#angst with happy ending ONLY

[fruitsdontknow]

okay hear me out….. what about a cosmic soulmate buddie au and buck just. keeps dying. like buck dies in the truck explosion and eddie hurts so deeply so badly so awfully he fucking…. can’t handle the grief and collapses time and space around him? eddies grief hurts so brutally that he begs on his knees and forces a universe he doesn’t believe in to let him go back to the start and try again… and it works? he goes back to being a little kid and he can’t remember the other life he lived but that’s okay, it doesn’t matter, because this time, this timeline, buck will live. buck will live…. buck….. will live……. no… no buck keeps dying. rolodex of tsunami lightning even the shooting it’s just buck dying over and over and over and eddie has to watch. can’t look away. can’t save him, he’s always too late. and he keeps grieving so horrifically and keeps breaking time and space to go back to being a little kid and creates countless timelines, each one plagued with bucks death and eddie begs to the universe please make it stop please please he just wants to shake the little eddie in all the other timelines and tell him save your buck please please save him don’t let him die again just save him this time please but little eddie doesn’t understand what’s going on…………..

until he does.

[chloesimaginationthings]

Friendship never dies in FNAF..

[raviraaa]

two sides of the same coin or smth…

imagine arthur waking up after centuries & stumbling into a new world only to find a merlin who doesn’t remember him, but still wears his wedding ring around his neck as if it means something.

[eloise175]

IT’S HERE OH MY GOD IT’S HERE FINALLY I’M GOING TO SOB

The pure despair and horror on Callisto’s face as he holds Penelope’s limp body…I’m gonna kms, they make me unwell *screams*

[kettlefire]

A Panic in Time (DP x DC)

This is all thanks to the awesome @tkiesai for basically being the foundation of this idea! This is probably going to be long, and probably won't delve that deep into my ideas about this idea. Largely so it's not insanely long. But here I go!

°•°•°•°

Bruce's head felt like it had been shoved through a straw and spit out on the other side. The throbbing was annoying, but it wasn't anything the man couldn't handle.

His mind was muddled, memories of what happened prior to him awaking was blurry and unsure. Bruce knew it wasn't something good.

He vaguely remembered a league meeting, a threat, something looming. It wasn't world ending, or at least that's what Bruce remembered. It should have been something they could handle.

But now, here was Bruce. Waking up in the grass of some random park. He was dressed in casual attire, something he'd wear in public as Bruce. Although last he remembered he was in the Batsuit.

The sun felt too bright in the sky. The sound of families filled the air and children's laughter. No one seemed to blink twice at Bruce as he pulled himself together.

It took a moment to steel himself, to gain composer again. It took a few sweet lines, and a charming smile for a nice mother to slide him a few painkillers. The lies rolling off his tongue like second nature.

To his luck there was a newspaper at the top of the trashcan. He was in some town called Amity Park, and the year... the year was the problem.

It was 1996. Whatever had happened had sent Bruce back in time. There was a few suspects Bruce can think were the cause of this. But something in his gut kept drawing his train of thought to the Flash.

It seemed like each time the League had any time related problems, Barry was in the center of it. Which also leaves Bruce with the question if he was the only one sent back in time.

God, he could only imagine the nightmare if the others were sent back in time. Yes, they can be professional. They understand the risk of changing things in the past.

But Bruce also understands that his team can be less than... intelligent at times.

Despite that, Bruce needed to find a way to get back to Gotham. He might not know for sure where everyone was right now, but he knew Alfred was the safest bet.

A plan laid out in Bruce's mind, a list of people he knew wouldn't be a risk to approach. He just needed to find a way to get to them. He had barely made it to the gates of the park before a shrill cry pierced the air.

There was just one loud outcry, before it quieted down. Bruce glance around the space, spotting a young boy curled on the ground. Tears streamed down the boy's chubby cheeks.

And no one even moved to the boy's aid. Not a single mother spared more than one glance in the kid's directions. No parents came rushing over to the boy's side.

Bruce almost walked away, he really did. This wasn't his time, anything he does can cause immense damage to the timeline. But when Bruce caught sight of blood bubbling from a scrape on the boy's knee, Bruce couldn't ignore him.

Maybe it's just the father in him, but Bruce barely even notices when he's crossing the small distance. His mind zeroing in on a hurt child that needed help. Kneeling before the small boy with a gentle smile, and pulling his handkerchief free from his pocket.

"You're alright there, buddy. It looks like you took a bit of a tumble there." Bruce slipped into the same tone he used to use when his kids were young. Gentle and understanding, as he pressed the handkerchief to the small scrape.

The boy sniffled, tears slipping from his eyes. Bruce was more focused on the way the kid was looking at him. Like he couldn't fathom someone coming to his aid.

That look had Bruce's heart breaking slightly. He's seen a similar look before. The few times he's come to the aid of a hurt child that wasn't used to getting help.

Something no child should ever feel or experience.

"Where's your parents, kiddo?" Bruce asked after a moment of silence from the boy. He had waited until the kid's breathing settled down when the boy's chest stopped pumping so quickly.

Except his question only seemed to bring a new wave of tears to the boy's eyes. The small child just seemed to curl into himself further, ducking his gaze away from Bruce.

And as much as Bruce didn't want it to be true, it was clear the kid didn't have the support he needed. It might not as be as far as some of Bruce's kids have had in the past.

But it was clearly not good.

"That's okay, it's alright. What's your name?" Bruce tried again. The boy's silence was leaving an uncomfortable pit in Bruce's stomach.

"D-Danny..." The boy spoke out his name between sniffles, and Bruce felt a wave of relief hearing the boy speak.

In hindsight, Bruce can see how strange the scene might look. A slightly disheveled man comforting a lone young boy in a park. It wasn't exactly perfect.

But with the lack of reactions from the parents around, Bruce had a feeling the town had an idea who this boy was. The whole situation just didn't feel that right for him.

It took a few more comments before Bruce managed to get the boy to crack a smile. A laugh had felt like breaking a massive wall.

Before long, Bruce had Danny actually like any other boy he's known. Carefree and happy, just like a child should be.

"You didn't tell me your name, mister." Danny had suddenly cut down the relaxed moment they were in. A pout laced the boy's lips as he looked up at Bruce, almost accusatory.

"I'm Bruce. Bruce Wayne." Bruce responded without missing a beat. He knew this might cause problems in the future. He wasn't supposed to be here.

But when his gut is telling him something, he can't just ignore it. He checked his pockets, finding no business cards anywhere. So, Bruce fell back in plan B.

