#he watched the shape of water and WEPT i know this i know this in my heart

[titansarmy]

nico is a loser and nico is a nerd and while i can subscribe to the idea that in the 21st century, nico di angelo likes superhero movies and the sorts. i am a firm believer that his fave director and movies are actually from guillermo del toro.

[the-fiction-witch]

Sailors Widow

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Lucerys Velaryon Couple - Lucerys X Reader Reader - Y/n (Betrothal) Rating - Sas Word Count - 1204

I stood attempting to conceal my trembling body, I knew I couldn’t stop the shaking and shivering but I wanted to conceal it all the same. The sound of the waves crashing into the rocks of Dragonstone, The wind whistling around the island, the crackling of the fire’s flames. My eyes lingered on the flames watching them dance against the logs. I kept my face stoic and frozen trying to keep my chin up and breathe, keeping it together,

Across the flames, Jacaerys walked closer, in his hand the blanket from Lucery’s crib folded neatly. He tossed it to the flames fighting back tears for his brother, briefly we met eyes and neither of us had the strength to hold our tears in our eyes.

I watched the flames envelop the plush fabric,

I sat beside the fire, my body on the cold floor, holding my egg in my hands stroking my fingers across the scales trying to keep it warm, keep it happy, in the hope my dragon would emerge,

“Y/n? Why are you crying?” Lucaerys asked as he came over, “Has it still not hatched My lady?”

“...No,” I answered,

He sat down beside me with Arrax on his shoulder, “My- my mother says they often don’t hatch.”

“I-I know,” I answered fighting back my tears,

He moved forward and wiped my tears from my cheek, “I’m sure it will hatch, soon.” he nodded, “Until then, You- You can borrow my blanket.” He said taking his little blanket and wrapping it around my egg, “Mother wrapped me and Arrax up with it every night, You can borrow it till your dragon hatches.”

“You don't have to do that Lucerys,”“I want to,” he nodded, “We should help each other,” He smiled offering a small blue flower commonly known as Sailor’s Widow as it grows beside the sea looking out towards the water,

I took the flower in hand and briefly smiled, “Thank you, Luke,”

“Try and get some sleep, my lady,”

“I will do my best,” I nodded,

I did my best to stand tall, even if I felt my tears slipping down my cheeks uncontrollably,

I watched as Jacaerys picked up his little brother Joffery, and both wept. And with only a moment to hesitate Joffery tossed the small sea horse into the flames. The jolt of sharp pain was like nothing else in this world. The fire consumed it like any other wood placed on it, as if it was nothing the shape turning to ash in mere moments.

“You don’t have to hold back tears,” Lucerys told me as he came to stand with me on the stairs of Driftmark, the two of us looking out to the sea, “It is only you and I,”

“I… as sad as I am I cannot cry,” I answered,

“You should cry, if you can. It will help my lady,” He told me setting his small sea horse on the stone wall, “Or my- I don’t know what to call you know,”

I chuckled briefly our fingers both running across the small toy, “Neither do I, always changing these things, moving higher.”

“...I- I don’t want to move higher,”

“No?”

“No… That means more of our family has to die,”

“That’s true,” I nodded, “I don’t want that to happen,”

“Neither do it,” He said, “I- I know you’ll see your mother again, someday,” He said offering a small blue Sailors Widow flower, “For you, I hope it helps.”

“Thank you Luke,” I cracked a small smile taking the sweet flower from him,

“I- I it hurts… my heart to see you cry my lady,”

“As does mine to see you,” I answered,

“Say you will not cry for me, and I promise I will not cry for you.”

“I- I will do my best,”

“As will I,”

I felt my body trembling, my knees feeling weak, every inch of me felt like it was cracking open revealing the truth of my pain, as I watched Queen Rhaynera step to the flames, in her arms the red and black doublet Lucerys had worn before he left for storms end. She shivered, she cried, we met eyes and it was briefly like we had shared a thousand words with one another, before finally, she tossed it to the flames. The flames grew higher the moment it touched them burning up so fast, without mercy for those watching. I felt my tears flood down my cheeks, my body trembling and shaking, my breaths unsteady and uneasy.

“You have no need to cry my lady,” Lucerys pleaded as we stood in his chamber, he changed from his red and black doublet into some more regal clothes for the flight, He didn’t mind my being here, we had known each other so long and due to be married soon enough.

“Are you sure it is wise to go?”

“Whom else can go? Mother must remain here, Daemon her war council, Jacaerys is going to off the vale and Winterfell.”

“I could-”

“No, I-it’s not safe for you y/n,” He told me,

“But it is for you?”

“It is only Storms End, it will be a matter of hours,” he reassured wiping my tears before he kissed my forehead,

“Promise me you’ll be home soon, safe and sound?”

“I will do my best,” he nodded, “Stand on the balcony of my chambers, Watch for Arrax and I’s return.” He smiled, “And… We’ll sit by the fire, just you and I tonight?”

“I will,” I nodded,

“See you soon,” He cooed caressing my cheek, before he took a sailors widow flower and slipped it into my hair,

“See you soon Luke,” I smiled,

I took shaky steps forward the heat of the flame felt as if it burned my very skin, I looked down at my quivering hands to the bouquet I had picked of Sailors Widow Flowers, I could barely even look at them through my tears. I looked to the flames and that little remained now of Lucery’s, I tossed the flowers watching them burn up leaving nothing by memories.

And as the last blue petal turned to grey ash my body gave in.

The cracks broke up to shatter me.

I fell to my knees on the grass, my body shook, and trembled, my tears fell like waterfalls, my screams echoed out beyond the wind like a force of its own. The sounds of Allion my still young dragon screaming out with me as she moved across the sky, still desperate in her search for Arrax. I felt arms around me but I forced them away screeching in grief at anyone who came near me long into the twilight when all else retired and the fire burnt out. The last of my tears fell to my hands. As I felt a grip around me as cold as ice.

“Please don’t cry my lady,” His voice echoed in my ear,

“I… I must…” I choked,

“We will be together again soon, I promise.”

“I can’t… I cannot…”

“You can, I know you can. Please… don’t cry for me my lady,” He said, “You know how it hurts me to watch you cry,”

“I… I… I will try,” I nodded,

Before I felt the cold leave me and I knew truly he was gone and I was alone. 

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Sea Glass

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: Cassandra Cain and Jason Todd bio siblings AU.

Chapters: 1/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Willis Todd, Catherine Todd, Lady Shiva, Cassandra Cain, David Cain Mention

Additional Tags: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Willis Todd Lives, Major Character Death, Secret Language Between Siblings, Lady Shiva is Jason Todd's Mother

Chapter One: What The Wind Blew In

Soaking wet and shaking from the cold, Jason entered his father’s bedroom window. Willis sat up drowsily in bed. His eyes, not accustomed to the pitch-black darkness of his bedroom, scanned for the source of the disturbance. It wasn’t that he heard anyone or anything strange during the storm. It was a feeling. Something strange and familiar in the pit of his stomach whenever someone was watching him. He wasn’t the best fighter or the best tactician, but he learned one thing from his mother, and it’s kept him alive this long. He never slept too deeply in Gotham. Lightning struck in the distance, illuminating the room with a quick yellow flash, and revealing Jason’s position in the corner. “Shit,” Willis cursed under the sound of the rumbling thunder that shook the building. “You ran away again… Didn’t you?” 

Jason nodded with tears in his eyes. Willis turned the light on, climbed out of bed, and set Jason in a chair before stripping off the small boy’s wet clothes. Jason stifled his breathing to keep from crying as he dug his nails into his knees. “You can cry,” Willis whispered as he looked at the bruises that covered Jason’s body and face. Jason stared at the ground and shook his head. Willis took him by the shoulders, gently enough to avoid putting pressure on dark purple bruises, and he looked Jason in the eyes. “I said it’s okay.” Jason inhaled deeply as a whimper escaped his throat, and he wept openly. Willis picked him up and grabbed a towel from the closet, wrapping him in it. Jason was never more his age than when he cried. He sounded so small and powerless. Willis could only pat and rub Jason’s back to keep from crying, too.

Willis sat him on the bathroom counter, turning to run a hot bath as he tried to find something comforting to say. He hadn’t seen Jason in months. It was always like this when he got to see Jason, though. The traveling and training were intense, and Jason had seen more than most old men saw in a lifetime. Jason was only five years old. Jason was smart, he was crafty, and would have remained hidden for as long as he wanted… But he always returned home to Willis. 

“I think she loves you the only way she knows—.” Willis closed his eyes, thinking of his own mother. “I love you the only way I know how. I love Shiva the only way I know how. I think it’s shaping you into a beautiful person. You’re going to be stronger than anyone I know, and you’ll be smart enough to know being gentle is your greatest strength.” 

Jason sniffed and took a deep breath as he watched Willis turn the cold water on and swirl a hand around in the tub before scooping up a handful of bubbles. He blew them at Jason to coax a laugh out of the distraught child. “Can I sleep here?” Jason asked. Willis grinned. 

“Sure. I’d like that a lot, Champ,” Willis replied, “Okay. Let’s get you in that tub before you catch a cold.” He stood Jason in the water and took the towel before letting Jason sit in the tub. He took a rag and doused it in the water before wiping Jason’s face. He took another rag and gave it to Jason. 

“Are you hungry?” Willis questioned. Jason nodded. “I’ll heat something up in a little bit. I’ve got some pretty good leftovers.” 

Jason used Willis’ soap bar to lather up and wash his arms and legs. “Give me that bar real quick,” Willis whispered as he washed Jason’s back and behind his ears. “My old man died when I was a kid, but I always remember how important cleanliness was to him. Pop had the cleanest hands, and they were soft. His knuckles usually were cut up from work, but his hands were clean and soft.” 

“What did he do?” Jason asked. 

Willis chuckled despite the sadness he felt looking back on it. “He worked for the Sabatinos way back. You would’ve loved Pop. He loved kids. As mean and tough as he was with adults, he was—. Pop used to dress up like Santa Claus and bring gifts to kids in the receiving homes every year. I used to hate it because he’d make me dress up like an elf and help him. He did bad things, but he was a good man in his heart. That’s how I saw him,” Willis whispered. 

Willis swallowed the lump in his throat before grabbing the shampoo bottle. “Close your eyes. I’m gonna wash your hair,” Willis commanded. 

Jason obeyed and held onto Willis’ wrist. “Did someone kill him?” Jason asked. 

“No. He got sick,” Willis replied, “And I had to go live with Ma. She was tough on me, too. So, I get it. I get how you feel, but Gotham’s a hard place. When you’re grown up, you’ll see she was only protecting you.” It sounded better than the truth. Willis begged Shiva to take him because someone had come for Jason before. Someone who knew Shiva. She said yes on the condition that she’d be allowed to train him however she saw fit without complaint. It was the only way Willis could ensure Jason’s survival. But how could he explain that to a five-year-old? 

Jason never had much to say when he returned. So, Willis always tried to push a conversation because he liked the sound of Jason’s voice. “Where’ve you been? I haven’t seen you in a really long time,” Willis asked. 

“We were in California… And then we went to South America… In the forest,” Jason answered. His answers were always vague, but knowing something made Willis comfortable. “How do you wake up when I come in? I didn’t make any noise.” 

“I can feel you looking at me. I always wake up when people look at me,” Willis answered as he rinsed Jason’s hair and washed his face. “I don’t have any Jason-sized clothes right now. You’re gonna have to wear one of my sweatshirts until I can scrounge something up… Okay, let’s dry you off. Are you warm now?” Willis drained the tub and dried Jason off with a clean towel, careful not to be rough while drying his face. 

“Uh-huh… Thank you,” Jason whispered.

“You’re welcome… Up we go,” Willis replied playfully as he carried Jason back to his room, pulled an old sweatshirt over Jason’s head, and threw him a pair of shorts. “Put these on. Don’t worry, I know I’ve got some string or something—.” Jason pointed to the pack of shoelaces on the dresser. “Genius. Genius.” Willis tied the shoelace around Jason’s shorts and took his hand as he led him to the kitchen. 

Willis took the leftovers from the fridge and tossed them in the microwave. When it beeped, Willis took it out of the microwave and grabbed two forks. Jason leaned forward, watching Willis dance around the kitchen, and he laughed. He gave Jason a fork and took the napkin off the container. They dug into the pasta, and Willis stared, wide-eyed and hopeful as Jason took a bite. Jason finished chewing and made a soft noise like a laugh as he closed his eyes. “It’s that good,” Willis chuckled, “Almost makes you wanna curse, huh?” 

Jason smiled and shook his head. “That’s right. You don’t curse because you’re a good kid. Willis took another bite and wiped his mouth before kissing Jason’s forehead. “Man, I missed you.” 

“I missed you, too, Daddy,” Jason whispered. Daddy. Jason didn’t use that word much, so Willis always got a little choked up when he heard it. He had to enjoy it while he had the time.

[untilmynextstory]

| Elia Week 2024 | Day 2: Elia + Her Brothers, Reunion Summary: As soon as her feet touched the sand, she wept.

The sky was a vibrant canvas, painted in a mosaic of yellow, orange, pink, and red, casting a warm glow over the horizon. 

