#MC death mention

[zephyrchama]

MC and Thirteen who doesn't want to do her job as a reaper, so when MC's time comes around they start travelling the world instead.

Another reaper finds them sipping drinks out of coconuts on the beach and asks what they're doing. "We just got a bit lost," Thirteen claims. "My legs hurt so we're taking a break. Relax, I'll properly collect their soul in a little bit."

Ok. Fifty years later the same reaper comes across MC and Thirteen taking selfies in a shopping mall.

Thirteen sticks up for MC once more. "We got lost again. No, don't worry about it. I don't tell you how to do your job, so scram and just let me do mine."

Another hundred years ago by. The same reaper shakes their head and tries to ignore the two familiar faces playing hide and seek around the seating area of a major music festival.

[retrotrait]

I decided to remake my sim Ian, for Nicco's story line. So here he is. Ian is a rookie detective with the SMPD. He's been tasked to partner with Nicco. He, more than anyone wants to find out who is the crazed pyscho serial killer who's been off'ing people. He feels like somehow this killer had something to do with his sister's murder.

[harmonyrae]

Power Couple

CHAPTER 14 - Right Here

I’d like to apologize for this chapter, it’s gonna hurt. Like angst doesn't even begin to describe this. Also, this is completely my own head cannon & is ABSOLUTELY NOT lore accurate (as far as we know).

Photo: From Pinterest, all credit to original poster NSFW: Mentions/Depictions of violence, PTSD, torture, death

Your armchair is not as comfortable as you remember. You sit with your knees curled up to your chest. Your hoodie pulled down over your knees, your arms hugging your legs. You rest your chin on your knee, trying to organize your thoughts. You try to imagine you are so small that no one will know you’re even there. 

The lights are dimmed, you can barely see Sylus sprawled out on the floor of the cage. You remember the night you first brought Sylus here. You were so confident, how did you end up here again? 

You replay that night in your head. His voice echoing in your ear. You stare blankly at his unconscious form, digging your fingernails into your palms willing yourself not to cry.

"I’d hate to disappoint you Miss Hunter."

But he did.

"But her mind… that’s what is most fascinating. It’s brilliant, calculated, and somewhat haunting."

And now it’s haunted by him. His voice. His touch. His empty promises.

"Seems like everything about you is special, kitten."

You were a means to an end. A tool to be used and tossed aside. Nothing special.

A soft groan brings you back to the present. You see Sylus roll away from you and onto his side. His back muscles tensing as he tries to ground himself. He reaches a hand up to the side of his neck. He lets out a soft grunt as his fingers trace the sensitive flesh where the needle deposited the heavy drug. He sits up and scans the room, his eyes straining against the darkness.

You hold your breath. You know he can crush the doors of the cage and simply walk out. But this is the only place you could think of bringing him. You could at least lock him in the lower levels of your tower long enough to evacuate everyone else if it came to that. You take a deep breath before using your phone to turn up the lights. Sylus’ eyes snap to yours in an instant. He was usually hard to read, his emotions hidden behind a wall. But when you look at him, you can see he is raw and broken. 

You pull your hoodie up to release your legs, you shiver as the cold air hits your bare skin. You stand and slowly make your way closer to the cage. The room is eerily quiet, the soft pitter patter of your bare feet on the linoleum echoing through the room. As you approach the cage, Sylus shifts to face you. He makes no attempt to stand up. He draws one leg up and props his arm on his knee. 

“There’s a shirt on the chair.” Your voice is void of emotion. You barely recognize it.

Sylus glances over to the chair to see the sweater you brought for him to put on. He returns his gaze to you. His eyes have glazed over, if it wasn’t for his ragged breathing you’d think he was perfectly calm. He tilts his head as he looks you over. From your head to your toes, it doesn’t feel sensual this time, he’s sizing you up. Trying to determine your motives.

“Why?” 

One word. That’s all he says. The base in his voice is amplified, the simple question rings in your ear. You straighten up, your eyes narrow and you cross your arms. You’re the motherfucking leader of Himitsu, time to act like it.

“That is the question of the hour, isn’t it Oni?”

At the mention of his code name, his eyes close. He drops his head. He sighs deeply before looking up to you once more.

“Did the kid tell you before you killed him or did you dig that up on your own?” His words cut through you like a razor.

“Have you heard of a hacker who goes by the name of Macintosh?” Sylus nods. “He’s on my payroll. Took him less than 24 hours to narrow it down once he had the burner.” 

His jaw clenches. He brings a hand to the back of his neck, his eyes finally dropping to the floor.

“Bit of advice. Tossing a burner off the pier is not the most effective disposal method.” Sylus chuckles. 

“And what would you suggest then, kitten?” 

That’s when you lose it. 

“Don’t fucking call me that. I’m not your goddamn kitten. But I am, apparently, your plaything, right? Distract me, fool me, fuck me. Was that your plan? So you could stroll into my territory and do as you please? Attack my clients? Destroy Himitsu?”

Sylus jumps to his feet and stalks over towards. He tries to grab you through the bars, but you’ve moved far enough back. He uses his evol to pull you forward. Before you reach the bars your gun is in your hand. Your body slams against the bars, you look up to see the barrel of your gun resting at the center of Sylus’ forehead. He doesn’t back away or try to pry the gun out of your hand. He rests his head against the barrel and holds your upper arms tightly against the bars. 

“Do you really think I fucked you as a distraction?” 

You can’t stop your bottom lip from quivering. The tears you’ve held back threaten to fall once more. You take a deep breath and try to force a smile.

“I wouldn’t be surprised at this point. You’ve lied about everything else.” 

“I’ve never lied about how I feel about you. I can’t.” 

“But you did lie.” Sylus finally reaches a hand up to your face, holding your chin steady. His thumb slowly brushes against your jaw.

“I’m sorry.” 

You break away from him. He doesn’t try to pull you back. You drop your gun on the table next to your armchair. Your fingers rake through your hair as you try to calm down. When you turn back to Sylus, he has an arm propped above his head leaning against the bars of the cage. His other hand extended through the bars to you.

“Please let me tell you why. Why Ridgeway and why I couldn’t tell you.”

You stare at him. His bare chest and strong arms make you ache for him. Your body craves him and it hurts to resist. Your heart hammers in your chest. Should you give him the chance? Your mind drifts to earlier that morning. Sitting in the tub, your body pressed against his, his voice in your ear, that heartbreaking tone as he tells you about your shared Aether fragments.

"You wished we could be free. And I made you a promise, that I would find a way for you to be free."

Your heart wanted nothing more than to reach out to him. To hold him close. You see his arm drop and retreat back into the cage, his head pressing against the bar. You take a cautious step forward. His eyes flutter up to meet yours. You wrap your arms around yourself.

“Why?” 

“Ridgeway has a brother. Goes by Sinclair. He’s a member of the board for a medical tech company. I needed information on Sinclair and I was hoping Ridgeway had records that could lead me to whatever hole he has crawled into.”

“Why are you hunting Sinclair? And how does burning down Ridgeway Liquors help you with that? And why couldn’t you have just talked to me about this?” 

“I needed to send a message to Sinclair. His family will suffer if he crosses a line. I couldn’t tell you… I couldn’t…” He struggles to form the words, he starts to tap his head on the bars. Slowly building the intensity until his forehead is red.

You close the distance and grab onto his hand that has reached up to hold onto a bar. He stops and looks down at you. His eyes are hazy, a tear finally falls.

“I couldn’t risk them finding you.”

You blink rapidly, trying to process what he could mean. 

“Sinclair was one of the doctors that worked on us. He’s looking for you.” 

Your eyes widen and you shake your head.

“I made a promise to you. I promised I’d find a way for you to be free. And I found a way. As long as I knew you were safe, I could deal with what they did to me. But when I heard he was leaving to look for you, I couldn’t let that happen. You’ve kept your identity hidden, it’s bought you time. But if he finds out, he’ll come for you. You being unaware kept you safe, at least that's what I convinced myself.” 

“What do they want with me?”

“You’re an energy source. The most pure and regenerative source ever discovered.”

“Is it the Aether core? What about you?”

“The Aether core amplifies your evol, changes it. Possibly adding to it if you’re unlucky. They used me for… honestly, I don’t know how long. But my energy isn’t enough it seems.”

“Is Sinclair working alone or…” 

“The group he runs, their slogan is A New Kind of Energy for a Brighter Tomorrow - safe to say he most likely has a small army hunting us.”

“I thought I knew every major corporation in the Zone.”

“It’s not in the Zone. It’s in Linkon. But they have their people everywhere.”

“What’s the name?”

“Ever.”

Your heart skips a beat. The name feels burned into your memory. But something Sylus said before is the only thing you can think of. You are afraid to ask, but it’s tearing you up inside.

“You said you could deal with what they did to you… What did they do?” 

Sylus drops his gaze to your hand, still wrapped around his hand on the bar. You see his eyes dim, as if he has retreated into his mind. You squeeze his hand, reassuring him.

“After I helped you escape, they punished me. More experiments, more surgeries. As I became more powerful they put more security measures in place. I can’t access all of my power. They called it a 'bio-metric inhibitor'. All I remember is I couldn’t get out of bed for weeks. Eventually they installed a patch over my eye so I couldn’t control anyone. My cell was the energy conduit they used to…”

He looked up at you now, the pain in his eyes so great you could hardly breathe. You hadn’t noticed you had started crying. He brings his arm down to reach through the bars and brush the tears away. You lean into his touch.

