#but i feel positive most snake bite deaths are due to people not seeing a snake or not taking heed of its warnings

[yakiattaki]

i love snakes so so so much and most of them are just little guys!! they're just little dudes!!! they dont want to hurt you but they will if they feel threatened!!!

even venomous snakes don't particularly want to fight you!!! yes they have the advantage of venom which is highly toxic and can kill quick, but they'd rather use that on their prey than use it defensively!

if you see a snake, its best to leave it alone. it wont actively seek you out and hurt you. if you think its in danger maybe just cautiously approach and try to get it to move and stuff like that but just. respect them and know that they dont want to hurt you.

so many people are unjustly afraid of snakes or think they're evil or whatever and it just breaks my heart. my brother in law literally said if he found a snake in his backyard he'd chop its head off and im just sat here like ??????????? why???? its just minding its own business???

i think more people should have experiences with reptiles when they're young. my uncle had uh, these big big pythons when i was a kid and i loved going over to his house to hold them and see them, and i think that really changed the way i look at snakes for the better because i know they're just animals trying to survive and, like most animals, find humans fucking terrifying because we're big and loud.

[robininthelabyrinth]

How about a canon divergence where wen qing doesn't bump into wwx but instead bumps into nhs and nmj. Would it be a tragedy or a fixit? Would nhs temper nmj's hatred for wens? Would nmj act honorably at seeing the old men and women and children doing hard labor or would he only see the clan he hates?

1

It was Nie Huaisang’s fault, probably. Someone tripped over someone else’s feet, and then he apologized and she apologized and then they both apologized, and then there was the whole “you go first, no you go first” dance and anyway eventually Nie Mingjue stormed over to yell at his younger brother for wasting time. He took one look at the ash-faced girl, caught her by the shoulder and said, “Aren’t you that Wen Qing? I used to see you at discussion conferences – what are you doing here?”

The whites of her eyes showed in her terror, and he scowled fiercely. “I don’t slay unarmed women or children outside of combat,” he said. “The question was literal – what are you doing here? The Jin sect said they resettled the remnants of the sects somewhere they wouldn’t make trouble.”

Wen Qing pressed her lips together, then couldn’t help herself and snarled, “If you call hard labor camps where everyone dies ‘resettled’ – they took away my baby brother! They took me to another city, I didn’t want to leave him, but I didn’t have a choice and when I returned…my brother’s as soft as yours – they’re going to kill him!”

Nie Mingjue’s scowl deepened, and his eyes flickered over to Nie Huaisang, the words ‘hard labor’ clearly ringing through his mind and struggling with his deep and abiding hatred for the Wen sect, the memories of Nie Huaisang being snatched away from him and sent to an indoctrination camp to be used as live bait. The very reminder of it made his face black in anger. 

Nie Huaisang looked between the two of them and covered his face with a fan. “Dage,” he said, and his voice helped break through the haze of anger. “Maybe we should – check?”

It’s not like we trust the Jins, given the way they want to be the next Wens, he meant, and maybe there’s a little bit of Isn’t our sect’s guiding principle to stamp out evil wherever it’s encountered, human or not?

2

“Sect Leader Nie, I demand an explanation!” Jin Guangshan shouted. “You cannot barge into my territory, threaten my sect’s disciples, take away the prisoners won at war –”

“I’m not so blind as to tell the difference between captivity and torture unto death,” Nie Mingjue snarled in return, not even slightly moved. “Not only did I take the prisoners from Qiongqi Path, I demand you turn over every other one you have, no matter where –”

“Those were legitimately captured prisoners of war! We took them instead of spoils –”

“If the allocation of every penny matters so much to you, you may have the spoils seized by my Nie sect in exchange,” Nie Mingjue said, flicking his sleeve disdainfully. It couldn’t be more obvious what his implication was: that the Jin sect, despite all its riches, cared more for money than for honor.

Jin Guangshan’s eyes narrowed. “It’s most unlike you to get up in arms defending Wens, Sect Leader Nie; wasn’t it just yesterday that you called them all Wen-dogs and sought their utter destruction?”

Nie Mingjue sneered at him, but he continued, oily smile spreading on his face like a stain, “It couldn’t be that Sect Leader Nie has changed his implacable mind so quickly – perhaps it is the pressure of war on a man so young…you should take care for your health, make sure you’re not being unduly confused. People in your family die so very young, after all.”

“Enough nonsense,” Nie Mingjue said, eyes very nearly red in anger. “If my mind is so unclear, why did you choose to follow me during battle? When Wen Ruohan threatened, you dithered and delayed, and when there was no other choice but war, my blade was strong enough for you to hide behind, but when we have peace you rush to the front to claim a position that shouldn’t even exist – no one should be Chief Cultivator, Sect Leader Jin, no sect placing themselves and their own interests above another’s! But if the alternative is you, perhaps I should strive for it after all!”

3

“Is your brother actually going to try to be Chief Cultivator?” Wen Ning asked Nie Huaisang shyly; he was the only Wen currently inside the Unclean Realm, on account of needing heal his injuries. The remainder were all living in a small valley not far away where Nie sect cultivators kept a close watch.

Nie Mingjue hated injustice above all else, even Wens, but only by the smallest margin; in their new homes they were given food and water and medicine, but not freedom. Too many cultivators, male or female, had hidden themselves among the helpless to launch sneak attacks and assassinations; even children could carry a knife and swear to avenge their fallen parents.

Those like Wen Qing were watched most of all – she led one of the Supervision Offices that everyone had so hated, and she did nothing to stop them; she was indifferent to evil, and to Nie Mingjue that was very nearly the same as evil. It was only that the war had been officially ended that held back his hand; if they had still been at war, he would have executed her without so much as blinking an eye.

Still, Wen Qing had told Wen Ning that she was pleased with their current situation. A true prisoner of war camp, however strict, meant that they would be kept safe from all those who sought personal revenge, and Wen Ning couldn’t help but agree that the trade was worthwhile. The Jin had all but sold opportunities to those who wanted to get in a kick at their fallen bodies, just to say they’d been involved in the Sunshot Campaign; the Nie sect had those types of people, too, glaring and hateful, but the Sect Leader’s military discipline made them too afraid to do anything more than raise angry voices – and what were angry voices, compared to angry hands?

After all, if they’d come even a few shichen later – if Nie Mingjue hadn’t already known where the Wens were being kept, due to his position as sect leader, and been able to fly there on his sword at full speed – it would have been too late for him. Wen Ning didn’t even recall exactly what had happened, but two of them had been beating him and the chief inspector hadn’t stopped them, only told them to be sure to throw his body over the cliff when they were done with him…

“No, of course not,” Nie Huaisang said, pretending to be busy by his side. He had no skill at medicine, but it was a way to spend his time that his brother approved of and wouldn’t interrupt, so he came as often as he could. “He hates the idea, thinks it’s rotten to the core – like we’re all a bunch of sheep, needing a shepherd. No, he’s just saying it to annoy and distract Jin Guangshan. Besides, imagine if they made the position inheritable; that would make me the next one, and wouldn’t that be terrible for everyone?”

4

“The children young enough not to remember may join the Nie sect as guest disciples, if they wish,” Nie Mingjue said, his tone brooking no argument. “The adults will remain as they are.”

Wen Qing crossed her arms. “There aren’t many cultivators left among us, and it’s fine for all of those - they’d be happy to take up a life farming,” she said. “But those of us who are already on the path of cultivation should not be stymied –”

“You mean your brother, Wen Ning.” Nie Mingjue had some natural sympathy for her position, due to having his own weak-willed younger brother, but not very much. “No. In the end, he’s a Wen; we will not raise snakes to bite us later.”

“What wrong can you put on my brother’s shoulders beyond his surname?” she challenged. “What evil does he have?”

“Indifference to evil –”

“He was hardly indifferent!” she snapped, pushed beyond her limits. “I told him to do nothing, me, and yet he wouldn’t listen, time and time again. He kept Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng hidden after the destruction of the Lotus Pier, smuggled the latter out, even carried him out on his own back, and if that wasn’t enough, he collected what he could of the Jiang masters’ ashes for them – later, when Wei Wuxian asked me for help, he even –!”

She suddenly seemed to realize she’d said too much and shut her mouth.

Nie Mingjue looked at her thoughtfully. “You’ve already said this much,” he said. “There’s no point in stopping now. What did Wei Wuxian ask you to do?”

5

“Shh, don’t tell anyone I’m here,” Nie Huaisang said, gesturing for Wen Ning to join him in the closet where he was hiding.

Wen Ning, still a little uncomfortable in his new Nie robes, confusedly obeyed, even though he was still sweating from saber practice – he’d had to start over, alongside the children, but to his surprise he’d found that the straightforward brutality of the saber suited some secret resentful part hidden inside of him that wanted nothing more than to chop up everything he saw. “W-what’s going on? Why are we h-hiding? We’re in the Unclean Realm. What can harm us here?”

“Feelings,” Nie Huaisang said. “They’re the worst. My poor brother has to sit out there and listen to it directly, too – the burdens of being Sect Leader. I’m glad it’s not me.”

Wen Ning blinked. “Oh,” he said. “Are Wei-gongzi and Jiang-gongzi still fighting?”

“No, they’ve moved on to crying.”

“They were crying while they were fighting.”

“Yes, well, now they’ve moved to the just crying stage. There’s been lots of hugging, too; they stop for half a breath and then set each other off again, it’s awful. Can’t they be all manly and stoic like we Nie?”

Wen Ning gave Nie Huaisang a doubtful look.

“Well, me excluded, of course,” Nie Huaisang said with a laugh and a wave of his hand. “And anyway, even I only like crying when it’s going to get me something. Or out of something!”

Wen Ning suddenly felt as if he understood much more about his new Sect Leader’s endless frustrations with his younger brother. “But why are you hiding?” he asked.  

“I have a reputation of avoiding work to maintain,” Nie Huaisang said, totally puzzlingly, but a few moments later there was a knock at the closet door.

“Huaisang, I know you’re in there. Get out of there and have an emergency,” Sect Leader Nie said. “Anything, as long as it requires my personal attention, and have it happen as soon as their sister, the young madam Jin, arrives – that’ll just set them all off again, especially as she’s pregnant.” A pause. “Do you think I can order Wen Qing to handle this as part of the terms of her parole?”

[omgrachwrites]

Falling Stars (Sequel to Tell A Tale of You and Me) Chapter Two

Pairing: Dean Thomas x Reader

Summary: In the midst of a brewing war you fall for one of your classmates, a boy that you used to know. When you have the chance to fight against evil, you fight for what you believe in.

Chapter Summary: Tensions rise between Umbridge and Harry, forcing Dean and Cass to be civil with one another. Meanwhile, competition arises on the Quidditch pitch.

Warnings: fluff, angst, mentions of death, swearing, sassy Harry

Words: 2645

Disclaimer: I haven’t read The Order of The Phoenix in so long so the timeline might be out of wack!

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this part, please let me know what you think and if you would like to be tagged! I love you all! xxx

previous part   masterlist   prequel   next part

Chapter Two - The Pink Toad

Dean woke up, shivering slightly in the drafty dormitories – with all the magic in Hogwarts he thought someone would have taken the initiative to make the castle warmer. He was in a bad mood already and for a moment he couldn’t think why and then, it hit him like a ton of bricks. The 5th year Gryffindors and Slytherins were going to be having their first lesson with Umbridge in Defence Against the Dark Arts. To hear other people talk about it, it seemed like she didn’t know what she was doing, they said that she should have stayed at the Ministry.

He mulled over his thoughts as he walked over to the window and watched the quiet grounds begin to stir beneath the glow of the rising sun. Dean couldn’t deal with another shit Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor. Dumbledore should have brought Lupin back – even if he was a werewolf – he had been the best Professor they’d ever had.

Though, it wasn’t all that bad, today Quidditch try outs were taking place tonight, he had wanted to try out for the team last year but all of the matches had been cancelled due to the Triwizard Tournament. He was itching to climb onto his broom and zip through the late summer air. Once Seamus was awake – he didn’t say a word to Dean, Seamus was the worst person ever in the morning – they both got dressed and made their way to The Great Hall. Dean’s insides were already aching with hunger.

Dean perked up even more when he smelled all the amazing breakfast food and he sat by Fred and George Weasley, piling toast and bacon onto his plate.

“You trying out for the team then, Thomas?” Fred asked – or it might have been George – the twins both had identical smirks on their faces. The Weasley twins had been on the Quidditch team since Dean’s first year, they were extraordinary beaters.

“Of course,” Dean grinned, feeling excitement course through his body, “tonight’s try outs are going to be a blast!”

“You guys haven’t heard?” Dean looked around at the sound of a voice and his heart dropped when he saw Harry nervously running his fingers through his hair, “the Slytherins must have gotten wind of our try outs tonight because they booked the pitch before Angelina had the chance. Our try outs have been pushed to Saturday,” he scowled.

“What?” the four boys gasped in horror and Dean looked over at the Slytherin table.

Cass was laughing with her friends as she raised a mug to her lips; her eyes flickered over to Dean for a moment before she looked back at her friends. She looked radiant and beautiful, like she didn’t have a care in the world and that pissed Dean off, he turned back to his friends with a frown.

“I bet that Cass had something to do with this, this is so like her,” he moodily stabbed at his food.

Seamus rolled his eyes as he shoved a piece of bacon into his mouth, “mate,” he started with his voice muffled, “you say that you don’t give a shit about her but, Merlin, I think you’re obsessed. Not everything that happens is her fault.”

In the back of Dean’s mind he knew himself that Seamus was right and it had probably had nothing to do with Cass. However, he was still so annoyed with her that he wouldn’t even entertain that idea.

On their way to class, Dean’s eyes impatiently searched through the sea of people in the corridor, “this isn’t a good idea mate,” Seamus scoffed.

“Please, just give us a second, yeah?” he offered his best mate a smile before going back to the task at hand and he spotted Cass as she was about to walk into class.

“Oi, Cass!” he called out to her, making her stop in her track and she gave him a surprised look as he caught up with her, “why would your team book the damn pitch for tonight? We were supposed to have our try outs.”

Cass rolled her eyes and Dean noticed the glimmer of disappointment in them and he almost felt guilty, “do I look like the team captain? Everything that goes wrong in your life isn’t my fault you know,” she hissed before storming into the classroom.

“Told ya,” Seamus snickered.

Umbridge hadn’t come down from her office yet so Dean contented himself with doodling a lion devouring a snake while Lavender and Parvati made a bird out of paper and had charmed it to soar through the air. As it flew over to Dean and Seamus, Dean laughed, “go on, Seamus. Hit it!” he goaded his best friend and Seamus landed a successful hit, blowing it off course. In the next second, it burst into flames making the class jump.

Dean scowled as a toad like woman stood at the front of the class wearing the ugliest shade of pink ever seen. He wrinkled his nose in disgust as a sickly sweet perfume smell wafted towards him. Umbridge started like all the other teaches had by explaining the importance of OWLS, before she handed out a beginners handbook.

“Your introduction to this subject has been uneven, probably due to the fact that you’ve had half breeds teaching you and whatnot,” there was mirth in her voice and it annoyed Dean massively.

“If you must know, Professor Lupin was the best teacher we’ve ever had. So what if he’s a werewolf?” most of the class murmured in agreement and Dean clenched his teeth in anger as Umbridge gave him a sweet smile.

“That will be five points from Gryffindor, Mr Thomas,” she let out a high pitched laugh that went right through Dean.

“Dean is right though! How is it Remus’ fault that he got bitten? He didn’t ask for that to happen! It shouldn’t make it impossible for him to get a job, he’s not dangerous,” Cass piped up.

Dean whirled around to look at her; her usually warm eyes were hard as she stared at Umbridge with a furious expression. Dean agreed with Cass though he hated to admit it and would never say it out loud. Cass made eye contact with Dean and her eyes softened as she smiled at him gratefully. Dean gulped and looked away.

Umbridge smirked as her nostrils flared but she didn’t tell Cass off. Instead, she smiled at a couple of people on the front row who had got their wands out, “oh, you can put those away, my dears.”

“We’re not going to be using magic?” Ron mumbled, his voice held all of the confusion that everyone else was feeling.

“Why on earth would you need to use magic dear?” she let out another annoying high pitched laugh.

“Oh, of course,” Harry gasped as he slapped a hand against his forehead, “because when Voldemort comes after all of us, the last thing we’ll need to know is defensive magic, dear me, the thought of it. Ron, how could you ask such a silly question?” sarcasm laced Harry’s voice, making Dean smirk to himself as everyone waited for Umbridge’s response with baited breath.

Umbridge barely flinched at the use of You-Know-Who’s real name and her sickly sweet smile almost faltered, “you and your tall tales, Mr Potter. The Ministry would be protecting everyone if the Dark Lord was back.”

Dean glanced over at Harry when he let out a scoff to see that Harry had his hands on the table, clenching his fists, “so, Cedric Diggory spontaneously combusted did he?” Harry’s tone was dry as he glared at Umbridge, “Voldemort killed him! And you’re an idiot for not admitting it!”

Someone near the back of the room gasped at Harry’s words and everyone got ready to watch Umbridge murder Harry. Umbridge’s face was drained of colour as she scrawled on a piece of parchment and simply said in a steady voice, “come here, Mr Potter,” when Harry stormed up to her desk, she gave him the parchment, “take this to Professor McGonagall, off you go dear,” Harry scoffed as he snatched it off her and stormed out of the room, not looking back.

The rest of the lesson continued in silence, nobody dared to speak to one another. At the end of the class, Cass caught up with Dean, “intense huh?”

Dean was still reeling from the shock of Harry’s words that he momentarily forgot the bitterness he had towards her, “yeah,” he laughed, scuffing his shoe against the floor.

“It was nice of you to speak up for Remus,” she smiled, leaning against the cold stone wall.

Dean shrugged nonchalantly as his cheeks grew hot and he tried to ignore the peaceful feeling in his chest, “thought it was only fair to defend the guy when he wasn’t there to defend himself,” he cleared his throat, “it was good of you to speak up for him too.”

“I would do anything and say anything for the people that I care about,” she looked up at him from beneath her eyelashes as she bit her lower lip and Dean swallowed nervously, “I thought you would know that by now,” she gave him a small smile and pushed off from the wall, “see you around,” she nodded at him and then she was off, walking down the corridor with Astoria.

“So, the both of you can have a civil conversation without biting each other’s head off,” Seamus smirked.

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As you stood with your back against the Quidditch stands you shivered in the freezing evening air as you watched the try outs, waiting for your turn to try out for the position of Keeper. Your teeth chattered as you stuck your hands in the inside of your coat and pulled the letter from your dad out of the inside pocket. You smiled down at the piece of parchment as you read over the words again in the perfect script. He was wishing you luck at the try outs, he knew how important Quidditch was to you.

All you wanted to do was make him proud, you knew that Harry made him proud but Harry had that effect on the adults in his life who loved him. It seemed so easy for him, he was a hero. You just wanted to make Sirius proud of who you were. Your breath came out as smoke as you watched your housemates zip through the sky in all directions. All you wanted to do was zip through the sky with them; hopefully it would warm you up. It was strange that Draco wasn’t trying out this year; he loved a bit of attention.

You jumped slightly as you felt warmth against your elbow and you glanced to the side to see Astoria holding a steaming cup of something hot, “this is for you, you look freezing,” she laughed as she passed you the cup.

You grinned at her as you lifted the cup to your lips and swallowed down the hot chocolate, humming at the thickness of it, it burned your tongue slightly but you didn’t care all that much, you were just thankful for the heat, “thank you so much,” you licked your lips as the hot drink warmed your insides, “what are you doing here? You hate Quidditch,” you narrowed your eyes as you realised just why she was here, “Draco’s not playing this year, sorry to disappoint you,” you laughed as she rolled her eyes.

“I’m not here for him Cass, I’m here for you. I know that I hate Quidditch, just don’t see the point of it all but I know how much you love it and you’re my best friend, so I came here to support you.”

Astoria’s words were so sweet and kind that you threw your arms around her in a tight hug, “I love you, you’re amazing. You know that?”

“Of course I know that,” she laughed, winking at you as she linked your arm through yours and leaned her head on your shoulder, “uh oh, incoming.”

You bit your lip as Dean, Harry, Seamus and Ron were coming out of the castle heading for the stands behind you. It seemed as though Harry and Seamus had put aside their rivalry in the name of Quidditch, the thought made you roll your eyes. What were they doing here? Were they here to sabotage you?

“What the hell are you guys doing here?” you turned around to face the Gryffindor boys, shouting against the howling wind.

Dean smirked, just enough for his dimples to be on display and even from here you could see his eyes flash with an emotion that you didn’t recognise, “I’ve missed out on Quidditch for the past two years, I’m not waiting till Saturday to be able to watch some! It’s got nothing to do with you,” he raised an eyebrow at you as he slouched against his chair, making you scowl at him.

Harry laughed as he shot you a smile, “and we wanted to see what form your players were on!” he would never tell you outright but you knew he was here to offer you some support and you appreciated it. You shook your head at the boys before turning back to watch the try outs, painfully aware of their eyes on you.

Finally, the captain looked at you, “Cass? C’mon, let’s go!” Astoria gave you a supportive smile and a pat on your shoulder as you walked onto the pitch, mounting your broom as you soared through the air to guard the hoops.

The first couple of throws the captain directed at you were easy saves; there wasn’t much spin on the Quaffle so you could have saved it with your eyes closed. However, every time you made a mediocre save, you could hear Astoria screaming as if you had made an amazing save and it made you laugh, she really didn’t understand Quidditch. You didn’t feel the cold anymore; the adrenaline you felt made it all go away

“C’mon! Give me a challenge!” you shouted to the troll like boy who was hovering on his broom, holding the Quaffle, he smirked at you as he sent the ball hard and fast with a lot of spin on it.

You kicked, caught and booted the ball with the end of your broomstick, sending it back to him and every time he caught it with a taken aback look on his face. There was a save that you almost didn’t make, it was too far off to the side but you caught it between the tips of your fingers. You heard the small crowd below you gasp and you glanced down to see Dean looked impressed – though he would never admit it – it only made him more handsome.

By the end of try outs, it was no question that you had been the best Keeper, and you were looking forward to practise the following week. As you walked towards Astoria she grinned at you, throwing an arm around your shoulders, “that was amazing! I can’t believe that you’re my best friend.”

You rolled your eyes at her words but you couldn’t help but smile a little, as you walked back into the castle together, desperate to get out of the cold night air, “oi, Cass!” you whipped around as you heard Dean calling after you.

Astoria gasped a little in delight as Dean jogged towards you, a competitive glint in his eye, “Gryffindor are going to kick your arse in the first match,” you laughed and it felt like things were better between you and Dean.

However, as the rest of the boys ran up to you, Dean’s expression dropped and his eyes went hard and cold again. It was obvious that apart from the competitive banter, nothing had changed.

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[stillness-in-green]

The MLA(/PLF) Headcanon Post (1/2)

In response to this nice ask about whether I have any headcanon or thoughts about the current members of the MLA/PLF, I spent two weeks blithering 16.5K words of exactly that into a Word file, because when it comes to underappreciated characters I love, I do not understand restraint.  This post and its follow-up will cover all ranked ex-MLA members of the PLF, as well as Original Flavor Destro and Curious, since I wasn't going to leave them out of a project like this even if they aren't "current."

The ask only mentioned having previously read The Lore Post, the last exercise in ridiculousness that I wrote at the tail end of MLA Week, so I wrote this to summarize everything that doesn't appear there—which is to say that a lot of the material in these two posts will look familiar to anyone who's read my fanfic about the MLA cast.  There’s still plenty of new material to go around too, though!

So, I don't have much in the vein of askblog-style headcanons where I can randomly tell you stray trivia about a character’s favorite foods or their love languages or what have you; that stuff either comes up when I'm writing fanfic or it doesn't.  That said, below, please find a mix of thoughts I keep in mind when writing characters, facts that have only turned up in my fanfic/notes so far and not the Lore Post meta, and a selection of lightning round headcanon provided by cross-referencing a random number generator with some old questionnaires I keep around for OCs and tabletop characters.

In this post: Destro, Re-Destro and his advisors, and Geten.

Destro— 

General Thoughts The whole "revolutionary leader" thing came very naturally to him. He was committed, charismatic, very willing to risk his life and safety for the cause, and he cared about his people. All that said, he absolutely had a pompous, prideful streak, especially where it came to his justification for terrorism.  You only have to read his own words to see that.  Still, he was in large part reacting to the world he lived in, one of greater violence and danger than the current day. 

I like to think that—because he was genuine in wanting freedom for all—he would not approve of what became of his Army.  He'd be able to see how they got there, and he would probably have made much the same choices if he'd been there with them, but while he would have agreed that his role should be remembered—that's just Due Credit—he would never have wanted to become the nigh-on religious figure his followers turned him into. Continuing to fight the good fight for his ideals is one thing, but secret salutes and isolated villages and being raised from infancy to know your life has only as much worth as it can contribute to Liberation…  Well, it's just not what he would have wanted for his people, much less his descendants. 

Family Situation Chikara was only around 7 when his mother was killed, the event that would shape the rest of his life.  He wasn't hiding in the closet from the mob, either; he was kicking and punching and biting, his motivation to save her overflowing—but he was still only 7, and eventually overwhelmed.  His own life might well have ended there with hers, but for a group of neighborhood vigilante types (at least one of whom probably went on to a career as a hero, after legalization).

He went most of his adolescence without getting involved with anything more sinister than student newspapers, founding a secret meta-rights "club," and attending the odd larger protest, but when the government started talking about passing laws restricting the use of meta-abilities, he started getting very radical very quickly, and when some absolute snake started to use his martyred mother's words to bang the drum for banning quirk use outside the home outright, he went off the deep end.

Lightning Round (Randomly Selected Headcanons)

Favorite book genre?  Memoirs and biographies—he wouldn't have written his own if he didn't appreciate their value.  The intimacy of the personal juxtaposed against the broad scope of history appeals to both his regard for individuality and his revolutionary mindset.

Most prized possession?  Thoughts on material possessions in general?   He doesn’t generally prize material possessions—in fact, he’s something of a skinflint.  His most prized possession is an old pair of gloves that belonged to his mother, which he'd been wearing at the time of her murder.  He didn't come from money to begin with, but his mother’s story made enough of a splash that his financial situation was improved by well-meaning sorts sending along donations and contributions and the like, as well as government officials knowing they needed to be sure that he wound up somewhere at least semi-reasonable lest they court further outrage by mishandling the son of a martyred woman.  The money all went towards school and living expenses, though, leaving him quite experienced at balancing a budget, which would come in handy for that whole ‘leading a violent uprising against the state’ thing later on.

Academic Background: Got all the way through college!  Was involved in student groups as far back as middle school, and only got moreso the further in school he got.  Majored in Human Development; he was intending to go into the public health and policy sphere before the appropriation of his mother's language pissed him off so much he got into terrorism instead.

THE MODERN MLA

Re-Destro—

General Thoughts A huge amount of the way I write him is influenced by one single thing—his characterization as described in the second data book.  His personality is summed up there as "sokoshirenai yami"—bottomless darkness, or, as a friend translated it for me, "unfathomable gloominess."  That really, really stuck with me, because on the one hand, it's so opposed to virtually all of what we see of him on the page, where he's being cheerful or scornful or sycophantic; the closest he ever gets are his brief tears for Miyashita, Curious, and his other followers.