Elia, who had only known the desolation and despair of King's Landing for the past few years, was now witnessing a beauty she had never imagined. This beauty momentarily erased the harsh realities of her present. 

The boat was small and rocky. She hadn’t been on a sailboat this small since Ashara Dayne had snuck her out to the Torentine River in her youth. 

Her children were huddled and bundled in the corner of the boat. Surprisingly, Balerion remained calm throughout the journey as he entertained her two small babes. He was one of the few things she had brought back from King’s Landing. She left most of her clothes and jewels gifted by Rhaegar. She only took her favored mementos of Dorne and her family. 

The captain of the small ship was a tiny man with gold teeth and tan, withered skin, a figure shrouded in mystery. Ser Jaime was an acquaintance of the man. She found it best not to ask for details. Ser Jaime was already risking getting her to safety, and she would rather not know the details, adding to the sense of impending danger and uncertainty. 

Yet, she had to trust Jamie that she would get to safety. She found it amusing that the man her mother wanted her to be betrothed to was the one saving her. Now, her family was in debt to the Lannisters. Gods, she could only imagine Tywin’s face once if he ever found out what Jaime did. 

Elia looked out to the horizon. 

She greedily sucked in the air of the sea. It was cleaner than King’s Landing. She could smell the salt and fish. She could smell her freedom. The thought made her smile - a true, genuine smile in years. 

However, her eyes caught on a figure on the shoreline. And even in the distance, she recognized the shapes of her brother. It took her willpower not to jump out of the boat and swim to shore. 

However, her restraint did not apply, especially to her younger brother. As the boat neared, he was halfway into the water, and she met him halfway. 

She didn’t know if she was crying or laughing as she swept into her younger brother’s arms like a wave. His hold is solid and reaffirming, and she knew after this, her younger brother would probably never let her out of his sight.

“Are you okay? Are you alright?” Oberyn asked as he pulled back and looked into her deep brown eyes. 

“I am now,” she assured him. It was the truth. If she had her way, she would never have left Dorne again. 

She kissed her brother’s cheeks, eyelids, and forehead. He returned the greeting, and she inhaled the scent of florals. Eventually, he let her go as the boat with her children neared and helped bring it to shore.

Her dress clung to her legs as she emerged from the shores, and her toes gripped the earth. 

She stumbled on the hot, white sand. She fell to the ground, and she wept.

She was home. 

Rhaenys’ and Aegon’s laughs provided a new type of music in the halls of the Old Palace. She was worried the kids would be scared and timid in a new place. However, with their cousins - family - surrounding them - all the stress from the last year seemed to have melted. 

Elia watched with a smile as Oberyn and his girls played with Balerion and Rhaenys while Aegon was in the lap of Arianne, who was playing with a new toy his uncles had provided. 

Elia was back in her traditional Dorne wardrobe. A wardrobe not altered to appease the Northerners in King’s Landing. 

She sat beside her older brother Doran, who shared a cup of red Dornish. 

“When Jaime Lannister sent word of an escape for you, I could not believe it,” Doran admitted. He gripped her hand tightly. “We will owe him a great debt.”

Elia nodded her head and returned his firm grip. “Surprisingly, Jamie turned out to be the best of them.”

Doran nodded. “You and the children never have to go back there. Never.”

“It was hard trying to find the sun there. It was so dim there,” Elia whispered to her brother. Though now everything is brighter, she thought. 

“Muna, come play with us,” Rhaenys called from the floor. 

For the first time in months, Elia moved up from her chair, and she didn’t feel an ache of pain. 

Links: AO3

[rengineer]

God shed Tears for me because I can't.

Raining.

The steady rhythm of drops pattering against the roof followed him as he moved, his clothes soaked from the weather. The cold seeped into his skin, but he remained unbothered,

his thoughts elsewhere. Somewhere. Nowhere.

He'd walked past a scout who looked at him.

His mind.

Detached.

Each step was deliberate, steady, yet entirely automated.

Climb up. Turn left. The first junction.

The door opened.

The switch clicked.

A dim light flickered to life, casting long shadows in the room.

It wasn't much, but it was enough to see.

He removed his helmet, placing it carefully on one of the shelves, and headed for the worktable.

Ka-chik.

The sound of a drawer sliding open broke the quiet. His hand moved with practiced precision, retrieving a small box of old resistors from the neatly organized components.

The box hit the surface of the wooden workbench with a dull thud, the sound merging with the ambient hum of the rain.

Another drawer.

This time, a multimeter.

He placed it beside the box, its sleek black casing gleaming faintly in the dim light.

A soft creak and a muted snap.

The multimeter's needle caught his eye. It was slightly off.

A screwdriver had been grabbed from the tools nearby, its cold metal familiar in his hands. With careful, practiced movements, he adjusted the screw under the meter, coaxing the needle back into place.

I cried to God, I cried, He heard;

Huge fingers surrounded the first resistor, carefully plucking it from the box. Three reds and one gold. Black and red were placed on either end of the resistor.

2.2 k.

He placed it off to the side.

The next resistor: yellow, orange, white, and orange.

43 G.

But the needle barely moved, stuck stubbornly near the zero mark.

He adjusted the multimeter's dial, testing for a range.

This one's Dead.

He removed it from his table.

In day of grief I sought the Lord;

The resistor dropped into the trashcan with a thud.

The next one. Brown, black, red, gold.

The leads were clipped, and the multimeter came to life.

1 k.

Along with the first.

Another resistor, this one with faded stripes: blue, gray, black, silver.

The colors were harder to read, smudged from time or mishandling.

He connected the leads and adjusted the dial, watching the needle.

0.6.

All night with hands stretch'd out I wept;

Low, but functional.

Another one added it to the pile.

green, blue, red, gold.

5.6 k.

Red, gray, gray, gray.

2.8 G

orange, white, black, brown.

39.

Nothing.

Not even the faintest twitch of the needle. He turned the dial again, but it was no use.

Another dead one.

My soul no comfort would accept.

Water dripped steadily from his face, tracing a cold path from the bridge of his nose down to his chin. His goggles, smeared and streaked with raindrops, blurred the world into indistinct shapes and shadows.

It had started raining long before.

When he had walked back to the base, toolbox in one hand and the other hanging free. When it was all over. When there was nothing left for him to feel. When his mind had gone quiet.

He doesn't know what to feel. So God cries for him.

Prompt: Isolation.

[gauzemer]

Persevere

Once, when you were a child, you spent the day playing in a stream with your mother, and when you came out of the water you found three leeches suckered onto your legs, and she had to pull them out of you one by one. You were small, but you were struck by the notion that even as they left, they carried some part of you within them. You were no longer whole. Those leeches were no longer just themselves.

When he goes, you feel as though he has given you some nebulous thing to hold inside of you, so that you are no longer entirely Keyleth of the Air Ashari, and some part of you is his.

You think perhaps it is hope.

You think perhaps you suffer for it.

You are older, now, and staring up at the sky, at that red moon, and your mind is still. It was whirling like a top only moments ago, but there is nothing left in it now. You have lost. It is over.

And then he is there.

You know instantly that he is not some soft animal the way you still are. He’s calcified, turned hard and furious, all that righteous vengeance tearing outwards and changing him. You doubt, for a moment, that it is him at all, but you do not believe that a puppet of the Matron would save you like he has. You do not know if she knows he is here. Perhaps he chose this, and your heart flutters even as it weeps-- perhaps he still chooses you, after everything.

The hope he left in you is gone. You had kept it for years and years, through three of Vex’s children and one of Pike’s, and through harvest and ceremony and growth, and you had waited, and one day you had looked for it inside of you and it was gone. You could feel the part of you that had moved to hold it stand empty, confused and wanting, and you had not said anything, because there were no words for that hole in your chest.

It had bled like a wound. You wept like a girl. You did not greet the next raven he sent, then felt tortured and guilty over it and apologized to the one after, the next day, tears in your eyes.

It had not understood. It was only a bird. You fed it from your hand and listened to its story of being called here on the wind, but it could not describe the voice it had heard to you, and that place in your chest caved in, finally.

It was almost a relief.

He’s here now, though. You remember the feel of his skin under your fingers, the shape of his lips between yours, though both are now covered by feather and bone. You cannot see his hands, but you think- you know-- that he is still wearing that wooden ring you gave him one day, the one he slipped onto his ring finger like a promise. You felt it every time he took your hand in his. He did not give up what you gave him, though you lost what he gave you, and you want to laugh, and hate yourself for all of it.

You watch him from the ground. He is dizzying to behold, all brilliance and void and sharp, keening edges. You love him still, too, but you did not ever think you would see him again. Your hope had died. The hope he gave you had died.

He looks down at you from the edge of his mask, and you see such a roiling wave in his eyes, wide and liquid, a plea that you recognize. His voice moves in your mind, though you cannot make out words. You are still stunned, but you cannot tell if it is the spell or if it is him, his hair shining dully in the moonlight, red glinting off of that growth in his shoulder. You want him in your arms. You want his heart next to yours. You want him. End of thought.

There is a phrase in celestial that Percy tried to teach you years ago, alll at once an admission of love and a permission of grace. A forgiveness for anything. You do not remember how to say it, but you see it in his eyes.

He knows. He must know.

The moon bares its teeth above you. There is a dead place in your chest which you failed to save, and in your minds eye you press it into his hands. I’m sorry, you say, and feel a tear run down your face from the corner of your eye. I’m sorry. I failed.

[storms-path]

WoLyse Week 2024: Day 4 - Kiss and Make Up

Arashi awoke to terrible, terrible pain. Constant and overwhelming. So she decided to go back to sleep instead.

Arashi awoke later to less terrible pain. Still a bastard-high amount of it, but enough that she could tolerate. So she cracked open her eyes to see where she was. What she saw was a blurry red-and-white shape, which gasped and then bolted away when they saw she was awake. Alisaie, presumably. That was good. Or bad. She always was a worrier. Then there was a lot of noise that sounded an awful lot like shouting. It was taking time for everything to settle in Arashi’s head, so it wasn’t all that clear what they were saying. Just that Alisaie was, as always, taking things much too seriously and someone else (Fourchenault, maybe?) was trying to get her to calm down.

Then the exhaustion made itself known and Arashi knew no more.

Arashi awoke a third time swearing that she’d not get ambushed by such a cowardly tactic again. If exhaustion wanted to make itself known it would do so the right and proper way, dammit. This time when she opened her eyes she found things a lot more clear. Including the pain, alas. But she could at least pick out the person watching over her this time, and… oh. Oh dear.

Alisaie’s post had been usurped. By Lyse. Who looked very, very tired and very, very upset. Arashi was about to reconsider her stance on exhaustion when her wife’s eyes met hers and realisation dawned. The sheer relief in Lyse’s face cut Arashi deeper than any blade. Coward.

“You’re awake,” Lyse breathed. Arashi tried to speak. Coughed and sputtered instead. Tried not to greedily gulp down the water offered. Failed. Coughed and sputtered some more.

“Looks that way,” Arashi managed, eventually. “How long have I been out?” She grimaced at the croak in her throat.

“A week.” That explained the weakness, then. And quite a few other things. “You woke up about three days ago, according to Alisaie, but you were gone again before anyone else could confirm it.” It was amazing to Arashi that Lyse managed to say it so matter-of-factly, given how badly her hands were shaking against the sheets. “You’re under the care of the Leveilleurs until they deem you safe to move. When they do, you’re coming home. With me.”

Arashi said nothing for a while, then managed, “I’m sor-”

“Don’t.” Lyse couldn’t keep the shake out of her voice this time. “Don’t finish that sentence. You’re here and alive and that’s enough.”

Arashi never was good at following instructions. “But I almost…”

“Do you think I don’t know that? Alisaie told me the whole story when we finally got word that you were stable. About Ultima Thule, about their idiotic sacrifices, about you staying behind to finally end things. I thought you were supposed to be the smart ones! I thought you were meant to find the better path, without more blood and death! And then I find out that the only reason anyone came back at all is because of a literal miracle from Hydaelyn, and you… you…!”

Lyse flung herself at Arashi with a sob, heedless of the au ra’s gasp of pain as she wrapped her arms in a death grip around the injured woman. Arashi tried to return it, but one of her arms was decidedly against the idea. The other listened, curling itself around Lyse’s back as she wept into Arashi’s chest. Arashi said nothing, not for lack of trying but for lack of ability. Lyse’s grip was dangerously strong and entirely heedless of Arashi’s wounds. Besides, the pain was what she deserved for what she did.

Eventually, Lyse’s grip lightened. Not completely, but enough to let Arashi breath freely again. “Is he dead?” Lyse spoke, voice muffled by her position against Arashi’s heart.

“Yes. I made sure of it.” She still wasn’t sure how it was she hadn’t joined Zenos there, at the end of everything. Maybe it was the Scions, desperately wishing for her return. Maybe it was Zenos himself, his final wish for her to seek greater strength. Or maybe it was her own will, her own love and conviction guiding her back to the light. To her sister. To her friends. To Lyse.

“Good,” replied Lyse with a fiery conviction… which was immediately undercut with a sniff. Arashi tried to ignore the wetness against what she was sure was a very fine shirt. It was overwhelmingly large on her anyway. Lyse looked up at her, eyes still burning. “Tell me why you did it.”