“I’ll stop.”

“No. Sylus. Please tell me.” He takes a deep breath before looking down to stare at his feet.

“The regenerative part… when they drain the energy… it… it kills you.” A sob escapes your throat. Sylus doesn’t look up.

“When they first tested their theory… they chose you. No matter how much I begged and fought, they took you away. And when you came back, you had no idea who I was. After that, I spent every day, every hour, every minute working on a plan for you to escape. A month later, I succeeded. You were free. I don’t know how long it was before they needed another energy transference but when they strapped me down I found myself hoping to forget. To forget losing you. But then I woke up. And I remembered everything. My first surgery when they cut into my eye, the first time I saw you, the first time we touched, the first time we kissed, the first time we made love, every time there was pain in your eyes, the fear in them when I put you on the shuttle…”

His grip on the bars was weakening, his body shaking as he spoke. You were frozen, listening to what he went through, for you. Your heart ached. But nothing could have prepared you for what he said next.

“And I remembered how it felt to die. Pain so intense I wanted to tear myself in half. Blinding heat then complete stillness then everything was cold. So fucking cold. And dark. It was completely dark, no light anywhere, I searched for days but it was just dark. I found myself wishing for pain and then I’d feel it, like a knife in my chest, my heart started again. I opened my eyes and I was back. I don’t remember how many times I died. I stopped counting. But every time I woke up I would look for you. Wishing that my previous life was a dream and you were still there with me. And every time I would see your empty room and… and I…” 

His voice finally broke. His grip on the bars faltered and he sank to the floor. He pulled his legs up to his chest, for the first time he looked small. You ran to the door of the cage and pressed your thumb to the lock. The door swung open and you rushed inside, crashing down next to Sylus, your arms wrapping around him. You pull his head to your chest and run your fingers through his silver hair. His body was shaking and he didn’t dare touch you. He wouldn’t even look at you. Desperate to bring him back to you, you start placing gentle kisses to his shoulders and up to his neck. You see his eyes close and you move to sit behind him, your legs on either side of his torso. Your arms pull him back towards you. You caress his chest and place kisses on his back.

You sit like that for what feels like hours until one of his hands reaches up to take yours. He strokes your palm slowly. 

“Y/N…?” 

“I’m here. I’m right here.” 

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer

[thelonelyshore-if]

The “willow being the cause of MC’s death” ask got me reeling about the concept of like a mostly hostile with Willow MC who only is just understanding Willow and figuring out how they feel but as they’re actively dying in Willow’s arms reaching out with a quiet “I’m sorry” that they never quite get out but it’s obvious on their face.

Ah. Erm. Sorry. Angst enjoyer. And your writing is absolutely FANTASTIC.

Ohhhhhh this is so good this is so sad. Something happening to MC on a 'fix a bad relationship' path would be so delightfully tragic. it's just like, you finally saw me and now you're gone. We'll never have a chance to make things right. You've always left me behind but this time it wasn't your choice, you didn't want to, but you've still gone where I can't follow and that hurts more than anything.

God. Willow.

And no need to apologize lol I'm a tragedy enjoyer so I don't mind the angst. Also thank you for your kind words!

[kinda-iconic]

Memory Lane

Author's Note: This one was rather emotional to write, but I think that's more on a personal level. I apologise for how late this is - it's been an incredibly busy few days.

Pairing: Adrian x Human!MC (Amelia - Amy, for short)

Word count: Over 4'400

Tagging: @bloodboundismylife @velvet1753 @choicesfannatalie22

TW: Deals with bereavement and grief; mentions of death

Buzz…

Buzz…

BUZZ.

The sound of vibrations causes Amy to stir, her arm falling to rest across her face as the brightness of her phone temporarily blinds her, dark blobs appearing in her vision.  Once her eyesight is restored, she grabs her phone from the nightstand, a look of befuddlement crossing her face as she notices the time.

3am.

She reaches upwards, tucking a loose curl behind her ear, the other hand fixed firmly on her phone as she presses a button on the screen, holding it against her temple.

“Hey mom,” she whispers, a drowsy yawn escaping her, “is everything okay?”

There is a slight shuffle on the other end, followed by what sounds like a pot being moved across the countertop.

“Did I wake you?”

“…Yeah,” a sleepy smile appears, “but it’s okay.”

“Is anyone with you?”

Amy turns her head to the left, her expression softening as her gaze befalls Adrian, sleeping peacefully beside her, his arm draped protectively across her middle.

“Adrian’s here,” she lifts the covers, pulling them up to cover his bare back; he groans, but remains fast asleep, “he’s still sleeping.”

“Can you talk?”

Amy frowns, “a-are you and dad okay?”

Her mother doesn’t answer, at least not at first…

…but then Amy hears a sniffle…

…and her chest begins to tighten.

“M-mom?”

Her mother exhales, her voice shaky.

“Y-you need to come home.”

“Why?” She sits upright, the movement causing Adrian to stir beside her, his eyelids slowly fluttering as he begins to wake, “Mom?”

“I-it’s your Grandmother,” her mother pauses, “the hospital called. She...she had a heart attack.”

“What?”

At the rise in her pitch, Adrian awakens, his brows furrowing as he looks up, noting the defeated expression on Amy’s face. He rubs at his eyes, as if trying to rid himself of sleep.

“Amelia?” His voice is quiet; he places his hand on the small of her back, the pad of his thumb slightly inching underneath the hem of her top, drawing comforting circles on her skin, “are you okay?”

She shakes her head, returning her attention to the call.

“Is Grandma okay?” When she receives no immediate response, her face falls, her breath quickening slightly, “M-mom?”

At first, she is met with silence.

But then her mother speaks…

…and Amy’s whole world is ripped out from underneath her.

“I’m so sorry, Amelia. She…she didn’t make it.”

She passed away.

As soon as those words leave her mother’s lips, Amy’s eyes begin to glisten, the colour draining from her complexion. She shakes her head rapidly, fresh tears falling onto her cheeks.

“N-no, she…” she sniffles, “she was fine! She…she was okay…”

Adrian’s frown intensifies; he lifts himself into a seated position, reaching up to caress her face between his hands.

“What is it?” he whispers, his words spoken softly; he leans forward, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, “What happened?”

Amy closes her eyes, her free arm wrapping itself around her midsection as she begins to sob; Adrian folds her into his embrace, placing a soft kiss to her temple.

“Come here, sweetheart.”

She cries, leaning into his touch as he begins to rock her back and forth; she buries her face into his chest, her hand resting on her own, as if trying to clutch at her heart. Without a word, he carefully removes her phone from her hand, lifting it up to his ear.

“Hi Mrs Henderson.”

Adrian spends the next couple of minutes listening intently, the occasional sentence uttered in response to something that has been said. After a while, he speaks once more.

“We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

The call ends shortly after; Adrian sighs, placing the phone down on the mattress before pulling Amy closer, kissing the top of her head.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“S-she was fine yesterday,” she sniffles, wiping at her eyes, her tears staining her cheeks, “I-I should h-have kn-known…”

“You weren’t to know…” he rests chin on the top of her head, a soft exhale escaping him, “nobody could have known…”

“I-I should have b-been there. I…What if she was a-alone?” She trembles with a wimper, her gaze remaining downcast, “s-she c-can’t be gone…it-it’s not right.”

“It never is, my love,” he speaks quietly, “it never is.”

He holds her whilst she cries, the pair remaining silent as they remain in their own world, neither one breaking the tranquillity of the moment. It is only when faint tendrils of sunlight start to seep across the windowpane that Adrian speaks, his voice gentle and comforting.

“Your mother has asked for us to go and stay with them,” he looks down at her, brushing her hair back, “it would be good for everyone to be together.”

“D-do you think I…” she trails off, swallowing harshly, “d-do you think I could g-go and see her?”

Adrian frowns, gently removing himself from their embrace; instead, his hands fall to rest on her forearms, his expression conflicted.

“I don’t think that is wise, Amelia.”

She sniffles, raising her gaze to meet his own.

“Why not?”

“Seeing someone after they have passed, it…it sticks with you,” his brows knit together, “I don’t want your last memory of her to be in a mortuary.”

“I-it might help me…knowing that she is…that she’s really gone.”

“That memory will stay with you forever, Amelia,” he exhales, his words spoken with sincerity, “it won’t go away, no matter how hard you try to forget it.”

She doesn’t reply with words, but nods in acceptance.

“O-okay.”

He smiles sadly, kissing her forehead.

“Try and get some more sleep if you can. I’ll go and pack our bags.”

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

A few days later, Adrian raps softly on Amy’s bedroom door.

“Amelia?” He waits patiently, listening out for a response; he receives nothing, “Ames?”

He turns the handle, entering the room with barely a sound. His chest tightens at the sight before him, as if someone had run a dagger through his heart, leaving him incapable of feeling nothing but pain; all is quiet, the only sound emanating from his surroundings being an occasional sniffle from underneath the bedcovers. Amy lies still amidst it all, only shifting when a shuddery exhale escapes her lungs, having turned away from the chaos going on around her.

He walks over to the bed, placing a gentle hand on the small of her back before crouching down beside her, his once joyful smile fading into one of melancholy.