On the other hand, it makes so much sense that the man we see—the man who talks about the heavy burdens of his legacy, who was handed that legacy when he couldn't possibly have been any older than 6 or so, who willingly straps on a self-designed torture device to wring out more power, who all but worships the ground Shigaraki walks on even though Shigaraki is the reason Re-Destro no longer has legs to walk that same ground with—should be "unfathomably gloomy."  Of course he's gloomy!  He was never allowed to be his own person!  He has never in his life known true freedom, only existed as a vessel to bring that freedom to others!  And he can't really even talk to his closest friends about it, because his closest friends are still his followers, and he wouldn't want to weigh them down!

With that context, it makes all the sense in the world that he'd be so devoted to the man who relieved him of that burden.

Family Situation He loved his mother Yukie a great deal, despite knowing from early on that he was carrying the weight of the title because she believed she couldn’t.  (Perhaps growing up hearing about the martyrdom of Destro’s mother left him wanting to ensure the happiness of his own, for her happiness was very rare.)  He was 10 when she was killed in a Villain attack; she’d been on a daytrip over to a neighboring city to visit some of her erstwhile school friends.  The requisite mourning period was 49 days, and as the only surviving family member, quite a lot fell to him even before considerations of his role as Re-Destro.  it was perceived as better—for both the Army’s morale and for his own stability—for him to be involved with as much of the work of transition as possible, but obviously he couldn’t do it completely alone, nor should he.  Thus, for two months after Yukie’s death, the previous generation's Sanctum[i] stayed with him in his family home. Afterward, he moved in with Anchor (one of his grandfather's advisors), where he would spend the rest of his young adulthood until moving away for college.

Claustrophobia The name of that literal-iron-maiden deathtrap he brings to bear against Shigaraki is no coincidence: Rikiya developed claustrophobia over the course of a stint of abusive training when he was thirteen. He generally has a pretty good handle on disguising it, thanks to a combination of people being unwilling to ask him questions they don’t actually want the answers to and the fact that he had to learn how to operate through it in order to complete the training at all. He has never told anyone, largely because he’s never been able to recognize that it was abuse, and so his abuser remains a figure of some influence.

Education He was largely taught by private tutors, in his home and in theirs, rather than attending school, but I think he probably wasn't completely home-schooled.  Particularly once he'd decided that he did want to attend university—and not just some little local technical program, but a major school in a proper city—he probably attended classes a few times a week at his local high school just to get a feel for being around other people his own age. He'd been friends with Koku for several years by that point, otherwise he probably would have been pretty hopeless, but he was still a pretty odd duck by the time he got to university.

This, incidentally, is why he never pushed Geten too hard about school—his own experience of it was so weird and piecemeal that he mostly thinks of school as relevant only for the education it provides, and less so the crash course in social dynamics.  Since Geten doesn't care about getting an education (nor, indeed, about learning how not to be a rude little troll), and has a strong enough quirk that he'll never lack for a position in the Army even without a formal education, Rikiya is perfectly happy to let Geten have his way and just be minimally learnèd.

Stress His powers operate by infusing his body with the characteristic black matter of his manifested stress; he can increase his size with this (his so-called Liberated Form isn't just armored up; he becomes physically taller and bulkier), as well as throw handfuls of the materialized power.  A side effect of this is that his stress can also infuse itself into his bodily fluids. The stress matter is a highly dense particulate, so if Rikiya is not in proper control of himself, his proverbial blood, sweat and tears can be literally heavy with the weight of his power.

The Value of Life He cares very much about the lives of his followers, but those genuine feelings are filtered through both the mental compartmentalization required by an emotion-based quirk, and an upbringing that taught him to care about his underlings in the same way one would rare goods.  Valuable goods, certainly, goods worth being proud of, goods to be maintained with care, but still, ultimately, things that can be sold or traded or bartered off as necessary to further one's goals.  Even his own life, while "objectively" the most valuable of them all, isn't an exception to that policy—the Great Cause is more important than any individual life, up to and including his own.

On a Personal Note He’s something of an obvious weirdo to outsiders—his enthusiasm comes off as strident, his smiles overly polished—but despite that, he's bizarrely hard to dislike once they start spending real time with him.  He's not anywhere near as prideful about himself as he is the legacy of the MLA, for a start; he's actually pretty self-deprecating when he's not performing the whole Heir of Destro's Great Bloodline routine at people.  He's also happy to go along with other people sharing their hobbies (because he doesn't have any of his own).  The more you get to know him, the more obvious it becomes that he's a total basket case, but “total basket case” is still an improvement over “self-absorbed 1%-er CEO” that people like Spinner come in expecting.

What Are Boundaries? He has very little understanding of how to enforce boundaries around his private life, or, indeed, of why such boundaries might ever be necessary.  Oh, he can do the double life thing, keep the CEO of Detnerat separate from the Grand Commander of the Metahuman Liberation Army, but when it comes to the MLA itself, he's so groomed to devote himself to the cause that he doesn't really distinguish between the responsibilities of Re-Destro and the needs of Yotsubashi Rikiya.  Rather than being the egomaniac you might expect of a man with the absolute power over others he has, he instead struggles to assert himself as his own person at all.

Issues with boundaries are not uncommon with the MLA—they're all raised to see themselves as warriors to advance the cause before they are, like, “human beings”—but Rikiya’s are particularly exacerbated because he was raised by adults who were getting pretty paranoid about his bloodline's tendency to die young, and thus were always checking in on how he was doing, dictating his schedule, weighing in on his plans, and so on.  He just wasn’t raised with reasonable expectations for privacy.  Even as an adult, he'll give his apartment door code to pretty much anyone in the MLA who has even a semi-plausible reason to want it—certainly quite a few of the elders know it!  And it isn’t only the elders, either; Rikiya's phone and several of his accessories carry tracking chips courtesy of Skeptic, which Rikiya knows about and doesn't think is at all untoward.

While his experience dating Koku definitely taught him some hard lessons about how much he could allow himself to ask of people who would obey him without question (they broke up over Rikiya’s realization that Koku would never deny him anything, thanks to a cracked rib Koku didn’t see fit to tell Rikiya about until Rikiya hugged him a little too hard), he never learned how to value his own autonomy in turn.  Oh, he's the Grand Commander, and everyone around him has been raised to venerate his bloodline, so most of them would never even think about trying to take advantage of him as such, but it's absolutely the case that people who are bold or familiar enough to try can basically run right over him with minimal efforts made at obscuring the fact.  His life is full of people who do and have done exactly that, some to a net positive effect, and some—well.  See again the entry about his claustrophobia.

The abjectly terrible state of his sense of self-worth is also the reason the Claustro exists.  While he was relatively capable of trying to work around his phobia when he was younger, the older he got, the more it started to feel like leaving doors cracked behind him or only working in offices with big spacious floor plans and oversized windows was, in some way, Letting Down The Cause by allowing his fear to control him, rather than embracing it so he could properly stockpile it for later use.  A dinnertime chat with Curious about turning one’s trauma into a weapon for the good of others catalyzed this, leading to the development of the “burden-enhancing steel pressure mechanism,” Claustro. 

(It also means the clone of him made by Twice to handle Detnerat after Deika is bizarrely okay with its circumstances, which I will almost certainly write more about one of these days, but I’m still kind of reeling from that reveal, so more on that another time.)

Lightning Round

Religion?   He doesn't identify as being of a religious faith, but he was brought up in the same peaceful marriage of Shinto and Buddhism that the majority of Japanese people are, and like many, he adheres to a number of traditional practices more out of habit than devout faith.  There are two celebrations that demand significant emotional investment from him.  First comes the New Year's celebrations, important because the MLA prides itself on looking to a brighter, freer future, and it's a period when he can let himself think that maybe he'll be just that little bit closer to Liberation by the end of the year than he was at the start.  Second is Obon, a summer festival for honoring one's departed ancestors. Since his authority and his life's work derive entirely from his bloodline, he's obligated to care about this one, though in practice, he tends to shy away from thinking much about Destro (who he has very twisted-up feelings about indeed) in favor of less emotionally fraught waters.

What did he dream of being or doing as a child? Did that dream come true?   He never really had a significant period where he thought about being e.g. an astronaut or a doctor or a hero; in fact, it came as something of a surprise to him the first time Koku asked him what he was planning to do when he grew up.  He always just had the nebulous expectation of, "Be the Grand Commander," and the elders were happy to leave it at that until he brought it up on his own.[ii]  

How does he behave around children? He likes kids!  He’s wistful about the freedom enjoyed by happy children while also being sympathetic to ones that seem overly burdened.  He’s not the most natural person in the world with them, but most of them can tell that the awkwardness comes from a well-intentioned place, and will treat him as a funny-looking man who’ll let them bother him at length without getting mean.  It turns out he’s actually pretty good with them, then, if only by virtue of being easily bullied.  (This, notably, goes for non-MLA-affiliated children.  Everything’s much more formal within the cult, though it didn’t Geten long to suss out the “easily-bullied” part, either.)

Trumpet—

General Thoughts The largest factor in how I write Koku is, of course, the headcanon that he and Rikiya are ex-lovers, and neither of them is 100% over it even all these years later.  Beyond that, though, Koku is the most temperate of the group, the one with the most easy charisma (MLA members are more swayed by Re-Destro, but Koku does better with outsiders who aren't predisposed to hanging on Rikiya's every word).  He strives to come off as The Sensible One, and given the extremes the rest of the inner circle are capable of, it's not hard for him to maintain that title.  He's as messed up as any of them, though, second only to Rikiya in levels of childhood grooming.  He thinks of himself as a practical man, but he is deeply indoctrinated, the boundaries of his expectations very much defined by his upbringing, so he never really sees it coming when he gets clobbered by something from out of left field.

Family Situation: Koku has the largest family of the identified members.  Aside from his grandfather (called Old Man Hanabata, the founder of the Hearts & Minds Party, and passed away by the canon era), Koku has cousins, nieces, nephews and more, courtesy of his uncle, his older sister and her husband, and other extended family.

He’s also the member most accustomed to wealth, power and influence.  He's from a rural area, certainly, but being in a family of hereditary politicians (and with that family not suffering a string of untimely deaths and disappearances like Rikiya's did), he was raised from the start with ready access to money and nice things.  Still, for all his family's sway in a major branch of the MLA's operations, they're not First Families, and thus don't have any elders in their ranks, making them still somewhat subordinate to said elders when it comes to orders about the Great Cause.  (He’s working on it.)

Meeting Re-Destro Koku and Rikiya met at 12 and 10 respectively, when Koku tagged along with Old Man Hanabata for a meeting RD was likewise accompanying Anchor for.  It had been the better part of a year since Rikiya's mother passed away, but he was still strikingly melancholy for a boy that age, which—along with all the weight given to the importance of the meeting—left quite an impression on Koku.  Koku thus became Rikiya's first real friend in his own age group, a friendship heartily encouraged by everyone around them.  Koku was well-behaved, intelligent, a little older but not too much so, and set to become influential without a danger of becoming too influential; he was seen as a good choice for a friend.[iii]

The Break-Up Painful as it was at the time, there was a silver lining to his and RD's post-college break-up: it got Koku out of the elders' pocket.  He’s been groomed for one thing or another all his life, but after he became friends with Rikiya, he was always getting leaned on to report back to the First Families about how Re-Destro was doing, and to try to influence him towards actions the First Families approved of.  In a very real sense, Koku was part of the apparatus keeping Rikiya from any real freedom.  Their break-up and subsequent estrangement meant that the elders had far less to breathe down Koku's neck about, and by the time they reconciled, Trumpet had gotten his feet under him, as had Re-Destro, and they were both better able to fend off such background meddling.

This doesn't mean Trumpet's not still carrying a torch, however.  He thought he was handling his long-banked feelings pretty well—being Professional, being the advisor Re-Destro needed and as much a friend as Rikiya would allow—right up until Rikiya scared the life out of him by nearly dying in Deika.  He's all but glued himself to Rikiya since, as much as he can get away with given their respective responsibilities.

As an Advisor Other than leading the HMP, he does some work with internal politics and reputation. It's not, strictly speaking, his actual job as advisor—Re-Destro or the elders would probably be sought for more formal or critical mediations—but he and the people who report directly to him do enough travelling around to see constituents that they're often in a position to field those tensions before they get big enough to require attention from higher up.  Koku's happy to do so, in fact—not because he just loves handling petty arguments about resources, but because the HMP is a faction of the MLA in and of itself, and mediating is a boost to that faction's standing and autonomy.  (Also, it's that much less on Rikiya's ever-overburdened plate.)

Lightning Round

What would he do if he needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy?Ahahahahaha, “make dinner but the kitchen was busy,” please.  Any time there could feasibly be someone else occupying a kitchen he has any business being in himself, it would be a housekeeper, and s/he would be making food for him/his family.  It’s not as though Trumpet has never cooked—he did live alone for some years after school—but outside of a scant few years in university, there’s never really been a time that kitchen use overlap would have been a problem for him. 

Favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging. Probably gourmet cuisine, especially imported stuff. He’s had tailored clothes all his life; they’re just part of the job.  Expensive alcohol also doesn’t wow him; it wouldn’t be strange to find some sake maker whose family has been doing it for sixteen generations in the village he grew up in.  It’s a lot harder to cultivate a true gourmand’s palate out in the sticks, though, no matter how rich your family is.  Living in actual civilization affords a great deal more variety—and anyway, nice dinners are one of the few things he can reliably tempt Rikiya into accepting.  As to his feelings about indulging in general, he’s broadly For It.  He works very hard, he seldom gets real time off, and it doesn’t help the Great Cause for him to deny himself nice things, unlike some people.  (He’s maybe a bit bitter.)

Does he like to be the center of attention all of the time? Not especially.  Oh, he’s very good at it, certainly, and he doesn’t dislike it, but being the center of attention is practically always going to be tied up in The Great Work, so he desperately needs to get out of the spotlight from time to time, if only to be able to turn off the persona.

Curious—

General Thoughts There are two main factors in how I write Chitose: her practicality and her rapaciousness.  I write her as having an appreciation for good moral character in other people, especially when it makes a good story, but not considering herself particularly bound by conventional morality: her moral compass is Liberation, and she follows it unswervingly.  I also write her as predatory, lusty about a lot of things, often to the point of overstepping.  It doesn't hurt anyone that she likes hearty foods and strong alcohol, but she also doesn't have much regard for peoples' boundaries, and even less so when she thinks they have something to offer the Great Cause.

While that trait isn't without its benefits, it can get pretty ugly, too, as we see in how she treats, and talks to, Toga.  Even with Rikiya, the only person she thinks of as 'above' her in any meaningful sense, she's not at all above manipulation.  She's respectful of him, but knows him too well to always take him at his word.  He plainly can't always see what's best for him, but what's best for him is best for Liberation, and therefore, as a Liberation warrior, it's her responsibility to sometimes make decisions for him.  He'll appreciate it in the long run—he always does.  (Skeptic and Geten have similar views—Rikiya makes it easy.)

Family Situation She probably has the best actual relationship with her family of the group—her mothers are removed enough from the heart of MLA politics that her relationship with Rikiya doesn't color her family life the way Koku's does his, and she's much more sociable than Skeptic or Geten.  She doesn't get home much—just the major holidays, work permitting—but she's in frequent enough communication for a grown woman, and chats with her younger sister more often than that.

Meeting Re-Destro She met Rikiya properly when they were 21 and 27 respectively.  They were living in the same city at the time (him running Detnerat, her in university), so of course she'd seen him at the odd MLA event he turned up at, but when she landed an internship in her junior year, she cheekily turned up one day in her reporter capacity to interview him as “a local rising star of industry.”  It was the first chance they'd had to talk one-on-one, and would not be the last, as she frankly elbowed her way into his life and gradually sussed out that here was a man with Problems.  He and Koku were still in a distant patch at the time; she is largely responsible for getting them back on friendly terms as a way of showing her Pure Intentions.

The fact that her Pure Intentions both land her a square position as one of RD's advisors herself and get Rikiya to a better place emotionally is calculated, but not, therefore, untrue.  Ironically, while she was concerned about looking like a gold-digger, the MLA elders were probably thrilled and relieved to hear rumors that Rikiya was getting romantically involved again.  And with a lovely young MLA woman!  They wouldn't even need to worry about surrogacy arrangements!  (Not having grown up around the Yotsubashis, Chitose is unaware of exactly how pointed an interest the elders take in the matter of securing that bloodline.)

Feelings Today She loves Rikiya dearly, and prizes his regard more highly than anything in her life, but has not devoted much thought to the idea of being in love with him. She's married to her work, as they say, but she's also keenly aware that Rikiya would, for a great many reasons, be a lot of work to be in love with.  She's decided it's generally better for his mental well-being, and therefore also better for the Great Cause (she’s much more capable of reading that relationship reciprocally than Rikiya is), to make sure he's eating at least one good meal a week and getting some proper socialization in outside of MLA meet-and-greets.

As an Advisor She handles external politics and reputation--it's her job to prime Japan culturally for the Liberation agenda in ways more wide-reaching than Trumpet (he's head of a political party, and that's not nothing, but that party is still a small minority on the floor of the Diet).  She pulls attention to stories that benefit the MLA, and diverts attention from stories that don't.  This is far broader than just publishing Destro's memoir; it also means poking holes in the broader Hero Society narrative.  She does this by providing as broad a platform possible for stories about the tragedies of excessive regulation, the evils of quirk-related bias, the abuses of power heroes are capable of, and so on.

Lightning Round

Does she remember names or faces easier? She’s quite good with both, actually, but I’d give names the advantage because she works primarily with written rather than visual mediums.  (Also, BNHA names being the ridiculous puns that they are, you can probably tell more about a person in HeroAca Land by analyzing their name than their face anyway.) 

Is she more concerned with defending her honor, or protecting her status? Her status, absolutely.  Impugning her honor hurts no one but her; she can laugh that off because honor is a silly social construct anyway.  Threatening her status is a much more dangerous prospect—her status is long-cultivated to enable the advancement of Liberation ideology; it lets her keep an eye on Re-Destro, who needs as many people looking out for him as he can get; it’s what she’s worked for all her life. Curious will fuck you up if you threaten her status.

In what situation was she the most afraid she’d ever been? The time she got in trouble for nearly exploding some dude’s face off for stealing her purse.  She was 17, had spent very little time in non-Liberated territory before, and was not raised to wait on heroes to solve her problems.  She wasn’t afraid of the thief or the hero, really, but she was completely terrified that she might have just blown over half a century of secrecy by not performing Helpless Civilian well enough. The terror was pretty convincing to the police interviewing her about it, anyway.  On the whole, it was a very valuable learning experience!  

Skeptic—

General Thoughts Tomoyasu is a character I haven't written extensively yet, but what I think is most interesting about him so far is the contrast of his hyper-modern methods with the bone-deep zealotry for the cause.  See, Rikiya, Koku and Chitose all grew up in the sticks; Rikiya and Koku had money from a young age, but it was old money, tied up in trusts.  (Geten didn't have any of those, but Geten's a different story for other reasons.)  Tomoyasu grew up in a major city from the start; he was a technological prodigy from practically as soon as he could hold a tablet.  He has very little respect for the old ways of doing things when he knows there are newer, better ways of advancing the Cause. However, none of that makes him more likely to break from the MLA's ranks—if anything, his idiosyncratic approach just causes him to approach Liberation in really weird ways, ways no one else would ever come up with.

Pressganging Bubaigawara Jin based on a plan to clone Re-Destro?  Who else would that ever even occur to, much less such that it became the basis for an elaborate psychological assault?  But that's Skeptic in a nutshell—respect the old for what it did at the time, but don't think that means you have to use the same methods they did forever as you pick up the torch to carry it forward.

Family Situation He has an amicable but not intimate relationship with his family.  His parents are very proud of what he's done for the cause and how he won the confidence of Re-Destro, but they don't make much claim to understand how his mind works.  In turn, he recognizes the value of their support over the years—he certainly made a lot of waves with his unabashed venom for the MLA leadership's hidebound traditionalism, and his parents' staunch backing meant a lot for him being able to take the stands he did—but is not very emotionally close with them.  Might find himself with an older brother, if I ever occasion to write about his family situation in more depth.

Education He graduated a four-year university program for getting his computer science degree in two very intense years, during which he did virtually nothing for the Great Cause, his intention being to better position himself for maximum ability to advance Liberation afterward.  See above re: battles his parents fought for him while he was busy modernizing.

Meeting Re-Destro He met Re-Destro via Curious.  He was 22, just a year out of university and already climbing the chain of command at a young telecommunications company.  Rikiya was 33, working on the Claustro, and needed proprietary comms built to a higher standard of security than Detnerat was focused on.  Curious, who was always better positioned to be keeping up with the local personalities, introduced them.

Tomoyasu attempted to keep a civil tongue in his head the first few times he and RD met, but he'd been running on bile and energy drinks for years by that point and was hard-pressed to stop just because he was meeting his Grand Commander.  If anything, finding out that Rikiya was okay with his direction and his mouth eventually helped him chill the fuck out, marginally.

On that note, Skeptic is absolutely the advisor most willing to backtalk Rikiya right to his face.  (Rikiya loves him for it.)  Oh, he'll still accede to Rikiya's wishes, and Re-Destro's orders are his highest priority, but that doesn't mean he feels obligated to be diffident about it.  Like Curious, he has a highly developed sense of, "It's fine if it's for the greater good," which will and has led to him taking things into his own hands when he thinks he knows best (which is always).  He's not going to explicitly disobey orders, but he will creatively interpret them if he feels strongly about them, and he will try to "anticipate" orders before anyone has time to give him specific ones, the better to tailor his efforts towards proving his methods and goals correct rather than being stuck with orders he hates.

On Names I’ve definitely evolved some in my approach on this since I started writing the MLA cast, but at current, Skeptic and Geten are the only ones I consistently write as using and thinking mainly in terms of code names rather than given names.  Trumpet is too familiar with the public/private divide, and has too much intimate history with Rikya-the-person, to default to Re-Destro; Curious is too trained to look for The Human Heart of the Story.  Re-Destro himself, ever since breaking up with Koku, has always tried to use code names for people (himself excluded, because he has enormous self-confidence issues about measuring himself up to the original Destro), but can slip into given names when he’s vulnerable.  To Skeptic and Geten, though, the code name is the real name, for all intents and purposes.  The cover identity is a fake; the whole point of the code name is that you’re proving yourself worthy of taking up your proper place in the Army.  Of course the name you win for yourself is the name that counts.

Lightning Round

Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen? You’d pretty much have to lock him in a room with nothing but paper and pencil in it for that to be his first resort rather than whatever item of personal electronics he’d otherwise have on his person.  But assuming some actual plausible scenario—couldn’t bring his electronics into a government building, let’s say—he would find trying to do something productive on paper and pencil rather beneath him, and he’s an inveterate fidgeter.  I mostly see him folding that ludicrously tall frame of his into a chair and setting to using the pencil to poke about three hundred holes in the sheet of paper, meticulous and orderly, while muttering complaints to himself the whole time until something annoys him a bit too much and he jabs the whole pencil through the page. 

Who does he see as his best friend?  His worst enemy? I headcanon him having a very reasonable, functional, productive relationship with his No. 1 advisor, Red, and being reasonable, functional, and productive probably goes a lot farther on making you Skeptic’s “friend” than any amount of emotional intimacy.  But “best friend” is not really the kind of language Skeptic uses for his relationships; if you were to ask him who his best friend is, he’d probably tell you, “Iced coffee.”  As to his worst enemy, that’s just whoever is annoying him most on any given day, from difficult clients, to people annoying Re-Destro, stodgy elders, that hero grinning like a tool, that couple walking too slow in front of him on the sidewalk, etc. And Skeptic is pretty proactive about dealing with enemies, as much as he can be.

Has he ever been bitten by an animal? How was he affected (or unaffected)? lol he is a city boy and always has been.  He probably tried to pet a stray cat once out of curiosity, and because it seemed like the sort of thing people did, and then has never forgiven Animals In General when it bit him and then ran off. 

Geten—

General Thoughts Another one I haven’t written a great deal about yet, particularly in the present day, though I’m looking for that to change soonish.  One thing I’d like to explore is Geten when he’s not seething with rage and shame because he failed to bring Re-Destro a victory in Deika. The fandom tends to write Geten as an always-angry attack dog barely contained beneath a chilly veneer, and that’s fair—ever since we got the face reveal, ever since the MLA’s defeat at Shigaraki’s hands, Geten has been an always-angry attack dog barely contained beneath a chilly veneer.

But if you look at Geten from before we knew what was under the hood, you find a different story.  “Chilly and angry all the time” is not at all how he acted when he was fighting Dabi!  At that point, he was talkative, even chatty.  He engaged in a lot of snide smack-talk; he was obviously confident in himself and he spoke very proudly of the MLA as a collective.

He was still quiet at the dinner he attended with Rikiya and his advisors, yes, so I don’t think Geten’s done some kind of full 180 on characterization.  I do, however, think that Geten has a sense of humor in there, has a sense of camaraderie with the MLA rooted in more than just his relationship with Re-Destro, even if Re-Destro is obviously his most important person.  I don’t know if we’ll ever see that in the manga proper, given everything that’s happened, but it’s worth remembering in terms of what Geten is like when he’s solely among allies.

Family Situation Orphaned at a young age, and a problem child from then on.  He passed through a series of foster parents and state facilities before eventually crossing paths with the leader of the local MLA branch in Kesseru, Beacon (more on him next time).  This encounter would lead to him being sent to a group home with a reputation for being good with such difficult cases, giving them Structure and Companionship and Meaningful Work.  (Spoilers: It’s Liberation.)

Despite evening out considerably after a significant meeting with Re-Destro when he was 7[iv], Geten never got particularly close to his adopted family/the other kids at the group home.  He's very favored by the Grand Commander, for one thing, and he has the strongest quirk in the home for another—and since he learned the quirk supremacist stuff from them, that’s a pretty significant part of the dynamic!  Both of these factors mean there's some distance between him and the rest. Still, he's not on bad terms with them—indeed, his foster parents are quite proud of him—and he would probably tear out someone's throat with his teeth for threatening them, if only as a matter of pride.  

There are 4-6 other kids there at any given time; for the bulk of his young adulthood, there were two older than him, the others younger.  He doesn't have much time for Big Brother Pastimes, but is not completely immune to them, either, particularly where the youngest kids are concerned.  His tolerance for Little Brother Antics, however, is nonexistent—if the older kids think they can ruffle his hair and treat him like a kid, they can square the fuck up; he is Number One around here and don’t forget it.

Education Geten never went to school, but he's not completely uneducated.  He had some tutoring in the group home, some more from Re-Destro personally, and has a pile of books he keeps at his bedside, mostly strategic in nature.  He finds them vexing at times, but is slowly reading through them anyway because Re-Destro asked him to.  He’s been a bit more diligent about it since he was made a regiment leader, because lord knows Dabi isn't contributing much.

