#i was trying to practice how ro draw them

[hws-lceland]

[someonexsomeone]

Sweetness

Title: Sweetness

Author: SomeonexSomeone

Word Count: 3.3k

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader, James Potter x Lily Evans

Summary: The Marauders LOVED to watch you with Remus.

Authors Note: this was actually born from another fic i was writing that i hated scrapped and kept one sentence from lmao

“What are you idiots up to now?” 

There was very little that could rattle Lily Evans. Her sister, Severus Snape, and, as reluctant as she wanted to admit it, James Potter, were just a few people, not to mention the very Gryffindor nature she adopted over the years making her susceptible to reckless actions, but she was getting the hang of it, honest! It was just that stupid Potter that set her on edge without having to do anything, and then he’d bat his pretty eyelashes at her and--

Ugh. Thinking about him made her feel nauseous.

She’d done her best to avoid Potter as much as possible, not that Dumbledore made it any easier assigning them as Head Girl and Boy (despite her many protests), but he seemed adamant on sticking by her side. Or, as Marlene suggested, not that Lily believed it anyway, that Potter was simply going about his day to day life and they just happened to share a few classes together and of course he would sit near her in the Great Hall since it was practically commonplace to sit near your yearmates, and why was she paying so close attention to him anyway?

“Because he’s so annoying it's impossible to ignore. Like a moldy cheese, his stink of annoyance just fills a room.”

“You know, Lily,” Marlene teased, drawing out every word. “Some people think smelly cheese is irresistible.”

She stormed away before she could think that her red face was attributed to anything but anger.

So, imagine her surprise when, the very person she was trying to avoid, was acting more a fool than usual, his butt hanging out of a classroom door with none of the decorum required of a Head Boy. Though, she mused, why did she expect anything different from him, even if he’d been acting more mature this term.

His goofy shocked face caused her heart to flutter, another symptom of her annoyance.

“Lily!” Potter whisper-shouted, somehow being incapable of speaking quietly even when it was so obvious he was trying. Sirius Black, used to his antics, knocked a knobby elbow into his side from his position on the floor, playful glare on his face as he shushed his better half.

“Quiet!” Black hissed, voice just as loud. Potter didn’t seem to notice, sending him a sheeping smile.

“Sorry!” he said, though his voice was only lower in pitch, not volume. Lily rolled her eyes. “What are you doing here? I thought you were studying with Marlene?”

“Stalking me now, Potter?” She was shocked, however, when Potter flushed red instead of his flirty remark.

“I-I would never! You know that, don’t you?” And then, as if he realized how pathetic he sounded, his mouth twitched into a grimace. “Unless, you--…you want me to?”

“Oh Merlin,” Black sighed, shaking his head, voice exasperated. “Marlene told us in case Dorcas finished her meeting with Professor Gropmorph early.”

This time, it was Lily who flushed in embarrassment. Thankfully, Remus took the perfect moment to open the door to the classroom, unamusement clear, even as Potter and Black toppled like dominoes face first onto Remus’s shoes.

“What are you idiots doing now?” Lily felt her chest swell in kinship, even as Remus’s face dropped in shock at spotting her standing there. “Lily?”

“I promise,” she said quickly, “I have nothing to do with this!”

“What…what are you doing here? What are any of you doing here?”

“Well, you see--!” Black scrambled to his feet, knocking James over in his attempt to get up faster. “I was just--...we were just--...”

“Rounds!” James shouted, gracelessly, despite his usual athleticism, using the door frame to pull himself up. Once he was on his feet, he swung an arm around Lily. When she tried to sidestep away from him, he kept his arm firm, and she pretended to hate it. “We were just doing rounds, right, Evans?”

It was a miracle these marauders didn’t get into more trouble if this is what they were like when they were lying. James was staring down at her with his big brown eyes, twinkling with hope. Black was making a subtle motion to play along, though it was in clear view of Remus, who eyed them suspiciously.

Why me?, she thought, miserably.

“...Yeah,” she finally said, though the moment had stretched on for far too long to be convincing. Black face palmed.

“Rounds? But it’s not even dinner yet?”

James cursed under his breath. Lily rolled her eyes. How could he forget his best friend was a prefect?

“It’s those new Head rounds, right?” Black provided. James slumped in relief, immediately nodding along.

“Yep! Yeah, new rounds for Head Girl and Boy. Wouldn’t have taken the job if I knew there was so much to do!” James laughed too loud, then abruptly stopped, whipping his head down to look at Lily. “Not that I’m not responsible! I agreed, so I’ll follow through. Promise!”

“...okay,” Remus agreed, drawing out the sound to fill the sudden awkward silence. He eyes Black, almost looking like he was going to ask what he was doing there, then decided better and kept the question to himself. Lily didn’t blame him. “Well, have fun…?”

“Yes, yes! You as well, whatever mysterious thing you’re doing in there!” Black babbled, practically pushing Remus back into the room, throwing a glare over his shoulder. 

Just before the door shut, Lily swore she saw a familiar silhouette.

With the door now closed, and Black assured that Remus was far enough away, he whipped around, voice exasperated as he said, “Way to go, Prongs.”

“What?” Lily shrugged off Potter’s arm, and he had the decency to look embarrassed. “Oh, sorry. I panicked.”

“I could tell.” She made a show of whipping off her shoulder, but made no move to walk away. “What were you even doing?”

Potter opened his mouth to respond, but Black launched himself, covering his mouth with both hands. Potter's eyes widened, grabbing Black’s arms to push him away.

“Why are you curious? We’re not breaking any rules,” Black said suspiciously, voice trembling as he held his hands still. Lily eyed the two, Potter obviously not putting all his strength into the fight, then looked at the door.

“Remus is allowed to be in there,” she said instead of responding. She turned to Black, crossing her arms and standing her ground. “You, however, are being incredibly rude by spying on him.”

“He’s our friend,” Black argued, as if that justified his actions.

“Friends don’t spy on each other.”

“Friends don’t keep secret lovers.”

Immediately, the two looked at each other in equal shock, eyes widening in unison. Potter used the distraction to finally free his mouth, playfully spitting on the floor.

“Ugh, wash your hands, Pads.”

Lily blinked owlishly at Black, who looked horrified at what he revealed.

“Remus is dating--”

“We don’t know for sure,” James said before she could continue, warily glancing at the closed door. Deciding it would be best to move away, he nodded his head at Black, then gestured Lily down the hall, an illusion of privacy she found she appreciated. Once they were a good ways down, where the door all but disappeared into the lopsided cobbled wall, James continued, “It’s just a hunch we’ve had.”

“A hunch?” 

“Our Moony is very protective of his pack--” Potter coughed pointedly at Black, who just rolled his eyes, “--of friends.”

“What he means,” James cut in, “is that Moony is very selective of who he gets close to. Childhood trauma and all that. He just hasn’t gotten around to introducing us yet.”

Lily thought they were being very nonchalant for discussing childhood trauma, but she shrugged it off, reminding herself these were the boys who thought dungbombs were funny because they smelled like farts.

“And you were…what, trying to find a good time to introduce yourselves?” Potter turned sheepish while Black laughed.

“Not…not exactly.”

“Not that you would know, dear Evans, but our Moony is quite the romantic.”

“Remus? Remus Lupin?” Lily conjured the shy Remus she knew, the one who stuttered the first time they interacted, who she recalled being too quiet to stand up to his friends’ wrongdoings, but helped in every other instance. Remus, who she rarely saw with anyone but his roommates, despite the countless people throwing themselves at his feet for a date.

Black nodded, long hair swinging around his shoulders.

“The most. Would put Calyna Ollapianne to shame.” Although Lily was lost, no doubt one of many pop culture wizards she hadn’t had the time to discover, the way Potter was nodding his head made her inclined to believe it was a good thing. Maybe Mary would know, she wondered to herself, she’s always been into wizarding things.

“And, you see, he’s shy.” To this, Lily nodded. “So, when he does fancy someone, he doesn’t always have the courage to say something.”

“Except!” Black’s mischievous smile made her nervous. “Our dear Moony, who usually runs away tail between his legs when a pretty thing walks by, is currently locked in a room, far from other students or distractions, supposedly tutoring a very pretty thing.”

Lily stopped, her two companions falling in line to look at her, identical smiles on their faces. If she didn’t know Black had been staying with the Potter’s, she might have been weirded out. Instead, she only felt confusion, looking back over her shoulder to the hallway they just abandoned. Black was practically bouncing on his feet as he waited for her response.

“So…”

“Yes?”

“Remus is currently tutoring a fellow classmate and your…disrupting him?” Black sighed dramatically, obviously not what he was expecting to hear from her.

“Come on, Evans. You’re not the littlest bit curious?” He gestured down the hall. “We just let you in on one of our biggest secrets and you can’t even give me a dramatic gasp?”

“One of--?”

“We don’t bother them,” Potter reassured before she could continue, giving her a softer smile, one that relaxed her nerves, as much as she hated to admit it. “We just…want to make sure he’s doing alright. Provide emotional support, or whatever.”

Lily looked, really looked, at James as he stuttered over his words, pointedly avoiding her eyes. Even with his tanned skin, she could see the beginnings of a flush creeping up his neck, painting the tips of his ears rosy. The more she looked, the more he stammered, hands waving wildly, knocking into Black, though neither of them really acknowledged it, too busy studying her or too used to it, she didn’t know. She tucked away the knowledge that her stare made him stumble over her words.

By the time his voice was getting shrill, pathetically forming messy sentences that somehow implicated him and Black in a torrid affair with Remus, a familiar boy rounded the corner.

“Hey! Sorry, am I late?” Pettegrew called, face red and sweaty from no doubt running to meet up with his friends. “I got here as fast as I could.”

Though Remus was by far her favorite Seventh Year boy, Peter Pettigrew was high on her list, thanks to his inability to talk without his friends nearby. Lily hadn’t had many interactions with him, beyond the odd Gryffindor camaraderie at matches and being paired up in class, but there was something about the way he followed along behind his friends, as if he was completely spineless, set her on edge. Pathetic, she hated to admit, was one of the few words she associated with him, and she felt bad enough about it that she often went out of her way to be extra kind to him. Like now, as she gave him a small smile. Pettigrew gave her a toothy one in return when he spotted her.

“Oh, Evans! I didn’t know you liked watching Moony too!”

“Watching…?”

