#hope he is okay in every way

[myoonieverse-sugasremix]

274 days. 39 weeks

[seventh-district]

Making Incorrect H:SR Quotes Until I Run Out of (hopefully) Original Ideas - Pt. 4 - Nuthin' but Boothill Edition

[Pt. 1] [Pt. 2] [Pt. 3] [Pt. 5] [Pt. 6]

[yayll]

~ a little something about Beast Dazai and his inability to let you go ~

Your hand trembles as you're about to knock on the massive office doors and you wonder if you're about to make the biggest mistake of your life.

You got too close working for this terribly lonely man, and now you're knocking at his door with the only solution you can think of to put an end to your silly infatuations that have gone on for longer than you'd want to admit and can possibly handle. You open the door slowly, and walk into the elegant and massive office space, your eyes falling right onto the dark haired man in all black hunched over the desk, scribbling away as if he didn't hear you come in. You walk quietly, and when you reach the wooden desk, your voice comes out soft and firm.

"Dazai, sir? I wanted to speak to you about something sensitive, if I may."

You chew on the corner of your bottom lip, but quickly compose yourself when you see the face of the man you've spent so much time with, the unfortunate love of your life. if it weren't for his Maroon scarf, he'd look like nothing but a black void. A burnt Black cat. He looks up, narrowed eyes scan you as he takes a sip of his tea, replying in a monotonous tone.

"What is it?"

"After much consideration, I think.. I need to leave the Port Mafia. We've worked together for quite a while now, and I can assure you it's not about the quality or enjoyment of my work. You don't even have to acknowledge this beyond me simply saying it, I just have to confess something that makes my heart ache. You make my heart ache. I know how unprofessional that sounds and that you have no use for such affections, but I can't keep pretending. It's why I think it's time for me to move onto something else otherwise my work will become disrupt-"

A lifted finger is shoved into your face, signaling you to stop, and so you do. Of course you do. You always had a habit of word vomiting when you were anxious. Dazai is staring down at his tea, and he stays quiet for a long time, trying to pick what emotion he can mask his real outraged ones with. Finally, he flashes you an unbothered look, his eyes half lidded as they taunt you. A cruel smirk curls onto his lips.

"Oh? What an awful time for your honesty! I'm currently drowning in work and responsibilities, ones that you're supposed to aid me with, actually. Thus, I have no use for your confession." He simply says.

You can feel a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. You expected this. Looking down at your shoes, you chew on your lip again.

"I had to tell you.. Like I said, you can just forget about it."

"Well you see, that's the problem. I can't forget it. The moment you uttered those nasty little words to me, I realized I have to carry the weight of finding a new secretary. And I resent that."

He looks away for a brief second, his words are bitter and laced with what sounds like remorse and irritation.

You cross your arms and sigh, your voice comes out lower than your confidence.

"I just thought that we were... I suppose I should have never dared to assume you'd ever see me as more than a-"

He instantly leans over his desk, now placing a finger on your lip, his voice just above a whisper.

"... And though these feelings you have for me may be inconvenient, it doesn't mean that they're unwelcome."

He lets his finger rest on your lips for just a second too long, meanwhile you're frozen in place feeling like your chest is going to collapse in on itself. His voice becomes softer.

"Sit, please."

You sit down, now facing each other. It's quiet for a few moments as you both study each other's expressions. This form of intimacy was unusual to everyone else but the two of you, having spent countless hours in the past working across one another without uttering a single word, yet communicating in perfect sync. You were a part of each other's routines, a never ending spiral. Dazai feels himself teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something peeling away at his very soul. He's usually so arrogant and domineering, but in this instant, he suddenly feels an exhaustion wash over him trying to keep that going. He's kept it going for so long, he forgot that he doesn't like doing it with you. You don't deserve to be a part of all of this, and he doesn't deserve to want you.

Oh how he loathes his true identity: A simple man. A human man. Your man.

When he can't take it anymore, he slowly creeps his bandaged hand on top of yours, applying light pressure, but his eyes don't dare look into yours. Not yet. Finally, you break the silence, staring down with furrowed brows at the way your hands fit around one another. You mutter under your breath, tired of being vague.

"What are we to each other, Dazai? I mean really?"

"Do I really need to spell it out for you?" He snorts, trying to cling to the last of his cruelty but failing as he lets his emotions sway his judgement.

You sigh, flipping your hand over so that your fingers can fully intertwine.

"I just don't know how I could ever take up any space in your mind. I didn't think you noticed whether I stayed or left."

He looks up, flashing you a mildly offended look, his sharp eyes narrowing. He scoffs quietly, dropping your hand and standing up from his desk. He walks over to you, his full height now looming. He bends down and scolds you.

"What an obscene thing to say. You're invaluable. You have always been occupying my mind, every minute, every second, every microsecond. I always notice. I'd notice even if I was on my deathbed."

Your breath catches in your throat, and you finally manage to swallow the lump that's building up as you stare up at your reckoning.

"I just- I'd never try to leash you, sir."

His eyes soften, and he tilts his head slightly. You drive him mad with the way you don't realize what a dog he is for you. His voice comes out strained.

"You wouldn't need to. And don't call me that. You know my name, and as your superior l'm ordering you to address me properly."

Your cheeks flush, and you part your lips, letting out the breath you can't stop holding. A faint smile appears on your face, and you stand up slowly to meet him.