On Re-Destro Re-Destro became fond of Geten for the same reason he became fond of Skeptic and Curious—Geten was willing to push back.  He really did make some attempts early on to keep Geten at a proper distance, mindful of anything that would look too much like favoritism.  And Geten knew, in the hard-headed way of a child, that Re-Destro was being a grown-up about things, trying to be mature, trying to be impartial.  Geten just didn’t care about any of those things.  Every time, he would listen very seriously to the things Rikiya told him, nod attentively, repeat back what he’d been told, and then go on about doing his own thing anyway.  And his own thing was, typically, to keep coming back.

Of course, if there’s anything we can tell about Re-Destro from the way he treats Shigaraki, it’s that Re-Destro loves people who take the choice away from him.

Eventually, of course, Geten grew up (mostly; I peg him at 19 now), joined the MLA officially, and had to settle into the structure of the Army.  It began to lead to trouble for Re-Destro, when Geten blatantly disobeyed him; it stopped being cute.  Still, the sense that he Knows What’s Best lingers, so Geten works himself very, very hard to be everything Re-Destro needs him to be and more, so that maybe Re-Destro’s burden will be just that little bit lighter.

On Quirk Supremacy (and Re-Destro, still) Here’s the thing about Geten and the whole, “A life without a strong meta-ability has no value,” line, and this continues to drive me mad because of how people getting it wrong influences the bad takes on the MLA in this fandom: Geten is not a reliable witness.  He is not one of the leaders of the MLA, nor does he speak for its rank and file. Even if you assume the absolute worst about his implications there, far worse than is justified by the text, Geten’s very name, Apocrypha, means that he cannot be presumed to be aligned with MLA orthodoxy.

The only one of the people close to Re-Destro who wasn't born and raised MLA, he still manages to come off, in some ways, as the most zealous of the lot of them.  But really, it’s very noticeable that Geten—unlike Re-Destro himself, and unlike even Re-Destro’s close cohort—never talks about the original Destro, never even mentions him.  When he thinks about his leader, he only ever thinks about Rikiya.  Geten doesn’t follow Re-Destro because of his bloodline, because of the tenets; he follows Re-Destro because of personal loyalty.[v]

So how best to do that?  Well, think about it: Geten is not terribly intelligent, nor wealthy, nor well-connected. He and Trumpet are the ones most influenced by the quirk supremacist line of thought, Trumpet because his relatively weak quirk comes off as exponentially stronger the more he can surround himself in people it works on, and Geten because his strong quirk lets him mentally justify Re-Destro's investment in him despite his other insufficiencies.

Compare this with Re-Destro, who only ever talks about quirks in terms of freedom. Even more prominently, look at Skeptic and Curious, who are not at all defined by their quirks and how strong or weak said quirks may be.  Indeed, those two devote scarcely a thought to the matter because they contribute to the cause in much more important ways and seem to be perfectly comfortable with where that leaves them.

Geten may not be very smart or influential, but he’s very capable of looking at what strengths he does have and focusing hard on those.  That, I think, is what really lead to his embracing quirk supremacy, even in the face of evidence that he doesn’t have the whole picture: the search for a way to measure himself up to the movers and shakers Rikiya is otherwise surrounded with, and not come up drastically wanting.  

“Apocrypha” Geten has been Geten for a long time, since long before the MLA types usually take up their code names. He’s also an outlier in the MLA for having a name in Japanese instead of in English—the only one who does!  My headcanon, unless and until we get some other members with Japanese code names, is that he got the name directly from Re-Destro—possibly even in the conversation that lead to him imprinting so hard on the man when he was 7—and insisted on keeping it before any other code name that was suggested to him in later years.

But yes, he does have a normal Japanese name on file at the group home, which he’s obligated to answer to on the rare occasions that someone from Child Services is checking in or he and Re-Destro are out in public.  I don’t plan to bother coming up with it unless I need to, as I expect we’ll get it in a character profile one of these days.

His Quirk While a lot of people like the vibe of Geten and Dabi being somewhat equivalently vulnerable to their own quirks, and I agree it makes for good fanart, in truth, Geten is only as vulnerable to his ice as Endeavor is his flames.  Which is to say, he isn't immune, but he's certainly more resistant to it than the average person would be!  There’s already plenty of good material to contrast Dabi and Geten without pretending their quirks are more mirrored than is actually the case.

Lightning Round

How does he treat people in service jobs? He doesn’t, because he’s never in a position to interact with people in service jobs.  There have been times he’s gone out with Re-Destro, but in those cases he’s mostly let Re-Destro handle the human interaction.

What does he dislike in other people? Laziness; the lack of a higher purpose of some kind.  (It’s possible he’d thaw out on his disdain for Dabi considerably if he knew more about Dabi’s plans to undermine the whole of the Hero System than Dabi is inclined to tell him.)

Is he always there for a friend in need? Sure, as long as by “friend” you mean “fellow Liberation warrior” and by “need” you mean “in need of an icicle punched through one of someone else’s desperately fleshy body parts.”

Footnotes

[i]  Sanctum II's tastes being what they are, this probably means Rikiya is the MLA member most likely to be able to perform traditional Japanese tea ceremony.

[ii]  And there were elders who would have been happy to leave it at that permanently, I'm sure.  There are always going to be those regents who have trouble relinquishing power back to the boy prince when he grows up and becomes king, you know?

[iii]  And, when it eventually got out that they were dating, a relatively solid match, give or take the surrogacy arrangements that would eventually need to be made.

[iv]  I’m hoping canon gives us some details on this eventually, so I’m not planning to iron out more headcanon on the matter unless I absolutely have to.

[v]  This, incidentally, is a large part of why Rikiya does keep him around—it’s soothing to have someone around who never brings up his ancestor.  Anyway, after Geten evolved his quirk, people stopped complaining so much, even though RD never did get around to, like, giving Geten any formal responsibilities.  Geten, who knows very well that Re-Destro’s real advisors have real jobs, mostly took this as reason to be all the stronger, in hopes that he’d eventually be given one.

[draco-and-tom]

Draco- I thought I was so Deserving

Summary- You and Draco were dating, till he died in the battle of hogwarts. It takes you weeks to go and look through his old stuff, and when you do you find several old letters addressed to you, but never owled. You decide to open it and find something that makes you cry.

☆WARNINGS: veryyyyyyy sad, death., depression, lots of crying, (i cried while writing this so you better like it lol)

It had been weeks since you even looked at the manor, which was basically left to you after draco died, due to the fact that his family fled for no apparent reason. You’ve tried to come back…. Really. It’s just the fact that every time you do try you start to cry. Just looking at the house floods your mind with memories of what it was like to be wrapped in his arms. You miss the feeling of his affection. Draco was never big on showing how much he actually loved you in public, sure he would wrap his arm around you if another boy was staring, or give them a death stare when they would check you out, but NEVER did he once whisper in your ear how much he loved you, the way you laughed, the way you cried, the way you would look at him and he knew you loved him just as much as he did you in public. The way he felt about you was personal, not everyone needed to know just how crazy he was about you. He used to tell you how he used to think so highly of himself till he met you. He would say “I always thought I was so deserving till I met someone who took my breath away and made everything okay for everyone.” Everytime you two were alone together he poured his heart into his words and you knew it was true. Draco’s eyes have always shown his true emotion. Happiness, sadness, love……. They showed you everyone. Everytime he would tell you those things you couldn’t form words, and when you could it was always just an “I love you”. Your feelings for him were so much more than an I love you. That’s the thing you regret the most, not telling him how on more than one occasion you cried at how you loved him so much it almost hurt, at the thought of losing him, how it broke your heart just to see him sad. You longed to tell him that you fucked up in every way possible by not telling him everything you loved about him -inside and out- because you knew how often he doubted himself, by not showering him with kisses every time you saw him, by not kissing him that day like it was the last one you’d ever get, because it was. But most of all you fucked up by trying to help the others and leaving him there to fight for himself.You didn’ t get a chance to comfort him or kiss him, or even tell him how much you cared. You didn’t know trying to help one person would risk two people's lives. Because with every day that passes you realize that Draco was your life. He was your happiness, your grief, your confusion. He was what made you who you are, who you were. 

You sob in your car as your mind is flooded with memories of the time you spent together. It hurts to see them, but it hurts worse to ignore them...if only he could be with you, give you one last chance.

You open your car door after you managed to keep yourself from crying. You made your way up the steps of the house and turned the doorknob with a shaky hand. Once you open your lip quivers. You looked at the stairs that led up to his room, making your eyes water. When you both were alone together at the house he seemed so much more care free. He would chase you all the way down the stairs, it was one of your favorite recurring things he did. You were positive there were other rooms up there but they weren't important to you, especially not right now. You blink back your tears as well as you can. You got to the first floor and felt something underneath your shoe. You lift your foot and a pained sound comes from your mouth as you see his ring… just sitting there. Your knees buckled and you sobbed into your hands. After a few minutes you got up, putting his ring on your middle finger since his hands were bigger than yours, and there was no way in hell you were ever losing that ring. Your face was tear stained and flushed. You were positive you looked like a wreck, you know that if Draco saw you he would wonder what the hell happened. He always said you were the most beautiful and happy person he’d ever met. But again, he was your happiness and now that's gone. God you were crazy for him, and how you feel is the proof. You snap out of your thoughts as you walk down the hall to his bedroom. A chill runs down your spine as you place your hand on the door knob. It was always slightly cold in the manor, but you knew it wasn’t that. You were scared to go in. You felt almost as if you touching anything or even stepping a foot in there was going to mess something up, change how he left it. You block your thoughts out as you open the door anyways, the metal on your finger tapping against the cold door knob. You look in and notice everything is still how he liked it, clean and kept. The only difference was that there was a black box sitting on his bed and an envelope laying beside it. Draco’s room had dark brown wooden floors and emerald green walls. On his walls were Quidditch pictures, a light in the shape of a snake, and….pictures of him and you together. You and Draco had been friends since you were 10, so the pictures went farther back than your relationship. There was a picture of him carrying you bridle style, his face buried in your neck as his laughed, making you smile. You watched that picture replay over and over again, just to see him in motion. You sadly smile as you watch him laugh and put his face into the crook of your neck, you kissing his head after he does so softly. A slow tear drips down your cheek as the flash of the camera that took the photo goes off, before you wipe it away quickly. You pick up the photo and place a small kiss onto it, letting a couple more tears escape from your eyes. You grabbed the picture and took it with you over to the bed, and sat down. You wiped your face with the sleeve of your quidditch sweater, hating the stickiness that the now drying tears had made. You looked at the envelope laying on the bed. The ivory color envelope, as well as the box lay against the green, silky sheets that Draco had left on his bed. He told you the reason he liked silk sheets so much was that when he was little he would get really hot in the summer and laying in them would give his body a relieving chill, the sheets were just associated with good memories and comfort especially after the two of you became each other's friends.

 You and Draco had sleepovers, both of you laying under those sheets. You remembered that the first sleepover happened when you were both at the manor during yalls first week at hogwarts. After eating dinner with him, and taking showers you both laid down in his silk sheets that always felt so cool and relaxing. You didn’t notice anything was wrong until you look over at the 11 year old and see him lying stiffly under the blanket and staring at the ceiling. You furrowed your eyebrows and say “something wrong malfoy?” He shakes his head and after a moment of thought says “it's just….w-is it not weird to you that you're going to sleep in here with me?” you tilt your head and ask “Is it weird to you Malfoy?” when he shakes his head “Then why would it be weird to me?”. Draco bites his lip and shrugs “dunno… just didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me..”. As soon as he said that you scooted closer to him and wrapped your arms around his body, as if that wasn’t enough to freak him out you slung your leg over his waist as well. You snuggled into Draco’s tense body. “Do I look uncomfy Malfoy?” you asked after you rested your face in the crook of his neck. You could feel the first year release tension in his body and smiled as he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you as close to him as possible. Draco felt your smile on his neck and laughed. “Like this do you?” you hummed and said “Honestly dont think ive had anything more enjoyable Malfoy”. You nuzzled closer to his embrace before you heard him say “hey sunshine”as he peppers kisses on you, making your cheeks flush even more, he had never called you that before “could you call me Draco instead? You’ve made me realize that there is a 1% worthy enough to have my name come from their mouth” you chuckled and nodded “I better be worthy Draco”. 

Once you notice the same words repeating in your ear you stop staring at the envelope and decide to read who it's for. 

                                                                           Sunshine ♡ 

You take a deep breath and open the envelope, careful not to cause any damage to something so dear to you. Once you open it the smell of parchment immediately floods your nose. You pull out the paper and unfold it. The parchment was clearly high quality, it seems as though he put a lot of thought into the letter. You do your best to smooth the creases of the paper as you tiredly lay back on the bed and begin to read:

Dear Y/N, You have no idea how many times i've tried to write a letter about all of this, There is a whole box full somewhere, just look. I know I don't seem like the type (and I know you already know this but) God sunshine, you have no idea how much you mean to me. It's just the fact that sometimes i get shy… but I feel like I don't tell you stuff like this often enough. I love your smile… it likes up any room. I know that you don't think I am, but I am extremely jealous of anyone who so much resembles the way I look at you, that loving look. I know I shouldn't be. I mean bloody hell Y/N I'm the one who gets to wrap you in my arms and pepper you with kisses. I just can't help the thought of you ever leaving me, especially if it’s to be with one of those prats. I love you so much Y/N. More than you could ever know. Although all of this rubbish with The Dark Lord is happening you’ve managed to make it actually bearable. God I was so relieved when you believed me when I told you that I didn’t want to. I'm so glad you let me cry into your shoulder that night, I don't do it often but I did need it. You don't know that i could tell, but I knew that you were crying with me… you shake when you cry, I could feel your lip quivering against my cheek as you kissed me and assured me that it was all going to be okay, I believe you Sunshine, I promise i do, You will always be what keeps me going. You're the only person that's even thought about looking through all my smirks and teasing… you're the only one that was able to tell I was broken and the only one to care. You're the one thing about my shit show of a life, but I have one question. How do you love me as much as you do? I believe you do, you can't lie when you look at me like that. Your whole expression softens when you say those three words and look into my eyes. How do you love me when you could have someone that isnt this much of a fucking wreak? I wish you knew how much i care, 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Tell me if you want me to make this a series or a prequel.

[inessencedevided]

Once you're done with the entire show, could you maybe do sorting for all the characters? I usually know the house for each character, but I have literally no idea with The Untamed. WWX for example I can equally see him as a Gryffindor, Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff and my brain hurts trying to decide.

First of all: I'm so so sorry anon! This took ages to answer! I hope you're still out there to read this! I started answering ages ago and then trailed off because I had to think about it. So here goes:

Thank you so much for this opening! I LOVE sorting non-HP characters into Hogwarts houses!! And for some of these, I’ve already done so in my head ages ago :D

Disclaimer: I’m mostly going off live action canon here, but will make some comments about the novel from time to time.

Disclaimer 2: Obviously, these are extremely subjective. If anyone disagrees, I would love to hear your counter arguments! I love discussing these things!

Wei Wuxian

GRYFFINDOR!

I know you said you weren’t sure but in my book, he’s a textbook Gryffindor. I’m not saying he doesn’t have Hufflepuff or Raveclaw traits (his sense of justice and his “out of the box thinking” kinda genius come to mind), but those aren’t the main drive of his actions imo. WWX follows his confiction and he often does so without even considering a second option or a compromise, especially before his death. And he is not afraid of deviating from the law or societal expectations to do so. This alone could also make him a Slytherin. The reason I wouldn’t place him there is the way he acts very much in the open. He doesn’t try to bring about change by quietly working in the background. He openly calls people out on their bullshit, even when it is clearly to his disadvantage and might just come back to bite him in the ass. Imo, WWX is a brilliant example of how a gryffindor might be driven to doing some very questionable shit given the "right" circumstances.

Lan Wangji

Now, he’s a different story. I have a lot more problems sorting him, maybe because he is not our point of view character. And he's the reason why it took me so long to answer this ask. My conclusion might be controversial, so let me work up to it. Slytherin? His most slytherin trait, imo, is his determination and drive, which I think stems, among other things, from a desire to prove himself. However, I believe his main reasons for this were family loyalty and (somewhat headcanon territory) the rejection he must have felt at his parents absence. And I don't see him as cunning either, as that always carries a certain level of deceitful intent, even if it's not malicious. And deceitful? That's one thing lwj certainly isn't. So, Slytherin is not a good fit for him. Ravenclaw maybe? He is certainly very intelligent, but that intelligence is more due to his studious nature and his focus, imo. And wisdom and out-of-the-box-thinking are not traits I would associate him with, especially in his younger years. So gryffindor then? He is certainly brave in many ways. He is enduring and stubborn, both gryffindor traits. But he also someone who takes his time to arrive at decisions, unless he is under extreme emotional duress (losing his mother or the love of his live). His bravery, to me, seems to be deeply rooted in his deep deep devotion. He goes through extreme, long lasting pain for the few people he holds close to his heart. In the end it all comes down to his heart, his loyalties, his devotion. Ironically, even more so in the book than in cql. And that loyalty, that steadfastness, that devotion is extremely hufflepuff.

So here you go:

HUFFLEPUFF! (There is no yellow:/)

(And now I really wanna write that AU :D on first glance, lwj would make such an unusual hufflepuff, with his cold and aloof behaviour. I want to play with this idea now!)

Lan Xichen

HUFFLEPUFF!

Aaaahhh! Now I really like the idea of the twin jades of hufflepuff. :D and Lan Xichen is a bit more obvious right? He certainly has the intelligence of a ravenclaw, but his defining characteristics are his devotion to his duty, his kindness, his fairness and his willingness to carefully consider all sides. A hufflepuff to boot. No wonder, I love him so much.

(And now I can't help but imagine lan Xichen, welcoming his little brother at the hufflepuff table, beaming with pride. And later, making sure that they eat at least 1 meal per day together because he knows his brother doesn't make friends easily, even in a house as theirs. Until there's a certain rebellious and bright eyed gryffindor, with a penchant for DADA ...)

Jiang Cheng

He, too, gave me a hard time sorting him. Ravenclaw, I discarded immediately. Gryffindor came next. He's definitely brave in his own way. Going on after the devastating loss of his entire family is brave beyond anything I can imagine, but his motivation why he did it, I believe, was a mixture of family loyalty and his competitiveness and drive to prove himself worthy. Thise are hufflepuff and Slytherin traits, respectively. I would tip the scale towards the latter, simply because his inner conflict is so defined by his feelings of inferiority, his feelings of never living up to his parents expectations. He's in that weird place of being both extremely privileged and emotionally neglected. It reminds me of Draco, come to think of it. So, my favourite angry grape, I'll place in ...

SLYTHERIN!

(He's even rockin' the snake aesthetic already :D)

Jiang Yanli

With her association with cooking and motherly love she seems to be a rather obvious hufflepuff. She is certainly brave, too, enduring her family's near destruction and moving on, or standing in front of her adoptive brother and defending his place in her family and in society. But again, it's very much tied to the people she loves. So yeah,

HUFFLEPUFF!

Nie Mingjue

The jock to end all jocks and still he's got a heart of gold. He's kinda the cliche gryffindor and I can't find a reason to not place him there. So *head barely touches him*

GRYFFINDOR!

Nie Huaisang

SLYTHERIN!

If the twist at the end didn't happen, I'd have placed him in Ravenclaw, as it is, he is such a quintessential Slytherin and also, just ... my favourite kind, especially in cql, where he just fuvjs off to paint his fans and leaves others to do the heavy lifting. He got what he wanted, revenge for his beloved older brother. It reminds me a bit of Horace Slughorn (minus the people collecting). He doesn't want to be at the top. He just wants a comfortable enough life and the possibility to reach his very specific and not at all mainstream goals. A legend. (In mdzs, where he becomes chief cultivator, he's still a Slytherin, albeit a slightly less interesting one.)

Wen Qing

Now, she is another hard one. Another fiercely loyal person (although that's a common trait in mdzs/cql), she also had to show incredible resourcefulness to survive and still stick to her principles throughout her life. But to mention that she invented and su subsequently performed the first core transfer in history. (In the book, it is specifically mentioned that the essay on this subject was written by her). In short, this woman is s genius in her field and forward thinking and incentive. All of those are textbook Ravenclaw traits. So, with her we have ...

RAVENCLAW!

Wen Ning

Puh, he is hard. I know, with his timid behaviour and gentle nature, hufflepuff comes to mind BUT ... he strikes me as a neville. As in, his bravery lies in the fact that his own insecurities hinder him constantly and yet he overcomes them every day in a hundred small ways. He is brave precisely because he is afraid of so many things. And, like Neville, when his sense if right and wrong demands it, he takes a stand. His rescue of wwx and jc extremely dangerous circumstances and the core reveal come to mind. So, even though he probably argues with the hat to place him in hufflepuff, I'll place him in ...

GRYFFINDOR!

Jin Guangyao

SLYTHERIN!

Do I have to explain this?

Luo Qingyang

I know, she's a much more minor character than the others but I love her and this is my post, so she's in it. Do i have to say it? I hate to be the "Gryffindors ftw!!!"-one (as a proud snake), but yeah, Nie Mingjue was goddamn right when he said that she's got more backbone than half the cultivation world combined. My queen snapped and removed herself from the narrative and I love her for it!

GRYFFINDOR!

Let's get to the juniors:

Lan Sizhui

Now, maybe the hufflepuff does run in his family because I do think he belongs there, too. His defining characteristics are shown to be kindness, fairness and filial piety, even though he also has a mischievous streak and does not shy away from confrontation when he thinks his warranted (politely defending "Mo Xuanyu" in front of the Mo clan comes to mind). So yeah

HUFFLEPUFF!

Lan Jingyi

His brash and outgoing nature would make him a good gryffindor fit, certainly. However, the trait I associate with him the most is his nonconformity and that in a sect where that is highly unusual. He might not be as much of a social butterfly as Luba, but he still reminds me more of the kind of eccentricity associated with ...

RAVENCLAW!

Jin Ling

Now he's hard. Maybe because he postures a lot though that's something that's true for a lot of these characters. He tries to imitate his uncle but has non of the trauma to back it up, though he is an orphan and,in his position, probably pretty lonely which leads to the kind of breakdown we see him having over his confrontation with the person who killed his parents and he can't even really blame and so he just... crumbles. And non of that really helps me in my search for a house for him. I don't really see him as a Slytherin because while he loves to posture and play his privileges, he mostly crumbles under pressure and I don't think there's conviction behind it. He's certainly not sly either. Rabenclaw? Nah. I see neither outstanding amounts of eccentricity or wisdom. Gryffindor? Maybe. He's certainly impulsive. And he displayed bravery both in Yi City and even more so in the Guanyin temple where he had to face the fact that one of his uncles, the men who raised him, would kill him to achieve his goals. Still, what left the biggest impression on me was how, after his own world had just completely changed, he send his dog away because wwx would fear him. And how he then tried to get his uncle to talk to wwx. So I'd tentatively go with

HUFFLEPUFF!

Ouyang Zizhen

Another hard one because we don't know him very well in canon. But what we do know is that he is very emotional (passionate one might say) and has no qualms going against his father in a fit of teenage rebellion. I love him for it but that's not that much to go on. Both of these point to gryffindor however, so that's where he goes. :D

GRYFFINDOR!

So ... that's where I'll leave it. I know I missed the Yi city arc but it's getting late and I'm tired. 😅 If anyone wants to add them, feel free!

Congrats of you've made it this far down! :D

Please, do come and discuss these with me!

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Hi sorry I'm greedy, but I bumped into the night folk (and the ghost) last night. I know you've written horror before... plus maybe reader is a new convert to the group and Arthur has to decide whether to kill you now or try to help... (ooft reader as a serial killer seeing how good Arthur is)

Dude you ain’t greedy for sending in requests! I love writing! 

Masterlist

Read on AO3

All is dark. The perfect time of day, when the only source of light is the stars and the flickering of the lightning bugs. From somewhere to your right, a low growl comes from the swamp. The gators are out hunting, just like you. 

This is all still quite new to you, but you’re adapting well. This hunting in the night, setting traps for the witless wanderer. Sometimes their screams haunt you, but you like the look of fear in their eyes when the trap has been sprung and they see you and the others approaching, ready for the kill. Those moments are the most telling of a person’s character. Are they cowards who tremble and hunker in the dark, or are they fighters, ready to take as many of you down with you? The hunt is when everyone’s obsessions with appearing a certain way come tumbling down and all that is left is their raw selves. 

You’re still new to the gang who the locals have begun to call the Night Folk. You silently call them that too as you don’t know what they call themselves. Talk is rare even in your hideout at Lakay. In fact the only time you heard one talk was when you’d accidentally wandered into Lakay at night and they captured you. They must have seen something in you when they trapped you. Perhaps a certain excitement or a general lack of fear. After all, you’ve never been afraid of death. More fascinated by it than anything. 

When the gang decided not to kill you, they had to test your abilities when it came to slaughter. They happened to have a live prisoner, so a man handed you a big machete, pointed to you then to him and the man and said one word: “kill”. You did just that and found that you were fascinated with the human body. 

The man, as a man, was uninteresting to you, but watching how the human body reacted on a biologic level as you murdered him was fascinating. You hadn’t done anything too awful, just slit his throat. Still, you’ll never forget the intense curiosity you felt at watching as his limbs flailed as the blood slipped down his body. How his eyes bulged and his jaw clenched. The Night Folk seemed pleased with your results and ended up incorporating you. 

Still, talk is rare. The most anyone speaks is when a trap is being set, but even then it’s minimal. Usually just a “you pretend to be injured, cry out for help” or “whistle like a bird, confuse the rider’s horse”. 

The Night Folk themselves are interesting. They have no leadership. Everyone is completely equal, even when it comes to things like eating and sex, both in the social and physical aspect of sex. Orgies tend to be a common thing with them, but as you’re a newby, you’re not allowed to participate, which is just fine. They may not have a leadership, but newcomers must earn their right to participate in all gang activities. In fact, you’re not even allowed to kill anyone when a trap is set. You’re the one who acts as lookout for when a new target heads your way. 

It’s uncertain how long you have to be the lowest person on the totem pole, but you don’t complain. You’ve never been a very talkative person anyways, and perhaps you’ve always had something sick living in you because you’ve always had a fascination with the human body, putting aside the knowledge that they feel, think and have a complex form of conscience. You could care less about them as you’d care for a fly being swatted. 

Despite the Night Folk having no leadership, they have tight bonds with one another. However, you have not gained that right yet. You’ve tried pushing yourself up into their ranks, even tried to dive into the slaughter when a trap has been sprung, but the results have not been good. The more seasoned members got extremely aggressive towards you and chased you off, threatening to butcher you next. 

It’s this lack of concern for you on their part that ends up getting you into trouble. Living in the swamps has plenty of risks. The gators are the most obvious of course, but there’s also snakes and biting bugs that can carry diseases. Boars can also be a problem as they spook easy and will sometimes bash their tusks into the thing that’s threatening them. Every once in a while, a panther will wander into the area. They are the most frightening, as they’re silent and cunning. It’s impossible to hunt one as they blend in so seamlessly. Luckily they don’t come this far down too often. 

