he tries forcing a gentle smile which doesn’t meet his eyes yet it’s better than almost pouting every time he breathes. 

All of a sudden, the bell of the door rings announcing that someone else has arrived. Some of the old ladies who are waiting for their turn start getting up from their chairs to greet the person who had just come in.

An everyday customer, that must be. Leon thought.

He was oblivious of how much you are going to change his life.

He can’t see you, not yet. But as the observer he is, he can deduce that this said individual is genuinely loved and appreciated. A drastic contrast between the way he’s received when he returns from a mission. Fake laughs, fake thankful words. 

A complete fraud.

You walk as if you own the place, but your stride doesn’t come off as haughty or arrogant. You exude an aura of familiarity, hospitality, and therefore a gentleness that it’s foreign to Leon. 

You walk towards his seat, where the granny is cutting his hair. As soon as the gray-haired woman sees you, he observes how her eyes light up with delight and joyfulness he hadn’t seen before. 

“Adelaide…” You stop before you even reach Leon. He admires the scene developing through the mirror. He sees you for the first time, you’re definitely a nurse or at least you work in the healthcare area given your uniform. You have your hands on your hips and a playful glare was formed on your face. If he could guess, you just caught this lady doing something she wasn’t supposed to do.

“I think I told you you should be resting.” You squint your eyes as you keep looking at Adelaide, Leon takes note of her name. You are accusing her, yet your friendly demeanor doesn’t falter. 

It’s refreshing to see innocent social interactions. It's a welcome-back reality check. At least, at this moment, he could embrace the tranquility. Although it will end as soon as the hairdresser informs him that his hair is done.

“You know I can’t stand still…” Her voice comes out as a booming melody. Even though the years were obvious by the wrinkles on her face, she sounded so animated and beaming. “This job is everything I have ever known.”

Now he can agree on something. However, he is fully aware the situation is deadly different. Between cutting hair and slitting someone else’s throat, there is a vast difference. But, in his mind, he could already make up a conversation based on that information.

“I know, but…” You take a step further and place a hand on the granny’s shoulder. Leon couldn’t help but feel like an outsider now that the three of them were reflected in the mirror. “You could just take a few days off… Your shoulder will thank you for it.”

As you advise the granny your eyes dart from her eyes in the mirror to Leon’s. 

For the first time.

You acknowledge his presence with a nod and a simple smile. Time seems to stop as he scans your face. You look younger, you are definitely younger than him. Not young enough for him to feel weird about it, but there was a certain glint in your eyes that told him you haven’t experienced misery and desolation in your life. Unlike him who has yet to experience happiness.

He doesn’t want to indulge so much, but his thoughts are having a blast right now. Maybe it was his lack of social interactions and meaningful relationships but he wants to know more about you. 

“It’s quite unusual to see a man here. I would have thought someone like you would go to a barber.” He comes back to reality as he notices you are talking to him. Your eyes remain fixed on his as your smile continues to be displayed on your face. 

Someone like… him? Yeah, that statement isn’t new to him. Especially since his demeanor is still so rugged. But hey! He’s making a change even though you don’t know.

“Barbers don’t know how to cut my hair.” He realizes his voice came out rigid and plain. He didn’t intend to, but he is used to his military speech and tone. “They… just don’t get it right…” His last sentence is definitely more hushed but not any less monotone. 

“Fair enough. At least Adelaide here knows exactly how to keep your hair safe from a buzz cut.” Leon lets out an amused breath as you joke about his hair. It feels like a gentle breeze, indulging in light-hearted teasing with a stranger. And not any stranger, but you.

He has felt attraction, he’s a man after all. His line of job wasn’t the most ideal to find a partner but he can’t deny how some agents were pretty to look at. However, he couldn’t form a romantic relationship there. Between death and violence, the battleground wasn’t the place to have a partner, form a family, and live happily ever after.

“Yeah…” He sheepishly responds, he doesn’t know what else to add. You had taken the reins of the conversation as soon as you teased him. Now, he hopes something comes into his mind to keep the conversation flowing.

“I haven’t seen any other gentleman wearing this hairstyle,” Adelaide says as she resumes her work. She moves the scissors gracefully. She is — with no doubt — an expert in this area. Though the simpleness of her salon tells him otherwise. “If I may say, I think it really suits you.”

“You should have seen me in the 90s.” Those words leave his lips before he even registers them in his mind. It was an innocuous joke, nonetheless, it carried a hint of self-deprecation. He doesn’t look like his old self, he knows that. Especially after seeing himself in the mirror that night. But nobody there has to know, for them, it was a simple light-hearted joke.

The whole salon erupts in laughter, he doesn’t think his words are that funny. But hey, he will take the compliment. 

However, his eyes catch a glimpse of you not laughing. At work, most people wouldn’t laugh at his own words because they weren’t needed. He knew that. But then again, none of you were in a life-or-death situation. Leon doesn’t want to overthink, but… did he come out as a pretentious dude? Or an arrogant dickhead? 

Or maybe you have caught the real meaning behind those words.

You let out a breathy laugh, not too long to be considered a giggle but not short enough to be a chuckle. You don’t add anything else, your eyes just linger on his face for a few more seconds before turning on your heel.

For a moment, he’s taken aback. He feels like he’s going crazy but for a split second, he sees himself in you. Not because you shared the same past or path and there was no way you had the same traumas. But the way you had observed him, made him feel analyzed, as if you were studying the way he talked and expressed himself.

Maybe he’s indeed going crazy.

Leon watches you taking a seat on an empty chair, next to another customer who gives you a polite smile. From there, he hears you telling Adelaide that your shift at the hospital has just ended and you just wanted to check up on her. 

For a while, he relaxes until Adelaide tells him that they are done. She persuades him to bleach his hair after he accidentally told her that he had blond hair in the past. But he escapes her attempts by telling her that he wants to pay.

He walks towards the register and pulls out a 20-dollar bill. It was quite cheap, especially when he had cut so much hair. At least he looks more presentable now.

You appear out of nowhere as he was paying. Your frame leans over the counter and for a second, you let the awkward silence linger in the air. 

Eventually, you speak.

“You don't belong here.” You say without an ounce of malice. You're expressing a fact. Leon has never been around the salon and doesn't look the part.

He frowns slightly, he was keeping up his laid-back appearance just fine until you blurted out your thoughts.

“It's my first time here.” He states before turning around and facing you. 

“That I know.” You nod.

“Then… was your comment really necessary?” Leon's words could come off as rude even though it wasn't his intention. But, it seems they don't even phase you.

“Not really.” You shrugged. Your voice was nonchalant. “But as you could already guess, I'm a nurse. And I have seen people like you come and go out of the hospital.”

He is trying to understand what your point is. Under any other circumstances, he would have told the other person off for even daring to speak about him and his lifestyle. He wasn't violent, not at all. But sometimes his limit was put to the test.

“What I'm trying to say is that…” He sees your attempt at explaining yourself. “I think It's safe to assume you're an agent or something of that sort, right?”

Leon doesn't react nor wants to. People knowing he was an agent wasn't a problem since it wasn't a secret. 

After a few seconds, he lets out a sigh he didn't know he was holding and nods. Being honest could be the start of a friendship, at least that's what Leon thinks.

“Was it my frame and physique that gave it away?” If he was an artist he could easily say he was getting better at the art of improving. Just a few weeks ago, he would have never left a comment like that lingering in the air. 

“Nope.” You cross your arms at the level of your chest. 

And there you go breaking his fantasies. He thought his phrase was so flirty.

“There's a scar on your cheek, it looks pretty deep.” You gesture to Leon where the scar is on your own cheek. He instinctively brings his finger to where it is in his. 

That's one of the few scars he remembers exactly how he got it. 2004, Spain. He experienced what betrayal was beforehand. Who he used to hold in high regard was the one who didn't hesitate to hold a knife and leave a nasty reminder of his deception. 

“I got it in a fight.” He sticks with a simple phrase, not diving deeper. Nonetheless, he realized you’re a perspicacious individual, lying won’t get him anywhere.

“Fight… right.” 

Both of you smile knowingly, the smirk giving away a sense of teasing between the two of you, for the first time. Even though you know nothing about how far and wild his job actually was, you had an idea that this said fight wasn’t just a normal and common one.

“So…” Leon sees how you shift your weight from one foot to another. There hasn’t been a shy bone in yourself ever since you entered the salon but now words don’t come out of your mouth as easily as before. “If you ever need a nurse, you can call me.”

As you rummage in your bag, you speak once again. “I may not be the most experienced but believe me when I said I had experience with some military and agents.”

You hand Leon a business card, your full name was there as well as your phone number and the hospital you work in. Your name falls swiftly out of Leon’s lips as he reads the content on the cardstock.

“And senior citizens.” He flashes you a dazzling smile, he doesn’t seem to realize that it’s been a while since he last smiled so freely and so.. natural. It feels like the sun hitting on his skin after a cold day. A warmth he had long forgotten he could feel.

He knew it was soon. Too soon to even imagine being your friend. But as he puts the card in his pocket, he wishes that this could be the beginning of something more.

IV. RELAPSE & RESTART.

He almost falls once he opens up at the door that leads him to his apartment. Another gruesome mission to add to his mental diary and more scars that will adorn his already hurting body. 

The same never-ending story, the same story being told once again. He doesn’t know when it will end. 

If it even ends.

The last months have been all about his ‘recovery’. He was a patient man, he was sure of that. However, he doesn’t understand how doing mundane things would help him. He was taking baby steps and walking on eggshells, trying not to fall back into his old addictions.

Which were slowly creeping into his mind.

A call from Hunnigan was the last thing he expected a few days ago. He was surprised not to get any task earlier but that didn’t mean he wanted to go back to fight off bioweapons and kill walking undead who were once rational people, with dreams and wishes just like him. 

But as much as he wanted to hang up and leave that world behind — knowing that the government wouldn’t give two shits about him and would walk through the same door he previously did and blow his brain — he accepted the mission.

In his own story, he’s a tragic character who can’t break the cursed loop he’s trapped in. The soft sounds of the rain no longer brought comfort to his aching heart, since those constant pitty-patter reminded him of the blood dripping from the people who were killed, by no one else but him.

He often thought he was going crazy, especially now as he walked towards the kitchen and stumbled on his own feet. Seeking something to grab on while he fights off the exhaustion. This last mission had taken a toll on him, both mentally and physically.

His fingers reach for the edge of the counter as he finally stays on his feet without the fear of falling onto the floor. His tired eyes close for a moment as he takes in his surroundings, his lonely apartment and his lonely life and his lonely self and his —.

He shakes his head, he wasn’t exactly in solitude. After that hurried meeting with you, he gained a new friend. He got to know you personally, something that he had missed for the longest time. To actually know someone deeper and not only their last names and occupations.

In exchange, he gave himself the chance to be more vulnerable. He couldn’t deny the attraction that he felt. But he was too afraid to fuck up the chance to have something meaningful with you. He told you about his years at the police academy, and he briefly shared his experience in Raccoon City, trying to be as vague as possible. In other words, he bared his soul to you.

But that didn’t mean everything was filled with butterflies and rainbows.

One night when you were treating one of his injuries (which he never treated in the past) he accidentally told you about his addictions and dark thoughts. Those which showed a persistent state of numbness and trauma. It was never his intention to worry you about those minor things, which he truly believed were not important.

