#how old were the vessels that died at her hands?

[the-artist-grimm]

Im sorry if you already answered something similar but does the twins ever reunite with Forneus in your au? If so how does it exactly work out, does Narinder, Anthea, and Forneus share custody?

Crimson Angel AU - The Situation between Forneus and the Twins

(Anon, @gerroacarnival  and @xquaserh Putting all these asks in 1 cause oh boy this is a COMPLICATED question to answer oof. I wanna preface this that while I love Forneus just going by the characters personalities/themes of this AU the reunion is not as fairy-tale happy as it is in game)

Anyway-the boys do reunite with her technically, but not in the way Forneus dreamt. Reunions are good in theory, the long lost children reunite with their ‘real’ family, hug their mother, go ‘home’ with her, start life anew, but life isn’t so simple, now is it? It’s never that easy, not when one side clings to the memory of three day old infants and a reunion she'd dreamt of for so long it just became her expectation, and the other side has no memory and complex feelings on the whole matter with this slight feeling that perhaps while their mother loves the idea of them, she doesn't actually love them.

It's messy, complicated, and no matter what, will NEVER be the reunion Forneus wanted. The second they left her embrace, she lost the chance to be the mother she'd wanted to be for them, yet never realize till too late what else died with them.

(Putting this under the cut cause it's longgggg. The Twins and Forneus's story has so little in-game text that it's become this favorite thing of mine to interpret/expand)

The Two Parents

Forneus did and didn’t have a choice to give the boys up. When Shamura appeared, the newborn, extremely premature kits were already doomed to die, so the choice to either let them pass naturally or to allow War to take them as gifts with a potential of reunion was an either damned if she did or damned if she didn’t, situation. And in her grief and desperation, she chose the option that gave the potential for hope. She gave the twins to Shamura, accepted the golden skull, and waited. Waited for her babies to come home, waited as a mother who never really ever had a chance to be a mother-one who works off feelings but no experience. 

Meanwhile when it came to Aym and Baal, Narinder never told them who their parent(s) were. How could he, when he himself had no certainty as to who they were? Though his 7th Vessel, Forneus, had left service specifically because of pregnancy, he had no means of tracking how much time had passed since when they first arrived (it could've been a century since for all he knew), nor any means to confirm without doubt that the black, newborn kittens were hers even once his next vessel gave him the date-he couldn't ask them to investigate something so personal and unrelated to their cause.

Their box held only their bodies, a spider-silk cloth which was their burial shroud, and a note penned in Shamura’s hand. ‘A Gift’ that’s all the note said. No names, no clues, no nothing. While Narinder had suspicions, he could not in good conscious tell the boys of a potential mother out of risk of being wrong-of getting their hopes up for a heroic parent only to be proved that it wasn’t her, or worse, told heroic tales just to learn they were abandoned all along. Vessel 7 was heroic yes, had a sense of justice yes, but during her service her luck had made her grow arrogant, had transformed flirting into a game of hearts and people into a way to get the upper hand-for all he knew, if they were hers, they could've all along been her means of trying to easily get out of vesselship. He just didn't know.

And thus Narinder raised them from there. He tried to use the title of ‘Master’ as a barrier in hopes that, if they did have a family awaiting them, he wouldn't take their place, (it was also out of guilt for being the reason they were trapped) but he also couldn't bring himself to fully shut them out either. The moment their dead bodies healed in the gate and they started to mewl for attention his unbeating heart bled for them, and he just couldn't deny them love because he knew how much it hurt to be without.

The Twins

As centuries passed Aym and Baal were content with Narinder as their 'Master'. He who told them stories of his time above, who taught them how to fight, who fashioned them clothes from whatever scraps of cloth he would get vessels to send-he was all they had and knew. When they felt the time to sleep it was in his paws they curled up, when they got hurt training or got bored it was from he they received comfort and attention. It was his magic which allowed them to age against the Gateway's stasis, it was he who saw their eyes open, watched as they learned to speak and walk.

But that’s not to say neither did think of whoever was left behind from time to time. Baal tried to keep hope that he and his brother were taken-stolen by the Bishops, with whatever parents they’d had having desperately tried to keep War away. Aym, meanwhile, only felt anger, bitterness and resentment, for who lets two three day old kits be taken and sacrificed? Narinder himself simply tried to keep neutral on the subject, not wanting to feed into either side in hopes that'd avoid a heartbreak or the smooth transition to their 'real' kin.

The Lamb

When the Lamb appears and starts to befriend them, it's then the boys suddenly find themselves feeling the same sense of security and comfort Narinder gives them towards Anthea. As the lamb brings them toys and books catered to their interests, teaches them to read, uses the crown to show them the world above and encourage their boundless curiosities. As nights suddenly see the lamb visit in their nightgown book and quilt in hand, letting the twins snuggle into their sides as the three are cradled against Narinder's chest while reading a book, and the boys fall asleep to a heartbeat for the first time. Narinder had always been stability and security, Anthea became tenderness and warmth.

Anthea teaches them what a 'Father' is as well, and the boys realize that's what their master actually is-he's their dad and tentatively start testing calling him as such, and while it's not until just before Silk Cradle they realize it (yet don't call them Baba yet) Anthea's long on their way to feeling like a parent too.

Which then begs the question…what of the parent(s) left behind?

First Contact

Baal still wants to meet them, he's always been curious and just wants to know who they are, while Aym is still angry and wants nothing to do with them. They got a parent in their master, and Anthea's their friend and practically a parent too, so why bother with the ones who abandoned them? Narinder overhears the boys debate over it more and more, and as Anchordeep’s door opens, Narinder hesitantly asks the Lamb for a favor.

He’d heard rumors of a shopkeep she-cat who wore a golden skull, and Anthea had been the first to confirm that cat's name was Forneus. He’d never asked a vessel to do such a thing before, mainly out of not feeling close enough to ever ask such a personal, unrelated to the Bishops, task, but he wants to give the boys closure, and Anthea would happily do anything to help the kits. And thus they're sent out, and in a bit of a side quest work their way to getting Forneus to sit down and just...talk.

She explains her side of what happened, how the boys were born too soon, how she had really no choice, breaks down, and as the cats had been listening in and Aym who's now uncertain feels bad, and he requests Narinder for permission to speak.

“Save your tears for when we meet” is what he says, and that’s all that’s said through the crown.

For Aym it’s an olive branch-he’s sorta gotten an answer as to why he and his brother were sacrificed, though he's not entirely sure how to feel since well...she still gave them up, but she looks sorry so... Baal's eager and happy to hear that they were cared about but is a little disappointed at realizing that she didn't really hesitate despite the situation, but regardless, both are willing to give her a chance. They want to get to know her, and then they'll decide how they feel after that.

They, do not, see her as a proper 'Mother'. Just someone who shares their blood who they want to meet. To then Narinder's still Dad-he's still the one who makes them feel secure.

Meanwhile for Forneus it’s proof that she’ll get what was promised. Her boys are not only alive, but they’re children-they’re still children, so she'll now get what she wanted and more. They'll reunite and she'll then take her children home to travel by her side-she’ll get to raise her dear little babies just as she’d planned, and while it took so long it's going to be perfect.

She's dreamt of the boys seeing and running into her oncoming embrace crying. That they'll love her instantly and had already because she's their mother so of course that's how they'll feel. How could they not? Children ALWAYS love their parents.

The Lamb promises to help her meet them once they’re free, and every visit after, Forneus tries to get the boys to talk again-offers gifts for the lamb to bring to the Gateway, rambles on about all the things they'll do together while the Lamb browses her shop. And...well they're things, at least. Most of the toys she offers are either baby toys or things that just don't interest the boys, and some of her plans are...plans. They're elaborate-taking them to X mountain, to X landmark, traveling here and there and everywhere. Big and grand and...and never mentioning their Dad or Anthea being there.

Baal thinks it's sweet how excited she is while Aym is getting more and more unsure-but even Baal eventually admits that she's a little...loud. Forneus is loud-she's energetic and eager and while he and Aym can be too, seeing it from a stranger about them is...weird. She keeps calling herself their Mama , and calling them Zamir and Delshad despite being told otherwise because apparently those were their names (a fact not even Shamura had been given. Narinder had to name the boys himself). She keeps talking about those three days they were with her, and it kinda feels like she loves the babies she gave up and not them.

Anthea tries to tell her about them, but she usually doesn't realzie since she's busy talking to her babies and not them, it's as if the lamb isn't even there. The boys can't even try to think of trying to talk-she never leaves an opening for them to try. Eventually the boys ask Narinder to mute the crown during the Lamb's shop visits the more uncomfortable it gets.

It's like going to a family reunion and being brought to your great Aunt who last saw you as an infant at your christening. She insists on kissing your face and hugging you tight and going oh how big you've grown sweetiepie and this and that and...and you put up with it because she's family but...well she's a stranger despite the shared blood. She doesn't actually know the you of now-and you don't know her.

Reunion

When the final Bishop falls is when Forneus suddenly finds herself left in the dark. For 6 months she sees hide nor hair of the Lamb, and gradually gets worried because where are her sons? The Bishops are dead, why hasn't she been given back her babies?

(The Lamb had been avoiding her cart during crusades out of both grief and guilt-Aym's dying word of calling them 'Baba'...it broke something in them, made them realize just how much the boys had meant. They had a shattered heart and endless guilt, and having to face Forneus and explain she'd never meet her sons? It'd been too much as a grieving parent themself)

The twins were revived after 4 months but Anthea only finally approached Forneus after 6, and she was too relived to finally hear she could meet them to bother asking what'd happened. Anthea invited her to come to the cult that weekend, and Forneus happily accepted, not even noticing the tiredness in the Lamb's eyes nor the uncertainty in their tone. Even on the day she arrived at the cult, she didn't mind the lamb, not even as Anthea gave her a final warning.  

"There was trouble setting them free…they’re wary, skittish, they’ve been through a lot... I know you’re excited but please be gentle when you speak to them, be calm and keep your distance please they’re so easy to startle."  

Meanwhile the boys waited at the temple with Narinder, who, for the hundredth time, asked if they were certain they were ready for this. Though it'd been 2 months, the toll of dying so traumatically via turning to ash, of being trapped in the gateway, the trauma of resurrection, the fear of being alone without their parents because that's what he and Anthea were to them, Narinder had wanted them to wait as did Anthea. The boys could hardly sleep without at least one of them there with them in bed, were just starting to be ok interacting with other people, could only handle the touch of a select few and even then sometimes would just break down into panic attacks out of seemingly nowhere. They weren't ok, but the boys had insisted. This woman who claimed to love them had been kept in the dark for so long, they felt bad and wanted to try.

They felt guilty for not being ok. Even as Narinder and Anthea repeatedly and gently reminded them that it was alright-that their feelings were valid, that they could take all the time they needed and they'd be right there to support them, the boys had insisted and they just couldn't deny them their choice.

But once Forneus arrived no one got the chance to even properly introduce the boys to her-she just saw them, ran towards them for the reunion she dreamt up, swept them into her arms, and next thing she knew she had two yowling, struggling kits trying to break from her hold. In her excitement and in not listening to Anthea's warnings she'd done the worst thing anyone could've done-she was louder, bigger, stronger, scarier than them, and as the kids managed to shock her into dropping them suddenly Baal was hyperventilating, and Aym was working himself into a panic attack. And Narinder and Anthea, having two months practice in calming them like this, and having long been the twin's safe people, immediately fell into place. Narinder got Baal, Anthea got Aym, and Forneus could only watch.

Could only watch as Baal started gasping for Dad as Narinder tried to get him to breathe, as Aym started sobbing for Baba and practically tried to bury himself in their embrace, as her babies looked at her in fear and clung to someone else.

And then all she can feel is anger. She'd waited 300 years-those boys were hers. Why are they clinging to someone else?

From there it just becomes a mess, she gets into a very loud, very heated argument with Narinder especially for 'stealing' her sons which just scares the boys more, and in a very poor move tries to just grab one of them which prompts Anthea to use a show of godly power and threaten her to get out of the Cult which she does since a crowd has also formed (the Cult was ALL aware of the twin's poor mental state, and they'd all grown very protective of the community's first children despite having to keep their distance because by gods those kids deserved more than what fate had given them).

Forneus leaves angry, and Narinder and Anthea now got two kits who had been tentatively healing temporarily back at square one, and who are now gonna start having nightmares of a stranger taking them away on top of preexisting ones.

I wanna note that Forneus isn't a bad person. She isn't, but she's also not used to things not going her way. As a vessel she was 'Lady Luck', she who rarely died, who always had the upper hand, who would pop curse shots at the Goddess of Famine for fun and be the heartbreaker of her own cult able to flirt and tease and talk her way to whatever she wished. She's kind and cheerful and charismatic sure and she genuinely does want to help people and do the right thing, but there's still this...ignorance, arrogance-that she doesn't even realize is there.

Like how above in Starfall Part 1 she VERY casually mentions how she 'knows what it's like missing her own twins' and 'how 'hard' it must be for Anthea to have nothing of their family to remember them by', but the thing is...she doesn't know. She's so hooked on this idea that she WILL get her boys back that she completely has just ignored the grief that comes with loss entirely this whole time. The way she misses her sons is NOTHING like how Anthea misses their brothers-she misses them like a relative you haven't seen in awhile but will see soon. Anthea misses their brothers because they're DEAD and they know that they will NEVER see the two again, especially now. Like Forneus has not considered how she's lost a LOT of moments with her children. They're still kids yeah but they're not returning to her as blank slates-though physically and mentally 11 they've been with Narinder for over 300 years, that's a lot of time to be without her. She loves them, but kinda more-so the sons she thought she'd get back.

Thus when you've been envisioning this 'perfect' reunion the entire time only for it to not go your way...it's a hard pill to swallow. She gets disappointed/angry understandably-anyone would, but instead of stepping back and realizing she can't fault the boy's feelings she takes it out of the ones who 'took' her place instead, which then turns her into this loud scary bad-guy to the boys.

And Aym and Baal aren't to blame in this situation, like they're kids, and like with my 'great aunt who last saw you as a baby' analogy, it's not their fault they don't immediately love her. She's a stranger-one whom, the more she tried to force interactions via the crown during their imprisonment, seemed to have little interest in them personally and more in whatever children she assumed she'd be getting back. And after that disaster of a first meeting? They don't want anything to do with her she scared them that much.

