#but one place it has harmed me is i am no longer comfortable with exploring a character on the page

[bigbrotherlouis]

i need to put FIRST DRAFTS ARE FOR GETTING WORDS ON THE PAPER somewhere prominent while i'm writing

[hrizantemy]

Day 20 of ACOTAR Games: This or That

And finally,

Which do you prefer?

Gwyneth as a priestess warrior (and protector) in Mother’s temple

Gwyneth as an explorer of the world she once used to be afraid of

Your contenders: @achaotichuman @litnerdwrites @umthisistheonlyusernamenottaken

I am grateful for the time you spared for this silliness and indulging me, and now, I take my leave. There were days when your answers were my sole reason to smile. Thank you.

I hope the remainder of this year brings you rest, peace, and comforting presence of your loved ones; and that the new year brings you happiness, good company, and ease. May you always find reasons to cherish each day and love yourself.

Until we meet again, farewell.

Gwyneth, standing as a devoted priestess within Mother’s temple, becomes a beacon of strength and unwavering protection. She is no longer the fearful woman she once was, bound by doubt and hesitation. Her transformation is profound, her heart now a reflection of the sacred duty she carries. In the temple, she is both a spiritual guide and a fierce protector, balancing the grace of her divine role with the warrior’s edge she has honed. The altar, once a place of personal turmoil for her, now feels like a safe haven, where Gwyneth is not only a vessel for Mother’s will but also the shield standing between the faithful and any threat.

With every prayer she recites, the bond between Gwyneth and the divine strengthens, solidifying her role as both a protector and a vessel of peace. The temple’s walls, ancient and worn, echo with the power of her resolve. In this sacred space, she is an embodiment of balance — the calming presence of the Mother and the fierce warrior who would not hesitate to strike down any who dare harm those she serves. Her newfound confidence is not born from arrogance but from a deep understanding of her purpose. She fights not out of anger, but out of love and devotion to the sacred duty she’s sworn to uphold.

Though she stands in the quiet sanctum of the temple, the world outside remains fraught with danger. But Gwyneth is no longer afraid. She is no longer a woman paralyzed by the unknown. Her strength, a blend of the divine and the mortal, now stands as a guard to the temple’s people and as a protector of the weak. Her presence, steadfast and unwavering, brings a sense of security to those who have found solace under her watchful eye. Gwyneth’s legacy within the temple is not just of faith, but of an enduring, unbreakable spirit — a true warrior of the Mother, one who will fight to protect those she cherishes.

Gwyneth, Nesta, and Emerie’s stories are essential not only for their personal journeys of healing and strength but also for the broader narrative of female empowerment, resilience, and solidarity. Each woman, in her own way, represents the strength found in overcoming trauma, the power in self-rediscovery, and the unwavering resolve to protect others despite their pasts. Together, they weave a narrative that highlights how the bonds forged in shared experiences can become the foundation of transformation, both for themselves and for those they fight to protect.

For Gwyneth, the journey from a fearful, isolated woman to a steadfast warrior-priestess symbolizes the power of inner healing and purpose. Her role within the temple is not merely as a spiritual leader, but as a protector — a reflection of her own growth. She was once unsure of her place in the world, but now, standing with faith and strength, she not only defends the sacred space but also becomes a beacon for others who need protection and guidance. Gwyneth embodies the theme of self-empowerment through embracing one’s purpose, no matter how daunting it may seem. Her transformation highlights the significance of taking ownership of one’s power and utilizing it for the greater good.

Nesta, too, carries a profound story of survival, transformation, and defiance. Her path is littered with pain — from her early life in the human realm, to the horrors of the war, to her battles with self-worth and identity. However, her ability to rise from those ashes and ultimately find her strength through embracing both the dark and light within her makes her narrative deeply impactful. Nesta, in her own way, stands as a warrior — not just physically but emotionally, confronting her trauma and taking control of her own story. Her connection to death and the way she defies it shows that her power doesn’t lie in what others see on the surface, but in her refusal to be broken. Through her story, we see that healing is not linear, and sometimes, it is the fiercest among us who are the most in need of healing, who find it not just for themselves, but for others as well.

Emerie’s story, though often understated, is equally significant. She is a woman who has fought tirelessly for her place in a world that has always sought to diminish her. Emerging from a life of hardship and oppression, Emerie’s resilience speaks volumes about the strength required to endure and overcome societal constraints. She is a symbol of how one can carve a place of worth and value despite being underestimated and overlooked. Her quiet strength complements the fierceness of Nesta and Gwyneth, showing that sometimes, power does not need to be loud or overt — it can be found in the silent, steady determination to keep going, even when everything seems to be stacked against you.

Together, these three women’s stories are a celebration of the power that comes from solidarity and support among women who have suffered in different ways but have found strength in one another. They challenge the notion that women must go through their struggles alone or that their worth is only defined by their battles with others. Their unity demonstrates that true strength lies in supporting each other, lifting each other up, and helping one another grow into the powerful beings they are destined to be. The importance of their stories is not just in their individual achievements, but in how they change the world around them by standing together and embracing their own power — and in doing so, offering a new kind of hope and inspiration for those who follow in their footsteps.

I can’t even begin to express how much your words mean to me. It’s honestly such a privilege to be part of your journey, even if just in this small way. To know that something I wrote brought you joy, that it made you smile on days when you needed it most — that’s beyond humbling.

I’ll always be here when you need a place to turn, a space to dream, or just someone to listen. Thank you, truly. It’s been more than a pleasure, and I hope every moment after this is filled with as much light and creativity as you bring into the world. Wishing you nothing but good things on whatever path you take next. You’ve got a beautiful soul, and I’m grateful for the time we’ve shared.

[the-haunted-office]

I have updated the "Stuff I am not comfortable roleplaying" section of my rules. Please have a look, and let me know if you have questions!

Please note: The section I added about "my muses being in inauthentic relationships" is not due to anything anyone has recently done. I felt I needed to say this because I didn't want anyone getting the idea that they had. It's something that has happened in the past, and I don't want for it to happen again because of how this dynamic was abused. It unfortunately created a negative experience for me that I don't wish to repeat. What it boils down to is communication between you and me - that is literally all it takes for me to be okay with the dynamic. Thank you for your patience and understanding!

⭐ Stuff I am NOT comfortable with roleplaying

Let me preface this by stating that I do understand the separation of fiction and reality. I understand that fiction is a place where people may safely explore themes that wouldn’t be okay to do in real life and that it does not reflect who you are as a person. However, the below subjects are personal icks for me, so I’d like to avoid roleplaying them. You may roleplay them on your blog and I have no issue with seeing it on my dash. That is all fine. It’s just that I personally am not interested in roleplaying these topics with my muses, and I appreciate the mutual respect in this matter. Thank you!

Smut. I am not really into rping smutty stuff. Suggestive or dirty humor, implying things, flirting, mentioning it, saying it happened, asking questions about my muses’ sex lives (like in inbox ask meme games), and suchlike is all fine - just nothing overly explicit, please. I don’t mind other people rping smut and following those who do or seeing it on my dash; I am just uncomfortable rping it myself. If in any case an rp starts going in that direction, I’ll have it fade to black or skip ahead.

Excessive violence towards children. It’s okay if it’s part of a muse’s past, and in threads I am also okay with some angst and general childhood things like skinned knees and the like. But I am not comfortable rping actual threads where there is excessive harm being done towards children. Also, it should go without saying, but anything of the pedophilic nature will be absolutely, 100% not tolerated and will result in an instant block if it’s even suggested.

Abusive relationships. Enemies to lovers type relationships don't fall under this category to me - it is specifically when one partner is harming the other with no healing or remorse in sight. It’s when the party/ies are enjoying hurting one another and the other clearly isn’t enjoying it is when it becomes abuse to me and when it makes me uncomfortable. Again, you do you, I have nothing against that, we’re all good, it’s just something I’m not interested in rping myself.

My muses being in inauthentic relationships WITHOUT MY CONSENT. This doesn’t necessarily apply to romantic relationships - this is speaking of ALL kinds of relationships, including and especially friendships. This dynamic unfortunately has been sprung on me and my muses ad nauseam, especially with Thursday, to the point where I am not really interested in tolerating this any longer. This is referring to relationships where your muse doesn’t actually consider mine their friend - they are only calling them a friend for ulterior motives, to use them, because they need them for something, etc. Please, no more of this, unless we talk it over extensively in advance and it’s something we both 100% agree on. My consent is the key here. I do not mind doing plots and muse dynamics where there is a disingenuous relationship between your muse and mine - it’s that I do not like when it is presented as a genuine friendship at first, only for my writing partner to turn around later and tell me “Oh no, my muse doesn’t actually like yours, they’re just using them,” or for their muse’s actions to show something completely different. At that point I consider the relationship abusive and being done under the table to boot, so I will likely be coming into your DMs to talk about it.

[gctchell]

RULES.

Evening, lovebloods! I’m Red, a gal in her 30s who has a powerful love for roleplay. Welcome to my rules page! In regards to my blog, this place takes place in Hell and as such, you're going to find positively dark, gothic, edgy, macabre, NSFW, and all that delicious wicked nonsense in terms of content! We are treading into the shadows here with no censor, so you MUST keep that in mind before you follow.

The mun herself has social anxiety and may take a very long time to respond to you in the IMs, but she will respond instantaneously if there is an issue to be found in our threads that’s made you uncomfortable. Don’t be intimidated by her by any means! Seriously, she’s probably more intimidated by you than you’re intimidated by her.

PERSONAL NOTES: Visual self-harm such as cutting, or needles in arms are two things that I cannot stand to a physical degree [ written is fine ] and I will likely not follow your blog if these things pop up. It is nothing on your character or you, it is simply for my own comfort’s sake. I do not follow blogs that ship Charlie with Alastor (Chalastor/Charlastor/Radiobelle) & Vaggie with men. It’s rare we have a canonical f/f couple and it’s incredibly upsetting for me as a lesbian to see either of these things. You do you! But I will not interact. Lucifer’s suggestive Eve comment is not acknowledged on this blog in the case of it being literal. Eluding to the apple and only the apple is one thing, eluding to actual relations is a no-go with my Lilith. I had her before this reveal dropped and she is heavy set in monogamy. I do not tag triggers. This is not a stubborn stance or anything, it's the fact I cannot remember and cannot keep up with these things. Please do not follow if you require something tagged - I don't want you to be exposed to triggering content. When I do post triggering content in terms of original posts, I always give a content warning beforehand.

THE RULES;

Mature content will be featured on this blog. Do not follow if you are below the age of 21.

Dark themes and sexual content will be written, explored and posted. Genuinely, do not follow if either of these things make you uncomfortable.

I am not affiliated with my canon characters, or my faceclaims. They are simply characters I enjoy and wish to write for in the name of 🎊 fun 🎊. 

I am Mutuals Only. This means I will only interact with those I follow and I will not bend on this. However, everyone and anyone is allowed to send in asks, of course. 

Mutuals, please do not feel pressured into staying connected if you wish to unfollow at any given time - you’re more than welcome to do so. However, I request you soft/hard block me on the way out so we are no longer following one another. It is terribly awkward to be following someone who no longer wishes to interact. 

DO NOT REBLOG. My threads with other writers are not open for being reblogged if you are not personally involved, so please avoid doing so.

My muses views are not my own. If they were, I would be continuously tearing myself apart at the seams! Especially since this is Hell!

My grammar is not always top notch. And yes, I am English. I do my best, but we all make mistakes. 

I reserve the right to unfollow/block. My reasons would be my own and I do not owe an explanation, do not hound me for one, please. It’s invasive.

Granted, there is a tumblr unfollow bug that happens time to time. If I am still on your dash but I have unfollowed you, it is 100% the bug at fault and I am unaware of what has happened and had no intention of unfollowing you - feel free to contact me if this happens! I do not unfollow without soft/hard blocking, I promise you. No matter our disagreements, you’re not a number for my follower count.

I do not adhere to length expectation. It stresses me out and kills my motivation for threads and further interaction. I will write at my own length and I encourage you to do the same. If I write a wall of words and you respond with only a paragraph, that is fine. So long as there is enough meat for us both to go off of, we are solid gold. 

Icons are unnecessary. Icons are lovely, but they are not a necessity. There will be many, many times where I do not use icons at all, especially with muses who do not have a lot of visual material to work with. Please do not feel pressured into using them. 

Formatting. I write in normal text and regular small text, and I use 100x100 icons. I have bad eyesight, and I will not interact with blogs that use heavy formatting or use text smaller than the normal. 

My icons are my own, made by me or were taken with credit from rpicon blogs- please do not steal them, especially if they are fanart or stem from rp icon blogs. I do not want the credits lost - these people took their time to share their pieces with the public world and take time out of their day to make these icons, they demand respect!

Thread dropping. I am only human, and my muse guides me. I am guilty of dropping threads left and right, and I do apologize for that. However, this does not mean I am not interested in threading with you, it simply means my inspiration for that particular thread has dried up. Please do not take it personally; I am someone who loves having a thousand threads at once, so I would love it if we could have many more.

Shipping. This blog is multi-ship and very selective, as the mun can be very skittish about shipping. Chemistry is absolutely key, and forcing a ship will get you blocked. Please do not follow me purely to ship with me, it is very disheartening.

I will not roleplay cheating, dubcon / noncon, or open relationships.

Each ship will belong to their own universe.

I am comfortable to go the whole nine yards in terms of marriage, pets, family, etc., the whole shebang if that is the wishes of the characters. I love to build homes with my roleplay partner and figure out what their futures look like.

I am a fan of homosexual reproduction. It is not possible yet in our world, but I love it being able to happen in roleplay. F/F ships are absolutely allowed to have babies if that is where we wish to go with our ship.

I do not view one-sided love as forceful shipping - those are fine by me. My own muses will likely form crushes and I expect them to go nowhere unless my roleplay partner is interested; otherwise, it is simply a crush. Please do let me know if this might make you uncomfortable and I will erase completely it from my muse!

NSFW. Sexual content WILL be featured on this blog in the form of headcanons, and likely even roleplay content (Lilith is here, it's a given something might happen at some point). All sexual content will be tagged as '[ mature. ]' & ‘mature //’ as to avoid being flagged by Tumblr’s flagging system. 

I do not and will not roleplay smut with underage muns and muses. You should not even be here if you are below the age of 21. I will block you on sight.

I do not roleplay smut with strangers. It makes me uncomfortable and like I am being used as a fulfillment source. 

Mind yours manners. Common decency; don’t be a creep, don’t send uncomfortable asks. Remember there is a living person behind the screen.

Callouts. I do not follow blogs that partake in callout culture, and I will unfollow if I see it in my dashboard. We’re all allowed to control our dash atmosphere as we wish, and this is how I wish to keep mine comfortable. 

Reblog karma. Unless the source is unavailable, do not reblog memes from me without sending something in first, please. It’s disheartening and it clogs my activity.

Time. My response times can range from immediate to months, so I likely am not the ideal partner if you enjoy consistency.  Life has been very, very busy for me and I have the nightmare combo of ADHD & Depression.

FYI. I will write characters I do not have on the blog in the form of “special guests”, as flavor for threads or a necessity for me and my roleplay partner’s thread. 

Again, I cannot stress how this blog is going to feature dark content. This is Hell and I am playing with that! PLEASE do not follow if such things make you uncomfortable. Keep your comfort in mind first and foremost.