But, as he recalls that night, he realizes that sadly, he can’t just end it all with a bullet through his brain. He has always thought about it, it’s not like the thought hasn’t crossed his messed up mind on those lonely nights when he wished someone would grant him a blink of sleep without having to dream about death and despair. 

His eyes open as he once again walks through the kitchen, the moonlight provides a faint source of light that casts on his dark space of living. He remembers that you once told him he should get some lights, and he indeed bought them but he can’t just seem to find enough time to put them on.

His mind wanders through the moments he has spent with you. You always said the most soothing of things, when you wanted to. You advised him, told him how worthy he can be and how special he must be to others even though they don’t know it yet.

Another step.

He didn’t quite catch the meaning of those words. For him, he only brings despair wherever he goes. A demon of destruction and annihilation. If hell had a list of its next guests he believes his name would be on the top of that list. God wouldn’t want him in his paradise.

One more step.

Nonetheless, you weren’t a teddy bear who only chanted words of praise and fairy-tale stories. You called out his bullshit, especially when he dared to joke about going back to his old habits.

Stop.

“Would you like a glass of whiskey?” He would sarcastically ask you whenever you visited him at his apartment, knowing the kind of reaction he would get out of you. You had none of that, though. As soon as he uttered those words, the grip your hand had on his arm would get tighter to the point that Leon would beg you to stop it. 

He knew you genuinely cared for him and he convinces himself that you’re wasting your time with someone like him. Someone already broken from the start. You were younger, with a life ahead of yourself, and a career to follow. And like the devil incarnate that he is, he is stopping you from that.

The story repeats itself, everything he touches turns into dust. He’s no longer a human but the shell of a man who once had dreams of becoming a cop. To become someone who would help innocent people. But instead, he’s killing those same poor souls in the name of the fucking government.

His fingers graze over the cabinet.

He despises his life, he hates everyone who forced him to follow this path. The resentment flows in his system as his hand grips the cabinet door even tighter; if he wasn’t so tired from his mission, he would have broken the tacky wooden furniture.

Why does it have to be this way?

Why does he have to continue witnessing the horrors of his life every day? 

Why do the ghosts of people haunt him every day as he tries to close his eyes and relax? 

Why has he become so desensitized to the bloodshed and yet as soon as he comes back to reality, it knocks the air out of his lungs?

And why is he already unscrewing the lid of his whiskey?

Time slows down for a moment as he gambles his choices. It's been months since he last took a sip from his so beloved whiskey. But at the same time, just one tiny drop would crumble all of his progress.

But why is progress so important if the product is going to be the same? Even if he gets better, his life won't. The only difference is that he may smile more during missions and act like everything is fucking alright even if it isn't.

But he isn't so lucky to fall deeper into his hell that easily. As soon as the cap falls onto the floor, the front door knob twists, announcing that someone is entering.

And who else has a key to his apartment?

The last person he wants to see right now.

The door creaks, antagonizing the imminent moment when you would see him at the scene of the crime with him being the culprit of his own homicide.

“Leon?” He hears you say as you step in, the darkness of the room allowing him a couple of seconds to hide the murder weapon – the bottle – and act clueless. But it seems that not even his nervous system is on his side. He just stands still.

“Sorry for being late. I had one hell of a shift back at–...” He sees your frame as you approach the kitchen. Your face falls momentarily, taking in the sight you were watching. Disheveled hair, bruises all around his face, and dark eyebags that gave the impression he hadn't slept for weeks.

Your eyes fall on the bottle in his hand. There was no cap which leads you to believe that he was drinking. Leon wanted to scream and tell you that you got it all wrong, but no words left his lips.

“Are you drinking?” Anger-filled, you take long strides before reaching for the bottle. Your eyes scan the content, seeing that it is half empty. Your accusatory gaze falls on Leon's.

“It's not what it looks like.” Worst phrase ever. He knows that he's telling you the truth, yet he couldn’t come up with anything worse than that. 

He looks like a kicked puppy, his eyes wide open as you keep staring at him with those eyes filled with… disappointment which it's worse than being screamed at. He wasn’t built for that. He was used to resentment looks, to punches and kicks. But disappointment came every time he had to tell families that their father wouldn’t make it that night because he died on a mission. It came each time he had to inform a mother that their beloved son succumbed to a virus. 

The once rookie cop still lives within him. The one who hates disappointing people, the one who wants to save everyone. But especially the one who can’t do it alone.

“Then help me understand.” You place the bottle on the kitchen counter. Your stare doesn’t falter yet a hint of concern washes over your face. “Because all I see is you drinking after literally promising me that you’d never do it again.”

As a matter of fact,  you didn’t actually see him drinking. He wanted to say that, but he knew it would bring even more anger to your already burning expression. However, as soon as that thought left his mind, another one came.

The sole fact that he didn’t drink, doesn’t spare him from any culpability. If it wasn’t for your intrusion, he’d be lying on the couch, wasted and intoxicated waiting to pass out. 

You take a deep breath, trying to keep your emotions in check. Leon isn’t dumb, he’s exhausted but he’s aware of how much you’re holding back. You would never scream at him, that’s obvious. But you didn’t want to bring even more self-hatred to him.

He had his own mental battles, ones you will never understand no matter how much he describes them to you. His anxiety was always bothering him, like an annoying bug buzzing in his ear. You knew how overwhelming everything was.

And you knew how recovery wasn’t an easy step to take, but it definitely takes so much maturity and perseverance, something that Leon surrounds himself in – even though he doesn’t see it. He’s a fighter, he’s a hero, he’s a lover. He keeps fighting and fighting even when he doesn’t see an end. But he mastered the art of moving forward.

So, he’s allowed to fall from time to time.

“Did you drink?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Were you planning on doing it?”

He’s silent for a moment, he’s afraid that his answer will mean more disappointment from you. That you will get to see how pathetic he really was. 

“Yes.” He eventually confesses.

You absentmindedly nod, letting out a long sigh.

“Another mission?”

“...yes.”

You didn’t ask for the details, knowing – to an extent – about Leon’s job, you knew it must have been so impactful in order to almost throw him back to his old friend, alcohol. And you knew Leon was like a sponge, he absorbs everything he experiences and never tells anyone. You thank God that he accidentally told you about his addiction, now you can at least protect him.

“It was…” Leon continues speaking, his fingers scratching a spot on the kitchen counter. His eyes don’t meet yours, as if he’s trying his best to make the words come out of himself. “It was really bad this time.”

He lets out a dry chuckle that sounds more like an attempt to water down the situation. One thing about him is that he doesn’t cry. He wouldn’t let someone see that side of him. He’s rigid, he’s stoic, he’s unemotional. He’s a DSO agent, born to serve his country and die for it. 

But right now he wants to be a child again. 

He wants to be that same infant who would fall on purpose just to get kisses from his mother. He wants to be that same innocent child who could come back running to his mom’s arms when the world was too scary. 

He wants to stop the world for a second and cry at the top of his lungs, he wants to punch a wall until his knuckles bleed, he wants to be held, he wants to be told everything will be okay even if it will never be okay.

His thoughts drift to when he was younger – to when he could imagine himself being a better person. If he could speak with himself, what would he say? The image of a tiny him crosses his mind, a young Leon playing all by himself with tiny police cars.

Within him, there’s a rookie cop begging for help amidst the gruesome scenario he had to face back in 1998. Beneath all the layers of self-hatred and resentment, hidden in that dead gaze.

He shakes his head, in a poor effort of swallowing the lump that was forming in his throat. An imminent sign that his emotions will fall like a waterfall, reminding him of his own weaknesses. His curtain of hair falls onto his eyes, blurring his vision. 

Or was it his tears? He no longer knows.

He deserves an award for how hard he’s trying to stop the inevitable. His fingers shake, his breath gets heavier and his heart aches. But he couldn’t bear it for much longer, especially knowing that at least, he had someone to go to when his mind was too much for him.

So, he allows himself to feel human again.

“It was horrible…” He finally breaks down. He silently lets the tears fall from his eyes as he sobs. The thought of every mission is on his mind as the constant spams of his sobs control his body. 

He feels like the air has been knocked out of his lungs, the uncontrollable way that he chokes on his sobs makes his throat constricted. 

He lowers his head, he doesn’t want you to see how weak he has become. A tough agent simply doesn’t cry. An agent bites, chews, swallows, and shuts up. 

Silence sets in the kitchen, occasionally broken by Leon’s tears and choked breaths. His fingers itched to grab something, to hold onto something. To feel that he wasn’t alone, that he was indeed not all by himself in this messed up world.

You slowly reach for him. Baby steps, for someone who was touched starved, even if he was unaware of that fact. For someone that’d jump whenever he feels touched, because his mind can’t let go of the fear of being bitten, of being killed. 

You quietly made your way to Leon’s hand, your fingers ever so grazing it. Feather touches brushes against the back of his hand, making sure to notice if he shows any signs of discomfort. There were none.

However, you surely notice that his sobs have stopped for the time being. He’s still sniffing though. As if on cue, his glassy eyes lock on yours, before you fully intertwine your fingers with his.

You didn’t hug him immediately, you didn’t throw your arms around his neck at the very right moment when he started crying, and you especially didn’t give him a shoulder pat as if saying “Don’t cry.” He appreciates the fact that you took it slow, you gave him a warning and proceeded further when he allowed you to.

Loving takes time, and loving Leon would surely take longer than anything you have experienced.  You have treated many patients, you know that the injuries in a body heal fairly quickly. Now, the wounds in a soul that was doomed from the start are not something that easy to mend. 

After a while of your fingers being intertwined and sweat covering the palm of your hands, you feel the faintest squeeze, coming from Leon’s side. You look at him and see a tiny smile formed on his lips with some dry tears adorning his face.

You say nothing, scared to break the atmosphere of tranquility that had formed after Leon stopped crying. It took some seconds for Leon to muster up the courage to go further, intimacy and platonic touches were already something he was unfamiliar with. Now, he had to add romantic feelings to that list.

If he had met you when he was younger, he’d have surely asked you out. Take you on a nice little date and steal a kiss or two. But now, he was trapped in the course of the years, older and supposedly wiser. However, you were the one who was being strong – for him. Not the other way around.

But, as much as he wants to pity himself and wonder about those what-ifs, he has a friend now. He would take care of that heart of his in the future. For now, he wants to embrace the one friendship he hasn’t tainted yet.

The one person who still hasn’t seen the horrors that this world has to offer.

He untangles his fingers from yours and looking at your eyes one last time, he brings your hand to his cheek. The palm of your hand bringing some warmth to his skin.

With his eyes closed now, you see an expression you haven’t seen before. A peaceful one, as if he was sleeping without his usual nightmares. It was comforting, in a sense, knowing that you have brought a moment of serenity to his tumultuous life.

You were surprised at first, not expecting Leon to show that display of affection. However, part of you understands that he was seeking comfort. It’s been a while since he last felt safe with someone, someone who he could cry with, someone who wouldn’t judge him.

Your thumb grazes over his stubbled cheek, wiping away any proof that he has been crying. 

“Thank you…” His voice is barely a whisper, you almost didn’t hear him singing his gratitude.