"You're like the moon, you know? You control everything like the tides. You control me, Osamu."

He shakes his head, and sighs deeply. If only you could see how wrong you were. He steps closer, moving his hand up your arm gently as he trails his way to your collarbone with ghost-like strokes.

"Did you know that sometimes when I'm laying in bed, all alone after a long day of controlling things, my only thoughts are about you?"

He confesses, sincerely. Dazai brings his face inches from yours, his voice now becoming a pleading whisper. His hand travels down to your waist, gripping it gently.

"Do you find it hard to believe that you bring me to my knees, the big scary Port Mafia boss? Because if so, you're a great fool! I love spending my time with you. I quite literally need you by my side in my times of need and at any random and mundane moment that passes. It brings me unimaginable joy when you nag me to get more sleep, especially when I don't listen because I can't wait to hear you say it over and over again. I don't like it when you have plans, or when you report to anyone else but me. I want you to stay with me tonight and every single night after and I don't care how awful this sounds. I don't care about you having a life outside of me."

Your throat feels tight, eyes wide at the fervor of his words alone. You reply with a shaky breath.

"Every single night after?"

"Every. Single. Night. After..."

"As if we were together?"

"We are together." He declares as if it were obvious this entire time.

Hearing Dazai be so blunt makes your mind fog over quickly, a whiplash of feelings that you never thought would ever see the light of day suddenly surface. He feels the same, realizing how much he's given away to you in such a short amount of time, but for him it's been rotting inside for years. He's been held together by the glue of your support too long not to kneel for you now. It's over for him, he's run out of masks to wear. He slowly guides your body backwards towards the opulent leather couch at the center of the room. You stop when you feel yourself backing up into the cool pebbled hide, and he slowly lowers you down onto your back with his arms supporting you. He delicately hovers over you, looking deeply into your eyes as he takes in the way your bodies feel against each other. For a moment he worries he might actually be trembling.

His breath hitches when you place a hand on the bandaged side of his face that covers his left eye. You stroke the fabric lightly, eyes twinkling with unfiltered adoration. He thinks about the only other person who's ever looked at him with such reverence, and how painful it is not to be able to tell his best friend he's in love. He leans into your touch, humming softly and closing his eyes as he molds his lips deeply into yours. It's not a kiss of sexual desire. This is a kiss born of romance and intimacy, a mutual oath of surrender. cold bandaged hands instinctively wander your body, starting at the waist down to your hips, and slowly exploring the plush of your thighs, kneading them. He runs them higher, lightly tracing your ribs with his index finger while the other hand cups your face. Dazai's mouth moves gently, and slowly pulls away from yours with a soft whine. His fingers trace your jawline as he stares at you. You taste like milk and honey. Like the moon and rain. He smiles at you, eyes sparkling like the night sky. You feel his heartbeat against your body. Every single pore of your skin is connected.

"Please— don't leave the Port Mafia, and don't leave me alone... Not tonight. Not ever. I'd become a tyrant without you."

"Is that also an order?" You murmur in between shallow breaths, dreamy eyes trained on him.

His eyes flicker over to your lips for a moment, then return to your eyes. His voice drops to something that resembles a soft whimper.

"Noo. No, it's not. I could never demand anything from you. But if you'll allow me to act selfishly, I just want to make you happy, to see you smile. I want you to keep greeting me with that tea you make every morning before our meetings. I also never want to hear you call me 'Sir' again. I am not your boss or your friend... I'm so much more than that. We've always been together. We will always be together— Is this too much?"

You shake your head, smiling uncontrollably at the way Dazai rambles in this moment, it's a side of him you've never seen in all the years you've known him. A stark contrast from the detached and cruel presence that frightens others on an almost daily basis. This seems like a person pretending to be the boss of the Port Mafia, an almost perfect imitation. You're not sure what barriers within him had to break for him to become the mushy and needy mess you see before you and what it all means in the long run, but you dismiss it for now. You get the feeling this might be the real Osamu Dazai. And that excites you.

"Never too much. I'm here and I'm staying. I would always stay."

He chuckles, it's a broken shaky laugh bordering on a sob. He buries himself in your neck, smiling against your soft skin, nibbling on it. He lightly runs his tongue against the mark he leaves, and slowly lifts his gaze to meet yours

"... I know you would. You always do."

You tilt your head, and hum in mild confusion at his odd little comment.

"Do you know something I don't?"

He flashes you a knowing smile and speaks prophetically as he lightly traces a finger over a large vein on your neck, following it down to your soft chest. He murmurs lazily while bringing his lips down to where he won't be able to get them off for the rest of the night.

"I know everything, silly.~"

The Port Mafia can wait, he's going home first.

[pianokantzart]

That look Luigi gets whenever Mario implies just how much he needs him.

[cordiallyfuturedwight]

dice (2022) - onew

[deoidesign]

Thinks about my next series again... I drew the icon for it!

I'm planning to have it launched within a year! I'm hoping for summer 2025. I want to make a prelaunch page before Time and Time Again ends so people can subscribe if they're interested, but I'm worried the series return would be too early...

[dykedvonte]

I keep seeing fanarts of ppl's OC's being on the ship, so do you think that if there was 6st crewmember (specifically, another woman) Anya would've been more safe? Like, someone to actually call Jimmy's begaviour out, someone Anya might wanna trust? Is there a possibility something might have changed (even if a little) or it would not have mattered at all?

