#how much longer must i tolerate this? would you believe me if i said i really did try to change my mindset this time?

[salsflore]

ummmm

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Can you imagine a fake dating scenario where you hire Lloyd to pretend to be your partner for a family gathering because you can’t stand your family and want to spend the night watching him gleefully terrorize them? 🤣

Hehehe I wrote this on the bus...

Do You Trust Me?

No explicit warnings. Comments and reblogs always welcome. Love you all! 😍

"Look, I need you on your worst behaviour," you say as you face the grey brick manner.

"You don't gotta ask me twice, toots," Lloyd comes around the front of the car to meet you. "I'll be sure to pay extra attention to the oysters."

You want to sigh and smack him in the face. That's a common feeling towards this man, you're sure. Yet you hate to admit, you need him. Just for tonight. You don't think your father could ever tolerate him longer than that.

"Come on," he taps your ass and you yipe.

"Hey!" You sneer.

"Gotta make it believable. Besides, gotta get my shots in where I can."

"Not part of the deal, Hansen." You push his hand away.

"Ah come on--"

"No, you got your money so stop."

"You know, if you want them to buy it, you're gonna have to play along. Spare a few smooches," he hooks his arm around you instead.

"Yep, and I'm dreading it." You charge forward, knowing it's too late to back out now.

You just need him to be himself. He never really has a problem with that. He is shamelessly genuine.

As you approach the door, it opens from the other side. Belinda, the resident maid, lets you in, greeting you with a smile and the offer to take your coat. Lloyd helps you out of your jacket before he removes his own. He's being... too helpful.

You look at his deep blue velvet blazer. He even dressed well. Goddamn, he couldn't find a pair of slides and some socks?

"Cut it out," you whisper as you follow Belinda.

"I'm not doing anything," he hisses back.

"For once," you snip.

He laughs softly and takes your hand as you enter the bright dining room, more of a hall. The chandelier shines over the polished table, gleaming off the cutlery and candelabra. So ostentatious but that's your parents.

"There you are, dear," your mother strides over, "we were afraid you wouldn't make it."

"Got her here in one piece," Lloyd declares, "all to see her beautiful sister."

"Sister?" Your mother gasps and touches her chest. "Nooo, I'm her mother. Oh silly. You must be the fiance?" She preens.

You send Lloyd a piercing look. He's charming when he tries but why is he doing that?

"Could've fooled me," he grins and takes her hand, "honored."

He kisses her knuckles and you almost recoil. She giggles. Your mother. A giggle. Like a school girl.

"Where's dad?" You ask. He's harder to impress.

"He's around. He was just going out to get--"

"Ah, you're here," your father's staunch tone carries across the high ceiling. You turn to meet him. "And this is your... addition."

He nods at Lloyd and offers his hand. The shake, veins bulging in their masculine tango. Your father hums and pulls the cigar from behind his ear.

"Lloyd Hansen, sir," your plus one introduces himself. "Is that a black dragon?"

Your father squints and dips his chin again, "you know your cigars?"

"I'm a casual purveyor, no enthusiast by any means."

"Hansen," you cough and touch your throat. "I mean, honey," you tug on him. "Can I talk to you?"

"Ah, sorry, sir, she's the boss," he says to your dad and turns to you, "yes, dear?"

"Come here," you growl and drag him away.

You take him to the corner and face him, "hullo? What are you doing? You said you would ruin this. Okay? I need out of this bloodline."

"Pfft. You don't know what you got, toots," his eyes scan the walls. "This is spectacular--"

"No, shut up," you whisper sharply. "You promised-- I paid you. Alright? I just need you to get me out of this dumb arrangement. I don't get my trust unless I marry, well, if my fiance is a clown, my parents might just pay me to call the whole thing off--"

"That's a good deal. How much is the trust?"

You tweak your brow and puff out in exasperation, "Hansen..."

"Ah, you know me, baby," he winks, "I'm no good at doing what I'm told. Besides...." he runs his hand down his chest; a designer tie under the velvet and looks around. "Googled this place and well, I like what I see." He turns back to you, "don't look so heartbroken, toots, it's not just the money. I got me a wife with a hot ass to boot."

You gasp and raise your hand. He catches it and cradles it with his other. He kisses it and chuckles.

"Don't worry, you'll get a full refund," he slithers.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hey🤍 may I please request a fluff/romantic or Bi Han. I know a lot of people don’t think he is capable of being romantic but a girl needs some fluff for Bi Han please. Maybe something were he is sweet and caring only towards reader and everyone else he is normal Bi Han. Love your writing thank you🤍

This got shoddy at the end of the drab. 🦦

You were lost within your own head for while when Bi-Han had appeared at your side, gingerly taking your hand within his own, drawing a gasp from your lips as you felt his cold fingers intertwine with yours. ‘Bi-Han. You’re here.’ You breathed out, smiling instantaneously upon being greeted with the beautiful dark eyes of the man you had happily promised your heart to. Your grasped his hand tighter, almost as though you were checking if he was actually with you, rather then some illusion you’ve coincidentally conjured up.

‘Of course I’m here, little bird.’ Bi-Han told you whilst pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, letting them linger there for a while before pulling away to gently rest his forehead against your own. His eyes locked on yours, as though he were fearful to look away in the instance that you wouldn’t be there when he looked back. ‘For I could never be content as to keep you waiting for longer then needed.’ He adds as he took this moment to ingrain you eternally within his mind, so that he may never forget who he was fighting for, who he was carving a better future for and who he would vigorously defend till his last breath escaped from him.

Gods did Bi-Han hate being separated from you for long periods of time, truly believing that one day Kuai Liang and Tomas would try to enact revenge for his supposed betrayal, by taking away the one person who gave him true purpose in this life; you. However he couldn’t completely disregard his duties as Grandmaster, for it would be sacrilege. Bi-Han was forever grateful that you never held that against him, and instead fully understand that he couldn’t fully commit to being your lover when there was so much work yet to be done.

‘If it was for you?’ You inquired. ‘I’d wait for as long as I must to see my beloved home safe and sound. So you needn’t worry in keeping me waiting.’ You finished as you then softly pecked his plush lips, cooing softly once pulling away from him, enjoying how Bi-Han fruitlessly attempted in following after your lips. For a man as cold as ice he was quite warm and gentle, but you knew he was only like this for you and you often times felt spoilt by being blessed to see this side of him; The side of him that would constantly hold you face in between his hands when checking you for injuries, his thumbs stroking the skin of your cheeks with such gentleness, as though he thought you were going to break. You even saw Bi-Han during his most stubborn and his most angriest of moments and yet still you called him the most breathtaking man you’ve ever met because to you that was the honest truth.

‘I just don’t want to wish you being bored of me when I come home.’ Bi-Han admitted softly. ‘You deserve a man who is willing to be at your beck and call, to be with you from the early hours of morning, to the later hours of night. You shouldn’t have to settle for less because you feel as though that’s all there is going for you, and instead you should strive for more for you deserve more, way more then any man could possibly give.’ Bi-Han truly meant what he said, he truly believed that you deserved better, never to tolerate less, for he felt like he wasn’t giving you all that he possibly could and it pained him greatly because you’ve him so much throughout the duration of your relationship.

Bi-Han only felt as it was only reasonable to give you an out shoulder you feel as though you weren’t being valued enough, as he always tended to put you and your well-being first and foremost in just about everything. But you saw what he was doing almost instantly and you weren’t about to allow Bi-Han to make a offer a solution that’ll only end up hurting the both of you because despite his tiering duties as Grandmaster, he was a dedicated, loyal and caring lover. You couldn’t have to ask for a better man and never would for Bi-Han was it for you, he was the one.

‘Bi-Han.’ You murmured, taking your free hand to hold his cheek, stroking it reassuringly as you watched him visibly relax within your hold, moving his head to kiss your inner wrist. ‘To be bored of you would be like to be bored of living for while you are a very busy man, you are the most attentive, sweet, caring man I have ever met.’ You pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose before brushing your nose against his, breathing him in as deep as you could. ‘Not once have you ever made me feel less important or less valued. Never. You made me feel worshiped, you made me feel loved, you always found room for me within your busy schedule, and I could never find a appropriate way to express my gratitude to you but I hope to everyday.’ You concluded, hoping that you had gotten your point across that you weren’t going anywhere without him.

‘You don’t need to express anything to me, my beloved,’ Bi-Han reassured you, kissing your inner wrist once more. ‘For the sole fact that you still being here with me despite all my flaws is the biggest gesture I could have ever received and I’m eternally thankful that you haven’t yet given up on me. Do it should be me expressing my gratitude, not you.’ Bi-Han finishes. ‘There’s no need for that.’ You assured him. ‘You’ve done enough and you’ve just gotten back from a long mission. You must be exhausted and in need of rest.’ You then began to pull Bi-Han towards your shared bed by his arm.

Bi-Han wasn’t one to complain, as it meant he got to make up for lost time by laying in your arms and leeching off of your warmth whilst putting his aching body to rest, something his soul had yearned to do the moment he return to the Lin Kuei. ‘That sounds perfect, little bird. That sounds perfect.’

[fan-fantasies]

Think What You May (part 3)

Pairing: Aemond x Reader

Warnings: men being sexist pigs, mentions of violence, mentions of alcohol

A/N: the next part will most likely be the last, I hope you enjoy!

Please comment and reblog

Part Two

Weeks had passed and you had grown quite close with Aemond. You often found yourself with him in the library, sharing your fondness for books. Aegon liked to tease the two of you, which led to you threatening to bring the frying pan back out.

Aegon’s teasing, Aemond could handle. He even tolerated the whispers of the court about him stealing “Aegon’s whore.” He knew now just how disgusting the lies of the court could be and vowed to not let them influence him again.

It wasn’t as easy, however, to ignore the taunts of the lords that would visit every so often. It was politically advantageous to wine and dine the lords of the realm, but Aemond was ready to sever all ties with them due to their vulgarity.

“So tell me, what caused you to so kindly gift your entertainment to your brother?” Lord Tyrell mocked Aegon.

“She was not my entertainment,” he said, already having enough of the other men. “She is my wife’s lady in waiting.”

“Oh from what we’ve heard, she is now more Aemond’s lady- but tell us, have you kept her waiting?” Another man snickered. Aemond refused to reply to the taunts, eagerly waiting for the topic of conversation to change.

“I must say, I would not have her waiting for my cock. She is a beauty. A rare find in a whorehouse these days,” Lord Becket chimed in. Aemond’s grip on his wine goblet tightened and it threatened to spill.

“Uh oh, I believe we’ve struck a nerve. Dear Aemond looks like his feelings have been hurt,” Tyrell chuckled. “She is all yours, man. Marry her if you wish.”

“You do not marry a whore, even when you’re a second son,” another added.

“I would not marry her regardless. I am a prince and she is just a servant,” Aemond snapped. He didn’t mean it, but he just wanted the men off of his back.

As always, his timing was impeccable. Helaena cleared her throat from behind them and they all turned their attention to you. You were holding a tray of wine and lemon cakes that Heleana thought they might enjoy. You struggled to keep a straight face as tears were ready to spill down your cheeks.

You set the tray down on the table in front of the men who openly ogled you. Aemond wanted to have every one of their heads on a pike, but he knew his head deserved to be on one as well.

You rushed from the room followed by Helaena who was glaring at her brother.

“We wouldn’t subject her to marrying Aemond anyway- we like her too much,” Aegon said before downing the rest of the wine.

After a while longer of barely tolerating the despicable lords, Aemond excused himself and set off to find you. He checked Heleana’s chambers first, but it was empty. The gardens were his next stop but he found you in the training yard, hitting a stuffed dummy with a wooden practice sword.

“Training to join the army?” He asked cautiously. “Our enemies should be wary.”

“Pick up a sword and let’s find out just how wary they should be,” you snapped, moving toward the metal weapons.

“Lady, please. I wish to talk things out with you,” he nearly begged.

“I have half a mind to go back up there and tear them limb from limb,” you said absentmindedly.

“I would not stop you,” he said.

“And would you stop me from harming you as well? Because you’ve wounded me deeper than any of those imbeciles ever could,” you snapped.

“I would not stop you if you feel that’s what your retribution should be. I am sorry for what I said back there. I was just trying to get them to stop,” he said.

You took a step toward him, now holding a real sword but he didn’t flinch.

“If you wanted them to stop, you should’ve told them to stop. It is not what you said that hurt me most, but that you let them defile me with their words and you said nothing. You did not dispute a single thing they said until they threw out the disgusting idea of marrying someone as lowly as me. I know I have no chance of marrying above my station, but kindness and respect are not limited to titles. I now know who you are, Aemond Targaryen, the real you who was exposed in secret.”

Aemond let you finish your speech and even aim the sword at him. He could easily disarm you but he trust that you would not hurt him, at least not with a sword. Your words, however, stung more than the sharpest blade.

“That is not who I am, lady. I am a coward, yes, for not defending you and I will go up there right now and right my wrongs if you’d allow me to,” he said.

“No, you had your chance to say your piece and you chose silence. You chose where you stand with me and now you will stay there.” You threw the sword to the side and walked past him. He desperately wanted to grab you and pull you into his arms, holding you against him until he could truly convey how he felt for you. But as he said, he is a coward, and he just let you walk away.

Dinner time came about quickly but neither you nor the prince had an appetite. Yet there you both sat at the table in awkward silence.

Aemond couldn’t stop stealing glances at you. You weren’t wearing the necklace he gifted you and it was the first time in weeks he had seen you without it.

“You know, brother, this may be a record amount of times one has insulted the same woman,” Aegon joked from beside him.

“Go speak to your wife and then get back to me on that,” Aemond snapped. Aegon’s wine induced smirk only grew.

“You should take her as your wife, and then anyone who slandered her would be killed for treason,” he slurred.

“It would never be allowed,” Aemond sighed to himself.

“Mother would allow it. She said so herself. It is your lady alone that would need convincing,” he chuckled with a hiccup.

“What do you mean mother said she’d allow it?” Aemond’s full attention was now on his brother. Was he just drunk and rambling or has the topic of his marriage truly been brought up?

“She said that you two made a good pair and it would be a happy marriage. But what she doesn’t know is that you’re a moron when it comes to her,” he said.

Aemond’s heart was racing at the thought of his mother approving of a betrothal to you. He always expected that he would have to marry for duty, but perhaps since he is a second son, he could be spared a small chance at happiness.

He watched as you excused yourself from the table and took your leave. He decided to wait a few minutes before excusing himself as well to go after you.

Before he could leave, however, he was stopped by Helaena.

“I swear on the seven, if you chase her off one more time, I will never speak to you again,” she said quietly.

“I only wish to make things right,” he reassured her.

“She is my dearest friend and she deserves happiness; not to be slandered by disgusting pigs disguised as lords,” she said.

“I agree. I will never let anyone speak about her that way again,” he swore. “I must go to her.”

Helaena nodded to him and he took his leave. He ran into Criston on his way out who told him that he saw you headed toward the training yard. It seemed that was your new favorite spot.

Aemond watched from a distance as you practiced your sword skill. You were more calculated in your movements than you were earlier.

“I can feel you watching me,” you said without turning to him.

“I’m simply admiring,” he replied.

“You’re full of shit, my prince.”

“You dare speak against royalty?” He asked sarcastically, testing the waters.

“Only when what I say is true.”

Aemond sighed and approached you slowly. He watched carefully and assessed your posture.

“You should square your feet more,” he suggested.

“I did not ask.”

“I’m just advising,” he said. “You’re not beating anyone with that stance.”

“Let’s test that then. Arm yourself,” you challenged.

“My lady, I have been training for years.”

“So you should have no problem proving yourself correct then.”