"No matter how long it's been from now, you can come to me for help. Just look for Bruce Wayne in Gotham City, and when you find me... just say Fairbanks sent you."

Bruce wasn't sure if he'll ever see Danny again when he goes back to his own time. Wasn't even sure if this was the same universe as his own. But he couldn't walk away without at least offering the boy help in some way.

When Danny's eyes filled up with tears again, Bruce thought he said something wrong at first. That was until the boy was suddenly clinging to his shoulders in a tight embrace, muttering 'thank you' over and over again.

Bruce felt himself almost close to tears just from that alone. His heart was aching for the small boy. Even if Bruce couldn't help Danny anymore than this, he was hoping the boy would have a better life.

One where he wasn't clinging to a stranger for comfort that family should be providing him.

THWAMP

It didn't hurt, but it did cut their hug short as Bruce suddenly pulled away. Turning his head to see a young girl wielding a wiffle bat, and another young boy standing behind her.

Her purple eyes glared at Bruce like he had done the worst thing in the world. Her grip on the bat was threatening and ready to swing again. Her knuckles white from the tight grip alone.

Maybe leaving this time era might not be as easy as Bruce thought as the young girl probbed him with angry and scolding questions. Not that Bruce could blame her.

He just hoped this hiccup didn't get back to the league. They'd have a field day hearing about how Batman got scolded by a child with a wiffle bat.

°•°•°•°•°•°

Danny wasn't sure if this was the best idea. It's been years since he met Bruce Wayne. So many years. Danny had just been a kid, not even ten, when Bruce had introduced himself.

When he had an adult, actually check in on him. Yet, it was a memory Danny couldn't forget. Maybe it was just the kindness that Bruce radiated.

Or maybe it was when Sam came to his "rescue" near the end. Regardless, it was cemented in his mind. A core memory that Danny cared with him through the years.

Now, here he was, roughly seven years later. Standing in front of a manor that put even Sam's place to shame.

It took a lot of courage for Danny to knock. Barely a second later, an old man answered the door, an accent Danny was certain Bruce hadn't had.

A stuttered explaination of being here to see Bruce Wayne, that the man knew him, barely left Danny's mouth before the old man ushered him inside.

The man, Alfred, told Danny to wait by the door before vanishing further into the manor. It took a lot for Danny to not just vanish.

Being half ghost nowadays had its quirks, Danny could just vanish, and no one but Alfred would know. But he couldn't.

It had taken a lot for Danny to make the journey to Gotham City. He hadn't even thought to look up a current picture of Bruce either. Which was probably a big mistake on his end.

Danny didn't even know if Bruce was offering this kind of help. But Danny didn't have many allies to turn to. He needed help.

Not just for himself but for his family. For Amity Park. He couldn't be afforded the ability to run away. Not now.

Danny felt all the air leave his lungs when Bruce entered the area. The man didn't look a day older than what Danny remembered. Bruce looked a bit more put together, not like he had just jumped out of a moving car, but it was Bruce.

"Uhm... I don't know if you remember me. But my name's Danny... we met when I was a kid." Danny started trying to explain himself before Bruce could speak. He recognized that confused look anywhere, and Danny didn't have the guts to go through with this if Bruce asked any questions.

"You told me if I ever needed help, to come find you. Bruce Wayne in Gotham City... you, uh, told me to tell you Fairbanks sent me?"

That came out more like a question than Danny would have liked. But it did ease his nerves a bit as he watched Bruce's slightly confused expression turn to alarm and surprise.

Danny wasn't sure what this would do. If Bruce could truly help him. But he was out of options. Just seeing Bruce recognize something he said was enough to calm the teen's anxiety slightly.

"I'm sorry, Danny... I don't remember you. But I believe you and I want to help you. Come inside, have a seat, and tell me what's going on."

That response was enough to have Danny's eyes fill with tears. His chest filling with a sense of hope he hadn't felt in weeks now.

Maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

[xjulixred45x]

Platonic! Yandere! Posiedon (RoR) and the Child of Adamas: Trophy

This turn out so long, it's kind of a One Shot at this level. Just platonic.

Some warnings: Neutral Reader, unhealty mindset, YANDERE, heavy possesive behaviors, slight violence, objetivisation, Stockholm syndrome, heavy Angst(some comfort? But not really). The Bad Guy won.

It is no secret to anyone that Poseidon was a strange case even for the gods themselves, even for his own family.

Aside from Hades, Poseidon didn't really have any interest in forming a good relationship with his brothers growing up, and the more he developed his aggressive and volatile personality, the less initiative there was to change that on the part of Zeus and Adamas. Poseidon did not even try to change this himself, with any relationship within his family, with his nephews or nieces, for example. However, on one occasion, just one occasion, this changed.

It was quite a surprise that Adamas, of all his brothers, had finally produced an heir, Poseidon knew that he had married a Gorgon, but had treated the subject with the same indifference as always. He probably would not have attended the creature's ceremony if Hades himself had not convinced him to do so. Poseidon believed it was a waste of time. However, there was also the morbid curiosity of what kind of creature would emerge from such a…particular union.

There were two ceremonies, one for the people of Adamas, where he showed his child to everyone, proudly holding up his first offspring. And another for the family, much smaller and more private. Being that they (forced) MADE Poseidon go.

He just wanted to show up and leave, but curiosity reappeared, this time more persistently when he saw everyone crowded around the new member of the family. A look won't hurt after all.

Poseidon was prepared to see the most abominable creature possible, or a kind of mix between the Gorgon and his brother, but what he ended up encountering was much more...pleasant? And that was what surprised him the most.

The child of Adamas and his wife had brought out the best aspects of each other, he could even say that they looked a little like their grandmother, Rhea, and although they had clear signs of being their parents' child (some scales here and there, over there, birthmarks), they exuded something that no one else in the family did: innocence.

Poseidon, for the first time in thousands of years, felt interest in another living being, in protecting it, in maintaining it. A loving, harmful feeling that contaminated everything around him.

So this was love.

___________________________

reader was named by Adamas as successor to Nike, the Entity that symbolized victory, inherently linking them to their father.

Reader grew up being nurtured and loved by their family! They had good memories of it, about learning to fight with their mother, learning to use their weapons, going on expeditions with their father, and of course, visits from their uncle.

No one expected that Poseidon of all the gods would become a recurring figure in the creature's life. He put Adamas on alert and his wife was distrustful, while the reader innocently awaited his visits.

Every time Poseidon came to visit “the family of Adamas” (reader only), he brought a gift for the creature, a weapon, a pet, accessories, etc. All with his serious face, but always staring at the reader's expressions, looking into their young and curious eyes.

