#doing cleaner stuff was surprisingly really soothing?

[carnation-damnation]

I guess this date ends here because Shadow can't leave now

Sonadowtober - Cat Cafe

[selkies-and-cycles]

self-imposed sickness

summary. i thought "hey, nezha needs to get cared for. but i'm also gonna whump him." he overworked himself into being miserably sick. possible wip of a sickfic. featuring Pigsy, Sandy and Nezha!

content warnings? he sick. vomiting and stuff. deeply dependent on caretakers.

When Nezha next awoke, someone was gently coaxing his mouth open to try and pour something down his throat. He couldn’t tell what it was- he was still feverish and only half there, and his lack of taste from his flu didn't help. He couldn't quite open his eyes enough to recognize the hand trying to coax his mouth open, but it was surprisingly gentle. Nezha obediently tried to follow the instructions, but he struggled once something warm and liquidy hit his lips. 

Ah, soup. Probably. He couldn't really taste it right now.

He coughed, swallowing down the soup with a grimace. He could feel it splattering somewhere over the blankets, but he didn't quite process it.

"Take it easy, kid." A gentle voice soothed, holding a napkin to his lips. In any other state, Nezha would be extremely embarrassed- but he was far too tired to care right now.

Distantly, he thought he recognized the voice. It was... someone he knew. They made good soup broth. Nezha was too busy trying to ponder that to really focus on what the voice was saying to him, although he understood the gist.

"You gave us all a scare, especially MK. I don't know what'd the kid do if he risked losing someone else again." The voice sighed, distantly shaking their head. "Just... take care of yourself, okay?"

Nezha grunted, trying to force his eyes open and understand what was going on, but his body wouldn't follow his command, and he groaned, sinking back into the bed. He didn't feel good, that was obvious, but the soup broth settling into his stomach was making him feel worse. Way worse.

The saliva in his throat felt thick, and his stomach roiled in protest of being made to digest anything. With the little strength he had left, Nezha rolled over to the side of something- a mattress?- and deposited the contents of his stomach to his right.

“Hey-!” The voice exclaimed, reeling back from Nezha’s side. The god’s head swam as he stared down at the vaguely yellow pile on the sheets, groaning. He collapsed back into the cleaner side of the bed, face scrunched in a grimace. The bed was warm- maybe too warm. The little light from the room still seemed too bright as hands grabbed his shoulders, pulling him away from the blankets with a huff. Nezha blinked a few more times before his eyes started to slide shut once more, breathing in and out heavily.

A short silence settled over the little cabin container as Nezha passed out once again. Cats lingered around Sandy’s bunk bed, watching the interaction with mild curiosity. One of the cats went to sniff the leftover bile, and subsequently got pushed off the mattress by the owner of the voice from before.

“Geez…" Pigsy sighed as he pushed away another cat. He had adjusted Nezha to lie in his lap to avoid any remnants of sickness and sweat across the bed. "So, you’re not even able to hold down even fluids…" He murmured to the unconscious god, turning to call for Sandy to change the sheets. 

Now, why was Pigsy at Sandy’s boat, you may ask? Well, Pigsy was supposed to be at his shop, but MK had been so worried about the sick celestial he'd barely been able to focus on delivery. With most of the orders already made, Pigsy offered to go check on Nezha in MK’s place to calm them both down.

Sometimes, Pigsy forgot that even deities were just people.

Sandy shook the pig demon out of his stupor as his loud footsteps approached, a bundle of clean bedding in his arms. “Heyo, Pigsy.” He smiled, gingerly stepping over the cats lounging on the carpet of the room. Sandy stole a glance at the sick god, brow furrowed with concern. “How is he…?”

Pigsy sighed as he lugged Nezha away from the futon so Sandy could strip the bed sheets and clean them. "He's not doing so hot."

Sandy paused from picking up the vomit-soiled sheets, tilting his head in his very Sandy-esque way. "I mean, I think he is pretty hot." One large blue finger pointed at the lotus prince practically radiating heat.

Pigsy sighed, putting his hoofed hand up to his forehead. "No, I mean- Alright, I walked into that one." Pigsy huffed, shaking his head. "I mean, despite not physically burning people anymore, he's still burning up." He pressed the back of his hoof against Nezha's forehead, watching as the god's shoulders visibly relaxed upon cooler contact. "I know Wukong said tha' immortals can't die from illness unless it's celestial, but still…"

Sandy started to reapply clean sheets as Pigsy took to doing a second wipe down of Nezha's face just to get rid of any residue vomit. Sandy stared at the pig man for a moment, smiling slightly.

"...Wha'?" Pigsy asked.

"I guess not even someone being a god can stop the Dadsy instincts." Sandy teased lightly, a big grin on the goofy water spirit's face. "You're acting like you did when MK was a kid."

"Wha- HEY!!!" Pigsy splutters, face turning red, as he couldn't really get any pinker. "Look," he pointed a hoof at Sandy, "if ya had told me 3 years ago that I'd be takin' care of a terribly sick god, I would'a never believed you!" He protested. Pigsy then sighed, his dramatically aggravated tone (oh, Tang really had rubbed off on him) subsiding. 

Pigsy tried his best to fix Nezha's hair, watching the man breathe in and out, his face red and splotchy. To think even a god could overwork themself to the point of being this sick…

Pigsy sighed, lugging Nezha back onto the now clean bed. "Well, maybe I ne’er would’a believed you, but the dude's sick and needs help. And although this is perhaps a little more personal than I had expected…"

Sandy gently laid a blanket back over Nezha, who still laid mostly unresponsive on the bed. Pigsy looked down at Nezha, arms folded but face a bit softer.

"...Well, he's saved our asses enough that I think I can give 'im this."

[allaboutarrorin]

Journal entry #1 - The relapse

It's been a long time since I last dusted this off and wrote in it, since I last wrote it in with an intention of not tearing the page out and burning it right away anyway.

Life's been surprisingly kind to me the last couple of years, despite a couple of bumps in the road. It's given me a sense of what a normal life looks like, it's reminded me of a feeling of belonging. It's also reminded me of the feeling of what it's like to have a home.

I haven't been able to call any place home since my mother died and I left my childhood home with my old man and the Shrouds. There's been houses, sure. There's been people that I've cared for, there's been forms of love, and there's been community, and there's been places I've stayed at for long enough for it to be considered a home..

But the feeling's never been there. My heart's never been there, not truly.. never entirely.

Or the feeling of that I've deserved to be where I was.

And no matter where I've been or who I've been with, I've always felt the need to flee, sooner or later. That need has always been so strong I swear at times I can physically feel my bones being on fire, then the voices do the rest.

I now realise that it was never a place I was looking for, there was never land or a building. It was never a community or glory within my line of work. It was never about being the biggest or the baddest or to claim a place for myself in this world.

It's always been about her.

It doesn't matter anymore where I live, or how much I grow a community to be able to survive in this world, it doesn't matter what kind of reputation I've got or how much gold. All that matters is her, and the way that she gives me a feeling of home, of belonging, no matter where we are.

She makes me not want to flee anymore, and she soothes the urge in me to do so.

I never even thought that was possible.

Right now, however.. it's anything but a blessing. For I wish that I could find it in me to run like I used to, just so that I don't have to face the disappointment in her eyes. The heartache.

And her realisation of what a broken man she's chosen to marry.

I've been clean for five years. Clean enough, anyway. Cleaner then I've ever been as it's never lasted this long. It was never bound to last forever, however, I always knew that.

We had a pretty huge fight last night, about a bounty I've got on my head currently. It got really ugly, and I just lost it.. I barely even remember the walk from my house up until I grabbed onto the first guy I saw that reeked of dealer. Much less do I remember actually using.

But gods.. do I remember the relief.

The relief that I felt is what scares me the most, I expected there to be relief.. but I never expected it to be so good. And I know that I'll be wanting it again..

Lysannia wants nothing to do with me. Can't even look at me, she says.

I've always known that if I ever relapsed she wouldn't react well to it, I expected her to scream or hit me. Hell, I expected her to send me out face first along with all my stuff without hesitation. I expected her to throw her ring at me there and then before she'd tell me to fuck off.

But she did neither of those things, which feels even worse..

It was as if she saw me for who I am the first time clearly in ten years.

And that she hated what she saw. Much like I do.

Of her reaction to my relapse to judge from.. I'm conflicted whether to tell her that it was my smallest relapse yet, of all the years I've been an addict. Of all the times that I have relapsed in the past, in comparison, this was nothing. It was the least brutal one, atleast in every other aspect but emotionally..

Emotionally it's been the worst of them all.

Even if we've been married almost a decade, I'm really starting to realise that she knows little to nothing about my junkie ways really. And it's starting to worry me that she might not fully take it to heart of just how severe my using have been in the past.

I'm terrified of being right, as it could be a deal breaker for her..

And if it is, I *text have been repeatedly written and erased at the area with evident roughness, only leaving unreadable black smudges behind*

The older that I get.. the more I also realise that my old man might've been a monster taken straight out of a nightmare; but he was also right about a lot of things.

This life sucks the soul out of you, it blackens your heart and it turns you against the rest of the world. It portrays you as a monster, as a selfish cunt with a taste for blood and a longing for misery.

It also turns you against yourself by each and every time you surprise yourself by just how brutal and heartless you can really be, when the questions of what's wrong with you arise.

When you start to doubt that it's not the world that is the problem, but you.

The paranoia never leaves you, the need of constantly having to watch your own back never leaves you. Much like the constant inner battle of distrust against other people never really goes away. Even towards the people that you consider your family or friends.

But the sense of freedom is what always lures you back in, no matter how far away you run from it, it always finds you. Pulls you back in with promises that the pain is worth it, that all the heartbreak that you cause other people is worth it.

I didn't choose this life because I wanted to be a rebel, or because I wanted to act tough going against the word of the law. And I didn't choose this life because I enjoy constantly hurting the people that I love, or because I've got a urge to try and destroy myself.

I chose it for a choice to be the one calling the shots regarding my own life, to free myself of my father's chains and to find my own identity. Even if that meant being closer to him then ever.

Even if I did exactly as Arreth wanted by staying in his footsteps, by letting him break my mind, in some sick way by doing so I could finally see myself for what I was without him. Or at the very least for what I could become. I wasn't just good at whatever it was he chose to teach me because he simply didn't allow me to be anything less, but because I was actually really bloody good at it.

In the middle of all of his abuse, all his torture and all his manipulation and his lies, I found a sanctuary within my work. I discovered what control of my own life felt like for the first time ever, and that feeling got addictive to me. While I could never truly escape my old man, this feeling of control is what I think ultimately lead to my survival.

To how I managed to step out of his shadow and claim myself as my own man, to not just remain a mindless soldier whose sole purpose of existing was to continue my father's legacy by all means necessary.

It was when I realised just what I could do with that control that everything changed for me. Everything.

So even if it is a brutal and bloody life, even if it's more often then not cruel and unfair.. it's the life that I will always choose.

For this life is what gave me my freedom, it's what woke me up. And it's what gave me the guts to claim my life as my own, since it was taken from me the moment I entered this world.

Without having gotten this realisation, thanks to the life I was both forced to be in but that I ultimately chose to willingly stay in; I am fully convinced that I wouldn't have surived. Sooner or later I would've ended up in a situation leading up to my end, most definitely to save Arreth's ass.

There's no doubt in me that he would've gladly let me take the fall for him, had I stayed his perfect little soldier that bent to his every idea, will and need.

So I will always choose the life that saved mine. I will always choose freedom. I will always choose control.

What I won't do, is ever choose a life where I'll be a slave to another man again.

I will fight against that for as long as I breathe, I will fight until I go down, and even then I will still keep fighting. For that fight will always be worth however much pain this life causes me, because there's no worse pain then the loss of control.

The loss of yourself.

*Similar black smudges after text having been erased over and over is found for a second time on the page, below it no more text follows though, as if he was suddenly interrupted in his writing*

[valkriii]

┏━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┓

Jυʂƚ α ƚɾιɱ

┗━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┛

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ꜱʜᴏʀᴛ ꜰɪᴄ

@universallyprincecollective

❝ Bebop is need of a trim and little bit of a line up with the help of Rocksteady ❞

(Not my usual fic but hopefully it’s okay)

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The day was a surprisingly calm one, New York was quiet, crime wise that was. It was a bit of an unnatural thing but the boys didn’t quite feel up to the chaos today. Instead they sat lazed around, one sitting watch a TV screen blankly, the other touching up their looks, having been neglecting any grooming for quite some time.

Bebop sat and messed with his Mohawk a bit. The purple hair was beginning to get a bit long for his liking, messing up his process to maintain his signature hairstyle. A huff escaped the nostrils of the warthog, staring himself down in the mirror. This caught the rhinos attention, “ya alright be?”, Rocksteady called over his shoulder, side glancing over to the bathroom. “Man! I look a mess”, Bebop’s frustration had Rocksteady’s brows furrowing. “You’re a warthog Beb’s…”, Rocksteady said a bit of an ‘that’s obvious’ kind of tone. This did not amuse Bebop as he turned and looked through the door way to the rhino. “Besides the point, my hairs a mess and my beard! Haven’t been able to get cleaned up since we got mutated”, Bebop took his grooming as serious as a ritual when it came down to it, he had an image to maintain.

“Ya want me to line ya up?”, Rocksteady offered. The Rhino was no professional but definitely considered himself decent as he cared for his own grooming when he wasn’t a mutant. Bebop put his hands on his hips as his eyes squinted, “you do that stuff?”. This earned a huff from Rocksteady, “of course man, now get your ass in a chair.”

This is what started the little barbershop moment Bebop was having with Rocksteady playing the barber. Bebop didn’t have the highest expectations but he wasn’t entirely against Rocksteady being good at the job. “You should lose the beard”, Rocksteady commented as he sharpened the blade of the razor. The rhino was classy, kept it old school with his vintage straight edge shaver. Bebop touched his face as he looked in the mirror, “really?”, that was replied back to with a quick ‘yes’.

And with that, that’s where Rocksteady began. After applying some therapeutic shaving cream across his cheeks, chin and neck, Rocksteady’s readied his straight edge razor blade.

“Don’t cut me with that thing-“

“Shut up, you’ll be fine”

Rocksteady began to sheer away the thick scruffy beard that was growing on the warthogs face. It took a second but after shortening up, that’s when he began the close shave to rid him of any loose stubble and leave him with a smooth shave. Rocksteady had to admit it was coming out cleaner then he expected. Cleaning off the razor, he went and grabbed a towel before soaking it in hot water, it wasn’t unbearable but it was definitely warm. When he came back, he applied the hot towel to the fresh shave, soothing any irritation that may have came or stopping it in its tracks. This got a satisfied sigh out of Bebop as he visibly began to relax and trust the process. Once the beard was done, it was time for the hair cut and trim. Setting the razor aside, Rocksteady took the comb and scissors in his hand. It wasn’t going to be terrible due to the fact Bebop didn’t have an immense amount of hair but enough to know it was more then liked. Rocksteady was carefully as he combed up but left just enough hair to trim off. The rhino was looking to mimic his previous hair length which didn’t seem more then an inch or two.

After trimming as much as he saw fit, he brushed the trimmed and cut hair of Bebop’s shoulders before grabbing gel and styling the iconic Mohawk. “You’re all done Beb’s” Rocksteady informed as he removed the towel. Standing up, Bebop went to the mirror again as his eyes widened before he slowly nodded, “damn man, you did better then I thought”.

[gather-ye-sinners]

Hii are requests really open?? (I know its a dumb question but i always get anxiety because im afraid i sent one at the wrong time). But like yeah, can i have headcanons for the bucci gang and what they would do with an s/o that suffers from hypocondria/nosophobia and is really scared of getting sick? Consider this a reference to the present coronavirus outbreak that has been giving me extreme anxiety :( ... also your blog is very cute and all your pieces are amazing keep it up 💖

Heck yeah, they’re open bb no worries! Thank you doll! I got your back for this one. Remember to wash/sanitize your hands gang. Cover your cough and if you feel sick and can, see a doctor just to be safe. I hope this brightens your day!

Bucci Gang x Hypochondriac/Nosophobic! S/O

Warnings: Discussion of Disease, Discussion of Fear, and Possibly Triggering Content.

Bruno Buccellati:

As a professional gang mom, he’s worried right along with you.

Mainly about Mista for obvious reasons.

He’s aware of all the panic buying going on and does his best to get the necessary items.

Soap, wipes, food, and medicine.

He does his best to try and calm your anxiety.

He’ll wash his hands with you and make up random songs.

His favorite so far is one he made up about fish that’s very catchy.

He might start humming it to calm you down.

He’ll help you clean whatever you ask and do any amount of laundry you acquire.

You might have to chastise him about zippering things away instead of cleaning them.

Who needs gloves if you can zip it and forgit it!

He personally thinks Giorno won’t let anything happen to the gang and suspects he has some sort of Golden Experience shenanigans going on.

Fugo did tell him about their fight with Illuso, so he wouldn’t be surprised if he did something like that.

He assures you you will be safe and well protected as his S/O.

He knows words aren’t much, but he’s taken to hugging you with Sticky Fingers.

He can’t be contaminated if he’s technically not real right?

Leone Abbacchio:

He’s mad cuz his Opera got postponed.

He had box seats with the best view in the house god damnit!

He’s personally not very worried.

“It’s just like a bad cold right?”

He loves you though so he’ll help you buy supplies.

He’s touched you care about his health too.

Tries to be supportive, he’s very worried about you.

In fact, even Moody Blues is worried.

You’re the only one to hear the gentle whirrs and whizzes of comfort Moody can make.