Aemond grabbed a sword and readied himself opposite of where you stood. You left yourself open to attack so Aemond decided to be nice and try to help.

“Perhaps try raising your sword a bit more-“ before he could finish you swung at him taking him by surprise. He quickly dodged it but you didn’t relent. You kept swinging and he only deflected, never swinging back.

“Fight me!” You yelled. You advanced your position but he didn’t step back. “Fight back, you coward!”

He was tired of your attempt to beat him so he knocked your sword from your hand. That didn’t stop you however, as you continued to try and fight him with your fists. He let you tired yourself out before you collapsed into his arms, sobs wracking your body.

“Why didn’t you fight back?” He could barely make out your words.

“I have no desire to fight you,” he sighed.

“No, not now. Why didn’t you fight for me?” You asked. Aemond’s heart broke as you continued to cry against his chest.

“I have no excuse. It is not commonplace to defend a lady against the opinions of lords and that is not right. I should have said something. If you’d like, I’ll have each of them hunted down and their tongues cut out for you.”

“That won’t be necessary. I never cared what they said, I just cared about what you didn’t say. I suppose it was my mistake for believing you cared enough to defend me,” you said.

“I care about you more than I’d care to admit, my sweet girl. I just have no idea how to show it. And I know my word is not worth much but I swear, I will never allow anyone to speak ill against you again and I will do my best to never hurt you,” he promised.

You finally pulled away from him and his arms felt empty. Your tear stained face was something he never wanted to see again.

“Pain is inevitable, we just have to choose who is worth it.”

“I certainly hope you’ll deem me worthy,” he gave you a small smile. His wrung his clammy hands in front of him while he considered his next words carefully. “Aegon suggested that I might marry you so that if anyone speaks ill about you again then it would be considered treason.”

He tried to play it off with a light laugh, but really he was waiting to gauge your reaction. You shook your head and laughed, causing him to frown.

“If only that were an option,” you mumbled. “But I am merely a servant as you’ve so kindly reminded everyone.”

“Lady, I-“

“It is late, Aemond. We should return to our chambers before people begin to speak more than they already do,” you suggested.

“Let me escort you back to your room,” he insisted.

“We both know that is not a good idea,” you sighed. “I shall see you tomorrow, my prince.”

You walked away from him and he considered chasing after you, but he didn’t want to offend you further.

“Goodnight, my love,” he whispered as he watched your form disappear from his sight. Instead of returning to his chamber as you suggested, he went to Alicent’s instead.

“Mother, there is something I wish to discuss.”

Part four

[ctrldoll]

CHANCE! ☪︎ ִ ֶ֢࣪⋆

Tsukuyomi no Mikoto / F!Reader

It’s implied that [Name]’s the goddess of stars.

Genre: Fluff & Comedy! (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

Synopsis: Susano'o has a demigod lover who was previously a HUMAN! Disgraceful, Disgraceful, DISGRACEFUL! - Tsukuyomi.

His wife finds it silly that he's disgusted by the prospect.

Ft: My wonderful friend’s persona, Sora! She's in a lovely relationship with Susano'o! ( They're two cute peas in a pod! She's so adorable! Oh My Days, I bet her hugs are wonderful! <3<3<3)

Cora (Sora)’s Tumblr link : @sorastar0

PEACE AND BLESSINGS TO YOU, MY LOVE! <3

“IDIOT idiotic idiot! How is he the god of the sea and storms?” Tsukuyomi roamed around the bedroom in a hissy fit as you read. The words would have jumbled in your brain if you weren't used to his angry tantrums, which didn't happen too often but left a mark on you in the centuries you spent together. 

Your sight went to the curved marble of your windows, which reflected the bright moon and stars in the blue sky of night. 

Amaterasu must have been pleased with the visit through the brighter glow of the moon, while Tsukuyomi’s disturbance aggravated the extra glow to the large stone, and your wonderful children in the sky shared your amusement, twinkling brightly alongside their companions.

“How dare he pursue a former human! They are such filthy beings! They grovel in the dirt below us, and he chose to love her? He could have done much better!” The rattling of his necklace brought you out of your read, to which you shook your head and then sighed.

“Are you going to be upset for much longer? Susano'o’s made his choice on who to be with. It’s nighttime. We should leave this for the next day.” Said you, then placed the book on the drawer beside you, mused.

“Why are you smiling? Does it amuse you that I’m upset?” Tsukuyomi looked at you, visibly upset and his hair in a slight mess from him clutching it. “It's a bit amusing to see you worked up.” You answered with a hum, patting the blanket beside you. “Get into bed, my love. It wouldn’t do you any good to stress.” 

“Ugh, we even brought ourselves out of our way to depart from Takamagahara just to visit him.” Your husband whined as he settled beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist as he nested his head on your shoulder. 

“I understand. Out of all the surprising things he's done in a while, this exceeds them.” You sighed. “At least she earned the title of demigod. It shows that she's remarkable.” 

“I don't care. It's disgraceful for a god to be considered one with man; much more be involved with one.” 

Tsukuyomi traced idle lines on the curves of the star marks trailed on your arms. “She noticed the birth of this star. A new one.” He whispered lovingly towards the particular mark, proud.

“Sora seems to have an adoration for them. She complimented my crafts when they stopped by my studio.” You said cheerfully. “She was eager throughout the visit, asking me questions about the stars and the process of forming them. She even noticed the Ronero star on the wall, which many don't pay attention to.” 

“You’re tolerating her because of the stars? She really has you fooled.” Tsukuyomi quizzed, rolling his eyes at your glare. You huffed. “Sora does not have me fooled. I just think it'd do Susano'o good to have someone who notices the intricate details.” 

“You’re supporting their relationship?” You were baffled at that. “No, I don’t find it appropriate to do so. He did introduce her to us today, my Love."

“However, I believe we should give Sora a chance. From my observation in Takamagahara, they both care for one another. The dinner we had today provided me with a raw perspective as well. Susano’o gazes at her with nothing but adoration.” You sighed, closing your eyes in fustration. “We’re not in a position to prevent them from being with one another. Maybe we’ll grow towards the idea later.” 

“Why did he have to make such foolish decisions?” Your husband groaned after a moment, lowering himself into the sheets as did you. “He’s Susano’o. There’s always something he’ll come up with.” You giggled. 

“Let’s give Sora a chance.”

“She is not gaining my approval any time soon.”

“We’ll see. I hope she uploads a video tomorrow. She’s pretty good at interviewing.”

The exasperated sigh your beloved let out to your back as he pulled you closer to him earned a chuckle.

Tsukuyomi’s such a silly hater! (⁠•⁠ө⁠•⁠)⁠♡

I’m really happy to have Sora in this as well! She's so adorable and I love her pairing with Susano'o!

SUSORA STAN MONDAY, TUESDAY WEDNESDAY, THURSDAY, FRIDAY, SATURDAY, SUNDAY; 7 DAYS A WEEK, 24/7 & EVEN IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHARE! ♡⁠(⁠>⁠ ⁠ਊ⁠ ⁠<⁠)⁠♡

[writethrough]

The Diviner (Part V)

(Morpheus x Prophetess Reader)

Synopsis: Your body needs time to heal, but your unconscious is finally dreaming.

Warnings: None? (Message me if you see any.)

Word Count: 3219

A/N: Did you really think I'd leave you hanging a full week after that little blurb of a last chapter? I think I've more than made up for it with this sucker.

Thank you to everyone who's stuck it out with me. I really enjoyed hearing what you like about this series.

To everyone who has reblogged, you are spectacular humans and deserve an endless supply of your favorite food.

I hope you all enjoy this final chapter! I'd love to know what you thought of this series, and if I should post more multi-part fics in the future.

Series Masterlist

You wander. A maze of darkness before you.  

You exhale and remember Morpheus.  

A room appears, lit by stained glass, with a throne in the middle. And he's there, alive, staring at you in shock. 

—  

“I don’t understand,” you say. “How am I awake?”  

You were dying. At least it felt like you were dying. So, why are you...fine?  

“If I may?” Lucienne asks. Morpheus called for her as soon as he saw you.  

His chin dips a fraction, but it’s enough for Lucienne to continue.  

“Given your abilities, I believe the severity of your injuries—and healing in the Dreaming—has allowed your subconscious to manifest.” She smiles, pleased with her next words. “You’re dreaming, my lady.”  

Your brow furrows, and you glance from her to Morpheus.  

“How is that possible? If I’m healing, shouldn’t my mind be recovering as well?”  

“Your mind is the most resilient part of you, prophetess. It stands to reason it would need little to no time to replenish,” Morpheus says.  

Your eyes lower to the floor, considering this.  

For centuries, you’ve seen possible futures—travesties no one could imagine. And you haven’t forgotten one.  

Day in and day out, vision after vision, a constant rush of images, sounds, smells, and even sensations when intense enough. Your mind has built up a tolerance for nearly anything and everything.  

It seems almost dying is child's play for it though your body would be down for some time.  

You take in Morpheus’ throne room, truly seeing where you are. “I’m…dreaming.” And you laugh. In disbelief, in wonder—in sheer joy.  

You are dreaming.  

—  

Morpheus transported your body into his realm as soon as you fainted.  

Between your physical injuries and the attack meant for Morpheus, your only chance was the magic and tools in the Dreaming.  

Lucienne, Matthew, and Death helped him stabilize you, but he never expected you to walk right up to him as if you were fine.  

However your body absorbed the attack, it caused your powers to shut down, and you’re experiencing the Dreaming for the first time in centuries.  

You’re acting yourself mostly, but sometimes you grow tired, your physical form telling your unconscious you aren’t out of the woods yet.  

Morpheus urges you to take a seat, worry flashing through his eyes.  

“I’m okay,” you say. “It’s just a minor spell.”  

“I wish I could do more,” he says, hand still on the back of your bicep.  

“You’ve done plenty. More than I could ever hope for.”  

His jaw clenches, a twitch of movement, but you catch it. You’ve gotten better at picking up his micro-expressions.  

“I mean it, Morpheus. I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for you.” You try to push as much conviction in the words as possible.   

“You wouldn’t have been in harm's way if it wasn’t for me.”  

You shake your head, dizzying yourself and need to rest it on your hand. Morpheus’ brow pinches slightly.  

“Warrens decided to trap you and use me. I should've predicted that.”  

“That’s not in your ability,” he says.  

“And I should’ve figured I'd be in danger when Death said you’d be fine. I should’ve known she saw me dying and not you.”

It clicked not longer after you woke up. Of course, Death knew what was supposed to happen.

“You must not focus on the past. It will do nothing to aid your recovery.”  

You sigh. “I know. I just feel so stupid.”  

Your eyes are downcast. It surprises you when a gentle touch lifts your chin and directs you to focus on him.  

“I will not have you speaking as if you’ve done something wrong,” he says. “Because of you, I am alive. I will forever be grateful.”  

He waits for an answer. All you can do is nod.  

His touch vanishes, and he stands.  

“Perhaps I can show you more of the Dreaming.”  

You give him a small smile. “I’d like that.”  

—  

Time moves differently in the Dreaming. It was best when you stopped trying to keep track of it. All you know is that you’ve been recovering for some time. Long enough for you to have your role carved out here and for the residents to call you by name.  

Your exhaustion and dizzy spells are few and far between, but they’re intense and accompanied by symptoms of visions. A faint smell, a phantom touch, even a whisper of a voice, but no matter how much you try, you can’t hang onto them. They slip through your fingers before you recognize what they are. It’s like you’re missing a limb.  

Today, the loss is affecting you more than you thought it could. You miss your ability. As much trouble as it can cause, you somehow feel untethered from yourself. Even with your body lying unconscious, you’re more of a shell now than ever.  

And as much as you try to hide it, somehow, Morpheus knows.  

“You will return to yourself,” he says.  

You’re sitting in Fiddler’s Green on a bench beneath a grove of magnolia trees.  

“It feels like it’s been years,” you say, rubbing your arm. You haven’t felt the breeze on your skin since the attack. You hardly notice it now as the grass moves with it.  

You can tell he’s about to respond, and you already know what he’ll say.  

“Don’t tell me ‘it takes time’ or ‘be patient.’ I’ve been patient. I’ve had to be patient since Destiny gave me this damn power, and now I can’t even access it because I missed the signs last time!” You rub your face, trying to push the frustration out.  

He lets you have your moment to feel that anger.  

“Immortality is crueler than death,” he begins. “It's companions are loneliness and waiting.”  

You look at him, scanning his features, and nod. Your agitation cools into sympathy. 

“I forget what happened to you sometimes. I’m sorry.”  

“I will not accept an unnecessary apology,” he says. “My experiences do not outweigh yours.”  

“Nevertheless, I’m free here. You weren’t.”  

He locks eyes with you, a softness to them. “I am also free.”  

It’s like he’s latched onto your soul. His timbre pulls you closer. And you realize you don’t feel so lost when he’s around.  

“Boss!”  

You lean back and look toward the sound, missing Morpheus’ eyes widening a fraction at Matthew’s interruption, too.  

“Boss! Death’s here.” Matthew lands in front of you.  

Your brow furrows, and your heart quickens. “Death’s here?”  

Why would Death be here? She wouldn’t come to the Dreaming if she didn’t have a good reason.  

What if she’s working? What if you aren’t improving and the Dreaming is masking your worsening condition?  

Morpheus tilts his head slightly, sensing your tension. He puts the pieces together quickly as he stands. 

“I requested she come.” He turns to you, voice tender, reassuring. “I wished to spend time with her.”  

—  

You haven't seen Death since you arrived.  

She and Morpheus urged you to stay even though you wanted to give them privacy. You forgot what it was like to have friends—to be close to others. It was nice.  

Then she whisked you away, telling Morpheus it was “girl time.”  

You’re strolling on one of the paths: one that extends as long as you can walk and leads to wherever you wish.  

You’ve had enough time to think about that day, your limitations, Death’s, what Warrens did to you…  

“You knew I’d be there,” you say.  

Neither of you stop walking. It’s not a surprise that you’ve brought this up.  

“That’s why you were surprised. Not because I had a vision of Morpheus, but because I was supposed to be there all along—because I was supposed to die—and you couldn’t interfere.”  

She grimaces. “I’m sorry.”  

You let out a breathy laugh. “I should be used to all the secrecy, but I’m not.” You pause. “And yet, I get it. Price of power and all that, I guess.”  

Now, she halts. “I know this won’t bring you comfort, but your being alive is a miracle.”  

“Then how am I…”  

“I don’t know. And that’s not something I say often,” Death says. “I can only speculate, but the day Destiny came to you—before that, he came to me and asked I keep you here. I didn’t ask why, but maybe this was meant to happen. You were the only one who could save my brother.”  

You shake your head. “I still don’t understand. Why give me this power at all? Why not just put me on the path so I could save Morpheus at the end? And how could you see my murder if you made that promise?”  

“Not even I am sure of that.” She answers your last question. “But: Is that not what Destiny did? Put you on that very path?” She pauses, then softly. “And gave you a purpose. One bigger than anyone should have, but a purpose nonetheless.”  

That thought runs around your head. 

Did Destiny do that? 

It's hard to imagine that being the reason. But why else would he— 

“Do you…Do you think Destiny gave me this power so I would survive?”  

You aren’t sure that makes sense. 

You. Out of everyone that could make a difference in the world, Destiny chose you.  

Death shrugs. “Again, I can’t be certain. But think about it, it brought you to Hob, to me," she gives you a knowing look, "to Dream.” 

You roll your eyes. “Need I remind you that I hated Morpheus for the longest time.”  

“Need I remind you that was in the past tense.” She grins.  

“So, you’re saying it’s harder to kill me than I originally thought,” you say, trying to change the subject.  

“None of that,” she tuts. “Even though it’s not under the best circumstances, I am happy you and Morpheus are getting to know one another.”  

