#Moonlight lovers Neil

[hassedah]

I don't think I've ever seen anyone talk about this, but what last name do you think the boys+neil would have? Have a nice day<3

What are the boys' last names? :

Hi! How are you? I hope you are well! ^^

Here's the headcanons you requested! I hope you enjoy it! ^^

It was a bit complicated because family names didn't always exist. But I did what I could to try and remain consistent.

Take care of yourself and have a nice day! ^^

Vladimir :

I assume that Vladimir has an English last name and not one of the upper classes of the time, given that his mother is one of the new rich.

I think he didn't get his father's last name because I imagine that Vladimir's father's relationship with his family must really not have been good, by which I mean that his mother's family is not the only rich family in Europe at the time and yet that's who he chose for an arranged marriage, when it would have been much simpler to take a Hungarian family and not move so far away from the land he was supposed to inherit (I mean, it's shooting yourself in the foot to move so far away). Secondly, Vladimir doesn't seem to know exactly where his father's family lives, which seems a bit strange because : You don't travel much in those days, but you exchange letters with your family and friends and, above all, there are maps, boats and the train which is developing. What's more, Vladimir's mother's family is rich, so they can pay for the journey without any problems.

Vladimir is still very attached to his last name, which is a bit unusual for a vampire of his age. He continues to use it frequently, whether to sign letters or other documents, or even to introduce himself to other vampires.

Béliath :

I don't think there are any family names for incubi and succubi, there probably aren't very many of them and they are all easily recognisable by a particular feature, such as "Asmodeus the powerful", without doubt Beliath is known as Beliath son of Asmodeus.

He really doesn't understand the purpose of last names among humans, or how they're supposed to be passed on, let alone why some people are so attached to them - after all, he doesn't have one and he doesn't mind. He wouldn't mind taking his partner's last name if his partner wanted it.

He sometimes uses last name when he wants to pass himself off a bit more as a human, but they're always the most basic last names possible. He used to have fun using more original ones, but Aaron pointed out to him that it was stupidly dangerous to make himself stand out even more than he already was by his behaviour, so since then he's been much more careful.

Ivan :

I can imagine him having a compound last name, perhaps a French last name and a Slavic last name. My idea is that at least one of his parents comes from a Slavic country or has parents from a Slavic country (which would explain his first name other than the idea that his parents were fans of a film character called Ivan).

Ivan, like the vast majority of young vampires, finds it hard to shake off his family name. He uses it often, much too often in the eyes of Aaron, who finds it dangerous, after all, the town is small and there shouldn't be any namesakes. Ivan tries hard to break the habit, but he can't help it, he's still too attached to his last name to forget it.

Sometimes he tries to use a different one, but they're often last names taken from films or characters he really likes. It's no more discreet than his real last name, but Aaron thinks it's better than nothing.

Aaron :

It's more complicated for Aaron because I have no idea how last name evolved in Spain during the century in which he was born. But I suppose if he has a last name it's probably his mother's, as he was born out of wedlock and his mother doesn't seem to have lived with his father. Perhaps something to do with sewing, as his mother was a seamstress for the village, so he would probably have been known as the seamstress's son.

Aaron has almost forgotten his last name anyway. He never uses it and isn't even sure how it's supposed to be spelt. It doesn't really matter to him though, it's just a last name and he doesn't feel particularly attached to it, preferring to be known as his mother's son as he was brought up entirely by her.

Most of the time, when he has to use a last name, he uses very common last name depending on the country he lives in: Smith when he lives in England, for example, or Martin when he lives in France. Its aim is to go as unnoticed as possible.

Raphaël :

There's not much difference in age between Raphael and Aaron, and I don't know how the family name evolved in Italy at that time either. But, I suppose it would be an Italian last name, probably related to art or painting, especially if his family had been painters for several generations. If his father was famous, there's a good chance that he would also have called himself Raphael, son of "his father's name". On the other hand, if it was his family in general that was famous, he would probably have defined himself by a last name.

He likes his last name, even though he doesn't use it any more, it's still part of his life in one way or another. He wouldn't introduce himself with it though.

Raphaël doesn't care about discretion, if he has to use a last name he'll always choose something nice to the ear, even if it's completely out of tune with the time or place he lives in. This really annoys Aaron, because yes, Raphaël will use the last name Rossignol without hesitation, a nightingale is pretty, so why shouldn't he use it, and yes, he'll also use the last name Citron, he likes lemons and yellow is a very pretty colour, so why shouldn't he be called Raphaël Citron?

Ethan :

A Finnish last name, I imagine a fairly common one. There's a good chance it's his father's last name.

He remains quite attached to it, even though he hasn't used his last name for years. After all, it's the last thing he has left of his parents that still ties him to his family. However, nobody at the manor knows him, he really prefers to keep it to himself like a secret; he doesn't think he'd like to hear one of his housemates call him by his last name.

Like Raphaël, he uses last names that he likes rather than discreet ones, and he uses a lot of last names from films or video games that he likes, so he's already introduced himself as Skywalker or Wayne, much to Aaron's dismay.

Neil :

There isn't really a last name at the time, I think the way he defines himself changes between before he takes hostages and after, before I'd see him introducing himself more as Neil son of "his father's name" (and even then given that the relationship with his father was pretty bad I doubt he really wanted to define himself that way) then if you follow the canon of the game and the history he'd introduce himself as Neil Noígíallach after taking the 9 hostages. But as with many people at the time, it's more a name to show off his exploits than a real last name.

I don't think he uses his last name much. He uses it to impress people and to remind them that he's old and powerful. But he doesn't attach too much importance to it.

He is one of the only vampires who can present himself under his family name. So he doesn't try to invent one when he wants to introduce himself. Vampires who know a bit about Irish history immediately understand who he is, and apart from humans who know a bit about Irish history, most don't really react.

Léandra :

As with Beliath, Leandra is better known as Leandra daughter of Asmodeus. She has not yet achieved anything significant enough to be known for it, but she's trying to achieve something big enough among the succubi to be known for it.

She doesn't understand at all the attraction humans have for family names, or why they always seem to be passed down through the father. As far as she's concerned, if they were to be passed down at all, it would only be through the most powerful parent or the one who has achieved the greatest feat.

When she has to introduce herself under a last name among humans, she always looks for something amusing and sensual. Yes, she has no problem calling herself Léandra Blackwidow, she even finds it very amusing. In fact, she makes a lot of puns with her first name.

Farah :

She's older than Aaron and I have the same problem as him. What's more, given that she left her family with her brother after a row with their father, I'd imagine there's little chance of her introducing herself as Farah, daughter of "her father's name". Perhaps she'd introduce herself as Farah, Ernesto's sister for a while and then probably as Farah, "the pack leader's name".

She understands the usefulness of last name but has never actually used one. It's not something that's really common among werewolves, as most of them define themselves by the pack to which they belong. In most cases, a last name is completely useless.

If she really has to use a last name, she'll look for something common to the time and country she's in, to try and go as unnoticed as possible.

[lumen-anima]

I'll do you one better.

People wrote them regarding this (since we thought it was a mistake) and and all their answer was that Google decides the rating based on the questionnaire they filled out when they put the games up.

There you have it folks. Beemoov at its finest.

Pegi 12. This game is pegi 12! No one cares if in toc they write +16, because people (parents!) will only look on google store app page.

And that page says that this game is good for twelve year olds

T W E L V E.

So.

I just leave it here

[verystrxxwberry]

Heyo alex... I'd like to request hcs of what turns the ML routes on? Thank you so much! Have a nice day<333

MOONLIGHT LOVERS; What turns the routes on (NSFW)

♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: NSFW. ↝ 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: I am not responsible of any minor reading this, but I recommend to not interact with this post if you are. And I must say I got truly happy of seeing a request about my favorite guys ajhfahdsgfhs thank you. I hope you enjoy it!

♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•.

 AARON 

The way you say his name breathlessly when making out. He is kissing your lips as if it was the only thing keeping him alive at the moment, sucking on your lip and brushing your tongue against his. Aaron’s hands get bolder as the kisses get more heated, reaching to squeeze your ass and glue your body to his. Feeling his muscular body towards yours, how his hands got a possessive grip, it all made you melt in a sigh. “Aaron…” you whined in between kisses, and that was what caused a big amount of adrenaline to go to the area between his legs. You could hear a sigh from him (sometimes a low groan). He loves hearing your heavy breath.

And if you part your legs to let him press his leg right in between, he is gonna feel truly aroused. 

He loves your scent, and when you have a period of time when your hormones are raging, he's going to know it and he's going to be on the lookout for your scent; he loves it. 

Speaking of hormones... Aaaron is a hybrid, and that includes that on full moon nights he's going to have to keep some distance from you, because just being near you already tightens his pants.

He is an honest person, so will say when he needs you. He likes it when you tease him in public. The moment you simply whisper in his ear what you’d like him to do to you, he’s gonna smirk and place a hand around your hips. “Patience, dear, patience” he’d whisper, giving a little kiss to your ear lobe. Just by his grip you can guess how intense the moment will be.

This also means that he is into dirty talk. He likes the contrast between your casual and somewhat respectful personality you have in front of others, and then when you get to purr about how you’d be jumping on his cock that moment.

Another turn on for him is to give him a chest massage, or caressing his back with your nails.

BELIATH 

Whenever you’re horny, he is. He is an incubus, what do you expect... he can smell your scent, he can feel the desire that is created between your legs, he can hear how your heartbeat accelerates.

Praising his strength. He trains daily and is aware that he has a good body, plus his nature allows him to be much stronger than a human. It's true that many people call him narcissistic for that very reason (which he doesn't mind either), so he loves the fact that you do it in a genuine way. If you happen to mention to him how strong he is the moment he opens something for you, or holds something heavy, the smuggest smile will appear on his face. And chances are he will then carry you in his arms.

Playing his flirting game. It is no longer the fact that you are flirting with him, but that it is YOU who is doing it. When he was single, anyone who hit on him made him feel desire, but now that he's with you.... Beliath knows how to read the environment and knows when it's time to get serious or not, so when he can afford to relax, he will take advantage of it to flirt with you. Even if you sometimes complain or get shy, when you throw comments back at him, he gets very touchy. And if you guide his hands to where you want him to touch you, you'll see him bite his lip to avoid eating you right then and there.

When you get jealous and decide to kiss him in public or do something to mark your possession. He is handsome and, unluckily, the human world is filled with a lot of disrespectful people who won’t care if he is well accompanied by his partner. If someone flirts with him, he is going to consider that person to not exist and keep his attention on you. But, oh… the moment he sees you want to show those humans that he is yours, he is even gonna moan. “That was so hot of you to do.” he'd confess short after.

When you get frustrated by his teasing. And this doesn’t mean crossing any boundaries, ever. He learnt that he will never do anything without your consent. It’s simply that teasing you until you are so needy that you practically beg him for more, fuels him with a feeling of satisfaction and arousal that he couldn’t even be able to explain. 

VLADIMIR 

Praise. This man lives in constant stress, and being with you is his one moment of peace a day. When he is with you, you can discover his most vulnerable side. And he is a pleaser during intimate moments. So hearing your genuine praise only gets him to do anything to please you, which also pleases him. You could even hear small gasps or even whimpers once you praise him.

When you caress his hair and accidentally pull his hair softly.

The way you smell after a shower makes him somehow aroused, even more when he is able to hug you from behind as you are still wearing the towel. Then he’d give small kisses to your shoulders and neck, sighing at how pleasant the smell of your shampoo was, or how warm your skin was at that moment. 

Showering with you is so intimate for him that he still gets nervous even if you’ve been doing it for a long while. He likes intimacy, and will only get aroused if things do get heated on its own. Usually, he is the one who cleans himself, because you both found out that the first time you did, his dick reacted maybe a way too much. 

He is actually scared of getting intimate constantly in case he makes you uncomfortable or tired of him.

When you are actively listening to him, it makes his heart melt. As I said, you are his safe spot, and that means he shows himself more naturally. He rants a lot about things like flowers, past experiences or plans he has for the mansion. He loves it when you ask questions about it or he finds you looking at him with attention, it makes him feel warm and more connected to you. That makes him more close to you. He absolutely adores it.

RAPHAEL

He takes things slow and he can get in the mood with not very sexual stuff. He isn’t a pervert, of course, but he finds natural and gentle stuff more arousing than someone who is very dirty (such as Beliath). That doesn’t mean that during sex you can’t be dirty. Be, he is gonna love it anyway.

His neck is very sensitive, and kisses in there make him really really flustered. Whenever he is reading in braille and you are doing your own stuff (quality of time works a lot for him!). He is already relaxed by your presence and the sound of your breathing. But he wouldn’t expect that you’d give him some light kisses on his neck. He immediately tilts his head to the side and sighs. 

Confidence. There is nothing more Raphael likes than when you show confidence in your words or actions. He finds it very attractive and it is something that makes him very happy that you are his. You might even notice that while you are explaining something, confident in yourself, he would be stroking your back as a way of communicating his pride for you. 

He feels attracted by your voice, so any subtle change to flirt with him makes him feel butterflies. Your tired, sleepy or morning voice is really appealing.