Adamas realized this.

A part of him was incredibly offended, after all, he was showing his child, from the moment they were born, the respect he never received. However, as the years went by, this anger turned into suspicion, and from suspicion...to concern.

There would be times when Poseidon would take the creature out of Adamas's palace (despite his denials in this regard), either to show them the ocean, to take them to Hades, or even to his castle. which was very fun for the reader! They really had no idea about the world outside of their family, so having these kinds of escapades seemed like a lot of fun, even if it bothered their father.

It was almost as if he wanted to… separate them from reader, keep them away, as if they were unworthy. And there was really no way to stop Poseidon's visits, not only because of the fights this would bring, but because he simply wouldn't allow it.

Adamas could see a strange gleam in his eyes, the gleam of a persistent predator, stalking steadily after its prey. And that worried him.

He was concerned to see how Poseidon took his baby away from their family, from what they enjoyed doing together, and tried to replicate it in a souless way. It worried him how Poseidon acted with people who even interacted with his child, it wasn't his normal aggressiveness, it was something worse, it was possessiveness, as if he were defending what he thought was his property.

And at the same time, it was the happiest Poseidon had ever seen in his entire life. He never thought se would see him smile, or that he would allow his wild 2-year-old child to play with his hair and clothes, PLAY with them, go to the beach, collect shells... When did a relationship so... sweet and sincere become so creepy, uncomfortable and undesirable?

However, there was something that Adamas and his partner had over him that Poseidon did not have, a much closer bond that he could not understand. The pride, the admiration.

Reader, even with all the time they spent with Poseidon, they couldn't stop talking about how great their father was to them, as a warrior, as a god, as a father in general. Which made the twisted feeling in Poseidon only intensify, grow darker, because for the first time, Adamas had something he wanted. And he wasn't going to get it while he was still alive.

__________________________

The reader began to take some interest in watching his father's battles around this time, it was so exciting! Seeing his father kicking the minor gods' asses, giving honor to Olympus, and the best? reader always came down to leave him the crown of laurels, declaring him the winner.

Poseidon used to just stare into the distance before, not even bothering to come many times, but now it was strange. Being able to see how Adamas and the reader laughed, they looked happy... Poseidon wanted that, he wanted to be the winner, but not in the eyes of the gods, he already had their approval and fear. He wanted to be the winner in the eyes of the reader, who would see him with the same affection and admiration as their father... who would see him as their father.

Maybe that's why he was so angry with Adamas when he stopped allowing him even in his palace... Maybe that's why he was so willing to do what he did when the time came...

________________________

To say that the reader didn't know about their father's plans would be naive, even if they didn't totally agree with his methods or what he was going to do, they believed in his philosophy, they believed in him, they understood him, and they supported him. Even if it wasn't the best decision.

They were calmer seeing that so many gods were joining their father, it gave the illusion that they were right. Of course, until they arrived with Poseidon.

It was a bittersweet feeling, reader remembered most of their best childhood moments in that palace, and now, the only reason they came was precisely to cause a war. The things one does for love...

Anyway, what the reader did not expect was what happened when they arrived...

In less than a blink…

A single attack.

And Adamas. Their teacher. Their father.

Died.

reader couldn't move, they didn't even realize when they fell to their knees at the sight of their dead, severed father, and let out a scream of pure agony. They were so engulfed in pain that they didn't even notice when Poseidon started walking towards them.

There he was, even with the blood of their father, his brother, the tyrant of the seas bowed to their level, patting them with his bloody hand on the head, staring at them again, there was not even a sign of guilt, regret or sympathy in his eyes.

Only satisfaction, because after all, he had finally won. He got what he wanted. He won his own laurel crown, His own Trophy.

_____________

The reader didn't know how much time had passed since then, they was too numb to think about it, too hurt to care.

After Adamas' attempted revolt, his elimination from history, and the subjugation of his army, the only thing left to know was what they would do with the reader. They couldn't just let them go as if nothing had happened, but they didn't want to punish them for something their father did.

So Poseidon, as expected, declared that he would be in charge of monitoring them and ensuring that they did nothing in the name of avenging Adamas (as much as they wanted to, it was not on their priority list now). Just what they needed.

Life in Poseidon's palace was silent, still, heartless really... it didn't help that Reader was so depressed at first that they wouldn't even leave their designated room for several weeks at a time.

Although Poseidon's function was to "hold" the reader, he acted more like a sincere caretaker, which made the reader feel sick every time he tried to approach them, for absolutely any reason, no matter if it was to wake them up, to talk to them or feed them, the reader could still see the blood on his hands. Feel it on their skin...

Obviously it wasn't long until Poseidon got fed up with this and started blatantly ignoring the reader's discomfort. If he said they were going to eat together, they would do it, if he said they were going to train, they would do it, he was the one who made the rules. Period.

With time, and enough submission, Poseidon began to make more demands. Have their room close to him, have the same type of clothes, that they will begin to stand out in certain areas of his interest, etc. reader could handle things up to that point, but what really broke their heart was when Poseidon demanded that they start calling him “father.”

It was like forcing broken glass down their throat.

No amount of luxuries, privileges, affection or fear could make it all worth it.

However... so many years had already passed, eons perhaps. And reader was so tired.

Tired of arguing, tired of fighting, tired of feeling drained and sad, they knew the hole they was getting into, but at this point they didn't care. Nothing mattered. Not anymore.

______________________

Poseidon was sitting, watching the fish through his window, not really thinking anything in particular until the door opened.

He honestly didn't expect to see reader, but he didn't get to say anything before they excused themselves saying that they couldn't sleep well, so he let them be. This used to happen from time to time. The reader always liked to be where the fish were. They gave them security.

Poseidon just returned to what he was doing, waiting to hear how the reader leaned back in one of the armchairs they had brought for them years ago. But he was surprised when reader addressed him instead. they didn't even say a word as they sat next to him, leaning their head on his shoulder.

Poseidon just stared at them, trying to hide his astonishment. This might be the first time since…the incident…that the reader was giving him any sort of genuine affection. It wasn't forced. It wasn't fake. Genuine. they was looking for comfort in HIM.

Poseidon only moved the reader slightly so that they were more comfortable while they watched the fish, in a comfortable silence. Poseidon was rejoicing so much that he didn't initially notice when the reader fell asleep, clinging to him. Maybe they should go to sleep...