“I’ve made you some soup,” he reaches upward, slowly removing the duvet from atop her head; she does not respond to the motion, locks of golden hair clinging to her tear-stained cheeks. He sighs, his fingertips ghosting her skin as they begin to trail a path along her forearm. “I even managed to save you one of those crusty bread rolls that you like.”

He is met with silence; he frowns, moving to sit at the foot of the bed, his gaze never wavering from her form.

“You need to eat something, sweetheart,” he hesitates, his words etched with worry, “it’s been three days.”

She shakes her head.

“Amelia, please,” he pleads, “at least have a little bit of something. Even if it isn’t a full meal.”

“N-no.”

“When was the last time you drank anything?” He looks over at the dresser, where a collection of glasses remain undisturbed, “you will make yourself ill, Amelia. I-I can’t allow that.”

“I’m n-not hungry.”

“You will have past the point of hunger,” his brows crease, his concern evident, “I’m asking your mother to call the doctor.”

“I’m fine,” she mumbles, her voice barely audible to the ear as she buries her face into her pillowcase, “h-honest.”

“You haven’t eaten in three days. You haven’t had any water,” he speaks with conviction, his voice trailing as he takes in the paleness in her complexion, the only colour being that of the blotchiness of her cheeks, “you have only left that bed to visit the bathroom.”

She shrugs.

“Amelia,” he inches closer, carefully enclosing her hand in his own, turning it over before exposing her palm; he lifts her hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to her wrist. “I am really worried about you, as is your mother.”

“I-is dad o-okay?” She sniffles.

“Your father has tried to keep himself busy,” he admits, “he has busied himself with work.”

“Th-that sounds like h-him.”

“But he has been eating,” he smiles sadly, “little bits, but…it is still enough to sustain him.”

She nods in acknowledgement; he takes this as his invitation, collecting the discarded tray of glassware.

“I’m going to get your soup.”

“I don’t want anything.”

“You need to eat, darling.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Amelia…”

She reaches up, dabbing at her eyes as fresh tears begin to make their descent, leaving a dash of red in their wake. She shakes her head rapidly.

For a moment, the pair engage in a comfortable silence before Adrian walks back over to her; he bends down, gently kissing her temple.

“I shall run you a bath.”

He strokes her hair, twirling a strand around his index finger.

"I won't be long."

He makes his way into the bathroom, setting about pouring her water, adding an infusion of jasmine and cherry blossom. As the bath starts to fill, he re-enters Amy’s bedroom, making a beeline for the wardrobe. He collects a pair of leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, followed by fresh underwear; he looks around with a somewhat befuddled expression.

“Where is your hairbrush?”

She clumsily rises to a sitting position, her gaze drifting from corner to corner, her dreariness evident from the dark circles that have begun to envelop her brown doe-like eyes. She points towards the vanity.

He follows her direction, collecting the brush before offering her his outstretched hand. She looks at him in confusion.

“Come.”

“But I said that I-“

“I will not force you to eat,” he walks over to her, cupping her face in between his hands, the pad of his thumb tracing a featherlight line across her bottom lip, “but there is a nice, warm bath waiting for you in the other room.” He smiles sadly, his knuckles grazing her shoulders, “and I for one would not turn this one down. It has a lot of bubbles and the bathroom smalls divine.”

A faint smile tugs at the corner of her lips; Adrian takes her hands in his own, slowly backing up as he leads them both into the bathroom.

“I have some rose petals left over from our date on Saturday. Would you like them putting in the bath water?”

She shakes her head faintly; he nods, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he releases her from his grasp, leaning over to turn the taps off, “let’s get you sorted.”

She begins to undress, placing each item of clothing in the washing basket before carefully climbing into the bath.

“Do we have a jug in here?”

She nods, “i-in the cupboard.”

He retrieves the object in question and places it at the edge of the bath, clearing a space on the side of the tub. He takes a seat, filling the jug with warm water.

“Wh-what are you doing?” She sniffles, rubbing at her eyes, “I-I don’t want to c-cause any fuss.”

“Don’t be silly,” he carefully begins to pour the contents of the jug over her hair, pressing the side of his hand to her forehead in an attempt to stop the water from getting into her eyes, “I want to fuss over you. You’re my girlfriend.”

“I-I’m sorry for worrying you.”

He smiles sadly, shaking his head.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I understand.”

“D-do you think my m-mom does?”

“Most definitely,” his voice is soft, laden with compassion and sincerity, “your mother and I may not have much in common, but both of us have experienced grief. We know how much your grandmother meant to you.”

She nods hastily, a new bout of sorrow making its presence known on her cheeks. He leans forward, kissing the top of her head before collecting the bottle of shampoo from the countertop. He squeezes some onto his palm, rubbing it into a lather, applying it to her hair in a gentle clockwise motion. She hums in content, leaning into his touch.

“Is that nice?”

“Y-eah,” she utters quietly, “did I…did I smell?”

“Not at all,” he replies swiftly, “I understand how you are feeling, sweetheart. We all do.”

“I miss her.”

“I know,” he acknowledges, clasping her de-tangler with a soapy fist; he carefully runs it through her hair, “when we lose people that we love, it seems as though the world around us ceases to exist. People go on living their lives whilst ours come to a standstill. They continue to laugh and share in excitement whilst we struggle to do even the simplest of things. We forget how to function; people start suffocating you with feigned sympathies; they pretend to share in your grief when, in reality, half of them will disappear as soon as your loved one is put to rest simply because they believe that they no longer need to pretend to care.”

She looks up at him, her vulnerability evident by the glaze of her eyes, as if the light has left them completely.

“Do you m-mean that?”

"Unfortunately, yes," he re-fills the jug, emptying its contents over her head; she closes her eyes in preparation for a possible sting, but nothing comes of it, “when I lost my grandfather, I spent many a night in the forest. I didn’t want to talk to anyone.”

“Not even your parents?”

“I didn't want my mother to see me upset, and for a while I was taught that men did not, or rather were not allowed to openly express how they were feeling.”

“That isn’t right.”

“I know that now,” he smiles sadly, spending the next few moments in silence as he focuses on washing her hair; once he has finished, he grabs a towel for her hair, clipping the ends together. “My father was not known to ‘wear his heart on his sleeve’ as one would say.”

“So you would cry alone?” He nods, “I’m s-so sorry, Adrian.”

“Please don’t apologise,” he replies in turn, placing his hands on her shoulders, “it was a different time. Centuries before you were born.”

“How old were you?”

“I was eleven.”

“W-was he old?”

“He was in his late sixties, so I guess he would have been considered to be in the later stages of his life.”

“H-how did he die?”

“Smallpox,” he replies without hesitation, "there were a few cases in our town, most occurring on the west side.”

He falls quiet, as if his words have escaped him; noticing the change in atmosphere, Amy reaches up, placing her hand atop his own. Their eyes meet, the pair sharing a sad smile.

“You should have been able to grieve openly,” she whispers, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“It was years ago, Amelia. I have had time to process it.”

“That doesn’t mean that it hurts any less.”

“…I suppose not.”

“My dad once told me that grief comes in waves," she adds, "h-he said that you could go for days or even months without feeling any pain and then it can hit you so suddenly.”

“As if you are reliving the events of that day all over again,” he nods faintly before shaking his head, forcing a small smile, “but today isn’t about me.” He kisses her jaw, caressing her other cheek with his palm, “this is about making you feel better.”

“Can it not be for us both?” She asks, looking back at him, “you knew my grandmother too.”

“Not as well as you,” his counters, “though she did welcome me into your family incredibly fast. It was definitely surprising to be accepted that quickly."

“She was wonderful.”

“What was she like? When you were little.”

“She was kind and witty,” Amy smiles wistfully, her mind lost in thought, “I used to go to stay with my grandparents in the summer for a couple of weeks. We would pass the time playing games, planting fruits and vegetables in the garden and baking a lot of sugary treats.” She sniffles quietly, “before going to bed at night I would sit in their room and my grandma would tell me stories of her childhood. She once told me that, when she was about seven or eight, she had really long plaits. She hated them.”

“Did she take them out?”

“She chopped them off.”

His eyes widen in disbelief.

“…no…”

She nods, “her mother was not impressed.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

She falls quiet; Adrian frowns, his fingertips ghosting the hollow of her neck.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. We can sit in silence,” he wraps his arms around her shoulders, eliciting a quiet exhale, “whatever you need.”

“I…” she appears hesitant, as if unsure, “I told her I would see her tomorrow. T-Tomorrow, it…it never came…”

“Tomorrow is promised to no one,” he kisses her cheek, “all we can do is make the most of the days that we have.”

“I n-never,” she takes a shuddering breath, her words quiet and shaky as she begins to weep, her cry reverberating across the room, “I-I didn’t get to s-say g-goodbye.”

“Oh, Amelia…”

He pulls her closer to his chest, drawing soothing circles on her exposed forearms with his thumbs as she sobs, his chin resting against the top of her head.

“I’m here,” he whispers quietly, “it’s alright. I’m here…I’m not going anywhere.”

“I-I…”

“Sssshhhh…” he hushes calmly, “just let it out, sweetheart. Let it out.”

She continues to sob for a few minutes, Adrian remaining quiet beside her, the only words escaping him being a gentle reminder of his never-wavering presence. After a moment or two, Amy’s tears cease to shed, her sobs becoming few and far between. He retrieves his handkerchief from his breast pocket, running it lightly across her cheeks in an attempt to dry her tears.