-💀

I feel like the game would make it part of the commentary on where she would believe and help Anya but still be sort of dismissive? Like the whole “don’t waste time crying and being scared keep going and move on, don’t let him win”. It’s supposed to be positive and reinforcing but sometimes it does more damage in those times of mourning and grief, it feels patronizing, like you don’t understand what you’re going through but they do. Even if they did call out his behavior it’s still on Curly to act and while another voice would help, it’s still 4 against 2 on guys that don’t get it until they have to vs women who always have to.

I don’t mind mouthwashing OCs but I do get a bit bored as they tend to be borderline saviors or like Jimmy aligned. They are either more complicit than Curly or just Jimmy haters for no reason, outside of what the creators know about what he did to Anya. I am never irked by OCs but in a story like mouthwashing you really need to think about what your character adds to the commentary, especially if they are there during the crash. It’s nice to have like characters on Anya’s side more whole heartedly and interesting to see characters who placate Jimmy but sometimes it’s one note.

I can’t and don’t want to police peoples OCs it’s never my intention when I comment on trends I notice, but I do feel like the way people make their OCs interact with these two characters and especially Curly, really show a grave misunderstanding of the narrative and these characters as people vs roles in the story. Still, I know people just make up characters for fun and that’s fine. Great even, but I guys I’m focusing more on OCs that are supposed to have those serious dynamics. My favs tend to be pretty-Tulpar or post-Tulpar au OCs.

The inevitably of the crash is on Jimmy. He did that not because he wasn’t stopped but because all his means to kill Anya were taken. The gun, the axe. Even if Curly did strip him of his co-pilot privileges and try to keep him contained there’s only so many people. An extra body helps but they have jobs they have to do, he’s the only one steering the whole ship and Jimmy would likely have an out: food, bathroom, etc. He’s not new and if he couldn’t crash the ship directly, who’s to say he wouldn’t sabotage something else? A clunker like the Tulpar wouldn’t take much. An extra person helps but it’s just another thing that prolongs what a person like Jimmy is willing to do to shirk responsibility.

It’s more than just needing someone to stand up to him and think that’s what is missing when it comes to inserting a character into the mouthwashing setting.

[spotaus]

New Age Au (Nighttime Worries)

Okay remember how I said I'd be back? Yeah. I'm unwell. This is a shorter one that I think could definitely be approved upon, but I live for posting drabbles so 🫡🫡 good luck soldiers <3

This is an Error pov set maybe a month or two after Night became small.

Also @ancha-aus and @papiliovolens and @mutzelputz ! Welcome back! :]

   "Nightmare?" Error's voice broke through the blackness of the space outside his workshop. The inside wasn't much brighter, a few loose blue strings being the only thing giving the room a faint glow. "What're you doing up here so late?"

   There was no point in titles right now. Error had always been pretty bad about using then, but especially now that the king was... younger than him. Now that Nightmare was smaller.

   Besides, it was the middle of the night, up in the top room of a fairly tall tower. He was the only one who came up here, and he'd know if there was anyone aside from Nightmare around.

   The King had come to his door, and now stood outside it. He had his cloak wrapped at his shoulders, but Error was pretty sure he could see the soft, thin, purple of his sleepwear. He didn't even see Night's mask. It was just that soft white eyelight peering up at him in the dark.

   "I... I'm not sure." Nightmare replied quietly.

   Error let a breath pass between them.

   Silence.

   "You're not sure?" Error repeated incredulously.

   Surely Nightmare wasn't visiting for no reason. Surely the king hadn't just popped by far into the night for fun.

   Nightmare seemed to clutch at his cloak a bit tighter.

   "I was in my study reading over documents, and I mentioned being thirsty, so Dust left to go get Ccino up and have him make something." He explained, then. The words coming quickly. "They took longer than I expected, so I moved to go meet them, but-" His breath quickened.

   Error was piecing it together now. The stiffness. The rapid way he'd grabbed for the strings which would alert Error to his presence.

   "I swore someone was following me, and you were the nearest." He finished, his eyelight dragging away to gaze back at the stairs behind him.

   They were cold, and unwelcoming, and curved shortly out of sight into a dark pit. Away from Error's guiding lights.

   Error gazed at Nightmare as he gathered a few more strings from his sockets. The magic spooled and glowed between his fingers, growing bright enough to cast Nightmare's shadow. Long and tall. Like his old form.

   He wasn't focusing much on that, though. More, the dark circles that seemed to be under Nightmare's sockets. They made him look so weary, and sad. Tired.

   "Well, I can tell you no one followed you up here. I'd know." Error offered him the quick comfort, and watched as Nightmare gave a hesitant little nod. Though, he couldn't seem to draw his gaze away.

   It was like he was straining to hear any little noise. See any hidden face in the darkness.

   Error sighed to himself.

   Internally, of course. He wasn't that comfortable around the king. If only because he doubted the jumpy ruler would appreciate a fond sigh in the midst of his worry.

   He'd heard from Ccino that Nightmare tended to get worried, and seen it enough times now that he had been spending more time outside his workshop.

   "We should go back to your study, your highness." Error suggested, his strings already flying behind him, clutching and wrapping at his current project. Pulling it towards him, slinging in a satchel to hold tight to his side.

