#he deserves to know someone won't care about being “tainted” by all of the blood on his hands when he touches them

[the-whispers-of-death]

oh don't you worry im patient enough. i'd break feral Stone in no time. some muzzling, a few days with no food spent collared and leashed outside (maybe some tying him down and spanking him) he gets to see how well i treat Grim Reaper Stone who is a good boy.

i'd pin feral Stone down, showing him who's really in charge. if he wants to act like an animal i can assert my dominance like an animal

(if he peed on my furniture to mark his territory or to just be a nuisance i'd pee back on him so he knows his place at the bottom of the pack)

Someone does need to show Feral!Stone he isn't the alpha he thinks he is. He's a little shit who only thinks with his bloodlust.

Though he somehow manages to get Serial Killer!Stone wrapped up into this, probably because he tells Serial Killer!Stone that you kidnapped him (you did not but poor Serial Killer!Stone went to rescue Feral!Stone because he has strong morals, the rescue attempt did not work.) Now you have two serial killers, at least Serial Killer!Stone is a good boy like Grim Reaper!Stone.

Grim Reaper!Stone & Serial Killer!Stone cuddle each other while they watch Feral!Stone try and fail to assert dominance over you.

[sukirichi]

Hi! I hope you're doing okay. So I just had a thot. And idk what to do with it. So Imma just put it here cause your blog is my new favourite. I'm not even joking. I literally devoured everything related to Tokyo Rev on your blog. So here's my theory. Do correct me if you think I'm wrong Sensei!

Bouten husbands and where they liked to be kissed the most/ or is their weakness. (Ps: it's just my opinion. I mean no offense to anyone.)

Mikey~ Kiss him on his shoulders and he'll cry. Cause he's been bearing all the burden of his dark and decaying world for so long that he doesn't even know that he needs to take a minute for himself and rely on others around him. Especially since most ppl around him are willing to give their life and limbs for Mikey. He just can't seem to keep that in mind. So you've taken it upon yourself to remind him frm time to time. Just a little peck on his strong and broad-ish shoulders to remind him that he's not alone. That if nothing, he has you. He always will.

Rindou~ Something about being kissed on his cheeks, especially by his lover, does things to him. Like his cardiovascular muscles do a little somersault in his chest or something. Because yes, it doesn't matter if he's one of the big, scary and irreplaceable executive of Bouten, he still has an unconscious inferiority complex. Sometimes it just skips his mind that despite everything, he too deserves the world. And every once in a while you need to remind him about it. That he doesn't have to be flashy and snarky like his brother. He just needs to be himself and that he is undeniably worthy of love.

Ran~ Not many people are taller than him, you are no exception. So it makes sense that in order to kiss him you need to be on your tippy toes. And still you're only able to reach his neck. So yeah, just kiss him there. Right on his Adam's apple and he's a goner. It doesn't even have to be sexual. Ran is always the one to take charge. It's kind of in his nature and you happily oblige him. But every now and then, you also need to remind him to take a breather That he can just let go and get dotted over for a change. You're more than happy to take care of him, that he needs to be taken care off.

Koko~ This man not only, brings in the big dough for Bouten, but also beats up people while at it. To say that he's always overworked is an understatement. His hands are always doing something, illegal things most of the time. He knows he's no saint. That there's no coming back into the light. He's painfully aware. But once e intertwine your hands together and kiss him on top of his knuckles, he swears that it's his redemption. You're the only light in his dark and dangerous world.

Kaku-chan~ Please. Just kiss this man on his forehead. Please. He's literally out there, ready to give his life for the things he wants to protect. He's always doing that. Protecting the people that have gone astray, who have no more hope left. He's ready to die for them, if it means they'll keep going. So please, just once, just protect him instead. Protect him from the demons he skillfully hided in his head. Protect him from the nightmares that torment him every night. Just protect him for a change. He needs it more than he's willing to admit.

Sanzu~ Okay. Hear me out. He's deranged and he knows it. He knows he's won't bat an eye before painfully torturing someone to death. Heck he'll even do it with a smile plastered on his face. He knows that he's stained in blood almost all the time.(sometimes his own, most of the other times, not his own). He'll even relish it. He knows that he's been tainted with burden of death. He knows that he lives in the shadows. He's not sane. He's not good. He's bad. He's ugly. You can tell that these awful thoughts keep him awake at night. So when they do and he has this almost painful look on his face. Just pull him close and kiss him on his face, over and over. Kiss his scars, kiss his lips, kiss his nose, his eyes. Just don't stop until he's got your point across. That yes, it's true that he's despicable. But you still love him nonetheless.

Ps: Sorry that was too long and kinds got out of hand. But these are just my "thots". Thank you for hearing me out!~ Thot anon

hi i’m doing okay, thanks for asking n i hope you are too !! also aaah i’m glad to know my blog is your new fave, i hope you enjoy more of my future tokrev content 🥺 ALSO YES ITS HEADCANON TIME LETS GO LETS GO

mikey n shoulder kisses 🥺 i hc that mikey is stiff and rigid all the time without knowing. like you said, he has a lot on his mind and draken even said mikey had a heavy ass cross to bear, so imagine the weight and burdens he has to shoulder 🥺 so if you lean into him for a hug then kiss his shoulders, mikey deflates. to him, its like a reminder he doesn’t have to carry it all by himself all the time and poor bb forgets that often

cheek kisses for rindou 🥺 the idea of this big, bad executive infamous for breaking limbs but is actually a sucker for cheek kisses and turns into a soft lil bean when you cup his face and just smother him with love n affection? bless. rindou probably unknowingly exerts too much effort sometimes to prove something - may it be his strength, his power, or how he’s perfectly capable of fighting by himself - he’ll have that voice at the back of his head that he needs to do something. giving him cheek kisses grounds him and elicits butterflies in his stomach bcos he realizes that, “oh, i don’t have to try so hard. silly me...now more cheek kisses, please.”

ran and neck kisses !! ON THE FLOOR RN, TELL ME MORE. but yes omg i also hc that ran is such a giver and grown up to look for others the way he does for rindou, so in his head, he’s kind of drilled it into himself that he has to be the one in the lead - not necessarily in a mikey way - but in a “he needs to take charge and take his responsibilities seriously” kind of thing. like mikey, ran is probably often deep in thought as well despite his teasing mannerisms, that when you kiss his neck he can’t help but soften. he enjoys being doted on. loves to be the one on the receiving side. has the sweetest smile on his face when he gets a lil ticklish and he just feels like he’s on cloud nine <33

knuckle kisses for koko 😫 everything you said was on point !! his hands are probably so tired from fighting and counting bills all day, not to mention the amount of paperwork he has to do bcos who else will do them ?? no one knows the inner system of koko and how it works as well as koko does, and he wants to do his job right. he gets a little too absorbed in his work, however, that koko gets a little confused when you take his hands away from whatever he’s working on to leave little kisses at the pads of his knuckles, maybe even massaging his hands or playing with his fingers to help him relax a bit. and you know how koko is so good at what he does bcos its all he knows, but at the same he probably hates how he treads on this dark path ?? so when you kiss his knuckles, he feels relieved. like everything will be okay and second chances are real n something he’s worthy of