“Yeah!” He laughed, setting Black and Potter on edge. “These two are obsessed with watching Moony get all lovey--”

“You’re such a snitch!” Black yelped before he could continue, locking Pettigrew’s head in the crook of his arm, pushing his fist into the top of his head and rubbing until both of their hair was askew.

“I thought you were there to provide ‘moral support’?” Lily questioned, side eyeing Potter, who started to stutter again. 

It should have been obvious, she mused, that they were lying about being there for his friend. As long as she’s known them, they were always up to something. Niceties hiding deception, innocence hiding trickery. Even if he’d matured in the past term, actually being a good Head Boy despite her reluctance to admit it, old habits die hard.

“We really are! It’s just--...It’s just…” Potter’s stutter, despite usually making her want to roll her eyes, made her feel a little bad. After all, they were a collection of contradictions. Who's to say he couldn't be spying for good and bad reasons? She nearly pinched herself at the thought.

Black, noticing his friend's dilemma, loosened his hold to step closer. Pettigrew used the distraction to pull his head away, surprisingly knocking a leg out to trip Black, sending him tumbling into Potter, and both of them onto the floor.

“They're looney,” Pettegrew rushed out, a mischievous smile on his face. Potter and Black wiggled against each other on the floor, untangling limbs to stop their friend from saying more. “Obsessed with how Moony gets all soft. Did they tell you their favorite thing is when he stands behind to guide wand movement with his whole body? ‘Oh, Prongs, hold me like Moony does!���, ‘Pads, Pads! Do you think they’ll kiss later?’!”

“Snitch!” Potter shouted this time, launching himself across the floor towards Pettigrew’s knees, knocking them down. The two grappled on the floor, Pettigrew laughing while Potter stuttered apologies towards Lily, swearing they weren’t creeps, while Black rose beside her, cackling and cheering them on, an annoying ‘Fight! Fight! Fight!’ that brought on a migraine she did not need to deal with right now. 

“What are you doing?” All four of them froze, the unexpected stern voice rattling them to their bones. 

Lily was the first to turn, wince pulling her eyebrows to her nose as she watched Remus hurry down the hall, obvious exasperation on his face. She felt even worse as she spotted you trailing behind him. It was obvious they weren’t as quiet as they hoped, pulling you from the tutoring session Remus had gone through the trouble of renting a room for.

“Lily?” You called, evidently more confused to see her than the two locked in a wrestle on the floor. “What are you doing here?”

“I was--...I was just--…” She felt foolish stumbling over her words like that. It was a public hallway, she had every right to be here just as the others did, and she wasn’t one of the bubbling fools getting their uniforms dirty while they rolled on the floor. Well, she wasn’t one of the fools, but she had to admit she was very much bumbling.

“Why are you two always on the floor?” Remus said, exasperated. He reached down, hauling Pettigrew to his feet, much to Potter’s dismay, who had to rise on his own, Black still too busy eyeing you up. She could have sworn she saw Remus send a sharp glare in Black’s direction, but the harshness completely vanished as he looked at you again. Instead of the mean look he reserved for his friends, his eyebrows relaxed, face going rosy as he apologized. “I’m sorry, we’re meant to be studying.”

“Yeah, studying…” Black murmured under his breath, much too loud to be a private thought. Lily stomped on his foot not too discreetly in retaliation. “Merlin’s beard--!”

She turned to stick her tongue out at him, a very irresponsible thing to do as Head Girl but there was something about these troublemakers that made her feel like a little kid again, but before she could do more, Potter elbowed her harshly in the side. When she whipped toward him, he had an embarrassed flush on his face, evidently not meaning to hit her so hard, but he gestured quickly back to you. Only curiosity had her pulling her eyes away from him.

“It’s alright, Rem.” Lily watched as Remus all but melted at the nickname, easily dodging around the group to return to your side. His hand hovered over your shoulder, then dropped, either too nervous or too aware of the watching eyes to actually touch you. It didn’t stop his fingers, however, from twitching towards you as you gave him a smile. “It’s getting close to dinner anyway.”

“Sorry about them.” 

Black wiggled his eyebrows at Lily as Remus’s voice dropped to something sickly sweet, lower and smoother than she was used to hearing. However, as he flicked his eyes towards his friends, all in unison the boys whipped their heads away, whistling or otherwise pretending to not be paying attention. Lily flushed, then looked to her feet, disbelieving that she was following along. But, she hated to admit, this was much too good to walk away from.

“They're fun. And, we can always pick up where we left off tomorrow. No big deal.” You seemed to have no qualms touching him, your hand reaching out to squeeze one of his in reassurance. Lily lifted her eyes just in time to watch a scattering of goosebumps litter the back of his neck, just above the collar of his messy button up. “Same time?”

“Yeah, same time.” She could almost hear the sadness in his voice, easily picturing puppy ears sprouting from his head at how downtrodden he was at leaving you. You seemed to agree, laughing, and then reaching out to gently pat his face. “Have fun at dinner.”

“You could always join us, you know!” Black called out when you pulled away, surprising everyone by daring to speak out and break the gentle atmosphere that surrounded you two. Remus whipped his head around to glare, though he failed as his eyes widened in shock, motioning to cut it out. Potter hissed under his breath in tandem with Lily’s pinch to his side, but Black simply let a smooth smirk pull across his lips, ignoring everyone’s not so subtle hints. “Remus always talks about how much he misses you--”

In perfect unison, Lily stepped out of the way, latching onto your arm to pull you away, while James slapped one of his big hands across Black’s mouth, giving you a bright smile.

“--your tutoring lessons!” he gasped out, glancing at Remus quickly before returning his smile to you. “Loves--likes what a good student you are! Best one he’s ever had!”

“Potter was just telling me how good Remus was. Tell me about it?” Lily suggested, piggybacking off Potter’s obvious lie, tugging you down the hallway. You looked at her quizzically, obviously wondering why she suddenly was all buddy-buddy with you when you two hadn’t shared so much as a whole conversation before, but you didn’t press.

“Alright?” She felt giddy as a soft smile stretched across your lips, neck craned awkwardly so you could turn to look back at Remus, waving your hand. “Bye, Remus. Thanks again.”

“Yeah! Yes! Anytime!” Lily giggled to herself at the fumble, his hand waving a bit too frantically to be casual, but it seemed to only endear you more, nearly tripping over your feet so you could continue to look at him.

The two of you barely managed to round the corner before Black’s obnoxious voice rang out, “Way to go, Moony! You sly wolf!”

Yes, it seemed those marauding boys had a hobby of watching your interactions with Remus, somehow managing to do it in the creepiest, most intrusive way possible. But, she thought as you laughed, wistfully looking over your shoulder, she saw the appeal. 

And, if she found herself in this hallway again tomorrow, now, that was surely just a coincidence.

______________________________________________________________

masterlist  l hogwarts masterlist

[leo-interactive-fiction]

ROs being teleported to the past and finding MC as a cute child

Haha, let's see...

E: Your wide, saucer like eyes look up at the smiling figure as they squat down to your level.

"Hey MC... It's been a while... since I've seen you like this..."

"You look familiar..." you murmur quizzically.

"I know... you don't have to recognize me now, but always know..." They envelop your small hands in theirs, "I'll always be by your side, so please don't forget me... okay...?"

------

R: You see them brush a strand of golden hair from their face as they stoop down.

"Well, I wasn't expecting this..."

"Who are you...?" You tilt your head obliviously.

"Oh, me? You don't have to worry about it for now," R looks into your eyes for a moment, finding something in it that makes them chuckle before standing back up and turning away, "Yeah... just forget about me for now, okay? I want our first meeting to be just as it is..."

------

You have to crane your neck to look up at the towering figure before you.

"A-Ah, that must be uncomfortable... my apologies," They awkwardly move to sit on the floor with you, "My curiosity got the better of me, and I wished to see..."

"Who are you...?" You ask, still having to tilt your head slightly to look at them.

"I am, um..." L tinkers with the small silver hairpin that catches your youthful fascination, "Oh! Would you like to see? Be careful though... it's important to me..."

As you grasp the elegantly crafted spiral shaped hairpin, you sense a vague, foreign feeling welling up within you.

L continues softly, "Maybe... you would like to keep it? I truly believe that someday... it will find it's way back to me..."

------

You watch as the silver haired figure sits down next to you, taking in the world around them.

"This is... where you came from..." They draw their legs to their knees, as if trying to shield themselves, "There's no gunshots... no smoke... no death..."

"Who are you...?" You ask hesitantly.

"I will tell you... next time..." They look at you for a fleeting moment before turning away, continuing quietly, "When you see me again... tell me that I'll be okay..."

------

You gaze up at the brutish redhead standing before you.

"So it's actually you, huh...?"

"Do you know me...?" You wonder aloud.

"Yeah, something like that..." They huff and crouch low to look you in the eyes, "Don't worry too much about it. Eventually we'll see each other again."

"When?"

"I don't know, but when we do... try to ignore what I tell you."

------

Your attention is taken by the humming redhead crouching in front of you, wearing an amused smile.

"Oh... you're so... adorable... as a kid..."

"Do you know me...?" You wonder aloud.

M taps a finger to your lips, hushing you playfully, "You shouldn't... ruin... the surprise... Just look forward... to when... you're ready for it... okay...?

------

K: You feel a sense of overwhelming unease as the unkempt stranger reaches towards you, gripping you by your shoulders in a tight claim as they look deep in your eyes.

"You are important. Do you understand? So very important..."

"W-Who are you...?"

"Me? You want to know... me?" A strangely sharp smile creeps onto the strangers face, "I am... the only one you need... Promise me... that you will remember me..."

------

S: You yelp as the homely stranger suddenly picks you up.

"What! Ya got so small! I could throw ya!"

"W-wha-- AH!" You scream in fright as S does a small practice toss of you up in the air, nearly dropping you onto the hard floor below before finally catching you.

"Oop! That could'a been bad! Nearly pancaked your head there!" S merely laughs it off as you are striken with unrecoverable childhood trauma.

-------

You instinctively shudder under the frigid gaze of the stranger before you, even as they bend over to look at you more closely.

"Oh...? How wholly unremarkable... to think you would grow to be..." They pause, seeming to silently berate themselves.

"Do you know me?" You murmur hesitantly.