“Alright,” he wraps a fluffy towel around her, being sure that the material does not drag in the bathwater as he starts to empty the tub, “let’s get you dressed.”

“I-I can…I can do it,” she sniffles, her voice less shaky than before, “p-promise.”

“Are you certain?”

She nods; he offers her a sad smile, threading his arms beneath her knees and across her back. In one fluid motion, he lifts her out of the bathtub, placing her down on the bathmat.

“Can I get you anything? A hot water bottle? A warm blanket.”

“I-I’m okay,” she replies with a sad smile, “b-but thank you.”

“A big hug?”

“When I’m dressed,” she smiles softly, “I won’t be long.”

“Take your time,” he presses a loving kiss to her forehead, “I shall be downstairs if you should need me.”

“O-okay.”

Adrian exits the bathroom, pulling the door to behind him before making his way down the stairs, only pausing his descent when he reaches the bottom. He walks through the corridor, stopping outside the doors to the study. 

“He won’t come out.”

Adrian turns in the direction of the voice; a short, middle-aged woman appears from around the corner, wiping her floury hands on the material of her apron.

Amy’s mother.

“I took some biscuits in a few minutes ago; he was rather preoccupied with work, so I left them on the mantleplace.”

“I do hope that he is not overworking himself.”

“Oh, he definitely is.”

The woman takes a step forward, folding her arms across her midsection.

“How is she?”

“She has had a bath,” he replies, “she is still refusing to eat or drink, but hopefully the warmth of the bathwater will make her feel drowsy.”

“Amelia needs a good sleep,” she leans back against the radiator, “I left the soup simmering on a low boil. I didn’t want it to go cold in the case that she changes her mind.”

“I am hoping that will be before the evening is out,” he glances down at his watch, “it is 6pm.”

“Maybe we should start with a hot chocolate,” her mother suggests, “she told me once that they make her feel sleepy. We’d be keeping her hydrated and ensuring that she was getting as much rest as she possibly can. I could make some on the stove.”

“If that isn’t too much to ask.”

She waves her hand in dismissal, “she’s my daughter, Adrian. There is nothing that I wouldn’t do for that girl.”

Adrian nods in acknowledgement, “would it be alright if we were to stay here until after the funeral? I feel like being surrounded by family would help Amelia through the next few weeks.”

“I was going to suggest that myself,” she collects a mug from the shelf, helping herself to some iced coffee from the fridge, “would you like anything to drink?”

“I was thinking about going to the store and getting some bits for Amelia,” he looks over at the stove, “she usually won’t say no to certain snacks, so maybe if I got some of those then she’d try to eat. It won’t exactly be nutritional... but it’s something.”

“She told me a couple of months ago that she liked Biscoff.”

“Specifically melted on waffles,” he smiles sadly, shaking his head as a memory starts to play out in his head, “with banana and whipped cream. Almost like a banoffee pie.”

“You could always try that…”

A floorboard creaks in the entryway, causing the pair to turn in the direction of the sound. Adrian’s face softens as Amy walks into the room, her arms wrapped around her torso.

“Hey, sweetie,” her mother pulls out the stool beside Adrian, offering a sympathetic smile; Amy takes her up on her offer, sliding onto the stool, her slender legs dangling slightly, just a little too short to reach the bar below, “can I get you some water?”

“I-is there still some soup?”

“Of course,” her mother heads back over to the stove, removing the lid from the pot, “would you like a bowl?”

“C-could I have some in a cup?” She asks, Adrian’s arm now encircling her waist, his hand resting just above her hip, “I don’t think I could finish a whole bowl.”

“They’re only small bowls,” her mother frowns.

“One step at a time,” Adrian replies softly, his utterance acting as a subtle reassurance for Amy’s mother; she nods in acceptance, returning to the task at hand. Adrian swivels his chair around to face her, placing his opposite hand on her thigh, “would you like one of the rolls too?”

“Do you have a tiny one?” She tries to imitate the shape of a circle with her fingers, “one around that size.”

“I’m afraid not, but I do have one that’s a little bigger. Like the size of a baked potato. I could cut it open, add some butter and warm it up for you.”

“Melted butter?”

“Would you like that?”

She nods faintly, “is…is that okay?”

“Sweetheart, it’s more than okay,” he slides off his seat, heading around to stand behind her; he kisses her cheek, “thank you for trying.”

“Here you go.”

A mug and spoon appear in front of her, almost full, the green liquid eliciting a pleasant aroma; Adrian notices Amy’s brow furrow as she investigates the contents.

“It has broccoli and cauliflower,” he adds, “peas and asparagus, also.”

“It smells nice,” she mumbles.

“I’m glad you think so,” he begins to prepare the roll, adding a cube of butter before placing it in the microwave; as he waits for it to ping, he turns around to face her, unable to contain the smile that begins to grace his lips as he watches her take a spoonful. “What do you think?”

“It’s good,” she returns his smile, “very green.”

“I used green vegetables,” after the ping, he retrieves the roll, placing it on a plate before heading back over to his chair, putting it down beside her. He sits, watching in anticipation as she lifts the mug, cradling it under her chin.

“Is it okay?”

She nods, “I’m just taking it slowly.”

“Forcing food down your throat when you haven’t eaten in so long will only make you feel worse,” her mother chimes, “try dipping some of the bread in the soup. You won’t regret it.”

Amy follows her mother’s advice and begins to tuck into her meal; Adrian remains beside her, watching closely.

“I was going to head to the grocery store and get you some things,” he looks back down at Amy’s mug, “it’s my turn to make dinner this evening, also. I was thinking about making a pie.”

“You are?”

“If I am able to work out how much of each ingredient to use,” he smiles brightly, “I have a particular recipe that I would like to try out.”

“Did you get it from a book?” Her mother asks inquisitively, “like one of those written by a fancy chef.”

“It’s actually my mother’s.”

Amy looks up at him, “c-can I come? To the store.”

“Would you like to?”

“I-I think fresh air might help,” she smiles sadly, “and it might wake me up a l-little bit.”

“Are you sure you’re feeling up to it?” Her mother calls back, “y-you’ve only just got some food in you.”

“I think it might distract me from my brain,” she sighs, “and I can get something nice for dad.”

“That’s a wonderful idea, sweetheart.”

She places the mug down, having drunk half of its contents, three quarters of the bread roll untouched on the plate. Adrian frowns.

“Could you try to eat a little bit more?”

She shakes her head, “I feel full.”

“That’s not enough to fill you,” her mother interjects, “why don’t I put the soup in a takeaway cup that you can take in the car.”

“Is that okay?” She looks over at Adrian, “you just had your car cleaned.”

“Amy, you could spill an entire jar of pickles in my car and I wouldn’t care.”

“Pickle juice smells."

"But it would provide us with another funny story to tell people.”

"So is that a yes?"

Adrian nods rather enthusiastically, "that's an absolutely."

She smiles softly; he beams at her reaction, reaching up to cup her chin between his thumb and index finger.

“Come on then, you,” he leans in, capturing her lips with his own, “let’s go and get your coat.”

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

Man. How did I forget that an entire subplot of Dazai's main story was just. Trying to trap him into having a single conversation with MC like a normal person I'm so akhdjgfkljshgskjd

I just love watching her, Arthur, and Isaac deadass plot with glee to get one over on Dazai it's killing me, this is some Hamlet level shit (no Charles do not stand behind the curtain to kill Dazai coming in the window!!! yamero!!!!!)

Also because I felt personally attacked (/j) when Isaac said this:

I love you Isaac but pls have mercy on creatives we only have one brain cell and we're trying s o hard oTL

Although, and I'll leave it under the cut since I'm back on my Comte-posting, but the way Comte talks about Dazai fascinates me. Also just as fair warning, I do broach a lot of the topics that come up in Dazai rt so trigger warnings for self-harm, suicide, CPTSD and PTSD, trauma, etc. I don't go too too in-depth, but they are there.

Comte: "Dazai is quite skilled at concealing what he's really feeling, even from himself, perhaps."

The way he instantly remarks on how Dazai is not only working to conceal what he feels from others, but also from himself. Tbh I think that's enormously perceptive, because at first glance most people tend to think Dazai is lazy, troublesome, flippant, or erratic (and sometimes, a combination of all of these).

I love that he sees to the core of who Dazai is and what he's feeling; fear. Dazai is afraid of hurting someone again, but I also think on some level he's made it an ontological problem; he's afraid of himself. He thinks his very existence is a negative entity, something that exists only to hurt and/or estrange other people, something wrong/different. I'd argue that's why he's so adamant about mood-making and keeping to himself. If you never express how you truly feel or live true to yourself, on some level you can't entirely reach others. Because fundamentally, being close to other people does require some level of lowered defenses and sharing. Ergo, never dwell too long or give too much of yourself away, never make a mark on anyone--good or bad.

As a side note, Theo calls him "a half-strewn dandelion puff" and I agree that's rather blunt, but on some level Theo operates on a level of utility. His entire operating precept is that life and work must serve a discrete purpose. And Dazai, in choosing to opt out of living with meaning/intent out of fear, makes this description entirely consistent with Theo's perspective of the world. Though his phrasing is harsh and perhaps one-dimensional, I do find it interesting that he comes to a similar conclusion as Comte as to what Dazai is doing.

