#at most a fragmented thought ill forget

[mihai-florescu]

I posted this on priv last week but imagine being an eichiP. Falling in love with eichi's story of second chances, getting what you want and regretting your actions in the process, redemption, desperation, overcoming fate and asserting one's self into the story, saving a school in a dying industry that saved your life by giving you a dream, an arc fulfilling to the reader at the end of ! era. And then in !! he becomes an idol colonialist

[ilovechuuy4]

Enter Our Three Ring Show of Freaks✲*٭˙∘

BSD Men headcanons

WARNINGS!!!; DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT! Cannibalism, pyromaniac, w33d addiction, stalking, addiction, sensitive topics, mental illness, anorexia, obsessive etc.

Description; uncanon but reasonable headcanons w BSD chracters

A/N; Just a quick drabble. This is NOT. me making fun/joking about mental illnesses/addictions this is me putting uncanon headcanons on BSD chracters, if you're disturbed by this, block me or scroll!

Pyromaniac!Chuuya Nakahara - Chuuya isn't the one to let most of the intrusive thoughts of setting things on fire but sometimes they get the better of him but it doesn't cause mass destruction. (The habbit is worse during corruption and the habbit most likely started from said corruption.)

W33dAddiction!Edgar Allan Poe - He smokes constantly while writing his mystery novels. It started the time when Ranpo escaped the book he was working on for years straight, the smokes to relieve and built up stress.

Stalker!Akutugawa Ryūnosuke - he isn't one of those creepy stalkers that breaks into your house just to steal clothing or taking things you threw away, he's more tame. Taking secret photos of you when he sees you etc. (Specifically taking them with piliroid cameras)

Cannibal!Nikolai Gogol - He definitely eats human remains in front of you but he never dares to cross your boundaries of what you're not comfortable. He sometimes asks what would happen if he tried to eat you but it was always just for laughs. The only thing that would come close to "eating" would be the soft bites and nibbles he'd put on your body.

Priest!Fyodor Dostoevsky - Priest never go against their Gods words even if it was desire. No matter how many times you would confess your undeniable love for him and all the sick twisted fantasies you had of him in the confession booth, he couldn't recuperate the feelings since he was the priest of the church but he knew he couldn't deny any feeling he did have for you.

Obsessive!Dazai Osamu - Hes WAY manipulative when it comes to things like you venting your feelings. If you were ever upset with someone he'd manipulate you into thinking you only ever needed him and nobody else that was how his charm worked. Hold you close and never let go, cherishing you every second of the day to make you only want him.

ManicDepression!Sigma - He could be stressed out and yelling to a soft and cuddly guy but it depends on how severe things get. Things get hectic in the sky casino, Sigma's drastic mood swings not helping as he can go to yelling at someone before apologizing for his actions on how he will never do it again.

Psychopathic!Jono Saigiku - Jono isn't one of those violent or aggressive pshycopaths but he can tend to be very manipulative. When it comes to being empathetic, he doesn't understand too much about one's feelings but he is good at brushing them off even if said person is begging for help(advice/support).

Schizophrenic!Ace - He's quite literally delusional (going back to the scene were fyodor manipulated him into offing himself) His thoughts can get jumbled and disorganized when most likely proved wrong. His mental state would most likely deteriorating and breaking into fragments (a sense of mental fragmentation)

Anorexia nervosa/ED!Lovecraft - I'm not saying out of all EDS he had anorexia but it's possible. He's more self-conscious of the way his body looks and he probably just sleeps to much and forgets to eat.

Insomniac!Katai - He definitely stays up all night snuggled in that comforter of his constantly browsing the internet. But not only just staying up, he definitely has multiple sleep paralysis demons that haunt him when he tries sleeping.

Narcissistic!Ivan - He absolutely NEEDS. to be seen and admired (specifically from fyodor) He's self-centered and obsessed over self-importance. He doesn't seem to care for anyone but himself (and fyodor cause that's canon.)

OCD!Kunikida - He's absolutely obsessed with his ideals and being organized. If something in his schedule goes a miss or someone cancels on him he has to fix EVERYTHING. In his head he has to have the perfect schedule or the entire day will be fucking over and he wont know what to do in the next following hours.

[ohmeadows]

Do you have any author/book recs for literary fiction? Or recs for beautiful writing (i.e. poetic, thought-provoking, interestingly structured sentences, haunting vibes, etc) in general?

tons, but i had to think on this so sorry it took me a while. i'm not including trigger warnings because honestly i'd forget half of the stuff others might find triggering, but you know. stay safe and research.

maddalena and the dark by julia fine had extremely poetic and beautiful writing, as well as a haunting vibe echoing through the pages.

the lonely city by olivia laing is a series of essays on art and artists and loneliness. probably one of the most thought-provoking books i've read on loneliness and the lengths we go to over it, as well as having an artistic practice rooted in it. highly recommend.

mourning diary and a lover's discourse by roland barthes. master of short fragment form, of turning just a few words into something you digest for days afterward. his theory books are rather heavy for me, but these are precious.

greek lessons by han kang. i love han kang's writing and this one delves into language in a very gentle, soulful way. painful and beautiful. probably a top 10 read of this year for me.

y/n by esther yi. i'm of two minds on this one. i wish it had been braver and weirder, but it is also really weird. it's about a woman who gets obsessed with a kpop band and it's very trippy, in the most positive way. i rated it a 3.5 because i felt it didn't carry itself to the finish line in a satisfying way, but it left me thinking.

love me tender by constance debré. on the limits of love in a corrupt system; debré came out as a lesbian and lost custody of her son because of it after her ex-husband made false accusations about "degenerate actions". she processes the slow, systematically enforced loss of time with her son and realizing he's a stranger to her now.

anything by maggie nelson, annie ernaux, édouard louis, sarah manguso, vivian gornick, anne carson. they all have very prolific releases to their names, i prefer their creative non-fiction/autofiction. i'd suggest looking through what's available and seeing if something grabs your interest here.

on earth we're briefly gorgeous by ocean vuong. masterpiece. i admire vuong's style and way of storytelling so much, i think he said "tell it true but tell it a slant". either way. love it.

natalia ginzburg is going through a revival as of late. i love her writing for the atmosphere, but think i prefer little virtues the most.

and for a tenth and final recommendation (for this round) the undying by anne boyer. nonfiction memoir/essay at its finest imo, she's unpicking illness and particularly her own cancer while exploring the cultural and historical aspects of illness, connecting it to other bodies of works. (can you tell i read a lot about illness and disability specifically?)

[oh-the--places--you-will-go]

crAcked: Chapter 1

Characters: Aria Montgomery, Spencer Hastings, Hanna Marin, Emily Fields, Alison DiLaurentis, Mike Montgomery, Byron Montgomery, Ella Montgomery, Darren Wilden, Melissa Hastings, Ian Thomas, Ezra Fitz

TW: Suicide mention, grooming, fatphobia, ED, bullying, murder

Word Count: 2,057

Author's Note: This is a PLL fanfic that I mainly started writing for myself. I'm a die hard PLL fan but, like a lot of other people, I was thoroughly disappointed with a lot of their choices so I decided to try my hand at writing what I wanted to happen in the story. I've never written fanfic, as most of my writing experience has been via Tumblr rp's but I thought I'd give this a try!

September 1st, 2009. That was a night that Aria Montgomery would never forget, not for as long as she lived. That was the night that everything had changed.

It’d be silly to ever think that she could erase those memories from her brain, so she didn’t even try. Instead, she had decided to accept it–after all, what else was there to do? Things had happened–things that were never supposed to happen. Yet, the events of that September night had changed everything. As Lady Macbeth famously said, “What is done cannot be undone.”

By sunrise, the whole town of Rosewood knew that blonde bombshell queen bee Alison DiLaurentis was missing and nothing would ever be the same again.

Even now, after a year had passed, Aria was still unsure about how she felt about the entire situation. As she unpacked her boxes and placed her books back in their rightful place, she thought about everything that had happened and the impact her choices had had upon everyone.

One thing was for certain–she was grateful to be back in her own bedroom. The warm, dark wood of her bedroom floor and bed frame were certainly much cozier than the cold, white walls she had grown accustomed to this past year. It felt good to be back at home again.

Of course, to the outside world, she’d been away on a special study abroad program in Iceland this past year, an incredible opportunity that had happened to arise in Aria’s time of need. Her little brother, Mike, had even agreed to try to keep her Facebook page updated with beautiful pictures of the stunning fjords of Reykjavik. However, the truth of Aria’s whereabouts were much more…complicated, per se, than a study abroad trip to Iceland.

She’d spent this past year locked away hiding away in Radley Medical Center, trying to repair her fragmented mental state. After September 1st, it hadn’t taken very long at all for her parents, Byron and Ella, to figure out that her best friend’s friend’s disappearance had taken a serious toll on her mental health. As soon as the “MISSING PERSON” fliers went up, Aria just about lost it. After attempting to take her own life near the end of September 2009, her parents felt as if they had no other choice but to try and get her the help that she needed.

However, in the town of Rosewood, being “mentally ill” was not acceptable, or even relatable–sure, everyone had their own struggles but you kept that quiet and to yourself. It was the “polite” thing to do. Besides, after Aria had woken up in a hospital room, realizing her attempt had been unsuccessful, she couldn’t face her friends–hell, it was nearly impossible to face her own family, especially her little brother. Therefore, it was decided: Aria would go to Radley Medical Center in order to heal, and no one would ever know. To the outside world, she’d be experiencing an incredible opportunity overseas in Iceland and none would be the wiser.

It was quite the ruse and honestly, her parents had been a little unsure about the entire thing. Sure, people who were open about their family problems were judged harshly in Rosewood but who even cared about petty scrutiny and gossip if their daughter wasn’t okay? But it was Aria that had begged her parents to keep the truth a secret, only letting the principal of Rosewood High School know what was actually going on so she could continue her studies.

Now, after nearly twelve straight months of intensive therapy and “rest,” Aria was ready to return to the real world of Rosewood and continue on with her life. Still, the night of September 1st, 2009 still haunted her–more than anyone would ever know.

In just a few weeks–and still, years from now–the town of Rosewood would be full of gossip: gossip about a particularly handsome new teacher and his apparent penchant for underage girls. Yes, by now, it’s no secret that Ezra Fitz had been taken with Aria Montgomery when they first met at the Hollis Pub the day before school started. However, what a lot of people don’t mention is how Ezra was able to manipulate his way into Aria’s life and strike when she was most vulnerable.

You’ll come to find very soon that everyone in the town of Rosewood has flaws and secrets–absolutely everyone. But some things are more forgivable than others. And what was unconditionally unforgivable was a grown man preying on the innocent young girls of Rosewood High. Ezra had zeroed in on Aria and was just waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce.

After all, Ezra was already well aware of Aria’s own secret–well, at least one of them. You see, during his junior and senior year at Hollis, he had heard rumors about Professor Montgomery and one of his grad students. Now, Ezra didn’t usually listen to gossip–he believed himself to be above all of that. However, it had become rather difficult to simply ignore the rumors about a professor taking advantage of one of his students. Though he’d never actually had a class with Professor Montgomery, he knew of him and figured that the rumors were probably true.

Once he put two and two together–that Aria was the daughter of Bryon Montgomery–he knew that he had an in. He was aware that it was rather ironic. But this was different, he told himself. Ezra knew she was in a susceptible position–she needed guidance, someone to talk to, a shoulder to cry on. That’s what Ezra told himself and that’s what he set out to do. Truthfully, as cunning as she was, Aria never stood a chance against someone so sinister.

However, that didn’t mean that Aria didn’t have her own ammunition. Sure, her family was holding on by a thread–but the other girls had their own secrets, too. They always had. Luckily, Aria had always been incredibly observant. Though she could certainly have her moments of outspokenness, she also knew how to sit back and listen. One could learn a lot of information when they were simply listening.

Take Hanna Marin, for example. Poor little Hefty Hanna–Aria had always detested that nickname that Alison had placed upon Hanna’s head. It was cruel and unnecessary. But Alison was the queen bee and whatever she said simply…was. However, anyone with eyes could see the toll that it took on Hanna. Aria remembered that one time, during a sleepover, the girls had been enjoying chick flicks and ice cream. They had been watching Mean Girls, one of Alison’s favorites. Aria always assumed it was because she viewed herself as Regina George.

Just before the Burn Book fight scene started–arguably one of the best scenes in the film–Hanna had gotten up to go to the bathroom. Aria thought it a bit odd but continued watching and laughing along with the other girls. But the minutes continued to pass and Hanna still wasn’t back. Curious, Aria mentioned checking on Hanna and got up off the couch and headed to the bathroom, her feet padding on the hardwood floor. When she got to the bathroom door, the unmistakable sounds of retching came from the other side of the door. Aria gave a small knock on the door. “Hanna?... Are you okay?” Hanna cleared her throat and quickly said “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be right out.”

Sure, Aria probably should’ve said something about it–but what could she say? Hanna was clearly embarrassed, you could hear it in her voice. Wouldn’t it just make it worse to question her about it? Aria tried to tell herself that maybe Hanna’s stomach had just been acting up but deep down, she knew the truth. She knew how Alison made Hanna feel like shit about her body–honestly, it wasn’t very surprising that Hanna would attempt to find comfort in bingeing and purging. It made Aria’s heart sink but what else could she do?

As far as Spencer and Emily went, their secrets weren’t too difficult to figure out, either. Really, all you had to do was have eyes. The way Spencer so desperately wanted to be like her older sister, Melissa, was obvious to everyone. On top of that, the brains of their group suddenly seemed to become a brainless lovestruck girl whenever her sister’s skeezy boyfriend, Ian, walked into the room. He was not only her field hockey coach but, as everyone figured, most likely her future brother-in-law as well. However, no one could deny the brunette’s heart eyes whenever Ian cracked a subpar joke.