"That is correct... though it appears you do not know me... rest assured, though, that will not be the case for long..." A devilish smile creases the thin line on their face as they pat your head, "Perhaps if I start feeding you information from a developmental stage, it may expedite our process later... I look forward to seeing how you internalize this..."

F chuckles darkly and settles in as you are subjected to everlasting mental trauma.

-------

Thank you for the ask! I had a lot of fun with it haha

[star-wrote]

nsfw alphabet : daryl dixon

ao3 link

character: Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

warnings: | nsfw(obviously) | swearing | sexual details | mentions of daryl’s trauma | intentional lowercase | 18+ |

a/n: recently became obsessed with this man. there aren’t enough nsfw alphabets of him so enjoy :)

(not my gif or character)

A- aftercare (what they’re like after the act)

daryl thinks the aftercare is the best part of it all. it took a while to break down the habit of him just rolling over and falling asleep, but he got there eventually. he holds you and makes sure you're okay, cleaning you up if necessary. he lets you curl up into him, wanting to feel your warm breath on his skin. you listen to each other’s heartbeats, and drift into an exhausted sleep.

B- body part (their favorite part of both of your bodies)

daryl dixon loves every part of you. he doesn’t say that his favorite are your tits or ass, that’s something merle would say, and it just doesn’t sit right with him. instead, he thinks that your eyes are his favorite part of you. he likes that he can communicate with you just through the looks you give each other. he loves that he has to ask you to keep them open and look at him when he's making you feel too good to do so.

your favorite part of daryl are his thighs. big, strong, and sturdy; the perfect seat. his thigh can fit perfectly between your legs, holding your hips with his giant hands. his hands. you suppose that they could also be your favorite.

C- cum (anything to do with it)

since it’s the apocalypse, you and daryl decide that it’s better to be safe and not cum inside you. even though it takes every ounce of his control not to. he opts for pulling out and humming on your stomach instead. but you better prepare for when he finds condoms on a run because he will fuck you like it’s your last time together. which, hey, it could be.

D- dirty secret (self explanatory)

other than wanting to cum inside you, daryl really wants to fuck you alone in the woods, up against a tree. he knows it’s not very practical, especially with the dead walking around. he just can’t help but thinking how hot it would be for you to try and be quiet as not to draw in any walkers. 

E- experience (do they know what they’re doing)

most of daryl’s experience came from random drunk hookups that merle pressured him into before the world ended. it involved dramatic moans from the women, and daryl being too stuck in his head to remember anything else. he was open to you teaching him what felt good, and picked up on it fast. as a hunter, he has always been observant, and that doesn’t leave when it comes to your pleasure. he watched every expression, and hears every hitch in your breath to learn what makes you feel good. he asks if you're liking it, which sounds like sinful dirty talk to you.

F- favorite position (self explanatory)

it started out being doggie style, because he just couldn't bear for you to look at him or his scars. but with some gentle begging from you, he decided that he couldn't bear for you to not look at him. missionary is now his favorite, because he can still control the situation, and see the pleasure in your eyes at the same time.

G- goofy (how serious are they)

daryl is obviously very serious when it comes to the outside world, which doesn’t really change when it comes to the bedroom. since you managed to relax him and get him comfortable enough around you to break his walls down, he lets little laughs and smiles come through at your jokes, but not without jokingly telling you to stop.

H- hair grooming habits (how much hair do they have down there)

it is the apocalypse, so grooming isn’t necessarily the most important. the carpet matches the drapes. plus he doesn’t expect you to shave, so why should he? in fact, when you did shave one time, he freaked out and begged you to never do it again(unless you wanted to of course), which warranted a sigh of relief from you. he says that only bitches eat shaved pussy.

I- intimacy (romantic or rough/dirty)

it was always hard for daryl to bring out his romantic side, but he tries so hard for you. he grunts out praises and a little “love ya s’much” when he cums, letting you know that you’re the only one on his mind. 

J- jack off (how often do they masturbate)

literally never. it isn’t very convenient, and he never really has a high sex drive. when he does get turned on, it’s because you’re right there. no point in taking care of it himself when you're in front of him.

K- kinks (self explanatory)

daryl never got a chance to explore his kinky side before the apocalypse since most of his experience was with women who he didn’t trust or love. when he started to trust you in the bedroom(or where the apocalypse allows), you both started to experiment with what you are into.

  -size kink: he loves when you look so small compared to him

  -daddy kink: this one felt weird to him at first since you were younger than him, but he couldn’t help the twitch in his dick when you called him that while you were cumming (it is definitely used more after that)

L- location (where they like to get it on)

anywhere that is safe and gives you time to explore each others bodies is his favorite. still, the idea of fucking you in the woods sounds hot to him...

M- motivation (what turns them on)

anytime he sees you taking down walkers, or just overall being badass, he gets a little turned on. also when you look at him with your big doe eyes, he has to control himself from taking you in front of everyone.

N- no (turnoffs or absolutely won’t do)

daryl isn't into hurting you in any way, especially because of what he went through in his childhood. he sees it as somehow becoming like his father, and that is something that he hates. so big no on hurting you, even if he does think you're pretty when you cry.

O- oral (do they prefer receiving or giving)

one of daryl’s favorite sights is you on your knees for him, with tears streaming down your face as you try and fit all of him in your mouth. however, that sight can't compare to how you look when he’s between your thighs. he thinks he must've died and gone to heaven when he sees your breasts rising and falling with each deep breath. the little tugs on his hair and the praise from your lips makes him decide that he loves going down on you more than anything.

P- pace (do they prefer fast or slow)

when he’s had a long day or just wants to get some anger out, he wants to go fast and rough. usually he goes slow and deep, just to feel all of you for as long as he can.

Q- quickie (do they like them)

quickies have become a must in some cases, especially if you don't have much time because you're on a run, or you have to get a round in before the group wakes up. he always makes sure to make every time you're together special, no matter how short.

R- risk (do they like to try new things)

he’s never been a risky guy, but if you suggested something to try, he would consider. as long as he knows you're safe, he is down for anything.

S- stamina (how many times and how long each round)

even though he’s older than you, his stamina is immaculate. even if he’s tired, he knows how to make you cum enough to tire you out.

T- toys (do they like using them)

since most things gathered on runs get checked, toys aren't really a priority. if you’re with him on a run, you two might find one and use it, but you don't dare bring it home with you. daryl likes to pleasure you by himself anyway.

U- unfair (how often do they tease)

such a tease. when he’s feeling especially cocky, he likes to have complete control over you, which includes controlling your orgasm. he will edge you for what feels like an eternity, just because he loves hearing your pretty voice beg all pathetically. 

V- volume (how loud are they)

he adapted to being very quiet because most of the time you were together were around the group, or outside where walkers could hear. his grunts, moans, and dirty talk start coming through when the group finds safety, or when you are on runs in a safer place. he definitely starts going on runs with you just to fuck you and hear your moans.

W- wild card (anything random)

daryl had never been one for talking, but when his dick is deep inside your wet pussy, he can’t help but spout the dirty thoughts that come to his mind. whether it’s praise, degradation, or the occasional swear, he knows it works you up from how you whimper and clench around him.

X- x-ray (what’s going on down there)

long and thick, a couple of prominent veins, and a slight upward curve. this man walks like he has a big dick.

Y- yearning (sex-drive level)

very very low before he met you, but now he wants to fuck you every night if able.

Z- zzz (how fast do they fall asleep)

maybe it was his body adapting to living on the run, or never getting good sleep as a kid, but daryl takes ages to fall asleep. having your body next to him helps, and he starts to feel safe enough to let his guard down and sleep. however, he does wrap a protective arm around you just in case <3

[vendetta-if]

How would you describe the body types of the RO's?

'Cause I get several ideas of my own.

Ash: Solid. Wide shoulders, strong arms. They'd have put in the work for a build that's more function over form, yet retains the curves that draws people's attention. Really, put them in a tanktop and passers-by are going to have neck problems from the double takes they do.

Rin: Svelte. Shortest of the bunch, could pull a Marilyn Monroe and wear a potato sack and make it look stunning. A slight build without clear muscle definition. Maybe most visible if they dance or do high-level yoga.

Santana: "Average" if thin leaning. They're overworked, overstressed and overcaffeinated. Whilst they might not necessarily look unhealthy, a good meal more regularly would work miracles.

Skylar: Pick basically any comicbook superhero character from DC or Marvel of the lean and defined variety and you'll have a decent approximation of how they look. Maybe how most Spider-Folk look or if you average'd the Bat-family.

Anything on or off the mark? Maybe got any references of your own?

Love the story, btw. Hope to see more soon, the barfight was a hoot-and-a-half.

You're not that far off actually 🤔 I'm not really the best in describing body types, but I'll try my best 😅

Ash

I like to imagine Ash body built like an MMA fighter, lean and athletic and not too overtly muscular like a bodybuilder. Their muscles are built for practical uses, not to show off.

Rin

You're pretty spot on for Rin. They are slender and elegant/graceful and don't really have clear muscle definition. The prime example of prioritizing their mind and charisma over physical stuff and combat. But yeah, they'd slay anything they wear, undoubtedly.

Santana

To me, Santana is just average overall. Not too slender, but not to the point of skinny where they don't really have muscles. They do have some muscles to a degree (they are a cop after all, and had to pass like police academy beforehand), but certainly not like Ash and Skyar. They don't really go to gym nor do they spar to maintain them. They're also not too plump or chubby as well, because of their less than ideal lifestyle. They're just... average.

Skylar

Picture a fitness model, that's pretty much how Skylar's build (but not the really muscular ones mind you 😂). They are still lean and athletic, but unlike Ash, their muscles are definitely more... defined? Like, Male Skylar definitely has pretty well-defined six-packs and pecs.

They do workout in the Agency's gym regularly and supplemented with some sparring with other superheroes for more practical training. As a superhero, they gotta appeal to the masses while also still be able to hold themself in a fight.

[disenchantedif]

The MC wakes up from a terrible nightmare, sweating and crying. They turn to look at the RO laying next to them and calm down, saying "You're still here...". Turns out their nightmare was the RO abandoning them. How would the ROs react/handle this?

Luci

The nightmare is sudden and you’re heaving when you wake. Gentle hands grasp your shoulders and you nearly sob.

"You're still here..." You breathe out, voice cracking and shaky.

Luci, who was hovering above you having woken you just seconds before, flinches back at the words as if you’d struck them. They immediately lean back in, pulling you into a tight hug.

