#and he brings a halberd

[featherhasaface]

Crossing The Stars AU

Since Gala showed up with Meta (as the two of them were never sepreated), he was around to have met Tiff before Tuff even spawned. That being said, he loves babies. He'd never say it out loud but he automatically becomes the fun uncle to every baby he meets.

Of course this leads to her being around Meta Knight a lot, and he ends up becoming her dad anyway.

Edit: This AU has been scrapped. That being said, feel free to rake this art in any context (aside from shipping).

[itsumikorokotoyomonoko]

both the Dueling Roadrage No as well as a resounding Once everyone learns you Do Not Cut Off His Car he's actually like. an amazing driver like this mans signed up for carpooling and he immediately got 6 stars out of 5.

you think meta knight can drive a car

[ghostlynightpanda]

Hii!! I don't know if you're taking reqs rn but if you are could you possibly do this one Dazai x reader idea I had?

So this is based off my bsd oc who works at the ada and like she's one of the ability users there. Her ability allows her to like kind of summon the characters she writes, similar to kyouka, koyou and moris ability. However, unlike the aforementioned characters, my oc actually sees the characters like her own children. She's quite protective of them, even if they cannot die without her influence. (Overprotective mom core)

Now for the main point, it's like how dazai is with that ability of hers (fun fact: the name of the ability is 'Through our eyes'. This is subject to change but I named it that since my oc is an author and it's based off a quote I made up for one of her books 'through our eyes, we share our wounds. Yet still, the weight of your pain never decreases.') As far as I know, dazai wont be able to physically interact with her characters due to his nullification but he should still be able to talk to them. Even if Dazai isn't the type to talk to them, the characters would nag him into talking and yada yada.

This is basically it. super sorry for the long request, you can skip this if you want. Have a great day!!

Inkbound Hearts

synopsis: In a city of chaos and shadows, a writer with the power to bring her characters to life finds unexpected belonging in the Armed Detective Agency—where her fictional family begins to see a distant, broken man as their own, long before she dares admit her growing feelings for him.

content/warnings: ADA!Dazai x reader, fluff, 3.808 words

Yokohama's old train yard was a wreck of twisted steel, smoke, and chaos. Kunikida's glasses were cracked. Atsushi crouched behind a derailed cargo car, blood seeping from his shoulder. Even Ranpo was grimacing—an unsettling sight, given he rarely bothered showing up unless success was assured.

The mission had been simple: locate and retrieve a smuggled artifact tied to the Port Mafia. Low-risk. Clean. Routine.

Now the sky glowed the wrong color, a contract ability-user had unleashed something molten and monstrous, and the retrieval team stood seconds from annihilation.

Then the pages fell. Literally.

Thin, parchment-like sheets drifted from the sky, ink gleaming midair as they curled into lines of prose—sentences forming before they even touched the ground.

"What the hell—?" Kunikida began, but a shockwave swallowed his voice.

And then—

"Scatter, Rika!" "With pleasure!"

Twin voices rang out, sharp and sudden, like a snapped chord in a string quartet.

From behind a rusted crate, two figures surged forward. A girl in a high-collared tunic, wielding a serrated blade taller than herself. Beside her, a boy with a matching blade held in reverse grip, wearing a grin too wide for the moment—like war was a game and he was winning.

They moved in perfect tandem. Fluid. Calculated. Inevitable. As if their choreography had been written long before the battle began.

Steel met shadow. The beast shrieked. The twins carved through the chaos, a blur of synchronicity and sharpened edge.

Mid-leap, Rika cleaved through one of its legs. "Mom said not to overdo it." Yori laughed, narrowly dodging a writhing tentacle. "Mom also said to enjoy ourselves!"

The team stared, momentarily stunned.

Ranpo blinked. "Did… did they say mom?"

Dazai, arms loosely crossed, tilted his head. "Interesting. I didn't know the enemy had metaphors."

"No," came a voice from behind them — calm, warm, and completely unfazed by the chaos. "They're talking about me."

You stepped onto the field with a worn leather notebook in one hand and a pen behind your ear. Your clothes were scuffed with ink stains, your boots caked in dirt, and your gaze sharp enough to cut glass.

You looked down at the page in your hand — an open journal entry, half-written — and flicked your fingers once.

Another figure emerged from ink and air: a massive man in bronze armor, carrying a curved halberd glowing faintly red. He stepped between Kunikida and an oncoming beast's strike like it was nothing.

"I believe you all needed some help?"

Back at the Agency office, the mood was a strange mix of awe and exhausted suspicion.

Atsushi sat on the edge of a desk as Yosano wrapped his shoulder, but his eyes kept drifting to the twins—now perched on a filing cabinet, legs swinging in perfect sync like they didn't just go toe-to-toe with a nightmare.

Kunikida, nursing a headache, flipped through your notebook with a gloved hand.

"These aren't ability blueprints… they're actual narratives?"

You nodded from the couch, sipping tea. "Every character I write becomes someone I can summon. But only if I believe in them enough. Only if they're real to me."

"That's why they called you 'Mom'," Atsushi murmured, blinking wide-eyed.

"Exactly," you said gently. "I create them, raise them, protect them. They're family to me."

Dazai finally spoke, voice smooth as always, but eyes narrowed just slightly. "And how long have you had this… army of storybook people?"

You tilted your head. "They're not an army."

"They fought like one," he countered.

"They fight to protect what I care about. That's different."

Your gaze met his.

He held it for a beat too long.

And then: "Hm. Cute."

You weren't sure if he meant you or the answer. Probably neither.

Kunikida made noise about protocols and clearances and power thresholds, but Fukuzawa approved your placement within hours.

"Abilities born from emotional truth are rare," he said. "And dangerous. But I believe yours is grounded. That's what matters."

You introduced the Agency to a few of your mainstays:

Rika and Yori, the sword twins — chaotic, loyal, eager to duel anyone who made eye contact for too long.

Kaoru, the former soldier, stoic and quietly polite, already trading tired nods with Yosano.

Momo, the half-winged beast girl who'd accidentally eaten four of Kenji's rice balls before realizing they weren't part of her world's food system.

Rei, the tactician, who had already tried (and failed) to beat Ranpo in a riddle match.

You warned them, though.

"There will be more," you said, hand resting on your notebook. "There have to be more. I don't stop writing. I can't."

Dazai watched you closely as you said it.

Like he was reading the spaces between your words.

Yokohama's morning sun cast a warm, gold light over the bay, glinting off the windows of the Armed Detective Agency's office. The peace was deceptive, fragile—like everything else in this city.

The quiet didn't last long.

"Mom! He took my sword again!"

A blur of blue hair darted down the hall, followed by a boy only slightly taller, both no older than twelve. The slightly younger girl was puffing with righteous fury, her ornate blade now in the hands of her grinning counterpart.

"Did not! You left it in the umbrella stand!"

"Because I was drying it!"

From his desk, Kunikida pinched the bridge of his nose with the restrained suffering of a man who had memorized his ideal schedule by the minute. And none of it included a sword fight before lunch.

"You know this is a government-sanctioned office, not a kindergarten, right?"

At the center of it all, standing calmly with a cup of tea in one hand and a pen behind the ear, was you.

"I'm aware," you said sweetly. You snapped your fingers once, and both children immediately froze mid-run, blinking at you like guilty puppies.

"You two—outside, five laps around the block. And no summoning elemental bursts this time, Yori, Rika."

"Yes, Mom..." the two mumbled before darting out the door with a supernatural speed that made Tanizaki flinch in his chair.

Your ability Through Our Eyes manifested as an extension of your writing—your soul, quite literally, poured into words. Whatever characters you crafted in your stories could be summoned into the real world with form, emotion, and purpose. You didn't just give them roles—you gave them lives. Names. Histories. Pain. Joy. And love.

They came to life like flickers of imagination carved into reality—some warriors, some children, some ethereal beings. They were family to you, and you were their creator, guardian... mother.

They couldn't be destroyed unless you allowed it. Pain and injury were real to them, but death was negotiable. Their connection to you wasn't just magical—it was emotional. They felt your grief, your fear, your rage—and responded in kind. When you hurt, they hurt. When you smiled, they danced in the sun.

It was an ability born of empathy and imagination—a dangerous power wrapped in softness.

Despite the initial chaos, the ADA adapted—more or less—to your unique presence. You've been with them for a few months now and you felt home here. 

Kenji had taken to your younger characters like a duck to water. He spent his breaks rolling around in the grass with them, showing them how to fish, or trying to ride the winged horse girl you wrote for a fantasy short story once.

"I think Momo's part cow," he had said once, completely straight-faced. "She's got those eyes."

Momo, the aforementioned winged girl, had mooed out of spite and kicked a lamp off the wall.

Kunikida on the other hand had not adapted.

"This is not a daycare!" he barked one afternoon as a pair of your summoned twins reenacted a pirate duel behind the filing cabinets. "There is paperwork being trampled!"

"They're technically centuries-old sword spirits," you offered helpfully. "They just like to stay in child form."

"That does not help!"

You had to rewrite one of them as allergic to ink just to keep them off his schedule sheets.

Atsushi, poor sweet boy, had no idea how to handle your characters—especially the older girls.

They'd swoop in, touch his face with curious fingers, giggle at his stammering, and coo about his "puppy eyes." One even offered to braid his hair.

Atsushi turned beet red. "I-I'm not a doll—please stop petting me—!"

You eventually had to stop a flirtatious sky-warrior named Kaida who kept calling him "My little tiger cub."

Tanizaki mostly avoided eye contact. Naomi tried to get fashion advice from one of your more stoic female characters, who unfortunately didn't understand the concept of modern clothing and suggested Naomi wear a breastplate and fur cloak.

Naomi was delighted.

Yosano was fascinated. You caught her chatting with one of your battle-worn soldier characters, Kaoru, comparing scars and talking field medicine like old war buddies. It was oddly heartwarming... until you heard Yosano ask if Kaoru had ever tried battlefield amputation for fun.

Kaoru requested to go back in the book after that.

Ranpo didn't care at first... until one of the characters, Rei, solved a riddle he was working on, then bragged about it for two days.

From that point on, they were locked in a silent battle of wits—he would leave puzzles out, Rei would try to solve them first. Ranpo always won. He never said anything. But he smiled a little wider when Rei got close.

Despite the chaos, your presence felt like a strange kind of glue. You brought warmth—messy, loud, infuriating warmth—to a place that was often soaked in darkness.

The Agency was slowly, grudgingly, adjusting to having not just one new member—but an entire cast of them.

And in the center of it all, you stood—writer, summoner, mother, and soldier—pen in one hand, stories in your heart.

Dazai didn't dislike you. In fact, that was the problem.

He watched you from the corner of his vision more often than he cared to admit—pen tucked behind your ear, hands always moving, pages scribbled in ink and coffee stains, hair mussed from the breeze your "children" caused when they rushed around the office like a thunderstorm of feelings and half-finished story arcs.

You were messy. Warm. Full of empathy that made his skin itch in a way he didn't understand.

And your ability? It was unlike anything he'd ever seen.

Through Our Eyes—a strange, beautiful title for something so dangerous. The power to pull characters from your mind, from your stories, to give them shape and substance. Not just tools, not weapons. People. Emotions. Families.

It should've disturbed him.

Instead, it unsettled him. Because he could never touch them.

The first time it happened, it had been an accident.

One of the twins—Yori—had tripped near Dazai's desk. Instinctively, Dazai had reached out.

Yori vanished with a snap of nullification, evaporating mid-gasp like smoke from a snuffed-out candle.

Your head had whipped around, just in time to see Dazai's outstretched hand and the faint ripple of ability cancellation still fading from his fingers.

You didn't say anything—no anger, no blame—but your eyes… your eyes.

Hurt flickered there for just a second.

Dazai never touched them again. Kept his distance. He dodged their playful jabs, skirted around their boisterous presence, and avoided their relentless curiosity like it was a particularly persistent headache.

But they didn't take the hint.

Rika and Yori became expert annoyance artists—poking, prodding, and rattling Dazai's carefully maintained calm with relentless questions and teasing barbs.

"Why do you always look like you're hiding something?" Rika would demand, circling him like a mischievous shadow.

Yori would chime in with a grin, "You're like a puzzle wrapped in a riddle and dipped in mystery sauce."

He'd sigh, half amused and half exasperated, but they wouldn't relent.

The others joined in too. Kaoru quietly offered unsolicited advice on his posture, while Momo's sharp eyes would study him like a curious beast sizing up prey. Rei, ever the tactician, analyzed him with cool detachment, dropping cryptic comments that left Dazai wondering if he was the subject of some secret game.