As for Narinder and Anthea they both feel awful because they understand why Forneus is angry, she only gave them up because she was promised a chance for reunion (though she ignored the CHANCE part of that), but in the same breath Aym and Baal are their sons and they'll take their side first over anyone else's. And the thing is there's nothing that could've been done on their part to prevent this really either.

Anthea telling Forneus the twins had died? Anger, grief, then upon their revival a fierce insistence for the boys to NEVER go near the Lamb or Narinder again, which the twins would've been just as terrified and against.

Narinder not showing care to the kits for those 300 years? They would've gotten attached to him anyway since he was literally all they had, though they might've turned out worse emotionally because of neglect

Telling the boys to wait longer to meet Forneus? She likely would've just shown up on her own within another month anyway since by that point Anthea had just freed Heket from Purgatory and word was starting to get around about the new God of Death so this would've happened but worse.

The only way Forneus could've had the reunion she'd wanted would have been if Narinder never forced the twins to start aging against the stasis. But then there would be two 300+ year old infants, which is a whole other can of worms.

Notes/Explaination

Again I love Forneus in-game she's so adorable and my one of my favorite NPCs to visit, but I also like making imperfect characters, especially parents and their relationships with their children. And while I love the idea of her being this wonderful, sweet, amazing mother, I also like the idea of her being really flawed about it to.

Crimson Angel is about learning to communicate with your loved ones, and in this case, it needs to be her looking at things from the twins view and realizing that if they don't want her in their lives, she has to accept that. She needs to realize that she's not entitled to their love just because she gave birth to them. She also has to let go of the sons she gave up that day-those three day old infants who were perfect little blank slates, and get to know the boys they became without her. She has to realize someone else took her place in their hearts, and realize that if she wants to join them, she HAS to let the boys come to her, and that she has to work on THEIR terms.

She cannot try and force a love if she wants a chance for it at all, and must swallow her pride and listen to others who know the boys better-Anthea and Narinder, alongside the boys themselves.

She'll get a relationship with the boys eventually, but it's not going to be the one she hoped for. She's gotta work on herself first and realize her flaws, maybe get some practice with handling children via unintentionally adopting a certain fan-favorite grave spider kid after finding him all alone, and just...wait. Narinder and Anthea are the twin's primary parents, and while Forneus does eventually get to a place where they're comfortable with her, it's never going to be on the same level, and they all just gotta contend with that.

Boarders are by @/lambouillet

[hypostatic-oath]

I'm so happy you like my ask (this is long overdue).

I bet that the people of Fontaine are very happy because i have been doing nothing but hanging out with the Melusine instead of doing the archon quest(though that will eventually come to an end soon). I also bet that new laws/regulations are being proposed because the amount of wacky stuffs the Traveler and their companions is up to all the time. Imagine you just joined the Traveler's team and your first experience is watching a forest watcher beat up some of Fontaine's local legends lmao (and after your recent post, Childe is seething if he learned of this).

Can i be 🚬 anon?(unless you don't do that here)

Named anons? On my blog? Omg I feel honored - of course you can be 🚬 anon! Welcome :D

New laws being proposed because of the traveler is amazing. It has the same vibe as that gliding law in Mondstadt about taking off using anemo slimes (yes, it works, no, it is not very useful as far as I know. I don't even remember if you get an achievement), because you KNOW there's a story behind it, someone must have tried it and it must've gone very, very wrong, and the wacky circumstances that lead to the creation of new laws would be hilarious to witness.

However, on a more serious note, Wriothesley and Neuvillette would be grappling with the issue of teleportation - how do you arrest someone who can simply just... leave? It doesn't matter how secure a prison is if a bored entity can just take control of one of the prisoners and whisk them away on a whim? Worse yet, since Wriothesley is officially a Vessel, what would happen if an Overseer decided to take control of him and sign official pardons? New rules in the Fortress of Meropide have been implemented - any orders given by the Duke while he is on the team are automatically overruled unless it can be proven that he is acting of his own accord.

I can only imagine how confusing it feels for the newcomers to suddenly join the team and find themselves in the kind of situations the Traveler faces daily... and for the onlookers, of course. "Oh, I wonder who that newcomer is... such a distingushed gentleman, perhaps he's here on business?" "Guys, not to scare you or anything, but that 'distinguished gentleman' dropped a meteor on a crab." "Oh, yes, that huge crab in the-" "No. A regular crab. On the smaller side, even. He just threw a huge meteor at it - didn't even bat an eye. The crab practically disintegrated." "What the hell."

And for those that don't know their teammates - any of the knights of Favonius being placed on a team with Klee know exactly what she's capable of, but someone less familiar with her is about to be shocked. "What in Celestia's name is the Overseer thinking? This is a child, she'll get hu- oh. Oh no."

On the other hand, imagine being a nun-turned-idol, looking to the side to check who your teammates are, and there's the Raiden Shogun standing there as if it's no big deal. A little bird lands on her fingers. She watches it with a wistful expression as it flies away. You look to the other side and see the Dendro Archon chatting with that kind but often drunk bard as if they're old friends. You find yourself in what looks like a domain but soon realise, with no small amount of dread, that you're in the Abyss. At least you have two Archons beside you... Barbatos help you, the challenge has started and there are more monsters than you thought. You're doing your best to keep all your teammates alive - you wouldn't forgive yourself if you were the indirect cause for the fall of a god. So you sing your song and put the hydro circle around your team, but there's just too many enemies, coming from all sides... And then you hear a faint "ehe", and the specters are pulled into a vortex of wind. The Shogun doesn't even need to pull out her signature move, just the swirl reaction the bard has caused is enough. You see him shoot down one of the things with a single Anemo-infused arrow. It dies immediately. He's dealing damage on par with the two Archons on the team. Just what is this bard capable of? Suddenly those rumors about him being Barbatos are starting to seem a little less nonsensical. Surely, it couldn't be true, right? You have half a mind to ask him about it once the four of you exit the Abyss, but as soon as you find yourself outside and able to regain your breath he just gives you a "whoops, gotta go!" and floats away on a wind current you're pretty sure he just created.

Now that I think of it, it'd be fun to imagine how different team dynamics would work - I'll make a separate post for this, but if you've read this far and want to send in asks with your team comps... 👀

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

The Castaway Pt. 1 | Matthew Joy x fem!reader

requested by @tkappi 🖤

Summary: You're running away from Mr. Daws, your adoptive father on Nantucket Island and happen to be saved by a curious sailor. You seek refuge on a whaling vessel in your hopes of making it to the mainland of Massachusetts. The man promises to help you, even if it costs him his job.

Warnings: Hints at possible sexual assault attempts from adoptive father, old-fashioned perspectives on prostitutes, 10-year age gap, mutual trauma.

word count: 4040k

Seventeen- Sjowgren 🎶

“Stop her!” Mr. Daws shouts from the doorway of his store in the overcrowded market. You duck between two men carrying a large basket of oysters, your feet nearly slipping in the deep layer of mud that has only gotten worse in the snowy winter months. Mr. Daws chases you but his rotund belly and smallish legs hinder his pursuit and you manage to put some distance between yourself and the angry fish-marketer. 

“Thief! Grab her, by God!” You can hear the anger rising in his voice and notice that more people turn to inspect the scene. Thankfully, no one tries to intervene, they’re too confused by the scene to do anything. To the people of Nantucket, all they see is a young woman, probably 18 or so, in a printed blue dress holding onto her bonnet as she runs down the market lanes. They look for a thief or a criminal and see none, just a girl. You look like the well-off daughter of a merchant or clergyman in your colorful frock and braided blonde hair stuffed into the brown bonnet. 

“For thee love of God, grab tha’ girl!” The man tries again to rally the bystanders as he lumbers after you, slipping and sliding in the mud. The passing of a cart cuts him off momentarily but you can still hear his voice calling from a too-close-for-comfort distance. You can’t help but smile as you race down to the docks, clutching a cloth duffle of bread, preserves, and personal belongings- some of which you did sorta steal but from your own home. Mud splatters up the back of your legs, staining your cotton pantletts and underclothes but you daren’t stop and incur the wrath of the fishman. 

Your feet scramble in the mud, your boots losing traction. A frightened squeal escapes your throat as you keep running, praying that you make it to the docks and catch a sailboat before the man reaches you. This is not how it was supposed to go. Mr. Daws was not supposed to see you as you snuck out of the fish stall in the market, but he had. Mr. Daws is the man that wishes to marry you, and most shockingly, the man that adopted you a year before from the Nantucket Island Orphanage. He’d treated you well, buying you new frocks, and showering you with kindness until you turned 18… then his true intentions were revealed. He’d only shown you kindness in exchange for your trust. A marriage proposal from the man who by your understanding was your legal father was enough to shatter any trust or affection you held for him. And the things he’d tried to do… you couldn’t stay there any longer. Your only choice is to pay for passage to mainland Massachusetts on one of the many sailboats docked in the harbor. 

 “Thief!” He screams again and you nearly feel like sobbing because you can’t seem to outrun him in the horrible mud. 

“Umph!” The sound of surprise leaves your mouth as you’re jerked to the side by a strong hand. You fall between someone’s arms in the cutaway of an alley and immediately struggle to remove yourself. 

“A thief eh?” 

You look up. A sailor smiles down at you, his hands still holding your shoulders in place. You look over at the busy market and the man follows your gaze, registering the look of fear in your eyes. Without a word, he pushes you into the shadow of a stall and covers any view of you from the street with his body. 

“I hope whatever you stole is worth it,” the man mutters over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on the busy market lane. 

“I didn’t steal anything… well not really,” you whisper back, your voice dipping as you added the last part. 

“I paid for ye!” Is the last thing you hear Mr. Daws scream as he limps right past you and the sailor. The sailor turns and cocks his eyebrow. 

“He paid for you?” His tone is quizzical as he looks you up and down. You don’t look like a prostitute. “Aren’t you a little young?” 

You look at the man for a moment, still in shock and totally unfazed by the man’s intervention on your behalf. You narrow your eyes, trying to understand what the man means and open your mouth slowly to respond but the sailor shakes his hand dismissively.

“No, no it's alright. That’s not important. Are you alright?” He glances over at the market again, checking to ensure the angry man wasn’t on his way back. You release the breath you were still holding and bury your face in your hands with a groan of relief but it’s still too soon to celebrate. Mr. Daws could be on his way back any minute now and see you. He could realize that you didn’t go down to the docks once the crowds of the market faded before the harbor. Your eyes snap open again and you grab the sailor’s forearms desperately. 

“Please, can you help me?” You manage to ask, your heart still racing. The sailor’s brow furrows and he nods with visible concern. 

“I can try, what’s happened? If you are a thief I won’t report you…” 

Your knees buckle randomly and you collapse. You would have landed in the mud if not for the sailor grabbing beneath your arms and holding you up. He looks around for a place to set you but there is mud all around, so he exhales tightly and supports your body weight. 

“I’m sorry,” you squeak in embarrassment and try to stand on your own. 

“Never mind that, are you in trouble?” 

You nod emphatically and glance over again at the market lane. 

“Was that man chasing you?” 

You nod emphatically again and nearly begin to sob for a second time. Your gasps of breathlessness make you feel lightheaded and weak. You lick your lips and try to take a steady breath so that you can speak.

“I- I’m running away. I have to get away from Nantucket. I was going to buy passage to the mainland but I’m worried he will see me and make me go back.” 

“Go back… where?” The sailor tries to follow but you shake your head. 

“I just need to get off this island. I need to get on a ship and go, go anywhere. Can you help me? I have money for the fare.” You reach into your pocket with a shaking hand to withdraw the roll of banknotes you’d stolen from Mr. Daws to pay for a ticket, either legally or under the table. 

“Put it away,” the man nods towards your pocket and looks down at his feet as he thinks. You shove the money back into the safe pocket of your skirt and wipe a tear from your eye. Finally the sailor looks back up and nods. 

“Can you walk?” 

He lets you go for a moment so you can try to stand without assistance. Your legs are weak but the moment of helplessness has passed. You nod. 

“Ok, follow me closely and take my coat.” The stranger pulls off his navy blue peacoat and helps you pull it on over your dress. He takes the duffle from you and when you start to protest, he shushes you with a finger to his lips. “Now take off your bonnet and put it in the pocket of your dress. Put on my hat.” 

The sailor removes his cap and hands it to you. You tuck your hair beneath the lip.

“Good, now come on,” he grabs your hand and pulls you through the edges of the market towards the dock. His grip is tight and reassuring as you both walk quickly towards the dock. 

At the harbor, the air is thick and gray. You can barely see the mass of shipmen working on the docks as they confer with other men. In your strange disguise, you look like a sailor’s wife wishing your husband farewell and indeed, you see wives doing just that as their husbands set off for whaling expeditions or fishing trips. 

“There’s a ship here leaving for the mainland…” His sentence is cut off as you both approach the sailing boat. You squeeze his hand and duck behind a wall of water barrels. Quickly, he realizes what you’re doing and joins you. 

“He must be telling the captain. Wait here.” The man tells you and steps back onto the busy path of the dock. He approaches Mr. Daws and the captain of the sailboat with a casual jaunt in his step. Mr. Daws turns toward the man and waves his hands about his head in his usual animated fashion. The sailor rubs his chin as he pretends to look interested. He pats Mr. Daws on the back and bows to the captain before walking back down the dock. The men don’t notice as he ducks behind the barrels beside you once again. 

“Whoever that man is that you’re running from, he’s forcing the captain to postpone all his trips to the mainland for the next few days. You won’t be able to get on the vessel without being turned in.”

“Oh God!” You exclaim softly and sink down against the barrels, tears spilling down your pink cheeks. The sailor jumps at your tears and holds his hands out helplessly, unsure what to do. 

“Oh please don’t cry! Look, I’ll take you aboard my ship. I stay docked for a few days and in that time, you may be able to board the sailing boat. If not, maybe we can drop you off at our next stop.” The man spoke quickly, his ideas coming to him on the spot. You pause your crying to look at him. You don’t even know who this man is, much less trust him to keep you safe aboard a random ship. But this is what you wanted. You wanted to get away from Nantucket in any way that you could. 

“What’s your name?” You ask softly, wary to follow the man now that your shock has subsided slightly. The sailor chuckles at your question, his smile lopsided. 