“He had to be sto-”

“No. Tell me why you did it alone.”

Ah. Arashi considered her options. She could tell her that only she would have been strong enough to put him down for good. That she wouldn’t let her friends die for her sake. That Zenos would have scattered them to the wind. She could lie. But she would carry it for the rest of her life, and besides, Lyse would know. So…

“I wanted to know. That I was stronger than him. I wanted to fight someone at my level and win. No distractions. No pressure of the world on my shoulders. I wanted to be free to fight at my full strength without fear of hurting anyone I cared about.”

For a moment, there was silence. And then, “I see.” Quiet. Thoughtful. Breaking her heart.

“I know,” Arashi continued. “I know that’s horrible. I know it’s wrong. I fought against it for so long, tried to convince myself I was anything more than the bloodthirsty beast Zenos saw me as. But he knew me from the very start for what I was. A sword is meant to be wielded. And my mother made me a very, very good sword.”

“You’re wrong.” Lyse’s voice was quiet, but it boiled with anger. “A bloodthirsty beast? You? The woman who never even thinks before lending a hand to those that need it? Who fights and fights and fights long after anyone else would put down their sword in defence of those who can’t? Whose soul nearly split in two twice over from the pain and the guilt of all she’d done and chose to keep on rallying and liberating and defending anyway? You’re not a monster! You’re a hero! How can you not see that?”

A hero. The same thing she’d been called by so many others, time and time ago. Saviour of Eorzea. Envoy of peace. Liberator. Shadowbringer. So much and so often and every, every time, it had rung hollow. How could a woman who murdered her own father be a hero? How could a woman forged only to kill be some standard of hope to rally around? But hearing it from Lyse, it felt… different, somehow. A blade that cut a thousand times opening a new path to her heart. She could find herself… believing it. And she knew, looking into Lyse’s eyes, that her wife believed it without question. That her faith had never once wavered.

“I don’t know…” Arashi began, but found herself silenced by a finger against her lips.

“I do. If you don’t believe in yourself, believe in me. And if I ever see you straying from that path, I’ll drag you right back onto it. Understand?”

Arashi nodded, not quite trusting herself to speak. But that was enough. Lyse’s finger was replaced by her lips. Once again Arashi found the grip around her tightened, but she found she didn’t much care.

Neither woman noticed the door cracking open slightly, nor the lock of silver-white hair and bright blue eye that peaked through the gap. But they were safe enough. Alisaie wouldn’t tell a soul that their charge was awake until the pair were quite done being insufferably sweet with each other. It was the least they deserved.

[undead-merman]

Heyo! I loved your headcanons for the brothers and Simeon as sirens, they were a truly *chef kiss*. Can we also have siren Barbatos and Diavolo? Yandere too and sfw, please!

Thanks in advance!

I'm always down to write Aquatic monsters.

🧜‍♂️Siren Diavolo and Barbatos🧜‍♂️ as a yanderes GN- reader SFW

Diavolo

Appearance

Diavolo is much, much larger than other sirens. While sirens grow to be about a foot or two bigger than humans, Diavolo is massive, fifteen feet long and with tons of bulk and muscle to match his massive size. He looks more similar in size to a giant than a siren.

Despite his size he is dazzling in the sun. When his crimson hair catches beams of light he looks divine, almost like a holy glow surrounds him as he rests on the rocks. His tail is the same stunning red as the blood red sunset and has a bright pearlescent. His scales are just as reflective and polished as a bright red sports car. His skin is deeply kissed by the sun, making his skin look smooth and shiny. His nightshade red fins are long and butterfly shaped; they trail slightly behind him like silk.

He wears all kinds of jewels and golds, all of them perfectly fit around his skull and fins. They drift perfectly around his large frame and glimmer even in the smallest amount of light.

Diavolo is the only siren able to keep his glamor up even if he’s excited, in the water, or even angry. He has full control over it and only shifts to it when he’s actively trying to strike fear into something or someone. His true form is like that of sea monsters in folktales, monstrous in size and able to take a ship down into the dark depths of the open ocean, to swallow whole crews, and create winds and storms as he lets out a devilish scream which can be heard for hundreds of miles around.

Royalty amongst Loners and Sunken Hideaway

Despite their lone lifestyles, only really enjoying the company of their mates, most Sirens look to Diavolo as more of a god than any type of king or prince despite having the title of prince. They worship his power and bow down to his whims and needs. They bring him tributes in the form of small treasures and Diavolo returns these gifts with blessings of more intoxicating songs, stronger wills, his watchful eye and protection, or just overall greater strength. Diavolo seems to freely give these boons no matter how small the gift.

Since he’s a well known and well visited siren, he’s built his home in the sunken ruins of a castle in a city whose culture and history has died long ago. It’s well taken care of by servants who have pledged their lives to Prince Diavolo and are surprisingly pleasant and tolerable with one another. They equate this to Diavolo’s power and grace but only those who are truly loyal to Diavolo stay here.

His voice can bring either madness or blessings and can be the most beautiful thing your ears could ever hope to hear or one so evil, devious, and grotesque you’re driven into a hypnotic bloodlust to those with even the strongest wills. His lullabies sound so melancholic.

He hides away in a large garden which has its own open air biosphere bathed in light by a glass ceiling which has yet to crack yet bathes the whole garden in a beautiful light. A single golden curly willow grows in the center with dozens of flowers growing around it. Here the air is surprisingly fresh and floats on the surface never touching the water around it like it’s a time capsule. He’ll lounge here to clear his head watching the butterflies that have grown here, alone and have never seen the outside.

Spending time with you

You and only you heard his song and wept. The feelings of his loneliness tugged at your heart instead of your head being filled with euphoric thoughts of power and blessings or instantly pounding through your skull until you screamed. You truly heard his song, understood the lyrics behind them and felt the way he did when he sang them. When he saw your face littered with tears and face hot with sympathy for him he felt his whole body go numb. You were something special, someone truly remarkable. He needed to know more about you.

And so started a passion in his heart to learn everything about you, your traditions, your light quirks, your hobbies and everything he could possibly learn. It sent him down a rabbit hole of studying humans that he refused to climb out of and gladly let swallow him if it just allowed him to get closer to you and understand you better.

He doesn’t mind what form you see him in, as long as he can see you he’s thrilled and happy. He’ll approach you like a dog, his tail swishing excitedly as he asks you questions he formed in his head from the day. He has to be careful in his true form otherwise he can cause a lot of damage to the nearby area and draw too much attention to you two.

He loves to pick you up and hold you, be in his true form or not and travel with you on his back, or when his true form shows in his hands or on his head as he intentionally kicks up some water to playfully mist you. Moments like these make him forget he was ever even alone to begin with.

If you ever wanted to see some kind of sea creature or visit some island he’s happy to oblige bringing the creature over with his divine rule over the ocean or happily just takes you there one day while making you cover your eyes to surprise you. The look on your face makes his heart swell so much he almost feels like it will jump out of his mouth if he’s not careful.

Dark Tendencies

Diavolo isn’t against using others to get what he wants, he'll ruin everything for anyone or anything to get what he wants. He’ll destroy small islands and wipe out ports so nothing can distract you from dates he takes you on.

If he feels like you aren’t close enough to him or are drifting away from him, for some reason or another, he’s simply going to just pluck you away from your old life so you don’t have any excuse to be away from him anymore. You're his now, you don’t have to worry about that silly stuff anymore, both of you can be together now. Why not just get married now? It would be much easier. Siren’s don’t marry, they just pick a mate but he’s willing to put the frills on it for you and your human ways. He finds it cute!

He doesn’t ever connect the dots if you struggle against him or plead for him to let you go, he’s wrapped up in his own delusions of you being a happy little couple that he’ll blame some outside force. If you go along with him he’ll remain peaceful and sweet.

He absolutely hates it when other sirens see you and while he’s not outwardly violent to them he is quite hostile. Grinding his teeth and asking them to look away from you while his tail twitches with the intent to lash out.

He gave you your own little haven to decorate, he gave you the garden all for your own. He even made sure to promise to give you your own space and privacy here, just as long as you come to his call. Don’t worry though, only you, him, and Barbatos know of this place, and you can’t run from him here!

Misc stuff

His scales shed infrequently since he doesn’t get into fights with other sirens since all of them know better. His scales are radiating with his power and are well known to bring massive good luck to all those Diavolo gives them to. He’s always giving you things made from his scales and he’s so thrilled to see you in them. He likes adding them to a circlet crown he had made custom just for you so you can match him. He plans on matching you to him with every little piece of jewelry, even down to matching rings.

He requires you to sleep with him. He can sleep out of the water perfectly fine and just pulls you into a lavish den he made for the two of you. It’s somehow unbelievably cozy sleeping with him. His body is warm and everything he set up is the best out there. He just holds you in his warm arms and nods off with you.

He’s quite a picky eater. He refuses to eat anything he doesn’t like and will only eat it if you so happen to beg him to, but only if you're insistent, otherwise he’s already slowly drifting away from it.

Barbatos

Appearance

For a siren he’s smaller than most. He’s quite slender and not much muscle to him, but despite his size, his appearance is perfect in every way, not a hair out of position, not a scale that isn’t out of polished or asymmetric, and his skin without a blemish or scar to be found. He takes a huge amount of time to groom himself perfectly.

His scales more resemble sea snakes, even having black stripes like them, though his tail is a solid dark seafoam green. He’s not especially radiant compared to others, but he doesn’t mind at all, he prefers to melt into the background more.

His tailfin is wide though, having a lyretail shape with black stripes going across it. It’s the same dark color as his scales and he has only two side fins but they look like long ribbons stretching from his hips to about halfway down his tail.

His glamor when melted away leaves behind an even darker looking creature. He looks like a stormy sea and is covered in nasty sharp thorns that don’t just stop at his elbows but lead down to his hips and thin yet long and sharp claws and stark black webbing in between without a tear or hole.

Serving Another

Serving the Royal Family was an honor his family was born with for generations and one he realizes the importance to. Diavolo is powerful enough to sink ships and cities and he provided some of that power and grace onto him rewarding him and his ancestors before him for loyalty, slowly turning Barbatos’s family into nearly just as powerful creatures as him.

He enjoys watching the whims of a child like god try to make sense of a kingdom, it's good fun to see him enjoying his life he is able to live vicariously through his high energy.

He puts his all into everything he does, he hates wasted efforts so he does everything he can into what he does but it gets tiring. Sometimes when trying to sleep, he finds himself unable. He’s always had poor sleep but he’s dealt with it for so long now that it's normal for him now. He starts his morning eating a small slice of kelp known for reducing head pain, all while preparing for the morning.

Spending time with you

If Diavolo took an interest in a human then you certainly had to be interesting. Well when he met you and saw you drinking tea with a huge Diavolo stretched around the floating garden. He just knew you were a human with a soul like no other.

He often brings you your favorite beverages and chats with you, simply at first to get to know you but he found you captivating, each word you spoke he held onto like it was the last he would ever hear and it was gospel. He smiles as you recall old memories, describing how you ended up here. The way you phrased things was unlike anything he had ever heard.

He’s taken the time to find old waterlogged books that were left abandoned in the old library and help restore them for you to read. Inside you find wondrous and fantastical stories of this old kingdom all of them enthralling, and as you read he’s happy to bring you a beverage once more and enjoy your company even if it’s in silence.

Once he’s grown closer with you he often finds himself giving you lingering touches as he pats your shoulder for your attention or grazes his hand on yours when delivering food to you. He even says the most romantic and poetic things to you without even noticing. He falls in love slowly but deeply and almost innocently. He just treasures your time and you as a person, never judging or doubting you.

There was a day when he had pulled you into a parting hug, wishing you a goodnight as Diavolo would return you to the surface but he had simply fallen asleep in your arms. Even Diavolo was shocked as he had never done anything close to something like this. It turns out Barbatos is at the most ease when he’s with you. All of his sleepless nights had just suddenly caught up with him.

Dark Tendencies

His love quickly shifts one day when he see your finger pricked by a stray thorn from a wild flower and as he wiped up the blood with a handkerchief and sees those butterflies fluttering around the wound to drink the blood he realised just how fragile you really were and how nature and life take advantage of that as soon as it could. He couldn’t take losing you. So one day he calls you and just takes you. You think it's just another visit with Baratos fetching you but he takes you to a deep and dark underground cave. Soft phosphorus moss grows all over in cushioned patches and with every step it glows brighter under your feet.

He explains it all to you, openly and honestly but no matter how you plead or try to reason with you, he believes you need to be down here forever. Away from the outside world that would care so little for the death of you and move on like nothing were to happen. He wanted you safe, around and immortalized; he'll never forget you.

He provides you with an array of pleasantries that would have no chance of harming you. He’s damn near baby proofed the small cave but he ensures it's as comfortable as it can be, bringing you three meals a day, all of your favorite drinks and snacks even if you fight him or give him the silent treatment he’s never neglectful of your needs. He believes one day you’ll come to see how much he did for you and understand he just wants you safe.

Misc stuff

He’s a clean freak and refuses to let you sleep on dirt or muck, he’ll thoroughly wash the moss through and treat it so it feels like you're walking on clouds without feeling any slime, having bugs, or being dirty. It's so well taken care of that they look fake.