No matter how much he tried to avoid them, your characters found ways to get under his skin—not physically, but emotionally.

And then, there was the breaking point.

It wasn't during a battle or an Agency mission, but a quiet moment turned sour when an offhand insult from an outsider caught one of them off guard.

Kaoru—the soldier—had heard a cruel remark, dismissive and sharp. The weight of it pressed down harder than any wound, harder than any physical pain.

Without warning, Kaoru appeared at Dazai's side, silent and steady.

Before Dazai could say a word, Kaoru reached out, placing a hand on his arm.

The world seemed to ripple—the edges blurred—and Kaoru vanished, retreating back into the worn pages of your notebook.

The office was suddenly quieter.

Later, when you found the spot where Kaoru had faded, you understood.

These characters—your family—needed refuge. When the chaos, the pain, the harshness of the real world overwhelmed them, they came to the one person who seemed able to hold that strange calm within the storm.

Dazai.

He might avoid them on purpose, but when they needed him, they found their way to him.

And when they touched him to disappear—returning to the safety of the stories—they found peace.

Until you summoned them again.

Dazai's reluctance to engage with your characters—your children— had always been clear, but beneath his cool, evasive exterior, something else was quietly unfolding.

What he didn't know was that your characters' persistent antics weren't random. They were driven by more than curiosity or mischief.

They knew.

They knew about you. About the way your gaze lingered just a bit longer when you looked at Dazai. The soft catch in your voice when his name slipped from your lips. The way you'd scribble furiously in your notebook, pages upon pages filled with stories that felt less like fiction and more like a secret confession.

Every stolen glance. Every shy smile you tried to hide behind a sip of tea.

Your feelings—careful, complicated, and still blossoming—wove themselves into the very fabric of the characters you created.

So it was no accident that Rika and Yori, Kaoru and Rei, Momo and the rest, took a particular interest in Dazai. Not just as an Agency colleague, but as a magnet for the attention they knew you wished you could give freely.

They taunted and teased him, prodded at his composure, not because they disliked him, but because they sensed his guardedness—and wanted to draw him out.

"Why do you act like you don't care?" Rika asked once, sharp eyes catching his every twitch. "We know you do."

"You're just scared to admit it," Yori grinned.

Dazai's smirk was slow to form, but when it did, it was reluctant.

What they didn't realize—what you hadn't yet voiced aloud—was that their restless energy was a reflection of your own tangled emotions.

After long days of watching the subtle dance between Dazai and your creations, you found yourself pouring those feelings onto paper.

The pen in your hand became a conduit for your heart—writing stories that blended reality and fantasy, crafting scenes where the quiet moments between two people said everything words couldn't.

You wrote about a man who was both distant and near, enigmatic but achingly familiar. A man who wore his walls like armor, yet somehow carried the weight of others on his shoulders.

Your characters echoed those stories, their personalities shaped by the nuances you poured into your pages—the laughter, the frustrations, the tenderness hidden beneath sarcasm.

And as the characters grew to like Dazai—not as a crush, but as something almost paternal, protective—they mirrored your own complex feelings, embodying a family you'd begun to build in this strange new world.

Later, in the solitude of your room—your pages scattered, your fingers stained with ink—you found yourself writing again. Not just to ease your thoughts, but to understand them.

You wrote about walls and doors. About people who closed themselves off because the idea of letting someone in had once led to ruin. You wrote about patience, about small kindnesses that chipped away at those walls without ever demanding they fall.

The next day, Dazai returned from a mission with a quiet sort of exhaustion in his eyes. No injuries, no dramatic flair. Just a weight in his shoulders that told you something had gone wrong.

He didn't speak to anyone—not even Kunikida. He simply walked to the break room, sat at the window, and stared out at the street below.

You entered a few minutes later, alone. No sword-wielding twins. No elemental bursts. No scribbled pages fluttering behind you.

Just you. And him.

You poured two cups of tea and sat down across from him without asking.

He didn't acknowledge you, but he didn't leave either.

"I rewrote Haruki," you said eventually, softly. "He didn't want to fight anymore. I changed him into a healer."

Dazai glanced sideways, having met the former soldier a few times. "And did he thank you for it?"

"No," you smiled faintly. "But he cried the first time he saved someone."

There was a long pause.

"You change them because you love them," he murmured. Not a question.

You nodded. "They grow. Just like we do."

He turned back to the window, his voice quiet but deliberate. "I don't know how to grow without breaking first."

You swallowed, the ache in your chest blooming like bruised ink.

"Then let someone hold the pieces," you said. "Even if it's just for a while."

His gaze lowered to his tea, fingers tracing the rim of the cup. For the first time since you'd met, he looked… unsure. Not lost. Not masking. Just tired.

And still, he didn't leave.

Outside, the city carried on in its usual rhythm—cars moving, people walking, birds weaving across the rooftops. But inside the break room, everything had slowed, softened.

No confessions. No declarations.

Just two people, quietly sitting at the edge of something not yet spoken, but deeply felt.

The shift between you started small.

Dazai didn't seek you out—but he stopped avoiding you. He'd drift near when your characters were out, pretend he was simply walking by when really, he'd linger near the edges of your quiet presence. You learned not to startle that fragile nearness. You let him arrive and leave on his own time.

Some days, he'd speak.

Some days, he wouldn't.

But he always stayed longer than he meant to.

Once, after a mission that left half the Agency nursing burns and bruises, he showed up at your door without knocking. His coat was torn, his expression unreadable.

"I don't want to talk," he said.

You stepped aside to let him in.

He didn't speak a word for over an hour. You just sat with him. Two cups of tea between you. A soft hum of wind through the open window. One of your newer characters drifted briefly into the hallway, then vanished again at your subtle shake of the head.

Later, when he stood to leave, he paused. Something almost apologetic in the curve of his shoulders.

"Thank you," he said. Barely above a whisper.

You didn't ask for more.

It became a pattern.

Not daily. Not scheduled. But real.

He'd show up sometimes in the middle of the night, sometimes between missions, sometimes with eyes hollow from seeing too much. And you would be there—with tea, with silence, or with stories if he needed them.

You never asked what happened. You never pried.

And in return, he began offering more than you expected.

He'd mention things he noticed—"You haven't eaten today," or "That new character you summoned… she's a little like you." He remembered details. Made observations that didn't seem important until they nestled under your skin hours later.

One evening, as twilight painted the Agency in amber light, Dazai sat beside you on the rooftop. Your notebook was open in your lap, ink smudging the corner of your palm.

You glanced over, feeling the weight of his presence settle like a soft exhale beside you.

"I wrote something today," you murmured.

He didn't move, but his gaze shifted to you.

You flipped to a page—not new, not recent. One that had been revisited many times. Your fingers grazed the margin where a line was underlined and circled, again and again.

"Through our eyes, we share our wounds. Yet still, the weight of your pain never decreases."

Dazai looked at you.

Really looked.

And for once, you didn't look away.

"I don't ask you to share it," you said. "I just want you to know… you don't have to carry all of it alone."

His voice, when it came, was so quiet you almost missed it.

"I don't know how not to."

You nodded, returning your gaze to the page.

"Then let us keep walking with you," you said. "Even if we can't take the weight, we can still be there."

A silence stretched between you. This time, not tense or uncertain—just full. Like something had finally shifted into place.

You didn't touch. You didn't confess.

But you stayed.

Your characters noticed, of course. They always did. They became gentler around him, even the rowdy ones. They still teased—especially Rika and Yori—but the flukes grew softer. Familiar.

They orbited him like he was part of their story now, not just a passing name in the margins.

And then one morning, as Dazai walked into the office with his usual disinterested slouch, the twins ambushed him at the doorway. They stood in front of him, not letting him pass if he didn't want to accidentally sent them back in their books when touching them.

He raised a brow. "Am I being arrested?"

"You're stalling," Rika said, eyes narrowed.

Yori nodded solemnly. "We've been patient."

Dazai sighed. "For what?"

Rika tilted her head. "For you to admit it."

"Admit what?"

Yori grinned. "That you're part of this family."

Dazai went still.

Not sarcastic. Not smiling.

Just still.

You entered the hallway a moment later, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and your notebook in the other. You paused when you saw them—but didn't interrupt.

The twins looked back at you, then up at him again.

"You can pretend all you want," Rika muttered.

"But you're not just 'some guy' anymore," Yori finished.

Dazai's gaze flicked from them… to you.

You didn't say a word. Just offered the faintest smile. Open. Steady.

He didn't answer.

But he didn't deny it either.

And that, for now, was enough.

Masterlist

[borkunlimited]

Ordinary Days - 1

Away from the capital, Sylus leads the insurgency movement from the northern regions of the country with the help of a deer hybrid. Your presence made him all more convicted to his cause and when the war ends, he looks forward to the day you don't have to dig up sweet potatoes for breakfast anymore. A Deer Hybrid! Reader x Dragon Hybrid! Sylus Fic Summary: Gaining the favor of a war veteran to declare his support for the movement is difficult at is, much alone said war veteran is also your father. Tags: Sylus x Reader, Hybrid AU, Suggestive Themes, Fluff, Predator/Prey, Implied conflict Word Count: 977 words Author's Note:  Title is based on a fan comic by Silver from Pixiv. This isn't a series (yet) but more of a collection of snippets while I figure out how to outline this concept and I thought maybe I should share what I have while I am at it. Had elements from both Love and Deepspace and Arknights with some of my ideas blended in. Anyways, enjoy!

Favor, Not Easily Obtained

Patriot.

It is a title your father is most infamous of and Sylus grew up in the halls of Imperial Palace at Deity Grypherburg, the capital of Ursus, with that title spoken reverently even by high ranking officials themselves.

Unmatched.

Unparalleled.

Indestructible.

Your father led the Ursus Imperial Army to victory against many of its conquests several times without fail and you would be a fool to not run away when you see him from a distance leading the march, the antlers on his head coupled with his imposing stature is enough to make a rational man turn and go back from where they came. 

(Irrational ones will only realize they are on the losing end once the halberd of your father flying all the way from the other side of no man’s land pierces them right on their faces.)

Beloved hero of Ursus.

One would have thought the man would be at least amicable to be around with based on the tales that Sylus heard from the nannies that looked after him before they tucked him for the night coupled with the images he saw in books and in the paintings at the royal barracks but no-

-Your father is without a doubt, the most overbearing man he has ever met.

The old guard had never once spoken a word to him the first time you have introduced them to each other (Sylus would never understand how you don’t see the need to mention that your father is the war hero every citizen in Ursus loves on your way to the village where you live the first time you met) and even when they were here in the freezing tundra fighting side by side in a civil war that will make or break the country, the closest conversation Sylus ever had with him was a grunt.

A grunt.

That’s basically it.

Sylus had heard him talk to the soldiers and even the other villagers, his voice soft and replies clipped apparently because of his damaged larynx, and it will only increase volume when he is barking orders but to Sylus?

The least Sylus can get is a finger pointing to a pin on the map before reconnaissance and the best is a grunt.

Initially, Sylus does not see the need to bring this up to you because he doesn’t want you to play mediator on this matter, not when you already are between him and the common folk.

He had been educated well enough to know that you can earn the support of a battleworn veteran through action and that means-

-A demonstration of his military intellect and strength.

Even then, your father’s overbearing presence and scrutinizing gaze did not only stay in the battlefield but also in the village doubling as camp as well.

“Is there something bothering you, your highness?”, you asked, pausing from mending a tear on his coat, and Sylus only shook his head, wrapping his tail around your waist while simultaneously pulling you closer to his side.

The laughter of the children playing with the soldiers, the cackle of the bonfire, and the faint scent of food from the kitchens being prepared wafting all the way here was almost enough to soothe his worries regarding the possible outcomes of this civil war.

Almost enough because-

-He doesn’t have to turn around to see that your father’s eyes are trained at his back.

Word has it that your father deserted the Ursus Imperial Army for what the elites have done to your older brother and that distaste extends to anyone, anyone who is born with a golden spoon in their mouth which unfortunately, includes him.

It would take tremendous effort for the war veteran to support his cause and even more for Sylus to convince that he, the bastard prince of the Royal Family, does not see you as a passing fancy but something more.

Afterall, Sylus is more motivated than ever to reshape the country just for you.

“Didn’t I tell you there is no need for formalities, little doe?”

“Old habits die hard, your highness.”

“Then maybe I should help you practice saying my name, sweetheart.”

The tips of your deer ears always turn red on such comments, a shy smile on your lips, and Sylus was about to rub his horns against your antlers in amusement, a little routine between the two of you, when he heard the all too familiar grunt coming from your father observing you both from a distance-

-No, it wasn’t a grunt but a huff.

A huff of disapproval.