Or better yet, maybe they can stay like this a little longer.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

[dclovesdanny]

Dc x dp

Dead on main 5/5

Jason never wanted to see his family die again. He could still hear the replace- Tim’s screams. He could still feel Damian’s blood coating his hands as he desperately tried to put pressure on the wound, could see Dick’s wide yet unseeing eyes.

Everyone had died, except for him. He was alone.

Then he and Danny made a plan.

Danny had been his friend for a few years, and knew loss as intimately as he did. Jason had held his friend as he sobbed not too long ago over his clone/daughter Ellie. He knew that sometimes, you couldn’t come back.

Instead, he and Danny promised each other that if they could do it again, they’d be better. They would save their family. They wouldn’t let themselves loose everything again. They just wished they could do it again.

They were both so drunk that neither of them heard Desiree’s whispered “So you wish it, so it shall be.” Neither of them saw her exchange a glance with Clockwork.

Next Morning, Jason woke up to his phone ringing off the hook.

“What!”

“Jason, it’s Danny. You need to look in the mirror or at a calendar or something!”

Jason checked the date on his phone, and stared.

It was two months before he left the league. As he surveyed himself, everything was the same as the past except his jacket. It was the only thing that was the same. Wait, Danny!

“Danny, what happened with you? Why the hell is this happening?”

Danny looked around his old room. The only thing that wasn’t fitting with the past was his phone, which he had woken up with clutched in his hand. He could hear his parents downstairs. He looked like he did before. Then, he noticed a familiar green sticky note on his mirror.

Here is your chance to save them. Your consort can help you.

Only you two shall remember, but your abilities remain.

Danny clutched the note.

“ I think Clockwork just gave us a second chance.”

[edenfire]

🌸💞 it's not trivial. not to me 🌸💞

happy 2/2 shuake angst enjoyers!!🎉🎉 it's time for me to rewatch this scene over and over while crying my eyes out✌️

im gonna need some fix-it fic after seeing all the beautiful art posted today💗💞🌸

[astrophiliaxx]

(The former lover is a woman in this scenario or whatever this is called)

Imagine Lilia seeing her former lover after decades or centuries since she was abandoned by her. However, her former lover does not have any memories of her at all...

Which leads to the former lover being confused about why Lilia treats her that way and why she seems to look at her with hurt and longing.

(Imagine the former lover talking about her daughter. Then, she mentions the name of her daughter and it's the name that she used to tell Lilia that she would give to their possible child.)

“If we had a daughter, then I would name her Hiraya or maybe Mirasol.”

[amazingdeadfish]

Day Six: Alternate Universe

[monarisse]

— The Hex paradox [arthur nightingale x gn!drifter]

Arthur asks, why are you still here.

You can't believe that he thinks you see them as pets.

SFW, second pov, hurt/comfort, misunderstanding, angst with a happy ending | 3.6k

ao3

There is a flex of a hand — meat under the skin is terribly tense, just like their owner. Long unclipped nails, map of the old scars with pigment just a little bit lighter than everything else. Further: burn, raw marks from laser. Further: a contaminated virus from the elder beast of Deimos. Further-

This is just a body that holds your consciousness when there are no more metallic constructs of dead people that should be controlled. It was... actually, not so horrible to unfold the truth behind the creations of Ballas. Or others. There was always something more than you in these turned-to-be-bones metallic wires and engines. Always lurking in shadow; just not enough to be found, but enough to feel the sudden twitch of a cobalt fingers or unknown step of feet. Sometimes, even more: dance with a weapon, full of joy; murmur in an unknown language; search for something behind the back. Unnecessary. Unasked. Unprovoked. But... familiar, almost to the pain in your drifting mind.

It's ironic — that they all called you The Drifter. Not The Operator — not anymore, at least. Even if there was someone, in this time of the universe, who would gladly use this title on you, it would not be the truth. And you will not allow it. Hundreds of years after all of this, there would be a child with angry eyes and a thirst for power, who changed too much and too little to be completely you again. So you give them the future and keep yourself in the past — it seems right. Especially because (it's ill-fitting, it's wrong, and it's foolish, but deep down it's what makes them and you one person), The Operator can't travel here. They ask in rare times together how it was.

And for you, it's never "was." It's still here.

———

After winter, spring and summer together, they became steadier, softer. Smoother. Happier. Amir sleeps better. Angered only by some unnecessary presence before, now Quincy finds serenity, covering your back on missions. Aoi plays on the borrowed piano from the music store, and Eleanor whispers in your mind stories that she read in the past about Great Britain. Sharpened on the edges Lettie, today holds her hand to yours, so her beasts could crawl on the skin of this body with hushed squeaks, smelling with their little noses acid and kerosene, that scaldra pours on you every day. Lettie clicks her tongue in disappointment when she sees a new wound on the meat of shoulder — because in this body you can't heal as fast as they, and it's hypocritical to come out of frame when they're — the Mighty Hex, batch of soldiers of the future, your Friends, in the end — still here. And-

It's so. Fucking. Funny. A snicker falls from your lips before you can stop it.

Lettie furrows her eyebrows. In her eyes — something eats the previous light joke and fills it with thick tension.

"What did he do?" Anita squeaks, runs to her siblings, and you just blink.

"Who?"

Oh, it's not a secret. You... can guess who she talks about. And Lettie knows it.

"¡Pendejo! You know who. Don't play an owl with me."

Sharp teeth of the future crash into each other. Smile on these lips — sugary sweet from lies. This is not something new. How many people "The Great Hero" of the New War has deceived around the years of the Narmer regime?

"Nothing. Why you-"

She smacks your arm.

"Shut up. Don't want to hear your explanations. His brooding takes its toll on you," she painstakingly cleans her fingers from void-touched blood. From all of them, Eleanor is one who can feel lies, but Leticia is... another deal. She doesn't have the need to hear your thoughts. Magic of doctors, you guess.

It's strange that she cares about you. After all, these six are a team. And the seventh angle doesn't belong in the hexagon, even if it forces itself inside.

But, for Lettie, you let it slide. Hold her palm in yours and blink a little bit slower.

"I take care of that. Promise"

———

You know it — even too much of something good can be poisonous. Like trivia: this body was not ready for the delicious food that they have here, so on one night with beer and Hex you threw up in the bathroom on the second floor. But... Compare this and... your genuine worry for Nightingale seems like a wrong play of komi, where no one could win.

Worse: you remember Umbra. His blind eye and this wordless trust between him and The Operator. This wordless care that travels with them everywhere. How could you not feel envy when this child not only found the way from Zariman 10-0, but even saved the frame that could think without Tenno? Well, now you have protoframes. They joke with you in their bones, and they help you when it becomes unbearable — this world, this time, this loop. So why, when you stretch out your hand only how you can, it turns out... It is too much. Or too little.