You hum. “I spent so long not knowing what to feel for him—having all of these unanswered questions—it’s strange…to finally have that behind me.” You pause. “I enjoy his company.”  

“I would’ve used a stronger word than that,” she says, grinning cheekily. 

The tiny smiles Morpheus sent you and the glances you threw him could’ve made her squeal if she was the type.  

“Okay,” you wave her off, “enough.”  

She puts her hands up, yielding.  

You hesitate before telling her this next part.  

“I think—No, I know my visions are returning.”  

“That’s great!” She grabs your arm. “...Isn’t it?”  

“It’s just…They aren’t back yet. They’re not full visions. And I don’t know what that means. Or how long I’ll be like this.” You gesture to yourself.  

She smiles empathetically. “It means you’re getting better. I can only imagine how frustrating it’s been, but you are healing.”  

You nod. She’s right.  

She slips her arm into yours. “Now, let me tell you all the embarrassing stories about my brother.”  

You throw your head back and laugh.  

—  

It’s been a few days since then, you think. You and Morpheus have spent most of your time together. He’s become someone you care for deeply, and you wonder if he feels the same.  

You think he does when he pulls out your chair or helps you cross a stream. He’s interested in your life besides your visions. And when you told him about your family and loved ones throughout the years, he placed his hand atop yours. You could still feel it sometimes.  

You’re both in the library. A rare occurrence of rest brought Morpheus to curl up with you on the plush sofa. Well, you curled up. Morpheus has his feet on the floor but is leaning into the cushions.  

“I’ll have read everything in here by the time I wake up,” you joke, flipping your page.  

“I can feel your bouts of power when they rise. It will not be long now.”  

He always speaks so assuredly when it’s about your healing. His steadfastness has rubbed off on you. You aren’t so pessimistic about it anymore.  

You don’t notice you’re staring at him until he asks if something’s wrong.  

You shake your head. “No. I just don’t know what I would’ve done all this time if you weren’t here.”  

He faces forward, not staring at anything, and silence settles over you. The atmosphere shifts, and you can almost feel the tension coming from him.  

“There is no universe where I would have been elsewhere,” he says, as still as ever.  

And it’s his seriousness that makes you drop your light tone and scoot closer.  

“I know. And I appreciate that.” You glance at your fingers. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”  

“You haven’t.” He rests his hand on yours. “But know that you are my priority, and I am happy to have been by your side.”  

“Morpheus…” you lock eyes, “we’ve been over this. I hate that you feel obligated to help me.”  

His brows twitch inward. “I feel no such compulsions. I am grateful you saved my life, but I can never repay such sacrifice.” He pauses. “Your wellbeing is my concern as your…friend.”  

His thumb brushes your cheekbone as he searches your eyes.  

You pull your lips into a thin line, hoping he can’t feel the heat in your cheeks. “Just know that I wouldn’t change what I did. I wanted to save you—I needed to.”  

“You didn’t—”  

“I did!” You say almost desperately. “You’re the only connection I have to my past. You’re the only one who knows who I was. I can’t lose you…”  

You’re afraid to look him in the eye, but he lifts your chin with a slightly hooked finger, tenderness in his gaze.  

“You won’t.”  

He pulls his hand away, and you realize how much closer you both have gotten.  

“You can’t promise that, though,” you whisper.  

“No. I cannot. But I can promise that ritual is gone.”  

You clench your jaw. “That won’t stop me from worrying.”  

“Then you know how I feel.”  

He says it like a joke—mirthful—a tone that’s both strange and welcome in him.  

You roll your eyes halfheartedly. “You don’t need to worry. I’m fine.”  

“I will stop worrying when you’re awake,” he says. “Until then, I will watch over you.”  

A slight shiver runs down your spine. Morpheus' entire focus on you always makes you a little weak, but hearing him say those words? They almost send your knees buckling.  

“I don’t understand. Why have you been so insistent about this?”  

Something seems to settle in his eyes, his head tipping closer.  

“When you were writhing in pain—screaming—something came over me that hasn’t in a long while.”  

You tilt your head, waiting.  

“Fear.”  

“What?” you whisper.  

The back of his fingers grazes your cheek, lingering, caressing.  

“I feared I would lose you.” He’s searching you, analyzing every twitch and passing emotion.  

“Morpheus,” you start, “what are you saying?”  

The corner of his lips lift briefly.  

“You’ve become important to me,” he breathes. “My prophetess.”  

His lips are so close to yours. A moment more, and they’d touch. But as much as you want this, you stop him.  

“I don’t want our first kiss to be when I’m dreaming,” you say. “I want it to feel real because…you’ve become important to me, too.”  

Softly, he rests his forehead against yours.  

“I will wait as long as I must. Knowing you feel the same is enough.”  

—  

Your dizziness has been nonexistent these past couple of weeks. You’ve been able to help Lucienne in the library much more. However, this morning, if you could even call it that in the Dreaming—it’s like you’ve been getting hit from all sides.  

A breeze on your cheek while you were indoors.  

A shimmering red when you paged through a book.  

And whispered words of “regret this” and mumblings you couldn’t decipher.  

But this is your strongest one yet.  

It’s not images or scents, not even a noise, but an expansive, all-encompassing feeling blooming within your chest. You swear you’ll burst when Lucienne sees you steadying yourself against a table.  

She says your name. “Are you alright?”  

The feeling keeps getting bigger and bigger, and then Lucienne seems so far away, then the entire library. And you realize it’s time.  

“I think…I think I’m waking up.”  

A moment after you spoke, it feels like you're falling backward.  

Your eyes open with a quick inhale, and you look around.  

You’re in a bed, and everything feels so much more tangible. There are soft sheets, a comforting breeze from the open window, and that unmistakable feeling of something new beginning.  

You slowly rise, but where you thought there would be soreness, none comes.  

You've healed.  

You laugh in disbelief, running out of the room and to the one person you need to see.  

He’s creating dreams, something you’d usually take a moment to marvel at, but you can’t seem to give a damn.  

He glances over his shoulder, lips ticking up when he sees you.  

He’s about to speak. Then, his eyebrows twitch downward when you don’t stop walking, and you barely contain your smile before you kiss him.  

It takes him no more than a moment to grip your waist and pull you closer. To feel him like this instead of those phantom pressures, it's indescribable.   

You reluctantly retreat, and he stares at you with this kind of awe, tracing the back of his knuckles down your cheek, his features brighter than you’ve ever seen.   

“How are you feeling?” he asks.   

You take a moment before answering. “I’m okay. Everything feels…stronger now.” You give him a small smile. “Real.”  

“Not many have visited the Dreaming as you are,” he says. “If you’re overwhelmed, please tell me.”  

You shake your head fondly. “Not overwhelmed, just…happy.”  

“I am glad.”  

Your hands rest on his chest as you stare at him, too thrilled to care that maybe you should say something. But all you want to do is look at him—feel him now that you’re back in your body.  

Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to mind.  

He’s gripping your hips, the lightest of touches, yet it almost burns you in the best way possible. His thumb grazes one side, grabbing your attention. Like he knows you’re daydreaming. 

“I must give you something,” he says.  

He reaches within his coat, and in his palm is a gold band embedded with a ruby, a piece of Morpheus’ Dreamstone.  

“Stay with me,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours. “Come and go as you please, but always return. To your home.” He pauses. “To me.”  

You stare at him, eyes wide with wonder and glistening.  

“Yes,” you breathe, beaming.  

He strokes your cheekbone with his thumb before cupping it fully and slotting his lips between yours.  

You giggle. “I have to say I really didn’t see this coming.”  

If Morpheus was one to roll his eyes, he would have.  

“Do not make me regret this.”  

The lit in his voice pulls a playful gasp from you.  

“It’s too late. You can’t change your mind,” you say, eyes alight.  

His warm smile sends gooseflesh up your arms.  

“Never,” he whispers.  

Destiny has strange ways of working, but after centuries of unanswered questions, you finally think you understand why he chose you.  

Maybe the eldest Endless has a softer spot for his younger brother than any of you realize.

Taglist: @sayumiht, @hatterripper31, @snowsatsu, @1950schick, @navs-bhat, @bookshelf-dust, @sapphireonline, @fictional-hooman, @steph-speaks, @ladyredstar1991, @secretdreamlandmentality, @ababycake, @morpheuss1mp, @boofy1998, @alice-the-nerd, @herfantasyworldd, @poemfreak306, @under-kitty

If you’d like to be added to any taglists, please comment or message me with the character you’d like updates on. 

[insidemyrottenbrain]

Letter to my.. - TSH

Henry Marchbanks Winter has been dead for 4 decades.

Inspired by "Letter to my mother" by Georges Simenon.

Tuesday, 12th of November 2024

Dear Henry,

There have been forty-four years since your death, or rather since the day you were proclaimed dead by the doctors at the mere age of twenty and one, and perhaps, it’s only now that I’m beginning to understand you.

Back then, in what I would like to believe was the defining apogee of our lives, we had been lost in a childish rivalry. Stolen toys, mine or yours? Hide and I’ll seek you until night falls; Hop, hop on the chalk-coloured squares, did you ever feel I’m there? Ineludible questions. A petulant game designed to assert superiority. It is comical that to this day, I’m unable to let go of the self-consuming primal need that demands to rise over you, and somehow by disregarding the rules of the Underworld, attempt again to show you that I am singularis sublimis. This spreads and stirs me like I have not been awakened since I last felt your presence. If I’m being completely honest with you, Henry, I’m not sure I can let go.  Alas, my limits are to be transcended in order to achieve my goal. I have theorised and concluded that if I truly wish to understand you I need to forget my ego and allow you to listen to my raw, unfiltered thoughts so that in return I can hear yours whispered to me by Hermes of Cyllene and his golden wings. There will be no more dancing around (forgive me if I occasionally slip), and instead of speaking to you in graciously veiled words, I shall surrender myself to you for the first time. 

Dear Henry, the truth is that you’ve always somehow eluded me. I hope I did too. Of the two of us, I’ve known, for as long as Zeus has reigned, you rank above me. However, I’m not sure if I’m underestimating myself or lifting you on a pedestal, all because of how much my mind perfected you. To understand you, I first must deal with my own selective imagination. I know you weren’t olympian-born. You were more than just the dehumanized idea I have left of you. I remember your quirks, your slight, transitive tics, your stiff way of existing. You had your flaws, as I had mine. My facade lasted longer than I have ever expected in your scrutinizing gaze. Come to think of it, I don’t know if you knew me. Did you see me in the other sense of the word? Did you know the true (rather emotive) self that I desperately tried to conceal? If you did, you never showed it.

You tolerated me, and since we lived under the same roof, shared a sheet and a window, I dare say you approved of me. I lived with you, but you were still a stranger when you left me.

I hope you know, I was with you during the period in which you were half alive, on the narrow hospital bed, after you had put two bullets in your head. I watched you, sedated, my own abdomen bandaged and pulsing. Somehow you had managed to live for more than twelve hours after the gun’s giggle, which made me believe you didn’t want to die. The feat amazed the doctors. Such grave wounds, they said, would have killed most people instantly. I hoped you might survive, that it was all part of your great plan. So I waited and waited, but you never did wake up from your dreamless sleep.

You died of course, but I suppose you could not have done much else. I was there when you flatlined. The beep penetrated me and I did nothing but stare at your eyes, which were then closed once and forever, never for them to pour over ancient texts, roses in full bloom and I (and never for me to get lost in their icy blue again). Maybe I should have cried for you Henry, but it seemed to me that my life ended with yours, and perhaps, that is why I was and still am not able to recreate a living being’s emotion. 

And I didn’t want to let go without coming to know you and understand you. But was it my choice? Would I have been able to defy fate and beg Hades to cast you out of his halls with only the aid of my pathetic sobs?

I wonder if you’d approve of the man I’ve become. I’m sixty-five, a classics professor. I’m unmarried, but I do have a cat, a Maine Coon to be specific (unnamed so I call it using the well-known “pspsps.”) I teach a small group of students, and I’ve come to know them well. They are never very interesting to me because I know exactly what they are going to do. Nevertheless, a student touches a professor with their mere existence. Most of the things I do are to guide them, to shape them, to give them a reason to thank me. It’s inevitable for their names or faces to not imprint in my mind and for their entire being to follow. Teaching has become my anchor and I can’t help but wonder what would you have transformed into. A writer, a professor just like me, a translator? If you were to be alive, would you be unemployed depending only on the immense amount of money you would have owned? Would you have been a father, a grandfather? Would we have been living together? What would we have been? Would you have grown to show me your true self? Would I have understood you?

Dear Henry, when it is my turn to join you in Hades’ realm, please, do me one last favour and reveal yourself to me, and so, put me out of my misery.

With kind regards,

Your friend

[gayuu-the-necromancer]

William Rex Chapter 1

 ｡⋆｡˚🦋˚｡⋆｡

From the back alleys dripping with rain, from the surface of the deep dark water from the steamy station.

I feel like someone or something is calling me....as if singing, with a graceful melody.

"Come here, Come here."

"Who killed you?"

Kate: "...!"

(Nightmare....?)

Outside the window was still the colour of the dark night. I seemed to have dozed off for just a few minutes.

(Yeah, that's right...I saw a murder scene and that's why I'm here in this castle....)

---FLASHBACK----

Victor: "Kate will live in this castle from now on and work with the members of the Crown."

Victor: "The Crown members can monitor her to make sure she doesn't divulge any secrets."

Victor: "In the meantime, I want Kate to write down how the members do their evil deeds like writing a fairy tale."

----FLASHBACK ENDS-----

(....I wish this was all a dream)

I lay down again on the soft pillow, but the vague anxiety and fear made me no longer sleepy.

Instead, my stomach rumbles.

(I can't believe I'm actually hungry under these circumstances....my body has a mind of its own.....)

At that moment----

Kate: "!?"

A subdued knock on my door had tension run through my entire body.

William: "Sorry to disturb you this late at night. Are you awake?"

(It's Master William...)

If tonight's assassination was due to his ability, as Master William said.

While Master William ordered that man to cut his neck with a knife....

He must have been playing the piano gracefully.

(No matter how much of it was the order of her Majesty the Queen, how could he play the piano while killing someone....)

(Maybe he's a terrifying psychopath)

At the very least, he is definitely 'the first person to watch out for' among the Crown members.

(Keep knocking, I won't open the door!)

I pretended to sleep like this, but my stomach rumbles again.

Even. Louder. Than. Before.

(What timing....)

William: ".....Unless you're hungry and looking for fellowship, how about a little something to eat?"

William: "You have the right to be vigilant, but we don't want anyone to starve to death in this castle."

(Mm.....)

It was a sweet voice, so gentle that can soothe a child.

As if sucked in, I reached for the doorknob.

(He is a gentleman and said he wouldn't use his abilities rashly...)

(And I can't stay cooped up in my room...forever)

I connect a few reasons and open the door abruptly.

I see Master William standing outside, smiling at me as if he knew I would open the door.

William: "Come, my lady."

 ｡⋆｡˚🦋˚｡⋆｡

William: "After such a shocking event, it's been this late at night. Don't force yourself. Eat as much as you like."

Master William pulls out a chair for me and I sit down as he urges me to do so.

He sat down in a chair a short distance away from the table.

(Um?)

The meal looked like it was prepared for only one person no matter how you look at it. On the other hand, Master William was holding a glass of wine.

Kate: "Um...What about you....?"

William: "Hm? I actually had a light snack before the mission."

William: "Don't mind me, go ahead and enjoy."

(I wonder if he prepared it just for me and went out of his way to call me....)

Gratitude wells up and I feel relaxed in front of the warm and delicious meal.

(No, I have to be vigilant)

Pulling myself back to reason, I turned to the food. Immediately I noticed something and froze.