[gumpistol]

GET TO KNOW YOUR ADMIN !!

name — lala! (or luka, we're trying this one out)

pronouns — they/them

preferred comms — definitely discord, i have a thing where if i open a message and don't immediately respond in tumblr dms, i tend to forget about it. it's the adhd "out of sight out of mind" thing. but on discord i can mark things as unread and then everybody from all my blogs is one place too.

name of muse — his name is monkey d. luffy, and he's going to become king of the pirates!!!

experience in RP — oh geez, like 10+ years? surprisingly mostly on tumblr, but before this blog i was taking a break and exclusively on discord for ~2 years

best experiences — honestly? the best experience i've had so far has actually been the OP rp community. i've been in a lot of fandoms, but i've never felt so completely welcomed as a new writer in the fandom. the dash commentary shenanigans and the willingness to just drop into inboxes on a whim with unprompted stuff is honestly a lot of fun! i'm really happy this is the community experience i get to have on my return to tumblr

pet peeves / dealbreakers — i have 2 big ones: (1) guilt tripping me into replies or worse, ships. this is the easiest way to piss me off and will likely end up in the exact opposite of what the person wants happening. (2) genderbent characters; it's almost 2024 so i'm baffled i have to say this, but if you don't know why these depictions are harmful, this post does a nice job of putting it into words. anyway, genderbends will get a quick block from me.

muse preference ( fluff, angst, smut ) — well i tend to write a lot of cheery, silly stuff as is the nature for luffy, but also because that comes to me the easiest sometimes. but i really love angst and hurt/comfort type stuff. like yes, i want the angst, but please let me have a comforting resolution for them as well. angst and drama with a sprinkle of fluff. on that note, i also just enjoy writing luffy being silly and unhinged, because it makes people smile and laugh and you all deserve a little bit of that each day.

plot or memes — either really! i think memes are a great way to both start interactions, but also keep plotted things going. that being said, i love plotting with people and fleshing out the dynamics of our characters, and a lot of the time i have ideas to share. so i like both!

long or short replies — i am a sucker for longer replies. while not a lot of it is introspection for luffy, he is an active character with ever changing expressions and actions that he's doing. i also really love imagery and describing scenes, so that gets put into his writing sometimes as well. in the stuff where i do explore his emotions and vulnerability, i also can't do that in a short thread because there needs to be context, so i will write as much as needed to do that side of him justice. that being said, i also enjoy short things too! the silly short things are my go to when my brain isn't braining.

best time to write — usually weekends, because i can take my adderall and sit down and get a lot of stuff written

are you like your muse — despite being a lot more introverted, i do think i share some similarities with luffy. we both really like to keep things silly, but can get very serious and passionate when it comes to protecting our friends or just people in general. like him, i also have a lot of love to give to people and i really enjoy making new friends (when i have the energy). uh what else...we're both eager to fight, but in a love punch/wrestle kind of way. and i too have nearly drowned in an ocean on multiple occasions.

tagged by: @celestiialnotes & @rubctosis & @enjomo (just gonna tag you here :D)

tagging: if you're seeing this and haven't done it yet because i don't know who has and hasn't been tagged, YOU! (and then say i tagged you hehe)

[with-love-from-hell]

 Attrition

{ft. Barbatos}

Part 9 of the Fortification Series  (based on this request)

Genre: hurt/comfort, angst, some fluff

Written for a GN!MC, though the partner is written as male.

WC: ~4.4k

TRIGGER WARNING: Each part contains graphic depictions of various types of abuse, please see specific content warnings for each individual part.

CW:  sexual abuse/assault, physical abuse, emotional abuse, threats, intimidation, graphic torture, graphic violence and gore, strangulation & hanging via rope, eye mutilation, self-harm via cutting, urination/incontinence, swearing

Series Masterlist

Note: Though I do have a masters degree in Psychology and clinical training in treating survivors of abuse, I am not your therapist, nor is this fic intended to take the place of professional help. If you are experiencing any type of abuse, please seek support from a professional. Utilize the Victim Connect Resource Center to get connected to the appropriate helpline.

THIS ONE IS PRETTY GRAPHIC, PLEASE MIND THE WARNINGS. I figured I’d crank out a longer finale to the series because I wanted to end it with a bang, and also because I love Barbatos and haven’t written a lot for him!!!

“Welcome everyone! I am glad you could all join me this evening!” Diavolo beamed, pleased with his gathering of the exchange students for a fun weekend at the castle. “We will be having dinner in about two hours; please take some time to find your respective rooms and explore the castle. Since the brothers wont be joining us until tomorrow evening, you will all have solo rooms for the night!”

You gulp, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. A “retreat” at the castle with only the other exchange students meant that you would be away from your primary protectors- the ones who vowed to keep you safe from your boyfriend as you figured out a way to end the relationship peacefully. You really thought he would change after coming to Devildom. But in reality, the tense atmosphere and laissez faire rules surrounding interpersonal conduct only enabled him to treat you worse. You had tried your best to work up the courage to end things, but the more violent he became, the harder it was to do. 

Mammon was the first to realize something was wrong. You begged him not to tell anyone for fear of retaliation, but he knew you needed more help. Soon enough, each of the brothers were always around you, ensuring your boyfriend couldn’t hurt you (mentally or physically) as long as they were by your side. Lucifer had been trying to make an official report to Diavolo, but it appeared that with their interventions, they didn't have any recent enough evidence to address it. So you went on with their protection; to intimidate him enough to back off...and it worked, too.

Until tonight. 

You gulp, feeling your boyfriend’s hand squeeze yours threateningly. You knew that he knew you were going to try to leave, and that the brothers were always there in order for you to avoid his “punishments.” That’s why he suggested this little “retreat” to Divaolo in the first place- to finally get you vulnerable enough to do whatever he wanted. 

Diavolo relieved you all to your quarters, and your boyfriend tugs on you aggressively. As he drags you in the direction of the west spire stairs, you hear your name called from behind. 

“Mc, I am actually needing you to stay behind with me.”

You and your boyfriend turn, seeing Barbatos approaching from Diavolo’s side. He eyes your boyfriend before turning his attention back to you, a warm smile decorating his face. 

“M-me? Why?”

Barbatos stops in front of you, extending his hand for you to take instead of your boyfriends. “Diavolo has requested that the cuisine prepared tonight incorporates some food from the human world, as we have yet to really taste any delicacies from your culture. I know you are quite fond of cooking, so I figured having your aid in this venture would be useful for preparation and tasting.” 

Before you could answer, your boyfriend squeezes your hand tightly- so tight, that you feared of your fingers breaking under his grip. You clamp your mouth shut, knowing that this was a sign for you to be quite and let him speak. You try to hold back tears as you feel the joint of your thumb pop- clearly dislocating like it had so many times in the past.

“I don’t know why you would pick them, of all people.” The man scoffs and shakes his head. “The food they make isn’t much better than the slop you all eat here.” 

Barbatos’ eye twitches in annoyance, his warm smile quickly dropping into a frown. “I apologize that our food isn’t up to your standards, (name), but I have faith in Mc’s ability to assist in this matter. If you’re standing in opposition, I would like a better reason than you having poor taste in food.” 

Your boyfriend continues squeezing your hand, Barbatos’ challenging of his words increasing his anger. After a tense moment of staring each other down, your boyfriend drops your hand and turns away. “Whatever. Do what you want.”  

He storms off, pushing one of the little Ds out of the way as he trudged up the stairs. You breathe a sigh of relief, the panic of being alone with him subsiding slightly. You turn to Barbatos, who still has his hand outstretched to you. 

Barbatos takes your hand, not missing the wince crossing your features as he gently directs you along. Silently, the two of you walked to the kitchen, and you settled in chopping some vegetables while Barbatos and some of the little Ds worked on the pastries and attended to the pots on the stove. Some of the tension you felt in your muscles released as you focused on your tasks, entranced to the point where you didn’t notice Barbatos’ concerned glances at you between his own tasks. 

He was a very perceptive demon, and he could easily see the rage brewing behind your boyfriend’s eyes when he grabbed your hand and dragged you along with him. Barbatos also had enough of a glimpse into your timeline to know of the horrid things this man had done to you, and he had warned Diavolo of having both of you here together for the exchange program, but the prince insisted that the exchange program could somehow resolve or mend these wounds. Barbatos could almost laugh at the naivety of it, if the situation wasn’t clearly life threatening to you. 

He found his mind wandering to the incident shortly before you came here- the last thing he had seen in your timeline before having enough of the sickening visuals of the man's behaviors. Forcing you into such obscene acts when your distressed “no’s” could be surely be heard by anyone within a mile radius still haunted his mind when he found his thoughts wandering to you, and he struggled in feeling guilt for not demanding the prince do something about him sooner. While he was glad that the brothers took notice, he couldn’t help but feel as if he enabled the abuse, and Diavolo suggesting such an isolated retreat- under your boyfriend’s suggestion no less- only made him feel worse. 

“Barbatos?” 

The butler snapped his attention up from the dough he had been kneading, meeting your uncertain eyes. “Hmm?” 

“I said I’m finished with the carrots and beets.” You swallow, unsure of why the usually attentive butler had failed to hear you the first time. “Is there anything else you need me to do?” 

Barbatos smiled, turning to grab a mixing bowl and some other ingredients. “Yes, I will have you mix these together here. I have the measurements written down here.” 

He hands you the open cookbook flipped to a recipe for brown-sugar glazed veggies. As you grab it, you feel the lingering pain from the dislocated thumb jolt through you. You hiss at the sharp pain, dropping the book and sending various ingredients and spices spilling all over the counter and the floor. 

“Shit!” You quickly hop off your stool trying to clean up the ingredients as fast as you can despite the throbbing in your hand. Your heart pounds in your ears, completely horrified to what your punishment from the demon would be for your clumsiness. You knew he rivaled Lucifer in his strictness, and his controlled demeanor suggested anything less than perfection would not be tolerated. You yelp as the pain continues up your arm, clutching it to your chest to sooth it.

Barbatos rounds the counter, coming to aid your injury. What he didnt expect, however, was for your to flinch underneath his attempts to console you, and beg for forgiveness for your error. His heart drops as you sob, begging him not to hit you for what you’ve done. 

Barbatos slowly sinks down to one knee, gently rubbing your shoulders and reassuring that he had no intentions on harming you. He felt sick, thinking that this is what you had been reduced to as a result of your boyfriend’s abuse. As your tears finally slow, he aided in wrapping your hand, ensuring your thumb would be set into place as you continued to sit with him in the kitchen. There was no way he would send you back out to two straight hours of abuse.

Instead, he let you play some music from the human world, lightening the mood a bit and teaching him things about how various genres sounded in comparison to the Devildom. After the primary dishes were finished and popped into the oven, Barbatos turned to you, reaching across the counter to study your hand injury. You watched him, nervous about what he was thinking as he traced the injury with his index finger. 

“He did this...” Barbatos looked up at you, his hardened stare meeting your anxious eyes to confirm what he already knew was the truth.

You gulped. “I...uh...” 

“It’s okay.” He cooed, closing his hands around yours and rubbing your wrist gently with his thumb. “I already know... I’m sorry I didn’t help you sooner.” 

You blinked at him in surprise. “Wha- I...How...?”

Barbatos gave a short, sad smile, before his lips fell back into a frown. “It isn’t important how I know of the things he’s done to you, Mc. What is important though, is that I will stop at nothing to prevent him from hurting you again.” 

You look away, tears slowly sliding down your cheeks. “I...I don’t think you can do anything. I mean, he’s been getting away with it for so long, I-”

Barbatos hushed you, wiping away stray tears from your cheeks. “Let me take care of it. Trust me when I say that he will pay for what he's done.” 

You smile weakly as Barbatos pulls you into a gentle hug. Feeling the warmth of his body as he caressed you made you feel safe. You wanted to believe him- to believe there would be an end to this awful, awful nightmare.

It took so long for him to get you alone, but finally, he managed to do it. 

After having your fill of socializing for the evening, and you had said your goodnight’s to everyone, you had gone off to bed. Barbatos reminded you to double latch the door- something he had put in place specifically because of your vulnerability- but he didn’t account for the fact that your boyfriend seemingly had more magic affinity than anticipated. He easily bypassed the locks on your door as you readied yourself for bed, slamming the door open and approaching you with pure disdain in his eyes. 

“So, what- you’re telling the help all of our private business now too?” He snarled as he approached you, backing you completely into the wall. 

“N-no! I didn’t say anything, I swear.” You squeak, trying to hide your exposed body away from him. 

“Bullshit.” he spat in your face, quickly grabbing you by the arm and throwing you onto the bed. 

You panic, trying to run away, but he grabs you by the arm and jerks you backwards again, this time pinning you against the plush mattress. You feel the ache in your arm as he grips you tighter, hurling accusations and insults at you, and threating to punish you unless you prove your devotion to him. Your heart stops when you feel his posterior press against you, nausea creeping up in your stomach. 

Not again. 

You beg him to leave you alone, saying you don’t want any of the things he was going to do, but your pleas fall upon deaf ears. He rips what little clothing you have away before making work of his own. You cry in desperation, screaming for help before he silences you with a harsh slap to the face. 

“Shut the fuck up.” The man hisses, posturing himself over you. 

You whimper, closing your eyes as you prepare for the worst. But the sound of the door slamming open stirs you from your dissociated state. 

No words are spoken from your savior, only the growls in anger from your boyfriend, followed by the sounds of a physical struggle.

and then...silence. 

You open your eyes, noticing some furniture flipped over in the room and an unfamiliar afghan thrown over the edge of the bed, but other than that no one else was there. There’s a soft nock at your door, followed by Simeon’s voice asking if you were okay. You quickly dress yourself in a robe and shakily greet him, Luke, and Solomon, asking if they can keep you company while you process what had just happened. They each sit around you, Simeon letting you rest your head in his lap, Solomon fixing up your room, and Luke holding your hand while you come down from the panic. You hoped that, where ever he was, your boyfriend would not be returning. 

Barbatos forced the door open with ease after hearing your desperate cries for help, requesting that the other concerned exchange students stay back until the room went quiet. He had intended to give you fresh blankets and to teach you a spell to teleport yourself out of your room if you needed to, but he had underestimated that horrid man’s tenacity in exerting his control over you. 

Seeing the man attempting to sexually assault you threw him over the edge. Barbatos quickly threw him off you, holding him by the neck with his tails. The man thrashed as he choked for air, but his attempts at freedom were worthless under Barbatos' hold. Barbatos stole a sad, longing glance at your trembling form, feeling immense guilt for you having clearly been hurt again. He made a silent promise to return when he was finished with the scum of a man before disappearing through a portal. 

He stepped through to his room, the man kicking and yelling as he dragged his naked body along the brick floor. Barbatos’ mind swarmed with all of the things he wanted to do to him, but he couldn’t settle on just one. Oh- no, no. This man needed to suffer for all he had done.

Barbatos made his way swiftly to the small side room off to the left from his bedchambers. The man squealed as a few bats hissed and flapped around his face, trying his best to shoo them away by flailing his arms. Barbatos scoffed at his trivial fear of a small, harmless animal. He would surely show him what true fear was. 

Throwing him into the wall upside down, the man yelped when his back hit the cragged brick. He fell on his neck, groaning at the strain as he tried to right himself. While the man was preoccupied, Barbatos flicked the door shut, 7 locks latching in place at the snap of his fingers. He paced in front of the man, thoughts of how he would make him suffer first racing through his head.

“What the fuck, man?!” the man yelled, trying to find his bearings as he got up off the floor. “You can’t hurt me! I...I’m an exchange student!!”

Once the man was able to adjust his vision to the dark, his heart began to beat faster with anxiety. Seeing Barbatos’ lips curled up into a snarl, his teeth glistening in the moonlight feeding into the room from the large window struck terror into his heart. His serpent-like eyes burned brightly in a viridian hue, piercing the man’s soul. His tail, thrashing behind him, shimmered turquoise, the veins glowing brighter the angrier he seemed to become. 

“Just who do you think you are!” He snapped, now standing up to confront the demon. He thought perhaps Barbatos was merely just trying to frighten him, and convinced himself that his status as an exchange student would grant him immunity from harm. “What we do in the bedroom is none of your god damn business!” 

Barbatos stopped pacing, fully turning to face the man. His snarl grew, giving the man a better view of his sharp fangs. He felt intense fury flare within his heart as the man tried to assert that you had consented to sexual acts in any way, and he found it difficult to restrain himself from straight-up killing the man. If only this bull-headed man was wise, he would shut his mouth.

“Is that so?” Barbatos hissed. “Because I seem to recall you having no qualms with making it everyone's business in the past. And I don't think screaming for help means anything consensual is going on in that circumstance.”

The man’s eyes widened. “W-what are you talking about?” 

Barbatos smirked. “I know much more than you think I do, (name).”

Barbatos stepped forward, now toe-to-toe with the crumbling human before him. Every attempt to back up was met with another forward step, until the man was backed against the wall with no hope for escape.

“At first I was surprised at seeing such despicable behavior from a human.” Barbatos growled, his eyes transfixed on the man’s. He followed his gaze as it darted around the room, searching desperately for some way out. “And I must say, Most demons wouldn’t behave in such a manner toward someone so virtuously innocent. Though, after looking back on human history, it appears that scum like you have done terrible things since the beginning of time.” 

The man gulped, trying to side-step the demon and make a run for the door. Barbatos punched the wall next to his head, the brick giving way beneath his fists. Remnants of the brick wall burst from the impact, showering the floor with clay fragments. The man froze, realizing that brick could easily have been his head.

Barbatos cocked his head to the side as the man began to tremble before him. He smirked, knowing he had really begun to strike fear into the man. “I think it’s time your debts came due.” 

The man gulped as Barbatos turned away, disappearing into the darkest corner of the room. The man bolted for the door, fumbling with the locks as best he could, though the magic seals rendered them frozen in place. 