   Nightmare glanced back to him briefly. In worry.

   "If Ccino and Dust are both up and they get back to find you missing?" He asked loosely, "They're going to turn the castle upside down."

   Something in that seemed to register for Nightmare, because he seemed to jolt and look fully towards Error.

   "You're accompanying me?"

   Error really held in that fond sigh this time. He cursed himself for picking up on that habit from his brothers.

   "Sure. I mean, who am I to deny a chance to work in the study again?" He joked, before changing his tone slightly. "Plus, I have my magic. Anyone following you would be dusted before they could try anything."

   This seemed to finally reassure Nightmare enough.

   Error didn't think about Night's past all that often. He certainly thought of the king, but never what led him to feel so vulnerable. He figured it wasn't just that loss of magic.

   Error stepped out of his workshop and stood beside Nightmare on the small landing.

   They were very close. Close enough that Error's bones fizzled with the ghost of pressure as Nightmare's robe fell into one of Error's arms.

   He flinched away, and Nightmare did the same with a quick little 'apologies'.

   They stood there a moment, collecting themselves, before Error started down.

  

   The stairs were long, and cold, and Error regretted his choice to not slip on his sandals before exiting his workshop, but there was no way he was turning around and being a big baby about it.

   He kept a sense on Nightmare. His shoes clicked quietly and diligently against the tone, Light little patters just behind him.

   Error remembered a time when he used to move in complete silence. He preferred it like this.

   The steps were illuminated in blue magic, a Cyan coating every crack and crevice, giving them a little bubble of sight coming directly from Error's hand where he held the wad of illuminating magic.

   It wasn't a very long trip. Not at all. But the quite felt tense and nervous. Error figured it was just Nightmare's worries feeding into his own tired energy. He'd not slept yet either.

   Soon enough they came to the break in the hall, where the arch to the stairway intercepted the main hallway between the Twin's wing (the one where Nightmare resided with the Knights) and the rest of the castle.

   Error hadn't realized how true it was that Night must've panicked halfway to his destination and rushed up to Error.

   The hall was quiet so far, and devoid of people, so he led the charge into the wide, cold space.

   The floors here had nice rugs lining the center, and he hopped onto the island of comfort away from the ruthless stone. Nightmare followed him swiftly.

   He tried to appear comfortable, because he could tell Nightmare was staring. He always did that when he was trying to figure something out.

   Something about feeling emotions when he was big and goopy. He couldn't do it anymore.

   "Still clear." Error reported, and Nightmare nodded again.

   They moved towards Nightmare's wing.

   Error hadn't been here long, but he knew that Nightmare's wing was where he had his room, one he's had since childhood, his study, and the rooms where his knights had all eventually ended up.

   It wasn't separated by a physical barrier, but no one dared to go into it unless they were invited by Night or the Knights. Or Ccino.

   Error has had permission since first arriving, Nightmare insisting if he needed anything he could come searching. Error had never taken the offer before all this.

   Of course, now was different.

   Now the king was small, and his age, and they were friends. Or, he hoped they were, at least.

   They moved quietly down the hall, passing rooms Error figured held Nightmare's resting elite guard. Or, maybe they were all off doing projects. He was pretty sure Cross was the only one with a decent sleep schedule among them.

   Regardless, there wasn't any sign of movement, no other souls anywhere in the stretch of hall.

   When they arrived to the study door, it was slightly ajar.

   Error held out an arm, halting both himself and Nightmare just outside. A glance revealed Nightmare was surprised to see the door open.

   Nightmare always closed doors behind him. It was a force of habit Error had seen plenty of times.

   "Dust?" Nightmare tentatively called out.

   Thank the gods Nightmare has faith in his knights. The thought that Dust might be inside hadn't even crossed is mind.

   Error flinched slightly as the door swung inwards, revealing Dust.

   He seemed to scan the hall, quickly taking in the scene. Error, standing partially between Night and the door. Night unharmed.

   "My lord, you had me worried." Dust said quietly, that voice low and almost a mumble.

   He moved out into the hall, past the two of them.

   Dust was short. Nearly shorter than Nightmare. He'd apparently never been tall, if the joking he'd heard was to be believed.

   Nightmare muttered an apology, quietly, and Error grumbled a bit to himself as Nightmare started around him, towards the study.

   He followed, quickly moving from carpet to stone to carpet again.

   He stayed on the ground just long enough for Nightmare to get comfortable on one of his sofas, where a few documents were strewn, before pulling himself and his project up into the air. To the small platform of strings he'd been constructing among the rafters of the high-ceiling. 

   "Nightmare, you alright?" Dust questioned more quietly once he shut the door, "Why'd you leave?"

   Error watched from his perch as Nightmare sunk in on himself a bit. Though he didn't flinch away as Dust took up a spot on the nearest chair.

   "I thought I heard something, so I came to find you." He said smally. "But I thought I heard it again in the hall, and I wasn't sure how far away you had gone to find Ccino, so- so I rushed up to Error's workshop instead of coming back."

   Dust seemed to think about it for a second, before he nodded to himself. Error couldn't see his eyelights thanks to the angle.

   "Alright, I understand." He said simply, "I apologize for leaving you alone like that."

   Nightmare just nodded a bit to himself, turning back to his papers.