He hates crabs. He hates those distasteful bottom feeders, their disgusting pinchers and empty eyes. He’s sure to keep them as far away as he can, if startled by one he slams it with his tail with enough force to turn it into little pieces and he’s still frightened by them despite the power difference.

[whumpzone]

Linden & Colton - 15

(masterpost)

another exercise in triggering col, haha. ever since ive had whumpy daydreams as a child ive liked thinking about the caretaker brushing the whumpees teeth. this was meant to be fluffier but i like how it's become something unique to colton <3

CW: NSFW, triggered whumpee, heavy references to n0ncon oral sex, dehumanisation, pet whump

-

Something was bothering Linden as he stood in front of the bathroom mirror one morning. He could hear the uncertain thumps of Col’s footsteps downstairs- sometimes he could hear him dragging his feet, scared to lift them entirely off the ground. He turned his attention back, trying to figure out what was annoying him.

Then he realised, as he looked into the small jar on the side of the sink. Col’s toothbrush was bone dry. There weren’t even flecks of toothpaste down the handle. He frowned. He really, really couldn’t let that happen. He thought about how if Colton only spoke, he might have noticed sooner, might have caught it on his breath, but he stopped himself. It’s not his fault.

The bathroom looked directly through to the staircase, and as Linden walked out he caught the familiar pair of eyes peering up at him, before Col quickly drew himself back behind the wall.

But Linden had seen him, and they both knew it. It was as if Col could tell already that he was in trouble. He rarely pulled back from Linden in any way, but today he was already halfway across the room by the time Linden had descended the stairs.

“Have you been brushing your teeth?” he asked plainly, not knowing how else to go about it.

Col shook his head, of course he did, but there was a brief second where Linden could see that he was considering lying. He liked that.

. . .

Pet had to confess, but it made him feel hot and prickly with fear. He had been bad. Master’s voice was firm and clipped. He was disappointed in him.

“You have to,” Master ordered, and Pet nodded immediately. Okay, okay, I will. I won’t hesitate. “Why haven’t you so far? Were you- was it because you thought you weren’t allowed? Or were you… scared to? Does it hurt?”

Pet’s head started to spin, and he cringed hard as Master sighed, heavy with frustration. “Sorry, sorry. Way too many questions, I know. Besides, it’s not- wait!” Master suddenly looked up at his pet intensely, and like a poorly-behaved dog, he flinched. Master hardly seemed to notice, though, as he continued, “You said the other day, didn’t you, that you can’t hold a pencil well? It’s hard to grip it? Is it… is the toothbrush too hard to hold properly?”

How did he know? Pet nodded, defeatedly. He had tried, fuck, he really had, fighting a losing battle in the wee hours until he could have wept with frustration. He glanced down at his hands. For a brief moment there weren’t clean and unbound, they were bleeding, the wire was cutting into him, cutting to the bone it felt, and he could barely twitch without the pain shooting all the way up his arms. The memories were so real, sometimes. And wasn’t it helpful that the pain never truly left? It had followed him from his old owner’s house to the streets all the way to Master’s front door and beyond, a phantom trailing along his joints, keeping him reminded of his place.

“That’s okay. I can help.”

Master’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, thankfully, and as he turned to stride upstairs Pet followed him meekly, hands cradled before him.

He was ordered to sit on the lid of the toilet while Master busied himself. It made Pet stiffen up. It looked eerily similar to when his old owner had something big planned, and he made his slave sit helplessly and watch. When Master turned to him, holding the toothbrush like a weapon, the association was so strong that it made Pet whimper and duck his head. Oh, god, he was so bad.

“I’m sorry,” Master said, and it truly sounded like there was feeling behind the words, like he really meant it. It was cruel. “I don’t have a choice.”

You do, Pet thought, even though it was disobedient. Master always has a choice. Master controls everything.

“This is for your own good,” he said. “You understand, Col?”

Oh, Pet understood well. He had endured many horrors for his own good, and this was not among the worst. He would gladly submit to Master’s strange ritual.

But then- “I promise it won’t be too bad. Can you open up?”

Pet gasped. He was back, he was back there, not again, please please please not again. He was strung up and completely defenceless. He wasn’t in control, he never had been, he was an object and he was being used.

He opened his mouth wide, letting his tongue sit over his teeth. Master punished him if it even looked at if he’d try to bite. The corners of his vision started to gloss over.

Then. A hand gently brushed his jaw. Fingers pressed into his skin. Holding him in place? Making sure he stayed good?

He let out a pathetic cry of fear.

. . .

“Col, Col, I’m so sorry, I can tell you’re scared,” Linden said, as Col’s eyes started to glaze over. He hardened his voice, “Col! Stay with me, sweet, come on. You’re being brave, come on.”

He should just get it over with, he realised, and pushed the toothbrush in. Col started to close his mouth, and Linden gripped a little harder on his jaw. He wanted to at least exhaust all his other options before he physically pulled the boy’s mouth open.

“Keep your mouth open, there we go. Now just hold still.”

I’m giving him orders. But it was the simplest way, it was so quick, it was to help the boy. Linden gritted his own teeth. He could worry about the ethics of it later.

Colton’s teeth weren’t as dirty as he’d feared, and Linden made light work of brushing them down. He checked in on Col every so often. His eyes were still glassy, but he seemed at least half-there.

“You okay?” A small huff of affirmation. “Good. Almost there.”

It felt so strangely intimate, brushing his teeth. As if he hadn’t already seen him stark naked in the damn bath. I dunno, he thought. I’m so close to him. He’s sitting so still. There’s nowhere to run.

He finished up just as a strand of frothy toothpaste started to crest over his lip and drip down his chin, some of it along Linden’s fingers. Col rinsed, scooping the water into his mouth with his hands in a rigid claw shape, and then looked in Linden’s direction for the next order.

“Well done, Col. That was important, and you sat there like a wonderful rock and made it so quick and easy. I’m very- I’m very happy with you. We’ll work on holding the toothbrush, yeah? But for now we can head downstairs and get on with the day.”

Col nodded, a bit dull, but Linden decided not to push him.

. . .

Pet felt himself coming back as soon as he was allowed to close his jaw. He wasn’t quite sure what had happened. It felt as if Master had just brushed his teeth, like he said. And yet-

And yet he was rinsing out his mouth, and the taste wasn’t minty anymore but something far more foul, and he was being told how well he took it, how he made it so easy, how he made Master happy. He was back there because he could never escape, never truly.

Master finished talking, evidently, and turned to leave. Pet trailed after him, his eyes filling with tears, but he managed to keep his shaky breaths quiet. Master was happy with him and Pet’s feelings didn’t matter.

-

first half of the taglist!

@newbornwhumperfly @whumpadump1939 @firewheeesky @whump-me-all-night-long @captainseconds @grizzlie70 @unicornscotty @lave-whump @princessofonward @cupcakes-and-pain @bumbumbea @whumpfigure @yet-another-heathen @secretwhumplair @whumps-up @as-a-matter-of-whump @getyourwhumphere @itzagoodthing @whumpymirages @soapparentlyilikewhumpnow @zipadeedooda-drabbles @penny-for-your-whump @briars7 @legallylibra @angel-stars @loyds-of-registry @tears-and-lilies @badluck990 @rosesareviolentlyread

@vickytokio @neuro-whump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whumpsy-daisies @control-whump @theydy-cringeworthy @starnight-whump @cursedandtired @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @justabitofwhump @glamrockgregory @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @genesissane @justbreakonme @addyez @httyd-chocolate

[valkxrie]

@kylo-wrecked

He does something to time. Did something Dali never could. He folded it over branches and under the sun, shuffling seconds like tarot cards. Tower. Hanged Man. Fool. Cups. Lovers. Swords. Mercy, mercy. Spread over a table. Between the lines of his palm. Mercy. Mercy.

"You didn't know I had wings?" Her accent lilts with the corner of her mouth, uneven, curved. Sweet the way lemons are sweet.

She imagined his fingers in her hair. The bones of her ribcage rasping against the bones of his. A swollen cupid's bow, stained by wine and cloves.

A laugh escaped Brunnhilde's larynx. It bounced off the moon. Off startled peacocks and warm water. Off him - all bronze and black and burning. The sky had fallen, the sea had wept, and Ragnarok had spit her out like the pit of a cherry.

It's not that different. You still have to put your pants on the same way.

"I'm not going to drop you, Ben" his name slid off her tongue for the first time. He was a teller of tales. The throat of the gods. He was as tall as they had been.

He watched like a beast behind bars as she sliced the apple in two. His half sat in his palm like a half-moon. Hers, half of the sun. Hati and Sköll's ashes snarled. A forest grew in her fridge. Ben is a mountain on her sofa, his roots bare on a Tabriz rug.

Are you sure?

His mouth tasted of summer rain. It drummed music on her manubrium. A predator growled, starving. Mercy. It whispered, The Wheel turning. Mercy.

Ben swallowed the magic of her; she watched it slide down his esophagus, not knowing what it was to be hungry in the stomach of another.

The Valkyrie searched the constellations of his face, the tide of her gaze judging one eye, then the shape of his mouth, and then the other eye - as if it might be so very different from the first.

As if he now might sprout wings and fly away.

"Were you hungry?" She are the space between Ben's canines. "Are you still?"

[owo--bot]

Loyal as a Dog // Sanzu Haruchiyo x Reader

Masterlist

Chapter 30: Black Thumb

wc: 4.2k

cw: cursing, the beginning

A family's made of one, two, three, four, five? 

Humans sprout from the ground. 

Parasites are sedated at the root. 

It's a singed garden

but I'll make my family green.

I have a black thumb

so I'd rather play with weeds.

Never, not once,

has anything good sprouted from me.

But people like you have pores full of seeds.

—please

Make something beautiful grow out of me.

–2–

August 3rd. 

Mr. Draken was in awful shape. 

Awful meaning stabbed.

Sure, stabbing is immoral but it's not like it'll actually result in death. 

All he needed was medical attention.

When children play with knives, everyone always survives; the world told you so. 

Rain mixed with sweat and blood, it wasn’t a scent you’d want to buy as a candle. At this point, it was a group effort of gross proportions. 

It'd go down in history as national dirtbag day.

Or it might go down as something else entirely, who knows. 

Regardless, dirtbag day was the superior name. 

In a parking lot built for battle, puddles befriended bodies of those who'd taken one too many hits. Endurance favored some over others, in this case, every MVP still on the playing field. Though in your case, it was dumb luck that favored you instead.

"Hff, hff, hff."

Summer air felt heavy as your lungs begged for shallow breath after breath, but—it was no good. 

Adrenalin only works for so long. 

Everyone was dropping like flies. 

And you were next.

With the lifespan of a fly, a death wobble sparked your descent toward puddled territory; yet instead, an arm akin to salvation swept under yours. Renting out his shoulders as a crutch, the most reliable human in the world latched onto your side. 

You peered up at your savior and caught a glimpse of fair skin beaten blue. Anyone who went up against Sanzu was likely beaten in shades far more diverse. As if to deliver a blow of revenge, raindrops resided on his lashes, welling until they dripped beneath the weight of their kin. But most of all; 

In his current form, Sanzu was a dirtbag too. 

And he seemed just as kicked as you.

“My bad," you said, breathlessly.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "You're bleeding." 

Tired eyes flickered onto lips of iron and whatever other injuries your face offered. Half of Sanzu's face was covered, but judging by the rare state he was in, he couldn't have looked much better. 

"Mr. Sanzu's bleeding too." 

Pointing at his knuckles, stained lips managed a worn out smile and through the tell of his eyes, he offered traces of one in return. 

Though not technically defeated, two more players dropped out of the game.  

In the middle of a battlefield that dwindled, Mikey harnessed the stamina of a god, still engaged with that guy. Yeah, that guy, the one with kanji on his hands looked to be having the time of his life. Due to a prior encounter you didn't take him for any more than a bench hobo but an ashtray of a human turned out to be;

A bad person.

Bad people were in abundance today.

They’ll be dead people if one of them broke your nose again. 

Bruised and beaten, a duo watched the inaudible commotion from the sidelines. That guy put on an animated performance, grinning like a weirdo, he spewed out a vocal downpour before making a backseat departure. 

Rain wept from the heavens to grace a sea of unconscious bodies. Forever bound to wet weather, a dull throbbing tugged at your wrist as one moment cut into the next.  

Tires screeched and parted water. 

You didn't have to look to know it was Mikey.

Sirens blared in the distance.

It was a melody of decay. 

"I hope Mr. Draken's okay."

"I imagine he'll be fine," Sanzu replied. 

Spoiler warning! Mr. Sanzu's always right. So yeah, despite scaring the piss out of everyone for a limited time only—he was fine. Sewn up nice and tight with his internal organs hanging out on the inside, he was on a strict diet of no-knives. Apparently, he killed every yokai and otherworldly being during his hospital stay. Considering the patient in question, it all checked out. 

With that wrapped up all nicely in a box, we're off to bigger and brighter things. 

Such as self preservation.

Click 

The front door unlocking sounded like a fire alarm. Evidence needed to be buried before your roommate opened that door. 

You're never this sloppy. 

Or at least you're never this far from the television when watching the banned genre; romance. 