That’s new.

Yet, always the oblivious girl that you are, you continued what he is about to do instead and told him ‘If your highness try not to wound himself often, I’ll consider it’ then amidst the falling snow and the cold stare of your father, the kiss you placed on his cheek and your warmth that stayed on his coat with tears already mended superseded all of his worries.

It only occurred to Sylus as he followed you to the kitchens that it was the first time you did that in front of your father.

“I can beat up the prince for you, old man.”

“My daughter- Too naive-,” your father sighed, then turned to the one who spoke, a rabbit hybrid (The little girl you and your father picked up while you travelled to the northern regions of Ursus, now in her teens), “And you- Too rowdy-”

“Rowdy enough to punch his face just in case he breaks big sister’s heart.”

The war hero did not comment any further.

After all, he is still yet to declare his support to the young dragon’s cause and-

-He has not seen enough if this estranged prince indeed cares for you or if he is just like the bourgeois he had left behind in the capital.

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Author's Note:  Big shoutout to @cygnuusss and to my friends for enabling me to write this. Once I am done writing the side story for Luke and Kieran, I will most likely move to this but for now, I'll probably keep posting these drabbles here and there. As always happy to share this with everyone here.

[capicola323427]

YEE-HAAAAW!!!

Here's the drawing I was working on!!!

I drew this after seeing someone mention a Rootin' Tootin' Gunslingin' Susie and I had to draw her. You know when you see such a great idea that you have to draw it, like you have to. Yeah, that's how I felt... I meant to make a timelapse of this one but I forgot to turn it on. Funnily enough this is one of those drawings where I ended up adding more and more onto it as I continued. Originally it was just going to be Susie hog-tying Meta Knight against a plain background...but... I ended up getting thoughts like...

"Why would Susie be a cowgirl? What if Susie was a sheriff?"

"Oh, remember those exploitative company towns? Haltmann Works would definitely be one of those!"

"Ah, Sheriff Susie would definitely use a some really long ranged revolver!"

"Meta Knight being a Sheriff is fitting but I want to see him be an outlaw on the side of good!!!"

and other such thoughts. Anyways, I've mentioned this before but I loooove period-piece games or games that are stimulatory of another place and time and possibly my numba one in that category is....

RED DEAD REDEMPTION 2

I enjoyed it a lot, Tilly, Lenny, Hosea, and Van Der Linde were my favorite characters! I still play it even after finishing the Epilogue and main campaign just to do shit like play poker, go hunting, and so on. I haven't modded it so once I learn to do that, I'll probably play more of it.

Here is my horse, Mon Doux Petit. Yes, he loves stomping birds to death but I love him anyways.

Here is my other horse who, unlike Mon Doux Petit, is a major fucking PUSSY who runs away at the slightest bit of trouble like the disappointment he is. In cowardice, he makes up with being the fastest.

ANYWAYS. Enough rambling, back to the main topic. I bring up this game to talk about the idea of a Wild West Kirby AU. I know, I fucking KNOW there's a new novel that's exactly that but I haven't read it yet and I probably won't. I would prefer to shift my perception and spend hours imaging a Kirby Wild West AU. I dunno, if a friend reads it I'll ask him about it and compare, the novel is probably waaay better than my ideas.

Anyways...

WILD WEST KIRBY AU IDEAS GO!!!

Meta Knight is the leader of a renegade gang of vigilante mercenary cow boys called the Halberd Gang. They're positively revered as much as they are feared! King Dedede would lead a gang of wild bandits known as the Deadly Dee Despots, Bandana Waddle Dee being his right hand man. Unlike Meta Knight's gang, King Dedede's isn't concerned with being upstanding gentleman! As for Kirby, he's the most powerful warrior and leader of his tribe of other puffballs! Kirby and Meta Knight work together quite frequently to take down the constant growth of industrialization by Haltmann Works Company!

Magolor's a shop-keeper in a little town that Taranza is the mayor of.

...I can't think of other characters....

Here's some extra stuff

[echantedtoon]

Demonstober Day 13 Elf

A supernatural creature of folk tales, typically represented as a small, elusive figure in human form with pointed ears, magical powers, and a capricious nature.

Tagging: @lavenderdropp @six-eyed-samurai @trancylovecraft @shadyd3ar @cherrysuzaku

@nousija @mspurpl3

Remember if you want to be added to the spooktober taglist lemme know

If someone had told him a couple months ago that he would fall in love with the MOST unusual girl that had ever graced his workshop..He'd have told you to never speak such nonsense to him again, probably would have scoffed, told them they were insane, and dismissed it from memory bank forever. Him, a proud master blacksmith of the arts, with a girl like her?? HA! What nonsense...

Or was it?

Not to him right now it wasn't as she kissed him and held his hands and he found himself not fighting against it. What was wrong with him!?

Oh right. ..It started with her walking into his shop.

The sounds of metal clashing against metal rang out loud and clear in the air. The inside of the shop was hot enough to even send a dragon out to drink cold water. Sweat dripped down his body and his lungs heaved from the excessive force of the hammer that he brought up only to bring it back down repeatedly. Hammering the burning orange iron into submission. To be molded and crafted into a perfect halberd for a dwarf client of his. He would've continued to mind his own business if it hadn't been for the beautiful woman who walked in with a smile on her face.

He stopped mid swing hammer in the air as she walked through the opening of his shop and looked at you. Your eyes wondered around the shop and all his tools set up everywhere before looking at him and smiling.

"Good evening. I'm looking for an elvan man by the name of Hatoro Haganezuka?"

"You're looking at him." He grunted lowering his hammer and eyeing you. Noticing the small cloth you carried in your hands. "What do you want?"

"I heard you fixed blades?"

"Yes. What of it?"

"I was hoping you could fix something for me." 

You should have been as beautiful as you were when you smiled and unraveled the cloth in your hands. Revealing a rather puny dagger that was not only rusted but broken in half. Obviously not cared for at all. He felt disgusted at the mistreatment of his and his disgusted face reflected that. Eyeing it before the beautiful maiden who held it up to him.

"What a disgrace. What do you intend for me to do about it?"

"It used to belong to my grandfather but he passed away. This is the only thing I have left of him. Could you please fix this for me?"

He still stared at her beautiful face before scoffing. "I craft actual important things. Weapons for warriors. Beautiful objects that are supposed to be used to defend, hunt, help survive life. Why should I waste my time on a simple dagger?!"

"Please. I'm willing to pay whatever price you want."

Dam her cute face. In the end he reluctantly accepted her request and she gratefully hugged him despite the sweat rolling down his body before leaving him with it.

He felt like he was going crazy wasting his time fixing the puny little thing.

It felt like a two part problem in his mind. On one hand it was as if he was betraying his loyalty to his duty and everything that it stood for by accepting such a measly thing to fix..for falling for such a girl. While on the other hand it was a betrayal of his own emotions for denying his affection for her in the first place. He grew weaker by the day, losing sleep over his inner turmoil. It wasn't long before people started to notice, dark circles appearing under his eyes and his usual scowl deepening as his mood worsened. No one dared to actually ask him what was the matter, but he could feel their concerned stares and worried glances. Even so, he held out, pushing thoughts of her away as he tried to go on with his life. Just ignore her, he told himself. He would feel better once he forgot about her. Just get this job done and you'll get over her!

 But no matter what she wouldn't leave his mind or him alone. Oh WHY did he have to be plagued his existence? Even AFTER you had returned after a month or two with various check ups to see the progress and then FINALLY getting it done with him shoving it into your awaiting hands.

You STILL plauged his mind.

How beautiful you smiled. How soft you were when you hugged him. How tight his chest was when you kissed his cheek in thanks. 

HE COULDN'T WORK IN THESE CONDITIONS!!

He once told her to leave him alone because she didn't need to be anywhere near him....It ended up with him breaking down in the middle of the day crying and all those sleepless nights catching up to him finally. His work performance was slipping, he was acting like a baby, and it was ALL her fault. She wouldn't listen and go away like some stalker. After that he had passed out from his yelling fit and woken up insidd due to exhaustion.....And to her crying and holding his hand. Ironic wasn't it.

And he made a noble effort to forget about that incident, but it was all for naught.

He reached his tipping point about a month into his rejection to the monster. He was exhausted, eyes sore and bloodshot, and his performance still wavering concerning all their neighbors. Lost in his thoughts while working. he heard a single word. His name. That made him stop in his tracks. His head snapping up in recognition, eyes widening. No! Not her! Not now! The last thing he wanted was the she demon to back him against the wall and talk her pretty little head off. He felt like he was suffocating. He barely slept for days. He couldn't take it- The voices were becoming so much his head was going to explode-

"Haganezuka? You don't look so good."

That was the last thing he heard before he passed out for a second time that month. She had carried him. CARRIED HIM!! HIM!! All the way back inside filled with worry. Don't ask him why she didn't  just leave him there. If the resident blacksmith was just found passed out against the ground it would've been less humiliating than a girl to carry him all the way to his bed where he remained when he woke up and numbly laid there as she went off chattering again. He didn't know what he was thinking when he suddenly exploded at her letting everything out. Maybe it was his frustration? The stress and strain he was feeling from her relentless presence? Maybe the days of little to no sleep? His mind zoned out as he mindlessly yelled at her but he certainly wasn't expecting it to end up with her kissing him and him being compliant to her affections. Leaning into her warmth and all around easing the stress he was always. Good grief what did he say? At one point she pulled away and he attempted to kiss her again which ended embarrassingly thanks to his lesser height which ended up with himself missing her lips and pecking her jawline which sent her beautiful face into giggles and the soft hands cupping his already crying and red face rubbed away at the stressful tears.

"You shouldn't beat yourself over like a little crush. I would've been happy to know either way. Oh. Please don't cry."

He wasn't sure why he felt so assured or comforted right now, but for now he leaned into those soft hands holding him up with the pretty angelic face of his relief

[ledgends-of-the-stars]

One final thing: the Meta-Knights! We know of Axe and Mace’s personalities, but we don’t have much on Trident and Javelin. So, here’s some head-canons for them!

Javelin is a state of the art Android Model Meta Knight, Sword, and Blade found while venturing around Popstar to locate the perfect base of operations for the (soon to be built) Battleship Halberd.

He started off with being pretty standard as a robot, but over time. He spent time with the other Meta Knights, he has grown exponentially as a person. I feel Javelin, despite not being able to speak standard language is actually quite expressive about how he feels. He is certainly loyal to Sir Meta Knight and follows his command to a T! Javelin can be pretty innocent like a child, finding organic life fascinating! I think he’d have a thing for snails or small creatures and would occasionally bring some crawling all over his armor until Mace shoo them away!

Trident is a Cyborg, still organic in some way, but behaves in a more stoic nearly robotic manner. Despite this, he does have a personality, being dedicated to his job as a fellow Meta-Knight! He’s usually quiet and is very strict to follow orders given and doesn’t like to stray even slightly from them. Usually the one who watches the other Knights to be sure they remain focused. Even though he is very good at his job, he can be quite clumsy and has a tendency to leap ahead before thinking sometimes! He’ll play it off as though he meant to do that. Also he certainly can not swim and will short-circuit if he goes near water!

I’m thinking of how Martian met him and recruited him, but that may come at a later date. I based the clumsiness off of when I played Milkyway Wishes and was approaching the gate to find the Sword Ability, Trident would always leap in to attack Kirby only to end up drowning himself! Lol

[talonoa]

Written for mercenary prompt #2 found here! Talonoa's Perspective

The Darkfuse Cartel stood no chance against well-trained mercenaries. Even with their guns and robotic guards, Talonoa and his crew were a well-oiled machine at this point. Their rooftop snipers kept the air clear while the fighters on the ground thoroughly combed the streets. The wounded were taken to the Incontinental Hotel where a wide variety of healers were stationed and at the ready for whatever may come their way. 

Manageable chaos.

Unfortunately, that feeling did not last for long, as expected. Talon turned his icy gaze to the sky as Nikki the Fixer flew in, a few bullets from the nearby snipers pinged off her impenetrable shield as she came to hover a street away. He could barely make out her words directed at Gazlowe over the commotion, but that maniacal cackle was hard to miss. She was enjoying this, and it was about to get even more fun for her. Not good. 

Dozens of drones began to swarm the area and while the snipers did a good job in bringing them down quickly, it didn’t matter. Within them contained monstrosities made of black blood itself. The various blobs and humanoid-shaped creatures began to take form, some heading towards the various groups of fighters while others were directed to attack the Incontinental Hotel and destroy everyone inside.