“Attempting to escape is futile.” Barbatos hissed from the darkness, causing the hairs on the back of the mans neck to stand on end. “Though, it is somewhat amusing that you think you can circumvent justice...”

Before the man could react, a noose fell over his head and he was yanked backwards. A 7-pointed star was painted in black ink on the ground, only barely visible in the low light of the moon. The man was hung in the center, his feet just barely able to touch the ground. He attempted to stand on his toes, desperate to lessen the bite of the rope against his windpipe.

Barbatos approached from the corner, murmuring a spell in a tongue the man didn’t understand. The man tried to speak, but his voice was rendered inaudible over Barbatos’ chants. Barbatos then held up a knife to his own palm, slicing just enough to draw blood and dripping it into a small wooden bowl. After tossing in a few more ingredients, He approached the man. 

“I give you the curse of eternal life.” Barbatos remarked, kneeling before the man and dowsing the star in the liquid he created. “It can only be ended by the separation of your brain and heart from your body.” 

The man furrowed his brow in confusion, managing to choke out a “W-what?” 

Barbatos glanced up, muttering more incompressible words before whispering to the man. “You will soon see.” 

The star began to glow a yellowish-green, completely blinding the man for a moment. His skin prickled with electricity for a moment, but it was fleeting as the light faded. He blinked into the dark, finally adjusting enough to see the outline of Barbatos’ figure in front of him. 

“Time for a test to see if the curse was successful.” Barbatos noted, a slight curiosity present in his tone, before reaching behind him and yanking down.

Suddenly the man was 5feet off the ground, his ability to breathe completely cut off. He clawed desperately at the rope, trying to free himself, but was unable to get his fingers around the thick fibers that continued to tighten around his neck. He hung there for what seemed like an eternity, praying that death would find him to end the suffering instead after being unable to break free...but death never came. 

“Perfect.” Barbatos mused, a nefarious smirk playing on his lips. He dropped the rope that held the man, watching as he fell to the floor. 

The man’s body slammed on the ground in a fit of coughs and gulps of air, trying to fill his lungs with as much of it as he could. It wasn’t long before he again felt the pull of the rope on his neck, choking him as he was dragged across the floor.

He wasn’t quite sure when the texture of the floor shifted, but soon enough he felt gritty dirt beneath him rather than the jagged brick of the room he was previously in. He was able to see the remnants of a portal when his eyes focused on the distance, but it quickly dissipated into the low candle light. He could make out some old doors in the dim lighting, but between the tension on his throat and the clouds of dust, his vision could not focus long enough to get any bearings for his surroundings. 

Barbatos pulled the man through one of the doors, stopping only to just barely to restrain the man by his arms and neck. Barbatos kicked his knees in from the back, forcing him down in a kneeling position. He gathered his instruments, not caring to ensure they were clean from their previous uses, but being mindful of their sharpness. 

Barbatos turned to the man with the long blade he had selected, trailing it across the man’s cheek as observed him. He was eerily silent as he circled his prey, calculating what his first move would be. He felt the ground below wetten as the man soiled himself in fear of what was to come. He scoffed at the cowardice, continuing to trail the blade down the mans bare back to make him tremble in terror.

“I will tell you now, though you may have figured it out- my purpose of giving you eternal life was to prolong your suffering.” He mused, beginning to push the blade a bit harder as he outlined his plan for the man’s torture. “The audacity you have in harming Mc deserves such a punishment.” 

Before the man could speak, Barbatos thrust the blade into the left of the man’s upper back. He screamed, begging the butler to end his torture before it had even begun. Barbatos smirked, finding joy in the man’s pain- knowing that he was serving justice for you and what he had put you through for so long. 

“Pleading will get you nowhere, you unctuous swine. I have no intent on bringing you mercy,” Barbatos hissed, ripping away the layers of skin and muscles away to expose the bone and organs beneath. He did the same with the right side, relishing in the agonized wails of the man as he skillfully sliced back the flesh.

The man sobbed, trying to thrash against his binds, but giving up when the attempts to flee made the pain worse for him. He even attempted to cast magic to stop Barbatos, not realizing that the butler’s magical affinity was much stronger- especially given the man’s weakened state. Barbatos pinned the tissue back and tethered it magically to the walls of the cell, almost creating a grotesque sculpture of a human with wings. 

As he finished pinning the right side, his mind wandered to you, and he found himself longing to return to your aid and ensure you that your safety had been prioritized...but he knew he needed to complete this first. He sighed, finding himself speeding through the last bits of the man’s torment. He aggressively ripped the man’s lungs from their place and pulled them through either side of his spine, producing pained wheezes and coughs as he again struggled to breathe. He stepped back, admiring his work and how he managed to escape with very little blood covering his person, though the cell was coated from top to bottom. He walked around to the front of the man, tilting his chin up with the knife to look him in the eyes. 

“You are the lowliest human I have ever had the displeasure in meeting. I only wish that your torture could continue on by my hand, but I am pleased to know that your life will only be agony from here on. Perhaps another day I will return and finally offer you the release of death...that is, if the maggots don’t consume you first.” 

The man screeched, demanding Barbatos free him at once. The butler frowned, irritated by the man’s bold attempt at ordering him around. With a few flicks of his wrist, the man’s eyes were cut clean from his skull, plopping onto the floor amongst the mixture of urine and blood. With only a grin in response, Barbatos turned on his heel and left the cell, triple locking the door for safe measure. The man’s screams could be heard through the catacombs of the castle, silenced only when Barbatos closed the portal to his room. 

A soft knock at the door jolted you from your slumber. The others had returned to their rooms once you insisted you were okay, ensuring you that you could call on them should you need something. You weren't sure why, but the only one you wanted to hold you at that point was Barbatos. You felt comforted by his presence, and after your talk earlier that evening and his assurance that he would protect you, you felt safer with him than any of the others.

You shuddered in the cool night air as you padded toward the door, unlocking and opening it just a crack to greet who was there. Part of you feared it was your boyfriend, back from wherever he was carted off to. To your relief, it was Barbatos, who was holding a tray of tea and sweet rolls. 

“How are you doing?” He cooed, rubbing up and down your back gently. 

“I'm aware that it’s late, but...may I come in?” Barbatos' voice was saccharine as he spoke, obviously being careful not to cause you much more stress.

You eagerly welcomed him in. He put the tray down on your nightstand, then turned toward you. Before you had a chance to sit on your bed, he gathered you in a tight embrace. You blinked rapidly in surprise, but melted into his arms, squeezing him back just as tightly. 

“Mmm...okay, I suppose...” you murmured back, nuzzling your face against his neck. “Is...is he gone now?”

Barbatos pulled away, a shimmer of something sinister passing by his eyes. He assumed you could have guessed it was him who had taken care of the man you once called a boyfriend, but it still made his chest swell with pride that you were able to identify him so easily as your savior.  “Yes. He will not be harming anyone anymore.” 

You nod once, relief washing over you in waves. Barbatos sat next to you on the bed, giving your shoulders a gentle massage after pouring you some tea. You almost found his light scolding on your posture aggravating, but you knew they came from a place of reassurance that you were now safe- as long as the loyal butler remained by your side. 

[stresswriterblog]

BAB:TQFTIM Fan Continuation

Howdy, Y’all!

If you recognise the absolute keyboard slam of an acronym in the title, I’d say I’ve found my target audience!

So this is a project that I think will be a fun little thing to do on the side as some writing practice, nothing too serious, and will hopefully bring joy to fellow BABTQFTIM enjoyers :)

Disclaimer

I am no longer a fan or supporter of Rouge herself. As I’m sure many of you have heard the drama surrounding her Undertale art, there are many things she has done wrong which I simply cannot ignore.. When I was younger, I did not realise the weight of some of these things, but now that I’ve reviewed it after a few years, I no longer support her. This is why, while I will still credit her for her creation of BAB:TQFTIM, my likeness for the SERIES is separate to her. Her Undertale work was tainted with a lot of what caused this controversy, but thankfully BAB:TQFTIM has not had these themes. There WAS a ‘Stripper AU’, but it was quickly taken down by Rouge herself and was separate from the original series. Therefore I am still comfortable with this series, but Rouge and her Undertale art crossed many lines.

Before I get right into this, allow me to introduce myself.

I am (or will go by) Stress, I’m a guy (he/him), aaand I am something of a writer. When I was like 13, I used to adore Rouge’s work, and especially her series, BAB:TQFTIM.

I decided to go on a bit of a nostalgia trip recently, and found the series again. I was quite disappointed to realise it was over, until I decided.. Hey, why not continue it myself?

So here I am! A socially inept, stage-frightful disaster, deciding to continue a story which once had a huge following. While I am terrified of such an audience, and do not know if anyone will see this anyways, I also want to bring the continuation and eventual conclusion to a story that was not only dear to my heart, but to many others as well.

I never really used Tumblr much except to read the story, and admittedly this site is pretty dead, but hopefully it can still be a nice place for old fans to reconnect over this series.

Now, to focus on the actual story itself.

First things first, I am NOT an artist. I am a writer... Or rather, attempting to become one. I’ve got many novels in the works, but thanks to ADHD--this is now the only thing I can focus on writing.

While I will not be able to draw like Rouge did, if any other artists out there would be willing to do so, feel completely free!

I’d also like to touch on some aspects of the story:

- Regarding the gay aspects of the series, namely Felix questioning his sexuality and Bendy’s crush on Felix, will still be kept but may be portrayed slightly differently. In 2017, it was still less accepted to show, but now I would like to include it in a better light. It seems Bendy has some slight internalised homophobia, while Felix has never allowed himself to explore his sexuality and is now having some internal conflict. As a gay person myself, I do not want to see anyone fetishizing these aspects of the story, or being homophobic.

- This story featured a lot of dark subjects, such as abuse (Vanny and Brute), suicide/self-harm (Cuphead), and slight alcoholism (Bendy). I would like to put trigger warnings before any of these subjects show, whether actually written, or just generally referenced.

- Bendy’s Inkness is often also used as shock-factor, angst, bad-timing for intense moments, or just general character development, as he does not often show vulnerability except when being affected by his Inkness. For anyone with emetaphobia or general discomfort towards description of this character being in pain, I may also put trigger warnings before it. This will be just as present as it was in the original series, once per day, and possibly more if I choose to make it ‘get worse’.

- Though this will not be drawn (at least by me), there will be graphic content described, like Boris’ current injury from the Boulder-Spiders, Mugman’s injury in the earlier parts, etc. I probably will not put trigger warnings before this UNLESS you guys ask me too. I would be 100% willing to if that is the case.

- Continuing from the last three points; this story is generally very angsty. If it ain’t Bendy’s Inkness, it’s Cuphead’s fear of his own power, or Oswald’s grief, etc. Obviously so it can actually be a good story, I will be having fluff and generally enjoyable scenes in between. But to stay true to the original, this angst will still be present. It’s good for shock factor, for plot progression (OR to slow down the plot), and to get readers more reactive and emotionally invested in the characters. So... Yeah. Angst will return!

- I would like to continue this story in the same format as Rouge did, minus the art. Basically, I will begin posting some continuations, and if there are any askers, I will respond to those asks with more story (MOST of the time). I loved how it was almost an interactive story, where askers could check on certain characters, or interact with the characters to inform them of something, etc. So I would like to try that, if anyone shows interest in this. Askers will be portrayed as:

- Voices in one of the character’s head, or multiple if it is addressing more than one person.

- An actual person, an Anon, such as when an Anon kissed Bendy in the earlier parts of the story.

- Not actually present, but rather just gives me an idea of where to take the story in a direction to the asker’s request.

- One of the other characters. E.g. if an asker asks if Bendy is alright, Boris will actually be the one to ask if he’s alright.

- Underage characters will NOT be put into any inappropriate scenario, for example Boris, who is canonically 12. This was a huge controversy regarding Rouge for some sexual content she drew of underage Undertale fanon characters, which seems to have been one of the reasons Rouge discontinued the series and pretty much left Tumblr.

- Continuing from that point, sexual content will be kept to little to none. At the most, sexual flirts, innuendos, etc. MAY be included, but any actual explicit content will not be shown. There is a chance I may create a second account for more sexual content, if you guys show interest in that kind of thing, but this is not 100% certain and probably will not happen anytime soon.

- Regarding the main plot. Depending on how this continuation goes, I may do one of three things:

- If many people show interest in this: Write a continuation with the ask-box open, plenty of filler for everyone to enjoy, and the main plot will only happen occasionally so that this does not end super quickly.

- If very few people show interest in this: Write a continuation with minimal filler, just enough for the story to be enjoyable but it will end quickly. That way people receive an ending, without me trying to beat a dead horse.

- If no one shows interest in this: I’ll probably just delete this account lmao. I can just write it for myself, no need to share it if no one cares.

So... Yeah, that was a lot to read. But if you’re still here, hang in there! We’re almost done!

Buuuut back to me for a second here, because ~creator boundaries~!

All of these boundaries are stated in the case of this continuation actually gaining traction. I just figured I’d say it beforehand instead of having to state it in every point.

- Please do not spam the ask-box. I am adult and have a life outside of this, so if I am taking a while, that is most likely why.

- Please do not try to find out my real name, face, etc. My personal life is none of your business, and I will share what I want to, when I want to.

- Please understand that I am completely new to creating for an audience, and my content will not be the most professional, skilled, and confidently-created work. This is just for fun!

And finally, credit

I plan to give credit after every post to both Rouge and the original creators of the characters, but here I would just like to list out everyone.

Obviously, credit to @/Blogthegreatrouge ( @/thebbros ) for the characters and stories.

And of course, I must give credit to the original ORIGINAL creators of the characters in Bendy and Boris: The Quest for the Ink Machine. Those being:

Bendy, Boris, Alice: Credit to Joey Drew Studios and TheMeatly Games, developers of the original Bendy and the Ink Machine horror game.

Mickey Mouse, Minnie Mouse, Oswald the Lucky Rabbit, Donald Duck, Goofy, Max Goof, Ortensia the Cat, etc.: Credit to Disney.

Felix the Cat: Credit to Pat Sullivan and Otto Messmer.

Cuphead and Mugman: Credit to Studio MDHR, developer of the Cuphead game.

Black Hat, Flug, etc:  Alan Ituriel, creator of the Villainous TV Show

[shadeswift99]

Ok i saw your tags on that last post and i am BEGGING you to elaborate on your Minecraft villagers' religion/mythology that sounds amazing 

HELLO YES. I have a limited amount of time right now but let's see how much I can get through by the Power of Insufferable Nerdness

(Edit: apparently that amount is A Lot, I'd apologize for this absolute essay but I am in fact not sorry at all, woe, lore be upon thee :))) ) (there's pictures too I promise)

Okay so. Welcome to the village of Abyss. I discovered it while I was exploring the 1.18 update and I somehow managed to leave my shulker box of rockets in a cave along with my enderchest, essentially stranding me here with what I had on me until I could resupply. I could have just saved the coords and died, come back later for my stuff, whatever else, except that. The village spawned like this.

Directly next to this massive, abyssal ravine filled with impenetrable darkness. Upon closer inspection, there were only three villagers left in the place. Upon even more inspection, several of the village paths seemed to lead...directly over the edge.

Hm. I wonder where the rest of the villagers went.

The lore developed slowly as I fixed the place up and built it out more. Abyss is the "god" of the village in the same way rain falling is music - it's not, really, but the act of observing it as such makes it so. The longer a villager looks into that darkness, the more they realize that it's not just darkness: it is inhabited, made of hundreds of rattling bones and groaning once-living throats, crawling the floor of the canyon just out of view through the shadows. Together with the darkness itself those voices make a will, and that will thrives in the unknown, and the longer one spends looking out and down, the more that will can be felt and understood.

The closest building to the ravine got turned into the Church of Abyss. Inside is more of a town hall than a place for religious services - Abyss doesn't really have values that can be verbally taught - but its most important purpose is as a lead-in to the observation platforms:

Where the priests of Abyss sit and look into the ravine. There are three levels (screenshot only got the last two). A priest moves down a level when they feel they've gained enough knowledge of the unknowable, and unknown enough of the knowable, to move into a deeper space of reflection. One of the three key principles of the Abyssians is that there MUST be at least one person observing Abyss at all times.

[tw: death talk in next paragraph, stops after that]

The lowest level of the platforms is the walkway. The Abyssians believe that the greatest fate in death is to join the infinitely knowable unknown, to become one part in the collective un-soul of the mob hoards in the darkness, in unity becoming both everything and nothing at the same time. The walk is their final destination. A body will be carried there and released if a villager dies elsewhere, and a lot of people who can feel their death coming will go down there and meditate for a few days while their loved ones make them as comfortable as possible until they die. However, elder priests and people who have either achieved high honour or done a great deal of harm that they regret will walk the precipice themselves, disappearing into the forever-dark.