When you sit on his lap to caress his hair. It might start as something innocent at first hand, and it will remain like that most of the time. But sometimes he buries his head on the crook of your neck, as he caresses the back of your thighs and tries to remain calm. And somehow it will end up in a making out session, having you on his lap and feeling how badly he wants you.

ETHAN

When you try to be silent when he is physically teasing you. He loves to tease you when he is being the big spoon, caressing your weak spots now that he is able to do so, chuckling whenever you squirm. The sloppy kisses on your neck as his hand are caressing and squeezing your thighs, making you bury your face into the pillow to moan softly at such teasing. “Oh…? What a beautiful sound from you…” he'd purr, as his hand goes to the forbidden place, right where he could steal some more moans from you.

When you play with his hands. He likes to feel your soft touch on his body, even if it distracts him a lot from his normal thoughts. 

When you hug his arm for warmth. He likes to feel how you glue your chest to his arm as you search to get warm, his hand pinching your abdomen every now and then.

Bratty attitude. Someone who argues back. If he is trying to argue and you simply answer back, he is gonna start feeling the tension building. It will most likely be when the context isn’t too serious, because sometimes he starts arguments in which he is incorrect… and he is aware. But seeing how you defend your statement with that frown and the way the environment is filled with tension only gives him the urge to throw his claws at you.

And he’d do that, kissing you so you get quiet and saying “what a little mouth you have here… saying too much things. What if you gave it a better use?” As he caresses his thumb over your bottom lip <33.

Something about you doing intense eye contact with him. Be communicative with him with your physical language. 

Whenever you dress elegantly it makes him twitch under his pants.

Remember I mentioned you distract him from his normal thoughts? When you caress his thigh, he parts his legs unconsciously, and if you give slow strokes in that area, going dangerously down his thigh… he'd cross his legs, one over the other, trying to hide the growing bulge on his pants

IVAN

Seeing you wearing his clothes is such a cute and attractive view for him. He can’t stop looking at you up and down, you’d even have to remind him that your eyes are up and not down-... “Sooorry… you look so damn good tho.” he’d say as he wraps his arms around your waist for a hug. 

He can’t take his eyes out of your body, excuse him…

He gets boners every now and then without even wanting it, and trust me, he has a bad time. Even more if it is in public. He sits down wherever you two are, placing a part of his shirt over his lap and doing groaning noises as he squirms “nnnoo… wait, darling, I’m having a hard time here…”

If you sit on his lap and by any chance you dare to adjust your position or do anything that makes pressure or grinds right against his dick, he is gonna faint. No, not literally. He might need a few seconds to control his heartbeat and think about other things that prevent him from getting excited down there.

If you are one of those people who are not so shy after all.. Damn he’s gonna love your bold side showing from time to time. (If you aren’t, he’s gonna love you anyway)

Whenever you wear something red he can’t take that view of you from his mind. 

NEIL

Doesn’t this old man have erectile dysfunction atp…

Whispering in his ear. He likes the intimacy of you speaking in a low tone to him as your face is close to his. The eye contact he is able to make as you are so close, the way he can make you nervous by his intense stare, the feeling of your warm breath near his face. It is very erotic for him.

When you make excuses to touch him. “I’m cold, Neil…” as you hug him, “you got your braid messy” as you caress and massage his head, “Your shoulders seem tense…” as you caress his back and massage his shoulders. God, he sighs whenever you do that. He plays along as he is if he was believing your excuses, allowing you to touch him, after all… it’s a win-win. You touch him, and he receives your lovely touch.

When you are elegant. He loves to see you being polite to others, to see how you speak with delicacy and that formal smile on your face. Oh, and that's going to result in a reward from Neil at the slightest moment you're left alone with him.

Especially, when you finally get to your room and he sits you on one of his legs. “What a good little one you were there. It was really sexy to see you act like that.” He’d say in his usual hoarse, deep but monotone voice, which only makes him more attractive.

Whenever you wear something that reveals your collarbones. He caresses them a lot casually, like wrapping an arm around your shoulders and resting his fingers on your collarbone. He caresses the shape and looks at them every now and then. 

Also the view of you wearing tight pants, he can’t help staring at your ass for a long while. And even if you turn around and catch him staring, he will simply grin. You can see how his eyes wander towards your legs every now and then.

[tetrakys]

"No, I don’t have a type" 🤡

[chimairasden]

Double post today ✨

I have exams in two days and I will log out of social media. So... My Beemov OCs kissing people! I used this picrew for the pictures.

We have, in order:

Célestine making out with Jason in the office;

Lysander and Méline crying at their wedding;

Séraphine kissing Leiftan goodbye before the last battle;

Beulah feeding a still weak Neil in the Manor's basement.

I L O V E this picrew and I will definetly make more kisses 🥰 Which character would you like to see?

[oakensheilded]

Did he really call me baby while I was on Neils's story, Like why can't he call us baby on his story instead of thing?

[smash-or-pass-otome]

Neil

[astralnymphh]

copy that, romeo

— ellie williams was supposed to be your supervisor, not your object of infatuation ~ ♡

⋆❝ this is cordero tower, calling in.❞⋆

CHAPTER ONE: SUMMERTIME INTERLUDE . NEXT CHAPTER > ♡. pair; firewatcher!ellie x recruit!reader

♡. summary; it's 1995, and the angel crater national park welcomes you; a retrograde lookout all to yourself, a space nerd for a supervisor, and a whole summertime job spent in hues of sepia and juniper, waiting for the first sign of smoke. ninety–three days. you don't know her face, you share no breath— but by walkie–talkie, you know her voice.

♡. a/n; READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. CLICK HERE. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS. ALSO THIS.

♡. content; EVENTUAL SMUT, narrator present, silly fourth wall breaking, a dash of comedy, slowburn (somewhat), living alone, long–distance pining, reader/characters are similar ages(mid–late 20s), depression, heavy metaphor usage, complicated poetry styles, mentions of organs, mentions of weaponry, metaphorical death, grim humor, drinking alcohol, drunk!ellie, drunken flirting (vaguely and bluntly), ellie jumpscare, uh-oh sassy masc apocalypse, she's corny and cheesy too (a dork), awkwardness, humiliation, lighthearted bickering, nicknames used. [lmk if i missed anything] . SERIES PLAYLIST .

WC; 6.1k+ ✮ thank you @trackinglessons for your sexy brain and beautiful ideas + custom art ✮ masterlist ✮ series masterlist ✮ ellie ref sheet

Summertime is the interlude between misery and Mondays.

  May was a rough patch for you. A coagulated chapter within the spring world, a shunned ponder, red jello in the gradience of passage. Tempus, time. Early months hence were just as pessimizing, doubt is an arid reservoir in you. But, as a maypole sits a svelte giant in the sweet Beltane soil, braving an invisible smile whilst little ones— little laughters, spun prances and wraps of dainty satin to an ensnare on its long body, it weeped for its delicate capture. You; flesh coarse like timber, relate to the log standing, ensnared. Sunk in that gelatinous texture, unmoving as pressures collided with the surface outward, ripples everywhere yet incapable of sprinkling through you. Something would have to delve itself to drag you out.

  Chapters; cusp of autumn to April, every single month, wound ‘round you. They each had separating colors, and spared turns to soundly fold your limbs and bulge your skin in ribbons. It snipped your circulation, shriveled the ripe breath in your skull and traded it for a pressure. A throb. Weight upon the cranium, you felt the narrowing cradle inside wilt from thought, drain from consciousness, and soften your stiff eyes locked on drywall. Hour to hour.

  But those weren't the only things taunting you with a dance— expectations danced faster. Expectators, paired minds heaping expectations; yourself and the selves blackjacking their wants expressed as worries onto you. Stressful creatures, they are. Bosses, co–workers, energy vampires disguised as lover boys prowling about your workspace, general creatures of the retail world. God, they're like ravenous wolves snarling hunger through their teeth, slobber moonlight–bright of that dire carnality for variety meats. Depression just took the first serving before they could.

  Even the domesticated places are a wilderness untamed.

  Stress drained you of life. It softened your desire to even try. Gods are dulling, blamed you, on another dull morning where the trickling sound of coffee pouring drilled irk into your ears, rather than simply a trickle. Caffeine, a roast so void–black was brewed to un–drain you. Yet, it fuckin didn't.

  Impugning was your everything, until it could no longer purify; Elaine. Emptiness. Hmm, you gave this state of vacuum–headed hollowness a name, keenly because it deserved so by its dismantling of your autonomy. You don't want it. It's not you. It's Elaine. A some–angel fallen out of grace, weary of its wander upon a washed up cove, beige toned and swept shivering–cold. Interested by the warmth your sundry organs pushed into its light silhouette. 

  And perhaps, if the bird was never freed from its heavenly cage, it would be powerless to pester you, to poke the meat inside with the pointy end of plumage.

  Elaine was an organized assault on your wellbeing, moreso against the pulpy, pinkish-gray blob sitting ugly above your throat. Believe it, or assume it. A paralysis, moving shoulders from bed sheets proved farcical, running bristles over your teeth twice a day rhymes with nonsense, and midnight ink born to swirl and curtsy to convey thoughts gone rancid, goes unused atop the white flutter between your journal hardcovers. You have a morbid case of the seasonal blues, except this time, the season is beyond its blue hues. Spring, a fuckin’ kaleidoscope embellished. Blotches of big fuck you greens so vibrant you'd long to die from your tears, and an abstract spit of smell me reds thorny as your stomach brought to a scream for something. Anything.

It was a slow, banal descent into the jello.

  January, floating atop the sweet delicacy, atop your bed.

  February, the solidity gave out beneath you, goo subtly etching around your ankles, calves, elbows, unforgivingly cold when it first hit. When in reality, the bed was heating from your lay.

  March, marrow goes heavy, your limbs at this time could not lift, your efforts waned, and satiating the rumble in you with sustenance was forgotten, as that rumble got so, so.. quiet. 

  April, the jello had stuffed your nose, your sockets, and lullabied your ligaments. You let it happen.

May.

  You let yourself sink. Let yourself decompose and go mush in the head. Like a zombie.

  The descent doesn't taste of sweet delight, but it also fails to churn your lips with a heavy saccharinity. Neutral, your hopeful side did say. Nothing, rationality slapped past your lips.

Five months, either a misery, or a Monday.

  Yes Eve, a bite out of the Apocrypha will indeed fill this human abysm in me. Forbidden knowledge is my craving. Contraband of truth, bite to bite, I envy that I could not cope with its coating of my empty gut earlier.

  Innocence is so dull. You are depressed, not a fucking saint for staying indoors, starving your rage.

  But on came a crisp bouquet of biker–boy newspapers; ‘Hiring’, and a few scans further; ‘Do you harness a great love for the evergreen?’

  A honed section in Missoula's local print— jobs. A publisher boldens and compresses enthusiasm sporadically; writing–on–the–wall hollers speckle themselves meticulously on the newsprint that strike a sense of obligation into the susceptible and soft–of–heart chunk of the population. A pert voice read with persuasion between your ears, gritty in tone and stereotypical of a middle aged ranger, vocals fried by cigarettes but as booming as a cannon.

“Do you care for the animals inhabiting our national sanctuaries?”

  Abutting small paragraphs, the sagging belly of a black bear, tender caramel snout and snoopy–faced, fitted on its head a mustard yellow campaign hat labeled, ‘Smokey’. Its burly, blundering frame on all fours stood out over a comic–style vista of the Montana rockies, paws obscured by blocks of thickset text reading ‘Only you’.

  Huh, a realistic depiction of Smokey Bear— over a not–so–realistic background, avant–garde. 

  Tree greens sprawly that didn't shout ‘Fuck you’ on your poor, sunken eyes searing for sleep and a twilight darkness. Sagey lichens that didn't draw out the spasms above your own bones, calling your regard to bring pin–sized problems and blemishes sprawling your own flesh out of the bliss of ignorance. Brunette muds with only a fleck of sun, a slice of earth dull, humble and unprocessed enough from benevolence to leave you unconsumed, unsunken. A mere slop and pudge in the future and wake of your walk. Nothing obnoxiously grand, nothing sanctimonious. Nature is by birth— righteous, regardless.

  “Before we can be proud of our nation, our nation must be proud of us!”

  The advertisement gropes for a summertime made free. A cyclopean sinkhole in the becoming of time. Recruits���in–waiting are called to bargain normalcy and the bustling cities plump with lumbering limbs of sheen–tight pantyhose shaded under short shapes of plaid skirts for boot–cuts n’ backpacks hefty with gear that could either save you the trouble of mountaineering by path, or trouble your time with a faulty snapping of two things. Rope and neck.

Too grim?

  A months’–long moment of tension snapped at the pressure joint— Summertime the snapper.  You'd be devoting ninety–three suns, ninety–two moons, and some two–million breaths of fir laden air up in Angel Crater National Park, northwest of here. Pupils flickering the double-page setup, you continue: A pictographic, old–fashioned lookout taller than the timber spires surrounding would be your station, your core of operations, for those three young and sunny months. Boxed provisions and supplies are guaranteed to ship every other week, and testimonies encourage even the anxious, balmy buzzes of your brain to sigh in solace learning that the weald creatures there— are mostly harmless, if you aren't bred an imbecile. Alongside, an appointed supervisor, whose name was never disclosed duly except for a scratch of text gingerly clasped in quotations reading, “E.R.W” trailing the mention of said supervisor. What’s required of you was delivered plain written and patent on that shoddy newspaper, held thick in your intrigued thumbs; Keep the forest from catching wild fire.