omg now this is my favorite - kakucho + foreahead kisses. forehead kisses are always so intimate and soothing in a sense. like come here so you can kiss him on the forehead, watch the way his eyes flutter close and a smile tugs at his lips when your lips trail down to his scar, all the while your hands are cupping his face with such tenderness he never really knew of. kakucho is so used to being the tough guy with his rough childhood that it almost feels surreal. surreal that he’s in bed, with you, safe and sound and you’re kissing his forehead so comfortingly he doesn’t have to worry about putting his walls down for a second. he feels safe. he feels at home. but most of all, he knows he’s not alone and he has you - his family

kissing sanzu’s scars 🥺 everything you said was beautiful n i can totally see it happening !! as much as we all know sanzu takes great pleasure and finds entertainment in what he does, it sinks down a little too late. when he’s not high, that’s when he feels the lows. when the blood on his hands are dried, that’s when he realizes it gets harder to wash them off until it stains deep all the way into his soul. then his scars. he sees his scars and remembers how he has to hide them at some point. he stays awake at night and oddly enough, silent and unmoving. and what better way to ease his worries than to pull him close and just to kiss his scars that he thinks are only one of the ways the darkness - the ugliness - of his soul shows through. keep him close and kiss his scars. sanzu may not always be in the right mind to understand your words, but the simple gesture of showing love and acceptance to a part of him that makes him a whole will engrave deep into his heart. leave him butterfly kisses. kiss him from everywhere to his eyes until they flutter close to sleep. kiss his nose adoringly until they scrunch so cutely. kiss his lips until its your taste that overwhelms him. and kiss his scars to remind him his imperfections are accepted and loved

[the-lonelybarricade]

Hiii!! I've been following your work since the beginning and i just wanted to give u a big squeeze of a hug for blessing us with all of your fics 'cause i feel like we don't deserve u for blessing us with all these wonderful feysand content that u are sharing.

I hope all is well with ur life and in ur studies, and if it's not too much to ask, would you consider writing a feysand au where Feyre & Rhys aren't mates, but are happily in love and in a relationship--when all of a sudden, one of them meets their mate (preferably Rhys..?) or something like that 😚. Won't lie to u that im dying to know what events would play out and how Feyre would react if this scenario happened. Really no pressure to write this or anything just wanted to try my luck with this idea :DD. Thank u!

Bestie, ooof. What are you trying to do to me? Can you imagine how heartbreaking that would be for Feysand to be happy and in love, waiting patiently for the mating bond to snap only to find out they were star-crossed lovers all along? Well you don’t have to imagine it, because I already have. And if I’m going to be in torment over Feysand angst, I’m (affectionately) dragging you all down with me.

P.s. thank you for the submission lovely, I hope you enjoy <3

The Chains That Bind Us

Word count: 1,956

⟡⟡⟡

Feyre and Rhysand were happily married. For 300 years, they had basked in what seemed like an infinite stretch of rapture, working alongside and complimenting each other with a grace and chemistry that had always felt predestined. They had always been certain they were mates, but time had flowed on and neither had felt the inkling of that special, magic bond.

They have resigned that perhaps the mating bond will never snap, perhaps that’s simply not what they were to one another, but that was okay. It was enough to be husband and wife, to be High Lord and Lady, to be happy and in love. They didn’t need a mating bond to reaffirm what they felt for one another. Things were already perfect as they were.

Until they weren’t. Until they had journeyed together to Illyria to oversee the announcement of the first all-female battalion. It had been a long term goal of Rhysand and his brothers to finally battle back the long ingrained sexism of Illyrian culture, and the visit was meant to be a celebration. A liberating ceremony, in honor of their mothers and all the females who had been victims of prejudice.

But when the leader of the battalion stepped forward to be acknowledged for her accomplishments, Rhysand had gone rigid at Feyre’s side, his breathing suddenly ragged. His pupils were blown wide, eyes fixed, riveted to the female.

Feyre felt her whole world had imploded in that moment. Especially when that female’s eyes had met her High Lord’s and had frozen just the same, the two bearing matched expressions of awe and disbelief.

She was certain she was going to be sick. Such a thing would be far from befitting of a High Lady, so Feyre had immediately winnowed back to their River House, back into their bathroom where she was instantly emptying the contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl.

Rhysand was there not too long after, holding back Feyre’s hair. They said nothing to each other, not until Feyre had recovered enough to turn and face her husband.

She was entirely unprepared for the way her heart shattered to meet his face, to meet those lovely eyes she had loved for centuries. Eyes that had only moments before been staring at another female with so much blind devotion it had torn her open.

“Feyre—” he started.

“I suppose we should have assumed that something like this could happen,” she interrupted, because she couldn’t bear to hear him apologize. Not for something like this, something that was entirely out of either of their control.

“It doesn’t change anything,” he insisted, but there was a strain to his voice that had never been present before. A bite that Feyre was convinced was the result of Rhysand battling against his instincts to return to Illyria, to that female.

“It changes everything, Rhys.”

She was already weeping as she choked the words out, because speaking them made them true. Those few centuries of bliss between them, they were a bubble, a perfectly crafted delusion that had finally popped.

“I love you,” Rhys seethed, as though arguing with himself. “I don’t even know that females name—”

“It doesn’t matter, Rhys. She’s your—”

“Don’t say it,” he begged, his voice a broken rasp. “Please, don’t say it.”

Somehow, that made it impossibly worse. That Rhys had been gifted this incredible, Cauldron-blessed thing, but was scorning it for her sake. Most Fae dreamed of the moment their mating bond would snap, and here was her husband acting as if it was his worst nightmare.

But Feyre knew what it was like for males. She knew he was clawing against every instinct in his mind, screaming at him to go to his mate, to know her name, to claim her. Feyre stifled another sob. Rejected mating bonds could drive a male mad. How could she ever think to do that to him? How could she deny him this piece of himself?

What broke her heart more than anything is that Feyre knew he would. Rhysand would reject his bond, would let that intrinsic part of his soul be torn away, for her sake. If Feyre asked, he would stay. He would stay and be miserable.

“I can’t do this to you, Rhys. I can’t force you to stay with me out of duty. I will not be your jailor.”

“You are my wife,” Rhys choked, reaching for her hand. He drew her palms to his face, allowing her to caress his cheeks. He shut his eyes as he nuzzled into her touch, causing his unshed tears to fall, racing down to collect at her hands. “You are my High Lady. You are the only one I want to be with.”

That wrecked another sob through Feyre’s body, which came out as a harsh exhale as she tried to restrain it. “You’d be a broken male without her, Rhys. The Cauldron—” she sucked in a strangled breath. Some truths were just too difficult to confront— “The Cauldron didn’t intend for us to be together.”