   "It's alright. Error brought me back safely." He said, then.

   Error was glad he was up in his perch, because Nightmare's voice was very nice when he was calm. And it felt really nice to have Nightmare speak highly of him. He tried not to react as he saw Dust lift his skull and squint up at his platform among the shadowy rafters.

   He stuck a hand out, the one with the strings still glowing around it, and gave a thumbs up to the knight.

   He was well aware the Knights weren't all that trusting of him. But, then again Error was the newest one, and seemingly someone Nightmare had decided to trust all on his own.

   Though, Dust seemed different. He just nodded and focused again on Nightmare. He didn't chastise him for sticking around or bother him to come down.

   In the ensuing silence, Error got to work unraveling his project from his satchel.

   The glowing string moved about to light the dim space, as a few well-placed pulls allowed the pieces of his work to gently spread out onto the woven ground of his platform.

   Several arrowheads were spread before him, a few shafts discarded to the side. Each arrow point was covered in different magical layers, some looser than others, some more obvious.

   Error had been working for a bit now on an idea he'd had when he first got to the town where the wizards had been setting up for the King's arrival. To impress him, and hopefully be hired.

   One of those people had been accompanied by an archer, and their showing had been of magic-tipped arrows that could harness blue magic once they were stuck inside, forcing an enemy to a full stop if they were hit.

   It was a clever idea, but it was a one-trick show, and could only be used by the monster shooting them because they had a blue soul trait. Humans, non-patience monsters, they'd be out of luck.

   Error wanted to try something like that, but better. Use pre-made arrows and find a way to easily coat them in his magic. His strings always stayed, and the potency always remained strong, no matter how far away he was. He'd not realized that back at school, when he was testing something at his house, and accidentally set a room on fire back at the academy with strings he'd left behind.

   Though, progress had been slow. It was hard to work with materials he didn't make, but it made no sense to craft them from scratch himself, it'd be a waste of time to make enough for the entire guard, especially since arrows were a one-time use.

   The ones he'd made technically worked, but the strings either dulled the point, or loosened on impact and were easy to pull out. He needed them to stay put.

   Oh.

   An idea rushed into his head, and he scooped up one of his unused arrowheads, spinning it between his fingers, before collecting more of his magic and getting to work on his idea.

   It didn't take long, not at all, but it took just long enough that he hadn't noticed Ccino enter the room.

   Error rolled to the edge of his platform, leaning over a bit, to spot that Ccino was now sat on the couch beside Nightmare, the king tucked into the older skeleton's side. Was he shivering?

   Error figured that, just maybe, Nightmare wouldn't be in the mood to look at his deadly magical weapon right this second. He was fine with that, he'd just show him tomorrow. Or whenever he visited again.

   Before he could commit to rolling back out of sight, he found his eyelights meeting Ccino's over Nightmare's skull.

   "Oh, Error!" He greeted quietly. Ccino was always careful around him. Not unkind. "Would you like some tea? Dust's not having any, so I have an extra cup."

   The offer was surprising, and Error debated.

   Sure, why the hell not. He hadn't had tea in a while, and should probably drink something.

   He wordlessly rolled off his platform, one hand ensuring strings dropped him gently to the carpet behind the couch that Nightmare and Ccino were sat on.

   Ccino smiled at him, gently nudging Nightmare to sit up so that he could pour a new cup.

   When Night straightened, he wiped at his sockets before turning around to face Error. One hand held his tea gently, the other was free and braced against the wooden couch back.

   It seemed like he was going to say something, when he blinked and focused in on Error's hand.

   "Oh! You were working on a project?" He asked quietly, and Error internally cursed his habits.

   He still had the arrowhead loosely draped from strings in his other hand. He hadn't even realized it. It was just easier to not forget where he put things if he kept hold of them.

   "Yeah. It's... not finished yet. This is just the best version I have right now." He said, lifting his hand up so that Nightmare could see it better.

   By proxy, the other two could see it as well. Ccino returned with the cup, and held it out on its saucer to Error over the back of the couch.

   He didn't seem offended when Error used strings to grip it and hold it. It was easier to keep from spilling, and free up his hands as he did other tasks. He had better awareness with his strings than he did his normal body.

   "Mm. Magic arrows, like from the Wizard Tryouts?" Dust spoke up from his seat a bit further away.

   Nightmare blinked in surprise as he seemed to be reminded of that showing. Then his brow furrowed. "Didn't you say that those were poorly designed?"

   It was true, Error had given a full report on why he hadn't been impressed by anyone else at the showing once he was hired. He was surprised Nightmare's remembered it.

   "Those ones had shit design, yes." He confirmed, flicking his wrist so the strings shortened and pulled the arrow closer to his palm. "These ones aren't custom-made. It's your regular everyday arrow with a sleeve that wraps tight to the arrowhead."

  

   He couldn't help himself as he stepped a bit closer to the couch. "The ideal design would be something that stays on when entering the target, but remains in the wound after the arrow is removed." His strings shifted, he used his free hand to point to a band of bright blue wrapped around the center of it. "This version adds barbs to the edges, so as long as it stayed on until it hit the target, it would leave blue magic behind, dug into the wound"

   He jostled his hand a bit so the string would allow it to spin a bit. "Of course, this sort of design would only work being made of my magic, but if I made enough tiny sleeves anyone in the guard could have some nasty archery shots."