They can't say they'd never leave you. That's not true, because they did, and it hurts them worse than anything knowing the repercussions it's had.

"I'm here," They say instead because it's all they can say. They hope you hear the promise in the words anyways.

Penny

She’s hovering close when you wake and the instant your eyes open, you’re in her arms.

"You're still here..." You whisper into her neck, clinging to her shoulders.

She grips you tightly, careful of her sharp nails against the bare skin of your arms, "Always. You won't get rid of me so easily."

"Thank you." You whisper into the darkness.

"Hush, love. Get some more rest."

Her voice is melodic, soothing, the lilt of her accent making it easy for you to sink back into sleep. She's definitely using her song to achieve it, but you can't be anything but grateful right now.

She cradles you in her arms for the rest of the night.

Cameron

"You're still here..." You say, hoarse, staring at them from where they're tangled in your sheets, looking concerned.

Their eyebrows draw together before their face falls. They look so upset you almost apologize, but they gather you in their arms before you can even attempt it.

"I am. I always will be." They swallow thickly, "I love you."

Your fingers twist in their t-shirt, the soft fabric grounding, the floral scent of their shampoo filling your senses. When you pull back, they bring a hand up to stroke your cheek, still wet from tears.

"Are you okay to go back to sleep?" They ask softly.

"Yeah." You answer, laying beside them and practically curling into their body.

You don't have any more nightmares.

Viktor

You're in his arms before you're even fully awake. He strikes a thumb across the curve of your cheekbone and you shudder in relief.

“You’re still here…” You sigh, your eyes slipping shut at his touch.

“That’s never up for debate,” He says wryly, and you open your eyes to see a faint smile on his lips.

You shift in his arms, curling closer, “I…it was a nightmare.”

“I know,” Viktor leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “It’s okay, though. I’ll always be here to wake you up.”

You fall asleep pressed against his chest, his body a warm and comforting weight. He tosses an arm around you, tugging you as close as possible, and plays with the hair along the nape of your neck until you drift off under the soothing touches.

Theo

You think you might be crying, you’re not honestly sure. You sit up sharply, and hands are stroking up and down your arms in a comforting motion.

“Hey,” Theo whispers, raising a hand to tilt your chin up, “Where’s my sunshine, huh?”

You heave a shuddering sigh, leaning forward into their arms, “You’re still here…”

They freeze for a moment, as if not comprehending the words, and then their arms wrap you in a hug.

“Yeah, babe, I’m still here.” Theo rests their chin on your shoulder, “Don’t have any plans on letting you go, either.”

You both lay back down, curled into one another, entwined completely. Theo’s tail ends up wrapped around your waist, as if to pull you closer, and they press their lips to yours in a brief kiss before you go back to sleep.

Amri

You wake to gentle hands carding through your hair. You breathe deep, trying to shake off the terror of the nightmare, looking up to see Amri’s worried face.

Your head has somehow ended up in their lap, their wings coming to circle around the both of you protectively.

Amri tilts their head, their hair brushing their bare shoulder, “What’s the matter, hm?”

“You’re still here…” You say, eyes flush with tears.

They blink, eyes widening, before a hand brushes across your cheek and reaches down to cup your jaw. They press a firm kiss to your lips, before leaning back to look you in the eyes.

“I’m lucky,” They say, clear and concise, “To have you. Anyone would be. Whoever doesn’t realize that is an idiot and it’s not your fault.”

They wrap you in a hug, their breath warm on your skin as you slowly begin to doze off once more.

Charlie

You jerk upward, your pulse racing from your nightmare. Charlie follows suit, gasping awake as they’re startled by your sudden movements.

“Wha-?” They blink, looking at you in concern, “Cariño, I love you, but you just took a year off my life.”

“You’re still here…” You sigh, slumping back against the headboard.

They pause before reaching an arm over to pull you in and tuck you into their side. Turning their head, they press one kiss into the crown of your head. It’s followed by another, and then another, then they’re kissing your forehead and the tip of your nose.

They finally press a kiss to your lips, pulling back to smile gentle, “I’ll always be here.”

Harlow

Typically, you’re not the one being shaken awake from nightmares, but it seems the roles are reversed tonight.

You gasp, nearly choking on air as you wake, and are met with Harlow’s pale face staring back. They reach out a shaking hand, gripping your own tightly.

“You’re…still here.” You say, your chest sore with panic and harsh breathing.

“I am,” Harlow says quietly.

They’re never one for grand declarations, but they squeeze your hand three times. It’s a comfortable silence, one you could float in forever as you lean back against your pillows once more.

Harlow lays beside you, breaking their grasp on your hand in favor of resting their head in the crook of your shoulder. It’s a timid touch, something shy, but you’re used to it. You understand.

“Goodnight,” You whisper.

“Night,” They say in response, their breath ghosting across your skin.

Avery

It’s obvious Avery is quite familiar with panic attacks, and they soothe you quite effectively until the weight isn’t so heavy on your chest.

You bury yourself in their arms, curling close. They’re soft; softer than you ever thought they’d be, before you actually knew them.

“You’re still here,” Your breath catches as you try and speak.

They bury their face in your neck, hungry for any kind of touch. Pressing a kiss along your pulse point, they wrap an arm around you and pull you close. Their hand settles on the small or your back, warm and comforting.

“I’m here, and I’ll remain here.” They say, “You shouldn’t have let me stay so long. I’m…you’re very easy to need.”

“Says you,” You tease back, pressing closer.

You can hardly tell who is laying on who by the time you fall asleep again, limbs entwined in a perfect tangle.

Wraith

Their touch feels like a breeze on your skin as you wake, and you nearly choke on a sob.

“You’re…still here…” You reach out, borderline desperate.

They’re like an apparition until they slowly solidify, their incorporeality fading as you touch them.

“I am,” They say, voice sad, “I wish-“

They don’t finish. They wish a lot of things. You do, too.

[junkdrawerfics]

Safe Place

Summary: Takes place when Bob and Phoenix almost go down from the bird strike. Afterwards, Rooster seeks you out to make sure you're okay because you aren't answering anyones calls. He finds you in your safe place. (hurt/comfort)

Word Count: 1278

Warnings: spoilers? Kinda? Reader struggles with the concept of losing someone.

---

It was a hard day.

Now, when you joined the Navy, you were expecting hard days. Plenty of them. But that doesn’t mean you feel any more prepared for them.

There’s no way to prepare for your best friends almost dying, after all.

You know they’re okay. Everyone has told you that over and over and over again. Natasha and Bob experienced minor injuries at best. But you can’t get past it. The sound of her rising panic over the comms. The sight of the plane careening into the side of a mountain. The pillar of smoke. It’s burned into your head, replaying on loop as your imagination runs wild.

What if they hadn’t ejected in time? 

What if the plane had blown up?

What if they had died?

What’s to stop the same thing from happening to you? To Rooster?

Tendrils of panic dig deep into your chest, leaving you gasping, and all you can do is seek out the one place you always do when you need to clear your head.

---

Rooster knocks softly on your door before drawing back and waiting. He rocks on his heels, lips pulling into a frown when nothing happens. Even after he tries again, nothing. Something uneasy forms like a rock in his gut. He glances through your windows, but the little house looks empty.

Where are you?

He came by to make sure you’re okay, not able to shake the worry clinging to him. He was right next to you when it happened. The sight of your face, crumbling with so much anguish, is trapped in his memory and it makes his heart ache.

With a frustrated sigh, Rooster rubs at his face. You could be anywhere. You grew up here, close to Top Gun, so you know the place front and back. He already tried calling you, with very little success. Even Phoenix and Bob couldn’t get a hang of you, which made the feeling in his chest so much worse.

So, he digs through every memory he has, trying to figure out where you would go first. Not his place, he just came from there. The beach maybe, but he doubts it with the dark clouds looming overhead. He really thought you’d be here, the house you grew up in. It’s yours, since your parents moved. You love telling him stories about growing up here, especially about the little house you and your dad built out ba-

Rooster takes off, right into the rain. His steps are sure as he rounds the corner of the house, eyes scanning the backyard before falling on a small cabin-like shed tucked into the back corner.

“(Y/n)?”

Even with no answer, he can’t shake the feeling that he’s right, so he keeps going.

It’s old, definitely a little worn around the edges. The walls, once painted green, are now faded and chipped, showing the wood beneath. There’s a little sign on the door, one that would make him smile if he weren’t so focused on finding you..

‘(Y/n)’s Hangar - certified personnel only’

Considering he’s an aviator, he figures he’s certified, so he doesn’t hesitate to crouch down and slowly push the door open, calling your name again.

---

“(Y/n)?”

Your breath rattles in your lungs as you take a sharp inhale. Looking up from where you’re tucked into a pile of blankets and pillows, you watch as the tall man shuffles into the small playhouse, practically bent at the waist.

“Hi, Ro-o,” your voice breaks, even at a whisper.

Bradley settles down next to you, and if it were any other day, you might laugh at how out of place he looks. Like a giant in your small home.

“Hey, songbird.” You offer a watery smile at the nickname, at the concern dripping from his words. “We’ve been worried about you.”

“Yah, I um…” You swipe at your eyes to get rid of any leftover tears. “I just, I didn’t…yah.”

Rooster’s brow furrows, and you turn your eyes back out the window, to watch the raindrops race. You really don’t know what to say. You should be with them right now, but you just…can’t. Because then it’s real. Too real. So you’re here, and now Rooster is too, just sitting quietly beside you. It’s not often the aviator is quiet, but he can practically feel the storm of emotions coming off you, like a reflection of the world outside.

“This is my safe place,” you murmur after a long moment, fingers curling deeper into your blankets. “I would, I would come here when I was young, whenever I was upset. Dad said, he said it would protect me ‘cause inside, I’m part of the Navy. And the Navy protects its own, but, but today-” You take a shuddering breath, holding back the pain in your chest as much as you can.

Rooster pulls you close, his arm wrapping around your shoulders so tenderly, so surely, as if he can protect you from everything crashing down on you. You look up at him, eyes wide, gleaming with a fear you’ve never felt before. And the look in his eyes, the warmth, the sadness, the understanding-

It shatters you.

A heaving sob shakes your whole body as you curl into Rooster. He immediately pulls you into his lap, cradling you, making soft shushing noises in your hair as he presses a kiss to your head. You hold on to him for dear life, his shirt twisted between your fingers, because you’re scared. Scared that if you let go for even a moment, he’ll be gone too. 