Emily was somehow even more obvious. Between the odd comments from Alison and the way you could practically feel Emily’s giddiness radiating from her every time the blonde bombshell simply spoke, it was clear to anyone with a brain that Emily was in love with Alison. Not to mention the time that Aria had accidentally overheard one of their conversations during another infamous sleepover. She’d forgotten her phone in Emily’s room and when she was approaching the doorway, she overheard the distinct sing-song sweetness of Alison’s voice. It was the voice she used whenever she really, really wanted something

“Look, Em, I’m sorry that I was so mean to you the other day in the locker room. I didn’t mean to snap at you, I just… I just don’t feel…that way. But that doesn’t mean that we can’t still kiss–but only if you want to, of course.”

Alison’s voice was sugary sweet and full of softness–god, she was such a manipulative bitch. Don’t fall for it, Em, Aria thought to herself. But then, seconds later, Aria could hear the undeniable sounds of lips locking, so she slipped back downstairs and never told another soul.

Truth be told, Aria was mildly horrified at the state of her friend group when she returned to Rosewood High. The girls hadn’t even tried to remain close to one another? The brunette realized that it was going to be a lot more difficult to get her friends back together than she initially thought.

What horrified her even more, though, was the face that she saw at the front of the classroom during first period on the very first day of junior year. It was none other than Ezra, the man boy from the bar. He looked just as equally horrified to see her face and she was certain that he’d never speak to her again. And honestly, if he were even half a decent man, he would have quit his job right then and there–but of course, “decent” was the last word anyone would use to describe Ezra Fitz.

The situation with her English teacher might’ve fully taken over Aria’s brain that night if it hadn’t been for the sirens that began to ring out around 9PM, just as Aria was about to get ready for bed. The sirens were down the street but something made Aria’s blood run cold and she followed that feeling out onto the sidewalk. Sure enough, the sirens were just a few streets over, down by the DiLaurentis house. Oh, fuck.

Alison DiLaurentis’ body was found buried under the gazebo her parents had put up the previous summer. The backyard had been under construction at the time, making it the perfect place to dispose of a body.

The day of Alison’s funeral was what finally brought all the girls back together. They sat with each other in the same pew, as if no time had ever passed. While waiting for the service to begin, the four girls realized that they’d all been getting messages from a mysterious person who signed their messages with nothing but an “A.” Was it “A” for Anonymous? It couldn’t have been “A” for Alison. After all…her body was lying in a closed casket just feet away from them.’

However, it wasn’t until the very end of the service that the girls realized how serious all of this was. Detective Wilden, a hot shot police officer, approached the girls and vowed to find out what happened the night that Alison disappeared, which sent a chill down Aria’s spine. Just as he walked away, all of the girls’ cell phones eerily rang at the same time and the threatening message stared back at them through the screen:

“I’m still here, bitches, and I know everything - A”

[unstablemotions]

Relationships are incredibly hard for us and we feel so fucking bad about it. The people in our lives deserve better, but we don't know how to change. It is so hard for us to stay in contact. It is so hard for us to establish boundaries and say no and be honest with others. It us so hard to reject others. It is so hard to exist in a relationship of any kind or explain that we are deeply fucked in the head and we don't mean to hurt people or be bad friends - we are simply just very mentally ill and struggle with the most basic shit. We have a fragmented self and will forget people. Some parts will be attached to some people and others are so dissociated from our life that they just do their own little things at home. Some parts will isolate us to protect us and we have a hard time communicating why we need space. Thinking is hard when you're in a flashback

How the fuck do you even explain this to people? And do we need to isolate ourselves until we can handle having friends? We always end up figuring out that we can't do as much as we thought we could. We might also be autistic and adhd, which adds to the whole "social stuff hard" as if being a did system didn't already complicate that by itself

We'd wish we didn't need or want a social life and that we could just live by ourselves in a little cabin in the woods. But we are very social - or some parts are. This is fucking hell. We are a broken excuse of a human

[redsaint282]

Arcane Fanfiction idea #2 (want some opinions)

Zaun remembers its children differently. Some it forgets, some it claims, and some—like me—it marks as something between survival and myth.

I was ten years old the night everything changed. Ten, and already older than most kids in the undercity ever got to be. Vander's tavern was just a few blocks away—a beacon of something close to hope in these toxic streets. I'd seen him around, watched how he looked out for the street kids. Not just Vi and Powder, but all of us. Ekko sometimes shared extra food, Claggor would pass by with a knowing nod, Milo would occasionally tell me and brag about the jobs he and the others would do.

But survival in Zaun isn't about kindness. It's about watching, waiting, and never letting your guard down.

The mutated wolf was unlike anything I'd ever seen. Bigger than a cart, with two heads that moved with an unnatural synchronization—each skull twice the size of a normal wolf, skin mottled with chemical burns and strange growths. I'd heard whispers about the experiments, about creatures twisted by Zaunite chemtech, but seeing was something else entirely.

The full moon hung like a diseased eye but in the undercity 99% of the moonlight was obstructed and the spots that made it through cast in a mercurial glow that made the impossible seem almost normal. I was tracking a potential meal—some rats near the chemical runoffs—when the wolf appeared. Not hunting me, but moving with a purpose that felt almost intelligent.

Then came the moment that would define everything.

The wolf passed, leaving behind a puddle—no, a pool—shaped eerily like a wolf's paw print. Steaming slightly, with a liquid that seemed to shimmer between water and something else entirely. Desperation and curiosity are a dangerous combination for a Zaunite orphan.

I slipped.

The liquid filled my mouth—metallic, burning, alive. Not water. Something else. Something that felt like it was rewriting my very existence from the inside out.

The first days were confusion.

Not pain, exactly. But something else. Something that crept through my body like chemical fog, changing me from the inside out. At first, I thought it was just another Zaunite illness—something that would pass if I found enough clean water, enough food.

I started noticing the small things first.

My hearing changed three days after the puddle. Not all at once, but in fragments. I could suddenly hear conversations two levels down in the abandoned chemical processing plant—whispers that should have been impossible to catch. The skittering of rats became a symphony, each tiny movement a distinct sound that mapped the entire underground network.

My body felt different too. Muscles that had been wire-thin from years of malnutrition began to change. Not rapidly, but with a slow, deliberate intensity. I could climb harder, jump further, move with a precision I'd never known before. The street kids who usually pushed me around suddenly found me harder to bully.

A week passed. Then another.

I tried to hide the changes. In Zaun, being different meant being a target. I'd seen what happened to those who were marked as "special"—some disappeared into underground labs, others became experimental subjects for the chemists who roamed the undercity like predators

[themagickingdomrp]

Queen Grimhilde (Known as Princess Cinderella) ▪ Unknown ▪ Eiza Gonzalez ▪ Evil ▪ Taken 

Triggers: Mental Illness, Murder, Dubious Consent

→ Past 

Grimhilde was driven so mad by her magic mirror, she could not remember how it came into her possession. The story always changed in her mind, but no matter what version of the story she held in her head, the ending was the same in all of them: she wasn’t at fault for the destruction she caused. A few fragments of her past remained. She was in love with a poor man, but she was poor herself. So, when the king proposed she chose to marry him instead. She inherited a stepdaughter and her husband never loved her. She enjoyed being queen, but the mirror continued to poison her. Eventually her husband passed away at sea and Grimhilde was left with Snow White. While kind to her stepdaughter initially, Snow White had grown too beautiful. Grimhilde put her to work as a servant, but even that was not enough to hide her radiance. Still, she may have let her survive if the mirror had not told her Snow had become the fairest in the land. Grimhilde sent the Huntsman to kill her stepdaughter, but even he was taken by her stepdaughter’s beauty. Immediately after he failed, Grimhilde decided to kill Snow herself. Unfortunately, all that ended with her falling off a cliff.

→ Present 

Cinderella found Grimhilde and tried to help her. Seeing her, Grimhilde remembered a part of her past she had wanted to forget; Cinderella had married the man Grimhilde loved, a man she thought was a poor man but was actually a prince. He had just never told her and his deception kept them apart. Before she could think too far ahead, Grimhilde disposed of Cinderella and began to plan. She cast a spell so all would believe she was the princess, with help from the magic mirror. She recruited Peter Pan to do her bidding, finding it necessary to keep her secret. Grimhilde would not only become the fairest in the land, but the most powerful. She started turning good people into evil minions. She killed those who she had to and even those who just made her angry. Despite all the propaganda Grimhilde puts out, the rebellion is a constant thorn on her side. Grimhilde enjoys her life as Cinderella. She is admired, no one questions her motives, and she has managed to get rid of Snow White for good. Grimhilde also gets to be with the man she let get away, though he doesn’t know who she really is. However, keeping the secret isn’t easy. Their child has magic and is constantly displaying it. Grimhilde’s secret may come to light sooner than she hopes. She just hope he still loves her all the same. 

[oumaheroes]

Heroes‘ FrUK Masterlist

Full fic masterlist of everything can be found here.

Updated: 17/10/2022

Nationverse

One Shot

A Kick in the Teeth is Good for Some: And a kiss with a fist is better than none. England and France argue in the aftermath of war (England, France/ FrUK)

All Tied Up: France accidentally becomes a bit too acquainted with a pair of handcuffs. (England, France / FrUK)

An Unfortunate Reminder: A heatwave forces France to reveal something he’s hiding. (France, Spain, background FrUK)

Fatigue: This war is different. France and England know this more than most (England, France/ FrUK)

Gold Filigree & Chainmail: France and England wander around a museum. (England, France/ FrUK)

Morbid Fascination: France and England discuss humanity’s fascination with history. (England, France/ FrUK)

Reflections: America stumbles across England and France together at a house party. (England, France / FrUK, America, Canada)

Stargazing (AO3):  Two old men talk themselves in circles in the summer grass.(England, France / FrUK)

The Grace of Forgetting: An addition to the great ‘What the Heart Forgets’ universe. Francis and Arthur stumble  upon an old stable and Arthur still can’t completely let go of the past. (France, England / FrUK)

Multichapter

Character Study (2/2): A character study of the softer moments between England and France. (France, England / FrUK) 

Christmas Drabbles: England tries to host Christmas but things do not go as planned. Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 , 7 and 8 (England, France/ FrUK, America, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Sealand) 

Earthbound (5/?): Hundreds of years after the fall of Earth, mankind is slowly starting to   return. Some people have a stronger urge to set off than others,   confused by fragments of memories from a life already lived. (France, England / FrUK, America, Canada, Prussia, Germany, Sealand)

Reset (16/16): Nightmares have plagued Francis for as long as he could remember, but   it’s only now that he’s realising they may be more real than he thought.  A small, dirty old briefcase and a suspicious Englishman are about to blow apart everything he knew to be true, and place him in more danger than he could imagine. Life is a story, and not all have pleasant   endings. (France, England / FrUK, Scotland, Wales, Northern Ireland)

Human AUs

One Shot

A Rush Job: Francis is having a tough day at work when an unlikely co-worker steps in to help. (England, France, Human-verse)

Borrowed Time: After being happily married for 2 years, Arthur and Francis’ world comes  crashing down when it is discovered Arthur has a terminal illness. Dying in a car crash therefore, is the last thing Francis plans on doing. (France, England / FrUK)

Dinner Dash: Alice almost misses their anniversary dinner and Marianne is Not Happy. (England, France/ FrUK, Nyo!talia)

Old Acquaintances: An old friend from uni comes to stay and Francis experiences some unwanted jealousy. (England, France/ FrUK)

Multichapter

Cardverse (1/?): The newly elected Flush of the Spades kingdom travel to meet the monarchy of their long time ally, Diamonds. Or, the exiled ex-Jack of Diamonds returns home to flaunt his new political position. Whichever way you want to look at it. Continued on AO3 (France, England/ FrUK, America, Canada, China, Switzerland, Liechtenstein)

Rotten Luck and Mistimed Attraction (Hiatus):  Arthur Kirkland had waited all of his 27 years to meet his soulmate. The  words on his arm were the first he’d learnt to read and he was prepared ��for the day that he’d finally hear them spoken. Although, of course for  him, even the greatest moment of his life wasn’t going to go as  planned. (England, France)  

[moogleannywrites]

Have a Flowery Day! [Matt Murdock x F!Reader] - Chapter III

Chapter summary: Reader shows her kindness to Matt, and he tries to show it back to her by holding her hand when she needed the most and saving her place as a masked vigilant by night.

Number of chapters: 5

Warnings: slow burn, mentions of cancer, mentions of assault, mentions of robbery, spoiler free.

Read the first chapter here! | Read it on AO3 | My masterlist ❤

Currently working on this shortfic's masterlist!

Hello again! I hope you all doing alright :) another weekend, another chapter with a few notes: first, this fic will now be five chapters long, which will be posted until March 10th; after this, as well as another reader insert Matt Murdock oneshot, I'll take a short vacation until the end of the month, just to be back again with even more fanfiction. Second, my brother @areiko did the beta reading for this chapter, however I took the freedom to add a few more things and so this is kind of self-beta'd. If you find any mistakes, please let me know. Enjoy :)

gif is mine

iii. forget-me-nots

forget-me-nots: means remembrance, true love, real connections and growing affection between two people.

The following morning, you yawned on the counter, taking a sip on a coffee you had bought before opening the store at the same time your fingers lazily slipped through the pages of a gardening magazine. Matt appeared not too much after with a smile on his face and wearing a beautiful, black suit while his suitcase pended over his shoulder. You could see the same pamphlets you gave him the day before through a small opening on the zipper.

“Good morning!” he cheerily greeted.

“Good morning, Matt”, you said after another yawn. “Did you like the flowers I chose for you yesterday?”

“Really good choice of flowers. I’m sure it added a lot to the decoration.”

“Was the perfume way too sweet? Did it make you feel ill?”

Matt shook his head, letting his inferior lip overlap the upper one.

“No, the aroma was genuinely nice.”

You sighed in relief, since it was a fragment of worry which arose on your head the night before. Jasmines had a notorious smell that you only thought about after you got home. However, if he liked it – and did not appear at all to be lying –, it was good to know it was the right choice. A warm sensation appeared in your chest as you took a deep breath to say:

“I have something for you.”