  You fiddled the idea. Should I? Or should I wallow the summer away? Fiddled it anxiously, fiddled it needily, bumped the clumped rim of the newsprint on your cupid's bow in bending rumination, steadied it cause newspaper smells oddly good— but next to minutes racing hours upon musing, a conclusion had to knock your static looping of gloomdom in the butt.

  One phone call, and the bird would be barred again. Pesterer, Elaine the Terrible, would be cast back where eyes can't roll over the cottony clouds. Just a couple fucking prods to your number–pad, might genuinely un–drain you.

  Luckily, you aren't an idiot reared to take bullshit longer than meritted.

You took the job.

May 30th, 1995, 7:28 PM.

  What does any clever pedestrian traipsing capricious terrain store in their pack to avoid total gangly–branch–grips–of–nature butchery?

Item one; Black nylons— scratch that, you aren't getting paid to snag at every kink and curl of the forest, tighties of gossamery fabrics are a no–go. Citywear stays citywear. Double scratch on those sweet, blackberry Mary Janes too prized and polished to muck up in shit of the earth. Immolating the rigid underside of some chunky hiking boots to the unruly woodlands is the adrenaline pinnacle of out–worlding, come on. It proves you've got a hardy backbone and the right row of teeth to chew what you've bitten off, sullying boots ‘till the color is forevermore stained. Backup boots are tradition, so that's item number two. Best get used to cargo, ankle–length overalls and miscellaneous graphic tees, cause the rockies’ fashion gurus can't get enough of ‘em!

Clothing, check.

  Swathes of ropes twined pumpkiny orange and plenty of clanging anchors to bolt them in, goddesses and gods forbid you be tight on anchors. Medical kits— duh, did you trudge all from yonder just to die out here? This country is dicey, at the cuddly claw of a bear, or not. Hair ties, scrunchies you hoarded as a teenager in the eighties, disposable camera to suit your flaky memories, and an eclectic dump of nutty and fruity cereal bars galore. Unless you're allergic. Substitute.

Accessories and essentials, check.

  Ah, and a spare pistol and switchblade in replacement of newcomer paranoia! Keep that hush–hush though. No matches or lighters, obviously.

True American, illegal weaponry, check.

  All this paraphernalia bangs and clangs heavily on the polyester holding of your backpack, straining your scruff uncomfortably as you tiptoe, scarcely tumble, and tread lightly across a log. It creaks, it groans, it wobbles slightly over the blaring white rush of a stream, suctioning your heart–to–stomach when it grinds a wee bit louder than you thought it should.

  “Shit!” you crimp your torso in and dart wary hands on the timber beam at your feet, assuming a gawky newborn–bambi–pose in hesitation, shuddering in cracked tones, “This can't be the right way..” 

  Hoping on an evaporated sun, you frazzlingly testify in repetitive thought that the map mailed by the rangers a week prior led you on this perilous and incorrect path.. for the last two days. Winding and wounding, literally— your bruises are measureless and on top of that ache your skin to want no more of this. But, you have to. A boulevard of brown, short and stout, wrung unyielding from one gray side to the greener other, a shortcut. Assumed to be a shortcut, based on the route drawn by utter confusion.

Oh yeah, and remember the advertisement stating the park was twenty-five miles out?

Nothing about that hot-press, black-cat inked newspaper accounted for the extra eight weighing your ankles down and your motivation dead low. Twenty-five only stretched out unto the ranger parking lot. The entrance, for fuck's sake.

  Shaky flit of your digits, they float gently off the carve–veined surface of the wood, unfolding your spine as you rise. “Wrong way—” you utter to your chest, oven–warm as it puffs, “—gotta be the wrong..” 

  Tentative–ism is normal here, right? Like, no way you're cautious and sweating at the brow for nothing. Right? 

  One foot— creeakkk— in front of the prudent other, two sailing lunges, three hurried hops and a matched thud soft as marshmallows plants your shoes to hallowed ground. Blades of verdant whiskers so innocent crush under, and it feels fucking— demeaning, actually. All that gulping and pausing.. for nothing.

  You tuck a shoulder–glance to the makeshift ricket of a bridge, and blankface, “Didn't feel like killing me today?”

The tree bears no reply.

  “Hmph, surprising. Seeing as someone killed you,” a sigh parts, fading into the whip and straightening of your head, “figured the pursuit of revenge doesn't stop at ghosts.” and the hoist of your boot up, carrying onward.

  Sundown paints, crescent layers repose approaching moonlight and dying sunlight sprawls psychedelic limbs above you. Balance ambling in tiny bops only made the swirling grasp of those gradient rays more trippy on your eyes and coercive of daydreams, rot–nip for the brain. You spot nutbrown brick— a fireplace in your mind, fevered heat roasting on the inside wall of your forehead too. It was Christmas before the storm, a subzero December. And it was, in fact, colder than the unreachable heaven. Dad was hunkered down in front of that innocuous amber crackle, his right leg slack to the ground and his left arched in the neck of an acoustic guitar, arms plaiting its hollow curve into his chest. 1971, when the veil through and within was thin, and love–vomit poured so easily through. A time of justified ignorance; Childhood. 

  Stood you adjacently, legs short and posolutely not stout, dimpled in the knees. Aged two years, and mushy as ambrosia, contorting your mouth jubilant as you're told for the camera, contrary to your father with his expression drooping to his strumming fingers. Sickly sweets, adult–you unpurposefully neglects to twirl lips at, your extraordinary grins now turned ordinary flat–lines. Holiday memoirs, those spoiled ripe quick after adulthood bolted itself in the slabs of your tender spine and instilled an artificial love for labor and country, displacing nostalgia from ever being seen as a flesh existence. 

“Say cheese!”

  America is sub–human, and sub–humans created America, the imperfect cycle. Families tear, eagles outcry, friends drink their death, and the days continue to unfold without a trace of acknowledgement. Days exist where you soak festivities and stave off the pointer–finger poking at so called slack you relish, and some twenty dwindling years ahead the slowly deadening oak grove road, carousals will be criminally known as layabout–makers.

Joy is a luxury now.

  A blockage prevents your foot from winching clean forward, meeting the bone–hard kiss of a boulder to sore your toes. “Fuck!” you brand your throat walls to a shout, pissed at the rock rather than your woolgather that lead you to said rock, “Fucking fuckhead rock!”

  Woolgather means daydreams, by the way. Funner to use words that don't make a split of sense. Yay for English.

 The sunset clouds dripped with a mania of fascination and had strung your brain to its hypnotic whims, like a siren had soloed a trance, drifting your mind somewhere utopian and phantasmagorical. It sounds silly, but, blanking out seems so often out of grasp from your control, you usually could never flag what caused it, when it started, and why. Nothing practical surfaces. Fuck, your head is so tangled upon memories, you haven't even noticed the progression of scenery twelve o’clock from you. 

  Ponderosa boughs band together where your eyes brush shapes and forage for a clue of what scene wants to greet you ahead. The sequestering silence of rustles indicates a clearing, possibly. Possible as it could be, you fully expected this cruel footslog to wallop your ass into a minefield, so you bet cards and course carefully beneath the crowns of pine, completely bent to the chance of another obstacle threatening your tender ankles. Leafy whispers above strum your ears brimmed with its sotto voce song, and then— colors it silently behind.

“Holy shit.”

  Presence crumbles above you, and opens before you. The lookout. Wood shafts slant in opposing directions, up and up along four brawny beams in three consecutive layers, like a blocky cone. The face closest to you overlaps the backing rest, giving the illusion of tufted wooden legs sketched under all lackadaisical. Endgame daylight spies from behind this one–roomed cyclops, gushing final spurts of citrus rays as if it truly was an orange squeezed to pulp. So, the flank and forehead of that towering, mountainscaping lookout rolling a cold shoulder to the sun, paves in a tattered tapestry of garnet smokiness instead. Shadow of sundown. From where you sow feet, a football field apart, petty details are difficult to squint into clarity, but the window panes appear tawny, too.

  An intimidation, “So much for a tiny room.” A beaute intimidation, “And no actual bathroom.” it makes you feel like a genuine insect compared.

  A sort of stairwell serpent faintly chokes the foot, the calves, the thighs, and punctures kindly a mouth leading up to the skirting balcony hedged in many gaunt teeth. Tamping gravel closer, subtleties and fine points fade as the tower's plank–lined and flat underbelly turns to you. Larger and larger, it dips darkly from miniscule masquerade.

  Bringing your decently aching foot to the first step, you press into the curb and meander your cruder aching— thanks to a random boulder— foot weirdly on the outer ridge of your boot. Making it up the stairs to fund yourself a fucking break was a palpable mockery in itself. Like, ‘Hey! Climb this long–ass stairwell for a teensy break before doing it all over again the next day!’. 

Un–fucking–believable. 

  Fifty years of history and past rangers grate in your walk, the floorboards thump with their stories, thump into your skin— verse you a wordless eulogy. Each step is a sentence, and every sentence branches into a whole tree of genealogy, lives. Lifestyles you can't understand now, but will.

  Really redundant of me to highlight the generations alive in those floorboards. The walk up there isn’t that exciting.

  After the last step, you're met eye–to–frame with a scratched door, pygmy window centered and paper–screened from within, and the stories predating your stay inspire a comical theory, “Jeez— bears make it up here?” you half–suppress a snort, palming a fist on the doorknob coldly before rotating and giving sympathetic pressure to the door.. jammed. 

  “C’mon..” knuckles pulse into the knobs plate, gradually upping the force you pushed, “.. losing light out here..” eventually adding your other hand to sweeten the push.

  Sure, a whole year has gone by since it homed somebody, and it's retro, but come on.

  Breaking splinters into the door was your last intention, so you try so–so carefully— to some extent, “Please..” now butting the tip of your boot on the rim to ease it— ease, and finally pry, a clapback of wind blowing dusty, nightfall air past your crescent cheeks following the snap of the fallow door.

  Thank goodness for your grace and balance, some days, avoiding a timely trip face–first to a floor so powdered in light dust, any kid would mistake it for a good time sweeping snow angels. 

  Not so good for the respiratory system though.

  Muggy space filtering your lungs tightly, you cough out, “Gah— fuck!” nothing higher than the level of a guttural wheeze, your chest punching into your throat. Gaping out the last flock of butterflies clumped at your collarbones, the tickle inside calms, and you find your sights taking in a dark box. A dim orb of lily silver glow rests in the middle of the pall room, raising the natural, “Where's the ligh— ah, big clunky thing—” 

  Flicking the off–white and stubby nub attached to an impractically sized lightswitch, which frankly resembles an electric box externally, an essence of Apollo ladens the room. Lemony–gold light, passably bright off the redwood ceiling, and murmuring a low buzz through one ear, and out the other, your pupils caper along the contrasting shades awakened.

  “Definitely retro, but.. no roommates.” spoke you, gingerly content with the colors piecing this camper pad together. You observe.

  Forget–me–nots bled the cotton bedsheets baby blue, leavening the mattress with a tidy emotion as it's tucked, folded at the top and draped in a complimentary quilt— benevolent blues, hues your lids soften on. The bed beelined from the doorway, a corner counter fawn–brown as the wood extends adjacent to it, covering the northeastern angle of the room. Magpied brands of canned food clutter shelves, spines spanning thick books of epic poetry to sci–fi comics create a ribcage of literature along a compact bookcase perching that countertop, and sunken in the east side of it, a steel sink. It shimmered sunflower bands of light as you moved, a rainbow–arched faucet brightened completely.

  Step by step, you draw near a circular table in the middle. Strange rods and gadgets stuck out of the borders, inlaid glass protecting a local map so sleek you could see a phantom of your face in it, and a black bar looming the width, so it rings with tangible importance. Of which you'll gauge about later. Truthfully, the journey by foot here? Dead–beating, your knees bloated, throbbed flesh hot, and almost buckled; fatigues infamous way of scolding you to sit the fuck—

“Sup Maple lake, you there?” 

  A pang hammers to your heart, and a crawlish wave of startled blood pales from your face and drops to your jaw, “Jesus!” sweat hitting you a blink after, every normal function just— flunked. That voice, more like a ruptured stereo sizzling, caught you the fuck off guard. Now you dither, dumbassery taking your eyes through a new loop of figuring out where–why–how and what the robotic intruder wants.

  But pre–realizing, your ears perk to a more coherent, and outstretched string of static, “C'mon, know you're checked in.” and post–realization tugs your eyes to a mustardy n’ black cased device; a walkie–talkie.

  Okay, way to creep recruits out. Whoever, for whatever reason— at the nick of night too, gimme’ a break. You wry, knitting raisin crinkles above your nose, trying to discern your palette of options; pick up the walkie, tap in and feign politeness in the shortest and sluggiest scraps of small talk to be done with the day, or rant off the bat— highlight how fucking late it is, and how taxing a double–goddamned–day hike made your head and patience feel. And right now, the second response route feels arguably more tempting than—

  “This is Cordero Tower, calling in. Can see ya’ standing by the Osborne, by the way.” 