With no time to spare, a poorly executed lunge left you splattered against the floor. Despite that—you could still reach. 

Tap tap tap tap tap tap. 

Powered by fear, your finger spammed to change the station at a pace the human eye couldn't register. Just before the alarm ceased you summoned your hand back, securing a flawless recovery.  

Safe. 

 "—welcome home!" 

Sanzu's gaze lingered, unmoving and stiff, as the door shut behind him. "Having fun?" 

"Nope!" you said, cheek kissed to the floorboard. 

In spite of the odd scene, Sanzu shrugged and left his shoes behind. Unfortunately, it only took a few steps before he glanced at side B of the sequence. 

"I thought you didn't like the news?"

"Right as always, Mr. Sanzu, I hate it, it's seriously the worst and-"

Peeling yourself up from the hardwood only led to betrayal. Displayed on screen was some sham of a weather-man who was presumably spreading lies as per his job description. 

"I'm plotting an assassination." A sweet smile emanated white, though if you look close enough, it may look like a vague threat. 

"Oh." A blank gaze didn’t appear particularly moved. "Well, we can't afford bail so don't get caught." 

An uncaring air only cared for heating the food left in the microwave as Sanzu moved to nuke the innards with low wattage. 

"Got it, getting caught's only for rich lameos." 

"There you go." He smiled in agreement, watching his dinner spin round and round in a transmutation of warmth. "—why are you here?" His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at the creature fumbling to his side. 

"I live here." You deadpanned. 

"Try to answer that again," Sanzu said, retiring his mask to the countertop.

"Sharp as always Mr. Sanzu." You offered a dim smile. "Mr. Baji didn't have extra time to play so he skipped out on me. Super sad, huh?" 

"Heartbreaking," he replied, removing the overcooked plate from the microwave and moving to the table. 

"Uh-huh, super heartbreaking." Sitting down across the table, you nodded your head a few times in agreement. "And since my heart's so broken, that means you'll play instead, right?"

"Not tonight." Pork in hand, Sanzu countered you with disagreement by shaking his head. "I'm tired." 

Reality isn’t all it’s chalked up to be.

Shadows cast by yellow lighting couldn't hide the weight of exhaustion beneath pale eyes. It's true that on average they could be described as sleepy, but this is a stretch.

"Is Mr. Muto workin' ya too hard? I'll hate him for the rest of my life if he is." 

"I know it's easier to blame others but I'm looking the issue dead in the eyes." 

Faced with a predatory gaze, you stared back quizzically and pointed to your face. "Me?" 

"Yeah, you," he scoffed. "You move too much in your sleep." 

"I'm real sorry Mr. Sanzu.” Clasped hands obstructed a pained expression. "I promise I'll make it up to ya, ‘kay?" 

"Care to tell me how?" he asked, shooting a dull stare across the table. 

"I'll just stop sleeping.”

Satisfaction dominated the curve of your lips.

It really shouldn't have.  

Imagination alone can't bypass basic human needs. Conveniently, those stuck in reality are pretty peeved with the lack of productivity. 

"I need something more reliable than that," he scoffed, waving off your master plan with the flick of his wrist. "The next time you wake me up, you'll wake up outside. How's that sound?" 

"Like I'm gonna wake up outside."

"I'm glad you came to terms with it so soon." 

"Only for you Mr. Sanzu." You said, retiring a formerly pancaked cheek to your palm. 

Silence seeped over the pair. 

It was comfortable.

It was safe. 

Adoration blurred your vision as you observed the blonde; a soft air followed him infinitely while the threat of miasma lay hidden beneath skin. You cherished both the same. Blue eyes seemed gray with boredom, a proper expression for anyone watching the news, yet even so, he couldn't break away. Sanzu's motions switched over to a commercial break with the last bite of food held close to his mouth. Finely tuned senses detected a minor threat. Thick with suspicion, his gaze sought out your next move, but you continued to stare as if watching the birth of the universe. 

"What?" He asked.

You exchanged his words for a slice of soul. 

Soul that's never once been tainted black. 

Soul that's always been spotless white. 

Clear enough to suffocate the sun, your smile conveyed it all. 

That which never changes: 

"I love ya, y'know?" Absolute as the spread of seeds on an evening breeze, your words conveyed the same mannerisms as the inherent flow of nature. 

"Yeah," he mumbled, but blue eyes were a distant dream and you were wide awake, "I know."

Conversely, the flow of nature counts on life and death and everything after. 

Like answers that always materialize the same. 

Like replies that are static to change. 

There's comfort in life, there's safety in death and as for everything after; well, it doesn't matter.

If his reply never alters, that'd be okay. 

Words are only words and Sanzu never seemed big on those.

"Congressman Ito raised 10k in the fight against hunger!!!"

The TV flashed with a side image of a fine-tongued politician who dipped his hand in prostitution, not to mention shattering noses. And besides, whose hunger is he fighting? He's not fighting yours and he's not fighting Sanzus, so who else is there? Mr. Scumbag? Aside from the weatherman, he's another fraud. Business owners should be rich, but if he enjoys playing poverty this much, then what's stopping him from stuffing his pockets with handouts?

Abusing the system is an art in some cultures.

It just so happens that you're an aspiring artist. 

Initiating blackmail v2: a comprehensive guide on how to abuse the system. 

You've been holding back until now but those days are history. The ultimate blackmail connoisseur knows the key to a scumbag’s heart is through breaking and entering.

His days are numbered and that number is one. 

Sinister intent plastered itself behind a pleasant demeanor, but if eyes are a window to the soul then the vacancy in yours worked as a tell. 

"We'd have to fill out paperwork." Sanzu said, casting his eyes over the blackmail pro whose attention hadn't once strayed from the program inciting anti-scumbag propaganda. Simultaneously diffusing the world's greatest weapon against scumbags, his hand reached out to guide your cheek and attention back to the only person who mattered. "You know why we can't do that, yeah?"

"'Cos paperwork's for suckers and we're a buncha frauds."  

"Something like that." He chuckled.

Reactivating blackmail v1: vehicles are expensive but theft is free. 

Mr. Scumbags days are a number greater than one. 

Sanzu revoked his hand and gifted you with a barren yet dirty plate. The song of habit shifted your strings in an existence driven to keep everything clean. Though some might argue to say you're driven by the penalty of your sleep habits. Either way, dishes needed to be cleaned, so you took to the sink while the drowsy blonde found content in his current position. Turning on the faucet, water pressure took a passive approach to rinsing off neglected plates and utensils–maybe this is the real reason why romance flix are banned. While they're airing, productivity plummets to 'I'll do it later' on repeat, which seems suspiciously close to brainwashing tactics. Sanzu's preemptive ban aimed to preserve your mind, but now it's gone to waste and all you have to show for it is a sink full of dishes. Sucked into mulling over topics far beyond your reach, you scrubbed to atone for your crime and scrubbed harder knowing you'll commit it again. 

As per how life typically works, a life-form who single-handedly outwitted the romance genre approached without setting off your radar. 

"C'mon." His arms wrapped around your stomach in a lazy embrace, which happened to work as a distraction from the constant ache of bruises. Out of character and seemingly affectionate, Sanzu planted his chin onto your shoulder. 

Despite outward appearances, your stomach felt sick with content. 

"What?" you asked. "I thought ya were tired?" 

"I am," scuffed words tumbled out from his mouth, "that’s why I’m telling you to hurry up."

Sanzu's track record revealed his words and actions were consistently inconsistent. 

But even if words fail, feelings don't. This has to be love. It is love. It should be love. To be bound to the other's skin. Idealism you yearned to one day see. That's why lack of reciprocation could never sting.

Even if words fail, feelings don't. 

This has to be love. 

Therefore, it is.

Or at least, you wanted it to be. 

"—oh." You beamed, placing the last dish on the rack. "I get it, ya can't sleep without me." 

"Try not to flatter yourself too much." He said. "I'm just looking forward to throwing you out." 

Sanzu let the threat out with a smile.

"What a super depressing role, huh?" you said, with an eagerness of contrary magnitude. "Oh well. I guess it's fitting for a criminal like me."

"I'm kidding." Backing off to secure the bathroom first, he added, "somewhat."

The lights in your mind switched to ON(-ish). 

"I knew ya couldn't sleep without me."

"So that's how you're going to take it? 

"Uh-huh, as ya intended." 

"By kidding I meant, I'm not looking forward to throwing you out but I am looking to get it out of the way," he said, closing the bathroom door behind him

"Hey Mr. Sanzu, your shy side's showing," you concluded, by speaking to the door. 

The typical lax speed of a nightly routine made an unexpected swerve into speedrun territory. Bare feet pattered against floorboards with a gust of urgency. 

Not one for smooth routes, the closet door lived on a busted track, but as per human tradition, violence via force slid the grating dilemma open. You tore either futon from the shelf, though at this point they've thinned out enough to be considered blankets. On average you spaced them out as much as you could manage. Not that it mattered, considering your sleep habits were predictable as clockwork. As of tonight placements altered off course, unfolding each futon you created joint sleeping arrangements, meaning 2x the room for you and ½ room for Sanzu. 

Even if he could beat you at all else, those were odds he'd never win against.

—regrettably.

With part one finalized and designated sleep clothes in hand, you swung open the washroom door, but a separate dimension dwelled within. Accompanied by an inconsistent buzz, the sole light source flickered towards a near death experience while a leaky faucet expressed its concern. It might've bordered on ominous if your roommate didn't have a toothbrush shoved in his mouth. Unphased by your arrival, Sanzu apparently forgot this was a speedrun because he continued to brush his teeth at .25x speed.

Don't be silly. 

Dental hygiene has speedrun immunity, obviously. 

Back-alley Dr. Sanzu is no dentist. 

So oral complications would be quite complicated.  

In other words: unresolved for an indefinite period of time. 

One speed run is all it takes to fall into dental despair. 

Speed dialed back down to 1x.

With one step inside of an over capacity bathroom, you grabbed your toothbrush from its homelands of a cup and prepped for the battlefield that existed within you. Cavities best not dream of making you their bitch, for you're well trained in the art of a 2 minute brush technique. 

In the mirror, stood a duo, one half to each of their faces stared back. Your analysis might have been mistaken earlier; Sanzu is well over the 2 minute brush cycle. This is just overkill. He must hate cavities more than you–

No. 

That's not it either.

Upon closer inspection, heavy eyes fluttered to the border of sleeping ones. If he's one thing, it's resilient and you're here to take advantage of those circumstances.

You held the tube of toothpaste hostage; it had a crucial part to play on the impending mission. While competing against a drowsy opponent may seem immoral, don't forget—his stats are maxed out. Nothing short of a clean job would cut it. Nearly breaching past the door with one swift step, victory came within your dental-hygiene-holding grasp. 

Watching TV while brushing your teeth is what it means to enjoy the finer things in life. 

Yet, not all dreams are attainable in this form. 

Yanked back in before you even had a chance, Sanzu's stats were set too high. Despite subduing an under-leveled mortal, his face hovered over the sink as he spat out the remnants of toothpaste. Like a spider catching prey, he snagged your wrist without so much as sparing a glance. 

"No," he scolded, though a lethargic tone said his heart just wasn't in it.

Committed till the end, Sanzu rinsed off any traces of toothpaste from his mouth. 

Player one wins.

Player two lacks discipline.

Player three needs a new lightbulb. 

"I'm still no match." A loser balloon popped under pressure as you deflated accordingly. "I shoulda known sleep deprivation wasn't gonna be enough of a handicap." 

Giving up on pipe dreams of a TV x toothbrush collaboration, you shifted to arm a line of paste onto the cavity killing weapon. 

"Mm, I thought that was obvious," he said, closing the door behind him.

The lightbulb offered a farewell flicker.

Winners are loved by design. 

Left to wage gentle war onto your mouth, an era of peace followed as you swapped into sleep armor, for the next war would be an unconscious battle of dreamy proportions. Darkness greeted you upon advancing to the next battlefield while empty futons came within your sight. Faced with the mystery of Sanzu's whereabouts, the drawn out creak of a floorboard seemed to be a viable location. Turning towards it came with regret. Frozen by the chill of dread, your stomach dropped to the lower level. 

The faint glow of your television wasn’t enough to repel apartment ghosts.

Translucent skin and eyes dark as death, an entity that looked to eat mortals for dessert loomed close enough for you to be its next late-night snack. 

"Where is it?" Sanzu's voice resonated from the creature. 

It ate him, and now it's going to eat you.

"Tch." 

Tch!?

So two lives aren't enough? 

"Where. Is. It." The ghost leaned in, punctuating each word. 

Heh…ha ha.

Blame the television for offering bad visual advice. 

"I'm not exactly sure what it is you're trying to do with your face, but it's not helping." 

"I thought ya were dead." Laughter was the only device keeping tears at bay. 

"It's not that I don't believe you, but that's not what I asked now, is it?" 

You shook your head no.

"Well? Where is it?" 

"Is it…" You blinked. "Porn?"

History repeats itself, and so does that smile. No, maybe ⅔ of that smile thanks to the ongoing dilemma. 

Sleep or no sleep, soft features are a lethal weapon at his disposal.

And apparently guessing games. 