He grumbled out a soft ‘fuck’ under his breath before shouting out to the remainder of his nearby crew, “WE NEED TO PROTECT THE HOTEL!” They formed up and began to fight their way towards their base. While they had done a good job thus far of avoiding the dangerous substance, fighting monsters literally made of it didn’t bode well, especially for the melee fighters. They did their best to clear a path, trapping the monstrosities in place with various magics to allow the ranged crew to take care of them all while avoiding too much black blood splatter. There were too many to keep being that delicate about it if they wanted to reach the hotel in time to warn those within.

Talon’s eyes flashed with rage as he twirled his halberd above his head, slicing it across the space in front of him. Streaks of jagged ice and glacial winds extended in a vast cone, freezing the monstrosities to their core and in place. Dicenne and some of the other frontline crew didn’t even need to be told as they raised their shields and smashed their way through the frozen enemies, sending shattered pieces of black blood in every direction.

Eventually, they were able to reach one of the open sides of the hotel, the path created in their wake already closing back up behind them with more of the horrible creations, cutting their crew in half as the back part of the group wasn’t able to make it to the door. They would be fine, he told himself. There was no other option. He ordered those who did follow through to guard the door and try to reunite with the rest of their crew while he sprinted inside to warn the healers:

“MOVE EVERYONE TO THE SECOND FLOOR!” Shouted Commander Dal’shula, “WE WILL HOLD THEM OFF FOR AS LONG AS POSSIBLE!”

He pushed his way through the crowds, trying to find the area where he knew their healers to be stationed, gaze frantically seeking Naralinthe’s golden hair among the swarming bodies. A sudden wave of blinding magic nearby caught his attention as screams rang out and a few people were sent flying backward. He muscled his way towards the commotion only to see his lovely lioness with a scalpel in hand about to stab a stunned worgen. What the fuck.

He grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms down, “NARALINTHE, STOP! What are you doing?!” His gaze darted between her, the worgen, and Nahilvi in confusion as to what was going on here. The madness had clearly begun to settle into those touched by the Black Blood, and manageable chaos had very abruptly turned into absolute chaos. 

The worgen was surely infected. They knew this could happen. Was she infected?  At this point, many likely had some level of infection.  Except him… And he wasn’t sure how that could be.

He spun her around, cupped her cheeks, and growled in her face, “He needs treatment, not an execution! Pull yourself together!” There was no understanding here, only anger. Later he may regret that, but for now he had the rest of his team and everyone else inside this hotel to worry about as well.

@themercenaries @themadamelioness @dicenne @nahisummerhold

[lilyway]

Icarus {Alastor x Reader} Part 3

Warnings: Blood, Gore, Death and canon-typical violence. Please be aware of these warnings going forward.

This is the last part. I'd love to hear your thoughts. This is 9k words. Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Part 3: My Dearly Beloved

The annual extermination proved to be more brutal than ever, a relentless onslaught against the denizens of Hell that left the air thick with the stench of blood and despair. With each swing of her halberd, she condemned countless souls to their fate. The only unexpected thing that happened was Adam's unexpected act of pouring sinner's blood over her head. 

A few rare moments away from Lute’s watchful eye, (Name) searched for any signs of Alastor amidst the chaos of the extermination. As she scanned the blood-stained skies. searching for a glimpse of her beloved husband, she couldn't shake the pang of disappointment that rang true in the depths of her soul. Alastor remained true to his word and didn’t come back to meet her this year. He may have remained elusive this time, but there was the next year and the year after that. 

The triumphant cheers of her fellow exorcists reverberated through Heaven as they returned. (Name) watched the exorcists raise their bloody weapons high in the sky as they cheered. Her eyes turned to her halberd which didn’t look much better. Her halberd, a weapon now adorned with the remnants of the sinners that she had killed. (Name)'s gaze lingered on the crimson stains and bits of flesh clinging to the weapon's edges. Her face recoiled at the sight as bile threatened to leave her stomach. 

(Name) didn’t look much better than her weapon. Her once lustrous chocolate brown hair now bore the blackish crimson hue of dried blood, its strands matted and tangled with the residue of the dead. With each strand of hair clinging to her face, she wore the marks of the battlefield like a somber crown. As she ran her bloody fingers through her hair. (Name)'s fingers hesitated as they combed through the tangled mess of something brushed against her fingertips. Her mind raced with unsettling possibilities, each more gruesome than the last. Was it a fragment of flesh, torn from one of the sinners she had dispatched?

Shaking the thought out of her mind, (Name) grabbed the hem of her skirt and wrung the blood out of that side of her dress. She just wanted to cleanse herself of their blood. Being an exorcist was messy work, but coming back looking like she bathed in their blood wasn’t something she signed up for. 

"Good work, everyone!" Adam's voice boomed with a mixture of excitement and determination, echoing through the room as the exorcists rejoiced in the aftermath of their battle.

Amidst the celebration, (Name)'s sigh punctuated the air, exhaustion clinging to her as she started to make her way back to her dorm. While (Name) was leaving, she faltered as Lute's stern gaze beckoned her to follow. Lute led her back into the building into a quiet nook. 

"Need something?" (Name)'s voice, tinged with weariness, cut through the silence. Her fingers absentmindedly wiped the blood from her cheek, only serving to smear it further across her skin.

"Adam needs you to head back down to the embassy,"  That was a surprise. They were just here! Who in their right mind would have a meeting right after the extermination? "Bring whoever shows up to the office."

(Name)'s raised brow at the request. “We were just there," she countered, her tone laced with a hint of frustration at the sudden demand.

"Maven," Lute's sharp retort brooked no argument, her glare piercing through any resistance. "The meeting is in forty-five minutes. You better get moving."

“At least let me shower,” Lute’s only response was to point a finger behind her and narrow her eyes 

"Just go," Lute's command was firm, her gesture directing (Name) down the hallway. 

Fortunately, the exorcist building boasted an elevator in its basement, offering (Name) a fleeting opportunity to rid herself of the grime that clung to her like a second skin. With deft fingers, she attempted to dislodge the stubborn remnants of battle from her hair, a futile effort to restore some semblance of dignity to her disheveled appearance. She resisted the urge to dispose of the detritus of their confrontation in the corridors, mindful of the disapproval it would undoubtedly invite from her comrades.

Alone in the confines of the elevator, (Name) found herself afforded a rare moment of solitude, a brief respite from the ever-watchful eyes of Adam and Lute. As the glass panels encasing the elevator reflected her disheveled form back to her, she couldn't help but notice the amount of blood on her person. Her once pristine wings bore the stains of countless skirmishes, each crimson blotch made her want to throw up. Even the halo above her head, once a beacon of celestial purity, now bore a subtle crimson hue.

In the short ride down, time seemed to stretch for an eternity. Her thoughts returned to Alastor and what he could’ve been doing. Was he safe? Was he there, waiting for her? What she would give to know the answers to her questions. 

💟

As (Name) stepped out of the elevator, she found herself enveloped in the eerie stillness of the lobby. The dimly lit space stretched out before her, its pristine surfaces untouched by time. It was clear that the building never saw much use. Rows of empty seats lined the walls, their silent presence a stark contrast to the bustling energy outside.

Running her fingers across the smooth surface of a nearby sofa, (Name) revealed a thin layer of dust. The sight stirred a sense of unease within her, a reminder of the solitude that permeated the empty expanse of the lobby. As she continued to explore the desolate space, (Name)'s footsteps echoed softly against the polished floors.

Her gaze swept across the rows of empty seats, lingering on the faint traces of dust that clung to their surfaces.  A  part of her wondered if anyone would be coming. Would they even find this place? It was clear as day that no one ever stepped foot in here. 

Alone in the empty lobby, (Name)'s senses were heightened, her awareness attuned to the distant echoes of chaos that reverberated from the streets beyond. The faint sounds of commotion reached her ears,  she wanted to try and take a look outside for a moment. 

Despite the curiosity that tugged at her, urging her to venture outside and uncover the source of the disturbance, (Name) hesitated. The thought of confronting the unknown dangers that lurked beyond the safety of heaven. She was in hell and they would tear her apart as soon as she stepped through the door. 

It was a risk she wasn’t willing to take, not without proper preparation and support. The streets of hell were unforgiving, where danger lurked around every corner. But, she didn’t want to become demon food. 

With a determined focus, (Name) pulled the trash can closer, its metal surface clattering softly against the floor as she settled into one of the vacant seats. Determined to restore a semblance of order to her disheveled appearance, she set about the arduous task of removing the grisly remnants that clung stubbornly to her hair.

The process was far from glamorous, each stroke of the comb bringing forth a tangled web of gore and viscera. Yet, despite the repulsive nature of her task, (Name) persevered, her hands steady as she picked the gore out. 

As her fingers glided through the tangled strands, the thought of shearing off her long locks and returning them to a more manageable length flickered through (Name)'s mind. The idea of cutting it back to a more practical length seemed tempting, almost liberating in its simplicity. She imagined the sensation of sharp blades slicing through the tangled mess. 

Yet, even as the notion took root in her mind, (Name) hesitated. She remembered her mother telling her that hair is a girl’s crown. That hair holds memories even the smallest insignificant ones.  (Name) couldn’t cut it and only did when it got past her knees. Having long hair was probably the main reason she was in this mess. 

Her thoughts wandered back to Alastor as she ran her fingers through her bloodstained hair. What was Alastor doing right now? Did he manage to survive this year's extermination? Her every question had no answer and she was left alone in the empty lobby. 

Did he still love her even now? After all these years? Was their love strong enough to survive almost a century? He kissed her, sure, but that was more of a goodbye kiss. 

(Name)'s blood-stained hands hung in front of her, and her hands dropped back down to her lap. She couldn't remember the last time she felt so out of control, so utterly lost amidst the chaos of her own emotions. In the wake of that brief encounter, she found herself grappling with doubts and uncertainties that threatened to consume her.

She had always prided herself on her composure, always having the appearance of someone who was well put together. But now, as she sat alone in the empty lobby, the weight of her emotions bore down upon her like a suffocating blanket, leaving her feeling raw and exposed.

How could one meeting leave her so shaken, so fragile that she could break at any moment. 

She couldn’t understand what Alastor did to her.

As her eyes lingered on the door, debating her options and what she actually could do. On one hand, the allure of venturing outside, of braving the chaotic streets in search of Alastor, tugged at her heartstrings with an almost irresistible force. The prospect of catching even a fleeting glimpse of him would be enough for her. 

But, she would probably be ripped apart. 

The safest option was staying here and falling deeper into her potential madness. It sure felt like it. 

As (Name) sank back into the cushioned seat, she allowed her thoughts to drift far and back to safety that would be Alastor’s embrace. He was her comfort, her love, and her everything. She loved him more than life itself. But, did he love her the way she did?

Closing her eyes and leaned back into the soft cushions as she tried to think of better days to wash away her doubt. 

“Do you know I fell in love with you,” (Name) whispered, her voice quivering slightly. 

Amidst the haze of cigarette smoke and the lingering scent of alcohol, (Name) found herself back in a familiar dimly lit bar. The soft melody of the piano drifted through the air, casting a spell of melancholy over the patrons,  but there was something buried deep in the notes. Something bright and hopeful. 

“I can’t remember, how long has it been?” 

Seated alone, (Name)'s gaze wandered, tracing the patterns of the swirling smoke as it curled upwards toward the ceiling. The muted chatter of the bar faded into the background as she lost herself in the haunting strains of the music and the man playing them. 

The soft glow of the bar's dim lighting seemed to cast a halo around Alastor as he sat at the piano, his fingers dancing gracefully across the keys. (Name) couldn’t help but tear her gaze from her drink as she shifted to view the performance. The emotion he put into every note was his head bobbing up and down as he immersed himself in his performance. 

Lost in the melody, (Name)'s smile danced upon her lips as she hummed along to the gentle strains of Alastor's tune. Pulling her cool drink to her lap as time seemed to be a concept that no longer mattered. 

"All I know," She sang softly, her voice a mere whisper against the backdrop of the piano playing in her mind. "Is this love within my heart, waiting for you."

Her gaze drifted back to Alastor, who played with a quiet intensity, his fingers caressing the keys with practiced skill. There was a distant look in his eyes as if lost in a world of his own creation, yet his music spoke volumes, reaching out to touch the hearts of those who listened.

As his song ended his eyes traveled across the audience and lingered on her as a brief smile appeared on his lips. That was all it took for her eyes to quickly drop back down to her drink. “Can’t you see, what you mean to me?”

In a foolish attempt to control her nerves, she took a big gulp of her cocktail. It didn’t do much to hide her flushed cheeks as her heart raced in her ears. “How I wish you could read my mind,”

That was their first meeting, something as mundane as anything else. Someone who was here for a good time and someone who was trying to drink her problems. It might have been brief, just eye contact from across the room with an occasional smile. 