You want to say “You’re welcome” or “It’s okay” but none of those phrases convey what you really wish to show. Saying the first one would dismiss all of your previous actions as a simple attempt to comfort him. And the latter was a lie, it’s not okay, even if you wanted to believe it yourself.

“I got you.” You stick with that one. It wasn’t a lie but a promise you plan on fulfilling. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You promise?” He asks, opening his eyes. His tone is a hopeful one.

“I do.” You reassure him.

With your free hand – the one that wasn’t on Leon’s cheek –  you reach for the bottle of whiskey that was long forgotten after their little situation.

“But before that, we need to get rid of this.” You show it to Leon before he chuckles. “We’re now only drinking apple juice.”

He didn’t miss the use of we instead of you. Maybe he’s reading between the lines, but he hopes that you’re by his side now that he wants to leave his addiction for sure. He wants you to see how much he can achieve if he sets his mind on it.

“Apple juice it is.”

V. ABSOLUTION.

The nakedness of his body didn't override the vulnerability he showed once he let you in his life, mind, and soul. But as you help him wash his back, he can’t help but reminisce about that first night when he first saw himself in the mirror.

He remembers being insecure about showing his scars to someone, scared that the other person would be disgusted by the sight of it. 

However, you weren’t repulsed, far from that. In your mind, Leon’s skin served as a canvas and each bruise and scar were strokes of a paintbrush. In this case, they showed Leon’s hard life and non-achievable freedom. They showed how much Leon had endured and how many fights he had won.

Therefore, they were proof that Leon was a lover of life. He loved everyone else’s lives that he would sacrifice his in order to protect the world.

Leon sometimes drops hints about his job. He didn’t directly tell you about the government and its fucked up methods, but you collected the clues and formed your own puzzle.

He was forced to join.

It was strange, in a way. To know that a gentle soul like him had to face the hostility of a country, of a government that could easily threaten someone into joining the force. However, you weren’t clueless about its power.

Eventually, after those hints, other hints came along the way. 

Leon was sweet, funny, and a gentleman. Your dynamic as a nurse and patient was long forgotten even though you still tend to some of his wounds. And your friendship shifted into something more, especially after the whiskey situation months ago. 

However, even though his qualities overshadow his flaws, there’s something he can’t hide.

He’s too awkward for his own good.

Ever since the alcohol incident, Leon would always try to be smooth and compliment you over the simplest things. “Have you done something different to your hair? No, you didn’t? Oh… Well, it looks good” He would often facepalm himself because he couldn’t flirt even if his life depended on it.

Eventually, after those not-so-discrete hints, he took matters into his own hands. He often faked minor injuries. “You don’t understand, my eye literally hurts” and he would have access to admire every tiny detail your face had to offer. From your moles to the way your eyebrows furrowed trying to concentrate.

And that led to feathery touches. In the name of friendship, of course.

After one dinner – that Leon so gratefully prepared – you would often find yourself sitting on the couch, shoulders pressed to one another as you played with his rough hands. You would ask him where he got that scar, how he got this one right here, wow it looks really deep. 

And he let you because he did the same. Because those angel-like touches soon turned into endlessly staring sessions where silence was more inviting than any word could be. You gazed into each other’s eyes for only God knows how long. Expecting that the other one would break the intimate moment but none of them had the heart to do so.

It would be an understatement to say that Leon felt so safe with you. Over the months, Leon had gotten to know what a home felt like. His apartment remained the same, physically and aesthetically speaking. But the way it immediately lightens up when you arrive – yeah, Leon could finally call it home.

That’s why, it was so easy for Leon to let those words slip out of his mouth one night when you were leaving.

“You feel like home.” 

And for a moment, you let those words sink into you. You thought you were merely an acquaintance, a simple friend at most. But no – there he was, Leon Kennedy, US government agent, telling you that you’re his home.

Meanwhile, the silence at that moment made Leon go insane. He thought he fucked it up, you would surely run away now. Who the fuck says that someone is their home? Shit shit shit—

“You’re my home too.” 

And that was everything he needed to hear to stop all of his dark thoughts from appearing once again. The darkness that embraced both of them set the perfect scenario to indulge in this crucial moment. A late confession, but a real one.  

As he gazes into your eyes, he can’t help but wonder if this tiny fragment of happiness would go away like everything else had in his life. You’re too precious, too important to die, to vanish from his life and never come back.

And your hand reached for his cheek, your thumb caressing the same scar you noticed when you first met him, he couldn’t help but ask God to grant him one more chance in life. He promises — in a fragment of seconds — to be a better human, to be a better citizen but please, don’t take away this last string of hope he’s holding to.

And he felt that God had finally responded to his prayers when he saw how you leaned closer, letting your lips find his in a gentle but so meaningful and awaited kiss. He hesitantly parted his lips, scared that this may be a dream. But of course, he doesn’t dream so that had to be the reality. The sorrow, the anxiety, the longing, and the expectations — all of those were long forgotten as he mentally thanked destiny for this.

“Earth to Leon” You giggle behind him as you rub a sponge all over his back. You were careful not to be so rough on his already aching back. “A penny for your thoughts?”

Of course, he found himself daydreaming. 

From that night, his relationship with you skyrocketed. And his home became your home too.

He doesn’t know when it happened, but he found himself getting even more comfortable with you. He didn’t even need to ask himself — letting you see him naked as both of you wash each other’s bodies? Yeah, it was definitely love. 

And he loves being in love.

“I just spaced out for a bit.” He responds with a yawn, the silence that surrounded both of you was inviting to just sleep throughout the night. Funnily enough, you only just sleep. Leon was grateful the first nights since he was getting used to the fact that someone else was sleeping on his bed.

But now he was growing a bit impatient.

Especially with your lingering touches.

As you let the water wash away all the soap, your lips soon find his back, pressing soft kisses on each scar that adorned his skin. “It’s okay…” a kiss on a tiny scar. “Are you going to take your sleeping pills tonight?” Another kiss on a scar that was near his shoulder.

Right… he was put on medication. He often takes sleeping pills when his eyes won’t shut down even if drowsiness is engulfing him. But lately, sleep has become easier, and his nightmares have decreased.

He’d like to think that after you started sleeping next to him, his mind started to feel at peace. But that was something unreal, nobody could fix someone. 

But he had to be honest, you surely helped him a lot.

“Not tonight.”

He feels you nodding as your chin lays on his shoulder blade. It’s in moments like these where he thinks that life doesn’t sound so bad. As he zones out and lets you do all the job, he realizes that maybe it’s okay to keep on living.

He’s a big teddy bear, to say the least. The DSO agent who once swore duty to his country was pushed aside when he was with you. Why would he need to keep up his facade when home meant security, therefore you are what makes him safe. So, as you help him out of the shower, drying him off with a towel he lets you take the reins, his body on autopilot mode.

His strong arms wrap around your frame, perfectly molding and fitting like puzzle pieces. It feels like the flow of water, gently swaying your bodies until they reach their destination, their little nest away from everything outside. 

He takes pride in serving, providing, and protecting. It was deeply imprinted in him, right in his bone marrow. The blood that runs through his veins pushes him to never stop, to continue working for others. 

However, as you help him sit down on the bed his mind shuts down for a moment. He allows himself to take this moment of peace and drown himself in it. Be a little selfish, if he can. The tranquility of a domestic setting was still so foreign to him yet he doesn’t understand how he could’ve lived without feeling this for so long.

The towel around his midsection hugs him just right to prevent the material from falling. His hair is still a little wet, and so is yours. You use the extra towel to help him dry off. 

He very much enjoys the lazy touches you share at nights like these. It was a nice reminder that the darkness of the imminent dusk will not bring more nightmares, but peaceful dreams. The ghost of his past was getting tired of haunting him, it seems.

You’re still pretty careful with him, as if you were handling fine ceramic which in a sense, he was. He was shattered porcelain, glued back together with utter care. You both were artists, who completed with great skill this piece of art called life.

And now, your lips are acting like a brush, as they touch Leon’s skin. Kisses are planted along his jaw and he lets out a sigh from the feeling of being treated with so much devotion. If he could serve as a blank canvas, he was ready to rewrite his story with you.

Or maybe not rewrite, his past made him a person as much as it hurts. His grief, his pain, and his previous solitude built up the man that he is now. So, he will add another page to his life story. He will paint another landscape where the sun rises and casts its lights on the world. 

He looks at you and sees nothing but raw love and a hint of desire hidden behind those orbs. He notices, then, that just like him you are indeed eager to please him in the other sense of the word. It was embarrassing to realize that he shouldn’t have kept quiet about his needs when you had already proved to him that it was okay to speak, to think, to feel.

It’s been a while since he last let himself be this physically vulnerable. Sure he wasn’t an inexpert in the area but it has never been this intimate. Hearts never bonded and names weren’t remembered. Never has someone truly cared about his welfare before. To put it a name, he’d have called it a trade. He let off some steam and the other part got what they wanted. No strings attached and surely no feelings hurt.

However, it would be a lie if he told himself he didn’t crave to actually make love to someone. To feel someone’s body brushed against his in a sweet and gentle motion. To let himself and his soul be kissed with so much love that it would make him cringe. 

You stop your waterfall of kisses for a while, letting the silence linger for a few seconds as you grab his hand. Slowly, you interlace your fingers with him, a well-known display of affection from you. Your signature, you may even say.

“Hey…” His eyes search yours, and he sees how you’re looking for approval, for his consent. He once heard eyes are the mirror of someone’s soul and the world suddenly feels so small as he remembers that he met those same eyes months ago, unaware of the effect you’d have on him.

“Hey.” You repeated, for the second time this night, his mind decided to wander again. “Is it okay if…” you trail off, not because of embarrassment or sudden shyness, not at all. But he can deduce that you wanted him to finish your sentence. 

I’ve been dying to touch you. I’ve been craving you touching me, he wanted to say. However, his sense of decency stops him from uttering that rather needy phrase. In a way, he can infer that you already know about his lustful desires. It was a matter of time before both of you indulged in those carnally and normal needs. 

Nonetheless, he is oblivious that you won’t let this night be like any other. No, you wouldn’t try anything too crazy — not yet — But after months of knowing him deeper and rawer, you know he’s tired. Exhausted from his life, exhausted from his job, and overall drained. He deserves to be treated right and you’ve been excelling in that task. 

But, you’ll show him that he can be as greedy as he wants to be.

“You can trust me.” You say in a hushed tone as if you were whispering a secret to him. Your hand slowly descends until it reaches where the towel meets his waist. 

“I do trust you.” He responds with a determined tone amidst the suggestive move of your hand. “I feel like I won the lottery with you.”

“Is that so?” You laugh, resuming your kisses around his stubbled cheek. Although this time, they carry some neediness in them.

“Positive.” He lets out a shaky breath as your finger ever so grazes over where the towel is tucked in. “Because you saw good in me when I had nothing to offer, you—”

“Stop.” Your voice remains soft even though your command doesn’t falter. ”None of those self-loathing words right now.”

He’s speechless for a moment before he slowly nods and lets your hand go lower. Leon feels his blood going south just from a few words.

But then again, loving you was really easy. So it was no surprise that he found himself already leaking at the anticipation of your imminent touch. 

“Let me make you feel better.” You whisper, allowing your hand to undo the towel that was previously wrapped around him. In a swift movement, it falls on the floor exposing his already hard length. 