   He was grinning. He always got excited when he got to explain his creations. They were his pride and joy.

   "Gods, that's... a little terrifying, kid." Dust said with a weary chuckle.

   Error's offense, though, was quickly overridden by a motion from Night.

   The King reached a hand out to gently cup under the arrow as it swung to a stop.

   "I think it's very clever!" The King said slightly, eyelight plastered on the prototype weapon, "It's far more efficient than training our magic users in blue magic, and would certainly take enemies out with less arrow cost and man-power on our end."

   That was exactly it. Error was always relieved when the two of them were on the same page.

   "You were right Error, your design is far more impressive than that man's was." Error was less relieved when he recieved a compliment. It always felt jarring and undeserved.

   And yet Nightmare always seemed to genuine.

   "Of course it's better, my liege." He said, grinning as he retracted his hand. The arrow moving with it. "It hasn't been tested, though, so I'll need to continue working on it before we can be sure." He redirected, trying very hard to hope he hadn't blushed at the kind words.

   Nightmare hummed, "Right. I'm sure we can arrange for a few archers to try them out once you're ready." He agreed gently. "Thank you for sharing your design early, Error. It's always a treat."

   Ohh. Nightmare why infront of the others??

   Error nodded, "I'll let you know when I think I have the perfect version to test." He agreed, before stepping away to let his strings tug him back up into the darkness, along with his newly acquired tea.

   The others spoke for a bit longer below, but Error hardly listened. His cheekbones were surely flushed, and his hands shook a bit. He had to reply on pure stubbornness to continue improving on the design and not get caught up in the thoughts of how much he enjoyed Nightmare's company.

   He just had to get this right. 

[kibo-ichiro]

Me while reading chapter 146:

[venti-death-watch]

arlecchino & venti may both have their own personal views on freedom, but they’re absolutely not the same. idk why i keep seeing people saying they’re so similar

venti’s ideal of freedom isn’t an earned freedom in the way arle’s is. i keep seeing people say it is, but. he wasn’t the one over them? he was support. they decided they wanted freedom on their own, and fought for it. then he chose not to rule over them because they didn’t want him as a ruler like that and wanted to make their own decisions. he’ll help them whenever they’re having trouble, but ultimately, they’re deciding what they want for themselves and doing it. he’s just there to help

arlecchino actively keeps the house of hearth kids in the house and doesn’t let them leave in pain of death/painful memory removal. she may talk about freedom, but she’s also making them decide between potential death via her blade or potential death via the memory stuff if they want to leave. she’s the one actively deciding what freedom means for them, and deciding that they need to fight & be strong for it. yeah, she says she likes conviction over strength, but that’s only true like, ideologically. she let the trio off because she’s interested in their development and wants to see where lyney takes the house. she still makes them fight for their choices/potential freedoms

neither of them are bad characters or anything, and quite honestly i prefer arle being morally darker than the others. it has much better storyline follow through than ei’s. but whyyyy are you trying to defang her. she’s more fun this way

[good-beanswrites]

An 0309 drabble for an anon ask I got a bit ago :) Thank you for being patient, I really enjoyed writing this!! It's actually a little moment I've wanted to write since I started Milgram fic, but never got around to it. (I mention his injured eye, but don't actually describe anything)

“Stop moving around so much.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“I mean it. You’ll make things worse.”

Mikoto watched as the intensity in Fuuta’s gaze flickered between fire and fear.

He had a doctor’s kit laid out on his lap. Recently, Shidou had his hands full with Mahiru’s treatments and having intense conversations with Haruka, so Mikoto wanted to give him a break. With none of the injuries actually healing as they should, the prisoners were caught in an endless loop of changing bandages and checking for complications.

Shidou was grateful for the help. Many of the others tolerated Fuuta in the same way they spent only the necessary time around Mikoto. They smiled and placated him, acting like he’d gone mad all of the sudden. Whatever was making the others avoid the two of them, it drew the pair together. Mikoto was finding he enjoyed Fuuta’s company. Something about him was rather… charming. 

“Me? You’re the asshole that will make things worse. You’re no doctor! Fuck you.”

Eh, maybe he had gone mad. 

He took comfort, at least, in the knowledge that Fuuta was growing more comfortable with him. He sure had a special way of showing it, but Mikoto didn’t brag about being a people-person for nothing – he picked up on the way Fuuta sought him out during the day, pretending to be involved in his own activities. The way he struck up a conversation, then acted as if it had been Mikoto’s idea to come over and bother him. 

Therefore it was exciting, though not surprising, when Fuuta allowed Mikoto to help treat his injuries. They had only done it a few times, but today brought a whole new challenge. 

“I’m not performing surgery or anything. Shidou said it just needs some basic disinfecting.” He flashed his usual grin. “I have a steady hand – I’m a photographer, you know.”

Aside from Shidou, Fuuta hadn’t allowed a single person to look under his eyepatch. 

He remained unamused by Mikoto’s smile. For better or worse, he could always tell when it was forced. “It’s not like I have any proof of that. You could be awful at it, for all I know.”

“First chance I get, I’ll request a camera and prove it. Want me to take a picture of you first?”

“If you haven’t already messed up my face…” Fuuta’s focus was glued to the hand carefully reaching towards him. 