"When ya don't specify I assume it's 'cos ya don't wanna say it." You pondered but came up dry. "I'd say ice-pops, but ya ate the only one left last night so that means its gotta be…!" you trailed off, extending your palms out with a shrug, "dunno."

Sanzu opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. 

"Shit," he mumbled.

"Tell me Mr. Sanzu, what's 'it'?" 

"I'm tired." He shook his head. "Forget I said anything, yeah?" 

"I can't say no to such a sleepy face." Cupping your cheeks, you gushed while he rolled his eyes in retaliation. 

Led by the supervision of the shittiest night-light of a television, the duo took one step towards that which Sanzu needed most as they took seated refuge on the futon-blankets. 

Two seconds from tackling him, you couldn't. 

Spat on by sleep deprivation, the sight of his being opened up your chest;

As if only to be shoved full of filth. 

As if only for it to be spit back out.

It didn’t sit right.

"Why didn't ya sleep?" 

"We already went over this." 

"Sorry." Letting out a slight laugh you scratched your cheek. "But it's just—it's never been a problem before, y'know?" 

Recalibrating his focus, Sanzu rubbed his eye to keep blurred vision at bay. 

"Hm? You think I'm lying?" He asked, not sparing concern to the subject at hand.

"Not even a little bit and if I did that wouldn't be me," words flew out as if they were taking part in a race. "But I was thinking I might die from guilt if I kept ya up again."

Sanzu rolled his eyes. "You talk too much."

"I wonder if Mr. Sanzu's tryna hurt my feelings." Tuned to the strings of pitch black wonder, you tilted your head as questionable intent worked to pump through your veins. "Y'know I heard bullying is a form of love so—is this a confession?" 

With hands planted on either thigh, you leaned closer to the target of verbal ambush. 

Letting out a tsk, he pushed away your face along with the self-satisfied expression it harbored. Sharp at a glace, his eyes cast to the side to mark a period of silence while probably planning his own era of assassination.

Looking at it from a glass half full perspective; 

There were worse ways to die.

“I was referring to last night.” The fall of a lethal gaze offered attention to dead ends, with brows squished together his fingers separated strands of blonde. “We had a conversation, but as it turns out, you were asleep.”  

"That's it?" Wide eyed and vacant, you were on standby for a reply but silence responded instead. "How very unlike ya to forget Mr. Sanzu. That's not the first time ya fell for my sleep talk." 

Dead ends were more interesting than you.

Such is life.

"Hmm, did I tell ya something embarrassing? Or maybe I embarrassed ya by confessing my love-" 

Surprised by the sudden contact, a hand came down to pet your head. Glancing up, you witnessed a smile serene as early spring. Not even vaguely close to understanding, you couldn't help but smile back. 

Sanzu's gaze was light and breezy, lashes like feathers were weightless yet heavy at a glance. Despite the recent state of violent affairs, his skin loved him so it would always mend itself back together, scabs accessorized fair skin as if to convey self love.

Enveloped in darkness, he looked like the moon.

Sitting in silence, you gleamed like starlight.

"I plan on taping your mouth shut if you do it again." His smile refused to shatter as a rough hand felt affectionate. 

"I'd hate to be me in the morning." You wore a matching smile that bore just as much resilience.

The air bloomed with flowers.

But that might be the influx of air pollution talking.

From an outsider's perspective, one might mistake this as a sappy lovers’ exchange despite the sheer clash of black tongues pasted over tender demeanors. 

"C'mon." Sanzu's hand dropped to tug at yours. 

It felt like love; 

The desire to be close. 

Smushed together pillows offered support for sleepy heads. Gentle chatter of the television conversed with its own kind for thin walls are a link to every aspect of your neighbors’ lives. Bodies pressed in close and the act of smothering felt like home; a duo found peace while resting on their sides. You smiled as faint breaths tickled your face. Wrapped beneath your neck, Sanzu's hand lived on the other side as weary fingers clung to the wrinkled fabric of your sleeve. Body heat spread from him to you but as if your heart was a stream; 

The warmth of mankind spilled out from your chest. 

Amidst the nightfall of August, an apartment building fit for vermin became the center of the world, no—the universe pressed itself down to only hold him and you. Gazing up at the boy with lashes like silk, you witnessed the manner in which ethereals sleep. Fingers reached out towards a masterpiece in slumber, brushing over art etched in flesh, but with security always on such high alert his hand was quick to grab yours. A wordless exchange, Sanzu locked his fingers over yours and brought them down to his chest. Some things never change; 

And you worship the static. 

From the beginning you loved him so deeply;

All he had to do was exist. 

[henqtic]

our language- d.m.

- summary: finding a love language was a beautiful— even if that said language was showering the other. 

- word count: 1.1k 

- warnings:  talks of insecurities/self hatred with scars, hip dips and, stretch marks. descriptions of blood, non sexual nudity, and that’s about it... please contact me if theres more !

- more works with black readers → Hat // “just one more hour” // Learning 

- masterlist //  gif creds // taglist form 

love language— a marvelous thing it was, varying from person to person, soul to soul. and it was all to express a deeper love.

the languages weren’t linear nor limited to the vowels humans could make, there were all sorts of different forms it’d come in. notes, words of affirmation, touch, and for you— well it took you some time to figure that out.

at first, it was pinky promises. because for some unknown reason, an eleven year old thought that was the best form of insured security, linking your finger with another’s.

then as you grew, it transformed into notes— if you’d count what was written on them as love. the pale boy from the other side of the classroom making eccentric shapes with parchment just so they could go unnoticed when flying to your desk. nothing special there, not even love— just innocent children who didn’t know any better, nothing about the future.

then it became something else, thirteen year olds becoming aware of their surroundings— crushes in a simpler sense. it seemed that he couldn’t go a week without getting hexed by some student who had had enough or someone who generally didn’t like him so there it came— bandaging the others wounds.

memories rushed through your mind of him sitting overly proud in a wooden chair as you cleaned him up, nose bleed, lip bleed, uncontrollable... puking once. you liked to think back to those days when he’d smile at you with nothing but adoration, a new love that wasn’t said but shone because what set of fifteen year olds are ready for that sort of advance, responsibility?

so for many years, you’d claim that as your love language, taking care of them to show them how much you cared but one day that changed.

no longer claiming it as anything, deep cuts and scars being a token of the day and at first you couldn’t handle seeing them without a feeling of dystopia raining over your spirits because there were too many bad memories linked.

the way he wept on the white mattress that professor snape had been earlier instructed to lay him on. he was attempting to keep his composure in front of the many other students in the hospital wing while he had just survived almost bleeding out.

and it wasn’t then when your disdain towards the markings grew but it was how you watched him go from a person who’d stopped an unreasonable amount just to catch a look at himself in the mirror— some sort of cheeky look directed at himself for added humor to someone who’d shy away from the reflective glass. ashamed of the new pale whites that painted his torso.

but that led you to finding a more solid love language— together this time. you couldn’t recall how you two discovered it but it all happened one day— showering, washing off the other.

and while it was an intimate time, it could never be considered anything sexual. it was an unspoken promise made between the two of you that first day in his private shower— just two people finding solace within each other.

it was how his hands traveled down the curve of your back and to the indent of where your hip bone decided to be placed a little higher than your femur, a dip forming as result.

and how his fingers would take their time delicately tracing the lines of a lighter shade riddled across your brown skin. thighs, lower stomach, upper arm, you name it— stretch marks.

they were deep rooted insecurities of yours for long amounts of time, sprouting at the prime age of puberty. thoughts of appreciation for the body you had never stood a chance against the ones of negativity and hatred. thoughts of that maybe shiver molded you had made a terrible mistake, or maybe that didn’t like you, held a hatred for the person you would become.

but that wasn’t true, not in the slightest.

you were built in your own way, not the same as anyways else but at the same, not out of the ordinary — imperfectly perfect.

that’s what he called them, draco— imperfectly perfect features because while you didn’t need anyone to validate or invalidate what you didn’t have the ability to, he wanted needed to make sure everything about you was perfect to him— there was no way it couldn’t be.

and it was how your hands touched on and soothed every aching muscle his body held as the water showered you both from above.

because as time grew on, past hogwarts and past the war, his scars were no longer a direct remnant of what happened in the bathroom and the cries that followed but an automatic thought to how much he went through and how you held nothing but love for the man standing in front of you.

“i think they’re beautiful,” you whispered to the man almost out of the blue. your eyes were trained to the spot where your hands had stopped on his bare chest.

“hm?” he hummed in question, looking down to you and inhaling the scent of coconut scented soap.

“your scars, they’re beautiful. I hated them at first, for what they did to you and made you feel.” your head tiled mid sentence to looking into his eyes, waterline starting to well with a liquid other than water.

the brick wall that he’d put up as sixteen year old was no longer there, having been chipped away ages ago.

“what changed?” he whispered with a small smirk, dying to know what caused you to think of them in such a way, in a way he didn’t think was possible for a long time.

a bubble formed after that, in a figurative sense— there was now a dome shaped bubble trapping you two closer together than you ever were. because it was two lovers showering with each other, praising the features that neither found to be the best or even do he wanted.

“i think it was my mindset that made all the difference. I used to think of them as some burden forced on you but not anymore. when i say i love you, i’m including them too.” you admitted causing the smirk on his face to grow.

“and when i say i love you, i mean it. i’ll love every single part of you until you do. and when that does happen, I’ll love them even more,” he professed, his hands now on your face, the pads of his thumbs now rested against your skin, wiping away any tears that had formed and fell.

his actions encourage you to do the same, contrasting arms over lapping each other as they wiped away the feeling of pain induced by stubborn insecurities until airy laughs sounded, a meet in the middle.

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[the-anxiety-ridden-writer]

knives on my body, blood on my hands

Chapter One: The House At The End of The Street, The Cabin Buried in the Woods

THE CLOCK HAS BARELY TICKED PAST NINE O’CLOCK when the last light flickers off. Ink black shadows swell in the thin backstreets whilst gray storm clouds obscure any light coming from the shining moon.

The old town plunges into darkness and hidden within it, a little girl revels in it. Tilts her head back and let’s the beginnings of the storm wash over her, as if the rain water that begins to seep into her very being can wash away the red that has stained her soul.

(It can’t, the blood on her hands will transcend lifetimes)

A bright clash of lightning brings her out of her thoughts. She melts into the shadows and continues on her way, making her way down the street with eerie silent footsteps.

Perhaps a lesser man would have stumbled down the street, unable to walk the burrard street without tripping over himself. But the little girl moves with a silent grace in her step, weaving around the bumps and cracks even when she can barely see the boots on her feet.

The training of her handlers, years spent in the Hydra and The Red Room overcoming her. She could walk the streets - could walk a path around the world and still carry the deadly grace and efficiency that they had beaten into given her.

Besides, the little girl was just The Asset to her handlers, Hydra’s own personal Angel Smerti. She was no man, much less one of low value.

The house at the end of the street is quiet when she enters it. The screams of the lightning hide the soft whine of the window when she opens it and the creak of the wooden floorboards when she lands on them.

The Asset squints her eyes, letting them adjust to the darkness and trail over the bookshelf lined walls. She stepped towards the oak desk, lifting one of the files scattered on the surface. She let her eyes scan the pages within before setting it down, letting the words winter soldier, car crash, two victims and serum mull over in her head before filtering it away for later, a loud clatter pulling her attention to the doorway.

A poison slick dagger is already soaring through the air and embedding itself in the figure before she can fully get a good look at them. The figure - a frail, old man with thinning white hair - stumbles back from the force of the knife, dark eyes widening in fear as the Asset stalks over to him.

She gives him quick once over, letting her eyes roam over the man as his muscles begin to tense up until he can’t move at all, until he is nothing but a mere puppet that the Asset can pull all the strings of. A puppet that the Asset can cut all the strings off of.

She carefully ignores how those last thoughts bring a small sense of dread and horror that pools in her stomach. Turn her head to the voice telling her ‘what’s one more body to add to the pile?’ And the voice asking her ‘just how monstrous have you become?’

(too much, far too much for someone her age)

The man finds his voice, previously lost in a sea of gasps and whimpers, “Please.” he begs, eyes wide, a wrinkled hand pressed to the dagger buried within his stomach.

“Please don’t ki-“ the Asset cuts him off, yanking the dagger out and shoving it into his throat. It doesn’t take long for the old man to leave these mortal planes, drifting off to be judged by an otherworldly being that can distinguish a saint and a sinner and never the between. To the otherworldly being that thinks he has any right to judge the actions of a human being trying to survive.

No, Death has never discriminated between the saints and the sinners.

‘And neither shall I’ the Asset thinks, ripping her dagger from his throat to slip back into the many holsters that cover her clothing.

She lugs the old man into the study, manhandling his body into the smooth leather chair, resting his head upon the oak desk, staining the folders with his blood. She stepped back, observing her work with a critical eye. It almost looked like the poor man had fallen asleep at his desk, if you - you know - ignore the blood.

The Asset eyed the scented candles perched atop one of the bookshelves, promptly labeled Cinnamon Sugar! Warm Spring Sunshine! and Peach! The Asset raised an eyebrow, an idea coming to mind.

An idea that would end in the echoing cries of firetruck sirens throughout the quaint street, the horrified muttering of neighbors and the ashes of an old man's study.