You’re standing on the fork of a road. It’s foggy out tonight, providing the perfect cover. You’re watching for any travelers coming down the road, and pretty soon you see one coming down the path. You let out a low whistle, alerting the others of his presence. The man is instantly on edge. You decide to test him, see how curious or wary he is. After all, this section of the forest is known for its ghosts. Not only that, but he won’t see you. You’re too well camouflaged. All Night Hunters paint themselves when preparing a trap. 

“I still love you,” you call out. You’ve heard a spirit calling this out before and even see the ghostly apparition of a young woman. 

The man instantly stops. “Someone there?” he calls out. His voice says that he’s alert. 

“Come back to me,” you say. 

The man unwittingly begins coming towards the sound of your voice. “Miss, are you hurt?” Just a little closer. 

“Come home,” you plead. He’s feet away from you and still can’t see you hidden in the foliage. 

Suddenly the others are on him. They stalk over to him, not running. They don’t need to. With their camouflage and the heavy fog, there’s no need. He doesn’t see them until it’s too late, and even his horse doesn’t. It gets spooked, sure, but it fails to spot them until they’re onto him. 

The man yells out in fright as the others pull him off his horse, throwing him into the mud. You watch in excitement as they begin beating him, then hacking at him with their machetes. He pulls out his gun, preparing to shoot one, but his hand is smacked away and the gun points in your direction. It goes off suddenly and something slams into you, just above your right hip. Pain rips through you like you’ve never experienced and you fall, letting out a grunt of pain. The others don’t hear it as they’re killing the man, but you’re in trouble. 

As they finish killing their man, you try to stand but can’t due to the excruciating pain. Three of the men take the kill and begin strapping it to a tree, a warning to others passing this way. Then the signal is given that it’s time to find a new spot. You end up hobbling your way onto the path, a hand pressed over the wound as blood seeps onto your fingers. 

The others see and what they do next is a surprise. You thought that by this point they’d value you enough to try and help. Instead, they turn on you. They start kicking you, knocking you down. A loud crack comes from your left arm, signalling its break. You scream and try to fight them off, but there’s too many. 

When you think it’s over, they stop and one of them grabs you by your hair and drags you to a new section of the swamp about a hundred yards away. They position you onto the soggy grass and put a lantern down. Then, to be sure you can’t run, one takes his machete and cuts your thigh. The gash is deep and you holler in pain. 

You don’t understand why they’re doing this, then it becomes obvious. They’ve no means nor desire to care for their wounded, so rather than fight the inevitability of death, they’re using you as bait. For what though is unclear. It can’t be for gators, most of them are too lazy to come this far out of the water to eat. Boars, maybe. They’ll happily eat a person who can’t defend themselves. 

The Night Folk suddenly scurry off, back into the foliage. You know they’re not running, but hiding. You try calling for them, your body burning in pain, but they ignore you. You try getting up, but the bullet wound, your broken arm and gashed leg completely prevent it. You’re stuck here, and you don’t like it. You feel like one of the dozens of people you’ve lured into a trap, and the fear they must’ve felt comes into you. It’s not fun. 

Despite your best efforts, you begin to cry. This must be what they want anyways. The sounds of a woman sobbing would lure in any unwitting person. It works. 

After a rather short period, another man comes down the path. He’s not dressed like some city man, but rather a man of the wild. A man who’s been many places and seen many things. You feel the urge to not let these bastards who’ve betrayed you get another kill, not on your watch, but you can’t help the sobs. 

“Ma’am, you a’right?” the man calls out. His horse paws the trail nervously. Surely it senses the danger. You want to tell him to leave, to save himself, but you can’t. The idea of uttering a single word seems as impossible as walking. “You hurt?” 

He prods his horse to get closer to you, and once again you try to tell him to leave. He keeps asking if you’re okay, and you keep on failing to say anything. He’s about ten feet away and looks like he’s about to dismount when they attack. 

The Hunters start their slow stalking out of their hiding spots, wielding their machetes. The horse roars in anger. Clearly this man has been in many dangerous situations as he notices the danger almost immediately. He pulls out a shotgun and kicks his horse into a trot, becoming a moving target. As the Night Folk carry no aerial weapons, they’re left with chasing his horse. The man clearly has the upper hand though and he quickly takes them down. 

“Creepy bastards!” he grunts as the last one falls. He looks at you, disgust on his face. You realize that this man is your only hope at surviving at this point. He puts his shotgun in its holster on his saddle. 

“You,” he says harshly. “You one of them Night Folk.” 

He waits for you to respond but you don’t, other than to whimper. 

“Say something right now or I’m leavin’. You can fend off them gators alone.” 

You try again to speak but can’t. You’re in too much pain. He throws you a look of contempt and kicks his horse into a walk. 

“Help,” you somehow manage to say. “Help me!” 

The man stops and looks at you. “You ain’t gonna try to kill me, are ya?” 

Tears leak from your eyes. “N-no. I can’t.” 

He sighs and dismounts. He keeps one hand on his gun as he slowly approaches you. When he’s close, he inspects your body. The odd angle your arm is lying in, the bleeding wounds on your thigh and hip. 

“You’re in bad shape. What happened?” 

“Got… got shot. They turned on me.” 

“Those lousy bastards. Well, I can help ya, but you have to promise me you won’t try killing anyone. You do and I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in your head.” 

You nod and he leans over. Instead of helping you up, he quickly searches you, making sure you have no weapons. You don’t, so then he picks you up, making you wince and grunt in pain and he apologizes. After settling you on the back of his horse, he mounts up in front and canters down the path. You clutch to him with your good arm and somehow manage not to black out. 

After a while, he slows the horse down and rides up on an old cabin. You recognize it a bit as it sits not too far from the swamps you and the other Night Folk occupied. An older woman, who looked like a gunslinger, used to live there until she just left one day, the land surrounding her cabin littered with bodies. You thought nothing of it, but the cabin’s sat empty since. 

The man carries you into the cabin and settles you down on a dingy, old mattress, damp from the humid air. You cradle your arm to your body. He inspects your injuries a little closer. 

“Bet you still got that bullet in ya. That, uh, needs to come out.” 

You shift away from him, knowing it’s going to hurt like hell. He starts looking around and finds a file which he then heats up over a candle he lit. Then, he approaches you with the hot file. You scoot away from him, your eyes boring into the file. 

As he starts instructing you to lay down so he can help. Maybe it’s a result of spending time with the Night Folk or maybe your fight-or-flight instincts kick in, but you’re suddenly standing up and lunging at him, waving your good arm around, trying to strike him and you yowl like a wildcat. The man fends you off, and suddenly his fist pummels into your face, knocking you back onto the bed and into a world of darkness. 

******************************************

Hours pass and you finally come to. Your body is in a lot of pain and  you’re lying on your back, settled on the bed. When your vision clears, you scan the cabin and find it empty. The man’s gone and early morning light streams through the tattered curtains. 

You look down at your body and see that you’re bandaged in multiple places. That man, dispute you attacking him, must have done this. You inspect the bullet wound and figure he must have gotten it out. Your arm’s in a tight cast and in a sling. Guilt floods you as you knew he was just trying to help, but after what your old gang did, it’s no surprise you didn’t trust him much. 

On the night stand beside the bed sits a bottle of whiskey which holds a folded piece of paper. You unfold it and read: 

“I don’t know if you can read, but if you can, I just wanted to let you know you should be safe for now and I’m sorry for having to knock you out. However, I strongly advise you to get away from here. Them folks who turned on you are likely to still want you dead. 

If you are wise, you’ll try ending up with better folk. I myself run with a gang, and I thought about bringing you to them as you seem to need the protection, but the honest truth is I can’t trust you not to kill any of them. There are days I want to kill some of them, so forgive me for not trusting you.”

There is no signature, but you feel even more ashamed. Here is a man who was willing to bring you to run with his gang, as you’ve never been a fan of following laws yourself, yet even among outlaws you’re an outcast. You decide from here on out, you want to get cleaned up. Not go straight, necessarily, but just enough that you can be trusted. After all, a life of isolation is no life at all. 

As the man recommended, you decide to leave the swamps when you’re healed enough. However, it takes a long time for travel as you’ve no horse, but after a few weeks, you end up in the Cumberland Forest. It’s a lovely place and you find yourself enjoying the hot, dry air rather than the humidity. 

As far as your behavior goes, you don’t change so much in that you rob and sometimes kill people. You just don’t put them on display the way you did with the Night Folk. Often you still feel that intense curiosity as to the human body and lack of empathy. However, you know that your behaviors are not normal so you curb your desires to study the corpses you create as you know it will only lead to trouble. 

Years have passed since you were saved by that man. You haven’t seen him since, but you did hear, only a few months after he saved you, of a gang being chased out of a place called Beaver Hollow and that a man died during the escape. Part of you wonders if he knew the man who saved you, but you’ve no way of knowing since you never even learned his name. 

[headoverjojo]

That BucciG with an s/o that owns a lot of unusual pets killed me! It was extremely cute and funny. And i was wondering if i could request BucciG with an s/o that owns a Hedgehog? Bhaha sorry it's a little bit ridiculous but im kinda intrigued, i own a tiny friendly 🦔 and it's funny how people just go "uuuhhh spikes" or "does it bite" 😆

Hiiii honey!! Aaaaaa I’m glad you liked that :,) It had been so fun to write!! And I hope that you’ll like this one too :3 Here we go!

Bruno’s gang with a s/o who owns a hedgehog

(Under the cut for length!)

Bruno Bucciarati

Bruno was visibly surprised when his s/o informed him about their domestic pet. A hedgehog? He had no idea that hedgehogs could also be domestic pets! He’s utterly curious to meet the little one, asking his s/o what should be the best approach to befriend their hedgehog. He loves them and he knows they love their opet, so he wants to do his best to befriend them!

As they suggested, he approached the little one when the sun was setting down and the hedgehog was more active. he let it sniffle his hand, covered by a glove, to study him, patient. They had told him that the hedgehog would have needed some time to grow accustomed to him, so Bruno didn’t feel sad or demotivated when they trotted to their owner to get their food. It was just the first step!

Bruno is a calm person and this helps immensely. Thanks to it, the little one doesn’t freak out due to sudden movements and feels safe around Bruno. After some time, Bruno finally manages to befriend them! It’s a great day for him! Now he can say he’s part of the family for real, as also his s/o’s pet has accepted him!

Leone Abbacchio

Abbacchio frowned. Intensely. A hedgehog? Really? Why not a dog or a cat, even a hamster? Why a hedgehog? He wants to know! He makes them explain in details why they chose such a peculiar animal, listening intently to their answer. In the end, he just sighs, agreeing to meet their pet; it’s clear that they love them and he doesn’t want to disappoint them refusing to meet the hedgehog.

Even though he thought that he would have felt pretty neutral towards the hedgehog, he just fell in love with them. They were so small, so timid… Abbacchio had a soft spot for small animals, and the hedgehog is just as cute as their owner. Not that he’s going to say that! Being him a calm and collected person who doesn’t make weird or sudden moves, the hedgehog never felt fear around Abbacchio, growing quite fond of their owner’s boyfriend in a relative little time. Even Abbacchio’s s/o is surprised!

Abbacchio usually can’t sleep a lot, so he likes to spend time reading on the couch, usually, not to bother his sleeping s/o. These are the moments when he and their hedgehog can bond, as hedgehogs are more active at night. Abbacchio takes care of them, watching them trotting around when they’re near, cleaning their cage, even giving them some worms as reward when they do a lot of movement! In the end, the hedgehog almost seems to be more attached to Abbacchio than to their owner!

Guido Mista

During his childhood and early teenage years, Mista had a ton of pets. Most of them weren’t even domestic pets, but strays that had, in fact, adopted his family. Cats, dogs, even a couple of seagulls… there was always an animal around his house! But he has never seen a domestic hedgehog. He’s so curious to meet them!

His s/o told him how to behave with the little one, and Mista did his best to act as they said. No sudden noises, no weird movements… even if inside he was screaming and dying due to too much cuteness, externally he stayed calm and chill, letting the hedgehog sniffing his hand. The Pistols were watching them closely, curious; it was something new and strange for them too! And, among them all, in the end the hedgehog chose as their favourite Number 5, as he was the softest and quietest, when Number 3 didn’t make him cry, of course.

Mista is an attentive person, both to his s/o and their hedgehog; he’s up to share their cage’s cleaning duties, to feed them when his s/o isn’t at home… it’s not a burden! And he has time to bond with them. Even if he knows he shouldn’t give them treats, as hedgehogs tend to become fat, he can’t help but doing it, sometimes! Once, the Pistols, when he wasn’t watching, even tried to give them a piece of salami!

Narancia Ghirga

Narancia is absolutely ecstatic when he hears that his s/o has a pet! He could never own a pet, when he was a child, aside from a orange cat that his mother adored, and, after her death, they simply disappeared. So he’s happy to know that his s/o has a little friend at home! And maybe they can be his friend too? He’d love it so much!

His surprise when he sees it’s a hedgehog is immense. Hedgehogs can be domestic pets?! Since when?! And how do they take care of their hedgehog? Do they bite? Or throw their stings?! Some of his questions are so innocent and funny that make them sincerely laugh. So, they sit down with him, explaining in detail how the life with a hedgehog is, while gently caressing their hedgehog’s small muzzle and belly. Narancia is dying inside; he wants to pet them too!!

However, he has to be patient; the hedgehog needs time to grow accustomed to him! He’s impatient, however; when will they finally be accustomed enough?? Now? In two hours? One day? His s/o has to be very patient and to bear with his pouts and even demotivation, reassuring him that the hedgehog just needs a little time! And, as they said, when the little one finally warms up and goes near to Narancia to get their food, he’s ecstatic again! They’re friends now!

Pannacotta Fugo

Fugo never had the chance to own any pet in his life, as his parents didn’t want a “ball of fur”, as they said, and a distraction in their home. So, Fugo is quite happy to know they have a pet! It may also be sort of therapeutic… until they say it’s not a dog or a cat, but a hedgehog. What? Has he heard well? How strange, a hedgehog as pet…

Before even trying to approach the little one, Fugo does some research about domestic hedgehog. He sincerely wants to do the right things! He’s used to break things, but this time he’d like to do something good and positive. So, he approaches the little one with method, following the instruction he has read, by letting them sniff his gloved hand and study him all the time they need, staying calm and quiet. In the end, he’s rewarded with the hedgehog’s friendship!

Fugo is a really responsible man, ready to share everything with his s/o, being those pleasant things or less ones, such as cleaning the hedgehog’s cage. He shares the hedgehog’s care with his s/o and in the end this repays him with the hedgehog’s love! Fugo always beams in joy when the little one trots to him to sniff him or to get a worm or two, and his s/o can’t help but to smile sweetly when he sees them interact. They’re so cute!

Giorno Giovanna

Even if he never owned a pet -his mother already did a horrible job with her child-, after awakening Gold Experience he grew used to the most extravagant animals, such as frogs, snakes and so on. In order to use Gold Experience’s power at its best, Giorno studied various animals and how to better use them; so, he’s not totally unprepared when his s/o tells him that they own a small hedgehog. Now he’s curious to meet them!

Giorno is a patient and determined man. If befriending the little one will require days, even weeks, he’ll brace himself and be constant for all the needed time, letting them slowly approaching him, sniffing his gloved hands and he’d slowly gain their trust by sticking around and giving them food when it’s time for them to eat. He’d do his best to help them to associate him to positive things, slowly, without any rush. And when the hedgehog is finally comfortable around him, Giorno’s smile is so happy that he seems the teenager he is, for once!

Even if it doesn’t seem, Giorno spoils them. They’re so cute, with their little muzzle, their soft little belly… he just can’t resist. He surrendered the first moment he saw them and he goes on even now! Of course he’s careful, for example, to not give them too much food, as he knows that hedgehogs tend to become fat and he doesn’t want them not to be healthy! He’s also really careful to the room temperature, always checking to see if it’s right for the little one. More than one time his s/o catched him with the hedgehog on his lap; he’s really warm and their hedgehog is not stupid. Again, they’re so cute together!

[batskulldrag]

Phoenix by Fallout Boy

chapter thirteen is here. this one contains Romile, and plenty of fluff

Chapter Thirteen: Out of Hell by Skillet      

Virgil fluttered nervously past Roman for the third time. Roman watched as his nephew peered out each window and retreated back to the couch. Virgil drummed his fingers against his laptop and chewed the band aid on his stationary hand.

               “You ok Billie Stylish?” Roman asked, sitting down beside him.

               “Sure. I’m fine.” Virgil didn’t look up.

               “It’s going to be ok.” Roman put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Payton has laughed his last laugh. And he will spend the rest of his days being beaten up in prison.”

               “But what if Payton accuses you guys of being child rapists or something? Then he’s going to win because everyone always believes him, and he’ll have ruined your lives. Or he’ll lose anyway, but still manage to ruin the three of you, and I have to live with the constant guilt that this is all my fault for getting you into this. And Uncle Patton and Uncle Logan are going to be quiet about the whole thing while silent resentment grows, because everything was fine until I showed up. Or worse, they’re not, and they’re just gonna forgive me for bringing this plague down on them.”

               “That’s quite the soliloquy.” Roman patted him on the head. “And that’s not going to happen. Payton can accuse us of whatever he likes, but I know a secret.”

               “You can blackmail him?” Virgil jolted up.

               “No, it’s like this. You remember how the bastard always told you that people always side with the adult?”

               “Yes, that’s why I’m worried.”

               “Well, first of all it’s a fallacy. Secondly, what is true is that people tend to side against the man who is in prison for trying to murder a child.”

               “He wasn’t trying to kill me.” Virgil’s heart audibly sank. “Was he?”

               Roman leaned back in surprise. Payton probably hated Virgil, at the very least he didn’t love him. And the viper had put him in the hospital more than once. Yet, Virgil was still hurt to think that Payton wanted him dead. Why should he care what Payton wanted?

               “I don’t know.” Roman hugged him. “He trapped you in a burning building. If he wasn’t trying to kill you, then it just means he’s not a murderer per say. But at the very least, it means that he didn’t care if you died. And that’s not your fault. That’s on him.”

               “I’m sick of being upset about this.” Virgil made a sound halfway between a scream and a sob. “I know he doesn’t care about me. Why is it still a gut punch? Why do I even still care at all?”

               “Humans feel.” Roman rubbed his back softly. “And feelings never make sense.”

               “I hate it.”

               “Come on, let’s go do something to take your mind off things.” Roman patted him on the shoulders. “It’s about time you got to be a kid.”

                                                                               #             #             #

               Virgil chewed on his hoodie strings as the crowd gathered around the tour guide.

               “Sacred of ghosts, Sweeny toddler?” Roman teased, ruffling his hair.

               “I ain’t afraid of no ghost.” Virgil sneered.

               “No, but I bet they’re terrified of you. We might not even see any with you around.”

               Virgil laughed softly. Two hundred uncle points. Roman put his arm around him and they walked up to the guide.

               “Two spots in your tour please.” Roman said as he produced the fairs with a great flourish.

               “Oh, you again.” The guide exhaled. “And you have a kid with you. Great.”

               The guide took the money and Roman contentedly fell into step with Virgil in tow.

               “He doesn’t like you.” Virgil taunted. “Did you steal his boyfriend?”

               “Virgil, a man does not steal a life partner, nor does he win one. He woos one.”

               “Woo. Woo.” Virgil added with a straight face and a straighter voice.

               “And the tour guide simply doesn’t appreciate me practicing my improv while I’m on his tours.” Roman explained. “Although, he is a very nice fellow. We both work as nude models at the portraiture class. He’s straight, so I had no chances.”

               “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” Virgil mimicked.

               “You’ve been watching a lot of sit-coms?”

               “I can’t sleep some nights, so I just YouTube deep dive. And now I know how to make a life like moose out of old newspaper.”

               “Chamomile tea. Try some before bed, or warm milk.”

               “You make it sound like conspiracy theories aren’t good for me.” Virgil grinned like the Cheshire cat. “Did you know that there was this one lady who made her victims into soap, and she used the soap. But the worst part was she also turned them into cake, and she ate the cake.”

               “Remind me to get you some video games, something less… horrible.”

               “I thought video games cause violence.” Virgil smirked.

               “Sure, and vaccines cause autism. Pencils cause bad handwriting, spoons cause fat people and gays in media cause gay people.”

               “Yeah, I’m gonna murder a bunch of people because I’m playing Pokémon.” Virgil sneered, damn he was good at it. “It has nothing to do with the school system that does nothing to stop bulling, or the extremely abusive dad y’all sent me home to every day. It was the video games, Linda.”

               “What kind of Pokémon did you have?” Roman changed the subject away from Payton.

               “I had a Mew, a Haunter and a Psyduck. And a psychic type Evee.” Virgil sighed. “I went with the mind powered ones and all the ghost types.”

               “That sounds fun.” Roman beamed, finally one nice thing in this little boy’s life.

               “My dad broke my computer, and any other device that had my game on it.” Virgil looked at the ground. “I think they starved to death.”

               Why is it that whenever something good happens you show up to ruin it? You snake in the machine, I hate you. Roman silently scripted a call out letter to Payton.

               “Hey, it’s Dr. Picani.” Virgil derailed his train of thought.

               Roman looked over and spotted the familiar blond-haired doctor now wearing a brown T-shirt that displayed the Scooby Doo gang and khaki cargo shorts. More importantly though was the fact that his now exposed arms showed off an array of tattoos. Roman rubbed his eyes, no way. No way did this man, this doctor have tattoos. No, it was far more likely that he had a twin brother, and that was who they saw now.

               “He’s got ink.” Virgil squeaked in awe. “Let’s go say hi to him.”

               Virgil grabbed his hand and darted towards the doctor. He was alarmingly strong for a kid who only weighed a hundred pounds.

               “Virge, wait.” Roman said in a hushed voice, pulling the emo back. “I’m not sure we should.”

               “Are you a-scared of the doctor?” Virgil laughed.

               “No, he was in my still life class last week…”

               “OOOOOO, you’re embarrassed to talk to a guy who has nudes of you.” He was incorrigible. “Maybe if you ask nice, he’ll give the pictures back. Or are you afraid he’ll post it on social media?”

               “I’m not embarrassed for me, he ended up getting really upset and I consoled him afterwards.” Roman explained. “I’m worried if I talk to him it’ll put him in an awkward position.”

               “SUUUREEEE.” Virgil rolled his eyes. “Cause the dude who strips down and poses isn’t the guy in the awkward position.”

               “Why do you suddenly turn into a kid now?”

               “What’s the problem?” Virgil shrugged. “So he got upset, big deal. I cried in front of him a few times and I’m not embarrassed to talk to him. If you refused to talk to anyone who’s seen you naked or who’s gotten frustrated with painting, you’d have to be a hermit. Just like if I avoided everyone who has seen me crying about something, I wouldn’t be able to leave my room.”

               “You’re stunningly sharp.”

               “Hey! Dr. Picani!” Virgil yelled, which Roman didn’t think he could do, as he waved over to the doctor.

               Picani waved back and approached them. His legion of tattoos becoming clearer. Unsurprisingly, if anything about this could be considered unsurprising, most of his tattoos were from cartoons. The one that struck Roman in particular was the image of Lady Rainacorn wrapped around his left arm from shoulder to wrist. His right arm displayed a group portrait of Clifford, Courage, Scooby Doo, Blue, some green dog that looked like a stuffed toy who he didn’t recognize and Goddard.[1]  

               “Hey Virgil.” Emile greeted happily. “Hi Roman.”

               “Awkward indeed.” Virgil looked over at Roman with raised eyebrows.

               “Good evening Emile.” Roman added cordially. “Are you out ghost hunting as well?”

               “Yeah, I figured I should get out. And this sounded like a nifty idea. What brings you to this haunted cul-de-sac?”

               “We live here.” Virgil said smoothly with an air of villainy. “Well, lived here. We’re the ghosts that haunt these streets.”

               “Aren’t you the cutest thing?” Emile ruffled Virgil’s hair. “It’s nice to see you so excited.”

               Virgil scowled at the sidewalk as his face turned red. The tour guide started walking and they followed him in quite precession. Roman rubbed his hands in anticipation of their first stop. Now he had two people to impress.

               “I didn’t know you had ink.” Virgil pressed Emile. “And I really didn’t know you had that much.”

               “Yeah,” Emile looked at his arms. “I’ve got a couple of books worth of it. Lady Rainacorn is new. I think it’s healing up nicely.”

               “Did it hurt?”

               “Not as bad as my first one did.”

               “What was the first one?”

               “It was actually Clifford,” Emile showed them the portrait. “I got it to cover up a dog bite.”

               “Really?” Virgil leaned back in surprise.

               “Yeah, he was old and sore, and I tried to pet him. Still got me good.”

               “That’s awful.” Roman added.  

                “It’s ok.” Emile shrugged. “He was a good boy, he just got old.”

               “Alright our first stop.” The guide had everyone gather around. “This building stands abandoned due to the ghosts that torment anyone who dares try to live in it. The house was built atop an Indian burial ground. The spirits buried here cannot rest because of the desecration to their sacred place.”

               “That is wholly inaccurate.” Roman added loudly. “The tormentors of the building are remnants of the poor souls who died their when it was used as an unlicensed hospital in the eighties. The proprietors mismanaged their facility horridly and would even go so far as to steal supplies from the actual hospital. They would go on to receive more unwelcomed visitors from beyond in the form of men and women who died as a result of their theft. Malpractice insurance really didn’t cover that one.”

               “Really?” The guide looked bored. “Who are you tonight Roman?”

               “Dr. Roman Brown. Paranormal expert.” Roman put his arm around Virgil. “I’m here with my ward.”

               “How’d you get a kid?” The guide expressed genuine confusion and revulsion.

               “I’ve had Virgil for a time now, I caught him trying to pick my pocket. Poor creature lived on the streets.”

               “Really?”

               “Yes really.” Virgil retorted. “I was abandoned as a baby on the steps of a Catholic church. But they believed that I had demon’s blood in my veins and sent me out into the streets to fend for myself when I was four.”

               “You’re half demon?”

               “Maybe.” Virgil shrugged. “Who’s to say? All I know is that there are a lot of things that keep trying to pull me into hell.”

               “Really?” The guide scoffed.

               “Just last month a hand shot up out of the dirt and grabbed my ankle.” Virgil continued flawlessly. “I fought it as it tried to drag me under and broke my foot in the process.”

               Virgil pointed at his walking boot. The crowd murmured in astonishment. Roman’s heart swelled with pride.

               Defeated, the guide took them to the next stop.

               “Virgil, that was beautiful.” Roman said quietly. “The way you flawlessly wove your cast into the narrative as proof was inspired. I’m so proud of you, I may weep.”

               “I got good at lying.” Virgil looked at his feet. “I learned from the best.”

               “Never mind Payton.” Emile patted him on the shoulder. “You can just have fun making up stories tonight. Be a kid.”

               “Are those doctor’s orders?” Virgil looked up at him.

               “They are now.” Emile stood up straight.

               Roman noticed an indent in Emile’s shirt. It looked like a stud in his navel. Did he have piercings as well? Who was this man?

               “Here we have the next stop, it may not look like much, but Kim and Jim’s Bar and Grill was built on top of the remains of the old mortuary and is plagued with strange events to this day.” The guide explained, you could tell he hated this job.