Really into the idea of hunkering down with you until it blows over.

His heart soars at the idea of doing domestic things with you.

Also, people are disgusting.

He tries to take your mind off of it by doing stuff with you.

He’s not usually the type to play entertainer, but for you, he’ll make an exception.

He’ll put on some classical music, dress in a nice suit complete with gloves and ask you to dance.

He’s one hell of a waltzer and likes to dance.

If you tell the gang though Corona will be the least of your worries.

Guido Mista:

This is the worst time to try to love this man.

Noah fence but he’s stinky.

The least concerned about it.

He’ll buck up and start being cleaner if he sees how shaken up you are.

The gang will thank you.

He’s got a holster for his gun now, and a full-length sweater.

You will have to coerce him into showering with you.

“Baaaabe! It’s no fun getting clean all by myself~”

The Sex Pistols start chastising Mista on your behalf.

It’s quite the show to watch a grown man be scolded by his six tiny sons.

Number 5 will tell Mista to use his tears to wash his hands if he has no water around.

 Doesn’t mind staying inside and helping you clean.

 Makes the Pistols help clean too.

They’ll be so happy if you make them their own little masks.

He’s not perfect with stuff like this but he tries.

Narancia Ghirga:

He won’t let on to it but he’s almost as concerned as you are.

He’s the type to listen to all news and accept it as fact.

He might not be much help.

He’ll help you stock up and hunker down in safety.

He can send Aerosmith for stuff if he needs to.

It’s just a little theft.

Not to rag on everyone’s fav orange boy but he’s an enabler.

He doesn’t mean to be, he’s just a bit naive.

Panic buys until Buccellati, or Abba tell him to knock it off.

He holds you tight to try and quell your anxieties, but being a bundle of nerves himself isn’t the best.

He can be oddly serious if you have a panic/anxiety attack though.

He gets you water and helps you in the best way he knows how.

Having fun of course!

If the gang decides to hunker down in the mansion together you can bet your ass he’ll be arranging games to pass the time.

His smash main is Pit.

His alt is Dark Pit.

If he decides to help you clean, your whole house will smell like orange disinfectant.

No negotiations.

Pannacotta Fugo:

If you thought his Purple Haze fear was bad hoo boy.

I’d go as far as to say he already has a stash of cleaning supplies.

He and Trish are cleaning buddies.

You two will be the most prepared.

Master of handwashing

May be attached to Buccellati’s Fish song.

As irrational as he feels it is to prepare for things like this, his stand’s existence, for once, puts his worry of judgment at ease.

He still refuses to let Purple Haze out though.

His favorite way to pass the time is curled around you reading.

If you ask nice he’ll read to you.

He does different voices for fiction works.

Will do everything in his power to help you calm down and get in a clear and functioning headspace.

Surprisingly good at meditating and mellowing out quietly if that’s what you like.

Really wants nothing more than to hunker down with you and hibernate it all out.

He has the comfiest room stocked full of books and board games.

Giorno Giovanna:

Really has no worry.

Golden Experience can take care of it just like it did with Purple Haze.

Has no real intention of doing this unless someone in the gang gets sick.

Reassures you of this every time you bring up your anxieties.

He’ll hold you tight and whisper sweet nothings in your ear.

His tactic is reassurance and comforting.

He’ll make you your favorite flowers and animals.

He’ll send cute little ladybugs that transform into loving notes.

He’s the Don now so anything you want you will have.

Hand sanitizer? Cool, he’ll send the newbies.

Face masks and gloves? They raided Cioccolata’s old place not that long ago and he had hella.

He’s very good at grounding techniques.

He just wants you to know you’re safe and protected.

Trish Una:

Oh lordy, this isn’t going to go well.

Trish being Mysophobic and you being Nosophobic usually play into each other well.

No germs, no diseases.

During an event like this though? Y’all are gonna be a mess.

She has a stockpile of Bed, Bath and Beyond and Bath and Body Works sanitizer.

She likes the glitter.

Your best bet will be to hunker down with her and wait it out.

Fugo and his S/O would hunker down with you if you need more company.

She likes to cuddle tight and watch whatever.

Enjoys baking and art type shows. They’re soothing.

Her guilty pleasure show is Say Yes to the Dress.

She might not be much help with your anxiety.

She’ll help you clean of course, but when it comes to your overwhelming thoughts they scare her too.

Luckily you have Bruno and the rest of the gang to help you out.

[gingerwritess]

Loki owns every single ounce of soul and my body radiates an overwhelming amount of uwu energy every time I see him it’s unhealthy. In other words, i wanna marry him oeriodt

good news babe, now you can ;)

here it is folks, the wedding of you and Loki.

it’s just the ceremony, i might do something about a reception later and will definitely be doing some honeymoon stuff !! but for now…here’s a very long piece about your wedding! ENJOY.

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

Loki Laufeyson is not a simple man.

Hell, he’s barely a man.

Everything concerning Loki is complicated; his past, his present, his future, his heritage, his family, his species, his abilities, his ambitions, his reasoning…

The list goes on.

You knew this. You know this, and yet here you are, stepping out from behind an oak tree, giggling and barefoot and arm in arm with your best friend, coming to greet him at the alter.

Nothing has ever been simple. Not when you met him and you each tried your respective times to kill each other, not when he spent a couple years convincing himself he hated you and that’s why you were in his head all the time, not when he had to somehow win your trust.

It’s been complicated. Complicated fights, complicated dates, complicated forgiveness.

A complicated wedding, too, which is why you’d agreed to just have a tiny little wedding in an Asgardian forest, miles out from the border, with barely ten people invited to attend.

The bigger ceremony can happen later. Right now, with the setting sun glowing off Loki’s pale skin, all that matters is making him yours.

It’s surprisingly simple, actually. Loki’s surprised. A couple chairs were set up in a little clearing of trees, shrouded by the oak branches with only a few rays of evening sunlight seeping through, and a walkway of smooth stones had been laid as a kind of alter.

No giant centrepieces to decide on, no music to choose, no kingdoms you have to invite so they don’t get offended, no sacrificial goat to find. Tonight, all you have to worry about is that Thor doesn’t cry too much while he officiates, thus setting the wedding back an hour.

And that you don’t completely lose your shit.

He looks so good.

You’ve never seen Loki looking so…so relaxed, so casual, so sure of himself. He looks confident, for once, genuinely confident in what he’s doing—or about to do.

On the inside, though, he’s a wreck. A nervous, giddy wreck, positive that you’re going to turn on your heel and run away, going to look once at him and find him disgusting, just as you should have since the moment he fell for you, just as you did the moment you met.

His hands shake and he shoves them in his pockets, swallowing hard when you step out from behind the tree.

Your friend insisted on that—“you still need a grand entrance, I wanna see if he cries”—and since there’s only an archway of tree branches tied together with fairy lights for you to walk through, the tree trunk will have to do as a cover.

You’re just as nervous as Loki, if you’re being completely honest. Just…marrying him.

This is kind of a big deal.

A little bit life changing, really, and when you think back to all that had to happen to get you to this point, the nervousness just multiples.

But, the smile that paints your face is in every way childish. Ridden by giggles, a nervous, anxious, excited mess of emotions and then you see him, waiting for you, and the space between you seems infinite and nonexistent at the same time.

Loki’s breath catches.

A sniffle is heard from the make-shift alter—not from the groom. Thor rubs his eyes and stands up straighter, trying his absolute hardest not to pull his brother into a bone-crushing hug.

Loki looks different.

Different than when you first met him. His hair is different, a little longer, cleaner, not so messy and untamed, tied half-up with a couple braids hidden in his almost curls. The thin gold cuffs at the ends of each braid glint in the sun when he moves.

He’s not covered in blood and rubble like he was when you met him, either. He’s not so pale, not so thin, so gaunt, and his eyes are much closer to green than blue when you meet his gaze and give him an excited, scrunched-up little smile.

Loki smiles back and that’s when it hits him: his eyes are swimming in seconds and he chews his lip, casting his gaze to the trees above and praying the tears don’t fall.

Things like this…don’t happen to Loki Laufeyson.

He doesn’t get the girl, doesn’t get to have a beautiful wife. An intimate, beautiful wedding is just something he dreamt of as a child, something that helped him fall asleep, just like that immature dream of having someone to hold close every night, lured to sleep by their warmth.

A few steps closer, he has to swipe a hurried hand over his cheek, and you bite back another excited laugh—there. You got him to cry.

You never thought you’d be the person to make someone cry tears of joy on their wedding day, much less someone who cries so beautifully.

This isn’t the first time you’ve seen Loki cry, but it’s definitely your favourite.

Your hands meet before you’ve even noticed covering the distance. The coldness of his skin is normal now, for whatever the reason you’ve stopped caring, and you wind your fingers through his and grin at his teary face before turning to Thor.

“Hey,” Thor chokes out with a smile, “are you two ready?”

You nod, Loki wonders if no is even an option.

He’s not ready at all, because as soon as this starts, it’ll be over, and this beautiful little ceremony is an end he doesn’t want to face. He’s not done marvelling at you, his soon-to-be wife, he hasn’t fully memorised what you look like this evening, he isn’t ready to let it end and lose this dreamlike trance where no past can intrude.

But Thor starts talking anyways, interrupted by an occasional sniff, and Loki’s left grasping at the moment.

He hasn’t even gotten to look at you, to truly ingrain your image in his mind, so as Thor begins to recite the service he’s read over time after time again, Loki’s gaze turns to you and everything else seems to fall silent.

Blue.

He’d expected green, to be completely honest, you know what you do to him when you wear his colour, but you’d surprised him with the pale blue dress.

A wonderful decision he could never thank you enough for.

You’re…a dream. You could be a light elf, with the way the setting sun beams down on you, but no, actually, no light elf could even come close to comparing with your beauty.

The dress floats over you, thin straps keeping it secured over your shoulders, that pale blue fabric softer than silk when his hand slips helplessly to the small of your back.

You’re real, solid flesh and bone under his hand. Breathing, living, a bouquet of white roses and sparse, leafy twigs in one hand, the other finding its way to his back and rubbing soothing little circles.

He’s staring and doesn’t plan on stopping. You catch his eye and send him a comforting wink.

It’s a simple dress, nothing to distract from the wearer. His gaze travels the length of it, from your bare feet to the thin gold chains around your ankles, to the smile dusting your lips, to the crown of olive branches and tiny white flowers his brother just placed on your head.

You nudge him in the side.

“Hm?”

Your crown, you mouth, nodding at Thor. You okay?

Shaking himself out of his daze, Loki blinks and looks back at Thor.

“…sorry. Where are we?”

“I’m crowning you,” Thor whispers, holding up the other crown of olive leaves and flowers, the connecting satin ribbon tugging on yours as he does. “Remember? ‘With these crowns, your power becomes shared, and with these crowns, your rule becomes one, to grow only in unity and to prosper as—’”

“Alright, yes, yes, I remember.”

You bite back a laugh as Loki runs an exasperated hand over his face, then bows his head to allow Thor to place the other crown over his head.

“Hey, sunshine,” you whisper when you duck your head as well, taking his hand between the two of you. “Are you okay?”

“Never better.” He squeezes your hand, a sideways smile flashing your way. “You look beautiful.”

“So do you,” you laugh quietly. “Now shush, this is important.”

“No, it’s not.” He knows he’s not necessarily supposed to touch you more than just holding your hand, but he strokes the backs of his fingers along your cheek anyways, smiling softly at you. “It’s not.”

“Shh.”

With a teasing roll of his eyes he turns his gaze back to the ground, hand dropping from your cheek back to hold your hand tightly between the two of you.

You do look beautiful in blue. Absolutely breathtaking, jaw dropping, stunning.

The longer he stands there, slowly forgetting who he is and focusing on who he’s going to become for you, the more he wishes he had told you his only secret.

Half of him thinks you might already know about his true heritage—the blue dress, the fact that you don’t ask why he’s so cold anymore. But…if you knew, you wouldn’t be standing next to him today, marrying him.

He wishes he had told you from the beginning.

“No good marriages begin with secrets.”

Frigga was an absolute hypocrite for telling him that, but that doesn’t make it any less true.

He’ll tell you soon. He knows he will, or, honestly, he might just bury that monstrous part of himself so deep that you never have to know. It wouldn’t be living a lie if he forgets it’s part of his truth, right?

“I will.”

Damn it, he missed it.

“Wait—no, can you repeat that part?” He quickly blinks back to reality, cursing himself for being so consumed in his thoughts that he’s missing his actual wedding. “Sorry, sorry.”

Thor gives a knowing smile. “Of course. Will you have this man to be your wedded husband, to have and to hold, to cherish and honour, to treasure and love until death do you part?”

“I will,” you repeat, the grin evident in your voice. “I will.”

Loki swallows thickly, eyes burning. You accepted him again. To have him, to keep him, to love him and allow him to be your husband.

People don’t…want him, Loki knows that.

Not his birth parents, not even his adoptive parents, not your world nor his own, everywhere he’s gone has rejected him. No one wants Loki.

You, though, seemed to have skipped right over wanting him and decided to love him.

Husband.

He likes the title more than he ever liked prince, and much more than he ever liked king.

“And will you, Loki, have this woman to be your wedded wife, to have and to hold, to cherish and honour, to treasure and love until death do you part?”

A couple birds chirp overhead.

“Loki?”

His eyes have glazed over, dewy skin glowing in the rays of sunlight, a strand of hair fluttering over his face every time the wind blows.

“Loki.” You nudge him in the arm, an amused smile playing at your lips. “Can you answer him? I’d really like to kiss you already.”

He chokes out a laugh at that, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, sheepishly trying to get a hold of himself. “Of course I will,” he laughs, looking up at the trees and letting out a long breath. “I will.”

Beaming at him, you give his hand another reassuring squeeze and nudge him again.

“I will,” he whispers once more, staring at you. “For all eternity.”

Ohhhh goodness.

Why does his softness make your heart ache like this, how did he become so gentle??

“Hurry up and finish,” you laugh to Thor, heart pounding. “I’m not gonna last much longer, he’s…god, he’s just…hurry.”

Loki’s heart sinks a little, he can’t help it. This is nice, standing here with you, his brother bringing you together, your closest friends and family sharing the moment. It’s nice and warm, and Loki feels surrounded by a strange sense of home, for once.

Don’t hurry. He closes his eyes to focus in on the feeling of your hand in his. Don’t hurry, don’t end this moment.

Warm skin, soft skin, gentle fingers. Only one ring on your ring finger so far, bringing him back to reality right as Thor hands him the small box holding the rings.

He lets out a shaky breath and you turn to him—this time, it’s your breath that catches.

You hadn’t quite fully taken in all of…him.

Loki smiles, turning to face you and holding out the rings in an open palm. “Shall we?”

“Wait,” you breathe, clutching his ring in a tight fist. “Give me a second, I-I need to memorise how…perfect my life is right now.”

His heart twists as you look around, an uncontrollable smile growing over your face as you take in the little clearing amidst the trees, the sun rays cutting through their canopies, the couple people watching, until your gaze lands back on Loki.

Your eyes burn as you look at him, your husband, with his anxious little shrug of did I do alright? in his navy trousers and loose white shirt, top buttons undone and sleeves rolled to his elbows; a perfectly informal ensemble to hoist a middle finger to the attire the other wedding wanted him to wear.

He looks comfortable here. A little nervous, maybe, a little anxious and kind of like he’s worried you’ll run away any second, but it’s an endearing, comfortable look.

“Perfect,” you whisper again, smile damp with tears, and you grab his left hand. “Perfect, okay, let’s finish this, I can’t wait anymore…”

The ring slips easily onto his ring finger, somehow still warm against his skin, the gold band glinting in the remaining sunlight as he looks at it.

There. He grins, that little gold ring changing everything.

He’s yours.

Loki Laufeyson belongs to someone.

Someone who actually wants him, someone who loves him.

Taking your left hand in his, his eyes flit up to meet your grin as he brings it to his lips; a royal gesture for the only queen he’ll ever know. He guides the wedding ring onto your finger, caressing your hand with a gentleness you remember knowing he didn’t possess when you met.

His slender fingers close around your hand, cool as always and promising to never let you go.

Breathe.

Once he moves his hand, you look at the ring, shining against your skin—oh god…now you belong to someone, too.

And it’s someone who wants you, and—

“No,” Loki whispers, shaking you out of your thoughts, “I love you.”

Damn, you were doing so good with not crying.

Your husband—yeah, let’s say that again, your husband—starts chuckling, that beautiful rolling laughter cutting right over Thor’s recitations and prayers.

Hand in hand under the trees, Loki laughs, you try to stop the tears rolling down your grinning cheeks, and Thor skips over a few lines, his own laughter starting to cut through the recitations.

He’s speeding up the ceremony, clearly, mumbling through probably important prayers and vows, but you figure that’s probably best—if it lasts any longer, you’re going to combust.

Your husband’s lips seem to be in need of a good kissing.

Finally, finally, after what felt like an eternity of not being able to wrap your husband in your arms, Thor closes his giant old ceremonial book with a snap.

You glance at Loki, then to Thor.

The two arguably strongest men you know, and both of them have tears pooling in their beautiful eyes.

“Thank you,” Thor whispers, laying his hand over you and Loki’s entwined hands and giving them both a reassuring squeeze. “Thank you for letting me be a part of this, brother.”

Loki just nods, bottom lip disappearing between his teeth in an attempt to keep the tears from falling.

“Never doubt—” his voice cracks. “—th-that I love you.”

“I won’t.”