  Its staticy feedback has waned completely, densening a thick husk and tilting towards a honeyed undertone. Relaxed sounding or not, what the fuck.

  You react predictably, flicking your chin west, then east only for you to meet the dead of night— thanks mountains— stalking perfectly in every single window. So, useless to check. Answering it was a yes–go, it would be sickenly awkward to thrust it under the rug now. Your knees pull forward, eyes calligraphing the power buttons tinted in cherry light, palm drawing to meet your focal point.

  The case is ribbon gentle under your fingertips’ graze, fresh and in store–new condition. Maybe the only thing hot from the pot of newfangled technology. Plastic intricacies roll under until you settle on a swollen button, denting the plush of your finger as you press, hold, and speak. A crisp crackle activates your line, tuning you in.

    Breath hesitates between your chords, “Maple.. lake.. speaking,” off–the–tongue words manifesting on–the–spot, “you can see me?”

  “Yeah.” the walkie chuckles, sugary curl pitching up and through their tone, “Look out ur’ north window, you'll see her.”

Her?

  Nooking your nose north, you only widen pupils on that same, starless coast of darkness nosing the rim of your window sills. What do they mean to—

  “Nh–no,” You literally said north, “get closer to the window, n’ look up.” What, are you a fucking sparkling, rasp–voiced eagle?

  “Fuck are you talking about,” mouthed you void of voice, stumped on what this person was getting at. Wedging your knuckles below the meshy underside of your backpacks right strap, you wrangle it down your arm as you glide rubbery sole along croaking oak, tossing that bag so cumbersome atop a lily white pillow— looking fresher than a daisy, and clamber the mattress pliantly dented to your knees to grasp a broader panorama. 

  And with that window hood washed over, a convoy of fireflies focus a tiny constellation in the murked glass. Little pinholes of light, dots in the distance. They rough–hew a blur, but the excess seconds taken to brood squints and balance the blurry blotches, an outline crops up. Another fire lookout, sprouting from rock and rise of a berg. Offspring of the distant cordillera that gives this whole park its sense of a cradled–woodland, but either way thought, a lookout hosts it home on top.

  “You can see me from all the way out there?” you wondered, truly. I mean— at minimum, a sore sprawl of miles bridges you both.

  “Mhm..” a pause loiters that fluid hum, then some really throaty syllables, “Binoculars~” you could almost envision— nah, feel the stare of those binocs, undoubtedly taking note of every contort in your body right now.

  “Oh thats, totally.. not,” you blunt your tone, shying a few inches from the glass, “.. creepy.” awkwardly. “Uh, who are you anyways— are you like, uh, another recruit?” as you engage small talk, grumpy frown pouting, the habit of kissing your wrist to your jaw as you would a piglet–tailed telephone overruns your burnt out focus, having to wince the walkie away when your eardrums nearly burst.

Ouch.

  “For one, I'm actually your supervisor. I know, I don't sound like a typical smoker–lunged, middle–aged white dude.” their tone gruffs and deepens to impersonate, finger air quotes practically radiating from the other end, “And two, my name is Ellie— Ellie Miller–Williams, if you care.”

  “Don't.” you heave out the pain stretching your head, aching each time you simply thunk.

  “Straightforward,” her timbre ups in approval, seemingly, “I like it. I like you, recruit I dunno’ the name of.” and a bubble hics her throat, quite audibly.

  “Not single.” Wrong, just uninterested. Hooking two fingers in the fabric handle of your bag and craning it to the ground, with scattered grates of plastic buckles skating the floor.

“What?”

  Oh, shit she wasn't— oops, ‘course she meant that platonically, heads so damn muggy,  “Uh, it's—my name.. sorry I’m just a bit out of the loop—” Dumbass, unscramble your brain alphabet soup, will you?

  “That’s a long ass name, what were your parents thinking? Haha.” Her duo–beat chuckle flares your humiliation, and then proceeds to pinch its swollen parts into total inflammation, “Where does it originate from?”  

  Cheesy bitch, “Can you not— I like, pfhh..” you temper yourself with a moon–cool blow to chap your lips and inflate your cheeks, ending up with a draw of an even more loosened tongue sour as it complains, “Did a whole two–day hike through the most torturous terrain just to get here, I really don't—”

Please.

  And if gripes trudged through teeth aren't persuasive enough, you recess your bone–ache bod avidly in the springy haven of your bed which chirped at your weights shifting motions, collarbones packing down on your vocal chords. You shouldn't sound up to chat whatsoever. Instead, vehemently drained, “I just wanna get some shut eye, talk me over n’ the mornin’.” your thumb lying a button away from disconnecting. 

  “Hey, hey—” Ellie ushered, her slurry breath fogging up the mic. Lips squeak softly into it, smacking before an intone, “Can't I be a little curious?”

  You synchronized in noise, sucking teeth behind heart–pursed lips, “Do you think somebody this exhausted has the appetite to entertain you?” stilling your thumb–pad on the power off key.

  “If I keep bothering you,” that alone ticked you, her blatant drive to carry on when your brain rejected its substance, “.. yeah. Maybe you'll be nicer then too.. huph!” a heartier peep hicced up on the speaker, and right then that noise jogged a discovery.

“Are you drunk?” has to be.

  Of course, she ignores the naked and sorely obvious, “Did your boyfriend break ur’ heart or something— an’ that's why you're out here?” bottle sloshing in the background of her mumble.

  Dumbstruck, you furrow a miffy expression, “W–what, boyfriend?” 

  “Said you weren’t single.” she recalls, warmly unspinning the fuddle that knit your brows, “Think I forget so easily?” drawled like a sultry retort, baking your ears.

You a hundred percent forgot though.

  Gosh, short–term memory sucks, or it's just your energy drought making you woozy. Blame it on lethargy, “No no, that was just.. tired talk. I thought you were hitting on me.” 

  “Oh? That's cute.” her choosing to say that latter statement unfolded discordantly, you seriously couldn’t gauge if that was a flirt, or another paper daisy— mock honey, a platonic notion. Even so, it sounded so damn smooth, lace to the ears. “But no, I wasn't— m'not like gay or ‘whutever.” stammered her, light snort fanning.

  A stifled chuckle hops from your chest, mixing with hers, “Uhuh, cool.” halfway uncaring and halfway amused, bafflement working your facial muscles. 

  “Yeah, um, but seriously..” her voice drifts into a ponderous rasp, the faint rustles of flimsy paper licking page to page subtler than her speech, “what's got you out here, newbie?”

“Newbie. Really?” A brow pricks.

  “I mean, you're new— new to the lookout, new to the job, in need of my phenomenal supervision and my wide range of knowledge. Yeah, a newbie.” 

  Then your brow mellows, tension held in your face dropping dead on backhanded flattery, “You are funnily agonizing.”

  “Aw.” her scratchily suave coo has your jaw set like stone, “That's so sweet.” but her short–lived song has your heartstrings soaked in ripe honeycomb, touched to the core by sweetness nebulose and an assortment of some foreign threads. Thickened heart, tighter ribs, a churn to weaken your stomach, a maverick of things unfamiliar to you.

  Momentaries, but still noticeable even if your senses were twisted backwards.

  Chewing over how you'll begin to explain, a few letters sift through your chords, until you hook on a sigh, “Ah, well, I'm out here for a fuck ton of reasons—”

“Reasons, or— huhp, problems?” Ellie blurt–hics, nosy.

“..”

  A brief gulp and exhale wheezes from her, “Sorry, it's the bourbons’— super good. Continue.” 

 You loosely split your mouth, gasping to exchange a gale for words pressing out, “A series of reasons, and problems, that I don't bother to lay on a grand platter, so you'll get a summary tossed on an appetizer plate.” you preface. Allow an elliptical gap to cut through, rousing her hum to let you know her ears are as intent–peaked as a Chihuahua’s, “Contact with my parents’ has gone cold, my last job made me want to hurl into a pack of crocodiles— and the city became too loud and too heavy–handed. Saw this job on the local paper, and got the hell out of dodge.”

An omissive summary, you meant. 

  There’s more that eats the heart. People can’t just.. drop the burden of knowledge wantonly on randos like they’re idling under fertile treetops waiting for the apples to plummet, biting into a pulpy biography. She’s just a girl, not a therapist.

  A discomforted purr lengthens into her reply, “Mmmmh, ever try a drink or two?” her intoxicated reply.

  “Oh, see,” you flap your hand and slap it to your denim clad thigh, “you are drunk.” as if she could even see your gesture.

  “No, I’m Ellie, hmhm~” comes with a giggle, and you consider her state of insobriety to be— wavering, but it’s stimulating to hear her fluctuate between groaned jokes and extra raspy comments, “Still haven’t told me your name though.”

  Some moments during this whole ‘Who are you?’ seminar made you concerned for your future here— if you’ll make it out psyche intact, but some moments found by winnowing through the illogical backtalk touched you with inbound camaraderie.

  Invisible touches that inhabit your neck with a leak of your name so— sincerely. It transforms into a fairer sound on your ears when she repeats it, affirming it. Nobody else's teeth clutches your name so welcome as she.

  “Hmm, ‘name kinda fits your voice.” odd commentary, but since composed with her already peculiar and drunken tongue, the shoe fits.

  That said, crabby confusion seems easier to articulate, “Thanks, weirdo.” but lips rebellious, they press an inevitable grin together. 

“No problem, sleepyhead.”

So many nicknames.

  Recognizing that downtick in hubbubs and breaths on the walkie, checking out for the night posed as a passionate option the burden weighing your eyelids couldn't or shouldn't veto. So you haul your torso up, kick and poke your toes over ankles to butt your boots off prior planting your heels, whisking toward the lightswitch and committing your lookout to swell with the outside's dark fresco. 

Stygian tones.

  “Speaking of sleepy heads..” you taper off speech, leaving the rest to her— touch wood— wide enough, hopefully–not–drunk–enough imagination to fathom as you slide and slip desperately beneath woolen blankets, sleepy worries, and sentences sailed to rest.

  “Aw man.” Ellie bums so, so stupidly, for comical value.

“Yeah, man.”

  “Mpht—” wetness smacks, “wanted to bore a pretty girl to death with recruit regulations and syllabi..”

How would you know?

  In reality, Ellie was reaching a transcendent caliber of wasted, drinking up your atmospherics and drunken to her gutly core. Woods hatch forlorn people; forlorn people get thirsty, “But, mhh, heads’ nearly falling off, whoof.” she expresses a soaring of vowels, but it parallels a gruff howl more. 

  Drowsy, buzzy jubilancy, plucking her flirty strums. You sugarcoat the flare in your chest hearing ‘pretty girl’, ears clicking to the swallow convincing your heart that Ellie was not flirting. As established; She’s under the influence, and not gay. Your brain repeats that, over and over, repeat, repeat, she isn’t flirting. 

  “Hey, here's a tip..” you inch the walkie a penny away from your flopped head, clefting your lip open, “Don't get drunk on the job. They didn't hire you to decoct your brain the day before chaperoning a recruit in the literal wilderness. So, stash that shit, n’ let's both get some shut eye, yeah?” and saying all that, may have just cashed in your last dose of breath and brain cells for the night.

  Ellie being Ellie— well, what you suspect is a ‘her’ thing after these few speckled minutes, dopily laughs at you. And dammit if she wasn't glamoring a dopey smirk in accord, you’ll have gleaned wrong.

  A voice, “Who’s the boss again?” her witty and cruel wisecrack, “They didn't pay you to boss the— hup, boss around.” 

  They will pay you to confront and reflect your spectrum of limits if this girl brushes their seams, that's for certain. Or, play God and lambast her, tender as milk.

  There's even a stroke of a chance, that your crooked lips poached her dopey grin instead, “Kay, well, maybe they'll reimburse me for your poor services.” 

  “My services are not poor. You'll see, tomorrow.” the volume of her melts away, going muted under liquid swills clanging on glass.

  “Please tell me that's the sound of you putting the bottle away.”

  “Mhm!” came out plugged, the bottle confining her garble, then popping clean as a cork, “Fuck— okay,” she siphons air in, pure little clink tinting the end of her sharp–edged sniffle, “Make sleeping in earlier worth it t’morrow, wanna drive you nuts with my questions.” she nasals, drawing near the mic again.

  Such a magpie, “Cause you're lonely?” and weird.

  “Shut up,” she shushes you, a satin whisper light–hearted and quick on beat, “M’not lonely anymore, right?” The type of softly spoken outcry that would balloon your cheeks with soreness if you were face–to–face with the throat that conducts it. Involuntary smiles plague you everywhere. But there is no mouth, no larynx, no throat that you view the swallow of. Just a walkie, so you settle in stoicism.

  You tug your upper–lip and pivot your eyes, drumming up something clever to combat, “In a sense. Not like we’re bunkmates, thank goodness.”

  “Fuck you,” Ellie breaks into a cuss spout so serenely, she sounded small and harmless, “just go to bed.” reduced to birch in winter shed of its brittle autumn arguments.

“Don’t gotta tell me once.”