You glance at Leon one last time and observe his reaction. There was no sight of changes of mind or hesitation, so you free his and your desire.

You connect your lips against his neck, and with gentle sucks, you prepare him for what’s about to come. Your wish —besides touching him— is bringing comfort in such an intimate act like this. He has trusted you with his soul and body before, that’s correct. But right now, you can feel the level of loyalty and therefore love he’s showing you. 

Your hand reaches for his dick, you thumb the slit of his tip collecting the precum that has already formed there, using it as a lubricant. 

Your fingers circle around his cock and, slowly, you start stroking him. You don’t want him to cum just yet, the feeling of being treated like this was something you want him to drown in. So, you keep up the steady pace. 

You disconnect your lips from his neck and focus your eyes on your ministration on his cock. The lewd sounds combined with the faint whimpers coming out from his lips were almost like background music that you are starting to love. 

He takes the opportunity of you pulling away from his neck to hide his face in the crook of yours. His breath tickles your skin as he continues letting out the most pretty sounds you’ve ever heard.

“Fuck…” He hisses as his word gets lost between the shlick sounds of your hand jerking him off. His nose brushes against the side of your neck as his cries fill your ears. You can hear him whispering your name from time to time, as well as some other curses of his own.

However, his tiny cries of pleasure soon turned into real sobs. 

No, he wasn’t sad but Christ, it was the first time actually took their time to focus on his pleasure and his well being. He always thought that love was never meant for him, that the simple act of falling in love would be impossible and unachievable. The thought of having his life attached to someone else used to send shivers down his spine.

Now, his world is no longer black and white, your mere existence brought color to his life.

Your hand stops for a minute, worried that you may have done something wrong. That leads Leon to pull away from your neck as some tears roll down his face. 

“Sorry… I — just continue please…” The desperation in his voice didn’t go unnoticed as he went back to nuzzle against your neck. And even if he was dazed out at this very moment, you will remember to talk about this again at another time.

“It’s okay, let it all go.” You reassure him as you resume your previous motions. It doesn’t take long before your hand sends him over the edge and close to his own climax. 

You pump him, your thumb grazing over the head of his dick from time to time. He absentmindedly thrust his hips up into your hand, seeking his near release. For him, you were granting him a visit to Heaven itself. Just the mere touch of your hand had him seeing angels and cherubims. How would it feel to be deep inside of you?

His lips are red from biting them, attempting to muffle his moans. His brain is a mess, with thoughts of you and only in there and his cock is throbbing as it chases his own high. Overall, Leon was putty in your hands. 

And by the way, his hips are starting to miss their rhythm, you know that it was a matter of seconds before Leon came undone in your hand.

“You’ve been so good for me…” You coo, still jerking him off with a slightly faster pace now. “You deserve to cum, don’t you?” You were always good with words but Jesus, he didn’t expect you would literally talk him through it.

As you whisper those praise words, he can’t stop his hips from rutting and bucking into your hand. “Yeah…— fuck — I’ve been so good. Please, let me cum.”

The image of a tough agent begging for release will surely imprint in your mind for a while. 

“Of course.” Your lips tug into a smile as you pick up the pace. It was a sight to behold, seeing Leon coming undone in your hands with his eyes rolling to the back of his head, and a dazed out expression that brought butterflies to your tummy.

Eventually, your hands slow down as Leon writhes under your touch. He lets out a loud muffled whimper as white thick ropes of cum spill onto his stomach and of course, your hand. 

He stays still for a while, letting his body rest for a second. He plants lazy kisses on your neck as a way of saying “Thank you” since words couldn’t really translate what he was feeling right.

“Shit—” After a while, Leon curses as his half-lidded eyes meet yours. His expression is one of exhaustion but his lazy smile tells you he was brimming with happiness. He reaches for his towel that was previously thrown off and cleans your hand.

“Are you ok?” You ask as Leon wipes your hand, you can’t help but let out a giggle at the considerate action.

“Yeah but…” He trails off as he cleans his abdomen too. You can already predict what was going on in that head of his. “What about you?”

“I’m okay Leon.” You sigh as you bring your now clean hand to his cheek. “Your pleasure is mine. Besides, you’re exhausted.”

But as much as your statement was true, you can’t deny the desire that was dripping between your thighs. Between the intimacy of your act and having Leon so vulnerable in your hands, your system knows what it wants.

“I am.” He doesn’t deny the fact that your ministrations sucked the life out of him. But he can keep going. For the first time in his life, he is grateful for his stamina as an agent. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t do it.”

Before you could even protest, Leon was already kissing your neck. The scent of your body wash filling his nostrils as his lips get hungrier and needier for the taste of your skin. And as you attempt to once again speak, he muffles your words with his mouth on yours.

You feel your reasoning go weak as well as your limbs. It took a few kisses for you to comply and let yourself be laid on the bed, strong but gentle hands holding you close even when you fell on the soft mattress.

He’s above you for a second as he admires the view. Your towel, unlike his, was still wrapped around your body. You wriggle your way to where the pillows of the bed are and you wait for him there.

He wastes no time to join you, carefully lying next to you rather than above you. You catch a glimpse of what he’s trying to do. One of his calloused hands reaches your waist and softly motions you to roll over your side. 

You roll over and you’re met with your reflection on the mirror that was next to your bed. Funnily enough, it was perfectly placed so it showed both of your bodies. Somewhere deep in your mind, you wonder if Leon set up the mirror there for this right purpose. 

But then again, Leon was spontaneous, behind all of his layers of grumpiness and sadness that once used to surround him, you knew his sappy, corny, and cheesy side that was hidden. And now, you get to notice his quirks every single day.

He grips your hips as he lays sideways too, slightly spooning you. “You no longer need this…” He murmurs as he takes off your towel, the sight of your bare body in the mirror has his mouth watering. Acting like a damn dog wasn’t on the list of things he’s proud of.

As he discards the fabric that covered your body, you feel his once again hard cock. But this time, it was painfully close to your core that you could already feel every vein brushing against your walls.

“May I?” He knows your answer, he’s just asking for the sake of it. To hear your voice dripping with lust and neediness. To hear you hum that yes in your sweet tone as always.

“Please…” Your whisper was enough to make his cock twitch. What is with you and your voice that melts Leon whenever he hears you? You’re both his salvation and weakness. He can’t function without you.

He has always wanted to leave a mark in this world. That he had indeed existed for something else than death and destruction. That he was more than Leon Kennedy, the US’ best weapon. He wanted to show the world that he, Leon — just Leon — was more than his messed-up destiny. 

He loves, he desires, he laughs and he yearns for connection. And right now, his body’s aching to feel you around him.

He snuggles closer and wraps a tight arm around your waist, hugging your abdomen just right. Instinctively, you arch your back, letting your rear brush against Leon’s dick making hiss from the friction.

For a moment, he stops hugging you. You almost whined for the loss of closeness when you feel Leon guiding his dick which easily slides through your wet folds. The tip of it bumps against your clit sending electricity all over your body.

He’s savoring this moment. Sadly, he doesn’t think he’ll last much longer once he starts. But, at least, he knows that this won’t be the last time since he finally allowed himself to be selfish, to wish happiness for himself.

Happiness has a name and is both yours and Leon’s.

At last, he pushed into you, just the tip for now. Admiring your face in the mirror, he whispers sweet nothings against your ear. Rambles about how perfect you look and feel right, how lucky he is, and so on.

“Look at you…” Leon points at the mirror and you open your eyes which are glassy from all the pent-up desire you’ve been holding back. At any other moment given, you’d have been quite self-conscious about the exposure of your naked body. But Leon — as you once did with him — is eager to show you that you’re indeed a sight for sore eyes.

“Look how perfect you look being mine.” Even though his words could sound possessive to anyone else, you know his voice brings out affection and tenderness. There are a few things Leon could call them his. And most of them are mundane items that don’t exactly bring comfort to him. 

But to call you his was something that he has always looked for. To show you off, buy you everything you’ve always desired, and tell the world that he had finally found his home. His one and only.

As he finishes his statement with a kiss on your cheek, he eases himself into you. He pushes all of his length as he hushes you once you hiss from the stretch.

“Shhh there you go…” He once again wraps his arm around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he inhales the scent he has grown to love. The same that has been lulling him to sleep ever since you decided to move in with him. 

He stays still for a few seconds, the feeling of filling you up could make him cum right on the spot but he stops himself. He distracts from your pulsating walls by kissing your neck and sucking on the skin which will clearly turn a soft purple color the next morning.

The pain soon turned into comfort and therefore it resulted in pleasure. As he hears you saying a soft “You can move” he slowly pulls out before thrusting into you with the same pace and force. He feels your walls clamping down his cock as he continues his motions. 

He slides in and out with lazy thrusts, his and your eyes are closed as heavy breaths and drowsy moans leave your lips. You were correct, he was exhausted from his previous high. But the way you drowsily made love was making this whole thing even more perfect.

“Taking me so well.” He murmurs against your skin, his breath tickling your neck as he grips your waist even tighter than before, as if he is scared that once he opens his eyes you won’t be there. “Sucking me in, like you know I belong here.”

His hand goes to your chest, where he plays with one of your nipples. His fingers pinching the sensitive spot as his hips continue lazily bucking into yours already feeling like his mind was all over the place.

You feel a heat forming on your belly as Leon continues whispering words you can’t quite register now. Too drunk in desire and too cock drunk to even care. “Fuck I love you so much…”

“I love you too.” You can’t really say anything else, everything would be sentences with no coherent meaning or sense. So you stick with your favorite phrase, you could sing every day that you love Leon, and he would do the same. Because the word love was once so far away from him.

It was poetic to see that Leon could feel his second climax of the night near as he heard you say that you love him. The back and forth of his hips slightly increase their speed but it remains true to the lazy nature of the act right now, though.

“I’m close.” Leon stutters as he says those words. “Can I come inside you? Please tell me I can.” There is some desperation in his voice, an aching and burning desire to paint your insides. 

“Fuck, yes. Yes, you can.” You manage to say before Leon lets out countless thanks you. Your body starts writhing under his grasp as your fingers start digging into Leon’s arms, leaving an imprint of your nails on his skin.

“Cum on me. Go ahead, do it for me.” He coos, coaxing more sweet whimpers out of you. “Let me fill you up.” 

You let out a muffled whimper as you came undone. He could feel your cunt gripping him as you reach your desired orgasm. Eventually, Leon’s hips which were previously rocking into your and slapping against his skin are now slowing down.

The wet noises sound so filthy yet Leon is having a blast right now. He could imagine himself getting to experience this every night with you by his side. Who could have thought that selfishness could be so rewarding?

With a low grunt, he cums inside of you as he promised. Letting his load fill your insides. He couldn’t hide the satisfied smile that formed on his lips. What a view.

He remains inside of you for a bit longer than needed. You can’t judge him, especially with the way he nuzzles into your neck letting out a yawn. Poor him was worn out. After his first climax, he had already felt that he touched the sky, and now he was in heaven.

After pulling out, he rested his cheek on your shoulder. Part of him wanted to feel you again yet he couldn’t even move an inch. However, it fulfilled him to know that you were going to be right next to him tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and for as long as you allow it.

“Thank you.” He whispers.

“We have to change those thank you into I love you.”

