#chaos doesn't remember what they wrote anymore...sorry...

[inhuman-obey-me]

Collab pair piece for Diavolo's birthday 2024!

Art by Mod Cosmos

Writing by Mod Chaos

His First Halloween

Can also be read on AO3 here Word count: 5.3k Description: Every year, the Demon King has always held those stuffy parties to honor the prince's birth. The nobility always come around to kiss up and pay due respects to their royals. It's a huge bore, and a chore of the noble class. But, every year too, just outside the walls of the Demon Lord's Castle, Diavolo can see a whole festival out in town! And it looks fun. It looks really, really fun. So maybe, just once...he could sneak out to see what it's like out there?

Diavolo's tiny fingers tangle nervously at the edges of his shirt as he prepares to ask. It should be alright, shouldn't it? It's his birthday, after all. And he's never asked for much on his birthdays, not really, always behaved himself well at those stuffy birthday parties that were held really more for the nobles' benefit than for his, year after year, so maybe, just maybe, this one time...

He waits for his father to turn around, anxiously deciding how to phrase his request. Careful not to sound too pitiful, or he'll get scolded for not having more dignity. Nor too proud, lest he be reminded of his place. Perhaps he could mention how well his tutors had said he'd been doing in his studies lately...?

"Diavolo." He startles out of his thoughts as his father's voice booms overhead, the Demon King's intimidating figure having turned toward him while he'd been distracted. "Why aren't you dressed yet?"

In an instant, his mind goes blank of all his considerations, and he blurts out, "Father, please, could I go out to the festival in town today?"

The silence he gets in response, however momentary in reality, feels like it lasts an eternity. Diavolo braces himself and darts his eyes down, afraid to meet his father's eyes, before slowly glancing up again to chance a peek at the other's expression.

But there's no change on the king's face. Not surprise, nor gentleness, nor even annoyance. Nothing at all, exactly as stone-faced as he'd been before asking. As if Diavolo hadn't said anything at all.

Well, it's not an outright no. That has to count for something...doesn't it?

Nervously optimistic, he decides to steel forward. "I-I saw them from my window this morning, while they were setting up, and...and it seemed really fun!" His voice picks up speed as he speaks, scrambling to make his plea before he might be cut off.

Still nothing. Not a single reaction from the imposing king, looking down upon his child.

"I-I know I'm not usually allowed to attend such events beyond the palace, but...just this once, for my birthday, could I go out to see it? Please...?"

At last, his father's disinterested expression is broken by a small, unamused scoff. "If you know you are not allowed to attend such things, why would you waste my time with such a ridiculous request?"

"But, father--"

"Absolutely not. The festival is for those on the outside. It is not your place to go gallivanting amongst the commoners on such an occasion. Now go and get dressed. The nobles will be arriving any minute for your party."

Diavolo's entire posture deflates. "Yes, father."

He leaves quietly after that, shooting one last wistful glance out of the hallway window. The colorful flags and tents wave back at him, beckoning him out -- but he can see himself as well, reflected in the glass, trapped on the wrong side of it.

It's just not meant to be, he supposes. Maybe next year. Or the year after? Or at least, whenever his father finally decides he's old enough? Yes, someday. Someday, he'll be able to go. Won't he?

--

"Young Master, have you made preparations for this evening's party?"

Diavolo nods, reassuring his butler that everything is ready and that he need not stress too much about the night's event. Yes, he remembers the evening's schedule. Yes, the nobles have all given their responses -- not that they need to really, none of them would ever turn down a personal invitation to the demon prince's official birthday celebration, though he almost rather wishes they would for once. Yes, he knows what he's going to say when he's inevitably asked for a speech. This is, after all, the first birthday since his father departed to the bottom of the Devildom to sleep, leaving the young prince in charge. They will want to hear his platitudes and reassurance. They will want to know that nothing will change.

But between each answer, it certainly doesn't escape Barbatos's notice how the prince's sullen gaze keeps drifting back towards the balcony.

"Is something the matter, My Lord?"

A pleading look crosses Diavolo's face, not unlike the spoiled puppy eyes he often gave the butler in the past when begging to hear stories about life outside the castle walls. "Have you ever been out there, Barbatos? To that festival in town?"

"Yes, of course. The annual three-day Halloween Celebration, honoring the day you were born, correct? Yes, I have attended a number of times in the past."

"Yes! Yes, it's quite a large event, isn't it?"

"Well, this is the capital, after all. It's only natural that the home of the royal family would be host to the largest Halloween celebration in the Devildom."

"Oh, of course! Right, the...largest." It's an oddly crestfallen tone, from the one who usually perks right up with excitement whenever Barbatos even hints at a grand tale waiting to be spun. But in this case, the reminder of its scale only makes him long to attend for himself all the more, making his disappointment at not being allowed to weigh all the heavier in his chest.

Then again, his father isn't actually around this year...

In an instant, his mind is made up. He nods resolutely to himself, golden eyes gleaming. "Clear my schedule for the afternoon, Barbatos."

A flurry of expressions crosses the butler's face -- alarm, confusion, concern. "Young Master?"

"They are celebrating my birthday, aren't they? I wish to attend."

"Lord Diavolo, you mustn't," Barbatos answers sternly. "We haven't made the appropriate security arrangements, nor have you gone into town enough thus far to know your way around. And there is too much work for you to complete besides. You cannot possibly shirk your duties now. The nobles have their eyes on you, and several of them will be on high alert for any sign of weakness. You must ensure that you are fully prepared for tonight."

Diavolo groans, sitting back down. Even though Barbatos was a bit less strict on him than his father, he should have known he would still not be allowed to go. "I see your point. I suppose you're right, there's a lot still to prepare. Very well then."

"Good. I'm glad you understand," his butler smiles peacefully, despite how menacing his voice sounds. "Then, please come to breakfast, and I have the latest documents ready for you to look over afterwards. You will find the rest of the day's agenda on your desk." His voice turns soft for a moment as he adds, "And, My Lord?"

"Yes, Barbatos?"

"I do wish you a happy birthday today. May it be a good one."

--

The demon prince plays listlessly with his pen, trying to force himself to read through yet another official document awaiting his signature. At his side sits a tray with a plate of perfectly rounded devilberry cookies, along with a fresh cup of tea, its steaming tendrils teasing his nose as they drift past him towards an open window. Barbatos had stopped by earlier to drop off the treats, and to see how he was doing with his work -- though, to the butler's chagrin, Diavolo had hardly made a dent in the pile.

It has been three hours since his earnest declaration of wanting to attend the festival, and hardly a minute of that time has passed by without some daydream of the festivities beyond. He's never attended a festival before -- at least not amongst the crowds, only from afar as he accompanied his father in making appearances for some official purpose or another. They'd always seemed so lively to him as he passed through in their royal processions, with games and music filling the air with sound, and every direction smelling of delicious food.

He looks down at the paper in his hand, trying again to make it through the page at least, but as his eyes glaze over, he surrenders to the boredom and picks up a cookie instead. It's about time for a break, surely? And the window in here does have such a grand view of the town, where he can look out at the realm that is now his responsibility.

But he's too restless. His head bobs around in the window, eyes drawn to every attraction at once. The main entrance to the festival isn't far off, but it really is one of the biggest events of the Devildom. Booths and tents stretch through whole neighborhoods, with a massive stage right at the center, where he can see brightly costumed demons dancing around. Balloons and flags are all over, and the crowds are larger than any he's seen before. Oh, how desperately, he longs to be there. And it's his birthday! Shouldn't a demon normally have fun on their birthday?

That's it, he can't take it anymore. There's half an hour before Barbatos returns to retrieve the tray of treats. That means a good half hour before the butler will notice he's gone.

--

Diavolo pulls the cloak tighter over his shoulders as he peers around the corner of the alleyway he's snuck in through. It was a last-second attempt at some kind of disguise, pulled from a random storage closet along with the overly large mask presently adorning his face, the ornate details of which now serve to obscure his horns -- and the edges of his view.

But as soon as he sets his golden eyes upon the sight beyond the small alley's opening, any concern over his poorly improvised outfit flies right out of his mind. He lets out a small gasp at the splendor of the town's decorations -- not in the wealthy, refined way he was used to, but an earnest, splashy kind of splendor, a scene designed not to boast superiority but to unite.

A row of magnificent tents stretches down the street in every direction, each one punctuated by a collection of colorful balloons. Merchants dressed in their best suits cheerfully call out to passersby, chatting up any potential customer whose attention they can get, while demons of all shapes and sizes stroll around, dressed in all kinds of outrageous ways. Several of them sport little plastic crowns or bizarrely shaped hats between their horns, while others laugh with their companions under colorful masquerade style masks, and others still wear fake dragon wings or tails upon their backs.

And the smells! The rich spice of grilled meats fills the air, permeated occasionally by the heavy aroma of frying oil that sweeps by him in tendrils. Both are interrupted in bursts by the sickly sweetness of syrupy pastries and freshly swirled cotton candy carried by passing crowds walking past his hiding place.

Before Diavolo even realizes, he's stepped out from the shadows into the crowd, hand outstretched towards a demon holding one particularly tantalizing treat, a string of rainbow candy bubbles magically suspended to dance in mesmerizing swirls in between bites. The demon in question, a lanky demon reminiscent of an olive tree, steps back slightly in surprise at the sudden appearance of Diavolo's burly form at their side, snapping him abruptly out of his reverie.

"Ah, pardon me," the demon prince says, straightening out his composure on instinct to more properly greet the demon and their two companions, a pair of plum-haired imps. "May I ask where you found that delightful confection? I would very much like to try one myself!"

The demon's head flicks upwards in mild confusion at the formality of his speech, and finds their eyes meeting deep, unmistakably golden ones in return. And it clicks to them then, though Diavolo doesn't realize it. "Uh, s-sir, yes! It's, uh, from a big yellow tent down that way! I think the shop was called Hellion Bonbons..."

"Oh, wonderful! Thank you, I will head that way immediately!" Diavolo laughs cheerily. And so he does, without hearing the frantic hushed whispers of the group as he leaves, amazed at their encounter with the actual heir to the throne, the prince of the Devildom himself.

As Diavolo makes his way through the crowd to seek out the vendor of the colorful bubble candy, he comes across quite a few other stalls that catch his interest. Several of them sell various types of jewelry and accessories, many of them highlighting wares with different arrangements of the royal colors, and others carry the same fake dragon wings he'd seen around earlier. From another, he picks up a stick of cotton candy shaped like his head, and he roars with delight at the sight of more than one stall selling various sized dolls of him as a baby. Souvenir stands dot the path at the corners where streets split off down new avenues.

"Step right up, try your hand at the Devilish Ball Catch!"

Diavolo perks up at the barker's call, turning excitedly to look at the game he's advertising. The game stall is shaped like a small room, wooden cherry walls enclosing each side except the entrance, which is blocked by a wide table where a pleasant-looking gremlin woman waves cheerfully out to the crowd. Inside, a festival attendee in a glittering orange mask is hopping around, dodging obstacles as enchanted balls shaped like horned demon heads whiz by at all sizes and speeds.

Quickly latching onto the slightest sign of interest, the fast-talking barker speeds over to him. "Well, hello there, sir, you look like a fine sort, don't you! Feel like a challenge, friend?"

To the staffer's surprise, Diavolo nods eagerly back at him without hesitation. "Oh, yes, do tell me more, please! What sort of game do you have here?"

"Why, it's the Devilish Ball Catch -- a game of diabolically wild enjoyment! Simple enough, simple, I swear! Here ya go, this is my dear associate, Tzitzimime, she'll tell you all about it!"

The gremlin at the table nods at him, and proceeds to explain. The game is simple, as promised, at least in rules if not in practice. The whizzing demon-headed balls would fly around the room, and a player has 3 minutes to try to catch as many of them as they can. Trickily, however, the balls had been enchanted with different spells, though certain counter-spells from players would also be permitted. Once caught, each one would drop into a bin on its own at the center of the room, and the score would be tallied at the end based on the sizes and enchantments of the balls caught, with smaller targets or balls with trickier enchantments being worth more. And the grand prize, worth too many points to have yet been won by any challenger -- a giant plushie of the prince himself, in full demon form, complete with a brilliant real ruby stitched into the royal dragon curled at its center.

Diavolo doesn't hesitate, swept up as he is in the excitement of the festival. "Absolutely, I would love to join a game!" he enthuses merrily, quickly passing over the grimm needed. He doesn't catch the suspicious look from Tzitzimime as she sees the all-too-familiar curve of his horn as he passes her - one she's been seeing all night already on a particular stuffed toy - nor the whispers between her, the barker demon, and numerous nearby spectators as he plays.

No, the prince of the Devildom is wholly consumed by the glee of the game as the buzzer beeps the start of the round. Demon heads speed by him from all directions, though he dexterously manages to catch most of the ones that cross his path right away. Some smaller ones slip past him, as do a few that teleport away just as his fingers begin to close around them. With about half the time left, he then turns his attention to the ones zipping around in the corners of the room, taking advantage of one of the permitted counter-spells to blast them still, a somewhat difficult type of magic normally but trivial to the demon prince's raw power. In no time, he's captured all but the smallest of the balls, which continue to whoosh around, their mouths splitting open into teasing cackles as the timer ticks ever close to the end.