William: "Is there anything not to your liking?"

Kate: "No, it's just...I don't know...how to...how to eat.."

William: "......"

In the first place, I know nothing about the etiquette of dining in such a castle, on top of that in front of a nobleman.

William: "You can eat however you like. The only rule here is that people must be comfortable doing things in their own way."

(Really....)

-----Options-----

(Then I can be as rude as possible)

(If I'm rude)

(I'm hungry, so let's not think about anything)

----------

(What if I act rude unintentionally...)

William: "Don't worry. I won't blame you for being rude."

William: "....You're so tolerant of outlaws, but you're so hard on yourself."

Kate: "Outlaws....?"

William: "Victor told me that you defended a thief, who got away with his crime and had to pay for the stolen goods."

(Ah....)

----FLASHBACK-----

Man: "She stole something very expensive from me! Of course, you're going to pay me for that, right?"

Kate: "Yes, I'll pay you!"

----FLASHBACK ENDS----

(He was there at the time...!)

Kate: "T-That was actually, on the spur of the moment I...."

Feeling embarrassed, I averted my gaze.

(After all, it was a stopgap measure, and it didn't change anything in that kid's circumstances)

I just stepped in without thinking about the aftermath and felt helpless.

As if to shake off my pettiness, I boldly reached for a muffin.

William: "Um...Thank you for the food!"

William: "Mmhm. Go on."

Hesitantly, I take a bite out while still holding it in my hand.

This midnight snack is a little guilty, yet enthrallingly delicious.

(I shouldn't let my guard down....but the smell of this butter, sugar, and the scent of this tea....)

My anxiety and fear slowly melt away.

I glanced around to see that Master William was playing with an envelope in his hand while sipping wine from time to time.

Even with his downcast eyelashes and silver hair hiding his striking red eyes, his beauty is still alluring that I can't help but admire.

One can see the blood-red fingernails tracing the wax sealing imprinted with a golden butterfly.

The hand that was extended to me, in that mansion, came back to my mind.

----FLASHBACK-----

William: "I invite you to dinner tonight. Young lady, what is your name?"

Kate: "Kate...It's Kate."

In a shaky voice, I managed to answer.

But the moment I saw the blood-red fingertips, I was crucified to the spot.

Kate: "Um...Mm...? I....I'm sorry....."

I can't take his hand. On contrary, I can't even move.

My body was rejecting a future....that might kill reality.

Kate: "I'll stand...I'll stand now..."

William: "....."

Master William crouched down with a smile on his face.

William: "Pardon me."

He gently picked me up in his arms.

Kate: "!?"

 ｡⋆｡˚🦋˚｡⋆｡

When he lightly picked me up in his arms, Master William politely apologized.

William: "Forgive me for being selfish. I'll apologize for this rudeness later."

----FLASHBACK ENDS----

(....Master William said, he would apologize to me later)

(Which means, perhaps, he wanted to keep me alive from the very beginning....?)

(Why....)

Madness and gentleness conflicting impressions are tangled and confusing.

(I don't know who this person is)

I'm sure the reason I'm so confused is that I still....don't know anything about him!

(Actually, it's better if I didn't know)

(I don't 'feel' like I should know)

Yet....

Kate: "Um...Who was that man.....you killed?"

William: ".....Hm?"

The question slipped out of my mouth.

William: "Oh that....just a pest that infests England, violating our freedom and dignity, exploiting our sweet nectar."

Kate: "The piano....who was playing that? Did you make him commit suicide....instead of .....just killing him?"

(Why am I asking this.....)

I ask questions without knowing whether they are to fill in the blanks of my anxiety or not.

William: "Once I have decided to kill someone as 'evil', I kill them as brutally as possible because that's my principle."

William: "Otherwise, there's no point in me carrying out my evil."

Kate: "Why does it have to be cruel to make sense....?"

William: "......"

Master William looked at me as I continued to ask in confusion.

He smiled a cruel smile, in a very amusing way.

William: "The thing most feared by those who want wealth and power and who trample on the freedom of others with impunity...."

William: "What is it?"

Kate: "Huh....."

My question is answered with a question and I couldn't help but mumble.

When my mind could not catch up with the riddle-like words, Master William rested his elbow on the armrest and smiled at me gently.

William: "If everything could be explained in words and understood, wouldn't life be empty?"

William: "If you're interested in me, you can see it with your eyes...your ears, and your skin."

William: "Isn't it better to have a lot of fun to unravel?"

William: "Oh yeah.."

As if suddenly remembering, Master William pulled something out of his pocket.

(A knife?)

 ｡⋆｡˚🦋˚｡⋆｡

(A knife?)

An ornate golden knife glints bewitchingly in the moonlight in his hand.

Fear shook my whole body as I recalled the tragedy that had occurred just a few moments earlier.

Kate: "Ah.....I....."

(I don't know what I did to offend you....?)

William: "I'm not going to suddenly thrust this knife to your neck."

William: "....I have as much or even more power than this knife."

William: "As I told you, it's a special power that can kill you in the blink of an eye."

Kate: "......Mm. Yes...."

William: "The same goes for the rest of us. And yet, you, who have to live with us, have nothing."

William: "It's not right that you're the only one whose life is being unfairly threatened. Right?"

Kate: "Is it....yes...?"

I couldn't believe my ears when I heard these unexpected words.

William: "Yes. I want to talk to you as much as possible as equals, poor robin."

William: "So while you write down my sins as the Fairy tale master...."

William: "If you want to judge me for my sins, you can stab me with this knife."

William: "I accept your absolution with open arms."

William: "Will you take it?"

My heart thudded with alarm at the obviously dangerous invitation.

(What in the world are you talking about....?)

(You are asking me....to stab a person with this....?)

(No...I can't do that)

I should not mingle in a world that points knives at people, no matter who they are.

I know, but somehow my fingertips are drawn to the golden knife.

William: "Here you go."

Kate: "Ah...."

My fingers brushed his fingertips, just for a moment, as I picked the cold metal from his hands.

I can't look away even though I know I should.

My body moves on its own and reason cannot catch up with it.

He has some kind of strange magnetic force.

The cold knife was somehow in my palm, reflecting the moonlight dully.

Kate: ".....D-Did you use your ability just now?"

When I asked him, staring at the knife in amazement, Master William smiled gently.

William: "No? My ability is not activated unless I 'look you in the face' and 'command you to do so."

William: "The words 'Will you take it' was not a command, but a suggestion."

(Then I did it of my own free will....?)

Suddenly, I felt horrible.

(I shouldn't be exchanging glances and listening to him....like this)

(I might go crazy....)

Kate: "Anyways, I'm done. Please excuse me....!"

I hurriedly got up from my seat and left the place as if to escape.

I have to go back to my normal life without having to use this knife for the next month. For that purpose----

William: "....Goodnight, sweet little robin. See you tomorrow."

I refused to take the advantage of his temptation.

.........

William: "Did you come up with any better moves?"

When William steps into his room, Victor, who was staring at the chessboard, looks up.

Victor: "No, not at all."

 ｡⋆｡˚🦋˚｡⋆｡

William: "The mansion we went to tonight---it was a hit."

William held out the envelope he had been inspecting in the dining room to Victor.

The butterfly mark engraved on the wax sealing glimmers in the candlelight.

William: "If this is proof that the Golden Butterfly is back, Vic, I'm willing to let you take the lead on this one."

Victor: "Yeah....no problem."

Victor: "We've done our homework on this one. Kate is totally clean."

Victor: "She has nothing to do with the police, the Capitol or even the 'butterfly."

Victor: "She was just an unlucky girl to be there."

William: "Unlucky huh? No way. She came there for a reason."

Victor: "Is that your insightful inference?"

William: "Mmhm."

Victor: "Then there is no doubt...Maybe we might need a birdcage,"

William: "No thanks. I like the sounds of birds singing and flying around happily...."

William: "....Unfortunately, I don't have a hobby to keep them locked up."

........

Victor: "Nice to see you today, Miss Kate!"

Kate: "....Yes. Thank you for having me."

The next morning, Victor called me. I straightened my back, holding a notebook I had used as a postman.

(At the end of the night, I was able to sort out my feelings a little bit)

(About last night....now that I think about it, I received a self-defense weapon, that's all)

(My body felt like it was moving on its own...I'm sure it was just fear that made me feel that way)

(I have to do my duty as a 'Fairy tale master' in order to gain their trust)

Victor: "I'm going to explain the details about the mission of 'Fairy tale master' to you, so listen carefully."

Kate: "I'm all ears!"

(Maybe there is a room in this castle that I'm not allowed to go in, or I can't meet outsiders)

(As someone who will be monitored, I'm sure there are plenty of rules....)

Victor: "Basically, you can do whatever you like."

Kate: "Huh?"

Victor: "Hm? What's wrong?"

Kate: "Wait no....are you actually serious?"

Victor: "Yes, I am. Oh, but you must always be accompanied by someone from the Crown when you leave the castle."

Victor: "The report to her Majesty is basically a report of your observation."

Kate: "Okay, so is there any specific format I should be following?"

Victor: "As long as you write down exactly how it looks like in your eyes, then that's all you need to know."

(That's all...?)

(But I'm so free, I don't know what to write about)

Victor: "....Once you start spending time with them, I'm sure you will have something to write about."

Victor smiled at me as if to reassure me of my confusion.

Victor: "But the Crown members are also basically acting alone."

Victor: "Some of them work front and some of them work behind the scenes."

Victor: "It's difficult to observe everyone, so let's choose people to work with!"

(To work together with some one....)

What happened last night, runs through my head like flashes, once again.

(If I have to work with that person....24/7)

(I wonder what's going to happen?)

Every time I think of those red eyes, the inside of my chest trembles violently.

It's as if something is raging inside my body.

(Maybe it would be better to have someone other than Master William to work with)

Kate: "Um...."

Before I opened my mouth, Victor clapped his hands with a plop.

Victor: "I think William would be a good choice. He's just about to start his assignment, and he would be a great choice for your starting report."

(EH?!)

Victor: "The No. 1 of the Crown, the evilest king ever remembered by her Majesty the Queen."

Kate: "B-But..."

I hear the sound of footsteps and then...

Victor: "Oh what perfect timing. He's already here."

William: "....Hm?"

Do not be tempted by him.

Because I have a feeling I won't be able to go back.

Chapter 2

[forasecondtherewedwon]

The Ladies Whistledown - chapter five

Pairing: Eloise Bridgerton x Penelope Featherington Rating: T Chapter: 5 / ? Word Count: 2611

read on tumblr: one | two | three | four

“I must congratulate you on your brother’s engagement,” Penelope exclaimed in a bright rush.

“Although it is his second?” Eloise muttered against the rim of the teacup she had raised to her lips.

“Pardon me?” In an instant, Penelope’s cheeriness was strained, brittle. Emotion rippled on her face like sunlight through warped glass.

Eloise felt herself blushing with embarrassed regret. She had been cruel to Pen once already and still remembered how it had felt; there was no need to repeat such behaviour, especially as she had descended upon the Featherington household unannounced and Pen had warmly invited her to sit down, to stay while tea was prepared. She had not had to be so nice. Eloise reflected on the way she had spoken to Penelope in the garden at home. If not cruel, she had been curt, shoving her former closest friend back with her words. Pen was trying. Eloise must find it within herself to be equal to the same. Otherwise, she knew she might as well have remained in her room. Sulking over past offences was no way to move forward. Eloise’s childish quips satisfied her in the moment, but no longer than that.

“Thank you,” she said, trying again. “Yes, Anthony is beside himself with joy. It is most nauseating to be around.”

“So that is why you have come.” A joke, but Penelope’s self-consciousness was only partially hidden behind it. Her smile wavered still.

Eloise would say something kind, something that offered to include Pen.

“It is actually quite tolerable,” she admitted. “My brother is away from home more than he is in. He dines with the Sharmas at Lady Danbury’s. He joins our mother and Lady Sharma for tea mixed with talk of wedding plans. He promenades excessively with Kate, under her mother and sister’s watchful eyes. He escorted the sisters to the opera—”

“Then he and Miss Edwina…” Penelope blurted. Eloise watched her catch herself, fingertips flying up to her lips.

And Eloise did give her a hard look then. Penelope’s curiosity was an unignorable reminder of Lady Whistledown’s gossip reports. Any question, even the gentlest, most polite probing, now stirred Eloise’s suspicion—even though she took Penelope’s gesture in the garden to mean there would be no more Whistledown without Eloise’s… what? Permission? Approval? Involvement? She had yet to clarify (it was why she had come). Certainly, there had been no new edition over the previous days. To Eloise, this bought Penelope the smallest bit of trust.

“They are perfectly cordial,” Eloise said. “She is charming without any obvious intention to charm him, and he acts only to promote the happiness of his fiancée. He and Edwina appear united in that. I believe things will, eventually, become quite normal. When the story of this season is told years from now, the first engagement will be cast as a jolly mix-up. Already, it fades.”

“I am glad of it,” Penelope declared earnestly. “The Sharmas are a lovely family. How wonderful to have them united with your own.”

“I have much admiration for Kate, and I look forward to further acquaintance with Edwina.”

“I could see you and Miss Sharma becoming great friends,” Penelope said, dropping her gaze and shifting in her seat. “She is very strong to have stood back while Anthony courted her sister, and good to be prepared to think of herself only after Miss Edwina was taken care of.”

Eloise laughed roughly and set her cup back on its saucer.

“I am neither strong nor good!”

“You are both!” Penelope countered, hand darting out to grip Eloise’s.

Eloise looked from her hand to Penelope’s face. Her eyes did not bid Pen to release her, but Penelope did so all the same, appearing embarrassed by her zeal.

“Do not be overgenerous with me,” Eloise said softly. “I do not deserve it.”

“Of course you do. Please, El. Accept this truth.”

They passed another uncomfortable moment, both weighing Penelope’s words, Eloise was sure. She knew what should be of greatest concern to her was that Penelope had, after the necessary pleasantries about Anthony’s engagement, nearly touched upon the topic that loomed over all: that Penelope was Lady Whistledown, and that it was not yet clear whether this revelation had destroyed what they were to one another.

And yet, Eloise did not linger on the word “truth” but on “El.” Penelope had not ventured to address her as such since the night of the ball. Being thus named combatted the pique Eloise instinctively felt at Penelope’s entreaty for her to “accept the truth.”

She twisted her mouth in thought, then met Penelope’s gaze.

“Shall we come to it?” she asked.

“Please,” Penelope sighed out. Her shoulders fell in what might have been relief, though not a relief that anticipated Eloise would deliver happy news. It would simply be, Eloise saw, the relief of knowing, one way or the other. “It is the silence which I truly cannot bear.”

“It is a torment to be too much alone with one’s own thoughts,” Eloise groused, in some sympathy.

“It is.”

“I suppose that is why you wrote so many of yours down.”

Penelope did not have a response to this observation, and Eloise was too absorbed by what she must communicate next to consider whether the observation had been a cruel one or merely the sort of thing Penelope was newly imploring her to accept: a truth. She felt she might be sweating.

Perhaps noting the anxious expression on her face (or, who knew, a sheen of sweat on her brow?), Penelope motioned as though to halt Eloise before she had begun.

“A walk?” Penelope proposed. “Some fresh air?”

Eloise knew it was not air she wanted so badly as an escape from the walls that surrounded them—the walls that separated them from Prudence and Lady Featherington, but not enough if they were to speak of serious matters. Business matters. Matters of truth and betrayal and power and society and the effort to make life amount to more than the number of names on a dance card.

Before Eloise could agree, Prudence entered.

“Oh!” she said, apparently startled despite the bustle of tea and cakes being brought in and the girls’ earlier noisy chatter about Anthony and Miss Sharma. “Hello!”