The cause of your drowsiness. What you spent a part of the night studying to do perfectly. The reason why you asked Matt to come by that specific morning. From the counter, you pulled a pamphlet that had a rugged surface and gave it to him.

“Is… Is this in braille? Did you search for a graphic?” Matt asked while passing his fingertips over the handout which signaled the name of the shop, working hours and telephone in small bumps over the paper.

“Nope, I just researched on the internet, and used a small screw to do the job. It took me a few tries, a few ripped papers…” and a few hours of sleep, you mentally added while suppressing a yawn. “My only wish is that you can read it without any difficulties.”

Matt remained silent for a few seconds after that, a small frown in the middle of his eyebrows at the same time his lips barely opened. He hesitated before finally saying:

“This is probably one of the nicest things someone has ever done for me”, he said it out loud. “It’s perfect. Thanks for taking your time to do this.”

“Sure. I mean… When you said you wanted pamphlets for your seeing friends, it made me think why I didn’t have anything to offer you. Hell, I even know the basics of American Sign Language. In that way, you have my contact info literally at the tip of your fingers'', you laughed. “Feel free to call me whenever you want an arrangement, or just to talk”, your cheeks went from its normal skin tone to a hue of reddish as you completed your sentence: “… there is my cell phone number there, too.”

Even the lawyer seemed a bit out of place, surprised.

“There is also a cup of coffee I got from the cafeteria down the street to bright up your day.”

You handled him the liquid inside a cup with a lid, making him lift his face just when his fingers hugged the cup.

“Do you do this for every customer, or am I special?”, he laughed. Although it was a joke, there was a hint of honesty to his words.

“My first customer deserves the best treatment!”

You smiled at him while getting out of the counter to open the door for him. Your heartbeat was exceptionally loud, and you felt a knot on your stomach just like a wrapped present, as if a lot of butterflies flapped their beautiful wings all around your abdomen and torso. Matt beamed at you after putting away the paper on a different place of his bag, one which probably wouldn’t crumple it and you knew he was about to say something but the store’s phone immediately rang.

“Sorry, I need to get that.”

“Sure. Thank you” he smiled while leaving the store, at the same time you answered the call with a cheerful “yes?”

Matt opened his cane, adjusting the work bag before taking a few steps to slowly walk away from the flower shop. He took his time, and, even after going almost a block forward, he was still able to hear your voice. A delicate voice slowly fading and becoming… definitively sadder. Matt did not think twice before turning around and returning to the flower shop with the cane tapping in front of him, just to find you outside, a serene heartbeat filling his ears.

“Hey, I forgot to mention that I may need…” he started, just to pretend he had business with the store, until it was possible to hear a small sob. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah” you cleared your nose. “Not quite. I am going to do a floral arrangement for a wake.”

A moment of silence. You drained the sweat off your hands by pressing them on the apron, and sit down on the step leading to the flower shop. Matt retracted his cane and sat by your side, gently placing his hand over yours, making your heart jump inside your chest.

“It’s your first wake?”

You whispered that yes, it was, although it wasn’t exactly the first one, counting the wakes of both your parents.

“Care if I stayed here with you for a little while?”

Internally, you wanted to scream for him to stay. But you only squeezed his hand and, with the other arm, pulled a tiny blue flower from the counter, putting inside Matt’s coat jacket.

“This is a forget-me-not.”

“Cute name”, he laughed. “Any particular reason for it to be called like that?”

“Will you find it funny if I say it is Greek Mythology?”, you laughed as well. “I have searched for this flower online and they said it was Zeus trying to name all the flowers until a tiny little one yell, ‘forget-me-not!’, and it was catchy.”

The man chuckled and you went on:

“I really think… We all have a legacy. Something we are remembered for. And I will always remember your kindness, mister Matt Murdock.”

He went silent for a few seconds before saying:

“You said you had nothing to give me, but you gave me your kindness first. This might be the greatest treasure you could ever give someone, flower girl.”

Matt’s smile seemed to shine brighter, and the warmth of his hand left your heart at peace.

~.~

There were never enough flowers.

For Matt Murdock, at least. Soon he began to buy more flowers for the office. For his and Foggy’s workstations. Even a plant for the kitchen. To give as a present for people he loved on special occasions. To order flowerbeds in their office’s building and by his apartment’s window – which he took an absurd amount of caution not to step on after going home each night as Daredevil –, situations that led Karen and Foggy to scold him, saying:

“For God’s sake, just ask her out on a date!”

At the same time, business was blossoming, and not just as a funny pun. Warm spring days gave room to hot summer weeks where the sweat drops would fall from your temples all day long while you tendered the flowers for people interested in buying them. Matt was your first and most trustworthy client, coming by almost every day just to chat when he didn’t have anything to buy and, on days with court sessions, which the lawyer went directly to the Courthouse, he would often call to see how you were doing. Those calls sometimes happened at night, when you stayed up late to finish wedding decorations back on your house-slash-atelier, after closing up the shop, while the leaves outside slowly turned to brown, indicating a new season was coming. Matt was the person who would tell everybody about your beautiful flowers. Matt was the reason for your random giggles, for the inspiration for floral arrangements every single day.

One particular autumn night, where you stayed until later at the shop, as you closed the door to get home, you felt something pressing on your back. Hard. Cold. You did not know how it felt to be a gun pressed against your back until now. The feeling was… Terrifying.

“Give us the money and we won’t hurt you.”

His voice was frightening, making you shudder from tip to toe. Your hands just wouldn’t stop shaking for the whole blur that the next few seconds were. Opening the door. Walking to the counter. Getting the money. And, suddenly, a red fog appeared, knocking one man down, at the same time a big cane flew through the air to hit the other one in the head.

“Daredevil”, you whispered.

A shadow of a man appeared, wearing a red suit with pointy devil ears over the doorstep. With the two men on the ground, you took the phone to dial the police.

“Are you alright?”

His voice sounded low, and, for a second, you thought he put his body over the table in a familiar way.

“Yes, I am. Thank yo-”

Before you could finish the sentence, however, he had disappeared into the night.

~.~

The following morning, after the cops said you could use the place again and you got a minimum of sleep to face customers during the day, Matt rushed in while putting his hands over both your elbows.

“What happened last night?”, he asked. “Did you get hurt?”

“No, I didn’t, but… how did you know something happened?”

“It’s all over the news, I heard it this morning…”

You looked over the counter, in the direction of an open newspaper. There was no mention of the attempted robbery whatsoever.

“… From a friend who used to work at the newspaper”, he smiled, like he knew you had the news with you. “I’m just glad you are okay.”

You smiled towards him while thanking for the worry, however, reassuring you were alright, while taking a package of flowers and putting them in front of your face, a small gap so you could see Matt in front of you. The morning was exceptionally calm, so you could chat a little more.

“Do you want me to walk you home tonight?”, he offered.

The suggestion was quite irresistible, but you gently declined:

“Thank you, but I’ll be alright. I will probably close up earlier today”, you said with a deep sigh coming straight from your lungs. “I really need to get some sleep…”

Matt looked somewhat sad for a fraction of an instant, since a bitter shadow crossed his face when his lip dropped a bit, quickly returning to a neutral expression.

“Can I ask you a favor?”, his voice cracked a little bit.

“As many as you’d like”, you answered while tendering for some roses over the counter.

“I really miss those jasmines you gave me. The flowerbeds and violets look good, according to my friends, but I miss their sweet smell”, the corner of his mouth went up a little bit. “Could you make a new arrangement for me?”

“Of course!”, the answer came out just as soon as he finished the phrase. “Give me a few of days.”

“Great, thanks”, he smiled. “I have to go now… Stay safe.”

He dropped his body over the counter, removing a few roses from his way so he could get to your hands, and the same feeling of déjà vu you had the night before returned to your sight. Matt gently let go instants after, almost like he noticed something wrong, and just smiled before going away.

Could it be that he was the man who saved you last night?

… You were imagining things.

[aminiatureworld]

A Sea of Fragments

Characters: Scaramouche, gn!reader

Word Count: 3,524

Warnings: Swearing, Fainting, Slight Violence

Premise: You just wanted to get away from a situation that was becoming untenable. Knowledge isn’t always a blessing, especially when it comes with the emotional toll of thousands of futures. Unfortunately however things don’t always go well, and soon you find yourself in a peculiar situation.

In which the reader is clairvoyant and Scaramouche takes an interest.

Author’s Note: Okay but I could write a whole series based off this premise. Ahh Scaramouche you petty drama king. Who is also a bit of an ass but oh well.

Scaramouche can be very entertaining to write but also very difficult. It’s tricky writing a romance with him that isn’t in some ways suspect, though I think that when you manage it he can be surprisingly soft. Really I think a lot of it depends on your interpretation of his character. I really like how this turned out though and I hope you enjoy!

You wanted to be helpful, you really did. Helping people, making your gift something more than an odd sort of burden, it gave you sense of purpose; but it was becoming too much. More and more you hardly knew yourself, whether you were living in your reality or in one which may yet come to pass. It was pressing down on you, causing you to spiral. You couldn’t do it anymore.

Stealing out of the village that had been your home since before you could remember, you couldn’t help but take a glance back. The picturesque houses that clumped together glowed warmly, shadows of people visible in the windows. You wished you could help, you really did. But the burden had become too much, and now it was time to go. Taking a deep breath you turned back towards the road. In a few steps you’d finally be free. And if it was a bittersweet kind of freedom, so be it.

_______

“I hardly expected to be dragged out here to listen to the fantastical rumors of a group of farmers.” Scaramouche raised an eyebrow. The Fatui Agent facing him shifted slightly, seemingly uncomfortable with the Harbinger’s scrutiny. Good. He deserved it.

“I understand the sentiment, but this is hardly an ordinary rumor –”

“Then what is it?” Scaramouche’s acerbic tone cut off the man, making it clear that he wasn’t going to be fooled into complacency. What nonsense people believed. That some of those people were members of the Tsaritsa’s elite army only made it more infuriating. Still, what could you expect of ordinary people? How easily they believed their own lies.

“At first we thought nothing about the rumor as well,” the mage who’d been silent for the duration of the conversation spoke up, “we were just planning on leaving it alone. But then the famed fortune teller vanished. They disappeared, despite no one doubting their claims. Rumor is that the whole thing was making them ill.”

“And now I’m to look into this because our little psychic got tired and ran away?” Scaramouche let out a dramatic sigh, pausing just long enough to see the underlings in front of him squirm. Finally, he shook his head. “Ah the things Signora asks me to do.” Standing up from the chair he was sitting in he turned his back on the messengers. “You’re dismissed. Don’t bother me with this again.” There was some shuffling as the Fatui bowed and left. Scaramouche always loved listening to the way people scuttled away after talking to him. No one had any backbone, they all cowered and slunk away, as if that would make him forget them. Well he never would.

Alone he couldn’t help but scoff once more at the ridiculousness of the whole thing. Honestly he expected more of Signora – who could usually be relied upon to possess a little more common sense than the rabble around them. Who would’ve thought her weakness was something as simple as someone pretending to see the future? Really it was quite sad.

“Let’s see what comes out of this little treasure hunt,” Scaramouche mused to himself, grabbing the pack he’d already made up once he’d first heard the rumors swirling around the camp, “they should hope it’s worth my time.”

_______

The village was terribly dinky, as one would expect of a community that was barely above the status of farming commune. Scaramouche wrinkled his nose, overwhelmed by irritating sounds, smells, and sights. How people could live in such a state? It was pitiful, how low humans could sink. Stepping around a cart laden with cabbages Scaramouche ducked inside the leaning structure that comprised the village center. Hopefully he wouldn’t be here long.

Awaiting him was the leader of the village. Her skin was cracked and tanned from the sun, and one couldn’t tell whether her wrinkles were a sign of old age or of the hardship of living a life devoid of luxury. One could almost feel pity for her, Scaramouche thought. Sitting down on the cushion across from her he gestured for her to talk. Hopefully this would be over soon.

“It was six nights ago that they left.” The woman’s voice trembled slightly, there were tears staining the corner of her eyes. “I don’t know why, we never made them unwelcome. They were simply there one day gone the next.”

“Did anyone see them?” Scaramouche attempted to hide his yawn. Usually he kept the tedious work in the lower ranks where it belonged. Still, this was turning into quite an outlandish story the more he heard about it. Apparently you really weren’t some ordinary charlatan, at least not to those around you; some even called you the reincarnation of a powerful spirit or a god. Of course all that might’ve been par for the course, but you refusing all money and gifts was certainly not. What kind of act were you peddling, the Harbinger wondered. Certainly not a very smart one.

“No,” the woman shook her head mournfully, “they lived alone, and often would be out at odd hours of the day, supposedly going to somewhere with less noise and purer air. We all suspected they really just wanted to be left alone. It seemed to annoy them when we asked too much, they often got headaches from it apparently. Once we even had to call in a doctor from the city, after they collapsed mid-vision.”

“I see.” Scaramouche didn’t bother to keep the scowl off his face. What was going on? There was an odd conventionality to this story, and if it weren’t for your roots here and your odd independence he’d certainly be dismissive. And yet…

As if mirroring this thought he raised his hand, standing up and walking towards the door. “Thank you for the information, I’ll be sure to tell you if I find them.”

“Don’t hurt them!” The woman shrank a bit as Scaramouche turned back to her, and he could see her hand trembling slightly as she set it back down.

“Why would you say that?” He said, voice dripping with false sweetness. “Why I wouldn’t dream of doing anything but bringing them home, safe and sound.” He didn’t bother adding anything else, both of them knew it was a lie. For what member of the Fatui does something with expecting anything in return?

Exiting the cramped structure Scaramouche immediately made for the path that led away from the village, out towards the vast wilderness of which folk tales were comprised of. You hadn’t gone far, that he could be relatively sure of. Someone disappearing suddenly like that, taking nothing but a sack full of food and a few weapons? They wouldn’t make it more than a few miles before stopping. Especially since the night watch had confirmed no one had left in the direction of the city. Luckily the Harbinger was more prepared.