Leon was the sweetest guy. However, those thanks still came from a place of skepticism. 

“Sorry…”

He sheepishly said before drifting off to sleep. And, as usual, no nightmare is waiting for him to haunt his dreams.

VI. SERENITY

Attempting to get out of bed on a lazy Saturday morning should be a crime. However, your drowsy state didn’t stop you from reaching the now empty space next to you. The bed still provided you with the scent of the person you loved the most yet he wasn’t there. 

With a groan, you decide to get up from the bed. Your feet meet the cold tiles before you curse from the sudden pain you feel as you step on the remote. You have told Leon countless times that he shouldn’t sleep when he’s watching TV, yet the only response you get is “I’m just resting my eyes.” Therefore, that causes Leon to fall asleep with the remote on his chest which obviously falls throughout the night. 

After a while of inhaling and exhaling deeply from the pain, you make your way out of the room. The scenario that greets you is the same as other days just that Leon was missing in the picture. 

Your steps are slow as sleep is still running in your system, a yawn escapes you while you walk towards the kitchen counter. A note is waiting for you and you deduce it’s from Leon.

“I just went to run some errands, I’ll come back as soon as possible. Love you so so much.” 

His name was written at the bottom of the page next to a happy face that he had drawn. Silly, you thought.

You see that Leon had already prepared you a sandwich before he left. It was cold to the touch, so that means Leon has been gone for a while. He may come any time now. 

Life with him was… surely an adventure. He still goes on missions, leaving you to your own devices for days or even weeks. But they no longer haunt his mind like before. He still needs to be treated with utter care after one, though. Bruises and scars are not the only effects his journeys have on him. 

When he returns from a mission, the once dull and boring apartment welcomes him yet this time, it is full of colors and memories you have made with him. However, it’s not enough for him to completely drop his facade of a tough agent ready to end someone’s life. As you treat his wound, every tiny sound has him jumping on his seat. 

You can’t blame him, it takes a while before he can return to his usual self and be embraced by your warm body that will waste no time to hug him tight. Reminding that he was finally home.

Eventually, after settling down and returning to reality, his personality will shine again. If someone asked you to describe Leon in one word it would be impossible. The man that you chose to spend life with was everything all at once. He was definitely clingy, to begin with. Excuses were his everyday words as he tried to explain why it was completely alright for him to follow you everywhere you went.

At this point, it felt like you had adopted a puppy instead of having a boyfriend. “What’ chu doing?” He would often say as he peeked around the edge of the door frame and watched you from afar If he had a tail it’d be wagging so fast. The tough agent no longer existed in your presence, instead, a man who melted as soon as you hugged him took his place.

Loving, in his language, meant going overboard just for you. If he had to get on his knees and beg for a tiny kiss he’d do it. He’s grown needy to those sweet gestures only you could provide. But he didn’t need to win them. Loving, in your language, meant offering your heart on a platter for him.

God does he love you. You have the man whispering funny names in your ears as you wake up. You unlocked a part of him that he had long forgotten he had, he used to joke when he was nervous — freaking out because he thought he might die on a mission. But now, he invented a plethora of new pet names just to bother you and see you rolling your eyes laughing.

He’s gone through so much, he’s seen so much. Tranquility was the last thing he thought he would be surrounded with. Ever since he was forced to join the military, he made up his mind on the fact that his life would never be the same, Racoon City was his starting point and only his death would stop him from suffering.

Now, as you finally hear the door unlocking you admire how his figure appears. You squint your eyes as you try to pinpoint what’s different in him.

“Hey, you.” Leon walks towards you, closing the gap between you two as he hugs you.

“Hey, you too.” You return the hug, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Missed me?”

“Not much.” You punch his side, not strong enough to make him jump but rather tell him that you were joking. “Now… On what adventures did you go without me?” 

“I just paid a visit to Adelaide.”

Adelaide, you haven’t forgotten about the old lady that you treated. However, you didn’t expect Leon to remain loyal to his service. And now that he mentions it, you realize what he has done to himself.

His hair has turned lighter. Blonder.

“Did you bleach your hair?” You can’t help but laugh at the thought, he had poor Adelaide working so early on a Saturday morning. But then again, you remember that both of them are workaholics, even though their jobs couldn’t be any more different.

“No, you’re going blind.”

God, he was so dumb.

Eternity used to sound like a cruel fate before. Stuck in a loop that he couldn’t escape from. But now, he will always look for you even in the tiniest details. He’d look for you in the darkness as two flicks of light trying to reach each other. In the universe, as two particles of stardust waiting to create something even bigger — a world for themselves, and a world to live on. 

Because, after all, you reached for him when he had nothing more to offer than his rotten self. You loved him when he couldn’t even love himself.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Monsters Reimagined: Yeenoghu, Demon Lord of Insatiable Hunger

It's been some years since I did my overhaul on the lore of the gnolls and how they embody the weird de/humanization that goes on with various monsters over d&d's history. Ever since I've had more than a few folks write in asking about how I would handle the default Gnoll God Yeenoghu, who exists in a similar state of "Kill everything that ever existed" to Orcus and a good portion of the game's other late game threats, thematically flat and not really useful for building stories around.

For a while I've avoided doing this post because I thought it might skew a little too close to my personal philosophy, and risk going from simply being influenced by my views to an outright soapbox. I personally hold that despite being part of our nature hunger is the source of the majority of human cruelty, and if society and cooperation are the tools we developed to best fight against the threat of famine, it is fear of that famine that allows the powerful to control society and secure their positions of privilege.

I've also dealt with disordered eating in a prior period of my life, alternating between neglecting my body's needs and punishing myself for needing in the first place. I'm well acquainted with hunger and the hollowing effect it can have, though I'd never claim to know it so well as someone who went hungry by anything other than choice and self hatred.

Learning to love food again saved saved my life. The joy of eating, of feeling whole and nourished, yes, but there was also the joy of making: of experimenting, improving, providing, being connected to a great tradition of cultivation which has guided our entire species.

If I was going to talk about an evil god of hunger, I was going to have to touch on all of that, and now that it's out in the open I can continue with a more thematic and narrative discussion on the beast of butchery below the cut.

What's wrong: Going by the default lore, there's not much that really separates Yeenoghu from any other chaotic evil mega-boss. He wants to kill everything in vicious ways, and encourages his followers to do the same. He's there so that the evil clerics can have someone to pray to because the objectively good gods are on the party's side and wouldn't help a bunch of cannibalistic slavers.

This is boring, we've done this song and dance before, and the only reason that there are so many demon lords/evil gods/archdevils like this is because the bioessentialism baked into the older editions of the game's lore was also a theological essentialism, and that every group had to have their own gods which perfectly embodied their ethos and there was no crossover whatsoever, themes be damned.

Normally I'd do a whole section about "what can be salvaged" from an old concept, but we're scraping the bottom of the barrel right from the inset. Likewise my trick of combining multiple bits of underwritten d&d mythology to make a sturdier concept isn't going to work as most of d&d's other gods of hunger or famine are similar levels of paper thin.

How do we fix it: I want Yeenoghu to be the opposite of the path I found myself on, a hunger so great and so painful that it percludes happiness, cooperation, or even rational thought. Hunger not as a sumptuous hedonistic gluttony but a hollowing emptiness that compels violence and desperation. More than just psychopathic slaughter and gore, it is becalmed sailors drinking seawater to quench their thirst, the urban poor mixing sawdust and plaster into their food because their wages are not enough to afford grain.

This is where we get the idea of Yeenoghu as an enemy of society, not because violence is antithical to society ( I think we've learned by now how structured violence can really be) but because society fundamentally breaks down when it can't take care of the people who provide its foundations. Contrast the Beast of Butchery with one of my other favourite villainous famine spirits: Caracalla the grim trader, who embodies scarcity as a form of profit and control in to Yeenoghu's scarcity as suffering.

Into this we can also add the idea of the hungry dead, ghouls yes but also vampires, anything cursed with an eternal existence and appetites it no longer has the ability to sate. A large number of cultures across the world share the idea that the dead cannot rest while they are starving, which is why we leave offerings of food by their graves or pour out a glass to the ones we lost along the way.

On that topic, there's also a scrap of lore involving Doresain god of ghouls, who has been depicted as an on and off servant of Yeenoghu. Since I'm already remaking the mythology, I'd have Doresain act as a sort of saint or herald for the demon lord, the wicked but still partially reasonable entity who can villain monolog before the feral and all consuming demon god shows up.

Summing it all up: Yeenoghu isn't a demon you wittingly worship, it's a demon that claims you, marks you as its mouthpiece and through you seeks to consume more of the world. It gives you just enough strength to keep on living, keep on suffering, keep on filling that hole in your belly and feed it in turn.

The greatest of these mouthpieces is Doresain, an elf of ancient times who's unearthly hungers elevated him to demigod status. Known as the knawbone king, he dwells within a dread domain of the shadowfell, and is sought out only for his ability to intercede with the maw-fiend's rampages.

Signs: Unnaturally persistent hunger pangs, excessive drool and gurgling stomach noises, the growth of extra teeth in the mouth, stomachs splitting open into mouths.

Symbols: An animal with three jaws, a three tailed flail or spiked whip. A crown of knawed bones (Doresain)

Titles: Beast of butchery, the maw fiend, the knawing god

Artist

[ifyouencounterwolf]

Unpopular opinion:

The Fall of the Night Sentinels shaped the Slayer more than the loss of his family or Daisy. Don’t get me wrong, they were equally as tragic and traumatic. The death of his wife and small child, and that not even a harmless little pet bunny could survive the rampage definitely gave the Slayer a firsthand of Hell’s cruelty. They are the major drive of his constant hatred towards demons. But what truly made the Slayer who he is later on, is his years of stranding in Argent D’Nur, his life among the Sentinel ranks and their ultimate end that left him alone in Hell, again.

The Night Sentinels were more than a brotherhood to the Slayer. They were his second family, his attempt to start over, to rebuild a sense of purpose and connection after losing everything back on Earth. The Doom Slayer adopted their tradition and their worship of the Wraiths. He earned his place by going above and beyond. IMO He is more of a Night Sentinel than a space marine at some point. Even after the Divinity Machine treatment he would fight against the Maykr’s mind control, just so he could protect their cities and help in their evacuation.

So, when the Night Sentinels fall: some were betrayed, some corrupted, but all went extinct (The Sentinel army we are seeing with Valen are not even wearing the same armor as the OG, just shows how much their culture have lost in time). so did the Slayer’s last tie to any human bond. From that point forward, he not just accepted his role as a weapon, but embraced the “path of perpetual torment”, because he no longer believes he could be anything more than that.

A central part of the Slayer’s character is that he doesn’t trust leaders. Not his own commanding officer, not Dr. Hayden, not the UAC, absolutely not the Maykrs. He doesn’t serve anyone and if they got in his way, he wasted no time to tell them how much he detested those who sees others as beneath them or necessary sacrifices. The only time he shows any respect is when he kneels to the spirit of King Novik in DOOM Eternal, and damn that speaks volumes.

Even then, he rejected King Novik and Valen’s warning to not go against the Maykrs. He didn’t forgive Valen either, gave the latter no time to sulk in self-exile. And yet he still honors Valen’s request by setting his son’s soul free, and silently accepted Valen’s help in the last stand against Immora.