In his excitement, however, he doesn't notice as his disguise gradually falls away, and with it, his relative anonymity. The hood of his cloak, already only able to stretch so far forward around his horns, has dropped entirely, revealing his deep red hair underneath, and peeks of his dragon wings begin to poke out from underneath, their golden tips catching the light as he bounds around the small room. So too do the golden marks adorning his wrist, as he swings his muscular arms to grab at the targets, gleaming beneath the sleeves of the cloak with every movement.

When the buzzer rings at the end of the game, he's floating on a rush of adrenaline, hardly even thinking anymore about the responsibilities of being prince awaiting him at home. Nor does it then especially register as strange in his mind as Tzitzimime remarks, "Truly an incredible showing, My Lord," while she hands the grand prize plush over to him with a slight bow. He's too excited over the fun and the thrill of the play, and the ecstasy of having won the elusive grand prize.

His mirthful laugh only ceases when he notices a young demon, hardly older than a toddler, staring up at him from the front of the table. "Ah, little one, you like this, do you?" he asks, crouching down to meet their gaze and waving the plush at them. "Here, you may have it."

The parent holding the child's hand rushes to refuse the gift, though he insistently gives it to them anyway. But the young demon's gaze remains unbroken, mouth agape with wonder. Diavolo tilts his head inquisitively, beckoning for an explanation. "Is there something else, little one?"

At this prompting, the young child jumps up eagerly, reaching tiny fingers out towards the prince's face. "Mister, mister, your mask is so cool! I've never seen anything like it!"

At that, Diavolo laughs again, delighted at the child's wonder. "Yes, it's very special. I'm glad you like it!"

"So, are you going to join the masked parade?!" The young demon's eyes shine up at him expectantly. "My papa said they're starting soon, from the...the...umm....ah! Right, from the...southern stage, he said! You're going to join, aren't you?"

The prince is taken aback, not having heard much about the parade, but he's jubilant at the idea. "Yes, certainly! That sounds like great fun!"

"Okay! We'll keep an eye out for you then!" the child squeals with joy. "It's going to look amazing with everyone else's masks around you, too. But I think yours is the best!!"

With a pat on the young one's head, Diavolo cheerfully waves them off before making his way to the southern stage as instructed.

--

When he arrives to join the throngs of other masked festival goers at the parade's starting point, even his elation at the experience so far isn't enough to distract him from the whispers that seem to surround him. He doesn't catch distinct words - the surrounding demons at least take care not to announce their notice of his presence too loudly - but there's certainly a buzz about him.

He's about to approach one of them to ask what's going on when a voice rings out from the gates where the parade is set to march from. "Attention, all participants for the masked parade. We will now be starting the route through the festival. Please make sure to stay behind this float at the front at all times, which will be opening the path for us to walk through. Again, we will now be starting the route through the festival. Please make sure to stay behind this float, and let's have a wonderful Halloween parade, everyone!"

On cue, Diavolo finds himself quickly swept into the crowd before he can ask anyone, and turns his attention towards jovially waving to the audience as he passes. The cheers in return seem to call out especially loudly around him, though it's hard to actually tell from where he is in the line. He makes sure to cheer back, amazed to see the full extent of how many demons have gathered here in town on this day to celebrate Halloween, the holiday marking the date of his birth so many centuries ago. It's truly incredible to see the many costumes around him, and humbling as well to recognize how many are looking to his future as the new reigning leader of the realm.

And then, it happens in just an instant -- another demon in the parade bumps up against the edges of his oversized mask, knocking it off one side of his face. Before he can even register the change, excited shouting emerges from the crowd around them, and he's suddenly surrounded by yells of "It's the prince!" and "Prince Diavolo!"

Immediately, he finds himself mobbed by frenzied audience members pushing forth to greet him. The parade grinds to a halt behind him, unable to get around the throngs, and he too is unable to move forward at all, engulfed in the horde of celebrating demons excited to get as close as they can to the prince himself.

Well, of course they would. After all this time famously hidden away in the castle for most of his life so far, except for a handful of official appearances and tightly secured royal events, it's no wonder they're shocked and elated at the chance to get within arm's reach of the royal heir himself. He himself is shocked and elated to see it -- proof before his own eyes of his beloved status among the people.

None of that, however, changes the fact of the current matter -- that Diavolo has been surrounded by a mob, and is unable to proceed past them, and therefore neither can the rest of the parade. Graciously, he smiles at them all, shaking as many of the hands thrust out towards him as he can, and thanking each and every demon for coming out to celebrate his birthday.

But gradually, his arms grow tired and his voice begins to fade, without any sign of the crowd thinning out. If anything, it seems only to grow further and further out, as word of the actual demon prince's appearance spreads throughout the festival grounds. He's faltering, and he knows it. And there's no end in sight.

Just then, he finds himself plucked abruptly from the crowd by one of the outstretched hands. The clamor of the crowd still rings in his ears, only a few feet from where he just was, but he finds himself led down into a dingy alleyway. He tries to get a look at his abductor - savior? - but, like the prince himself, his face is obscured by mask and shadows.

Scenarios flash through his mind. He'd like to believe this isn't a bad thing -- he was in a tough situation, and he's been pulled out of it now. But for who he is and all he signifies to the realm, is that realistic? But, would someone be so brazen as to kidnap the crown prince and acting leader of the realm right out of a giant crowd in the middle of a celebration for his own birthday?

Well, it's not beyond the realm of possibility. In the Devildom, vicious brazenness was the way of life until relatively recently. There are certainly those who would like to return it that way. And if it's one of those demons, then what do they intend to do with him? A ransom? Blackmail? Worse?

But he's too exhausted from the earlier mob. With reservations swirling in his mind, he allows the stranger to pull him through an unlit door at the end of the alley.

--

"And those floating candies, why -- they looked magnificent! What a disappointment that I didn't get a chance to sample them for myself. I wonder if Barbatos could make such a creation for me," Diavolo gushes excitedly, before taking another hearty bite of his burger.

They're sitting in a back corner of the kitchen, a few feet from the door which he'd been pulled through just an hour or so ago. It's a bit shabby in this room; the tiles of the floor and walls, though well-kept in cleanliness, certainly show signs of wear. So too do the counters, with small knicks and scratches across the tops. From farther in, staff work busily at their cooking stations, fulfilling orders at a shocking pace.

"You sit yourself down right there now," the abducting demon had instructed when they'd entered, pulling off his mask to reveal a surprisingly warm smile. He was visibly older, though not quite elderly, with mild creases of age showing beside a roguishly toothy grin -- or maybe those were just his demonic fangs flashing with mischief in the light. Either way, he introduced himself as the owner of the place, and it soon became apparent that he meant the prince no harm after all. Not long after, he'd presented the young royal with the delectably greasy sandwich, telling him, "Here, eat up. It'll make you feel better, after all that bustle earlier."

Thus Diavolo finds himself trying a common cheeseburger for the first time, and after his first taste, happily munches away at it, answering a few questions along the way about how he'd ended up in his earlier situation, as well as chatting about the wondrous other things he'd seen while he was out at the festival.

"Glad to see your spirits refreshed, Your Highness," the proprietor chuckles.

"Ah, yes! Yes, I'm feeling far better now. Thank you so much for your generosity, and for helping me out back at the parade," Diavolo beams. "Truthfully, I'm not sure I could have lasted much longer in that crowd. Perhaps I may have underestimated the risks of sneaking out on my own after all. Though, I thought that as long as I disguised myself...but I suppose a disguise is no use if my mask falls off."

"Disguise...?" An exuberant laugh escapes from the older demon, and he gives the prince a heavier-than-gentle pat on the shoulder. "My lord, calling what you had a disguise would be, ah, rather generous at best. Your wingtips are poking out from your cloak even now, you know. And that mask, well now...suffice it to say, it's a tad beyond anything I could afford." With a smirk, he adds teasingly, "Besides, this is a celebration of Halloween, the day of your birth, after all, Your Highness. Any demon worth their horns better be able to recognize the glow of the royal family's golden eyes when they're damn near surrounded by it."

"Oh! Oh, that's right, isn't it? Ah...that explains a lot about why people were so formal with me all day." Diavolo sighs deeply as the realization, which feels so obvious now but hadn't even occurred to him in the excitement of things, settles in. "I had thought it'd be nice to experience the festival from an everyday demon's perspective. But perhaps that's simply not possible after all. It seems it's not as easy to blend in with everyone as I'd hoped."

The owner goes quiet for a moment, pondering the dilemma. It's surprising to hear a member of the royal family lament being unable to experience the realm like a commoner, and for that, Diavolo certainly has his respect. But between his large frame, his distinctive aura, and his immediately identifiable hair and eyes marking him as royalty, it's hard to hide his identity even on a day like this, when masks and costumes are expected. On any other day, it'd be nearly impossible, at least without a very strong spell. Then again...

"Maybe you don't need to blend in," he says at last. "You just want to come to town once in a while and hear how things are going, right? Everyone's excited about you here today, but that's because it's hardly ever happened before. But if you were able to come down more often, maybe it'd become normal. The townsfolk wouldn't be afraid that this is their one chance to see you out here with them."

The prince's eyes widen at the suggestion, and he nods along excitedly. "I see! I see, that's a wonderful idea. Then, I'll simply need a way to get them used to my presence in town so they can get used to me."

Sensing an opportunity, the owner grins widely at him. "Well, I know what you can do. You're welcome back here to my restaurant any time, Your Highness -- Hell's Kitchen. I'll talk to my staff, make sure they know not to let anyone bother you while you're here."

It's shamelessly transparent self-promotion, of course, but Diavolo smiles and agrees anyway. Giving his newfound friend a small boost to business here and there is hardly much of an ask, considering how the demon had helped him today, and, well, the burger he's eating now certainly is delicious, in any case. It's a far cry from what he normally gets to eat at the castle, what with Barbatos nagging at him each dinner to finish his vegetables.

As if on cue to his thoughts, the butler in question bursts into the kitchen right at that moment, marching past all the staff directly towards them. "Young Master! Are you alright?!"

It's a relief to see his loyal companion, though Diavolo grimaces nonetheless, bracing himself for the inevitable scolding he's surely about to receive. "Hello, Barbatos. You've found me."

To his surprise, however, Barbatos's expression softens, and he doesn't remark about the prince's little escapade out of the castle. "Yes, Young Master. I have come to bring you home. I heard about what happened at the parade. I'm glad to see you are unharmed."

"Oh, yes, I have this gentleman here to thank for that!" Diavolo answers, perking up and gesturing towards the owner with the burger still in hand. "He helped me out of the crowd and brought me here to rest. We will have to prepare something to repay him when I return."

The restaurant owner tips his head in a bow with exaggerated modesty. "Oh, no need for all that, Your Highness. All I ask is that you grace us with your presence again sometime."

The butler's eyes narrow at the greasy wrapper, and he clicks his tongue lightly in disapproval, though not loudly enough for the others to hear. Junk food. They certainly do owe the demon for helping the young prince, but he'd rather Diavolo not eat such foods again. He is, however, proper enough not to let his disapproval show in his voice, answering smoothly, "No, I do believe you are owed a great debt for helping His Highness. We must reward you for it, I insist. I shall take care of it, Young Master."

With a curt bow, he adds, "We should be going now, however. If you'll excuse us."

"Ah, wait just a second, before you go," the owner answers. "I have something to give you, so wait just one moment please." He disappears out to the front of the restaurant and returns almost immediately with a small bag, which he hands to Diavolo. "Here, for you. A birthday present."

Diavolo gives him an inquisitive look, but Barbatos gives him a warning smile and reminds him of the time, ushering him out as quickly as possible.

"Come, let us hurry to get you ready before the party tonight. What did he give you, by the way?" the butler asks, as they make their way back.

Diavolo reaches inside and pulls out a souvenir plush of him in a purple mask, much less extravagant than his actual one and decorated with the words "Hell's Kitchen Halloween" stitched across the top.

And, hidden underneath, he can see a similar mask in life size peeking out, with a note: "For the next time you want to sneak out on your birthday. Come visit us common folk again soon. Happy Birthday, Your Highness."

A sly smile splits across Diavolo's face. "A birthday present. Just as he said."

[elysiaheaven]

Please some Ronin headcanons with a actual fallen angel!

Eclipse of Wings- Please lemme know if i should make this as a series ^^ in comments!!

You don't have to meet the devil, itself, When you meet its butcher.

Words:3000

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Summary: You fell into a worse place than hell, Humanity- Try not to be sinned little angel.

( Reader is a g.n!)-(let me know if there were places where she/her were mentioned i will fix them ^^)

TW: Violence, Blood, Mentions of religious trauma,

EXTRA: He's a character from a game named Killer chat! Please play it! It's so good! I think I need to do more research on him, If what I wrote doesn't really scream him! I'm sorry! I'm still learning abt him! I KNOW IT'S BAD I'M SORRYY!!

A fallen angel draped in sin, With wings in tatters, pale as thin, They treads through dusk, love half-decayed, A dreamer lost, yet unafraid.