“Damn the Cauldron,” he growled, reaching for her with newfound conviction. “No one and nothing can decide who I love. No one can tell me that you are not who I belong with—who I belong to.”

Feyre allowed him to bundle her in his arms, to press her fiercely against his chest. She knew moments like this were fleeting, where they could hold each other as husband and wife. Already, their love was tarnished. Tainted. Blood spilled onto white snow. How long would it take for this mating bond to seep, to spill into the cracks, to spread until it consumed them? She couldn’t see an outcome where they could stay together unblemished, where they wouldn’t come to resent one another.

“Rhysand, listen to me love,” Feyre said, and found that her voice was steadier than she anticipated. “I care more about you being happy than I care about that happiness being found with me. Do you understand?”

“I would not be happier without you, Feyre.” His voice was ripe with earnesty. When she turned those eyes to meet his, those violet depths were burning, the silver constellations completely eclipsed by molten amethyst. He swallowed thickly. “Do I… want that female? Yes.” Feyre cringed to hear her husband admit it outloud. “But, that is just my instincts. I will be able to manage them with time. This bond is nascent. My love for you? It’s endured for centuries. The cauldron is not faultless; my parents were mates and they were miserable together. I could never imagine someone so perfect to walk beside me as you, Feyre. I do not seek another, no matter what fate has to say for it.”

Feyre allowed the comfort of his words to wash over her. She rested her head against Rhysand’s shoulder, inhaling his familiar scent, letting herself lavish in the rhythm of him, the beat of his heart steady in his chest.

“I will understand if you change your mind,” she whispered. “I do not hold you to your vows. If you become unhappy, if one day you cannot resist the pull you feel towards her… I will not hold it against you. I give you permission to… to leave me.”

Rhys let out a small, rueful laugh before he pressed a tender kiss to her temple. “How could I desert a love that is so selfless? The least I could do in the wake of such a declaration is promise to never see that female again.”

Feyre shook her head emphatically. “Don’t promise me that, Rhys. Just—just promise me that we’ll always be honest with each other. That we’ll always be a team, whether it be as rulers, or as lovers, or… or just as friends.”

“I promise,” he swore. “I vowed on my court and crown that I will love you for eternity. And I still know that to be true, even now. My soul… it might belong to someone else. But my heart, Feyre, it will always belong to you.”

There was something irreparably changed between them. They both knew it, could sense the way it lingered between them. The first crack, and possibly not the last. What they had was fragile now, but they had a gift for being delicate with one another.

The silence hung between them, a wretched, discomfiting presence that had never been there before. Both not quite sure what to say, not quite sure where this put them. She watched Rhysand’s lower lip quiver, understood that it was from the strain of not burdening her with his own turmoil over the situation.

Feyre tutted as she threw her arms around him, recognizing the signs of his crumbling. Rhys bowed his head in shame, burying his face into her chest.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped against her, releasing a sob of his own. “I’m sorry it couldn’t have been you. I wanted it to be you. I’m a failure of a husband, for putting you through this.”

“You are an excellent husband,” Feyre protested, threading her fingers through his hair soothingly. Her voice was still raw. “I don’t blame you for this, Rhys. I love you just the same.”

He lifted his head so their tear-stained faces were level. His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, still glistening in silver. “What do we do now?”

They clung to each other so tightly, as if they pressed hard enough they could redirect fate, could mold their souls together and correct the misdeed of the Cauldron.

“I don’t know,” Feyre answered, burying her face in his shoulder as if it would hide her from the truth of the world. “I suppose we have no choice but to keep going. We’ll find our footing again. Together. And if we don’t… well, maybe we can wish on the stars.”

There was a huff of air at her ear. A laugh, she guessed, or something like it, something wry and humorless. Rhys moved underneath her, and Feyre pulled away to watch in confusion as her husband rose to his feet.

He extended his hand towards her. Curious, Feyre accepted, allowing him to pull her to her feet. In a blink, they were on the rooftop, beneath the stars. She hadn’t even realized the sun had set until she was staring up at the impossibly bright cosmos.

“Where better to find our footing than under those very stars?”

She turned to him, and Rhys was staring at her the way he had on starfall, all those centuries ago. Staring at her as if she were the brightest star in the sky, as though he looked to Feyre to cast his wishes.

“Will you dance with me, wife?”

Not convinced she was capable of speech, Feyre nodded. Using the hand he still held, Rhys twirled her into his arms. And though no music played, they found their own rhythm, lost in the cadence of each other, spinning endlessly under the stars.

As they swayed under the endless expanse of sky and starlight, Feyre mused how even the brightest of stars eventually burned out, but that didn’t make them any less worth wishing on. That didn’t mean they weren’t worth fighting for.

⟡⟡⟡

[kaito-is-baby]

The 6 stages of grief

Levi Ackerman x fem! Reader

Denial

I had an idea about Levi facing every stage of grief after losing Isabel and Farlan and he takes it out on the reader, one of the few survey corps soldiers that survives that expedition and Levi blames their death on her. She understands what he is going through and tries to help him get to acceptance. I will split this on 6 parts, one per each stage. This one is the second part .

Part 1 - Part 3

Denial

Heavy feets, heavy clothes soacked in blood, heavy eyes and heavy breathing. There was nothing about living that was not heavy and painful to Levi right now

He had lost his siblings on that expedition fighting for a cause they did not even believe in

Why? Why had he lost them?

His mind was empty, the only sounds he could hear were Isabel and Farlan's screams, their skin tearing apart by that titan hands and their bones being crushed between its teeth

Your voice tried to reach to him many times on the way back home but not even once he did pay attention to you

His eyes riveted on the wagon carrying the expedition's deads

His eyes were on what he could imagine were Farlan and Isabel bodies, or what that titan had left of them

His mind was so fixated on the corpses that he could not think, his brain was just silent, repeating the same scene all over again, his friends death and how he couldn't save them

He finally broke once he entered the common showers

On the underground showering with hundred of strangers would be quite intimidating

He remembered the very first time he and Farlan had to shower on the survey corps, they were vulnerable and uncomfortable, on their past life they would have been killed in that situation

He also remembered Isabel told him that you had managed to get the shower closed for 20 minutes just so she did not have to go through that feeling, he knew that the situation was for sure much worse for a girl and even more in Isabel case, she was alone, he and Farlan had each other at least

That little detail made him see you as someone quite likeable, you really helped and cared for Isabel, but it soon went away

As water tainted of red out of blood felt from Levi's body, his mind flew to every single memorie he had had with his now dead comrades, ignoring the fact that they were no longer there

He went to the dinner hall searching for his friends, his mind was not even trying to assimilate what had happened. As stupid as it sounds he did not realise that none of them were going to show up to the hall

You approached him, two different plates with food, you had prepared one for him too

"Here, I thought you would not want to think too much about what to eat or where, want to come to my squad table?" You said in the sweetest tone you could give him

He was not really an enjoyable company and you were not dying for him to eat with you but you understood how he felt, he was lonely now, if he had to think about where to sit he would have to process his siblings-like deaths and you knew he wasn't ready for that, no one was ever ready for that

But his mind was not with you right now, it wasn't on the dinner hall, it was in their old house, that horrible underground house where at least he had them

He did not answer you, heading towards his bedroom with an empty stomach

The moment his body touched the bed thoughts finally started to appear on his head

"Why? Why did I accept that mission. The underground was horrible but at least we were alive."