Comte talks about it with such clarity and calm, he really does feel so parental in this moment. He's not necessarily minimizing the reality of how Dazai is experiencing the world, but he also clearly doesn't agree with Dazai's self-perception. Perhaps most striking to me is how Comte seems to understand that the only threat Dazai poses is to himself...Sometimes it feels like, in the case of conditions like mental illness/depression/etc. people are so eager to assume ill will of a person. This is only exponentially compounded if they prove to have striking intelligence and strategic capacity, the same way Dazai does. I guess I can't help but appreciate that Comte knows the difference between strong and scared, and even how the lines between the two can and often do blur (perhaps best exemplified in his relationships with Jeanne and Dazai).

(Side note: I forgot which event it was but, one time when Dazai was homesick for cherry blossom watching, Comte had the entire house filled with flowers to cheer him up [insert ugly sobbing]).

For someone so enigmatic, evasive, and distant, Comte still notices instantly that Dazai is much, much happier with MC. I suppose it makes me wonder if Comte knew all along that Dazai's real wish was to be accepted and loved as he was, but kept quiet out of respect for his privacy. I would offer too that sometimes people need to realize these things on their own for the information to have value.

But what really gets my ass is what Comte says right after:

This is my bread and butter (so is he but that's not the point of this particular TED talk). In the last few years I've done a lot of exploratory work on how trauma is mapped both internally but also visibly on the body. What I think is engaging here is that, while it could be read on a surface level as "body language gives people's true intentions away" I don't think that's quite what he's getting at. Or perhaps better phrased, it's an oversimplification. I don't think it's that body language can't communicate real and important information about people's lives. Rather, that people associate rigid and absolutist interpretations to singular mannerisms, which does a disservice to both parties. Nobody can know a person at a glance; to say that you do reduces the lived reality of the opposite party.

Comte gives simple examples and couches his words for the context of the moment, but I think that first line is incredibly telling. "But the body is remarkably truthful." It makes me think of how, in moments where Comte is overcome with anxiety as a result of traumatic recurrence, he has acute panic attacks (i.e. shortened breath, racing heart, trembling). How Leonardo's lethargy (i.e. napping on the floor everywhere like the hobo he is) belies the reality of his very real exhaustion, the emotional turmoil that comes with a fraught immortal life.

Dazai's endless struggle with dissociation and self-harm, the way he stood in the rain unmoving at the thought of MC returning home to the modern era. Whether to numb himself from the pain of that grief/loneliness, or perhaps more likely the self-immolation of subjecting himself to the re-enactment of the most harrowing moment of his life. To relive that anguish as a reminder; to abstain from making the same mistake ever again. Jeanne's endless bodily tension, struggles with basic self-care (appears to be interoception-based; reduced signalling of the need to eat/rest/etc.), and self-isolation to cope in a world where only the strong survive. Never safe, always alone, always defensive.

I think, for many people in general but especially people who have been through intense PTSD/CPTSD/etc., it can be hard to express these feelings directly. Whether they are forcibly silenced, ridiculed into self-derision/self-concealment, or are overwhelmed by emotions that are difficult to process--each manifests itself in unconventional ways. It means a lot to me when those phenomena are portrayed so sensitively in written works/media, that they're explored with real intention and narrative subtlety to communicate how hard it is for people who are wounded or simply different (or both, as often is the case).

Addendum:

Even more than that, and this is an observation at the end of Dazai's route, is Comte's open belief that life is something to be cherished. Of course, like any other person he has behaviors he won't abide and people he doesn't feel partial to, but by and large he doesn't take life lightly. Perhaps that's why he doesn't expect Dazai to resort to such measures again, in conjunction with the circumstances of his transition. From an outsider perspective, I could see how Comte might assume Dazai no longer wishes for that if he seemed to regret his initial course of action by seeking resurrection. There is also the implication that Dazai is always at war with himself, and therefore might give contradictory impressions; one moment he wants to live, the next he doesn't. This is precisely what led him to ask Charles for help to subdue his own 'cowardice.' (His terms, not mine. [bonks him]) There is a sizeable subset of s-word survivors who, after recovery, feel that their problems were actually solvable despite their despair in the moment.

Of course, that doesn't apply to everyone, but I think there's something to be said of Comte feeling such real affection for the mansion boys that he is stricken to find out what Dazai attempted. And perhaps unsurprisingly, very adamant to keep him from ever pursuing such a course of action again. He's incredibly vulnerable about his horror that he might have inflicted something on Dazai that he never wanted in bringing him back, though Dazai comfortably refutes any lack of agency in the situation.

I guess I feel very compelled by the duality inherent in Comte's glass heart, precisely because of how realistic it feels. His greatest strength is his sensitivity, but it's also his greatest weakness in tandem. His genuine care for Dazai--the unwavering belief that his life is valuable and worthy--ends up being the reason he doesn't anticipate Dazai's rather deeply entrenched self-loathing. And to be honest, I'm a bit inclined to agree; looking back on a third reading Dazai feels way too hard on himself. It feels like the young girl's death was more a catalyst for what Dazai was already feeling, than anything. Dazai wanted so badly to have a reason to despise himself (as he already disliked how different and out of place he naturally felt) and with this, his self-reproach could have a viable, rational explanation. A locus outside of his body by which to rationalize his self-hatred. Accident or not becomes irrelevant; he was involved, and thus he is guilty.

He reminds me a lot of that post that was circulating once about how cultish behavior inculcates intelligent people with more devastating pull than one might expect, because intelligent people can more easily and more insistently find ways to desperately rationalize their situation to function in that whirlpool of abuse. Dazai feels like he's in this same such Catch-22, so busy believing he deserves to be scorned (because of how well he hides his perceived abnormalities) that he takes steps to ensure and reinforce it. He wants and needs to see his reality make sense, and if it won't answer his designs he will find a way to make it so.

It fascinates me because Dazai is an incredibly complex example of someone who desires control, but instead of inflicting it with external rapacity, he targets his own internal state. I once heard a Buddhist explain: yes, it is a sign of disturbance to engage with others aggressively and without grace. However, it is also a sign of disturbance when the mind seeks to harm one's own body. Although Dazai's disturbance is not as apparent, it is there. And that's part of what makes him so excruciatingly compelling to me, in a lot of ways he is the manifestation of the Sisyphean suffering of being ill in a quiet way. In enduring and smiling and laughing because you don't want to burden others--or know you're not allowed to--all while you slowly bleed from the inside out.

[writingattemptsxx]

Demons In Grief

MC is gone, so the demon brothers go through the five stages of grief.

—

Something I posted on my AO3 and wanted to post here, also third day I posted something in a row (forgot is I posted my previous thing early today or yesterday), but this probably won’t as common, this is just to get my blog out there.

—

Tw: Mentions of death

Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. Well known stages that humans go through, but even beings as powerful as the Demon Brothers, Avatars of the Seven Deadly Sins, will still experience them. The most potent time they experienced them was after your death, when you were taken from them, especially after you were taken too soon .

Denial

Lucifer buried himself in his work. He could have sworn you came into his office so many times, but when he looked to the door, you were never there. He just looked back down, trying to continue his work, only for the cycle to repeat later.

Mammon’s brain just tended to skip the information you weren’t there, as if it was just waiting for that information to be proven wrong, for you to just appear. He would just continue acting normal until you came back, even if you never did.

Levi shut himself in his room. He burned through double, maybe more, games and animes than he did before. Even while blasting through so many games and shows, there were some he didn’t touch, couldn’t finish, the ones you were playing/watching together or wanted to play/watch together. He was waiting for you to come back to touch those.

Satan’s mind just went blank. It wouldn’t register anything, much less the fact you’re gone. To an outsider, he looked like an empty shell, stuck in the world of his mind, his mind of nothingness.

Asmo sunk himself into his make up. He practiced new techniques and mastered old. He wouldn’t let a single mistake go. Not a single hair would be out of place. When you came back, his amazing beauty would be shown right next to yours.

Beel started to eat everything that entered into the house, except for a few. He was already known for his gluttony, but if he was eating he wouldn’t have to think. He wouldn’t have to think you weren’t there. The only thing he controlled his gluttony enough to skip over was your favorite foods and stuff you were saving to eat later. You would eat that later when you came back.

Belphie only woke up daily to spend time with you, but now you were only there while he was sleeping, so now it’s almost unheard for even Beel to see him up. All he needed was to see you, hug you, cuddle you, and if he had to sleep to do that, then so be it.

Anger

Lucifer felt angry at everything. You were precious to him, so how DARE the world allow ANYTHING to happen to you. He knew you were destined to leave, but it wasn’t supposed to be this soon. His inner self wanted to destroy anything that allowed it to happen, but he knew that would only make things worse, so he tried to keep it in as much as possible. Even though he tried to hide what he was feeling as much as possible, anyone in his vicinity could notice how much more snappy he became and harsh towards anything that might slightly upset him.

Part of Mammon’s anger went to his greed and the other part became destructive. The world didn’t treat his treasure preciously, so why should he treat the world’s treasures preciously? He tried to get his hands on anything he could possibly want and then some. If anything tried to get in his way, it didn’t come out of the altercation without some hurt to show at the best. He ended up tied from the ceiling many times over.