And by their side, the butcher grins, With crimson hands and violet sins, He carves through hearts, dark hymns in mind, A twisted lover, raw and blind.

His love is poison, sharp and sweet, Where heaven’s loss and hellfire meet— A crown of thorns, a kiss of glass, Two broken souls that shadows cast.

Together they dance, grotesque yet whole, A martyr’s heart, a devil’s soul. Bound not by light, nor chains above— But by ruin, by chaos, by love.

You fall.

The sky yawns open, pulling away like a curtain, and the light dims behind you until it is nothing but a pinprick. The clouds part as if ashamed to touch you, and the heavens above—where you once belonged—fade into silence.

You don't remember what you did, only that they said you were guilty. It didn’t matter how much you protested. No matter how fiercely you clung to your truth, they cast you out.

The wind burns against your skin as you plummet, rushing past in furious currents that howl as if trying to tear your wings apart. But they remain white—untouched, pristine, a silent testimony that you never sinned. Still, the gates are closed now.

You can’t go back.

The memory of your last thought before the fall clings like a whisper at the edges of your mind. I don’t want to go back. I don’t care anymore. The place you once cherished feels more distant now than the stars that blink faintly against the endless sky. They had called it paradise, but if that was heaven… why did it feel so cold?

You try to remember who you were, what your purpose had been, but it’s gone—stripped away in the fall. The world below grows closer, rushing toward you with a strange kind of promise. You don't know what awaits, but you wonder: Maybe it will be kinder down there? Perhaps the earth will cradle you where the heavens would not.

Only the quiet hope that maybe—just maybe—this new world will offer what heaven never could.

A place to belong.

And if it doesn't? Well… At least you’ll have your wings.

You crash through the sky, wings struggling to slow your descent, but it’s too late. The world blurs—branches tear at your feathers, wooden beams snap beneath your weight, and you crumble into the ruins of a forgotten house. The impact jars you to the bone, forcing the breath from your lungs in a ragged gasp.

Dust settles slowly, dancing in the streaks of moonlight slipping through the shattered roof. The walls groan, barely held together, as if this place might fall apart with one more wrong breath. But that isn’t what holds your attention.

From the debris, you see him.

Boots scuff against the cracked floor, deliberate and lazy, as a figure steps into the light. Long legs, leather-clad, stop just a few feet from your crumpled form. Then you meet his gaze—two cold black eyes, sharp with a kind of madness that feels both dangerous and oddly amused. There is something familiar in them. Not kindness, no. But recognition. The eyes of someone who’s been burned by the divine before.

And then—he laughs.

It’s a jagged, wicked sound that fills the hollow space, echoing off broken walls. Like something cracked open inside him, something bitter and ancient, and he can't stop himself. The sound isn’t joyous. It’s full of disbelief and mockery, like he’s laughing at a cruel cosmic joke only he understands.

"So... gods really do exist, huh?" he sneers, dragging a hand through his plum-colored hair as if the very thought exhausts him. "And they’ve got jokes—big ones." His laugh continues, sharp and biting, as though it's the first good joke he's heard in years.

You try to sit up, wincing, wings shifting behind you. That's when his gaze snaps down, pinning you in place. His eyes darken further, narrowing as they rake over you from head to toe—and then stop. He stares at your wings. White. Pure, unmarred, still glistening with celestial grace even as you lie on the cold, cracked floor.

The grin on his face falters, twisted into something halfway between shock and curiosity. "...What?" His voice drops into a low growl, disbelief flickering like embers beneath the words. "No. No way. White wings? That’s... impossible."

He crouches beside you now, face inches from yours, as if needing to see it up close. His eyes narrow, suspicion curling in his gaze. "Fallen angels don't get white wings. They turn black—every time. I’ve read the damn scriptures. So how...?"

You open your mouth, but no words come. The memories are gone, scattered to the wind, leaving you hollow. You don't even know who you are, let alone why your wings stayed white. All you know is that you're not supposed to be here. Not like this.

The man tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle that’s missing pieces. Then his grin returns, sharp and dangerous, a twisted kind of excitement lighting up his features. "You... you're a.."

He chuckles, standing up, dragging a crowbar from the strap on his belt with a slow, deliberate movement. The metal gleams under the faint moonlight. "You know, I hated that place. Angelwood—whatever the hell you wanna call it. They really know how to screw you over. But this? Even Heaven does the same." He gestures to you with the crowbar, grinning wider now, teeth bared. "This is something new."

His voice lowers to a purr, wickedly soft. "Killing you... oh, that’s gonna be fun."

He takes a step closer, his shadow falling over you completely. The air between you hums with tension, the kind that promises violence—or worse. And yet, something in the way he looks at you feels more like fascination than hatred, like a predator finding something rare and exquisite.

He leans in one last time, his breath hot against your skin, voice dripping with malice and intrigue. "Let’s see what makes you tick, angel."

You wake with a start, every muscle aching, wrists pulled taut above your head. The cold bite of iron chains digs into your skin. You try to move, but the clink of metal tells you that escape is out of reach. Your wings—still white—flutter weakly behind you, brushing against stone walls that feel damp and ancient, as if they’ve been standing for centuries.

Across from you, in the dim glow of a flickering lamp, he sits slouched in a chair, legs spread lazily, elbows resting on his knees. He twirls the crowbar idly in one hand, as if it’s just another toy in his collection. His black eyes gleam, watching you stir, and a sly grin creeps across his face.

"Morning, darling," he murmurs, the words slithering from his mouth with a teasing lilt. "Sleep well?"

You tug at the chains desperately, panic blooming in your chest. "Where... where am I?" you rasp, throat dry and aching. "What is this place?"

He leans back, grinning like the answer’s a private joke. "Hell."

The word slams into you, cold and sharp. For a moment, everything inside you breaks apart. You thought it was a place, a concept whispered in cautionary tales—a nightmare never meant to be real. And now you’re here. Trapped. Forgotten. Left to rot.

You shake your head violently, heart hammering. "No, no, no. I didn’t do anything! I—I swear! It wasn’t me!" Your voice cracks, words tumbling out faster as if saying them enough will make them true. "They did this! They—!"

He watches you unravel with a bemused expression, like someone enjoying a twisted performance.

"I can’t remember!" you cry out, vision blurring with hot tears. "I can’t remember what I did! I just want to go back—please, let me go!" The chains rattle as you writhe against them, wings drooping helplessly behind you. "I didn’t do anything wrong!"

He snickers, the sound low and dangerous. "You’re a real mess, you know that?"

The grin on his face spreads wider, as if savoring every second of your misery. "You fall out of the sky, land right in my lap, and now you're sobbing all over yourself like that’s gonna fix anything." He shifts forward in the chair, resting his chin lazily in one hand. "C’mon, angel, you really think they’d let you fall for no reason?"

The words hit you like a knife to the chest. You choke on your next breath, tears running freely down your face. "But I—I didn’t—!"

He interrupts with a casual hum. "Shhh, darling." The nickname is soft but drenched in mockery. "You’re not in heaven anymore. You’re in my house now. So why don't you calm down?"

Through your sobs, you dare to ask the question clawing at the back of your mind. "Are… are you—" You swallow hard, trembling. "Are you Satan?"

He pauses. For a moment, you see something flicker behind his blackened gaze—amusement, yes, but also something darker. Enjoyment.

Then, with a slow, devilish grin, he leans closer, his breath warm against your cheek. "Yeah," he whispers, the word like poison dripping from his lips. "That’s me. I’m here to haunt you, angel."

You let out a soft, broken sob, the weight of his answer crashing down on you like a tidal wave. Everything you thought you knew crumbles to dust beneath the realization. You’ve fallen from grace, your wings still white, and now the devil himself has you in chains. There’s no going back.

He watches you with a gleeful fascination as you cry—deep, heart-wrenching sobs that seem to echo off the cold stone walls. The sound only seems to amuse him further, as if your suffering is a gift he never expected.

"Don’t cry too much, darling," he whispers, leaning in so close you can feel the brush of his lips against your ear. "We’re just getting started."

He sighs, leaning back in his chair and tapping the crowbar absently against his knee. "You’re just as messed up as the rest of us, angel. Kinda funny, isn't it? You fell for questioning too much."

He watches as you crumble beneath the weight of it all, exhaustion pulling you under. Your sobs slow, your body slackens, and your eyes begin to close despite the chains biting into your wrists.

As your consciousness slips away, you hear his voice, soft and unsettling in the darkness:

"You know, darling… we’ve all got a little religious trauma. Some just hide it better."

And with that, the world drifts to black.

He leans back, watching you sleep with a strange expression—half amused, half something else. "You are going to be," he mutters under his breath, tapping the crowbar against his boot.

"Ruined, just like the rest of us."

You woke slowly, disoriented, your mind thick with exhaustion. Your wings—thankfully, still white—were crumpled awkwardly beneath you, aching but intact. The room around you was strange, unsettling. Red walls surrounded you, drenched in a hue that felt oppressive and heavy, like the air itself carried some unspoken malevolence. It didn’t look like the heaven you remembered, nor did it feel like the hell you imagined.

A dim square light flickered in the corner—a glowing box with images flashing across it, fast and incomprehensible. It unsettled you further. Stacks of boxes littered the room, messily piled on top of each other, as if whoever lived here didn't care much for order. Your gaze landed on several jars along a shelf—and what you saw inside them made your heart lurch. Human remains. In one jar, a shriveled brain floated in some cloudy liquid. Your breath hitched, and you nearly screamed but slapped a hand over your mouth to stifle it. You stumbled back, your legs weak beneath you, and tripped over the edge of the bed.

Trying to steady yourself, you noticed a strange chest at your feet. It had "MY STUFF" scribbled on the top in messy handwriting. Something glinted on top—a small knife. Your trembling fingers reached for it. You held the blade awkwardly, staring at it as thoughts flickered through your mind. Could you use it? Could you kill whoever left you here?

But the thought fled as soon as it came. You weren’t a killer. The knife felt heavy in your hands, foreign and wrong. Slowly, you placed it back on the chest. Instead, you focused on the bed—rumpled sheets and an unmade blanket tangled beneath you. Something about the mess made your chest tighten. You didn’t fully understand why, but… you wanted to fix it. You straightened the sheets, your hands clumsy but determined, folding the corners like it was a ritual. It gave you something to focus on, at least—something normal.

Just as you finished smoothing the blanket, a sharp tingle crawled down your spine. Someone was here. You could feel it—like a presence looming just out of sight, waiting. You tried to spread your wings, desperate to fly, but they ached too much, the muscles too weak. A sharp pang shot through you, and you winced, folding them against your back.

That’s when you saw him. A figure, drenched in blood, stood in the doorway. He wore a mask—something grotesque and stitched, like a face pieced together from nightmares. His clothes were stained with red, and he reeked of death.

Panic surged through you. You stumbled back, falling onto the bed, your pulse pounding in your ears. You shut your eyes tight, clutching the blanket like it could shield you from whatever came next. "God, save me," you whispered, voice cracking, though the words felt hollow even as they left your lips. You knew the truth deep down—God wasn’t coming. If He cared, you wouldn’t be here. If He cared, you wouldn’t have fallen.

The figure moved closer, slow, deliberate footsteps echoing through the room. You curled into yourself, too overwhelmed to do anything but plead. “Please… just kill me.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, trembling and broken. “I don’t care anymore. Just… just don’t do it here. This isn’t even my room.”

For a moment, silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Then, the man threw back his head—and laughed. The sound was jarring, almost manic, a mix of delight and disbelief. He laughed so hard you thought he might fall over, and when he finally stopped, tears glistened in his eyes.

"What are you, stupid?" he said between chuckles, his voice rough but playful, like someone who found the whole situation absurd. "Seriously? Darling angel, you really think I’m going to kill you?” He wiped his eyes, still grinning as he reached up to remove the mask.

The sight made your heart stutter. Beneath the bloodied mask was the same man you had seen when you first fell—plum-colored hair sticking out in messy strands beneath a black beanie, a sly grin on his face, and eyes black as the void.

Your breath hitched. "You…"

He gave you a crooked smile, as if reading your thoughts. “Yeah. It’s me, darling.”

Your mind struggled to process what you were seeing. "Satan?" The word fell from your lips like a prayer.

He leaned in closer, resting his elbows on the edge of the bed, grinning like the devil himself. “Bingo, angel.”

You blinked, stunned and disoriented, tears still clinging to your lashes. The disbelief must have been clear on your face because he laughed again, softer this time. "What, you expected horns and a pitchfork? Sorry to disappoint."

You swallowed hard, confusion knotting your thoughts. "But… why? Why are you keeping me here?"

He shrugged, his grin never faltering. "Seemed like a waste to let you die, that’s all." Then, his expression softened—just a fraction, but enough to unsettle you. “And besides… you and me? Looks like we’ve both been ruined by the same guy.”

You furrowed your brow, the words not quite clicking. "Ruined?" you echoed, still dazed.

He leaned in even closer, his breath warm against your skin. “Yeah,” he whispered. "Ruined by God. Ain’t it funny how that works?"