"Why? Why did I gave up and allowed them to go to that expedition, if I had been more stubborn they both would be alive"

"Why? Why did Erwin let us go with him knowing we were going to kill him, was he trying to get us killed by those monsters? Did he really wish for Isabel and Farlan's death?"

"Why? Why was I not able to save them?"

"Why did this happened? Maybe I deserved it, maybe every single bad thing I had done brought us there"

"But why was I the only one to survive? Isabel deserved life much more than I"

"It is my fault"

Every single one of those question ended up with "It is my fault"

The loud snorts of the idiots he had to share the room with and the knowledge that Farlan's bed was totally empty was not helping him

His mind growing meaner to him, blaming him more and more

Until a slight knock on the door woke him up from this nightmare

Not literally, he couldn't sleep, he had always had hard times sleeping and now? He knew he would never sleep again

With those very heavy feets and heavy eyes that did not abandon him since the loss of his friends he approached the door

And there you were, bothering him again, he was starting to hate you now, you had survived and Isabel and Farlan didn't, who gave you the rights to come and bother him every single time?

"I... thought you would like to have what Isabel left on our room"

His hate disappeared, his sadness disappeared, he could only think about how having Isabel things would bring her back to him

Both of you headed to the kitchen, you wouldn't bother anyone's sleep there

"I'm sorry if I woke you up, I couldn't sleep knowing Isabel was not on the other bed and I went to look at some of her things, I tought you would need it more than me" you were not lying... totally, you did all of that, you felt horrible after losing the girl and you could not sleep but you weren't sorry you woke him up, you knew how this worked he either couldn't sleep or was being haunted by nightmares

A slight grunt was the only answer Levi gave you

"I don't think she had wanted me to look through her things though so I didn't really touched anything, I think that's something she would have liked you to do" your voice barely reaching his ears as he found Isabel belongings

There were not many things, they did not have the money neither the time to buy unnecessary objects. Isabel did had a preferred shampoo she took with her to the survey corps, Levi remembered how he was the one who told her to buy something to clean herself apart from water, a small smile drawing on his lips as the memory crossed his mind

For him you were not there, neither was the kitchen, he was with Isabel trying to explain to her that some water won't make the dirt go away

"Levi, no one can afford the luxury of a clean hair here, don't be mean to the girl, just get her some shampoo"

They couldn't afford to lose their money in insignificant belongings and many of the underground would find shampoo as one of those but not Levi, he needed Isabel to be clean if she was going to live with them

He would give anything to be back there, to have them at his side again

But instead you were the one by his side today

And your voice brough him him back to his cruel and empty reality

"She told me that story about the bird you set free" your hands were holding a small piece of paper with a drawing of that little animal who made Farlan and him meet Isabel "I think I've never known someone who would risk their lives for a bird like she did"

"I did not know Isabel could draw like that"

"I... Isabel saw me sketching some of the new cadets training and once she told me the story about the bird we both thought it would be good to have something to remember that story"

Levi felt how his eyes darkened, he did not like how you were introducing yourself in his grief, you were not one of them, you were not someone Isabel trusted and you were not his friend, he did not want you, or anyone, to fill the void they left. No one could ever replace them

"Maybe I could do one for Isabel and Farlan so you can carry them with you always"

"I don't need anything like that" Levi grunted "and I don't need a new friend either so stop following me around everywhere, there is nothing to pity me about"

With that, Levi left and for the following days his hate towards himself and his blame started landing on to you

Every time he saw your face and your sweet gestures to try and make him survive through the situation it remembered him that it was real

You, your existence, proved that they were gone

He could no longer deny it

And his denial soon became hate and anger towards who he blamed their deaths on

His anger exploded on you and started to avoid you or mistreat you sometimes but deep down he was the one he blamed the most

[sunshineandviolets]

If UB hadn't manage to find the detective

[based off that one ask, and now I'm having thoughts about my mcs...]

Karthik:

Despite being stuck with Murphy, he never once lost hope. His optimism and faith in his friends & mother is too high to give up now. He can't lose and he would do everything he can to get back home, esp since he can't bare to leave his daughter alone. Karthik knows first hand what its like to lose a father, he refuses to let Meera go through the same thing. He tried to be overly friendly/charming towards Murphy to try and persuade him to set him free. Karthik's 'never giving up' attitude would be real annoying for Murphy, like Murphy can try but he can't ever break him.

Karthik is most likely to end up breaking out of Murphy's held himself. No matter the bruises or pain that is inflicted on him, he won't stop till he is finally free.

Afterwards he would end up a tad more clingy towards Meera and with Unit Bravo. Spending more time with them, as if he is trying to make up for the months of absence. He just doesn't want to feel like he was forgotten. And no more missed opportunities.

Jasmine:

After realising that no one had come for her, Jasmine feels deflated. She's been used to being nobody's first choice - she shouldn't be surprised that she is alone once again. She doesn't bother trying to escape, because who would she run too? An absent mother that hadn't shown interest in her till recently? A team of vampires that she no longer believed are her friends.

They had a duty, a job - that's all. She was just a failed mission to them. If she truly mattered, perhaps they would've found her. Deep down she wishes she was in the thoughts of at least one of them, the amber eyed vampire. She thought there was - no, she was mistaken. Because what would anyone have to gain having an interest in someone like her.

After she was found, that wall shot straight back up. Jasmine would become more aloof and reclusive. Those months of captivity ate into her fears and insecurity. She was never good at opening up to others, but now - it had become worse. It will take a while for that trust to be rebuilt and for the wall to come down, brick by brick.

[the other three are undercut, otherwise this post will be way too long!!]

Shivani:

When Shivani first found out about the supernatural world, she was terrified. She never considered herself strong nor brave, so being told that she was target for her blood - had her already on edge. But spending more time with unit bravo, and one tall vampire in particular, had started to make her feel at ease. Her fears were still present, but no longer at the extreme of how it once was.

Well that was until Murphy held her captive for months, feeding on her as if she was his personal blood bank. At the start she would still have that hope that she would be found. If not by Unit Bravo, but by her mother. Shivani is used to making excuses for Rebecca, but still believes that her mother cares about her too. Shivani knows she too weak to fight back, so the waiting game is all she thought she could do.

However, weeks and months past - she's still there. That hope had begun to fade and Shivani would've eventually accepted her fate. She had become too terrified to leave. Murphy was bad enough, what if she escapes and something worse awaits for her? She can't get hurt if she never leaves. She's not a fighter, she feels weak again - helpless even - has no energy left in her to try anymore.