“I could’a lost them, Roo,” you sob, “I could have lost both of them.”

“I know. I know, sweetheart.” His voice is soft, softer than you’ve ever heard it. “But they’re okay. You didn’t lose them.”

“But I could have!” Your voice pitches with desperation. “What if it happens again, Roo? What if I lose you? I can’t- I couldn’t-”

“(Y/n).” Bradley cups your face. You bite back your cries, eyes too heavy with tears to make him out. But his hands are warm. They’re warm and calloused and tender and they’re holding every broken piece of you together. “You didn’t lose them and you won’t lose me. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But how can you say that, Bradley?” You whimper, “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know I will do everything on this Earth to come back to you-” Rooster rests his forehead against your, and your eyes flicker shut at the contact. “-always. I’d even partner up with Bagman if I had to.”

A watery laugh escapes your lips and some of the tension slips away. Rooster smiles, a faint one still creased with concern, but at least you’re laughing. He pulls you back into a hug, lips finding your temple. 

“Why don’t we go see Phoenix and Bob? Then you can see that they’re alright, and maybe all of us can go get dinner. How does that sound?” He proposes in a soft whisper, tracing random shapes on your back.

“Only if we get Thai, that’s Phoenix’s favorite,” you sniffle, “And ice cream after for Bob.”

“Sounds like a plan, songbird.”

You don’t move, though. You just need this a little longer. Just a few more minutes wrapped in Bradley’s arms, listening to the steady sound of his heartbeat. You release one last, shaky breath when his fingers interlace with yours. You give his hand a squeeze, appreciation swelling in your chest.

Because here, in his arms, you feel safe. Safer than you’ve felt in a long time.

It looks like Bradley Bradshaw is your safe place, now.

---

Cheesy, I know. Let me love my cheese.

Also let me know if you guys have any requests or prompts!

[glettokono]

I just wanted to say that I always get super excited when I see that you’ve posted something new. Your style is so cool and it just really flows. I was wondering how you make your panels interesting and not too grid like, but not hard to follow. Any advice?

Hi!!! Thank you for the kind words and im so glad you like my works!! Unfortunately, I cannot give any practical advice, because I always do everything SO HAOTIC because I have ADHD and have a very hard time finishing an idea. An idea just flashes in my head, and what I manage to sketch becomes the basis . And most often nothing works out for me) Usually, I draw a storyboard on paper in the office, and in the evening at home I transfer it to the computer, and I always have too many frames and they don’t fit into the format, or too few frames and I have to - either remove or add something. I don’t make a very precise sketch, I just throw out ideas and see how it goes) And to be honest, most often I miss and I can’t fit all the frames into one page, and there aren’t enough frames for the second page) Comic where i needed to add more frames to make it more understandble:

Comic where i made the final page the way i made it on paper(but it is sometimes to hard ro understand what i made in paper xddd):

or the bad example where the skethc was good but i didnt make it right so at the end the finale comic is so messy and hard to read)

so I’m not an adviser, I just insert frames as they are inserted, and try my best to make them clear to read) sometimes I succeed, sometimes not) I think my main advice is to read more good comics, look at beautiful pictures and try to repeat it) learn, get inspired and work, work and work! Over time, you will learn) I myself am still learning, I make mistakes, but every time I try to do something new and more correct!

[wings-of-ink]

How would the Ro's react if Mc is getting flirt/asked out in front of them?

(In crushing stage and dating stage)

I'm just here for the drama! 😅😋

Oof, Anon out here asking the hard questions. I don't know if my spirit is prepared lol.

This may come up a bit as the story progresses with some "NPCs" approaching as optional hook-ups as well as an RO or 2 being a bit flirty. There's a chance of a couple antagonistic forces that may try to flirt with MC too.

For now, these are my best estimates of their reactions:

Oswin: Same at both stages, lol. He's quietly seething and his heart is racing. He respects MC's autonomy a great deal, and he's not going to raise a fuss - yet. The second that MC is uncomfortable or needs help, he's already there. He might pout a bit later. If MC opts to tease him afterward (good-naturedly, of course), he will fluster big time.

Zahn: As a crush, Zahn will be observing intently, but will feel pretty confident that they can gain MC's affection even better. They're not necessarily jealous at this stage, but they may quietly fret over it if the MC has shown interest in Zahn.

In a committed relationship, they're a bit pouty about it, maybe surprised even by their own feelings too. They'll likely ask MC questions, like if Zahn should flirt with them the same way. At least in the moment, they may crave a bit of reassurance. They're quick to bounce back.

Duri: At the crushing stage, Duri is having fun with it. They're playfully teasing MC about it, maybe even low-key egging it on. (Perhaps a defense mechanism?) 🤔 They may get involved, pretend to be jealous of MC.

In a committed relationship, Duri is having a little less fun with this situation. They may try to get involved again, but this time, it's a competition to woo MC even better. They're surprised by their own reactions. If MC's admirer is a jerk, Duri is on the defensive. Said jerk can expect all of their left shoes to go missing in the night.

Rune: In both stages, they're likely to critique the flirting process to throw off their competition's game. Expect some potentially sick burns on MC's admirer's technique or character. They may bring out their lyre and compose a soundtrack to the interaction.

When in a committed relationship, they find attempts to flirt with MC "cute" in the most condescending way. They feel confident, smug even depending on how long into the relationship they are. They're cutting in to easily steal MC away from the flirtatious foe.

???: He doesn't think he "crushes" on anyone, necessarily. So, if he found MC being flirted with by someone else at this stage, he'd not understand that strange pull in his gut. If he's feeling mischievous, he might leer at MC's admirer and make rude/obscene gestures.

After forming a relationship, he'd probably feel a mite competitive and try to draw some attention away from MC while they were being flirted with. Partly to get their attention back on him and partly to "rescue" MC, if that's needed. Expect him to rudely interrupt and feign ignorance.

Thank you for the question, Anon! 😆

These may be more dramatic in practice with an actual scene for me to work with. Chapter 4 might give us the opportunity for a little drama even.

[prince-rowan-of-the-forest]

Squish

----

Things may be better, but Roman still struggles occaisonally. Remus is happy to help him out.

----

| Ao3 |

Written for: This Prompt

Warnings: Some self dep, mainly Roman thinking badly about himself again. overstimulation. vague reference to past self harm.

Pairings: Creativitwins, Roceit

Word Count: 1481

Notes:

Hello!!

Darkside Roman fic!

Thank you to Oatmeal for the prompt here on my Tumblr (feel free to leave a request yourself!), I did write this on my train ride - I just forgot to post it yesterday, haha.

----

Roman stood before his mirror. The floor length one, in his room, with ornate golden carvings around the frame. The mirror itself looked like something that belonged in a king’s chamber in a palace, not Roman’s bedroom. His room may be ornate, his red canopy bed was beautiful, with a carved wooden headboard and translucent red drapes. His desk was mahogany, also elegantly carved and looked like something straight out of a vicotorian drawing room, his plush red rug created a nice centrepiece to his room and his closet was full to bursting with clothes he would probably never actually get to wear, bis room was ornate, but it wasn’t fit for him.

A beautiful, elegant room, fit for a prince. Roman didn’t feel like he belonged there.

His tail had been the last thing to come through, he was pretty sure, and now it swayed behind him, brushing over the ground repeatedly in a way that irritated him to no end. He thought he should be used to it by now, after his week spent in the imagination. Which he didn’t remember most of, but Janus had reassured him that nothing bad had happened, he hadn’t hurt anyone – he, apparently, had actually been kind of cute. And he’d somehow gotten Virgil to join them for movie nights, too, he wondered how exactly he’d done that with his dragon brain.

Dark wings spread behind him, the bloody red of the scaley skin making him cringe away from his own reflection. Red was his colour, the colour of passion and love, romance. Red was also the colour of anger, of fire burning brightly, hurt, pain, distruction. When he was a Prince, the red meant love, a bright spirit, now…

His wings twitch and Roman reaches around himself to – what, try to get them off? He’d already tried that more than enough and all it did was hurt, there was no point, he was stuck like this now. His tail started to thrash behind him without his permission, he hated how out of control it was, he couldn’t stand how it moved when he was irritated or upset – it made it practically impossible to hide what he was feeling and the way it dragged against the hardrood floor of his room made him want to scream-

“Roro!?” His bedroom door slammed open, making his wings flare out in surprise. He whipped around to face his brother in the doorway, forgetting once more about his tail and only remembering when it slammed into the mirror, sending it crashing to the floor in shards. The golden carved frame was ruined, the mirror itself now only showing a fragmented reflection. Roman stared at it in shock, wondering if this reflection was more accurate.

“Oooh- that’s not good,” Remus said, “Sorry Ro – did I scare ya?”

“No- no, it’s- it’s fine I was just…” Roman trailed off, looking back at the mirror, “Focused.” He settles on.

“What? On admiring yourself?” Remus giggled, coming over, “Janny wanted me to come get you, you’re missing dinner.”

“I am?” Roman asked, looking at his twin with a frown, he thought dinner was still a few hours away.

“What’s going on in that silly head of yours, Ro?” Remus knocked on his skull like it was a door, and Roman winced away, batting halfheartedly at his hands, he hadn’t noticed Remus come over, “Oh c’mon, I can basically see your thoughts crowding up in there.”

“Just- leave it, it doesn’t matter,” Roman tried to wave him off, “I’ll be down for dinner soon.”

“Oh no, nope, absolutely not,” Remus said, shaking Roman lightly by the shoulder, “You only say crap like that when something’s really wrong, now what’s got my lil’ bro so upset?”

“Remus-“ Roman huffed, he was going for a warning tone, trying to get his brother to back off, though he was pretty sure it sounded a lot more pathetic than he was intending, “Just-“

“Nope, get, now, sit down, go on,” Remus practically shoved him back towards his bed and Roman’s tail curled around his feet as he was pushed to sit down as he continued to weakly protest. Once he was down, Romus practically threw himself on top of him, putting all of his weight on him. Roman hated to admit that it did help, even if he had to shuffle around so he wasn’t squashing his wings.

“There, better?” Remus asked, already knowing that ‘being squished’ as Remus called it, tended to help quite a lot, Roman nodded weakly, “Now, what’s the shit bothering you?”