_______

The sun had set long ago, and now Scaramouche watched as the moonlight danced upon the only lake in the area. He knew that his best bet was here.

The area was surprisingly beautiful, so much so that even Scaramouche could find some worth in it. The villagers had called it a valley, but really it was more of a canyon, most likely carved out from a glacier, back when gods walked the earth and humans still cowered in their caves. The grass around the lake was so green it seemed surreal, as if it were painted onto the earth, and an cattails and various grasses dotted the edge of the water. A miniature sort of lagoon lay to the north, the dense, low hanging trees obscuring it partially from view. Ethereal was the only way to describe it, anything more would’ve been pretentious and anything less would’ve been somewhat lacking.

The view was so mesmerizing that at first Scaramouche barely registered the shadow dotting the field. Quickly however he regained his senses. The figure was moving quickly, not erratic enough to be without a purpose, not staid enough to be dismissed as a cloud or a piece of flora. No, it was definitely a human, and definitely one who didn’t want to be seen. Smiling to himself Scaramouche leapt into the air. This was going to be at least somewhat interesting.

The figure jumped as soon as he hit the ground. Whirling around Scaramouche knew instantly it was you, the mysterious mystic he’d been looking for. Although, looking at your appearance it seemed more likely for you to be an invalid looking for someone with power, rather than being the source of said magic. The pallor of your skin was ghastly, and though you furrowed your brow and reached for your weapon your eyes were slightly glazed, your movements heavy and unsure.

“Well, what have we here?” Scaramouche smiled as you shrank back for a second. Despite his stature, he knew how to command a room, or a valley, when he needed to. You shook off his theatrics quickly enough though, scowling in response to his declaration.

“If you want me to do something for you, I’m afraid I’m fresh out of visions.”

“Oh? That’s not what I’ve heard. From what I know it seems like your talents never fail you. Unless, of course, you’ve given up on your scheme.” Instead of shock painting your face however you simply raised your hand to your face. Wobbling slightly on your feet you shook your head violently.

“Look, I don’t know what you want from me, but I’m not doing business, not before, not now, not ever. So if you could please leave me alone…” your voice faded. By now Scaramouche was sure something was wrong.

“What? Did you manage to get bit by something during your three day wildlife trip?” He sneered. You didn’t seem to hear him however. Staring him straight in the face the expression you wore could almost be described as a smirk.

“I’m going to faint now.” You deadpanned, before your knees buckled and you hit the ground so hard Scaramouche was sure that it was going to leave a bruise.

_______

Unfortunately the oppressive haze of passing out is much more difficult to handle when one is left stranded with an obnoxious stranger in the woods, a stranger who evidently has no intention of helping you. By the time you’d become properly aware of your surroundings they’d become so foreign as to be barely distinguishable from when you were fading in and out of consciousness.

You knew that you were in a tent, one so grand as to basically be a structure on its own. This, along with the cacophony outside, led you to the conclusion that whoever had picked you up – and you still weren’t sure who that odd purple haired man was, though asshole certainly seemed an apt term – they weren’t working alone. A peek outside proved you right, and to your horror you realized very quickly that not only were they not working alone, but that they were with, if not part of, one of the most despicable groups to ever walk Teyvat.

The hours passed, and the light from outside had significantly faded by the time the man came back, this time wearing something much flashier than before. The hat gave you all the information you needed.

“Harbinger.” You spat, glaring as hard as you could. For his part the man said nothing, only making the ghost of a bow, a smirk on lips.

“Feeling better are we? Really for someone supposedly blessed by the gods you have terrible stamina.”

“Try living through hundreds of fragments of fate and come back to me.” You shot back. Although you’d heard frightening stories of the Fatui, and especially of those who led them, you found irritation to be your main emotion. Apparently even fear can be bypassed if one is disgruntled enough. “What do you want anyways?”

“To see if you’re worth the reputation you’ve earned.” The man sat down on a chair so ornate it was almost comical. He stared right back at you, and if you hadn’t felt so drained you might’ve been uncomfortable. Still, you stood your ground.

“I’ve no interest in showing anything to the Fatui.” You kept your voice matter-of-fact. He was like all those other clients that ran to the village, only more vain and perhaps better with a weapon. Otherwise, well wasn’t he nothing at all?

“I’m not interested in your personal opinions. I have a duty to the Tsaritsa to make manifest her wishes through any means possible, and that might be quite a bit easier with one who can see the future.”

“I see many futures, not just the one that will pass. Besides, even if I could tell you exactly what will happen, I wouldn’t.”

“I could make you.” The man sneered, pupils shrinking to pinpricks. Frustration welled up inside you as you stood your ground. You wouldn’t lose.

“No, you can’t.”

“Why not? Plan on fighting me?”

“I could just wait until you left for your Harbinger duties.”

“I’d tie you up.”

“I’d escape.”

“Would you?”

“Yes.”

“This conversation is getting nowhere.” The Harbinger leaned back in his chair, sighing in what appeared to be mock annoyance. You smiled, despite yourself.

“I very much agree. So, how about you let me go and I in turn pretend that you never neglected to give me emergency medical attention.”

“Who’re you going to complain to?” The man snorted. You just shook your head, smiling morphing into a smirk.

“Who says I’m going to complain? I could just burn down your tent instead.”

“Ah yes, I forgot you’re a vision user, in both senses of the word.”

“Was that supposed to be a joke?” You wrinkled your nose. “If so it wasn’t very funny.”

“I think what’s not very funny is the way this conversation is going.” The man leaned forward once more. “For all your talk, I doubt you could do half of what you threatened, considering you could barely survive on your own for three days.”

“And I think you’re underestimating me.” You replied, continuing to smile as if this was a perfectly normal conversation. “It seems we’ve reached an impasse.”

There was a pause, and as the Harbinger’s face grew cold you wondered if he might storm out. You hoped he would. You wanted to be left alone, to think, to process, perhaps even to look into the future. Not that you tended to look into your own. Divining one’s own path was notoriously taxing, and often it was nearly impossible to wade through the fog of diverging paths.

“Look into my future.” The words took you out of your reverie and you shot a confused look at the person sitting across from you. Seeing the look of suspicion on your face he laughed, and though the laugh was sharp and slightly ugly, it seemed somehow more genuine than the theatrical tone which he’d been employing beforehand. “Look into my future,” he repeated, “and if you see a fragment which is to your liking, then work for me.”

“I don’t work for the Fatui.”

“And I don’t lose an opportunity. Besides,” he raised an eyebrow, “I specified you’d work for me. There’s a difference.”

“Hardly.” You replied, but nevertheless you closed your eyes.

The feeling of falling enveloped you, and when you opened your eyes you weren’t in a tent but rather surrounded by fragments of glass. Each reflected a piece of the future, and as you reached out to look at them you found yourself almost overwhelmed by the emotions they carried.

The first path of the future was one of death. There he stood, bathed in blood, purple eyes glowing with magic, a sadistic smile plastered upon his face. Around him lay the mangled bodies of those you knew he had slaughtered. Sometimes they were warriors, sometimes they seemed to be the most ordinary sort of people. There was a pressure in your ears and for a moment you couldn’t breathe. These futures were dead ones, and their rot now seeped into your skin, filling your throat.

The second path was different, although one would be hard pressed to call them pleasant. In those he was the one who had fallen, eyes which had once been bright now dulled by the shadow of death. A maniacal laughter filled the air in one fragment, a triumphant cry of having murdered a monster; in another fragment there was weeping, and though you couldn’t place who it was the voice sound distinctly familiar. In those fragments you felt an emptiness, and though you knew the tears sliding down your cheeks were par for the course, you were still ashamed by them.

The third path was oddly detached from the rest. You could still feel the crackle of darkness in the air, one who had become a Harbinger would never be able to escape such a thing. But there was something else too. There he stood, staring off into the distance, expression opaque, eyes seeing not the landscape around him but something inside himself. There was the familiar muffled tones of someone speaking – you could never truly hear what anyone said – and he turned around. The ghost of a smile passed his face and he stepped towards whoever was calling him. You focused on one specifically, that in which he seemed happiest. The feeling of contentment, of happiness, enveloped you, mixing with shame when you found yourself staring back at you. Shock running through your system the fragments shook around you, shattering like glass at your feet as you fell back to the present.

“That seemed like quite the experience.” 

There was amusement in the Harbinger’s voice, but you found yourself unable to answer him. Breathing heavily you tried to wrap your head around what you’d just envisioned. What in the name of the gods was that? Never before had you doubted your abilities, but now you prayed that you were wrong, prayed to anyone who could hear that you were mistaken. The residual feelings of the shard you’d just witnessed lingered, deepening your sense of unease, of shame. Happiness, how could you feel happiness? This man was a Harbinger, a menace to Teyvat, and you might… you couldn’t even finish the thought.

Wrenching your eyes shut you took a few deep breaths. Leave, you should just leave. Refuse his offer, what could he do? But now you couldn’t unsee the future, couldn’t erase the image from your mind. And though you scoffed at it, deep down inside of you something wished to reach out to that bit of the future once more, to ensure its survival. Exactly why, you couldn’t tell. You could tell yourself it was the horror of the rest of the fragments, but even that wouldn’t be quite accurate. This was the issue with looking into the future. It always ended up affecting the past. Wasn’t this one of the reasons why you’d wanted to leave? Now you’d carry the burden of knowledge with you forever, this one more painful than most.

“Are you going to faint again?” The words were rough but the tone was less so. Opening your eyes you stared into the man’s eyes. Was this what would set you on that path? It seemed so surreal. And yet you knew that it might still come to pass.

“No.” The word came out softer than you’d hoped. “I’m alright.”

He said nothing for a moment, while you in turn calmed yourself down. Finally though he grew impatient. Leaning his head on his hand he spoke once more.

“So, will you work for me?” You glared at him but said nothing. How could you answer it now. You couldn’t tell him what you’d just witnessed, it seemed taboo. Still, the situation had changed. Even if he didn’t know it, it had changed very much.

“Fine.” Your words surprised you, but only for a moment. You’d known, you’d known the moment you’d look into that sea of futures and felt that sense of happiness. It was too late. You’d folded. He’d won.

“Good.” At first the Harbinger stayed still, but soon enough he was standing up, moving towards the entrance of the tent. “I’ll get you what you need. Like I said you’ll be working for me, not for the Fatui, so we can work out the details of your contract ourselves.”

“Whatever you say…”

“Scaramouche.”

“Scaramouche.” You finished. Scaramouche smiled, and in it you saw a ghost of the future.

“And your name?”

“You’ll have to wait to get that answer.” You replied, feeling somewhat contrary.

“As you wish. Well then, mysterious clairvoyant, I look forward to our work together.” Scaramouche replied once more before stepping outside. You sighed, feeling the exhaustion of everything that had just passed. s

You’d taken a gamble with fate, for the future was still uncertain, and the days leading up to it were sure to be full of pitfalls. Still you were resilient. You’d make that future happen. No matter what.

And, if worst came to worst, you wouldn’t be the one crying when the world fell apart.

[your-average-weeb-dealer]

☘️ Back at it with my Junpei thirst.

☘️ AgedUp! Sorcerer! Junpei AU! Where nothing went wrong and everything is fine

☘️Pt. 2 same night just alot later

☘️Junpei woke to the sound of his phone buzzing. A comfortable weight across his chest breathed deep before nuzzling into his neck. . The night now a heavy dark blanket in the flat. Blinking rapidly he tried to remember what had just happened.

The moan of his name across your lips. The feel of fingernails across his back. The smell of sex hung heavy in the air. Right that had all happened. Before you two had collapsed still tangled together on the futon. Dried sweat and other fluids clung to you both. Tightening his arm around your back in reflex as the heat that he had thought had been sated climbed back into his lap. The memory of your thighs around his waist. You definitely were heaven wrapped in skin even as you lips and body promised sin. A thousand little deaths he would take joyfully after years of hell.

Again his phone buzzed.

Its probably Yuuji, the thought broke him out of reverie. With as much care as he could he called Moondregs forth. The Shinigami buzzed pleasantly with a faint glow illuminating the room. Silently he commanded it to grab his phone and give it over. In his arms you stirred mumbling incoherent nonsense, causing his heart to stutter while he tripped falling for you further. Completely forgetting that Moondregs was completely visible and you weren't a sorcerer till it was almost to late to set it back in to the shadows. But still it gleefully dropped the phone next to his head and vanished with a squeal.

"Jun, wha was that?" You asked sleepily.

"Must have been a helicopter, go back to sleep hun." The lie felt sour on his tounge but he had shocked you enough tonight with the scars, he would leave this lie to stand for a while longer.

"Can't, feel all sticky" lips pressed against his chest smiling. His own smile formed.

"Can you walk to the bathroom? Then we can shower and go back to bed."

"Maybe, but I'm having some trouble feeling my legs."

"If your looking for an apology."

"Absolutely not."

"Good because I wasn't going to give one. Let me answer my phone and then ill help you."

You murmured your agreement placing more kisses on his chest. The slight smile on his face grew while he tightened the arm around you before the free one reached for the phone. Unsurprisingly it was Yuuji who had texted him, asking if he was alive and wondering how the date was going. He was tempted the take a picture you laying on his chest hair messy to him.

"Yuuji wants to know how our date is going."

"Take a picture of the pile of our clothes, that should give him a good answer." Junpei laughed and did just that. Tossing the phone on to the side table he turned his full attention back to you. Kissing the top of your head slowly moving to sit up arms wrapped around to keep you steady. With a slight exhalation he stood one arm under your thighs the other across your back. Your squeak of delight sent a jolt of pleasure down his spine. Carefully he walked to the bathroom before placing you an a stool next to shower head.

"I'll be back with your bag. I was going to change the sheets on the futon then come join you."

"Sounds good, do you want me to fill up the bath or are you ok with just a shower?"

"Shower is fine with me." He gave a quick kiss on your forehead before leaving.