After she was found, she has to leave Wayhaven. Too many bad memories had tainted her hometown. The Murphy incident left her traumatised and terrified of every possible shadow that lurks behind. She doesn't leave without telling Rebecca and UB first, no matter her feelings - they deserve to know. Rebecca would try to convince her to stay, for her protection, but Shivani will put her foot down and say no.

She will be sad having to say goodbye to Nat, even through the feelings were new - Nat had always been on her mind in those months of captivity. Her warm touch, her gentle smile and deep brown eyes...

Perhaps they could reunite once again, something Shivani still aches for as she drives out of the town.

Divya:

Divya was used to finding themselves in sticky situations, be it; school detention, bar fights or running from the police after ' borrowing' a drink or two. No matter the situation, she always had a way out. She never needed help from others to rescue themself from her mess. No one stayed in her life for long enough to care, why should she believe Unit Bravo to be any different? She gave up on their mother a long time ago, never once believed that she was going to change. After realising that no one will come for her, she'd have to find a way out on her own - like usual.

Weeks went past of trying to escape, was when Divya realised they were going about this whole thing all wrong. Having to spend time with Murphy and listening to his (urgh) constant monologues - she realised she can use this situation to her advantage and not be the victim. Divya wasn't exactly a fan of the agency either, considering they stole her father's life and mother's attention. The agency was the reason for her broken family, so she made a deal with him. Divya was going to allow him to feed on them, as long as she get's treated as a partner/equal. Working together against the agency, agents, whoever. So what if she became the villain? Rather a villain then the victim.

After months and months, Unit Bravo was able to trace Murphy's location - except now they have to deal who was alongside him. Divya wasn't angry nor upset - just empty as she got ready for the next fight. The fight was intense, esp with Ava not realising the reason why she doesn't want the detective to be hurt. Eventually Unit Bravo do win. Once Divya got restrained, those emotions slowly started to flow back and whispered a weak "Thank you".

Akira:

Akira was pissed. They never cared about the supernatural world to begin with, was quick to accept the revelation. Knowing that they were right that Unit Bravo weren't human, did wonders for their ego. However, going months of being Murphy's pet - they were pissed. Akira never believed anyone was ever going to come for them, why would they? It not like they were the most likable person out there. So what if they had a few flirts with perhaps two, that's all that it was. Just harmless flirting. It's never anything more. But it still hurt. Not being wanted enough to be found. Trust was for fools - they knew this better than anyone, and once that trust was broken... they're done.

First they had to deal with Murphy. Combat may not be their strength, but with vengeance in their blood - it won't stop them. So they continued to fight, using their surrounding to their advantage. Eventually Murphy was left unconscious (not dead) out in the boiling sun. Aki was free, injured and beaten but free.

The hobbled over back to Wayhaven, but only to collect a few things. As if they were a vampire themselves, they hid amongst the shadows to avoid being seen. Once they were reunited with their motorbike, they packed a bag and drove off.

Fuck the supernatural world. Fuck Rebecca and the agency. Fuck Unit Bravo.

Aki was done. Running away with a new name, to a new place sounds a lot better than dealing with all this shit.

Cutting people out of their life is quick & easy, reamending them? Almost impossible.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Chasing Providence {Dimitrescu/OC} Pt 1

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Pairings: TBA, at minimum platonic House Dimitrescu/OC, with some wlw side characters (also original, but not the focus of the story) Rating: T for mild violence and possibly triggering content Warnings: A character briefly threatens suicide as a means of prolonging a conversation (i.e. saying "if you don't listen, I'll ___") Additionally, this contains spoilers for Resident Evil 8. Summary: Months after being infected with a mysterious virus, investigative journalist Avaskian Caldwell is left with no choice: Xe has to get help, one way or another, from whatever remains of the Umbrella Corporation could be trusted. Or, perhaps, from the very person who started it all... Along the way xe'll have to get along with vampires, fight off would be hunters, befriend a hoard of cultists, all while performing the duties of an everyday servant. There's nothing xe won't try as xe's forced to chase providence. Notes: While this chapter features a somewhat talkative Ava, xe's normally selectively mute, and will be for the entire rest of the story.

1: Blood Runs Thick

“This can’t be it. No fucking way, bruv, are you sure you got the address right?” The journalist asked, eyes narrowed as xe stared out into the distant hills. One hand held a phone, currently without any signal, while the other kept a tentative grip on the van’s door handle. To their side was the driver, a middle-aged man with relatively little patience. When he replied, it was in a language the journalist didn’t speak, but could clearly understand as a swirl of profanity. “Alright, alright, I get it. Not like I could afford to pay you to take me back, anyway… I’ll just, uh, be going then. Try to have a nice day, eh, you old chap?” With that said xe opened the door, hopping out rather eagerly. After tucking xer phone into xer pocket, xe quickly gathered xer bags from the trunk, half expecting the man to drive off before xe had a chance.

Surprisingly, he stayed all the way until the journalist gave two hard pats to the van’s side. Then he practically slammed the gas pedal, speeding off in a whirling cloud of dust and kicked up rocks, promptly sending xer into a coughing fit. Curse these feeble lungs, xe thought, scowling. Absent-mindedly xe put a hand to xer throat, silently checking if xer, ahem, ‘wounds’ were still covered. Once satisfied, xe turned to the long, winding path into the village. Was this truly where the ever-elusive “Miranda” could be found? What in the blazes of hell was a scientist like herself doing here, in a mostly empty stretch of Romania? The thought sent a rush of anxiety to the journalist’s chest, as xe wondered if this “Miranda” would even consider helping xer. Xe hoped that, at the least, xer unique case would get her attention.

In the end, it took xer twice as long as expected to reach the village proper. There were no signs along the path, nor signs of life, other than countless dead birds, hung like falling leaves from every tree. Once, a display this gnarly would have made bile rise up in xer throat. But these days? After everything xe had researched? This was no hell, not when compared to the bombed ruin that was Raccoon City. Yet xe still cut xer hand when hopping the barbed wire fence, as if once again a rookie, too desperate for the truth to see the proper world. Fresh blood dropped onto the snow, but xe allowed xerself no wince nor complaint, instead focused on the figures moving in the distance. Strangers. Nay, sources. Someone would know something about the mysterious Miranda, even if they didn’t realize it.

So the journalist made haste, approaching as casually as xe could, considering the heavy traveler’s bag on xer shoulders, and the sturdy cane xe walked with. It was the latter that caught people’s attention first, as it click click clicked against the stone path. Before long there were several pairs of eyes on the journalist, some of them bearing thinly veiled hostility, others filled with nervousness.

“Who are you?” A man growls, stepping in front of a woman (his daughter, based on similar features, age difference) as he does. One of his fingers jabs into xer chest, daring them to take another move, carrying an unspoken threat within it. For a few seconds xe simply smiles at the man. Somewhat amused, xe hoped that xer natural charm would win the day, despite a quick glance telling them that most of these strangers were armed.