And... what even happens in this thick skull of his, when he abruptly leaves a conversation on KIM, then agrees on Amir's play and, after... drowns you in questions?

Broadsword

So what is it? Pity? Or are you stupid as well as crazy?

Broadsword

Stop dodging! Why. Are. You. Still. Here?!

There is a reminiscence of a dull ache from Duviri. Another swing of an axe above the head. Endless swirl of colors. And buzzing in the skull. This body trembles, unable to comprehend all emotions from a feverish mind, and you pull your hand to clean your face from... something. Anything.

How could he even ask this shit? Like you some bystander that already left them after a week of knowing, just to start a new adventure far far away. Like you didn't search abandoned markets for his favorite beer, didn't bring special ammunition to Quincy, didn't practice with Aoi and Amir on the transmission of intel. Just some guest, not important to add in their ranks.

Nidus quietly shrieks when you transfer back to him. It is something of a habit. You can't even feel the exact moment when his broad frame already exits the backroom, too busy with boiling emotions inside your mind (the biggest question there: what if Kid would be able to help them without this mess of emotions. What if Hex liked the Operator more?).

Höllvania Central Mall never sleeps. Especially now, when there are not seven, but many more breathing shadows waiting for the other day to live, so... It is a little bit of awakening — see disbelief and caution in the eyes of bystanders when the form of Nidus makes his way from the second floor to the first in one jump. But still not enough to stop the heavy steps of the infested frame.

He's in his usual spot, crouched between some ammo for his rifle and computer, and Arthur... seems a little bit surprised. Like it wasn't you who he wrote just seconds ago.

Pity. He called your carefully crafted relationships with the Hex "pity." And you, yourself: crazy and stupid.

"You could just-" There is something more behind his dazed expression, some dark undertone, but it is not about him. Not anymore.

"How could you," Nidus freezes like a mannequin in the doorframe. This body constructs itself right against Nightingale; scarred fingers cling to his shoulder to feel something else beside the usual eerie words of KIM-messages and hushed phrases under the sick sky. His brows rise up even more now, "How could you even think of something like that!"

Arthur's lips twitch.

Prince of fire Lodun, in all his ugly glory, paints your mind with blood and red.

"It's bothering me already enough time to just let it slide," his words twist something in the pit of your stomach, and Lodun's voice screeches somewhere around the frontal lobe. He shouldn't say such words to you. It is blasphemy. Lie. His hand rips your own from himself almost like you hurt him, and the scar around the palm that he left you with starts to pulsate, "You walk around the Mall like everything is okay and we're not just some dead meat to your future."

He is poisonous. Some sort of divine punishment for you, as if you didn't suffer enough for years and years of survival. There are no more light jokes, no more strange, vigorous words with the undertone of something bigger. Only a stern glance on this body.

Prince Lodun fist his finger and crack another hole in your mind walls.

Body of the Drifter winces.

"Are you fucking kidding?" teeth clacks. The jaw's strained to its limit. All of this time together, just drained in the sink, "What do you think? That I stayed here just to forget about you all in the next minute?"

He doesn't need to say it aloud. The answer is written on his face already, and it's making Lodun more loud in your mind.

"How many times have you already done that?"

Lodun roars. This head is pounding.

"What?!"

It's unbelievable. He looks at you with such a sardonic expression, as if he knows that you did something so bad that you even can't stand with him in one room, and... you want to go right in his head to fucking show Arthur how terribly wrong he is.

The worst of all: he keeps going.

"It's convenient, isn't it? To play "friends" with people you can just leave behind," his grip tightens, and Arthur steps forward. A little more and it would become a fight.

You hold back. Just a little bit, but the patience in this body already wears itself.

"So that's what's stuck in your head?" You snarl, "Not bad enough, don't you think?" One step to him, and you feel — one more, and you can crash in his metallic chest. Eyes squint, "Make me a villain more, why not? Maybe I should take control of one of you and dispose of everyone else, huh?" Luscinia weeps in the corner of your mind with these harsh words, but you are unable to hear her — spiral of Loduns anger in its all-power captured you. There is something of a hurt in Arthur's face. But you only use his own method on him. It's almost like he didn't think of this — that you could use his friends against him or even make him a bystander in the nonexistent massacre.

"You can," his voice drops lower. Grip tightens even more — soon bones in this body would be broken by his fingers. "So I advise you to stop pretending like we're important to you," Nightingale bends his head, and you can see the hues of his blind eye for the first time, "and put us all out of this misery."

You're tugging this hand away — alas, it's not working, and a wave of dull pain passes through the body. He never thought that it was as hard for you as for them.

Luscinia crying. The Sorrowful Soprano of Duviri weeping like a mother who lost something too precious for her, and with Loduns anger, it's too much to feel in one moment. Your mind makes itself the battleground of the old Tales.

You want to say: maybe you're right.

You want to say: maybe I should just leave things like they are.

But... the Hex already made themselves important for you. So much that you gladly would stay here forever, with this ancient technology and people of the past. The Operator has their people. Why shouldn't you have yours?

You take a deep breath. Close tired eyes.

"If you think that I should go, I'll do it." There is something too heavy in these words, so you can't raise this head anymore, with your gaze a little bit blurry. Not from tears, "You all became too important for me, so if it would be better for Hex, I'll be gone to my time."

You know: without you, they will all be dead in the New Year of 1999. The reactor will blow up, and Arthur will bleed on the floor of the radiated room, near the bodies of Aoi and Amir.

And you can just feel the power of Spiral, to send it all back in January, to start again.

"Don't make yourself a martyr. You can leave when you want."

That's it.

You snap.

"My fucking Sol," you twitch this head, "you are as dense as Razorback," Nightingale becomes a little bit puzzled by the unknown comparison, but you continue, "What should I say? "Sorry, Arthur, I stayed here because I know that without me you all will die." Your voice becomes louder and louder; it breaks in some words, and you feel: the dam was broken, "And I developed feelings for you, and all of this embarrassing flirting was so bad because I had never done it before? You know, because I was trapped all of my youth in an endless loop of my own death, and I didn't even think that I could feel something like that"," his grip finally becomes loose, and you break the palm from him, only to point the finger at Arthur, "Everyone knows about it. I thought that you-"

Wait. You thought that he already knew about your feelings for him — it was so obvious that Eleanor even asked you not to think about her brother on united missions. But... You shut this mouth and looked at Arthur. He's... flagger-basted. No more anger in his eyes, only genuine surprise, and — worst of all — he continues to keep silent.