Mikoto pouted his lips. “Shidou trusted me enough with this. And you must have, because you agreed earlier. So If it’s not about me… You’re not scared, are you?”

There were some things that Fuuta didn’t stop to see through. He sputtered in surprise. “Hell no!” He lifted his chin, finally taking his attention off Mikoto’s hands. He stared defiantly. “I can take it.”

Mikoto felt a bit guilty for resorting to foul play. But not that guilty. “Good. Now hold still...”

He got right to it. One hand held ginger hair out of the way, while the other pinched the corner of the eyepatch. Fuuta’s good eye darted nervously around the room, avoiding the other's close-leaning face. Mikoto peeled it away swiftly, gently

As a horror movie buff, the injury didn’t faze him in the slightest. As someone who’d grown close to Fuuta recently, he felt a wave of anguish at the sight.

Fuuta squirmed. “It’s nasty, isn’t it…”

Mikoto reached down for some supplies. He considered mustering up a smile and saying there was no need to worry so much, but it would have been pointless. Times like these, it was kind of a relief when someone else could see right through him for a change. 

“It looks like it hurts.”

“Tch, I don’t need any pity from you.”

“I was going to say, you hide it well. You’re tougher than the warden gives you credit for.”

His cheeks flushed red. “I – I don’t need any flattery from you either!”

“Don’t need anything from anybody, huh?”

Before he could come up with a retort, he hissed through his teeth in pain.

“Ah, sorry.” Mikoto immediately retracted his hand from where it had been dabbing alcohol onto the injury.

Steeling his expression, he muttered, “it’s fine.”

Mikoto tried again. He made sure to move with even more steadiness, his face drawn up in concentration. He saw Fuuta’s features flinch when he touched him, but he stayed still. The two were silent, now, as Mikoto worked. Leaning his face so close made the short task feel much longer. The reddening in his cheeks didn't subside.

He expected Fuuta to snatch the fresh eyepatch away the moment he unwrapped it – he was shocked that Fuuta let him adjust it into place without a word.

“Alright. You’re all set.” He started packing up the kit.

“Listen, don’t tell the others. About my eye.”

Mikoto squinted. He gestured to the right side of his face. “I hate to break it to you, but the big patch kinda gives you away.”

“You idiot! I just mean, don’t tell them what it looks like.” He pulled his hood down over his hair. “I don’t need everyone trying to steal a look at it like I’m some sort of freakshow.”

“Hey, of course.” Mikoto gave him a smile, the kind they both knew was genuine. “I’ve got you.”

Fuuta nodded. He turned his face away, his fingers lingering over where Mikoto’s had just been. “... And… thanks.”

[myoonieverse-sugasremix]

316 days. 45 weeks

[ohworm-writes]

When the girls say to treat yourself, they mean treat yourself.

[softquietsteadylove]

could you write about Thena being very sensitive to loud noises and Gil comforting her by covering her ears etc. love your work!!

"Um, Thena?"

"What?!"

Heads turned towards the usually quiet Warrior Eternal. It wasn't just that her voice was soft, it was that she was usually on the reticent side. But everyone all but trembled as she barked at them all.

Sersi froze on the spot, her hand half extended in front of her. "I-I was just wondering if...never mind."

Thena sighed. Her face was still somewhat twisted into a deeply displeased expression. But she walked closer to her. "I'm sorry, Sersi. What did you need?"

The Elemental Eternal still hesitated, but she tried to force the words out. "W-Well, this batch is ready--if you could help us all carry them to the centre square. If you can't that's okay!"

"It's fine," the Warrior Eternal grumbled, already walking past her sister towards the piles upon piles of fire crackers they had fashioned for the festival. It was a celebration for the new lunar cycle. They were doing their duty by helping the locals with their cultural traditions.

The humans backed away as Thena leaned over to pick up their burden for them. They muttered a little, bowing and smiling. It was closer to cowering than anything.

All things considered, she probably should have done more to discourage their fear--assure them that she was here to help. But as more fireworks 'tests' went off her face was simply unable to relax. "It's nothing."

Even Sersi gave her some space as they began walking. Their loads were large, perhaps suspiciously large but not impossibly. Sersi cleared her throat, "how are you doing?"

"Fine."

Sersi tried again. "Really? I know they're testing the gun powder a lot lately. And I'm sure no one would say anything if you didn't want to-"

"I'm fine, Sersi." Thena walked ahead, towards the head splitting ruckus taking place in the centre of town. As Sersi said, the tests for their celebrations were happening near constantly now that they were so close.

Phastos was proud of their quick advancement with the new chemical compound. Sersi and Ajak were delighted to learn about what they had developed culturally around this time of year and what it meant to them. The 'younger' ones - as Thena considered them were just excited to have a night that wasn't fighting and watch duty and diplomacy and watch duty and sparring with Ikaris and more watch duty.

Gilgamesh was on watch duty at this very moment.

Another round of firecrackers went off. Weren't humans supposed to be fragile? How could they possibly endure this kind of cacophony?! Thena walked faster. The sooner she could drop off this load the sooner she could leave.

The humans around her jumped like crickets.

"Here!" she belted, slamming down the half a barrel of supplies. She was still restraining herself. She didn't break it.

"Sorry, she's...sensitive to loud noises." She could hear Sersi making excuses for her as she walked away.