“Matthew, but we can introduce ourselves formally on the boat.” 

You nod and wait for the sailor named Matthew to give you a sign that it was safe to move. He glances around the wall of barrels and after a few moments, his hand gropes blindly for your back. Pushing you along by your back, Matthew leads you down a dock and to the right where the larger vessels are docked. A ramp has already been set up and when no one is looking, Matthew scoops you up. You gasp, startled and very uncomfortable as he hurries up the ramp. 

“Pretend you're a sack of potatoes or something…” Matthew mutters between his teeth and you dejectedly comply. He throws you over his shoulder and beelines for the passage leading below deck. You can tell immediately when Matthew passes through the threshold because the air is stuffy and humid. It smells like stale food and mildew but thankfully, it isn’t unbearable.

“We’re almost there,” he whispers as he turns a corner or two. The hallways are dark, only lit every few feet with a lantern. When he finally stops, he opens a door and steps inside quickly. He sets you down gently on your feet and steps back to give you room. You exhale slowly and look around. It’s a closet of some kind, full of extra rope and canvas for sails. 

“You should stay here for a little while, at least until we know if you can catch the sailing boat. Just don’t wander about. This side of the boat isn’t as busy because we use it for storage and for our workshops but it wouldn’t be good to have you walking about…” He clears his throat pointedly and you realize suddenly, that you haven’t really gotten a chance to look at him since he pulled you to safety. His face had completely slipped from your notice all day, as desperate as you were to get away from Mr. Daws. 

Matthew has a grayish face in the pale light below deck, and attractive hollow cheeks below prominent cheekbones. He has an impressive scar above his top lip, splitting his pallet down the middle at a diagonal. He is clean shaven but his hair is unkempt and about as long as you would assume for a sailor. His hair is a chestnut color, lightened from months spent beneath the sun at sea. And his eyes! You draw your eyes up to his. You’d never seen eyes quite like his, so dark blue they championed the color of the sea. 

“Well,” Matthew clears his throat, trying to fill the period of silence that you didn’t notice, “now that you know my name, I think it’s only fair that I should know yours.” He keeps his back against the door, creating a respectful distance between you. You look down at your hands, for no reason really, though the blush spreading across your face may be one. 

“Y/N,” you answer, looking up again. Matthew nods and trails his fingers absent-mindedly down the strap of your duffle bag still slung over his shoulder. He realizes the bag is yours and sets it down. Seeing him do this, you remember that you’re wearing his peacoat and cap. You remove them and hand them back to Matthew with a shy smile. Your body begins to drain of its initial adrenaline as you watch Matthew put his belongings on once again. 

“I’ll be back in an hour or two, and when I come back, I’ll bring you some supper. If another man happens to open this door and see you…” Matthew trails off, his eyebrows pulling together. He looks just above your head on the opposite wall, thinking. 

“What?” You prompt him, apprehension clear in your small voice. 

“I’m trying to think,” he mutters and sighs gravely. “Tell them you’re my sister, blame it on me. It’s better for both of us that way if you’re caught. Besides, you’ll only be hiding here for a few nights at the longest.” 

“Just until I can get safe passage on another ship,” you add with a tense exhale. You try to convince yourself that everything will be ok, despite the extremely strange circumstances. 

As if he read your mind, Matthew promises you, “Everything will be fine.” You nod thankfully and watch as he ducks out of the room. When the door is closed, you hear keys jingling against the door which tells you the door is being locked. A rush of anxiety takes you and you rush to the door. The door to the closet is locked by the time you turn the doorknob. Your breath catches in your throat and you panic. 

Oh God, I’ve been locked in a closet on a ship by a man I don’t know at all. No one knows I’m here besides him and if I draw any attention to myself and someone else comes… Damn it all! 

You think and slide down to your knees behind the door. Matthew seemed so kind and trustworthy… but to be fair, so had Mr. Daws after he adopted you. Your stomach turns. 

The closet has only one window, a dirty porthole, but no lanterns so save the aura of sunlight streaming in underneath the door, the room was dark. You stare at the face of your watch by resting your wrist beside the gap beneath the door. You’d decided to give Matthew the two hours he said he would need to return before screaming as loud as you can. You’d already watched one hour go by, fearful tears falling from your eyes. You have stopped brushing them away because it was straining a muscle in your neck. You’re fairly convinced that you have just left one horrible situation for another when you hear footsteps approach the door. 

You scramble back in time to see the door swing open. The direct light behind Matthew is too aggressive for your eyes, so you blink and shield your face with your palm. You can’t tell if you’re relieved or not to see him. 

“You locked me in,” you tell him flatly. 

“Yes…” Matthew starts cautiously, hearing the tone in your voice. “My belief was that you would be safest if you were locked in.”

“Don’t please…” you ask softly and Matthew finally sees the tears on your face. 

“Oh, child. Don’t cry again! I shouldn’t have locked you in. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m one of the only men on this ship with keys, so I believed this would be the safest arrangement.” Matthew closes the door quickly and crouches down to your level. “Are you alright?” He asks softly and sets down a canteen by your knees.  

You wipe your stale tears and wipe your nose on your sleeve. When you nod, Matthew sighs in relief and pushes the canteen closer to you. 

“Supper,” he opens the lid. You take the warm receptacle and drink the watery broth. “Now that we know each other’s names, will you tell me why you’re running away?” Matthew tries, his eyes watching your carefully for more tears.

“It’s a long story,” you murmur after you swallow some of the broth. Matthew twists his mouth to the side and sits down on a pile of coiled rope, exhaling loudly. 

“We have a few days,” he shrugs and clasps his hands together. 

“Right…” you concede and regard the man carefully, still wary. 

“Why are you running away from home?” Matthew asks again, not harshly, but his tone is strained with fading patience. He’s risking a lot to hide you aboard, a young girl (and probable prostitute) he doesn’t even know. “If you don’t tell me, I’m likely to remove you from this ship.” 

You shake your head wildly and stop him from continuing with an outstretched hand. 

“No, please… I’m just not sure where to begin.” 

Matthew nods and leans back against the wall, listening intently. 

“Um well the man that I was running from is my father, though only legally. He adopted me a year ago.” 

Matthew raises a quizzical brow but doesn’t interrupt. 

“When I turned 18, just a few months ago, he tried to change the um nature of our relationship.” 

“To what?” He leans forward.

“He wanted to marry me.”

“Oh…” Matthew grimaces and scrunches up his nose in disgust. 

“When I refused his first offer, he kept asking but more and more forcibly…” You wring your hands uncomfortably. 

“Did he try to take you?” Matthew asks without thinking of his audience. You narrow your eyes, confused again by his choice of language for everything.

I’m not sure…” you try to answer, not having understood his question to begin with.

“You’re not sure?” Matthew looks pointedly puzzled for a moment before exclaiming and rubbing his hand over his face. “So, I assume that means you aren’t a prostitute?” Matthew crosses his arms across his chest and cocks his head to the side. 

“What?” You gasp in surprise, knowing what that word means. 

“I just assumed when your, eh, father said he ‘paid’ for you,” Matthew shrugs apologetically.

“No!” you lower your voice, “I am not a bad woman. Mr. Daws had to pay the orphanage a certain amount to adopt me. He feels like he owns me now because of it.” 

“I didn’t mean to offend you. Sailors happen to have a lot of respect for prostitutes.” When Matthew sees your mortified face he sighs again and shifts uncomfortably on the coil of rope. “Forgive me, I’m not used to speaking with young women. We don’t interact with many of you,” Matthew chuckles beside himself and gestures to you. 

“But tell me,” he turns serious again, “what do you plan to do when you get to the mainland?” 

You shrug honestly, “I’m not sure. I was going to find a family to take me in and work as a maid.”

“You’d do better as a prostitute,” he mutters beneath his breath, then at a normal volume, “Boston would be the place to go. They have wealthier families there. I don’t know how easy it will be to find a job as a maid, especially without references which I assume you don’t have.” 

“I’ll do whatever work I can find,” you assure him quickly but then pause and add, “within reason.” 

“Ah,” Matthew chuckles at you softly and crosses his arms over his chest again. 

“And who are you?” You drink from your canteen as Matthew looks up at the ceiling. 

“Well, I’m a whaler. I’m First-Mate on this ship, The Essex,” he turns his gaze to the side, leaning forward, as he tries to recall anything else to say. 

“How long have you been a whaler?”  

Matthew chuckles again and shakes his head, “A long time.” He meets your gaze with a sheepish smile, “Probably for longer than you’ve been alive.” 

“I’m 18,” you say though Matthew had already gathered that from your last story. The truth still shocks him.

“You’re no more than a child,” he shakes his head in disbelief and runs a hand through his messy hair. As you watch him, you realize how old he could possibly be. He must be at least 30, you decide. 

“Did you go to school?” You change the subject after a period of silence. Matthew raises an intrigued eyebrow at you and nods. 

“Yeah, yeah I did. How could you tell?” 

“The way you talk… and your grammar,” you stammer, not realizing how intrusive the observation had been.

“Hmmm,” he nods thoughtfully and scratches his chin. Did you go to school?” 

“Some, the orphanage had a good schoolmaster. He was from Boston.” 

“Must have been a pretty fancy orphanage,” Matthew laughs softly and clears his throat. 

“Are you married?” You break the silence again and Matthew’s eyes shoot up to yours. He swallows tightly and you can tell you’ve stumbled upon a sensitive topic.

“I was,” he answers simply. You look down at the canteen in your hands, ashamed that you asked such a personal question of someone you don’t know. 

“Smallpox,” Matthew whispers and you look up in shock. 

“My parents too.” 

You stare at each other in silence, save the muffled sound of waves hitting the side of the boat facing the harbor. 

“Horrible disease. I hear that you go fairly quickly… I wasn’t there.” He moves as he tells you, hiding his emotion with his hands. 

“I was there when my parents died but I have no memory of them, not even their faces.” 

“How did you know how they died?” Matthew runs his hand over his mouth. You bite the inside of your cheek, an image of the communal grave on Nantucket Island springing into your mind. 

“The island kept track of everyone who died from the Pox. My parents’ names are on the list.” 

“How old were you?” He continues to ask. You furrow your brow, trying to remember.

“Just a baby, no more than three years old.” You sigh and look back up at Matthew. “What was your wife’s name?” 

Matthew frowns when the conversation is turned back onto him. His face darkens and he exhales, not liking to talk about her. 

“Abigail.”

You can hear the change in his tone and finish the broth instead of asking anymore questions. Matthew watches you drink the broth silently. When you finish, he takes the canteen and stands. 

“I’ll go now, and I won’t lock the door this time.” 

“Thank you for- for everything that you’ve done for me today. I owe you.” You stand as he had and clasp your hands together against your apron shyly. 

“You're welcome child,” Matthew smiles with closed, full lips. “I’ll come back in the morning after I see about any ships sailing to the mainland. Goodnight.” 

He leaves quickly, before you can say goodnight back. Once behind a closed door by yourself, you realize how dark the room had become. The sun is setting and you can just barely see it through the dirty porthole.

xxx

[procyonloser]

"I'll show you," Adam promised Sera, the woman who had raised him all these years. "I'll come back with gold and jewels, spices and the finest linens."

Sera tried to sit up, but her health was failing her. She'd not been back to the water in far too long, and it showed on her body. She'd grown gaunt, eyes sunken in - not that Adam would ever know the true reason. He'd never forgive her if he found out what she was, not after how his parents had died.

"Adam, the sea is treacherous, your crew is inexperienced-" She tried to tell him, but he was already letting the door to their shack fall closed; he only had eyes on the water and the promise of what lay beyond it. Sera knew better than anyone, there were hands waiting out there in the depths, waiting to grab hold of young men with strong ambitions.

Adam coughed, spluttering as his head breached the water surface. He was trying to find his bearings, but the clouds covered the stars and the moon, and the sea was rough. It pushed and pulled him, crashing over his head and shoulders again and again. The skies had been clear all day and into the night, until the sounds of screaming alerted him. Then, a great crash came, and the eerie silence followed by groaning of wood, splintering hulls.

A streak of lightning lit up the sky, enough to see that their vessel was nothing but a remnant of bow and mast across rocks that should have been easy to avoid. Adam grabbed hold of a piece of wood, trying to paddle in the dark to look for other survivors. He hadn't seen the man he'd bumped into, but he heard him muttering to himself.

"They weren't there, they weren't there, they weren't there, the sirens came, they came, the sirens came and ate-"

Adam shook his head, trying to reach out to him, but silence fell, and when lightning struck again, he saw no one. He cursed to himself, and debated swimming to the rocks, knowing he'd likely get crushed against them by the waves, but he couldn't stay in the ocean for hours. Why had this gone so wrong? What had happened?

The lightning struck again, followed by a rumble, and in the light, Adam thought he saw a pale face not more than a few yards off, stark against the darkness of the water. Adam tried to swim towards it, but something bumped against his foot, feeling like a hand around his ankle.

Suddenly, Adam was below the water, and the chaos of the storm fell to muffles, calm and still.

A face in front of his tilted it's head, looking Adam over. It wasn't until that moment, Adam realized the being had an unearthly glow about it, like the morning star. It was a bone white, with red eyes, smaller than Adam's frame, but it had a long tail, and six red fins spread out behind it like wings. It reached out, touching Adam's face. He wanted to pull away, but he was quickly running out of air. He let out a bubble, clutching at his chest. The creature grinned at him, teeth sharp and in lines of rows - a predator.

Before it leaned in, kissing him, and pushing air deep into his lungs.

When Adam awoke, he found himself on a beach, a port within walking distance. He had no idea how he'd arrived, how he'd survived, but he could only believe it was the work of a higher power - an angel, watching over his immortal soul.

As Adam stumbled into town, shopkeeps on the outskirts of the village looked upon him with shock and horror. A woman pulled her children away from him, and a man boarded up the front of his wares. They whispered as he went past, and none would speak to him, not until he passed an old man, sitting outside what looked like a pub. His face was reddened from drink, and pockmarked from sun and age.

"Son, they'll be coming back for you." He said, and Adam frowned.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Adam asked, brows furrowed.

"The black spot - you've been marked. It'll come for you again." Adam froze, looking down at his body. Black rings of script in a tongue he didn't speak wrapped around his ring finger. "A siren has taken you for her husband."

Adam looked up from his hand, to the old drunken man. "...It wasn't a woman."