You can’t help but grin at them, the two brothers in their rare moments of softness, when all the warrior-guises, murky bloodlines, and pressures over a throne have worn away.

It’s…refreshing.

And to Loki, more than he ever could have hoped for.

“Alright,” Thor laughs, rubbing his damp eyes with two fingers. “Enough of that. You have a wife to tend to, brother, I’ve made you wait long enough.”

Loki’s hand tightens around yours and he catches your eye, an inevitable smile spreading over his face at the sight of you.

“I pronounce you husband and wife,” Thor announces, smiling broadly. “Now get on with it and kiss.”

It takes barely a single second before you’re dipped backwards, Loki’s arm around your waist as the other trails up to cradle your cheek, kissing you with the fervour of a man starved.

Kissing you like it’s the last thing in his life that he’ll ever, ever do, kissing you as if he just got to make you his and his alone.

Like he’s yours.

People have warned you about Loki’s “possessiveness.”

But right here, right now, with your fingers tangled in his hair, gently tugging to keep him from completely frenching you in front of his brother and your couple friends and family, you know you were right; he was never really a possessive lover.

He’s terrified, and you know this. Not possessive, just scared. And if any possession is playing a part in your relationship—no, marriage…

It’ll be the fact that Loki gets to consider himself officially, undeniably, forever yours.

See, Loki never needed a second chance.

You weren’t his redemption story, weren’t the kind one who “gave him a chance.”

You just…love the right parts of him.

It’s a beautiful thing, really.

To see someone grow from a pure, innocent child into a tortured soul who’s been beaten by the universe, convinced they have no place in this life, then to transform into the person of your dreams?

It’s simple.

Just find the bit of love that everyone holds somewhere in them, no matter how deeply buried it might be, and love that part of them until someday, they can love it, too.

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

hope you enjoyed, please reblog and feel free to send me ideas!

loki tags: @bluediamond007 @himitoshi @drakesfiance @destiel1597 @dangertoozmanykids101 @archy3001 @jcalpha1 @yzssie @skullvieplu @forthesnakeofdragons @skulliebythesea @wegingerangelica @storiesfrommirkwood @agarwaeneth @adaliamalfoy @laurfangirl424 @paradisaicsam @fitzsimmons-is-forever @ladylokimischief @katelinwrites @tarynkauai @polaristrange @loavesofmeat @canadian-ravenpuff-multishipper @lou-makes-me-strong @holyn0vak @chocolatealmondmillk @swtnrholland @kenzieam @jessiejunebug  @catticas @the-republic-and-face-of-texas @doralupin01 @whitewitchdown @atomiccharmer @falconfeather23435 @babygirlicecream @avengrcs @vethrvolnir2 @bookgirlunicorn @wabisabigrl @myhealingstar @khaleesi-marvel @ei77777 @spacecrumbs @scarlettghost13 @rocks-are-pretty-odd @confessionsofastrugglingteen @easilydistractedwriter @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @fluffyllamaswearinghats @milktearose @lcyouinhell @h0tshotholland @dontmesswithmemundane @southsidesarcasticwriter @helnik-s @lilith-akemi @fire-in-her-veinz @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mischievousbellerina @kcd15 @mellowgirl01 @lokislilcaribbeanprincess @allthingzhiddleston @scorpionchild81 @lokixme @blue-automne @galaxycharmed @devilbat @kangaroobunny @end-up-well @planetariumx @sarcsep @mrfandomtastic @amaru163 @im-way-too-many-fandoms @caswinchester2000 @kybaeza @wester-than-west @vintagesunshinebitch @adefectivedetective @poetic-nikolai @moonduhsted @kerri-masson @iamverity @innaminitus @spnbarnes @narcissxblack @woohoney @anxiousamandapanda @padmeisgay @authordreaming13 @lokisironthrone @theunknowinglys @highfuncti0ningfangirl @epicfallenismine

[angelanimedesaray]

Through The Looking Glass Chapter 1: Soft and Warm

AN:  Yaaaaaayyyy this idea came to me like lightning in the middle of the night and I’ve been obsessed with it ever since :) :) :) Hope you all enjoy it, cause we’re starting out super soft here :)  Also, quick note…Levi and Reader are both little little.

Characters:  Levi, Reader, Reader’s Mom, Mentions of Reader’s Dad

Pairing:  (Eventual) Levi x Reader

Warnings:  Mentions of Canon Death, mentions of starvation, feels/fluff.

Word Count:  5154

Masterlist    Next Chapter--->

*Levi’s POV*

At first, Levi thought he’d gone blind.

He had been in that same small, dark room, watching everything he knew and cared about wasting away until all that was left to shrivel and die was himself.  Just as he thought he would die next, forgotten in the corner of the same room his mother had died, the world around him suddenly turned bright–too bright.  It was like he had stared directly into a large fire until his sight was burned away, the intensity surprisingly unmatched by the sharp contrast in scent that hit him next.  It was…clean, cleaner than anything he’d ever experienced.  There wasn’t a whiff of decay or rot, of waste or sweat in the air.  Just freshness, something floral, something…pure?  He had no words for it, so alien was the sensation for him.

With a raspy hiss, Levi tried to cover his eyes with his hands, curling into himself as he tried to adjust, to figure out what was happening to him.

A high pitched squeak directly above him made Levi look up sharply, wide eyes blinking and squinting against the bright light to see what was above him.  Gradually, as the light adjusted above him, what came into view was the face of a little girl, staring at him with equally wide eyes over the edge of the foot of the bed.  The two stared at each other for a moment that seemed to stretch forever before Levi broke the tension.

Not knowing who the girl was, where he was, or why it was so bright and clean, or what brought him here, Levi tried to get away, pushing weakly against a soft surface that seemed to give and shift slightly under his hands and feet.  What was this?

“Wait!” the girl said, her head peeking further over the edge as she stared at him.  Levi froze, one hand hovering over the soft covering over the floor.  Was it…a really large rug?

“Are you hungry?”

Levi stared at her.  Was he…of course he was hungry, wasn’t she looking at him?  Couldn’t she see?

She bounded off the bed so suddenly, Levi scrambled back again, his back pressing against the wall.  She seemed to be oblivious to his discomfort and alarm, bouncing in her steps towards the room’s door.

“I know how to make mac n’ cheese, my mom just made rolls, and–Stay here, I’ll bring food.”

And just like that, she had disappeared out the door.  No other kind of explanation, just a quickly spoken order…that he was not going to follow.

Getting up on shaky legs, Levi left the room with a second thought, finding himself in a dim hallway next to a flight of stairs he started to carefully make his way down, clinging to the wooden railing for stability along the way.  He was hoping to figure out where he was, and then…then…

What did he do, then?  He didn’t have anywhere to go.  His mother was dead.  No one else cared about him, there was nowhere he could go for help, he was too weak to do anything himself.  Why was he even bothering to move if there was nothing left for him to do but waste away and die?

Letting go of the railing, Levi dropped onto the bottom step, leaning against the stairwell wall with his eyes cast down, gazing at nothing except the dark green rug that even covered the stairs.

A sudden clunking sound and a muffled shout caused Levi’s head to jerk back up instinctually, turning towards the source of the sound and peering past the edge of the stairwell to see the girl on her knees on a countertop, a cabinet door open and some kind of container trapped between the wooden side of the counter and the girl’s hand.  She had a roll of bread stuffed in her mouth, which was why her shout had been muffled, and she was leaning back down to set the container back on the counter top, too focused on what she was doing to realize she had an audience.

Curious, Levi got back up, keeping close to the wall and trying to stay out of sight as he watched the girl stretch to reach a small box on the top shelf of the open cabinet, fingers straining upwards and gradually coaxing the small box into her hand.  Once the small box and the container she’d almost dropped were on the counter, she shut the cabinet and slid–still on her knees–down to the other end of the counter, opening another overhead cabinet and adding two glass cups and a shiny bowl to her collection before finally hopping down off of the counter.

She turned, bread roll still stuffed in her mouth but looking smaller like she’d been nibbling on it this entire time, and paused when she saw Levi, who froze in place.  She pouted like she was about to complain that he’d left the room, but then seemed to change her mind, reaching for something he couldn’t see on the other side of a silvery box and coming back with another roll in her hand.  She offered it to Levi, hand stretched out between them.

“Here.”  When he didn’t immediately take it, she waved it at him.  “Here.  It’s for you.  It’ll take a few minutes for the mac n’ cheese, so you should–”

She cut off as Levi snatched the bread roll from her hand, tearing into it without any further hesitation, scarfing it down so fast he barely had time to register the fact it was still warm, buttery on the bottom, the slightest hint of flour on top.  And suddenly the pain in his stomach became much more real, ravenous and demanding more.

She blinked in surprise at him, then grabbed another roll, which Levi scarfed down just as quickly.  “You’re really hungry.”  Levi ignored her obvious statement, eyeing her as she kicked a step stool over towards her to get back up on the counter.  This time she was getting a small clear bowl, and she almost dropped it, a sharp squeak escaping her before she caught it midair on reflex, sliding off the counter in relief and setting down her chewed on roll before she started trying to open the large container she’d almost dropped earlier.

“My mom says not to eat too fast or you’ll get a tummy ache,” she said as she struggled to open it, nearly falling to the side when the lid finally gave.  She started pouring its contents into the small clear bowl, still talking even though Levi hadn’t said a word so far.  “Maybe these will help–You can’t eat ‘em fast cause they’re…um…well, they’re nuts.  Who eats salty nuts fast?”

Why would he care about any of that?  What was a stomach ache compared to the hunger he’d been suffering from?

After handing him the little bowl now filled with nuts–some he didn’t even recognize–she passed him to open a large white box that he was standing near, a gust of cold air making him shiver and back away.  It didn’t last long, though, because once she had what she wanted–a jug of what he thought might be milk, though he’d never seen it in a container like that–she kicked the door shut behind her, and the cold air disappeared as quickly as it had reached him.

As the girl started pouring milk for the both of them, Levi started in on the bowl of nuts–quickly at first, but soon slowed down just like the girl had said as the salty and dry nuts made it harder and harder to eat them in large doses.  When he coughed after trying to swallow a handful with difficulty, the girl offered him one of the cups of milk, the glass cool to the touch, and the cold milk was refreshing, soothing parched lips and a dry mouth, helping the salty nuts go down easier.  He finished the first glass without stopping, and the girl simply pushed her untouched glass towards him when he was done, kicking around the step stool again as she tried to look into a pan that was on…another counter?  It looked different from the rest, and there was steam coming out of the pan, so was it some kind of oven?  Where was the fire?

Levi stayed where he was, finishing his milk and nuts while he watched the girl open the smaller box from earlier and pour its contents into the pan, causing steam to billow into the air.  He continued to watch her in silence as she stirred whatever she’d poured into the pan, shuffled over to another spot on the counter to drain the steaming water into a basin, grabbed the milk to add a splash into the pan, poured some kind of orange powdery stuff inside, and added a small chunk of butter before mixing it all together, her tongue sticking out and working side to side as she stirred.  After a few minutes of this, she turned the pan and emptied its goopy orange contents into the shiny bowl she’d grabbed earlier, putting the now empty pan and the rest of their accumulated dishes into the sink before grabbing the bowl and a fork from inside one of the drawers.

“There–mac n’ cheese,” she said cheerfully, offering the still-steaming bowl to him.

He reached out to take it, eyes wide at how much was in the bowl, but pulled sharply back with a hiss when he felt the heat of the bottom of the bowl burn his fingers.  He’d expected the bowl to be warm, but not that hot.

“Oh, sorry.  I’m used to it hot,” she apologized, reaching over and grabbing a towel off the counter to wad up underneath the bowl before she offered it to him again.  “Better?” she asked after he’d taken it from her.  He gave a small nod, watching the steam rising from the bowl.  If it was too hot for him to touch, he doubted he’d be able to eat it without burning his mouth.

His stomach twisted painfully again, the smell of…of the mac n’ cheese, as she’d called it, wafting into his nose and promptly swaying him to try eating it anyway.

The first spoonful was hot, but not as bad as he thought it was going to be.  Even if he’d never heard of mac n’ cheese before, it tasted good.  It warmed him all the way through while he ate, gooey but not mushy, and surprisingly filling for how the girl had made it seem simple to make.  Still, Levi ate every last bite, feeling warm and full for the first time in a long time.

The girl sat quietly across from him the whole time, simply watching him eat while she nibbled on the same roll she’d had stuffed in her mouth when he came down the stairs.  Considering she’d been talking at him since she’d seen him, her silence was almost unnerving, and as he neared the last few bites of the mac n’ cheese she’d made him, he started watching her, seeing if she was going to do something else or speak up.

Popping the last morsel of her roll into her mouth when he was finally finished, she leaned forward, palms planted firmly on the ground in front of her and staring at him intently, studying him.

“Do you talk?” she asked finally.

“Yeah,” he replied, eyebrows crinkling together in confusion and his throat sore from disuse.  Why wouldn’t he talk?

She leaned back in surprise.  “Oh, you do.  Good!” she said with a firm nod.  “I’m Y/N.”

“Levi.”

The girl’s head tilted to the side, still looking at him curiously.  “Where d–”

The sound of a door opening in another room, followed by the sound of a woman’s voice calling out her name.  She jumped with a squeak, taking the bowl from Levi and ushering him behind her, towards a door that was to the right of the kitchen.

“Hide!  Over–out–there!” Y/N said quickly and quietly, giving him light pushes towards the door before she put the bowl in the sink.  Not knowing why he was supposed to be hiding but knowing better than to waste time asking why, Levi stumbled over to the door, legs still shaky, opening the door and sliding through once it was cracked open, shutting it quickly behind him.

He stood facing the door, hands still on the knob as he listened to what was happening on the other side.

“What are you doing in here?” came the woman’s voice, slightly muffled through the door.

“I got hungry, so I made mac n’ cheese,” Y/N said guiltily.

“It’s almost dinner time, you should have waited!”

“I was really hungry.”

“Well, if you already ate, I guess that means you won’t need dinner tonight.  And you better do those dishes, right now.”

“Yes, Mom.”

At that point, Levi turned around to see what room he was hiding in, squinting in surprise at how much brighter it was out here, as well as warmer, and there was a different kind of fresh smell–the earthy smell was familiar to him, but this one wasn’t necessarily…dirty.

It looked like he was in an indoor porch, windows wrapping around the three walls in front of and on either side of him, finally letting Levi see what was outside the house he’d found himself in.  There were no candles or lanterns on the porch, all the ruddy light seemed to be filtering in through the windows, and outside the porch…

Carefully, Levi made his way to the second door, pulling down on the slender handle to open the lighter feeling door–one that wasn’t made of wood, he noticed in passing–and stepping out into the light.  He had to squint again, a hand raising to shield his eyes as his bare feet found purchase one stone step, another…and then the tickle of soft green blades of grass and cool dirt against his feet, toes wiggling experimentally through the grass while his head tilted upwards.

There wasn’t a ceiling.  There were thick and thin trees with branches reaching high above him, their leaves blocking part of his view of the sky that blended from blue to purple, from orange to red in colors he hadn’t known the world around him could make.  He tried to take a few more steps to get out from under the trees and look at the open sky, but his legs gave out under him, palms burying in the grass in front of him and fingers digging into the earth.

Was this…the surface?  Had he fallen asleep and somehow ended up above ground?  Was this what was lying just above that dark ceiling all his life?

A soft breeze passed him, rustling the tangled mess that was his hair and the too-large shirt that hardly did anything to protect from a chill, but the breeze felt good in contrast to the warm air.  Levi simply sat on the ground and listened, hearing birds chirp, leaves rustling, bugs making a buzz of different noises, wide eyes fixated on what he could see of a color changing sky above him once he’d adjusted to the light.

He didn’t move until the smack of the door being roughly pushed open caught his attention, head turning to see Y/N coming out the front door with a bundle of blankets wrapped around her shoulders, arm, and most of her head, leg kicking a stray strand up into the air to catch on her arms as she waddled out the door.  She didn’t head towards him, but instead approached a miniature, plain wooden house Levi had failed to notice tucked by one of the trees.  It looked hardly big enough to have one tiny room that fit both of them, and he wondered what the point of such a tiny house was.  It had a little porch, windows, doors, and everything, even some sad-looking flowers in a flower box under its two tiny windows.  As he watched, Y/N managed to get the door open, sticking her upper half inside but keeping her feet firmly planted on the porch as she dropped the pile of blankets into the house, reappearing with her hair poofy and frazzled from having the blankets wrapped around her head.  She was also blushing as she looked at Levi, brushing hair out of her face.

“You can’t hide in my room so I brought stuff out here for you,” she said sheepishly.  “I’ll be back!”

With that, she had disappeared again.  Levi watched her go back and forth between the little house and the big house, bringing far more blankets than he’d ever seen one person own and even some very plush looking pillows–at least to him.  Then, on the last trip, she brought out a slender bottle, one last pillow, and a stuffed bear, kicking off her shoes on the little porch before disappearing inside for several long minutes.

Finally, her head poked out the door, gaze fixed on him.  “Okay, it’s ready!  Get in here!”

Levi hesitated, thinking of all the clean blankets she carried out with care to avoid letting them drag along the ground and the fact she’s kicked off her shoes before slipping inside, looking down at his own filthy state.

She huffed, coming over to him with nearly pranced movements as she tiptoes in her socks over to him, wrapping a hand in his own without any hesitation and pulling him up onto his feet.  “Come on, before my mom sees us!”  She seemed a little surprised when Levi stumbled into her, but she simply steadied him and kept dragging him confidently forward.  “I brought all the spare blankets I could find and as many pillows my mom won’t notice missing.”