When he returned a second later with your bag he admired the fingerprint bruises on your hips and thighs, while tensioned desire kept swirling the longer his gaze lingered. The sultry look you gave him back as you admired your own marks made it hard to not just pick you up and pound you in the wall. But there would be time for that later. He left before he could change his mind and returned to the main flat to set out what he had promised. His phone buzzed continually, no drought Yuuji yelling about the picture. He'd deal with it in the morning.

Soon he came back to the bathroom. Steam greeted him as did the sight of your wet body. Your legs did look shaky causing the slightest hint of animalist pride to grow.

"Can I wash your hair?" You asked surprising Junpei.

"Sure?" He sat on same stool he had placed you on.

Slowly you rinsed hot water down his back and chest working your way up careful to not get the warm water in his eyes. Then came gentle hands massaging in the lather. When was the last time he had enjoyed a moment so tender? He leaned back into your hands a contented sigh rumbled from his chest. Your own laugher filled with smiles filled his head till he was drunk on the sound.

Your hands came down to clean his back, this time a sharp intake of breath escaped you both. While his forehead might be the most visible of the scars of his youth, his back was by far the worst. He turned towards you to see anger and sorrow flicking across your face.

"Are you ok?" He asked.

"What? That’s silly, I'm fine but you. I can't imagine." It was like you couldn't form a full sentence only able to speak in fragments. His guts churned trying to parse out your feelings he couldn't stand it if this whole night had happened out of some form of pity you felt at seeing his scars. So he took the dive.

"It was hell. But I'm asking if you are only staying because of pity. Because that not right for either of us."

"What the hell no. I'm angry that people did this to you and I'm sad because it looks like no one cared enough to help you. It's not pity but caring about someone I love." Your eyes widened in shock as the words tumbled out, Junpei's eyes too widened while his breath caught. He waited for you to take the words back, but you never did.

Water continued to fall around you both a soundtrack and the only evidence that time hadn't frozen. Tears started to gather in your eyes as you waited on his reply. So he gave one a speed up moment of gathering you in to his arms kisses falling on your lips, cheeks, and neck as he whispered adorations ending in him pulling back to say "I love you too." before returning to your lips with a gentle kiss. The water running cold before either of you could think to move again. ☘️

AHHHHH GIRL OMG THIS IS ALJAH IM FREAKIN OUT HOLY SHIT AHHHHHHH *screams into the void* 

Thank you for the meal 😩😩💕

[maplecornia]

chapter 18

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 3.43K

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: romance | slice of life | fluff | angst | bts x female!reader | ot7

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You watched them from the sidelines ever since you were a young teenage girl. Now you’re grown up, they’ve returned after 2 long years and everything has changed. What happens when you pull back the mask and find the darkness within? What happens when you see that they’re broken?

𝔞/𝔫: why does tae look so precious in the banner ;-; i cri

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: cliffhangers | angst | fluff | slight mentions of self hatred | depression | mental health illness | self harm | occurs in the year 2024 | set in a timeline where BTS went to the military together | slight language

tags: @kookaine | @fangirl125reader | @kookiebbyxx | @taradevonne | @rae-bear |@mangminnie | @pixiekooo

Looking over to your hands so close to the other, Taehyung smiles before wrapping his fingers tighter around yours, intertwining them in an unbreakable bond.

The action sends your heart flying and you snap your gaze to him. He notices your sudden change in demeanor and tries to cover it up by turning to the window.

"What?" he murmurs, his ears tinted pink. "You looked cold."

You can feel your face heating up and you refuse to let him see. You aren't some little fangirl fawning over her idol, not right now. At this moment, you are the lucky person who gets to be so close to someone she admires.

Right now, you want to be the random stranger who bumped into him.

Right now, you want him to see you for you, and you to see him for him.

“I’m sorry, but we’re nearing our destination, do you want to come in to get it or should I just go instead, sir?” Minhyuk asks, breaking the silence and Taehyung shakes his head slightly.

“What have I said about calling me, sir? It’s like having my father call me, mister or even worse, hyung. Please just call me Taehyung, Minhyuk.” He corrects him, and Minhyuk gives him a slightly condescending look in the rearview mirror.

“If you would just pull up in front, I’m sure they’ll give it to you so we should be fine,” Taehyung responds, and Minhyuk nods as he directs the car into much more steady traffic, nearing a market area. You don't recognize it, and as you stare out the window you don't think you’re anywhere near the apartment complex where you're staying. Biting your bottom lip a bit in anxiety, you look at Taehyung again.

He’s staring at the window, like you were, smiling faintly at the familiar sights and people roaming the streets beside you. Each one is busy, each one has their priorities, their life. Neither is the same, everyone is different from the rest. Much like the snowflakes which fall every winter. He enjoys the uniqueness of every single person, how they act, what they do. He finds it fascinating how some people can be so alike and yet so different.

Perhaps that's why he enjoys photographs so much. He’s able to capture those moments within a small photo. That, to him, is one of the most beautiful things in the world.

At your soft tap on his shoulder, he breaks his gaze away from the beauty of life before him and turns to you. He raises his eyebrows a bit in surprise, his mouth doing the slight downturn that it has always done whenever he is confused or curious.

“What is it?” he asks, tilting his head a bit as you look at him, pulling your hand off his shoulder. A bit nervous that Minhyuk would be offended at your question, you glance at him to make sure that he’s not paying attention. Once you’re sure, you beckon Taehyung to lean down a bit so that you can whisper in his ear. He does, but only a mere fraction of an inch.

You roll your eyes, beckoning with more ferocity, and he goes another inch to try and hear you. Letting out an exasperated sigh, you drop your hand and give him a look. He chuckles a bit before smiling and whispering sorry. Then he leans down….another fragment of an inch!

Tired of his shenanigans, you reach out and pull on the neck of his shirt fiercely, pressing your lips tightly together. He gags a bit but laughs once he’s in your safe space. At your look, however, he cuts himself off and coughs to chase his chuckles away.

“Okay, okay, okay I’m sorry. Now, what did you want to say?” he apologizes as though fearing for his life, and you have to hide your smirk before asking the question.

“Is Minhyuk going the right way?” you ask, softly. So softly that you’re not even sure if he heard you. He’s not sure of it either, and crinkles his brow a bit in amusement, not sure if he heard you right.

“I’m sorry, I didn't quite catch that last bit.” Your face falls at his comment and pouting a bit, you poke his cheek. He mouths an Ow and you roll your eyes before tugging on his ear a tiny bit. He dutifully leans his ear towards you, ignoring the slight shiver that runs down his spine as your breath tickles his eardrums, your lips mere inches away from it. You take a breath before continuing and repeating your question.

“Does Minhyuk know where to go? That is, is he going the right way?” as soon as you whisper the question, you pull back. He wears a pondering expression for a moment before registering your question and understanding what you were trying to ask. As he does, his eyes light up in a little aha moment and his mouth opens slightly. It quickly grows into a soft chuckle as he shakes his head and nods, grinning broadly.

“Yes, he does. I texted him on the bus to bring me some food, so he’s just going to pick up what I ordered. I mainly got it for Jimin, but now that I’m late….” He responds and you nod, realization sparking in your chest as you stare a bit embarrassed at the car seat in front of you.

“Now that I think about it, though, I’m going to need your address.” He says absentmindedly and you turn to him. At your look, he glances at you out of the corner of his eye and smirks a bit, amused. “I mean, I promised you I’d take you home, right? How can I do that if I don’t know where you live?”

You open your mouth, wanting to say that it’s not where you live, it’s not your home, it’s just a place where you're staying right now.

But then you remember.

It is your home now. It has to be your home now. This is where you live, this is where your life will be. This is where you have to stay from now on. You don’t know when you’re going to go back home. You don’t know if you can even call that place home anymore. All you know is that this, right here, right now. This is home. You live here, in Seoul. You aren't visiting, you aren't a tourist. You have a job, you have an apartment, you have your responsibilities.

Then again, If that’s all true…

Then why is it so hard to forget what you thought you could leave behind?

The car shakes a bit as Minhyuk pulls to a stop, having reached his first destination. As he pulls up in front of the restaurant, despite what Taehyung advised, he unbuckles and declares that he’ll be right back.

If he expects anyone to hear, he is out of luck.

At one glance between you staring off into space, your hands absentmindedly playing with your string, and Taehyung waiting expectantly for an answer; Minhyuk slowly pulls himself out of the car, closing the door securely behind him.

“I know when I'm being a third wheel…” He grumbles under his breath as he darts through the rain to receive the food order Taehyung gave.

Beside you, Taehyung, growing impatient, waves his hand in front of your blank expression, and you blink awake from your reverie.

“I’m sorry, what did you need again?” you ask him, your wandering mind forgetting just what it was you were talking about to get on the topic of your homesickness. He opens his mouth to answer you after he gives you a strange look, but you jolt sitting up straight in your seat as you remember on your own.

“Oh! You needed my address right?” Tae nods slowly, smiling a bit perplexedly as you turn to your bag and pull your phone out. You need to get working on learning your address now that you are the only one living there; you're lucky that in your rush this morning you didn't forget your key to the apartment, but what can you say? You haven't been in this city for more than 24 hours, it's ridiculous to imagine that you have it memorized by now.

Making a small note in the back of your mind to accomplish that tiny task, you pull up the address you saved in your Google Maps, and turn to Taehyung, holding out your phone to him. He drops his hand from his face and takes it out of your hand. Shaking the strange incomplete feeling that erupts in his chest as he reads your address, he starts a bit.

“I know this place.” He murmurs and you turn to him, an intrigued look on your face. You peer over his shoulder as best as you can, trying to make sure you didn't pull up the wrong address. Once you see the name of it, however, you know that there’s no mistake.

“You do?” you venture, tapping his arm a bit to see the screen better. At the tap, he pulls back and watches as you peer at the screen, your face one of peculiarity. “When did you visit Jaejin?”

At the words, Taehyung snaps his fingers and pulls the phone closer to him, you pulling back out of surprise. He zooms in a bit on the apartment and smiles proudly before looking at you fiercely. You flinch, a bit confused, but he doesn't seem to care. His broad smile is all that can be seen and the brightness in his eyes nearly blinds you from their light.

“That’s right! This is Jaejin’s apartment isn't it?” you nod mutely, looking at him as though he had a screw loose, but he doesn't notice. He turns back to the screen and sighs with nostalgia.

“I remember now, he hosted one of RM’s birthday parties there! Besides the one that we celebrate together with ARMY, Jaejin wanted to do something special for him. He talked with BTS and got together every one of Namjoon hyung’s friends to attend it. It was a huge surprise, and he even managed to get some GOT7 members to attend. TXT was there as well. Jackson liked it, I remember.” His eyes getting that distant look eyes to tend to get when you talk about good times from the past, he smiles faintly as he turns to you.

At that moment, it’s as though he’s sharing that memory with you. You can hear the music, you can feel the joy and laughter, it’s almost as though you were there yourself. A soft feeling of love, friendship, trust, and loyalty fills your heart, and you feel the lump in your throat turn.

Those are feelings that you left behind, feelings you miss even now.

“It seems so long ago now.” His voice is soft, and in the back of his throat, there is a guttural sound as though he is struggling to keep down a rise of emotion.

After a moment, Taehyung clears his throat and raises his head, turning to you and returning your small smile. Just as he does, Minhyuk opens the door, setting two brown paper bags filled with food and beverages on the seat next to him.

Taehyung lets out a loud but clear sigh shaking himself a bit as though that will erase the loneliest sorrows.

“Ahh….if I’m being honest, I’m still trying to get used to the fact that you are his replacement now.” He remarks before tapping Minhyuk on the shoulder. Startled, you blink in shock, staring at him as he shows Minhyuk the address, and Minhyuk proceeds to save it.

How did he know you were going to be Namjoon’s assistant? How did he even know you were working at BigHit? You certainly didn't tell him, and you know you didn't run into him when you were at the building. You would have remembered that, just as you remembered the bumpy encounters with Jungkook and Namjoon.

So how? How did he know that?

It takes a moment but once he has everything situated in the front of the car, and secure, Minhyuk pulls out of the restaurant area and back into traffic. Taehyung leans back in his chair and hands you your phone. Catching sight of your face, he raises an eyebrow.

“Are you okay--” he begins, but as soon as you hear his voice, you turn on him, startling him to silence.

“How did you know I was replacing Jaejin?” At your question, Taehyung’s smile fades as though he had said something wrong. Something he hadn't meant to say. He licks his lips nervously, turning away and clearing his throat.

“Jimin told me.” It’s a simple answer, but a careful one and you wonder just what exactly he’s trying to hide. You don't think the answer is a lie, but it seems to you that he’s tiptoeing around something, trying to be extra careful with his next words.

He doesn't want you to know, not just yet.

“How did Jimin know?” you ask him dubiously.

How do BTS know who you are even before you've had a chance to meet them yourself? You knew that Jaejin had a pretty important job in BigHit and was involved, but he never told you it would be like this.

“He got it from Namjoon.” He explains. When he notices your opening your mouth to ask another question, he cuts you off by pressing his finger against your lips to shut you up.

“Hyung was going crazy all morning because you didn't show up on time, it's like he was afraid you fell off the face of the earth or something.” At the mention, you grow a bit sad and resigned. You feel terrible for doing that to Namjoon. Taehyung reaches forward, at the sight of your sadness, wrapping his hand around yours as a sign of comfort.

“Don't worry, though. I'm sure Joonie is alright now, he was just being a bit paranoid.” He reassures you, smiling softly in your direction and you sigh before nodding, not quite believing him but doing the best you can. Once Tae is sure you won’t fade into yourself again, he continues, reaching into his back pocket to fish for his phone.

“Anyway, Namjoon was getting worried. He sent out a picture of you so that we would be on the lookout for you in case we saw you come in or whatever. That way he would know when you arrived and could see you as soon as possible.” Taehyung continues, pulling up his messages and scrolling through until he finds Jimin’s name.

“This was the picture he gave us, and that’s how I know.” He turns the phone around to you. After a moment's hesitation, you peer closely at the screen.