Eloise felt, abruptly, quite overlooked. Was Prudence equally oblivious of her younger sister’s presence day to day? Did Penelope go so unnoticed in her own home? There was much Eloise felt herself to be seeing anew.

“Hello,” Eloise replied, scrunching her eyes in an attempt to squeeze more warmth from herself than she really wanted to give Prudence in that moment.

“I heard that your brother”—Prudence’s demeanor and voice collapsed as one—“got engaged,” she sobbed. She fled the room.

Eloise turned to Penelope, eyebrows raised high.

“A walk would be lovely,” she said.

—

Chaperoned from a distance as usual, Eloise and Penelope walked up the street together, though they did not touch hands or link arms or even smile as much as had been their wont on such strolls.

“It is only that Prudence does not know what to do with herself!” Penelope was saying, gesturing with panicked hands. “Not that she ever has, particularly. Had the broken engagement been her fault, the way forward would almost be clearer.”

“She would have been soundly rejected by this blasted ton,” Eloise acknowledged spitefully.

“Exactly. She never appreciates that things might be far worse. As it stands, it is unarguably Cousin Jack who is the villain, and yet my sister suffers regardless.”

“Tainted by mere proximity.”

“Exactly,” Penelope repeated, more emphatically. From the corner of her eye, Eloise noticed how Pen began to reach out to her and stopped herself, clasping her hands together instead. “She is not unwanted, nor is she married. Cousin Jack never compromised her reputation, but another gentleman will not have the satisfaction of competition! Of… beating another man out to get there first!”

Penelope grimaced as she said the words and Eloise joined her, making her own face of disgust. Men! Perhaps the foulest creatures to pollute the earth, and yet they populated this very ton in waistcoat-ed, cravat-ed abundance! They would not propose when a proposal was wanted, but were all too eager when one was not. And if they did propose and it was wanted, then the marriage failed to go ahead because of some horrid scheme like unproductive ruby mines! Eloise looked to her own siblings and saw, not for the first time, that their happy relationships were rarities.

“It is too bad,” Eloise said.

“As much as I am annoyed by her, I wish I could help her.”

“I know. I have read as much.”

The topic once again. There was nothing—not propriety, not hurt feelings, not the danger of an eavesdropping mama—to make Eloise retreat from it now.

“I did read it,” she continued, admitted, assured. Penelope was watching her with wide and eager eyes.

“You did,” Penelope breathed.

“Yes. It was most strange, knowing you were the author.”

Penelope looked down as she said, “I can only imagine.”

“Yet…”

Eloise gathered her thoughts as they turned off the street and into the garden square. It was quieter here, just a stand of fruit trees away from the bustle of the carriages that conveyed people this way and that. People with simpler lives than theirs, Eloise imagined. She looked around herself and realized it seemed hardly any time at all since the trees that now bore fruit had been bedecked with pale, delicate flowers. And yet the time had passed, and more than the trees had changed. She next directed her gaze to the side of Penelope’s face. The curve of her cheek was so familiar. The red of her hair. The eyes that sparkled both when delighted and, as Eloise had seen and caused, distraught. When Eloise felt herself looking too long, she looked away.

“Yet I found myself… proud,” Eloise admitted, staring straight ahead. Though she pinched her lips closed, she did not regret the words she had permitted to escape.

Penelope pulled up short, forcing Eloise to turn to her, to look at her. Slowly, she relaxed her expression and allowed Pen to see her. Believe me, she urged with her eyes. I do not marvel lightly.

“You are now… proud of me,” Penelope checked, speaking with great and evident caution.

Eloise glanced towards their maids, but those ladies were chatting away with abandon. Perhaps they had missed each other too, with Pen and Eloise going whole days without calling on one another. Perhaps others were aware of the distance that had been scooped up between the girls like a spoonful of ice cream from a cut glass dish. Perhaps it was difficult to conceive of them being anything but a pair. It was difficult for Eloise.

“I have not forgotten,” Eloise hastened to express. “It is only that… I have had more time to think. I have been harsh, I have been hasty. Most of all, Pen, I have been cruel.”

She took Penelope’s hands in hers. Eloise found her own were trembling.

“I have tried to tell you who you are, and that was wrong of me. Idiotic, really,” Eloise corrected, gaze shooting skyward as though to fling any idea of future dictation to the heavens. “It is for you alone to say. Show me how to see you.”

“Oh, El.” There was colour in Penelope’s cheeks, the shine of tears glossing her eyes. “This is kinder than I—”

“Stop. No. I do not wish to hear of any more of my admirable traits.” Eloise gave Penelope a slight smirk. “Numerous though they seem to be. It is you I desire to hear more about. I have so much to learn.”

“Forgive me my speechlessness. I confess myself surprised.”

And it was true, Penelope had stood silent many seconds following these last words of Eloise. Not wanting to overwhelm her, Eloise let go of Penelope’s hands. This had barely been accomplished only for a new impulse to spring upon her: to use her freed hand to brush back a curl that blew across Pen’s face. Alarming. Eloise did not give in.

“I only regret that it is my patience that should shock you,” she said, “and my viciousness that you have so quickly come to expect.”

“Not at all!” Penelope rushed to say. “My own speech to you that night was not without its barbs. Worse, perhaps, were my excuses. I believed my reasons should have been good enough for you to accept without question, as they had been good enough for me to warrant the secrets I revealed as Whistledown. I acted as though we thought the same, because we so often had, and took a kind of false permission from that assumption. It was most convenient for me, and most unfair for you.”

“I understand—though I surprise myself to say as much.” Eloise laughed and swiped the fringe from her eyes.

“I thought I was acting for us both. I did not know you as well as I thought, or did not allow what I did know of you to have sufficient influence.”

“Well, that has been true for us both. We are quite a match.”

“Then—”

“We—”

They had spoken at the same moment and smiled sheepishly as they ceased.

“Not to be too on the nose of things,” Eloise tried, by and by, “but I wish for us to turn a page.”

“We cannot go back,” Penelope acknowledged gravely.

Once more, Eloise was inclined to reach out a comforting hand to her, but a measured response felt wisest. She had been deeply hurt.

“But you are saying,” Pen continued, “that you will allow us to go forward?”

“Haltingly, no doubt. Feeling our way along. But yes.”

“As friends…”

Eloise held up a finger to signal that Penelope should wait. She unclasped her reticule and withdrew the pages Pen had given her several days ago. The creases had softened with frequent un- and refolding, but the writing was as crisp and legible as it had been when Eloise had received it. Rather than hand it back, Eloise bounced the fold of papers against her palm.

“Perhaps more than friends,” she said slyly. “Perhaps friends as well as… business partners.”

“Oh?”

“I have had… ideas.”

Penelope’s expression was very wary.

“Come, do not look so,” Eloise chided, tapping Penelope’s arm with the pages. “You must have conceived of this outcome when you gave them to me.”

“I do not know that I did. I was lonely and wanted to make some sort of meaningful gesture. I believed it might be my last towards you, my last chance. I do not know whether I gave up the pages in invitation or surrender. I felt I was throwing myself on your mercy.”

“I have determined—if it is agreeable to you—that you shall not surrender. I believe Lady Whistledown’s part is not yet played out. She must speak.”

“But what will she say?” Penelope wondered.

“Something brilliant. Something new.” Eloise glanced sidelong at her friend. “Something that is an expression of both our minds, both our thoughts and values. Something that we will create together. The best of us both.”

Pen smiled in a familiar way. It was not manipulative or fearful, neither hesitant nor smug. It was Pen, Eloise’s Pen, and Eloise saw that she had pleased her.

“You do not quite know yet, do you?” Penelope playfully accused.

“No,” Eloise admitted, scrunching her face, “but you have given us a marvelous start.”

She waved the pages blithely in the air.

[honoviadakai]

What I think team Urameshi smells like

(This was literally the brainchild of what happens when you wanna give your friends and family expensive perfume but you’re broke so you make it instead! Also I’m one of those ppl that can smell rain before it rains so I’m someone who naturally has a sensitive nose (╯ ‿ ╰,))

Yusuke:

Top notes: sweat, hair gel and some cheap body spray

Bottom notes: whatever his last meal was, detergent, Keiko’s favorite perfume

I don’t care how old Yusuke gets, he’s a lazy dingus at heart and he’d buy the cheapest body spray and hair gel he can get his hands on because “it gets the job done”

Which is fair

He’s also the active type sooo…he gets a bit sweaty

If you’ve ever been to a dojo, dance studio, or any place full of people who’re training/exorcizing in some way, you know the smell of sweat never really leaves the room, let alone the people

Thankfully he does bathe from time to time so it’s never too unbearable

Now the bottom notes are admittedly weird but hear me out

You ever eat a big meal, take a food nap, wake up and still kinda smell what you ate?

That’s Yusuke

It just kinda sticks to him sometimes

It’s never really bad but you’re always gonna subconsciously know what this guy ate for lunch and it’s a little weird

The detergent smell comes from the fact that he trains/fights a lot

I seriously doubt Keiko or Atsuko tolerate the smell of Yusuke’s sweaty ass for longer than they have to so they’re gonna wash his clothes the moment it gets bad

And you bet your ass they’re using the extra strength stuff

It low key bothers Kurama and high key bothers Hiei

Demon noses are sensitive so they always know when laundry day has passed, much to their dismay 😔

Now why would he smell like Keiko’s perfume if he’s not Keiko???

You ever hug someone so hard you still smell their perfume/cologne? Or just hung around someone so much your clothes start to smell like them a bit?

That’s why Yusuke smells a bit like Keiko

All his friends tease him about this fact. All of them.

Basically Think of Yusuke like an odor absorbing sheet, cuz he kinda just smells like the people and places around him

Now slight spoilers here

Yusuke’s part demon

Tbh it weirdly doesn’t affect his natural scent as much as you’d expect it to

He just tends smells like he lives out in the mountains by himself and chooses not to bathe often

Again, he’s a sweaty boy so for some reason his demon blood amplifies the natural musk in his sweat

I don’t advise being near him after a workout session if you have a sensitive nose

The stank is strong with this one after training 😖

Kuwabara:

Top notes: cat(in a good way), sweat, pomade

Bottom notes: cat(in a bad way), hair spray, cigarette ashes

Eikichi is his baby. Period.

He cuddles and pampers her on the daily so he’s gonna smell like they little kitty

She’s thankfully a clean cat so it’s tolerable

That being said….

If you’ve ever been around a cat owner…specially AFTER they’ve cleaned the litter box…

Yeeeeah….its not great

But that’s why it’s a bottom note

it doesn’t hit your nose hard or even at all if he’s careful but cat 💩 has a way of punching you in the face when you least expect it

Sacrifices must be made to keep princess Eikichi happy

I don’t make the rules, I just enforce them on Kazuma Kuwabara’s behalf 💅

Anyway!

Another sweaty boi 🙄(Affectionate)

He sweats the most out of everyone on the team so he smells just a smig worse the guys after an intense training session

Not that you could tell cuz they all smell kinda bad after training 💀

This dude is rocking a pompadour on the reg so the smell of pomade and basically all his other hair products is just permanently apart of him

You could bathe him using the most powerful shampoos and chemicals and the smell of pomade would never leave him

It’s permeated down into his bones

Hope you don’t mind that 😁

Now I believe both his sister AND father smoke around him

Cigarette smoke just has this annoying habit of seeping it’s smell into your clothes

He doesn’t mind it tbh but sometimes people assume he’s the one who smokes cuz he just smells like someone who does smoke

He weirdly enjoys it

It boosts his punk/yankee image

It’s also an excuse for him to hang around Shizuru more

Not that he’s ever needed one to be around his big sis ❤️

Kurama:

Top notes: roses, musk(in a good way), vanilla

Bottom notes: musk(in a bad way), old wood, damp grass

This one’s a no brainer, the dudes main weapon is called a rose whip, of course he’s gonna smell like roses!

Tbh he just generally smells like the inside of a florist shop but rose is the one that sticks out the most

On days where he’s calm and melancholy though, he weirdly smells like you’re sitting in an open field of wet, dewy grass

That smell is always naturally there

But sometimes that’s all you’ll smell

Like he’s trying to erase even his very scent…but he can never fully do it…

He also smells like Vanilla!

Why? Because his mom used to make cookies for him a lot as a kid

Cute right?

🙂

She use to make them a lot because it was one of the ONLY ways she could get him to listen to her when he was little

Then after the accident that caused Kurama to begin to love his mother with all his heart, he helps make them

The smell of vanilla just kinda seeped into his skin

While he has made them a lot in the past, he hasn’t yet perfected the recipe

He noted this when his mom got sick and he made the cookies to make himself feel better

They just did not taste like the ones his mom make…they only smelled like them…

ANYWHO!

He smells musky!

Like…really musky…

Sometimes it’s good, like it’s a very calming natural musk that, depending on who you are, is gonna be a very attractive smell!

…but here’s the thing…

He’s a fox…a fox demon sure, but still a fox

…you ever smell a fox…?

It’s not exactly the best smell in the world…

They’re often described as smelling “Musky and skunky”

So to give you an idea of what being around Kurama is like, imagine this…

Sometimes he smells like a flower shop that’s right next to a bakery 😌

Other times…he smells like someone who was hot boxing inside a hollowed out tree…and roses…

It was so bad when he was in middle school that there was a brief point that his family, classmates and teachers legitimately thought he was secretly smoking weed and maybe that was even why he was always so calm

Thankfully he was able to prove his innocence…but he still just naturally smells…odd

Demons just naturally have a strong smell (see Hiei’s section for more), but given that he’s living a a “human” in the human world, getting a sniff of him is always just jarring wether you’re human or demon

It’s like Yoko and Shuichi are in a constant war over what Kurama is supposed to smell like so he’s always striking the weird balance of smelling pleasant and smelling like he lives in a cabin full of plants and foxes

Hiei(and really all his other demon friends)is the only one that it never bothers

Everyone else is weirded out by it but honestly, you get use to it after a while

It’s an odd combination of smells for sure, but it’s calming

He truly gives the vibe of a chill man who smokes weed in the woods with animals, smell and all

Hiei:

Top notes: ashes/smoke, a forest after it rains, something akin to demon musk

Bottom notes: blood, sweat, brimstone

Let’s start with the nice ones

He smells like a forest before, during and after a rain storm all at once 😌

Calming but chaotic all at all once

Very pleasant ☺️

He’s also got a naturally smoky smell

Now that sounds good right?

Yeah it can be

But sometimes…that smokiness reminds you he’s not a human…

Especially when that ashy, Smokey smell mixes in with the natural brimstone bottom note smell he has

He’s a fire demon and his natural burning fire and brimstone smell is your first reminder/warning

He also smells like blood and sweat

It’s not always a strong smell…but it’s always there

The sweat is innocent enough, he trains daily. Training a lot makes you sweaty

The blood though…

He grew up with killing being a necessary skill you learned and he sometimes did it for fun

So after years of fighting and killing, the smells of blood and burning corpses is just part of his natural scent

A huge part of his natural scent though is also something humans won’t be able to fully comprehend

He’s a demon born and raised in the demon realm so he is gonna smell like the demon realm

Obviously if you’re human you’re just not gonna understand what that smell even is, but something in the back of your head knows it’s not “normal”

As stated with Kurama, demons naturally have a strong smell and Hiei’s is stronger than Kurama’s when you notice it

The closest a human could get to describing his demonic smell is this:

Imagine living with a wild animal that lives inside a volcano

Even then that sentence isn’t correct

There’s just not a proper way for a human to explain what a demon smells like

A demon though absolutely can though!

But they’re not at all helpful!!!

If you ask someone like Jin or Chu to describe Hiei’s scent this is how they respond…

“Oh, he smells like a fire demon!”