"Great," you roll this eyes. Fuck it. Maybe he knew, just feelings weren't mutual, and Nightingale didn't acknowledge it, to leave things as they were. But now you spelled it all aloud, and there is only one way to turn it back. Maybe... no. You don't want it.

Sol, you should just go to the backroom and decay in some corner.

You take a deep breath.

"I'll be going to throw up somewhere on the second floor from embarrassment," you transfer back to Nidus, "don't message me," and head towards the escalator.

Worst: he didn't even stop you.

———

Quincy screams in your comm and it's almost unbearable how he just throws a stash of Scaldra supply on the garage floor, just to head back to civilians in the old supermarket without another word to you.

Blew up the tank without care of flying too far away to not be hurt; melted one of the other stashes; almost got Kalymos dead. You've gone more hectic. But it's still better than lying on a couch with nausea and a sorrowful expression (it's still better than nothing — you remind yourself — you still feel something, and it's better than apathy).

Funny: if the Kid could see you, they would be furious. Throwing some tantrum about how such a mindless thing would wreck you, The Drifter, to some pathetic ordinary human. They were always like this: more hard than you, more prideful. They could chew Arthur's words and twist them so much that the man would not be sure what he even wants anymore. But the Operator is too far away. And you are too arrogant to travel back to them. Lotus would calm you down, embrace you in a motherly hold; however... you don't want it right now. One thing that surely helps: killing. Scaldra or Techrot — doesn't matter.

"I'm worried about you," tells Aoi when the sharp talons of Garuda give her a package full of CDs, "I heard your argument with Arthur." She seems a little bit sheepish, but... you know, that you actually can trust her. Of all Hex, Aoi is the most understandable. You can tell her all your worries, and she wouldn't laugh or write off your feelings. "It's hard with him sometimes, but Arthur cares about us all," of course he is, "you included."

You hum. The sound comes a little bit muffled.

"I'm sure." No, you're not, but there is no need to talk about it right now. Aoi squints her eyes in disbelief. "Sorry, Aoi. It's between me and him and i-"

"Drifter," his voice is too loud in Aoi's lair, but you don't turn to Nightingale. Maybe he will disappear if you don't acknowledge his presence. "We need to talk," Morohoshi shows some kind of gesture that you don't recognize, with her big finger pointed out, and she shakes her head, smiling.

If there were only two of you, you'd find a reason to just vanish in the air.

Damn. Why is it harder than killing an archon with a bow?

"Alright," you sign. Garuda turns around to Excalibur and he is already heading somewhere in an unknown destination.

What does he want to say? That he made a decision to stay with you on friendly terms so that you could save Hex's lives? That he'll save them by himself? Good luck with that. You'll still be here, even if he wants to banish you from others, just not in his line of sight. And when clocks turn 23:56 without catastrophe, you'll let them go and transfer yourself back to Loid, to solve problems of Deimos.

It's some sort of warehouse — you've never been here before, and it's strange how music from the hall becomes only disoriented muffles when Arthur closes the door. You stand a little bit farther from him than usual — not to make yourself comfortable here.

Arthur leans on some kind of cabinet.

Heavy silence falls on you two.

And when you think that this was a bad idea — to come here with him — Arthur starts talking.

"You know that all my life I was a military man," he spins that damn sword — Arthur's voice... not so loud. He speaks almost carefully, like his words already were chosen before this talk, and... you don't know what to think about. Emotion without name, without personification in Tales of Duviri, born in a pit of stomach, "and... I think I was ready to leave some things behind," he's not looking at you; his gaze stops on scratches on the floor, "because there was not enough time, or... I didn't try to understand others more."

You gulp. Garuda's scales tremble.

"And I tend to search for enemies where there aren't any." Finally, Arthur looks at you. There is more than tiredness from endless nights; quiet longing, a hint of uncertainty, something... tender.

He sighs.

"And," Arthur chuckles, and you grit your own teeth, thrashing about to step from Garuda or stay in her bones, "I'm not even entirely human. I mean, look at me," he gestures at the metal skin of his body, "not a usual choice of the mass."

Still, it's better to talk face to face. Especially on topics like that, you make a decision in one moment, to reappear beside him in another.

"Arthur," your own voice strained with hoarse hesitation, "you're a good person. You shouldn't talk about yourself like that." There is a hint of a smile in the corner of his lips, and Arthur blinks a little bit slower.

"You're always saying such things that give me hope." Spinning of his blade comes to an end, and the warehouse becomes more... steady. Peaceful.

Nightingale clears his throat.

"Did you mean it?" comes almost in a whisper, "that you have... feelings. For me."

You tear your gaze from him and put it down, not able to look in his eyes. Yes. It is definitely harder than killing an archon.

Fingers dip in the elbows.

"Yes."

Nothing more. Just a short, clear answer to put any misunderstanding behind.

Remarkably, the stomach stops swirling. All of this body became... calm, like all the worries just disappeared with this one word. Even if Arthur doesn't feel the same, you are glad that you two talked about it. Finally, you can open a new page in-

"It's mutual."

What?

You snap this head to him, and, for the first time in an eternity, you see Arthur smiling. Without some undertone in it, without pressure. Just a clear, happy smile on his scarred face, and you even see some little dimples on his cheeks.

And, maybe it's too early and you should wait some time to do such things, but these hands — your hands — reach out to him, to bury your fingers in his hair and press an uncertain but full-of-burning-emotions kiss to his lips.

It's raw — skin to skin, first too gentle to feel something more than the texture of others, but with every passing moment, all of this bottling adoration for him seeps through the motion. And Arthur answers you, laying his metallic palm in the crook of your neck, to deepen the kiss — he opens his mouth, presses you to himself more, to finally give you something that you wanted too long to confess.

In reality, it's still better than in imagination.

When there is not enough air in your lungs, when your shuddered inhale mixes with his own and both of you break away for a moment, you press your forehead to Arthur's, holding onto his shoulder.

"You know," he starts after a moment of silence, with a voice a little bit rough on the edges. You open your eyes and move your head a little bit to look at him once more. Cold fingers start to play with the strands of your hair. "If someone had told me that I would want to kiss someone from the future who trespassed my mind, I think I would kill them," Arthur breathlessly laughing and-

"Sol, you're unbelievable." You smack his shoulder and move to get out from his grip, but Nightingale presses you even more into himself, and you feel how his laughter starts to seep through your bones.

"You're stuck with me now. No refunds, sweets." Arthur pressed a chaste kiss on the crown of your head, and... you hug him, closing your eyes back.