  By the first full and emphatic giggle she cast just now that wasn’t suppressed nor achieved by humble pie, you take it that Ellie found you funnily harrowing just as her, two peas in an outstretched pod. Fault be with her, for getting wasted. Otherwise, you might have pried her skull open with questions dolled up as a pruner, clipping the forelimbs that are foliated in a messy breadth of first glance leaflets and attitudes until you piece it prettily, in a way that thralls you to never shrink your eyes back into their sockets. Drunk people are like prone beehives though, so you don't prod them.

Tomorrow, you can paint her portrait, or vice versa.

“Whatever you say, newbie.”

And with the whirry crunch of the walkie shutting off, Monday, came to a close.

if you enjoyed this chapter, please lmk what you thought!! i love getting asks about my content ♡

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[ineffable-rohese]

Neil's picks for Aziraphale & Crowley's Angelic Playlist were Cry Me a River (Julie London), The Book of Love (Peter Gabriel), and The Show Must Go On (Queen).

Three songs. Two about the aftermath of a break up, and one about coming together in love. So very clearly, we can infer a Crowley POV song, an Aziraphale POV song, and a song for the two of them and their happily ever after. (Song lyrics for all three after the cut for reference.)

The Book of Love is a perfect wedding song. It's a song to play under two people declaring their desire to spend eternity together. With lines about dancing and reading and it's perfect. It's originally a Magnetic Fields song that was released in 1999. Peter Gabriel recorded a cover in 2004 for the movie Shall We Dance about which I know nothing but the Wikipedia summary. But since we know how movies are important here... It's a standard rom-com with a bored Richard Gere secretly taking up ballroom dancing after following a pretty lady from the train (J-Lo). His wife (Susan Sarandon) thinks he's cheating, turns out nope, just dancing, drama ensues, he gives up dancing but eventually his wife becomes supportive and he realizes he loves his wife. And dancing. And they live happily ever after, with both of them getting what they want. Maybe we can draw some parallels here? But I think the song speaks for itself better than its connection with what sounds like a standard early 2000s romcom.

The individual songs are where it gets interesting.

Cry Me a River was first released by Julie London in 1951, but became popular after she sang it in the 1956 film The Girl Can't Help It starring Jayne Mansfield as an aspiring rock 'n roll singer. Again, relying on Wikipedia here, but there is an interesting bit about a blossoming forbidden relationship, wiretapped phones, and someone editing the recordings to keep the love affair secret. But again, it's probably a stretch to look too deeply into the movie.

The song has a very classic jazz feel. It's from a decade and a half later, but if you were, say, an angel who enjoyed Moonlight Serenade or A Nightingale Sang in Berkley Square, it has a similar feel. You definitely wouldn't say it's bebop. The lyrics are about someone who was in love and had their heartbroken. Their former love (who never shed a tear over the break up) has returned and wants to make up. The singer essentially says "you love me? Prove it. Cry me a river like I cried when you left." Which, fair, but in our context, ouch.

The Show Must Go On is a Queen song, and we know how much Queen we hear in association with Crowley in particular. But this just isn't any Queen song. It was written by Brian May about Freddie Mercury's struggles as he neared the end of his life, and it was recorded in 1990. (Coincidentally or not, the year Good Omens was published, a book co-created by friends, one of whom would die too soon, and the other of whom would reflect on his friend's end of life struggles as the story was told more fully. Yes, I'm crying about this.)

In the song, the singer is fighting to reach a place of freedom, away from empty spaces and heartbreak. They are fighting with pure will, and even though their heart is breaking they smile and carry on because the show must go on.

What I really appreciate here with the POV songs, is that they are cross-coded. Queen is Crowley-coded, but the song about someone fighting through heartbreak to achieve something vital, while forcing a smile for the audience? That's absolutely Aziraphale in Heaven. And the 40s/50s jazz ballad is absolutely Aziraphale's style, but the jilted lover who may be willing to give their love a second chance but needs to see proof that the lover cares as much as they do is Crowley all the way.

It's almost like... Well it's almost like even in their separation, they are each carrying a piece of the other. The book of love has music in it, indeed.

The Book of Love

The book of love is long and boring No one can lift the damn thing It's full of charts and facts, and figures And instructions for dancing But I I love it when you read to me. And you You can read me anything.

The book of love has music in it In fact that's where music comes from Some of it's just transcendental Some of it's just really dumb But I I love it when you sing to me And you You can sing me anything

The book of love is long and boring And written very long ago It's full of flowers and heart-shaped boxes And things we're all too young to know But I I love it when you give me things And you You ought to give me wedding rings

Cry Me a River

Now you say you're lonely You cry the whole night thorough Well, you can cry me a river, cry me a river I cried a river over you

Now you say you're sorry For bein' so untrue Well, you can cry me a river, cry me a river I cried a river over you

You drove me, nearly drove me out of my head While you never shed a tear Remember, I remember all that you said Told me love was too plebeian Told me you were through with me and

Now you say you love me Well, just to prove you do Come on and cry me a river, cry me a river I cried a river over you

The Show Must Go On

Empty spaces, what are we living for? Abandoned places, I guess we know the score, on and on Does anybody know what we are looking for?

Another hero, another mindless crime Behind the curtain, in the pantomime Hold the line Does anybody want to take it anymore?

The show must go on The show must go on, yeah Inside my heart is breaking My makeup may be flaking But my smile, still, stays on

Whatever happens, I'll leave it all to chance Another heartache, another failed romance, on and on Does anybody know what we are living for? I guess I'm learning I must be warmer now I'll soon be turning, round the corner now Outside the dawn is breaking But inside in the dark I'm aching to be free

The show must go on The show must go on Inside my heart is breaking My makeup may be flaking But my smile, still, stays on

My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies Fairy tales of yesterday, grow but never die I can fly, my friends

The show must go on The show must go on I'll face it with a grin I'm never giving in On with the show I'll top the bill I'll overkill I have to find the will to carry on On with the show Show Show must go on, go on, go on, go on, go on, go on, go on, go on

[klamv-art]

How the characters of Moonlight Lovers would look in my style [Pt. 01]

Here are the first four portraits I did, next part will include Eloise, Ivan, Raphael and Neil 👀

This time I didn't include any commentary since I didn't change much of their designs but feel free to tell me any of your headcanons for the rest of the characters I might include them in the next drawings ���🏼👀

[mariikado]

Good Omens 2 and mistaken identity.

And don't show this to Neil! And don't ask him about it!

Carefully! There may be spoilers here.

We know from the first season that if the characters switch bodies, a secret sign can be found somewhere. This sign will indicate who we are actually seeing.

The collar on Crowley's jacket indicates that it is in fact Aziraphale.

And now the big mystery of the second season. This is a real "The Clue". Who is who really?

1. I'll start with Shax and her adorable glasses that don't belong to her at all.

2. In the next episode, Aziraphale is in a Bentley listening to «Moonlight Serenade» by Glen Miller & his orchestra, "a very modern tune from 1939." It was this tune that was playing in Doctor Who when the Doctor and Rose found themselves in 1941. Shax gets into the car and says:

Is Shax replacing him now or is she replacing him in some other story? Maybe in 1941. The melody in the Bentley seems to smoothly mix up time. And 1941 may turn out to be part of the future, but placed in the past.

3. Next we are shown 1941. We are transported to Hell and see Shax with an adorable snake on his belt. Who is this Shax?

Read about the demon Shax. A very interesting demon: he knows how to drive you crazy, steals things, maybe even jewelry, maybe even royal ones.

Come to think of it, we learned some very interesting things about Jane Austen earlier: she transported alcohol (like Crowley in 1941), planned a diamond heist (Shax's specialty). So where exactly is Shax in episode four and where is Crowley? What if someone had swapped Shax and Crowley in this part of the story? Remember that the episode is called "The Hitchhiker" (And watch a movie with that title). And Shax was that hitchhiker, so she should be the main character in episode four.

4. Let's move on. Someone very similar to Shax is negotiating something with Furfur and then we see Furfur with a snake tongue. The same question to Furfur: who are you really and what do you really look like?

Read about the demon Furfur. His ability to create storms and bring lovers together is enchanting. So who's really making it rain for Nina and Maggie? So, the deer is the symbol of Furfur. Neil had one fun special spoiler involving the deer and Crowley. Find him, it's very funny.

5. Next we will have a deadly trick with catching a bullet. Aziraphale wears an adorable snake print vest. So what does Aziraphale actually look like or who is Aziraphale in this scene?

Could there be another change of faces before the focus? What if Aziraphale was actually sitting in the audience?

By the way, up to this point in history, faces could also change more than once. Shax's mirror haunted me. There is one angel depicted with a mirror. What's his name? Oh yeah. Gabriel.

6. And after the trick, the guys sit, drink wine and Crowley pronounces his words as if he had already said them before. So who is Crowley?

What happens in the dressing room behind the scenes while we see Aziraphale, and the wall behind him slowly floats (episode 4, 35:03, see for yourself). And could there be another change of faces at this stage?

Let me summarize a bit. My personal view on the situation. Just imagine that Shax is actually Gabriel (we don't know what happened to him after Aziraphale's failed execution). Perhaps he is the same supreme archangel who was sent to hell (Metatron talks about this). Gabriel switches places with Crowley (I doubt that this happened by mutual desire). So Aziraphale goes to the theater with Gabriel and Crowley talks with Furfur in Hell. Then, it seems to me, Furfur becomes Crowley (and not vice versa) and comes to the theater in the image of Crowley. By this time, on the theater stage, Gabriel is already wearing a snake vest, and Aziraphale looks like Crowley and is sitting in the audience. Then in the dressing room, Furfur, who looks like Crowley, switches places with a character who looks like Crowley, but is actually Aziraphale.

The biggest question is: did Furfur know who he was switching places with? Whose team does Furfur play for? And who really is Furfur himself? Have you read about Azazel yet? Furfur says he never met Job (I'm a demon, I lied...) Think about that too.

In fact, Aziraphale and Furfur may be similar to Gabriel. Perhaps in Season 3 the outer shell of the characters will play a role, but at this stage I would like to just understand the souls. And all this works well only on the condition that Aziraphale and Crowley have not swapped places. And if at some point they do change for some reason, then everything becomes even more confusing. Because if Crowley and Aziraphale swapped places even earlier, before the events of the focus (ignore the fact that this is 1941, it may not be him, just as 1827 may be a different time), then Shax in Hell is Aziraphale, and Aziraphale in 1941 - Crowley. It's all very confusing, but that's how it should be. The story was deliberately confused so that no one could get to the bottom of the truth.

To be continued. Part 2.

[hassedah]

Hello, i hope you are fine. Can you write a story where the characters make their engagement request to y/n

The boys propose to MC :

Hi! How are you? I hope you are well! ^^

Here's the headcanons you requested! I hope you enjoy it! ^^

Take care of yourself and have a nice day! ^^

Vladimir :

For as long as he can remember, Vladimir has wanted to get married. He still remembers explaining to his parents, with all the seriousness a child can muster, what his wedding would be like, with the guest list, the food and the music he wanted. He also remembers asking his parents dozens of times about their wedding.

As a teenager, he still thought about it but with a weight on his heart, his understanding of the world had evolved and with it the realisation that nobody really wanted him. And as a young adult, he had written it off. The people he had tried to court had all rejected him and his parents' reassuring words no longer made sense, no one wanted to take the risk of marrying him and potentially having a sick child like him and as he would inherit nothing when his parents died, he really wasn't a good match for marriage.

Ever since he met you, he's found himself believing. You've already talked about it together several times. You've talked about what you'd like to eat, where the ceremony would take place, what you'd wear.

Sometimes Vladimir would start to cry when he realised that his family wouldn't be there. You always managed to console him by promising that everyone in the manor would be there for you on the day.

Lately, he's been thinking about it even more. He finds himself moving on to decorating the manor house for your wedding and thinking about a beautiful spot in the garden for the ceremony.

He just needs to find the courage to ask you to marry him and that's the problem. He knows you'll say yes, but there's always that little voice in his head telling him that you'd never want to marry someone like him, that everything he's been through is wrong and that he'll end up alone again as soon as you realise he's not as wonderful as you think. He chases this horrible idea away every time, but it keeps whispering as soon as he finds himself alone.

He doesn't know how to propose either. He tries out different ways of saying it, but none of them seem perfect enough. He thinks of a nice place to propose in the garden before realising that no place seems perfect enough and sets about reorganising a large part of the garden especially for the occasion.

During this period, you will have to go and look for it regularly in the garden to encourage it to return, as he will even start working there on the nights of the full moons.

Despite her best efforts, the place never seems perfect enough for her, the flowers aren't beautiful enough, the layout doesn't suit her, even though Aaron and Beliath keep telling her every night that you're going to love it, it's not enough for her. It's the same with the ring, of course it's beautiful, but it's not perfect, and yet Raphaël helped her choose it and keeps telling her that everything is going to be fine.

He would like this moment to be one of the most beautiful days of your life. He'd like you to remember his proposal as a fairytale moment. You deserve the best and he feels he'll never be able to give you what you really deserve.