🧍‍♀️

So helpful guys…

Asking Kurama isn’t any better but he at least TRIES

The way he explains it is a demon’s scent always delivers information

Species, age, sex, status, ect

It’s basically their ID card that everyone has access to at all times

And Hiei’s scent tells everyone “I’m a fire demon that WILL kill you if I deem it necessary”

And if you think about that…it makes sense!

Think about it

This little guy has access to a flaming dragon that’s composed entirely from the flames of the deepest pit of hell

MF basically smells like the inside of hell!

His scent is as aggressive and abrasive as he is

But if you get use to it, if you like it, it’s very calming

It’s a scent that’s constantly reminding you that you’re in the presence of a fire demon that could incinerate you instantly, but said demon is also a calm, quiet person that’s content with minding his own business in peace

[sillyguy99]

There is no fear in love

(Mafiafell Sans x Reader)

Chapter Five: Flickering Flame (His POV)

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               Since tearing away her rosary a week ago, Sans hasn't been able to look her in the eye properly.

               He'd been careless – mindlessly acting on the first thought that came to his mind.

               And that led to him getting an eyeful of what was underneath her robe.

               “truth be told, sister,” he says, leaning back against the wall. “when we first met, i was the least bit interested in gettin' to know ya. i didn't exactly like the idea of frisk bein’ sent off to a human we’d only heard stories about.”

               She offers him a seat, yet he rejects.

               He'd only snuck into her room to hide for a little while, and that's it.

               Sitting down would mean he plans to stay here for longer than a few minutes, and he can't have that.

               “the first thought i had was of you bein' a conceited old lady who wouldn't listen to what i hadda say, and part of that was right, but…”

               He shrugs.

               “not anymore,” he states, snickering. “here i am, hidin’ away in your room without givin’ you any explanation, and even though you hate my guts.” A pause arrives when he huffs. “you coulda called anyone for help, or you coulda kicked me out yourself, and yet…”

               He stands up straight, slipping his hands into his pockets.

               “you haven't.”

               She frowns, hands folding as she stares at her feet.

               “You said you wanted my help,” she replies, her voice faint. “Why would I reject you in a time of need?” The woman looks toward her dresser, where she walks to before stopping and continuing with, “And speaking of that, before I forget… Here you go.” From a drawer, she retrieves a thick and square package wrapped up in brown paper. “You informed me some monster children required this for their ailments, didn't you?”

               “yeah,” he says, reaching for his wallet. “how much?”

               “Do not insult me.” She glares at him. “It doesn't matter if you think I'm conceited, but I refuse to tolerate whatever made you believe I don't care to help whoever needs it.”

               She sets a few packages down on the table, pointing a finger at a label.

               “These are successful treatments I've produced so far,” she says, retrieving a reusable bag from another drawer. “Tell me which of these you need, and you can take them home with you. Or if you would like to take them all, say the word. I only require a sample of each, and I already have them in my storage room.”

               He looks at everything offered to him with a wary gaze.

               “are ya sure i can take everythin'?”

               She nods, then finally cracks a smile.

               “You provided me with the materials, so of course, you may.”

               Then, she crosses her arms and twists her mouth back into a firm and stern line.

               “And I would like to apologize for what you saw last week, after I… tested your patience, and had you act rashly.” 

               A sigh follows her words. 

               “I must have tempted you. If I had been just a little more understanding and listened to what you wanted to say about Frisk and their monster friends, surely... You wouldn't ha-”

               “if this’s ‘bout me seein’ your bra and cleavage, that was my bad.”

               He averts his irises when she widens her eyes, her expression far too forgiving for his liking.

               “i don't think touchin' you like that and breakin’ the one thing you said that made you feel safe was in… any way appropriate. temptation's got nothin' on that. i acted before thinkin’, and that's that. it was my fault.”

               “Are you saying you feel sorry?”

               He furrows his brow.

               “...yeah?”

               His hands and forehead shed cold sweat.

               “i’d, uh, be lyin’ if i said i didn't feel weird about what i saw, and that it left me kinda curious – to see what's under your veil, and to see how you'd look in regular clothes, but…”

               Her eyes brighten when he brings his fist into view and opens it to reveal a new rosary.

               “i crossed a line.”

               Silence stays momentarily as she picks up the rosary and thanks him several times, her smile seeming almost permanent as she slips the rosary on without a single wait.

               “and i'd also be lyin’ just as much if i said i'm not tempted to try it again – gettin’ to see more, and gettin' to touch you more.”

               Rather than shock or disgust, the woman simply hums in thought, a trace of a frown slipping through.

               “Well, while I do appreciate your honesty about your feelings…”

               She huffs and rubs her temples.

               “I unfortunately can't overlook what you've just confessed to me, even if you have stated you’re sorry. Repentance is one thing, but… You should still attempt not to do this again.”

               Sans observes as she fixes herself up back in her seat on the edge of her bed, the space she'd left for him still available.

               “Though I will admit you're not the first to… comment something like this.”

               “yeah?” he grins. “tell me more.”

               Her smile shows fully through, yet it twists as she grabs fistfuls of her habit's skirt.

               “As you might know, now that you've met all the Sisters I’m familiar with..." There's a pause of uncertainty. "When I first came here, I did not immediately start out as a nun, since… You do have to wait until you're eighteen, but…” Her breath hitches as she sniffles and blinks away the wateriness of her eyes. “I was taught the rest of my highschool years here, and one of my teachers was a man in his twenties, who I… had a bit of a crush on.”

                He already doesn't like where this is heading, so he simply taps his foot, waiting to hear more.

               “I was apparently too transparent about my crush on him, so one day, he… invited me for a walk to the garden, at around six in the evening.”

               She looks at him with softened eyes, her smile the same, even if trembling.

               “I screamed for help the moment I understood what was happening – that he wanted nothing more than to… take away something that could never be given back. Just as he was busy touching under my skirt, two of those Sisters you met last week came to my rescue. The rest of what he did while I called for help has been… thankfully blanked out from my mind.”

               Her voice is the only thing that hasn't faltered yet, as even her body rocks whenever she sniffles to prevent her face from becoming a mess of tears.

               “But with you… It feels different.” She wipes a tear from her chin and stands up once more. “While I do acknowledge your threats to keep Frisk safe, and that you did touch me while I was clearly unwilling…” Her footsteps echo in his mind as she reaches his side. “I have this feeling that you will stop, if I tell you to.”

               “where's that guy?” he asks, when she rests her head on his shoulder.

               “In jail,” she replies, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”

               “want 'im taken out?”

               She laughs and nudges his ribcage, standing up straight again.

               “Don't joke about that.”

               “i’m not.”

               He slips his hands out of his pockets and hooks them on the loops of his pants.

               “you wanted me to be honest, didn't ya?”

               The woman replies with a quiet ‘yes’.

               “here goes…”

               Sans closes his eye sockets and huffs.

               The world around him seems to halt, as if it's been waiting for this particular moment.

               “i'm part of an organization meant to take care of people who're irredeemable.”

               “For how much?”

               Despite being unable to pinpoint whether her question is serious or not, he decides to go through with it.

               “welp…”

               He knows she won't tell anyone, after all.

               Or at least, not anyone that can bring harm to those he cares about.

               “depends on the target, along with other stuff.”

               He opens his eye sockets and looks at her directly in the eyes.

               “for you, though? it'd be free, if you just keep givin' me the medicine you're makin’.”

               Momentarily, her eyes broaden, revealing just a hint of what's going through her mind.

               “That's-”

               “and don't worry ‘bout me gettin' into trouble, cuz the reason i'm hidin' out in your room’s got nothin' to do with that.”

               “Would you make him suffer?”

               “now that depends on you.”

               “Could I… think about it?”

               “sure.”

               She sighs, bursts with a shaky laugh, and – from what he assumes based on how she passes a hand across her face – appears in need of something.

               “i’d ask if ya wanna hug, but–”

               “–Would you, please?”

               Whatever strength she'd kept to not let her voice break finally runs out. Tears drench her face, trembles take over her body, and hiccups and sobs make her shoulders jump. She's hugging herself, gaze cast to the floor. She would look broken if her face didn't appear so angry. Not just that, but the way she persistently wipes away her tears suggests she's unapologetic of what she's confessed.

               “of course.”

               And saying just those two words is similar to opening the Gates of Heaven. She smiles like he's told her the greatest news there is, and she giggles like he's told her a flirtatious joke. Her arms are slow in surrounding his body, and her chin rests idle on his shoulder as she hides her face against his neck.

               “Thank you,” she says, each word bringing about the scent of mint. “Can I stay this way for a longer while?”

               The skeleton grabs the back of her head and presses her closer to him, his other hand being careful not to go lower from her waist – being careful not to screw this up.

               “Would you like something to eat?” she asks, once free from the hug. “Before you leave.”

               Sans looks at his wristwatch, then takes her up on the offer.

               “Anything you want, in particular?”

               He shakes his head no.

               “surprise me.”

               A woman he can likely call his friend at this point, some steaming caldo de pollo, and a hot cup of chocolate.

               What more could he ask for?

               Any other day – when he couldn't find a place to hide – he'd be wasting his magic teleporting out of trouble, giving bruises that would come to bite back at him, and receiving ones he would need to give explanations for. Tonight, it's a different story, and he couldn't be more grateful for that. Weren't it crossing a line, he would ask the woman if she wanted to join him for a movie somewhere. Watching the late night news and sitting on the edge of her bed an hour later – and while she stands up and offers him a fresh cup of coffee – is the next best thing, and that brings forth a sleepiness he can't seem to shake off. Frisk's mother notices, yet she bites her lip to keep herself from smiling.

               “Would you like to stay the night, Sans?” she asks, setting a hand on his forehead, as if to check his temperature. “You… have a bit of a fever, and it wouldn't do you good to wander this late – not to mention, how dangerous that is.” Her hand parts from his skull to land on some medicine she takes out of the same drawer from earlier. “I can come up with an excuse.”

               He grabs the painkillers she offers and chugs them with the coffee – right before she reprimands him for not waiting for water.

               “Honestly, you could've waited!” she exclaims, her lips almost pouted.

               He laughs and waves her off.

               “get yourself some sleep. i'll nap on the flo-”

               She crosses her arms and points with her eyes to the far corner of the room, where there's an air mattress fully filled up and ready to be settled down, currently resting against the wall.

               “You most certainly will not.”

               Her expression eases to a more teasing look, almost smug.

               “Now go freshen up in my bathroom. I left some spare clothes for you on the towel rack.”

               “y’sure i can stay the night?”

               “Yes, so long as you follow along with my excuse in the morning.”

               He stands from the bed and walks off toward the bathroom door.

               “sure thing, doll.”

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• • • • •

Tag List:

@itsberrydreemurstuff

[trustinsighters]

Dungeon Dialogue: Lapis Manalis

Pes Albus (X: 11.6, Y: 14.8) - Fighting on the Snowcraft

Spirited Engineer: Careful up there─you're not like to see much through the snow. Estinien: It seems we were right to ride atop the snowcraft. 　↳ Y’shtola: Indeed. Let us hold nothing back. Zero: How bothersome... Alisaie: The wildlife here is certainly bold. Y’shtola: To arms! Albus Griffin: Caw! Spirited Engineer: Hopefully that's the last of those winged bastards... I'm afraid this is as far as the mammoth'll go. You'll have to make it the rest of the way on foot.

Mons Albus #1 (X: 10.6, Y: 13.9) - Vista of the Tower of Babil

Alisaie: You can see the Tower of Babil from here! 　↳ Alphinaud: And it's no less imposing, even from this great distance. Zero: White as far as the eye can see... Estinien: A welcome change of scenery. Y’shtola: I imagine the view from here must be breathtaking.

Mons Albus #2 (X: 10.2, Y: 12.8) - Mons Albus

Albus Bear: Grooogh! Fleeing Rat: <squeak> Fleeing Antelope: <bleat> Visitant Bloodguard #1: Your aether will be mine! Visitant Bloodguard #2: I must feed!

First Boss, Before engaging (X: 11.2, Y: 11.6) - Albion

Varshahn: If this beast would bar our path... 　↳ Zero: A simple enough task. Alphinaud: A veritable giant among the wildlife here to be sure. Y’shtola: Is this beast native to the mountain?

First Boss, After defeating (X: 11.2, Y: 11.6) - Albion

Varshahn: Come. Let us press onward. 　↳ Alisaie: To the cavern! Alphinaud: There is something to be said for the fortitude of nature. Y’shtola: Well, that wasn't too difficult.

Vicus Messorum #1 (X: 10.5, Y: 13.6) - Cavern Entrance

Alphinaud: So this is Lapis Manalis... 　↳ Estinien: This is no time for gawping. Watch your step. Varshahn: How vast is this cavern, I wonder? Alisaie: Is it just me, or is the wind blowing warm air? Y’shtola: What is this presence...? Visitant Vodoriga: Such rich aether!

Vicus Messorum #2 (X: 11.0, Y: 11.1) - The Reaper Village Remnants

Zero: The presence of voidsent permeates this place... 　↳ Y’shtola: I would expect no less from the birthplace of the reaper's art. Estinien: The reaper village. Or what remains of it... Alisaie: Is this the village Jullus told us about? Y’shtola: A most curious place indeed. Galatea Parva #1: <crick-crack> Come for training, are you? Galatea Parva #2: <creeeak> Ready your scythe! Galatea Parva #3: This will <snap> warm you up. Dated Recors: The assaults from outside tribes have markedly increased of late. The Geraldines proved an especially barbarous thorn in our sides, their nigh ceaseless pillaging no doubt an effort to hoard supplies in preparation for the coming winter. No longer able to tolerate the damages suffered by these incursions, the senate issued an order for their king's assassination, and we reapers were asked to ready our blades. With three of her fellows in tow, Galatea set out under cover of night and infiltrated the enemy fortress. Their mission was a great success which soon put the enemy to rout. Faded Records: Emperor Solus is convinced this magitek will spark a revolution in warfare as we know it. And as he devotes further resources to its advancement, our arts continue to fall out of favor. I fear the age of the reaper has come to an end. After all our forebears have sacrificed for the good of the Empire. The blood spilled, the lives lost. They would dare deem us relics of a bygone era. Indeed, they believe the future lies with their “reaper” battle armor. Trainee Warning Notice: Aspirants are reminded not to approach the figures of the Pale Harvest without express permission. They should be treated with no less reverence than Galatea herself, and are hardly less dangerous. Only those who have successfully forged a pact with an avatar may spar with the Galatea Parva. They will serve to refine one's use of invocations and tactical coordination. The Galatea Magna, however, is reserved for those who are able to serve as host to their avatar. This periculous manikin is designed to push a reaper to their limits, if not beyond them. Learn to walk in death's shadow, and you shall know no fear. Dollmaster’s Memorandum: Maintenance of the Galateae must be handled with the utmost of care. The delicate art of their making has long since been lost, making repairs difficult, and reproduction all but impossible. The knowledge was kept secret, passed down to those who would inherit the position of master dollmaker. That is, until one man chose to break with tradition. He claimed to be leaving on a journey in pursuit of an “unparalleled beauty,” but we never learned the truth of it. The only thing that is certain, is the art of our forebears left with him.

Second Boss, Before engaging (X: 11.2, Y: 8.9) - Galatea Magna

Varshahn: Magicked puppets? Here? 　↳ Alisaie: And equipped for combat training. How delightful... Alphinaud: What possessed them to create such automata? Estinien: Voidsent, I expected. But puppets...? Y’shtola: Despite their menacing demeanor, they're quite charming.