The Harbinger of Joy, Mathilda, smiles for the first time in what feels like eternity.

[flamingpudding]

Fictober23 Prompt: 6 - "I can't wait for you."

Fandom: DPxDC

Rating: T

Warnings: Mentions of blood and injury

Danny stared at the stars above his head, sitting on top of Fenton Works. Even after a week his arm still tingled with phantom pains from his accident. In his left hand was a dagger he hadn't looked at in years now. Was it 6 or 7 years? Danny couldn't really remember. He had been too young when he had made his first decision for himself only.

The fingertips of his right hand traced imaginary patterns over the blade as his eyes searched out different constellations in the night sky. 7 years ago, he would have never imagined for himself a future where he was allowed to follow his own dreams. A week ago he had talked about his dream of becoming an astronaut, exploring the vast space that existed just outside of their own stratosphere.

Now after that the lab accident he had he felt like another dream had gotten shattered by the wheels of fate. It wasn't even his past life from before the Fentons that shattered these dreams, in the way he had feared in the first couple of years after coming to live with them. It where times like these when he would dug out the dagger to take it with him to see the stars.

His eyes turned from the stars to the blade in his hand.

It was a special blade his biological mother had ordered when she learned about having twins. The blade itself was only one half. The flat surface of the handle and the blade on one side while the other appeared like a high quality blade and greatly decorated handle, spoke of the missing part. His dagger was only half of a dagger, the other half was with his twin.

This was the only thing he had taken with him when he had left at the tender age of 5 or was it six? His memory was blurry and back then celebrating your birthday wasn't as big of a deal as it was in the life he had gained with Fentons.

At times Danny wondered why he had been the only one to see it. His twin had gone through the same teachings, the same lessons, the same training, the same mission. Yet Danny had been the only one who saw the way their grandfather really was. The manipulation, the gaslighting, the brainwashing. Danny had seen it all and realized it pretty soon and when he had talked with his twin about it?

He had hit a wall. Grandfather knows what he's doing. Stop imagining things, Danyal.

"I can't wait for you. Damian, if you can't see what I do, then I can no longer stay here and wait."

These were the last words he had said to his twin after another argument about their grandfather gaslighting them about a mission result. It was right there and then that Danny decided he needed to leave and that he did.

Somehow, as a five years old he had managed to get all the way to America before they found him again. And when he refused to come back they, his grandfather's mans, attacked without remorse. After all it was better to get rid of loose ends than to let them frail your masterpiece.

But ending up near death in the middle of a forest where the Fentons happen to be camping was his luck back then. They probably thought that he wouldn't make it, that Danny wouldn't have the will to continue barely breathing in his own pool of blood but Danny proved them wrong. He did have the will and he had continued crawling until Jazz had found him.

That was how his life had changed the first time. The Fentons took him in, allowed him to dream and to build a future and family of his own. Now this lap accident was making changes to his life again and Danny couldn't help but think back to his previous life. "I wonder if Damian finally saw what I did or if he still is under grandfather's influence…"

Months later Danny was introduced to an apparent family friend of his parents. One Danny felt was too much of a fruitloop and gave him concerning flashbacks to his grandfather but was still easier to deal with. But following all the incidence of conflicts with the fruitloop was also a moment to which said fruitloop somehow convinced his parents to let him drag Danny to a Gala.

Danny hadn't paid any attention to the guests of this gala, no he had taken the first chance he got to escape the way Sam had advised him before to do, and fled to a balcony. Breathing in the clear night air Danny loosened the tie he was made to wear. He did not notice the soft click of the balcony door behind him.

"Danyal." Danny whirled around and pulled out a hidden blade he kept on his person more out of habit than anything else. He hadn't heard his name spoken like that in years, even the fruitloop and a more American dialect when it came to saying his name.

He froze at the mirror image with green eyes that stood before him. That couldn't be could it?

"Damian?" The other teen nodded and Danny only relaxed his stance ever so slightly. His shoulders were still tense and he was still ready to spring into action or use his ghost powers to escape if needed.

Neither of them spoke a word as they took in each other's appearance and Danny hid a small chuckle as his twin clicked his tongue at his defensive stance, crossing his arms.

"I see, you still have that half of a dagger mother had made for us."

"The only thing I took with me when I left."

His twin clicked his tongue once more before reaching into a hidden pocket and pulling out the other half of that dagger. Showing that he also had kept his half of it throughout all these years.

"There is no longer a need for you to wait, Danyal."

Danny blinked and completely dropped his defensive stance, hearing the unspoken words. He let a small smile tuck his lips upwards. It appears that there was a lot he had to catch up on with his twin.

"I never waited to begin with Damian. I ghosted you right after." He chuckled lightly, knowing his brother wouldn't understand until later.

"Don't lie, Danyal. You took your half of the dagger with you." His brother frowned before smirking at him. "You said you couldn't wait anymore but taking it with you was clearly telling me that you would still do so anyway."

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 58

@saiaisaiko and I were talking in the comments of one of my earlier prompts, and they really inspired me to make this prompt, so all the love to them, thanks for being my muse ;P Geralt has known right from the start that Jaskier is human. A mortal. Before Geralt will even know, he'll die. So Geralt eventually does relent and admit they're best friends, but he will NEVER give in to his feelings of love for the bard. He shoves it all down and away. Geralt will not fall in love with something he's going to lose. He wouldn't survive it. He already knows he'll never be the same after Jaskier leaves, he won't be able to keep going if he knows what it's like to love and be loved with Jaskier. He watches as Jaskier gets too old for following along the path, and then too old to work, and then too old to live. Geralt cries as he holds Jaskier's hand as Jaskier lays in his death bed. Geralt was... Broken. To be honest. Trudging on with life in an emotionless haze, not really remembering anything or truly caring, Geralt finally makes it to Winter, going back to Kaer Morhen and holing himself up in his room for the most part. The only time he leaves his room for anything but retrieving food to bring back to said room is when he hears his brothers shouting in shock and horror. Geralt races to the courtyard where they are, only to see the impossible. A man with wings made of fire flies down into the courtyard, gracefully. And Geralt knows the man. He looks like Jaskier. But Jaskier from their first year together in Posada. He's young. He's alive, and young. Jaskier folds his wings in and takes a step closer, opening his mouth to say something, but Geralt can't even hesitate. He races forward and kisses Jaskier roughly. Perhaps a romance between them wasn't as impossible as he had first thought. ♡!Optional addons!♡ • Jaskier also had no idea he was a phoenix until he emerged from a pile of ash looking 18 again • Jaskier DOES know he's of phoenix blood, and tries to tell Geralt such on his death bed, only to die before he can get it out. He words it as him revealing a big secret, and Geralt misunderstands and assumes Jaskier was about to tell him that Jaskier loves him. (And yes, Jaskier DOES, but really, he thought that wasn't a secret.) • Jaskier was CONVINCED Geralt already knew (How could he not?) and is just so bewildered that Geralt was/is sad and disbelieving when Jaskier first shows up. I mean, why wouldn't Jaskier choose Geralt for his other lifetimes as well? Did he have to go so far? It took forever for Jaskier to catch up and find him on the damn mountain!