               “Yes,” Emile chimed in. “There was a gruesome series of experiments in the mortuary and now the woods are inhabited with the results. Terrifying amalgamations made of severed limbs. Hands attached to feet, heinous arm-leg monsters and every other combination that doesn’t include a face. Stripped of their identities they roam around helplessly.”

               “And at night, when the drunks go home,” Roman added. “You can hear them crying. They’re in so much pain.”

               The audience and guide looked at them, baffled.

               “Of course.” Virgil suddenly said, gesturing towards Emile. “Dr. Emile Vankmen. Parapsychologist. A true credit to his field.”

               There were many nods. The tourists didn’t really care for a believable story, they wanted a good story. And by the sniped snakes of a gorgon salon, that is what they were going to get.

               They went through the stops, trumping the guide’s every tale with a gruesome murder, demonic happening or cartoon plot line. The crowd was eating it up and Virgil was teaming with energy. He seemed to be absorbing it and converting it into power.

               “Virgil is having fun.” Emile laughed.

               “I know,” Roman beamed. “We uncles know how to let one become a kid.”

               “Are you related to the other two?”

               “No, we’re just especially close.” Roman recalled fondly. “I cheated for Patton for a month while he was dealing with his mother’s death. Of course, without him knowing.”

               “How did you do that?” Emile looked confused and slightly impressed.

               “I wrote a few essays in character as him.” Roman brushed it off as if it were nothing. “I’m always up for a chance to practice my vocation.”

               “Virgil, don’t let him cheat for you.” Emile looked down at where Virgil was.

               Emphasis on was, because he was gone. Roman felt instant panic. He had lost Virgil! He had lost a traumatized child with anxiety! Virgil was probably terrified! What if he was hurt?!

               “Where did he go!!??” Roman yelped. “He was just here? Virgil!?”

               “Ok, ok.” Emile held up a shaking hand. “Maybe he walked to the front of the group.”

               Through their panic they heard Virgil scream, then the tour guide and a few tourists scream.

               The worst had happened! Roman ran to the front of the line and saw Virgil on the ground laughing while the guide stared at him irately.

               “Virgil!” Roman grabbed him. “Don’t do that again! I thought I lost you!”

               “Sorry.” Virgil relented rather easily. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that. I, I hadn’t considered that you’d notice I was gone.”

               “Well, I did.” Roman walked back to their place in the group, holding Virgil’s hand. “I want you to stay where I can see you. It’s dark and you don’t know the neighborhood, something might have happened to you.”

               Virgil was quiet as he looked at the sidewalk in confusion. He was probably wondering why no one was hitting him. In fact, he was probably wondering why Roman cared what happened to him. Roman sighed, he didn’t know how to un-traumatize a kid, all he really had to go off was how Logan had been after everything came out. And Virgil and Logan were drastically different characters with very different abusers. So, that wasn’t much of a comparison.

               “Virgil.” Roman put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry I yelled. But you really scared me, and I don’t want you wandering around where I can’t see you.”

               “You call that yelling?” Virgil looked confused. “It’s fine. I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m sorry.”

               “Ok. Let’s continue our tour.” Roman wrapped his arm around him. “But now you have to hold my hand.”

               “Whatever.” Virgil rolled his eyes and smiled.

               “And to this day, no one knows the cause of the building’s collapse.” The guide pointed at a vacant spot where a house had once been.

               “Actually, that one was us.” Emile interrupted, feigning embarrassment. “It was how we found out about Virgil’s powers.”

               “He has powers now?” The guide raised an eyebrow.

               “Yep,” Virgil picked up. “Demonic powers made the whole building implode. I can control them much better now.”

               “He had a nightmare that manifested itself into physical form and started haunting us.” Emile continued. “It picked us off one by one until only Virgil was left. Last thing I remember is just… blackness. No sound, no light. I don’t think I could even feel anything, then next thing I knew, I was just back and there was no more building. Not even rubble, just what you see now, with Virgil standing in the middle of it.”

               “Yes, I remember that night.” Roman joined in. “A hideous creature started roaming the halls. It was six feet tall, completely black and had no face. Well, no face on its head. But it’s chest. Right where men have a navel, it had a mouth. And when it opened that horrid maw a vertical slit went up to its pencil thin neck and showed a ribcage. A ribcage broken down the middle that it used as teeth. A long red tongue cleaned saliva and blood off the jagged ribs as it drooled in anticipation of its next meal.”

               “And the smell.” Virgil added solemnly. “It reeked of decay. Of maggot filled puss and blackened flesh. Not like cooked blackened, more like dead five times over blackened. And he enveloped his prey in darkness like a spider cocooning its next meal.” Virgil gagged, for real. The little one had just made himself sick.

               “And he took the other two.” Virgil looked at the crowd. “I was the only one left, and just when I was sure that I was gonna die alone, with only that, that thing as company, I felt this sensation in my gut. Like a burning. And it went through my whole body and a moment of realization overcame me. This heat was natural, familiar. I realized what I was, who I was. And that thing, well, that thing was gonna pay for what it did. So, I focused my energy, my hatred, my courage on it and the whole building came down around us, and the thing was sucked into the ground, leaving me standing in an empty lot.”  

               “Let’s just move on.” The guide was even more unimpressed with them.

               Virgil made faces behind the guide’s back for the rest of the night. Emile did as well. Roman sent him a few ungentlemanly hand gestures and internally called him a bitch. He had no taste for a good horror story. Heathen. That was an excellent description and a lovely climax.

As the night went on Roman noticed that Virgil was walking differently and always stood on his good foot whenever they stopped. When they were moving, he would either limp very slightly or hop on one foot, which he tried to cover up, but really couldn’t.

               “Is your foot hurting?” Roman asked, fairly aware of the answer and the lie that Virgil would tell.

               “No.”

               “Yes, it is.”

               “That’s a neat trick. Can you tell me if my neck hurts next?”

               “Alright, come on.” Roman picked him up.

               “What are you doing!?”

               “I’m going to carry you.”

               “Like hell you are!”

               “Come on, you really mean to tell me that you don’t want a piggyback ride?”

               “I’m an adult.”

               “You’re a teenager at best.”

               “That’s still too old.”

               “But someday you’re gonna be too big to carry.”

               “Yeah, yesterday.”

               Ignoring him completely, Roman slumped Virgil over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and kept walking.

               “Have you been sleeping better lately?” Emile asked, lagging behind slightly so he could see Virgil’s face.

               “Yeah. I guess.”

               “He,” Roman interrupted. “Has been watching horrific true crime stories on his computer.”

               “Oh, sure. Say nothing about the newspaper moose.” Roman assumed that Virgil was sneering.

               “Well, they proved that you shouldn’t be on your computer before bed.” Emile offered.

               “Uncle Logan told me the same thing.”

               “Wikipedia’s sleep routine doesn’t help him sleep though.” Roman accused.

               “I’m telling him you called him that.”

               “He knows.”

               They apprehensively arrived at their last stop.

               “This cemetery is a hot spot for paranormal activity.” The guide explained. “It is home to The Tunnleberry Vampire, the bipedal dogs and the ghost of many a deranged Civil War general. The most famous of which resides in that mausoleum over there.” He pointed to a large grey building with carved angels out front. “Legend has it that he was betrayed in battle and rose from the grave to exact his revenge on those who betrayed him. His lieutenant who spear headed the mutiny was found suffocated to death inside the general’s empty casket. The general’s body was never found.”

               “I believe the vampire was just the cemetery caretaker in a mask.” Emile interrupted. “He wanted to increase tourism in these parts to drive up the value of this graveyard so they couldn’t sell it.”

               “And those bipedal dogs turned out to be a pair of really hairy dudes banging.” Virgil shuddered. “I think it’s scarred onto my retinas.”

               “But that mausoleum.” Roman said seriously. “There is definitely something about that place. Something that haunts me. Something that despite all my years of ghost hunting still strikes me as the most unnatural event I have ever been unlucky enough to witness with my own eyes.”

                “Of course, there is.” The guide sighed.

               “It was back when I was still trying to get my paranormal business off the ground.” Roman dove into the story. “My then partner, and senior ghost hunter, Luigi Verd, was by my side the entire time. True blue he was, I’ll always remember him. We found ourselves in this graveyard investigating a series of disappearances around town. Mostly just troubled teens, alcoholics, and the homeless. But a life is a life, and a mystery is a mystery indeed. So, we set up.”

               Roman took a pause to let them get sucked in.

               “I was doing most of the lifting, as Luigi was recovering from a head injury. He had healed nicely in the hospital. The only sign of trauma was a stitched-up gash along his forehead. He was excited to have a scar to show off.” Roman looked at the ground sadly. “Or so I thought.”

               He could feel their anticipation.

               “Just as I had set everything up for our séance, we were hoping to ask the dead for a clue about the living. Anyway, just as I had finished these hooded men burst into the tomb. They were clad in floor length, red robes with their hoods pulled up to block out their faces. Before I could even react, two of them had me by each arm and they forced me onto one of the coffins and started tying down. And Luigi, who was like a brother to me, he just watched. They didn’t even go for him, but he just watched them bind me. I called out to him, and in response. He…” Roman took an exaggerated gasp. “He pulled out the stitch on his forehead. And his skin fell limp, but behind it where I expected flesh to be was more skin. And he pulled his face off as if he were removing a mask. And under the mask, under the face of a man I had known my entire life was this… this stranger! This figure who I didn’t know from Payton, slowly pulling the hide of my friend off his face. Wearing Luigi as a mask! The stranger laughed at me! He laughed at the brutal terror that welled up inside me! And he pulled out a long sharp knife…”

               “I was at the cemetery myself that night.” Virgil took up the story. “Following the dudes who were nice enough to not have me arrested for picking their pockets. In my childish mind I had sworn a life debt to them in that moment. But, little did I know that I’d be paying it off that night. Because that was when I heard the screams.”

               Mimicking Roman’s style Virgil paused and took a breath.

               “Being seven, whenever fight or flight came up in my brain I would normally fly. But that night, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why, I chose to fight. I sprinted towards the source of the screams and found the tomb doors closed to the outside. But did that stop me? No, with whatever strength a half-starved kid possesses I threw myself into the door and just kept slamming into it. I was in a frenzy! I just kept bashing into that door with all my weight. Seventy pounds of skin and bones ramming the door like there was no tomorrow.”

               “That’s where I came in.” Emile joined. “I had hit an alligator, literally there was a tiny alligator wrapped around my tire and was trying to fix my tire when I heard both the screaming and the constant thudding. I too ran to the source and saw a small child, bruised and bloody, hammering his fragile body into the concrete doors. The first thing I did was wrestle him away from the door before he killed himself. Then, I forced my tire iron between the crack in the two doors to pry it open like a lever. It budged open an inch, but then the men inside swung it open to see what was going on. I fought them as best as I could, even managing to break one’s arm. But then their leader pulled out this whip, made out of bones, human spinal bones and he snapped my weapon out of my hands while I was still reeling from the shock. Next thing I knew I was being chained to the floor.”

               “They took this distraction in their stride.” Roman shuddered. “And with Virgil and Emile dealt with they turned back to me. The knife wielder tore my shirt off in one swipe and drove his knife into my chest. Just when I thought I was done for I realized that he wasn’t about to stab me to death. Instead he slid the knife down towards my stomach, he was skinning me!”

               “I did the only thing I knew how to do.” Virgil jumped in. “I played dead. And miracle of miracles, they bought it. The one with the whip bent down to check on me, and I bit him. I sank my teeth into his wrist like it was the most delicious prime rib known to man. He fought me with his free hand, but no number of blows was making me spit that fucker’s arm out. I dug in until I hit bone, I ground my teeth to widen the wound, I sunk in until I was certain that he and I were one…”

               “And I took the opportunity to dislocate my thumb.” Emile jumped in on cue. “And slid out of one of my wrist restraints. With my free arm I put Virgil’s new chew toy in a head lock, he didn’t put up too much of a fight, as now he was woozy with blood loss. He collapsed, and Virgil started rooting through his body for the keys. Another robed guy came at me, so I did the worst thing I could think of. I grabbed his groin and I pulled with all my strength. He doubled over and Virgil tossed me the keys.”

               “With this madness going on, the leader had stopped trying to skin me and was now running towards the other two.” Roman took the reins once more. “He flew at Emile with the knife and they engaged in battle. Meanwhile, Virgil freed me, and I took the leader from behind. Emile dodged a stab and the leader fell into his own weapon. I took it from him, and Emile took up his tire iron once more. And.” Roman stopped. “Knowing that we couldn’t go to the police for fear of how deep this madness runs, without any other options. We… we finished them off.”

               “With that done. We sealed the tomb and vowed never to speak of it again.” Emile added. “And then we took Virgil to a hospital.”        

               “I had a collapsed lung.” Virgil added happily.

               The crowd applauded them and even the guide looked impressed. Emile and Virgil were satisfied, but Roman had one more trick left.

               “And,” Roman added, pulling up the hem of his shirt. “Here’s the receipt.”

               He pulled his shirt up to display a long scar that went from his sternum to his navel, well past his navel actually. The scar took the place of the more traditional bellybutton. It was still visible in the evening light. The scar itself was horrid looking. It was jagged, narrow in some places and bore the impression of skin grafts in others. It folded in slightly at his stomach giving a clear picture of how deep it was.

               The crowd gasped. Virgil squeaked in surprise and Emile looked on baffled (and hopefully impressed to be seeing Roman’s physique a second time.) Roman laughed to himself. This had been an excellent improv session and he had managed to both impress his nephew and a rather charming doctor.

               At the end of the tour Roman had done the gentlemanly thing and walked Emile to his car. The three of them laughed about their story telling talents and the tales of terror they wove.

               “Well, this is me.” Emile stopped at his car. “Thanks for walking me to my car. I didn’t want the cult to catch me alone.”

               “Of course not.” Roman agreed.

               “So, stop me if I’m intruding.” Emile started hesitantly. “But how did you get that scar?”

               “It’s far worse than the story.” Roman sighed.

               “Now you have to tell us.” Virgil bopped his shoulder.

               “Ok. I was born a conjoined twin.” Roman sighed. “They had to cut us apart. Remus, that’s my brother, has the same scar. Well, at least a similar one”

               “You both made it? That’s amazing.” Emile looked impressed. “Also, your names are Roman and Remus? Like Romulus and Remus?”

               “I hate it when people get that reference.”

               “Whatever would they have done if you were triplets?” Virgil taunted. “Hey, we all have Italian names.”

               The two adults laughed at Virgil’s observation.

               “Oh.” Emile started. “Would you two like a ride back home? I think Virgil over did it with the walking.”

               “That would be lovely.” Roman lit up slightly.

               “Woo.” Virgil said softly to Roman.

               “Now Virgil,” Roman said as he buckled his seat belt. “What would you normally do if a stranger offered you a ride home?”

               “Fight him to the death.” Virgil said plainly.

               “Ok, the correct answer is to say no and run away.” Roman disregarded that comment.

               They pulled into the driveway and saw that Patton and Logan were home already.

               “Thanks for the ride Dr. Picani.” Virgil said quickly as he darted out of the car.

               He was inside in a flash, no doubt to tell his parents everything he had been up to. Good. Roman exited the car with a bit more grace.

               “Thank you very much for the ride back, Emile.” Roman said graciously.

               “PSHSHHSHH.” Emile swatted the topic out of the air. “It was nothing.”

               There was a pause.

               “I had a good time hanging out with you.” Emile said timidly.

               “I had a good time with you too.” Roman felt himself blush.

               “I know there’s still the court case and everything…” Emile blushed as well. “But after that, when there won’t be any conflict of interest… are you single?”

               “Completely.” Roman answered.      

[1] The dogs are Clifford the Big Red Dog, Courage the Cowardly Dog, Scooby Dooby Doo, Blue from Blue’s Clues, Gir from Invader Zim (Hi Marie Pippins, that one’s for you) and Goddard from Jimmy Neutron

[breathlester]

Three for the price of one

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

summary: ‘the holiday’ inspired au where Dan and Phil spend a promising first date until Phil leaves in a hurry, dropping his wallet. Dan returns it the next day hoping for an explanation, but gets more than he bargained for.

genre: angst and fluff, angst with a happy ending, parenting, halloween/autumn

cw: references to minor character death, car accidents and trauma/injury; mentions of alcohol

"Soo ur still good 4 tonight?"

Dan taps away at his laptop nervously, waiting for the reply that comes seconds later.

- "I am indeed. x] Why, are you having second thoughts?"

He exhales, a smile forming on his face. Phil has a way of combining perfect grammar with strange emojis that makes Dan’s stomach flip over in the most pleasant way. And thinking about the effect Phil will have on him when they’re face to face for the first time in a couple of hours does absolutely nothing to calm his nerves.

"Nah just making sure haha :D" he types, ignoring the fact that he is nowhere near as relaxed as the casual “nah“ suggests.

Phil just sends a "♡" in response and Dan promptly chokes on his own saliva, hurrying to replicate the symbol, accidentally adding a second 3 to the heart. Hopefully Phil won’t think he’s overly eager. Although he is, but Phil doesn’t need to know that.

- "Can’t wait to see you, but you will have to let me leave now if you want me to be on time! ^-^"

"k, see u in 3 hours!"

- ":)"

Dan stares at the smiley face for a good half minute, his own face mirroring the expression, before he pulls himself together and logs out of the dating website.

„Right, time to choose an outfit.“

He turns around to consider the assortment of clothes laid out on his bed. His two favorite pairs of black skinny jeans, four different black t-shirts, one button-down (black) and two jackets (both black as well). At least the colour won’t be a problem...

-

Hushed beats of a slow-paced indie song sound softly through the walls and the lights are comfortably dim, the pub warm and buzzing with people, but it doesn’t have the same relaxing effect on Dan as it usually would. His eyes scan the room anxiously and his teeth torment his bottom lip. He’s about to make his way over to the bar when someone calls his name and he halts, turning and catching the eye of a tall black-haired man on the other side of the room. “Phil,” Dan says under his breath, exhaling in relief, and starts towards him.

His date is sat on one of the sofas in the corner, looking absolutely gorgeous. Even though they’ve skyped a handful of times before to make sure neither of them is a 60-year-old pervert, Dan finds himself speechless at the sight of Phil. His denim shirt is unbuttoned to reveal a turquoise t-shirt that brings out the various colours in his eyes and his black hair is pushed back to reveal his forehead. His features are clear-cut, skin as pale as if he’s carved out of marble, and he’s smiling at Dan.

“Hi,” Dan breathes, feeling himself blush and his heart beat quicken.

Phil gets up to greet him and they behold each other for an awkward moment before Phil chuckles and leans in to hug him. “Hi,” he says softly next to Dan’s ear, and it takes all of Dan’s self-control not to melt right there in his embrace, butterflies tingling his stomach. He takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with a delicate flowery scent.

“You smell really nice,” he blurts out as they pull away, blushing even deeper when Phil’s beautiful eyes widen.

“Oh, thank you. I don’t wear cologne a lot. It’s not too much?” he asks abashedly, glancing up at Dan, who to his own surprise is slightly taller than him.

“Not at all! It’s, uh, it’s perfect.”

Phil answers with another bright smile that catches Dan off guard and giggles when it takes him a moment to sit down.

“So, do you feel more like dancing or talking?”

“How about a drink first?” Dan suggests and Phil waves a nearby waiter over to them. “Two margaritas, please. - Unless you need to drive?”

Dan shakes his head quickly and Phil adds with a playful little wink, “They’re on me.”

-

It’s been four months since Dan stumbled across Phil’s profile on the dating website and three since he’s worked up the courage to message him. Phil, who described himself as a “wanna-be writer and muse enthusiast”, replied a day later and from then on they’ve been chatting almost non-stop. Although Phil is four years older and lives on the countryside whilst Dan is a film student from central London, they’ve bonded over a similar taste in TV shows and music. However, it has taken Dan a while to coax some more personal information out of Phil and even longer until Phil agreed to their first date – even if the other man assured him that this was only due to being busy and not because he was hesitant to meet him. To be honest, that didn’t really convince Dan since he could not imagine a self-employed writer and editor to have an immovable time schedule.

All that aside, if tonight goes well, Dan is more than willing to forget about this tiny drop of bitterness.

And so far, it’s going great.

They’ve sipped their drinks and Phil has interrogated Dan about the internship with the BBC he is currently diong in the course of his studies. In turn, he’s let Dan in on his work as an editor and his new-found obsession with house plants.

“I’ve got quite a nice garden, but there’s not much to do out there in the cold season, so I thought, why not get some green inside? Big mistake. Turns out house plants are a lot more high-maintenance! I’ve already killed two!”

Dan giggles, taking another sip of his drink. “I couldn’t even keep a cactus alive. I guess student digs just aren’t the most healthy environment.”

No matter what he’s talking about, Dan finds himself drawn in and fascinated by Phil. He’s got a uniquely funny way of telling a story that has Dan giggling like a teenager and hanging on his lips like snake bite piercings.

And his eyes sparkle when he laughs. “Oh, I like that song! Fancy some dancing?”

Feeling warm and pleasantly tipsy, Dan nods and takes the hand Phil offers him. More like I fancy you, he thinks as they take their place among couples and singles on the dancefloor in the adjoining room and after some stumbling around fall into an easy rhythm.

Phil’s arm is resting on Dan’s shoulder and it feels both casual and meaningful, like a careful experiment. The exhilarating beat of Muse’s Madness pumps through Dan’s veins and lets his spirit soar, makes him throw his head back and grin at Phil whose eyes are reflecting the flashing spotlights like lighthouses. He’s beautiful and he’s mouthing the lyrics at Dan, pulling dramatic faces, and Dan feels so good, so alive and amorous…

When the song fades into a slow-paced one, Phil’s arm slips down from his shoulder and snakes around his waist, and Dan gently pulls him closer until the other man’s chin rests on his shoulder. They sway on the spot, engulfed in each other’s presence like a small bubble in a sea of people. The butterflies in Dan’s stomach have doubled and are swirling uncontrollably.

“Hi there, again,” Phil whispers, and Dan runs his hands up his torso, feeling him shiver under his touch. “Hi.”

Slowly, his hands move from Phil’s shoulders to his cheeks and he gives him a questioning look. Phil’s forehead is pressed against his as they lock eyes and he smiles, all flushed skin and the tickling of soft hair, of warm breath. Dan glances down at his lips…

A ringtone disturbs the ballad now playing in the background and Phil recoils, his right hand darting into his back pocket immediately. Dan releases the breath he’s holding, feeling disappointment seep through him like a sudden downpour.

He catches sight of Phil’s phone screen for a second and registers against his will that the caller is a pretty blonde woman saved as “Louise” in Phil’s contacts.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Dan, I have to take this!” Phil says loudly to make himself heard above the noise, offering him a quick apologetic smile before he pushes through the crowd, away from Dan.

-

He waits for one song, then another, moving awkwardly on his own along to an unknown beat. But when the third song spins into the fourth, Dan gives up his position and goes on a search. Another couple is snogging on the sofa where they had their drinks, and Phil’s not in the queue for the toilets, nor is he sitting at the bar. Perhaps he’s outside, Dan thinks and debates whether or not it would seem intrusive to go look for him if he’s still on the phone – but then the bartender waves him over.

“You haven’t seen a man with black hair done like mine, about my height?” Dan asks hopefully.

The heavily-tattooed, rather beefy guy nods and adds, “Told me to tell you he had to leave. Seemed terribly sorry about it.”

Dan’s heart sinks in his chest like a coin dropped in a fountain. “Did he say anything else?”

The bartender shrugs, continuing to rinse the glass he’s holding. “Was in a hurry. And besides, do I look like an answering machine to you?”

“I – no. Sorry,” Dan stutters, feeling his face grow hot with disappointment and embarrassment.

The barista’s face softens slightly. “Hey, better luck next time, mate, alright?”

Yeah, Dan thinks bitterly. Except there won’t be a next time after he’s let me down like this.

There’s no point in staying if Phil’s gone. Trudging to the front door, all excitement seeped out of him, he’s close to wallowing in self-pity when his foot catches on something on the floor.

Someone’s dropped a wallet. Not just any wallet though – it’s an Adventure Time themed one.

A grin has already halfway spread across Dan’s face when he bends down to pick it up, unfolding it carefully. What kind of adult would use an Adventure Time wallet on a date in a pub?

His assumption is confirmed when his eyes fall on the card tucked into the front pocket. “Philip Lester, editor and freelance writer,” it reads, and listed below are Phil’s phone number, email and home address.

I’ll give him one more chance, Dan decides as he pockets the wallet and pushes open the door, the chilly October wind ruffling his hair. Tomorrow I’ll drop the wallet off at his place and see if he’s got an explanation for me.

He hates to admit it, but he really hopes Phil does.

-

Dan looks down at his phone once again, double-checking the small blue dot that indicates his position. “This is the middle of fucking nowhere,” he declares out loud.

Behind him, though long out of sight, lies the city of London. To the left – nothing but fields. To the right a forest is climbing up the gentle curve of a hill. And ahead there’s this bumpy path he’s been following for the past thirty minutes that was most definitely not built for motorcycle trips. He’s beginning to regret his impulsive action.

And yet the app on his phone insists that he is on the right track. Dan takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with the sweet-smelling autumn air.

“Okay, let’s give this one last shot. Another half mile and if nothing turns up then except for more scarecrows and creepy abandoned barns, I’m going to turn back and send him his wallet by mail.”

He snaps the visor of his helmet shut with a sort of final resolution and mounts his motorcycle again.

The frosty head wind makes him wish he’d worn a jumper underneath his leather jacket and Dan is about to give up when the path leads through a small grove and turns a corner – and there it is, appearing seemingly out of nowhere.

A single small, ancient-looking house, leaning alarmingly to one side, its uneven stone walls covered to a large part by rampant roses, some of them still in bloom.

There’s no fence surrounding the cottage, but the letterbox in front of it bears a wooden sign that dangles in the wind and states in ornate letters “Rosery Cottage”.

Hesitantly, Dan clambers off his bike and retrieves his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket. “You have reached your destination.”

The narrow path of cobblestone that leads up to the door is framed by a couple of crooked walnut trees whose leaves are scattered across the lawn. To the right, an old battered VW Golf is parked on a makeshift driveway. A pair of wellingtons stand guard on the wooden patio.

Dan takes a deep breath and starts towards the house, thinking as he rings the bell, this better be Phil and not some misanthropic old hag.

-

What he certainly does not expect is a little girl in dungarees and a yellow jumper opening the door. Her copper brown hair is braided in two rather messy pigtails, her round face dotted with freckles and there’s a bit of chocolate in the corner of her mouth.

“You’re tall,” the girl remarks casually after looking him up and down, pinching her chestnut eyes as if he’s blinding her.

As perplexed as Dan is, the comment makes him chuckle. “Am I really?”

“Yeah… you’re like, taller than my daddy.”

The last word makes Dan’s heart pick up speed and he’s about to say, “I’m sorry, I must be in the wrong place,” when a voice drifts through the hallway, accompanied by the dulled noise of a blow-dryer.

“Who’s at the door, Liv?”