And here I think we really underappreciated this period in the Slayer’s life. In the recent face reveal we see the Slayer after he has spent some time among the Night Sentinels. We see he looked…almost peaceful. There is a certain serenity to it. He has tired eyes from constantly dealing with those demons but somehow remains innocent. That sense of at peace with himself, I believe, comes from the Night Sentinels’ way of life.

Argent D’Nur was a brutal world, and the people adopts a warrior culture because they literally have fought giants for their survival. They live on a planet where apocalyptic natural disaster is just a normal Tuesday. They have more than one moon, that one is RED and clearly visible at daytime. Their gods, the Wraiths, sing to drive people to madness and transform wild beast into bloodthirst monsters. And in the midst of all these, people of Argent D’Nur is deeply bonded with nature, animals and with each other.

The Order of Night Sentinels is the embodiment of that philosophy. They were like a fusion of monks and druids and their trainings would not only be combat but wilderness survival, meditation, fasting, gardening, animal companionship, likely from a very young age. Honoring the dead and directly connecting with metaphysical power would also be as common as a daily routine. The Night Sentinels do not just grow immune to the Wraithcall, instead they see it as transcendence and spiritual clarity.

Their works definitely paid off. Because we could see Night Sentinels do not turn into demons after they are KIA. They linger consciously at the site of their death even when their bodies were dragged away or decomposed, still capable of helping the Slayer one last time, dispersing after fulfilling their duties. Even the corrupted Sentinels AKA marauders were able to retain memories and some remnant of consciousness.

The Slayer has to go through all of the same trials to earn those Sentinels’ trust and respect. And I believe he did. Even the Wraiths that do not grant their powers to the Maykrs accepted the Slayer, and powered his Crucible to fight the Dreadnought in Taras Nabad. I believe these trainings and disciplines helped him tremendously in making sense with his past trauma.

Most importantly, this alien species and possible ancestors of humankind did NOT see the Slayer as just a weapon. They built statues and made relieves of the Slayer fighting by their side. They absolutely adored (and straight up adopted) this angry mute.

I think of what defines the Slayer is that despite all his rage, a large part of himself still longs for affection, nurture and compassion. In many parts of Eternal and 2016 we see the Slayer has so much humanity that he kept only to himself. The last time he got any of those was with the Night Sentinels. To be more precise, before the Divinity Machine turned him into some demigod where he was then separated from them, and was trapped in a pen under constant monitoring from the Maykrs. Despite all that, the Sentinels are obviously still looking out for him, dropping him supplies and rescuing him. We could see in TDA how the Night Sentinels have grown frustrated of how much tortures he suffered under the Maykrs and that might have even planted the first seed of their distrust of the Maykrs.

This is why the fall of the Night Sentinels cuts so much deeper. Of course, I am very biased. But we knew very little about the Slayer’s Earth family. They barely fleshed out but now we are getting stories between the Slayer and his Sentinel bros. These people are more than capable in battle and for the most part, trying to do the right thing as they rejected the Argent Energy once they found out about its source. And they were lost to Hell too.

[rdr2gifs]

''the morning light, when it comes to me, it was there but I could not see''

Arthur’s life was profoundly shaped by his self-hatred, lack of self-worth and disbelief in the existence of kindness in a seemingly dark and cruel world.

I strongly disagree with the statement that Arthur only became a ‘’better’’ man after being diagnosed with tb. His struggle with his true/inner self is apparent as early as chapter one. ‘’You are not who you think you are, sir… which is lucky’’

He has lived a rough life, raised by criminals and surrounded by violence ever since he was born. It was installed in him early that his value lied within being a violent enforcer and he has lived this life since, knowing nothing else. As a highly aware person, Arthur's actions weight heavy on his soul. He accepts that his actions have consequences. He knows that a person who has caused so much suffering is not meant to have happiness in life. His way of life has caused him to believe that he is not worthy of love or redemption. He doesn’t want to believe that a person like him could be capable of any good. (a thing to note here is that imo, Arthur’s actions near his death weren’t attempts at redemption but rather a strong desire to do right and possibly be his true self.) This is why he keeps living as he does as it’s the only thing he’s ever known, it’s the thing that brings him profit, praise from the person he looks up to and he is already damned so he might as well continue living this life anyway.

The internal problem Arthur faces is that this violent, cruel way of life doesn’t align with what I’d call his true self/ideals. He is torn between the harsh reality he has known and an unconscious yearning for righteousness/love. To be able to carry on with his actions he must enforce certain ideals within himself, such as: I am bad, ugly, nasty, ignorant, mean etc. He also decides to see the dark side of reality, telling himself that the world is a grim dark place and this is just as things were meant to be. This is why he feels so uncomfortable being complimented for his good deeds, because a bad rotten person like him should not be able to do good. It breaks the image he has built for himself and he doesn’t want that happening. This can be seen a lot during the ‘’Money Lending and Other Sins’’ missions where he is unusually mean (even for his standards) to each of the debtors. Imo, he acts this way because he must truly convince himself of being a terrible man to be able to carry out a job which revolts him so badly. In the last debt collecting mission with J. John Weathers, it can be seen in his face/expressions how much he is struggling to put on a tough, uncaring, heartless act. He needs to maintain a ruthless persona to survive in the world he knows. He must convince himself of his own cruelty.

''Forgive me, but that's the problem. You don't know you.''

Contrary to Arthur’s beliefs, he is a naturally kind-hearted person who is unconsciously drawn towards kindness. And yes, even before he was diagnosed with tb. This can be seen in the people he respects the most and, in his willingness to help strangers (notice how he often does unnecessary acts of service for total strangers such as: carrying their things, holding out hands etc. even though they had already troubled him). Despite the life he has lived, Arthur does not enjoy violence, he does not enjoy hurting people. He doesn’t want to dominate over others. He thinks mostly about others and not about himself. This fact alone is very telling of his character.

He writes about Charles, a man who he truly respects: ‘’He’s a better man than me. He does not need to think to be good. It comes naturally to him, like right is deep within as opposed to this conflict between GOOD↔EVIL that rages within me.’’ A man who is not struggling with his inner self would not have written this. To me this clearly implies an inner desire to be a better man. He writes about his mentors: ‘’I love Dutch like a father, but in many ways, I love Hosea even more. He’s kind and fair and like a human being. Dutch is something else.’’ Clearly showing a preference for Hosea who is of a more gentle nature and shows genuine kindness. Unsurprisingly, these are the people who see through his dumb/though act and encourage him to drop it.

When he comes across Brother Dorkins for the first time, he writes: ‘’(he)was one of those innocent people who make you feel better about human beings and about yourself a little. Must be odd to see all that goodness in the world. Place always seemed dark and brutal to me.’’ Expressing how he does not see goodness in the world, implying lack of good examples/kindness/good experiences in his life. Yet, the monk leaves an impression and imo, this encounter (seeing genuine goodness) disrupts Arthur’s perception of what the world truly is. ‘’Just as evil begat evil your whole life long, so good may begat good’’ (what strengthens my belief in this, is the following, symbolic scene of Arthur realising the consequences of his actions right after picking up a crucifix. He was aware of them before sure, but is unable to truly ignore them now having seen it right in front of his eyes). If only Arthur was presented with more examples of goodness in his life.

''You have it in you... I can tell!''

His desire to do as much good as possible after realising he won’t live long is instant. This would not be the mindset of someone who did not already possess kindness in his heart. ‘’Know glory and forget about shame.’’ Arthur’s shame and self-loathing caused by his previous actions were what was holding him back from allowing kindness into his life. Knowing that he has limited time left has not made him into someone he wasn’t before. The diagnosis was a catalyst, allowing him to embrace that love/goodness truly does exist and accelerate the process of chipping away from the persona he has made for himself. This was a newfound understanding for him as in the past he was rejecting any notion of kindess. In himself and perhaps the whole existence of it. ‘’You keep hidden all that matters, even from yourself.’’

After being diagnosed, he writes: ‘’What kind of a man have I been? What kind of a man am I? What world is this we live in? A land of fury or a place of love? Am I being prepared for eternal damnation? Am I past any kind of saving? Is that all fairytales? Man ain’t got much good in him. I ain’t got no good in me… I don’t think and yet I see goodness. I see it. If not in me, in good folk. In Abigail and her love for Jack. In that silly monk. In Downes, I guess. Begging not for himself but for the poor, even though he was near starving himself. Maybe I don’t want salvation. Part of me has always longed for death.’’ This entry perfectly shows how deep Arthur’s self-loathing goes and just how much it has damaged him. As his journal allows a look into his true feelings, he truly does not see a single good thing about himself. He knew for a long time that the way he lives is detestable but he could not let go of it. Not because he didn’t want to, but because it’s all that he has ever known. He didn’t believe in anything else. This sudden acceptance of goodness has allowed him to see clearly, which was obscured from him before, and for the first time, enabled him to act free of past regrets for what is right.

⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪

Arthur’s redemption is not about becoming a good man. It is about finding the strength to change and recognise your true self despite a lifetime of self-loathing and breaking free from destructive beliefs of the past.

In Arthurian legends a stag is a symbol of the unending quest of spiritual knowledge/enligtenment

[jalebi-weds-bluetooth]

What If, ft. IPKKND #1

Always Sometimes I like to indulge in thoughts on where could the characters and stories have gone, with a slight twist.

What if... Shyam had the cameras installed during Akash & Payal's pre-wedding rituals

Shyam loves to keep control of the situations around him. And to add another layer, he loves to manipulate how things would go, according to his convenience.

And so far he's been absolutely accurate. He has the Raizadas eating straight out of his palms, the Guptas worshipping him, and his law circle and shady friends never overlap.

He manipulates people so well that even after his and Khushi's breakup, nobody in Lakshmi Nagar poses an actual problem to him.

His tracks are perfectly covered.

But the only person on whom nothing worked, was Shashi Gupta.

And the only person he ever misread was his daughter, Khushi Kumari Gupta.

He was convinced that Khushi was falling for him. That him being married was just as much as a heartbreak for her, as for any woman in love with a married man.

But no... with passing days it was evident... evident that she had nothing for him in the first place!

It was a thought that niggled in his mind, which he obviously vehemently rejected.

And to make it worse, there was Arnav.

That... came out of nowhere.

So to control the situation, Shyam installs cameras all over Shantivan.

Because he was increasingly heading to failure. He had to know what was going on at the mind of every Raizada family.

When were Arnav and Khushi meeting? Just... what consisted in those meetings?

What was Anjali and Dadi thinking? Beyond their irritating chatter of bringing the two together, was there anything more? Were there any official talks?

Cause if it's a marriage they want, they will not get that.

As long as he's alive, he will not let Arnav and Khushi get together. As long as he's alive, he will not let Arnav and Khushi marry each other.

And the camera continues to give great, great, great benefits!

Shyam was terrified when Arnav married Khushi out of nowhere!

But one quick look into their room and, of course, they were nowhere close to being married.

Arnav's cruelty and Khushi's helplessness was a pleasure to watch. (It was his favorite TV show)

He was worried though, that how much of the hatred was conveyed.

Did Khushi and Arnav talk about the Shyam situation? Did Arnav demand explanations from Khushi? Even in anger... if Khushi knew what 'version' of the truth Arnav believed, Khushi would raise hell.