Soon turned to her singing directly at him and stumbled when he flashed her smile. He made her a mess and she loved every butterfly that fluttered in her stomach. “All these feelings, I could never find.” 

The first time he tried to speak to her was when she was leaving, (Name)'s heart raced as she found herself face-to-face with Alastor. His presence, so close and unexpected, left her speechless, her mind reeling with anxiety. She stood on unsteady legs as the world around her seemed to blur. 

“The right words to explain…” (Name) couldn’t escape her memory as she watched her younger self make a fool of herself. 

Alastor was trying to say something, but she couldn’t hear it. There was too much alcohol in her system and it was making her woozy. With a shake of her head, without a word, she turned and bolted from the bar, her heels pounding against the pavement. 

“Like the snow, all my love,” She followed them out into her memory palace as she stayed an outsider in her memories. 

(Name) would feel her aching feet in the morning as she practically sprinted down the street. Alastor ran after her after his surprise wore off. She didn’t even realize that she was going to leave without her jacket and that it was in his hands. 

“Falling down from above,” 

He tried to call out to her but that only pushed her to run faster. She was almost back to her parent’s house when Alastor caught up to her and grabbed her wrist. Her head snapped back as his chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. Alastor looked so disheveled with his glasses falling off his nose with the mess of curls his hair became. 

“In time,” (Name) could feel her lips curling into a wistful smile as she remembered how young they were back then. They had to be in their early twenties with the whole world in front of them.  

 (Name) was grateful for the alcohol casting a pink flush across her cheeks. She couldn’t help herself and muttered ‘You’re beautiful’ in her drunken haze. In that moment, with his disheveled appearance and the intensity of his gaze, Alastor looked more beautiful to her than ever before. 

(Name)'s gaze drifted down to her wrist, where Alastor's touch lingered, firm yet gentle. His fingertips pressed against her skin with a softness that made her heart flutter. It was too considerate, he was trying to get her to slow down and stop hurting her feet. If he didn’t stop her here, she probably would’ve run all the way home. 

“It piles high, as if to touch the sky.”

Alastor held into her hand for what felt like an eternity, as the starry sky framed his body. He wasn’t doing anything to help the deep blush growing on her face. His disheveled appearance was doing something horrible to her heart. It was racing as it pounded in her ears. How she observed his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He was truly something else. 

As they strolled down the streets, Alastor walked by her side, her wrist free from his grasp. There was enough space between them where no one would have any misunderstandings. He was being a gentleman and just walking her back to her parent’s house. The air was filled with a sense of calm, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of nocturnal creatures.

She tried to bridge the silence with small talk and it was a futile attempt to make time go by. The only topic she thought of was the stars hanging above them. The tapestry of twinkling little lights that shined down on them made him seem like a prince. Her eyes kept falling back to him as he glanced up at the sky. 

Alastor, his eyes narrowing with a subtle intensity, as he looked for the star she was pointing at. Alastor, his eyes narrowing as he focused his gaze made her heart skip a beat. The faintest adjustment of his glasses added an air of mystery. How his eyes glittered as the stars reflected in them. I

In her unaware state, (Name)'s steps faltered, and she stumbled over her own feet. The ground approached swiftly, before she hit the ground Alastor's swift reflexes intervened. He caught her by the waist, his grip firm yet gentle, and she was speechless. 

“Hold me tight,” 

Alastor's proximity seemed to tiptoe the line between comfort and unease. His cologne was casting a spell that was leaving (Name)'s senses reeling. (Name)'s thoughts raced, she found herself ensnared by the intensity of Alastor's brown eyes. His gaze, like a whirlpool pulling her deeper into its depths, seemed to swallow any words of thanks that dared to escape her lips. (Name) felt her defenses crumble, her honey-colored eyes meeting him in a silent exchange that spoke volumes. 

“This can’t be right.” 

With a gentle yet firm grip, Alastor helped (Name) back to her feet. A faint chuckle escaped his lips, this was awkward but it didn’t matter to her. (Name) couldn't help but feel grateful that he didn't mention her goofy expression. 

As he extended his arm, a silent invitation for her to lean on him, and she gladly accepted. Despite his seemingly unassuming demeanor, Alastor's build proved to be surprisingly strong and supportive. As he walked her back home, it was a short and sweet little walk. 

“This can’t be how it’s meant to feel,” (Name) remembered the butterflies that flew wildly in her stomach too well. How she could barely get a sentence in without making herself look a fool. 

Alastor, with a casual ease, left (Name) at her doorstep, his steps carrying him back toward the bar. (Name) couldn't let him slip away so easily. With a determined yell, she shouted for him to stop and give her his name. 

Turning around, Alastor met her gaze with a soft smile,  turning her legs into jelly. He told her to ask again when she would remember it and not drunk. That would be the only time he’d tell her. 

“But I can’t turn back time now cause,”

The front door slammed shut with a resounding echo. (Name)'s hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway, waking her parents who jumped to their feet. Throwing open the door of her childhood room and collapsing into her mattress. Her hands found purchase in her pillows and dragged it to her chest. 

“I love you,” 

With each ragged breath, (Name)'s heart threatened to break free from the confines of her chest. Her hands clenched the soft fabric of her pillows, and the sound of hurried footsteps approached. Her father, his face etched with worry, burst into the room, his protective instinct driving him to her side. 

With tear-streaked cheeks and trembling lips, (Name) found herself facing the weight of her father's gaze. She found herself blurting out the words that lingered on the tip of her tongue. 

‘Papa, I think I love him.’ That’s what (Name) said to her father without a second thought. Her father’s eyes widened as his jaw hung open. Without a word, he swiftly departed from her room, his hurried footsteps echoing down the corridor. Fortunately, Alastor was already around the corner and out of her father’s view. As he returned, he told her to get some sleep and left a kiss on her forehead. 

“I only wish it wasn’t true,” If she didn’t love him she wouldn’t be in this position. Perhaps, a loveless marriage would’ve been better. 

What (Name) would give to return back the clock and return to the days when she was able to meet him. Do things over with the knowledge she already has. Make some terrible decisions and fall into hell with him. 

“I wish I could forget - Wish that we’d never met.” 

It hurts, everything hurts. Looking back at a past that didn’t matter. How the start of everything seemed so perfect. The small interactions at the bar and the drunken walks back home always coming back without his name. If only she knew that everything would end up like this, maybe she’d rethink her choices. 

“Inside my heart, I know - Eternal Snow.” How she wanted to see him as opened her eyes and glanced up at the ceiling. 

She was unfortunately still back in the empty lobby without their guest anywhere to be seen. It was probably for the best, she wasn’t in the best headspace to interact with anyone. 

“Do you know, you’re still in my dreams?” He really was, her every thought was consumed by him as he became her strength to survive in heaven. 

As (Name) pulled herself up, her movements felt heavy, burdened by the weight of her emotions. Her feet dragged across the floor, reluctant to carry her forward. She watched the sinners walk by as she hid herself in the dark nook. “How much longer till you let me sleep?” (Name) searched for Alastor in every person who walked by and he never did. 

“One day, I pray that it might.” (Name) tore herself from the window and returned to her seat. She was being stupid and this whole thing was idiotic. “Just take one candle’s flame.” 

(Name)'s voice faltered as the door creaked open, a shaft of light piercing the darkness of her solitude. With a sudden sense of unease, she fell silent, her song dissipating into the quiet of the room like wisps of smoke. A blonde girl peaked her head and quickly looked around the dark room. 

She hesitantly walked in she looked around like she just entered a haunted house as she muttered something under her breath. There was a certain warmth in the girl’s demeanor as she cautiously approached the front desk. 

(Name)'s voice, though gentle, seemed to startle the girl as she jumped slightly. ”You look lost, honey.” As Charlie's head snapped in her direction, (Name) couldn't help but notice the flicker of nervousness across her expression. 

The girl explained with a lightness in her voice that carried a hint of nervousness. “My dad asked me to come to this meeting for him.” She had a voice that was filled with sugar and everything nice and that was (Name)’s signal that this wasn’t going to go well.

(Name) couldn't help but feel a tinge of surprise. "Oh," She responded, there was a moment before she continued. “You're the Morningstar's daughter?" (Name) tried to dig for any mentions of the girl’s name during her time in heaven. 

The blonde girl, with an upbeat attitude that bordered on naivety, confirmed her identity with a bright affirmation. "Right. I’m Charlie!" she exclaimed, as if her name carried a contagious enthusiasm that lit up the room.

“(Name).” Her introduction carried a tone of measured formality, a stark contrast to Charlie's effervescent enthusiasm. “I’ll be taking care of you during your meeting with heaven.” 

As she extended her hand in greeting, (Name)'s gaze lingered briefly on the dried blood that marred her skin—from all the sinners killed an hour earlier. (Name) felt a pang of unease, a discomfort born from the knowledge that she stood before a princess. Not that Charlie carried an air of royalty, but she didn’t want to be rude to the girl. It just didn't feel right to shake Charlie's hand with blood-stained fingers

"I apologize for my appearance," (Name) apologized as she tried to wipe her hands on her dress. "I didn't have time to clean off the blood."

“Oh! Righttt, that’s okay. Don’t be so formal.” Charlie seemed like a really sweet girl and she couldn’t worry that Adam would be a complete mockery of her. 

“Understood.” (Name) couldn’t follow that request. “As you’re here early, is there anything you want to run by me?”

“Oh! There’s a proposal I’ve been working on!” Charlie whipped out a thick stack of papers full of drawings. They were colorful and all drawn with crayons. 

(Name) could feel a nervous sweat go down her face. Charlie was going to be laughed out of the room for sure. “Let’s hear it.” 

“I know Hell's population is out of control. It's a bad situation, it's taking a toll. If we rehab these sinners,” Charlie spoke quickly and in one breath. She took another deep breath and continued. “Extermination, I know you guys fly down just to kill once a year.” (Name)’s shoulders dropped and her hope for a good meeting going well went out the window. 

“Charlie.” (Name) tried to stop her, she was too pure for this. Adam was going to spit and laugh at her efforts. 

Charlie didn’t stop, she was too focused on explaining her proposal. “And it must be annoying to schlep all the way here. If they join you in Heaven, that trip disappears!” 

“Charlie, you're going to be laughed out of that meeting," (Name)'s voice, tinged with a hint of concern. (Name) wanted to think her pure intentions would work. 

"They'll listen to what I have to say," Charlie's response, though laced with unwavering determination, did little to assuage (Name)'s fears. 

"You don't understand. You're having a meeting with Adam, and he will chew and spit all over your proposal," 

"That's alright! You're not the only one who's told me that," Charlie's response, broke her heart. Charlie was just a kid, this shouldn’t have been something people should’ve told her.  

"It's a lovely idea,"

"Thanks. Do you think it could work?" Charlie's question made her think if could work in practice. There was little she understood about souls or if souls could be redeemed. 

"I don't know. I have no idea what the criteria would be. It's a nice thought," (Name)'s response, though tinged with uncertainty. 

“I think it’s possible.” Charlie wasn’t going to drop her dream so easily as she signed her name into a floating scroll. 

(Name) walked over to the elevator and motioned her inside. “Don’t be too upset.” 

As the elevator ascended towards the awaiting offices where Adam and Lute awaited them, the weight of anticipation hung heavy in the air. (Name)'s parting words to Charlie echoed in the confines of the elevator, a gentle reminder that Charlie didn’t take. 

(Name) opened the door for them and quickly stepped back outside the office as the doors slid open. “Maven! Get your ass back in here.” However, before she could retreat further, Adam's commanding voice called her back into the room. 

“As you wish.” With a resigned sigh, (Name) acquiesced, her movements fluid as she leaned against the doorframe. 

💟

Charlie’s meeting went poorly as (Name) warned her it would. The poor girl looked defeated as she received terrible news and one that would probably bring the death of thousands.

For (Name), the extermination coming early left a bittersweet taste in her mouth. On one hand, it meant she would have the opportunity to see Alastor again, a thought that brought her both comfort and dread. 

Her heart went out to Charlie as she saw the expression on her face. It hurt to look at. How she hated that people like Charlie were her weakness. (Name) was an exorcist, there shouldn’t be any room for empathy. There should only be hatred for Charlie and her people. She should be laughing her out of the room and taunting her. That’s what Adam and Lute would be wanting her to do. 

(Name) was silent until they reached the lobby and started walking her out. There was something that wanted to make Charlie at least leave with a smile on her face. She reminded her too much of her younger sister and her foolishly large dreams. 

With a hint of nervousness, (Name) bit the inside of her cheek to cast them aside. “I believe that the words that he told you are not your grave.” Her voice was soft, slightly above a whisper. 