Levi usually knew better than to fall into gamer’s rage. It made his play worse when he fell into anger, but almost every inconvenience in his game made him so angry he lost three controllers, almost five, if two weren’t fixable. A few brothers tried to redirect him to anime, so he, hopefully, wouldn’t be at risk of breaking something, but even watching something couldn’t distract him from the anger he felt. Anger at what? He didn’t even know anymore.

Satan found even the smallest thing to get angry at. There was always something wrong around him, and with all the anger he had, his demon form was always out. You could pretty easily track Satan because there was always something, or someone, broken in his wake. If something got in his way, he would get it out, one way or another.

Asmo’s anger went towards making sure his appearance was spotless, perfect. NOTHING would even scuff his shoes, he wouldn’t let it. He even started forcing his perfection on his brothers. His brothers should know better than to sully you name with their, according to him, horrific looks.

Beel wanted food. Food. Food. FOOD. His hunger stung more than usual and was never satiated. Not even a ten course meal could take the slightest edge off the hunger. How could others withhold food from him. He was obviously the one who needed it. Give. Him. The. Food. NOW.

Every sound became too loud for Belphie. Every light became too bright. He was trying to sleep. He wanted to sleep. How dare the horrible world try to assert itself in his life. The horrible world that took you away.

Bargaining

Lucifer played every event on his mind in repeat. What if he had done this instead? What if he had done that? Would you still be alive? He is one of the strongest demons, so why couldn’t he keep you with him? Was there something he could have done? Is there something he can do?

Mammon started stealing small things from your room to keep. A pencil here. A small price if jewelry there. He always had something of yours in his pocket. If he had these things form you with him, you wouldn’t be truly gone, right?

Levi started watching some anime’s you two had always talked about wanting to watch, and he started playing games you talked about wanting to play. He still couldn’t bring himself to touch things you were in the middle of, but with the new things, he could start them and then talk to you, your memory, about them.

Satan delved into any possible book with even the slightest relation to how you died. If he had every bit of knowledge, he would know what he could do, what he could have done. ANYTHING he could have done to have kept you here.

Asmo started to take influences from how you dressed. He would do anything to keep your memory alive. If he kept your memory alive, even in the smallest ways, you wouldn’t be completely gone, right? Right.

Beel tried to get the foods you liked to eat together. He got as many as he could. If he could eat with him, maybe it wouldn’t feel as though you were completely gone.

Belphie tried to act how he did while you were alive while also fixing anything you nitpicked him for. If he acted perfect, do whatever you may have wanted, maybe you could come back. Maybe he could see you at least one more time.

Depression

Lucifer tried his best to keep up with deadlines, and he did, but the work was sloppier than usual and only did the bare minimum. He tried this whole time to hide in his work, yet now it felt like everything started to crumble. He tried working this whole time, yet it didn’t bring you back. It didn’t even distract him. Why was he even trying?

Mammon became quiet and kept to his room mostly. He didn’t want to see areas, areas he normally saw you in, without you. He didn’t want to hear the silence. He still clung to the items of yours he took, but it didn’t dull the pain of you no longer being with him. He wanted you with him, but you weren’t, and it hurt. It hurt bad.

Levi lost all most all his energy. He didn’t even feel like lifting a controller to play a game. All he did day in and day out was passively watch some animes and sleep. There were a few days he was able to drudge himself out of bed to take a shower and get some nonsnack food, but those days were few and far between. He wanted to try. He knew you wouldn’t want to see him like this. He just couldn’t see a point.

Satan didn’t think he would ever know the feeling of anger blowing over into sheer pain, but now he can say he has. It wasn’t all gone of course, he wasn’t the Avatar of Wrath for nothing, a significant portion just felt painful, and only seems to get worse with time. Life was painful.

Asmo started to fall in on himself. He tried to use makeup to make everything look fine, but it never stayed for to long with his tears. He hated this feeling. He hated it so much. The world felt like it was crashing around him. You were the only glue for his world.

Beel stopped wanting food. He still ate because he needed to at least dull the pain of his hunger, but he felt so guilty. He didn’t want to eat when you can’t. He didn’t want to eat without you.

Belphie started blaming himself for everything he did to you in your life. He was rude. He tricked you. He KILLED you. Even if you revived and made it back, he still hurt you for something that was never your fault. Now you’re truly gone this time, and he can’t ever fully make up for what he did to you.

Acceptance

Lucifer would never get you back. He understood that, and he mostly came to terms with the sting. He started to return to how others new him. The oldest, most reliable brother and Diavolo’s right hand. He had a picture of you on his desk, started to tell you how his day was, and wished you well wherever you were.

Mammon came out of his room more and more. His schemes also came back more and more. He started to go back to his mischievous and energy filled life. He was never as dependent on the objects he’d taken to remember you by as he had been, but he still kept a memento of you on him at all times.

Levi finished the animes and games you wanted to do together. He made new saves on the games, and he made sure to tell you what happened. Hopefully wherever you were, you were able to hear him, and hear his thanks for being with him.

Satan finally started to be able to relax. You being gone still stung, but he was able to live with the sting now. He started reading books to an image of you, books that reminded him of you. He wanted you to know, wherever you were, that you were still remembered and loved, even if you weren’t there with them anymore.

Asmo started seeing the light of the world again. He started to return to how he was, outgoing and social. He mostly returned to his old style, but he still kept some aspects of how you dressed to remember you by.

Beel started return to his kind and caring self. He was still getting used to you not being there, he doubted he ever fully would, but he came to accept it was a fact you were gone and and he couldn’t change it. He started to go back to eating as much as he could, and he also continued to eat things that reminded him of you. He will remember you and how loving you were to him and his family.

Belphie came to understand you were gone, and he couldn’t bring you back. He regrets that he hurt you as much as he did, but he knows now that at least he can try to help others in your memory. He probably wouldn’t be like you, but he could at least do this to keep your memory and kindness alive.

Their thank you

You helped Lucifer learn to rely on others more, and helped him and his relationship with little brothers as well.

You helped Mammon feel as if he was more than a scumbag trying to imitate his older brother.

You helped Levi understand he isn’t horrible for liking what he likes and that he is truly loved.

You helped Satan truly understand emotions other than anger and how deep they all were.

You helped Asmo shared his insecurities and feel an attachment to someone who isn’t himself or his brothers.

You helped Beel get back his twin and helped him dull his ever lasting hunger.

You helped Belphie come to terms with what happened durning the Celestial War and helped him return to his brothers.

From the bottom of all their hearts, “Thank you”

[aroaessidhe]

2023 reads / storygraph

The Day Death Stopped

NA contemporary fantasy

in a world with witches - most of whom have random insignificant powers - one per generation is the Zaro, the magical leader with almost endless power, until the power was born into two people

Claire is perfectly happy being a stage magician, pretending to be a normal witch, while the other is raised to be the next Zaro - but when he casts a spell to stop death (entirely, in the worst kind of way) to ‘protect her’ she has to get involved

nonlinear storytelling, quirky omniscient narrator, footnotes

ace MC

[mysticalibra1994]

Pokemon, Japan, and Neurodivergency

So, ever since I heard (recently) about Satoshi Tajiri having a special interest in collecting bugs (and is confirmed to have autism), this got my interest piqued for the new game(s) of Pokemon (mostly Violet for personal reasons). ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ You see, ever since my diagnosis of ADHD as a little kid, it felt like I was the last person on Earth who had it. However, when she was alive, my mom was the only person who understood what I was going through during my struggles.

From before to middle school, I was medicated for it. But, ever since they increased the mg on it, I had my first dizzy spell in my middle school library. When I told my mom about it, she weaned me off of it. Ever since I lost her at age 12, it felt like someone hit a huge reset button and I had to start my life all over. High school wasn't easy with it, either. It felt like I only had one nice teacher; my History teacher. Of course, this may be a bias due to History being one of my favorite subjects (Art and Reading). But I believe that it's more than that, I had a teacher who never berated me for showing signs of ADHD.

Unfortunately, I had to change schools because the staff knew that I was struggling, but they didn't do anything to help. Of course, I've felt saddened having to say goodbyes to my friends, but what's done is done...

During my first enrollment in this new school, I was a little nervous and afraid that it would be a repeat... But it wasn't! I actually felt accepted! No, more than that. I felt normal without even trying... My own version of "normal". ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Now, you may be wondering "What does this have anything to do with Pokemon Violet?". Well, it has something to do with the headcanons of the students being neurodivergent.

1.) Nemona - There are some headcanons of her being on the spectrum because battling is her hyperfixation and she simply wants to share it with the people she truly cares about. Also, she may have some physical therapy for her arm due to her brace/compression glove.

2.) Arven - "He's off in a flash, the second something new crosses his mind". Stop me if that sounds familiar... Also (depending on the version of the game), he has mother/father issues and his Pokemon/dog being sick/injured (and maybe at that age...), we could tell that he truly cares deeply for his emotional support Pokemon...

3.) Florian/Julianna - Since we're playing as these characters, who's to say that they're not as neurodivergent as us?

In fact, who's to say that Naranja/Uva University has the majority of neurodivergent students with understanding/supportive staff?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now for something serious...