“I’m a journalist-” xe started to say, until the others moved their hands towards their holsters- “or at least I was, once. But I come asking for assistance, kindness from my fellow humans,” xe said, gesturing widely with xer arms. This made the others present pause, though the journalist wasn’t immediately sure that xe hadn’t just misspoken. Romanian was not xer first language. Or xer second, come to think of it. Oddly enough, however, it had clicked rather quickly in xer brain, as if xe had always been meant to speak it. “You may call me Avaskian Caldwell. Or just Ava, or just Kian, or just Vas, depending on your mood. Ah, but that hardly matters. I am here… to find a woman. Someone I have heard much about, a, how do you say… ‘marvel’ of science? They tell me she is called ‘Miranda’. Have I come to the-” xe do not get to finish that sentence. Before xe can understand what’s happening, someone has grabbed xer by the throat, attempting to life xer into the air.

For once in xer life, xe’s glad for the ‘extra insulation’.

“Fuck you, outsider, you don’t deserve to taint her name with your foul tongue!” The man shouts, squeezing xer throat, urged on by the jeering crowd. A smarter person would have been rather concerned at that point. But the journalist- Ava, as xe said- was not known for xer cleverness. That did not, however, stop xer from exhibiting cleverness. Taking advantage of xer ridiculous arm joints (which may or may not be doubled, possibly merely weird as fuck), xe reached into xer bag, ignoring the crowd’s scared reaction, retrieving an evidence bag. Inside of it: several broken vials, each marked with a symbol of terror. This is not a place of honor the symbol screamed. To the villagers, it meant something else, something older. To Ava? It meant the prophet of death, it meant Umbrella.

“I come bearing the sign of your village. I come bearing the scars of your Goddess,” Ava proclaims, raising the bag into the air. As soon as xe does, xe is released, the man scrambling backwards. Others turn away, some leaving, a handful gathering to pray. ‘Twas an odd display, but one that Ava preferred over a public execution. Only one person dares to approach: A woman, likely mid thirties, with dark eyes and darker hair. There’s a clear caution in her movements, as if it was taking all of her courage to not flee. “Do you perhaps know how I may reach Miranda? I am in dire need of her knowledge.” At this, the woman flinches, though her gaze lingers on Ava’s throat. It’s then that the journalist realizes xer collar was undone, exposing xer strange, ever-bleeding wound. The stranger does not speak until xe has covered the deformity.

“One does not simply reach Mother Miranda. But there are ways to get her attention, to ask for a, hmm, blessing,” she explains. With a sigh of relief, Ava starts to celebrate, eager to find a cure for what ailed xer. But the woman wasn’t done speaking, and her next words cut a thick line through xer hope. “It may take a few weeks, maybe less, but we can ensure your prayers are heard. Mother Miranda always rewards the faithful. Even those who start out as outsiders. In the end, all are welcome here, if they keep the faith in our Mother.”

“No, no, that won’t do!” Ava snaps, far harsher than intended. The woman flinches again, and xe starts to pace back and forth, trying to release xer pent up energy. “There has to be another way. Faster, more direct. I don’t-... I might not have time to wait. Please, please, anything you can do to help, even if it’s just pointing me in the right direction…” A gulp, eyes shining with unshed tears, a quiver of the lower lip. Falsehoods alike, directed for an honest purpose. Miranda was xer only hope for information- and, perhaps, for salvation. But the latter had never been Ava’s true priority.

“There might be one way, but it is dangerous. You’d be more likely to die on the path than reach your goal, if I am honest. Yet… if there is anyone in all the village who can grant you the audience you seek, it would be one of the four lords. If you are certain-” the woman could only watch as Ava nodded furiously, silently begging- “so be it. Follow me, but do not say I did not warn you. I do not want your spirit coming to haunt me for my act of pity.”

—————————

“An unexpected guest? How… delightful. Do tell me why you even bothered to drag this miscreant before me, Cynthia?” Lady Alcina Dimitrescu asked, with a scowl, staring down at the fragile human in question. Of all the things she had expected to find, once her head servant called her, this was not one of them. An intruder would have been more likely. Perhaps even more fun, if Alcina felt like letting her daughters join in the resulting feast. But this ‘thing’ was hardly worth her time. They were short, although admittedly somewhat plump, with a scent that implied illness. For once, she could not pinpoint the exact disease by smell alone. Not that she cared, really. ‘Twas simply… interesting.

“Please, allow me to introduce myself. You may call me Avaskian Caldwell, and I come with an… offer. With mutual benefits, I assure you, Lady Dimitrescu,” the journalist answered, giving a deep bow. Despite xer manners, Alcina seemed unimpressed, even irritated by the display. Still, she gestured with her right hand, encouraging xer to get on with it. “I am in need of a meeting, specifically one with the much beloved, dearly respected Mother Miranda. In exchange, I offer two things: The sweat of my brow, and the blood in my veins.” Much to xer displeasure, Alcina replied with loud laughter before fixing xer with a hard stare.

“Pray tell, little thing, what makes you think I won’t simply take your blood now, hmm?” She muses, cackling again, ignoring the way her servant flinched at the sound. But Ava did not waiver, instead simply reaching into xer sleeve. Slowly xe pulled out something metallic, speaking firmly as xe did.

“For one, Mother Miranda would certainly dislike losing out on this opportunity,” xe started to say, unable to stop xerself from smirking. Then the knife fully exited xer sleeve, dancing in the light, before pressing against xer own throat. It was certainly a unique threat. Instantly Alcina rises to her feet, only pausing when she realizes that she wasn’t the one in danger. “Secondly, my blood is worth more if I am alive. You see, I have a wretched ‘condition’, which does a handful of lovely, lovely, life-threatening things to this poor vessel of mine. But someone as intelligent as yourself could find plenty of use for my so-called ‘illness’. If you give me a chance to explain, that is.” Though she does not sit back down, or even nod, it quickly becomes clear that Alcina did not intend to interrupt. Yet. “Grand, grand! I do appreciate it, my Lady. Now, let me just grab the research I brought with me…”

Never once lowering the knife from xer throat, Ava digs into xer bag, forced to briefly clip xer cane to xer belt. Then xe retrieves a closed manilla folder, carefully handing it to the giantess in front of xer. Wordlessly Alcina accepts the item, opening it to peruse its contents, only pausing to put on a pair of reading glasses. A minute of quiet passes before Ava continues xer explanation.

“I heal faster than anyone else on your staff, guaranteed. Hell, I cut my hand down in the village, on some damned wire, and the wound has already closed back up, good as new. That means, of course, that if someone were to let’s say… remove some of my blood, well, it wouldn’t take too long for me to get more, now would it? Obviously there has to be some biological counter, some form of payment for my ability. The rule of equivalent exchange, and all that, yes? As it stands… I eat an extra slice of bread a day. That’s it. Nothing bad enough to cancel out the boon of my blood. My… extensive reservoir of blood. Interesting, yes?” Ava says, still as charming as ever, despite the indescribable terror in xer chest. If there was one thing that xe had learned as a journalist, it was how to hide xer fear. Which was plenty useful, in the current situation, especially when Alcina flips a page to reveal the one downside to xer condition.