It can’t be Phil, Dan tells himself. This guy just sounds similar because the noise distorts his voice.

Phil doesn’t have any kids - right? The image of the beautiful blonde from Phil’s phone screen reappears in front of Dan’s inner eye and he draws in a sharp breath –

“A man in a leather jacket, Daddy,” the girl yells back. “He’s very tall,” she adds after a second, almost reproachfully.

There’s a moment of silence, then the noise of the hair-dryer stops abruptly and the man who sounds like Phil shouts, “I’ll be right there!”

The girl keeps her eyes trained on Dan, making him uneasy, so he lets his gaze drop away from her face. She’s holding a furled newspaper in her hand, Dan can just make out an advert proclaiming “Three for the price of one!” and underneath it a crossword, partly filled in with wonky letters.

Someone clears their throat and Dan looks up, feeling his heart take a leap.

The man facing him is wearing mismatched socks and his black hair is still wet and ruffled, but it’s unmistakably Phil.

His eyes are wide and he looks like he can’t quite decide whether to smile or not. He looks a little bit guilty, Dan thinks with a selfish trace of satisfaction, but the feeling fades when he remembers the elephant in the room – although elephant is perhaps too large a word.

“I’ll take it from here, Olivia, thank you,” Phil says to the girl and her eyes flicker from Dan to Phil and back before she turns and skips off into another room.

“Olivia,” Dan repeats, avoiding Phil’s eye until he hears the other man sigh.

“Yes, her name’s Olivia, and she’s my daughter, as you might already have guessed.”

I’d be concerned if other children than your own called you daddy, Dan thinks, but he doesn’t say it because this is not the time for a joke. It’s time for an explanation.

“So who’s Louise?” he asks at the same moment that Phil asks, “So what brings you here?”

They finally look at each other.

“Shall I go first?” Dan offers. “Right. Last night, when you, er, bailed on me – you lost something.”

He tries to sound casual but the guilt becomes more evident in Phil’s face for a moment until Dan pulls the wallet out of his pocket and holds it out to Phil, whose eyes grow comically wide.

“My wallet! Thanks, I hadn’t even noticed – oh man, I owe you -”

“An explanation? Yeah, I’d say so,” Dan says with newfound confidence.

Phil exhales. “You’re right. I have some explaining to do. - Oh god, I haven’t even asked you in yet, I’m the worst -”

He steps aside, holding the door open. “Please, make yourself at home. I know you’re probably less than elated by me right now, but I promise I can explain if you let me.”

Dan looks down at the threshold in front of him. The welcome mat he’s standing on has a pattern of sleeping cats on it. One small step for man, one giant step for Dan, he thinks dryly. If he steps into Phil’s house now and more than that, into his life, it will never be this easy to leave again.

For some reason, the image of the newspaper the girl was holding appears to him. If only life were as simple as a crossword puzzle, with only one right answer to every question.

“Tell me one more thing before I come in,” Dan asks. “Seven letter word, starting with M, or eight letters starting with D?”

Phil stares at him for a moment, then his smile falters as he gets the hint.

“Seven,” he says quietly.

Married, then – Dan thinks, a sick feeling rising in his stomach, and he’s about to turn away and leave for good, when Phil adds in an even smaller voice, “But the first one’s a W.”

-

Seven letters, starting with W. It’s just like a crossword, but it’s not an easy solution at all, and having solved it doesn’t make Dan feel any better, instead it makes him feel awful.

Widowed, he thinks, and bites down hard on his bottom lip. Widowed. Of course, that makes sense. It explains the careful pace at which Phil went about their blossoming relationship. It explains his inability to be spontaneous, and the fact that he didn’t want to talk much about his past.

Phil’s a widower, and he’s got a child, and Dan is so, so insensitive.

He looks up at Phil slowly, afraid of meeting his gaze. But Phil doesn’t look angry or as if he’s about to cry. His face is painfully composed.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Phil replies, and somehow that is all it takes for Dan to step inside and pull the door shut behind him.

He hands Phil the wallet, but instead of letting him pull his hand away, Phil holds on to it.

“Thank you,” he mutters and Dan gently presses his hand.

“Daddy, Micah keeps trying to take my pen!”

The bright voice from the right makes them both flinch, and Phil gives him a little smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “This way, please.”

The room to the right that they enter is the kitchen. Sunlight falls in through the windows and illuminates the large wooden table at which Olivia is sat, facing the door. The newspaper is spread out in front of her, opened to the kids’ page.

A small boy, a toddler at most, is squirming in his high chair, reaching out across the table for the pen Olivia is holding. As Olivia pulls it away from his grasp, he whimpers.

“Micah, hey!” Phil rushes towards them and takes the boy’s chubby little hand in his. “This is Livy’s pen, okay? Here, those crayons are for you. - And you, Liv – don’t be so harsh on him, you hear me? He doesn’t understand that it’s yours.”

He turns to Dan again, his face relaxing slowly. “Dan, these are my children, Olivia and Micah. Kids, this is Dan, who I was meeting up with last night.”

Dan smiles nervously as Olivia observes him, then she gives him a sudden toothy grin and turns back to her crossword.

“Here, take a seat please”, Phil says. “Do you want to drink anything? Coffee, tea?”

“Coffee would be lovely, if it’s not too much trouble,” Dan replies, sitting down on the wooden chair next to Olivia.

“Not at all.”

As Phil is busy with the coffee machine, Dan’s gaze drops to the table. Opposite of him, Micah is scrawling something undefinable with crayons. His hair is thick and darker than Olivia’s, his eyes azure and large in his round face. He seems to have trouble controlling his crayon, his small hand is clenched in a fist around it. Dan doesn’t have a lot of experience with young children, but Micah has to be at least two years old…

“I need a word with four letters for this flowery thing, daddy,” Olivia pipes up, catching Dan’s attention. “It’s not a tree, but plant and flower don’t fit.”

He peers at the crossword she’s working on. It has pictures in front of every line instead of questions.

“Give me a moment, Liv,” Phil says, rummaging in a cupboard for a mug.

“Have you tried rose?” Dan suggests charily.

Olivia looks up at him in surprise, then back at the paper. Her letters fit neatly in the boxes. “It works! Thanks, Dan.”

He smiles charily. “You’re welcome.”

Phil places the mug of coffee down in front of him before he sits down next to the high chair. Leaning on his elbows, he hides his face in hands for a moment.

When he emerges, he looks up at Dan. “So,” he says, clearing his throat. “You wanted to know about Louise.”

Dan, who’s about to take a sip from his coffee, puts the mug down, barely avoiding a spill of the scalding liquid.

“She’s a friend who occasionally takes care of my two rascals when I’m out. She was here last night and called to tell me Micah had banged his head. Turned out to be half as bad, but I tend to panic about my baby.” He reaches out to gently brush the hair back from Micah’s forehead, revealing a small reddened bump near his hairline.

The young boy reacts promptly. “Owie.”

A caring smile lingers on Phil’s lips. “Yes, you had an owie. Does it still hurt?”

“No more owie,” the toddler babbles, shaking his head.

“Good.”

Phil withdraws his hand, turning his attention back to Dan. His smile fades. “I’m sorry I left so abruptly, I overreacted. It’s just – Micah, he was in the car when…”

His voice trails off, but Dan’s fairly sure he can finish the sentence for himself. Phil must have lost his wife, the mother of his children, in a car accident.

Before Dan can think of what to say, Phil leans towards him across the table. “That’s why he’s a bit behind in development,” he adds in a low voice.

Dan glances at the toddler who’s clearly in his own world, scribbling away at the paper in front of him (and occasionally straying over the edges onto the wooden plate of his high chair). He tries to find something to say in reply, but quickly comes to the conclusion that there isn’t anything.

And Phil doesn’t seem to be expecting an answer. As Dan looks back at him, his eyes have gone out of focus, the iridescent blue glazed over with a hazy dolour that’s impossible for Dan to grasp. With a leap of his heart he reaches out one hand and places it on top of Phil’s that’s resting on the table.

Phil’s starts, blinking at him. He doesn’t smile, and yet there’s a glint that returns to his eyes as he becomes aware of Dan’s touch. When Dan dares to gently run his thumb over the back of his hand, he doesn’t flinch or pull back.

Silence settles into the room, not empty but filled with the sound of pencil scraping against paper and the strangely reassuring noise of an old house, alive with the creaking of wood and rattling of wind at its window panes.

The mug of coffee sits in front of Dan, gradually cooling down, forgotten in the moment.

-

It’s Micah who breaks the silence eventually.

“Daddy,” he says, and Phil startles, looking up and withdrawing his hand gently from Dan’s. “Yes, darling?”

But Dan observes with a hidden delight the faint flush of pink that’s settled on his cheekbones.

“Doggy,” is all Micah says in response, and Dan thinks he’s beginning to see what Phil meant earlier. Although children are more or less a novelty to him, surely a two-year-old would be able to form simple sentences?

He is torn out of his pondering by Phil’s voice. “Go on, take it.”

Dan looks up, finding that Micah is holding a sheet of paper out to him. There’s a bunch of brown crayon lines in one corner that vaguely form the shape of an animal, but that might be just interpretation because he knows what it’s supposed to be.

“For me?”

Micah nods, his blue eyes sparkling.

Dan smiles. “That’s… very kind of you, Micah. What a beautiful dog you’ve drawn there!” He takes the edge of the sheet between his fingertips; Micah lets go with a satisfied expression on his round face.

Phil reaches out to kiss the top of his son’s head. “Good boy, Micah.”

Dan looks down at the drawing, blinking, trying to conceal how touched he is. He really isn’t accustomed to children, doesn’t know how to behave around them, but his reaction to Micah’s drawing seems to have made the boy happy.

“Daddy, when are we leaving for London?” Olivia asks. She doesn’t seem to have noticed the change of atmosphere before, much to Dan’s relief. He has no idea how she feels about him getting to know her dad. Surely it can’t be easy after she’s lost her mother…

“Another two hours,” Phil says after a glance at his wristwatch. “Are you hungry yet? We can have lunch in a bit.”

Olivia nods, putting her pen away and folding up the newspaper. “I’m done with the crossword. Correct it for me, daddy, please?”

Phil smiles. “Of course, honey. Later, yeah? Though I’m sure there won’t be much to correct.” He takes the paper from her.

“You’re going to London today?” Dan asks.

“The therapist has her office in the city,” Phil replies, adding, “can we offer you a ride?” as if the thought has just occurred to him.

“Oh, thank you, but I came on my motorbike.”

“You’ve got a motorbike? That’s so cool! Daddy won’t let me get one,” Olivia pipes up.

Dan laughs. “Oh well, you see, motorbikes are very dangerous, so your father’s right about that. You’ve got to get a license so they’ll let you drive one. And for that license you’ve got to be of age.”

Olivia pushes out her lower lip. “That’s not fair. I’m so old already. Much older than Micah who’s just a baby.”

Phil, whose face has tightened up again, reaches out and strokes a strand of hair back behind her ear. “Patience, darling. Why don’t you draw a nice picture for the therapist before we leave? I’m sure she’d love that. And I’ll go have a chat with Dan – if you don’t mind?”

The last part is directed at Dan. He shakes his head, looking at Phil.

“I’m not in a hurry.”

-

He lets Phil lead him down a hallway framed with pictures. Some are drawings by Olivia, showing what is unmistakably the cottage, or a field of flowers – or a family, complete with a stick figure in a dress and long flowing hair.

The others are photographs.

Olivia in a nice dress with her schoolbag in hand and a wide grin on her first day of school. Micah lying in his crib, smiling up at the camera. The two of them playing in the snow together.

Phil reading to Micah who’s cuddled up to him. Phil braiding Olivia’s hair. Phil with his arms around the two of them.

Phil holding a newborn baby with flimsy hair and a reddened face, a younger Olivia leaning into the picture, curiously gazing at the small human. But they’re not the only ones on the picture – there’s a woman lying in the hospital bed behind Phil, her face out of focus, but the radiating smile still clearly visible.

There are more pictures of her. Ones of her baking biscuits with Olivia kneeling on the counter, stealing batter. Her rocking Micah in her arms, her mouth opened as if she’s singing a lullaby. The woman wearing a white dress and flowers in her hair, stood next to a beaming Phil in a suit. The two of them kissing.

Dan averts his gaze. He feels like an intruder.

“In here, please.” 

Taking a deep breath, Dan steps into the room.

It’s an office, complete with an old mahogany desk and shelves of books framing the walls instead of photographs as Dan notes with relief.

There are two armchairs near the window to which Phil guides him. They sit down, and Dan waits for Phil to speak, anxious suddenly about what he will have to say.

A moment of silence stretches at Phil looks around the room, letting his gaze wander as if he were the visitor.

“Okay, here’s the thing,” Phil begins with a sigh, looking at his hands. “I’m not an easy person to date. I’m not your average single person – I’m a package deal.”

The newspaper advert comes back to Dan’s mind and he mutters, “three for the price of one.”

Phil chuckles, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes as he looks up. “You could say that, I guess… though the price might be higher I fear… You should know - in fact, you deserve to know, the truth. I’m a single father. I work around the clock. I get up at six. I cook, I clean, I comfort, I play, I sew, I fix. And at night when the kids are in bed, that’s when I find time for my actual job. I never have any free time except for when I get someone to watch my children, and I can’t do that very often, considering how far out in the country we live and…”

He breaks off, lowering his face into his hands. “I don’t like leaving them. I can’t be at ease when I don’t know exactly that they’re safe. I know they probably seem fine to you, but Olivia has nightmares and Micah rarely sleeps through. Sometimes he has crying fits that last for more than an hour. Liv has days when she’ll only speak to a photograph of her mum. Some days it’s almost alright. But it’s never easy and we’re not a perfect family. When I lost… when we lost Sophie, when she was brutally torn out of our lives by a careless driver -” his shoulders quiver as if in a quiet sob, and Dan holds back from reaching out and touching him.

“It was very hard for all of us. It’s been two years, and sometimes it still feels like there’s a hole we’ll never be able to fill completely. Once a month, I take the kids to a therapist in London. They stay there for an hour – meanwhile, I’ve got my own therapy session.”

He lifts his head slowly, keeping his gaze fixed on his hands as if they’re particularly interesting.

“I’m a man in therapy. I’m four years older than you, and I’ve got two children who demand a lot of care and attention. I barely make enough money to scratch along. I guess what I’m saying is… Dan, I really like you.”

That’s when Phil looks up to meet Dan’s eye. Dan sits transfixed, blinking in surprise. He didn’t expected that, not after the speech Phil’s just given.

The other man looks earnest, but his eyes are misty and his face contorted in regret.

“You must have noticed that I do. Talking to you over these past months has made me happier than I’ve been for a long time, and I’m so thankful for that. Meeting you last night was a dream. I’ll never forget it. I really do like you, Dan.”

Dan swallows hard at the repetition of the statement. His eyes have begun to sting. “Why do I sense a ‘but’ coming on?” he asks, willing his voice not to shake, willing his gaze not to stray from Phil’s sorrowful, beautiful face.

Phil takes a shivering breath. “I want nothing more than to get to know you. But I can’t leave my children, and I can’t have you come here and let them get used to you. They’ve already lost their mother. If we find we’re not meant to be, when we break up – they’ll get hurt. I can’t do that to them. I won’t let my children go through the pain of separation again, Dan. That’s why I have to say, I’m sorry. I like you, Dan, but I’m sorry, I can’t do this. And I know it’s not fair, and I probably shouldn’t even have agreed to meeting you, but I just -”

“Okay, Phil, hang on - ” Dan interrupts him, and Phil stops mid-sentence, his lips still parted. “What if we don’t?” he asks.

Phil’s staring at him. It’s so quiet Dan can hear him breathe. The moment feels extremely intimate and Dan wants to kiss the fear and worry off Phil’s face, but he remains where he is.

“If we don’t?” Phil repeats blankly.

Dan leans forward. “What if we don’t break up? Who’s to say it wouldn’t work out? What if we do, we click and we stay together…”

Phil’s eyes shut slowly, drawing ragged breaths.

“I mean, I guess I’d understand if you didn’t want to take the risk…,” Dan continues, but Phil cuts him off.

“Say I was willing to do so,” he replies, “would you want to bear with us? I’m in no way eager to send you away, but you’d have to be absolutely sure, Dan.”

He wants to say yes, but the word gets stuck in his throat. It’s not easy. It’s not as easy as he wants it to be. So he sits staring at Phil, mouth opened but no sound coming out, and Phil gives a sad little smile, not reproachful, but understanding.

Dan lifts his hand to prevent him from jumping to a conclusion.

“I’m going to need… time… to think about this,” Dan says slowly, looking Phil in the eyes as he speaks. “Because – I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned it – but I really like you, too.”

There it is again, that sparkle in Phil’s eyes, the one that makes Dan’s stomach churn and the back of his neck prickle.

This time, it’s Phil who reaches out to take Dan’s hand. “I can give you time,” he says, and then, after a moment of contemplation, he adds, “You know what? How about this. Olivia is currently obsessed with dressing up” - a small smile curls the corner of his mouth upwards - “so we’re having a little gathering on Halloween. PJ will be there, the kids’ godfather and incidentally also author of the book I’m currently editing, and Louise with her husband and daughter. If you want to come, you’d be welcome to do so. If you don’t…” The look he gives Dan is gentle, and so is his voice when he finishes the sentence. “… then we’ll know.”

It’s two weeks until Halloween. Dan’s fellow students have already begun talking about the parties they’re going to attend.

He presses Phil’s hand. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” He manages a small smile.

Phil smiles back, carefully, his eyes still not entirely free of pain.

“I believe,” he says then, very quietly, “there was something you wanted to do before my phone so rudely interrupted us last night.”

Dan’s eyes widen as realization hits him.

Phil’s face is close due to the fact that they’ve both leaned forward during their conversation, and his eyes are half-shut. There’s a tender smile still playing on his lips, and Dan’s eyes flicker down to them as he takes a shuddering breath.

Then, carefully, he closes the distance.

Phil’s hands move up to his cheeks. His lips feel warm and chapped against Dan’s, and he’s shivering ever so slightly, Dan feels it when his hands come to rest on Phil’s shoulders. He tastes like apples and cinnamon, as if he’s made of autumn spices.

The butterflies in Dan’s stomach are back, swirling like leaves in a thunderstorm. He tips his head to the side, deepening the kiss, drinking up Phil’s fear and sorrow, his sadness and his fondness, all of him.

The kiss doesn’t last for more than a few seconds, but it lingers in the air, tickles in their lips and their hearts after they part.

They stare into each other’s eyes for a moment, not saying anything because there’s nothing to say, yet there’s a sort of intuitive understanding between them that fills Dan with hope. Maybe they will be able to work this out. But he needs time to think. He’s only twenty-four, still a student – a family hasn’t really been on his agenda until now, much less one that’s already sort of complete in itself.

“I should probably go check on Micah and Liv, see if they’re hungry,” Phil says, still so close his breath brushes Dan’s face. Melancholy has already worked its way back into the creases of his forehead and Dan wants to wipe it away, but he knows that he can’t, not yet.

So he says, “And I should probably head back, look into some work for uni.”

“Well,” Phil pulls back and the moment is gone. “Thanks for bringing me my wallet -”

“Sure -”

“I’ll walk you out,” he stands, holding his hand out to Dan who grasps it.

“- and the kiss,” Dan adds, “I owed you that, too.”

His playful words manage to conjure up another one of Phil’s smiles, and he doesn’t let go of Dan’s hand until they’re at the front door. Outside, the wind has picked up, sending swirls of crimson leaves across the yard.

Dan and Phil stand facing each other, drawing out the moment of their parting. Finally, Phil averts his gaze and opens the door, and Dan zips up his leather jacket.

“I’m glad you came, Dan,” Phil says honestly.

“Yeah,” Dan replies, shivering slightly, though not from the rush of cold air.

“Me too.”

-

The last day of October is clear and bright, the sky a pearlescent grey. A strong breeze chases leaves across the country lane, making the trees sway and rustle. It’s cold, but this time Dan’s wearing a woolen jumper underneath his leather jacket, and anyway, he’s positively buzzing with a vibrant energy that warms him from the inside – and tickles him to push his foot down further on the accelerator, but he’s a responsible driver. He smiles to himself, feeling the wind and excitement drive him towards his destination.

When the cottage comes into sight behind the tree line, Dan’s smile grows wider. Two unfamiliar cars are parked outside the property on the side of the road, but he lets his motorcycle wheel past the post box and to a stop next to Phil’s car.

Taking off his helmet, Dan inhales the frigid, exhilarant autumn air. His pulse is throbbing both with adrenaline and anticipation. As he approaches the house, he picks up on snatches of cheerful conversation and hushed music that seep through cracked windows.

Two large pumpkins stand guard on the patio this time, their expressions hardly threatening. Dan feels like he must look somewhat like them – glowing with excitement, grin unalterably carved into his face.

Standing in front of the door, he takes a deep breath. He’s nervous, but not because he’s uncertain. He’s made up his mind, he’s decided to come here tonight for a reason. It’s just that it might be the biggest decision he’s ever made, and that does scare him quite a lot.

Okay, Dan. This is your last chance for turning back, he thinks, but instead he reaches out and rings the bell.

The sound seems to resonate in his chest.

A face appears briefly in the door window and with a squeal of excitement the door is wrenched open.

“Hi Dan!” says a cat the size of a young girl. She’s wearing an Alice band with cat ears on it and someone has painted crooked whiskers across her cheeks.

“Hi Olivia. Nice costume.”

Olivia grins. “Thanks! You too.”

He’s opted for a jumper with ghosts and pumpkins on it rather than a full-on disguise.

Stepping aside to let him pass, she adds, “Daddy’s in the kitchen.”

There’s a familiar twinkle in her eye that makes Dan wonder how much she knows, but he just smiles back and follows her inside.

As he closes the door behind himself, Olivia skips back down the hall to where the music is playing, but Dan remains where he is.

There’s a clanking of pots coming from his right. He swallows nervously, taking a final deep breath of courage before he steps into the kitchen.

Phil’s standing at the counter with his back turned to Dan, wearing a vampire’s cloak. His pale skin certainly fits the image, Dan thinks, feeling a grin tug on his lips.

For a moment he wonders how to announce his arrival, but then Phil turns around and flinches violently.

“Jesus, Dan!” he exclaims, blue eyes wide with shock, stumbling back against the counter. “You scared me!”

“Kind of the whole point of Halloween, isn’t it?” Dan asks, taking a few steps into the room. “Though I must say, your appearance is a lot scarier than mine.”

Phil’s face relaxes and he smiles, which entirely refutes Dan’s statement.

They stand facing each other for a moment, the realisation of what Dan’s presence means prickling like electricity in the air between them.

Then Dan clears his throat. “So, uh… Trick or treat?”

Phil laughs. “I’m afraid the treats are reserved for the children,” he says, biting his lower lip. His eyebrows are raised as if in a challenge.

“That’s too bad,” Dan’s about to say when Phil adds, “But I might have kept a special treat for you.”

They’ve gravitated towards each other almost subconsciously so that when Dan speaks again, he can see the sparkle in Phil’s eyes, the smudged red paint below his lip and even a few faded freckles that are dusted across his nose and cheeks.

“Oh? And what’s that?”

Phil’s gaze drops and Dan feels his heartbeat speed up again. Instead of replying, he slowly leans in. Licking his lips, Dan lets his eyelids flutter shut in expectation.

They snap open again a mere second later, accompanied by a gasp when he feels Phil’s hot breath fan his neck.

“Ph-phil, what are you -”

“Never trust a vampire, Dan,” Phil mutters, lips ghosting over a patch of skin, not quite touching it.

Instinctively, Dan’s hands have shot up to hold onto Phil’s shoulders. He moves them now, his breath hitching, heart thudding, to Phil’s face and tilts it gently upwards.

“You sneaky little shit,” he murmurs affectionately.

Phil’s grinning widely, his eyes scrunched up and lucid like the pumpkins outside.

“Now I have no choice but to trick you,” Dan continues quietly, “seeing as you wouldn’t give me,” he leans in closer, “my…” his mouth brushes Phil’s cheek, making his breath stutter. “…treat,” Dan completes the sentence against Phil’s lips.

They kiss slowly, unrushed, lips parting and reconnecting again in sync with their breaths. As if to prove his previous statement, Phil eventually takes Dan’s bottom lip between his teeth and nibbles on it gently, causing Dan to let out a small moan. They’re stood pressed together from head to toe now. He can feel Phil’s heart beat against his own and the gentle touch of his hands on the back of his neck.

When Phil begins to pull away, Dan whimpers in protest, holding on to him tighter, and Phil smiles against his lips, his fluttering eyelashes tickling Dan’s cheek.

“Happy Halloween, Dan,” he mumbles, winding his fingers into Dan’s hair.

“I’m glad you came.”

*** this used to be on my ao3 page (softiejace). i’m taking down my phan content for personal reasons but reposting it here so people can still enjoy it :) ***

[msclaritea]

~Mr Azira Phale, Angel~

It struck me during the church scene that perhaps the Germans were calling him Mr. Fell because they thought Phale was his last name. So, I took a closer look at the two halves that made the whole.  

~Azira

...Arabic in origin, it means A Rising Star. Interestingly, Pre-Islamic Arabia practiced Vedic religion, and in Vedic Astrology, Azira is a common name for babies born within Krittika Nakshatra, the older name of the Pleides Constellation.

Krittika..."literally means a "sharp flame" or "sword of fire." Alternatively, the word "Krittika" may be derived from the Sanskrit root krit, which means "to twist threads" or "to wind as a snake." This clearly is related to the symbology of the Caduceus and the May Pole. The root 'krit' also means "to separate, cut asunder, or divide." This secondary meaning refers to the division of souls into two groups that occurs on the Day of Illumination. The subtle energy associated with the Pleiades constellation is considered a Sword of Fire because it cuts asunder or separates knowledge from ignorance. It separates light from darkness."     

~Phale

The name is actually of what is known as Pictish-Scottish origin. "The Picts were a confederation of Celtic language speaking peoples who lived in what is today eastern and northern Scotland during the Late British Iron Age and Early Medieval periods. Where they lived and what their culture was like can be inferred from early medieval texts and Pictish stones. Their Latin name, Picti, appears in written records from Late Antiquity to the 10th century."

"This interesting surname is of Scottish and Irish origin, and it is an Anglicized form of the Scottish Gaelic "MacPhail", and the Irish Gaelic "MacPhoil", both patronymics from the Gaelic forms of the given name Paul, derived from the Latin "Paulus, meaning "small", and is has always been popular in Christendom."

Now of special note is Paul, the Saint, originally Saul of Tarsus, considered by many to be the actual founder of early Christianity, who very much believed in Angels, spoke of them appearing to him, and who at first, was bent on persecuting Jesus, only to become an Apostle after he appeared to him in the famous story of his travels on the road To Damascus. I came across an eye-opening article, theorizing that not only were Paul's writings edited and twisted, making him a patriarchal misogynist, but that he in fact believed in equality, was hugely inspired by Plato, and may very well have been Gay.