It takes you a moment to register just what exactly the picture is, but once you do, your eyes widen and you give a slight start of surprise. Your cheeks already rising with the feverish heat of embarrassment, you reach for the phone to steal it from Taehyung. He pulls it away from you just in time and holds it out of your arms reach. You let out a muffled aggravated growl as you reach for it, practically almost climbing over Tae until your seatbelt locks up and you are forced back.

“Taehyung!” you cry out fumbling over his body as he continues to dart the phone out of arm's reach.

Curse your tiny arms.

“Give it to me! Let me delete that!!” he laughs at your protest, and if you weren't so mad, perhaps that laugh would have made you laugh too.

Jaejin will die when you see him next.

“No! I like the chipmunk version of you better.” Taehyung snorts, staring at the photo with adoration.

“See? The little chippie thinks she can fit that huge bite in her mouth.” He remarks as you give him the death stare. He turns back to you, the widest smile on his face, but the glittering playful malice clear in his eyes.

“She couldn't do it.” He says, pouting in mock pity. Narrowing your eyes, you lunge forward once more and he laughs, dodging your attack for the second time.

“For your information, that was in the midst of me fitting it! I was able to do it in the end!” you grunt as you stretch as far as you can to reach the phone that he holds high above his head.

It’s not fair! How come his arms get to be so long?

“Now….let…..me….delete it!” you growl through gritted teeth.

Taehyung shakes his head as he scoots farther away from underneath your grasp, and lets you fall on the bench face first. You stay there for a moment, your chin resting on the leather padding. Smirking, he flicks your forehead, and that's when you get up, lunging for the phone.

After a few more moments of this, it somehow ends up with you stretched across the bench, on your back, your head on his lap. He dangles the device above your face, incessantly teasing you as though you were a child. Once, he even touches it to the point of your nose and when you swipe for it, he pulls it away.

“It’s not fair.” You murmur, pouting as you cross your hands over your chest. He looks down at you, fondly, dropping his hand and the phone with it on the bench next to him.

Biting his bottom lip, he opens his mouth to say something, but Minhyuk interrupts by stopping the car abruptly. Taehyung glances up, and you bolt out of his lap at the motion, looking around to try and identify where you are.

As you peer out of the tinted windows and Minhyuk turns around in his seat to look at the pair of you, you realize.

You're home.

Tae peers out the window to see if it's still raining, as you begin to pull apart the makeshift compress on your ankle. Without Taehyung's help, you're going to need your shoe.

Tae requests Minhyuk to hand him your coat just as you lay the last wrapping on the bench next to you and pull on your wedge. It doesn't hurt when it’s around your ankle. To make sure, you test your strength, leaning on your foot with as much weight as your able. The pressure you put on it is still painful, but bearable enough to walk to your apartment room. Zipping up your wedge, you turn to Taehyung and find him looking at you with concern.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“No, you did a great job.” You reply, and he smiles to himself before situating your coat, opening it so you would be able to easily put it around your shoulders. Taking a deep unsteady breath and licking your lips a bit, you let out a small sigh.

“Thank you.” You say in hushed tones, and he pauses from what he’s doing to look at you in surprise. You hesitate before continuing, receiving the coat from his open arms and sliding it on around your shoulders. “I never thanked you for helping me before. So thank you, I don't know what I would have done if you weren't there to help me out.”

At his silence, you secure your coat around your body and pull your satchel off of the floor, hauling it on your shoulder before you leave. You wait a moment for him to say something if he will. When he doesn't, staring at you in a frozen shock, you chuckle to yourself before opening the door and letting in the once muffled noise of the storm.

“Goodbye, Kim Taehyung.” You say to him, smiling kindly over your shoulder, something to which he responds with a hard swallow as though preparing himself to speak, but you don't see that. You have already turned and have stepped your good foot out of the door before he stops you, calling you back.

“Wait!” he calls, and you turn around, leaving one foot outside, and angling yourself using your other foot as an axis. Slowly, he reaches out and takes your hand within his own, pulling it up to his lips and pressing a soft kiss along your knuckles. You suck in a sharp breath as he does, your heart aching.

“You’re welcome.” He whispers as he lowers your hand and pulls away. “I won't forget today.”

And neither will I.

𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: we coming to the end of the rainy day pretty soon

chapter 19 here

check the Infinite Stars masterlist for more chapters

check my BTS masterlist for other BTS content

check out my masterlist for other kpop fanfics

[oceanlandworld]

Certain internal struggles between parts are inevitable and predictable. The cry for help or attach for survival response will automatically evoke flight-related distancing impulses—or fight-related protective reactions such as mistrust, hypervigilance, anger, or judgment. Critical thoughts expressed by the fight part, often experienced by clients as “self-loathing,” are likely to trigger the submit part’s feelings of shame, hopelessness, and inadequacy. Interpersonal closeness can trigger either the attach part’s yearning for more proximity, the freeze part’s fear of being harmed, and/or the warning alarms of the fight and flight parts—or all of these reactions simultaneously. Professional or family responsibilities can feel like a repetition of bearing old burdens to the submit part, even when the work is self-initiated by a competent normal life self who enjoys completing chores that once felt overwhelming to a small boy or girl. Sometimes, it is the steps forward in life taken by the normal life part that most alarm the trauma-related parts and even trigger their conflicts and crises. “Being seen” positively (e.g., being given a compliment, praised for something, or evoking attention for one’s accomplishments), successful performance, and achievement awards can all evoke the fear of visibility in the freeze part and the expectation of being used or abused in the fight part. We often forget that some kind of special attention or “grooming” often precedes sexual or even physical abuse, making traumatized clients hypervigilently sensitive to being treated kindly as well as to being ill-treated.

Janina Fisher, Healing the Fragmented Selves of Trauma Survivors

as always it is incredible to me that “bpd” is still so widely perceived as “disorder that makes people Mean” and not. a pathologized expression of what is described above

[thewayshedreamed]

Under the Weather

Nessian AU

I really liked this prompt, so thank you to whomever submitted it! Hope y’all enjoy a little soft Nessian this afternoon 💕

Nessian prompt: Nesta is sick and Cassian takes care of her and then Nesta is surprised and Cassian realizes that Nesta hasn’t had ppl take care of her since her mom died ♥️♥️♥️

acotar masterlist

——————————————————————————

Nesta was so sick and tired of being sick and tired. She had made it through the acceptance phase, which was impressive considering it was often the hardest for her. Today made day three, and she was officially in the resentment phase of her illness. She was taking a mental inventory of all the others who had attended the small gathering of friends from her senior thesis class, noting how most of them remained well despite their less than stellar hand hygiene that night. She, on the other hand, was a meticulous hand washer. By her very nature, she wasn’t the type to remain in super close proximity with others’ needlessly, either. How she was the one who fell sick (thanks to Claire) was beyond her. 

So, here she was, a senior at Prythian University and mere months from graduation, sick as a dog and banned from the research lab until she went 48 hours without fever. She tried not to think about that fact too often as to spare herself the mild panic it occasioned. She repeated her current mantra for the umpteenth time that day.

You have plenty of time. You have plenty of time. You have plenty of time. 

The only way she found comfort from the chills and fever-induced cold was on the couch, surrounded by cushions, and wrapped as tightly as possible in her mother’s quilt. At this point she thought herself to be a glorified burrito, but unfortunately, she was far more infectious.

She was finally starting to doze as she heard a polite, yet firm, rapping on her apartment door. Her eyes flew open as she scanned her brain frantically for several things: the day of the week, the time of day, and who, based on that information, could possibly be here to disrupt her rest.

Just before she decided to close her eyes again and ignore them, she heard a deep, friendly voice through the door. They weren’t speaking to her directly, but the voice was no less familiar.

“Hey, man. Yeah, doing good. You too!”

Even though she didn’t hear the other party’s end of the conversation, she knew Cassian was engaging in pleasant small talk with one of her neighbors. It could have been any one of them; he seemed to have more rapport with most of them than she managed after years of renting her place. He ran into any one of them at random on Wednesday afternoons when he met Nesta to work on their thesis together.

She launched herself from the couch, wincing at the aches that wracked through her body in the process. Dehydration had her vision blurring; dark spots working their way into her visual field. She steadied herself on the arm of the couch, cursing herself for forgetting to cancel this week’s thesis session with him.

He knocked again, this time a little louder. She glared at the door as if he could see her, hobbling toward him with her arms wrapped tightly around her body as she moved. She cracked the door open enough to peak out at him, and she felt a sudden rush of guilt at wasting his time. He was standing there with a small smile on his face, thumbs hooked through the bottom of his backpack straps.

“Hi,” she croaked.

His smile faltered immediately, his face morphing into an expression of genuine concern.

“Nesta? Are you okay?” He pressed gently on the door to get a better look at her, but he made no attempt to cross the threshold without her invitation.

“So sick. Got it from Claire. I forgot to tell you.” Her voice was raspy from disuse, and she only had the energy for short statements or sentence fragments.

He didn’t look the least bIt offended at her forgetfulness as he scanned her for signs of the severity of her symptoms.

“Don’t mention it. I’m fine. Who’s here looking after you? Ask them if they need me to run and pick up anything.”

The widespread aching applied to her facial features as well, as proven by the sensations she felt as her face slid into a look of confusion.

“It’s just me, Cassian. You know I live alone.”

He scratched the back of his neck, showing his discomfort.

“Yeah, I know. I just figured...” he trailed off, a new thought flashing across his handsome face. “Can I come in? I’ll get you settled before I head home. It’s the least I could do since I’m already here.”

Nesta didn’t have it in her to respond vocally. She simply walked away, door ajar, and made her way back to her couch. Had she been feeling even a fraction better, she may have refused him, but she knew Cassian well enough to know his stubbornness rivaled her own.

She flopped down into the cushions, pulling her pillow close to her chest. She reached blindly down her body in search of her quilt as shivers ran through her, letting out a small whimper when she couldn’t reach them. She grimaced at such an outward expression of vulnerability in front of another person.

A quiet chuckle sounded from above her as she felt her quilt being pulled over her legs and body.

“Oh, she’s pitiful, I see.” Mirth danced through each and every word.

She opened one eye, glaring at him through the side of it. He laughed openly at that as he lifted her feet to tuck the quilt beneath him. Only her mother had ever done that for her before today. She felt a pang of longing rush through her chest, but she took a deep breath and pushed it away.

“I’m going to do a quick inventory of supplies. Where’s your medicine cabinet?”

Her eyes were already squeezed shut again, sleep sinking its claws into her consciousness.

“Bathroom,” she muttered into her pillow, before sleep took her once more.

——————————————————————————

She awoke to the jingling of keys in her lock, followed by heavy footsteps and the unmistakable crinkling of plastic bags. Her body tensed, forgetting for a few seconds who was entering her apartment. A deep voice was muttering under its breath, cursing the loudness of the bags as he deposited things on the coffee table.

Lifting her head from her pillow, she glanced over to see Cassian’s massive form hunched over the coffee table as he attempted to quietly unload his haul. He noticed her attention within seconds and greeted her with a broad, friendly smile. Somehow, Nesta didn’t think it was the fever warming her cheeks this time.

“Hey sweetheart,” he whispered, totally unaffected by the glare she shot at him for the nickname. He raised his voice slightly, comparable to a murmur, and she felt herself flush all over again as he kneeled next to her. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took your house key off the hook when I went out. I didn’t want to leave it unlocked while I was at the pharmacy, and I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”

She nodded, letting him know she couldn’t give a shit less in her current state. He continued.

“You had some ibuprofen in your cabinet, but that’s about it. I got you some cold & flu meds to help with your other symptoms. It’s acetaminophen-based, so the pharmacist said you can alternate ibuprofen with it to help out with the aches and stuff if you need to.” His eyes scanned her face, making sure he had her attention. She witnessed a faint blush across his tan cheeks, her heart warming at the care he’d taken in selecting medicine for her.

“I also picked up some tissues and cough drops. Oh, and some menthol rub in case you get congested while you sleep. Have you been drinking much water?”

It took her several seconds to realize he was asking a question and that her participation was necessary. All she could offer him was a pathetic shake of her head.

“I figured as much. I got some of this hydration drink to help you rehydrate. I know it’s technically for kids, but I made do with the options I had,” he explained.

“Cassian. You didn’t have to do that,” she started. She watched as something similar to hurt flashed across his features, and she realized her tone hadn’t expressed a shred of gratitude to her lab partner. He was going far beyond the call of duty as her thesis co-investigator, and she didn’t want him to think she wasn’t appreciative.

“That came out wrong. Sorry, I’m all fuzzy. Thank you. You’re a lifesaver,” she supplied.

A small smile graced his face again. “It’s not a problem, Nes. Really,” he replied, as he rested his large hand on her upper arm. His eyes widened suddenly, locking onto her own in alarm.

“You’re burning up,” he stated as he pulled the blanket away from her.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, feeling assaulted by the chill that gripped her.

“Your fever feels higher than I thought.” He rested the back of his hand on her forehead. Unsatisfied, he brushed the baby hair away from her face, leaned forward, and pressed his plush lips to the spot his hand had just vacated.

She flinched, not out of offense, but because it was something her mother used to do anytime her, Elain, or Feyre was sick. She claimed it was easiest to tell if the girls were running a fever that way, the lips being far more sensitive than her hands. Nesta wasn’t aware that others grew up doing the same.

Realizing what he’d done and the flinch that immediately followed, Cassian bolted upright with a guilty expression.

“I’m sorry,” he lamented, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s just my mom... she used to check my fever like that when I was little. I wasn’t thinking.” He started to move away from her, but her small hand gripped his forearm. His hazel eyes locked on hers, and she watched as he noticed the tears streaming down her face.

“Nes,” he whispered, his brows pulled together in worry.

“No. It’s okay,” she assured him. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable. It’s just that no one’s done that since... since my mom passed away. Any of this, really.” She gestured to the medicines and other items on her table. “I usually just fend for myself. I think I got a little overwhelmed is all. It’s actually really, really nice to be cared for. Thank you.”

She originally thought her small whimper was as much vulnerability as she was willing to show today. She’d been very wrong, apparently. She blamed it on her fever.