“My stupid- stupid brain,” He huffed, looking up at the canopy of his bed, “I feel like- like all this stuff – it’s not -it’s not mine – it’s like I don’t- I don’t feel like I- I deserve it-“

“Deserve it?” Remus says, “Why the fuck wouldn’t you deserve it?”

“I don’t – because, because I’m hideous – because all I do is cause pain? I just- I hurt Patton and Logan, I hurt Virgil – I definitely hurt you, and I probably hurt Jan and I just-“

Repetitive, insistent tapping on his cheek drew him back out of the spiral he was descending into, Remus was frowning at him.

“Tell your brain to fuck off, Ro,” Remus said, bapping him on the forehead, “You’re cool as fuck, you haven’t hurt Janny or Virgin, you haven’t hurt the others nearly as much as they fucked you up, and yeah, being isolated from you hurt like a fucking soap bath but that wasn’t your fault-“

“I know that but – but this-“ he pulls at one of his wings again and Remus slaps his hand away.

“Is really fucking cool,” he finishes Roman’s sentence, “Literally, you can fly – and you can set shit on fire, how is that not cool as fuck?”

“And I’ve told you that- that doesn’t matter – it’s – it’s – dragons are evil,” Roman said, dragging his hand over his face, his claws leaving the lightest marks on his own skin, “They’re meant to hurt people destroy things, hoard gold, I don’t want to be a greedy, prideful, nasty creature.”

“Yeah, and we’ve told you every time you say this that you’re not any of that shit,” Remus said, pulling Roman’s hand away from his face so he doesn’t hurt himself any more. Roman whined, before coughing smoke right into Remus’ face and immediately panicking.

“Mm!” Remus said, “Thanks Roro,”

“What?”

“The smoke?”

“Yeah uh – why are you thanking me?”

“Cause’ it smells good?” Remus tilted his head, “Like free perfume.”

Roman can’t help the snort of laughter that escaped him. He should’ve known that Remus would enjoy smelling of smoke. Of course, something like that wouldm’t have upset him, he was Remus for goodness sake.

“Y’know Janny would say something poetic about how dragons were strong and awesome again if he heard this, right?” Remus poked him in the side and Roman batted his hands away again.

“Yeah yeah – I know – it’s getting better though, I swear.”

Remus hummed, flopping down properly on top of him, “These spirals not happening so often?” He asked.

“No – it’s just – sometimes it all starts to bother me – it’s like –“

“You’re feeling loads of things all at once and you feel like you’re whole body is gonna explode?” Remus suggests, “Like there are ants crawling all over your skin and you can’t get ‘em off?”

“Yeah- um- something like that,” Roman nodded.

“Is the squishing helping?” Remus asked.

Roman took a long, deep breath, “Yeah, thanks.”

“Awesome ‘cause if it didn’t I’d have to crush up all your bones.”

“…Thanks, Ree,” Roman shook his head with a fond smile.

“You feeling good enough for dinner?” Remus asked, “’Cause I think Janny’s made pie, and he’s gonna get worried ‘cause we’ve been gone so long.”

“I… I think so,” Roman nodded. Shoving Remus away so he could get up. He waved away the mess from the mirror and now that spot felt far too empty, but he wouldn’t let it bother him right now. His tail still dragged over the hardwood floor, but it didn’t bother him so much now. Remus grabbed him by the arm and dragged him downstairs.

“Sorry we’re late!” Remus yelled as they arrived in the dining room, “Roro was having a crisis again.”

“Is everything alright?” Janus looked up with concern clear in his expression. Roman smiled.

“Yeah – it is now,” he said, taking his seat.

“Mhm, I helped,” Remus said proudly. Janus chuckled.

“Thank you, Remus, I presume you did an awful job?”

“As always,” Remus nodded with a grin. Roman couldn’t help but smile as he settled into their company, finally able to relax now that they were both here.

When Roman returned to his room later that night, he found a new mirror in the old one’s place, this one was just as ornate, but made out of black marble.

----

Tags: @full-of-roman-angst-trash @your-local-random-dino @cutebisexualmess @glacierruler @roseianxiety @bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti @scalesfeathersnfur (if anyone wants to be added, let me know!)

[theprice-if]

I wanted to ask that how would the Ro's react when they are staying with mc who is apparently drunk at the moment and then mc went to mc "Hey...can I tell you a secret?"Mc would ask and then when the Ro's nodded at them and mc shyly said "I really love (Ro's name) But they never seemed to interested in me...I wish they can clear wether or not they like me"Mc would say seriously and their face says they are not playing around 😳

"Hey..." You shift from foot-to-foot drawing their attention, your gaze locked with your feet before you shyly look back up. "Can I tell you a secret?" At their nod, you brighten noticeably and practically beam with excitement. "I really love [Insert Chosen RO], but they never seem interested in me... I wish they can make it clear whether or not they like me."

Adrian/Ariana: Warmth spreads through their chest at the admission, but they tamper it down when they see how clearly drunk you were-- if the smell of beer on your breath wasn't enough. "I have a great idea, MC." They easily maneuver from their seated position, wrapping a supportive arm around your waist. "Why don't you tell them in the morning? I'm certain that this will be a conversation they'd be more than interested in having." Not resisting the sudden urge to do so, they gently bop your nose. "A conversation that needs to happen when you're not completely hammered. Now, I'd be a horrible spouse if I left you by yourself to deal with this. Let's get you to bed."

Blake: A surprisingly gentle look etches itself across their face and, for the briefest of moments, they regret agreeing to listening to what you had to say. However, that moment of guilt quickly transforms into one of extreme self-satisfaction. "This is quite the revelation, MC," they purr, hazel eyes observing you with a glint. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone about this secret." They place a hand over their heart. "I'll keep it with me always, I promise." Now, I just need to get you to admit it when you're not drunk.

Liam/Leah: Their worry quickly mutates into worried confusion, their mind desperately trying to take in the information you had given them. You loved them? Truly? The revelation brings a small smile to their face, but it quickly falls away when they realize how drunk you were. Now wasn't the time to overthink your admission, nor was it the time to have a heart-to-heart, they had a job to do; they had to get you somewhere safe, everything else was secondary to that. "Let's get you home, okay?" They place a steady hand on your arm. "I think you've had enough to drink for the night." Or the year...

Isaac/Isabel: If they had a camera, they'd take a snapshot of this very scene to commemorate the moment for eternity, something they could forever hold close to their heart. With bright eyes, and an even brighter smile, they touch your arm. "That's delightful news, MC," they beam, warmth spreading throughout their entire body. "I think this is definitely something you should bring to their attention." Sniffing, their nose wrinkles at the heavy smell of alcohol in the air. "A discussion that you should have when you're not as inebriated. Until then? Why don't we find someplace for you to wind down, okay?"

Carson/Cara: "No." The word was as final as it was sharp. Dark blue eyes reminiscent of storm clouds as they stare at you, arms crossed over their chest. They didn't wish to hear your secret, didn't wish to pull any information from you when you were barely cognizant of what you were doing. Especially if it had anything to do with them. "We need to get you a glass of water, some Advil, and then a bed, before you start spilling your guts all over the place." They shake their head, gently taking you by the arm to guide you from the room. "We have a contract after all, MC. It wouldn't do to break it now." And, despite everything, they have to ignore the sting of disappointment, of want, at what could have been if they had simply let you speak.

[audiovisualrecall]

Here is what i wrote:

I posted these not because I wanted compliments (though I appreciate them! I love that other people like what I make!) but rather to say, look, it's not 'talent', it's practice. I had to train my brain to understand how to draw the way I do now. It didn't appear overnight and it wasn't in me from birth, the only thing I had was a love of creating things and an inability to not create things. A love of art, or making, and a stubbornness to draw things I liked a lot. An obsession with a certain subject that I wanted to draw a lot.

A lot of those things i made were 'bad', were things I don't display and wouldn't normally post. People with absurdly long arms, dragons with wings that make no sense at all, faces with eyes two vastly different sizes, cats with impractical proportions, awkward, stilted action scenes, buildings and cars that barely resemble either. But they got me where I am. And I still struggle with translating my vision to paper, and I still make things and go ehhh nope, I absolutely look at other people's artwork and go 'I want to draw/paint like that!' Or even, 'I hate that I can't make my work look like that'. I just don't really let that stop me from creating something, anything at all, generally speaking. Artist's block happens, of course.

And also, while pretty, finished pieces with full color or shading are nice, enjoyable to look at, or to hang on a wall or to post and say proudly look what I made, enjoy it, tell me what you think!.... that's not the be-all end-all of Art. Appreciating the journey and the rough sketches and the silly doodles is important because all of that is just as much art as the finished, glossy thing.

I don't draw cars much because I'm bad at it and I don't like looking at or making bad art, even though I *know* I can only get better at it with practice, but it feels like a waste of my time *because cars are not a subject I'm interested in* and I only have so much free time to make art in. But that's the key thing, there, what I starred: if I love/am interested in/obsessed with the subject I'm drawing, I will keep trying and keep doodling and sketching and painting it even if what I put out doesn't look right to me, doesn't look like how I want it to, doesn't say what I want it to, isn't 'perfect'.

This is all to say, please never say you cant be an artist, you cant draw, you cant draw like [so and so], you can't draw a straight line (neither can I! Its surprisingly not that important to art!), or tell artists they're so talented, because that's all really just self deprecating and defeatist, please just try. And try again. And keep drawing and look at what you make and look for the things you like about it. And then keep doing it. Try it differently. Try it messy, try it loud, try drawing to music or while listening to audio books, try it with crayons, with charcoal, with children's watercolors, with fancy materials, with basic no.2 pencils. Just create, even if it's 'bad'!

Just... final note: You don't need to take shortcuts to produce fanart of your favorite thing. You really don't want ro try drawing? Consider commissioning an artist, maybe?

Intimidated by the idea of practicing for years when all you want is to have finished pieces you can be proud of? I'm...not sure what to tell you, there. I used to look for artists on deviantart with color-able pern dragon 'bases' that I would then color in and share with credit. You could also do collages or mood boards or see if snyome has any coloring pages or paint by numbers, because those are fun to do and enjoy. But you can make art. I recommend crayons or pastels or markers, tbh. sometimes pencil is...difficult to do some things with. You can stick to one or two colors or go crazy with colors.'