He leaned back, resting his head against the wall, a sly grin curling his lips. “You know what they call me down here?” he asked, voice low and taunting. “The Devil’s Butcher. I take care of the stupid ones.” His black eyes gleamed with amusement, as if daring you to react. "Hack 'em up nice and neat—people who don't know when to shut their mouths. Idiots, really.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you pressed your back against the bed’s headboard as if it might swallow you whole. The word butcher echoed in your mind, twisted with images of the jars of human remains you’d seen earlier. Your stomach churned, and you struggled to keep the panic at bay.

He watched your reaction closely, clearly amused. “Oh, come on, angel,” he said with a soft chuckle. “Don’t look so scared. I mean, I could butcher you right here…” He let the threat hang in the air, watching your eyes widen with fear. “But that’d be too easy. I prefer to take my time.”

You swallowed hard, your voice trembling. “A-Are you… like a shoulder devil too?” you asked, desperate to grasp onto any thread of normalcy. “You know, the little voice that gives bad advice?”

He blinked, caught off guard by the question. Then he burst into laughter—a loud, genuine laugh that echoed off the walls. “A shoulder devil?! You’re really something else, angel.” He shook his head, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. "Wow. You’re even dumber than I thought. It’s adorable."

You frowned, tilting your head. “Wait… then what are you?”

He smirked, a mischievous glint in his dark eyes. “I’m human, sweetheart.”

The realization hit you like a slap. "What?!" You stared at him, stunned, your mind struggling to reconcile what you were hearing with the image of the terrifying, bloodied man sitting before you. "You're not Satan?"

He laughed again, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “Nope. Just a guy with a hobby.”

Your confusion deepened, and you could feel tears prickling the corners of your eyes again. "But you said—"

He cut you off with a playful smirk. “I was just messing with you. God, you’re easy to freak out.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as he studied you. "All that innocence… it’s too tempting not to play with.”

You stared at him, stunned and humiliated. The fear and tension you’d felt moments before morphed into frustration. "Why would you do that?" you asked, your voice small but sharp with indignation.

He shrugged casually, clearly unbothered. “Because it’s fun. And you’re cute when you’re scared.”

You scowled, wrapping your arms around yourself. "That’s not funny."

He chuckled again, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Aw, come on, darling. You’ve got to admit, you fell for it pretty hard.” He gave you a wink. “Don’t worry, though. I don’t really butcher people. Not unless they ask nicely. It's a lie too."

The grin he shot you was wicked, and you couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. One thing was certain: this man—whoever he was—was dangerous in more ways than one. And now, you were stuck with him.

You blacked out, your body crumpling into the bed with the weight of exhaustion, fear, and confusion. Ronin blinked down at you, tilting his head, his plum-colored hair flopping lazily beneath the black beanie.

“Aw, damn,” he muttered to himself, crouching next to the bed. “I was just messin’ with ya.” He sighed, but there was an amused glint in his eyes. Without much effort, he lifted you off the cold floor and placed you carefully back on the bed, draping your still-white wings over you like a soft blanket. “There. All cozy, angel.” He gave your unconscious form a smirk. “Sweet dreams in the Butcher’s den, huh?”

He stretched, sat on his, and slumped into a worn-out chair. His thumbs moved rapidly across the screen as he opened the server—the , his little playground of chaos. The server, exclusive to serial killers, was more of a circus than anything else. From assassins to vigilantes, everyone here wore their insanity like a badge of honor.

His screen lit up with notifications.

Ronin (handle: goreboy) tapped a message into the server:

goreboy: "Yo. So guess what? Turns out angels actually exist. 🤡"

The server exploded almost immediately with replies.

hitmeupppp: "wtf stop lyin"

k9: "Your idiocy has reached new heights."

V, aka K9, had zero patience for Ronin's antics. A justice-obsessed vigilante serial killer, V was practically allergic to Ronin's devil-may-care attitude and frequently threatened to kill him for ���wasting oxygen.”

angeleicc: "…what."

A private message followed immediately.

angeleicc (DM): "Ronin. Are you okay? What do you mean angels exist?"

Ronin grinned as he thumbed out a reply.

goreboy: "Lol. Don't worry about it. Focus on tellin’ your lil simps to like and subscribe 💀"

Angel was not impressed.

angeleicc (DM): "Ronin. What’s going on? Something’s bothering you, I can tell."

Ronin rolled his eyes. Angel was always doing that—trying to peel back the layers, as if she could find anything underneath worth saving. Not that she’d stop.

He typed out a response with a grin:

goreboy (DM): "Nah, babe. I’m good. Swear on my crowbar."

Then he sent a devil emoji. 😈

Before she could respond again, he hopped back into the server His grin widened as the chaos unfolded.

k9: "Swear to god, Ronin, I’ll kill you if you’re screwing around."

goreboy: "I am never not screwing around."

hitmeupppp: "ok but like fr is this some weird larp or did u actually see an angel??? 👀"

Ronin leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head, looking at your sleeping figure. Your wings shifted gently with your breathing, your innocence clinging to you like a stubborn ghost.

He smirked and typed:

goreboy: "Not sayin’ much, but if God tossed an angel outta heaven, I guess Hell’s playground just got a lot more interesting. Stay tuned, kiddos."

He sent a gif of the devil tap-dancing and hit send. His notifications were already blowing up, but Angel sent one last DM before he could log off.

angeleicc (DM): "If you’re really okay.

Ronin rolled his eyes with a chuckle.

Ronin propped his feet up on the edge of the bed, still smirking as his phone buzzed with an incoming FaceTime request. Angel. He snickered, debating if he should pick up.

"Ah, why not," he murmured, accepting the call.

Her face appeared on the screen—pouty lips, perfectly winged eyeliner, and her signature exasperated look already forming. “Ronin!” she whined the second the camera connected. “What the hell is going on?”

“Sup, Angel,” he said, grinning wide, leaning back lazily in the chair. “Miss my pretty lil face or what?”

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “I always regret answering your calls—" Then her eyes sharpened. "Wait. Hold up." She leaned closer into her screen, squinting. "Why the hell is there—who’s that?! Is that a person in your bed?”

Ronin tried to stifle his laugh but failed spectacularly. “Ohhh, this? That’s the angel I was telling you about.”

Angel puffed up her cheeks in disbelief, fuming. “You better not be joking, Ronin! What, did you finally get a lover or something? If you did, you better tell me right now!”

Ronin chuckled, low and smug. “Nah. Still single and ready to corrupt, babe.” He held the phone out, angling it towards your unconscious form. You were still tucked under your wings, shifting slightly in your sleep.

Angel squinted harder, utterly perplexed. “You’re saying… that is the angel?”

“Yeah,” Ronin said casually, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Check this out.”

With a wicked grin, he reached over, gently plucking a small feather from your wing. The moment he did, you flinched in your sleep, your wings giving a slight, unconscious flutter—just enough to make Angel gasp.

“Holy shit!” she whispered, eyes wide. “Ronin… you were serious?!”

Ronin's grin stretched wider, devilishly entertained by her shock. “Told ya, Angel. I wasn’t messing around. Say hello to God’s little dropout.”

Angel stared at the screen, frozen for a moment. Then, finally, she let out a slow exhale. “…Okay, that’s freakin’ wild. I thought you were trolling.”

Ronin gave her a mock-serious look, placing a hand over his heart. “Angel, you wound me. When have I ever trolled?”

She deadpanned. “All the time.”

He chuckled. “Fair.”

Angel blinked again, disbelief still clouding her expression. “What are you even gonna do with an actual angel? Dude, you can’t just keep them like a stray cat.”

Ronin’s grin turned sharper, his dark eyes gleaming. “Oh, but I can, Angel. I really can.”

[chaoticdelinqueerwithglitter]

Red Snow (KakuIza oneshot)

Wow, I can't believe I finally finished this!

This was actually sitting on my drafts for half a year. The idea came at me when I started wondering what if some characters start to slowly remember other timelines? And bam, KakuIza appeared to me. Tragic as always, but asking with puppy eyes if I could give them happiness (or show it, since technically the canon already did this). I had it all wrote except the last scene because apparently the angst comes easily at me (no surprises here, oops)

But Tenjiku being animated and knowing what we'll see in a few week... Yeah, I needed to end this and fix that mess.

(link to ao3 in case some one preferes to read it there)

Summary: Maybe the snow was the last tribute from heaven to this king who died too young trying to protect his servant. After that day, every time it snows, Kakucho couldn't do anything but look at the snow, the bloody red snow that seemed to be everywhere. Now, the red is gone. Izana is there. The snow makes Kakucho happy again.

Warnings: Manga Spoilers. Angst with happy ending (with a lot of angst before the happiness) and depressed Kakucho (who could blame him?)

Notes: This is canon compilant, from Kakucho's POV (so keep in mind that any opinion on another character is Kakucho's, not mine, I love them all). The italic parts are Kakucho's memories, I hope it makes sense how I organized, since it's not chronologically, it only makes sense emotionally. If saying this makes sense at all.

English is not my first language, so be nice please! :)

Kakucho has been wanting to see that smile for so long that he can't even remember when he started to miss it. Or maybe it's the excruciating pain in his shoulder, which doesn't allow him to remember properly. All that he knows is that suddenly it's here, a real smile on Izana's face, lighting everything up. He can't stop looking, even if some part of his brain detects all the chaos and screams around them, Kakucho only has eyes for him, for his king and this smile that it's making the world shine again for a few seconds.

He thinks his yelling, but he's unable to focus in anything other than Izana bleeding next to him, correcting his servant once more “Our era”. The king keeps talking to Mikey, but Kakucho doesn't know what he's saying anymore, the last words still hitting his brain, his ears, his whole body. “I'm sorry Kakucho, but you're all that I have”.

As Izana's hand begins to get colder his servant is still caught up in those words “All that I have”. So Kakucho close his eyes, more than willing to follow his king one last time. He's not going to left him alone, not now, not ever. The last coherent thoughts that cross his mind is that this is his fault, for wishing too much, wanting too much. He never would have wished to see Izana's real smile again if he had known the price.

He's still able to see the snow before everything goes dark (or feel, he's not sure of his own senses any more). It's ironic,they used to love the snow, now it seems like the universe is mocking on them. Or maybe it's not, maybe the snow is the last tribute from heaven to this king who died too young trying to protect his servant.

---------------------------------------

Kakucho wakes up in the hospital. The doctors say that he's going to recover, like that's good news. They are not, not for him. He survived, again. Nothing makes sense, he doesn't feel alive, so... How is it possible? He wants to die, he doesn't understand, his live is meaningless, just a servant. Kakucho hates himself for surviving, he should have died protecting his king, not the other way around.

None of this matters, his feelings are not important, he can't go back to being selfish, getting caught up in his own desires. He knows that he has to keep living, Izana died for him to live. 'Why? Why Izana? Why you never show how important I was to you when we still had time? Why did you leave me? Why am I the only one stuck with our regrets? Why?'

He needs to stop thinking, there is no point in doing so. Izana exchanged his own life for Kakucho's, so he knows he has to keep living. Even tough he is already dead.

---------------------------------------

Every time it snows, is the same. It doesn't matter if Izana is already in middle school, as soon as he sees the first flakes he starts running looking for Kakucho, ready to drag him under the snow again. It's a miracle how he's able to contain all this excitement until he finds his friend (his servant) when he's actually jumping trough the corridors.

Of course, Kakucho follows him, pretending to complain about the cold. He doesn't pretend too hard, it's not like he's even trying to hide his smile. Or like the cold matters, when Izana is still taking his hand while they keep running until being outside.

Kakucho didn't care about the snow before, now he loves it. Or maybe he loves how the older boy's face seems to glow when he smiles at it. He knows that Izana isn't exactly the happiest kid around, so he treasures every second when he can have his friend acting like this, without masks or titles between them. Just two friends playing in the snow.

They always play outside for hours, never bothered by the rest of the kids, probably too busy hiding inside the building from the cold. Kakucho thinks they are idiots, they don't know anything. For him, the snow is a reminder of that warm feeling inside him, that thing he felt the first time they played like this. It was almost freezing inside their igloo, but all the ice went away when Izana said those words “Our kingdom”. The younger kid doesn't understand why, he only knows that for a second he felt like the most important person on the entire planet ( besides Izana, of course ), the previous cold forgotten and replaced by warmth within his chest.

Suddenly, a snowball kicks him and he realizes that Izana has already started the fight. He was lost in his own thoughts, so obviously Izana is cheating. Again. He sighs and starts making his own ammunition. 'Some things never change, right?'

---------------------------------------

The world lost his color that day. Now everything looks gray, like if someone repainted it with a monochrome palette during the time that Kakucho was in the hospital. The apartment is worse, because he can still see where the colors are supposed to be, like a shadow from the past. He can still see the guitar by the window, where Izana used to play it. The tropical fish, now his only roommate.

It's a really small apartment, the only one that Izana could afford at that time, when he came back to the orphanage just for rescue him ( actually it was more an scape than a rescue, but they didn't care about that ). When his king went to juvie he promised that he wouldn't forget about Kakucho. And he didn't, because Izana never lied to him. 'He just kept too many things inside, but he never lied, how ironic is that?'