"Then," he said with a broken croak of a laugh. "You'll be a fine wife, in the kingdom below the sea."

[desultory-novice]

"Apologies" AU - Masterpost

"Before Popstar, Adeleine lived on 'Shiver Star,' the embittered residents' nickname for the frozen husk of old Earth they were left on after the migration. But she isn't sad, for she has a best friend in her older brother. And he would give up anything to protect her...."

Characters: Adeleine, Noir (loosely based on unused Dark Matter design) / Dark Matter Swordsman, Gooey, King Dedede, others...

-

Note that this "comic" started as a well-received one shot that proceeded to grow into a series. As a result, it's very experimental. Expect random inconsistencies and continual artstyle shifts.

Bolded text are the newest posts

[Apologies AU] -Shiver Star- “Apologies”  “One Sneeze”   (illust) “Summer”   “A Walk in the Snow”   “The Swordsman”  “Wonderful Gift”  (illust) “Damnation”  “Salvation”  “Unstoppable”  “Brightest Star”

-Dream Land 2- “Sibling Reunion” “Big Brother Instincts” “Unsung Hero”  “The Perfect Vessel” “To Protect” “Matter Over Mind” "Darkened Skies" (illust) “Last Will” “Ego”

-Side Stories- "Freeze" "A Cold Hell" "No Friends"

"Honestly, it was all worth it"

"Never Never Land"

-

[Noir Fontaine - Initial Ref Sheet] [Noir Fontaine - Kirby OC Tourney Profile]

-

[Noir's Field Trip]

Please see the above post for links to all Noir content following Dream Land 2. In short, I submitted him to a silly popularity contest and let people ask him questions, many of which served to reveal his backstory and emotional state during various events. It also provides the lead up to Noir's ultimate fate, ie, The Good Ending.

-

[White-Haired Noir] “Dark Matter Painter”  (gift art - how this whole idea started...) "Have You Ever Killed Before?" (reblog sketch - W.Noir is born...) "Why Did You Stop Me...?" (reblog text + sketch - W.Noir in Kirby 64)

“You’re a good knight!” (illust - W.Noir and Ribbon) “The Body Remembers” (illust - W.Noir's scars) "Knight Costume" (sketch - W.Noir and Meta Knight) "My Trauma" (sketch - W.Noir and Meta Knight)

"Like Brother Like Sister" (comic, white-haired Noir origin) "Each From His or Her Own World" (comic, one of various endings)

"Three Challenges Noir Had to Face and One Meta Knight Did" (fanfic - W.Noir and Meta Knight in Planet Robobot) "Cold Air" (fanfic - W.Noir and Meta Knight's first meeting)

"The Little Prince" (illust - Adult W.Noir) "Brighter Skies" (Sketch - Adult W.Noir and Kirby)

[Snowflakes Timeline - cw: body horror + bad end] "I'll Never Leave You" - Script + Sketch "...Zero Three..." - Sketch + Script + Illust "Melted Snow" - Script + Fictional Boss Fight "Null v0.3" - Sketch + Silliness

[Extras - Art (canonincal)] “Ugly Scarf”   (illust - our first look at Noir) "It'll All Make Sense Soon, Right?" (illust - Noir + Adeleine) "You Won't Win..." (illust - Noir's last moments) “Was I A Good Brother...?” (illust + text - storycrafting for Noir) “That’s…Funny…”  (illust - Adeleine's notebook) "Blue Penguin Scarves" (illust - Dedede and Noir's Scarf)

"Happy Birthday!" (sketch - Adeleine and Noir)

[Extras - Art (non-canon)] “Full Regalia” (illust - Dark Matter Blade “Gijinka”)  "No Hands Club" (sketch - incredibly short MariPav Crossover) "Looking Over You" (sketch - Angel Noir he's not dead yet!!) "Hell Branch x Apologies" / 2 / 3 (sketch - unexpected crossover!?!) "Games You Play When..." (sketch - the siblings + Steven meme) "Family Wedding?!" (sketch - the siblings + Raquelle/Rimura) "Adeleine meets Dark Matter Painter" (sketch comic) "Noir meets White-Haired Noir" (sketch comic) "Hell Branch x Apologies Returns!" (sketch comic) (Leads to same post as "...AGAIN" below)

"Ending D" (illust - Everyone dies...) "Sempai Noir" (illust - Adeleine draws Noir) "sEmPaI bLaDe" (illust - Gooey draws Noir)

[Extras - Scripts] “Vestige” (script - Susie + Adeleine) "Evil Science" (script - Meta Knight + Susie) "W.Noir and Taranza + Adeleine and Magolor" (scripts) "...AGAIN." (script - Noir in Dream Land 3) (Leads to same post as Hell Branch Returns" above) "Why Does Life Suck?" (more Hell Branch crossover)

"Re_Birthday" (script/sketch - Noir reflects as Adeleine mourns)

[Extras - Asks] "Warning Sign?" (text) "W.Noir and Meta Knight" (text) "What was Gooey...?" (text) "Adeleine, Noir, and 'bullies'" (text) "Noir as Dream Land 3's Dark Matter" (text) "Dark Matter Painter's Light" (reblog; White-Haired Noir lore) "Why hell though?" (text)

[Shiver Siblings Takeover] (For one weekend, I let Adeleine and Noir "answer" any asks about them. White-Haired Noir shows up too. Somewhat non-canon, but surprisingly connected?!?)

Please Send Positive Thoughts to... Which Kirby Adventure... [w/ Sketch] If You Had a Wish-Granting Clock... Food and Warm Clothes Arrive... [w/ Sketch] A Crystal Ball to See the Future - Noir... [Comic] A Crystal Ball to See the Future - W. Noir [Comic] Have You Been to the Forgotten Land... [Comic] (This ^ one is canon to W.Noir btw!) So Zan Roasted Your Sister Online... A Conversation (?) With Marx [Comic] Thanks for the Fun Weekend [w/ Sketch]

[kurithedweeb]

As it turns out I have a LOT more to say about veils! So now I will inflict these discord rambles I did for @irenes-journal on y'all too.

OKAY SO veils are very commonly seen in worshippers of Irene and the Church of the Matron. The standard devotee veils their eyes to protect them from her divine radiance when looking up to her in worship, which is said to allow her to hear your prayer above that of others because she can get closer to you thanks to how you don't have to shy away from her. These are the most common and the only ones that can be taken off outside worship but some people like those employed by the church or living in church housing don't take theirs off. Members of the church such as priests and nuns cover the lower half of their faces because in the eyes of the public, their word mingles with the goddess's, they are the messengers of her word and middlemen between her and the masses and are never ever to be seen in public without one - they show a seamless united front and it's very scandalous in the church for someone to be stripped of their veil. The High Priest himself is to cover his entire face, for anyone outside his immediate family and lover to see his face is equal to seeing the face of Irene herself, he is her vassal and it's said that should she come down to the mortal realm he might even be her vessel, he has different veils and masks for different ceremonies and tones he wants to convey because you can't read his expression the way you're still able to with other kinds of worshipping veils. Zane is so lucky that he can't show his face because he can so sweetly talk circles around absolutely everyone but there's always something a little too sharp about his smile.

Followers of the Destroyer (illegal divinity :( so they're mostly considered cults) also sometimes use veils that very closely resemble the ones the Church of the Matron use except the eyes are always covered. Whenever we see Shad when was human, there's always a sort of shadow over his eyes, right? Their veils are meant to resemble that, and since it's very similar to worshippers of Irene it also helps them hide in plain sight in cities. They have to be very careful with their ornamentation already, but it's also just a little bit to twist something of their lord's enemy's worshippers into something of their own. Ask me about ornamentation in the Divine Faith sometime.

Veils do sometimes come up in the other Divine Warriors' divisions of the Faith because they're seen as a group under the leadership of Irene. Like, if you're a follower of Esmund or Xavier you might not wear a veil over your face but have a veil that goes over your hands and weapon during certain ceremonies or holiday-specific worshippings. Graduations at the guard academy usually involve the headmaster veiling the graduate's arms while they kneel with their sword to swear their oaths, after which the veil is wrapped around their shoulders or clipped to their pauldrons like a cape. You can tell when someone graduated from their oath veil.

Veils were a thing in Irene's time but they weren't popular until the rise of the Divine Warriors; Irene herself only got married after their ascension to what's basically sainthood and she wore a veil when she and Shad were married so it really got popular after that and eventually became standard practice in Ru'aun to be married with a veil. The tradition of both spouses eventually dies out and sheer veils become fashionable about the time of MyS but really devoted followers of Irene or Shad will still follow the old MCD traditions.

Wedding veils have a ton of variety, they are made special for the wedding day by either the elders of the family or a specialized tailor/seamstress. You can have layered ones, colored ones, shiny, silken, whatever you want, it's your day! The only real rules about the wedding veil are that people should not be able to see your face through it, you need to be able to get your arms out so sometimes the veil is sectioned/has slits cut for the arms, and there is usually a dictated length based on how religious your settlement is. Both people being married wear veils, not just the bride, and different lengths are chosen depending on gender: a man's wedding veil will usually fall in the range of his shoulders to his elbows, a lady's will usually fall in the range of the knees to the ankles, and if you're neither then between the elbows and knees is usually a happy medium. Both parties are veiled because the first person who should see your face when you're married is your spouse. After you're pronounced married, you and your spouse lift each other's veils and that's when you kiss.

Since you don't pass on your veil and you likely aren't getting rid of it, it's usually repurposed into something for the family. Maybe you'll stitch it into a blanket or something to keep it as a record of your personal history. Very commonly, your child's first swaddling will be made from your wedding veils!

[thoundcarriers]

a final explanation to my ghost AU for graphical novel which was teased here. a fair warning, I'm a terrible story teller, but I'll try to summarize everything short as possible, plus a lot of arts down below. ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ as been told before, Charlie and co rummage through the old mall at night, trying to find problems (as usual). nothing out of the ordinary happens, except when she notices someone tall and dressed in a security guard uniform waddling lazily in the dark, but seemingly paying no attention to the kids invading the space.

she calls out to him, and oh how his eyes widen when he realizes she can see him, and even talk to him back.

he immediately recognizes her as his old partner's daughter, which leaves her stunned, as she haven't heard about someone talking about her father in a long time. when she asks the stranger to tell her about himself, or his name, well...

but, as snarky as he is (try inhabiting the same old, crumbling place for more than 10 years!), he apologizes and says he doesn't remember why he's here, as he's stuck and can't leave the place, let alone remember his name. charlie is surprisingly calm admitting she's dealing with someone long gone, and asks Dave if he could show her more of the place, although she warns him that she has friends with her (who thankfully doesn't seem to notice him at all).

he agrees, yet still gets the chance to mock her at the animatronic control panel lmao. he's disappointed to see a daughter of the best engineer he's ever known fail miserably. but HEY, she's not so bad.

eventually, they have time alone to discuss everything. Charlie's eager to know more about her father, who died a very strange way, and Dave has a little hope of setting his soul free or at least remember who he was. to her surprise, he lets her know the first thing is somewhat doable. he needs a physical vessel to roam free and to help her get around the place (which is horribly falling apart). it's pretty easy to arrange, as she needs to track down all the parts of the old spring bonnie suit, which are scattered all around the old pizzeria (it's definitely not haunted), put the costume back together, then invoke the spirit inside by...

that's right, baby! if you want a ghost in a metal carcass walk, just spill a blood or two. who knows why, but Charlie is on her quest anyway, and does everything in said order (my girl is reckless, give her some slack (っ◞‸◟ c))

she thinks it doesn't work ar first, yet...

it does! somewhat excited and dubiously kind, the man's spirit rises up in the clanky costume and tries to fix the parts, which were hastily put together. she gulps at the 7-foot monster, casually moving around and asks how must Dave feel in there.

as it turns out further, ghosts need some rest too. as politely asked, Charlie disassembles him before leaving the place. pale grey eyes in the dark socket die out, and the costume parts peacefully lay in the dusty room, as if they weren't just moving a minute ago. she learns to assemble and disassemble pretty quickly, as she tends to visit old Freddy's place more and more often. she doesn't mind the whole blood thing, she just prays her friends don't notice the scars on her hand. with more information given everyday, poor girl becomes restless, as missed college studies catch up to her too. her ass is NOT learning

Dave proposes that she can take the Bonnie head with her, if she wants to. he still would be asleep, but he is aware of what is happening around. this way he wouldn't be so bored and somewhat can see the world. perhaps, this way Charlie wouldn't be so stressed, too. ummm yea for now this is pretty much it!! feel free to ask anything, I hope I can make a continuation to this if I find the strength lmao. thank you for reading!! p.s. this is NOT a ship. plz be respectful. ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

[lanitalay]

In the dark, a light

Azriel x reader

a/n: lil azzy one shot

warnings: mentions of death, gore and canon typical violence

Wordcount: 1.1k

Masterlist

In a way it was comforting. You were grateful for whoever had chosen a burial and not the traditional burning. The tight box where you lay was plain wood on the inside. But someone had taken it upon themselves to dress you in your most precious gown. The blue velvet was wrinkled now, months of decomposing does that to fabric and bodies. Your hair was dry and shriveled, not like it had been in life. Someone used to run their fingers through those once luscious locks. If you concentrated you could almost feel the calloused pads of those fingers massaging your scalp. 

You were buried deep enough the ground did not freeze, moisture caused the wood to smell like an old cabin you used to play in as a child. The cabin belonged to your grandmother, but that was a detail you could not remember. It had been months since you died. The cause of death must have something to do with the cracked ribs and broken neck. Your body had been laid perfectly straight, except for the slight bend just above your clavicle. It must have been painful, you think. 

Days aren’t something that can be measured in the darkness of a grave. Sometimes you realize where you are and try to remember who you were. Other times you’re not sure where you go. You suppose one day you won’t return from that ominous place. Returning to this worn and wasted vessel became more and more pointless. There were no names or memories, only flashes. But just when you thought it was over, that the final transition had been made, those rough calloused hands would yank you back. Unwilling to let you drift. 

In the absence of light you failed to notice how with each return to the vessel, your body was warmer. Your cheeks fuller, your hair softer, body plump with something alien to this space. Only when a ray of light seeped through did you realize your eyes were working. You could see. It blinded you and on instinct you raised a hand to shield yourself. Choking as you realize the arm responded to the command and a healthy looking hand landed on your nose.