....I kinda ran out of steam at the end there but I'm hoping someone sees it and it helps someone. The real thing the ai discussion has brought to my attention is that SO many people think they absolutely cannot draw, they didn't get some magical gift to be able to have the talent for it, and that means they can't pick up a pencil and draw anyway because it'll be bad, and they don't want to draw badly they want to draw really really good, because they want to be able to post pretty, glossy, finished pieces that match the image in their minds, and they want other people to see it and compliment their artwork and enjoy it. And they don't want to hear that it can take at least 10-15 years to go from 'bad' drawings to 'good', polished work. (Even tho it's not a strict linear progression, anyway).

[dongiovannaswife]

underworld's royalty.

Impera’s part 2!!   •  part 1

cw: medical settings, talk about trauma and past accidents, brief talk about grief.

collab with the lovely @softlimefluff​

Soft music and fresh air fill Melmoth's senses as the automatic doors open. He's never been here —the sight of the SPW Naples lobby is nothing he could have ever imagined, but it does look like the TV sets he's seen in shows like The Good Doctor but… fancier. 

Stepping in, his eyes scan all over the place: the empty waiting room, the front desk and the screen above it announcing the doctors and their current occupation: three of them, he notes, are free except for one. 

Dr. Bocelli Enzo: not available.

The name's familiar and he already knows the doctor is busy with his boss. Nodding to himself, he walks up to the front desk with the lady there already looking at him. Her lips are curved up into a kind, practiced but not fake smile and as her mouth opens the doors slide open and someone steps in. Still, he stays focused on her: 

“Buona notte, signore. How may I help you?” 

Raising a finger in a 'wait' gesture, he pulls out a small notebook and a pen, starting to write down.

‘Hello, miss. I am mute so I use this notebook to communicate.’ 

Turning the notebook to the lady, he waits patiently as she reads over it. Her eyes shine for a second, almost as if she's not sure how to handle the situation. Assuming she's already read his message, he turns the notebook back to him, writing down next: 

‘I am here to visit a close friend: Helena Giovanna, she should be here under Dr. Bocelli's care.' 

The presence behind him makes him look back from the lady: behind him, someone he's known from reports and security cameras shows up. 

Kishibe Rohan. 

The mangaka stands in line behind Melmoth, glancing around the waiting area and over the screens, then pulls out his phone impatiently and taps on the touchscreen, waiting for his turn.

Melmoth waits, intrigued by the artist, but turns back to finish his conversation first, finding out which room Helena is in. Rohan looks up at the name “Helena Giovanna” and raises an eyebrow, speaking up. “That’s actually who I’m here to see as well.”

Holding up a finger, Melmoth scribbles on a new page, holding the notebook up for Rohan to read. “Romaji or English?”

Surprised, Rohan tilts his head. “Either is fine. Whichever you’re most comfortable with.”

Melmoth nods, scribbling another question, this time in english. “If you like, we can walk to Helena’s room together?”

Rohan nods, but questions him further. “I don’t believe we’ve met before, how do you know the Giovannas? For that matter, are you familiar with me? You had this look when I walked through the door… ”

Writing again, he holds up another message, hurriedly getting his thoughts out. “As someone who works under the Don, I’ve seen your file.” He writes further, drawing a line to separate where the new thought begins. “I can tell you more as we walk, if you’re interested.”

Nodding again, Rohan looks up at the front desk attendant, reaching into his pocket to show her his SPW clearance badge from the Morioh branch. Grabbing a scanner, she logs Rohan in, registering his visit.

“Welcome to the Naples branch, Signore Kishibe. Enjoy your stay here. Please come scan out when you’re ready to leave.”

Melmoth turns around, walking into the hall with Rohan following close. As they walk, Melmoth slows down to write, showing it to Rohan as they reach the elevator. 

“I was once a firefighter but, fortunately or not, fate had other plans for me. As bizarre as it might sound, Death took it upon herself to protect me for her own mission." 

As they get into the elevator and Rohan finishes reading the message, he blinks twice, trying to parse out Melmoth’s words, though his curiosity gets the best of him and he blurts out: 

“You’re using feminine pronouns to refer to Death. Does that mean… Have you seen her? Seen Death?" 

Melmoth shakes his head, taking the notebook from him to keep writing. Rohan watches as he writes, taking note of his gray skin and the dark circles under his eyes, so deep they look like craters in his cheeks. When Melmoth raises the notebook back up to show him, Rohan leans close to get a better look.

“I am not allowed to see her. But I do know she's taken after a woman, a beautiful one, to present herself." 

“That’s…” He muses a second, pressing Melmoth for more. “Is there a reason why?” 

Melmoth pauses, thinking about a way to explain the whole situation in a few words —twenty words or less, as Akashi would always request— then, slowly, he dips his head down to write, taking more time now. When the elevator stops at their destination floor, Rohan exits, waiting for Melmoth to join him while the masked man hurriedly finishes writing his sentence.

As they stand in the hall. Melmoth’s eyes have taken after a darker look, a sad one, as he holds up the notebook. “Love between a human and a deity is forbidden.” 

Rohan’s mouth hands open in a perfect ‘o’, taken aback slightly by the sudden confession. Still, Melmoth writes a new message, walking towards Helena’s room with Rohan.

“I am here to meet my future student. Don Giovanna will tell you more later, likely. There’s a waiting room close by with refreshments. I want a private word first.”

He raises a hand in a 'wait' motion, writing another message and hands it over, this one folded, like he wants Rohan to read it later. The mangaka takes the note, leaning closer to inspect the other one.   

Rohan reads it over, then nods. “I’m glad we were able to meet. I’ll see you around, I’m sure.” Giving a small bow, Rohan walks off to find the waiting area, pulling out his phone as he looks around for a second. Melmoth watches him leave and turns to Helena’s room, putting his hand on the doorknob and instantly feeling a stand presence guarding the door. 

The door swings open. There stands Westwood, brows arched down before his eyes roam over Melmoth and a flash of recognition softens his features. The presence disappears and he stands aside with a small gesture. While he waits for him to come in, West looks around the hall, quickly glancing at the camera at the far corner across from him. Fugo must be watching, he thinks.   

Leaving his phone aside, Rohan unfolds the piece of paper, frowning as he goes over the message over and over again. 

'Isn't it interesting? In Spanish, death has a 'e' at the end: muerte. The 'e' makes it a completely neutral word, and yet, Spanish speakers still use female pronouns but with a connotation of thing or event. How come we all associate said event, a part of the cycle of life and reincarnation, with the same pronouns? 

What do you think, Kishibe-sensei?'

Rohan looks back, straight to the door leading to the hall where Melmoth was, confusion written all over his face —what even was that? Walking over to the Lavazza machine, Rohan sets up a cup of coffee, musing over the cryptic letter.

God is a woman, so they say, but perhaps death is as well?

Melmoth de Angelis is not good with introductions. He's clumsy, always has been. The mere thought of making a fool of himself before new people has always been a fear of his; back when he was a firefighter, he was not the one doing most of the talk in the field. 

Giorno knows this. As soon as he comes in and spots him, the Don stands up from the chair by Lena's bed, walking up to him. 

“She's okay," he says, turning to Lena and gesturing at her with sad and equally hopeful eyes, “Dr. Bocelli is really happy with her process.” 

Nodding, Melmoth looks around, spotting Abel there as well —Rome's Capo looks upset, eyes drifting all over Giorno. Upon this, Melmoth looks back, studying the Don's appearance as well. 

His clothes are slightly out of place: his tie nowhere to be seen, shirt out of his pants when it usually is perfectly tucked, uneven buttons and wrinkles all over the fabric. His lips are dry, eyes red and his hair pushed back messily. He's a literal mess. Even the way he moves is slow, a proof of his lack of sleep and maybe food and drink as well. 

Looking back at Abel with a questioning look, the Capo nods back, sighing and running a palm down his face: 

“Yeah, Corvo, this man is fucking crazy. He won't listen, please tell him some— actually, he won't listen to you, get it?” the Capo laughs at his own joke, the sound vague and on edge, barely hiding back his worry behind moodiness.

Giorno sighs and Melmoth looks back, expecting a comeback from him; all he gets, though, is just one tired sigh and a: “I get it, Abel. I know she wouldn't like seeing me like this.” 

Abel shifts in his seat, taking after a rather aggressive stance when he leans forward, pointing an accusatory finger at Giorno, “Then why are you doing exactly what you know she wouldn't like?! She could wake up anytime now and what'll she see? Go on, guess!" 

Melmoth steps in, hands up and palms facing each man, as if putting an imaginary wall between them.

Giorno sighs and when speaks, he sounds defeated and angry at once: “Because I can't stand leaving her. Not here. No like this.” 

Abel stands up now, taking a step forward before Melmoth's presence blocks his path. He peeks around the man at the Don, staring intently.  “What do you mean like this? What don’t you understand about “she's progressing well! What are you so worried about? —Is it Esme? You know she's under that old man's protection, too! Why the hell can't you stop overworking yourself for just one second?!"

Giorno sighs, though this time the sound comes out mixed with a low growl from the back of his throat. Melmoth watches his eyes flash golden for a second before the Don speaks, frustrated with the barrage of accusations. “You wouldn't understand, Agreste.” 

“Oh?" Abel grins, rage surfacing. When he tries to dodge Melmoth, his hand shuts up to block his path again, the other coming up with a note that he sticks forcefully to his forehead. 

The Capo stumbles back, sitting back on the couch with a huff. Taking the note off his forehead, he reads over it with a frown that slowly fades. 

“We are in a medical facility, Abel. I suggest you keep to yourself. I am sure the Don will eventually leave to rest now that Kishibe Rohan is here, who is waiting outside." 

Abel looks up, relief washing over his features for a second before he stands up and leaves, wishing to greet the mangaka and let him know about Akashi's situation, hoping to get his help. 

As the Capo leaves, Melmoth turns to Giorno, stealing a quick look at his drawn out face and then glancing down and back at his notebook to write. 

Holding it up, he watches Giorno's green eyes dart between the words, catching his rapid blinking.

“I am here to meet my future student.” 

Giorno's eyes light up and a grin spreads across his face slowly. He turns to the crib he had been standing over before, blocking the view with his body, and Melmoth's eyes widen. He walks up slowly, trailing behind his boss with cautious yet firm steps. 

Giorno stands by the side of the crib, a hand coming to lift the blanket draped over it. Looking back at him, the Don's face has lit up with pure joy: “Corvo, this is Esme.” 