He didn't have time to miss the colors, because one day starts snowing. Kakucho was walking towards the convenience store when the first flakes began to fall. Suddenly he can't breathe, he can't move, he can't think. He can't do anything but look at the snow, the bloody red snow that's everywhere. 'Red. That's not supposed to be red. Why is the snow red? Where does all this blood come from? Fuck, fuck, fuck!'

Kakucho doesn't know how he manage to run until he's safely back home, safe from the memories that come true with every flake of snow. From that day on, he avoids going outside in the snow. So he stays in this apartment full of ghosts, the ghosts of colors, forever gone from his world. The ghost of Izana filling every corner, reminding him that he must keep living.

---------------------------------------

Apparently Izana made new friends in juvie. He doesn't know how he feels about it, but it's weird trying to imagine Izana making friends. Until his king explains how he made them. 'Oh, that checks.'

“Why are you doing this face? Are you jealous or what?”

Izana says that with a smirk in his face, his obviously teasing him but for some reason the younger boy still feel that something is off.

“Come on servant, don't be such a pain in the ass, I beat them for you, the least you can do is be grateful, don't you think?”

“For me?”

Kakucho doesn't understand what that is supposed to mean.

“Yeah, you're going to lead our army, remember? I wasn't going to let you lead an army of weaklings.”

And with that, he puts a hand on Kakucho's head, ruffling his hair on the process. An obvious sign that the conversation is over and, once again, his servant will follow him with a smile.

When Kakucho finally meets this new friends, he can only think that they're all idiots. Well, except for Mutto, he likes Mutto because he's calm and quiet, he always knows his place or when it's better to shut up. Shion is the complete opposite, he never knows when to shut up or stop moving. To be honest, Kakucho thinks that Shion probably can't do any of that. Mochi is just another idiot, with less energy than Shion, but the same amount of brains. The Haitani brothers are their own category. 'This two aren't just idiots. They are idiots and weirdos.'

Time passed and Kakucho still thinks the Haitanis are weirdos, but he actually likes having them around. They always show up with some expensive and extravagant gift, as if money is nothing to the rulers of Roppongi. Today they bring some delicious cakes, as always they remembered to buy a portion of Kakucho's favorite. He knows Ran is the one who paid attention to these tinny details, he can't help but act like a big brother.

But the cake is not the reason why Kakucho likes them. It's not the only reason, at least. No, Izana is the real reason. Every time the Haitani brothers are there the white haired boy looks happy. Of course, he doesn't show it, so sometimes he seems amused, entertained or even pissed off as if he's about to lose his already little patience. But Kakucho knows him better, he knows that Izana is happier when the weirdos are here. So before he realizes, the four of them are friends. Well, maybe one king and three friends.

---------------------------------------

It's being a few months since the Kanto Incident. He doesn't know how many, because time stopped making any kind of sense for Kakucho since his reason to live disappeared. He didn't realize how much time had past until one day when he hears an annoying knock at his door. A really annoying knock that doesn't go away forcing him to open the damn door.

Of course, when he opens the door, the Haitani brothers are there. He should had know, but he really wasn't aware that they were already out.

“Kakuchooooo, I know you missed me, so stop making that grumpy face and be a good host!”

Ran looks exactly the same, still talks like he's teasing at you with every word. After all that time, he still brings cake, Kakucho's favorite.

“Come one, let us in already, I was about to pick the lock.”

Yeah, that's Rindou's way of showing that he was worried. Still the same weirdos. So obviously, he lets them in.

Before he understands what's going on, he's sitting at the table with one brother at each side of him, eating cake and talking nonsense. And he's smiling, even laughing at times with their most absurd anecdotes. The scene is so familiar, so comfortable, it's almost like nothing has changed. 'Almost.'

Kakucho doesn't know what happened, but suddenly finds himself unable to breath. He tries, he really tries, because he doesn't want to break in front of anyone. But they aren't just anyone, they have cake and comfort words “Breathe, it's ok Kakucho, we know” and “We're here now, you are not alone anymore”.

So he breaks, he let himself cry in front of these weirdos that share his pain, his lost. In front of what's left of his family, what's left of all that happiness that he doesn't even remember how it felt. He doesn't realize that all this time he has been gripping his necklace, the one with a hanafuda image that they know all too well. The one that used to be one of Izana's earrings.

---------------------------------------

Kakucho would never know how they knew it. The Haitanis always seem to have a sixth sense or something, because they show up unannounced like they always did. The strange thing is that they seem to know that this time Izana is going to welcome them, without beatings or cruel words. They seem to sense that their king is starting to get better and he can't be more thankful, hoping that maybe this is what Izana needs.

He's not wrong, but he's also not right. Izana isn't quiet there most of the time, but at least he eats, talks and even has a smile sometimes. It's not he's real smile, his eyes don't show any emotions, it still looks unhinged. But even if it's a weird smile, he does it more when the brothers are there, so Kakucho thinks that's good. 'He just needs more time, that's all, this has to be a good sign, right? Yep, one day he will really smile again, I'm sure.'

Kakucho definitely likes having the Haitani brothers around. They are more than friends, they are family.

---------------------------------------

Kakucho didn't want to follow South, he only have one king and he will never betray him. He ends up in Rokuhara after that monster beats the shit out of him, but that doesn't mean his loyal to that gang. He put his life ( and his heart ) in the hands of another man a long time ago.

It's actually much easier than he expected, being back in this live, the fights, the adrenaline. Maybe that is all he knows how to do or maybe he doesn't even care anymore, but this makes him feel a little bit more alive than spending day after day hiding in his apartment with only ghosts and a fish for company.

It's different with Mikey and so familiar at the same time that he feels on edge. Every time that he's in a Kanto Manji meeting he has to control himself or he would freak out ( unconsciously grasping his necklace trying to calm down ).

Looking at Mikey gets him deja-vu. Really bad deja-vu, if he has to be honest.

The invincible is falling, Kakucho can see him fall into the darkness, exactly as he saw before. That's what scares him most, that he already learned how this ends. But he can't run away ( even if sometimes that's all that he wants ). Kakucho can't run away because he knows, he doesn't know how he knows, but he knows Izana wouldn't want him to leave Mikey. Or maybe he's just projecting, trying to fix the past by fixing the present.

“You can't save him.”

Of course he has been noticing the look in the older Haitani's face, he's obviously worried, but he didn't expect that. He wasn't prepared for that.

“What?”

“You can't save Mikey, not from himself. Stop it, you need to start thinking about what do you want for a while.”

There is more, things that Ran never says, but Kakucho listens anyway. The unspoken words keep floating around them 'You can't save him, the same way that you couldn't save Izana.'

---------------------------------------

At the beginning, Kakucho was happy of seeing Izana taking care of himself again. Starting to be open to people, to life, once more.

Now, he's just worried. Really worried. He realized that Izana's only motor is revenge, that he's getting really obsessed with Mikey. Izana is falling into darkness, a little bit more every day. His smiles are not real, his beautiful purple eyes never catch up with them. He looks deranged, completely unhinged every time that he starts talking about his revenge plans.

Kakucho knows that, but he'll follow him anyway. He'll follow Izana because he just wants to see him happy again and if this revenge is what it takes, he'll follow his king. Izana isn't drinking and sleeping all day anymore, so he hopes that maybe, he just needs time for smiling again. A real smile, like before. If Kakucho have to follow him to hell for being able to see this smile once more, he'll do it happily.

---------------------------------------

It's even worst the day that Rindou finally snaps, just before the battle with Toman 2nd Generation. They're alone, just trying to keep themselves entertained with some video game, trying very hard ( and failing ) not to think about tomorrow.

“Who do you think will die?”

It's just a whisper, so he wants to ignore it, pretending that he didn't hear it until he turns around and sees Rindou's face.

“No one, this time no one is going to die.”

He doesn't believe it, of course, not after watching how Mikey almost killed Takemichi of all people. But he's trying to comfort the other, and probably himself.

“You don't believe that, don't fuck with me!”

Then he realizes. Rindou fucking Haitani is panicking right now, he's having a panic attack and Kakucho doesn't know what to do. So he just keeps listening, hoping that helps. He's definitely not prepared for the next words.

“I... I've been having nightmares since that day, you know? What if... What if Ran tries to protect me like Izana did with you? What if... This time Ran... Shit, I can't even say it out loud, I'm fucking pathetic! But how am I supposed to keep living if that happen? How you keep living with that?”

Kakucho really, really doesn't want to answer that, but he's never seen the younger Haitani like this before, he knows he deserves an answer. He also knows that the only one he can give is not going to help.

“You don't.”

---------------------------------------

Kakucho is dying. He knows he is dying, he knows that Sanzu's katana cut is too deep, that there is no way that he could survive this time. He's okay with the idea of his own death, he always thought that the last two years were a cruel and extra time.

But he can't, he can't die yet. Kakucho needs to stop this damn train, he needs to do it or a lot more people is going to die. Not just people, his friends. Shion, Mochi, Takemichi. Not just people, his family. Ran. Rindou. The last survivors of the broken family they had once. The last two people in this whole planet that still remember Izana with affection. Kakucho can't let this happen, he can't let them die without trying until his last breath.

That's when he sees him. Izana.

Izana is here, Kakucho can feel him, he can feel his warm presence by his side once again. He doesn't even have time to think what's happening, when he listens Izana's voice.

“You're still as reckless as ever. Well, that's what makes you, you.”

Izana smiles and puts his hand in top of Kakucho's own hand. He can feel Izana's strength going through his body.

“I'll help you out, Kakucho.”

Just like that, they are able to stop the train. Together, like they always should be. They did it, they saved their family. And now, Kakucho is finally letting go, allowing himself to die. He's not afraid anymore, he's just happy that he could see Izana one last time. He's dying, but he's dying with a warm smile. Kakucho is finally reunited with the love of his live.

---------------------------------------

Kakucho never knew when he started to feel that for Izana. Maybe it was always there, maybe his feelings just changed and grew into something different at the same time that he was growing. But he could pinpoint without any doubt the exact moment when he realized that he was in love with his king.

The day that he saw him “better” again after Shinichiro's death. Izana just cut his hair and wanted to do a big entrance with his new Tenjiku's uniform. He was showing it to Kakucho, his arms opened and allowing him to see the whole view. His earrings dancing with him again every time he moved.

Kakucho knew it. Like and instant revelation, he felt that he just found the missing piece of a puzzle that he didn't even realized he was doing. Kakucho was doomed.

He wanted too much, he couldn't ask that from the older boy, but he still couldn't avoid it. He wouldn't ask, he'll keep following him until the end, just like always. He was sure that be by Izana's side will be enough. At that time, he thought this was the best decision, he still didn't knew that never confessing his feelings to Izana will be his last regret.

---------------------------------------

Kakucho opens his eyes, looking around and feeling completely disoriented. He's laying on a king size bed, the other side showing signs that some one was sleeping here too. He touches his chest, not understanding why there isn't a wound there. A scar, at least. But nothing.

Suddenly, he realizes that his necklace is not there. He's about to panic, thinking that he lost Izana's earring forever. Until he hears it, a soft voice calling his name. The sound of footsteps entering the room.

The scarred boy wants to punch himself, because this can't be. But he recognizes this voice, he would recognizes this particular footsteps anywhere.

“Kakucho? Are you awake or are you going to start acting like Ran and sleep forever?”

Izana enters the room, looking even more ethereal than ever. A smug face and playful tone. But he looks... Older. It's subtle, little details than some one who didn't know him as his servant does, wouldn't notice. But Kakucho does it. His king looks exactly like he kept growing up during the last two years.

“I-Izana? Are you real?”

Is just a whisper, he's too afraid that if he talks, he would break this illusion, this dream. But it's more than enough for Izana's face changes into one of worry, quickly sitting on the bed by Kakucho's side, a gentle hand on his forehead.

“Are you okay? You look sick... I can call Manjiro and tell him we can't go to the lunch this week.”

Izana's voice is so soft, his tone of concern so genuine, his warm hand on Kakucho's face so comforting... That he breaks. He starts crying like a little kid, hugging him, clinging onto him like his life depended on it (it does).

“Kakucho? Kakucho, look at me.”

A gentle touch on his chin forces him to look directly into Izana's eyes. An intense gaze staring directly at him, trying to analyze what the hell is happening. The hand moving softly to wipe his tears. But there's something in those violet eyes, something different. Like they had less walls, as if the usual storm that Kakucho always saw on them was calmer.

So, without even thinking about it, Kakucho just says the words. No more regrets.

"I love you, Izana.”

He whispers, before talking again, this time more firmly.

“I love you. So you can't die, because I love you. You have to promise to me that you'll not die."

Izana stares at him, a puzzled look on his face. 'Well, that's not the worst reaction ever, right?'

"I know that, idiot. We've been dating for almost a year now, you don't need to act so fucking intense about it. What the hell is wrong with you today?”

The words sound blunt, but there's so much affection behind them, that Kakucho just melts with it. Specially, when Izana ruffles his hair. A small gesture that says a lot more.

And that's when he finally gets it. This gesture, all the gentle touches, all the non-verbal things that his king is saying... They aren't new. It was always there. This was always Izana's love language. It was always there. But Kakucho never understood until now, because he never thought he deserved this love.

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong, Izana.”