“Don’t tell me you came all this way to try and deceive me. Here I was, beginning to think something of you, and you hand me a sheet that says it clear as candlelight: Your blood is dirty. Infected. I won’t be drinking it anytime soon, nor would I even consider allowing it to be used for my family’s wine!” Alcina is essentially yelling at this point. But Ava only takes a step forward, smile present but trembling, and gestures for her to turn the page. With narrowed eyes she does, quickly reading through the notes. Once, then a pause, then once more. Finally she closes the folder, setting it down upon her desk. “Fascinating. You are indeed a… unique case. I cannot guarantee you a meeting with Mother Miranda, and even if I do, it will be because of your condition. She will use you, as is her divine right to do, likely without ever once considering attempting to cure you. But if you are determined to meet her, well,” Alcina leans in with her own grin, sending chills down Ava’s spine, “I will not stop you. Here’s hoping you manage to give me plenty of blood before you ‘expire’. Cynthia, show her to the servants’ quarters. I expect her to be working by tomorrow morning. Dismissed.”

Although Ava could not help but twitch at the Lady’s choice of pronouns, xe had expected this. Eventually xe would explain the indefinite nature of xer gender. Or perhaps xe was doomed to die a horrific, tragic death long before xe ever had the opportunity. Either way, xe could not help but feel a small sense of elation, pleased to have made some progress towards xer goal. Three steps forward and two steps back was still, cumulatively, a step forward. In time, xe would likely come to regret this series of choices. But who among us could say they held no regrets at all? And if, in the end, this storyteller came away with one hell of a story… wouldn’t that outweigh the regret? Even if Ava did not know it, xe would one day learn a valuable lesson from the strange family xe now worked for: Blood of the covenant is thicker than water of the womb. Oh, and what a lovely covenant it would be.

[azurevi]

3 halloween tales (cater, jade & vil)

This is really random, but the ssr cards for the halloween show have given me many au ideas, so here are my self-indulgent stories inspired by them. The Cater one is especially long because I got a lot of ideas about it. For the Vil one.. it's pretty disappointing how it turned out, but I hope it's not too bad. PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS!

WARNINGS : death (all), mild mention of gore (cater), war + mild possessiveness + violence (jade) [let me know if there're more!]

the heart and its eternal weight

Cater is a cemetery caretaker. It isn't that he really loves it, but his father was one. He feels like it is only right to take after his steps.

He isn't into superstitions. Some people find distaste in his job, but it's something crucial for Cater. People, even after they're dead, should still be honored, and so deserve a hospitable place to rest. 

Everyday is a routine for him. Sometimes, though, the families of the passed talk to him about their stories and their emptiness once their loved ones are gone. Cater finds the beauty and softness in humans by hearing these stories, and it makes him even more dedicated to his job. 

It's natural to him, dying. His father was killed in an unintended accident, and sometimes it seems like his death could have been avoidable just as much as it was inevitable. He just wishes that he had had more time with him.

One of the lessons his father taught him about graveyard caretaking is to beware of ghosts. Those who recently died are more visible and intimate with the world of the living, and so they might appear before humans. Some are inhostile, of course, but there are malevolent ones.

Lore has it that some ghosts prey on hearts. It is said that the heart is the most important part of a human, as it is accountable for life, death and emotions. People believe that ghosts can be revived with a fresh, still-beating heart, and as a result the human giving up their heart will die in place of the ghost. Basically, the heart can also create ripples in the fabric of space-time.

Because of his job, he isn't all that popular among others, and he only has a few life-long close friends, his mother and sisters by him. So even if he has a crush on the most admirable person he's ever seen, he still won't make it known in fear of rejection. He figures that he still has time to figure it out.

And he's wrong. News about your tragic death spread around quickly like wildfire, and he's devastated. It feels wrong to even feel so, because he has never been acquainted with you in the first place.

Your body is buried in his cemetery, and a lot of people come to your funeral that day. Some of your family members are so heartbroken and pitiable, and so Cater offered to be their listener.

All he can hear is about the great work you've done, the care you put into everyone you met, the warmth that radiated off you while you were still alive. It breaks Cater how he's never had the privilege to know you, to experience all your graces with his own perspective.

One night, the moon is lit and hung up high in the sky, so close that it seems to be prying on Earth and the people roaming on it. Cater is patrolling with his lawnmower when he hears quiet and uncertain sobs.

He is creeped out, yes, but he's also curious. He's never seen a ghost before, and it could be a human for all he knows.

He's proved wrong once again, as he discovers your opaque body behind a giant tree. You are hugging their legs close to your chest, and a rotting hole's visible where your heart should be.

There's no way you can be hostile, and you certainly won't kill him for his heart, so Cater decides to approach you gently, tentatively, like you're smoke that will disperse the moment he intrudes.

To his surprise, you can hear him clearly, and even invite him to sit down with him. It's so bizarre -- a ghost asking for a conversation! But Cater doesn't mind as he pops down beside you. He notices how although you were no longer solid, it still feels like tense when his hand passes through you. Certainly it's because you've been dead not for long.

And so the two of you indulge in heartful conversations, and Cater finds himself regretting even more about how he never gathered the courage to go up to you. Mid-conversation you tell him about all the things that you wish you could've done and all the ideas you wished to spread.

Cater probably shouldn't have, but he is so absorbed in your ambitions and kindness that he offers to carry out all these great things for you. After numerous confirmations, you agree too to let him carry out your thoughts.

And so Cater works in his neighbourhood, sharing campaigns and donating, taking care of lost pets and cats and partaking in environment improvement. He's never felt so fulfilled before, and it's the first time he feels like he's genuinely making a difference in the world.

In times he's not representing you, he brings you up on the little hill behind the cemetery where the moon and stars are so close and vibrant, where they all dance in the dark ballroom and pulse in excitement of being seen. He wishes he could show you more hidden gems, but your spectral spirit cannot be too far away from your body. 

But it's enough.

A month passes and Cater notices subtle change in your behaviour as well as appearance, like how you're responding with less enthusiasm and how the hole in your chest is growing bigger. When he finally asks about it, he's told that ghosts generally only stay in the world of the living for 49 days, and their heart will rot away in this period. After that, they will have to go to the underworld, never be back again.

Cater is certainly shocked that the lore is more than a children's makeup story. He is well aware of the significance of the heart in relation to the soul and life. 

He asks if you'd like to have his heart instead, so bluntly and casually. You seem to return to their original intimate self when you refuse. 

"I'm already gone. It's you, the living, who should be making changes,"

So he pretends that you're not getting more and more unresponsive and less and less generous. He turns a blind eye against your wavering figure and how you can't be seen at all in the sun. He plays dumb when in reality, you're slipping away before his very own eyes, heart rotting away like nothing more than a fruit.

It hurts finally knowing and understanding someone and having to lose them. 