And with Payal now being a bahu and beloved of the Raizadas, it wouldn't be too hard to believe the truth. At least Akash would definitely stick by his wife. And Arnav knew Akash was the least gullible. It's why Akash had the role in AR that he did.

So even though Shyam could find a way to dispel whatever Khushi says... things would get too ugly.

So Holi was a gift, because Arnav - out of whatever self preservation - didn't tell Khushi anything at all!

Ha!

So Shyam will always have a control over the main narrative for Arnav & Khushi.

And on tough days, he would rewatch his proposal to Khushi. One day, Khushi would say yes.

But Karma works differently, the same cameras would bite him.

Shyam at this point had lost. Despite trying every trick up his sleeve, Arnav and Khushi were in love, remarried and had united forces.

Right now, money was all that mattered.

But then, of course, there was this horrible idea to paint the house so he had to sit, burning, with his cameras gone.

And on his and Anjali's anniversary, they begin this random A/V of Akash's marriage and Anjali's pregnancy announcement. But something felt off about the video.

Especially when it featured scenes of him and Anjali, sneaking up and meeting each other.

No one had recorded that moment.

Except his own cam-

And then it shows up. The terrace, lit beautifully. Khushi, waiting bashfully. And then Shyam... on screen... proposing to Khushi. Then Shyam, orchestrating Anjali's miscarriage.

Someone had gotten access to Shyam's laptop.

Slapped, yelled and arrested, Shyam was thrown out of the house faster than he could blink.

Shyam's own weapon turned against him.

Bonus:

Arnav is unable to sleep, restless at how horrible he was to Khushi.

Nauseous over the harassment she faced - from both of them. And in shock, at how easily Shyam slipped through everyone's eyes.

But even before he can apologize to Khushi, she forgives him. And he's humbled, as always.

Let me know if you'd like to hear any of my other what ifs!

(The cameras have always been a fav what if world for me)

Tagging the usuals (pls mention if you'd like to be tagged - also this is a new list so if I'm forgetting anyone - sorry!):

@chutkiandchotte @dreaming-star @professor-cant-fuck @thedupattaknowswhatsup @bigfatreader @muttonthings @da-ka-ba @fresh-child-bouquet @hand-picked-star @fancydreamphilosopher @scorpio-smiles @thenainitaldisaster @titaliya @sankititaliya @sampigehoovu @jalebicheesecake @dnkkpi @nammy07

[croquettish]

Hey, I'm the "didn't understand why Henry hates Erik so much" asker! I just wanted to say I did not mean to dismiss the Pogrom, that for me is essentially a second Skalitz. I just sort of conceptually in my head attributed it more to Sigismund, as if I remember correctly he gives the final order and Henry sees that, (though Erik did have the idea first and Henry that, also relevant.) Having said that, the same can be said of Skalitz, and Henry DOES hate Markvart, who led the massacre, and is only potentially merciful towards him when confronted with his humanity suddenly. With Erik, Henry is already aware of his humanity (love for the detested Istvan) and his latest impression of him is this inhumanity, this act of cruelty in leading the pogrom, which he is also personally attached to through Sam but was going to be horrified by either way. And at this point, potentially burning down Maleshov is not a thing yet. So I had the elements but I sort of had not organized them temporally in my head to the effect that would have on Henry, and combined with the "Henry seeing some of himself (and the way he experiences love) in Erik", I totally get it now.

Yeah!! And don't worry, I didn't think you were brushing the pogrom under the rug, I just immediately wrote "oh, it's because he's gay!" and then was like, wait. There's more to consider here jfl;ajf;al

But yeah, I think he sees these elements of himself in Erik and he hates that, all the more so after Istvan lectures him about how similar they are. The whole, men like you and me thing I mentioned in this post as well. So much of this goes into his self-hatred for the betrayal he perceives to exist in loving his lord (hence also the brief moment of horror/disgust we see on Henry's face after the kiss, that moment of, oh dear god how could I have allowed myself to give in to this, am I seriously that weak? I'm supposed to be protecting him, and yet here I am, just willing to throw all that out the window—).

It's really profoundly tragic, and honestly? A very large part of me wonders how he'd respond to Erik after he and Hans get together. If he'd look at Erik with more pity than anything else after that. Hell, he might even see the evil in himself all the more after, in the sense of, "I took Erik's Hans away from him, so it's my fault I turned him into a monster. He's me after Skalitz." Looking into a mirror to see both his past self and what he hopes never to be his future self. Because losing Hans would fuck him up. So of course he understands Erik's pain. How could he not?

[qingxin-dream]

“Just One Good Thing”

summary | it’s hard to love someone who is broken, and even harder when two broken people love so deeply it hurts. (art credits: @/pastahands on twitter).

warnings | not proofread/vent writing, scaramouche lore spoilers, brief graphic depiction of death, illness, loss, profanity, TW heavy mental health topics, self-hatred, dissociation, depression, suicidal thoughts/ideation, graphic description of self-harm wounds, fear of abandonment, guilt, reader is hospitalized

genre | angst, hurt, comfort

word count | 2.5k

pairing | wanderer x reader

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

This was not the first time the puppet experienced betrayal.

How could you have known? It was long before you came into existence, hundreds of years of anguish buried in layers upon layers beneath his artificial constitution. He had once been but an innocent, naive babe with the world sparkling in the reflection of his violet eyes, meant for something greater. He had once fulfilled a purpose.

To be brought into the world against your will, crafted from the divine hand of a grieving Archon, only to have every semblance of your being ripped from you and cast aside in the name of so-called mercy—is a fate akin to death itself.

You never knew his past.

How he was once an eccentric named Kabukimono who wandered from Shakkei Pavilion and made friends with the blade smiths of Tatarasuna. His first taste of human life was amid a blazing furnace and the clamoring of a hammer onto hot metal, learning what it meant to labor and create. He had grown to love the little village as his own, playing with the children and sipping on the bitter taste of tea leaves with his comrades.

The puppet who had called himself Kabukimono was painfully ignorant to the cruelty of fate.

He could have never fathomed the day he would hold the future of his village in his trembling, pale hands as the toxic Tatarigami fumes envelope him in chemicals. There he climbed deep inside the Mikage Furnace, the unique resilience of his artificial body left unharmed by the inhospitable temperatures glowing hot against his divine skin. Any normal human would’ve perished a thousand times over.

Inside the foreign device that promised to save his home lay the bloody, withering heart cut fresh from his closest companion’s chest.

“You are a human, Kabukimono,” Niwa had insisted with a soft smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, a comforting hand resting on the eccentric’s shoulder. “You just don’t have a heart.”

Yet there the puppet stood, his voice robbed from his aching throat, cradling the very essence of his friend’s humanity in his palm.

It was his fault. What a foolish creature he was to ever involve himself with humans, whom he could only bring suffering. His tears were evaporated instantly as the grotesque realization dawned on the distraught young Kabukimono. He would later discover that he had been betrayed by a man who introduced himself as Escher but was known among the Fatui as The Doctor.

The dirty pads of his bare feet had thumped through the rocky village path and down the dirt roads leading to the outskirts of the rural Inazuman wilderness. Crows rustled in the trees and flapped their feathers into the sky, jeering at the desolate and abandoned settlement.

The village should have been evacuated. All who could have been saved were rushed as far away as possible from the poisonous Tatarigami. Rows upon rows of homes and businesses were eerily vacant. Kabukimono, in his watery hysterics, had not paid any mind to his surroundings, leaving behind the only home he ever had for good.

That is, until he stumbled across a young boy who lived under an old sakura tree. Kabukimono immediately felt the void in his chest wrench with visceral guilt upon learning that the child’s parents were crafts-people. The house was utterly empty except for the lonely little boy.

For as much as the puppet wanted nothing more than to rid himself of human companionship, he felt responsible for the loss of the boy’s parents. He had an obligation to see that he was taken care of and safe from the Tatarigami. If he could not have saved his friends, perhaps he could atone for his sins in raising the orphaned child—who reminded him too much of himself.

“Promise me,” Kabukimono spoke up with a bit of a hoarse tone, his voice cracking with emotion, extending a shaky hand to the young boy. “That we can be family. I will watch over you.”

“Like a big brother?” asked the innocent boy with a hopeful smile. He wouldn’t have to be alone anymore, taking the eccentric’s hand in his own. “I’ve always wanted one… I promise, we will be family.”

For a short while, the puppet had learned to push the turmoil plaguing his conscience to the back of his mind. His focus had shifted entirely to ensuring the boy’s safety and happiness, trying to scavenge food for him and exchanging stories under the moonlight. Although, Kabukimono flinched with each cough from the boy that shattered the silence between them as they went to sleep.

He hated that he recognized the symptoms. The residue of the Tatarigami had somehow infected the child, no doubt. A dreadful thought occurred to him—perhaps he had given the sickness to the orphaned child after what happened at the Mikage Furnace. The idea was enough to eat him alive with worry. Kabukimono had secretly prayed that the boy would endure the illness.

The puppet had worked tirelessly to give him the best he possibly could. If his coughs were dry, he would fetch him water. If his stomach rumbled, he would prepare some Lavender Melons. If he needed a friend, Kabukimono would be there to hold his hand as he slept like a guardian angel.

The day the elderly sakura tree shed its pretty pink blossoms was the day the boy was found unresponsive.

Kabukimono, too, found himself hollow and devoid. What did it mean to be family? What did it mean to love? What was the point of having such worthless emotions?

A blazing inferno consumed the darkness of the night sky. Crackling embers swirled and smoke bellowed in the rural countryside as a rickety house succumbed to a hellish fate. No one was there to witness the flaming spectacle. No one to help, or save the vacant violet eyes of a nameless puppet who clutched a small doll in his lap.

It was laughable, truly, how sick and twisted the world could be. The puppet couldn’t fulfill his creator’s wishes, nor could he befriend humanity, or have a heart of his own. Oh, to perish in a fiery death would be far too simple for Celestia’s liking, wouldn’t it?

For five hundred years, Kabukimono, Kunikuzushi, Scaramouche—no matter who he became—the feeling of inadequacy remained.

His divinely-created body was an immortal prison, shackling him to his sins. As a Fatui Harbinger, no needle, blade, or poison of the Doctor could kill him. No enemy or magic of the Abyss could ultimately break him. The puppet was built to withstand the likes of the Cataclysm that had taken his creator’s sister, yet the scars of these experiments litter his fair skin are a reminder that he is indeed alive.

Wanderer vividly remembers his dark fascination with testing his limits in the depths of his dissociation. Anything to serve as penance for the irreversible destruction he had inflicted upon his friends, his family, and his home. If he was lucky, perhaps the Doctor would find a way to end his misery or the maddening darkness of the Abyss would swallow him whole once and for all.

Even forsaking his autonomy and identity as Scaramouche to ascend to godhood would be a fitting death for the puppet. After all, the Everlasting Lord of Arcane Wisdom would never bow to his emotions like a weakling. Losing himself to infinite knowledge and truth would be a good ending, despite the insanity that would befall him.

All that mattered is he would cease to exist.

But it was you who defeated him, in all his might and glory as a fake Archon pumped full of divine wisdom and the sludgy remains of dead gods. It was you who found him after he tried to erase every part of his worthless being from Irminsul, and helped him pick up the pieces of himself in the aftermath.