She ducked inside the little house, pulling him inside close behind her, hand still wrapped around his own.  Once inside, instead of being met with a hard wooden floor, he found himself surrounded by soft warmth.  She had covered every inch of the inside floor of the little house with blankets, pillows, and then more blankets, enough so that he didn’t really feel the hard floor beneath him, just the soft, fluffy fabrics.  He felt a stab of guilt when his dirty feet left a smeared stain on one of the lighter blankets, but Y/N didn’t seem to mind, crawling out of his way with a very pleased smile on her face, looking like she was going to bounce out of her skin as she watched his reaction.

“I brought water in case you get thirsty, this blanket is to cover up when it’s bedtime, and this,” she added, pointing towards the three slender bottles sitting in one of the corners and a rather large and extremely fluffy blanket respectively, before she shyly produced the stuffed bear he’d seen her bring out earlier, stretching out to offer the stuffed toy to him.  “This is Tuff–my daddy sent him from where he’s away fighting bad people.  He helps me feel better, and I thought he might do the same for you,” she said, her face turning a bright red.

Levi took the bear carefully from her, thumbs running across the soft, fake fur and noting the unfamiliar flag stitched onto its arm and the heart stitched onto its chest.  He wasn’t entirely sure if she really wanted him to have it, but she hadn’t yanked it back out of his hands yet, so he figured so far it was okay for him to be holding the toy.

Placing the bear in his lap, his grip tightened slightly on the stuffed animal.  “Why are you being so nice to me?” he asked quietly, voice still scratchy.

Y/N’s head tilted to the side in confusion.  “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Y/N!” the woman’s voice faintly called from the main house, interrupting the brief silence that had followed Y/N’s answer.  She scrambled to her feet at her mother’s call, hitting her head on the lower part of the roof with a sharp ‘ow’ and rubbing her head.

“I have to go!” she said, trying not to trip on the blankets as she scrambled for the door.  “I’ll see you in the morning!”

Just like that, she was gone, leaving Levi alone in the little house, watching through one of the windows as she ran back into her big house, shoes in hand instead of on her feet.

Once she was out of sight, Levi turned his attention back to the tiny house, eyeing the bottles of water in the corner.  It took him a few moments to unscrew the lid–which was on tighter than he was expecting it to be–and he only drank half of the first bottle for now, but the cool water was just as refreshing, if not more so, than the milk he’d had earlier.

Y/N had said she wouldn’t be back until the morning, so…all that was left for him to do was to sleep, right?

Laying down on the blankets and pulling the one she’d pointed out earlier, the bear tucked against him in his arms, he found himself cocooned in soft warmth that seemed to seep into his very bones.  He snuggled deeper into his fluffy surroundings, eyes heavy with a sudden exhaustion as he squeezed the bear closer to him–something that he did get an odd sort of comfort from doing.

But then the thought…what if this is all a dream?  What if after he fell asleep, when he woke up, this was all gone?  The fear of everything around him disappearing if he went to sleep seized him, and suddenly he found it impossible to close his eyes, even if his surroundings were the most comfortable he’d ever experienced in his life.

He did find some peace in the fact that, from where he was lying in the little house, he could stare out the window and watch the sky shift its colors, growing gradually darker and darker.  When it was too dark to see anything outside, in the distance, soft lights started to speckle the sky, and instead of sleeping, Levi watched them appear and twinkle in the sky with wonder.

*Reader POV*

Freshly washed, changed into pajamas, read a story, and tucked in, you were supposed to be ready for bed.  The excitement and thrill of your little secret in the playhouse, however, was too powerful to let you close your eyes and sleep.

The boy, Levi–you had no idea where he came from, you just knew that you’d heard a sound at the foot of your bed while coloring and had peeked over the edge to see a very thin, dirty boy with shaggy black hair and faded blue eyes.  He looked like he hadn’t ate anything a day in his life, which was why the first question you’d asked was if he’d been hungry.  He looked at you like you were stupid for asking the question, but he hadn’t said anything about it being a stupid question, which you figured made it better.  Plus it had answered your question.  Watching him eat and drink everything you gave him made you feel sad for him, wondering when the last time he had eaten was.  Where were his mom and dad?  How had he ended up in your bedroom?  Was he warm enough out in the playhouse?  Did he have enough blankets, enough water?  Was he going to need more food?

Was he lonely out there, in the dark with no night light and no one he knew?  You had the comfort of knowing your mother was down the hall, even if your father wasn’t going to be home for some time.  But he might actually be alone.  He’d looked so frail, clutching your favorite teddy bear, sitting there in an oversized shirt curled up in a ball, staring at everything around him like he’d never seen it before.  Was he scared and lonely outside now?  He didn’t have anyone to tuck him in or read him a story, and it got dark out in that playhouse at night if you didn’t have any lamps or flashlights with you.

The thought of the boy scared and all alone outside made you throw back the covers, bare feet quietly tiptoeing across the carpet as you sought out one of your bedtime story books, a flashlight, another pillow, and another stuffed animal.  Once you had your goodies, you very quietly slipped out into the hall, shutting your bedroom door behind you as slowly and quietly as possible as you watched the bottom of your parents’ bedroom door in case the light came on.  The stairs were the hardest part, and you had to try not to step on any creaky boards all the way down the stairs, hoping that if you did, the carpet would muffle the sound enough not to wake your mother.

You were pretty much in the clear once you were downstairs as long as you didn’t slam any doors, so you moved quickly and eagerly out of the house and across the lawn, taking care to knock softly on your playhouse door instead of busting through it in the middle of the night so you didn’t scare Levi.

“Levi?” you whispered, opening the door just a crack and seeing a shape move in the darkness against the ground.  “Are you still awake?”

There was a moment of silence that made you think he was either fast asleep or you’d accidentally woken him up, but then his scratchy voice came from somewhere off to your left in the dark playhouse.

“I am.”

With his confirmation, you slipped inside the playhouse and shut the door behind you, dropping your pillow, stuffed animal, and book somewhere off to your right and holding the flashlight in your hand–still turned off.

“Why are you out here?” Levi asked, more movement coming from your left.

“I didn’t want you to be alone,” you said simply, feeling a shyness spread through you at the admission.  “Cover your eyes, this’ll be bright.”

You waited a few seconds just to be sure he followed your instructions, then flipped on the flashlight, the beam pointed downwards as you felt for the little hook your father put into the middle of the roof to hang blankets and flashlights from to make little blanket forts inside.  Levi was partially sitting up, Tuff lying next to him, covered by the blanket you’d given him, a hand over his eyes still as he tried to get used to the light again.  He looked so…tiny, and frail.  Like an injured bird in the corner of a cardboard box.

Picking up the book you’d brought out with you, you showed him the cover, offering him a smile.  “Besides–I can read you a bedtime story.  Everyone likes those, and they help you sleep,” you said cheerfully.  Honestly, you just wanted to make sure he was all right.  You wanted to make sure there was someone to tuck him in and tell him goodnight, to make him feel safe and secure, not alone in a strange place in the dark.

“I don’t need one.”

His statement made you wilt, some of that excitement draining out of you.  Oh…if he didn’t like bedtime stories, then…what were you going to do?

Levi shifted uncomfortably at your crestfallen face.  “But you can still read it.”

And just like that you had perked up again.  “Really?”

When he didn’t say anything else, you took that as consent, happily grabbing your pillow and moving it over next to his, pulling your other favorite stuffed animal up with you and finding the edge of the blankets so you knew where it was.  Once everything was set up, you reached up and took the flashlight off the hook, crawling under the blanket with a slightly startled Levi and throwing the blanket over your heads so it was just the two of you lying on pillows, the book sitting between the two of you as you held the flashlight over it so the two of you could see the pictures.  Levi was watching the flashlight with that same wide eyed curiosity you’d seen him looking at the sky with earlier.

Without any more messing around, you eagerly launched into reading aloud The Velveteen Rabbit for both of you, flashlight held rather close to the book so that it wasn’t too bright under the blanket–just enough for you to read.  Levi was somewhat propped up on his elbows at first while he listened to you reading aloud the story of the stuffed rabbit who longed to be loved enough by a child to become real, though by the time you reached the part where the boy began to love the rabbit so much his shine and splendidness started to fade, Levi was laying down, eyelids looking heavy with sleep like he was liable to nod off at any moment.  You kept reading, though, hoping he’d stay awake long enough to at least hear about how, after the rabbit was made really real by a toy fairy, he saw the little boy again.

As you read, you felt your own eyes getting droopy, now that you knew Levi wasn’t alone because you were here to read to him and tuck him in, the worry had faded and sleep was starting to creep in, your head nodding back and forth as you struggled to stay awake and finish the story.

You finished the story with a huge yawn, closing the book and looking up to see that Levi was pretty much asleep, eyes slightly cracked open with a glazed look, and his eyelids were starting to close even as you looked at him.  You shut off the flashlight with a light snap, setting the book and flashlight above your pillow so it wouldn’t get in the way as you snuggled into the nest of blankets you’d made Levi, gently pulling the blanket back from over your heads so the two of you could breathe the fresh air instead of the stuffy air under the covers.  You were both curled up, thinking how this pile of pillows and blankets was comfier and warmer than your bed inside, just enough room in the playhouse for both you and Levi to be curled up next to each other, Tuff clutched to Levi’s chest while your other stuffed animal was tucked in the crook of your arm, Levi facing the window while you had your back to it.

“Goodnight, Levi,” you managed to murmur out before the feeling of being wrapped up in a fluffy, warm cloud became too much to resist, and you slipped into a blissful sleep.

Next Chapter--->

Strikethroughs couldn’t be tagged.

Tags:  @humanitys-hottestsoldier​ @kaz2y5-pie​ @fanartdom​ @tartheyes @super-peace-fangirl​

[emarislaughsmaniacally]

Finders Keepers

Warning for blood, gore, dismemberment, references to torture, electrocution, disassociation, and murder. 

Helmet tilts his head and stands very still, observing him from a reasonably safe distance away.  Derek ignores him and stays sitting on the floor, back pressed tight to the wall as his ribs slowly start to shift and snap.  

The most unpleasant part of healing misplaced bones is definitely how his skin rolls and shifts with them. 

 Plus the pain.  

Yeah, that's crap too.

"You gonna be alright?"  The voice is mechanical enough that he's tempted to sniff the air again but his eyes catch on the puddle Derek's sitting in.  

It's admittedly a lot of blood so he just jerks his head in a sharp nod, barely feeling the fresh gush of blood from his chopped up larynx.

"You got anyone you can call?  Friends?  Work?"  

Derek shakes his head.

“Want me to call the cops?”

He gurgles angrily and shakes his head hard enough to spit up more blood.

“Right.”  Helmet relaxes, shifts his torso like he's stretching and then starts checking the bodies scattered about the dingy apartment. 

Derek flexes his jaw, eyes glued to where Helmet is systematically rifling through wallets, taking photos of everything inside and pressing phones to a thick tablet-looking thing.  It's fast and efficient as hell.

His jaw creaks when it fuses in place, face no longer looking like a dented can.  Nerves along the cheekbone start reminding him to press the hanging flap of skin back up to knit together faster.

Finished with the bodies and quickly sticking a few more holes into someone playing possum, Helmet straightens and stares at him again.  

He absently thinks it would be unsettling if he bothered to give a shit anymore.

"Change before you leave, you look like a murder victim." 

Derek's eyebrows climb up as he pointedly sweeps a glare over the destruction.

"Huh.  Yeah okay, maybe don't take clothes from an actual murder victim."  The man makes a buzzing noise that Derek interprets as a hum and then there's a sudden crackle of victory.

"This jacket's good, yeah? Uh. Yeah, just snapped his neck.  Hope it's dark enough outside no one'll notice your pants."  Helmet says conversationally as he strips it off the guy and stuffs an enormous wad of stolen cash into the pockets.  

This is probably one of the best rescues Derek's ever had and not just because of the considerate donation of money.  Hemet waves, presents the jacket and drapes it near the door, not even trying to approach him.  Minutes later, there's a collection of household cleaners that Helmet is liberally mixing and splashing around, concentrating on areas where Derek's been.  It's reassuring that the guy doesn't gas them out with the chemicals.

It's all so professional and solicitous that Derek lets himself relax a bit, focuses on his repairing body to make sure it heals properly.

Then again, -he flexes freshly grown fingers- he's got to find the box.  

He tries to be discreet, surreptitiously eyeing the chaos for it before he gives up.  Helmet probably wouldn't want to leave the box behind either.

Derek makes to speak but the sound is harsh, choked and painful, gristle barely stitched together.   

Helmet pauses where he's kicking liquid over cracked linoleum.  "Christ, you're a regular Judy Garland."

"Box."  Derek shakily mimes out the size of it and swallows down a clump of blood.  "Can't leave it." 

"Ooh, a box." Helmet shifts debris about, eventually digs out a duffel and crams three laptops inside.  "Missing anything else?"

Derek checks to find his wallet is still there before he remembers what happened to his phone and keys.

"Sewer." 

"Shitty."  There's a loud buzz like maybe he coughed or snorted.  “What’d you do to get them this pissed?”

He points to his healing face.  “Existed.”

"Riiight.  This Wolverine shit is kinda creepy.”  His speaker crackles a little more, like it’s having a hard time picking up his voice.  “You got anyone who can pick you up?"

Derek closes his eyes at a tangle of crushing emotions and shakes his head.  

"Okay."  The man's body language seems less aggressive, a little more careful to move.  "You got anyone who's lookin for you?  Anywhere you can go?"

Derek opens his eyes and stares at his dirty feet and clean toes, thinking about the little town in California and the arguments before he left.  

"Not anymore."

Helmet sighs expansively as he wanders deeper into the apartment.  "Right.  I'll find a place.  Just, ah, keep on with that healing thing.  You're doin great."

The man is still searching for the box when Derek's spine pops back into place.  He can't stop a yelp from the shock of it or the agonized groan when the nerves to his legs link up.  

He almost forgot they drilled screws into that bone.

Shit.

Shitshitshitshitshitshit

He pushes against the wall like it's the only thing holding him together, blinding pain burning through like acid until his nerves finish healing.

"Hey."  His rescuer is suddenly there and looms a little closer than before.  "You gonna be alright?”  

Derek takes a ragged breath, eyes him warily, and… decides getting the metal out with help is more productive than not.  

He tilts his leg a little to let the heads of the screws in a neat row down his shin catch the light against the dark of his jeans.

"Gotta get ‘em out."

The helmet is silent but Derek can still hear the faintest murmur inside. "Jumpin Jehoshaphat…"

Derek silently agrees and motions to the duffel bag now resting by the door.

"The drill there?"  

Hemet's hands start clenching and relaxing at his sides, mechanical voice buzzing with a jerky negative exhale.

"I'll find it too."  His fists shake.  "We'll have to take em out somewhere else though."

There's a protest building in his chest but it slowly dies, pressed down by the pains in his body as the smaller hurts start closing up.

Derek grunts in acceptance, the bone would be weak and take a little longer to fill in anyway.

They're silent for a moment before the man starts his search again.

"So.  What's in the box?"  He probably means to distract him with a chat but the box is… 

Derek looks at his hand and the clean pink skin on the new growths.  

The room wobbles a bit.

"Me."

A stretch of silence.

"Well, okay then."  The man flicks a switch on the helmet and Derek realizes the microphone is shut off, which would only make sense if the guy didn't know about Derek’s enhanced senses.  He hardly has to strain to hear that there's a series of clicks before another mechanized voice rasps out a greeting.

"O, imma need a room.  I've got a witness I need to stick to and I don't wanna spook him."  The man's actual voice is raspy, almost gruff, and seems surprisingly young.  “So I’d appreciate it if everyone would leave me the hell alone for a while.”

Whatever the response is, the mechanical tone is so strange Derek can't understand it so he just sags against the wall and rests.  

Helmet guy is going to let him stick around and he's warning others away.  

That's pretty great.

A small part of himself is soothed, comforted even, that this man who ripped through eight men like wet paper, has taken an interest in Derek’s wellbeing.

He slips down the wall a little and just… zones out for a while. 

The big hurts have righted themselves so there's just a mild ache in a few spots.  If he weren't so tired, Derek would be standing, anxious to leave, but Helmet doesn't seem rushed in the least and that confidence bleeds into him too.

He’s still worried though.  "Cops don't investigate shootouts around here?"

"Wow, that's an entire sentence.  You must be feeling better." Helmet is somewhere in one of the bedrooms still tossing things around.  "People would have to call the cops first but, this is Crime Alley so, you know, they don't."

He feels a burble of puzzlement rise through the haze of fading pain.

"I've never heard of Crime Alley in New York."  That's a ridiculous name for a place, but New York was filled with them. 

"Yeah?  Well, that's because you're in New Jersey.  Welcome to Gotham, man.”  More creepy laughter.  “I'd say this is an unusual way to end up here but I'd be lying.  You're lucky they came into my turf, anywhere else in the city and no one might've noticed."

"Your turf?”  Derek echoes the term curiously.  It gives the impression of a gangster or the mob.  It seems reasonable because the guy has pistols strapped to his legs and another pair under his jacket.  Also the professionalism reinforces the theory. 

There's a pause in the sounds then a heavy scrape over carpet. 

"It's just a little slice of this shit hole, but it's mine."  There's more rustling, then a familiar clatter, like beads. 

Derek registers the sound and waits. Hears the scrape of the lid.

"You."  More sounds, louder and faster than before.  "Hoo boy, can you take some damage."