Second Boss, During the fight (X: 11.2, Y: 8.9) - Galatea Magna

Galatea Magna: Commencing basic training regimen. <crack> Your time to completion will be recorded. Galatea Magna: Leave no openings. Your strikes must be quick and decisive. Galatea Magna: That concludes your basic training. Commencing <crick-crack> advanced training regimen. Galatea Magna: Remain calm and collected, no matter your circumstances. Galatea Magna: Remember─you must hone your skills daily. It will be key to your survival. Second Boss, After defeating (X: 11.2, Y: 8.9) - Galatea Magna Galatea Magna: <creak> Regimen complete. Evaluation ranking: 12. Not even the lowest order of voidsent would be daunted by such meager strength. Galatea Magna: <creak> Regimen complete. Evaluation ranking: 9. Your mastery of fundamentals will carry you far. Continue your training and seek ever greater heights. Galatea Magna: <creak> Regimen complete. Evaluation ranking: 7. A respectable performance. Such strength would prove a match for even warrior-class voidsent. Galatea Magna: <creak> Regimen complete. Evaluation ranking: 5. A commendable performance. Such strength would prove a match for even knight-class voidsent. Galatea Magna: <creak> Regimen complete. Evaluation ranking: 3. A spectacular performance. Such strength might even prove a match for Galatea herself were she still alive. Galatea Magna: <creak> Regimen complete. Evaluation ranking: 2. Impossible... Only Rullus has achieved such a feat. Galatea Magna: <creak> Regimen complete. Evaluation ranking: 1. Even the great rulers of voidsent would struggle to contend with such strength. Galatea Magna: <creak> Regimen complete. An equal to Drusilla. Extraordinary... Zero: That doll was not unlike a voidsent... 　↳ Alisaie: We can muse about that later. Let's get going. Varshahn: Come, let us make haste. Estinien: At the very least, it made for good sport. Alisaie: That certainly was a challenge. Y’shtola: A masterfully crafted doll.

Fons Manalis #1 (X: 9.5, Y: 13.2) - Fons Manalis

Estinien: That was quite a fall. 　↳ Y’shtola: Thankfully we emerged unscathed. Alphinaud: Is everyone all right? Zero: Ugh... Alisaie: Gods, that startled me. Y’shtola: Let us proceed with caution.

Fons Manalis #2 (X: 10.9, Y: 11.1) - The Voidgate

Y’shtola: There─the voidgate! 　↳ Varshahn: At last, we've found it. Varshahn: Azdaja! I sense she is close! Zero: There it is. Estinien: On your guard, everyone! Alisaie: So the gate really was here. Visitant Satana #1: Trespassers! Visitant Satana #2: Stop them!

Third Boss, Before engaging (X: 12.6, Y: 9.3) - Cagnazzo

Cagnazzo: Hah hah hah! All shall cower before the might of Archfiend Cagnazzo! Estinien: This one seems formidable. 　↳ Y’shtola: To be appointed as an archfiend, I should certainly think so. Varshahn: What is it they seek? Alphinaud: No doubt it is here to guard the gate. Estinien: This one's not at all like the others. Alisaie: It looks a lot like the Kojin. Y’shtola: An archfiend... So this is Golbez's doing.

Third Boss, During the fight (X: 12.6, Y: 9.3) - Cagnazzo

Cagnazzo: I've been waiting so long. Don't disappoint! Cagnazzo: Brace yourselves! The chamber begins to fill with water... Cagnazzo: I bring my all to bear! Cagnazzo: Drink deep of blackest terror! Cagnazzo: I wonder how you'll taste. Cagnazzo: You really must try harder! Cagnazzo: Battle does so whet the appetite. Gheh heh heh heh! Spires of water begin amassing aether... Cagnazzo: No more games! Cagnazzo: Be swallowed by the tide! Varshahn: Is everyone all right? Zero: Still in one piece. Y’shtola: It will take more than that to stop us. Alphinaud: Hold fast, everyone! Cagnazzo: What!? That's not right! Cagnazzo: How do you like this? A malevolent energy spills forth from the void... Cagnazzo: Good, good. A fitting finale! Cagnazzo: Grrr, why are you still alive!?

Third Boss, After defeating (X: 12.6, Y: 9.3) - Cagnazzo

Varshahn: I feel your presence, Sister. Where are you? Alphinaud: Why do you suppose they chose here for their lair? Zero: That they could open so large a gate is troubling. Estinien: So goes yet another archfiend. Alisaie: Well, that was a challenge.Y’shtola: I've never seen a voidsent with such command over water.

Lapis Manalis Dungeon Dialogue Infographic

[androgynousblackbox]

Welcome to Hazbin Vale. 2 [Appleradio]

Good morning, listeners. Your good friend Alastor is here once again. Today you may forgive me for not being on my usual high spirits, for I find myself rather annoyed.

But Alastor, I know you must be asking. What could possibly annoy the always friendly and law abiding radio host that we know and love? That doesn't sound like you at all! I know, I know, I am nothing if not patient, dear listener, but even I have my limits. There are certain things in this world that must not be tolerated.

That weird static is there again. Please ignore it.

Unfortunately, until that weird static calms down, I am afraid that I will have to keep the suspense alive. For now, let's start today with our favorite piece of news: the obituary!

It seems that last night the old man Jenkins has finally passed away. This morning his neighbors were congregated around his house, in front of the open door. It was a disaster inside, you could see it even from the street, like a hurricane had stopped by and stayed a bit longer than planned. Tragic, absolutely tragic. Jenkings was a tolerable member of this community who we all could more or less remember clearly.

If only his own curiosity wasn't getting the best of him. That was always one of his biggest flaws, whether he would admit it or not. And his imagination, my! He had a bit too many, especially after just a few beers in the local pub. Oh, I know that those who were there know exactly what I am talking about.

Babblering on and on about all these strange and unexplicable murders that happened in our town. Talking about how once this was a pacific and normal place where everyone could feel safe. Truly delirious, that poor man. I almost felt pity siting next to him and hearing his incoherent conspiracy theories. He was convinced that someone in our precious and wise community could be the responsible for those deaths! I could not believe my ears when I hear it.

He even said he had some kind of proof that he was planning to give some friend reporter. But I am sure that if someone were to have a look all over his house, like that hurricane seem to have done, they wouldn't have found anything at all out of the ordinary.

So, clearly, that man was just suffering of some kind of brain tumor that was pushing against whatever rational thinkings he had left after a lifetime of wasting away being a parasyte for society. Quite pitiful.

Of course I had to help him out get home. What kind of monster I would be if I left someone so obviously unwell to go completely on their own at the mercy of the night? Obviously I don't mean it for anyone in our town.

But there are beasts out there who won't stop no matter how much you beg. Creatures that feed on your screams and laugh on the face of your demise. Things that no sane mind could ever hope to comprehend.

I am talking about raccoons, if it wasn't clear enough. Those damn monsters have been making a disaster out of everyone's garbage lately. So this is your friendly reminder to please lock up your garbage tight and keep it close, where it should have stayed in the first place. Don't share no matter how much you want to make a conversation out of it, like some other people could. Some things are best left unsaid.

After a lovely conversation about the stock market, I was off my way. For any police officer who may be listening right now, Husk, first of all, fix your hair, you shouldn't be judging anyone with a hair that messy. Second of all, how about lay it off with the donuts? If you want a heart attack so badly, goodness me… you just have to ask.

Indeed, everyone is going to miss old man Jenking. If I may give an advice, save the ink on the wanted posters. There are dogs who would appreciate the attention so much more and it would be infinitely more productive. At least with the dog there is a possibility to find them.

Unless a raccoon got them. But who would want to hurt the best friend of men, right, listeners? Only if they barked at the wrong moment, I suppose, bringing unwanted attention when it's the least convenient for everyone else. But they tend to be smarter than that. Beasts know to bow down when a bigger predator is around, after all.

The family of old man Jenking haven't officially dennounced his death yet, so I guess this is kind of a spoiler? I imagine it will take around a week for the idea to fully sink in. Someone could probably accelarate the process by showing what was left of our dear old pal. If only something was left in order to do that.

Please, forgive me if I laugh a little too much. I just keep thinking of an old joke I heard one time, one that has nothing to do with what I am talking about right now. I can't help it. Oh, but you wouldn't get it, dear listener. You should have been there.

Ah. I did needed that pick me up. I think I am on a better mood now to relay to you what soured my morning. After I do, I do hope you understand my state of mind.

I was on my way to the station when I remembered, silly me, that I forgot to buy something for lunch. I had a bunch of new meat to prepare, but nothing to accompany it! I was thinking so much about that old joke that it completely slipped my mind. Naturally I went to the supermarket and there, right there, in front of the dairy products, was the single most offensive view I have ever seen on my life.

He was a tiny man. Minuscule even. Such a small being that I could probably hold it on my pocket and squish it until his eyes pop out. Even at a distance I could see that his head wouldn't even reach my own chest. What kind of man lets himself be so small and vulnerable? Don't you have any dignity or it doesn't fit inside that microscopic frame? At least use some heels, women do it all the time!

So that was the first insult, dear listener.

But then this tiny man took out the sun hat that he was wearing and his hair was so stupid that I wanted to vomit right there. Yes, listener, as you heard! So stupid, shiny and silky, as if nobody in this town has anything better to do than to stare in awe and imagine what would it be like to caress it with your fingers. What a grostque display of vanity! How is that even allowed in public? Who gave this tiny man the right to have that stupid perfect hair? Second insult!

Oh, if only had ended there, dear listener. Maybe then that could have been just an unpleasant memory and it could be it. But he wasn't alone, you see. He was talking with that clerk with an eye patch that says "my creepy comments" on here are hilarious. I think her name was Cherri? I don't know what she means by that, but as long someone appreciate my work I guess they can't be that bad. I might even forgive her for what she did next.

She presented us! Right there! With no warning or preparation prior! Because I talked about that damn new toy maker that just moved to town on the last episode, she thought she was doing me a favor by just telling me that this tiny man with the stupid hair was that toy maker all along.

The one time that the youth decide to pay attention to what I say and this is what I get!

Lucifer Morningstar, said his name was. Have you ever heard about anything more pretentious than that? I seriously doubt that is his real name at all. Husk, if you ever want to do anything useful in your life, you should check on that. Someone with that hair and that tiny body and those big stupid blue eyes could never have a name like that. It can't be real. The feeling in my gut is telling me so.

And he said that oh, I was just getting to know the town and everyone told me about you. Oh, and are you really the radio host of this town? And oh, that must be so fun and your job must be great! Oh, I will have to take a listen sometime!

He just wouldn't stop! I wanted to grab him by the collar of his shirt and shake him until he felt as dizzy as I was getting listening to him! I would shake the answer out of him if I had to!

WHY IS YOUR SMILE SO WHITE!? WHAT ARE YOU HIDING?! I KNOW YOU MUST BE HIDING SOMETHING. NOBODY IS THAT NICE AND PERFECT!

AND CAN SOMEONE DO SOMETHING ABOUT THAT STUPID STATIC ALREADY, I CAN BARELY HEAR MYSELF HERE.

Oh-oh.

FUCK!"

"Apologies, dear listeners. We seem to have an sudden power outage. Luckily we have back up power regenerators while the fusebox is getting repaired. It seems to have exploded out of nowhere for no apparent reason at all. How completely unrelated to anything we were talking about here.

I had time to calm down now. I am good. Just don't pay any mind to the red splatters outside of the building, I am sure it's nothing. Maybe some teenager's new graffity or something as inocuous as that. That would explain the abandoned shoes I had no time to pick up.

Anyway, I think I didn't even finish my story, did I? Well, after that very horrible and disgusting encounter, "Lucifer", if that is even his real name, said that he was looking forward to opening the toy store with some of his new inventions real soon.

Clearly a money laundering scheme. Husk, look it up. Why it has to be me the one to tell you to do your job?

I think we all learned a lesson today, dear listener. Some things are best left unsaid and sometimes people should stay on their own towns and not comes to new places to talk with new people who didn't ask for them to be there. Sometimes change can stay unchanged. Sometimes change can be bad and quite upsetting. Why would you wanna risk it?

Ah.

Now, the weather…"

[avengerphobic]

Zheng Bao Yu has known for a long time that her father is a cruel man, but when he makes Shang-Chi believe that Shi-Hua, their sister, was killed as a punishment, she knows that he has finally gone too far. He is much more than just a cruel man, he is a monster.

Entire fic below cut

Shang-chi was a stubborn child, Bao Yu knew this. She also knew that he was in pain, and that he could not show that pain to anyone, least of all their father. She cursed their father for his excessive cruelty. Shi-Hua thought to be dead by her dear brother and dead by his actions. How could a child live with that pain?

Shi-Hua was alive, but Bao Yu could not tell him, no matter how much it caused her pain to see him grieving in silence. She walked by his door and through it heard sniffles. She pushed open his door and found him laying on his bed with his back to her crying silent tears.

“Little Spirit,” she said, gathering him in her arms.

Shang-chi sobbed into her chest and she held him closer. She wished that she could tell him, but her father would know and he would kill her.

“Don’t let our father see your tears,” Bao Yu said.

Shang-chi wiped his eyes, but that didn’t stop the tears. “My arrogance… I-”

“Don’t cry a-Chi,” Bao Yu said, “There was nothing you could have done, and there was no way for you to know.”

“He replaced her quickly. M’Nai… He wants him as my companion, but how can I love again after I killed my dearest sister,” Shang-chi said.

“You will in time. Do not blame M’Nai for our father’s cruelty. He has known only pain. Shi-Hua would want you to love him as you loved her,” Bao Yu said.

“How can I?”

Bao Yu held him tightly. “I don’t know,” she said, “but never let our father see you cry. Never let him know your pain.”

“I cannot blame our father… I was the one who caused this. I disobeyed him. I must pay,” Shang-chi said.

Bao Yu bit her tongue, stopping herself from saying no it was not his fault. He was just the excuse, that there was nothing he could do, if it was not that infraction it would be another. Their father could only allow Shang-chi to rely on him. To love anyone else, well that was the greatest sin that Shang-chi could ever commit. There was no love allowed in their home. There was nothing for them except blind obedience, except to worship their father. A cruel father he was. A monster hiding in a man’s skin.

Bao Yu held Shang-chi for a while longer until he fell asleep against her chest. She laid a blanket on top of him and left his room to seek out their father. She found him easily as if he was waiting for her, and perhaps he was.

“Father, please return Shi-Hua to the House of the Deadly Hand. Shang-chi is inconsolable,” Bao Yu said.

“Shang-chi must be punished. Perhaps one day I will reveal she is alive, but he must know the consequences of disobeying me,” Zheng Zu said.

“But this cruelty-” Bao Yu started.

“Are you questioning me?” Zheng Zu asked. His eyes flashed suddenly with anger.

Bao Yu dropped to her knees and pressed her forehead to the floor. “I only hate to see Shang-chi in such pain. I mean no disrespect. Please forgive me, father,” she said.

“You should know your place, Bao Yu. I will forgive you since you are my oldest and most beloved daughter, but I am your father and I will not tolerate this impudence.”

“You are generous, father,” Bao Yu said, looking up at him, but not daring to stand back up for fear of Zheng Zu’s wrath.

“Do not worry of Shang-chi. I have plans that will cement his loyalty,” Zheng Zu said.

Bao Yu stood up. She thought that never in any moment had she hated her father so. She smiled at her father, wishing only that he would die, and that it would be by her hands. He excused her, and she returned to her room. She looked at herself in the mirror. She hoped that the anger now marring her features was not there when her father looked upon her face. If he saw then he would know her anger and he would see that as betrayal of her heart and have her executed.

Bao Yu returned to the House of the Deadly Hammer. She worried that she was the only kindness that Shi-Hua ever knew.