From: The (Possibly) Gay, Elite Apostle Who Believed in Radical Equality for All by Jay Parini

"I tend to agree with Bishop John Shelby Spong, a brilliant theologian and church leader, who argues that Paul was “a rigidly controlled gay male,” as he writes in Rescuing the Bible from Fundamentalism (1991). Be this as it may, Paul was clearly at war with his own body, tormented by the idea if not the reality of sexual desire, and eager to withdraw into the company of his male companions:  Luke, Timothy, Silas, and others. His conflicted feelings about his own sexual nature may account for the “thorn in his flesh” that he wrote about in his second letter to the church at Corinth. (2 Corinthians 12:7-9)"

Galatians 3:28: “In Christ there is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free man, neither male nor female. In Christ, all of these are one.” ~Saint Paul~

 Saint Paul was later decapitated by Nero! Oh, and one last thing...

              Azira is actually a girl's name.

BUT WAIT...THERE'S MORE.

For those who have looked closer, you may have discovered that Petronius worked for Nero.

Petronius was chief advisor to Nero and helped with the planning of all debauchery, orgies, feasts and crimes. He was known as Arbiter of Taste.

And Petronius wrote the infamous Satyricon.

Influence Of The Satyricon Upon The Literature Of The World.

"...It is to the author's recognition of the importance of environment, of the vital role of inanimate surroundings as a means for bringing out character and imbuing his episodes and the actions of his characters with an air of reality and with those impulses and actions which are common to human experience, that his influence is due...This class of literature, though modified essentially from age to age, in keeping with the dictates of moral purity or bigotry, innocent or otherwise, has come to be the very stuff of which literary success in fiction is made. One may write a successful book without a thread of romance; one cannot write a successful romance without some knowledge of realism; the more intimate the knowledge the better the book.."

"Petronius writes cynically and satirically about Roman decadence, about a society that’s corrupt and materialistic. Paul, to a certain extent, is writing about the same thing. He is certainly not humorous most of the time; he’s expressing his straightforward outrage about what he is seeing around him."

Petronius, set up for a treason charge by a rival, was threatened with death but chose to take his own life in quite a dramatic fashion, which is described in the notes to Satyricon. He died a year before Paul.

*Satyricon is compared often in style to Au Rebours by Joris-Karl Huysmans, and one translation published in Paris,1902 has been attributed to Sebastian Melmoth aka Oscar Wilde.

Now, was St. Paul an influence in any way on Shakespeare? The Bard of course wrote about Religion and Politics in his plays but due to his enormous influence, St. Paul managed to touch Shakespeare's place in a much different way. This has led to the discovery of a place I had never heard of from this time period...and a new head canon.

During Shakespeare’s lifetime, the area around old St Paul’s Cathedral was a hive of activity and industry...the main gathering place for acquiring (and spreading) news and gossip, purchasing the latest fashions and commodities, and, of course, for being seen. Under its Nave, as known as Paul's Walk, while the people who went there and into the churchyard were known as Paul's Walkers.

Complaint of Thomas Dekker in 1608:

‘What swearing is there; yea, what swaggering, what facing and out-facing? What shuffling, what shouldering, what jostling, what jeering, what biting of thumbs to beget quarrels, what holding up of fingers to remember drunken meetings, what braving with feathers, what bearding with mustachios, what casting open of cloaks to publish new clothes.’

Indeed, with its dozens of booksellers, Paul’s Churchyard was the centre of the London book trade, and was popular throughout the entire country.

"Booksellers on Paternoster Row became a source of competition in the latter half of the century, eventually winning the prominent position in London bookselling, but Paul’s maintained its supremacy well into the seventeenth century."  This link has a beautiful rendering that can be expanded to show the individual publishers." 

I imagine Aziraphale would have spent hours here, likely with Crowley beside him, eagerly pouring over the thousands of books available, excitedly meeting other writers, getting lost among a mixture of saints and sinners, just enjoying humanity. And I head canon that THIS is what gave Aziraphale his idea to open a bookshop.

What kept bringing me back to St. Paul?

It's imposing presence caught my eye during the WW2 sequence. Turns out, it was bombed during the last days of December 1940, but survived due to the hard work of British firefighters.

“There are a lot of secrets in the design—a lot of buried subliminal stuff,” he reveals, noting that he hopes an eagle-eyed fan will find all the Easter eggs in Good Omens." Michael Ralph, Production designer, who also says that he based Azira's bookshop on the design of a compass.

Purposeful or no, using St. Paul as a guide through Good Omens has been a fun history lesson.

  @consulting-nerd-of-many-things @ineffable-janthony @feifeicuttie @sarahthecoat @honeybeelullaby @echosilverwolf @englandwouldfalljohn@thegoodomensdumpster @fuckyeahgoodomens @artfulkindoforder @iamjohnlocked4life @artemisastarte @fellshish @brilliantorinsane

The Satyricon

https://www.uscatholic.org/church/scripture-and-theology/2012/04/putting-paul-his-place

The Influence of St. Paul on Shakespeare

An awesome podcast That Shakespeare Life on St. Paul's Bookshops

x x x  x x x

[tarithenurse]

On my mind, in my soul - 13

Prompt:  Unfortunately, I’ve had no prompts that I was able to fit well with sorting the mess I’ve landed our heroine and Loki in. However, I heard a song which I think it’s going to help and a sister came up with the rest. This chapter’s prompts are as follow: “A little wicked” by Valerie Broussard, Bifrost , and a heart. Pairing: Loki x Burglar!reader. Content: Swearing as usual (I think), references to lovemaking, angst, sass, death threats, sadness, did I mention angst? We will get backer to happier days with citrussy goodness...eventually...maybe A/N: If you like, PLS reblog. Any comment is welcome! This chapter will probaably be the last untill I’ve handed in the paper on my BA project, sorry. Check out my masterlist in the meantime (can be found in bio)

Demanding

… Loki’s PoV   …

The hollow sound cuts through walls and bones, through Loki’s very soul as he jolts awake in the cell within the very foundations of the castle. A blue shimmer runs across his limbs, but the fallen prince is oblivious to it as every part of his brain analyzes the options of defense against whichever unknown enemy Odin’s two wolves are warning the kingdom about. The beasts rarely make a sound louder than a barking greeting but now…this has only happened once or twice before in all of history when the ruler of Asgard had been in peril.

[Y/N]. Despite the woman’s odd position as a Midgardian guest introduced by Loki, surely the Einherjar or at least Thor will see to it that she’s safe. If only she will listen to them.

… Reader’s PoV   …

No one calls you honey when you're sitting on a throne Beware the patient woman, cause this much I know

The heart’s thumping away rapidly in your chest as you see guard upon guard in gleaming armour line up in a circle all the way around the broad, golden throne where you’re sitting. At least the wolves have stopped howling, but it’s in favour of pacing the empty area between you and the spears that are lowered to point at you. Well, you try to assure yourself, it would’ve been too much to assume anything less. Still it’s with a certain apprehension that you accept which course your actions have set you upon.

“[Y/N],” Thor’s deep voice comes from somewhere behind you, “what are you doing?”

You don’t dare to turn around, to look for the face that you know will be radiating with confused concern. He’s taken kindly to you and it feels like you’re letting him down somehow. He’ll understand later. Keeping your head high and back straight, your eyes fix upon the gigantic door at the very end of the darkened throne room.

“Prince Thor,” you acknowledge, “is the king on his way?”

Coming around to stand before you, the blond god shoves one of the wolves unceremoniously out of his way, earning nothing more than a slight “yip”. “If all you wanted was to speak with father, I am sure a request would have been sufficient.”

The tone (though too rough) and comment are so familiar it makes your eyes sting. Yes, it might’ve been…but it wouldn’t send the right signal. Guilt and frustration wars within you, the spear is slippery in your hands that are holding it so tightly your knuckles are tingling. One wrong word or move, and any of those weapons pointed at you will suddenly be stuck through you…or maybe you’ll have an up-close encounter with the biggest wolves you’ve ever seen. And all for some stupid, calculative, seductive Trickster. I’m so fucked.

“An audience wouldn’t help much if the king doesn’t trust the extend of my dedication.”

“He would listen and consider any request.”

“Would he let Loki go if I asked him?” The silence and averted eyes are answers in their own right. “I thought so.”

“Yet this?” Strong arms sweep to encompass the scene around the opposing parties. “Lay down Gungnir, step down from the throne and let us talk.”

“I’d love to Thor…I really would.” For a moment you allow your steely appearance to falter, locking gazes with the prince through a haze. “But it wouldn’t help. Not anymore, because it won’t get me what –”

A thunderous impact of wood against stone signals the arrival of Odin stalking through the doors in a flood of torchlight that flickers and dances in the reflections of the armours of even more guards. Even from this distance, it’s obvious that he’s hastily dressed in something remarkably similar to a bathrobe, just not as fluffy. For a second, an image of the All-Father dressed in a pink, fluffy bathrobe and matching slippers appears in your mind but it’s chased away the moment you see his face contorted with rage. Yeah…I’m dead.

“What,” he hisses, surprisingly calmly, “is the meaning of this?” With long strides, Odin makes his way to the dais where everyone moves aside for him. Not you.

“Father, she clai–“

Thor’s cut off sharply: “Let her speak for herself unless you side with this mortal.”

Ouch. It’s hard to say what hurts the most, the venom laced into that last word or the way Thor looks to you pleadingly before stepping over to stand by his father.

“Your majesty,” you begin.

“So you recognize my authority, still,” Odin promptly challenges.

Managing to bite back a sigh, you count to ten before continuing. “I have no wish to denounce your rule, All-Father, you’ve been a kind host and I’m deeply grateful for the care and hospitality of Asgard.”

“Then enough of this nonsense. Seize her!”

You’re on your feet faster than you realize, the deadly sharp tip of Gungnir inches away from the old king as Thor and anyone else in the room pounces at you before stopping abruptly. That was too fast…how could I do that? There’s no time to consider it now, though, your focus solely on the Asgardian before you who’s looking down at his own weapon aimed at his chest. Okay, maybe your focus is slightly divided because the hot air of a pair of predators is curling around your neck and arms, sharp teeth bared as a last warning.

“[Y/N]…” Even Thor’s stunned at the development. “What are you doing?”

“You said it yourself, and really there’s no doubt…” The words nearly get stuck in your throat, but the doubt and guilt is gone, leaving behind a wonderful peace that Odin clearly recognizes. “Let Loki return to Midgard. You can banish him all you want but let him out and let him live.”

“You risk your life for him?” A watery, blue eye challenges your sanity.

“Yes.”

Clearly exasperated, Thor reaches for you but stops at the motion from his father. “[Y/N], be reasonable. Loki would not want this…he risked his life to save yours.”

“I know…and how am I supposed to live with that knowledge?”

To the king, I will bow, at least for now One of these days a-coming, I'm gonna take that boy's crown

…   Loki’s PoV   …

The howling has stopped. Einherjar have come and gone, at first whispering agitatedly amongst each other, but since then silence has fallen, laden with a different tension which can almost be tasted in the air. Chaos. Insecurity. Loki lives for these things, but normally he’s the one to cause them and being left out of the loop is infuriating to say the least. Pacing the bright cell, frost snakes from each footstep in tendrils towards the walls as the Jotun’s attention and concerns are anywhere but with himself, the only apparent consolation being that there appears to have been no bloodshed. What has happened?

Faint voices hint at new arrivals to the dungeons and Thor appears shortly after on the other side of the golden shimmer that keeps the prisoner safely inside the perimeter.

“Brother, what is going on? Is [Y/N] safe?” The words have left Loki’s mouth in a garbled hurry.

There’s an electric shine to the older brother’s eyes and…is that…amusement? “If by safe you mean currently alive, then yes.”

“Don’t be cryptic, it suits you ill.”

This time a broad smile proves the suspicion. “Your girlfriend’s currently holding father at spear point.”

The words individually make sense but strung together like this and accompanied by the twisted amusement the meaning as a whole becomes blurred. Loki witnesses, as though removed from his own body, how the barrier is lowered and the brothers and a few einherjar leave the dismal dungeons.

Every nerve sing with the tension crackling from the people surrounding the slender prisoner, fusing his mind and body again. Oh, how he used to love that sensation. The thrill of watching others scrabble helplessly to understand and survive the chaos dragging them anywhere at once. This time it’s different because not only does he recognize the frantic uncertainty, Loki’s sharing in it. What is she doing? The bafflement that had consumed the Trickster at first is replaced by an array of possible scenarios which all, somehow, grab his heart in a vice. Spearpoint. Glancing at his brother, the hope that Thor merely is jesting is snuffed – the warrior does not posses such humour. Odin at spearpoint. No such thing should be able to happen without the offender losing their life the instant the weapon was readied. Unless…

“The spear. The spear.” Loke recalls the impossible weight of Gungnir perfectly although years have passed.

Thor grunts in approval. “And she wields it well, I may add.”

Two corridors pass in a seemingly endless blur before the group finally enters the grand hall through a side door, granting Loki an immediate view of the strangely twisted situation. A golden ring of nervous guards surround the only calm people, yet Odin and [Y/N] should logically be the most agitated in this scene due to the evident threat to their lives. The tip of Gungnir wavers delicately with each breath of the Midgardian. Grace. Unbidden, Loki appreciates the ferocious beauty of the woman, her body poised and controlled. Deadly perfection.

“Beloved.” She doesn’t flinch at his word, merely smiles. “What are you doing?”

“I’m negotiating your release.”

Moving closer, Loki sees the shift in the wolves standing at either side of the woman he loves. They are ready to attack her, tear out the delicate throat that has moaned his name so prettily. Only Odin’s order holds the beasts back. Why hasn’t he let them? Soft wrinkles and fragile skin speak silently of the millennia the king has lived and the hardships he has navigated the kingdom safely through until reaching this very point in time and space where a mortal holds the king’s spear to the king’s own heart. A few delicate threads in the robe have already been damage by the sharp metal.

“You…decided the best way to plead my case was by threatening the All-Father with Gungnir?”

[Y/E/C] never leave the single pale blue before her. “Frankly, I didn’t actually intend for this to happen,” the words are softened by her own chuckle, “I w’s snooping ‘round to learn more ‘bout what I’m up against…came here and saw the spear lying, so…I decided to try’t out.”

“Geri and Freki often spend the nights here,” Odin muses softly, “they saw you.”

“Correct, your highness.” The smile’s gone from the lips Loki has come to adore. “Forced to improvise then.”

Gentle, despite the stern voice, the woman explains her demands: in exchange for letting the king live and get Gungnir back, she and Loki will be allowed to leave Asgard safely, banished once more for eternity or unless the verdict be retracted. She even apologises for the turn of events, admitting that it’s a poor way of repaying a life debt.

Silence returns while Odin considers the proposal.

Hands red, hands red just like he said I am a little wicked

Using the time to look around, the adopted son finds that more people have appeared in the shadows from where they watch nervously. Several faces are familiar such as Heimdall’s and Sif’s, old friends whom he abandoned and lost the right to count on, adding to the pain that drove Loki too far astray. I got red in my ledger too. No Asgard has long since seized being the fallen prince’s home.

“[Y/N] daughter of [Y/mom’s/N],” Odin announces loud enough for all to hear, “even if your actions had been limited to wielding Gungnir and sitting on the throne the sentence would have been eternal imprisonment.”

Let her live, she does not understand our customs. Loki can feel the nails bite into his palms, but he must stay calm or the pending verdict may become even worse. Gaze flicking from the two figures, an unconditional admiration takes root in his heart at the stoicism with which this fragile mortal is facing her doom.

“From our conversations, I have learned that you are intelligent and kind of nature and it leads me to believe that violence holds no interest for you,” Odin continues, earning a soft nod, “thus your motivation must stem from somewhere else…the love you have found for Loki…a love that he has proven with the breach of his sentence to be mutual.” The slightest quiver of [Y/N] lips threatens to break Loki’s resolve. “I remember love. There was not one thing I would not do for my beloved Frigga.” A silent tear slips from Odin’s healthy eye. “I accept your terms, [Y/N] of Midgard. Upon my word, no ill shall befall you or Loki on my orders if you leave now.”

…   Reader’s PoV   …

Sometimes life can work out really well despite how hard you’ve tried to fuck things up. Staring at Odin, you feel your mouth fall open as what he just said seeps into your brain. All right. Slowly stepping back while trying to ignore the imposing presences of the wolves, you accept that the mad plan worked. Yes. Right then. Mouth closing, you still can’t shut up the inner voice that reminds you that technically there hadn’t been a plan, just a stupid idea grabbed out of nowhere as an avalanche of troubles started rolling. Okay. Yes. That’s it. Both wolves step aside as you turn the spear for Odin to take. The moment it leaves your hands, you start shaking from all that has transpired.

“Thank you,” you manage to squeak to the king.

Old but strong hands grab your upper arms soothingly. “I do not condone of your actions…yet I have hope, the love the two of you hold for each other may be vital.”

Next moment it’s Loki’s arms around you and his hands tugging you so close you only can breathe in his scent.

It’s not really you, that walk with the tall, black-haired god through the city, along the Bifrost (which you only vaguely realize is one of the most breathtakingly gorgeous things you’ve ever seen) and into a golden sphere of magical, Asgardian technology. It’s a bit more you that bids the king farewell after listening to the consequences if you or Loki should return uninvited (death both or, if only one of you pulls such a stunt, at least for the trespasser and imprisonment for the other). It is however completely you, that feels the full force of the rainbow bridge hurtling you through the universe, dropping pieces of your organs and mind along the way. Or so it feels.

[krpk-remaking]

Dr Sex Epic Character - maxx @maxxeruz

Leorio Paladinight is easily one of the most underrated hxh characters, both within the fandom, merch and the manga itself, because he really is the most normal out of the main four and i really think he should be appreciated more because hes a great character!

Once again, shoutout to Mags @senritsus for helping with this! Go follow him!!

Im gonna be talking about Leorios Character, where his arc will go, and his connection with Kurapika. This is gonna be a little harder than writing Kurapika meta, since theres (sadly) a lot less Leorio content and we know a lot less about his background but ill try my best! Leorio deserves it.

Reading my Kurapika meta might make this a little more enjoyable, since i touched on Leorios and Kurapikas relationship more in depth there but you can read this post without reading it!

1 . Leorios Personality And His Past

When we first meet Leorio, hes introduced as a stupid, greedy and quick to anger Pervert, not an uncommon trope for a comedic relief character in anime. Those comedic relief characters often lack personality beyond that, a fact that is actually commented on by Kurapika.

But thanks to Kurapika, about seven chapters in, we learn more about Leorio and his motivations and as the manga goes on, it becomes obvious that there is way more to Leorio than just someone whos there for comedic relief.

Leorio grew up in (presumably extreme) poverty, loosing a friend due to their lack of money, motivating him to want to become a doctor whos able to help people for free.

"I'm a simple guy. Figured I'd become a doctor... so I could cure some kid with the same disease, tell his parents they owed me nothing! Me... A doctor! Now there's a joke!! Do you know how much it costs to even try to become a doctor? The mind boggles!! It's always about money! Always!! That's why I want it!"

Knowing this, Leorios character already gains a lot of depth. Sadly, the manga doesnt mention when exactly his friend died but the 2011 Anime follows the manga more closely so ill go with the fact that his friend died when they were younger. Most of Leorios actions can be explained with the guilt he feels over the death of his friend, how useless he often feels and the way his upbringing in poverty affected him, for example at the very beginning, the fight he picks with Kurapika stems from the fact that Kurapika didnt respect him and was acting as if he was better than him.

Leorio absolutely hates feeling like hes at a disadvantage, or like someone is looking down on him, probably due to getting little respect during his childhood due to his poverty. This also just might be the reason for him to constantly dress in a suit, something that rich, important people often wear. He often overplays his pride, puts up a facade and the way he presents himself really just screams overcompensation in so many ways

Here, he gets upset at Killua because he feels disadvantaged once again. This feeling of inferiority is often the reason for the fights Leorio has with Kurapika and in this instance Killua, he absolutely hates being looked down on. The Other reason he fights with someone early on is, because they dont value life in his eyes, for example the old woman who was asking them to choose between two human lives, toying with them per say, and not valuing them.

Leorio values human life, especially those of his friends over everything else and has a strong sense of Morality, since he did acknowledge he was in the wrong and apologized to the old lady.

When Hisoka was playing with the lives of the others during the hunter exam, as well as Leorios and his friends, Leorio got upset once again and, knowing just how powerful Hisoka was attacked him anyways with no regard for his safety.

He mentions “being toyed with” twice, something people do with people they look down on/are stronger than, where Leorios hate of feeling inferior once again comes back to show.

But, While Leorio absolutely hates being regarded worse than everyone, he also dislikes being viewed as someone whos better than everyone and gets very embarassed everytime someone compliments him/shows him positive attention. This is either due to the fact that he isnt used to it, or that he doesnt think he deserves it (note how hes always drawn with an embarassed blush).

Leorio is a very selfless man, whos ready to do everything in his power to help his friends because he doesnt want to ever lose another friend again. During the election arc, he focuses his entire speech around wanting to help Gon and uses his power to call for everyone to try and help Gon,

when Illumi manipulates Killua into killing during the hunter exam arc, Leorio is ready to give up his hunter licence for Killua,

And, being well aware of what Illumi was capable of, refused to let him through the door to protect Gon.

reassured Killua, showing his intense care for his friends (and little kids since Killua had actually not even been that nice to him),

When Killua had to fight against the serial killer, before they knew about his real strength, Leorio assured him that he wouldnt have to fight,

he willingly risked his life and let hundreds of snakes bite him just to warn Kurapika and Gon and to assure their chances of success, and before that tried to disband their team so they could still advance if he failed,

and, without any fear, they couldve sense that, stared down and yelled at the phantom troupe.

Leorio hates feeling useless and despite that, often does. He felt useless when his friend died and thus decided to become a doctor to cope with this guilt, he felt useless when Gon was sick, like his friend, and he couldnt do anything once again and he feels useless when Kurapika wont let him help him and wont let him reach out but despite that he keeps trying, to fight his guilt, to make sure that Kurapika is safe and to do his best to help.

He describes studying to become a doctor as something he does for himself, he doesnt see that notion, becoming a doctor to help people for free, as something selfless that should be admired.

He doesnt see becoming a doctor as something that he should brag with or that people should know. When he first meets Gon and Kurapika he puts up the front of wanting money to buy cars, mansions, wine, etc, all things one usually would want with money, when he really wanted the money to study so he could help people. Leorio thinks hes useless and good for nothing while everyone else fights and he just “selfishly” studies, but hes not useless at all and obviously studying to become a doctor to help the poor isnt something thats selfish at all. Maybe his motivations, to deal with his guilt over losing a friend, are a little selfish but the fact that he even blames himself and that he copes by trying to protect and value life wherever he can show that Leorio himself isnt a selfish person, hes someone whos ready to put his life on the line for his friends and others any day, despite being less reckless than the other three.

He sees Kurapikas quest for revenge as something noble, while he thinks very little of himself. Even during the election arc, after he had come into second and third place multiple times he was still convinced, somehow, that no one was gonna vote for him.

Even Ging a very experienced and talented hunter, though he is a terrible person, thinks highly of Leorio,

even copying the punch he threw at him, which Leorio, as Ging theorizes, mightve developed to get rid of tumors that are unreachable with operation, showing just how smart Leorio really is.

Leorio is someone whos been alone a lot and, while hes the least reckless and best at selfcare out of all four protagonists, had little regard for himself in especially the first arc, where he just kept jumping into dangerous situation. An explanation for that could be, that he had no one to care about and no one that cared about him before he went to take the hunter exam since weve never actually heard about any family he had or has. He could possibly be an orphan, explaining the missing mention of any family and the extreme attachment he has to Gon, Killua and Kurapika.

Him being orphaned would also perfectly fit into hunter x hunters theme of finding new family after losing another, Kurapika losing his entire clan, Gon losing his father, Killua losing his entire family except Alluka since his family is terrible and as good as dead to him and Leorio just never having really had one. So, the reason he becomes a little more responsible in arcs after the hunter exam is probably, that he finally had people to care about again, that also cared about him so now he doesnt feel like no one would miss him if he died anymore.

In short, Leorio, while being extremely selfless, caring, fearless, moral and empathic, thinks very little of himself and often feels useless and selfish. He cares most about the well being of his friends and has deep rooted feelings of guilt about the death of his friend, even though it was out of his control and he doesnt believe that his goal to be a doctor or really just he himself is deserving of any praise.

His wish to be a doctor is a mix of that extreme internalized guilt from “letting” his friend die, his selflessness that just got pushed up by the guilt and the empathy he gained by growing up in poverty and the first hand experience on why exactly free healthcare is needed.

2. Leorios Relationship With Kurapika, His Guilt, And How His Arc Could End

I wont go in depth about them here, since i already have one that multiple times but they truly are so, so important to eachother and are in many ways two sides of the same coin. Both of them have lost people close to them and theyve dealt with it in such different ways. It made Leorio want to protect life and heal people, focusing his nen around helping others (see: the punch he used being something he actually developed to deal with tumors) and it made Kurapika want to destroy life and kill people, taking revenge and destroying himself in the process, mirrored within his nen ability too (as it literally kills him to use emperor time, one hour of his life for every second). So this set-up, combined with the guilt Leorio feels over not being able to help his friend or Gon, combined with how important they are to eachother, combined with how the current arc has the both together on that boat, I feel like it would really make sense for Leorio to finally be able to save someone, furthering his character arc in a very satisfying way and also helping Kurapikas arc, letting him accept help from others and becoming less self destructive.

“Leorio is an unabashedly selfless character who very deliberately centered his life around helping others and the thought that he cant do that with Kurapika is definitely something he tries to take blame for.” (directly quoted from mags @senritsus <3) If something were to happen to Kurapika while Leorio is near and on top of that on doctor duty, where helping people is his only job, i couldnt imagine the guilt Leorio would feel. Hes always been looking out for Kurapika since they became close friends (and maybe the nearest thing to a best friend either had had in years) during the hunter exam and Kurapika did always try to be someone who calmed Leorio and helped him be more rational, though that changed when he began his down spiral after killing his first person and they drifted further apart and Leorio took on the job of calming down Kurapika.

Kurapika calming Leorio VS

Leorio calming Kurapika

Kurapika is in desperate need of saving and having Leorio be that person to save him would be so perfect for both of their arcs.

This arc already set up the tension in their relationship at the very beginning, or atleast before the succession war began and i do believe it has to be resolved (relatively) soon, especially because of this (once again my favorite) panel, showing Leorio as one of the four people Kurapika cares most about.

And, to quote my Kurapika meta post about this panel, Hes thinking about moments where they made him happy/made him care about them, Gon and Killua with their food fight in the park where they cheered him up and Leorio on the phone. Its him calling to check up on Kurapika. Kurapika really did appreciate it so much, even if he doesnt show it, even if he keeps pushing Leorio away. And he does care about them, even if he doesnt want to! The way Leorio expresses care for his friends, which is very vocal and direct, is so good for Kurapika because even if he still cant really believe or accept it, its still something he appreciates, somehow. I am not (!) saying that they will definitely end up with eachother but they are definitely incredibly important to the others character development and i dont think Togashi will forget about that.