The reality that lies within Irminsul had given him a new perspective as the Wanderer. Though he retained the poignant memories of his sins, Wanderer made sure to carve a special space in the void of his artificial body just for you. His savior.

Not a single one of those instances—absolutely fucking none of them—could ever compare to the morbid and desperate pit of despair that ravages Wanderer at the sight of your fragile body curled up in a white hospital gown. You are hooked up to a myriad of monitors and machines, wires and tubes tangling your frame like chains. The distant beep of the electrocardiogram is burned into Wanderer’s mind.

It’s your heartbeat, and the very reason for his continued existence. You had been reduced to small blip on a computer screen.

The hospital room was otherwise silent. The windows had the blinds slightly drawn, a cool ray of moonlight washing over Wanderer’s disheveled indigo hair from behind. Even if you were unconscious, Wanderer had wanted to tuck you in for the night, but he was terrified of hurting you. The fluorescent white light above your bed was off, bathing you both in warm darkness.

In the late hours, all Wanderer could do was stare at you with eyes reddened from crying, his crimson eyeliner smudged at the edge of lashes. He would occasionally lick his dry lips, which were chapped and peeling. The sting of the dead skin on his lips being tugged between his teeth was a momentary release from the overwhelming anxiety dwelling within.

His thin fingers are intertwined with yours on the hospital bed, one of the few ways the puppet can keep himself grounded in this moment. Every once in awhile, he’ll give your hand a gentle squeeze followed by a few broken wishes for you to open your eyes again. To see the life in you and hear your sweet voice again.

Sometimes it would get to be too much. Wanderer would raise your hand and kiss your knuckles with hot, salty tears pricking at his eyes. The stinging sensation would force his eyelids closed, sorrow streaming down his stained cheeks. He was sure that this was a result of his own shortcomings.

Your arms are wrapped in bandages with a few stitches here and there lying underneath. A deathly pale color flushed your beautiful face. And oh, Archons, those eyes of yours he had always adored endlessly were sunken darkly into your face, hidden in your slumber. His gaze drifted to your lips, still full and pink, perhaps his last vestige of hope as they parted for your sacred breaths.

To imagine you’re suffering as much as he had in his past is utterly unthinkable to Wanderer.

The only difference is your fragile mortality. He knows your pain now, he can see it carved onto your wrists in what must have been a frenzied meltdown.

Some cuts are lighter and faded, meaning this certainly isn’t the first time you hurt yourself. Other gashes in your arm are deeper and swollen, each one weighs on the puppet’s heart greater than the last. He couldn’t count how many times you must have taken that razor to your wrist. Wanderer silently curses himself for letting this happen to you.

“How stupid could I be? Letting her away from me,” he quietly lamented with his head in hands, fingers curling around his indigo locks tightly. “I had just one good thing.”

Rocking himself gently in the chair next to you, Wanderer continuously tugs at his hair to an almost extreme degree, unable to handle the anger, betrayal, and sadness overcoming him. He was practically attached to you at the hip, he should’ve noticed when your voice faltered or when your eyes betrayed your words. He should’ve seen the signs of you slipping through his fingers.

Even if every day wasn’t perfect, even if sometimes you both said hurtful things to each other, neither of you never truly meant it. Wanderer couldn’t bear to imagine not waking up next to you, the morning sunlight kissing your silhouette like an angel. He never thought that he’d find his purpose in you, in the most mundane moments that he cherished so deeply.

He knew you had a history of mental health struggles. So did he. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to give you his everything—fingers entwined and sweat glistening on your bodies as he made you his for the umpteenth time.

The echo of the puppet’s soft sobs dissipates into the emptiness of the hospital room. His whole body is shaking with emotional agony. It’s the first time in centuries that he has allowed himself to feel vulnerable like this. How could he not when the love of his life—the meaning of his existence—had tried to take themselves out of it?

Wanderer finally releases his hair, taking your left hand again and passionately pressing his lips to your bare ring finger as an unspoken promise. You both had worked so hard to love better and be better. He wasn’t about to give you up.

There would never be another you in eternity.

He couldn’t bear the heavy burden on his heart anymore. Carefully, he pulled the thin blanket back and climbed into the hospital bed next to you. His fingers trembled at the contact, feeling your faint warmth. Wanderer gently pulled you close so that your head was safely tucked into his chest and he could rest his chin on your soft hair. He sighed, covering you both in the blanket once more.

Sobs tugged at his chest and his grip on you momentarily tightened. Though tears glistened at the corner of his broken violet eyes, Wanderer blinked them back with a shaky breath. You were in his arms and his world was made whole again.

“I love you, (Y/N),” his voice is gravely and barely audible. “I love you so fucking much… don’t you dare think otherwise.”

The puppet nuzzles his nose into your scalp, breathing in your familiarity like it’s home. He begins to play with your hair gently, combing and caressing your soft strands with his fingertips painted in black.

“You scared the shit out of me, you know…” Wanderer kisses your hair, closing his eyelids for a long moment to memorialize the feeling of your skin on his lips. “But I’m gonna get you out of here, baby. I’m gonna get you help, okay?”

His toned arms keep your body pressed to his, wanting to feel every part of your being entangled with him as it should be. The tickling sensation of your little breaths on his neck brought a small smile to his face because it meant you were sleeping comfortably and most importantly, alive. You were the missing piece in his puzzle, fitting perfectly into place with him.

“It’ll be okay. Everything will be okay,” the puppet whispers to you, hoping you could hear and feel his love in every way, shape, and form possible. His words also served as an assurance to himself because in this moment he felt so helpless, seeing the wounds on your precious skin.

“I won’t let anything hurt you anymore,” Wanderer solemnly vows, his voice slowly but surely trailing off as he succumbs to his exhaustion with you held close to his heart.

“Goodnight, my love.”

thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated! my masterlist.

[niaerinisms]

Immortal Desires: Omg there are vampires 🧛‍♂️ in the small town me and my mom just moved to 😱 and also a bunch of murders happening 🩸🔪 That's suspicious... that's weird 🤔 Also also I can't choose 😰 between the sweetheart good guy/girl type 😇 and the devil-may-care bad guy/girl type 😈 So the obvious solution is for me to date them both 😇🤝🙂🤝😈 (and them each other)

BloodBound: No matter how much we try to distance ourselves from our humanity, it still remains an inescapable part of us. Darkness lies within us all, due to our very nature, and no matter how much we try to bury it, dispose of it, it festers in our hearts, threatening to consume us. History is bound to repeat itself and humanity is prone to cruelty and self-destruction. Is love and peace truly more powerful than hatred and violence? Or are they an illusion of respite in the face of a never-ending cycle? Are we forever doomed to hurt and be hurt? Can this cycle ever be broken?

[bestworstcase]

in light of the v9 lore confirming the unreliable nature of jinn’s narration (light was not the “elder” brother), together with the glaring falsehood in the narration implying that salem lied when she truthfully “blamed the end of the world on the gods”

i’m not hedging anymore. we cannot trust jinn’s account of what salem told people during her rebellion, full stop.

“If she were to turn humanity against Light and Darkness, she could rid herself of their curse—or at the very least, she could make them suffer. Salem traveled from one kingdom to another, telling tales of how she stole immortality from the gods, inviting any swordsman to cut her down, and demonstrated her powers. With the kings and queens in awe, she pulled them deeper into her scheme; she painted them pictures of a time when they would no longer have to watch their loved ones wither and die, when they could claim the powers of their creators for themselves, and in turn, perfect their own design. All they needed to do was destroy their old masters.”

jinn describes this campaign as if salem deceived everyone, maliciously tricked them into serving as pawns in her hatred of the gods—but

when she’s beaten, salem stands up and vows to “tell the world of this massacre”—she’s enraged and horrified on behalf of the slain. she’s horrified when the god of darkness tells her he killed everyone. her reactions do not support the implication that these people meant nothing to her.

there is a strong ideological continuity between “overthrow our old masters, claim the powers of our creators for ourselves, and perfect our own design” and “we could be the gods of this world […] create the paradise the old gods could not.” this continuity suggests that salem actually believes in this cause, enough to hold onto it for millions of years.

so, did salem really claim to have ‘stolen’ immortality from the gods… or did she tell her allies that she became immortal through submersion in the fountain of life? that the gods can bring people back from the dead, and simply choose not to because they care only about enforcing their will? did she “pull them deeper into her scheme” or did she talk openly of what she had learned about the cruelty and fallibility of the gods? did she deceptively trick people into following her with fantasies of immortality or did she just pull back the curtain to reveal that the permanent ending of death only existed by arbitrary divine fiat that self-evidently can be changed?

just as jinn’s narration framed salem implicitly vowing to revere darkness above light if he helped her as salem deceiving and manipulating him by “making no mention of his elder” (<- why would she? this bargain was between her and darkness), this account of what salem did to foment rebellion against the gods aligns closely enough with the truth (salem did gain divine power, eternal death is an arbitrary rule, and the gods are fallible) that what it really comes down to is whether we trust jinn’s description of salem’s intentions.

did salem lie, or did she tell the truth in defiance of how the god of light thinks the world should be? did she deceive people, or did she reveal the brothers’ deceptions?

the god of light—and therefore ozpin and therefore jinn—see salem as a puppet-master making the whole world dance to her tune. “who has led you down this path?” he asks. she’s his scapegoat. but salem knelt before thrones and invited people to slit her throat to prove that she was telling the truth, and she isn’t the one who leads the army into light’s domain; she walks among them, not in front. in a story told with such robust symbolic language, that kind of storytelling choice matters.

she may have started the rebellion, but it became bigger than her; i don’t think salem even saw herself as their leader, necessarily. otherwise why not lead the way?

jinn’s narration—ozpin’s side of the story—devotes so much effort toward creating the impression that salem is a duplicitous, manipulative liar (like ozma), and then… salem hates being lied to. salem yells and throws tables when people lie to her. the cruelest thing salem can think of to say to oscar when she decides to hurt him is “the lies come out of you so easily; likeminded souls, indeed.” the opening lines of the show amount to salem saying that ozpin’s legends and fairytales aren’t true, that he’s obscured the “forgotten past.” both of her songs rage against ozma’s deceit—maidens and kingdoms wrapped up in a lie, and these children you mislead, and the more you try the more you’ll just breed hate and lies/truth will rise revealed by mirrored eyes. salem as a character is consistently associated with the truth and her hatred of deception is one of her most pronounced traits.

the lost fable is unreliably narrated—we now know this for a fact, because jinn describes the god of light as the elder brother and that is not true. there are many noticeable discrepancies between the narration and what’s actually shown. “stories aren’t reality” and “truth is hard to come by” are overtly-stated themes. and the lost fable answers the question “what is ozpin hiding from us?” and is thus presented strictly through his eyes.

in the fairytale anthology, ozpin helpfully informs the reader that stories like ‘the girl in the tower’ and ‘the infinite man’ are propaganda, not the truth.

so…

do we really believe this repeated claim that every word out of salem’s mouth is a manipulative lie? words we’re not even allowed to hear for ourselves? when the characters telling us that salem lied are ozpin and a bound spirit recounting ozpin’s side of the story? in the unreliable narrators show?

is the word gullible written on the ceiling?