He answers, a bright smile on his face. Feeling lighter than ever. Of course, the older boy is not buying it, an interrogation look on his eyes. Kakucho just laughs at this, throwing his head like a little kid, unable to content so much happiness. So much life.

Until he looks through the windows and he sees it. It's starting to snow outside.

“It's snowing.”

Izana's whole expression changes with this words. His face lighting up with excitement. A genuine smile on it.

A real smile. One that makes Kakucho notices that this time, he can actually see the snow. The red is gone. Izana is there, holding his hand and smiling at him. Looking ethereal but at the same time, so real. So tangible. So alive.

The red is gone.

Izana is there.

The snow makes Kakucho happy again.

[starry-eyed-extraterrestrial]

A little fic that I wrote under the cut, I'm strictly posting this to prove to myself that not everything has to be perfect when it comes to my writing. Vince/Mick implied (kinda) and cursing warning.

“Dude, what the hell happened to your hair?”

Mick is broken from his restful state by the grating voice of Vince Neil.

He'd been minding his own business after their first show together in years. The red, white and crue tour looked like it was going to do well if the sold out venues suggested anything and he was feeling pretty good about everything they've accomplished thus far so he decided that a bit of a victory nap (read: pass out) on the couch of the dressing room would be fine, so he nodded off a bit.

He then processes what Vince said.

“What?” He replies dumbly, confused.

“What is going on with your hair?” Vince repeats while pointing his finger towards his own hairline to imply to Mick to look at his own hairline there.

“What do you mean?” Mick raises a brow, reaching for his hat only to realise that his hat wasn't on his head anymore. 

He scans the floor frantically to find it laying strewn on the ground about seven inches away.

Vince laughs, amused by Mick's panic. 

“Um, do you mind getting my hat for me?” Mick asks, too embarrassed to remember to be grumpy about being woken.

Vince picks it up but holds the top hat hostage with the advantage of standing and not having a crippling bone disease.

“Not until you tell me what's up with your hair, you try something different and it didn't work?” Vince chuckles, holding the hat close to his chest playfully.

Mick sighs wearily, looks like he wouldn't be getting that victory nap after all.

“What the hell are you talking about Neil?” Mick asks,annoyed that this conversation wasn't getting him any closer to going back to sleep.

“The colour man”

“What colour?” Mick is genuinely confused as to what his singer is on about, he's starting to think that Vince is asking him something completely different in reality but because of just waking up his tired brain was just interpreting this conversation very weirdly.

“The ginger”

Mick pulls a face before realisation sets in.

Fuck, his roots were starting to grow out.

He guesses that he just hadn't noticed because he's always wearing hat's…and he's not really a fan of looking at himself in the mirror.

“Oh yeah, I'm due a touch up, my roots are probably just growing out is all” Mick says holding his hand out expectantly for Vince to hand over his hat.

Vince doesn't budge.

“No fucking way dude, there is no way that you've been a ginger this whole time and I didn't know.” 

“Well believe it” Mick leans forward making grabbing motions towards his hat. Instead of Vince giving him his hat he sits down next to Mick on the couch, still keeping the hat from Mick's reach.

“Abso-fucking-lutely not, there is no way.” Vince says unconvinced and obviously in the mood to bust Mick's balls, which Mick doesn't appreciate.

He should have expected this kind of behaviour from the blond, he'd known him for over twenty years so he knew something minerly inconvenient like this would happen, it's always something with not just Vince but with all the guys.

No matter how sober or ‘good’ they got their innate need for chaos would never truly disappear, but that's one of the reasons Mick loved the band so much.

It was never boring.

What he didn't expect Vince to do was reach a free hand out and thread his fingers though the thin faded hair on his scalp.

Mick's first instinct is to tense, a sudden violent flashback of when Nikki had ripped out a chunk of his hair flashes in his mind. And he knows it's irrational and a completely different decade at this point and a whole different person to Nikki (and hell even Nikki himself was quite pleasant as of late) so he tries to play off the illogical spasm as surprise.

He's not quick enough apparently as Vince takes notice almost immediately.Vince is the  master of body language after all.

“Sorry man” the playful edge wanes a bit, as his movements become subtly more gentle. When his hand is comfortably seated he starts scratching.

And Mick is absolute putty in his hands, the gentle unintentional scalp massage he's getting while Vince playfully checks if his hair is real makes his brain short circuit for a moment. He's not used to somebody touching his hair like this.

Embarrassingly enough Mick finds himself nodding off again, his exhaustion from the show, his nap being interrupted and now the intentional scalp massage all elements to why he suddenly thought that falling asleep sounded great.

He leans back to how he was lying down  (sitting down) before and for a second he's almost gone again.

Then he hears a snort and a chuckle that snaps him out of it.

“Ya like that Mickey~” Vince teases and pulls his hand away. Mick feels his face turn bright red.

“Fuck off Neil, go bother one of the other guys.” Mick says,trying to hide embarrassment with anger.

Vince gets up but not before winking at him. 

“Ya know what I think I will, Nikki owes me twenty bucks.”

“How come?” Mick asks embarrassment, momentarily forgotten.

Vince answers while making his way to the door out of the dressing room. “I bet him about twenty years ago that you were soulless and now that I know your a ginger, my theories fucking confirmed”

Mick gives Vince a deadpan look, too end all deadpan looks, and if looks could kill, Vince would be dead where he stood.

Vince just laughs and he's out the door without another word.

It's only when Mick is comfortably settled again that he realises that Vince took his hat with him.

[leitmotif]

[Image ID: Tags reading #won't let me view artfight without making an account the homophobia of it all 😑 #but ahhh yeah please elaborate on zero but also water dragon lady that sounds sick as fuck #arranging a playdate for my ocs and ur ocs btw. if you even care #mine are a fantasy adventuring party so always imagining them going on sidequests for my mutuals' ocs. End Image ID.]

I HONESTLY FORGOT ABOUT THAT IM SO SORRY LOL. i will highlight my other fav oc from my artfight here since you couldnt see them hehe but i love all my ocs ofc

Zero (it/he) [image link] is my silly little sonic wolf oc [but also exists outside of the sonic universe bc he breached containment]. its Thing is that he is a robot but also not he's alive but also he's a ghost 😁formerly he was a cat named maeve with a special interest in the chaos emeralds who was studying ways to make fakes that worked just like the originals, so that they could be used to better society by powering things and such :] and he had prototypes that worked well but was never able to finish his work because he died in a lab explosion [he was murdered] 😁 but as he died his soul got sucked into one of the fake emeralds [a red one/power emerald] and was eventually found among the rubble and used to power a robot which is ZERO!! and so he has the robot body robot brain etc etc but with a mobian soul that gives it more autonomy than simply being an AI which is what the people who made it think he is [just an AI]. it doesn't have any of his memories though and in getting sucked into the power emerald he was kind of "corrupted" and is now like. campy gay villain brand of evil [that is to say. nothing truly abysmally evil like people are capable of in real life] but a little more fucked up because he does not remember ever being good! he's my silly little guy i love him it likes to cause problems on purpose and is now continuing its work on the fake emeralds but for world domination reasons ^_^ it has a scythe made of his chaos energy. very emotive when he's being real and usually smiles in the face of danger/enemies in a way that suggests he doesn't take it seriously, but usually puts up a front of smiley polite organic-non-robotic guy who isn't fucked up and evil at all. it does think its better than regular mobians for being a robot. trying to describe this in a way that's not like "this is my edgy oc he's EVIL and he KILLS PEOPLE" but. here you go HAHAHA this is just the spark notes version in favor of keeping this post from being 10 miles long [i know i wrote more for Aylin but trust. trust. if i wrote as much as i wanted to about it this would be MUCHHHH longer]

coughs. erm. moving on. Aylin (she/they/any) is my water dragon lady oc!! they were originally made for an ancient greece-themed D&D campaign but even though i'm not in it anymore they are still my babygirl. they are a water dragon who is able to shapeshift, and when underwater they are usually in their more mermaid-like form as they live among their mermaid friends. they are the main protector and overseer of the smaller sea that they live in. [it is so fucking loud here at work please excuse me if anything seems incoherent i am doing the impossible task of trying to think amidst a bunch of theatre kids (i love you theatre kid mutuals it is jsut SOOOO LOUD) <-techie voice] how their story goes is that in their world, mermaids are highly coveted by humans on land to be kidnapped and kept as wives or used to farm their coral antlers for jewelry. well one day a group of sailors comes by and attacks their little mermaid family, which she had been intentionally drawn away from by people working with the sailors causing a disruption in a part of the sea. they had expected their family to be able to protect themselves, but with advances in human technology, the sailors were able to overpower them and capture them, and those that they didn't capture they killed and took for their coral. when she returns to find the aftermath she doesn't know if any of her family/friends are still alive, just that they are gone and she knows the culprit- human beings -but doesn't know which ones in particular. so she makes it her mission to hunt down these people and rain hellfire [hell...water?] down upon them, and to find her missing family if she can. but in losing everything she has become a being basically made of grief and anger, thinly veiled under an expressionless face and mask. she now lives on the surface (with a human medic girl who lives by the sea, who she fell in love with but that's another story) disguised as a human trying to find the people who took her family from her and overthrow the establishment that allowed it to happen in the first place along with other non-humans hidden within the city who hate it just as much as them.

aaaaand honorable mention: Olly/Hollyhock (they/it) another silly robot oc but this time they don't know that they're a robot because they were raised in isolation. rapunzel kinnie 9000. they live out in the salt flats/desert with their "mother," living in an abandoned boat that fell out of use once all the water in the region dried up [very much based on the boats stuck out in the salt flats left by the receding aral sea in uzbekistan]. they are an artificer who makes things out of scraps that they find in and on other boats, plus materials that their mother occasionally brings back for them. these inventions often explode HAHA but that doesn't stop them, and thankfully since they live out in the middle of nowhere no one notices. they have a little hamster who likes to stay in their pocket named dustball and a puppy named rusty [they cannot die or age because i said so 😁 magic]. they are very naive and inexperienced with the real world, but long for connection with others and to leave their little isolated boat home. they have no idea that they're not a regular human being like their mother because she isn't around much, and when she is there's nothing that really tips them off that they're any different, because they look like a human in terms of appearance [underneath, their porcelain robot body has designs on it resembling uzbek ceramics] due to a magic core within them that gives them the look, feel, and sound of a regular human being. one day though their mother leaves and doesn't return. they wait, and wait, and wait, for a loooooooooong long time (their sense of "a long time" is a lot different (longer) obv being. a robot who lives out in the desert). when she still doesn't return and their boredom and loneliness becomes more than they can bear, they venture out for the first time :] so yeah. rapunzel kinnie

AND YEAH thank you for reading this if you got all the way through ^_^ peace and love and light etc etc

accidentally unfollowed you trying to send an ask i'm sorry :(( but i'd like to hear some stuff about ur ocs if you want! 👉👈

YOU'RE ALL GOOD i thought that was what happened when i saw the notif HAHA i've done that myself soooo many times

AND OMG..... [COMBUSTS] i have so many ocs its hard to choose just one to talk about... the one i* am the most mentally ill about is zero i'm spinning him around in my brain microwave i'm squeezing him like a squeaky toy i'm dropping him into a test tube to study im putting him in a centrifuge at maximum speed i'm sending him down a path of self-destruction i love him 😁

i also have several other ocs though most of the active ones you can see on my artfight [this is where i store my ocs sorry i could not figure out toyhouse even if my life depended on it i tried :pensive: zero and a couple others are not on there bc we're redoing their profiles.] some of the ref sheets are outdated (ex: aylin i need to update them OTL they are now a water dragon lady ^_^) but YEAH if u wanna ask about any of them.... smiles so nicely

[best-enemies]

ok. you know what. ill bite. what are your thoughts on the master

Oh anon I have neverending thoughts about the Master. Took me a few days to write but I'm having a day off work, thank god. Sorry this is a long one but you asked for it lol here we go:

One, I have this personal meta that there were multiple factors that made the Master evil, all due to a) things that happened to him, be that trauma, betrayal, etc. b) the environment he grew up in, as in the Time Lord society in general. A society that dismissed feelings as weaknesses and treated mistakes as if they made one unworthy of dignity and at the same time turned a blind eye when necessary and swoop their dirt under the rug with corruption and murder, something they didn't seem that bothered by.

By the way, what I'm saying doesn't erase the Master's actions, he's fully responsible by what he does (and he owns it proudly!) and I'm not condoning those things (I shouldn't have to clarify that but you know how it is with fandom lol). But I mention this because, if you need an example, just take a look at the first Doctor, especially during his first serials, and how he was willing to kill a caveman with a rock (oh if that rings a bell lol) and has made some pretty selfish/poor decisions. But he changed, and he was willing to change. I don't think he was a bad person within his core, but those traces were a reflection of his upbringing and his culture. He kept choosing to be a good person, and that's what drives him, while the Master keeps choosing to be a bad person.

What drives the Master to be like this? Why does death and chaos and destruction give him so much bliss, even though he knows he'll suffer the consequences and they're mostly negative? Did he find comfort in those things or did it become so addicting that, as per the scene in the Timeless Children episode, it is a way to calm all the rage he can't/doesn't want to deal with (and not even those things work anymore)?