On the 48th day, you are already but a still, soulless shadow, leaning beside your gravestone and fresh, white flowers. Cater can still see you. Sometimes he thinks that you chose to be seen.

And he can't bear to see you go. To see your dreams go into flames, to watch such a pretty soul just - vanish.

So he gives you his heart. Alive and beating and sentimental. It doesn't even hurt a bit. 

You wake up immediately, your eyes glowing and body solidifying. 

"What have you done?" 

"What I can do to make a change,"

Time is starting to rewrite itself. Cater is going to die in your place. The space around you was warping and folding into itself, softly and rightly like a lullaby.

Just before you slip into darkness, you gather up a whole bunch of rose petals and desperately stuff them into the hole in Cater's chest, as if they can give him life in lieu of a heart, and you are sobbing and clinging onto his still warm arm, never wanting to let go.

It's all Cater wants, to save a wasted soul and to make a difference. 

And so he cradles your face, and leans in the moment everything goes black. When he wakes up again, he's weightless in the cemetery, where a bunch of well arranged roses lie on his buried body.

a melancholy specimen

To Jade, beauty needs to be preserved to be constant. It's just like flowers. They die away without proper care.

Just when he thinks he's seen all the beauties of the world and is getting bored of it, he meets you. A blooming flower sparkling in the bland, old boring world around it. He's immediately captivated - how a person can still manage to flourish in such a rotten world where everything is depressing and all man is for themselves!

You're the most elegant piece of art he's seen, and that's something considering that he owns a museum. Innocence lies in your eyes and bravery sings itself between your lips.

You find him just equally amusing -- gentlemanly, insightful and just a touch of flirtation. The two of you fall in love like Alice down the rabbit hole - amused and unstoppable, fascinated by the wonders evolving about.

But the world doesn't give a damn about love, nor do they understand your dreams of a bright future where everything is close to hearts. They call you both madness and nonsense.

"Their souls are tainted with war and sorrow. They are beyond the point of rescue. Victory and glory are all that can feed their ego,"

Jade is disappointed. War has gouged people's eyes out and filled them with wails and ash.

The two of you are the only stars in the night sky, still fighting for salvation, yearning for a better future where trees grow and flowers yearn for the sun. You promote and do your best to lift the veil of darkness off the world. 

But the sun doesn't understand either. War keeps going on and on, and people never have the time for aesthetic relaxations. It refuses to shed light on its pitiable humans.

"We should evacuate, Jade. They say a bomb is dropping tomorrow,"

Jade doesn't care and can't care. The most paramount thing is to open his eyes to the beauty of this world. He doesn't want to become one of those barbarous men, tasting dirt and blood on their tongue while they glorify violence and brutalness.

He stays behind while his neighbourhood dies away. You are the only ones yet to leave. 

"Please don't leave me, Y/N. You're the only light in my life,"

You can't bear to leave him, and so you stay. The bomb is dropped, and it's too close. Too hot. Too cruel, too inhumane. It ravages everything in its way, burning all the darkened things to the ash and bringing the only beauty left in this world with it.

Jade wails. Broken cries are engulfed by nearby explosions and the cackling of flames. Your soulless body lies amidst the destruction, just another wilted flower in the slit of a rock, deprived of water and sunlight.

He finally understands. Nothing can save the world anymore. It's gone way too far, and it will never recover from malevolence. All he can feel is pity for his world as his heart ache with spite.

Bandages around his hands, he wraps your corpse up completely, preserved underneath the layers. You will be his reminder that there was once a flower in this drought, an anchor keeping him from becoming one of those barbarians.

lifeless silhouette in the dark night

You can never recognize directions. You find yourself stumbling upon a seemingly inhabited mansion in the middle of the woods. Cold and bruised, you knock on its door.

Welcoming you is a tall man with blonde and lilac hair called Vil. His skin is unnaturally white, and his eyes seem to glow like orbs that eat your souls. But you are too tired to make notice of all these details, and he's kind enough to let you stay for the night.

He treats you with ravishing cuisine and a grand bedroom that was as grotesque as the rest of the house. Afterwards, he leaves you to rest, but not before warning you not to get out of the room post midnight.

You oblige- for the first half hour. Then you start to hear wails and footsteps that amplify and disappear. It's impossible to sleep.

The next morning, you confront Vil about it. He refuses to face the questions as he ushers you to get going, and so off you go.

You spend another day lost in the woods, then somehow come face to face with the mansion again. Vil is beyond shocked to see you, but then he breaks into a deep smile.

"It's almost as if you belong here,"

Weirdly enough, you could agree, There seemed to be an invisible force pulling you towards Vil. After dinner, he orders you not to leave the room again before making his leave.

Broken wails. Recurring footsteps. You can't bear it any longer, and you also wonder if Vil is aware of this. He properly is, and thus tells you to stay safe inside the room.

But dumb curiosity gets the best of you, and you open the door and step into the endless corridors.

The wails come from the host's room, where Vil is supposed to be. You're closing in when its door is suddenly flung open, and out runs a panting Vil.

"Vil? What are-"

His eyes are bloodshot and there's red stain in the corner of his mouth. Sweat dots his forehead. He looks disheveled and the complete opposite of how he was during dinner.

"You shouldn't be here. Get back - get back in!"

His voice booms in your skull, and you're running back to your room before you notice. 

It's another sleepless night.

To your luck, Vil doesn't wait for you to bring the incident up.

"Don't be creeped ou by it, please."

He seems very uneasy about it, but he's obstinate to give you an explanation.

Turns out that he is a vampire. One that has lived for 500 years and is waiting for his eventual death. He's seen everything in this world and lived through the best and worst of humanity. He understands people's fear about vampires, and so he resides in the remote part of the wood. He only ever drinks the blood of small animals that he hunt, and never has he once killed a man.

He knew nothing about what'd happen to him when he became a vampire. If he'd known about the repercussions, he'd never have become one in exchange of eternal beauty. Now he has to turn someone else into a vampire to end his immortality. It is only a cycle.

 Every night the moon rises and spills into his room, and he has to fight his urge to go out and taste the sweet blood of humans. 

There are times when he slips and loses control, but he always manages to get back to his senses. But it seems that your presence here in the mansion is awaking his desire to suck you dry.

You're bewildered to say the least, and frankly horrified. But at the same time you feel pity for him, for he is just a man who can't ever do anything as atrocious as hurting people.

And so you offer to end his suffering. Of course Vil disagrees. He just talked about how he never wanted to take a life, and now you're offering yourself to him? He'd never allow it.

But you're even more persistent. You keep staying in his mansion, and his sanity slips a little more every night. And you know that he's contemplating too, for he never tries to kick you out of his mansion.

"You deserve a rest, Vil. For your love and selflessness. For all the unspoken kindness you bestow on others. It is only fair that you get to rest,"

Vil has lived a life. He's but a mere walking corpse now, and a rest -- a sleep -- sounds just like what he needs.

And so he rests. Vil falls into a deep, serene sleep while you endure each and every dark night.