Derek doesn't respond until Helmet stomps back into the kitchen, stained orange shoe box tucked under one arm, drill clenched in the other.

"Still hurts."

"I bet it does."  He shakes the box enough to rattle.  "There's more teeth in here than can fit in one mouth."

The atmosphere is tense now and Derek wishes the room didn't smell like death so he could better gauge Hemet's mood.

“I’ve been here a few days.”  He shrugs minutely.  “Electricity doesn’t really stop the healing, just makes it really slow.”

“So all of this... is from you.”

"Probably."  He says, hoping that's the end of it, doesn’t feel like he’s calm enough to talk about the various bits of him in the box.

The man taps with the drill, a muffled beat against his leg like he's thinking it over.

“Police won’t like any of this.” 

Derek shakes his head.  

“You don’t have a place to crash here.”  

Another shake.  

“You got money though.  You could get a hotel room, get a ticket out tomorrow.”  

Derek lowers his eyes to Helmet’s shoes. 

“I can do that.”  He agrees quietly.

“You don’t want to though.  Why?”

He lets his eyes flick back to the batteries.  “Doesn’t matter where I go.  They always find me.”  He stares at a red terminal, almost feeling the current again.  “Them or something like them.”

"Right.  You're staying with me until you got somewhere to go and we know these fucks won’t come for you again.  In the meantime, I need to replace my accountant.  Thanks for volunteering."

"Am I being kidnapped again?" It comes out sardonically enough that the guy laughs.

“This sort of thing happen a…”  Derek’s already nodding in response.  Looks over at the car batteries before his eyes skitter away.

"Okay.  Sure.  No one lookin out for you means you're mine for now."  He pauses at Derek's shudder.  "Just for now, understand?”  He waits for Derek to nod before he goes on.  “My territory reaches down to the docks North East of here.  Don't go outside of it.  Anyone gives you shit, tell ‘em Red Hood's watching you.  Not watching out, just ‘watching’.  You see any more’a this crew and you let me know, they ain’t leaving this city with a heartbeat.”

Derek barely stops himself from looking away, from tilting his head to expose his throat.

He nods instead.  A little more secure that this beast of a human has offered protection. 

"Do I call you Boss now?"  He means it as a joke but says it quieter than intended.

"You workin for me?  Got a head for numbers?"

Derek nods again.  “Bachelor’s degree says so.”  Even the mob appreciates degrees, right?

"Oh yeah?  Bonus.  Then sure.  Now get the jacket and find some shoes. We gotta go, someone's gonna come looking for these guys eventually."  Red Hood snags a few more bags and goes to drop them at the door.

It takes him a minute to get his bearings, he’s pretty sure he’s got some sort of repressed emotional response that Derek’s just gonna… yeah, he’s just going to leave it alone and maybe never think about it again.

The puddle he’s sitting in is dark and tacky enough now that he isn’t afraid of slipping but it’s still unpleasantly damp along his back and the seat of his pants.  Makes a sticky slurp as he stands and he tunes his hearing to Red Hood’s heartbeat instead.  

“Ready?”  The speaker suddenly sounds like the intro to some techno song and he inanely wonders if the guy sings in the helmet.  Derek smiles a bit at the thought because the guy is taller than he expected and stacked like a tank.  He probably would sing.

“Yeah.  Found my own boots too.”  He says for absolutely no reason.  It feels momentous though that he didn’t lose all of his belongings.  

“That’s great man. Never know what kinda fungus strangers got.”  Red Hood hefts a few bags and hands over another.  “I’m gonna drop you off first and bring back some Chinese.  You like egg rolls?”

Derek gives another barely-there smile and very firmly doesn’t think of his blood soaked clothes or who’s got the bag with the box.

He wonders instead if Red Hood will judge him for the mountain of food he’s about to order.

[twisted-leader-of-something]

I Woke Up at 3 in the Morning with These Ideas. So, Here. Take It.

Here’s some short fic ideas I’ve had over who knows how long and wrote down. Don't know if I’ll make them cannon or not. Take them, I guess.

- Late Night Hadrian and Vil Encounter - 

Vil Schoenheit was about ready to smack someone, because today was just not his day, apparently. 

First, some annoying paparazzi thought it would be a great idea to harass some Pomefiore students until they found Vil to get some exclusive photos, but one of them happened to be Dorji Medusa, a fellow third year Vil really couldn’t stand because of his disrespect towards Pomefiore’s traditions, who decided to take out his annoying experience with the paparazzi on Vil.

Then, Epel and Rook decided to disappear for the day. No matter how much Vil looked or tried to contact them, the two still decided not to show themselves. Which, while was really strange, Vil decided wasn’t that important compared to the annoying paparazzi.

And then. . . The dorm leader meeting happened.

You’d think it would be good that Malleus Draconia would finally show up to a dorm leader meeting especially since he wasn’t invited this time, but then, Leona, Leona fucking Kingscholar decided today would be the day to insult Malleus and cause the meeting to turn into a fight between the two. Vil was annoyed just thinking about that unpleasant meeting. Azul and Idia decided to leave while they could despite explicitly being told not to, and Kalim and Quentin stood around the room not doing anything like idiots trying to get themselves killed, but thankfully at least Riddle tried to help the situation. But, Gods, that took forever to calm down that fight. 

Vil rubbed his temples, as if trying to soothe the headache that was today. “Well, today was certainly unpleasant. But, nothing can be done about that. I have work to do.”

So, Vil started has homework for the day. It was easy enough, Alchemy and Potions homework was too easy for him today-

And then, there was a tap at the door, it seemed somewhat like a knock at a door, not it wasn’t quite one, that Vil couldn’t put his finger on why. The tap was loud, just enough to be heard by Vil which made Vil think it was someone he knew. The tap also seemed to try to be imitating a knock at the door, which somewhat scared him. 

Vil carefully assessed his situation before coming to the conclusion someone is playing a joke on him. Most likely Dorji, since he was really angry in their encounter earlier. 

“Dorji! I swear to the Gods if you’re taking your anger out on me by pranking me, I’m giving you cleaning duty for another month!” Vil threatened the person on the other side of the door to his room, but the person didn’t respond. 

Okay. so it wasn’t Dorji. Then who was it?

Vil sighed and got up from his desk currently filled with homework, and opened the door to his room. “If you have something to say, speak up.” Vil sighed as he opened the door into the dark and empty hallway, but there was no one there. 

That is, until he heard a quiet whine coming from below his vision. To which, he turned his head downwards to see a dog. A bloodhound with a crocodile’s tail, to be exact. Its’ yellow sclera seemed to glow in the darkness of the hallway, and it sat in front of Vil’s bedroom door almost menacingly as if it was waiting for Vil to do something. 

“Which one are you?” Vil asked in an upset tone of voice, annoyed he had to deal with one of Dorji’s dogs, though he also immediately regretted his choice of words and tone when the dog whimpered. But, it moved to make the shape of an ‘H’, as if he was trying to help. Which also temporarily showed the dog was hiding something.

“Ah, you’re Hadrian, is that right?” Vil asked, and the dog nodded at Vil’s question as if to answer it. “So, what do you want at this hour? It’s past curfew.”

To which, Hadrian stepped away from Vil’s vision for a moment and pulled out a plastic bag, and slowly pushed away the plastic, revealing a drink container with four drinks in it, which he seemed careful not to make any sort of mess on the drinks. 

Vil inspected the bag for a moment, and saw it appeared to be smoothies. Hand-pressed fruit smoothies, from what it smelled like. It wasn’t from his favorite shop of hand-pressed smoothies, but it certainly was better than nothing seeing as Vil’s day wasn’t so great. 

“Is. . . Is this for me?” Vil asked the dog, to which the dog nodded in response, and seemed to act out a quiet little skit with one person angrily yelling at another person, and making the latter person really sad, and then the dog circled the drinks. Luckily, Vil seemed to understand what Hadrian was trying to say. 

“Ah, you got those for me because you saw Dorji yelling at me?” Vil asked, which seemed to make the dog confused for a moment, than look like he was contemplating something, and then nodded at Vil’s answer.

Vil reached down to pet Hadrian. “Thank you.” Vil pet Hadrian for a bit, before stepping aside. “Can you come in for a moment?”

To which, the dog nodded and carefully stepped inside Vil’s room, making sure not to get fur anywhere that seemed like it couldn’t be cleaned up. Vil picked up the smoothies Hadrian had offered him, though Vil somewhat doubted the dog bought those smoothies with his own money, closed the door to his room and set the drinks on his vanity then moved to where the dog was and sat in front of it. 

“I feel bad for you.” Vil muttered, as he pet Hadrian once more. “Having to clean up after Dorji’s mistakes.”

This seemed to make Hadrian sad for a moment while he was being pet, but then he reached up one of his paws to Vil’s face before stopping, and put his paw on Vil’s leg, as if the comfort him. 

Vil laughed at that for a moment. “Ah, did Dorji tell you not to mess up my make up?”

The dog nodded in response. 

This seemed to make Vil laugh, as he looked like he was suppressing a laugh but came out as quiet giggles. “Of course he’d tell you something like that. Pffffft. What a werido, telling that kind of stuff to his dogs.”

With Vil’s face lighting up with laughter, Hadrian’s face lit up as well and his tailed started to move as well. After some time of the two smiling, Vil stopped to notice Hadrian’s happy face. 

Ah, now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen any of Dorji’s dogs smile. They always have such a serious look on their face up until now.

After Vil stared at the bloodhound-crocodile-thingy for a solid few seconds until the dog let out a quiet whine which snapped Vil out of his thoughts. 

“Can I brush your fur?” Vil asked all of a sudden, despite realizing seconds later that the dog’s fur was super clean and shiny, so he might not need it.

Hadrian didn’t seem to mind though, and nodded his head cautiously. He then got up from his spot and walked towards Vil’s vanity, looking for something. Though, he didn’t go for the hairbrush Vil had sitting on the table at the time, and went for a smaller one that Vil admit he didn’t know he had and then brought it over to Vil, and sat down in front of the dorm leader. 

He really does know his way around a vanity. Maybe Dorji makes him find a brush a lot? Or Dorji hides his brushes in a similar spot? Well, whatever the case is, he certainly takes better care of these dogs then himself. How annoying.

The dorm leader thought to himself as he brushed the dog’s fur, which was surprisingly more than Vil expected on a dog like Hadrian. Though, the dog didn’t seem as relaxed as Vil had expected, but the dog still seemed to enjoy being brushed. 

“Your fur is cleaner than Dorji most days.” Vil commented, which seemed to catch the dog off guard. “Does he really take that much care of the two of you?”

Hadrian nodded at that, as he gestured to the vanity proudly as if he was trying to say something about it. 

“Ah, is Dorji’s vanity full of your things?” Vil asked, to which the dog nodded happily. “Really. I wished he’d learned to take care of himself.”

The dogs seemed embarrassed at that comment, but straighten himself after a bit. 

“There.” Vil said, as he finished up brushing the dog’s fur. After which, Hadrian turned to Vil and gave him a slight bow, as if to show respect or say thank you. 

“If you want to thank me,” Vil commented, a smirk developing on his face, “then go to bed, alright? I’ve let you slide for staying up past curfew this once for being kind to me, but I don’t know if I’ll do it again.”

The dog nodded at Vil’s request, and moved towards the door, which after Vil stood up opened for him. 

The dog looked back at Vil, as if confirming something until Vil simply waved at him to keep going forward. Which, the dog did, disappearing into the dark hallway. 

- One of Masawa and Jamil’s Good Encounters -  

Jamil Viper really was rushing himself within the Scarabia dorm today, and most of Scarabia didn’t know why. 

Seeing as Kalim didn’t order a party that day, Jamil should’ve been much calmer then he currently was, but he’s not. At first, none of Jamil’s fellow dormmates pushed Jamil and why he was so stressed about, since, well, Jamil wasn’t the easiest to approach with how serious his face was. That is, until Masawa Naran poked into with Jamil’s life a little too hard. And by that, Scarabia’s local troublemaker that Jamil hated dealing with, found out Kalim was sick by breaking into Jamil’s room. 

Kalim Al-Asim, the dorm leader of Scarabia and the one person Jamil’s family is indebted to, was sick. 

And from what Masawa could see, Kalim must’ve gotten heat exhaustion is combination with something else. 

But, what was Kalim doing to get this bad? Kalim usually doesn’t-

“Masawa?” Jamil seemed to be confused, upon seeing Masawa bent down in front of Jamil’s bed where Kalim laid. “How did you get in here?”

“Hmmm? I thought I heard a something in here. I thought left your beatbox on again, so I went in. You left your door unlocked.” Masawa pointed to the door to Jamil’s room, as he turned to face his vice dorm leader. 

Now that Masawa actually looked at Jamil up close, Jamil wasn’t looking that much better than Kalim. If anything, he looked like he was in a similar boat.

Now that’s comedy! Jamil got himself overworked from something like this! Gods, he’s so stupid!

Jamil seemed confused for a moment, but then shook his head head. “That’s not important! Get out!”

“Why?” Masawa asked, as he closed Jamil’s curtains on the window, which defiantly made Jamil react, at least making Jamil relax a little as Masawa walked towards his main victim of teasing. “He’s not contagious. It’s heat sickness on top of most likely overwork, Jamil. Shouldn’t you know this?”

Jamil seemed a little shocked, like Masawa had nailed what was wrong with Kalim right on the head then his face changed to anger. “W-Why would you know something like that?”

“Jamil, we grew up in a similar area. The Kingdom of the Sun is an area in the Land of Hot Sands, it maybe bordering into other areas besides the Land of Hot Sands, but it’s still there.” Masawa poked Jamil’s cheek, causing Masawa’s hand to get thrown to the side with an angrier Jamil, before it hit Masawa like a rock what was happening. 

“Ah. I should’ve figured. When Kalim gets into this kinda stuff you tend to follow soon after.” Masawa said, as he tried to take what Jamil but Jamil was not having it, as he would not let go what he was holding which seemed to be a tea of some sort. For a few seconds, the two were in a staring match which went nowhere until Masawa flicked Jamil on the forehead, causing Jamil to get knocked back pretty far. 

“See? You’re not much better. Just-Eh?” Masawa then heard the clang of a tea pot falling and then saw a mess of tea on the floor. 

Jamil had passed out. 

Which caused Masawa to let out a sigh similar to what Jamil what would give him normally. “Annnnnnnnnnnnnd another one bites the dust.”

The sound of footsteps came closer to where Masawa was staring at Jamil’s unconscious body. “What happened-?!” 

Several Scarabia students came rushing over to see what the commotion was about to discover a disappointed Masawa and Jamil laying down on the ground. 

“Masawa! What happened?!” A third year seemed to speak for the confused group of students.

“Jamil passed out after he saw me here. This should be a case for Sherlock Homes!” Masawa said, but nobody seemed to get what Masawa was saying. Some of the group of students seemed just plain confused, some shook their heads at Masawa’s strangeness. 

“Jamil and Kalim got heat sickness.” Masawa stated, as if he remembered this situation was serious.

“The dorm leader and vice dorm leader got heat sickness?” A second year asked, which seemed to confuse them even more.

“Yas queen.” Masawa said, with a face so serious that it really seemed like the group of Scarabia student were missing something. But most Scarabia students just sighed at Masawa’s comment.  “Hilarious, I know right? Since they preach hydrate or diedrate.”

That this point, most of the people just seemed to be sighing at Masawa’s comments. “Moving on, we should let them rest, wait. . . what’s this tea?”

“Ah. That was mine.” Masawa sighed. “I was going to prank Jamil with some spiked tea and see if he’d get drunk!”

The dorm seemed confused again for a bit before Masawa spoke up. “Fine, fine. I don’t need your looks of judgment. I have an OnlyFans account for that. I’ll clean it up.”

At this point, most of the Scarabia seemed to have given up, and simply walked away from the scene. Some stood around the scene as Masawa cleaned up the tea for a bit, but then walked away, leaving just a passed out Jamil, a sleeping Kalim and a serious looking Masawa.

“Now, for the real work.” The only conscious member of Scarabia in the area said, as he picked up the vice dorm leader and set him down next to the sleeping dorm leader. After a few seconds of staring at the two though, he pulled down Jamil’s curtain at the top of his bed and situated it between the two childhood friends. 

“Just in case Jamil flips his shit.” The second year muttered, as he left the room. 

Masawa came back, with a big pitcher of cold tea, and a fan. Then, after placing the fan in the right place and taking off some of the excess leaders’ clothes, left saying, “No homo.” 

It took a bit for Kalim to wake up, but when he did, he felt better. Much, much better then he did. It took him a bit to figure out where he was after he got out of bed, but he eventually figured out he was in Jamil’s room after he’d passed out.

He also was cold. Really cold. 

So, Kalim decided to leave the room. When he opened the door, there was a huge different between the two rooms. Outside it was a temperature Kalim actually recognized and one that he was familiar with. Kalim took a deep breath of the other air, as if to help himself adjust. but then he smelled something. It seemed like someone was making something. Which confused Kalim, since he saw Jamil sleeping in the next room. So, Kalim went to investigate by himself.

And when he got the Scarabia’s kitchen, there was a bunch of people Kalim didn’t recognize, and they appeared to be chefs, but before the dorm leader could say anything someone shouted for him. 

“Dorm leader!” A first year waved as he walked to where Kalim was. 

“What’s going on?” Kalim asked, as the student approached him, looking relieved. 

“Hmmm?” The first year looked around, and then sighed at the sight of the chefs. “Ah. Masawa brought them in. He said he wanted something from home.”

“Eh?” the dorm leader seemed really confused at that statement, which the first year shrugged at. 