His behaviour is starting to worry you. You know your vampire from the time you've spent with him and you know that he sometimes makes mountains out of molehills, but when you ask Aaron what's wrong he just tells you that he's not allowed to talk about it, Beliath shrugs before saying "It's Vladimir" and Raphael tells you that everything's fine with a conspiratorial smile.

Your concern for him pushes him to go for it. He practises for several days in front of the bathroom mirror to make the most perfect proposal before finally daring to take the plunge. He invites you into the garden on a moonless night, under a pretty rose-covered pergola and lit by little lanterns. You can't miss how anxious he looks that night.

His proposal isn't perfect, he knows that, he stumbles over his words more than he would have liked, he even speaks a little too quickly and he finds it hard to hold your gaze without feeling like his cheeks are burning. When he stops talking, he looks down at the ring he's holding out to you, too stressed to continue looking at you.

He barely hears your "yes" before you kiss him and it takes him a few seconds to realise that you've actually agreed and that he's not dreaming. He responds to your kiss with tears of happiness.

The ring he gave you is of an antique design, as if it came straight from the nineteenth century, it can't have been easy to find one like that in the jewellery shops. It's obviously expensive but discreet, in gold with a small round ruby in the centre, and when you look closely you can see that both your initials are engraved on the inside.

Béliath :

He had never imagined getting married. Marriage doesn't exist among succubi, although there is something that might resemble it, but it's not official and it's frowned upon by the majority of succubi. He only began to be invited to weddings when he started living among humans.

He's always loved being invited to weddings though, it's fun. There are lots of people, good food, good music, it's a great opportunity to celebrate for him. However, Beliath was never interested in the more ceremonial aspect of the wedding. He was really just there to have fun and make new friends.

Since he's been in a couple with you, he's been thinking about it differently. You seem to like the idea of marriage and if it's something you want then so does he.

What's more, it's a good excuse to celebrate and invite people to the manor. The two of you end up talking about it quite a lot together. As a result of hearing you talk about it, he's got a whole Pinterest board full of ideas for decorating, clothes and food that you've said you like. He also asks the other boys what they do at weddings, and was quite surprised that he didn't have to insist when he mentioned his idea of using Vladimir's garden for part of the evening.

Once he was reassured that he could marry you in the manor, he started to think about how to propose. The problem is that he doesn't really know how to go about it, so he often thinks about it and asks Ethan for advice. The doctor isn't much help, though, as he just says, "Just ask! Why are you complicating your life? It's just a marriage proposal, Bel".

Of course, he's partly right, it's only a marriage proposal. But he can't just ask you for it any old way. It has to be organised to a certain extent, you can't expect it, the setting has to be both romantic and chic, and you both have to be dressed to the nines.

This proposal must be engraved in your memory as one of the most beautiful days of your life with him, and you must remember it 100 years from now as a wonderful evening.

He takes Ethan with him on a tour of different restaurants and hotels in and around the city. He needs Ethan's opinion to make his choice; he wants to propose to you somewhere beautiful before enjoying a night alone with you in one of the chicest hotels around.

He also asks the people at Moondance for their advice, and he gets a lot more help there than he does with Ethan. Some give him lists of the best hotels and restaurants, while others advise him on the best places for a honeymoon. When he returns to the manor, he sorts through the suggestions with Raphaël and Vladimir.

You notice a few changes in his behaviour during this period, not enough to worry you, but enough to intrigue you. You know you can't ask Ethan anything about it, because he'll be as mute as a grave, so you tackle Vladimir, who stammers out a few panicked excuses before fleeing the room like a thief. That's enough for you, you know that your partner is up to something and that everyone but you is in on it.

Your curiosity forces him to hurry, so he goes out in the middle of the day with Ethan to buy the ring and spends several hours choosing the one that looks best, under Ethan's weary gaze, who nearly falls asleep several times in the various jewellery shops they visit. Then Beliath books the restaurant and the hotel, having hesitated for a long time over the final choices.

He invites you to a restaurant just a few days later, which doesn't surprise you too much given that Beliath has got into the habit of inviting you to private evenings quite regularly. Your partner's behaviour seems a little stranger than usual, however, as he rarely seems slightly stressed.

He proposes at the end of the meal. If you don't like having all the attention focused on you, he tries to remain discreet, but if you don't mind, he doesn't hesitate to make himself noticed. Beliath talks at length about you and all the reasons why he wants to marry you and spend eternity with you.

When he stops talking he feels a slight tension in his muscles that he hadn't noticed until that moment, and he realises for the first time just how much stress he's under. He looks at you with the impression that you're taking hours to answer, even though he knows that only a few short seconds have passed, and when you finally accept he can't hold back any longer and gets up to kiss you.

The engagement ring he's given you looks very sophisticated, but it's still fine and discreet. It obviously cost a lot of money, is in white gold and is set with several small diamonds.

Ivan :

He had never asked himself if he wanted to get married. As a child, he attended all his parents' friends' weddings and he remembers not enjoying them: everything took too long, he had to wear uncomfortable clothes, be good, not make a fuss, not bother the adults and sometimes there weren't even any children his own age to play with.

It was the same thing when he was a teenager, marriage often rhymed with boredom and a whole day wasted congratulating people he didn't know. He would have preferred to stay at home playing video games or reading or going out to see Constance and Loïc.

Now that you're together, he thinks differently. You've often talked about marriage and you seem to like the idea of marrying him. He can't say he doesn't like the idea either, he even thinks it might be fun. Of course, there wouldn't be any of his family or friends from his previous life, but he would be marrying you and there would be members of the manor to attend.

He discussed it a little with Aaron and Vladimir to get their opinions and above all to make sure that they would be present if he were to get married. Once this was done, he started looking for a nice place to propose. Initially, he'd thought of a restaurant, but he still has trouble eating human food and he still doesn't feel safe enough in a crowd of humans. Aaron has suggested that he propose in the forest and has even pointed out several places he finds charming, but Ivan is hesitant. Sure, the forest is pretty, but it's not personal enough. He wants somewhere that means something to both of you, not just somewhere beautiful.

Finding the place isn't his only problem. He's also looking for the perfect way to propose. He's written dozens and dozens of sentences in a notebook and he had Raphaël and Vladimir read them, but even though the two vampires kept telling him it was perfect, he wasn't satisfied. It's not that perfect isn't good enough - he's not a perfectionist - but he can't help feeling that it's not personal enough.

The closer the moment gets, the more anxious he feels. He knows you'll accept, you've discussed it so many times together, but a small part of him can't help thinking that it's just an idea he has. Constance has lied to him about her feelings for years, of course he knows you're not like her, he knows you really love him, but the event is still traumatic.

You've noticed some change in your partner's behaviour because of this. Ivan seems much more thoughtful and writes things down in a little notebook that he always hides whenever you come into the room. He's also more clingy with you, which doesn't particularly bother you because you know that your partner sometimes needs reassurance that you love him.

Vladimir and Aaron try to look neutral about it, but, listen, their adorable little Ivan is going to propose, of course they're happy. That's what's got you suspicious - you don't know what's going on in the manor, but Vladimir is in a strangely good mood and Raphael often interrupts Aaron mid-sentence when you're there and he's talking about Ivan. However, no matter how hard you try to find out what's going on, Ethan, Beliath and Raphael act as if they don't know anything about it, which is all the more suspicious given that secrets don't normally stay secret for very long in this manor.

When the day finally comes to propose, Ivan is incredibly anxious, but he tries to put on a brave face and look as normal as ever, which fails given that he's already tripped twice walking with you through the forest.

You arrive at your destination after several minutes' walk. It's the big tree you used to climb with Ivan. You climb the tree with him and sit on a branch for a chat. It's a particularly pleasant spot, far too far from the town for humans to approach, and no-one from the manor comes here.

After a moment, Ivan takes a deep breath and pulls his notebook and a small box out of his pocket. At first he tries to read what he's written, but the words don't seem to make sense and he feels like he's being incomprehensible, perhaps because he stumbles over his words a lot and his stress sometimes takes his breath away. Finally he puts his notebook away and closes his eyes before handing you the box. He speaks more slowly this time, he doesn't need the notebook, he needs to tell you clearly how he feels about you without a filter.

When he stops talking, he shyly opens his eyes to look at you. Your smile is a response in itself, and he almost falls out of the tree as you lean in to kiss him.

It's a very simple engagement ring - Ivan didn't go for complexity. The only stone in the ring is a heart-shaped topaz. On the inside of the ring, Ivan had "I love you" engraved.

Aaron :

When he was a child, he liked to attend weddings in his village, which were held quite regularly and were always a great day of celebration. He wasn't really interested in the ceremony itself, preferring to play with the other children and enjoy the festive food that had been prepared. He also liked to explain to his mother what he wanted for his wedding, but when he was a child it mainly consisted of games and lots of party food, especially biscuits, pastries and sweets.

As he got older, he became a little less utopian. First of all, he needed money if he wanted to have a good wedding and be able to provide for his family, which wasn't likely to be the case if he just stayed living in the village. And then, to get married you need a partner and Aaron has never managed to find someone who's perfect for him, of course he's met and had partners but he's never felt the need to get married. In the end, he even gave up on the idea of ever getting married altogether.

Things have changed since you've been a couple. He knows that marriage is something close to your heart, and you've often talked to him about it, whether it's at night when you're lying together amidst sheets and pillows, or during your long walks in the forest when you've spotted a particularly beautiful spot that would be perfect for holding a wedding. The more you talk about it, the more he likes the idea. Sometimes he'll be surprised to notice places in the forest where he could take you to propose or to stop for a moment in front of a jewellery shop to look at engagement rings.

He spoke to Raphaël and Vladimir about it and, of course, his two friends were very enthusiastic about the idea. Vladimir offered to hold the wedding in the garden, and even said he was willing to make changes to make the venue a little more to Aaron's taste. Beliath, Ivan and Ethan found out shortly afterwards. You often walk into a room to see them all stop talking abruptly before looking innocent.

Their behaviour immediately tells you that something was going on in the manor. What's more, Aaron seems more pensive than usual. You've tried to get them to spill the beans, but none of them want to admit it and they all play dumb when you ask them questions.

Aaron already has an idea of where he might propose. There are several particularly beautiful places in the forest that might be suitable, but he's thinking mainly of the lake near the manor. He loves to come and walk there with you, whether it's to stand by the bank and chat or to take a dip on a hot summer's night. It's also far enough away that his flatmates won't bother him there, and he wants to be alone with you when he proposes.

He doesn't have too much trouble with words and already has a good idea of how he wants to propose. Aaron isn't looking for something grand or exceptional, he prefers something much simpler that will be more likely to express his feelings for you frankly.

On the evening of the proposal, you went for a walk in the forest with Aaron as usual. It wasn't yet a full moon and you were walking together, chatting. However, your partner seemed slightly tense, you could tell by the sound of his voice and the tension in his muscles. He kept one of his hands in his pocket and you could tell he was playing with something without really knowing what.

When you reached the edge of the lake, you both stopped for a moment to take in the scenery. The forest was calm, there were a few insects flying around you, pretty fireflies giving the lake a mysterious appearance and the slight reflection of the quarter-moon on the water. Aaron took a deep breath beside you and you immediately turned your head to look at him.

It took him a moment to stop playing with the ring in his pocket and turn to you. In this landscape, he finds you even more magnificent than usual. When he starts to speak, he speaks each word slowly and thoughtfully, repeating his love and desire to spend eternity with you. It's simple, but breathtakingly sincere; he feels like he could talk for hours about the love he feels for you.

When he finally stops talking, his gaze doesn't leave you, he watches every feature of your face, every reaction, he can feel his heart beating faster and faster in his chest and when you finally accept he can't hold back any longer from kissing you.

It's a very simple engagement ring, but it's also very old-fashioned. It feels solid and you wouldn't be afraid to wear it even when working with your hands. There's a small amber stone in the centre, but it doesn't protrude from the ring at all, so there's no risk of it catching on anything. It looks so simple that you're surprised when you see the first words of a love poem written to you by Aaron.

Raphaël :

For as long as he can remember, Raphaël has loved weddings, even as a child he was always happy to go with his parents. He could wear pretty clothes and play with the other children, he was allowed to eat a lot more sweets than usual, his parents' friends complimented him on his beauty and he loved hearing his mother tell him that he looked like a magnificent little prince.

He often told his mother what he wanted for his wedding, pausing at length to talk about the musicians and performers who would liven up the party: there had to be drama, music, games and food galore, and while he was at it he also wanted a show with bears, jugglers and acrobats.

After his parents died, he completely forgot about the idea. It's not that he didn't want to get married any more, but that when your own family is fighting not to get custody of you you seriously start to doubt that anyone will love you. Marriage is all very well, but what's the point if your partner is going to abandon you one day? The story with Margarita didn't help matters and slowly convinced him that everyone disappears one day.

Now that you're a couple, he's starting to feel hopeful again. He likes to hear you talk about marriage and listen to your ideas and wishes on the subject. He writes them down in a notebook so that he doesn't forget them. He thinks it would be nice to marry you. He knows that he has clothes that would be perfect for the occasion and even if nothing suits him, he also knows that Vladimir will agree to give him money to buy a new suit.