"He didn't even listen to me," Charlie responded with frustration laced in her every word. “There’s nothing I can do if Heaven doesn’t listen.”  

(Name) stopped walking and patted one of the seats nearby. “And I believe that you can make them listen.” As hopeless as Charlie’s situation was, there was something that could still be taken out of this. “Darkness reminds us where light can be.”

Charlie, though wearied, managed a smile as she took a seat, the weight of disappointment evident in her posture. "I couldn't protect them."

"I have been where you are before," (Name) was in her shoes back when she first started as an exorcist. She knew how it felt, feeling like you couldn’t save anyone. When you had absolutely no power to change another's fate. 

Despite the stains on her hands, she took Charlie's hand into her own. "Do you believe they can be redeemed?"

"Of course! More than anything, they're good people deep, deep down, "

“Then, even all the cruelest sinners can start again.” 

"Thanks for believing in me," Charlie expressed her gratitude with a tight squeeze, a gesture that resonated with an unexpected warmth.

(Name), frozen in surprise, couldn't pinpoint the source of the sudden change in her demeanor. She waved her out of the building and collapsed back into the seat.

“Charlie. I hope your idea works.” She muttered to herself. 

💟

Upon her return to heaven, (Name) was faced with the imposing presence of Adam and Lute. The sight of them waiting for her sent a ripple of dread down her spine. As Adam flung an arm around her shoulder, pulling her uncomfortably close, (Name)'s senses bristled with discomfort. The proximity of his touch, coupled with the weight of his presence, felt suffocating.

"We have a gift for you, Maven," Adam announced with a grin with Lute by his side. 

 “What sort of gift?” The uncertainty of what awaited her fueled the knot of anxiety that coiled in her stomach. It made her want to throw up. 

"Since the extermination is coming early," Adam seemed awfully proud of himself as he spoke, his words dripping with ominous intent, "It's time for a little upgrade."

Forcing herself out of his grip and retreated back several steps. “I haven’t done anything to deserve any gifts.” 

"Yeah? I saw you getting awfully cozy with Lucifer's brat," Adam spat in disgust, his disdain evident. "You don't think her lame-ass idea will actually work."

“It could. We have no proof against it.” 

"Maven, you're speaking like a little traitor," Lute interjected, her anger simmering beneath the surface like a dormant volcano on the verge of eruption.

"Think about it, Maven. If you get sent down there and her little idea works," Adam's voice cut through the tension like a blade, his words laden with a veiled threat that sent a shiver down her spine.

"What are you trying to say, Adam?" The implications were clear as day and she didn’t want them to be spoken into reality. 

"What if your man gets redeemed," Adam's words pierced her heart, the man was picking at low-hanging fruit. (Name)'s expression hardened, as her hands twitched to beat his sorry ass into next week. "Using your logic, there's no proof that fallen bitches can too." 

The venom in his words ignited a firestorm of emotion within her, and (Name) couldn't help but snap back. “Are you being fucking serious?"

“Watch your tone.” 

"Time you make your choice, bitch," Adam's ultimatum hung in the air as his hand was stretched out for her to grasp. 

(Name) glared at his outstretched hand, her frustration boiling beneath the surface as she reluctantly accepted it. "Fuck you, Adam," She spat. What she would give to bury him in a thick layer of dirt. 

Adam's grin widened as his grip tightened around her hand, his condescending tone cutting through the air. "Good girl," His words dripped with patronizing satisfaction.

The soft shade of golden light enveloped her body as the blessing coursed through her veins, igniting her vocal cords with a fiery sensation. Though the blessings were never physically painful, the internal panic they stirred was undeniable. It was her first blessing since her encounter with Alastor, and his influence on her loyalty was becoming increasingly evident.

Adam's eyes widened with a twisted pleasure as (Name) fell to her knees, grasping at her chest in agony. “Hurt’s doesn’t, Maven?” He cooed. 

"What did you do?" she spat out through painful gasps of air, her voice straining with every word she spoke. 

"Can't you see a blessing when you see one?" Lute asked coldly as she delivered a kick that sent (Name) sprawling. "If heaven’s light is hurting you, what do you think is happening?"

(Name) pushed herself off the floor, sending Lute a glare that matched the intensity of her pain. “Am I being rejected by heaven?”

“Ding ding, we have a winner!” Adam mocked with his signature finger guns pointed her way.

(Name) rushed to the closest mirror and examined her halo. There, amidst the ring of pure ivory, was the faintest red glow. “No, no, no.” Her fingers clenched around her halo as she desperately prayed away the blight. 

“Remember what side you’re on, Maven.” 

“What side are you on?” Lute's question pierced through the chaos, dragging (Name) away from the mirror and forcing her back.

(Name) remained silent for a long while, her mind swirling with her options. If Alastor sought redemption and achieved it. He would return to heaven, and their reunion would be glorious. However, if she succumbed to becoming a fallen angel and Alastor found redemption, they would be back at square one, torn apart once again. There seemed to be no clear option, no path forward that guaranteed their happiness — But, one. 

“Heaven’s. Now and forever.” 

(Name) couldn't escape the weight of her own self-doubt. She berated herself for her tendency to bend to every hint of a problem, for her inability to stand firm in her convictions. The conversation with Charlie echoed in her mind, her words of encouragement now haunting her as evidence of her own hypocrisy. Despite urging Charlie to believe in the possibility of redeeming sinners, (Name) couldn't help but feel like a fraud, unable to practice what she preached.

“What sort of blessing did you give me?” (Name) asked from the pits of her self-hatred. 

Adam glanced back with a scoff. "Wouldn’t you like to know," His words dripped with disdain and a hint of sadistic pleasure.

With that, they both left and left her there. As they faded from her sight (Name) returned back to her room. (Name)'s room became a chamber of her turmoil. With a surge of pent-up emotions, she hurled her vase across the room, the sound of shattering pottery echoing back in her ears. Collapsing against the door, she sank to the floor, tears streaming down her face as she surrendered to the weight of her despair, her cries muffled by the fabric of her knees.

💟

Months passed as word reached (Name)’s ears about Charlie’s visit to Heaven. Even as Lute and Adam’s shadow, she did her best to avoid her. Mostly because she didn’t want to be forced into bullying her. She was here for important business, not Adam and Lute’s antics. 

Unfortunately for Charlie, the extermination wasn’t called off. But, she did reveal the truth to Heaven’s Court. Which was enough of a win as they were all arrogant to the truth. Of course, (Name) was there during that meeting. She was back by the door leaning on the wall and prayed that she could go back to her room. 

(Name) was in the worst of moods up until the extermination. She had spent most of her time in confessional or praying her sins away. Trying to rid herself of her blight and unfortunately for her — the red slowly spread. The crimson hue reminded her of the blood on her hands and she wanted to vomit. 

The hype around this extermination was grand as Adam made a declaration to Charlie that their extermination would go after her hotel first. While she had been tasked with haunting children before, it had always been under orders, and she had never known them personally. However, meeting Charlie changed things; she recognized more goodness in Charlie than in Adam and Lute combined. Having to strike her down made her sick to her stomach. 

Her hotel had its merits too. If sinners could find redemption there, families wouldn't have to endure the agony of separation. People would have the opportunity for second chances, the chance to make better choices. Better choices weren't something she could have. She had made her choice and had to lay with them now. 

Breaking down Charlie's hotel meant shattering not just the physical structure but also the dream that accompanied it. The work wouldn’t be something that wouldn’t linger in her consciousness.  It had personal stakes for her too. Extinguishing Charlie’s hope came at the cost of her own hope. With Charlie and her hotel gone, Alastor wouldn’t ever come to heaven. 

It absolutely broke her. However, Alastor wouldn’t willingly work with someone like Charlie. Heavens, she didn’t know if they even knew each other. Which was the only hope she had left as she prayed for him to survive. 

“Are you ready yet?” Lute asked from the other side of the changing room door. 

(Name) took one last look at her clothing and exuded an air of mourning. The long black dress, with its multiple layers of fabric, draped fluidly, creating an ethereal silhouette. Her hands were adorned with delicate black lace gloves. They matched the veil that she threw over her face. 

The absence of armor, even chainmail, spoke volumes about her intent. This was a slaughter, not something that should be celebrated. If she was lucky and Charlie did put up a fight. She’d do her a favor and put her out of her misery. 

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” (Name) tone was one of defeat as she grabbed her ivory halberd. 

“That’s a good look on you, Maven.” Lute’s compliment seemed more like a taunt than anything genuine. 

"I don't want to hear your compliments, Lute," (Name) retorted, her voice devoid of any emotion as she brushed past her and returned to Adam's side.

They arrived just in time to catch the last of his fiery speech. "Let’s fucking kill that brat!" His voice thundered, resonating with aggression and malice as the familiar portal ripped open.

💟

On Adam’s signal, everyone dove into Hell’s skies, they found themselves in front of Charlie’s grand hotel. Her eyes looked over the soon-to-be battlefield, catching sight of a very familiar face grinning up at them from the roof of the hotel. It was Alastor, standing tall and proud, with a devilish smile playing on his lips. Her heart dropped, Alastor was working with Charlie. 

She would have to cut him down. 

(Name)'s weapon fell loose in her grip as she flew next to Adam. “Alastor?” she mumbled, her voice barely audible over the rushing wind. Adam grabbed her arm and shoved her forward.

“Fucking sing, I don’t care who has your panties in a twist. You better fucking sing like your life depends on it,” Adam barked. 

(Name) looked back at Adam, then down at Alastor, shaking her head furiously. She looked like she was going to cry and she wanted to. 

“No…I can’t. I can’t bring myself to hurt him,” (Name) tried to protest as Adam flew over to her. But her small act of defiance was met with brutality as Adam yanked her up by her hair, her fingers tightening around her halberd.

Alastor’s eyes narrowed as static filled the air. It was a warning of sorts, even if he was smiling he was about to beat Adam to a bloody pulp. 

"What was that?" Adam's grip tightened on (Name)'s arm as she let out a small cry of pain.

(Name)'s voice was firm. “I said no, Adam.” Her eyes returned to Alastor who gave her a look asking if she wanted him to step in. 

Adam's eyes narrowed as they followed her gaze, landing on Alastor who stood defiantly below them. "Oh, I'll just kill him first," Adam's words cut through the air like a blade, causing (Name)'s heart to plummet.

"Adam, please. Don't hurt him," (Name)'s plea was tinged with desperation, her voice quivering with fear at the thought of Alastor's demise.

“Then fucking sing," Adam's commanded.

(Name) had no choice but to listen. Her wings sliced through the air as she ascended higher into the sky. Her halberd remained held horizontally in her hands, she looked down at Alastor with an apologetic expression. In that fleeting moment, she saw his eyes narrow and his brows rise. 

“A cowardly façade weaves into my voice.”   Her words trembled with emotion as her body began to glow with a soft, golden hue. A shimmering shield materialized around her, encircling her form like a protective barrier.

At the same time, Adam shot her a piercing glare, a silent demand for her to sing with conviction, a signal for the attack to start.

Her body began to glow brighter as she continued. “As I call for war, blinded by this far-fetched noble cause.” (Name) could only watch as her fellow exorcists charge towards the hotel as an eldritch shield appears to surround the hotel to cage the unlucky few who found themselves stuck inside. 

She noticed how the exorcist’s bodies matched the same glow as hers, and her heart shattered. That was the power Adam gave her, as the occasional wound appeared on her body, as the exorcists obtained them as well. The wounds didn’t last long, but this was a double-edged sword.

“Although I had a choice, I believed the lies.” 

Whatever that shield was that Alastor cast was horrific. Tentacles sprouted forth and waved them without rhyme or reason. Some even held angelic weapons as they swung wildly, their range was insane as they cleaved through the sky. 

“But it's all a dream, ending when I open up my eyes.” 

She really wanted to know what this blessing was as her blood poured from a large gash down her arm. This was a little extreme even for Adam. Even if she wasn’t the one experiencing the injury, she could feel it and had to sing through her pain. 

Her voice flattered as she watched her blood drip into the ground below. “I tried to survive by putting all my faith in instinct,” Adam was going to have her killed here. 

The tentacles lashed out with surprising strength, catching (Name) off guard and knocking her out of the air. She struggled against the grip, wielding her halberd to slice through the tentacle and break free. Alastor's shield proved formidable, repelling other angels who attempted to breach its defenses. She felt a hint of pride seeing her husband flaunting his power. 

“I stand gazing down at death as they say...war.” She had to keep her distance from the shield as she ducked and weaved out of the tentacle's grip. It seemed like they were targeting her specifically and trying to get her out of the sky. 