[the-insouciant-scientist]

@fallenlondonficswap @house-of-mirrors Calling this a secret swap fic. I think it counts. Hope you have fun chewing on this one, and that it turned out sufficiently creepy and wet! Always going, but never getting

Unnamed Zee Captain OC & Salt, Teen rating, 2007 words.

Captain’s Journal, 4th November 1863 Above or below the earth, large bodies of water generate superstition like nothing else. Sailor or Zailor, we all know it: we travel upon the waves of a fickle mistress, and it’s best to treat her with respect. Lest she turn her wrath upon your ship next. Doesn’t mean I think it’s all true. Some of the things I hear my crew talk about in the night… Stuff and nonsense. Maybe I’m a fool to be so sceptical, but I’ve sailed for longer than some o’ these folks have been alive. Sometimes wind is just wind. Sometimes a bat is just a d__ned bat. Not everything is a sign. 

Captain’s Journal, 6th November 1863

The whole crew seems to be jumpy today. The bats are more active than I’ve seen them in weeks, and there’s an odd one with ‘em. They’re out there wheeling and turning in the air, but I swear every so often I see a glimpse of white. Didn’t know bats came in that colour. A deckhand claims it’s a god, watching us. I put him to work belowdecks, where hopefully his nerves can settle. Last thing I need is someone stirring up trouble.

Captain’s Journal, 7th November 1863

Aye, that lad, what am I to do with him? This morning I caught him perched on the capstan, trying to lure the little b_____d closer with a handful o’ hardtack. Told him that if he didn’t get down from there right that second, I’d make sure he didn’t get any time above deck until we next reached port. I don’t tolerate this kind of nonsense on my ship. Especially when it drives my men to waste supplies like this. He got down, but still seemed afraid of something. I wouldn’t hurt him. He knows that, right?

Captain’s Journal, 9th November 1863

We’ve gone miles north towards Venderbight at this point, but that bat’s still following. The crew’s even more uneasy than before. Seems to think it’s an omen. Some o’ them have started talking as if they’ll never make it home. Have I been going about this wrong? Perhaps I need to change tactics. Bring out the fiddles and crack open some of the half decent wine, and get their minds off things. 

Captain’s Journal, 12th November 1863

Helped a bit, but not enough. Had a few days there where none of ‘em seemed too nervous, even when that d__n bat decided to hang itself from the lines and stare at them. But now it’s even worse than before. If it is an omen, I want no b___dy part of it. And if it’s just a normal zee-bat, then I want it off my d__n ship. I’ve been having nightmares. Visions of a great and terrible light, calling out to me. I always wake up feeling like I’ve been cut adrift. Unmoored. If that bat doesn’t leave on its own, I swear, I will catch it with my bare hands and fling it into the zee myself. 

Captain’s Journal, 13th November 1863

The deckhand’s gone. The troublemaker. Last anyone heard from him was last night. He was chattering on and on about how it made sense, and how much he’d miss them. How what made sense? Was he planning on abandoning his post? He must have been, because we’ve searched the ship top to bottom, and there’s no sign of him. No missing lifeboats either, is the funny part. The bat has been circling overhead like it’s restless. I tried to shoot it down. It’s behind this, one way or another. Either it spirited one of my crew away, or its presence drove him to madness, and either way, I’m angry. But the second I raised my pistol, no fewer than three of my officers dove to knock it out of my hand. Said that doing that would be a death sentence on us all. I don’t know if I believe that entirely, but the look in their eyes… I do believe that if I had succeeded, curse or not, they would have thrown me overboard for it. Either way I’d be dooming myself. I stood down. That d__n bat just soared higher. I think it knows it won.

Captain’s Journal, 17th November 1863

Headed east towards Frostfound. Some of the crew have been near-begging to visit there, G-d knows why. A few more of them have gone missing and unaccounted for since the first. I’m worried. And, perhaps even more strangely, I’m homesick. It’s odd, really. I don’t have a home to be homesick for anymore, but I still find myself struck by a fear that I’ll never come home again. It’s troubling. 

Captain’s Journal, 18th November 1863

The bat got into my quarters, somehow. Hung itself from my lamp and just chittered at me. There’s something about its eyes that leaves the hairs on the back o’ my neck prickling, but I know killing it’s more trouble than it’s worth. I remembered the deckhand trying to feed it, when I caught him that first time. Worst case scenario, I feed a normal bat a biscuit and I then have a fed bat that expects me to feed it again later. Best case scenario… Well. Maybe I could stand to have a god looking favourably upon me. 

Captain’s Journal, 23rd November 1863

Things seem to have calmed down since I stopped trying to shoo away the bat. The crew seems more at ease, if a bit more melancholy. They can feel however they like, as long as we don’t lose any more. I worry if any more leave, we’ll hardly be able to zail. Judging by our timing, we should make it to Frostfound by tomorrow. Maybe some zhore leave will do their spirits good. 

Captain’s Journal, 25th November 1863

Headed east again. Not everyone made it back, but enough did that we can still zail at a decent pace. My first mate seems out of it. He was one of the last to come back on board before we set zail again. Said he had something important to tell me. He whispered it in my ear, and then went to his cot and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. It’s called Salt, now, he said.

Captain’s Journal, 26th November 1863

He’s gone too, now. I should have listened from the beginning. I hope that it’s not too late. 

Captain’s Journal, 30th November 1863

The crew’s gone. The lifeboats are missing. Only thing left behind was a note. “Gone home, before we lose the ability to. You should head home too.” I’m alone.

Captain’s Journal, 14th December 1863

It’s been a while, sorry. Didn’t really see the point in writing in this old thing. I don’t think anyone will ever read it. I’m never going to see London again, I think. Least of all because I can’t man this ship all on my own for that long. I’m going East. It feels different, now. I had been drifting alone on this vast, dark zee, and then it’s like a loose gear shifted back into place. My circumstances haven’t changed, but it’s like… Like my understanding of them has.

Captain’s Journal, 18th December 1863

The bat’s back. It had left for a few days, and I thought it had abandoned me. But no, it’s back. I gave it another biscuit. It’s not like I have a crew to feed anymore. Maybe ol’ Salt still wants to keep an eye on me after all. It’s a nice thought, I suppose, to be watched over. When I sleep, I still have those same dreams. Of the light calling out, and the being cast adrift. But they’re not nightmares. I don’t think they ever were. I think they were always it, just trying to say hello. Captain’s Journal, 19th December 1863

I can hear it humming. Hear its song on the currents. I will never go home again. I can feel that loss like something’s been cut out of me, carved scrimshander into my bones. Like an open, bleeding injury. I’ve been without a home for so long, it’s almost surprising to realise how much that hurts. Maybe I just didn’t let myself feel it until now, or maybe it’s only now that I could feel it. Like salt in the wound. Like Salt is in this wound.

Captain’s Journal, 20th December 1863

I’ve gone beyond the edge of every map I have. Its singing is still soft, but it’s getting louder with every minute I keep on zailing. Oh, it aches. It aches. I don’t even have the words to describe this feeling in its entirety. It’s such a lonely god. It’s so lonely. I’m lonely too. 

Captain’s Journal, 21st December 1863

It’s so bright, here. So vivid and green. When did this happen? I am seen. I have seen this before. I dreamt of this, didn’t I? So very long ago. Salt sees me, from its faraway horizon. What is it looking for? What does it see in me? I want to go home, but there’s no home left to go to. No home, no crew, nothing left to hold onto. Just me and my worn old ship, travelling. Why have I come East?

Captain’s Journal, 21st December 1863

It’s silent as the grave, this far out. Nothing to do but keep sailing towards the horizon. Salt’s waiting for me. Well, not waiting, exactly. It’s travelling too. Can’t sit still. Restless. Isn’t that something? A god just as restless as I am. Does it have a home that it can never see again as well? This ache feels like an echo. An echo from a place that has no sound. Can it really be an echo, if there’s no sound?

Captain’s Journal, 21st December 1863 I am not who I was. I suspect that it is not what it once was, either. Nothing starts off this hungry, or this lonely. It’s something learned. Something that has to be honed. Maybe things would have gone differently, if I had listened to its call from the beginning. Maybe I would have known better. Maybe I would have gone home and let myself get rooted somewhere. Or maybe I just would have zailed East even faster. 

Captain’s Journal, 21st December 1863

It calls to me, in its strange and silent way. Asks where I’m going. Asks if I’ll follow.

I call back, in whatever way I can: I’m travelling East. And to the ends of the Earth.

I think that’s all I ever wanted. I think I was created to want like this, and I think this is the only way I can ever be almost content. Not satisfied, never satisfied, but almost content. I think, in a way, this is all it ever wanted, too.

When I’m done with this entry, I’m going to cast this journal into the zee. I’ll need all hands on deck where I’m going, and I only have my own. Maybe she’ll swallow it whole, or maybe she’ll carry it to some new, strange zhore.

But if someone does find this? Against all odds? A word of advice.

If you find yourself followed by a white zee-bat, think. Think about home, and how much you value it. If you think for even a moment that it would break you, never seeing it again, then you turn your ship around and never zail again. For your own good. But if some part of you thrills at the prospect, if some part of you feels like this was what you were always meant for…

Come East. Come and find me. We’ll chase this endless horizon together.

Oh, and one more thing. If you do find this, please throw it back into the zee when you’re done. These words need to travel just as much as I do.

But that’s enough talk. I have a god to follow, and endless zee to cover the distance of.

May Salt look favourably upon you.

I’ll see you soon.

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

"You are Amethyne..."

I decided to start writing little stories about Ridgeside Village too, because why not? This one is about conversation between Madame Maive and my OC Farmer Julian. ⚠️ Warning: domestic violence and angst

_________________________________________

"I must say, I'm very pleased with how you're doing with the farm. You have even exceeded all my expectations, and you never cease to amaze me so far."

Maive and Julian stood on the cliff near the cable car station, watching the horizon as the sun set behind the distant mountains, painting the clouds and the whole land with gold, orange, and bright red colors. In early fall, such a sunset creates a truly stunning and mesmerizing view, a dream for any photographer.

Sonny stood not far from them, also keeping his eyes on the magnificent view, on the beauty that Yoba had bestowed. He dared not interfere with the conversation between the Madame and the young farmer, for he felt it was something very personal. But still he looks at Maive for a moment, like a faithful dog, waiting for her to call him and take orders.

"Thank you, Mai- Madame", Julian quickly corrected himself, remembering how the head of the Amethyne family doesn't tolerate being addressed informally. He was usually shy when he was praised by someone (even though there was much to be praised for), believing that his actions and rich harvest spoke louder than words. And still, Maive's praise was very flattered, for it was hard to surprise noble madame.

Her own offspring can't accomplish that...

"Your hard work has helped in the development of not only Pelican Town, but also Ridgeside Village, and I am deeply happy that you are trying for the benefit of not only yourself, but others as well." The old madam spoke again.

"I want to thank you for that, farmer. On behalf of myself and the entire Amethyne family." Maive looked straight into Julian's multicolored eyes as she said the last phrase, with proud, as if he were her own child for having succeeded in exams.

Julian was slightly taken aback by such a frank admission, and only smiled broadly and sincerely, bowing slightly to Madame. This answer satisfied Maive quite well. "His parents have raised the boy to be a gentleman. Good to know", Maive thought with some relief.

"Between you and me, I'm amazed at how much patience you have with me. A lot of people I talk to usually think I'm callous when I'm not afraid to be honest about them. I thank you for that patience, for all of us."

They were both silent again for a moment, returning to contemplating the beautiful sunset. The rustle of leaves underfoot, the gentle cool breeze, and the smell of mushrooms-Julian loves autumn with all his heart, but after Maive's words, he couldn't concentrate on the scenery any longer. Memories come rushing into his head...

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

It seemed that Aria's crying was never ending and would soon escalate into a more loud, hysterical cry. "Gra- Grandmother..." "Ariah... You're Amethyne, now act like it!"

"Grandmother, stop! Don't say that about our family!" "How. Dare you?!" A loud slap was heard in the huge hall of the manor, and after a second, a shocked Zayne covered his cheek with his hand, feeling his skin reddening and burning. "So many children and grandchildren, and not a single worthy candidate! You are pathetic, all of you." Compared to Maive's cold words, the slap didn't hurt her grandson that much anymore.

"Don't even think about it, Louie! Your last exams had a score of less than 90%, and that's something I won't encourage. You will stay home to study", Louie shifted his gaze from his older brother to his grandmother, and he tilted his head, saying a little more quietly: "Yes, Grandmother. I'm sorry..."

"Living under constant pressure is unbearable." "I miss my parents and my brother so much..." "Ms. Ariah is very stressed today." "I'm such a coward." "Can we ever break this our family curse?! "Your father is just selfish, arrogant - "Mother, stop it!" *Sniff* *Hic* Grandmother...

"You're an Amethyne, now act like it!"

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

Julian took a deep inhale and exhale. The picture of the most famous family in the entire Republic was a very contradictory one. And yet it was these people-the ever-cranky Louie, the ever-busy Ariah, the ever-workaholic Irine and Sonny, the ever-impatient Maive, the ever-condemning Zayne, who was always judging himself for being a coward-they were the very people who had become his first friends in Ridgeside Village.

Grandpa and Grandma wouldn't be friends with bad people. And can you call a person exceptionally bad? It's much easier to look at the world as black and white. Except the world is all shades of gray.

Patience. This world need patience.

"Your grandparents were my best friends. They were there for me in joy and in sorrow", Maive once again raised her voice, catching Julian's attention. Her face expressed an unaccustomed sadness, it was rare for anyone to catch her like this, beyond her usual impassive expression, anger or annoyance.

It was as if the noble old lady could read minds, for she guessed what Julian was thinking. Even after everything, he gave her family a chance to get to know them better.

Just like his grandparents gave her a chance when she was young.

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

"Maive, explain yourself! Our servants saw you in the arms of those two peasants! Do you think that's how a young lady of your status should behave?"

"Mother!", Maeve was surprised at how defiant her voice sounded, "They are my friends!"

"Friends? Your "friends" are always walking around in dirty, filthy clothes like pigs, poking their noses into other people's business and hanging out with those strange men with swords! And you cal them your friends?"

"Don't you DARE say that about them!" Maive immediately regretted her raised tone when her mother quickly walked up to her and gave her a loud and painful slap.

"How dare you speak to me like that?! To your own mother! I put so much effort into protecting you, keeping you safe. I do everything for you. And this is how you thank me?!", Her voice was already breaking into hysterical notes, but she immediately quieted her fervor as her daughter fell to her knees and began to sob quietly, holding her right cheek with her snow-white hand.

"Maive..." The mother's heart clenched at the sight of what she had done to her own blood. But her gaze quickly changed, and she uttered a phrase that had haunted all members of the Amethyne family for generations. Like a curse, like an executioner's axe cleaving the air, making the walls of the old mansion tremble every time:

"Y o u a r e A m e t h y n e, s o a c t l i k e i t !"

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

Following the young farmer's example, Maive also slowly took a deep breath in and out. Her whole life was a lifetime of service for her family, of striving for excellence and sacrificing so much for success, including her own happiness and mental health. The endless darkness of the golden cage of Amethyne, into which rays of light break through only occasionally, allowing them to feel free for a moment.

That ever-annoying farmer and his girlfriend became the very light in Maive's life. Just like their grandson became a ray of light for her and her descendants.

The Madame carefully, on her high heels, stepped closer to Julian, gently took his face and kissed him on the forehead. Poor Julian was, to say at least, shocked - he did not expect this from someone like Maive, how she looked at him tenderly, as his own mother looked at Julian...

"All the wealth of our family is not enough to thank you for all that you and your family have done for all of us", Julian could have sworn that when Maive pulled away from him, Madame's wrinkled eyes showed sparkling drops, like the purest diamond, that were about to run down her face.