He was quick to tell Vladimir and Aaron about his idea, of course, and talks to them every chance he gets. And given that he's the darling of the manor, you can be sure he'll have everything he needs to organise your dream wedding.

He couldn't see himself making his proposal outside the manor, going out seemed too complicated and he knew he would be anxious enough as it was, so Vladimir's garden seemed a perfect alternative. He knows that the area around the little bench is particularly pretty when lit by lanterns.

As for the proposal itself, he doesn't really know what to do. He's usually good with words, but he knows he has a tendency to be a bit too talkative, especially when he gets carried away with his emotions. He could talk about you for hours without getting bored, so he can't see how he could propose without overdoing it. He asks Vladimir and Aaron for advice, of course, but his friends just tell him that if you're in a relationship with him, it's probably because you appreciate his sensitivity.

So he continued to write different marriage proposals, which he then rehearsed to make sure they sounded right.

Sometimes doubt assails him to the point of waking him up suddenly: maybe you don't really love him, he probably doesn't deserve you. He'll end up bringing you bad luck, just as he brought bad luck to Margarita and Alessio. His restlessness always ends up waking you up, and even if you don't understand why he's suddenly so anxious and still refuses to tell you what's going on, you always manage to reassure him. Once he's calmed down and is lying in bed with you, he relaxes again, of course you love him and he's not bad luck. You're both safe.

You suspect that something is going on, it would be quite complicated not to understand it anyway. Ethan elbowed Aaron several times when he was talking about you and Raphael, Vladimir swears he's not hiding anything from you but he stammers as soon as you ask a question about Raphael before fleeing to his room, Beliath and Ivan are playing innocent. You know it's suspicious, you know them well enough now to be certain that their behaviour is hiding something from you.

On the evening of the proposal, Raphaël invited you to take a stroll in the garden. For once, the garden was lit by multiple small lanterns. You sat down together on the garden bench. Raphaël listened to you talk without interrupting, while he tried to summon up the courage to propose, his hand gently caressing yours, the crickets chirping around you soothingly. He took a breath before gently closing his eyes under his blindfold. This was the moment, he clasped the small box containing the ring in his hand before beginning to speak.

His voice was as soft as ever as he concentrated on telling you everything he felt. He felt he had far too much to say and not enough time. In his stress, he clasped your hand in his and wouldn't let go. He would have liked to talk at greater length about everything he loved about you and all the reasons why he wanted to spend eternity with you, but he didn't want to be the only one talking either.

When he stopped talking, all his concentration was on you. He listened to the rhythm of your breathing and paid close attention to your every movement. He waited for your response with great tension and the faint but present fear that you would refuse. When you agreed before kissing him, he felt tears of happiness well up in his eyes.

The engagement ring is expensive and has a complex design, with several twists intertwining around a central diamond stone. It looks quite old, and inside the ring is a line from her favourite love poem.

Ethan :

He wanted to have a partner when he was a kid, but he didn't want to get married. He followed his parents to a lot of weddings and he hated it. You had to sit still, listen to the adults, not stain your clothes, not bother the adults, it was a bore! He wanted to play, have fun and make noise. OK, so maybe he stained the wedding dress of one of his mother's friends at a wedding… maybe two, well, he was considered a disobedient little devil always on the lookout for something new to do, but in his defence, weddings are very boring when you're a kid.

When he was a teenager, he stopped going to weddings and instead went out to have fun with his friends in town. It was much more fun and enjoyable that way and, above all, he wasn't stuck all day with people he didn't know and aunts and uncles wanting to know more about his love affairs. After his transformation, he didn't think about it at all. It was bad enough that he wasn't sure he'd ever have a partner who would love him despite his transformation into a vampire, so a wedding?! All his old friends were dead, all the new friends he made ended up running away from him, he no longer had any family. According to him, he had more chance of running into an alien while shopping than of ever getting married.

His point of view changed when he started to be in a relationship with you. You often spoke to him about marriage and the joy you seemed to feel at the idea was infectious. The more you talked about it with him, the more he found himself considering the idea of marrying you.

Initially, he just wanted to ask you to marry him, nothing grandiose or grandiloquent, just a simple proposal while you were alone together. Beliath stopped him, telling him that he needed something memorable, and so did Raphael and Vladimir, much to his dismay. But that's not how he sees it. He loves you, isn't that enough for a proposal?

He doesn't want to propose to you in a restaurant, it's too cliché and not discreet enough. It's not that he appreciates discretion, but he's not like Beliath and he doesn't want people sharing this moment with you - it's your moment, after all. But no matter how much he thinks about it, he can't find anywhere that suits what he's looking for. The forest is Aaron's place, the garden Vladimir's, the library Raphael's. He doesn't want to propose to you at the Moondance because, once again, he wants to be alone with you.

Meanwhile, you suspect that something is going on, your partner seems a little off every time, as if he's worried about something. At first, you simply asked him if anything was wrong, but Ethan denied it completely. When you asked Beliath if he knew what was worrying Ethan, the half-incubus told you there was no problem at all. You didn't believe him, of course, Beliath lies well, but you've lived with him long enough to know when he's lying.

Weeks went by and he still couldn't find the perfect place for his proposal, but he keeps the ring in his jacket pocket in case a good opportunity arises, and it stays there for a long time before it does.

There was a big funfair in town and, as always, Ethan insisted that you go with him. By the end of the evening, you were tired from the rides and the hours spent browsing the stalls, so you decided to take a ride on the Ferris wheel. The vast majority of people had long since left and the two of you climbed into a large gondola. You leaned back comfortably against Ethan to admire the scenery around you.

At that moment, Ethan realised that this was the moment he'd been waiting for. You were alone in front of a magnificent landscape, the streets of the old town dimly lit below, the music from the funfair barely audible, the sky clear so you could see the stars that dotted it.

Your vampire clutched the little box containing the ring before calling out softly to you. You raised your head to look at him before smiling and kissing him, which reinforced his idea, there was no better moment. He took the box out of his pocket and started talking. He's never been good at being romantic, he knows that, he also knows that he'll never find words strong enough to express clearly how he feels about you. But he knows that if this evening could last forever, he would be the happiest of men. He tells you how he feels about you, how happy he is to spend time with you, how much he wants to see you happy.

When he stops talking, you're still against him, and the love he sees in your eyes makes him blush. You straighten up a little so that you're not leaning all the way against him before kissing him, maybe his eyes are a little wet as he responds to your kiss by pulling you closer to him, but he never thought he'd feel so loved.

It's a fairly simple ring, Ethan didn't go for complexity. It's in white gold, topped with a single sapphire. The stone is very small, but the colour is magnificent and reminds you a little of the colour of Ethan's eyes.

Neil :

Neil had attended many of his father's weddings when he was still a very young child, and he had already understood that love marriages didn't exist among people like him. However, he appreciated this, as he also understood that weddings were above all a manifestation of power and wealth. All his father's weddings dwarfed the weddings of the kingdom's noble families in terms of pomp and money.

The concept of a love marriage always seemed a little strange to him, and he sometimes heard his brothers talk about it without really understanding what he meant by it.

He married many times, never for love, always to consolidate his power. That's not to say he never appreciated the women he married, but he didn't love them romantically; at best, he shared their sense of humour and their desire for power; at worst, they pretended to put up with each other and spent as little time with each other as possible.

Since you've been together, he's found himself thinking about marriage in a different way. You seem to like the idea a lot, even more than that you talk about it often and seem enchanted by the idea of marrying him. He can't deny that the happiness you seem to feel at the idea of marrying him touches him, he would never have thought it would do anything to him, but it does. He loves to hear you talk about marriage as you lie against him on the sofa in the living room. He takes a good long look at you and thinks how beautiful you would look in your wedding clothes.

In the days that follow, he looks for a place to propose to you. He wants the venue to be magnificent, after all, you deserve the best. He immediately thought of a great restaurant, but he can't just book a table in a restaurant, it has to be much better than that. He takes advantage of the times when you don't feel like going out to tour the city's top restaurants.

Once he's found the perfect place, he starts looking for a ring, just like the restaurant, he doesn't want to settle for something simple and it takes him a long time to find what he's looking for, often it doesn't feel grand enough, not unique enough. He wants you to feel like the most precious and important person in his life, so he can't be satisfied with a simple ring, even one from a luxury jeweller.

His behaviour intrigues you, of course; Neil goes out more often than usual and always avoids answering your questions on the subject. It quickly becomes a little game between you, after all, eternity is sometimes long and you have to know how to have fun. You try to spy on him to find out what he's up to while you're away, but it's hard for you to get an answer because your partner goes to such great lengths to keep his secret.

Finally, after several weeks, he invites you to the restaurant and gives you a sumptuous outfit, as usual, Neil's taste in clothes is perfect, the outfit couldn't have suited you better, you spend a moment admiring yourself in the mirror before joining your partner who is also dressed up.

He takes you to the most expensive and chic restaurant in town. You go up to the top floor of the restaurant and when you enter the large room there are just the two of you. The large picture windows give a magnificent view of the city below and the mountains in the distance, the room is lit by subdued light and soft music can be heard. Neil invites you to sit at the only table in the centre of the room. In this setting, you have the impression of being the main character in a great romantic film, and that's not unpleasant - all your vampire's attention is focused on you.

The two of you talk for a long time and you observe your partner sometimes playing with one of his locks of hair. You know that this is a little habit he has when he's feeling stressed and it intrigues you.

Finally, at the end of the meal, he straightens up in his chair to stand even straighter than he already was before taking your hand in his. Neil speaks softly but with a sure voice and you feel lulled by the sound you like so much. He hasn't thought much about what he wants to tell you, which is what's so wonderful about you, he's not playing a chess game, he can be frank and tell you how he feels without being afraid that you'll take advantage of it to hurt him later. He feels free, free to express his love for you and to give you everything you want. Neil talks at length, about the time you've spent together so far, about all the things he'd like to do with you in the future.

When he stops talking, he doesn't let go of your hand. He's never had any doubts about your answer, and when you stand up to kiss him he welcomes you with joy.

The ring is very expensive and it shows. It's in white gold and looks as if it's been tailor-made to fit your finger. You'll never see another like it, because it was made for you and you alone.

Léandra :

Since marriage doesn't really exist among succubi, she has never been interested in it. The only thing that could resemble it is a small ceremony that is not recognised as official by his people.

Léandra has already taken part in human weddings, but she enjoys being invited more, for the hunting and the festive atmosphere that always accompanies weddings. She has never wanted to get married herself, nor has she ever understood what would make a human want to get married.

Since you've been a couple, her opinion has changed on a lot of things. At first, she would never have thought she was capable of falling in love, but it's been the case, she's fallen in love with you, your way of being, everything that makes you the person you are.

You often talk to her about marriage, it's not an idea that would have occurred to her on her own, but she enjoys hearing you talk about it. You seem so happy with the idea and your happiness is contagious. She knows she'd do anything to make you happy and see you smile, so of course if you want a wedding she's ready to go with you without the slightest hesitation.

Léandra has even considered inviting her brother, as she doesn't have many friends among the succubi who could attend her wedding with you, not many friends who would look favourably on it, and she doesn't want to put you in any more danger than you already are by going out with her.

The more time goes by, the more she likes the idea of marriage. Yes, you could get married together. She could see you in your wedding cloth, beautiful as usual. The only problem is that she doesn't really know what a human wedding is like, admittedly she's been to a few, but that was for the party, not the ceremony.

After several weeks of reflection, she finally asked her little brother for advice, and he stammered in surprise for several seconds before asking her if he had understood what she meant. Once she'd got over the shock, Beliath tried to advise her as best he could, but his ideas didn't suit her: a restaurant is nice, but she doesn't particularly like the atmosphere or the idea. She's not very good with words either, and she's not sure she'll be able to tell you clearly how she feels about you - no one has ever taught her to be sentimental, let alone express emotions like love.

She likes the idea of giving you an engagement ring but… Léandra knows that for demons getting married, it's customary to give a dagger, but it's not just any dagger, it has to be enchanted to have the ability to kill a demon. It's a symbol of trust to offer such a weapon to your partner, but she hesitates, as it's not very common among succubi and she's afraid you'll find it aggressive in some way. It's a far cry from the customary human engagement ring. But you love her, you're not afraid of her and who she is, so maybe you wouldn't mind after all?

You soon notice that your partner is not in her normal state, although you can't say exactly why. Léandra's head often seems to be elsewhere and she sighs more often than not, as if something were preoccupying her mind. It's a far cry from her usual good humour and it worries you a little. You know that not all succubi take a very positive view of your partner's relationship with you, but Léandra reassures you that you're both in no danger. She's worried about something else, but despite your questions you can't work out what it is.

Time goes by and she still doesn't know how to propose. There's always her brother's idea of inviting you to a restaurant, but try as she might, it doesn't suit her. She's already not very good with emotions, let alone in a crowd of people, and she needs to be alone with you to tell you how she feels.

Her hesitation leads her to wait a little longer, until one night. You are alone with her in a large hotel room, lying on the bed with your back against Léandra while her wings cover you both as if in a cocoon. Her thoughts wander as she smells your scent against her and watches you wrap a lock of her hair around your fingers. She realises she's never felt so soothed, having you against her has made her feel good in a way she's never felt before.