“I don’t know. He’s been acting weird since this afternoon.” the first year added, but gave an inhale of the kitchen’s scents and started to walked away. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. We’re getting free food.”   

“Do you you know where Masa went?” Kalim asked.

“Ah. I think he’s in the lounge. He said he needed to stay close to here.” The first answered, as he waved goodbye to his dorm leader. 

Kalim waved goodbye as well, and walked to Scarabia’s lounge area. He opened the door pretty fast which seemed to scare Masawa inside, who just seemed laying on some pillows. 

“Masa!” Kalim said, running over to him and tackling him into a hug. 

“Yeah Kalim? What’s up?” Masawa said, as he sat up from where he was taking Kalim with him. 

“Why’s there professional chefs here? Someone said you called for them.” Kalim said, trying to keep a enthusiastic curiosity despite his brain already going through what Masawa’s motive might be. 

“Ah, that?” Masawa said, as he pried Kalim off of him and Kalim moved to sit in front of him. “I wanted some spinach puffs. The ones Sam sells aren’t good.”  

“Spinach puffs?” 

“Ah. You don’t know?!” Masawa seemed genuinely surprised by Kalim lack of knowledge. “It’s a side dish that somebody I know makes a lot! It’s like. . . Hmmmmm. Like a quiche.”

“What’s a quiche?”

“Eh?!” Masawa definitely seemed caught off guard by that. “It’s like a pie, but instead of adding sweet ingredients like fruits or pure sugar, you add vegetables. It’s really good if you do it right. Ah, I guess Clover might be better at explaining it.”

“Trey?!” Kalim seemed happy at this prospect, as Masawa sighed. 

“Yeah.” Masawa ruffled his own hair. “I’ve seen him with some. I sure if you ask him, he’d be better at explaining.” 

Kalim seemed taken aback by Masawa’s comment. Like Masawa had acted out of character. 

Masawa seemed to understand this and sighed, flicking Kalim’s head in the process. “I maybe all knowing, but that doesn’t mean I’m great at describing them.”

Kalim moved his arms to hold his head that was in pain, but sat there staring at the Masawa who was currently sighing, and looked awfully similar to Jamil in that moment. “Ah, where you worried about Jamil and me?”

Masawa’s face of tiredness then immediately turned to his dorm leader in surprise and embarrassment. “N-No way! W-Why in Twisted Wonderland w-would I be worried a-about a b-busybody like h-him?!”

“You were worried!” Kalim seemed to take his tsundere actions as a sign of the fact being real. “Aaaaaahhhhh! Thank you Masa! Thank you very much!”

“I am not!”

“Are too!” Kalim’s pouty face appeared. 

“Am Not!” Masawa was blushing now. 

“Are too!”

“Prove it then!”

“You brought those chefs here because you didn’t want Jamil to cook in that state! And the room was cold and dark because you made it that way so we could feel better!” Kalim waited a few second, and after Masawa’s face got even redder than before, “Masa is such a kind person!”

“Okay, okay! So what if I was worried? Nobody’s that heartless!”

“Why on Twisted Wonderland are you yelling Masawa?” Another voice came into the lounge. When Kalim and Masawa turned to see Jamil coming towards the two second years with his usual tired face Scarabia normally saw from him. 

“Jamil! Masawa was the one who called in those chefs!” Kalim hugged Masawa once again, this time shaking him as well. “He really is nice!”

“I told you I just I wanted some spinach puffs!” Masawa snapped back. “The ones Sam has suck!”

 Jamil seemed surprised at the two playfully arguing, but then sighed again, this time happily as if to laugh at the two’s actions. “What am I going to do with you?”

- One of Medusa family’s and Epel’s Encounters -

TW: Fighting and Blood. 

First Part Not Recommended for Vil Fans, as I Wrote That Part Around the Time I Made the Vil Memes, Which Even I Admit Are Kinda Mean to Vil Now.  

Second Part Starts At “Let’s get out of here,”

Vil and Epel’s ‘lesson’ is certainly loud today. Gods, do they know that some people are trying to doing something important here?! Dorji Medusa angrily thought to himself as he did his homework within his room, and from the look on Dorji’s face, was was about ready to smack somebody to get somebody to shut up. And as if the dog read the room, Claudius stood up. 

“Ah? You want to go out?” Dorji asked Claudius, as the dog walked towards his desk, immediately softening Dorji up. Dorji reached to pat the dog’s head, which Claudius accepted. “I’m sorry, I’m in the middle of a really complicated problem, I’ll finish up this problem and join you in a few minutes, alright?”

Claudius seemed to understand Dorji’s words as he nodded. To which, Dorji walked to open the door to his room and opened it as wide as he could and put in a door stop, and then moved to pet Claudius once more. “Try to have fun. I’ll play tug of war with you when I’m done to make up for lost time, does that sound good?” 

To which, Claudius made a happy Yip! sound, but it was quiet, as if not to wake someone else in the room.  

Dorji nodded happily at that, and pet Claudius’s head once more and then Claudius turned to leave the room, leaving Dorji and a sleeping Hadrian behind. 

Claudius seemed to know exactly where to go to find the Pomefiore ballroom, as he navigated the hallways of Pomefiore so easily you’d think he was a student there. As he did so, the fighting between Vil and Epel got clearer and clearer to hear, and more people where seen outside their rooms, muttering things to themselves or to each other like, 

“Vil is being really harsh on Epel today.” 

“How scary.”

“Did something really bad happen to Vil? He never yells like this!”

“Aaaaaaaaah! Where is Vice Dorm Leader Rook when you need him?!”

“I’m really worried about Epel, but. . . Vil scares me like this.”

“I hope this ends soon.”

Claudius passed by these Pomefiore students with confidence, as if he knew what he was going to do. He walked confidently up to Pomefiore’s ballroom, and stood outside the door and then made a deep and low growling noise, the kind of growling that you know that something is ready to kill without even having to see the animal and strikes fear into anyone who hears it because it shakes a person to their very core because of their fight or flight instincts. 

And, it seemed to strike fear into the bystander Pomefiore students, as there was many shrieks of pure fear and panic heard by the dog, but not by the person he wanted it to be from. So, Claudius opened the door.

And in the center of the ballroom stood Vil Schoenheit, aggressively holding Epel Felmier by his hair, with both parties faces red and injured with the two still yelling at it each other insults each other and not seeming to know something else had stepped into the room. 

At that point, it seemed like Claudius had enough of the fighting and jumped at Vil, aiming for the arm holding Epel’s hair. Which he bite into hard enough to get Vil bleeding and scream in pain and thus causing Vil to let go of Epel, immediately causing Epel to step back to get away from Vil and Claudius. 

“Gah! That hurts so bad! What in the name of the Gods was that?!” Vil cried angrily until he noticed Claudius biting his arm, soiling his gym outfit and then his anger seemed to have changed people and got worse. “Copper! Copper! Get your disgusting mouth off me!” 

Which didn’t happen, as Claudius had decided to stick on Vil like a parasite. So, Vil and Claudius engaged in a battle of wills which went on for a while until Vil somehow managed to get Claudius off of him by hitting him, with Claudius then moving in front of a now terrified Epel once again growling the growl that was meant to terrify prey. This time, it seemed to get to Vil and Epel, as Epel now seemed scared out of his wits and was covering his head to protect himself and Vil now seemed pretty scared, and then another two people stepped into the ballroom. 

“Oh gods! King of Poison! Mister Cherry Apple!” Rook Hunt rushed into the room before Claudius growled his menacing growl once again, which defiantly seemed to catch Rook off guard as he also seemed scared before he put his hands up in a sign of surrender.  

While the other person, Dorji Medusa, rushed into the room past Claudius without any trouble and rushed over to the terrified Epel, who he then tried to comfort by speaking with him. 

“What happened?” Rook simply asked the dog. 

To which, Claudius barked a few times, a lot less scary than the growl he just gave, but still sounded pretty angry. But Rook seemed to understand what Claudius was trying to say, as he nodded at Claudius and simply said, “Let me take King of Poison. He’s hurt.” 

Which Claudius seemed to allow, as he let a bark that sounded approving but still suspicious. Which, Rook took as a yes, and walked slowly towards Vil, who now seemed in a form of shock. Rook simply carefully grabbed Vil and walked the dorm leader out of the room slowly which Vil didn’t give any protest to. After Rook and Vil left the room, Claudius seemed to soften. After Claudius carefully closed the door to the room he turned to Epel and Dorji, making sure to give Epel a good amount of space and then letting out a whine that sounded it was friendly and trying to apologize, while Dorji simply asked, “Are you alright, Epel?” 

“I fucking hate ‘em.” Epel said, plainly. “I wish I never came to this godsdamnned school.”

Which made Dorji silent for a moment, as if he was thinking to himself and then looked back at the door. “I don’t blame you.” 

And after that, the two humans sat in silence for a while, while Epel seemed to try to compose himself and Dorji thought to himself before Dorji stood up from where he once kneeled. 

“Let’s get out of here.” Dorji simply said, “Any place is better than here right now. I know a place.”

Epel lifted his head up from the ground, with a confused look on his face. “Eh?”

“I’d prefer not to hang around the place to hear Vil bitch about what happened or get caught in the crossfire of his temper. And from the look on your face, I don’t think you want to either. Come on, let’s leave.” Dorji then offered a hand to Epel.  

“But. . .” Epel seemed conflicted for a moment while he took Dorji’s hand and stood up. “What ‘bout Rook?”

“Rook can handle himself.” Dorji simply said as he started walking towards the room’s exit with Claudius in tow. “He wouldn’t be the Vice Dorm Leader if he wasn’t the best person to deal with Vil.”

Epel took that answer, as he didn’t say anything else and the two boys and the dog left the room and exited into the hallway to encounter some Pomefiore students still standing on in the hallway, looking less afraid then before but still scared. 

“Dorji! Where are you going?!” A worried second year appeared behind the two, moved past Epel and Claudius and grabbed Dorji’s sleeve.

“Wherever I fucking feel like. Gotta problem with that?” Dorji simply turned around with a look of disgust on his face. 

“N-No! Not a-at all!” The second year then let go of Dorji’s sleeve, making Dorji, Epel and Claudius stop. “But, s-shouldn’t you s-stay? D-Dorm Leader V-Vil and V-Vice Dorm L-Leader Rook w-will get a-angry if y-you don’t!”

Dorji let out a sigh, the kind of sigh like he was disappointed but not surprised the question was asked. “Those two can kiss my ass. I don’t care about their or anybody else’s fucking feelings right now. I need to cool my head for a while if don’t want me like this for the rest of the day. Ah, in fact, I’d suggest the whole dorm leave the dorm room before that prick decides to go on a rampage because I’m not here to take Vil’s issues.”

The second year seemed to understand what Dorji was really trying to say, nodded and then rushed off to somewhere. Leaving Dorji, Claudius, and Epel and soon after the three started moving again. 

“Dorji?” Epel spoke up as the group left Pomefiore’s mirror in the Hall of Mirrors, breaking the silence the two had. 

“Yeah?” Dorji said, leaving the Hall of Mirrors and heading towards the Main Building.

“Where we goin’?”

“An empty classroom I know hasn’t been used in a while.”

“Huh?” Epel came in front of Dorji to stop him. “But won’t we get inta’ trouble?”

To which, Dorji simply patted Epel on the head. “No. I know somebody who uses that classroom for studying with permission. I’ll just say I asked them for the room for a bit today.”

Epel simply nodded, and continued to where Dorji guided him, which was really deep into the school that Epel didn’t know the students could enter until they came upon a door, which was locked until Dorji pulled out a key, and entered. 

The room was definitely older than the classrooms Epel was used to being in, as this looked more like a normal high school’s classroom, with desks that look to be craved out of stone facing towards a big desk in the front of the room with a lamp on it and a chalkboard behind it, but the area surprisingly had no dust.

“’ow old is ‘his place?” Epel asked, as Dorji sat himself down at the big desk, turning on the lamp, which made the room light up as well. 

“If I said I knew, I’d be lying.” Dorji simply answered, as he moved for some space with the desks and pulled out a rope from one of his pockets in his extremely modified dorm uniform, which Claudius seemed to recognize and bark happily at. 

“Ah.” Epel said, as he looked around the room for a while, while Claudius and Dorji played a game of tug of war pretty intensely, after investigating the room and only finding a stash of pencils, pens, and stamps. 

“Dorji?” Epel looked towards the two played with each other.

“Yeah?” Dorji answered Epel’s call, despite being locked in a tug of war. 

“Who gave ya’ that key? And what’s it for?”

“I don’t know what this room is for exactly, but this whole area is meant for Ramshackle residents. A friend of mine gave me a copy of the key when where first years, I think it was because I told him I needed a place alone where Vil or Rook wouldn’t find me since I hated being at Pomefiore dorm then.” 

“Ramshackle? Isn’t the dorm with the Andalasian, the monster and magicless student who managed to get in?” 

“Mmmmhhmm.” Dorji nodded, which seemed to give Claudius the chance to take the rope for himself. “Aw. You got it this time. I guess I owe you some head rubs when we get back.”

“Wait, they can’t find us ‘ere?” Epel asked, seeming to have those words stick to him.  

Dorji shook his head. “No. This area is Ramshackle’s according to what my friend said. He says Rook or Vil comes into this area they’ll be kicked out because he hasn’t approved them coming into this area, and if they manage to they are trespassing and they can get into serious trouble with Ramshackle’s dorm leader and the ghosts of the school.”

“Why’s that?” 

“Ah. My friend said it has something to do with the area being Ramshackle’s area since the ghosts gave it to Ramshackle’s dorm leader to help them out.”

“Help out the ghosts?”

“I think he burns incense or gives offerings to the ghosts when he’s here, which calms the ghosts on the island down, since this is where they hang out most of the time.”

“Are we good ‘ere?! We didn’t bring offerins’!”

“You didn’t but that’s okay, I did.” Dorji said, pulling out a bunch of sticks out of one of his pockets, which then Epel realized was probably incense sticks and place it in a jar and used fire magic to light the sticks then turned to the other side of the room, which was empty. 

“Me and my junior Epel are going to stay in this area for a bit. Epel was hurt by Vil earlier today and he needs some space away from Vil and Rook for a while, I brought him here to have that space. Sorry this is on such short notice. Shit hit the fan at my dorm.”

After a few moments of silence a ghost came into the room. A really skinny ghost with really creepy eyes appeared into the room. 

“I see.” The ghost then moved towards the jar of incense and took it away, and then left leaving only the trace of a ‘thank you’ in the air.

After a few moments of silence between the two Pomefiore students, Dorji moved and sat on one of the desks. 

“Well, now we’re alone.” Dorji simply said, crossing one of his legs over the other. “Do you want to talk about the incident?”

Epel simply shook his head. “No.”

“Wanna play with Claudius then?” 

The dog, who had been proudly standing in that one spot he won his rope in, seemed to be listening now and turned towards Epel, as if he was giving Epel the chance to play with him. Epel stared at the dog for a moment and then nodded towards Dorji. Which, Dorji smiled at and nodded back.

“Well, you can play tug of war and see which of the two of you is stronger. I always lose to Claudius, but maybe you can beat him.” The third year gestured towards Claudius who then gave up a part of the rope, and crouched down in front of Epel and started wagging his tail.

Epel gained a smirk on his face, like he knew he was going to win this match and grabbed the rope laid out for him. “’lright. Be ‘eady, Claudius.” 

To which, the dog barked happily, and Epel started to pull and then Claudius started to pull. And for a while, the two where locked in a state of their competitive stares, as they each tried to take the rope for themselves. Claudius, using a shaking technique in combination with moving and using his strength that most dogs used, while Epel seemed to be going by pure psychical strength.

The match of tug of war went on for a while as Dorji tried to cheer on both sides, which only seemed to motivation the two sides more, that is, until Dorji said he’d give the winner a treat and then Claudius seemed to have completely lost his focus with Epel, and his face changed for pure focus to happiness, which Epel took advantage of and took the rope for himself.

Epel seemed super happy at this achievement. “I win! I fuckin’ won!” 

Dorji clapped at his dormmate’s achievement. “Good job.”

Claudius seemed kind of upset he lost, but he quickly changed that to look happy for Epel, barking happily as if to praise the first year.

“So I get something, right?” Epel said proudly, to which Dorji nodded. 

“Well, I think it’s been a while and Hadrian must be worried. I’ll take you to Sam’s shop and buy you what you want. What would you like?”

“Yakiniku.” Epel said, as the trio began to leave the room.

Dorji nodded at Epel’s request. “I’ll buy the best I can find.”

Epel seemed really happy about that as they left the area, and then a thought struck Epel like a rock. 

“Who’s your friend in the Ramshackle dorm?”

Dorji stopped for a second. “Hmmmmm? I guess I must’ve forgotten to say his name. His name is Quentin Nighy-Sallow. He’s the dorm leader of Ramshackle dorm.”

“Ah. Is he the one with the two black sections of hair?”

Dorji nodded. “Yeah, he used to have just brown hair though before he. . .” Dorji went silent for a moment, as he had remembered something bad. “He left halfway through last year.”

“Do you know why?” Epel asked. 

“From what the previous dorm leader told me when I asked, he left because his country’s diplomatic issues where getting hugely out of control and they needed him, since he was the main diplomat at the time.”

“Was it scary?”

“Was what scary?” Dorji asked, but from his tone he seemed to already know what the question was.

“Seeing him on live TV, about to be executed by his own people.” Epel said, but he seemed to immediately regret his words, as he covered his mouth soon after. 