The light got brighter and brighter and shuffling could be heard from above. Then movement. Your coffin, your home for the last… however long was lifted from the soil and placed on a mound of green grass. Muffled voices clouded your ears, overwhelming your senses. Now I know why babes cry when they are born, you thought. Just moments before you were in a state of bliss, nothing could harm you. Now light was glaring, sounds were overwhelming and the feel of being moved around was all too much. Just then you noticed your heart was beating wildly. Your heart was beating. 

There was more commotion outside, the sound of metal and then ripping of wood ended in the lid from your coffin being lifted. The glorious midday sun floods you with its light. Four figures loom above you. All you want to do is go back. Put me back, you want to say. Let me rot. 

Their faces are cast in shadows. They are speaking amongst themselves, you can’t understand what they are saying. 

“She 's alive.” Said as though the male was confirming a mirage.

“She must be in pain, let's get her to Madja.” Another deep voice commands. Then the calloused hands she would feel pull her soul back to this world picked her out of the coffin and held her close to his chest. 

A sense of relief flooded her. He smelled familiar, like her body knew his and had been aching to rejoin him. In an instant they were in a bedchamber fit for royalty, then she got gently placed on a soft mattress. The ancient healer walks up to them and tells the males to wait outside. 

“How is this even possible?” Cassian asked, dumbfounded. 

“I.. I don’t know.” Azriel answered, gazed fixed on the door that separated him from her. 

“You always said you still felt her.” Rhysand points out. 

“I thought it was her ghost.” 

“Did the Suriel say anything else?” The High Lord asked Feyre, still frazzled by the corpse they had unearthed.

“He just said that she was never gone, she never fully made it to the other side but… how long did you say she had been dead?” 

“Fifty years.” 

“Mother above… and she’s your..?” 

“She’s my mate, yes.” 

The door opens and Madja beckons Azriel, “she’s perfect, her memory is fuzzy but I expect her to recover it in time.” 

Then she leaves, he forces his feet to step into the room that used to be theirs and struggles to breathe the five steps it takes him to reach her bedside. 

“Y/n…” He doesn’t know what to do. Every impulse he has is telling him to hold her, to never let her go, to kiss her and love her until the world fades to oblivion. He settles on twirling a piece of her hair in between two gentle fingers. She gasps at the gesture. 

“It was you.”

“What?”

“All this time… how long has it been? I- your hands” she grabs the one that was caressing her hair “they kept pulling me back.” 

“Do you remember what I said before you..?”

He was cradling your head as breathing became more difficult. A rogue Illyrian band had ambushed and beaten you to a bloody pulp. You were screaming down the bond you shared with your mate and hoping to whatever was out there that Rhysand could hear your mental pleas. They outnumbered you fifteen to one. You didn’t stand a chance. When you were sufficiently damaged the leader took you in his arms and flew you to the barren mountain range, making sure to drop you where the rocks were jagged. 

Azriel took too long to find you. “Please, please, y/n stay with me. Don’t go.” He begged over you.

“It hurts Az.”

“It’ll get better, just wait until we get Madja and she’ll make you better.” 

But then you coughed and bright red blood spilled from your lips. “No, no, no.” 

Your eyes were still open, fading. “Listen to me, I will never let you go, I will take you home and you will recover. You can’t- please don’t leave me y/n. Please, please, please.”

Your eyes rolled back by then. It hadn’t been two minutes since he found you. All hope vanished when your head went limp in his hands. You were gone. But the bond lingered and Azriel held onto it with everything his soul had to offer. He would keep the bond alive, knowing that your souls were entwined and believing that death was nothing, if not a worthy opponent. 

“You never let go.” 

[goodlucktai]

sabo luffy prompt if your still accepting them:

Luffy about Ace's death: it should have been me.

Sabo wide eyed and scared cups Luffys face: never ever say that. Don't even think it.

x

It lingers in the back of Sabo’s mind, in the furthest, darkest corners, as persistent and sticky as a spiderweb. 

Luffy is his crybaby little brother, always will be. Sabo wasn’t there to watch him grow up, grow out of childish old habits, so the sight of that precious face crumpling and flooding with tears was familiar—expected, even. There in the underbelly of the colosseum, Sabo’s body remembered what his useless brain had forgotten, pure muscle memory guiding his hands up to catch the human cannonball without missing a beat. The act of it was tried and true, even now. Of course Luffy would fly into his arms, would cling to him and cry. Sabo’s job was to be bigger and stronger and hold him up for however long it took him to feel brave again. 

He might have been afraid to approach Luffy at first, but it was a stupid thing to be afraid of. Anyone else might have had good reason to be petrified of meeting their only remaining family—of facing the condemnation or betrayal or hatred for not being there when they were needed most, for only showing their face now when it hardly mattered. It would be a scary thing, reaching out the thing you had thought lost, knowing that to reach out would mean to lose it for real, but to stay away forever would be unthinkable.

But holding Luffy, looking at him, Sabo’s brain remembered how little he had to fear from this person. His heart opened up, like a flower unfolding for the sun, because it was safe to open and be gentle here. Luffy would never think to blame him or hate him, not for Ace. Not for anything. 

No, instead he would clutch at Sabo’s jacket with shaking hands, ruined chest heaving, and apologize. 

“I was right there,” he sobbed. “He died right in front of me and I couldn’t save him.”

At the time, Sabo smiled, and said, “I’m grateful you’re alive,” and let Luffy cry himself out. He helped Luffy out of his silly competitor costume and rubbed at his sticky face with the hem of his own jacket until the smaller boy was laughing and wrestling to get away. Luffy’s friends were waiting for him, and he had a job to do, so they parted ways not long after meeting again. 

Responsibility was an odd look on Sabo’s little brother, who used to find trouble in every single nook and corner of the mountain they grew up on like it was his job, but not a bad one. And when he ran off, shouting, “I’ll see you soon, Sabo! I swear!” Sabo knew he could pile oceans and mountains and decades on top of that promise and it would never break. 

Entering the colosseum, Sabo’s mind was focused forward—Ace’s fruit was waiting, Luffy was counting on him, Dressrosa was about to become a warzone. He was very good at compartmentalizing, at doing what needed to be done, his mind, as Koala affectionately put it once, like an unforgiving steel trap.  

But it lingered, that spiderweb thought; invisible except for when the light was just right, when the angle was perfect, when Sabo’s mind was clear and he had a moment to himself to breathe and noticed it cluttering up the corner. 

Luffy apologized. 

The chance to discuss it came eventually, when Sabo found himself at the end of an intel-gathering mission with news of the Straw Hats in the waters nearby. He cleared it with Dragon, endured Koala’s smug face when he let her know to go on without him, then backtracked to catch up to the ostentatious brigantine that was already famous in the New World. 

Luffy’s crewmates are a friendly sort, and the Thousand Sunny as a whole is happy to have him aboard. Franky waves him ahead and jumps down onto his vessel to secure it himself, and Chopper and Carrot and Usopp all call out to Sabo cheerfully, more curious about him than anything. He returns greetings as he makes his way across the busy deck, something in his chest easing like a sigh of relief to know that this bright, beautiful place full of bright, beautiful people is his little brother’s home. 

Zoro nods at him once, all the energy he has to spare for someone who isn’t one of his own, then tilts his head toward what must be the galley door. 

“Surprise, surprise,” Sabo laughs, and makes his way to the kitchen. 

It smells amazing, something rich and spicy wafting from the simmering pans on the stove. Luffy is sitting at the huge, scarred table, gnawing on a piece of dried meat and talking with his mouth full, while his skeleton musician strums something unobtrusive and cheerful on an acoustic guitar. Sanji is working diligently on what Sabo can only assume is dinner prep. The dangerous Trafalgar Law sits across the table from Luffy, with a book open in front of him that he appears to have largely given up on. He’s watching his fellow Supernova with dark, clinical eyes, but there’s much more warmth in them than Trafalgar is probably aware of. 

Those eyes flick past Luffy as the door opens. When he sees Sabo, Trafalgar stands, picks up his book and his mug, says, “There’s no way I’m dealing with two of you,” and leaves through the other door. 

“Fair enough,” Sanji says, which is rude, but not unfounded. 

Luffy swallows his mouthful, turns in his seat, and then lights up like the dawn.

“SABO!” he shrieks, leaping over the back of his chair like one of the monkeys he grew up with back on Mt. Colubo, instead of getting up and going around it like a person. 

Sabo is already laughing by the time he catches the armful of little brother, squeezing Luffy tight for a moment before playfully ruffling his hair and tussling with him. Brook the skeleton tips his massive tophat and leaves them to it, but Sanji clearly can’t abandon his multiple stations, even just for a few minutes. That’s all right. An audience of one is more than he could have hoped for with all the bodies currently on his brother’s ship, between his own people and the visiting allies. 

“How have you been, Lu? Staying out of trouble?”

“For now!” Luffy says happily. “I bet our next adventure will be fun, though!” 

His body is battered and bandaged, but he looks a lot better than the last time Sabo saw him, in that little hidden-away cottage in Dressrosa, the night after he and his crew won peace for a people they barely knew. He’s already looking forward to the next adventure. 

Whatever Sabo did to deserve him in a past life, he’s grateful. 

He gives Luffy a push back towards the table, and draws a stool up next to his. The dining hall is cozy, and a cup of something steaming and fragrant appears in front of him the second he sits down. Sanji only hums when Sabo calls his thanks, already halfway back to the kitchen proper. It’s either the worst place to start a potentially difficult conversation, or the best one. 

“I’m here for a few days,” Sabo says, “if you can spare the room.”

“Of course!” Luffy declares. “Always room for Sabo! Sanji?”

“Your new friends left us pretty well-stocked,” the cook says without looking up from something complicated he’s doing with a knife and a fish the size of a small horse. “We could probably feed an army for a few weeks if we wanted to.”

Luffy looks up at Sabo with a glowing smile, as if to say ‘see?’ and Sabo reaches over to shove his hat down over his eyes. 

“Thanks, Lulu.”

He’s glad he remembered the nickname, because just like when they were kids, Luffy is immediately outraged. 

“DON’T CALL ME—” 

“I did want to tell you something kind of important,” Sabo cuts in smoothly, grinning inwardly at Luffy’s flustered, frustrated face. “I’d rather say it now and get it out of the way then hang onto it for my whole visit. And after I’ve said it, if you’d rather I didn’t stay anymore, that’s okay, too. Your ship, your rules.”

Luffy’s expression clears to one of confusion. The sound of Sanji’s knife has slowed. 

“Okay,” Luffy says. “What does Sabo want to tell me?”

Sabo has practiced this half a dozen times on the way here, but it’s still very difficult to start. 

“When we met, back at the colosseum,” he says, “I was so sure you would be angry. I thought you’d hit me, at least. I deserved that much, right?”

Luffy’s brow furrows. “Why would I hit you?”

Taking a steadying breath, Sabo says, “Because I wasn’t there for you when you needed me. Because I only showed up two years later when it suited me, when I would get Ace’s fruit out of it. Because I let Ace—”

“You didn’t,” Luffy says loudly. “You didn’t let anything.” 

“I didn’t do anything,” Sabo replies, wrestling with his voice to keep it even. “I didn’t help you.”

He watched the transponder recording a hundred times. He relives it every time he closes his eyes. The gaping hole in Ace’s chest, the blood on Luffy’s hands, his childish, frightened plea of Ace’s name, the wounded animal sound of pain and grief he made right up until his mind took mercy and shut his body down. 

A nightmare. An actual documented living nightmare. 

And Sabo wasn’t there, because the two of them were strangers to him, and he had more important things to do than wonder about the execution of Gol D. Roger’s son. 

He should have flown to Luffy the second those memories flooded in. He should have turned heaven and earth upside down to find him. Instead he chose to be a coward. 

Robin was kind, more so than he deserved, and the two of them spent dozens of late nights in Baltigo trading stories about that same wild, relentless little person who owned the most real estate in both of their hearts. She filled the black hole inside him with better stories than the one in the papers, sun-filled stories, about triumphs and hijinks and heartaches and unconquerable love. She showed him the newsprint photo that he’d already looked at no less than a million times, of her beloved captain paying his respects to the fallen at Marineford, only this time she pointed out the message on his arm. 

“I want to run to him right now,” she said. “I want to break everything and everyone in my way and not stop until I’m beside him again. But he wants me to wait. He isn’t ready yet.”

Sabo stared at the photo, mindlessly rubbing his finger over the 3D2Y he hadn’t understood until someone who actually knew his brother explained it to him. Robin let him have a moment, her eyes knowing and grave and full of a sympathy he didn’t think he deserved. 

“It’s okay not to be ready,” she said. “Just don’t make him wait too long.”

Now, Sabo says, “I want you to know that you can be angry. You can yell and scream at me and blame me and that would be—it would be allowed, okay? Even if you just want me to go away, or you don’t want to see me for a little while. It’s all on your terms. Just don’t pretend. Not with me. Okay?”

Luffy’s face is blank and Sabo isn’t sure what to make of it. He dares to reach out and lay a hand on Luffy’s slim shoulder, impossibly small for the weight of the things it carries. 

“Okay, Lu?”

“I’m not pretending,” Luffy says, loud and sudden. “I don’t do that, it’s dumb. I was happy to see Sabo, because I thought he was dead but he was alive and it was a miracle. Robin told me you had ameesia so you forgot all about me and it wasn’t your fault. I dunno about that stuff but if Robin said it, it must be true. It would be scary not to remember important things. I bet it hurt a lot when you finally remembered and it was already too late. I bet it was really lonely. I would never hate Sabo or hit him or blame him for that.”

Sabo’s next breath shudders, and the one after that, and he has to bite the inside of his lip hard. When he’s certain he won’t fall apart, he says, “Robin only told you that afterwards. You didn’t know I had amnesia when you first saw me.”

“You’re my Sabo,” Luffy stresses, like Sabo is being particularly dense for no good reason. “I’ll always be happy to see you first.” 

It’s one of those Luffy-isms, Sabo thinks, leaning forward to put his face in his hands. One of those unexplainable, unquantifiable things that so many people hang their faith on. It would make sense for Luffy to be angry, because grief is heavy and horrible and doesn’t disappear into a fine mist just because something good happens. But there are so many things better than anger for him to hold onto instead. He’s surrounded by better things. 