In practical terms for day-to-day living, there is an Abyss shrine in most households. I haven't built an example to show yet, but it is a very deep, narrow hole in the floor, dug deep enough under the house to create a piece of the same shadowy can-stare-into-it-forever effect as the ravine has. Villagers will put small offerings down the shrine on special occasions, like a birth in the family, or they'll give a tiny part of a harvest or mining haul. That way, the event or good/bad fortune can be symbolically connected to the whole and added to the depth of the knowledge Abyss stores within its unknown.

Above every household Abyss shrine is a copy of the Tome of Abyss, which outlines the three main pacts of Abyss (which if you don’t care to read six pages of my drabble, roughly amount to “do NOT light up the ravine” “Abyss is revered as an afterlife or sacred lack of afterlife” and “at least one person must be watching Abyss at all times”)

As for the motto in the back, I have a feeling that I used a slightly different translation than the common usage for at least one of these words, but I can’t for the life of me remember it now. -_- Just by running it through latin to english translation though, it roughly amounts to “Without light, without end, without fault”.

You could call Abyss a death god, or a knowledge god, or a type of void god (although it's really quite the opposite, with the Void being an entity of paradoxically absolute nothingness and Abyss being the infinite multitude and possibility contained in darkness), but it isn't really any one of those things. It's a bit debatable whether it even existed before the villagers found it, or if their observation gave it its will in the first place, but whatever it is and however it came about, it exists now. It exists, and I like it the normal amount. Yup. Definitely the normal amount. :)

[amethystpath-writes]

No Blade

(NOT A PR0MPT)

******

Regarding Hero in the corner with a sweet smile, Villain held out a hand- an offering, if Hero would take it. The poor sap was too busy wielding a knife to reach for aid.

“Darling, I know how intimidating it is to awaken in an unknown place, but do you really think I would bring you here and simply leave you a useful weapon to fend me off with?” Villain nodded at the knife which Hero held clutched to her chest. “It is a decorative knife- goes with my decorative plates. I am sure you saw those platters as well?”

Hero swallowed, then nodded- if only to avoid possible harm. Who knew if this person would hurt her or not when they didn’t even have the decency to tell Hero their name first? They must have been a part of the agency.

“That blade will not hurt me, no matter how deeply you push it.” They kept their hand held out. “I will not stand here forever.”

Then don’t, Hero thought, and let me go. Or at least explain why in the world she was here, huddled beneath a kitchen counter, holding a useless knife as a weapon. Wait- “A knife is a knife.” Shaking breath, shaking hands, shaking legs, shaking everything. “Why wouldn’t this knife hurt you?”

“No blade can, even if it pierces my heart.”

“And your brain?” Hero wasn’t brave enough to attempt either body part, but still, it was nice to know...as if she would ever tell anyone else how to kill another person.

Villain released a small chuckle before withdrawing their hand. “Not that either. Believe me, I have tried.”

Believe me, I have tried. “You’re the one in the hidden file,” Hero whispered. One image after another came to mind, then, of that dusty flash drive, of the moment she plugged it into her laptop, of the singular folder that appeared, of opening every one of those files. The person in front of Hero now seemed very familiar, and also very helpless. She dropped the knife. “What they did to you...”

Day 1: Subject 000 possesses nearly all human qualities. While some of our crew members claimed the subject had control of retractable fangs, extending from the lateral incisors and canines, we have found no evidence of this in the bodily analysis. Tests remain to be conducted.

Day 2: Subject 000 has shown signs of comprehension of the English language. When asked if it were comfortable, it shook its head. No, we did not think it would be comfortable. The table is metal, and the subject is surrounded by We have taken this response to mean, ‘No,’ but are not certain. Tests regarding language comprehension will be conducted.

Day 3: When faced with a knife, the body of Subject 000 convulsed in a shaking and almost humanly fearful manner. We predict it has been exposed to-

“What they were going to do to you,” Villain returned. The lids of their eyes dropped like a veil, and they nodded once again, this time at their hand, another polite invitation for Hero to take it. She did, and he pulled her up. “You would have been killed. Whatever information you found, you should have left it alone.”

No, Hero wouldn’t have left it alone. Something like that, experiments to the scale her agency was conducting, they deserved to be explored and...and exposed. At the very least, whatever- whoever- was wronged, needed to be taken care of properly.

“Who are you?”

This brought a smile to Villain’s face. “You are the first person to ask me that question in a very long time.”

Who. Hero had said ‘who’ instead of ‘what.’

“Long ago enough that I am no longer sure how to answer that question. I am Subject 000, and my origins, in English, are unknown.”

“You learned our language as the agency observed you.”

Villain nodded. “I knew no language before then. I breathed,” they said, and that was all.

“You drew and exhaled breaths. Did you eat?”

“They tried starving me,” Villain told, “and seemed disappointed that my breathing continued. They extracted my teeth, as well, to see if it made any difference.”

Retractable fangs. “What made them think your teeth were dangerous?” What made Hero think they weren’t? That Villain hadn’t been hiding them all along by some unseen will to remain unseen?

“Humans are fickle-minded. They see what they want to see and nothing else. Nothing more, nothing less, as they say.”

“You seem as though you’ve observed us, and yet you didn’t even have words before us. How could you comprehend what we possess and don’t? How could you comprehend anything?” Hero was becoming closer and closer to rewording her ‘who’ to ‘what’ as the conversation continued, as she understood less and less of the person- or whatever they were- in front of her. They seemed to understand her species perfectly well, but...well, it started to make sense all the desperate curiosities of her agency. Not that Hero would ever experiment on someone as they had been, but she was beginning to understand the urgency.

“I still have a need for survival, just as you do. Just as you know and will acknowledge as a reason to stay in my home, versus running rampant through the streets.”

Hero would have frowned at the thought of someone thinking her so foolish. She wouldn’t run through the streets like a crazy person because if anything this being said was true, then she’d be killed by the agency for discovering their well-hidden secret. A flash drive abandoned in cobwebs and dust. However, Villain was clearly unaware of the hidings of a human being. Humans possessed more intelligence than hiding in plain sight.

Speaking of hiding, “Where are we?” It didn’t seem right for a being as Villain to have such a nicely decorated kitchen or dining room. “And who are you?” Maybe this last question was hopeless, but Hero had just the feeling that Villain knew more than he led on. 

[hanazou]

hello,, I’ve been feeling down lately and a loved one of mine recently has passed away...

if you are comfortable with it may I request a scenario of Atsushi and Chuuya comforting their s/o who were grieving over a death of a loved one? ;0 thank you I love your blog 💖💖

𝙘𝙝𝙪𝙪𝙮𝙖 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙩𝙨𝙪𝙨𝙝𝙞 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙜𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙛

Books : Chuuya | Atsushi

Genre : Comfort, romance

Category : Headcanons, short scenario

Shelves : Hardback | Paperback

Warning : Description of grief

Note : I am deeply sorry for your loss. I can’t do emergency requests but I tried to get this one out as fast as I could. I could only do short scenarios of this so I added headcanons, I hope this is alright. Once again, my condolences and please stay strong.

Chuuya has to ask you a couple of worried questions before it strikes him what you’re dealing with.

He will be on the verge of panicking when he first hears the bad news, worse if you're the one that has to tell him what happened. He instantly undergoes flashbacks from experiencing something like this himself and he fears that your coping with the grief might harm you.

If you can’t afford to talk to him like you usually do, he understands.

He stands/sits next to you, arms crossed, occasionally glancing at you to see if there’s any change in your stance, expression, anything.

He avoids staring at you directly in concern that you'd become pressured by him.

He’s ready to catch you if your legs fail you

Holds the top of your head lightly yet firmly. If you don’t show signs of protesting, he’d slowly pull you closer to his neck.

Getting physically affectionate is his prime card to comfort you, but before anything, he takes off his gloves so he won’t dirty you.

His fingers move kind of unevenly and feel rough, but that’s how you can feel his desire to support you

If you can’t stop crying or on the verge to go on a complete mental breakdown, he immediately collides his body against yours as tight and strong as he could.

If your legs give up, he drops down with you in his arms instead of keeping you standing with his ability and he’ll clutch your face close when you both land on the floor.

If you won’t hug him first, he’ll pull you to him. He forces your face down his shoulder so you’d grieve as much as your heart can empty while his hand brushes your back up and down.

“Cry as long as you need,”

Words, as I’ve once said, isn’t his speciality, but he tries regardless. He wants to make sure that you know you aren’t alone, that you have him with you.

He doesn’t talk as much but his distressed expression stays as long as he’s with you.

“You can take it out on my shoulder, you know,” He hesitates a bit, unsure if he sounds too rough.

If you can’t stop crying, he pats your shoulder, only knowing how to say “There, there” since he thinks it’s better than saying nothing at all. Chuuya thinks you need to hear him being there.

Chuuya squeezes through his tight schedule to make time for you.

He negotiates as best as he could with Mori to give him as much time off as possible.

If it’s impossible to take a week off, he goes full rampage in his job with the thought of you in his head motivating him to finish everything as soon as possible, making a mess where he goes.

If someone gets in his way, Chuuya shouts, "I've got someone more important to see, you punk!" while blasting them away.

He always brings food and drink over and makes sure you eat. He spoon-feeds you if necessary. He isn’t the cleanest but him wiping your face clean makes up for that.

"Come on, babe, you gotta eat," Chuuya says. "They won't like seeing you grieving like this, so eat, yeah? For them?"

If the emotions exhaust you to sleep, he sits against the wall and pulls you to him so you’d sleep against his body, making sure his limbs are around you so you’d never feel the loss of pressure around your body.

If it's cold, he wraps you with a blanket and occasionally touches your fingers to know whether you're staying warm or not.

Since Chuuya’s goal is to make sure you don’t feel alone or abandoned as I’ve mentioned, he does everything to solidify his presence.

He calls often if he has to be away, he sends food delivery, leaves short sticky notes, and sends voice messages.

It’s noticeable he doesn’t know what to say and even more obvious that he wants to keep reaching out to you.

Chuuya tries to strike a light and brief conversation once in a while. He’s disturbed by your uncharacteristic silence, it scares him.

“Do you want some takoyaki?” He’d ask randomly. The anxiety on his face never wavers away.

He does any activity that comes to mind when he stays at your place, but regardless of what he does, he’s never more than three feet away from you.

Always, without fail, kisses you good morning and good night on the forehead regardless he stays at your place or not.

Or if you're not opposed to it, Chuuya wants to take you to his place. He may still have to go to work, but something doesn't feel right about leaving you alone for so long in a place he's not too familiar with. At least in his space, you're constantly reminded you're not alone and that you're there because you're never abandoned.

Like a strayed ship in a storming ocean, your emotions are the waves storming your damaged vassal of conscience to the point that even looking forward to sunray from the bleak sky of endless cloud sounds mythical, making speaking a heavy chore. You’ve been exhausting yourself to sleep, soaking everything with your tears until it no longer comes out. It’s frustrating, it’s turbulent, so active in making you passive. Your tears run out but not the multiple stabs around your heart. Your voice leaves you but not the intensity or the transparency of hurt on your face.

It feels impossible, fictional, but if it were, then you aren't supposed to have your heart cauterized. It's the reminder of the bitter truth you're grappling against accepting.

If they had to go, why not bring the pain with them? Why do they have to leave you fractured, incomplete, empty, by transcending away while you stay behind, only able to watch them shrink somewhere unreachable?

Why do pieces of you have to be chipped off your already fragile soul, leaving holes in your essence? Why leave many pieces behind, why leave you alone?

“Hey,” A voice zaps your mind back to your head.

You remove your face from your wrinkled, moist, and sweaty palms, everything in front of you foggy from the swelling of your eyes. You still wear your dark clothes, unable to find the heart to change into something new, something brighter, after the sudden tragedy strikes. It was not, and still not is, in your capability to even stand up to eat.

Chuuya’s oddly timid and soft-sounding voice for this week is what makes you feel something other than rocking instability.

Slightly opening your eyes to see him, his figure before you hurts your eyes from how colourful he is. His face appears like a messy mix of vibrant paint, his orange hair, blue eyes and fair skin, and dark clothes sticking out from the stale background behind him.

A pair of silver keys, ones that unlock your door, stand out from his black-gloved hand from beneath his tightened fist. He puts it in his pocket and takes your hands, forcing you to stand and steadies your arms when your knees wobble.

"Have you eaten the lunch I had delivered here?" He pats off the dust from your shoulders and arms, his vibrant face still paining your swollen eyes.

Your eyes roll to the untouched paper bag on the table. You figure Chuuya’s eyes follow because of the stifled sigh he holds in.

"Babe, come on…"

"I can't," is what you try to say, although with your dry throat, it comes out like scorched empty words. "I'm sorry, I know you picked it with great care and thoughts so I'd eat, but I just can't, not when—" You catch a coarse breath. "Not when I'm like this, I can't yet."

"Still don't want to talk about it?" His voice squeezes. "You can't keep it in forever, you know, and you really shouldn't."

With your blurry vision, you figure that his arms extend open. A weak ‘what?’ is all you can hoarsely ask.

“Saying nothing, skipping meals and not drinking.” He says sourly. “Let out your grieve like how it should be done. That's what they'd want too."

Your tears make a reappearance at either a bad or perfect timing, depends on how you tilt your head to see it. They prickle your eyes, some rushing down your face.

“Come here,” Chuuya says, perhaps frowning from the way his voice changed.

Your eyes close slowly before opening again, your puffed eyelids troubling you from keeping your eyes opened. “I don’t think I can,” You sound like an overworked opera singer. “If I hug you, I won’t be able to let go and I might suffocate you without meaning to.”

You think Chuuya makes a sound of annoyance until a force smashes your body forward, lunging your face against him. The brief faint glow of orange earlier helps you process that he used his ability on you to bring you to him. Now his arms trap you in him, your forehead strongly weighted on his shoulder.

“Then suffocate me,” His muffled voice says from behind your head, one of his hands taking your arm to hold his body. “I’m always here.”

Your hands stretch his shirt with your tight clasp as you feel yourself getting lost in the waves. The turbulence crashes out from within you as you incoherently cry on Chuuya’s stable body, him becoming your guaranteer in the midst of the rocking forces that threaten your balance. His rigid arms support your weight as you wail out, ensuring that the waves don’t sweep you away, somewhere unreachable from him. He secures you, letting you explore the storm’s rolling waves while still grounding you safe.

“I’m here,” The soft wind in the storm grazes your ear. “I promise.”

Atsushi is one of the most sympathetic and empathetic people you could ask for when it comes to comfort you through your grief.

He’s nowhere oblivious to someone who’s hurting. He recognizes what kind of pain you’re going through and it doesn’t take him too long to identify what you’re feeling and the intensity of it although he can’t process it into words.

Atsushi is so worried sick for you that he has trouble thinking straight and his breaths get faster.

He’s really anxious about you feeling left behind or abandoned.

He makes sure that you don’t doubt that your beloved one who has to leave earlier definitely loves you.

It breaks him if you think of things such as disappointing them, unable to fulfil their wishes, etc.

Atsushi can feel your hurt as if it’s his own, and because of his heightened emotional senses, he’s quick to jump in to support you. It’s instinctive.

He’s at first hesitant to touch you, let alone comfort you with his embrace, so he starts with generic sentences like “I’m so sorry” and “You can lean on me” while offering his empty shoulder

It’s challenging for him, but Atsushi is persistent to comfort you with his words before he touches you.

He insists on speaking before holding you around him.

Atsushi validates your feelings by putting his guesses of how you’re currently feeling into words. He’s not the best with words so he’ll struggle to pick his vocabulary, but the things he says are mostly true.

“I’m sorry you have to feel like your heart is becoming stiff,”

“If you feel like everything around you is empty, I’m still here,”

When he does get to the point where he feels that physical touch can help you, Atsushi is very tender.

He starts with wiping your tears away until your cheeks are drier and offers you tissues. He’ll help you blow your nose

He removes the hair sticking to your face and wipes your face until you’re dry

He hugs you like he's the one broken; putting his face on your shoulder, arms hanging from your neck. It's because that he fears that you might get as hopeless as him. He dreads for that for that happen so he holds you with the strongest Affirmation he can give.

"I'm with you, I'll always be," He keeps repeating while he hugs you.