"Hey, Thena, ready for tonight?" Kingo shouted at her over the noise.

"No!"

Maybe she would owe Kingo an apology. He wasn't to blame for all the excitement. But he would accept it. Of all her teammates Kingo would probably be one of the only ones who would understand the extra snarl in her tone and the stomp of her feet.

"Thena."

This was the last thing she needed. She glared at Ikaris ahead of her. "Not now."

"There's no need for you to be like this," Ikaris continued to scold her. "I understand you're not happy about Gil being on watch all night. But that doesn't mean you can-"

Thena grabbed her brother's head, making sure to dig her thumb into his scruffy cheek, and slammed it into the wall next to them. It didn't bounce like a ball, and Phastos would make her come back and repair the hole in the bricks she had made. But she kept walking.

Curse this festival, curse the gunpowder and every wretched form it could take. The sooner this was over and the settlement went back to being a quiet, peaceful village, the better. Her skull felt like it was being split in half from the inside out. There were even times she could swear her vision would become white like the clouds.

Eternals couldn't suffer a stroke, but perhaps she would be the first.

Thena turned a corner and ducked down against the wall. She pressed her forehead to it. She didn't know which would shatter first, her tiara or her skull. But at least the stone was cold, the little alleyway was somewhat darker than the red sunset. Already fires were being set, and soon the sky would be alight.

The high pitched shrieking of the first few shot into the air. The rapid pops of the firecrackers weren't absent either. They wound together in a violent harmony. At least now that they had started, they did have to end at some point.

Thena remained sequestered in her little attempt at finding some peace and quiet. If Ajak hadn't insisted on abandoning the Domo back with the remains of Babylon she could have been seeking refuge on their nice, comfortable mothership. Instead she was trying to put her head through a wall, all but curled up like a child.

She wished she could be different for them; celebrating with her brothers and sisters. Sersi was happy to help with the festivities. Makkari and Sprite would be encouraging the locals to show them how to have a good time. Even Druig tended to loosen up at these things. Maybe Ikaris could be convinced to pull his head out of his ass.

She sighed. She couldn't stay here forever. Perhaps it would be better for her to start repairing the wall she had broken with Ikaris' face while everyone else was celebrating. Another firework screamed its way up into the sky. It exploded, casting her shadow over her feet. Anything would be better than moping around, waiting for Gilgamesh's return.

She had volunteered to cover his watch duty. It would relieve her from this madness. And Gil was more suited to parties. She was quite sure he had wanted to enjoy it, too. He had been talking about all the different foods made for the feast that would accompany all the noise.

"What are you doing down here?"

Thena closed her eyes again.

"Shouldn't you be with everyone in town? I bet there's some food you'll like."

She felt like her teeth could feel the sounds entering her ears. She shook her head, which only ruffled the crown of her hair pressed against the plaster. Until two hands gently pulled her away from the wall. She groaned.

Gil pulled her face into his chest, putting his hands over her ears. At last, it was quiet.

Thena sighed. The sounds of chaos faded to the back of her mind. The breath in Gil's lungs, the beat of his heart, the rustle and clanking of his armour replaced it all. She inhaled, repositioning her forehead under his jaw. "I thought you were gone all night."

"Kingo came and offered to switch with me," he excused lightly as he pressed his cheek to her hair. "Pretty generous of him."

Thena smiled; she liked Kingo. He was a good brother. And she was sure he would come to her later with a demand of satiating his kindness. But currently speaking, she would give him anything at all.

"You must be having a tough time." He spoke gently, and the sound of his voice rippled through their connected bodies. It reverberated deep in her head.

She picked her head up to look at him, his hands still over her ears. His hands were bigger than hers, and they were soft, and warm. She nodded. He turned her around in his arms so she could look up. The fireworks were going off. Maybe they weren't so bad - pretty, even - when they weren't destroying her ear canals.

Gilgamesh kissed the top of her head as they admired the show from their quiet little corner. "I'm sorry you suffered like this alone."

She shook her head. She leaned back on him; he supported her easily. She laid one hand across her waist at her hip and raised the other one to his cheek, tapping it affectionately.

"That one's pretty," Gilgamesh pointed out as a collection of white stars exploded in the sky and rained down. "Reminds me of you."

"Hm," she smiled; he was such a soft hearted thing. A green one twinkled, not deep like emerald but earthy, like jade. "You."

"Yeah, I guess so," he laughed, admiring the show with her.

By the time the rest of the Eternals came to find them, whether to chastise Thena for her temper or ask if she was still suffering physically, they needn't have. All they arrived to was her curled up in Gilgamesh's embrace, his hands over her ears, and her: using his heartbeat as whitenoise.

[qeyond]

First kiss <3

[squishosaur]

why is twisted wonderland like "i am going to ruin your life maybe destroy your worldview a little bit <3 i am going to make you get attatched to these ridiculously named anime boy versions of disney characters and then watch them go through every trauma imaginable that keeps getting progressively worse and more complex as we keep going. i am going to fundamentally change you for better or worse and you will never be able to watch a disney movie again without thinking of me. i am going to make you watch as these awkward teens navigate through Evil Highschool and you have to find Your place in it, knowing fully well that, at the end, after all of that, you will leave all your friends and return to your own world alone again" but also "omg hey girl do you want to see your babygirl as a bunny or a plushie perhaps? say yes"