A plate is set down somewhere in front of him and he lifts his head. Sanji lingers after the delivery this time, slouching into a chair and pushing the platter of lemon curd cookies and fresh-from-the-oven turnovers to the brothers’ side of the table. 

Luffy beams and picks up a turnover, but he doesn’t eat it right away. He turns it over in his hands a few times, warm against his fingertips, and begins to shred the flaky pastry into pieces. 

Sanji sits up a little straighter in his chair, as if an alarm has gone off in the back of his head. Sabo is right there with him, because he’s never seen Luffy deliberate with food before, not ever. Especially not something home-cooked by someone he loves. 

“If Sabo is angry,” Luffy says slowly, “he can tell me, too.”

“What?” he says faintly. 

Looking at his hands, at the dessert falling apart into a loose pile on his plate, the young captain tells them plainly, “Ace died back then, instead of me. He might have lived if he didn’t save me from the magma man. Everyone was there to rescue him and ended up rescuing me instead. Because I wasn’t strong enough. I’m glad I didn’t die, because I still have my nakama, and we still have promises to keep. But I bet that some people, who fought in that war for Ace, who loved him and didn’t even know me, wish that it had happened differently.” He still doesn’t look up, expression unreadable as he burns the tips of his fingers on the hot rhubarb filling dripping from the mangled turnover, when he adds, “Sabo loves us both, but he loved Ace longer.”

If Sabo had been stabbed with sea stone, it would have hurt less. If he had burned with the Grey Terminal, or drowned at sea in front of the Celestial Dragons, it would have hurt less than this. 

He’s on his feet before he’s aware of moving, seat tipping over and rolling away behind him. His heart is racing, he can feel the steam start to lift off of his superheated skin as Ace’s fire inside him begins to react.

“Don’t say that,” he says, too loud, almost a shout. “Don’t ever say that. Don’t even think it.”

Luffy finally looks at him. His mouth is set but his eyes are wide, and Sabo may have twelve years to catch up on, may have failed both his brothers at every possible turn up until now, but he still knows what his little brother’s face looks like when he’s seeking reassurance.

How many thunderstorms and bad dreams did they weather together back on Goa? How many times had tiny hands shaken Sabo awake, only for him to look up into these eyes exactly? 

Back then they were both children, so Sabo would make fun of him, or he would groan and roll his eyes, and they would have a hushed argument about it, but ultimately Luffy would fall asleep safe under a shared blanket, the thunder or the nightmare the farthest thing from his mind. Sabo never regretted it, even when Ace laughed at him in the morning. 

The body remembers. He’s reaching automatically, and holding Luffy’s face in his hands. He isn’t afraid of burning him, because Ace’s fire would never burn him. 

“I wouldn’t trade you for anything,” he says. “Not for anything. It doesn’t work that way. If I ever had to choose one or the other, you or him, I’d kill whoever made the rules and choose you both.” Unspoken, forever unsaid, is the knowledge that he and Ace would always put Luffy first, because that’s an older brother’s prerogative. Luffy wouldn’t understand it, so Sabo simply says, “I loved Ace longer, but I don’t love him more.”

Luffy nods, his eyes glassy, the firm line of his mouth beginning to wobble. Sanji snatches the plate and the messy turnover scraps away with a bitten-off sound, stalking back into the kitchen. 

Reeling, feeling somewhat as if he’s backing away from the perilous edge of a five-hundred-foot fall, Sabo releases Luffy only to drag him forward by the shoulders into an embrace instead. Luffy scrambles to his feet to return it properly, wrapping rubbery arms around Sabo that loop a few extra times. Sabo buries his face in the top of Luffy’s head and breathes him in; sea-salt, warm grass, everything touched by sunshine. 

My brother, he thinks, with all the same wonder as the first time he thought it. 

“And if you ever say anything like that ever again,” he goes on, “I’ll fly here from wherever I am in the world and kick your ass.”

“You can try!” Luffy says, leaning back to look up at him. He’s beaming, untouched by everything he’s lived through—still, in part, that same stubborn little kid that Sabo and his best friend first met in the jungle, who decided they were all better off together. “I’m stronger now. I could probably beat you this time!”

“You think so, huh?”

“No fighting in my kitchen, idiots,” Sanji snaps, striding back to the table with a big dessert bowl in hand. “Do I look like I have time to babysit? If you’re gonna wrestle, take it outside.” 

He all but slams the bowl in front of his captain, revealing the deconstructed turnover folded into fresh vanilla ice cream and drizzled with caramel. It’s the most aggressive display of affection Sabo thinks he’s ever seen, and he grew up with Koala. 

“Ooh, thanks Sanji! I would have eaten it the other way, too, but your ice cream is the best!” 

“Of course it is,” the chef says shortly. “Eat it before it melts. In fact, go eat it in front of Zoro, it’ll be funny.”

“Sanji’s weird,” Luffy says, full of good cheer, but he hauls the bowl out the door with him and makes a beeline straight for where he somehow knows his first mate will be. “C’mon, ‘Bo, I want you to meet Sunny!”

He lets Luffy get a head-start out the door, listens to him join the rest of his crew on the deck, their voices rising together gladly. He picks up his chair and rights it, scooting it back into place at the table. He just needs a minute.

“None of us were there, either,” Sanji says abruptly. “We all wish we were. Would’ve given just about anything to be there with him. But by the time we got the news it was too late.” He crosses his arms, leans back against the counter, and says, “You can imagine what a failure that felt like. Leaving our captain out to dry like that.”

“He would never hold that against you,” Sabo says immediately, knowing the truth of it in his blood and bones.  

Sanji nods, looking Sabo in the eye as he agrees, “No, he wouldn’t.” 

[itfsbdkghnluvr]

𝙲𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝙴𝚡𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜

⠴⣤⣀⣀⣀⣠⣤⣶⢛⠛⠛⠛⠲⢦⣄⣀⣀⣀⣤⡶⠞⠛⠛⠛⠛⠶⣤⣄⣀⣀⣀⣤⣶⠞⠻⠛⠛⠓⠶⣤⣀⣀⣀⣠⣴

pairing: fushiguro megumi x itadori yuji

raiting: mature

summary: set in new york city, yuji itadori, a street dancer, and megumi fushiguro, a reclusive street artist, are both part of underground movements fighting against systematic oppression and social injustice. they cross paths for the first time, and with their teams backing them, they confront the harsh realities of activism while exploring their identities and love in a city that never sleeps.

tags: street dancer!yuji, street artist!megumi, new york city au, aged up characters, activism/politics, japanese-american characters, no curses, mutual pining, slow burn, strangers to lovers, musical references, hurt/comfort, angst and feels, not canon compliant, dual pov, no smut, past geto suguru x gojo satoru, minor choso x yuki, latino aoi todo

warnings: graphic depictions of violence, alcohol, marijuana, profanity, implied sexual content, referenced child abuse, illegal activities, implied nicotine dependence

word count: 23.7k

status: ongoing

a/n: inspired by another work tagged in the beginning notes ⠴⣤⣀⣀⣀⣠⣤⣶⢛⠛⠛⠛⠲⢦⣄⣀⣀⣀⣤⡶⠞⠛⠛⠛⠛⠶⣤⣄⣀⣀⣀⣤⣶⠞⠻⠛⠛⠓⠶⣤⣀⣀⣀⣠⣴

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

more chapters TBA

⠴⣤⣀⣀⣀⣠⣤⣶⢛⠛⠛⠛⠲⢦⣄⣀⣀⣀⣤⡶⠞⠛⠛⠛⠛⠶⣤⣄⣀⣀⣀⣤⣶⠞⠻⠛⠛⠓⠶⣤⣀⣀⣀⣠⣴

2012

The first time Yuji interfaced with Vessel and felt his spark was after his parents died in a car accident when he was only eleven years old, giving his grandfather custody of his childhood. 

The old man wasn’t an affectionate person, but still provided the boy with everything he needed and more. 

“Feel free to call this your home from now on.” He said. 

When the kid cried and asked if there was anything he could do to bring his parents back, his grandfather wouldn’t give him a tissue to caress his cheeks flushed with tears or warm him with the most sincere hug, instead he would take his hand and lead him to the old and yellow walled location that was the living room. The place smelt like smoke since the first day he put his foot into the house, but he supposed it was because Wasuke would lit and smoke a cigarette at least five times a day. Here, he let Yuji sit on one of the two big couches put in the opposite corners of the space and brought him a pen and a sketchbook to make him lose himself in it. Initially Yuji was really confused on what he had to do with the objects he was given and with what his grandfather had meant. The old man simply responded: “Let the ink guide you.” 

And so he tried. 

Eventually he stopped asking questions, despite the still present and lingering pain he felt, and started going to the couch by himself. 

In the beginning the lines he drew didn’t make any logical sense. They were only strings of blue ink sprayed on a white surface, but with time passing they started to grow on whatever his mind suggested to him, which wasn’t always what you’d expect a child to represent. Sure, there were airplanes and rabbits, but Wasuke started noticing how repeatedly Yuji drew explosions. 

Red, yellow or blue and green bursts would be the subjects of the boy’s art and expression. 

His grandfather never gave him any type of observation or remarks on it, only intense staring. 

Yuji eventually got used to that too.

Eruptions and tinted gleams stopped making an appearance when his hand ceased to follow geometrical and sharp movements to pursue a more loose and soft pace, giving another meaning to it all. 

The eyes were first, then the face shape and the nose, until he was looking at his mother’s face. 

She didn’t look realistic. Not enough. But Yuji had somehow felt her again, after such a long time to his perception. 

Everytime the pen was in his hand, it would navigate through the paper and paint it in her image and likeness. 

He gave up.

Up till dance.

continue reading on ao3.

[rederiswrites]

Well, today I had the entertainment of having a dental hygienist schedule me for my next cleaning to make sure that she was the one doing the cleaning, so that she could hear "the end of the story". It was definitely a uniquely entertaining tooth cleaning.

You see, I got a message from Jacob while I was in the waiting room, telling me that... Well, the situation with my mom, who lives in our basement and is causing us problems I don't really need to get into, had deteriorated even further. So when the hygienist went to take my blood pressure, I was like, "oh actually, it might be really bad right now, cuz I just got upsetting news, don't worry about it." And then it was, in fact, fairly terrible. It's always been great before, and was great in their records, so we called that one a scratch.

But naturally she was curious to know what had my blood pressure through the roof. Presumably if I'd brushed it off she'd have respected that, but I was like, hell, why not, it's some pretty wild gossip. So I told her the basic outlines, and actually it was good for me, because at some point I'd really started to give my mom a little too much credit, trying to keep the situation peaceful. The hygienist gave me a fresh perspective of like, "wait so why is that even a problem for her?" And at a couple points there seemed to be surprising parallels with her life. So when I was done, and hopefully less likely to pop a blood vessel, I said, "Well I gave you the goods, I think you'll agree, so fill me in on your story!"

Because after all I was about to have her hands in my mouth for fifteen minutes, so my turn with the talking ball was definitely over.

She's like, "Alright, but fair warning, this might be more uncomfortable for you than me." And naturally I say something to the effect of, "Oh nah I'm cool with most things", and she gets to work.

"So ten years ago," she begins, "my husband died."

Me: *indistinct noises of shock and dismay* What's that one Twitter thread--"I know, classic start to a funny story."

Anyhow, short version, her husband died, she had a two year old to take care of, and she was working as a social worker and feeling like she couldn't take another day of it. So she quit her job, sold her house, moved back in with her parents (she got space in the unfinished basement, the baby got her old bedroom) and trained to become a hygienist. It certainly hadn't been her plan to still be there ten years later, but hey, she had help with the kid, he comes home to his grandparents every day instead of her scrambling to find a situation for him until she gets off work, and she feels spoiled to have her mom cooking for her. It's not perfect, but the way she sees it, it's been much better this way for her son.

So now she's gotta wait six months to find out if we get a mediator and how we settle the situation. Which I guess means I gotta actually settle it. God I hope.

As we were saying goodbye, I said, "Wait, I didn't get the punchline. Are you happier as a hygienist?"

"Oh. Oh yeah. Absolutely."

[the-artist-grimm]

Crimson Angel AU Overview - The Lamb, Anthea

Crimson Angel AU, or better viewed as ‘Blood Soaked Angel AU’, is a Cult of the Lamb AU based around the Lamb, Anthea, a seemingly kind, friendly, and optimistic person just eager to help. Yet in reality, much of their actions stem from a mix of guilt over surviving, and a lingering desperation to cling to the way they were raised-to put everyone else’s needs above their own and to bury any negative emotion out of fear of being ‘selfish’. They are an 'angel' eager to help anyone in need, even if that means they bleed themselves dry. The main themes of the AU are learning to communicate and express your emotions and needs to your loved ones, themes of how negative family dynamics can affect a person, and letting go.

Background of the Lamb

Lamb’s Family Overview 

Prior to becoming a vessel, the Lamb was but an older sister, the eldest child of 4 raised with the understanding that in a time of genocide and strife, there was no room to be ‘selfish’. That with Papa serving as the village's supply runner, it was Anthea's job to help ease Mama's burden at home, especially once the twins Lindel and Garrick were born when the lamb was but 4. The first-born was the one meant to handle the burdens of growing up to soon, so that at the very least, the other children could play a little longer. Anthea was to be the example, and all her things were to share. Nothing was ever truly hers because it was better to pass things down, and complaining about it would be selfish when their village was already just barely getting by, as well-hidden from danger as it was. It was lucky that sometimes Papa would take her with him on trips to teach her the routes, though at the time, Anthea never understood why he looked so sad when asking if things were too much back home. Since after all, what was there to complain about? The lamb was alive and could help out her family-that was enough.

Even as Papa died when she was 8 and that left Anthea no choice but to take up his mantle (no one else had the courage to do the same). Even as two brothers became 3 only a week after his death and Mama suddenly needed help more than ever, it was fine. It was fine because that's just what big sisters had to do and she could handle it.

It was the older sister’s job to handle it.