The tension in his shoulders practically melted away from him, his face relaxing back into the friend she knew. “I’m glad you think so,” he said, as he stood to go find her thermometer. He returned with it in hand, looking at her with raised brows as if to say “open.”

She obliged, her eyes crossing as she attempted to read the digital number on the tiny screen. He huffed a laugh at her expense, but he was interrupted by the loud beeping of the thermometer.

“102 degrees. Sorry, Nes, but the blanket has to come off for a little bit. You’re basically cooking in there.”

He pushed a glass of bland electrolytes into her hand, urging her to drink. She took a few small sips and set it softly on the coffee table. She flopped back onto her pillow, pulling her arms tightly around the quilt and hoping to absorb any remaining warmth from it that she could.

Cassian pulled the blanket away from her body but chose wisely not to fight her grip from around it.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” he began, as he eased himself to a sitting position on the carpet. “You get some more rest while those meds kick in, and we’ll reassess the fever when you wake up. If it breaks, I’ll give all quilt privileges back.”

He leaned back on the couch cushion near her body, his shoulder blades almost grazing her own as she snuggled into her pillow. She was facing away from him and toward the back of the couch to shield her face from any and all light.

“How am I supposed to get rest when I’m freezing?” she whined pitifully. She couldn’t bring herself to care that she sounded much like a petulant toddler.

At her words, he leaned farther back into the cushion so that their shoulder blades were flush. She felt his laugh rumble through him as a result of their proximity, but more importantly, she felt his body heat seeping into her.

“Does this help at all?” he asked.

“Mhm,” she mumbled, “but you can’t just sit there forever.”

“I can do what I want, Archeron,” he teased. “Plus, I’m here to work on thesis. I’ve been working on a formula that will populate all of our data entry into their respective graphs without us having to do it manually. I was going to blow your mind with it today, but I’ll settle for fine tuning until you’re coherent next week.” She could hear the smile in his voice and imagined his laptop perched on his long, jean-clad legs as he worked.

Contentment settled through her bones, and she slipped into oblivion once again.

——————————————————————————

Nesta rejoined the land of the living several hours later, she assumed, feeling almost entirely human again. She was still clutching the blanket, thanking her lucky stars for the deep breaths she was able to take in the absence of congestion. Even more noteworthy was the refreshing scent that surrounded her— something like smoky sandalwood and fresh air.

She eased her eyes open, feeling completely mortified at the shift in her position. At some point during her nap, she had rolled toward Cassian and was now wrapped around his shoulders. Her knees were tucked close to his right arm, her torso against his broad back, and most embarrassingly, her face was tucked tightly into the side of his left arm.

She didn’t dare move, hoping she could pretend to be asleep long enough to shift away from him. Delayed by her foggy state, she became aware of a comforting weight resting against her waist. Her eyes moved over his shoulder, glancing down her body. They fell on Cassian’s dozing face, head rested back and angled toward her, as if he’d fallen asleep while checking on her.

Nesta was incredibly aware of their closeness, especially upon realizing his face was less than a foot away from her own. She studied his face, softened by sleep, and let a small grin spread across her face. Cassian had cared for her all afternoon, working on their joint project, and deserved every ounce of sleep he was capturing at the moment. At least, that’s how she justified staying tucked close, afraid to disturb him.

To her horror, his eyes fluttered open, catching her in the act of admiration. Rather than looking off-put or creeped out, he offered her a small smile in return and angled his head even more toward her.

“Feel better?” he asked, his voice rough from sleep.

“Like a new person, actually.”

He learned forward, repeating his action from earlier in the afternoon. Warmth coursed through her at the feeling of his lips against her temple, noting that they lingered just a bit longer than necessary before he lifted his head.

“I think your fever broke, Nes,” he supplied, twisting his body to rest his arm across her waist as he spoke.

“Good news all around, I guess,” she murmured, her smile still in its rightful place.

He cleared his throat, looking almost sheepish now. It was the most adorable thing Nesta had ever seen.

“I got you some soup earlier. I could heat that up if you want—“ He made to stand as he spoke, but she interrupted by grabbing his forearm.

“Wait. Stay?” She was just as surprised as he was when the words left her. “I don’t think I’m hungry yet.”

His face softened, eyes scanning her for any apprehension at all. Finding none, he smiled down at her in response.

“Of course.”

Before he could settle back onto the carpet fully, she tugged his forearm in a silent request to join her on the couch. He eased behind her, wrapping his arm tightly around her waist to tug her closer to his body. She relaxed back into him as he nuzzled his nose into her messy braid, just behind her ear.

She couldn’t remember a time where she’d been so comfortable, and she felt another rush of gratitude at being cared for in a way she hadn’t been since her mother died. The feeling wasn’t something she could properly articulate, but it meant the world to her. It almost felt like... love.

Cassian huffed a laugh into her hair, mirth returning to his tone. “I was wondering if I’d get a turn to be big spoon,” he teased. She should have known he wasn’t going to let her pretend she hadn’t wrapped herself around him only a handful of minutes ago.

She chuckled in return, finding that she wasn’t embarrassed by his teasing as she’d originally thought possible.

“I guess it’s only fair,” she joked, as she settled into him just a little more.

He gripped her a fraction tighter, his nose brushing against the sensitive skin behind her ear. She groaned as his arm left her waist, but she stopped it quickly when she realized what he was doing. He was covering her up again, true to his word, and tucking her in tightly. His arm assumed its original position, and a contented sigh left her of its own accord.

“Thank you, again, Cassian. For everything,” she whispered.

His only response was a tight squeeze around her middle before they both eased back into a deep, peaceful sleep.

——————————————————————————

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Tags (masterlist + Nessian):

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[candycityy]

waltz

Synopsis: He'd chase her to hell itself, and beyond, if he had to. Greek mythology/PJO-inspired reincarnation AU.

[Click here to read on AO3 instead.]

The first time, Levi dies quietly, in his sleep.

He does not go out in fire and fury; it is a peaceful death, one he goes into with grey in his temples and sickness in his blood, unbecoming of humanity's strongest soldier. But Levi has never been a hero. Never wanted to.

He wakes to the gentle, rocking motion of a sailboat. It's dark, cavernous, but there is no ceiling as far as he can see, only steep walls of grey rock that stretch into the sky, lined with candle sconces that curve upwards and throw eerie blue light onto the dew-slicked surfaces.

He moves to sit up. His head spins, his consciousness threadbare and fragmented. When he glances over the edge of the boat, he sees a strange reflection in the black water.

It's him, but...different. Paler, younger, gaunter. The ghostly light casts shadows that pool in the hollows of his cheekbones and underneath his eyes, making him look almost skeletal.

Appropriate, he supposes, considering he's dead.

The figure that sits silently at the other end of the boat smiles, a flash of white, pointed teeth in a silhouetted face. "Levi Ackerman," it pronounces. Its voice is soft but grating, like its vocal cords are made of rusted iron instead of soft flesh. "I finally meet you. It's an honour."

"More than I can say for you." His voice is unnaturally loud, bouncing off the rock and echoing into the silence. "Am I supposed to know who the fuck you are?"

"I am Charon." It inclines its head, and Levi catches a flash of its eyes; they're the same strange blue-grey as the flames that light the cave. "You don't know me, but I know you. Oh, if I could count all the times I've heard that name on the lips of the newly-dead...as if you were a demon, or a god."

When Levi doesn't respond, Charon continues, its conversational tone clashing with the rasp of its voice. "But now that I see you here, as dead as any of your soldiers, I see you are no more than simply human."

The boat bumps roughly against the shore. In the distance, a city emerges, like magic, from the darkness. It glows with a warm light, delicate towers of glass rising up into the sky, which is already lightening into a soft, clear blue. As Levi watches, the grey rock of the shore metamorphoses into an endless, rolling green field, blades of grass shifting and swaying in a nonexistent breeze.  

"Your fare?" Charon extends a bloodless, expectant hand. Levi stares back uncertainly.

"What?"

"There is always a price to pay, to cross over into death." Charon's withered lips curve into a smirk. "Blood, or wealth, or sorrow...and in your case, that." It nods at his clenched fist.

He uncurls his fingers, revealing a tattered soldier's patch, torn from their uniform, embroidered with the emblem of blue and white wings he thought he'd never see again. It sits among a sea of red, crescent-shaped imprints, carved into pale flesh.

Before Levi can react, the ferryman reaches over and plucks it from his open palm. In its skeletal grasp, the patch shrinks and changes, turning into a single heavy, gold coin.

Charon stands up, its spine curving into a low, mocking bow.

"Welcome to Elysium, Levi Ackerman. I wish you a pleasant death."

==

Levi doesn't remember much about his death.

He'd died in bed, he thinks—he remembers the sharp, acrid scent of medicine and disinfectant, the way the illness crept into his bloodstream, making his bones brittle and his lungs constrict. But already, his time on earth is becoming a distant memory, colours and textures and emotions once cast in sharp detail softening into a sighing, distant grey.

Such is the spell of Elysium, he hazily guesses. The pain of life has no place in paradise, and his life has been so little apart from pain. Some memories remain, though, either unable or unwilling to be pried from his mind—a strange, lilting lullaby in a language he doesn't recognise. The crisp aroma of fresh tea leaves. Hair the colour of a sunset, a shifting mass of reds and golds. A name.

He struggles to remember, and fails.

The ground is soft, unresisting, under the crunch of his boots, and Levi isn't sure if it's been minutes or years when he finally steps onto dry sand. When he looks up, he's engulfed by the radiance of the golden city—Elysium.

"Welcome, hero." The woman that appears before him smiles. She is undeniably beautiful, and yet not quite right; there is something unnatural, inhuman, to the curve of her mouth and the brightness in her cerulean gaze. Her white dress drapes her every curve and flows to the ground, gossamer-like and almost liquid. A closer look reveals that it is constructed entirely of tiny white flower petals, stitched together with a silky, translucent thread—spiderwebs, he realises with an inward shudder.

"I am Persephone, queen of the Underworld, goddess of spring." She lifts a hand, and a sighing, heady breeze envelopes her, making her hair and dress ripple. "Levi Ackerman—I must admit, I expected you much sooner."

"Sorry to disappoint," he says flatly. "Although, you can't really blame me for trying my damned best to avoid, you know. Dying."

"Well, no matter." She lifts an elegant shoulder, in a guise of a shrug. "You're here now. I'm delighted to welcome you into my realm."

She spreads her arms in a dramatic gesture, and the otherworldly light coming off her intensifies to an almost blinding degree. He winces wordlessly. "Could you turn that goddess thing off?"

"Hmm." Persephone casts him a thoughtful look, and then smiles, catlike. "Maybe you'd prefer this, instead, then?"

As he watches, her statuesque form shrinks until the top of her head reaches just below his eye-level. Her elaborate crown of braids, as pale gold as a wheatfield, softens and falls to her collarbone, and darkens into a honeyed copper. Her features blur and bubble over, revealing amber eyes and a too-familiar smile.

The elusive name—he forgot, how could he forget?—is torn from his throat, a ragged whisper. "Petra."

The word is a hook, tugging to the surface a lifetime of memories, and all at once, he remembers.

The first time he'd seen her, she'd been participating in a titan drill. She'd swept through the air like quicksilver, tumbling past her comrades in a graceful choreography of movement, silvered blades like deadly extensions of her slender arms. But far more arresting was the look in her eyes: her amber irises set ablaze from within, bright with ferocity and triumph.

She'd been the first person in the Survey Corps who'd ever been kind to him; who'd looked him straight in the eye and spoke honestly, defiantly. Levi doesn't know exactly when, but she'd cut a hole into his chest with that warm, reticent smile. And for the first time since he was nine years old, he'd allowed himself to be weak.

An initially uneasy truce had grown into a comfortable companionship, and after months of push-and-pull, polite banter turned into shared moments in the corridors, and evening tea sessions turned into late nights spent in his office, fingers intertwined underneath the table.

And he remembers, with startling clarity, the day he'd been walking in a Sina marketplace and found that silver ring, set with a stone the exact colour of her eyes. He remembers how it'd seemed to burn a hole in his pocket after he bought it, day after day, week after week. Impatient. Demanding.  

It'd burned all the more when he'd found her that day, sprawled against the tree, her neck thrown back at a grotesque angle, empty eyes trained at the sky.

"So you do prefer this." The goddess who is not Petra smiles, cold and otherworldly, and the expression looks desperately wrong on her face. "How terribly unsurprising. Humans are all the same, in every age and time...I suppose even being humanity's strongest wouldn't change a thing."

"Is she here?" is all he manages to say. Persephone waves a slender white hand, carelessly.

"Perhaps, perhaps not," she drawls. "But we are not here to talk about your long-lost love, Levi Ackerman. We are here to talk about you, and that all the wildest desires that your fragile little soul can muster." Her lip curls. "You are in Elysium. What is your heart's desire, hero? What do you ask of paradise?"

"Isn't that your job, to figure that out?" he shoots back. She sighs.

"Well, yes, I suppose. I'd hoped you would be different, but you seem just as human as the rest." She pronounces the word in a manner similar to the ferryman, with a kind of amused scorn. "For most humans, it's either love and power—only two things satiate them."

Her ageless green eyes seem to pierce him like knives. "Which do you want, Levi Ackerman? What drives you?"

Kenny once said, everybody needs to be a slave to something. A god, a drug, something to be drunk on, to keep the air circulating through their lungs and to force them to wake up day after hellish day.

Levi doesn't agree. He'd lived years and years without anything, after all; a shell of a man driven by pure survival instinct, by the sheer virtue of a heart that refused to stop beating, all the way until it did.

But Petra had been different. She'd believed in the old stories, the ones in the countryside hymns she used to sing. Of a purpose, a meaning, something greater. Sometimes she'd close her eyes, her lips moving in a soundless prayer, and he'd close his eyes as well and wish with all his heart to believe, too.

He looks straight at the goddess. "Nothing," he replies, truthfully.