Léandra doesn't really know where to start - talking about love has never been one of her skills. She hesitates over words and phrasing, far from her usual self-assurance. There's so much she wants to tell you, but doesn't know how.

But she talks to you about how she feels, about the moments of happiness she shares with you and how she wants them to go on forever, her voice has emotions you've never heard from her before, her eyes look at you with love.

When she falls silent and awaits your response, you gently turn to face her before kissing her, her arms closing around you more firmly as her wings flutter slightly.

The dagger she offers you is magnificent and undoubtedly required a great deal of work on the part of its creator. The blade is a bewitching deep black, engraved in a demonic language, and the pommel and the cross-guard are encrusted with precious stone. It looks as fearsome as it is magnificent.

Farah :

Farah grew up in a small village in the countryside, and weddings were always big celebrations where the whole village got together to celebrate the event, sometimes even strangers passing through were invited to join in. When she was a child, she used to enjoy these events immensely, playing with the other children, running among the guests and tables, eating until she couldn't swallow anything. It was also a chance to put on her best clothes.

She never forgot the happiness she felt at these events, even after she and her brother had run away from her father. They were still sometimes invited to weddings where they didn't know anyone but where people wanted to share their happiness. After being transformed into a werewolf it became more complicated, although, but the pack evolved, she attended fewer weddings, isn't very common among werewolves, but there were some organised all the same. Most of the time, these took place deep in the forest, to make sure they were not disturbed by humans. Those who knew how to play music brightened up the forest with their songs, and the party lasted until the early hours of the morning.

Since you've been in a relationship, she's already thought about proposing to you many times, even more so since you told her what you'd like for a wedding. She briefly discussed it with the other members of the pack and of course everyone was very enthusiastic about the idea, so encouraged by them, she decided to go for it.

However, she doesn't really know how to propose. She imagines something quite romantic, a proposal in a beautiful landscape, telling you how much she feels for you and how happy she is to share her life with you. Words aren't always her forte though, she knows she tends to be a bit too direct, she wants you to feel like you're someone special on that day, because you are to her. She'll go round the forest looking for a romantic place to propose to you, and then she'll head into town to go round the jewellery shops looking for an engagement ring that suits you.

You've noticed some changes in Farah's behaviour and in the behaviour of the pack. Your partner often seems to have her head in the clouds, she sometimes goes off without telling you where she's going, she whispers things to the other members of the pack before looking at you innocently when you ask her what they're talking about. And that's not all, Willie sometimes looks at you both and smiles, and for an old grump like him that's pretty unusual. Hellébores comes out of her usual shyness to silence Mathéo and you've already seen Ashlynn and your doctor signal the child to be quiet several times. In fact, everyone seems to know something you don't, and that only makes you more curious.

On the night of the proposal, you followed Farah through the forest for a while before arriving at a large flower-covered clearing, the quarter-moon overhead lighting up the place with a fairy-like appearance, you spent a brief moment observing the place before seeing Farah turn towards you holding a small box firmly against her. Gently, she takes one of your hands in hers before taking a breath.

There are lots of things she'd like to say to you, the responsibilities of the pack seem lighter to her now that you're there to help her, she never tires of waking up next to you, your breathing when you sleep next to her soothes her and gives her a feeling of security she hasn't felt for a long time. Every day, she has the impression that she loves you a little more than the day before; your facial expressions, the way you speak and your smiles flood her with a happiness she never thought possible. Spending eternity with you has become a matter of course, because she can no longer imagine the world without your presence by her side.

When she falls silent to let you answer, she knows there's still a lot she'd like to tell you. Her heart is pounding in her chest, but she can't take her eyes off you for even a second. And when you lean in to kiss her, she closes her arms around you to pull you closer. Farah feels as if she could spend eternity in this position.

The ring has a very simple look, you can wear it for any occasion and she's even bought you a little necklace to go with it if you prefer to wear it around your neck, which can sometimes come in handy when you have to work with your hands, so you don't lose it or snag it while you're working. It's adorned with a tiny orange topaz that reminds you of the colour of the sky when the sun goes down.

[chinomiko]

Hi again :)

In your opinion, who is the best Moonlight Lovers character? (the best developed character)

Hi again !

So best developped..

I think I would say Ethan ? Because he is the one for who we know best of his past life and events, and because he was the last one we worked on as a route, so we had also better fleshed out the overall universe and I kept thinking about his character along the way.

Neil would have been my second choice for the same reasons, but considering his lifespan, we dont have so much details of all his life except for the very last years tied to Mc’s

Hope this answers the question ☺️

[verystrxxwberry]

MOONLIGHT LOVERS; “Could you hug me?”

♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: fluff, ML routes (+ Farah and Leandra), comfort. ↝ 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: As I promised, the same version as the Eldarya hcs but with ML! I will probably post mcl ones tomorrow, depending on how my study session goes in the morning… Enjoy! ♡

♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•. ♪¸¸.•*¨*•.

❖ AARON ;; as soon as he heard your question, he was a little surprised; but he wasn't going to refuse an offer like that. He would bend down a little to fit you perfectly in his arms, surrounding you with protective warmth. Maybe his grip would be a little tight, but not so tight as to overwhelm you, just perfect. One of his hands is on your waist and the other on your head, stroking your hair gently. "Are you okay? Do you need to talk?" It would help you clear your head in the comfort of his embrace, no matter if something bad had really happened or you just needed the hug. He definitely has a quite attractive natural essence that can easily remind someone of the forest and nature. Secretly, everyone in the manor loves Aaron's hugs. Ivan is the one who hides it the least, always hugging Aaron every time he sees him. Bear hugger, definitely.

❖ BELIATH ;; "What a subtle way of saying you want to touch me" He would mock you just with the intention of teasing you a little. No doubt he opens his arms and welcomes you into them. Beliath doesn't hold back with physical contact, and even more when you're the one asking for it. Hugging Beliath is a strange experience, it's not comforting or warm but it does lift your spirits. "No need to ask, if you want to hug me, just do it. It won't bother me at all" He murmurs against your hair, his hands caressing your back. To cheer you up a little more, he'd sway from side to side, reciting some comforting words, sometimes going so far as to say things so out of context that it would make you laugh.

❖ VLADIMIR ;; he’s not the type of person who is into hugs, even though he needs them, he is not used to them and prefers quality time. Anyway, you asking him makes him realize that he also needs to take refuge in someone's arms, so if you are alone, he would hug you and let you see a vulnerable side of him. His grip is firm and quite possessive, that no matter how hard you try to break free in a minute, you won't be able to. Vladimir's hugs are long, in a silent atmosphere and simply enjoying the warmth of the other. You already know that Vladimir is not the kind of person who can properly express his affection with words, so that hug was enough for you to notice the affection he has for you.

❖ RAPHAEL ;; "Yeah, sure, come here" is a hug lover, he enjoys every hug as if it was the last one. Along with Ivan, he’s one of the stickiest huggers in the manor. He initiates the embrace naturally, making you feel welcome and comfortable in his company. He is very gentle, holding you carefully and being patient for as long as you want to hold him. His head rests on your shoulder and in a soft voice he asks "how was your day?", being casual. Raphael is more than willing to listen to you, meanwhile his mind creates different ways to make you happy with whatever he can. 

❖ ETHAN ;; a soft laugh would come out of him despite the cruel urge of saying "no" to annoy you. "Maybe, but it's not free" he would say as he gives you a half hug, placing his arm over your shoulders, but finally laughing and completing the hug. Maybe it's a little awkward, as Ethan is all about giving quick hugs and back rubs. If it's in a slightly more delicate context, he'd try not to make some joke that could be misinterpreted and quietly embrace you, letting your head retreat into the hollow between his neck and shoulder. One of his hands would be caressing your back and the other would firmly hold you by the waist.

❖ IVAN ;; he may seem uncomfortable with hugs, but in truth he is simply shy and needs a push to release that clingy side of him. "YES" and he leans towards you to give you one of the longest hugs you've possibly ever been given. He tends to sway from side to side and hum a song if he really has confidence in you. If something really bad happened, he would opt for the tickle method, making you laugh until you cry. Regardless, whether it's a comforting hug or just wanting physical contact, his cheeks would be tinged with a reddish color from happiness. Ivan is happy with hugs.

❖ NEIL ;; he freezes the moment you ask him that, do you really want a hug from him? No but like- really? He would look at you perplexed, and without saying a word, this is the very first time someone has asked him for a hug. He would open his arms and let you melt against his chest, in a somewhat awkward embrace. Neil doesn't know what to do, so he just pats your shoulders. In a polite way, he would keep silent, letting you talk so he can listen to you or just enjoy the warmth of your body. It may be a short and awkward hug, but that doesn't mean he doesn't love you, far from it.

❖ FARAH ;; I wish I could receive a hug from her… sigh… As a way of showing affection naturally she resorts to half hugs, wrapping one of her arms over your shoulders. At the moment you ask her to do so, a small smile would escape her lips to then embrace you firmly, offering support and protection. Her hugs are useful to relax you, and many times even to make you get some sleep. And if you need to cry, do it, she’s there all the time you need, and while hugging her. She definitely will kiss your forehead and say “I love you.” Beemoov I need you to give me content of her…

❖ LEANDRA ;; “Oh, clingy, aren’t we?” Just like her brother, her intention is to mock you in order to embarrass you and then embrace you ofc -she couldn’t lose that chance-. Leandra is not such a fan of hugs, so maybe it's a short hug, but somehow, one of those hugs that brightens your day slightly. If the hug goes a little longer than normal, she would teasingly bite you or just tickle you.

✰; remember to reblog and like to support my content, I hope you enjoyed it!

[tetrakys]

If you've never played Ethan's route, give it a go, it's the closest enemies-to-lovers in the game to the point that you can keep hating him until the end if you don't like him. Today is his birthday and his first chapter is free.

(Doing some math because I feel like replaying, today his whole route should cost around 28,300 APs.)

[chimairasden]

Meet: Beulah 🌒

From Moonlight Lovers! | For the picture I used this picrew.

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Definition: The Achiever Age: ∓ 250 years Species: Vampire Likes: gambling, pressed flowers, reading the newspaper Hates: empty rooms, housework, touch-screen phones

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Full name: Beulah Debois, née David AKA: Églantine (by my other OCs), la Comtesse (by Vladimir and Raphael), Mircalla (by everyone), Notre-Dame de Bon-Secours (by Beliath and Ethan) Pronouns: She/her

Birthday: April 7 Sign: Aries

Height: 5 ft 5 Hair colour: cherry red Eye colour: light brown

Story: Born in the eighteenth century in a hebrew family, Beulah lived the tumultuous time of the French Revolution and the repression of the Reign of Terror.  She and her lover received a death sentence for corruption but, while the man was executed, Beulah managed to escape and, thanks to the apparition of a dark creature who turned her into a vampire, to achieve eternal freedom.  After wandering in Europe for some centuries, she decided to settle in the Manor right after Vladimir. From this point her story follows the game's main canon events as a possible LI and not as the MC. A more detailed post will be published soon.

Gender & Sexuality: Beluah is a trans* bisexual woman. She has always been in monogamous relationships, but at the moment she prefers one night stands over exploring other types of intimacy.

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Relationships with the canon LIs:

Aaron: her housemate and friend-with-benefits. They have aknowledged their mutual attraction for some times but agreed to keep this relationship casual. None of them is ready for let themself and their past go. Maybe, in an another universe... Possible LI.

Beliath: her housemate and friend. The party animal is the one Beulah hangs out with the most but no one understands why, and no one asks. 

Ethan: her housemate and friend. They don't always get along, but Beulah tolerates his witty remarks and Ethan respects her. The only moment they seriously fight it's when they have different visions on Judaism.

Ivan: her housemate. The young vampire is too scared of himself and the older vampire is not «interested in this kind of education» to have a civil conversation with him.

Neil: her secret. Beulah believes that the dark creature who turned her is Neil, so she is waiting his full recovery to question him and eventually reunite with him. Wherever the truth lies, Neil is taking advantage of Beulah's devotion and protection. Possible LI.

Raphael: her housemate. Beulah sees all she despises of herself in him and Raphael knows it and enjoys teasing her.

Vladimir: her housemate and accomplice. They usually have tea, chit-chats and discussions about the gestion of the Manor, but their strong bond is mainly built on protecting Neil's secret.

Relationships with other people:

Eloise: her housemate and friend. At first very annoyed by her appearance, Beulah avoided Eloise for the most of time and, if obliged, acted politely cold towards her. Now you can see them going to Moondance, playing the piano and chilling near the fireplace together.

Farah: her acquaintance. Beulah knows a lot about her from Aaron's words and totally understands her charm. She would love getting closer with her. Possible LI.

Leandra: her friendly acquaintance. Before Eloise's appearance, Beulah missed having another girl at the Manor and Leandra's visits were always appreciated.

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Trivia:

She bought the Countess title “as a little threat”;

She doesn't have exactly the green thumb and kills any plant given her;

Since all the OCs I created for Beemov Games has their name finishing in -ine, I gave her the Églantine alias to respect the pattern.

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If you want to compare, you can find an old version of her card here 🌻