[yupthisisshe]

The Best Present is Love - Ron Weasley x gn! Reader

Warning: feelings of inadequacy; mild cursing (in my writing, not actually spoken by them and it’s only once)

A/N: we get a little angsty during holiday celebrations but I swear it’s resolved at the end; we get kinda sappy cause that's how I roll

You went to his room to find him and, sure enough, there he was, sat off the side of his bed producing a melancholy you could sense from his doorway. One of the gifts he received during the gift exchange sat in his hands as he stared at it, his mind clearly elsewhere. He hadn’t even noticed you at the door until you spoke.

“Hey Ron,” you said, informing him of your presence, “What’s up?”

“Oh just, looking at my gift from George and Fred. It’s surprisingly harmless,” he tells you, looking up at you with a bit of a smile. As soon as these words leave his mouth, he looks back down, under the guise of inspecting his brothers’ gift to him. But he’s not hiding anything from you. You saw him just now. He’s upset about something. Whether or not he’ll tell you right now is a different story.

“Yeah, better look out,” you say with a nudge. “But really,” you say, looking into his eyes, “what’s up?” As you say this, he looks back into your eyes. Caught off guard at first, but then giving a surrendering and soft look, and almost sort of smile.

“Should’ve known I can't hide much from you,” Ron says.

“No,” you say, cupping his face and applying a gentle kiss to it, “you can’t. So tell me, sweetheart. What’s bothering you? What's wrong?” you ask, still holding his face ever so tenderly, with so much love in your eyes. He could feel it, and so he shared his qualms with you.

“I’m afraid that you may not like it here, with my family.” You look at him, puzzled. He senses the question “Why?” occupying your mind right now. However, rather than interrupt, you chose to kneel down in front of him and wait for him to speak at his own pace. You placed your hands in his lap to comfort him and give him the opportunity to fiddle with your fingers if he wished. He did. “S’ just that, we’re so messy and- and loud and, well, we are far from perfect and we aren’t like other pureblood families and-” You stood up, and Ron stopped talking. He wasn’t sure why you stood up. He thought that maybe all he had done was mess up, and you realized he was right and he should've never said anything and-

Oh. You were hugging him.

You stood there, cradling him, and he just accepted it. He didn’t try to deny anything, he just accepted your embrace and care, left himself bare to you, and you took him in for all he was, you took his family in for all it was, and you loved it. Most of all -well you honestly could hardly just pick one thing- but you loved how much love there was within the Weasley household. And as for Ron, you loved him. You loved his hair, his eyes, his cute little nose, his body heat, and the way he always ran warm so you'd snuggle him in the common room when you studied and you were cold. Or even when you weren’t cold. You loved how he would occasionally complain that it was “too bloody hot” but would hold you tight as soon as you made any motion of leaving. You loved his sarcasm and -as much as you wanted to smack him sometimes (lovingly, of course)- you loved his smart remarks. You loved the way he could and would confidently state the obvious as if it were a new revelation of sorts. And although it could be frustrating at times, even his tendency to be rather dense was cute at times. You especially loved how sweet he was to you. You knew that he would let the world burn if it meant that the people he loved were protected, and that included you. You felt the same way about him.

“Ron,” you looked at him sweetly and then continued, “I love it here.”

“You… do?” He looked genuinely confused.

“I love it here too, Ron. I love the love that flows through this house. I love the chaos. I love the lively energy and how there’s never a dull moment —especially when George and Fred are bored. I love how each person in your family is so unique —you and the twins included— and how everyone has such a strong personality- yes, you included!” you added with a smile as you gripped his shoulders strongly but not roughly. “I always have an amazing and wonderful time here and I wouldn’t change anything about it.” This time it was Ron who pulled you into his grip. The hug was strong and firm and full of emotion and unspoken words. Unsaid, but understood all the same. That was another thing you loved about him -two actually: his bear hugs and the fact that even though he couldn’t always express himself in words, he made damn sure you knew he loved you and appreciated you. And you made sure he knew you loved and appreciated him just as much.

[carlyraejepsans]

hibiscia!!! Sorry if youve explained before but is there something specific about reset-remember fics that you hate? I don't really like them either but for me it's just because I feel like a lot of authors type sans in very ooc ways

They're completely antithetical to Sans' character arc for the sake of cheap and easy angst. The nature of his brand of cosmic horror isn't in reliving his life again and again, that's Flowey's. Sans knows OF the anomaly, knows that it's manipulating time and knows it's a threat to the entire universe, but he doesn't know how or why, because he doesn't remember.

And that's crucial! him being mostly in the dark in spite of the MANY warning signs about us... because it's in that doubt that he remains hopeful. YES we could potentially end the world... but what if we don't? yes we have unimaginable power over everyone else and we can bring back time, but what if we're just.... sad? he needs that gap in his knowledge so he can take a leap of faith across it, it's his entire character arc in the pacifist run. sans THINKS he's given up, he wants to have given up, he chose to do it because there's a comfort in that. in contenting yourself with good food and bad laughs. there's peace. but he hasn't given up, not really. on himself? maybe. but not in us.

there's no way to have that arc if he remembers resets.

[karleksmumskladdkaka]

Diabolik Lovers More, Blood Stellaworth Complete Tokuten Short Stories (Ayato, Kou, Ruki, Azusa, Yuma, Kanato)

(Click here for Laito, Subaru, Shuu and Reiji)

A decade ago this booklet was a tokuten you'd receive for buying the complete set of More, Blood CDs from Stellaworth. Nowadays, if you're really lucky, you can find it sold at Japanese flea markets or second hand stores. As with a lot of the booklets, the short stories in this one have nothing to do with the plot of the CDs, but are simply standalone moments between Yui and the Diaboys, written from the POV of the guys.

Enjoy (*^▽^)/★*☆♪

(But don't repost the scans!)

Ayato

Kou

Ruki

Azusa

Yuma

Kanato