Touches your fingers most of the time and squeezes your hand

Atsushi fights tooth and nail to get several days off to stay with you in your place. He’ll have a whole speech prepared so he can convince Fukuzawa and Kunikida

He’ll spend the morning bargaining with Fukuzawa in his office after giving Kunikida a 15 minute TED talk about how badly he can empathize with your loss and how he’s rock certain you need his company

He asks Kyouka to help him make your food that’s easy to digest for the stomach, like soup and porridge. You can best bet that she’s going to add some tofu to it.

“Kyouka-chan helped me make this fish soup,” Atsushi presents you the bento boxes, unwrapping the cloth. “Let’s eat, okay? You have to keep your stomach filled. I’ll help you.”

If he’s unable to spend the night at your place, Atsushi makes sure to arrive at 6 am sharp every day to check on you, and the earliest he’ll leave is around 8 o’clock

He cleans your place every day diligently and does an excellent job at it. Doing the dishes, cleaning the floor, making sure the sink is clean and ensures the bathroom floor isn’t slippery. He doesn’t want an untaken care living space to worsen your emotional state.

Despite always bringing fresh food, Atsushi makes sure to cook fresh batches of rice to eat with anything he delivers so if you miraculously want to eat something, you’ll have something to consume.

If he has to leave for a while, he surrounds you with plush toys. If you don't have any, he borrows Kyouka's bunny plushies collection and arranges them around you, your pillow, the corner of your bed, and on your blanket.

Atsushi never wants you to forget that your loved one loves you. He does everything in his power to remind you everyday that although they're gone, the love they have for you will eternally stay with you and that nothing can ever change that.

He hugs you while verbally reminding you of that.

His hugs always lasts a long while if you're not uncomfortable with it. He can stay long minutes in that position.

Or he sits/lays down next to you in silence, doing absolutely nothing. He's anxious about the quietness himself so his fingers are always near yours.

Words of affirmation randomly comes out. Sometimes he talks about his personal experience to encourage you that everything will be alright, sometimes he tells you the reasons to his belief why your loved one's love for you preserves through all.

He keeps his talks motivational and faithful for the future. Sometimes he'd quote the things Dazai had said to him, filtering out the nonsense if necessary, or the things he always told himself in hope for a brighter tomorrow.

A breathing doll has been haunting your room for a week. It blinks, it moves, it can be spoonfed, but nobody at a glance would argue that it lives. It’s a doll. Calling it an undead is more generous than calling it a doll because of the existing needs. A doll sits inanimately, breathes at the bare minimum, and is devoid of wants and needs.

It’s the perfect status to illustrate how corpse-like you’ve been living like for this week. Your stone-cold face, just as cold fingers, eyes that barely shift, dried mouth and chapped lips make it a challenge to have you described as something living. To even use the word ‘live’ to describe you is contradictory and to hear the word ‘live’ suffocates your throat and clamps your once functioning heart. The indescribable pain mutes you, paralyzes you, turning you doll-like.

A broken doll, you are, once full, once living and moving until the one you love had to bid life farewell first without warning.

One tireless and loyal white-haired boy frequents you every day, bearing food and water to make sure the living doll in your room doesn’t fade into the cold. Cobwebs would have formed between your arms and your bed if he didn’t clean you off the filth you don’t bathe away, your nerves have been too dormant for you to feel filthy.

A bright white figure shifts around in front of you like a poltergeist. You pay it no mind. This isn't the first or second time you're seeing things that aren't there, or rather, someone who isn't supposed to be here. Your cluelessness to cope with the grave reality seems to have driven your brain on autopilot, it seems that this time it decides to give you a hallucination so you'd have someone to cling to.

A sudden snap startles your eyes to open wider, albeit without focus. Something black was in front of you, it had five branches and moves so... humanly. Like it's real. You trace it back to the white hallucination in front of you and it takes you a while to realise that you aren't hallucinating. The white haired boy who has been frequenting your place is here again today.

"Atsushi..." His name falls emptily through your teeth.

Atsushi’s mouth opens and his lips move in accordance. His face wrinkles to the centre. The inconsistent pressure he applies around your cold hand before holding you as tight as now tells you of how fragile he knows you are.

His mouth opens again familiarly. You shift your eyes to him without any effort to listen through the incoherent sound.

When his lips move for the third time, you figure out he has been calling your name. You blink twice and his chest deflates with a long exhale.

“You’ll pull through,” His hold around your hand boldens as he grit his teeth. “They had to depart first but they did so while loving you. You're loved, they love you. You can use that to push on, their love for you lives on and so do your memories of them.”

He observes you with high intensity as if expecting you to speak. You notice the disappointment when all your eyes do is gaze hollowly through him. You think he breathes in a sob from the sudden squeak he makes.

Your eyes lazily roll to follow your hand Atsushi lifts to put against his face. “I’m with you, I'll always will be. You’re not alone, you’re not alone, you’re not alone.” He chants. “You’re never alone, you’re never alone.”

He brings your hand down against his chest. Something beats inside to hammer you the reminder that it will never stop thrumming. The warmth reminds your nerves of something. It feels contagious, bringing you recollecting something you used to feel often.

“I promise, I promise, I promise,” Atsushi hurriedly says, “I’ll always be here for you.”

Like a mantra, his words deliver the familiar sensation his chest makes you feel to your essence. After your slowed blink, you tilt down your head and tilt back up, repeating that movement until it’s fitted to be called a nod. Atsushi heaves a breath out and pulls your hand to get between his arm and side until your upper body drops against his.

“They watch over you, I promise,” His hand holds your head as you passively breathe on his shirt. "Anytime and anywhere, they're with you, and so am I.” He says airily. "You're never alone and never will be. They're with you and I'm staying forever, you'll never see your side empty, I promise they watch over you, I promise, I promise, I promise,"

Your head tilts to the side, giving more space to breathe. His solid body exudes more of the feeling you don’t realize you crave. It reaches your throat eventually, nourishing you with words you once lost.

"Thank you," You whisper.

A living doll you temporarily are but not forever, and most certainly, a loved human you are for as long as the memory of your beloved and Atsushi keep you close to them.

© all rights reserved to hanazou. do not repost, modify, or claim any of my works as your own.

[justimajin]

Til Death Do Us Part ♜ Pt. 1

➟ Pairing: Namjoon x Reader 

➟ Genre: Angst, Fluff, Eventual Smut 

↳ (3.7k), Arranged Marriage AU

➟ Summary: If someone told you that you’d be marrying the Kim Namjoon, you would think you were being lied to, or worse, that you were hallucinating. However, fate seems to have it’s own ways of making the impossible possible and before you even know it, the title of Mrs. Kim is bestowed onto you. There’s just one problem: you’re not sure if Kim Namjoon is the person he says he is and the truth of your own identity is dangling by the strength of a mere thread. 

➟ Warnings: This series will involve themes of graphic violence, depictions of blood, major character death and hints of trauma. 18+ rating. Reader discretion is highly advised. 

gif credit. 

➟ Next Update: Tuesday, December 22 

Love is a strange thing. 

It pulls individuals together, sparking fireworks and blissful rays of euphoria within seconds. It renders people affectionate, words dripped with honey and caresses full of tenderness transcending  without a means of stopping. To be frank, it’s majestic through the eyes of the beholder. 

But love is indeed a strange thing. 

It’s history has been plagued with moments of weakness and hesitation, moments that rip away layers to reveal raw, vulnerable selves from every individual. It’s inability to forget and move on clutches onto the minds of those that chose to associate with it, invading their memories and never granting them a single second to run free. Love is a strange thing, but it’s most putrid use has always been the necessity to use it like a tool. 

A deep breath escapes your tinted red lips, cold hands clutching onto the delicate bouquet that’s been thrust into them. The petal pink and lilac purple flowers rest against the chaste white of your dress, the awaited arrival of yours long passed as you raise your head and sneak a peek at the person standing in front of you behind your veil. 

Clad in a special tailored suit for the occasion, his dark brown hair has been brushed back and neatly tucked into the corners of his hair. He stands tall and confident, seemingly captivated by the words the priest mumbles through as he drags on through every dull phase written in his book. As if he can tell your eyes are on him, he suddenly looks in your direction and you return your gaze back to the ground, clutching onto the array of petals in your hands. 

The priest goes on to dutifully declare the responsibilities you must carry, including the very ones that tie you to each other. 

For better, for worse. Rich, poor. Sickness, health. 

Love. Cherish. 

“Until death do you part?” The priest peers up with fatigued eyes, glancing in between you. You suck in a shaky breath, eyes fixating on everything except for the man standing on the opposing side.  

“I-I do.” You hastily mutter, swallowing the lump stuck in your throat. Patiently waiting for his answer, you try not to focus on the collection of eyes gawking at you from the altar. 

“I do.” He states, firm and resolute with his answer. It shakes you to your core, eyes immediately flickering up to meet his warm ones. 

You’re perplexed for a moment, but you’re not given time to dwell any longer once the priest shuts his book, content with your answers. Relief floods you in an instant, yet it’s short-lived and has your stomach churning instead. 

“You may kiss the bride.” The priest steps back as if you needed room for the grandiose gesture, eagerly awaiting the showcase with the rest of the people seated in front of the altar. Nevertheless, your hands begin to quiver despite your best wishes and you remain planted in place. 

Before you even know it, the delicate veil resting against your forehead is being pulled up and tucked away, projecting your dolled up features on full display. You can only fidget when he draws near, preparing for the worse until he pauses. 

Glancing up in surprise, you’re caught off guard from the lines crossing his forehead and the dismay clouding his eyes. For a second, you could have sworn that you were gazing into a mirror, an image of your combined concerns being painted right in front of you. 

You’re caught in between a daze and bewilderment when he advances again, however all you feel is a soft peck against your skin before your veil is placed back into place. Your audience seems to be at loss with the action, but once he turns around to face them in the midst of holding your hand, loud cheers and roars flood the room as congratulatory confetti bursts into the room. 

Unconsciously, your hand drifts over to your cheek with furrowed brows and you steal another glance at the man you will be bound to for eternity. 

***

The L/N Family. 

Tactical and resourceful, known for their skillful strategies and trade explorations, a business they would go on to proudly pronounce in the arms industry. Others would look to them for support and reassurance, and they would in return cohesively make protective deals that would ensure no harm. Yonghwa, their head, would go on to make a legacy out of his family name. 

The Kim Family. 

Discreet and powerful, known for their relentless determination and invokable hunger, characteristics that would eventually seep into their weapon manufacturing business. They know how and with whom to pick their fights, vigorously acquiring a steady position in the industry within a flash before everyone’s eyes. Namjung, their head, carved the Kim name into a status no one would have ever imagined. 

Trade and manufacturing, two able sides of the same coin. They seeked to forge an union that would unite their two sectors, to create a harmonious flow of success within their collective industries. 

But not all deals, go as planned. 

On the fateful day, Yonghwa was found on the ground in a pool of his own blood while Namjung was left visibly shaken. Catastrophe seemed to only follow the event there on after, with both families seeking revenge on the other. Their union seemed to be the last thing on either mind, but after the years passed and stained relations had been fully dragged out, there only seemed to be one solution that could bring peace to the two of them. 

*** 

The wheels of the large suitcase hit the polished ground. 

It’s lavish and grand, crystals littering the high held ceiling and lilies spread over the handles of the spiraling staircase. It ends right at the large chandelier, with more crystals dangling down opposite the shining marble that your slippers find purchase in. 

You remain in place, staring with wide eyes and an agape jaw the scenery before you. 

“Please,” A girl bows before you, dressed in a simple pale blouse and skirt that’s paired with an apron. There’s a small twinkle in her pleasant eyes paired with natural pouting lips; the delicate features drawing out the sheer youth the girl embodies. “Follow me.” 

You snap out of your daze once she advances forward, her hands careful weaving through yours to clutch onto your packed luggage. At first, you’re a bit unsure as to if you should let her carry the heavy load up the stairs, but you’re pleasantly surprised when she manages to hall it all the way up.

She roughly pushes herself against a large wooden door, revealing the grand room behind it. It’s decorated similarly to the main portion of the house, however the sheer size of it has your jaw dropping again, eyebrows furrowed as its appearance. 

Your suspicions are confirmed right away, “This will be your room, Miss Y/N.” 

“I-I…” You can’t help but hesitate, “Are you sure?”

She nods, placing your luggage now. “Of course, Master Kim asked us to prepare it for you.” 

You instinctively flinch at the sudden mention of your husband, but the girl tilts her head to the side, curiosity peeking through her. 

“Don’t they have such rooms in the L/N residence?” Her eyes suddenly widen, and she slaps a hand against her mouth, “Oh no, I-I didn’t mean it that way!” 

A smile curls on the corners of your lips, “What’s your name?” 

She gazes at you with surprise, like she had been expecting a scolding fit for her lifetime. Nonetheless, she hastily answers your question with a bow. 

“I am Eunjoo, one of Master Kim’s most faithful servants.” 

“Little flower.” You decipher, “Sounds like a fitting name.” 

“It could have been summer’s grace.” Eunjoo offers with a shrug, “Though I don’t really like summer, so I’ve tried my best to ignore that meaning.” 

You let out a genuine chuckle from that, something that has Eunjoo instantly beam. The news of her own Master getting married to someone from the L/N family was initially difficult for her to digest, but it appears that she was too early to judge. 

A lopped smile etching onto your features, “And to answer your previous question, unfortunately the L/N’s don’t have such a residence. We’ve lost much of our wealth after‒…” You pause, biting back your words, “...after, you know.” 

You wave your hand away in the air and Eunjoo understandably nods, no need to delve into the long-lived history of your families that is known to all. She hurriedly aids in you in unpacking much to your reassured protests, following and assisting you around like a little fairy. Her company ends up being both interesting and comfortable, especially since the two of you discovered the other wasn’t well in adapting the titles you carry. 

A knock resounds against the door, drawing out your attention. Immediately Eunjoo drops the clothes in her hands, right before she straightens up and takes a graceful bow. 

Her reaction is telling of who's at the door, so with pinched lips and a creased forehead, you turn around. 

He remains glued to the door frame, still adorned in his tailored black suit. Aside from the similarity in his put together appearance though, his shoulders are no longer hiked up in a noble stance, nor is there any remaining amount of warmth spreading through his eyes. Instead, he appears akin to how he was in the split-second before your ultimate union was official, the memory causing the skin of your cheek to slightly burn. 

Swaying from side to side, he hesitates to step into the room. 

“I see you’ve met Eunjoo.” He mentions. On cue, the servant straightens up, a huge smile on her lips. 

“I was just helping Miss Y/N unpack!” 

“Oh that’s nice, perhaps I can assist to‒” He isn’t able to finish his sentence, because the next thing you know you jolt at the sound of a loud crash that echoes through the room. 

“Master Kim!” Eunjoo immediately rushes forward, scurrying to help the fallen man. He instantly rises up to his feet and dusts off his suit jacket, but remains of glass are scattered all over the ground. 

He lets out a groan and Eunjoo sighs, “Master, you know you have to be careful.” She begins to quickly pluck up the shards of the vase, raising one up to eye level with a pout, “I especially picked this one out for your newly wedded wife.” 

At the mention of you, Namjoon instantly glances up, pupils shaking. “I-I can get you a new one soon, it might take around a week but if I put in a request now‒” He scrambles around for a moment, before checking the inner pockets of his jacket for something to write on in a haste. 

Unconsciously, a small smile cracks through the seam of your lips, increasing as he tries to intervene with Eunjoo to pick the shards, and she protests that he shouldn’t get his hands soiled with her errands. He eventually has to sheepishly stand to the side, staring at her defeated like a child that had just gotten scolded for misbehaving. 

Eunjoo eventually collects all the pieces and ushers herself out, reminding you of the pending family dinner you’ll need to attend in the evening. She leaves the room and you decide to resume unpacking, until you come across the realization that you’re not alone. 

“Do you need help?” He peers at your suitcase behind you, “I’m usually more capable with things that aren’t easy to break.” 

The abrupt proximity catches you by surprise, but you merely shake your head at his kind offer, “I should be fine, thank you.” 

He nods and you assume he’ll excuse himself after a moment, but he lingers and that’s when you crane your head over at him. 

Appearing to be in between a deep ponder, he snaps back into reality once your questioning eyes fall onto him. “Uh I‒” A lengthy sigh leaves his lips, “I know this is strange.”

You wonder what he's referring to until you notice him gesturing to the gap between you, “It’s strange for me, and it’s strange for you. We didn’t really have a choice in the matter.” 

He sheepishly scratches the back of his neck, a deep crease forming between his brows. You’re frozen in place, at a complete loss for words. 

He suddenly sucks in a breath, looking up to gaze into your eyes, “But I’d like to get to know you better….a-as my future wife.” 