By the way, Verayne - aka one of my all time favorite authors - wrote a scene in this fic where the Master and the Doctor talk about it in bed and it's my favorite moment of them in this story (and one of the best scenes I've ever read in fanfiction). By the way I recommend all of Verayne's stories, they're fantastic and give some great insight on their relationship, especially Tensimm.

The topic of the nature of the Master is something I LOVE to discuss about. I've been a fan of the show for a decade and it's like I keep unfolding this character more and more. He's that interesting.

Two, there was an interesting moment from the War Master's first boxset that still lives in my mind rent-free. I can't remember exactly which audio, but he says that he's an observer, someone who sees the universe the way it is, a realist. That line just gets me. It actually says a lot about the Master as a survivor. For me it's actually a better description of him than someone who's just 'evil'. He knows the universe can be a terrible place, has lived through the worst, and thinks that the Doctor is living an illusion, that he doesn't see reality the way it is. That the good he sees in people is fake. That may be a reflection of his own experiences (not what his approaches might have helped). Or maybe the Doctor isn't deluded - he's just trying to prove a point to himself. That he's good. I mean, he is trying to be good every day and that that is what matters, but I'm trying to see it through the Master's eyes here so don't give up on me lol.

He knows the Doctor is lying to himself. Here's my whole point: the reason the Master exists is because he's here to make the Doctor confront himself. He's been in the Doctor's life ever since they were kids, he knows the Doctor better than anyone else. He's seen his best and his worst.

By his worst, I mean the side that the Doctor doesn't show anyone else, like his companions and friends in general. All they've got is glimpses of it. And they won't like or approve that side of him. And the Doctor knows that.

And that's why he hides it. But the Master is here to expose that side and to tell him that he likes it. He wants the Doctor to accept that side of himself because it's the one that's most like the Master. The reason why the Doctor is different from anyone else in the universe, the reason why he's special, is because out of everybody, he's the one that's most like the Master. As the Twelfth Doctor puts it: "She’s the only person I’ve ever met who’s even remotely like me."

Identity is important. Seeing yourself in someone is important. Because the Master needs to be understood, and to be seen, and as the Lumiat put it, like every beast, he just wants to be loved. He doesn't think he's wrong in his ways. He doesn't want the Doctor to heal him, he wants to be loved the way he is, a monster, because he loves the monster in the Doctor as well. And the Doctor loves the good person inside the Master, the one he knows that's still there. I mean... there was good in Missy. But a huge part of that was her love for the Doctor. That's why she tried at all.

So we see how the Timeless Child thing hurt the Master. That was one aspect of it. One, was because the Master is proud, and that's his biggest capital sin. He believes that now, the Doctor is greater than him. Two, he thought that he had someone in the universe who was just like him, whom he shared a history with, so that there was something in his life that mattered. Their history mattered. But now he thinks it doesn't anymore, because the Doctor has had a history before him, and therefore he's just a spec of dust in the Doctor's life now, just like the humans, a passenger.

He throws that anger at the Doctor because the Doctor always thought of themselves as special (and in the Master's vision, he'd always thought he was more special than the Master too), and now it was true, and the Master feels like nothing. It hurts him deeply that, in his mind, he no longer holds the importance in the Doctor's life that the Doctor has in his. And I think that he's angry at his own feelings for the Doctor, perhaps blaming himself, but he can't help but try to attract the Doctor's attention at all costs, because he needs it, he's addicted and maybe she'll give it to him and he'll have some importance in her life. Maybe if he does something grand enough, if he's the one to kill the Doctor, it'll be worth it. He'll be the one to have killed the Timeless Child, the Doctor. Now imagine how much it hurt so that he asked her to kill him too, to die with him. Maybe that's how he figures they can finally be together. Who knows.

I added some tags to this post, which I very much agree with, with my words about how the Doctor can be very controlling about their relationship, trying to make the Master something he isn't so he can feel not guilty about loving him.

Aaand here's my thoughts about The Doctor Falls and the scene I believe to be the most important Thoschei moment.

I also wrote this about the Master and how his jealousy plays out in his feelings for the Doctor, and I mean not only by wanting him but wanting what he has.

Long story short: the Master is a romantic he just takes bad flirting to a whole different level (destroying galaxies to get his crush's attention)

[reporterleroux]

"I miss him, y'know?"

Characters: ig!tommy, ig!tubbo, ig!ranboo (/p, best friends), ig!dream (/p, enemy), ig!awesamdude x ghosthybrid!reader

TW: Murder and it's kinda gory, blood, self isolation

A/N: WHY ARE THE ONLY IDEAS I GET SAD???

!SOME LANGUAGE!

-------------------------------------------------------

It's always been that little bit tougher for you since Tommy got sent to prison, and the fact that he was sharing a cell with Dream made it way harder than it needed to be. The house you built with him, Tubbo and Ranboo was constantly silent now, the house upon the hill you chose before any chaos begun. The view wasn't the same, it was an old city in ruins. The prison was the only sight out of the main window, so you constantly insisted to the boys the curtain stayed closed. You occasionally attempted to visit Tommy, but Sam would only say no. You always had to leave him a note, a note you would rant on, a note you wouldn't even know he ever got. That's why you never went there anymore, you knew the answer would always be the same, so you just wrote a note and sent it by post, or most the time, the boys would take it down for you. You couldn't even have it within your sights, let alone be there. You had nothing to do now Tommy was gone, nothing but mope around in your room all day, reminiscing on things you used to to together.

Sure, Tommy had been in the prison for a while, but this was the first time you never left the house, let alone your room, in just over a week. You would sit there all day just staring out of your window, which looked over the field you all used to spend your days in, only ever looking away to make some of your now rare appearances to the boys to get food, a drink or to go to the bathroom. The boys had enough, they needed to get you outside, and weren't taking no for an answer. They headed towards your room, Tubbo pushing the door open and leaning in, Ranboo hovering over him as he did so.

"Y/N?"

Tubbo asked, you turned around, smiling weakly towards them, but also feeling guilty for ditching them for the amount of time you did.

"Do you want to go out for a walk with us? We agreed that you needed it after you've been in the house for over a week."

You looked shocked, unaware of the time you'd been in your room, away from your best friends, time where you haven't sent a single note to Tommy. You broke down there and then.

"Woah, woah, you good?"

Ranboo asked as Tubbo rushed over to hug you. As much as Ranboo wished he could, all he was able to do was use words, as your tears would burn him, which you understood.

"I'm so so so sorry guys, I never realised how much time I isolated myself for. I'm so sorry."

You managed to get out between sobs as Tubbo hugged to tighter, Ranboo still not being able to hug you as well.

"Hey hey calm down, it's ok. You're with us now, and that's all that matters. Now get changed and we'll go out for a walk alright?"

Tubbo said, releasing from the hug and drying your eyes. You nodded as Ranboo came to hug you, now able to do it without burning, before they both left the room. It took a bit longer than usual for you to get ready, but you got ready none the less. You grabbed a few things like your sword and some food before ghosting through your door and meeting the boys at the front of the house, ready to leave. They smiled softly at you before you slipped on your shoes and left with them.

The views and nostalgia wasn't pretty for you, but aslong as you were with your 2 best friends, it didn't matter. You decided to relax for a bit on the bench. Everyone was silent until you sighed.

"I miss him, y'know. Yeah, he's just in prison and stuff, but I still miss him. The house just doesn't feel right without him."

The other boys hummed in agreement, listening to every word you said, as you unconsciously rambled on about Tommy. You sat in silence for a bit after that, you looking over your now destroyed home, but being able to see the ghosts of everything, the complete buildings, the ghosts of your past selves being teenagers and having the time of your lifes. It wasn't long before you felt something on your forearm. You rolled up your sleeve, and threw your hand up towards your mouth on the brim of tears as you read what it said.

"TommyInnit WAS SLAIN BY Dream"

"No, theres- no..."

The boys looked confused, before seeing your forearm.

"That green bastard, I'll punch his teeth in."

You said as you stood up and grabbed your sword.

"Y/N no. He's too strong, he's not worth it."

Ranboo said concerned as he grabbed your wrist to stop you. You pulled it out of his grasp before jumping off the small cliff infront of you, thankfully not taking any damage due to your hybrid abilities. You could hear the boys calling out and running after you, but you didn't stop. You ran as quickly as you could towards the prison, ghosting through the walls before you were met with Sam.

"Oh, Y/N! Are you ok?"

Sam asked. You looked at him deadass in response before showing him your forearm. He stood in shock, but also knew what you were going to do. As you tried to run forward, he grabbed you by your arms, holding you back.

"Sam! Let go of me!"

You shouted angrily at him. When he wouldn't let go, you just ghosted through him and all the security and ran straight through the lava, knowing it wouldn't damage you, before being confronted by the worst scene you could ever imagine. Tommy's dead body, bedding out in the corner, Dream in the opposite corner, knuckled dripping with blood. Tommy's blood.

"You sick son of a bitch! Why did you do that?"

You questioned. Dream just sent you a smirk, before shrugging like nothing ever happened.

"I took your first 2 lives. Im not afraid to take your last."

You said as you shoved him down into the corner he was standing in, tip of your sword right by his heart. You knew enough to know that it would instantly kill him as soon as you out more force on it. Dream still had that smirk on his face.

"Was his fault really. Y'know, he was always just using you three. Never really liked any of you. That what he told me."

You had enough of this. He was trying to be manipulative with you. He knew if you fell for it he could save his own life. That's not what you wanted.

"Come on kid, join me instead, it'll be better for you. No need to say no."

You pretended to think about it for a second, before saying

"Suck it, green boy."

And you put more pressure on your sword, plunging it through him, and kept it there before you felt the similar tingle on your arm.

"DREAM was slain by Y/N"

You pulled the sword out of his chest, and held it by your side, suddenly turning your head towards Tommy's dead body, making sure anyone that walked in could see what you did to Dream, and you were the one who did it. You zoned out, remembering everything Tommy, Tubbo and Ranboo did together. Tubbo and Ranboo. How would they feel about what you just did? How about Tommy? You were still zoned out as the lava started dropping down, Sam, Tubbo and Ranboo on the other side. They were all in shock of the scene before them. You were in front of Dreams body, sword dripping with his blood, looking at Tommy.

"Y-Y/N?"

You snapped back to reality, and whipped your head around. Oh no.

"R-ranboo, Sam, T-tubbo, I'm sorry, I had to, he killed him, I had to."

You stumbles on your sentences, as they all looked at you shocked. Sam was just frozen in place, the 3 of you noticed that, so the boys took the opportunity to reach in, grab you and get out of there. Everything was very different now.

It had been roughly a week since the prison events, and alot of people either hated you, or liked you, there was no inbetween. You thought everyone would leave you, but Ranboo and Tubbo stuck by your side the entire time. You visited Tommy's grave weekly, and left all his possessions alone. That was until the boys went out, and you felt lonely, so you went to go sit in Tommy's room.

"T-tommy?"

There was a ghost of the boy you once we're best friends with, sitting in the bed.

"Tommy? Oh, right, you're Y/N, right? My best friend from when I was alive? Sorry, I go by GhostInnit now."

You didn't care, you were just happy you could see him, and instantly jumped into him for a hug. You didn't know if it was your hybrid abilities that could make you see him, or if he was visible to everyone in general, but that didn't matter. You were just happy he was there.

-------------------------------------------------------

A/N: podiddlyboingodawidaho

[silverflame2724]

A/B/ O prompt AU where Omega!WWX's married to Alpha!JC. Following WC's death, WWX enters into his heat unexpectedly and is raped in the dark by an alpha who's in a rut, not knowing it's JC. WWX ends up pregnant but consumes wine in attempt to abort the baby since he thinks that the baby isn't JC's. In Burial Mounds, WWX gives birth to A-Yuan but gives him away to one of the Wen Remnants since he doesn't want him. After JZX's death, WWX is knocked out and taken to Lotus Pier by JC to be treated and finds out from a doctor that the resentful energy's killing his husband. To avoid causing anymore trouble for JC and JYL, WWX decides to drown himself after he leaves a note telling JC about his pregnancy.

This is my 1st A/B/O prompt so if I made some mistakes please tell me.

In this context, I’m not so comfortable explicitly writing the rape happening so it’ll be just a brief mention.

TW for rape/non-con in the beginning. If you want to skip that part, skip to the first dotted line. As well as a warning for infanticide, for which, if you’d like to skip as well, skip to "Until he met Wen Qing.”.

_____________

Wei Wuxian had felt something loosen within him moments after Wen Chao and Wen Zhuliu finally took their last breaths. In hindsight, this is where it all went wrong.

One moment he was grinning with relief, the next, he’s keeled over, his heat - which hadn’t appeared since the fall of Lotus Pier - hitting him in waves. He managed to stumble away from the cooling corpses of the Wens he hated and into a room. Gods, out of all the times he had to get a heat, why now?

Blearily, he looked at his surroundings. Jiang Cheng.......where’s Jiang Cheng? He was in the room with me just now. He can help me through this, can’t he? 

Footsteps got closer and Wei Wuxian tensed up. Who....Who is it? Is it Jiang Cheng? It had to be. He could smell me from here, couldn’t he?