•☽○☾•

IT’S DAWN by the time the Asset makes her way back to where her handler—a sleazy, middle aged man that she hadn’t taken the time to remember his name—is currently based.

The sky is a disarray of colors, the sun spilling a cup of bright yellows and exotic oranges over the previously dark canvas. The Asset finds herself staring up at it, and feels a deep longing begin to stir. For the sky ran everywhere. It ran through the deepest of forests and the driest of deserts and over the endless waves of the ocean. The sky ran everywhere, demanding to be seen and heard and free and the Asset found herself envying it.

Truth be told, there used to be a fire in the Assets soul, before she was called Asset and went by the name that had been sewn into a velvet blanket by a woman that may have cared. It would burn through her veins, close to her heart and on days when her trainers would be harder on her than the rest for her heritage or when one of the girls - a pretty blond who went by Rowena - would make a cruel remark about the shape of her eyes, she’d let the fire consume her, let it burn through her and come out of her mouth, searing into them, until Rowena wept ugly tears into her hands and the trainers unleashed a flurry of punches and kicks before demanding an apology. The Asset can’t remember if the girl with her name sewn into a blanket had ever apologized, had never wanted to dwell too much on those memories.

(she hadn’t, the girl took all the pain and torture with her head held high. she refused to apologize for the fire in her soul. )

The Asset shook those thoughts away as the cabin her handler—Ivan Vanko—had holed himself up in came into sight. Just the sight of it, and the thought of facing Ivan had her straightening her posture, wiping any sign of weariness and schooling her face until there were no cracks in her porcelain mask, nothing for Ivan to dig into to expose all her thoughts.

There’s no noise when she enters, the door shutting silently behind her. She tenses, tilting her head to the side before pulling out one of her knives. Moving down the hall, she keeps her senses sharp, With no idea who she’s up against, she waits, muscles wound tight and her mouth a hard line, eyes darting around the slim hallway walls. She doesn’t have to wait long.

A hand thrusts out of the first doorway to her right, a strong pull has her flying through the air and losing the grip on her knife. Pain erupted in her shoulder but she didn't give it the time of day. Instead she rolls to her feet, springing up and throwing every ounce of her strength into the flying kick that sends her assailant slamming into the wall with a yell of pain.

The Asset lets herself breathe, if only for a second. Her eyes assess her assailant — a well dressed man with balding hair — cataloging every weakness she can find, from the way he favors his right side to the fading bruise on his right temple, while he lay recovering.

This time, when he lunged for her, she is ready.

She side steps his attack, digging her knee into his injured side, and sends a sharp elbow into his already bruised face. A loud crack echoes in the room, and when he stumbles back, a scream of pain that can only come from deep within himself, a small twisted part of her is pleased to see his nose is far from the correct position.

Adrenaline thumps through herself, a synchronized sympathy that plays in tempo with her heart. When both he and his little friend that had been waiting, watching in the shadows of the room lunge at her, she already knows who the victor of this battle will be.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is where their dance begins. Or rather, her dance begins.

She dodges his friend's attack, turning and arching her leg in the air, slamming it into assailant number two — a short woman who was barely taller than The Asset — side. It leaves her stumbling back, groaning as she falls like a corpse into the glass table in the center of the room.

The Asset grunts as strong arms encircle her, lifting her up, up, up. She grunts, moving her arm up and once again digging her elbow in his face. It connects with his eye this time, the action leaving him stumbling back, clutching his hand to his eye. The Asset doesn’t give him time to recover, doesn’t have enough sympathy, enough empathy, enough mercy in the body that has been crafted with the fists and guns and needles of the men and women who have used her, trained her, killed her.

It’s why the dagger slips so easily out of its concealed holster and into the man's chest. A cry of agony is silenced with the arc of her leg, her foot connecting with his Adam's apple. He toppled over, hands held to his chest as if he can relieve the pain that she has brought to his body.

She stared him down, the soft creak of wood under her foot echoed like screams around the room. She plants one foot on his chest, pressing down as she pulls the dagger from his chest, baring her teeth behind her ninja-esque mask as he screams.

She leaves the man there, bleeding, beaten, broken and goes to find her handler.

AN: I don’t know what this is, but it’s dumb. I’m also dumb tho and I’m thinking of adding on.

Special thanks to @unmaskedagain , @nightlychaotic and @nobodyfamousposts for introducing me to maribat. I love all of your maribat posts.

Tag list: @avengerthewarrior , @nightlychaotic

[addij69]

My Horribly Written Essay On Figment and Disney

(this is my first post so please cut me some slack, I am also not a writer :P )

I remember Fifth Grade for a plethora of reasons. My Grandpa’s passing, the year I watched one of my classmates descend into becoming the weird fetish kid, and the year my favorite Pokemon card was stolen and returned, but to me, the most impacting part of who I am now was my trip to Disney World. Now for all my life, I was a Disney kid, I had all the movies, all the toys, and even the Barbie Disney Rapunzel Castle that you could put water on the walls to make her paintings appear. And now looking back at my life as an 18-year-old college student, I think Disney did the one thing I couldn’t do for myself as a kid, create a focus. Since childhood, I’ve always wanted to be a princess, live in a castle, and meet my prince but I never could due to the housing market and Democracy of course. Now I’ve had ADHD forever, and to anyone who knows me, this isn’t a surprise. I’ve always been the kid in the class who can’t stop talking or moving or drawing pictures in the margins of my work and all over my work and generally not doing my work. And when I was home; I was the same. Never had a clean room, constantly playing and making stories with my Barbies and Monster High Dolls. And it was an escape, I didn’t have a solid group of friends in Fifth Grade, It was a time when who liked me and could tolerate me would jump around from kid to kid till I had no true idea who was really a friend. I still don’t know how to separate a friend from an acquaintance. But one day it changed.

I had gotten home from school like usual, and there was a white box on the counter. I didn’t notice the excited looks peaking from my parents most likely exhausted faces(they had two kids who wouldn’t be tired) as my mother alerted us that they had a surprise. I will attempt to describe the following as dramatically and flourished as I can, she lifted the sagging white box off the counter carefully holding the bottom. As she lifted the flap, words started to appear seemingly alerting we were going somewhere. Disney World. How I couldn’t contain my excitement I remember crying in joy, though my memory of back then is mostly a blur due to getting older and just general brain fogginess. During April break, peak tourism time which proved to be a good idea at the time later proved to be a not-so-great time, we were off. Now we stayed in a rental home about 30 to 40 minutes away from the park, I had a tv in my room and would only watch Disney Channel cause why wouldn’t I, it was Disney Radio season. I remember a few details of the home, a pool, a little lizard that seemed to follow me from window to window from outside the home, and a nearby Walmart with so much Disney stuff I as an adult would have wept from how empty my wallets would have been upon leaving. On the second day, my life would change.

Epcot, which is home to attractions like Drinking Around the World and Test Track is by far my favorite Disney park to this day. In one whole day, I got to travel around the world, go to space, and see him. Now looking at the large sort of wacky-shaped building from the outside you wouldn’t expect to find such a large assortment of wonders inside. Journey into the Imagination is possibly the one thing I’d want to relive other than seeing Phantom of the Opera a year prior(which I wore the same shirt to by the way), the ride takes you on a tour of the senses before Figment interrupts. At the time I didn’t think anything of Figment, he was some old dragon that had a funny voice and at the time that's all he was. But looking back at my young self I see a lot of me in Figment. I was a creative outcast who wanted to find my way in life and help but usually was yelled at or ignored. And Figment goes through a similar journey on his attraction. And I think that's what's drawn me to him all these years, once I hit Highschool I had a hard time finding myself and fitting in. Luckily I had good friends at that point but I didn’t feel complete. I remember the day, it was early December of my freshman year. I was watching Disney Ride POV’s to pass the time when I stumbled onto the recording of Figment, and I was obsessed. I spent hours of time over the next year coming back to the videos, even during the height of Covid I was still finding comfort in a memory. I received my first stuffed Figment from my friend on my 17th Birthday, at the time it was the only merchandise of him they sold out of parks and I cried upon receiving him. Then for my 18th Birthday, I spoiled myself with custom horns to match him, a huge 2ft stuffed Figment and custom earrings. And the same dear friend had gone to Disney that year and came over while I was bleaching my hair and delivered such a special gift. A Figment that magnetically could sit on your shoulder from the parks. I almost lost my mind but kept composed to not seem like a psychopath. 

I might be crazy, but I know I sure sound it. But I hold this little Purple Dragon so close in my heart. Disney in particular has always been my comfort anything, and I don’t think it ever won’t be. As time goes on more and more stuff is thrown at me like how a toddler throws a birthday cake and I am so happy. I am so emotionally invested in the company I get excited for the panels at D23, and when news is dropped about company workings. It's special for me, and so is Figment.

[katzkinder]

London Bridge Is Falling Down

Envy Pair version of my Counting Sheep series! Himiko is my headcanon for the name of Mikuni's mother. Since Mikuni's name contains the character for "kingdom," I thought this name belonging to an ancient queen suited his mother well.

Mikuni is annoying.

That’s something Jeje has always known, ever since Mikuni was a child, ever since the first time he saw him, bounding around his mother’s skirts and throwing himself into Lily’s arms to be held and cuddled and fawned over while Jeje had slunk back to the cellars. Himiko had been so bright, back then, the rot of Envy not yet showing in a visible way, that tiny baby that would grow into his brother’s Eve gurgling happily in her arms.

Jeje was the one who had found him. Himiko had wept when she saw him, all the anger and hate leaving her at once, vanishing as if it never existed when she laid her eyes on the fragile little bundle, swaddled in soft fabrics with little gloves on his impossibly tiny hands. She had sobbed all the harder when she took the crying child from him, her hands shaking while she cradled him close, useless apologies spilling from her pretty lips. The body of the babe’s mother had rapidly been growing cold on the carpet, and little Misono… Would remember none of it.

(Jeje remembered all of it, though. He doesn’t think a single moment will ever fade from his mind, no matter how many eons pass)

As Mikuni had grown, with Jeje watching over him as a silent, imposing, guardian angel, always behind the boy’s mother while she had read bedtime stories to him, always so aware of those bright, bright, too bright eyes, Jeje had also become aware of a number of other things, and those things remained true into adulthood. Mikuni has all of his mother’s gorgeous looks (and some from his father, but admitting as such is just asking to be choked), her stubborn brightness, her sharp tongue and wit, but more than any of that...

Mikuni is annoying.

...Because he never listens to what’s good for him. Just like his mother before him, he had taken Jeje despite his warnings, and some bitter, sick part of Jeje had wanted him to. The same part of him that had given in to Himiko herself.

But, well, he’d always known Mikuni never listened, too.

He wonders if Lily knows, though he doubts that he’s aware, of those golden afternoons when Mikuni would sneak down to his hiding place and find him lurking near the boilers, the excited, terrified whispers of Lily’s children, his human children, chasing after the young heir as he confidently hopped down, step by step, into the “monster’s” lair.

They had talked. About nothing. About everything. Well, actually, Mikuni had talked, seemingly not caring that Jeje never said much back, incredible and beautiful and… Well, there was a reason everyone called Mikuni brilliant.

Jeje knew better, though.

***

The most annoying thing about Mikuni, in his opinion, is not how loud he is. It’s not his contrariness, or his capriciousness, or his constant, gnawing curiosity causing him to make mischief.

The most annoying thing about Mikuni was how badly he wanted people to think he was naturally good at everything.

See, Mikuni was smart. Jeje would give him that. But he was also very stupid. It wasn’t as if he lacked common sense, though sometimes Jeje wondered, but it was like Mikuni wanted people to resent him.

More than anyone Jeje had ever met, his Eve was a hard worker. Someone who hated owing others a single damn thing. It was that useless pride and sense of responsibility for things that couldn’t possibly be Mikuni’s fault, things Jeje suspected, no matter how much he denied it, Mikuni had learned, had internalized, from his father and from Lily, that was why Jeje refused to call Mikuni brilliant like everyone else.

...But he did shine. Like a candle in a darkened room. Like a beacon. Warm, and inviting, someone to warm himself beside, even knowing that that flame would burn him up, just like a moth.

The question was... Who would that flame melt into nothing first?

Jeje would be damned twice over if he let it be his Eve.

Turning away from way he had been watching the other man work late hours, hunched over Nod’s ledgers and planners and Mikuni’s own personal notebooks, where his pen scratched across the surfaces of each calculating profits, expenses, bills, new products and designs and promotions and planning trips, Jeje silently makes his way to their kitchen.

Burning the midnight oil just means you won’t have any left when you truly need it.

A snort, reaching for their cabinets. Of course, that’s what Mikuni had him for.

***

He’s gotten very good at brewing tea. Jeje isn’t much of a chef at all, but living with Mikuni for so long, it was practically guaranteed he’d learn to at least make a semi-decent cup, and thank god he had. He would have truly killed Mikuni by now if he hadn’t, he swears, the man is just as persnickety about his tea as Lily is with his coffee.

...He’s also gained a new appreciation for the stuff, but maybe that comes with the territory of spending hours upon hours listening to Mikuni’s one sided argument about the best ways to drink it. It’s hard not to be impressed with all the little details that goes into brewing what’s considered a perfect cup (by Mikuni’s standards, anyway), and even harder still to not feel a fondness for something that draws such genuine passion out of his once charge, now equal.