Your eyes round and his declaration only receives dead silence in its awake. Flabbergasted, he attempts to correct himself amidst your prolonged response. 

“T-That doesn’t mean right away! We can take our time and I’m not expecting anything from you, so you don’t need to worry and‒” 

“I’d like that.” 

He freezes, “Wait, really?” 

You hum, a corner of your mouth lifting, “You’re right, it’s strange. But I’d like to get to know my husband better as well.” 

His eyes immediately sparkle, like you’ve said the very words he’s been aching to hear, “That’s great!” A breathtaking smile overtakes his features, “I guess I’ll see you at dinner then?” 

You nod with a smile,  and he departs, the euphoria never once leaving his lips. 

***

Evening draws near and long gone is the dilatory white piece of garment that’s forever confined you to your fate. Instead, it’s replaced with a delicate fabric of rose gold, perhaps to represent the luxury you have of being present in such a place or in the new beginnings that will soon follow you. 

Regardless, you prepare yourself. Although you’re simply arriving to dinner, there’s a family waiting at the table that you don’t know of yet. 

Eunjoo brings you down with her after putting your hair up and presenting a pair of matching heels your way. You’re wary as you walk down the spiraling staircase, barely balancing yourself on the elevated shoes. Luckily, Eunjoo notices and helps you down, but the split moment of relief is met with a jolt of surprise when you notice someone waiting at the bottom.

“I’ll take it from here, Eunjoo.” The women amiably bids. Eunjoo swiftly bows, mumbling something along the lines of Mistress Kim, before heading into the dinner room. 

You immediately whirl around, eyes on alert like a deer in headlights. She mirthfully smiles at you, carrying a warm tone in her eyes that feels familiar. 

“You don’t have to look so worried,” She reprimands, “I’m not going to bite your head off.” 

Your eyes widen even more, “I-I’m sorry?” 

She bursts out into laughter, concealing her ruby red lips with a hand that is glittering in assorted jewels. 

“Nothing, dear. I’m just teasing you.” You nervously laugh at that, and she places a hand against your back, guiding you forward. “Come, I’m eager to know what my son’s wife is like.” 

Politely nodding, you follow behind her and nearly freeze. If you had expected your bedroom to be astonishing, then you weren’t prepared for the enormous buffet that waits for you ahead. 

Pieces of food are scattered all over the decorated table, ranging from freshly cooked to foods you would have never imagined yourself eating. It reminds you of times your family could barely manage to have a decent meal for one night, lost scavenging for food that wouldn’t make your empty pockets hurt. 

You’re so lost in the thought that you don’t feel someone brush by you. There’s suddenly a warm hand planting onto your shoulder, drawing your attention with a smile full of dimples. 

“Do you want to sit down first?” He gestures to the table, where his mother sits next to his father and opposite to his sister. Embarrassed that you’ve been just gawking at the table, you hurriedly take a seat and so does Namjoon. 

Even though you’re only just sitting at the table, it seems like all eyes are on you, burning into your skin and tracing every move. The impending silence eventually does crack though, and it’s done by a person you would have least expected. 

“Is that chicken?” Namjoon’s father blurts out, his eyes following a tray one of the servants brings by. His wife immediately interjects, dismayed by his reaction. 

“Indeed,” She points a demanding finger at him, “But none for you, there’s a reason why your health hasn’t been the greatest as of lately.” 

He pouts at her response, longley staring at the dish once it arrives. The childlike display catches you a bit off guard, eyebrows raised. 

“That’s unreasonable though.” He suddenly looks in your direction, “What do you think, Y/N? Isn’t she being unreasonable?” 

The abrupt inquiry leaves you speechless, no coherent words manifesting at the tip of your tongue. His wife whirls around, cocking up a brow in his direction. 

“Why are you dragging her into this?” She faces you with a smile, “Y/N is the newest addition to our family so we should make her feel welcome, not bring her into such trivial matters.” 

The pleasant response astonishes you, but more so the mention of your inclusion. He lets out a sigh, acknowledging his wife’s sentiments. 

“You’re right.” He turns to you, “Y/N, why don’t you tell us about yourself?” 

His mother hums, “I’d like to hear about where you grew up, Y/N.” 

“Oh, it’s nothing really special,” You grow bashful, “I was raised in the outskirts of the country by my parents.” 

The two of them nod, intently listening to you, “Before coming here, I studied in the imperial academy for a while.” 

“Ah, involved in the industry I see.” He praises, “You must know a lot about how our businesses are conducted, right?” 

“Not quite.” There’s a strained smile on your lips, “I didn’t want to actively participate in it.” 

Although your answer seems to have taken both of them by surprise, his wife hums in approval. “So I’m assuming that was your personal choice?” 

When you nod, a giant smile stretches onto her lips, and she elbows her husband, “A gutsy one, don’t you think?” 

He smiles in retaliation, “Just like you.” 

She blushes at his sudden compliment, but a voice from afar breaks the two out of their daze. 

“Gross - we’re eating here.” 

Appalled at the feminine voice, you notice the young girl seated across from Namjoon, a deep frown etched onto her stern features. 

“Leave them be, Geongmin.” Namjoon coaxes his sister, but she lets out a grunt of disapproval in the midst of eating soup.

The corners of his mother’s lips turn up and his father faces you again, looking as if he had a million questions up his sleeve lined up just for you. 

Much to your surprise, the rest of the evening is spent exchanging pleasantries with them and keeping conversation light. There even comes a moment when both you and Namjoon end up reaching out for the bread basket, only to pull away once you discover your hands had ended up meeting halfway. As you grow bashful, you notice his mother smiling tenderly and his father chuckling at the abrupt affiliation. 

Once the evening begins to come to an end, you excuse yourself through the use of your own fatigue and request to head to bed first. They waste no time in understanding, with Namjoon’s father even wrapping a hand around his son and expressing that he needed to discuss some things with him anyway. 

You leave the room as he heads off with his family, granting you with some much-needed time and space. 

***

Treading back, you pause at the large wooden door that leads into your room. Your eyes briefly skim over the fine carvings on the wood, instead choosing to scrutinize the direction of your right and left side. A shadow casts over your pupils and your hand presses against the door, letting it slowly creak wide open. 

Step by step, you stroll inside and let the light fade out, replacing itself with only darkness. 

The moment the source of luminescence disappears, you move within a flash. The handle is locked, tugged at for a confirmation. There’s a speck of radiance coming from the small lamp you’ve turned on, enough to see the large suitcase you’ve brought get yanked out. 

Zippers are flying and the cover is ripped off. Clothes are frantically thrown astray, dumped into a careless heep without much of a second look. Your hands are weaving through the material and running rampant, eyes flickering with something akin to desire and alloyed with increasing unease. 

Once your hands meet with metal, a twinkle emerges within your orbs. The spindle of ore is unwound; detangling the material in a quickened manner. It looks distinctly similar to what one would use for electrical purposes, set with the intention of providing light in grim areas. 

Right. The intention. 

Unraveled, you cautiously drift over to the large window by the bedside and crank it open. Peering outside, there’s no glimmer or streak of luminescence meeting your eyes, only a dark, simple gray sky. 

Unconsciously a breath of relief leaves your lips and you reach out, reclining your body just enough to reach above and then below the window’s hilt. The instrument effortlessly blends in, appearing like a simple cable that’s been tightly strung around. 

You lean back and rummage through the luggage on the ground, pulling out a small plastic box that doesn’t appear to be much, but more or less, is the sole thing you couldn’t have departed without. With a small hinged click, it connects to the thin barbed string you just unraveled and right when a quiet buzz resonates through, does a smile tugs on the corner of your lips. 

A knock resonates through the box. Followed by another, and then another. It’s succeeded with a prolonged silence on your part, your entire body remaining in a frozen state. 

Static echoes and you let out the air you didn’t realize you were holding from your lungs. 

Within seconds, you are nimbly knocking against the box in repetitive notions. Your actions range from different types of knocks; heavy, light, twice the sound. 

More static echoes and your eyes immediately widen, hands balling up into tighter fists. 

A heavier one. 

“I have….” 

Lighter. 

“...successfully infiltrated….” 

One last firm knock. 

“....the enemy household.”

[mental-health-advice]

Hi. I've recently relapsed into self-harm and when I'm not doing that sudden suicidal thoughts crop up. I know I should see someone but part of me pulls back every time I try to talk to someone about it. The only ones who know I've relapsed are the 2 I live with. I feel like I can't talk to them about it without feeling like I'm blaming them. Idk what to do. I feel so lost and drained.

Hey there,

I am so sorry to hear that you have relapsed back into self-harming behaviours. It is never easy when we find ourselves back in this pattern but what I find helpful for me is focusing on the fact that I have managed to go through a period of time without it before, so I can do it again and perhaps maybe even go a little longer between past previous relapses! I know that for everyone, self-harm is different, for example with relapses and people’s recovery process, but for all, it’s important not to be too hard on yourself if you do relapse now and again - relapses are unfortunately just a part of life but it does not define you as being weak!

It can be a bit back and forward between self-harm and suicidal thoughts sometimes. It can almost feel like if we are not hurting or punishing ourselves in some way, shape or form, then we are not deserving of living and consequently the suicidal thoughts may come up a bit more frequently. Of course though, this is different for everyone but it is something that I have found has happened for me in the past.

It's completely OK to pull away from others when talking about self-harm. This is such a big step to take and self-harm can be quite personal for most people. There is always that fear of if you talk about self-harm to others then the other person may not get it or understand it or that they may even make you stop when you are not yet ready to let go of it (self-harm). You also have to be in a place where you feel ready to talk to someone about your self-harm, no one can decide when the best time for you to do so is, it has to feel right for you, but what I can say, is that in time, talking about your self-harm does get easier. It is hard at first (like most things) but when you find someone you can trust and feel comfortable with talking to, it will get a little bit easier each time, so this is something to perhaps keep in mind!

Talking to friends, or house mates can be tricky because of course you do not want them to feel like they are the reasons for why you have self-harmed or relapsed, like you mentioned. If you feel able to talk to them though then it may just be nice to be able to have someone to talk to, someone to confide in if you know what I mean. Maybe though you can try to explain to them some of the stressors you have going in your life, some of the tough things happening for you that may have caused you to self-harm (it’s also OK if there is no reasoning behind your self-harm too though, sometimes one might do it ‘just because’ and there may not be any clear-cut answer as to why, so please don’t be too hard on yourself if this is the case for you!)

In terms of talking to those you live with though, you could also start off by saying “I didn’t self-harm or relapse because of you or anything you have done, but because..” Like I mentioned above though, sometimes there is no reasoning behind it – and this is completely OK and normal! So if you can, try to help them understand this, if you can and feel comfortable in doing so of course.

When you decide to see someone for some help and support for your self-harm, whether it be a GP, therapist or psychiatrist, you will know it’s the right time. It will be when you are at a point where you may want to move away from self-harm or even just wanting to understand it better and how it helps you to deal with things as an individual, or other things you could explore or give a go instead of turning to self-harm. Seeking help and support does not mean you have to stop self-harming for good. Only you can decide when you want to make that change and no one else, this is your life after all and as scary as it may sometimes seem, you are in control and in the driving seat of your recovery. And whilst others can help to support you and be there for you along the way, only you can put the things that are discussed with those people into action.

I really hope that this has helped a bit and please do let us know if we can help to support you in any other way!

I’m thinking of you and hope that you are going OK!

Take care,

Lauren

[noobsomeexagerjunk]

Always Shine and Redefine Our Humanity

How Eret Contributes to the Dream SMP's Narrative Themes of Change and Self-Discovery

I can’t believe listening to a song from a fairly obscure but growing musical (where I took this post’s title from) would prompt me to inspect Eret’s character more but here we are. I will heavily use @theeretblr's (whom you should subscribe to, btw) Character Explanation thread as a basis, as well as statements about their character from their most recent streams and things that I have gathered from other essays by people who clearly have been watching from the start.

This will include sentiments and theories I want for the character because I kinda got attached to them as of late. Please keep in mind that I have been watching since around Late November-Early December, so my biases would be appropriate to such a viewer.

This essay is a discussion of the roleplay character.

1. Eret is Self-Preserving & Versatile in Skill (and this is why they're powerful)

"Those who are given Power hold on to it."

Something I’ve observed concerning Eret’s Betrayal of L’Manburg was their motivations for doing so. For a time they have believed that power and security mattered. For a time their interests went first. CC!Eret referred to the choice as "an offer no one would refuse" as well. This wasn't just luxury and (they didn't know it at the time, but false) power, it was the protection they would be allowed to have by the admin of the server. It was being allowed to do whatever they wanted, despite the means to it being dishonorable and interestingly enough, demanding of permission.

Eret was willing to do anything to remain secure and equipped, and I argue that they still do until now. The difference is that now, they are more concerned about how they maintain their security in that they wouldn't hurt other people or be extremely unethical in the pursuit of this security.

Also, they're privy to grinding when it's necessary, they know how to build structure and contraption, and they can hold their own fairly well. They're very well-spoken and can deliver on appearances and ambiance, excellent at both comforting and intimidating whomever they choose. They had to have been this skilled for a while.

2. Eret has a Forgotten History (of bringing down powerful groups of people, apparently)

"Those who don't know History are doomed to repeat it."

So remember that interaction with Foolish? I want to bring this up because I feel that having particularly close ties with a God of Undying/Death has implications.

Foolish also brings up "taking care of [a] Wither cult"—an organized group! Wasn't Eret known for taking down an organized group on the server? L'Manburg, at its founding. He was part of the rebellion against Manburg. He was against the Eggpire. Yep, that's a pattern.

What does this mean? Well:

Eret's hands were never clean from the start, clearly before the Final Control room, and it can be inferred that they're redder than they seem

Eret's tendencies towards self-preservation may have been influenced/learned from Foolish

Eret may have had (if they still don't do) an inclination to pursue power through the dismantling of organized groups that also seek/already have established power

Eret's current skills are the way they are due to his past

And we cannot forget the CC confirmation that c!Eret has relations with Herobrine, the infamous Minecraft urban legend known for the horror he brings and how many lovers of Minecraft frame him as this terrifying powerhouse entity beyond human comprehension. This relation is still a mystery, but from what we know, it can tell us a lot about what Eret has forgotten about himself and what Eret is capable of!

3. Eret is Concerned by What People (though only those that matter to him) Think of Her

"I think Respect is a big thing."

In light of her power, we have to remember that Eret regretted pursuing power upon recognizing the loss of respect and friendship that came with the throne. This becomes a much stronger detriment when she realizes that the power she thought she had never actually existed in the first place—one can say she would dread pursuing power for herself again. To subject oneself to the standards of others after all is to subject yourself under constant scrutiny.

In her regrets, she learns and realizes what she wants—to be loved and cared for, to be truly alive with her loved ones. It's why she decides to improve herself, and she works and makes the effort to try! She struggled (and still does) in the process of pursuing forgiveness, illustrating that her determination towards an end is very strong, gradual as it may be.

It's how she looks up to Wilbur! Still! I reckon the two believe they're responsible for the other. Change! What an incredible thing the two are able to do.

4. Eret Knows What He Wants (but is struggling to figure out how to get it)

"That was a long time ago. I've changed things and I know not to break people's trust anymore."

One of Eret’s biggest concerns right now in Season 3 is his relationship with the Crown, mixed and fickle it seems based on his streams during this time. His kingship carries more and more weight each passing day, debating whether forgoing the effort and spilled blood Eret had to get the Crown is worth it. (I mean, he accepted the restoration of his Kingship when George got dethroned.)

The Kingship is still power, and it's become true power after Dream had been put in prison. We know he's admitted being deathly afraid of Dream, so this period of genuine Kingship would be incredibly special to him. Ever since he's been finding ways to make his kingship genuinely meaningful, redefining the evils the Crown used to have by doing good to whomever sincerely, freely, and willingly. He's attempted allyhood with like-minded individuals based on his judgment of their character. Remember his Knights? These consisted of HBomb, Puffy, and Punz, each of which exhibited behaviors (predilection for community, dedication to duty, moral neutrality) he has as well!

But yet, the blood spilled for that Crown still stains him, and it cannot be denied that it will continue to do so for as long as Eret wears the crown. I wonder if he believes this, whether a part of him does deep down. Dream being in jail doesn't just mean freedom to be a king but freedom to quite literally be yourself, whatever it may be.

5. For these reasons, Eret Represents Constant Self-Actualization and Rediscovery

"I'm a strong, independent...whatever the fuck I am."

Given the points established above, Eret is unfamiliar with her full self and wants to shape herself into someone desirable and genuinely contributing kindness to a clearly broken world, a world whose brokenness she also happened to contribute to.