If youve read all this, thank you so so much i really appreciate it! Leorio is an incredible Character that deserves more love and i hope everything i wrote here is coherrent!! If i made any mistakes or if you just have any thoughts youd like to share on this topic please send me an ask! <3

[ineedsomethingoriginal]

You Don’t Belong Here

( A/N:first fic! be nice plz. mentioned death and not so nice childhoods!)

Chan- Pride, leader, prideful not in the ‘look at me i’m so cool’ kind of sense but in the ‘look at my beautiful children you wish you had but don’t’

Woojin- Sloth, not lazy himself but has the ability to make people drop what they are doing and cuddle with him for hours

Minho (Leeknow)- Lust, he’s pretty, petty and boy does he know it

Changbin- Wrath, short in stature and an even shorter fuse

Hyunjin- Greed, don’t try to ‘borrow’ something of his without asking, he’ll fight you and look pretty doing it. 

Jisung (Han)- Envy, he just wants some love, is that too hard to ask?!

Felix- Gluttony, pretty harmless, just don’t interrupt him while he’s eating

Seungmin and Jeongin (I.N)- two boys who tragically died and found themselves stuck in hell due to a mix up

Ch. 1

“Welcome to hell, please watch your step and follow me. You will not enjoy your stay here.”

At these words Seungmin slowly begun to open his eyes, still groggy with sleep and sporting a creak in his neck from his position as he nudged the boy beside him awake.

“Jeongin. Get up. The elevator opened.” said boy yawned, rubbing his eyes sleepily as he took in his surroundings with now wide eyes.

If he thought the elevator he was in for who knows how long was fancy, the area in front of him was the definition of luxury: deep shades of red, high beamed ceilings stretching farther than he could crane his neck from his position on the elevator floor and dark hardwood under the longest rug he’d ever seen.

“I-is this a prank?” Jeongin stuttered incredulously at their predicament, although both boys knew that was definitely not the case; Ms. Yoo couldn’t even bother to give them proper meals most of the time, she most certainly wouldn’t go through all this effort just to make the boys’ life a living hell. (she could do it effortlessly)

Seungmin had just begun to get feeling in his legs after stretching them, he finally had enough room to do so after everyone else in the elevator had shuffled out, when the voice from earlier spoke again.

“Hey, I don’t have time for stragglers, I’m on a tight schedule here so if you could kindly get over the fact you died and were a terrible person and get out you would really- WHAT THE HELL!?” the person screeched, no longer speaking in the monotone voice from earlier as he stared at the two boys sitting on the floor in a mix of shock, confusion, and horror.

The two boys straightened up, looking up at the bellhop looking person as he squawked about like a chicken with no head.

“Umm, excuse me…” Seungmin meekly asked, but went unnoticed.

Jeongin noticed this and slowly got up, ignoring how his legs felt like jelly, and tapped the bellhop’s shoulder.

The bellhop instantly reeled back from the touch, “Don’t tempt me!” he shrieked, holding his shoulder like he got burned.

The two boys were even more confused than before but they were able to finally get the bellhop’s attention, which they supposed was a good thing.

With the bellhop’s attention finally held, Seungmin saw the opportunity to clarify some things, but was still delirious from sleep that all he could do was bluntly ask, “are we really in hell?”

The bellhop took a deep breath to calm himself finally addressing the young boys “y-yes, I’m afraid... but you kids aren’t supposed to be here.”

“But we are here!” Jeongin piped up, “and isn’t hell supposed to be all fiery and stuff?”

The bellhop huffed, “look kid, I’m new here, I don’t know how all this stuff works but you being here means I could get in serious trouble, I-I can’t explain it so you’re just gonna have to wait till my boss tells me what to do and he can sort this whole thing out.”

“O-ok,” Jeongin muttered, overloaded with the information thrown at him.

“And for your information, you’re inside the Sins’ Palace. It has air condition, outside is where all the fire and roasting happens.”

The bellhop turned away from the boy trying to process this new information, and with his right hand, swept his arm around in a circular motion, Seungmin and Jeongin staring in awe as the space in the circle crystallized into a mirror type form.

A figure appeared in the glass, obscured by shadow except for glowing golden eyes.

“Um, y-your highness, I-I mean master, uh, boss, or um s-s-sir…” he squeaked, stuttering more than usual.

“What did Jisung do this time?” the figure asked boredly, seeming to be leaning on his fist like he could care less as to why this person was calling him.

The bellhop cleared his throat, seemingly beginning to brace himself for what would be happening next.

“I-it seems, my lord, that two Angel hatchlings have accidentally been transported to my sector…”

The two children looked at each other in confusion before the dark figure’s voice tore through the room.

“WHAT?!” the voice roared, seeming to shake up the massive structure to its core.

The bellhop’s tail stuck itself in between his legs, much like a cowering dog. Seungmin stared in disbelief at missing that detail about the bellhop, and upon further inspection noticed a small pair of ebony horns sticking out of his little hat.

“huh...” Seungmin muttered, staring in disbelief.

Next thing he knew, the devil-bellhop-thing had ended the call with an ‘I understand sir’ and was now ushering the two youngsters down the long hallway, up two flights of stairs, a right turn and another long hallway until stopping at the end of the second hallway, in front of the largest door Seungmin had ever seen.

The double doors were made of thick wood with intricate carvings of snakes and tortured souls, the detailed faces were twisted into looks of anguish that seemed to be staring right at the boy as if calling for help. The door handles were iron snakes twisted into a ring so that they were biting their own tail. The bellhop took one of the handles and started pulling the door open with great effort, and Seungmin decided he really didn’t want to go through that door.

Seungmin gripped Jeongin’s hand tighter, the younger looking up at Seungmin to see the older trying to keep his emotions in check but Jeongin could see the fear in his eyes and his lip start to quiver. The older had always been terrible at keeping his emotions in check, he cried easily and wore his emotions on his sleeve no matter how hard he tried, while a smile came easily to Jeongin no matter what he was feeling just so Seungmin or the others wouldn’t worry about him.

Jeongin returned the pressure as reassurance but before either could do anything they were suddenly pulled through the door forcefully. The room dark except for a few candles, the main source of light coming through the open door they had been pulled through, both turning to see their guide still there. They looked at the bellhop but he seemed to have gone back to the monotoned employee voice that they heard when they woke up in the elevator, as all he said was “wait here please” before slamming the thick wooden door closed, leaving Seungmin and Jeongin waiting, in darkness and silence.

[ilovethetalkingclock]

The Red Reaper

STORY DESCRIPTION: A grim reaper goes on a rather interesting adventure that changes her unlife in this alternate take on different fairy tales.

FULL STORY BELOW:

It was a late afternoon in the forests. The sky was pink, and ready to go deep blue in a rather short time. In the forests, a grim reaper was making her way through. Her cloak was a deep ruby red, matching the pupil-like lights in her eye sockets. Her hair was made of black shadow and was flowing smoothly, like the ocean on the calmest days. She held her scythe of silver in one hand, and a bag of food and supplies in the other, as while grim reapers couldn’t die from starvation, they could still get hungry. The Red Reaper, as she was called, was on her way to reap the soul of a woman whose time was near up, like usually. Little did she know that this day could change her unlife.

The Red Reaper smiled as she looked at a nearby stream, walking by its side. While she was a worker of death, she got along with wildlife and nature quite well, like most grim reapers did. After all, death was a natural thing. Butterflies welcomely fluttered by her before going on her way, making her laugh a little. The reaper then noticed a bridge going across the stream. Realizing it was the next path to her destination, she decided to go across it. But as she took her first step onto the bridge, she noticed a rather large creature coming from under and climbing on.

It looked vaguely reptilian, mostly resembling an alligator, with greyish green scales. It had a yellow and green mane that was musty and swampy, which also covered the creature’s eyes and ran down its back right to its tail, while spikes protruded. Its posture, while human like, was also hunched over. The claws on both its hands and feet were black and sharp. The teeth on its open and hungry snout were sharp and yellow. Apparently, what lived under the bridge was that of a troll.

“Hey now, I don’t mean any trouble.”

The Reaper’s stern statement fell deaf on the troll’s non-existent ears, in which it just snarled back. Loudly. However, the Red Reaper remained unmoved. She weld her scythe, pointing right at the troll, then told it rather coldly.

“You seem to be near the end of a troll’s lifespan. I should know because I’m a grim reaper.”

The troll didn’t say anything. It just closed its mouth and simply climbed down the bridge, going back under. The Reaper smiled as she crossed through. She loved doing that. As she got back on track, the Reaper noticed a white wolf passing by. The wolf then looked at the Reaper, her staring back.

“Do not mind me, just on my way to claim a well-aged soul.”

The Reaper swore she saw the wolf raise its head a little before it continued on its way. She shrugged it off and continued on hers. It was now completely dark, and the Red Reaper was still in the forest. It was calm and serene. Well, it was until the Reaper noticed a young woman with messy blond hair, dressed in gold jewelry on her neck and wrists, looking and shuffling in what looked like a stolen handbag right next to what seemed to be a swan-girl, presumably the actual owner of the bag in a fetal position and covered in slight bruises. Red went over to the robber and aimed her scythe at her, the blonde’s eyes going wide as the blade was right near her face.

“And what exactly is going on here?!”

“Whoa, hey! We don’t need to get so fired up! I was just lookin’ in my bag, ya know! This is my bag!”

“Oh really, then why’s that woman bruised and on the ground?”

“Okay, ya got me. Here’s your dumb items back, I’m still taking the purse though, it’s just right for me!”

“Come back here!” the Reaper screamed in fury, about to charge at the fleeing thief.

“Just let her go, I don’t really deserve anything to hold my stuff anyway…” The bruised swan murmured, getting up and taking her supplies with just her hands. “Don’t say that! If you don’t mind me asking, why exactly are you saying cruel things about yourself?” the Reaper asked, tending to the bird-woman’s wounds.

The swan sighed, “I’ve been living a hard life. I was adopted and raised in the city of ducks, my classmates and even some of my teachers teasing me and berating me not only because I barely looked like the rest of my adoptive family, but also because of my inability to comprehend the city environment, saying I was the ‘ugly one’. Even my siblings would sometimes give me crap. The only one who actually gave me comfort was my mother. When my 18th birthday passed, recently, I decided to move into a calmer area, where there aren’t much people. However, obviously the way there hasn’t been kind to me… I probably shouldn’t even have this stuff… what if they’re right? What if I am the ugly one, and will forever be that?”

The swan was silently in tears at that point, the Reaper’s heart sinking. Looking in her bag, she found a spare cloth bag. It was in case her other one got too full, but she decided to give it to the girl, whose eyes lit up.

“You are not ugly. Real beauty should depend on kindness, redemption, and other nice stuff. Those people who are mean to you? They’re the real ugly ones. So here, put your stuff in this, and take the thing with you. And also? Here’s something else.”

At that moment, the Reaper also handed the swan a map. Specifically, one that had a way to the calmer areas. The Red Reaper was using it to go on her way to her destination, but she was generous enough to give the girl her map as well. Tears of joy went down the girl’s eyes as she gently took the map and bag.

“Thank you… so much!”

The girl gave the Reaper a warm hug before going off. The Reaper smiled as the swan went on her way, a single tear coming out of her socket.

“It was my pleasure…”

The Red Reaper continued on her way to find the elderly soul. Because of her map being handed to someone else, she decided to use her memory and brain for the rest of her journey, venturing on into the forest. She continued on her way until three bear-people came by, all presumably siblings. They looked very upset, and the smallest bear went up to the Reaper and spoke,

“We’re tracking down a criminal. In her mid-20’s, blonde hair, infamous vandal, also a thief. Calls herself ‘The Gold Locks’. We’re hunting her down because we are detectives, and when she robbed our place recently, we decided that was the last straw. Have you had any encounter with her at all?”

The Reaper knew exactly what they were talking about. Thanks to her great memory, she was able to track down where the criminal went. She nodded, and pointed to her right. The smallest bear nodded their head, thanked the Reaper, and went on their way, the other two following them. Smiling, the Red Reaper finally went on her way. However, all this series of good deeds was making her kind of tired, so the elderly soul would have to wait a little while longer. Thankfully, souls didn’t really have specific due dates, so the Reaper had plenty of time. She found a nearby tree and rested aside it, enjoying her meal of cooked beef before finally drifting off to sleep.

The Red Reaper woke up to the light blue sky. Getting up and smiling, she picked up her scythe and basket and decided to continue on her way. Walking through the forest once more, she decided to have a bit of breakfast before noticing that her basket was empty.

“Great. I knew I should have packed more food other than that small pack of beef.”

She sighed and decided to kill two birds with one stone and get something to eat while she was on her way. The Reaper swore she saw what looked like the same wolf from yesterday pass by, it it was too fast for her to entirely make sure. However, she immediately put that aside from her when she sensed a smell of all sorts of sweet-tasting food items. Cake, gingerbread, frosting, peppermint, rock candy, cotton candy, all sorts of delicious stuff. The Red Reaper had to investigate. And judging from the smell, maybe also get a sweet snack as well?

As the Reaper followed the scent, she could feel her mind drowning in the thoughts of all sorts of delicious stuff. Yep, now she was really getting hungry. Then she found the source. A house resembling, and undoubtedly made of, a large triple layer devil’s food cake covered in chocolate frosting, sprinkles, and different forms of candy. The Reaper drooled at the sight of the place, and went near. She grabbed a handful of the cake-house and took a bite. It truly was delicious! She took two more handfuls, stuffing her face until she heard the door open and slithering.

“And thus, another hungry one has entered my area…”

The Red Reaper realized what she just did and turned to see a rather beautiful female humanoid with the face and tail of a snake. The tail was obviously in the place of legs. The snake woman’s hair was pink, blue, and fluffy like cotton candy. Her scales were white with red stripes, resembling that of a candy cane. Her eyes were welcoming and deep blue, shining like jelly beans. Before the Reaper could apologize, the snake-woman smiled, ensuring that the Reaper was okay with her following words.

“Welcome! Don’t worry about the house, that happens often. You seem pretty hungry, why don’t you come in? I have more where that came from.”

Realizing she was safe, the Red Reaper followed the snake-girl into the cake-house. She sat down in a chair next to a table as the snake started making some delicious meals. The Reaper was handed several good stuff like cupcakes, complete with sprinkles and cherries on top, and milkshakes. A grim reaper digested food in a shadowy pouch on the belly area, resembling that of a stomach, in which any food that goes in just slowly disappears, yet a reaper is still satisfied. The Reaper ate as much as she could until she was finally full, and decided to accept some sweets for the rest of her trip. As she made her way out, she heard the snake say something rather interesting. “Usually, I just fatten my guests up so I can have my own snack, I don’t care that I have all these sweets, but since you’re a ‘living’ skeleton, I decided to let you go.”

The Reaper just silently stared at the snake. The snake immediately realized what she just said.

“...and I probably shouldn't have said that out loud…”

That day the Red Reaper decided to claim an extra soul.

And that extra soul’s body was just as sweet as the rest of her breakfast.

So after that, the Red Reaper decided not to be distracted anymore and finally completely focus on her main task: claiming an elderly soul. Once again, she saw what she was sure was the white wolf from earlier pass by, but once again it was too fast for her to completely tell. Coincidentally, the Reaper managed to finally arrive at her destination. It was a small house, nothing more, nothing less. The Reaper knocked on the door.

“Come in…” She heard.

The Red Reaper opened the door. She saw an elderly woman with long white hair sitting on her chair, smiling calmly. This woman seemed strangely confident. The Reaper sensed that there was something a bit off about her, but decided to just continue on.

“Dear elder, do you know what I’m here for?”

“Probably. Lemme think…”

“Your soul. I’m here because your soul has aged.”

“Oh, right, right! That...”

The Red Reaper noticed that the woman was slowly changing shape, her green eyes glowing and shifting.

“What unique eyes you have…”

“Oh! All the better to see with!”

The woman’s ears seemed to have grown pointed and larger as well…

“Wh… What big ears you have,”

“All the better to hear with.” The old woman responded as her snout was becoming longer and canine.

“What big nose you have..”

“The better to smell you with!” The woman smiled, showing her now sharp teeth.

Smell?! The Reaper sighed, giving off one final comment on the woman’s ever-so changing shape, upon realizing what she was dealing with.

“What sharp teeth and claws you have…”

The woman grinned as she got on all fours and took a completely wolf-like shape, growing hair all over and a long tail. Looking at the Red Reaper, she sneered,

“The better to take you down with.”

The Reaper let out a long breath and weld her scythe, realizing that not only was the woman the white wolf she encountered earlier, but also a werewolf. While the Red Reaper never reaped a werewolf’s soul before, she decided to remain confident in this. The werewolf lunged at the Reaper, biting her deep into her arm. The Reaper, while in slight pain, remained unfazed otherwise, and knocked her back, preparing to use her scythe. The wolf dodged the scythe attack, throwing a vase onto the Reaper, who parried it with her scythe, knocking onto the werewolf.

The werewolf was a bit dizzy, but got up anyway and jumped onto the Reaper once more. However, the Red Reaper just stook her scythe out, the werewolf accidentally sliding onto it, only slightly cutting her, but the scythe still knocked her dead; so once she fell, she didn’t get up. The Reaper went up to the werewolf’s corpse, the werewolf’s spirit entering out of the cut with a defeated expression on her face.

“You win…”

“Never try out matching a grim reaper.”

So the Red Reaper and the werewolf spirit entered out of the small house, walking through the forests. The Reaper smiled as she walked with the spirit, seeing many encounters as results of stuff she did. She saw animals, creatures and humans alike helping themselves with the now abandoned cake-house. She found the three bears taking the Gold Locks into their truck, presumably to send her to court and most likely prison. She smiled and waved at the swan-girl sitting in the porch of a calm house she recently moved in, the swan happily waving back. And she crossed the bridge, where the troll, who noticed her come by, stayed under.

The Red Reaper and the spirit finally arrived in the underworld, which was not as bad as expected. People who behaved well or redeemed themselves had the better treatment, while the worst people got, well, the worst. The werewolf and the Reaper made up and the werewolf had a great time there. The candy snake was also there, having a not-so great time. The Red Reaper, meanwhile, noticed that the werewolf’s bite from earlier had a strange effect on her.

The Red Reaper’s skull formed a long snout.

Her teeth turned into fangs.

Her fingers became claw like.

She had now grown a long tail.

Her shadow-hair had also formed wolf like ears.

She had become a werewolf herself.

While surprised at first, the Red Reaper ultimately found this awesome, as did her co-workers! After all, a werewolf grim reaper was actually pretty rare. And of course, they congratulated her on the stuff she’s done on that day. 

The day changed her unlife, and it was the best ever.

The End

[weston-hcs]

Chapter 137: Animal symbolism

Sebastian is an ugly bitch and we all know that. But what does his grossness actually mean? Supernatural beings take on the form of whatever a human is able to comprehend, yet this does not mean that it is their true form. Sebastian’s appearance so far is probably not what one can call a true form. How have I already pumped out a full-on analysis within a few hours after translating the chapter myself? Hi I’m Sen and welcome to my TED talk on demonic and animalistic imagery. 

The first image in Chapter 137 we have of Sebastian’s animal forms is the image of a reptilian like eye. If we were to jump to a quick conclusion, we can make an assumption that Sebastian is the demon Moloch - a demon from Judaism with a lizard like form. In addition to this, Moloch has also been known to feed off of sacrificed children. In this predicament, Sebastian fits these criteria. Lizards, or “leTa’ah”, have been listed in Leviticus 11, said to be unclean “creeping things.”

It is likely that Toboso’s use of animal forms here looks towards Biblical representation, due to the nature of this series, yet another interpretation is quite ironic - lizards contradict one of Sebastian’s most powerful statements in this chapter. They have the power to regenerate that which is lost. Apart from that, the close up of the eye evokes an image of power; not that we haven’t just seen him slaughter a man, but hiding the rest of his form is a powerful technique to make one see him as a being of grandeur, that his eye alone is enough to evoke terror.

The image of the fly is our next image, again only as an eye. Within each unit of Sebastian’s, we can see O!Ciel’s fearful reflection. Judging by how Ciel looks up at him, it can be assumed that… that’s a big bitch. Even more terrifyingly so, Ciel can see his own reflection - he can’t avoid looking at his ‘cowardly’ expression. This adds to the psychological torture that leads to the eventual contract. Looking back at theological sources again, we can ponder upon Sebastian’s identity not being Moloch but rather the better known Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies.

Compounded with the fact that in this chapter Sebastian is only referred to as “the demon/devil”, one could even assume that Sebastian is the greatest demon of them all, as Beelzebub is sometimes used as another name for a devil. Though, judging by Sebastian’s power in comparison to Grim Reapers, I would assume that Sebastian is neither Satan, nor a prince of Hell. Flies have been associated with the devil and evil in many passages of scripture, one of the most famous is when God sent down a plague of flies in the Old Testament - in both Biblical means and in this chapter, the appearance of a fly is a portent for greater tragedy.

Perhaps the most Biblical animal imagery you can get is the snake, what we see Sebastian presented as next. The Fall of Man where Satan in the form of a serpent is what first may come to mind in this scene; Ciel is tempted by the devil without knowing any better, his contract built upon the belief that it was his own fault that he had lost his family. However, the demon Aym seems to fit this motif as well. While every demon takes a beautiful and charming form, Aym is noted for his ability use people’s secrets against them and get them to do things that they otherwise may not want to do.  After each animal that is presented in Sebastian’s form, they so far all fit within the general idea of his character.

Most interestingly is the positioning of this form. The snake appears very near to Ciel, it’s fangs close enough to bite, yet it is still outside of the cage. This contributes again to the psychological fear that Sebastian uses to coerce his victim into forming a contract. Not only does he terrify the child, but symbolically it represents Sebastian’s freedom outside of the cage - while Ciel is obviously constrained within the cage, denying this contract and the demon’s request would mean that he’d be left alone. Sebastian has already demonstrated his power in obliterating everyone outside of the cage, and it’d be an easy feat to destroy the child sitting vulnerable inside it. This image not only adds to the idea of Sebastian as the cunning tempter, but also that he is cruel and ruthless in his ways, finding ease to tap into one’s trauma and terror to get what he really wants. He’s an absolute... snake.

The image of the dog is just about one of the last that Ciel would want to see in that moment. Again, though Sebastian may not have had knowledge of it, this form again, adds to the idea of tapping into mental torment. For Ciel, who also thinks of how he can’t even run back to his dog anymore, this only adds to rub salt in his wounds. By appearing as a dog, Sebastian can appeal to Ciel’s guilt, making him feel as if it was his fault that his dog had died, but he can also create the fear that even those who once loved him now despise him. No wonder this is the image that shows before he’s finally broken.

This appeal also grants the idea of safety. We’ve established that he is the guard dog to the Queen’s guard dog right at the start of this series. For Ciel, who’s lost one of the last beings that protected him, having the same creature appear to him grants an idea of hope. This of course is truly sad, considering that Sebastian steals all of this away by word of the contract, but it’s still enough to deceive Ciel into thinking that he has no choice but to come to Sebastian. I mean, Sebastian is a real.... son of a bitch.

The next three images placed in succession, which can mean that they are or less significance. However, these three animals - a raven, an octopus and a goat - are still important in understanding Sebastian’s nature. Interestingly, anthropologist Claude Levi Strauss proposed that ravens are almost mythic in status as they are the mediator animals between life and death, being carrion birds. These birds have been associated with Sebastian before in Toboso’s sketches and moreso the introduction to the anime. While the anime-canon is one that most of us would like to forget, it has become increasingly relevant with the arrival of the recent chapters, what with Alois being used as a parallel to Ciel’s suffering. The contract in the anime is depicted in a shower of raven feathers, so having Sebastian be portrayed here as a raven is fitting. All in all, this… doesn’t really tell us much of what we already know. Sebastian is powerful, what’s the deal with that?

The deal is that he may have not been so powerful before. In German stories, and as we know Toboso does pull inspiration from Germany, ravens are the damned souls. Perhaps this is Toboso’s indicator of what demons actually are. Many theories have speculated that in the series they must be fallen angels, or that demons were just born demons - it can be seen that Sebastian may in fact be a damned soul, once a human, but sentenced to an eternity of suffering. This however is all speculation and can be considered as Toboso teasing us on the discovery of what Sebastian is later on.

Even more confusingly so… we have… an octopus? There isn’t much to go upon in biblical terms. Apart from the fact that you’re not supposed to eat “anything in the seas… that does not have fins and scales”, octopi are pretty much irrelevant. It’s positioning in the panel seems distant yet the stance of it’s tentacles appear to be ready to pounce upon Ciel. In fact, both the octopus and raven appear in this way. The statement that Sebastian has been “summoned” and “that this fact shall never change” is fitting with the image - once both have a hold on their targets, it will be near impossible to be free from their grasp. This octopus represents the futility of escape. Sebastian is the only choice Ciel has at surviving. (The discord chat kept on making Octodaddy jokes as I wrote this and I almost lost my will to live)

The goat is probably the most significant image of the devil, alike to the snake. During the Green Witch arc, Sebastian’s description of their meeting to Sieglinde even shows the typical depiction of a devil - a goat head, bird-like wings and a woman’s breasts. This image was worshipped by many cults such as the Free Masons. However, most significantly, this is the image of Baal/Baphomet (and his other many ridiculous names), one of the worst demons. In fact, I would say that Baal is closest to Sebastian’s character out of any demon that I could pull right outta my ass. As a commander of war, Baal supervises the destruction of masses - during the Green Witch arc, he finds interest in the development of humanity, but in particular their war efforts over science. Baal also desires sacrifices in great numbers, usually with sacrifice under deception… as we witnessed in the last few chapters.

Though I don’t believe that Sebastian is actually one of the named demons in any monotheistic religion, I do see that he is comparable to many demons. This is exactly the danger that we shouldn’t fall into so early. The image of the goat is deceptive; it’s what one usually assumes when they think about an animalistic devil. Perhaps this is a clue as to Toboso telling us not to get too comfortable with our perception of Sebastian just yet - in fact, I beg to argue that this is a forewarning of us getting further insight into Sebastian’s character as a whole.

Finally, we arrive at the image of a bat. The idea of bats as demonic has existed in many cultures. Looking outside from Biblical connotations, bats have been associated with creatures as the Jilaiya in Indian lore and more. Once again, positioning is important, with the bat outside of the cage, a taunt to coerce Ciel into accepting the contract. To cast someone “to the bats”, a saying used in the Bible when told what to do with idols, is to consign them to desolation or ruin. This is exactly what Sebastian is doing; it is through Sebastian’s hand that Ciel will be lead to damnation. However, these are all ideas that we’ve beaten half to death in the fandom. Apart from plot revelation of Sebastian’s manipulation, there isn’t too much that we learn about Sebastian at all.

Now what will I conclude out of all of this? You poor sad fools… Sebastian doesn’t have a true form. Toboso is too lazy to draw- Nah, I’m just fucking with y’all. We won’t see that true form for a while. We’re going to get shady little snippets of what he is, but Toboso might stick with the idea that demons are incomprehensible and unfathomable to the human eye. Yet, this is a forewarning that we will eventually gain further insight into what Sebastian is. However, if you’d ask for my interpretation…

Sebastian is full of bullshit and that might just be all that we get.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

Shoutout to @asthmaticastre for putting up with my bullshit.