Just as it was the older sister’s job to keep everyone safe, at least until after one standard, uneventful supply trip at age 12, Anthea returned to find that the entire village had been razed to the ground, with not a single person nor body left behind. There was only blood mixed with the ashes of her home, and scraps of cloth that looked so, so similar to what the boys had been wearing just before she'd left. Even after weeks of wandering a kindhearted rat named Ratau finally found and took her in, Anthea was still an older sister. An older sister who had failed, and was now left with this void of purpose. And thus she clung to that old title-clung to that role of self-sacrifice and bottling things up. Because that was her job, and that was all she knew how to do. The boys deserved to live more than her-they were so, so young she'd been 12 they'd had so much more life to give than she, and thus she knew damn well that she better not complain because of that.

The God of Death

Whilst in Ratau’s care, the lamb at first was just going through the motions. Never crying, but not quite settling in either. That was until Anthea came across a collection of books left from Ratau's time as vessel. A collection of books about a fifth bishop, a kind bishop, a God of Death who greeted the departed with gentle hands and soft words, walking with them before seeing them across the Threshold to what lied beyond. A god so unlike the cruel, merciless bishops the lamb had known of, that for the first time in weeks, the lamb felt at ease. If those books were true, then someone kind was there to greet her family after they faced the most brutal of deaths, and though that god was chained now, that just meant he deserved Anthea's worship even more. She created a little alter beside her cot in Ratau’s shack and would prayed nightly to him, then spent her days helping Ratau around the house, learning how to defend herself from heretics from his friend Shrumy, learning how to survive via making potions from Ratau's husband Flinky, how to set traps and barter from another friend Klunk with his buddy Bop, all while secretly awaiting the day she would meet this kindly god, since as much as she enjoyed this life with Ratau and everyone, it was one lived on borrowed time.

Execution

The Lamb faced execution at age 26, and it was a death she welcomed as it was a trade for Ratau. The two had been careless whilst walking home one afternoon and were jumped-a lamb and a former crown-vessel were fine prizes to have, and Ratau was injured during the chase. Having long accepted that she was meant to die, Anthea simply picked up her sword, drew the heretics away, and prayed that her father figure had escaped, knowing that so long as he lived, that would be enough. And yet when the axe fell and Anthea died as the last lamb, the god she finally got to meet wasn’t quite like that of the books and stories she'd managed to get from Ratau. He of Death was tall and grand-with glowing red eyes beneath a dark veil, yet he was shackled in place by bloodied, iron chains, with his dirty robes torn and stained. His arms were stripped down to bone, smelling of rot, and worst of all-though he appeared to hide it as she was beckoned to approach, he was in clear pain. That kindly god she'd grown to worship was chained in such a dreadful state and in pain, and to Anthea's horror-he wasn’t alone. Two kits just barely in adolescence were there by his sides. Two kits whom were black cats just as he was, which made the Lamb wonder how could the bishops be so cruel as to not only chain their kin, but to lock his children with him?

(They had thought the twins his biological children then, but even after learning the truth later, it was clear that regardless of blood the boys were his)

When asked to built a cult in his name the lamb accepted it without hesitation. She had survived her village where she should have died, and even after dying for Ratau, here she was being offered to live again where someone else deserved it more. If this is what her god ordered, then this must be why she lived.

The lamb would fight and die so long as it meant the betterment of someone else's life.

Bishops Arc

Anthea’s time as vessel was a mix between managing the cult and continuously being drawn back to the Gateway by the image of the children, Baal and Aym. Those two little boys who brought back memories of her own little brothers, yet were also two little boys so unlike Garrick and Lindel, that didn't seem to know how to act as kids... Unable to shake the instinct, the Lamb began to try and interact with them whenever she came to report to TOWW, yet each time the boys seemed startled at even a simple hello. What finally broke through the ice was giving the boys a book she had read to her own brothers as a child-and at learning the two couldn't read, offered to teach them how as well.

Yet through befriending the kits Anthea also began to break through to TOWW as well-the god's melancholic, stoic mask gradually cracking as he questioned their reasonings. Why bother with the kits? Most vessels ignored them. Why ask if he needed anything for them or himself besides the Bishops dead? He could manage just fine. Why offer to show him the world via the crown? Why try to talk? Why waste the time? Why do any of this that was not required? Did they wish something to gain? Anthea's reply of simply wanting to make his and the kits more comfortable only seemed to just confuse him more, and it made them sad.

(Which ah, wasn't that something? Them...He Who Waits and the kits helped them realize that. For so long 'she' sometimes didn't feel right, even as a child, but Anthea had always ignored it since there was never the time and more 'important' things to worry about than their own discomforts. It took the three's help to realize that 'he' and 'they' were options too, and that gender could be fluid)

Seeing him think simple kindnesses with no strings attached was unthinkable hurt the lamb. It hurt them to realize that someone being kind to him just to be kind was rare.

In the same vein TOWW started questioning them on other thing too. Why did they awake screaming from nightmares, why did they hide when they were hurt? Why did they seem so, so set on pleasing everyone, yet just as set on ignoring themself?

They started balancing the other out-Anthea would call out on TOWW being unkind to himself, and he the same in turn. A friendship, it seemed, of two people who understood and saw the other's plight. Gradually Anthea's heart started to flutter with every visit, and after constant nightly deaths kept scaring the cult, they start talking to him via the crown long into the night till falling asleep, needing his voice to sleep in peace, but that was normal for friends, it was easier to talk at night and they just had so much to say. And the boys-the boys were there too, such sweet, gentle kits. Seeing them learn how to play, how much they adored their father-seeing such a happy little family despite the cruelty of the situation...freeing them would be worth everything.

Yet in the back of their mind though the lamb couldn't help but wonder-why did the Bishops chain their brother? TOWW's only answer was that they hated him, and yet...Leshy died with a look of resignation on his face. Heket died cursing herself. Kallamar died calling himself a failure of an older brother-so why? How could anyone resent their own kin so much?

(The Garrick and Lindel had destroyed their orginal copy of the same book they'd given Aym and Baal, once. Papa had given it to Anthea shortly before his death, a rare, precious type of gift to find with books so rare, and strictly had told everyone that no one else was to touch it-that it was all hers alone. Yet the boys colored all over it during Anthea's second time running Papa's routes, when Mama was too busy nursing baby Oliver to realize until it was too late.

Yet Anthea had just smiled and said it was alright, that the boys were 4, that they didn't know better, even as they wished to scream themselves hoarse.

A big sister can't resent)

As Shamura's domain came in line however Anthea began to reminisce. The anniversary of their family's loss have come up and...and it had been a long time since they visited, hadn't it? Nearly 3 years a vessel, plus the 14 years since that day, they had been 12 then but were nearly 29 now, and they finally had the strength to go back without dying so...they asked TOWW tentatively if he could accompany them somewhere via the crown, and without hesitation he agreed. They took him there with a bouquet of flowers in hand and...and they just broke.

They failed...They failed....They failed. Their family was dead because of them, weren't they? They must’ve done something, Anthea could’ve saved them had they gotten home sooner, or maybe they weren’t as careful coming or going and that’s why they were gone. For the first time the Lamb broke down, and as they swore that they’d get him and the kits out-that even if it took their permanent death they were getting his family out, suddenly their god-their friend was telling them no and to never think such a thing again.

The One Who Waits told them that either he was leaving the Gateway with them by his side or he wasn't leaving at all, and for the first time...Anthea was first. He was willing to stay there if that meant they could live (it was likely a figure of speech they assumed but...but he'd waited so long for his freedom. Yet he refused to hear about leaving without them. No one...one had ever said something so...selfless to them of all people before). Something squeezed inside their chest and ah, the realized it now, that’s why they were so open with him. Why they so desperately want to talk to him, be near him, to free him and his kits. They had fallen in love, hadn’t they?

‘Either you leave this place at my side or I don’t leave here at all. You’re leaving here with me’ 

They…they wanted that. For the first time in their life, Anthea wanted that. That selfish, selfish little desire to live freely, to live with someone-to do what their kind and their brothers never could, to make a choice and have something of their own, they wanted that and if their god wanted that too then maybe...maybe it was ok.

TOWW stayed with them via the crown till their tears ran dry, then gently pushed them to go home-home to Ratau and their teenhood bedroom and cot, telling them that the cult could manage a night and that they should go see their adopted Dad and Pa and not be alone on this night.

And thus left to their thoughts Anthea started to think. In sheep culture it was tradition to use your own wool to weave a sash for your beloved, as a show of devotion and an oath of commitment, and often given as a sign of courtship or a proposal. TOWW's words weren’t romantic, they couldn’t have been romantic, but that was alright, Anthea didn't mind. This was just to be a symbolic promise to him and themself-they were going to live, and live with him.

The Betrayal

From there by day they were taking on Silk Cradle, and by night, sneaking off to their old loom at Ratau’s with the crown’s eye turned away-a request for privacy their god always honored, to work on their gift. They usually spoke with TOWW before falling asleep, but he seemed to buy their excuses as to why they couldn't-that they were helping a follower, needed some more rest, had other things more imperative to do as sorry as they were, and as much as they missed their talks they wanted this sash done before he was freed.

During the cradle Shamura would ramble on about betrayals whenever they appeared and the Lamb would ask again how could someone ever betray their own kin-Shamura would spat that the lamb didn't understand what it meant to be the eldest sibling, and the Lamb always would reply that they did before the god would disappear. 

The sash was completed a week before Shamura finally fell, and with favors cashed in to ensure they’d be able to get their god, no, Narinder alone enough to give it to him once freed.

(Shamura had said his name the first they appeared in the Cradle. Anthea had died shortly after, and when calling TOWW Narinder in the Gateway it had put such a sweet, flustered look of surprise on his face that they made sure to do it again and again until he scooped them to dangle them upside down out of mock frustration, cracking a smile as the Lamb had hung laughing and squirming before he placed them back down.

It had felt so wonderful to say, to make him smile like that-they loved him so much that it was the closest they'd ever let themself get to saying an 'I love you')

When stepping into to the gateway for what should have been the final time, Anthea barely had a moment before two kits had barreled in for a hug they eagerly returned-knowing that their boys finally were going to come home, that Narinder was coming home with them-but as he called the two back and the Lamb forward something...something felt different.

It had been a week since they last talked to him or saw him, now that they though about it. He seemed so…so sad for a moment before his expression shifted.

“Vessel…” he had said in a voice, so, so unlike him. So unfeeling, so cold. “I relinquish you from your service to the Red Crown. Return it to me, and embrace the end that awaits. With this sacrifice of my most devoted follower, I will be freed. Approach, and lay your life down at me feet”

Anthea had been stunned. The kits, too, stood in shock. Then came the rattling of chains, then two cages dropping down-filled to the brim with their friends, their followers, Ratau and Flinky- (Dad and Pa had been at the Cult to finish setting up. Anthea had spent the remainder of the week after Shamura's death prepping everything, but their perfectionism had taken hold. The rat and snake had to practically shove them onto the dais they were so nervous to go)

Just what was he talking about? Sacrificing themself...what?

“You who plans betrayal has lost the right to your life. I know of your plan to usurp power, and will not be chained again.”

Betrayal, usurp? Since when...where did he ever get a horrible, unthinkable idea?

Even the kits tried speaking up and asking just what he was saying-if he was ok? What was happening???

(Their heart felt like it was cracking within their chest-)

Narinder hesitated a moment, then, ordered Aym to return to his side, and for Baal to fight the traitor. All three looked at each other in shock, and when he asked again, hesitantly fell into place.

"We'll just...just spar-" Baal had whispered as they parted. "He hasn't been acting himself lately...maybe that'll snap him out of it?" Anthea didn't really get a chance to ask what he meant, because Narinder ordered them a third time.

The blows they traded were meaningless-light parries of sun-spear and sword, evenly matched. Anthea had sparred with the twins countless times before, the boys knew their rhythm just as much as Anthea knew theirs, so it was easy to avoid any lethal hit. It was easy, until Baal unexpectedly threw his weapon the other way to knock Anthea's balance off, and leapt right into their oncoming slash. Red blood appeared over his chest- red blood VERY much splattering as an artery would. Blood that then roared in Anthea's ears as they caught him falling without even realizing it, with Aym bolting to their sides.

He was fading...he was saying something...he was fading, he was-he was ash. Black ash that fell from their fingertips and blew away in the wind. There one moment, gone the next.

They...they killed him.

Before Narinder or anyone else could say anything Aym's magic was suddenly surging-with Anthea staggering back on instinct from the fiery heat.

"If you want us to fight then we'll fight!" he raged, and Anthea was dodging.

Ash on their fingers, blood on their clothes-they refused to fight, started begging Aym to stop, to calm down, he was going to hurt himself calm down-but nothing could get through and when a spell was suddenly hurled at the cages Anthea was too overwhelmed to think of the consequences as they just threw up an ice curse as a shield. A shield that exploded on impact, piercing ice shards shattering across the field. Shattering, and impaling Aym in the stomach.

They were aware as they caught him falling and pulled him into their embrace. They pressed down on the wound as tears spilled from their eyes and it took but a moment to finally realize just what happened.

He knew they'd defend the cages. Baal knew how to force a strike. They...they were trying to get hurt, weren't they?

"Heh...d-dumb plan...s-sorry..." Aym had whispered, blood dripping from his mouth, body breaking apart. "B-baba-"

Then scattered to the wind.

And ah wasn't that funny? They never realized how much they wanted to hear one of the twins call them that but...but there went his ashes, slipping through their fingertips...

Anthea keeled over, and screamed. The piercing, sobbing wails of a parent who just watched their children die in their arms. And then they vaguely heard Narinder's voice (they'd missed how it shook back then) and saw the shadow of his hand and suddenly it was all just red.

Anthea didn't really remember the fight, just that since all four of his chains had been broken Narinder managed to dodge their first blazing curse, and with the fifth at his throat clanking, the battle commenced. It wasn't until eldritch beast was transformed into a bloodied black cat drowning in giant, ichor-soaked robes that Anthea realized the crown's blade was pressed against a neck, with a thin line of ichor already tricking down his throat. How easy would it be to finish it...to hack away till he was but ash as well but...but they couldn't. Staggering back trembling they couldn't kill him-

(They loved him-)

Anthea sent him to the cult, helped everyone down, and they all warped home. And there on the dais in nothing but his own fur Anthea saw Narinder, The One Who Waits, Their God, the Reaper, and the argument started.

He listened in, he listened in they learned. He overheard them finishing the sash but only part of the conversation and not only went against his promise of privacy but took an out of context conversation as proof of them being a traitor??? Did he think that lowly of them!?? That after all they've been through, all they've done they would just...just betray him???