Her enthusiasm for History and the pursuit of enlightenment speaks volumes to this motivation. It's her repeated, dedicated efforts to try and try and try and try, to be better! Not just to be a better person herself but for everyone else to be able to be better too! She's aware that perfection is impossible, but clearly recognizes that constant reevaluation of the self is nonetheless necessary.

It's how she's open to engaging with as many people as possible despite differing opinions and carried baggage. She researches and explores and examines! She does no harm but takes no shit.

Every facet of her, to the terror her eyes have been known to give, to the air of affirmation radiating in her domain of a Pride castle, to the blood that decorates her fingers, to the people she has given support to, to the people she has disadvantaged, to the History she keeps, to the part of herself she no longer remembers, to the power she carries—Eret knows how to be truly alive.

[preciousthingsareprecious]

Hearts Painted on Skin

Written for @damianwayneweek's Day 4. I selected Soulmates for this. I've never written a soulmate AU before, so this was fun to explore. Thanks @audreycritter for the idea! She flooded me with ideas for this week and I am so thankful for them all.

Characters: Damian and Dick

Summary: Damian has a mark just under his collarbone in the shape of a feather. Mother has always told him it was a scar. He was mostly okay with that until he came to Gotham and saw more marks. Marks that could not possibly be scars. He is starting to wonder if she lied, and why.

AO3 Link

~

Damian looked in the mirror, his shirt in his hands, prepared to pull on. For what felt like the thousandth time, he paused to look at the little mark on his skin. It was a feather, unmistakably. Damian had held enough up to it for comparison, whenever he could get his hands on one.

“It is a scar.” Mother’s voice echoed in his head.

It was a statement she’d told him time and time again. Each moment he brought it up. Every moment he looked at a League member who had a darker patch on their cheek, or wrist. Whenever his eyes lingered on flowers and swirls and shapes painted on fingers, arms, feet, and one time an eyelid. She would lean down, her voice soft, promising, full of truth, hard as law, and whisper those four words. It. Is. A. Scar.

“But others have similar.” Damian had asked once.

“Of course they do, they are fighters as well.” she had told him.

Damian believed her. Why would she lie? What reason had she to speak falsely about such a thing?

And yet.

He dropped half of the shirt to run his fingers over it, it was smooth as the skin underneath. It was skin, just of a darker color. A warm chocolate to his tan. It was not raised, not pinched. Nothing about it was creased or seemed to be anything but natural. As if it had always been there.

“But I do not remember getting it.” he had said again, in response to her once.

“You received it when you were young. A baby.”

He had furrowed his brow. Who would harm a baby? Even in the League? Especially Talia’s child? She’d never told him.

Damian tugged his shirt on, covering the spot with soft cotton and a bright pattern of animal silhouettes that somehow did not look childish. He ran his hand over the fabric, again pausing by the not-scar. His eyes flit to his dresser. In the drawer rested a bottle of concealer, matched to his skin tone exactly. It was empty now, used up and he had yet to replace it.

Normally, Damian would cover his not-scar with it. Careful layers blended to hide the fact that anything blemished his skin. It was a dangerous mark. Made when he was a baby, and carrying a weight on it that Mother insisted would draw catastrophe to him if it were seen.

He had complained about the concealer once, hating the time it took to apply and how it made his skin feel itchy sometimes.

Mother had run her fingers through his hair, gentle and loving, “I know, dear, but it is not safe to bring attention to. If others learned of it--you would be in danger.” She had even gone so far as to insist Damian not tell Grandfather.

It was a dangerous secret so terrifying the leader of the League of Assassins could not know. One Damian had to protect him from. At least, that was what Damian had thought then. Now, he wondered if Mother was protecting him from Grandfather.

He tugged on his shirt, testing the collar, even stretched it hid his mark with ease. No one would see it today. Perhaps his new concealer would arrive soon. Pennyworth had approved the order, as something useful to help them hide their identities better. Bruises from patrol were hard to explain, especially when Richard was under scrutiny for caring for him.

A knock immediately preceded, “Damian? You ready?”

Damian turned and nodded at Richard, “Yes, I believe I am.”

He looked over his brother, searching his skin for anything like Damian’s own mark, but beyond real scars, Richard was unblemished.

His brother, and guardian, smiled at him, “Great, let’s go! It’s a beautiful day and I promised you some ducks.”

Damian allowed a smile, “Yes you did.”

They spent the day at one of Gotham’s parks. Richard said they were doing recon to determine if Wayne Enterprise should fund a beautification project, but Damian was well aware his brother was using this as a day of relaxation. He was taking the day off work, and Damian had been excused from classwork for the outing.

He’d intended to take the recon seriously, by marking down elements both in favor of, and against selecting this park as the location for beautification funds. And for a little while Damian had. Then he’d flipped to a blank page in his notebook and started sketching the scene ahead of them.

Beside him, Richard lounged on their picnic blanket, reading what looked to be a romance book, and picking at grapes Pennyworth had packed for them. Normally, Damian would take the opportunity to berate him for laziness, but they had faced a number of difficult patrols over the past few nights and Damian was inclined to let him have his break.

Richard consistently drilled into him the importance of caring for one’s body all the time, mentally and physically. Damian knew this day would make Batman safer in the field, and also--he was kind of enjoying the quiet time. It was new to him, learning to relax and feel safe outside of the very few places he’d had at the League, but he could see the appeal to it. It did help keep him sharp, and he was always better rested after.

So he focused on on relaxing. He sketched for a while, drawing the pond first, and the trees around it. Then flipping the page to work on his figure drawing. As he drew, Damian’s eyes caught on marks. On birthmarks, and scars, and tattoos. Most importantly, his eyes locked onto various not-scars. Which is what they had to be.

He doodled them on another sheet. Drawing each unique one. Even those that were similar in style usually had little differences. A star might have one arm longer than the other, while one was perfect.

The only time he saw two of them match perfectly were on a couple pushing a stroller. The couple had little numbers on the back of their hands, one on their left, the other on the right. Damian pressed his lips together. They could have been tattoos, many people had them, but Damian couldn’t help but wonder.

He had been wondering since he’d arrived in Gotham months ago. People here all had marks. They had marks and they showed them off. Confused, Damian had messaged his mother to ask her. She’d said they were scars, tattoos, birthmarks that were meaningless. They were the marks of a different type of people than Damian had been raised around.

Distance had a way of stripping his mother’s voice of it’s old comforting truth.

But he had been busy learning. There was so much to learn in Gotham that had nothing to do with the mark on his body. Damian had spent more time frustrated about rules, and fearing he’d be sent back to a place that felt less and less like home every day. More and more time learning to be a good Robin to his Batman, and learning to trust Richard.

The question of his mark was rarely on Damian’s mind, and mostly relegated to moments he was alone or like this.

He glanced over at Richard. The man was still immersed in his book and Damian’s question died on his lips. He flipped his book to a new page and focused back on the pond, specifically the ducks swimming around on it. He had, after all, been promised some ducks.

That night they returned to patrol. Damian almost suggested they take a break, but they’d been working a drug trafficking case over the course of the week and were close to wrapping it up. If all went well during this patrol then they could rest. Damian would insist upon it if Richard did not.

They staked out an old appliance store. Richard figured the drugs were being shipped out either in the appliances or the crates. They just needed to intercept a shipment, incapacitate the team working on it, and confirm the drugs were there. Then they could call in Gordon and be done with all this.

Batman and Robin were crouched together. Richard had declared that they should stick close tonight. Damian wondered if it was because he knew they both were still feeling a little worn down. He could read it in Richard’s body language, and he knew his mentor could read the same in his.

After around twenty or so minutes, a truck pulled up to the building and the shipping door opened to allow it to back in. They watched for a moment, confirming no other trucks were on their way, and then both pulled back from the edge of the roof they’d been peering over.

Richard pointed to a large vent they could drop in on the store from. Damian nodded, and followed his mentor. The slipped into the vents, then moved like mice over to where the shipping area was located. Damian paused behind Richard as the man peered through an exhaust vent to watch the proceedings below.

“They’ve started unloading.” he whispered, then tapped something on his cowl and was silent for another long moment, “And they’re talking about the drugs.”

“So we go?” Damian asked.

“I’d say so.” Richard said, “Stick close tonight Robin, I’ve seen a couple guns swinging around and I don’t want to explain a bullet wound to Al tonight.”

“The same goes for you.” Damian responded.

“There’s twelve by my count, two of those are still in the car. Try to get to them first. I’ll grab the guys with the guns,” Richard directed.

“Affirmative.” Damian agreed. Taking out the ones that could remove the product, and the ones that were the most dangerous first was a good idea.

With that, Richard kicked out the vent, tossed a handful of gas pellets, and they dropped into the smoke.

Damian bolted through it for the truck. He was able to easily dodge the men and women in the room, now sent into a flurry of action and confusion over the smoke. He ducked around the driver’s seat of the truck and yanked the door open.

The man inside was shocked, and Damian was able to use that element of surprise to yank the man out of the front, sending him tumbling to the ground. A few quick blows had him unconscious.

Damian straightened, and turned back towards the truck cab. His eyes went wide, seeing the passenger leaning over both seats, a gun aimed out the door at him. Damian dodged to the side as the gun went off. Pain sliced through his arm as the bullet nicked him, but at least it hadn’t hit him in anything vital.

He swore, Richard had just told him not to get shot.

He snarled at the man, immediately returning fire with a batarang. It caught fingers, and the gun went tumbling to the floor of the cab. Damian then lurched forward, and dragged the passenger out of the car. Twisting his arm as he fell to drag it up behind his back.

In another movement, Damian grabbed the man’s other hand and yanked it behind his back, securing them both with a zip tie.

“Stay.” he growled into his ear, “Or you will regret it.”

He climbed up into the cab and jammed a pole under the steering wheel, locking it in place to keep it from moving if anyone tried to drive the truck.

With that, he turned back into the fray. At this point the smoke had begun to clear. Damian could see that Batman had knocked out a few men already, they were down to 8 enemies to fight. Richard’s warning to stay close was fresh in Damian’s mind, his throbbing arm a reminder that maybe his Batman had wanted him to not quite jump ahead like he had. But then again, Damian should have been able to handle two men in a truck.

He huffed, and fell into line beside Batman.

“Robin, you get the car under control?”

“It will not be going anywhere.” Damian confirmed.

“Good.” There was something tight in Richard’s voice Damian didn’t recognize, but there wasn’t time to explore the reason for that the other men and women were on them already.

Damian had to admit, he and Richard worked well as a team. They were efficient, and quick. Richard’s insistence on having them run drills and practice together before they’d ever gone out into the field had paid off early on, and since then they’d only built on that success.

They managed to take out the rest of the criminals quickly, and they prevented any of them from escaping. After that, Richard directed Damian to zip tie the unconscious thugs while he checked out the boxes of goods.

As Damian was finishing up with the last man, Richard called out, “Found them! I’m calling it in.”

“Good, I am finished here.”

They paired back up outside the building as Batman called the car to their location. Damian had his cape tugged over his arm in an attempt to hide the bleeding, but as they waited, a breeze caught him by surprise and tugged it up, and out of the way.

“Robin!” Batman said, “Why didn’t you tell me you’d been injured?”

Damian tugged his cape back in place, scowling, “You told me not to get shot.”

Then his eyes caught on Richard’s left arm, it too was visible and bleeding. Damian pointed at him, accusing.

“You as well! How could you not tell me you’d been injured?”

Richard opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again, “I-For the same reason as you. It happened right at the start.”

That must have been why Damian hadn’t heard it, they’d been shot at roughly the same time.

His brother shook his head, “Amazing, we both managed to do the one thing we didn’t want to. Alf’s going to have a field day with this one.”

When they returned to the bunker Alfred directed them both to a shared cot.

“Shirts off young masters, I’ll need to dress both of those wounds.”

Damian rolled his eyes and started tugging off his vest, then undershirt. It wasn’t until it was off that he remembered he still had not covered up his mark. Hopefully they would lump it in with the other scars across his chest.

It was not to be however. Next to him, Richard had stilled. He was staring at Damian’s chest. Damian could feel it, his eyes locked on the feather just under his collarbone.

He froze, his spine stiffening. He didn’t know what to say. His mother’s excuses felt like lies on his tongue and he knew he couldn’t give them to Richard. The man wouldn’t believe him for a moment.

Richard’s gaze was strangely soft. Not angry or upset or any of the things Damian had come to expect from what someone might do when they saw his not-scar. It made him want to squirm in his seat, but he was Damian al Ghul-Wayne. He did not squirm.

“Damian--” Richard’s voice was terribly soft, his eyes glittering, “I had no idea.”

Damian swallowed, there it was. The sadness that he had thought might come. It was dangerous. Seeing it put people in danger, and Richard had seen it, and Damian--Damian did not want him in any kind of danger.

He reached up to put his hand over the mark, and looked down, “I am sorry--I forgot. Had I remembered I hadn’t covered it I would not have--I would have dressed my arm on my own.”

“Do you not want me to see it?” Richard sounded hurt.

Damian looked back up at him, surprised. Richard sounded like he did when Damian was particularly cruel. He tried not to be that way sometimes, but--well pain or frustration drove him to saying things he regretted.

“I--Mother told me no one was allowed to.” He pressed his palm against it a little tighter.

“Why?” Now Richard sounded confused.

Damian was confused. Shouldn’t he know? The way Mother spoke of it had made Damian believe it to be something that anyone would recognize. A black mark.

“It is dangerous.” Damian said simply, “Just seeing it would put myself and others in danger.”

Richard’s brow was furrowed. Behind him, Alfred cleared his throat.

“Master Damian, might I ask, do you know of soul marks?”

“What?” Damian asked, looking up at him, “No, I have never heard of the term.”

Something twisted in his stomach. Sour and warm. He was certain now Mother had lied. He didn’t know why she had lied, but it was making him sick. The warmth was a kind of hope. An answer to the questions plaguing him since he’d arrived.

“A soul mark is a mark each of us are born with. It is to help us find the person most suited for us in the world. Some people never meet their soulmates, but find love all the same but others do and their marks always match.”

Damian remembered the couple he’d seen in the park, their matching hands.

“So then--this is one of those? Not a scar?”

He let his hand drop, fingers grazing the feather.

“I can confirm that it is indeed a soul mark.” Alfred said.

Damian frowned at him, “Have you seen its match?”

Alfred smiled at him. Richard cleared his throat and Damian returned his attention to him. Understanding now blooming, Richard had thought he’d keep something like a soul mark from him. Had believed Damian wouldn’t want him to know something so personal. He must apologize.

Before he could get the words out, Richard had tugged his own shirt off and there, under his collar bone and just above his heart was a feather. It was the feather. Damian’s feather. The one he had seen every day in the mirror. The one he’d traced a hundred times wondering about.

“Oh.” Damian said.

And then, “I don’t understand. I--we would not be romantically compatible?”

Richard snorted, “Soulmates don’t have to be romantically involved, Dames. It can be totally platonic. Often best friends will have matching marks, or a father and son. It just means--well it means we fit together in a special way. That we’ll always be precious to each other.”

Damian could have told Richard that, and it seemed his body had already done the work for him. Or fate? Damian felt he may get a headache if he tried to figure this out.

The point was, Richard was the most important person in his life. He just--he’d had no idea that it had been declared before he’d even met the man. Before he even knew that they would get to the point where they’d trust each other with their lives. It felt right. Instead of a declaration these marks were a promise.

Richard had chosen to love Damian with his whole heart before even knowing who Damian would be to him. And Damian? Well Damian had done the same.

“I hate to break up this moment, but you are both still bleeding.” Alfred said, “You may continue to talk but I really must begin caring for your wounds.”

Damian blushed, “Yes, of course.”

Instead of talking, they fell into silence, both Damian and Richard lost in their own thoughts. Soon, Alfred was finished, and had dismissed both of them.

Damian looked from Richard to the elevator that would return them to the penthouse and back, “I still have questions.” he said, not wanting to be sent to bed with his mind still racing.

“Me too.” Richard said, “How about some cocoa? We can talk upstairs.”

“That sounds nice.”

They moved up to the penthouse, and Damian sat at the bar, his hands pressed into the marble countertop of it. They’d both dressed in pajamas, but even with a shirt tugged over his soul mark --and how nice it was to have a real word for it-- he still felt exposed. Raw. Like there was something new and strange about him.

But nothing had happened with it. It was still there, still the same color and size. Still just a part of him that he’d always had.

“So.” Richard said, taking the seat next to him, and sliding a mug of steaming hot chocolate over, “You have questions?”