Dorji was silent for a moment and then said, “Yeah. I remember how scared I was seeing him about to die. I felt so. . . Powerless, just watching. The look in his eyes told me he was so scared, but he was desperately trying to hold his head high, despite the people mocking him and telling him to use his magic and then it happened all at once, the Overblot, I mean.”

Epel got quiet for a moment as he uncovered his mouth. 

“But, enough about him. After all, this is supposed to be more about you than my personal life, after all, I’m getting you some food.” Dorji chuckled as the two got closer and closer to Sam’s shop.

“Can I ask you one more thing?” Epel asked, stopping at the steps of Sam’s shop.

“Yeah, what is it?” Dorji stopped too, even though he had one of his hands on the door. 

“Why are you and Vil on such bad terms?”

“Ah, that? Vil hasn’t said anything about it?” Dorji sighed, as if relived. 

“No. He only says how annoying you are to him.”

“Well, I suppose I should tell you then.” Dorji took a deep breath. “When I first came to this school, I didn’t know that much about what the teachers where teaching, since I didn’t get as much of an education as you guys did. Tartarus, I probably got because somebody I knew or owed me a favor pulled some serious strings and got me in. After all, I didn’t apply for this school. The acceptance latter just appeared at my shop one day. And because I didn’t know much, I figured I should study my ass off to catch up, but apparently I went overboard with what I needed to learn, and managed to get in the same leagues as the honor students. And at the time, I didn’t even think about anybody else’s opinion, so I disrespected lots of Pomefiore’s traditions, like that stupid dorm uniform we had to wear that I still hate so I refused, something the whole Pomefiore dorm had to do together like a big dinner or meetings which I refused to go to because I thought they where a waste of time. The dorm leader and vice dorm leader at the time didn’t really care I wasn’t participating since I wasn’t causing too many issues, so they eventually gave up on trying with me. But Vil for some reason didn’t give up. He kept yelling at me and scolding me for being so rude and disrespectful, and I simply told him to fuck off, as I said I came to this school to learn magic and not to deal with other people who decided to pry into my life like him. Ever since, we’ve fought over the dumbest of shit because we hate each other, sometimes the fights got psychical, which I always won back then and sometimes we fought with magic, which often had the two of us tied. I remember it got to be so bad the former dorm leader and vice dorm leader had to call the teachers to get involved, and we go into huge trouble with the principal. As he said that we where basically turning the whole school into a minefield, and even the fourth years, who weren’t on campus for that long, could feel it. So, he told us we had to stop fighting in Pomefiore’s dorm, or he’d expel the two of us on grounds of harassment and destruction of property, which Vil was not okay with so immediately had the two of us shape up. As you know, not much has changed since he both still hate each other, but I suppose it’s better than before. But I wouldn’t know, since I was too self-absorbed to notice the truth.” 

“Self-absorbed?” Epel didn’t sound surprised at Dorji’s comment, but he did seem really confused by it.

“Ask Rook or any other third year and they’ll tell you I wasn’t great to be around.”

“Even worse than now?”

Dorji seemed a little offended by that, but tried to make his statement clear. “Yeah, much worse.”

Epel stopped for a moment and simply nodded. 

“Then, shall we go in?” Dorji asked, opening the door to a now enthusiastic Sam, like he’s been waiting for those two to come in the whole time. 

“Yeah.” Epel said, as he walked in the door with Claudius, and Dorji closing the door behind them.

- Quentin and Che’nya’s First Encounter -

I hate him. Magic, forgive me, but I hate him more than I hate anybody else in this dorm. Quentin Nighy-Sallow thought, as she walked out of Heartslabyul’s dorm into the night air to go home. He’s just. . . so demanding in thinking he’s above me that’s there’s no way in Twisted Wonderland he’s not racist.

And he keeps going on and on about his mom and thinking it’s okay to walk all over me like that using his mother’s stereotypes about me and then has the balls to ask me if he’s hurting me. 

Doesn’t he understand what he’s saying?! 

Can’t he take a hint or feel for another person?!

Quentin stopped walking after the second set of flower pots, and was struggling not to hold her anger in, even crouch down to try and contain it in some way. 

I hate him! I hate him! I hate him! I hate him! And what the fuck is Trey doing, being a kiss-ass like that?! Gods! He’s not much better than Riddle! He’s enabling Riddle’s behavior! There’s no way he doesn’t understand that! 

Ỉ̙̞̬͉ͭͩ͢ ̧͕̦͚͈̭̳̈ͩ̿̂ͅͅh̡̲̲͔̘̤̤̘͆ȃ̘͕̩̦ͭ͡t̳̪̣̤͉̻ͪ͆ͧ͠ͅè͕̤̺͈̑̋́͡ ̟̼̥̯̟̝̥͉̾̋͡t̖̗͈̯̒̍́͟ẖ̖̒͢e̴̻͉͍͕̦̲ͪͫm̛̹͖͇̺͚̃!͑̄҉͔̮

“Ah. You’re the one Riddle’s been yelling at recently.” A voice Quentin hadn’t heard before snapped her out of her thoughts as she looked up from where she was crouched and clutching herself. 

And there was a floating cat beastman’s head with golden cartilage earrings in his cat ears floating not far from the lamppost with Heartslabyul’s logo. The beastman had purple hair and lavender highlights, like Vil did, with some of his hair was held back by black barrettes. He had golden eyes, that seemed to glow within the darkness of the night. 

Quentin stood up from where she once crouched. 

“Pardon me?” The girl said to the beastman, as kindly as she could which seemed to work. 

“I mean Riddle’s been yelling at you a lot, recently hasn’t he?” The cat beastman asked, as his body fully appeared, revealing the beastman was a student of Royal Sword Academy. 

Well, I have nothing to lose if I tell him. If I had to guess, they’re from the same hometown. Childhood friends, most likely.

“Yes.” Quentin said simply, trying to sound like she was going to sigh.

“Sorry about him. He doesn’t mean any harm to you. He’s just a momma’s boy.” the beastman apologized. 

“Do you know him? Riddle, I mean?” The Andalasian asked.

“Yes. He’s an old friend of mine.” The beastman said. “We used to play together a lot.”

“Ah.” Quentin said simply. “Can I ask you about someone else then?”

The half-cat beastman seemed happy at that, as he made a smile that Quentin noticed looked similar to Riddle’s and Trey’s smug smiles. 

They must’ve gotten that from him.

“What do you want me to tell ya, nah~?”

“Trey Clover.” Quentin simply stated, which seemed to really confuse the beastman. “The boy with glasses and green hair whose been around Riddle. He’s a friend of yours, isn’t he?”

The cat smiled at that, like Quentin knew how to get straight to the point. “Yes. He’s an old friend of mine, too.”

“Then tell me why he enables Riddle’s behavior like that.” Quentin said, showing her seriousness. 

She felt to some degree, Che’nya was like her. 

A Trickster. 

A Joker. 

And The Scariest One in the Room if He Gets Serious.

The beastman seemed to ponder with himself about something, and then looked back at Quentin. “If I had to give it an exact reason, it’s pity.”

“Pity?”

“Yeah. Trey pities Riddle.”

Gods. I figured Trey was depressed for some reason but he pities a momma’s boy with an Electra complex like that? 

“Why’s that?”

“Riddle’s mother. She’s. . . hard on Riddle in many regards.”

“So she’s a tiger parent and Trey pities him for it?”

The beastman nodded at that. 

Pathetic. I thought Trey was smarter than that, but it seems not. 

Quentin let out a sigh. “So you’re here because you’re worried?”

The beastman nodded once again. “Yeah. Riddle’s never been the best at reading the room and often gets emotional.”

“Why though? He’s got Trey.”

“Yeah, but. . . Trey has his own problems. He practically runs the dorm, as you know.”

Quentin then nodded at that. 

“Ah, I have to go now because of Royal Sword’s security.” the beastman said, as he body disappeared into thing air. “But I hope we meet again. I like you, Ramshackle Dorm Leader.”

Quentin was about to let the beastman go without saying anything, but before the beastman’s head disappeared he looked shocked and said, “I forgot to say my name. I’m Alchemi Alchemivich Pinka.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Alchemi.” Quentin said, giving him a mocking bow that Alchemi seemed to like. “I’m Quentin. Quentin Nighy-Sallow.” 

“I hope we meet again, Quentin.” Alchemi said, as his head fully disappeared into the night air, leaving Quentin by herself. 

[technicallyoneofakind]

3, 4, 16, and 20 for your favorite oc

Going for Lynnea from my Heroes and Thieves fic since I hardly getthe chance to flesh her out.

3. Did they have a good childhood? What are fond memories theyhave of it? What’s a bad memory? 

Being the princess of the most technologically advanced kingdom inthe entire world of Ni no Kuni, she led a rather comfortable life as a kid. Herchildhood days were spent reading tales of legends long gone and being brought upto replace her father as great sage and empress. She would often mimic the talesshe read with toys or playing make-believe.

She has many fond memories running around the palace doing so. Herbest memories, however, were when her uncle Gascon came home from his duties asan ambassador of Hamelin. Having a different outfit and cleaner look, he wouldoften tell her doctored stories that focused heavily on himself as Swainethroughout the course of the game. As a result, she idolized the thief as animmortal role model without ever realizing who her uncle was.

She also had a favorite toy- also given to her by her uncle. Itwas a wind-up robot she liked to constantly modify. She kept it by her sidewell into her teens and it eventually became her familiar, Avery.

As for bad memories, it was just before she ran away from home.She felt pressure on her future duties and the lack of progress she was makingin healing magic. This had been an ongoing issue that eventually came to ahead. They began to wonder if her interests in Swaine’s legend something had todo with her lack of healing abilities- especially when she couldn’t becomegreat sage without them. When it appeared that they were accusing her, she fledthe room, considering herself a complete failure to her parents. She swore ifshe couldn’t become what they wanted then she’d model herself after the legendarymagicless thief, Swaine.

(In this fic, she’s still a teen and something far worse happenslater, but spoilers.)

4. What is their relationship with their parents? What’s a good and bad memorywith them? Did they know both parents? 

A brief rundown on her mother for clarity: Her name is Josephineand she used to be a mechanic and hermother was a seamstress, but that’s not what she wanted to be. She has tan skinjust a shade or two darker than Swaine’s. Also, dark brown hair. As a result,it’s debated whether Lynnea inherited from her grandfather or her mother. Shetends to be a very kind and loyal woman, but as a mother, she can be quite sternand stubborn. It’s joked in the fic that some of the similarities to Gascon arethe reasons Marcassin was first drawn to her in the market where they met.

Lynnea’s relationship with her parents is rocky at best. When shewas a child everything was fine. She loved both her mother and her father. She wasmystified by Marcassin’s magic abilities at times and wondered if she’d everhad such power. However, this interest was often subdued by the various talesof myths and legends she consumed on a daily basis. She really likes readingthe stories in the Wizard’s Companion.

As she grew older, she found that she couldn’t perform all thespells she needed to become the next great sage of Hamelin no matter how hardshe tried and how often they made her practice. She ended up feeling inadequate,and because of this, she looked to her role model.  

However after certain events, and discovering who Swaine reallywas, her relationship with her father was renewed. She realized through sometalks with her uncle that her father just wanted her to be strong- that Marcassinstill loved and cared for her deeply and would accept her no matter her magicalskill.

It would be safe to say that one of the strongest connections toanyone resembling a father would be Gascon since he’s the source of the legendshe so ridiculously tried to mimic. While he didn’t often visit, he was in herlife since the day she was born. He swore that he’d look out for her as if shewere his own kid- but his duties got in the way of that. It’s something heregrets because if he had more time to spend with her he would have been ableto prevent her living on the streets and making the same mistakes he had.

16. Do they collect anything?What do they do with it? Where do they keep it?

All sorts of things- mostlycomplex and small bits of shiny machinery. She likes studying what it is and whatsort of potential it probably once had. She usually keeps a box of themsomewhere in her room. As a kid she used to cobble together little modeldragons with the metal pieces and stuff- usually they weren’t that intricate,but she tried. She still has a shelf dedicated to her “children” as she callsthem. Nowadays, she collects them for spare parts for her prosthetic armpowered by her own magic. She has had to make quick fixes before on it.

When she can get the chance, flowers. They occur so rarely inHamelin, so she will often preserve flowers by letting one she found somewhereoutside dry out so she can add it to her vase of decorative dead plants. Her motheroften wonders what she’ll do when she runs out of room in the vase. Her fatherconsiders it a good way to keep connected with nature outside of the city. Heruncle rolls his eyes and asks her if she realizes there are more plants thanthat in the world.

And rocks. Shiny unique rocks. She started a rock garden once- atiny one. Sometimes the more intricate metal pieces she finds end up in it,too. She keeps it on a shelf.

20. Do they like musicals?Music in general? What do they do when they’re favourite song comes? 

Musicals are okay, but theyhave to have a good amount of decent high energy and, sometimes, dramatic numbersto hold her interest. This does correlatewith her regular tastes, but there are some soothing songs she also likes.

I don’t believe I included my Mandolin headcanon in my fic, but Ibelieve Swaine would have had one in this reality, too. She liked hearing himplay mellow songs, surprisingly. Something about the way he paced the rhythm andthe notes as well as how that specific mandolin sounded was unique. I’d like tothink he didn’t bring it with him while he traveled from kingdom to kingdom andprobably never mentioned it when he told his stories.

With Swaine, she usually just sits and listens- probably closesher eyes and lets her imagination conjure up stories. If it’s a recording ofsomething, she’s prone to dance when she’s alone or perhaps time her practice/workto music and kind of make little suave movements in time to the song. She smilesblissfully either way.

Oh, boy. I’m glad I got to do that. Lynnea is actually one of my topfavorite Ni no Kuni OC’s but she never gets asked about, so I took the opportunityto ramble on about her. Sorry, it took so long to get back to you.

[ascalonianpicnic]

Army, Teal, Eggplant, Chiffon, Caramel and Ink for Wrelia and Lace

My good good kids!!!

Army - Do you have a fighting style? If so, what is it?

Wrelia - “I let my minions play the role of distraction and take the hits for me while I work my magic and do damage from just behind them! It works really well!”

Lace - “I like to get up close and personal with me enemy in one on one situations. They tend to struggle with knowing what to do when an electrified sylvari is coming at them with a sword.”

Teal - What makes you feel most at peace?

Wrelia - “Research! There’s something soothing about just being able to be alone for a bit and go through books and learn new things. Especially when I’m at the Priory. Uncle Ruzzier lets me curl up with Moth under his desk to read still, and it’s one of the most peaceful places to be.”

Lace - “Watching Cue work. Watching the way he handles his projects, and how precise and delicate he can be. Especially when he gets very focused on a project.”

Eggplant - What’s the weirdest thing you’ve eaten?

Wrelia - “Chak eggs were pretty strange, but there was also the bloodstone ice cream I tried once, and that weird old pork Mom and I ate near Tarir... and that jerky that I’m pretty sure was human once... hmmm...” She’s uhh, eaten a lot of strange stuff as the commander’s daughter and right hand man, and as an impulsive scientist.

Lace - “Choya. It was surprisingly good, but you can’t think too hard about what you’re eating.” The weirdest things they’ve eaten have all been delicacies served at various parties they’ve attended, they don’t pick up stuff off the ground like certain commanders *cough Io cough*

Chiffon - Do you prefer a larger and cleaner environment, or a smaller and cozier one?

Wrelia - “Small and cozy all the way!”

Lace - “I like both for different things, but I do tend towards larger and cleaner. Mostly because I like having the space to pace, and I have a habit of cleaning when bored or stressed.”

Caramel - How much does sugar affect you?

Wrelia - “Not At All! Why?” She gets more hyper and chattier after enough sugar, but she’s always faking at about that level anyway, so It’s hard to tell unless you know her really well and have seen her with her walls down.

Lace - “Too much will give me a bit of a headache, but it takes a fair bit to get me there, and I know my limits.”

Ink - write your autobiography in one sentence

Wrelia - “In one sentence? Oh, uhmm... I started out scared and alone, but after years of working hard and finding people who care about me as much as I care about them, I’m not alone anymore! How’s that?”

Lace - “A long series of dumb mistakes, thanks for asking.”

[ol-razzle-dazazzle]

Your title says fic requests are open? More Oguri would be nice. I read some of your stuff on AO3 and I thought it was good! I'd prefer something non-shippy though. If not, it's perfectly fine. :) Thank you, and have a nice day!

Heyo anon!!! I’m very sorry it has taken me a while to get to you, I’ve had Trials for my final exams. You have excellent taste in characters, Ogurin is one of my favourites. I’ve been Jojo trash for a while, so please enjoy this secret killer…and a friend he finds along the way…

The eclipse of late night convenience stores upon dark moonlit nights was a common sight to Oguri, avoiding detection was of utmost importance, especially considering his new job. Thankfully, the blood didn’t get on his suit this time, though he did lack some grocery essentials, and thus spent time hurting his eyes at the glare of bright storefronts and neon lit signs.

It never particularly occurred to him that he was staying at a house for such a long time- home was never a term that could find meaning within him. To avoid patterns he stayed in different regions and hotels, and everything was cleaner that way.

So he was leaning from one side to the next and fingers cramping from holding shopping bags, as well as the former ache of a cold metal and the recoil of a gun. But irregardless, he is now but a normal citizen, roaming the streets, stopping at every bench or so because damn, is milk really /that/ heavy?

Paranoid eyes glanced at any lurking shadows, ghostly witnesses to potential crimes, maybe reapers making their own crimes- in this side of Yokohama a glance the wrong way could take one down a dark, dark path. He sighed, resting his back against a brick wall of some backstreet.