Persephone laughs, a too-perfect, bell-like sound, that is so utterly unlike Petra's that it sounds nearly obscene coming from her lips. "Oh, you are just delightful, hero. You're telling the truth, aren't you? That's adorable. And yet—this girl," she gestures down at herself, "I saw her at the top of your mind. Your biggest regret, isn't she, Levi Ackerman?"

He grits his teeth. "So what if she is?"

"She is not here, hero." Persephone smiles, her pale irises alight with an icy glee, and for a second, a wave of cold dread crashes over him—could she have ended up anywhere else? No, she was a soldier, brave to the end. She couldn't have.

"Not anymore. You're too late." An exhale of relief—she had made it here, after all. "Petra has chosen a different path, to be reborn again, and to try for the Isles of the Blessed."

"The what now?"

"It is a paradise above all," she explains airily. "To reach it, you must live and die thrice, and each time reach such heights of heroism or courage that so suffice to earn you entry into Elysium."

Levi exhales, a low hiss escaping his teeth. Of course she would have—she was always so restless, so fierce, a caged bird striving constantly for the sky. She could never stay in one place, never settle down into comfort and domesticity. Elysium would never have been enough for the girl with fire in her eyes and an unquenchable thirst for more.

"What will you do?" She surveys him with her cool, immortal gaze. It rankles him.

"I'm going, too." He straightens, fixes her with a a cold glare. Persephone cants her head to the side, her expression shifting to something akin to amusement.

"Then, will you give up Elysium to follow this girl?" She waves a hand, and the city's glow reaches almost blinding heights, forcing him to turn his gaze away.

"How much does she mean to you, hero? In this city wait so many who you know and love, who have yearned to see you. Your men, who gave up their lives for you. Your friends, who rode with you to their deaths. Your mother, your own flesh and blood.

"Petra Ral has the spirit of a warrior," she adds, almost conversationally. "Do you, Levi Ackerman? You, with your heart that has ever only wanted peace and comfort?” Her lips twist, mocking. “Or is your heroism a mere product of your circumstances? Do not expect to be blessed with Ackerman blood again, this time. And if you fail—you will never see any of your loved ones again."

Some paradise.

"Do I have to make this decision now? Don't suppose I could stop to sightsee first?" His words are gelid but his tone is raw—not that he'd fool the goddess either way, he supposes.

"Of course not. That wouldn't be any fun," she goes, with that chilling bell-like laugh that makes his hair stand on end. He hesitates.

He thinks of Isabel, that trusting, childlike gleam in her eyes. Furlan, arms folded, leaning against the doorframe with that knowing smirk ghosting over his lips. His mother, singing him lullabies in the dark of the brothel. Erwin, who he'd told, in no uncertain terms, to give up his dreams and die.

And Levi knows it isn't there—he'd slid it onto the finger of her corpse, all those years ago, and it'd be little more than tarnished metal against bleached white bone by now—but he feels the phantom heat of the ring in his pocket, scorching hot. No regrets.

He's never had a single regret, except for her.

Levi lifts his head, and meets the goddess's gaze, unfaltering. Decisive. "I'm going."

"If you wish. But know this, hero." Her voice seems to thunder through the city. "If you succeed, upon your third death you may enter the Isles and live a life of eternal bliss.

"But, if you fail to reach Elysium even a single time." Persephone's eyes gleam with a predatory eagerness, "you are doomed to spend eternity in whatever realm you are sentenced to. The light of paradise will be barred to you...forever."

Talk about dramatic.

"Get on with it, then," he almost spits. It figures, it really does, that even in death, he wouldn't get a second of fucking peace.

Persephone casts him a quelling look. He ignores it. With a roll of her eyes, she waves a hand, and immediately, the glow of the city begins to crumble away, even the sand beneath his feet, and he feels himself fall. An incredible wind rises, and he finds himself being shoved backwards, the fields and the cavern roaring in his ears.

"As a final gift to you, hero..." The goddess's teeth flash tauntingly in the fading light, like pearls set against ebony. "I grant you memory."

The last thing he sees is the glint of cruel delight in her eyes.

[danteinthedevildom]

yes! i hate it when people say belphie doesnt care for mc, this is a personal opinion but i feel like even if we werent related to lilith (and somehow we came to life again) he would be close to us, and try. seeing how the people he cares about the most react to someone he thought was just a human dying would probably push him to get to know MC. i know some people also think and argue that beel sees MC as a replacement for lilith too; but i know 100% he doesnt, he hasnt been able to verbally talk about his sisters passing to anyone, i mean almost right after she died belphie was taken away and beel assumed he was in the human world on "buisness", so for beel to openly talk about lilith with us as much as he does it feels special. i know he sees mc as their own person because of how much hes able to share with us, beel talking with mc about his feelings means hes able to finally move on, not to say that he'll forget about her, but he knows hes ready to finally stop beating himself up for it yk? i feel like people were also conflicted about seeing belphie as someone who cares for mc, especially the 180 he does when he finds out we're liliths relative; but belphie has had so much trauma, seeing the person he loved the most die, being separated from his brothers for years and years, etc. he was locked away with his mental illness for a long time, the anger bottled up and he took it out on mc, of course it explains it but it doesnt excuse it, you can still continue to hate belphie idc but i feel like he loves mc more than the other brothers do because of it, its the same thing with beel, mc allowed both of them to cope and talk to them about their sisters passing, yk?

Honestly the whole of Chapter 16 and associated fallout is p. controversial simply bc of it being us that it happens to; the game's written for us to imprint on the MC, and because of that, some scenes - like Belphie's betrayal and his glee at having killed MC - becomes very, very personal. It's very easy after that to become biased against a character, because there's genuine emotional scarring that we're left with as players that the game then just... fails to acknowledge to its fullest. (Which is why we get so many "MC might have forgiven Belphie but I haven't" fics on AO3.)

But to say that Belphie doesn't care for MC is just. Wrong. And I can def. get your annoyance on that!

He didn't care for MC to begin with, yes; MC was a random human he knew nothing about, a ticket to freedom and the first step into enacting revenge for something he's carried with him for millenia. They didn't matter to him outside of that because he never got to see them - or spend actual time with them - outside of the short visits they could afford to update him on their pact progress. That's undeniable.

But to say that he still doesn't ignores the entire point of the Lilith revelation. Being related to her gives Belphie something to connect with MC over. It gives him a reason to overcome his hatred of humanity and to bond with MC in general - which is selfish, yes, and kind of shitty, true, but so much of Belphie's (admittedly misplaced) anger comes from being a survivor of an incredibly one-sided war and (arguably, in his mind) the reason Lilith died to begin with. Because Beel saved him instead of her.

It's not like any of them were ever given a good way to cope with the trauma of the Fall, or Lilith's death. It's not like any of them even knew her actual fate until Chapter 16. Belphie's way of coping was to become apathetic, and to try and place the blame onto something he could take action against.

To him, that meant humanity. Because she fell in love with a human. Because they'd already fought God and lost, so he wasn't going to get closure there - but maybe ending the cause for her death would help the hurt.

He hated humans because of Lilith. In the realm of good story-telling, the best way to end that hatred is likewise through Lilith. Stories are best when they have that cyclical nature to them - especially since it can then transition into Belphie overcoming his trauma (and Lilith's death) through humanity.

So, yeah; it's a selfish reason to get close to someone, to take back the really horrific thing you were going to do, but all of Belphie's anger stemmed from the Fall and what he perceived as her death. Finding out that she didn't actually die? That she became human - became the very thing he wanted to destroy - and lived out a long life? That she had children, and that her family line is still alive in MC? Of course that's going to stop him dead in his tracks. And of course he's going to want to get close to MC, the last remaining fragment of the sister he's dedicated his entire life post-Fall mourning.

Belphie's an incredibly apathetic character by nature. He doesn't care about a lot of things, and everything he cares about is overshadowed by how much he loves Lilith. He needs that connection to get him out of his natural apathy. He cares about Lilith above all else; he'll care about MC at the drop of a dime if they're anything to do with her.

But that's not a bad thing. It means there's an opportunity for him to genuinely get to know who MC is, in a positive light.

It's an opportunity for him to try and make a connection with MC that simply wouldn't have existed otherwise, and through them, to finally, finally put his memory of Lilith to rest. And he does! He gets to know MC, gets to know why Beel adores them so much - outside of just being "Lilith's descendant" - and ends up loving them for who they are.

He puts his hatred of humanity and his single-minded attachment to Lilith behind him, and he still cares for MC. He wouldn't do this if he'd really not formed some sort of bond with them before that point. If he only cared for them because they're a fragment of Lilith, then they'd mean nothing to him once Lilith wasn't such a fervent part of his daily life.

I think the game's just... really bad at showing that, however. You put it really well when you called it a 180, because in all honesty? The game glosses over it much too quickly, and doesn't do a totally good job explaining the logic behind why he'd change his mind so fast.

There's not enough time spent on allowing MC - and the player - to overcome the emotional wreckage of Chapter 16 + fallout. We're not given the chance to process it before Belphie has, to build up a natural relationship with him that transitions slowly from him seeing MC as a Lilith-connection to him seeing them as their own, defined person. It's way too easy to still be emotionally hung up on it while he seems perfectly fine and dandy.

On your bit abt him overcoming it even without the connection to Lilith - I agree tbh! There is a lot Belphie would do for Beel, and I genuinely think seeing how against him Beel is after killing MC, even if they're brought back to life, would ruin him. Belphie being locked up, trying to convince Beel that he was doing the right thing, only for Beel to disagree with him and show genuine anger/disgust, would knock the world from under his feet. If he thought trying to hurt MC would make him lose Beel too - if Beel pleaded with him to just play nice, because he can't choose between them both, not again - he'd likely (albeit begrudgingly) postpone his intended revenge plot.

And he'd try to stay bitter, and for a long time he likely would - but then he'd see how happy Beel is with MC around, and how much it means to Beel that they seem to get along, and how much Beel opens up to them about Lilith, and he'd start to... reconsider. Just a little. Just a bit. Moment by moment, day by day, until he realises that MC isn't a replacement for Lilith, but that they bring something to the table that the brothers have been missing for a long, long time.

Which would afford Belphie the moment of catharsis; where he finally, on a quiet night, opens up about the Fall. How he felt, how angry he is, how helpless. How much he misses her, how the pain and hurt consumes his every thought. And then the player would get the chance to overcome the emotional strain with Belphie, showing him that his anger shouldn't be aimed at humanity when his Father is the one at fault, and Belphie, very quietly, admitting that they're right.

It could work, and work well. It's just a point of finding - and hitting - the right story beats.

On the topic of Beel - honestly, the concept that he sees MC as a replacement for Lilith is just... I personally couldn't imagine it. I can see how someone else could - being her descendant, the attic sandwich club, their little escapade together once Belphie's back in with the family - but that includes seriously misreading/ignoring a lot of Beel's character arc/development.

Beel talks to MC about Lilith and Belphie way before he knows anything about their relation to her. He sees a lot of her in them, yes - he mentions this a few times, I think, in relation to little things they do - but he also sees a lot of what he wants to be in them - which is best seen in their ability to defend both himself and Luke, which be very subtly compares to his own inability to save both Lilith and Belphie.

To Beel, MC stands as something a little idealised. MC is everything good he saw in Lilith (as well as some of the things he loves most about Belphie), and everything he wishes he could have been. MC is a reason to be better, stronger, more capable - both so he can protect them the way they protect others, and so he can feel as if he's on their level.

But that doesn't mean he sees them as a replacement to the people he's lost. It's arguable that he's projecting, sure, I'll admit that; he sees things he misses most of the people he's lost in MC, and I'm sure forming a bond with them helped him cope while he was without Belphie. But MC is still always MC to him. They're always still their own person, and someone he cares for because of that fact.

Beel cares too much about his family to replace them with someone else. Lilith meant too much to him as a person for him to look at MC and actually see Lilith. He misses her, not the idea of her. He feels guilt that he couldn't save her. His trauma revolves almost entirely around the failure of (self imposed) duty and the subsequent loss of life. His Survivor's Guilt is the main reason Beel can't put her memory to rest - because he's constantly haunted by the thought that he could have saved her.

His trauma, the way it is, does not create a setting where he would believably see MC as a replacement for Lilith. He's all too aware that she's gone. He's all too aware that he lost something he can never get back that day. Her memory is special to him, and being unable to talk about her hurts him because that's a bit like killing her off for good.

MC can't replace Lilith, even being Lilith's descendant, and I genuinely can't believe that Beel would even want them to. He's so defensive over Belphie and Lilith, even just over the memory of them; to suggest that MC could replace one of them I feel would anger him more than anything. Not only because it's an insult to Lilith, but because it's an insult to the person MC is. To the person Beel admires.

With just how much he cares about Lilith, I think Beel's enhanced attachment to MC is more the steadfast defence of her lineage to make up for what he couldn't do for her. He still sees MC as their own person, it's just that now... now he has a chance to make up for what he failed at before. And bit by bit, he can learn to forgive himself. Can learn to stop blaming himself for something that was never his fault to begin with.

Belphie and Beel have a special relationship with MC because MC is a direct link to Lilith that helps them overcome their individual Lilith-related traumas. They're naturally going to be closer to MC due to this, yeah, but that's... not the only reason they're close to MC. To try and push down everything they feel and do with MC to "it's only because MC is Lilith's descendant" is to. Well. A) make an incredibly unsatisfying story and character development, but also B) completely ignore that MC helps them bury the memory Lilith. MC helps them move on. Their care and love for MC is what helps them finally let go - to stop living in the past, in hurt, and to finally take a step forward to a future without the weight of Lilith's death constantly burdening them.

Like. If Solmare had just spend a little more time on these two, that might be clearer. Because it's definitely there! And it's why I love Belphie and Beel so, so much. But it's also fully understandable why some players still really dislike Belphie, or why they're not convinced that Belphie/Beel see MC as anything outside of Lilith, bc the game does kind of fail on that a little by rushing a bit too much. Just. Aagh!! You know?

I could honestly go on abt them for hours. So I should prolly stop here before I go on too long adfgh.