In Japan, having an open and honest discussion of the importance of mental health is considered taboo. Instead, they have a store that sells syringe charm necklaces, pill capsule earrings, and T-shirts with words like "Sweet Death" or "Please, Help me!" in Kanji and pastel glitter. The main reason why they refuse to talk about it is to "save face" (or "to avoid embarrassment"). Think about how it was never easy to bring up our neurodivergencies to others...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With all of that set in mind, I believe that playing video games that have support characters with unspoken neurodivergent behaviors and main characters who fit into the "silent protagonist" trope is the only way for people like us (neurodivergent people who are afraid to ask for help due to personal reasons) to escape the harsh realities of the fact that we KNOW that the world isn't made for people like us.

[bayetea]

seeing non-black people critique rick's portrayal of black characters is interesting sometimes. only like 30% of the critiques I see make any sense to me to be honest

[rfaromance]

Bright.

Blindingly bright.

Saeyoung squinted as he stepped out from his workroom, blinking vigorously as his eyes tried to adjust to the light.

When he was in his "office," as he called it with a tongue-in-cheek chuckle, he entrenched himself in almost total darkness. Only the faint glow of screens illuminated the din.

But when he walked out into the living space of his bunker, where a warm smile greeted him from the kitchen....

Dizzyingly, dazzlingly bright.

"Saeyoung!" Her voice was music to his ears as she called out to him cheerfully. "Are you finally done working? Come over and eat!"

He plopped down in a stool on the other side of the kitchen counter, then craned his neck to try to see what she had prepared for him. "I didn't hear the fire alarm," he commented, unable to suppress his amusement as he did so.

She quickly wiped the smirk off his face by smacking him with a hand towel. "Today's meal was incident-free!" she huffed. "If only because... I've been banned from using the oven until we get new oven mitts."

Saeyoung could feel the heat radiating off her face in waves. "And I promised you can pick them out. Whatever mitts make you happy." He knew she didn't mean to burn a hole straight through the fabric of the old mitt. "Come on, now. Show me what you made!" Eager to change the topic, he adjusted his glasses and tried to sneak another peek at her creation.

"Yes!" Her eyes lit up in excitement as she turned to grab the dish she had prepared. "Today I made... ahem." She paused and cast him a quick glance.

At her cue, Saeyoung began to drum his hands against the counter, preparing for a grand entrance.

"A PhD Parfait!" With a dramatic flourish, she slid a bowl in front of Saeyoung's face, close enough that he almost ended up with yogurt atop his freckled nose.

No longer suppress his giggles, Saeyoung echoed gleefully, "PhD Parfait!" Propping his elbows up and leaning forward, he purred, "Well, I must know, what layers of study went into this parfait's degree?"

"This parfait has its base studies in vanilla yogurt and granola," she began. "It then proceeded to get a master's in honey drizzle, with extra classes in blueberry and strawberry, then naturally a thesis on chopped cherry!" He could almost hear her chest thumping as she tucked her head down shyly. "I wanted to turn your favorite flavors into something healthy... I hope you don't mind the sliced almonds that I added for protein. Plus... you're quite nutty, so they fit."

With an indignant snort, Saeyoung folded his arms over his chest. He quickly stuck his tongue out and winked at her to let her know he was just joking, though. Eagerly he picked up his spoon and began to dig into the parfait.

By playing around, he could hide the tears in his eyes and the blush on his cheeks at how touched he was that she was this thoughtful and sweet.

"What do you want to do this afternoon?" he asked in between bites. "Now that I'm finished working for today."

"Hmm..." She slung her apron over the hook on the side of the refrigerator, before coming back to sit beside him. "Can we stay in? It's supposed to be really cold today."

Saeyoung nodded slowly. "Right. You don't handle the cold well." He knew her joints became stiff when the temperature dropped too low, and overall she would function more slowly. "We can stay inside. Is it a video game day, a binge-watch day, or continue working on the moving basketball hoop day?"

"I still don't understand why you want to make it move!" she groaned. "I'm bad enough at basketball when the hoop stays still! Why can't we make a robot that retrieves tennis balls? Since we're both awful at tennis."

Saeyoung shook his head. "I get my tennis workout by running after all the balls we miss!" he explained. "Unless you have any other ideas?" His voice grew soft as he added, "We'll do whatever makes you happy."

He could almost see the gears turning in her head as she fumbled around for an answer. "Oh!" Like a light bulb had gone off inside her, she asked, "Do we still have those model rockets? The wooden ones? Let's put them together and then paint them!"

"Mm, yeah." He nodded, finishing his bite full of berries before continuing. "Check where we keep the board games."

Hastily she sprang up, clearly excited to get started, but almost immediately she fell back into her seat.

At once, Saeyoung jumped to his feet, turning towards her with concern. "Honey! Are you okay?"

"Of course, of course." She waved him off dismissively. "I just stood up too fast. I'm fine!" As if to prove herself, she jumped up again, only to teeter and collapse back into her seat again.

Saeyoung's brow furrowed and he reached over to place his arms around her for support. "Come here. Let me take you to the couch. When's the last time I checked your vitals?"

She shook her head uncertainly. "I... can't access my calendar. That's strange. Is it updating right now?"

Fighting hard to keep a calm smile on his face, Saeyoung led her to the couch. Once he was sure she was seated firmly, he reached underneath the couch and pulled out a metal box. "Let me check you over real quick, get you something to fuel up, and then we paint. Would that make you happy?"

She nodded. "Sounds like a plan, dear!"

Dizzyingly bright.

He parted her dark hair to the side and lifted her shirt, exposing her delicate back. He slid his goggles on and pulled out his flashlight and screwdriver, as he carefully removed her back panel to reveal the motherboard underneath. "No wonder she's feeling off," he mumbled as he put his screwdriver down and began searching in his toolbox for his soldering iron. "These wires are frayed. I'll need to make replacements tonight."

Excitement. Joy. Curiosity. Embarrassment. Mischief. Love.

He had done his best to recreate every aspect of her, from the color of the bulbs in her eyes to the shade of fiber for her hair, from the spray paint he used for her skin to the synthesizer he selected for her voice. He wanted to capture her broad range of emotions and the intensity with which she felt them. He hadn't been sure such a feat would be possible, but after trial and error, he had finally created almost an exact likeness of the woman he loved.

Almost exact, for two reasons:

First, because God Seven was no god at all but a mere human, and he could not ever hope to recreate his departed angel perfectly.

Second, because he had chosen not to program her with sadness.

Sadness. Sorrow. Despair. Agony. Misery. Emptiness.

She would only know bliss. She would be happy for the rest of their lives.

Saeyoung would never, ever need to see tears fall from his beloved's face ever again.

He wouldn't lose her to misfortune and misery a second time.

"Are you happy?" he whispered, barely audible as he fused the frayed wires back together.

"I'm always happy when I'm with you!" she chirped back, sitting patiently as Saeyoung worked his repairs.

I hope it's bright and happy where you are.

(loosely inspired by this art by @itsmeohmyo )

[whump-queen]

For the five sentence thing!

Whumpee let out a small whimper as [intimate] whumper entered the small catered-to room. With chains in Whumpers hands, Whumpee scoots further up the bed away from him, awaiting fearfully for whumpers plans.

The flick of a switchblade was all he needed to hear. The way the blue light flashed through Isaac’s dark green irises, glinting off of the edge of the blade as it clicked open.

Cool metal pressed against his neck, the edge digging in just above his hammering pulse.

That was all he needed to feel. He knew.

Today was the day. He was sure of it.

All those promises to cut him to pretty red ribbons weren’t for nothing.

Today was the day Isaac would finally kill him.

[webanglikethat]

𐙚 ⋮ saying goodbye to Chloe in ep 8 ꒱ ‧₊˚

[nihiltism]

ok so while my ds is getting sand poured into it at alarming rates I'm thinking about how jrpgs in specific have a really weird desync with How Important Death Is. like some address it better than others but it very frequently happens where if you take a step back youll go "am I wild or is everybody just like, Really down with murder in this game". and consequences for said murder, especially in a characterization sense but even just actual physical consequences, don't really happen? unless it's a vehicle for conflict but like. when it is a vehicle for conflict it feels weird because why are These Guys actually taking the fact we killed somebody in broad daylight seriously and coming after us for it while all the other npcs and even the main party took it like it was another saturday evening

see I Think where the issue lies is in the fact that everything is in its own little world when you're in a battle? like. when you fight an enemy and you get leather out of it it's seen as something the enemy Drops and not. their hide. when you defeat a character in a battle it does just feel like you Defeated them. unless there's dialogue afterwards that says otherwise you don't even mentally assume you killed em you just wounded them enough to make them flee or dissolve or whatever. and it's Weird to just. have that assumption there because for a lot of games it really isn't clear if you're killing them or defeating them !!

that last point is extra important when you have the specific brand of Skittish Hero / Noble Hero Who Doesn't Kill People / Rational Hero In Way Over Their Head or whatever where you really don't think they Would kill a guy just to get them out of the way. in that case it's REALLY weird because it's hardly brought up. even if it Is brought up that that guy Sure Did Die the mc doesn't tend to actually have a reaction ??? and I don't know why this is ???? like Any written reaction would be more interesting than nothing even if the guy doesn't have a full on crisis about taking another life having them go "oh shit, The Consequences" would be nice. really anything except (oh cool we can advance the plot now).