It’s the one part of the job he can’t stand. The one thing he never is suited for. The panic, the heartbeat, the adrenaline and anxiety. Eyes swirling and head cluttered full of thoughts. He beckons them forth, and smooth ghostly figures come to his hands. Oguri sighs, yes- everything is perfect. Perfect and transient and never going to plague him. The smooth, vapourish texture calms himself, as the ghosts roll around to his pats with ethereal forms smiling in delight.

A small squeak disperses them instantly at reflex. A weak noise of breathing, hacking for air. He looks around, the noises draw nearer but he hears nothing. Fear always makes one see better in the dark, and when Oguri’s heart rate quickens he swear he can see a splatter of blood, or is it water?

His knuckles are paling, plastic stretched thin as he sets them down carefully, without a rustle or sound, hand warming itself within a suit pocket gripping his gun for the second time that night.

Another hiss, and he cocks the pistol around the corner, teeth gritting. Distant shouts of ‘the Boss’ this and ‘come on man, you can’t just leave them here’. He puts the gun away, cackling.

“Amateurs. Pure, filthy amateurs.” He enjoys not talking for such a long time but the curling of his lips can’t help but break the silence in hushed stifles of laughter. “A killing in their own home, evidence everywhere- and the loudmouths can’t help but yell it around for all to see? Pathetic, utterly pathetic.” He murmurs, unheard, but can’t say it out loud for the possibility of the Devil calling. ‘Such atrociously haphazard work can only be done by minimal gangs or Port Mafia scum.’

He continues furthering his mental critique until a weight makes itself known against his ankle, the sensation making him crouch down and retrieve the gun, gasping. Oguri’s eyes scan the vicinity, nerves tested at the utmost when the sensation coils around his leg, moving. His eyes flicker downward, and his gun clatters to the floor.

A furry little tail roped around his pant leg, as whiskers twitch at his clamouring state.

A kitten. Just a kitten.

An adorable, most likely excellent at assassination kitten.

The clatter made it’s ears perk up, hugging closer to Oguri’s leg, a scared mewl emanating from its throat, croaky.  

Oguri’s instinct is to hiss and kick it off it’s leg, but he steadies and steels himself. Just nerves, just nerves and fluff and my goodness that cat is adorable.

He can’t bring himself to loathe the creature, even with its aspects. Sharp needle-like claws that have most likely pulled a seam on his pant leg, dusty fur that’s scattered dust and fluffy evidence on his shoes which he /just/ shined 30 minutes ago, and mews that would draw attention and adoration of anyone like a siren.

He scoops it up, getting a further look at it, his fingers sinking into soft winter fluff. The kitten blinks slowly, ears back, but not baring it’s teeth. Oguri sighs, moving his arm under it to support and…cradle the kitten, leaving his suit in minuscule ruin. There’s patches of dry blood on its underbelly, and the cat looks up with him with pleading eyes, before hacking a little- garnering extra pity points.

Look. He’s a perfect criminal. Oguri never leaves any evidence behind, even without his ability. No possibility for discovery. There’s some further shouts from inexperienced mafia men and the kitten buries itself further into Oguri’s suit. He’s covered in evidence. A menial thing as cat hair is still a thing, menial as it may be.

The ghostly creatures beckon at his call again, though hesitantly and confused. They float among Oguri’s body, staring at the intruding strands with a smile. One even /pats/ the damn fluff maker. It shivers in his arms, but glances over, trying to lick the form in the air.

Great, even /they’re/ for the cat.

Well…if it would’ve been potential evidence, they would’ve erased it, right?

It’s just snivelling and curling up here.

…Well, he is a murderer, a criminal, a monster, a rat, an assassin and mercenary. A job that requires no intimate attachment to anything, human or feline.

…But even he can’t resist such manipulation.

Though the mater comes, of how to carry the kitten, and without suspicion. The bags are too thin and might get scratched, he certainly can’t hold the thing in his arms.

It curls up, purring. Like it has no idea there’s a gun right beside it.

Wait a second…no, he isn’t really doing this.

Oguri takes out the gun from his jacket pocket, burying it under the plastic bags and food.

The suit is ruined anyway, right?

The kitten resists the movement, meowing. It’s about the right size… he sets it in his jacket pocket, stroking the kitten’s cheek to sooth it.

There’s a moving bulge in his suit, but it’s fine- it’s night, no one would notice such things…

If the infernal thing would stop meowing already!

It’s fine. It’s fine.

And for the second time that night Oguri experienced paranoia and panic, surprisingly not due to the gun in his bag, but the kitten in his pocket. He shudders, hoping that at least the kitten didn’t have any fresh wounds.

Actually come to think of it, stealing a cat is a crime, so it wouldn’t be too bad to clean…but there wasn’t any response from his ability. That doesn’t mean…

Oguri summons them again, quickly- as he nears his apartment. He really should get something better- a house by the sea, with only china cutlery, yes- that will be his next demand for his next employer.

The ghosts emerge, but only bury themselves in his coat, not attempting to clean any of the fluff.

It’s a stray, that would be the best situation. Otherwise…

Well no matter, he struggles to open the door with the rustling in his pocket. The good thing with no cleaning also means that pets are allowed in here.

Now he’s getting ahead of himself. It’s just a cat. He just wants to clean it up a bit.

…Two hours later, the feline is perfectly groomed, shining and fed only the highest quality of sushi (such scent-heavy food as tuna were potential obstacles and evidence…as well as being a picky eater.) To his surprise, the kitten didn’t cower in the water, instead purring and enjoying the bath…it was almost worth it for the awful texture on Oguri’s hands.

The kitten pads around the room, Oguri peers over it. Is it going to go to the futon? 

It paws at the blankets, before turning away.

No.

Oh god no. 

It jumps on the couch, a vile tiny scratch. 

Are you serious, it can’t be going…

The kitten curls up on the suit. Said suit’s worth is most likely in the four digit figures of American dollars.

But the way that kitten curls up to it, makes it’s value increase ten fold.

Oguri sighs, looking down at the cat hair and scratch on his pant cuff. It’s made a hole on the edge. This is despicable. 

He grabs some scissors, sitting next to the kitten, as he snips carefully around the hem of his pants, taking the strips of cloth to a sewing machine. 

The kittens ears prick up at the noise, before mewing at Oguri’s return. It struggles a bit, feeling something against it’s neck- fluffy paws pushing on Oguri’s hand.

It has been complete. The kitten peers down, pawing at the little bow wrapped around it. 

“Mi…”

“What about Emi?” The cat brushes itself against Oguri’s hand.

“Emi it is.”

[kpopdancings]

Why K-Pop Star Chung Ha Washes Her Face Three Times Every Night

New Post has been published on http://www.whatsupkpop.com/why-k-pop-star-chung-ha-washes-her-face-three-times-every-night/

Why K-Pop Star Chung Ha Washes Her Face Three Times Every Night

Why K-Pop Star Chung Ha Washes Her Face Three Times Every Night

Raise your hand if you’re ready for Chung Ha to have a goth concept. The 22-year-old Korean pop singer has covered the bases for cute and colorful looks since debuting with disbanded girl group I.O.I in 2016. Now that she’s been a soloist for a good year and a half, imagine her swiping on black lipstick before taking the stage.

Chung Ha doesn’t hate the idea when I suggest it during a recent phone interview. “Maybe for Halloween,” she tells me as she sits backstage before a performance in Seoul. “One day, I would love to try it.” She even brings up trying out a midnight blue lipstick because she loves dark lip colors, so I swear I’m not the only one who is putting this concept into the universe for Chung Ha.

At the moment, Chung Ha is focusing on the concept for her newest mini-album Blooming Blue, though. True to the season, the music video for its title song “Love U” radiates summer vibes, including but not limited to, Chung Ha’s beachy blonde-streaked brown hair and popsicle-stained lips. “[The concept] might remind you of a pool party,” Chung Ha says. I dare you to watch the music video and not want to slip on your bathing suit.

Experimenting With Beauty Trends

Some of this summer’s most popular beauty trends also dominate Blooming Blue’s concept. I have to admit that I screamed internally when I scrolled past a photo Chung Ha posted on Instagram to tease the album of her face speckled with pearls in the formation of freckles. It’s exactly the kind of experimental look that gets me excited about covering K-pop for Allure.

For another promo shot, half of Chung Ha’s hair was tied up into two mini buns, her cheeks were swept with a lemon-yellow blush, and her lids were covered in a shimmery wash of bubblegum pink. Bold eye shadow, in particular, has been incorporated into makeup as she makes the rounds on South Korea’s popular music shows to promote “Love U.” Like many K-pop stars, Chung Ha consistently has the same makeup for every performance. For this comeback, colorful underliner is the focal point of her makeup. “I put on different colored eye shadows on my [lower lids],” she says of her everyday look. Today, she notes that it’s purple, but she’s also done baby blue and fuchsia.

My favorite part of the whole look is the tiny star-shaped rhinestones placed right below Chung Ha’s tear ducts. While promoting her last title song “Rollercoaster,” Chung Ha points out that she had circular ones on the middle of her lower lids. For her goth concept, she can do tiny half moons on the outer corners of her eyes — just saying.

Because Chung Ha seems so on top of beauty trends, I ask her if there are any happening in Korea that haven’t made their way to the U.S. yet. “I’m not sure because we can share everything on YouTube,” she says. True. That’s how she recently found out about cryotherapy. “I haven’t tried it before, but I really want to,” she says. Maybe we should get cryofacials while we’re in Los Angeles for KCON LA? (I’m only half-kidding.)

The Impact of “Rollercoaster”on Chung Ha’s Look Throughout our interview, Chung Ha repeatedly refers back to “Rollercoaster.” Its bright concept truly helped solidify and define Chung Ha’s aesthetic in the K-pop world. Not only was has it been her favorite concept so far, but it’s also one that she says fits her personal style best. The glow-in-the-dark makeup was fun, but Chung Ha still isn’t over the amount of glitter involved. I thought I loved glitter, but Chung Ha lives for it. She brings it up so many times I start to wonder if it runs through her veins.

With copious amounts of sparkle on her eyes, outfits, and nails for the music video, the concept made Chung Ha feel more comfortable than, say, the cutesy, ice cream-themed concept I.O.I had for its final album. (She names this as the hardest concept for her to pull off.) While in the makeup chair for “Rollercoaster,” “I gave a lot of suggestions, like, let’s do glitter here, let’s do glitter there,” she says. “I love glitter so much.”

Turns out, giving input on her hair and makeup concepts is commonplace for Chung Ha. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t like input from others either. “I also love listening to other people’s advice, so I could try new stuff like the freckles,” she adds.

Chung Ha does have thoughts on her next concept, though. Surprisingly, the look she has is mind is completely opposite to her favorite look. “For my next concept, I’d like to go very matte with more of a nude tone,” she says. “And my hair not colorful, just black or maybe brown — really minimal.”

Chung Ha’s Go-To Skin-Care Routine Despite being experimental with her hair and makeup in her professional life, Chung Ha rarely tries out new looks when she’s not working. “Because I wear makeup all the time when I’m on schedule and on stage, I give my skin time to rest and breathe,” she explains. “I actually don’t put on makeup that much in my free time.”

Instead, Chung Ha concentrates on giving her skin some TLC with soothing sheet masks. “They’re comfortable and easy to dispose of,” she explains. Wash-off masks, on the other hand, aren’t her favorite because rinsing them off can be harsh on skin, and she’s all about gentle formulas.

Cleansing is also a key part of Chung Ha’s skin-care routine. “Even if you put so many good products on, there’s no use if your skin isn’t washed thoroughly,” she explains. If she’s wearing makeup, Chung Ha starts off with an eye makeup remover before embarking on a three-step process. An oil cleanser kicks things off by gently sweeping away any leftover makeup. (My favorite is the Banila Co Clean It Zero Original Cleansing Balm, in case you’re looking for a recommendation.) Then, she reaches for a foaming cleanser like the Neogen Real Cica Micellar Cleansing Foam.

Lastly, Chung Ha like to do what she calls “bubbling it out” with face wash that, well, bubbles. (She didn’t mention her go-to, but try the Belif Pore Cleaner Bubble Foam.) “That’s about it,” she finishes off the list, as if it isn’t an extensive cleansing regimen. I tell her some people just use a face wipe and call it a day, so I respect her washing her face three times. “Really?” she replies. “I thought I was really simple because I wear so much makeup.”

She thinks the rest of her routine was simple, too. Spoiler alert: It’s not. After cleansing comes her toner set. The first one is a cleansing toner. (Allure editors love the Acwell Licorice pH Balancing Cleansing Toner.) The second is a hydrating toner. Then, she smooths on an essence, a moisturizer, and a sleeping pack — in that order.

If you lost count of how many steps that is, Chung Ha’s skin-care routine adds up to nine steps. Occasionally, a tenth is incorporated. “If I would do another one, I would do eye cream,” she adds. “But I don’t usually do my eye cream. I forget.” Same. I’m glad K-pop stars forget to put on eye cream, too.

[lifeasarandomdudeknowsit-blog]

Entry #329 - Mission Complete!

Despite the pounding rain and howling winds that prevail the outside world, inside my apartment (and, more importantly, inside my brain), there is a strange, soothing calm. For, you see, as of a few minutes ago, I have finished going through my possessions.  I sort of went on a mad tear this morning, cleaning out six bins' worth of stuff, and this evening, I decided to just go for it and clear out the last three.  The only reason I managed to go through so many bins in one day is because none of them were what I deemed a few days ago to be “bad” boxes.  No mounds of paperwork. Not much in the way of nostalgia that stops me in its tracks.  Very few items I had to spend surprisingly lengthy amounts of time deciding whether to keep or give away.  It was much cleaner and much easier mentally than the past week or so has been.  Sure, I ended up with about seven boxes out of the nine that I'm keeping, but three (maybe four) are books, one is electronic doodads, two are VHS tapes and DVDs, and one...I cannot remember at this moment.  The point is that I've managed to shed approximate a third of my boxed possessions within the span of one week, and for me, that is unprecedented.

Every time I've moved to a new home, I've had to decide what exactly to keep and what to rid myself of, and before I began this project, I would end up keeping way more stuff than necessary simply because I didn't know what to do with it at the time.  And, of course, when I was getting down to the wire during my last two moves, instead of rationally going through my possessions and organizing them into logical collections inside each box, I would panic and throw all manner of random crap into boxes just so I would have everything packed before moving day began.  That is why I ended up with so many “bad” boxes; I never bothered to figure out what was in them, and every time I would attempt to go through one, I would realize what an awful job I had done keeping my possessions straight (or find something that brought back some painful memories) and just give up.  I suppose I've changed for the better, because I persevered through every “bad” box (and there were more than their fair share of them) to complete this project. It feels as though a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Now I finally know everything I own, and there is very little random crap now as opposed to last week.

I did allow myself two “relic” boxes, which contain items that have positive memories attached to them.  I figure I can allow myself a bit of sentimental items without going too far overboard.  Having only two boxes (as opposed to spreading out the items over probably close to ten boxes) means if I ever really want to go back and look at something I accomplished, I know exactly where to look, and it will only take me a few minutes as opposed to potentially taking hours to find something.  I've also cut down a lot on what I would consider sentimental.  A lot of items I thought might be important turned out to have little to no sentimental value to me.  After the first day, those items were significantly easier to part with, since I realized there wasn't much of a reason to keep piles of items I didn't really care about.  That in and of itself was as important a reason as any for me to work through this process.  I think I've gained some valuable insight into my life because of it.

Of course, having now gone through every box, I've realized that there is still one glaring omission that I can confirm is now no longer mine: my SNES is, as far as I can tell, gone.  This loss does sting quite a bit, since, even though I never really took advantage of it when I was a kid, I cannot deny the impact that the SNES had on me as a teenager and an adult.  While I don't necessarily have a large collection of SNES games (maybe ten, and all but one of those was purchased on eBay maybe a decade or so ago), I still would have liked to have a SNES in my possession.  It's the one big step in console evolution I am missing.  Sure, I can probably go pick one up online for $40 or so, but I don't really know if it's worth it at this point.  If I'm going to pick up another retro console, it's probably going to be a Retron 5.  Even though it is using emulation (and a controversial version of it at that), it's still potentially a much better way to get the most out of my old games than any single console.

Finally, I realized that, apparently, I have far more books than I had ever known.  Out of all the boxes I have brought back home with me, fully half of those boxes are specifically book boxes.  Heck, about one and a half of the boxes I went through tonight had just books.  Which means two things: I need to get at least one very large bookshelf (or a couple of small ones), and I'm likely going to have to go through all of them again to determine which books I REALLY want to keep.  I did let a decent chunk of books go to the donation box, but still, having five or six boxes just full of books makes one think about whether or not one really does need all of this reading material.  It's the same thought I have when I look at my video game collection: do I really need all of these games, or am I just keeping them for the sake of keeping them?  I think my next big project will be going through my books and video games to determine which items I want to keep because I know I'm going to play/read them some day and which items I'm keeping because they're things and I like owning lots of things.  The latter category will likely end up being items I either sell or donate. Which, really, gives me a greater sense of satisfaction than looking at shelves full of stuff and thinking to myself, “Man, I sure do have a lot of stuff I'll probably never get around to enjoying.”

I cannot stress how important of a process this was for me.  It's taught me a lot about myself, and it's helped me overcome what may very well have become borderline hoarding mentality.  There are still steps to be taken to further decrease my possessions, but this was a huge first step.  And it's the first step towards bigger and better changes.