“As do you.” Damian said, taking the mug to hold between his palms, “Why don’t you ask yours first?”

His brother hummed, “I think yours will probably answer mine, but let’s start with something easy or maybe not easy, but, well what do you know about soulmates or marks?”

Damian nodded, “I--Mother never explained soulmates to me. I know the term only in a general sense. A phrase used not literally, but figuratively to describe two people romantically entwined. None of my teachers spoke of it, and no one at the League did either.”

He tapped his mug, “I was not blind, I saw the marks. But I believed them to be other things. Scars, birthmarks, or--well I did not have a word for what they were.” Damian could not look at Richard, it was silly. He should have asked more, pressed Mother for answers or done his own research, “It was not until I arrived in Gotham that I saw so many and began to wonder. Surely not everyone in the world could have gotten tattoos? But--not all were visible and so I did not ask.”

Richard was quiet, listening and taking in Damian’s words with rapt attention. He hadn’t even sipped his cocoa. Damian took a gulp of his, just to do something that wasn’t watching his brother.

“And yours?” Richard asked, “What did Talia tell you about it?”

“I--Mother told me mine was dangerous.” Damian pressed his fingers to his chest again, “I was not to talk about it or ask about it. It was supposed to be a scar, from an attack on me when I was a baby. But I always knew it was not. Still, she was insistent I not tell anyone or let others see. Especially Grandfather.”

Damian frowned, “I thought for a long while it was to protect him. That I was cursed.”

He looked up at Richard, into his brother’s eyes, and knew at last why Mother had been so insistent he stay silent, “But I was wrong. Mother was protecting me, and you. If Grandfather knew I had a soulmate, he would have hunted the world for them, and then used them against me.”

Damian did not think he could have stood having Richard in danger because of him. He hated the very thought that anything would happen to his brother. Especially because of him.

He sipped his drink again, “Mother used to rub her wrist. I saw a mark there once. A little bat. I never asked her about it, and she never offered to tell me--Richard? Do the marks have special meaning? Or are they obscure?”

“They do have a meaning, there’s a lot of meaning in their placement and look and well everything.”

“Teach me?”

His brother smiled, “Of course. I’d be happy to.”

They worked their way through their mugs, and second rounds while Richard spoke. He talked about how soul marks that were hidden usually meant that the relationship was more intimate, but not always. How marks mirrored each other, one on the left, one on the right so that the pair could be face to face and match, like looking in a mirror. How if one’s soulmate died the mark faded to be almost invisible or if their relationship broke and shattered how it would line with cracks.

“Just because someone has a soulmate doesn’t mean that things will work out perfectly. We are human after all.” Richard said.

Some people could be born without marks, and very rarely one would change, and shift to take on the form of another. Most often that happened if a soulmate had died, but sometimes it happened for other reasons.

“And the meaning?” Damian pressed, wanting to know, to understand why a feather? Why this mark on his skin and not something else?

His brother hummed, “There’s books and stuff out on their meanings, especially for marks of similar styles. But when it all comes down to it, the meaning really comes from the pair. Some people know instantly why a mark looks the way it does. A shared memory or love of something. Maybe it is the first line a lover traced across another’s wrist, or an idea that is important to them.”

He leaned forward, elbow on the bar’s counter, “Want to take a guess at ours?”

Damian furrowed his brow, “Robin?” he guessed, “or your previous title, Nightwing is indicative of a bird and flight?”

Richard nodded, “Those are good thoughts. I’ve always looked at it as a symbol of flying and of freedom. But feathers have other meanings too. Trust, loyalty, hope, a connection between the creature who had the feather and where it has gone now.”

“I like those.” Damian said, and then looked down at his mug, “You have given me many of those things.”

“And you’ve done the same for me.” Richard said, “We don’t need to name why it is a feather you know. We can feel the meaning here.” he pressed a palm to his heart, “and just know.”

Damian nodded, “I am glad I share it with you. And--I am glad I did not know before now.”

His brother frowned, then nodded, “I see, if you did, and we’d have seen each other’s marks, then you might have thought our relationship was because of the soul mark?”

“Is that silly?” he said, peering up.

“No. It’s a worry a lot of people have.” Richard reached out and took Damian’s free hand, “But soul marks don’t make relationships Damian. They just indicate potential, and while they are incredibly accurate in that indication, it’s up to us what we do with it.”

Damian squeezed Richard’s hand, “I see. We are--doing well?”

Richard laughed, “I’d say so. We had a rough start, but yes, Dames. I think we’re doing just fine.”

Damian smiled, “Excellent. Thank you for answering my questions.”

“Of course.” His brother stretched, “Now, it’s later than either of us should be up. We can chat more tomorrow.”

“Yes.” Damian said.

They got up, rinsed their cups and moved to the hall with the bedrooms. Damian paused, hesitating before he entered his own.

“I was planning to suggest we take the night off patrol, but our injuries have cemented that. Perhaps we can return to the park tomorrow?” he said.

Richard smiled, “Sounds like a plan.” In a motion he tugged Damian forward into a tight hug and pressed a kiss to his forehead, “Love you, kiddo.”

Damian returned the hug, “You as well.”

[thebloggerbloggerfun]

Based on something @wanderingcas and I briefly chatted about in the only tumblr group chat I lasted longer than a day in

In Castiel’s defense, he’d been in the middle of telling Dean that he probably shouldn’t touch the glowing metal object that had fallen out of a crammed closet in a less-explored room in the bunker when he’d gone ahead and done it anyway. 

“Ha, it’s one of those old ear-trumpet things.” Dean said, picking it up and holding it to his ear.

“- and glowing is rarely a good sign.” Castiel finished, but not before the trumpet flashed even brighter, and then stopped glowing altogether. 

Dean pulled it away from his ear and frowned at it. 

“Are you... alright?” Castiel asked, but there didn’t seem to be any outward signs of any harm done to him. 

Dean said nothing, but his frown deepened as he glanced around, squinting enough that Castiel could tell something wasn’t quite right. 

“Dean?”

“Uh, I think -” Dean stopped abruptly and blinked. “Hello? Hello?”

Castiel stepped forward in concern, snatching the object out of Dean’s hands before it could do any more harm and he could almost feel the curse oozing off of it. 

“I’m still here, Dean. What’s wrong?”

“I can’t -” Dean started tapping at his own ears, then patting them, “I can’t hear anything!”

Dean looked up at Castiel, a panicked tone in his voice and written on every line of his face and Castiel bit back the retort about how if he’d only waited just a few seconds - 

“It’s alright,” Castiel said, slowly, methodically, so that Dean would be able to read his lips. “Don’t panic. The curse doesn’t feel strong.”

“Oh, fuck me - I really can’t hear!” Dean said again, and definitely panicking. 

Castiel waved his hands in front of Dean’s face until he received his full and undivided attention, and mimed deep breaths until Dean followed suit, eyes still wide, but no longer frantic. 

“You’re okay,” Castiel said, holding up his hand in the universal ‘OK’ symbol, “We can fix this. I don’t think it’s permanent.”

Dean swallowed and nodded, running a hand through his hair with a shaky sigh. 

“Dammit, I shouldn’t have touched that stupid thing.”

“That’s what I said.” Castiel muttered. 

“What?” Dean said. 

Castiel waved a hand dismissively. 

“Nothing. We’ll talk to Sam when he gets home and see if we can do any research on it. It was cursed, but it didn’t feel like it was a dangerous one.”

Dean stared at him and blinked once.

“What?”

Castiel gave him a thumbs-up.

-

Sam tapped on the page of the book and flipped it around for Castiel to clearly see a picture of a sketched ear-trumpet.

“Yep - it’s in their inventory. Apparently it was designed as a last resort for battling against oceanic sirens, but it looks like they never needed it.” Sam shrugged his shoulders and glanced over at Dean, who was snapping his fingers in front of his ears and looking increasingly more frustrated with the results. “It’s just for seventy-two hours. He’ll be fine on Friday.”

“What?” Dean said from across the table. 

Castiel pushed the book towards him and tapped on the sentence that included “seventy-two hours” in it. 

“Goddammit.” Dean said, shoving the book back angrily in Castiel’s direction. “What the hell am I supposed to do until then, huh? Lock myself in my room and live like a hermit?”

“Plenty of people live without their hearing, Dean.” Castiel said, folding his arms against his chest. “And it’s just for three days. You’ll do just fine if you don’t make this into a bigger deal than it is.”

Dean frowned. 

“What?”

- 

By Wednesday, Castiel had heard Dean list all of the things that he couldn’t do without his hearing at least fifteen times. 

“And I can’t even listen to Led Zepplin! Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve gone this long without listening to Zep? Since the womb, Cas. The womb.” Dean rambled as he leaned over the engine of the Impala. 

Castiel flipped a page in the mystery novel he was skimming in the corner of the garage and nodded.

“A true tragedy.” Castiel said.

“What?”

Castiel let out a long breath, stood up and walked over to Dean, and pointed at his lips. 

Dean jumped as he turned to reach for an oily rag. 

“Jesus - I can’t go through this again, Cas. You don’t even have your wings and it’s happening again you sneaky motherfu -”

“Can. You. Read. My. Lips.” Castiel said, slowly and methodically. 

Dean’s eyes flicked down to Castiel’s lips, then immediately flicked away as Dean quickly turned around to face the car’s engine again.

“Nope. That’s not gonna work.”

Castiel frowned, but he supposed it would be a lot of work to have to stare so intently at his lips as he tried to decipher what shapes his mouth was forming. 

“Have it your way, then.” Castiel said, knowing he might as well be saying it to the Impala, and went back to his mystery novel. 

- 

Castiel sat himself down at the table in the kitchen as Dean stirred at something in a large skillet, whistling to himself off-key as he did so. 

He had on Claire's birthday gift - an apron with “Culinary Badass” written in bold lettering on the front - and was swinging his hips from side to side as his whistling turned into humming. 

Castiel smiled fondly as he watched, falling into the pit of endearment that he often found himself at the bottom of. He wiped the smile from his face before letting it tug at the corners of his lips again - the smile was safe as long as Dean wasn’t looking. 

There were a lot of things that could be safe right now. 

Dean was adorable.

And not listening. 

“You’re adorable.” Castiel whispered, staring at the back of Dean’s head. 

The humming continued with no reaction from Dean. 

“You’re adorable.” Castiel repeated, louder this time - it felt good to say out loud. “Even when you’re being dramatic.”

Dean tapped on the oven with the spoon he’d been using to stir to add rhythm to his humming, not saying a word in response. 

Castiel’s smile grew a little wider. 

-

“Every day I hope I get to see you smile.” Castiel said after Dean handed him a beer and turned away.

-

“Your soul shines brighter than you can imagine.” Castiel said, his face hidden behind a load of laundry he was handing to Dean.

-

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you in my life.” Castiel said as he climbed into the passenger’s side of the Impala to go on a grocery run with Dean.

-

“I love you.” Castiel said as the two of them watched a subtitled television show that Castiel had long since stopped paying attention to in Dean’s TV room. “I really do.”

Dean’s head slowly turned away from the television, and towards Castiel. 

“What?”

Castiel just waved a hand. 

Nothing. He mouthed, and shrugged his shoulders, hoping Dean would just let it go. He usually did now that explaining became a big situation. 

“You... love me?”

A chill shot down Castiel’s spine as he tensed, and mentally counted the hours in his head - yes it was about seventy-two hours now. Had he not been paying close enough attention? 

No, of course he hadn’t. 

He’d been happily confessing things to Dean while there would be no consequences like a fool. 

Castiel shouldn’t have let himself get comfortable in that.

“Y-you’re hearing -”

“...just came back, yeah.” Dean said slowly, hesitantly, like he was regretting the admission. 

He was probably wishing he was still under the effects of the curse and Castiel didn’t blame him one iota. 

“I’m - Dean I’m so sorry. I thought you were still - I didn’t - “

“Do you mean it?” 

Castiel’s stuttering died in his throat as he stared back at Dean, eyes wide. 

“I- I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable.” He whispered. 

There was a long silence between them as they simply stared at each other, and the sound of the television still played in the background. 

“This is The Good Place finale,” Dean said, pointing at the TV, “So, we have to finish watching it - but after that we’re gonna make-out, okay? Like a lot. And then probably talk about shit.” 

Castiel blinked. 

“What?” 

Dean smiled in the special way that made Castiel’s heart stop. 

“You heard me.”

[electriceccentric]

Rules

Hello, I’m Rascal (They/Them)!

Thank you for looking at my rules! There is no password, but I will appreciate you reading and respecting my preferences if interacting with me. It looks like a lot, but it's only eight things. The big points are all you need, but there’s details for clarity.

1. Be Kind to Each Other

We’re all here to have fun, please be nice to one another. If you don't like, don't read. Block, unfollow, whatever you need to do to make your experience comfortable for you.

2. Mun and Muse are 25+, Semi-Active, and Plot-Selective

I am a working adult, and roleplay strictly for fun. This is an extremely casual blog, so I will be selective with threads and slow to reply to them.

It's okay to send Beni asks, or reply to asks and headcanon/open posts, but please be aware that I may not respond. I will not roleplay on reblogged asks.

3. Shipping is Rare and Chemistry Only

Benimaru is a slutty, slutty bisexual mess. However, maybe ironically, I’m not super here for shipping. If there’s chemistry, cool! We can explore that! But my priorities are character and relationship development. I love character dynamics with and without romantic inclinations, but please rest assured that 99% of the time, he’s just flirting because he’s like that.

It is 100% okay if your muse develops a personal attachment to mine, but please do not expect him to return it, and please do not try to force it upon me. It is deeply uncomfortable. 

That said, Benimaru is Casual and Polyamorous, so it is not unlikely that there will be multiships within the same verse.

4. Godmoding and Powerful Muses are Cool, Auto-Hitting is Not

Benimaru is, in current canon, the most highly decorated King of Fighters competitor to date. This does not make him the strongest fighter, nor does it make him overtly powerful. He is pretty high up on the ladder, and he is very good at what he does, but there are absolutely people stronger and faster than he is, and there will be people who want to win a fight more than he cares to.

That said, please do not godmod or autohit my character. Fight threads are complex, and I would appreciate some discussion and planning beforehand! Benimaru has plenty of flaws as a fighter, but he’s not stupid, and he doesn’t go down easy. I will warn you about this exactly once before we no longer interact.

5. Triggers & Warnings

I find topics regarding sexual assault/abuse and animal abuse very uncomfortable and would prefer to screen them, especially imagery.

Benimaru’s history is not particularly healthy, although it is not excessively dark. I tag things ‘topic cw’ and ‘topic tw’. If there is something you would like tagged for content warning, please feel free to let me know! Anything nsfw (rare, but still) will be placed under a readmore with a citrus rating.

Potential Triggering Themes on This Blog: Self-Harm, Eating Disorders, Dubious Consent (backstory only), Depression, Anxiety, Politics & Religion (Benimaru is a queer, atheistic, hedonistic anarchist and may have Opinions), Blood, Injury, and Violence

6. Minors PLEASE DNI (for safety!)

Mun is a Whole Adult and a Middle-Millennial, I am way too old for y’all to be in my DMs for any reason other than asking for a link to KOF manga, and even then, Google should be your friend, not me.

Benimaru is ALSO a whole adult, and really has no interest in interacting with kids outside his team. There are plenty of exceptions, but none of his relationships with minors will be made inappropriate.

I will block any and all content regarding adult/minor relationships, incest, or inappropriate situations surrounding underage muses.I do not care about context, I do not want it near me. You will not be warned before you are blocked.

KOF is a floating timeline, so if you play a muse who was introduced as a minor as an adult (since the game has been out for almost 30 years), PLEASE explicitly mention that somewhere on your page or in our thread. Not even for shipping, Benimaru just really prefers not to beat up children.

7. Don't Reblog Private Threads

Pretty self-explanatory.

8.Talk to Me About Shared History

Please please please talk to me before assuming a relationship with Benimaru.  

If you do not want to talk to me about your muse, please understand that all Mun or Muse will have to go on is what's on your blog, or available in the game canon (since other official media can be difficult to find), and I will not be assuming anything beyond that. 

If DMing is too anxiety-inducing, we can also communicate these things via tags on casual starters!

+ + Disclaimer + +

Please don’t take my or any other players’ ideas or headcanons as personal attacks, we all have our own interpretations. I do not ask anyone to regard my headcanons as canon. I do ask everyone wishing to interact with this blog's version of the muse to respect that they are canon to this blog's version of the muse.

I take no offense in anyone choosing not to write with me. If this version is not for you, or does not fit your idea of this character, please don't try to change mine, simply unfollow! No harm, no foul.