I will also mention that Some deaths do matter plot wise but very frequently what makes them matter is how much of it is linked to an in game battle I think. if your mc just finishes a fight and comes back to the overworld and the guy's Disappeared or Dissolved or whatever it means they don't matter. if the guy's still around after the fight it means it's more significant, especially if they're still alive but wounded or Really Shaken Up. because this clears up the indistinguishable line between if a battle is lethal or not and if a character decides to deal a finishing blow now it's Way more telling of their character. even though this is basically the same thing that happened in the (killed In A Battle) scenario. just with more dialogue. I will also mention that the person who deals the finishing blow is Rarely Ever that good hearted protagonist and often they'll even go :0 at somebody else committing a murder despite them instigating and helping murder quite a few people. just. In Battle. so it's less bad. I guess.

this is leaving out the fact that in party deaths are often a Major Major Blow because like. ok that's fair. that's A Guy You Knew that's understandable. anyway I don't really know where I'm going with this I just think it's interesting how in these types of games death can swap from not mattering at all to mattering a Lot and if u don't think about it too hard u don't even question it. I'll probably be putting some examples in the tags idk

[the-unlucky-trevor]

I wrote a monologue, any thoughts?

CW: Death, cancer, gender dysphoria, bullying, ableism, child abuse, period mention, self-termination mention. Proceed with caution

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“So, I finally admit it. My life hasn’t been the greatest in the Muggle world. I mean, ever since I was two, I’ve been beaten and yelled at by my so-called ‘therapists’ for anything that I did that wasn’t ‘normal’. Understandably, that lead to them being sued and arrested, but the scars remained on me and probably the rest of those kids. I went to a normal preschool, and the kids there were pretty nice.

 They were good to me, until my first year in primary school. Very few of my old classmates were there, but the rest was horrifically cruel, and that’s only putting it nicely. Those times are when I started showing signs of magic.

 One time, when I was being chased up a tree, as per usual, I somehow teleported into my classroom, on the ceiling. Oddly enough, that only worsened the bullying. Now, some would throw rude remarks and rocks at me. I got used to it as a result, and I just ignored it. Then, when I was nine, puberty hit. It felt like something out of a horror film. I started feeling pain in places I never realised, and I started to bleed horrifically every month. My mum said it was normal, and I would have to get used to it, but HOW IS UNNECESSARY AMOUNTS OF PAIN ‘NORMAL’?!

Because of this, I didn’t feel like myself. I felt like I was trapped in my own body, and I just wanted to escape. I was born in the wrong body, with the wrong mind, at the WRONG time. And just like that, my only friend JUST SO happened to get cancer and DIE PAINFULLY!!

I started considering ending it all. I felt like the world hated me. My classmates hated me, my neighbour hated me, and my therapists hated me. From there, I began rejecting my own name, Elisabeth. I didn’t want to be called that, I didn’t want to play dolls with Lilli, and I didn’t want to be a girl, so I changed everything.

I told my family that I didn’t want to be a girl, and they accepted it. Mum got me new clothes, a new style, a new me. Lilli started calling me ‘big brother’ after some time, but my entire extended family and my classmates were oblivious, but I learned to bear it.

After that, my final year of primary school was finally over, and for the first time, I was happy. I finally was the person that I wanted to be, and I finally decided my new name, Elliott.

Then, Hagrid came and told me there was a place for me, so he took me to get prepared, and I came here, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite all that had happened over the course of the year, I feel like I belong here, and I wouldn’t change a thing. I finally have friends and a reason to talk to them, and it’s so damn wonderful that I get to be here.”

[safely-in-vhagars-belly]

Princess of dragonstone, chapter 17:

FANFICTION au: Rhaenyra has a daughter with Harwin as well who gets lured into a dangerous trap and becomes Aemond property, aemond and aegon chat about daella's duties and aemond teaches his pet some fun new things

Child death, violence, Helemond, dark!Helaena, blood, mention of Blood and Cheese, pregnancy for mc, mc considering ''ending'' her child, childloss, stillbirth, aemond loses his children, cheating, alys rivers,

5 months later Daella’s pov. I am anything but a quitter. But those few weeks I felt close to giving up. It all started when Aemond returned me from the red keep… He feels me up a bit. He grins and tells me I was a good girl for getting myself fucked by him. I didn’t pay attention to it, but there were guards everywhere. We walk through the gates. Again, guards everywhere. And finally when we enter the castle, Aemond looked around suspiously as well. We walk inside, to the throne room and instantly, hands grab me and throw me on the floor. Aemond is grabbed as well, protesting and trying to break free. Helaena steps forward from the throne, her nightgown has red stripes and spots. Her eyes are red from the crying. She points to me. ‘Kill her! She did this! She killed my children!’

I see it. There are three bodies by the throne. All beheaded. ‘Your grace, I was out with your brother. None of us saw-‘ ‘Silence you whore! I know you have magic! You had an hand in this.’ She smiles sinister at ser Criston. ‘Take their heads. I want them impaled at the gates!’ Aegon finally speaks. His eyes are burning with tears. ‘Brother, did you murder them? Is it true? ’ Aemond shakes his head. He breaks down crying as well. I never saw him cry. ‘I would never have hurt them. I loved them as if they were my own.’ He says and tries to control his very emotional voice. I almost feel guilty. Almost. Aegon nods. ‘I believe him. Release him and his whore. They are innocent unless proven differently.’ Helaena screams and tries to get me beheaded but ser Criston intervens. Aemond was a wreck that night, when we went to sleep. I read his journal and found out why. He wrote down years ago about taking his sister’s maidenhead. All the children were his bastards. He was their true father. If we had known, we would not need to send assasins. They are bastards. They could never inherit the throne. Not soon after finding out about the death of his children, Aemond left for the riverlands with Alys. She promised me she would return him safely. I joked I would kill her if she didn’t. Aemond is fighting for weeks. He came back for me one time, when he slew my aunt Rhaenys and killed her together with Aegon. He took me that night as well, claiming I was his rightful reward. For the time after that I have little memory. Days were bleak and went by quickly.

Until one morning I was invited to see the former queen, Alicent Hightower. There is a lot of good sweets on her desk. I can’t really help myself and try my shot at everything that seems full of sugar and caramel. The former queen smiles at me, sickenly. ‘When was the last time you bled?’ I nearly throw up. ‘Months ago. Aemond gives me Moontea.’ I say, pretty certain of my case. The former Queen simply blinks. ‘Does he? Your belly is swollen.’

‘Must be because I eat bad.’ I lie, to myself. I am not dumb. I can clearly see I am pregnant and I am far in my pregnancy at that. I feel the baby kicking and I feel sick most of the days and eat too much. Alicent pretends to be my friend. ‘Daella, you are pregnant. Shall I write Aemond for you? Surely he likes to know-‘ ‘Aemond won’t be in the picture. He had his chance. He prefers to fuck witches and to fed servants to his dragon.’ It’s true. Aemond wrote me he wont be coming back, and neither will Alys. He apologisies to me for everything he ever did to me, but I don’t want his aplogies. I want him, damn it. I was very mad and sad I was pregnant so I kind of hoped that the gods would take it away before it was here. I prayed that It would be stillborn. Alicent’s guards kept their eye on me or I would have ended this pregnancy illegally.

But after a while, I convinced myself that a baby would lure Aemond and me back together. He would see his son, he would love them and he would forget his stupid bitch witch. When my time came, he was there. He burst into the room where the maids had just left me in the birthing bed. He rushed to my side, smiled at me and told me he wanted to see him. ‘Where is my son? Alys told me it’s a boy.’ I didn’t have the courage or the engery to tell him what happened. I gave a weak nod to the crib. Aemond nearly tripped over his own feet and looked down in the crib. He let out a scream.

I was so hopeful this baby would bring us together. So you can imagine how gutted I was when I gave birth to a stillborn boy with monsterous wings that missed both his eyes. ‘No, no no!’ Aemond groans before picking up the little monster. ‘My son. My beautiful baby boy.’ He softy kisses his forhead where his eyes are supposed to be and kisses it. I turned away from both. ‘Get that monster out of my sight. He is not our son. He died the second you lay with that witch.’ I spit out to him.

Aemond gently puts the monster back. ‘He is our son. He damn well is. We will cremate him, and you will fucking name him.’ Cremate the little monster? I will not waste time thinking of a name. I grit out. ‘I will not. He doesn’t exist. Not to me.’ its true. I have been pretending that I am not pregnant at all.

He grabs my hand. ‘I understand that I hurt you with leaving and with Alys but she is gone now. I am loyal to you.’ He tries to kiss it but I slap him and turn away. I don’t cry. I don’t care. I don’t feel anything anymore. For a long time now. ‘You killed our son. Its your fault he is dead.’ I say and I know its true. He doesn’t like hearing that and tears up. Thinking of his own other children he also lost. ‘We’ll make a new one.’

‘No we won’t.’ I firmly say. ‘Your time abusing this body has come to an end. If you want any babies you can return to the riverlands and fuck your witch or your Baratheon whore.’ ‘Yes, we will! I own you! You will do as I say!’ he screams but thanks to his tears the voice becomes unsteady. I simply shrug. I didn’t even respond to him. He finally left the room crying. I picked up the baby from the crib and walked to the window. Out of spite, I would throw it down. Watch the miserable little ugly thing burst into hundreds pieces just to spite Aemond.

But the moment I held him, the moment I had his little tiny body in my arms, something broke in me. He was so little. So cold. Like he was asleep. The baby felt so cold in my arms. He might have been a little monster. But he was my monster. I sank to my knees and I just… I just screamed until there was no sound left.