(Name) caught a glimpse of Alastor’s gaze following her as she dodged his attempts to grab her. “They say fight for peace... but what is that?” 

“Raise a shield to the bullets, Hold my ground, all I got now.” She was getting dangerously close to the shield now as she saw the crowd of sinners protecting the hotel. Charlie was amongst them too. 

They were fighting desperately to stay alive and fight off the angels. Much to her surprise, they were killing them too. “But I'm defenseless, all but helpless if it gives beneath my feet,” 

Her song started to sound like a desperate scream for help. To end her suffering and finally put her to rest. (Name) couldn’t do this anymore as she tried to find Adam amongst the crowd of angels. She put her trust in him to keep his word, the chances of him keeping it were low. But, he just had to keep his word. Alastor’s life was on the line if he didn’t. 

The searing pain in her abdomen drew (Name)'s attention downward, her fingers tracing the dark stain on her dress. With a trembling hand, she pressed against the wound, feeling the warmth of her own blood seep through her fingers. It was a rather crippling blow as she knew if she took another or tried to fight anyone in melee combat she’d die. 

She just prayed she didn’t have to as she retreated to Adam’s side. 

Lute was nowhere to be found. She was leading the initial charge before the shield went up and was probably trapped inside. 

As Adam's rage echoed through the air, (Name) didn’t have the time to react. She watched helplessly as he hurled himself toward the eldritch shield with reckless abandon. 

“I’m fucking over this!” 

A banshee scream left her lips. “No!” As she watched the shield start to crack from the impact site and shatter into a million pieces before disappearing completely. 

She flew after Adam ignoring the wound that dripped blood down on anyone below them. (Name)'s hand reached out with urgency, grasping Adam's wrist in a desperate attempt to halt his reckless advance towards Alastor. Despite the searing pain from her own wounds, she refused to let him hurt her  husband. 

“Adam , please .” (Name)'s voice quivered with desperation on the verge of being swallowed by betrayal. “You promised.” 

“I didn’t promise jack shit .” Adam didn’t turn around; he kept flying down to the rooftop and left her there. 

"You gave me your word!" She screamed, her halo pulsating with a deep crimson hue.

He wanted me to sing. I’ll give him a performance, he’ll never forget. 

“I will rise in resistance,” As she clenched her hands down on her halberd the previous glow flickered from around the exorcists. “Sing the oath of rebellion. ” She flew high as she watched every shield and blessing she cast on the exorcists flicker and fade. 

Adam's voice thundered across the battlefield, “Maven! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He roared as he felt her protection disappear. 

All she responded with was a dark glare that said ‘fuck you, Adam. I hope you die’. 

As Adam turned his back on Alastor and turned his anger towards her. A crimson barrier appeared around Charlie and her friends. “Wipe away the weakness,” 

“You’re going to fall! Do you no longer give a shit about that?” Adam screamed as he shot beams of light at her. 

(Name) dodged his attacks as she pointed her halberd at him. “Better than supporting a liar.” 

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” 

"You can try.” 

(Name) knew it was only a matter of time until he caught up with her and followed through with his threat. All she could do now was support them the best she could until the light finally left her eyes. 

“Will you let those scars define you?” Oh, how she knew this was a death wish. She could barely dodge out of the way from the beams coming at her in rapid succession. 

Adam was right on her heels as she brought him skyward and away from Alastor. “I say, liar. I say rise in hell.” As the last note escaped her lips Adam grabbed her ankle and threw her down against the hotel roof. 

A scream left her lips as her blood escaped her lips and was welcomed by Adam standing over her with his guitar ax raised high in the air. (Name)'s scream pierced the air as Adam's guitar ax loomed menacingly over her. Her gaze shifted to Alastor, who approached with growing antlers, a harbinger of impending danger. But before he could intervene, Adam's blade descended, slicing across her chest. The wound wasn't immediately fatal, but without treatment, she would bleed out with enough time. 

“Just lay there and watch, bitch.” 

Adam returned to the air as he stared at the demon before him as Alastor’s eyebrows furrowed with anger even with a smile plastered on his face. 

“Adam, first man, next to die.” Alastor seemed angry and yet confident. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Adam asked with a shit-eating grin on his face. He was getting cocky and (Name) hoped he could use it to his advantage. 

The small bow he did was an unneeded flourish, but it did warm her heart slightly. “Alastor, a pleasure to be meeting you. Quite a pleasure. ” His grin increased as his gaze flickered back to her as she struggled to get up. 

(Name) forced him a smile as blood poured out, by some sort of miracle her organs weren’t falling out. 

“I’m about to end your fucking life.” 

With electric currents of demonic magic, Alastor created tentacles from the ground. He looked absolutely terrifying, he didn’t look like her husband anymore with that look in his eye. 

As she struggled to get off the ground their voices seemed to grow more distant. Adam seemed to have taken Alastor’s bait and was now charging into his attacks blindly. When Adam landed a missed blow that placed his feet on the rooftop and she knew Alastor could have a chance of winning. 

Finally managing to pull herself off the floor enough to sit up though, it was probably pretty foolish as every cell in her body screamed in pain. It was like someone set fire to her nerves. She needed to get up and help him or he could actually die. Her husband was a smart man, but Adam had the strength advantage. 

As the men danced around the rooftop as Alastor dodged and weaved from his attacks. Getting a hit in here or two using his shadows and familiars to annoy Adam to give him openings. 

She wished she could actually see the fight and see Alastor wipe the floor with Adam in battle. But her vision was blurring as the world spun. She was getting closer to her death.

(Name) tried to grasp onto her halberd and use it to pull herself up. Just so she could do something to help. 

“One day you will realize,” She could at least do this much, her voice didn’t project anything higher than a whisper. Nothing happened. She didn’t have enough strength to sing. 

She had to keep trying, she needed to help him. (Name) needed to save Alastor. As her world blurred and crashed into one another. Her thoughts remained with him. She would give anything in the world to see him see another day. 

My belle, my beautiful bride. Thank you for always staying with me. (Name) smiled at the memory of Alastor’s personal little vows to her. How she wished to spend more time with him. 

There was a flash of light and Alastor was in front of her with his broken mic stand in his hands. He glanced down before Adam threw him next to her. (Name) pulled herself to his side and placed the weakest touch against his cheek. 

“ I love you, my dearly beloved. ” Her smile was faint as she saw Adam’s shadow over them. 

Give me strength. I don’t care if I die. Take the dying embers of my life if it means I can save him. I’ll give you everything I have. My soul, my memory, whatever you want. God, please. Help me. (Name) begged to whatever higher power to hear her. She wasn’t asking for much, just enough power or strength to save him. 

“My Dearly Beloved,” Her voice rang out through the hotel as she pulled Alastor into her embrace. “Be strong, I shall be there.” Her voice was louder than she expected as she felt her soul burn from within her chest. 

“You’re still not dead, bitch!” Adam groaned as (Name) gently leaned Alastor against the railing and forced her shaky legs up. He was clutching his chest, his wound was deep. But, it wouldn’t be fatal if he left now. 

(Name) blocked Adam from reaching her dear husband. “Always here beside you,” Adam had his weapon raised and she didn’t back down. “So, keep your head held high.” (Name) glanced back at him with pleading eyes for him to flee. 

The ax came down knocking her off her feet as her golden blood splashed all over Alastor’s face. She fell over top of him and tried to pull herself back to her knees. He wasn’t gone yet, she wouldn’t stay down until Alastor escaped. 

She could barely speak as she smiled at the faintest crimson glow surrounding him into a warm embrace. 

Adam’s ax found its target as it went through her stomach. “Will try to steal you away into their arms,” This was it, she was probably going to die. “But you belong in mine…” 

As her words fizzled out so did her protection and she collapsed into his chest. The world was fading to black as Alastor held her close to him as she felt herself sinking into the depths. 

Her last thoughts before she faded completely were the following. 

I love you, Alastor. 

I’m sorry, I couldn't get back to you sooner. 

Don’t worry, my beloved. We’ll meet again. 

That’s a promise. 

Take care of yourself, 

I’ll always be there with you in spirit. 

Always next to your side, 

You won’t ever be truly alone. 

Keep smiling for me. 

Thank you for reading this disaster. I might make it into a series, I've have been seriously thinking about it. Which is why it has an open ending. She could have died or she didn't. Who knows.

The songs are: Eternal Snow from Full Moon wo Sagashite ALIEz from Aldnoah Zero My Dearly beloved from Kingdom Hearts

[acutemushroom]

Some Sokkla family headcannons because this ship has been stuck in my head for a good week

They live in the Southern Water Tribes (STW) and Sokka has eventually succeeded his father as chief.

They have two children: A son named Haku (Spirited away reference? I don't know what you're talking about...) and a daughter named Lykka.

Haku is a waterbender and Lykka a firebender.

Haku looks very similar to his father. Though, his eyes and facial expressions are all Azula'.

Lykka's skin is darker than Azula's but still a bit lighter than her father's. Her hair is black but wavy (same hair texture than Katara). Her eyes shape is round like Sokka but the colour is gold.

Azula's favorite cloth from the STW is the Amauti. I just know that she is the kind of mother who would carry her children everywhere with her until they can walk, so she would absolutely adore these.

Ironically for a man who loves his sleep, Sokka insisted to be the one who wake up when the kids were babies. He would only bring them to Azula if it was because they wanted to eat. Because of his responsabillities, especially at the beginning of his chiefhood, it was his moment to be able to solely focus on bonding with and taking care of his children. Plus, Azula wakes up very early in the morning, so it let her rest and sleep.

To no one's surprise, considering who their parents are, the siblings favorite pass time is to prank their uncle Zuzu when they see him. They are sillies in general.

Sokka insisted they learn, at least the basics of, weilding weapons. In case something happens and they can't rely on their bending. Haku can be frequently seen fighting or hunting with an ice-coated halberd. Lykka, on the other hand, preferred dual broadswords. Thing is, in good uncle fashion, Zuko taught her some fun tricks combining the swords and firebending. She once almost burned her hair and the house while juggling fire with the swords. Oops....

Sokka taught them a lot of manual skills in general. I just know it in my bones that, in a Modern AU, he would be the kind of dad to put a mechanical drill in his toddler's hands.

At each of the kid's first full moon, Sokka took them outside to present them to Yue. They're the only kids in the world that can brag about having the Moon Spirit as their godmother.

[umishiqu]

i need to post some of these. so…

dream quartet & the four greek wind gods

so we all know that kirby came from a “spring breeze”. and we unfortunately also want to know what this is a metaphor for. so thankfully something on my timeline came up (hi cookie run kingdom) that prompted me to answer the rest of this, and it is highly implied that kirby is an offspring of zephyrus, Greek god of the west wind - or representative of him

this game loves to shove angelic imagery in everywhere so why not? anyway, the “west wind” talked about here is the springtime wind (also associated with flowers). why specifically would kirby have zephyr imagery? well, zephyrus is also the son of astraes (titan of the dusk and starry sky) (oh wow!), and eos (Greek goddess of dawn).

the other association that zephyrus has is to “procreation” or “rebirths” (oh wow! x2). new beginnings and change and all, considering the breeze that represents transitions into seasons, which makes sense considering kirby’s copy ability where he has an ever-changing form

back to rebirth and new beginnings, there’s one other major place the “spring breeze” is referenced in; the menu card for the morpho knight ability. if you’re wondering what that pause before “but for Kirby, handling this power is… a breeze” meant to imply, it was this! both morpho knight and kirby seem to be offsprings of zephyrus/representative of zephyrus, but in two wildly different directions

(morpho knight also has allusions to psyche, but zephyrus and psyche do have history where zephyrus carries psyche to safety) (i do like the implication that at the end of whatever morpho knight’s arc is, kirby does get to save him)

…so i did analyze the rest anyway; boreas is the north wind and represents winter. he has a rivalry with zephyrus. makes sense as to why king dedede is a penguin. he was considered very strong with a short temper, and dwelled on the mountains (oh wow! x3) (mt dedede…)

bandee most likely represents eurus, the east wind, as eurus is depicted with a sickle and a grain sheath. his symbol is water pouring out of a vase. the imagery here is harvest, which makes sense bcuz of bandee’s role in some 3DS games where he passes food along to kirby to heal

there’s been a lot of depiction of notus in rick riordian’s works so excuse me if i accidentally bring fiction into this, but this most likely represents meta knight. flooding is a natural disaster associated with notus as the summer wind, and he has sunk ships like Psyllos’ ship. (hi Halberd) (sunk his own ship lmao)

[ladydaybreaker]

Am convinced that Nori was the one that named Uzi. BUT! Khan had a naming quirk thing too. Instead of naming after firearms though...