The sharp scent of an alpha in rut hit his nose and Wei Wuxian found himself roughly pressed into the floor. It was dark and he couldn’t see whether the person above him was Jiang Cheng.

He panicked. He tried to kick the person off, struggling but it was no use. Starved, beaten and struggling to survive in the Burial Mounds for three months had drained him of all energy. He couldn’t fight back.

.

.

.

As soon as the alpha above him knotted him - despite his vehement protests - and collapsed on top of him, Wei Wuxian started to sob. 

The knot deflated and Wei Wuxian pushed the alpha away, hurriedly dressing and escaping from the room. As he ran through the cool night air, he was glad no one saw him disheveled, broken like this.

................................

The war ended. The war had ended, but Wei Wuxian was in despair. All of his symptoms matched up. He was pregnant. He was pregnant but it wasn’t Jiang Cheng’s.

He knew what he had to do then, he had to get rid of the child. If Jiang Cheng ever found out. He shivered.

He had to get rid of them.

.

.

He did everything he could, drinking wine, eating foods he wasn’t supposed to eat, but it didn’t work. All it did was give him pain. 

Wei Wuxian knew he couldn’t just go to a healer and ask for certain herbs. After all, people were looking for weaknesses of his constantly after the war and he couldn’t allow any word of his pregnancy to escape. 

............

Six months down the line and the child still hadn’t died. Wei Wuxian didn’t know whether to feel happy or frustrated. 

Nowadays, he had to wear scent blockers all the time to prevent people from asking about his scent and avoiding any and all contact with healers.

His days passed by worryingly like this.

Until he met Wen Qing.

........................................

In the Burial Mounds, a newborn’s loud wail rang out in the quiet. Wei Wuxian, weary and dizzy from blood loss gave the child the name A’ Yuan and gave him up to Wen remnants without hesitation.

He didn’t want the child.

.

.

.

He didn’t want the child. But he couldn’t stay away from him. Whether it was his omega instincts or his sentimentality for carrying the child for nine months, he couldn’t just ignore the boy. 

He gave A’ Yuan love and attention but managed to stave off the worst of his instincts and kept his distance from the child, only letting him see Wei Wuxian as an uncle, at best. It was a fulfilling life.

He hoped his days would pass by like this, no matter how difficult it was.

....................

Somewhere though, deep in his heart, Wei Wuxian knew things couldn’t go on like this. Staring blankly as Jin Zixuan’s limp body got farther and farther away from him, Wei Wuxian felt silent tears roll down his cheeks. Why can’t I just be left alone?

.

.

When Wei Wuxian next woke up, he was in Lotus Pier. For a moment, he thought it was a dream until Jiang Cheng gripped his hands tightly. 

“Why didn’t you tell me the resentful energy was killing you?”

Wei Wuxian internally sighed in relief. It seemed like his pregnancy and his golden core were still secrets. “I....didn’t think it mattered.”

“Didn’t think it mattered?!” Jiang Cheng raged. “How could you think-- I....I worry about you, idiot!!”

Wei Wuxian’s breath hitched. Jiang Cheng still cares? I thought.....I thought after I took in the Wens, I didn’t matter to him anymore. 

“I’ll find a solution. Don’t worry, you won’t die.” Jiang Cheng said.

“How can you still say that?” Wei Wuxia asked hollowly, suddenly remembering Jin Zixuan. “I.....to Shijie’s husband........”

“We’ll figure it out together. And besides, I know you wouldn’t kill the Peacock without some reason.”

“Heheh, you’re starting to sound like Shijie.”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. “That’s because A’ Jie calmed me down and told me to think rationally.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t look up.

“She knows you wouldn’t do that to her.”

“B-But, I........” He unconsciously let out a distressed scent and Jiang Cheng sent some of his own to comfort Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian’s stomach grumbled. 

Jiang Cheng snorted. “Wait here. I’ll be back with food.” He mumbled quietly, “You’re too damn thin.”

Wei Wuxian smiled quietly.

...........................

Wei Wuxian was not an idiot. He heard the whispers from the disciples, from the servants. The Jiang sect will be in trouble for sheltering him. No one may have seen him enter Lotus Pier but it was only a matter of time. 

He couldn’t let Jiang Cheng or the sect take the fall for his sake. Not again.

With shaky hands and a resigned smile, he wrote a letter - an apology, a thank you - to Jiang Cheng and Shijie. He wrote about the Burial Mounds, about the innocent Wens and how he wanted them to be saved, the night he was raped, and.....about his pregnancy and A’ Yuan. He hoped his last wishes were enough to persuade Jiang Cheng.

Sealing the letter, he left the room and found his favorite lake, the one he used to play in with all his shidis. Those bygone days of innocence had all but disappeared.

Dangling his legs over the edge, he looked at the beautiful sunset dying the lake a sky a mesmerizing color. 

Shijie, Jiang Cheng......I’m sorry.....and thank you. I hope with my death, you will all be safe.

He waded into the deepest pit of the lake - the part he was always told to avoid - and allowed the rapid currents to drag him deep underwater. 

Within a few minutes he’ll be dead.

Within a few hours, his body will be found.

_____________________

Where’s Lan Wangji in all of this? The answer is......I don’t know! Think whatever you like!

I hope the prompter is satisfied with this! I personally hoped to put a bit more emotion into it, but......I’ve put off answering this prompt long enough! Hope you enjoyed it!!

[doueverwonder]

HI HELLO OKAY I'M SORRY TO HIJACK YOUR POST BUT I WANT TO DUMP SO BADLY CAUSE I'M WRITING A FIC ON THIS RN

Aestii had three sons, Tolys, Vakaris (Prussia), and Raivis. And for all exstensive purposes? This woman made sure her sons had a decent childhood something barely any nation gets. Despite a few bumps everything was good, everything was as good as it could be and they were happy.

Then the Northern Crusades happened, and for the first time Austėja (Aestii) had to acknowledge she couldn't keep them safe from everything, but gosh she was still going to try. They were moving, a lot. It hurt her to leave her people behind and bounce from town to town but she refused to let anyone touch her children.

Then it happened... she had his hand. She was so sure she was holding his hand but between carrying Raivis and making sure Tolys was right behind her, she must have let go, she must have not noticed in the chaos.

She searched for days. It took her months to accept it, he was dead. It broke her, Tolys had to take over, taking care of his mother and his little brother. I've said it in something else I wrote but Tolys never got to mourn his brother, not properly and it left some damage.

Meanwhile, a few hundred miles away Vakaris is sitting in a camp, surrounded by people he doesn't know, he's hungry, he's cold, he's angry and he's terrified. But, he decides despite it he's going to be heard, and they are going to let him go. So he starts throwing fits, yelling at the people around him that he wants to go home, that they have to let him go. One of the knights gets fed up with it and knocks him over the head hard.

Three weeks later a boy with no name--he doesn't remember it--is running around the same camp, he runs errands for the knights, knowing its the best way to stay away from another beating, and make sure he gets at least some food that night. He's learning German, and fast out of necessity.

Times goes on and the grandmaster informs him they are going to keep moving, but he is being left with someone else. At first he panics, he thinks he's being kicked to the curb to fend for himself, he doesn't say anything. You don't say anything, it gets you in trouble. He just nods and leaves the tent trying not to go back and beg to not be left, it's been two months at most, and he's always scared when he's here. But with the Knights is all he remembers; he doesn't want to leave.

They stop in a city, the grandmaster goes to speak with someone. The boy with no name is left in a courtyard to wait, he meets two other boys while he's there, they seemed surprised at his presence. One speaks to him stating simply 'you're like us'. He's confused at first, but he's right, there is something different about the two standing in front of them. They're introduced as Aldrich and Roderick they ask his name, and where he is. He doesn't have name, and isn't sure what they mean by 'where are you?'.

Years, decades, centuries even go by. Gilbert as the boy is now called still doesn't remember any of his early childhood, but doesn't quiet mind anymore. He made plenty of new memories with Aldrich, Roderick, Emma, Eitel, and his new big sister Adelheid (HRE).

(Theres a lot of stuff in between here and the end but this thing is already too long so we're skipping)

ANYWAY I hc Gilbert died after ww2 I'm sorry I just can't work him into my modern day storylines and how I was Ludwigs personality to be it kinda requires Gilbert going away.

So anyway, Gilbert is on his deathbed. His only child had a tearful goodbye with his dad, but just couldn't stand to be in the room any longer yknow the 'I don't want my last memory of him to be like this' even though Ludwig would always feel so guilty about it as time went on.

Someone else comes in the room, it's not anyone he would expect not in a million years. Not to mention by this point Gil is barely coherent he can barely process anything much less for a sentence of his own; but he sees Tolys.

Now, Tolys isn't even completely sure why he's there. Gilbert isn't his brother, he doesn't remember their childhood so it's almost as if it didn't happen. But he also thinks their mother would be upset to know Tolys didn't go to say goodbye. So he's there, at his brothers side; Tolys opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out, and he unintentionally breaks into tears.

"I'm sorry" he says it as if everything is his fault, "I'm sorry I ran off, I'm sorry we let the knights take you, I'm sorry they stole your memories, I'm sorry you didn't get to tell mama goodbye"

Tolys isn't speaking German, but he isn't speaking Lithuanian either. It's an old language that's been gone for generations but something in it sparks the tiniest bit of remembrance. Fuzzy memories just out of reach.

Tolys notices his little brother who had just been staring ahead the whole time is now looking at him. Tolys freaks out and unsure what else to say spits out "do you want to know who you were?"

Gilbert doesn't know what else do to, so he nods.

And Tolys tells him who he was; "You're my little brother, and your Raivis' older. You were very possibly our mothers favorite. You were loud and annoying from the moment you were born, and I suppose amnesia didn't change that. You liked finding sticks and 'sword fighting' with other children, you liked walking on the beach but you hated swimming. You always teased me saying you liked Raivis more, yet you always followed me around. Now everyone calls you Gilbert, but our mother named you Vakaris"

and with that something clicked, if you could talk to Gilbert in the afterlife he would say it was the 'life flashes before your eyes' moment, but he saw it all. His missing childhood flashing before his eyes, it was happy and it made him sad that he only now remembered it. But the end wasn't happy, he remembered being terrified the Teutonic Knights, the northern crusades, it's what had ended it all.

He's Germanic sure. That's all he knew, that's what he was made into.

But those Baltic roots can't be ignored can they?

“aph prussia is germanic” “no he’s baltic”

guys guys. isn’t it far more traumatic and historically accurate for him to be both? for him to have been born baltic prussia, taken over by the teutonic knights, and believe himself to be germanic only because the harsh reality of murdering his former people and brother tribes was too much to cope with? i mean, we’ve seen how important his sibling is to him.

killing siblings over conversion would have been…breaking. 

[midnight-in-town]

pretty sure anyone haven't ask this since I checked the tag; anyway regarding ur theory about queen/john brown is mastermind behind all of this it also goes to make them can differ the twin (I mean let's say they r aware of phantomhive twins) but it doesn't make any sense to me in what reason they planning to confront our!ciel by trying to revive the other twins (I'm sorry if I sounds failed to understand so I hope you can elaborate more)

Hello Anon! And actually, I did mention/imply the reason briefly here and here (scroll down to the last message), but I suppose I could elaborate a little. :)

It’s all in the chronology that I wrote here: Ciel’s “loyalty” to Victoria (or lack of, from her point of view) is precisely why I think that the Queen and John Brown might have decided to replace our!Ciel with his brother.

After all, Ciel lied to the Queen about the events of the circus arc, but she found out thanks to Brown and the Double Charles, which is why she tried to frame him for murder (Siemens’ murder who was killed by Grey).

He also tried to double cross her by hiding the SULIN after the Green Witch arc when the Queen specifically wanted it, but she is not stupid and she realized what he was doing, so did John Brown, which is why Ciel was compared to his very murdered father in ch108.

So, I actually think that bringing back the twin would give the Queen a new and way more loyal and respectful Watchdog, one who’s also more of a pawn than our!Ciel was, because he’s been revived by them and might even be dependent on the blue sect to get blood transfusion from time to time (this last point is just speculation). 

And as I was saying in another post, I just wouldn’t be surprised if someone were to tell our!Ciel that he isn’t needed anymore as the Watchdog in the next few chapters. Remember this scene?

I already explained here that chaos in the Parliament could be something that Victoria wanted to happen for her war plans, but what’s important is that the Double Charles (the Queen’s butlers) might show up soon on Seb’s notification, and honestly I wonder if they might not be the ones who will bring our!Ciel grim news.

One thing you have to understand is that the Queen’s current watchdog is “Ciel Phantomhive” and now that the twin is back, technically everything that his brother (our!Ciel) owned under the name “Ciel Phantomhive” could become his because he is the real Ciel Phantomhive and he looks identical to our!Ciel. 

So, all in all, bringing back the twin, manipulating him so that he would want to hurt his brother (attacking Soma, killing Agni, using Lizzie…) and making the two brothers confront each other could be so that Victoria can get a brand new Watchdog, absolutely identical to the last one (with the same name, same network and all), except that he will be more “loyal” and already dead.

Does this make sense and does it help? I hope so because this is all I’ve got so far. xD

Have a nice weekend Anon :)