They were making him a gift. They were making him a gift how could he ever think they were going to betray him how even-a crowd had gathered and was watching, and suddenly Anthea felt like they were going to be sick.

"Show's over, back to work. Nona watch over the reaper, and leave me alone-"

They locked themselves into the temple without bothering to see everyone's response for the rest of the day, fell to their knees, and cried. For their sons. For their broken heart. For that damn sash, tucked into its gift-box hidden still inside the chest at the foot of their bed.

The next day the lamb ignored that the Reaper was not anywhere in sight, and ignored how Nona kept trying to talk to them about him. They simply put on a smile, and tended to their flock.

Don't complain, don't be selfish. People are relying on you, and it doesn't matter how you feel.

A thousand year old cycle repeats. 

Boarders are by @lambouillet

[damianbugs]

i often include some obscure symbolism in my fics without any real desire to point them out but i was rereading an old piece of mine and remembered one i was rather proud of;

it's from YOU MUST KNOW LIFE TO KNOW DECAY. which is a canon-adjacent story about jason's experience with rain throughout his life. it spans over many years, starting from before his parent's death, to the present as red hood.

the rain itself is the massive metaphor and motif, obviously, but within that i snuck in some other key aspects to jason's character. the one i want to talk about it from the second section of the fic (unofficially dubbed "No!" and the period in time where jason was homeless):

in this scene jason's belongings have been dumped out of his bag into the rain over a misunderstanding, amongst these scarce objects are two things — an old book belonging to Willis Todd, and a photograph of Catherine Todd (the one jason has at his place when bruce comes to find him in Batman (1940) #408).

this photo always fascinated me and so i wanted to give it its own backstory. this moment however has two stories happening. a story of sacrifice for Willis, and the story of grief for Catherine.

the book willis used to love and jason remembers him reading often is the last remaining object the boy has to his father (because most of his belongings were left with his neighbour, and jason doesn't get those back until Batman (1940) #426).

unlike a picture or a letter, this book is a vessel between them, nothing about it actually is Willis' other than the memory attached to it. a nod to the fact that even in death, he had nothing other than the memory he left with his family.

catherine however has a picture, something that is entirely hers, but even that is all it is; her face. jason is young when his mother dies, and as he grows up, he'll soon forget the memories he made with her, but he'll never forget her face because of this last photo he has. her existence, prior to the disease and suffering and death, is forever immortalised for jason. she exists only before her death.

neither willis nor catherine are ghosts that follow jason. he mourns them and misses them deeply (and this grief is the entire catalyst for why he runs away in A Death in The Family) — but they don't come to him when he's doused with fear toxin or battling exhaustion. he doesn't see them when he closes his eyes. because they are not concepts he mourns.

they are a book, a photo, people he has lost forever. jason being a young carer, would have had to watch his mother slowly die to her disease, so he knows death in its raw forms. i have spoken before about how jason views love and loss, as being very literal and blunt understandings, and it's the same here.

so, we have a book and a photograph.

the book being destroyed by the rain is another nod to the modern characterisation of Willis Todd (in both canon and fanon). of the explicitly abusive and negligent father. how his character being "ruined" is usually to paint catherine as the weak and pitiful victim of circumstance and nothing more. neither of them have any true personality other than their surface level one's, which are often classist and ignorant.

on the other hand, willis' book being ruined but protecting the photograph of catherine underneath is to represent his story in jason's life. he was an absent idea because he was working to provide for them, jason didn't really know him outside of this story, and willis dies as a mere idea for his family.

it's not enough, however. willis dies, but it's still raining. catherine's photo may have been saved by some of the rain, but jason is still homeless and he will still have to endure it alone.

the second section of this fic is the saddest one to me, because while jason is the only todd present in this scene, there are three stories being told.

[yuesya]

Suguru frowns. 

“Gakuganji-gakucho. What do you think you’re doing?” In front of him, the aged principal of the Kyoto jujutsu school tenses. And for good reason –the ire of a Special Grade sorcerer is not something to take lightly, and Suguru does not appreciate the old man attempting to kill Yaga. Who was looking rather decidedly beaten and battered at the moment; if Suguru hadn’t arrived just in the nick of time, then he’d be dead. 

Just the thought of it sends a cold chill down his spine.

“… What are you doing here, Geto?” 

Suguru pauses. His old teacher’s voice is… strange. And not strange as in ‘surprised,’ which would only be reasonable given that Suguru had pretty much suddenly appeared out of thin air here, after solving the puzzle of that complex eightfold imprisoning barrier he’d been trapped in. He hadn’t expected there to be a teleportation mechanism built into the exit, either.

No, Yaga-gakucho’s voice sounds hostile towards him, which makes absolutely no sense. Also, ‘Geto?’ Why is Yaga-gakucho calling him ‘Geto’ and not ‘Suguru’ as he usually does? Why does he look at Suguru as if he’s an enemy? He’d literally just saved his life!

“What do you mean, ‘why are you here?’” Suguru gives his old teacher an unimpressed look. “I’m one of your teachers, where else would I be? Satoru would’ve driven you up the wall a long time ago if I wasn’t here to rein him in.”

Silence. The look that Yaga-gakucho gives him –Suguru can’t quite put his finger on it, but something about it feels wrong, wrong, wrong.

“What’s your angle here?” Yaga-gakucho scowls. “Stop lying. We know what you did at Shibuya! How long are you going to play obtuse?”

Suguru rears back, startled by the vehemence in the older man’s voice. But at the same time, “What do you mean, Shibuya? I’ve been in America for the past two weeks! You were the one who handed the assignment to me!”

“What?”

“What?”

Another silence. This one is much more awkward than the previous, however, and also blatantly ringed with confusion for all parties involved. Even Gakuganji-gakucho.

... It takes awhile to sort things out. Apparently, Suguru hadn’t just teleported back to Japan when he’d solved that puzzle barrier. He’d been fucking teleported to a parallel reality, and the sheer sideways angle of everything here was absolutely mind-boggling. Firstly, he was apparently dead –but also not, because some thousand year-old curse user had hijacked his corpse? Also, the Geto Suguru of this world had gone off his rocker as a third year student and intended to massacre all non-sorcerers in the world in order to create a world without curses, which, just. What??

“Why would they ever do that?” he asks, completely flabbergasted… and just a touch morbidly curious.

Because Amanai had died. Which had then led to the Suguru of this world questioning the worth of non-sorcerers and the purpose of sorcerers –and then, madness.

… In what world was that possible? Zenin Toji had gotten past the terrifying combination of Satoru and Shiki? How?

Suguru frowns pensively. “Amanai Riko is the teacher for second year students in my world. After the mission in our second year, she rejected the merger at the end, and the Tokyo school accepted her as a new student. She traveled with Tsukumo-san for a few years after graduating, then came back to take up a teaching post.”

“I… see.” There’s a complicated note in Yaga-gakucho’s voice, accompanied by something else that’s just slightly wistful. Clearly, he had his own regrets over how that mission to protect the Star Plasma Vessel went in this world. 

Suguru rubs at his forehead. This world… things are currently an utter mess. And Satoru and Shiki were sealed? How? It boggled the mind –Satoru alone was already unstoppable, and together with his sister the two were invincible. Or at least, the closest approximation to invincible that there was. However, from another perspective, it also painted the current situation in a grim light. They were really in some dire straits.

Good thing that Suguru was here to help, and hopefully he’d also be able to find a way back to his own reality where everything made sense, at the end of this mess.

“You know the students are probably going to attack you on sight, right?”

Suguru waves his hand, “It’ll be fine, Yaga-gakucho. I’m a teacher, I can deal with a few enthusiastic students.”

[infiiniteazure]

Author's Note: Before we begin I'd like to make a couple of pre-reading clarifications, this fanfic is based on the canonical events and characters from the Modern Warfare 2 comics.

enjoy♡⸝⸝💌⊹。°˖ Warning: Mention of post-traumatic stress disorder, violent situations, content that may be disruptive or disturbing.

—I am the death of everything you know and love.”—

His cold hands sweated at the impending horrible memories of what his life once was, as if all those months were reflected in the lines of his palms and every scar on his arms.

The sensation of those images flowing before her eyes as if every second in that place was replicated by the fears in her mind, her breathing began to hitch as her body trembled gently.

As if every second in that white four-walled room could contain all the flashes of the episodes of torture committed in Mexico.

Agitated breathing, tight chest, trembling hands, flashes of horrible memories of Mexico, of his family, of his father, of all those comrades who died by his side.

The door to the room would open softly, bringing Simon out of his thoughts in a hostile manner, his senses would be alert, as if attacking an enemy.

His breathing would continue to be agitated, the intensity of the symptoms was getting worse and worse, and the deterioration of his mind progressively worse.

A true living dead, as if his mind had been detached from his body at that moment in which he had been betrayed by his own companions.

The soft voice of the woman who would cross the door would slowly make him understand that she was not a danger.

—Mr. Riley?—

Simon would look up and realize that this was not the old woman who normally brought him his medications or took him to his sessions with the doctor.

Instead it was a much younger nurse, subtle and friendly looking. Her movements were soft and subtle, as if deep down she knew how terrified he was of the presence and interaction with other people.

Her gaze was empty and her soul hollow, as if her body was merely a vessel with no purpose. —Mr. Riley—

That voice would again ding his ears, capturing his attention.

—Miss Robinson is a little busy today, so I'll be your nurse today.— Her voice was soft, like the petals of a tulip in spring.

Simon simply would not respond, his gaze remained static on the woman's face.

The woman looked quite young at first glance, a significant and noticeable gap between the nurses who normally took care of him in that hospital, old women, with wrinkled and grumpy faces.

Although in a way Simon did not blame them, having to live with someone like him on a daily basis was really difficult.

Many times the psychotic outbreaks caused by the malfunctioning of his thoughts, that constant sense of danger made him hostile and dangerous to those around him, Simon knew that he was as much a danger to himself as to those around him.

The woman held a clipboard with information in her hands, the documents specified each piece of information about the soldier, along with a huge mark in the upper corner where the status of “Dangerous Patient” was indicated.

—Mr. Riley? Mr. Riley, you need to take your Midazolam.—

[mugentakeda]

some random lighthearted hcs ^_^ 👍👍 cus all ive been posting is angst shit tralalalaaa

-iroh and lu tens biggest beef (satirical exaggeration) was always over tea preferences. they both love it- but in just wildly different ways. lu ten liked tea with milk and ginger and cardamom and sugar and black pepper and all kinds of other spices and shit (aka saffron chai). meanwhile his father is, as we all know, one of those snobs that dies on the hill of appreciating tea with its delicate and natural flavors alone. even if it just tasted like grass. one time, though, iroh was overjoyed to hear lu ten found a tea he liked just on its own (aka hibiscus tea), without add ons. but then was dismayed to immediately discover that lu ten liked it served cold (aka karkadeh). later, just to fuck with his dad, lu ten announced that he discovered its even better with the additions of citrus juice, honey, and mint. iroh just cant ever win with his boys

-azula is the youngest so its like instinct to be annoying. like shed get genuine urges to go and annoy zuko somehow someway. not all the times shes annoyed him are malicious- sometimes shed go in his room and if he was at his desk shed pluck the brush out of his hand and throw it across the room and take all the candles out and leave without closing the door behind her. or if he was laying down shed pull his socks halfway off throw his blanket on the floor and leave. she did it all wordlessly for comedic effect until he was like “why.” and then shed start cackling like a maniac

-lu ten enjoyed engaging in little kid activities with azula and zuko. hed sit on his stomach and kick his feet while finger painting. hed play whatever the fire nation version of hopscotch is with them, along with mai and ty lee. when azula covered his mouth before he said something to embarrass her in front of ty lee hed lick her hand and shed start screeching. hed make jokes about zuko being short even though lu ten could legally drink and zuko was like 10 so it didnt even make sense

-lu tens azula nicknames: lala (naturally), pumpkin, crab cake, sweetheart, baby (the last two only come out when its just the two of them or if shes upset. she has a reputation.)

lu tens zuko nicknames: zuzu (naturally), turtleduck (also naturally), princeling, squirt, shrimpmunk (note how most of these are a cute joke about him being Tiny and Small)

the kids called him lulu when he called them zuzu and lala. when he was teaching azula how to talk she called him baba for like a week to his dismay and panic, even if she didnt know what that meant, until he got it through her head that he wasnt the one to be called that. and ozai wasnt either because unfortunately he isnt the casual type

(he also called ursa auntie in front of anyone. to his great joy, ursa told him that ozai complained about it to her. thus, he continued to do it)

-lu ten made time for the kids not by ignoring his duties in their favor but by overachieving and overworking to stay as far ahead of his duties as possible. the faster he got shit done the more time leftover he had. his favorite thing to do with them aside from ember island was sneak them out of the palace and into the town during the evening, when they had all the best street food and outdoor theater set out

-roughhousing and chasing each other around was always a thing iroh and lu ten did before things got awkward and sour. their pai sho games- when they werent using it as a vessel for serious conversations- were loud, dramatic, and funny to witness. like iroh would be swearing and lu ten would be laughing hysterically. the servants would come and go with refreshments while giggling

-iroh and lu ten also engaged in Old Man Activities together. like you know how old folks just sit on porches for hours for no reason??? iroh and lu ten would do that together in the palace garden. they also did morning meditation and prayer at the ass crack of dawn

-before zuko was born and it was for the most part just ursa and lu ten, she got homesick a lot, and taught lu ten some of the stuff she did before marrying into the family. so lu ten knew how to make shit like jewelry, clay masks, and embroidered fans

-on ember island trips the three did a lot of cooking together. azula liked making sweet treats and fruit platters, zuko liked making kimchi and fried snacks. cleaning the mess is just as much a bonding activity as making the mess

-lu ten managed to keep whatever the hell he had going on with zhao a complete secret from iroh and ursa, zuko was just oblivious, but azula… is perceptive. and nosy. and protective. so one day when zhao leaves the palace azula approaches lu ten from out of nowhere and is basically like “(Katt Williams voice) You have an unnatural allegiance to losers and its not like you 😐”. he has no clue what to say to that

(it was not to azulas knowledge that zhao was harassing zuko constantly during his banishment. had she known, she wouldve done something about it. Not something that would inconvenience her father or the navy, obviously, but she wouldve definitely done something. #Trust.)