Khan had a love for sharp pointy objects.

Sooooo...

Khori kid (Uzi's lil brother): Halberd "Hal" Doorman (Yes, slight 2001 reference, bite me.)

Like how Uzi is Nori's mini-me, Hal is definitely Khan's mini-me. White eyes, dark hair...is a massive goober/dork with a heart of gold. And is stubborn as hell. (Had to get something from his mother!)

AS user? Unknown! If he is, he definitely is the same strain as his mother and sister...soooo depending on how young he was when Nori died, potentially ends up McFreaking Losing it at Cabin Fever like his big sis...resulting in two hungry baby bats running around and killing/eating people. Uzi is so proud of him bringing down his first kill! (They're both absolutely horrified and traumatized when they snap out of it).

Uzi probably is very protective of her little brother...but still keeps the angsty street cred everywhere else. Poooossible unwilling golden child Hal? (Uzi looks and acts too much like Nori and Khan's grief over losing her makes him kinda shy away while embracing Hal...Hal is also still young.) "Uzi can't do anything right, Hal can do nothing wrong" thing....cept Hal's very big on the "But...sissy did it right and did it first??" (he's a good boi).

Both of them bonding over building things...though Hal miiiight actually be more inclined to how the body works! (Opposite of his sister...who likes to see how inanimate objects work).

Both of them have the Doorman cackle. There is NO way around that.

Hal had a horrific teething phase...poor Khan found so many teethmarks on the door projects he was working on...

And finally...Hal has the typical "Doorman falls for someone that can ABSOLUTELY EFFING KILL THEM IN TWO SECONDS." that his father and sister have. Whether this leads him to Doll, V or J is yet to be seen. But the absolute starry-heart eyes seeing them rip a guy in half. And thinking "Oh my god that's hot..." has me in giggle fits.

[knowmypower]

What did Peach and Kirby do to get along with each other once MetaPeach started?

*wakes up in a cold sweat* OKAY SO LIKE

peach and kirby's relationship technically started back in melee! they've always gotten along, but it was during subspace emissary that they started to interact in a more meaningful way. kirby had saved her from petey piranha before they fled on the warp star from the subspace bomb engulfing the midair stadium. they were tailgated by the halberd, and at that point, kirby didn't know the halberd had been hijacked and meta knight wasn't on board commanding the ship. he explained to peach who meta knight was (in my smashverse, his adoptive dad) and assured her that he would be able to talk with him and come to a solution (though when it comes to meta knight, sometimes "talking" means having a duel lol). that didn't go as planned either though, as they're caught in the crossfire between the combo cannon and fox's arwing, falling through the sea of clouds and getting separated - with peach being trophified and ending up again in a cage, this time held within the halberd itself until meta knight, snake and lucario rescue her and ultimately take back the halberd. peach and meta knight certainly didn't meet under the most ideal circumstances lol, but through what she was told about him by kirby, and his actions towards her (and zelda) although brief, she knew he was a good person with a common goal who could be trusted (that's also why she was so unperturbed standing out on the halberd's deck amidst all the cannon fire, she knew they got this 😎).

that's sorta the gist of them all in brawl, but wiiu gave them the opportunity to learn more about each other. peach and kirby continue to have a good relationship, of course she finds him adorable but she'll never forget how heroic he was during the last tournament season. she gets to spend more time with meta knight now too, partly thanks to either of them just happening to be near kirby, but she also starts seeking him out on her own accord. she's found herself quite charmed by him now that she's able to interact with him in a more relaxed, fun environment. she's always bringing kirby home baked sweets, so you could imagine her delight when she discovers that meta knight also has a sweet tooth. the wiiu era/tourament season was basically the big pining phase of the ship lol.

BUT YEAH, kirby and peach only grow closer once meta knight and peach are officially together (ultimate-onwards)! kirby is basically going around telling everyone that she's his mother lol. peach finds it sweet and doesn't really take it seriously, but meta knight gets super embarrassed and wishes kirby would stop. kirby will not stop. it's payback for all the dad jokes he's been subjected to. /lh

[the-limbuscompanybus-blog]

A follow up to this post, Here are their individual evaluations:

To start, Outis was surprisingly yet unsurprisingly good with what he was given. I mean, I don't exactly know much about her yet but from what I could tell, she could have had a militaristic background so he carried out the experiment with the most ease out of the others. Yi Sang is extremely unfamiliar with the range of the weapon given to him. I don't exactly make him wear any long ranged IDs either except for Spicebush's and even so, I don't have it on mirro for long. With the little knowledge carried over from said ID, I'd see mirro frequently trying to awkwardly twirl the guandao and failing miserably, often leading to hits taken from the enemies. They didn't die though so that was a huge relief... Though they were severely injured afterwards- Mirr didn't exactly do much either, I.. Made sure to apologize to him and the rest after the fight and the experiment was over... Hong Lu was surprisingly natural with Ryōshū's ōdachi. They explained a good amount when they were out on the field on why this may be, stating how prin had experimented with a few bladed weapons before ending up in Limbus Company but by his own words, they also stated how he was "rusty", even though prins performance was actually pretty good. Ryōshū was also surprisingly fine with what she had, even made use of the book believe it or not... But it's Ryōshū, I don't think I should be that surprised with mare creativity. Despite her good performance, she complained a whole lot during the fight I had mare in and I had the unfortunate pleasure of hearing all of the horrid things she said through Sinclair's translations- Speaking of Sinclair, he did great with the zweihänder. They said that it was a little heavier than what they're used to but they honestly did amazing! I kinda half expected it though because one of the IDs I'd use for him a decent amount is that of the Zwei Association and, of course, their signature weapon is the zweihänder. I don't think I have anything else to note about him other than I did see them try to use the weapon like he would his usual halberd. It didn't really work out but they'd almost always recover quick from it. ... Oh boy, looks like I'll have to cut this up again- I'll bring up the rest of the Sinners soon. ⏰

[twofacedtitan]

the inuyasha water god arc is peak silly.

kid steals from his house to hire these weirdos that literally just showed up at his village;

boy takes off his mask and no one notices because his face is just that similar to the mask;

talking walking water creature demons that turn back into simple fish with a single tap;

miroku trying to give sango mouth to mouth because she almost drowned and she, righfully, gets really confused, suspicious and worried (for herself of course) when she wakes up to see only his nose;

fake sujin-sama creepily looking into the shack from one of the upper windows and kagome and the kids just lose it;

TINY LAKE GODDESS she's so tiny, help the light is so strong and then you see miroku and sango's reaction and it's either she's extremelly pretty or she's a moonfish, and then no, she's beautifu, but that's not it, she's a literal thumbellina omg;

SLEEPY LAKE GODDESS girly really went moses mode and fell asleep right after (please, the panels are hilarious sango-"we have the real sujin-sama who's" kagome-"who's ASLEEP" i just know kagome is done with all this bs);

kagome just collecting tiny creatures (shippo, the two boys, the goddess) and porviding commentary (hey, she did her part);

inuyasha calling SANGO a decoy after admitting to Alex Honnolding his way up the fake's wet snake body with the most serious face he has ever made;

tiny goddess wakes up in the middle of all this and clearly has NO IDEA of what is going on because her first request is: bring me my halberd, like LADY WHAT DO YOU THINK THEY ARE TRYING TO DO;

somehow miroku got to a rock in the middle of the water while the others worked;

miroku being a sly fox and basically robbing the village, as he does.

fantastic arc, i've always loved this one.

[trenchgardens-ooc-ooc-ooc-ooc]

Kirby...

Kirby is purely idealistic, child logic almost, overcoming impossible threats and systems of hate and fear with just the enduring will to make things right, make people stop hurting other people and then he does a little dance. And like... as the games have gone on it's gotten more and more direct and more and more complex.

Kirbys kind of dumb but god if he doesnt have his heart in the right place.

Even so far back as the dream fountain he tears up the roots of a system built out of suffering and destroys the cause.

I think about how in the Amazing Mirror, in a universe where everything is a dark evil version of itself, that universe's kirby wasnt evil, he was apathetic. Jaded.

I think about how Kirby rises against incompetent and greedy kings who will eat while the common people starve, and he's been doing that this whole time.

His rising against Meta Knight's military uprising in an effort to put all of Dreamland to work in some authoritarian militocracy, dismantling the instruments of that evil one piece at a time, encountering an insurmountable threat and flying in, running through, and systematically, methodically blowing apart the Halberd limb by limb with precise strikes and sheer and incredible persistence no matter how many times it shoots him off of itself, until he comes to the final man in charge, fighting him one on one and soundly defeating him.

His quests to restore balance to discover his good intent was manipulated by thenone who caused the imbalance in the first place, only to immediately turn around and stop the problem he was used to further. Bringing down a machine, amoral in construction but weilded for cruelty, one so incredibly powerful, developed, as to be the size of a planet itself. Then destroying the greedy bastard who betrayed his trust with the power of incredible violence.

Kirby defeating enemies so vast that they could more easily be conceptualized as ideologies than as physical enemies.

Then in Planet Robobot the enemy is the CEO of an ubercorporation. The final boss is the incarnation of a ideology of evil and cruelty in the form of a planet sized cat clock.

Then in Forgotten Lands the enemy is a foreign conqueror who believes in their own superiority and aims to enslave the native people of this land even further, then tries to destroy everything out of spite when it fails.

In kirby the enemy is incompetent royalty, militaristic dictators, natural disasters, cruel systems of thought, those who destroy nature for their own gain, imperialist queens, ceos and their companies, colonizing slavers.

and the messaging has become clearer and clearer, but it is not new.

Dark Matter is godly in existance, but it infects people kind and cruel alike to do horrible things, it is like an ideology. It's a cruel way of thought. One that leaks into everything, makes art cynical makes reformed kings fall back into their old ways, turns friends cruel again. It blots out the sky. When you're fighting Dark Matter you're rarely fighting the thing itself, you're fighting your peers, whether theyre old friends or people yet to become friends, you Convince them to give up cruelty. Some don't, but some do.

Haltmann Co. is overwhelmingly huge, the Access Ark is near divine in scale and it blots out the skies, it is incomprehensible in scale and power. When you fight it it isn't the company you fight, but its workers, its assets, its managers, machines, pipelines, and employees. It twists familiar faces into profit machines, warped clones, and indoctrinated extrajudicial killing machines. It is so hard to grasp the scale of it all that it is more easily conceptualized as an ideology. You go through the entirety of it, freeing old friends and making new ones from within, you find the inherent good within the system and you gain an audience with the man in charge.

And then you kill the CEO. And then you kill his company.

And you can only do it because of your friends new and old, Susie and Metaknight, just like back in the original game you spare the well intentioned now astray once they see the error of their ways, and they're the only reason you succeed. Dedede is the only reason Kirby can even reach Nightmare, Kirby can only pursue Nova and Marx by using the same betrayed wishes which summoned Nova in the first place. Kirby can only defeat Sectonia because of Taranza and Dedede's help. Kirby can only defeat Fecto Elfilis with the help of Elflin.

Time and time again Kirby pulls the misguided good out of systems of evil and Only because of that good does he destroy the evil.

Kirby destroys the colonizing force of the Access Ark, representing all of Haltmann Co.'s incredible industry, and Stardream OS, representing the ideology of profit above all, not just with the help of his old redeemed friends, but with the help of Haltmanns Secretary. And one of the Access Ark's own assimilating robots.

Fecto Forgo is an unadulteratedly evil force, subjugating the indigenous populations of the planet it found, yet it only becomes truly perfect in its conquoring might when it absorbs Elflin, the system of evil becomes stronger, almost impossible in strength, when held together by good intention, love, compassion.

Kirby not only beats the shit out of Fecto Elfilis, he prys the good out of the evil and then they both fucking kill the evil by running it over with a semi truck.

Something about Kirby recognizing the good in the evil, the nuance of the situation, something about Kirby always giving people the chance to be redeemed—

Kirby doesn't take the good with the bad, no matter how inseperable they seem. Kirby will pull the smallest amount of good from the most disgustingly evil things, and he will take the good, and he will not take the bad.

In killing Fecto Elfilis sans Elflin, Kirby not only destroys the evil of colonial imperialism, but he destroys it with the product of colonial imperialism in the semi truck, and with the good which the evil used to prevail. And he would not have done it if either of those were missing.

Kirby offers redemption to anyone who seeks it and will pry the good from the bad and he is not just stronger because of this, but he is only succeeding because of this.

I just...

He takes good intention wherever he finds it.

Perfect is the enemy of the good, Kirby, though, is perfect in his accepting of all forms of good. No matter how much of a work in progress they are.