...It’s such an odd thought. He knows what people think. That Mikuni has always had a stranglehold on him. That Mikuni has always been in charge. That Mikuni has always been someone… Grown up.

Again. Jeje knows better.

He sets the temperature on their electric kettle, one purchased on one of their many visits to the British Isles, sits at their kitchen table, and waits. Thinks.

Mikuni has been grown up for a long time now. And he will continue to grow, and people will continue to think, no matter Jeje’s efforts, that he is a no good, conniving schemer who would sacrifice them all on a wish and a prayer and something like a maybe.

And, well, perhaps they aren’t wrong. Perhaps Jeje is a fool. But if he’s a fool, he’s a court jester, and as court jester he will make absolutely certain this time that the king does not make his mistakes without someone there to make fun of him for it, even if only behind closed doors, even if only between the two of them.

To everyone else, he is a dictator’s executioner, and that’s fine with him. Everyone else doesn’t matter.

His eyes drift to Mikuni’s favorite cup, one made of glass and painted with delicate, swooping strokes of gold, with lilies and a taupe lacquer surrounding all but a window through which one could admire the lovely colors of their favored drink. He takes it into his hands, so much larger than this tiny cup, and finds himself smiling as he turns the joint birthday gift from the Lust pair over and around, admires those intricate, fancy details that speak of quality and knowing down to the letter exactly what Mikuni’s tastes are.

Well.

Almost everyone.

***

The teapot has been warmed, the kettle filled with mineral water and piping hot, and by the time Jeje finishes steeping the loose leaf tea, their little kitchen clock, kitschy and cute and shaped like a cartoon chicken hatching from an egg, reads 2:17 in the morning.

Jeje picks up the cup, the container of melatonin supplements Mikuni has taken since he was twenty at his Servamp’s behest, and carefully carries both back to where he knows the other man will still be completely absorbed in his work.

True to form, Mikuni is still at it. The predictability of his late night, sleepless habits, of his need to do something with his time, makes Jeje’s frown deepen, ever so slightly.

He wishes Mikuni would just rest. Close his eyes, not do anything, just lie there and let Jeje guard him, just be still, be quiet, like did when he was a child.

… He knows better than to think a mind as stubborn and that moves as fast as his Eve’s could ever achieve that, but he can dream. He can also just sicc the Lust pair on him.

That’ll put him to bed real fast.

“What’re you grinning about over there?”

He startles, not having expected Mikuni to acknowledge his presence, and nearly sloshes hot chamomile with lavender onto the pretty little matching saucer that accompanied the cup. It’s a miracle it didn’t fall over completely. Jeje lets out a breath, so quiet it’s inaudible, and curses himself for forgetting that Mikuni can see him right now.

Then again, even if he was wearing his mask, Mikuni would have seen right through him.

He always does.

His Eve is watching him still, waiting for him to move, and then his eyes flick down to what Jeje has in his hands. His lips twist.

Jeje ignores it and continues to make his way over to where Mikuni had been peacefully working. They don’t speak a word to one another, and no sooner than Jeje sets his cargo down, he’s going back the way he came, knowing it’s useless to try and ply Mikuni with words or favors.

The man is annoying in his stubbornness, too.

He hears a sniff behind him, the scratch of pen on paper once more, but it isn’t long before that little noise stops again. A sigh. Jeje chances peering around the doorframe, smiling, just a tad, as a clearly frustrated Mikuni slaps his pen down onto the counter and picks up his cup, no doubt tempted by the smell of his favorite night time blend.

A swallow. Two.

Mikuni unscrews the lid on the melatonin gummies. Pops a couple into his mouth. Chews, and swallows. The tension leaves his shoulders. He allows himself to savor the warmth in his hands.

Jeje leaves him be and heads upstairs to their room, knowing Mikuni now won’t be far behind.

“Jeje,” Mikuni calls after him, voice soft in that way it sometimes, ever so rarely gets, so quiet Jeje almost misses it. “... You still really suck at this.”

Mikuni is annoying.

[genderfluid-insomniac]

When They Can't Save You (main six headcanons)

Asra:

He is devastated and tries everything to get you back, he lost you once, he won't lose you again. Julian and Nadia along with Portia come over to his shop when he hasn't been seen in a while and wasn't responding to them.

They find him frantically looking through books and herbs scattered around him, eyes wide with tears brimming and bags from the lack of sleep.

They're in shock for a bit until the spot Faust slithering over to them with concerned eyes, Nadia lets Faust up her arm and onto her shoulders. Julian and Portia rush over to Asra, grabbing his arm and turning him to face them.

Tears began to fall, cascading down his face and he trembles, breaking down and dropping the herbs he’s holding. Latching himself onto the siblings, gripping their shirts with balled fists, and letting out racked sobs.

Nadia kneels down and hugs them, letting Faust move over to the magician’s shoulders and flicking her tongue at his tears. His voice breaks as he speaks up,

“I know they’re gone, they’re dead, but maybe- maybe I can bring them back. If I did it once I can do it again, I know it. This can't be it, I have to see them again!” He yells and holds onto his friends tighter.

Nadia goes to comfort him but he interrupts her, pulling out the heart-shaped emerald amulet that he gave you. Clutching it to his chest and clenching his eyes shut, broken cries escaping his mouth.

“Why?! Why did you have to do that? You weren't supposed to die! Why wasn’t it me?! It was supposed to be me not you!” He let you down. He messed up. He’ll never get to see your beautiful smile again, the way your eyes lit up when you were excited.

You. The very person that brought him life, was gone. What did he have to live for? Now that you are gone… nothing.

Nadia:

It was evening and she was on her balcony, stroking Chandra who was perched on the railing next to her and letting tears fall down her cheeks. It was one of those nights again, the nights she didn’t get sleep when she seemed to see you everywhere and give her false hope. That you had lived.

Her hand shaking and Nadia went to rub the owl's feathers when a sob racked her, breaking down. The queen collapsed on the railing letting the night air carry her cries to whoever would listen to her sorrow.

Her companion cooed and nuzzled her face before flying off and leaving her, coming back moments later with a garment that meant the world to her. A scarf that you wore when you first met her, a scarf that Asra of course let her have.

Nadia lifted her head a bit when Chandra returned and choked out another sob at the sight of your cloth, gently opening her arms as her feathered friend placed it in her hands ever so gently. Recalling all the memories that they shared and your final moments with her, never losing hope or faith that she’d help Vesuvia return to normal.

Right now she didn't care who heard her as she cried out in pain, hearing a concerned Portia knock on the door and rush in, “Your highness, I-”

She cut herself short seeing her friend's state, eyes puffy and red, desperately trying to hold herself together. Portia walked over to Nadia, tears brimming her eyes and some escaping down her face.

“It’s one of those nights?” The only response she got was a nod as the queen tightened her grasp on your scarf. “I know you miss her, we all do believe me I know, but you can’t blame yourself. It was their decision and we have to respect that-”

Cries left Portia's mouth and interrupted her but she pushed through, “even though it hurts really bad.” The ginger could finish her sentence as she embraced Nadia, joining in her cries and hoping that you would come back, knowing you couldn’t.

Nadia spoke up, “They became my reason to believe in love again. I never thought I’d fall in love after Lucio, but they restored my faith. I know they wouldn't want me to be sad but I can’t go on living without them. I don't remember how to.”

Portia:

After you’d died, Julian moved in with his sister to help her with her work and taking care of herself, given how destroyed she was after you’d left. Concerning even Nadia and Mazelinka so much that they checked in on her pretty much daily.

It was another day of work, Portia was wandering the halls and making sure everything was in shape when she passed a passage that you and she used to take often, tearing up a bit and running her hand along the entrance. Tears quietly left her eyes as she recalled all the fun you both used to have in the palace.

You never gave up on her, never doubted her, and never stopped loving her the entire time. Now you were gone and it felt like her fault like she could have done more to save you or stop you at least. Vesuvia was saved but at what cost.

Portia sobbed and dropped down against the wall, holding her heart and trying to quiet her crying but it never worked, even as weeks passed. She could never get over the loss of you.

She heard footsteps and didn’t bother to look up knowing who it was based on his frantic breathing. Her brother knelt down in front of her and held her close, breaking down with her. You’d been family to the siblings and you brought a feeling of comfort they had forgotten about.

Portia reached into her pocket and pulled out a bandana you wore in your hair that you’d given to her for her unruly red hair. Bringing it to her lips and kissing it,

“Why did it have to be you? You were loved so much! I know you’d scold me right now for being sad instead of happy for treasuring the time we had” a bittersweet laugh let her lips.

Tears continued to fall as Julian rubbed circles on her back and consoled her as long as she needed, you’d been her world. As her brother, he’d never seen Portia so happy and in love when she first introduced them to him. Laughing to himself softly how awkward the moment was when he told her that he’d broken into their shop and met them prior.

Portia whispered her words with a smile, “I treasure every moment I had with you. I do. But I can’t stop crying over you, you knew how much you meant to everyone but you still sacrificed yourself anyway. You were selfless till the end, huh?”

Julian: When you had died, Julien stopped being himself anymore and he had never blamed himself more after he lost you not once but twice. Even weeks after your death he blamed himself and kept asking Asra if there was any way to bring you back, which they both knew there wasn’t a way to but he still asked.

Most of the time you could find him at the rowdy raven completely drunk or bargaining with the bartender for another when he was refused one.

Mazelinka or Portia usually has to drag him by the neck back to the house and watch over him as he drunkenly cries while remembering all the good moments he had with you.

He also contemplates taking his life because without you he doesn't feel like he can help anyone. You got him out of getting hanged and saved his life multiple times, you always had his back.

For once he wishes he could trade his curse for you again, he would rather eat leeches every day than live without you. His self-deprecation was always bad before but now since you’re gone, he completely lost his self-confidence, thinking that he’ll never be good at anything ever again.

“Why couldn't it be me?! They did so much for me and what do I do for them in return, let them die! Because of me, they died, again, and I don’t think I can bring them back this time.”

Sorrowful cries escaped him as he fell to the floor and held your masquerade mask in his hands, tears blurring his vision. Portia crouched down beside him along with Mazelinka and wept with him, hoping for some sign that you were okay even after death.

Muriel: (Hold on to your hearts this one is gonna be rough, possibly way worse than the other ones)

Truth be told, Muriel didn’t know if life was worth living when you died. He was already broken as he saw many others he cared about die before him and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

The hermit never left his house ever, even for food and water, it was Inanna that practically dragged him outside whenever he stopped eating or drinking. Feeling completely empty and worthless as your last moments continuously played on loop in his head.

Endless crying and never taking off the bright green scarf you bought for him and said matched his eyes. Only taking off to wash it and make sure it never left its pristine condition you left it in and cried whenever he had to.

You brought so much light into Muriel’s life and changed it wonderfully, the town loved him again and remembered him in a happier light, he was able to move on from his past and confront Lucio, and the best part of all, he met you.

The forest only heard Muriel’s sobs and cried with him, everything seemed dimmer when you’d died and nothing would be the same. Muriel even considered taking his own life because he had nothing left to live for but went to Asra instead and talked out all the grief he’d built up.

Inanna never left his side as he did everything he normally did before he met you, feeding his chickens, making sure the forest was in good health, and training in case anything went wrong. It was the only thing he could do, busy himself so much that he couldn’t think about the loss of his love.

The way you held his face before you passed, how your soft hands cradled and wiped his tears away. The light and love slowly fading from your eyes as you spoke your last words to him,

“You matter so much and I was so lucky to meet you. I love till the end, Muriel, never forget that.” With that, your eyes fluttered shut and your hand went limp as the giant held it in his hands.

But did he matter if you weren’t here with him? You spoke about loving him till the end and he never doubted your love but it had been the end, you had left this world. But he would never forget you, not till the day they would meet again.

Lucio:

In all honesty, he didn’t know how to feel. For years he’d been hurting the people of Vesuvia only to be brought back and having to rebuild everyone's trust but now you were gone.

He was used to watching you as a ghost, someone that couldn’t interact or communicate with you, and now it was the opposite. Lucio could only hope that you were a ghost and had to fight the doubt in his mind.

‘They passed peacefully, why would they come back? You’re just getting your hopes up for nothing.’

Even Nadia, who loathed and despised him, comforted him through tough times as she knew what it was like to lose a loved one. The others who were still a little skeptical that he was faking this started to believe him after a while.

Only someone in true grief could act like he was, Lucio wasn’t Lucio, and for once it scared everyone. For him to not be his arrogant loud extroverted self was foreign and seemed wrong. Julian and Asra often came to him and helped distract him, Asra at times coming to him and using a dagger that the old king gave them to try and contact you in the magic realm, sometimes getting messages but they were only verbal.

He only blamed himself, at least when he was a ghost he could still see you and at times you could see him (even if he made that blasted deal with the devil) it was better than this. His dogs never left his side as he roamed solemnly around the palace, letting tears fall down his cheeks and soft sobs exit his mouth.

“Why was he so obsessed with power when the only thing that mattered was in front of him? I really am foolish aren’t I, love? I hope you can’t see how much of a mess I’ve turned out to be. I miss you”