The blanket reveals the tiny being inside. By now, she's wearing a white onesie with a duck drawn on the front. Her mouth is slightly open as she sleeps on her side —cheeks pink and her tiny nose slightly crunched up. Long red lashes caress her cheeks and there's a tiny bit of equally fierce red hair at the top of her head. She's deeply asleep, worn out and resting soundly after the tiring process of birth. 

Melmoth's mouth hangs open for a second before he looks back at Giorno, eyes filled with tears. Trembling, he pulls his notebook out, messily writing: 

“She's beautiful. Congratulations.” 

Giorno laughs and the baby sighs, dreamily, like the sound of her father's laugh brings warmth and comfort to her: “Thank you. I suppose her hair is like that because of one of Lena's aunts.” 

Melmoth nods, finding his own words lost somewhere else. He writes another message then, 

“Like a Phoenix. Even if that sounds edgy.” 

Giorno nods, appreciating the sweet comparison, “I was thinking more of a cherry, but yeah. She's a mini Lena, too.” 

Melmoth nods, reaching a trembling hand out to place his finger over Esme's fist. Nudging at her fingers gently, it doesn't take too long before she's grasping at it, stirring awake for a second and then settling down back again. 

He looks around, then, finding a chair by the crib —one set before the crib and the stretcher— and sits down, glancing over as the hospital room door opens.

Abel peeks in, his expression neutral. “Giovanna, Kishibe Rohan is here.” 

Giorno nods, still on edge after their confrontation, holding onto Esme a little tighter. 

“Let him in, then.” 

Nodding, Abel disappears for a moment, the room quiet with only the sounds of Esme smacking her lips in her sleep. She must be hungry. It took a lot of energy for her to arrive… as much as Lena bringing her into the world.

Looking around, Giorno searches for the bottles of donated breastmilk, finding the small fridge in the room.

“Corvo, I hate to impose, but could you help me out? We have to put a bottle in the heater before–”

“Giovanna, not even ready to greet your best friend?~~”

Turning around to meet the voice, Gio sees Rohan, coffee in hand, grinning from the hospital room doorway. Breaking into a tired smile, he gestures Rohan over with his head, still holding onto Esme carefully.

“You’re just in time. Put one of those bottles into the heater, will you Kishibe?? Or have you forgotten how, since your Ellie is almost two, hmmmm??”

Rolling his eyes, Rohan reaches into the fridge and grabs the bottle, slipping it into the warming device. “I’m not completely incompetent with children, you know.”

“Oh, really? So that one legendary Rock Paper Scissors fight was all a lie??”

Rohan scoffs, crossing his arms. “You know I was a lot younger then, Giogio. I should never have told you that story…”

Sniffing out a laugh, Giorno grins. “All in good fun, Han-han~ Speaking of your daughter…” The Don looks around, searching for Ari and Ellie. “Are the others coming, or?”

“Mmmh. In about half an hour. Ellie needed a little more time for a bath and lunch. I wanted to come check in first and make sure our visit was alright.”

“Yes, of course. Well. Helena is not awake yet, but. They are more than welcome to come meet the newest member of the family.” Giorno relaxes his arms a bit, showing off Esme to Rohan with a proud smile.

“Oh.” Rohan’s mouth opens softly, staring down at the tiny girl in Gio’s massive arms. “She’s. So small, Gioigio. I forgot how tiny they were when…” Glancing away, Rohan blinks rapidly, trying to clear the tears building in his eyes. 

“It’s alright, Kishibe. Do you want to hold her?” 

He nods slowly, opening his arms and holding her like he’s held Eliana so many times before. Giorno grabs the warmed bottle, putting the nipple on and shaking it gently. Esme wakes slowly, beginning to fuss as she realizes how hungry she really is.

From the side, Melmoth watches curiously as the two men work together, finally getting the tiny girl, his protégé, settled and eating. Even now, he can see how curious and intelligent Esmeralda already is, her tiny hand grasping Rohan’s finger and staring up at him with wide green eyes. Most babies were still getting a handle on the world at this age –eyes adjusting, brain updating, just getting to experience the world. But Esme…

Chuckling silently to himself, Melmoth mused that not all children were the progeny of two powerful stand users with enormous potential. 

“So, Kishibe,” Giorno starts, interrupting himself to turn around and let out a long yawn. Rohan frowns when Giorno turns back around to face him again, noting how that made his eyes tear up—an evident sign of exhaustion. Still, the mangaka waits until Giorno keeps going, wanting nothing more but to listen to him. 

“Sorry,” he says, blinking away the tiredness, “Lena and I would want to talk to you and Ari once she’s here and, well, once Lena wakes up.”

Rohan nods, not quite understanding what’s so important to let him know beforehand, but he still nods, shielding Esme from the light when he feels her slowly drift off, “Sure, Giovanna. You should worry about getting some sleep, though.” he lowers his voice to a whisper, looking down at his unkempt clothes, “You look like shit.” 

Giorno laughs, “Can’t you tell? It’s fashion.” 

Rohan grimaces, playing along. “Josuke dresses better.” 

Giorno’s laughter grows and he leans back, the sound slowly dying in his throat until he’s reduced to a tired smile. “I’ve heard that exact same line about ten times today.” 

Rohan’s eyebrow arches, “The Josuke one or the get some sleep thing?”

Giorno sighs, “The sleep part.”

Rohan grins, mischievous, about to come up with a better comeback when Abel interrupts them, meddling in: 

“Of course, dumbass,” he says, from his spot in the door. “We’re all worried about you. We want only the best for you so,” he gestures around, “Seeing you like this doesn’t help.” 

The mangaka nods, “You should go and get some sleep. Food. All that.” 

Abel speaks up again, almost desperate. “If it makes you feel better, I can stay the night. I’m sure Kishibe will stay too, as long as he can. I know it’s only close to lunch, but. You need more than 30 second naps where you sleep standing, boss.” 

Looking between them, Giorno seems at a loss for words. While it’s not the first time this has happened, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to being taken care of so openly. 

“Alright,” he says, standing up and walking to Lena, he leans in, pressing a kiss to her forehead. His eyes remain closed for a moment as he leans his forehead against hers —he knows she’s doing better now, that she’ll be up and ready to leave soon. But… 

He’s so used to her presence on a daily basis, everywhere and anywhere, that these moments of absence hurt. 

He leans back, looking between Abel and Rohan again. “I’ll come back later. Maybe tomorrow morning, but you need to text me immediately if anything changes. I need to look after the twins, too… Do we have a nurse on hand too? Just to look over Esme if someone needs a break??” 

“I’ll ask Westwood to go home with you and check in with the medical team before I come back.” Abel says, not expecting a reply, already walking out the door. Giogio sees him leave, sighing under his breath. At this, Rohan elbows Giogio in the back, a little bit hard, but nothing that could be misinterpreted or hurtful.

“Relax,” he says, holding Esme carefully and her almost-empty bottle. “Listen to them. They care about you. They really do. Let yourself be taken care of.” 

Giorno looks back and down at him, eyebrow curled up in amusement, but eyes shining with gratefulness. “Quite the poet, hm?” 

Rohan chuckles, “Oh c’mon Giovanna, get your ass out of here.” 

Giorno chuckles, too, leaning down to pass a warm hand over Esme’s head as she unlatches from the bottle, smacking her lips with a satisfied sigh. Looking at her one last time before walking up to the door, where he finally leaves with a final: “Language.” 

Rohan sighs, shaking his head. “Fine. Get your butt out of here. Leave. Depart. Au revoir. Arrivederci. Adiós.”

Giogio grins, shaking his head. “Don’t forget to burp her too.”

“I know!”

Giorno shuts the door, leaving Rohan behind with a wave.

Looking down at the bundle in his arms, Rohan’s hand, now free from the bottle, pokes out from underneath Esme, using a single finger to trace her features. She stirs awake for a second, then settles back down, comfortable and warm.

Pulling her up to his shoulder, Rohan pats Esme’s back, firm but gentle, making sure she can still breathe while he gets her to burp. Melmoth, still sitting quietly, stands and grabs one of the burp cloths, tapping Rohan’s shoulder and holding up the fabric.

“Ah! Thank you.” Nodding slightly, Rohan lifts Esme up, allowing Melmoth to put the cloth down. “You can never be too careful. Babies and Gucci cashmere don’t really mix~”

Melmoth nods, looking up and around the room, seeming to notice the lack of something there, and pulling his notebook out, he quickly scribbles down, showing the message to Rohan. 

‘I will come back later, I need to run some errands.’ 

Quickly reading over it, Rohan nods, humming and looking back at Corvo. “Okay, see you later, then.” 

With a wave, Corvo walks up to the door, then comes back, taking big strides to Lena’s bed. There he stops and Rohan watches in silent curiosity as the man struggles for a moment with his own thoughts, before he writes something down in a tiny sheet of paper. Then, he folds it, placing it atop her hand. The former firefighter turns to him with a silent plea of ‘please, keep this between us’ before he goes back to the door, waving at him goodbye as the door closes behind him.

Minutes pass and Rohan’s eyes drift around the room, still patting Esme’s back gently. The white walls lay bare except for a single painting by the bed: The Ice Floes by Monet. He ponders it for a second, eyes scanning over the piece, deciding that, maybe, the art had been chosen to soothe the mind of patients and families alike. Imposing nature and color as a way to ground people.

The door opens suddenly and he snaps out of his thoughts, looking back just in time to see Abel walk past him and sit by Lena’s bed. “Don Giovanna just left.” 

Rohan hums. “Good.” 

Silence settles in and Abel gazes off into the room, nowhere in particular, in a daze. Rohan stays where he is, eyes boring into Abel the more the Capo fidgets with his fingers and looks down at his feet. By the time Abel finally looks up, Rohan is already there, ready to listen to whatever he had been thinking about.

“Kishibe, I need your help.” 

Rohan stays silent, not sure how to reply. He doesn’t really know Abel well, except for a few idle chats in passing. Logically, the only reason someone would request his help would be the use of his stand powers…

Abel cuts through the silence, speaking up again. “I’m sure you’ve already met Akashi. The short, pink haired guy, remember?” 

Rohan nods slowly, thinking back to the man, remembering his story about Nobunaga and the only thing he could associate with him–his katana that he seemed to carry around proudly. “The swordsman who was at the Giovanna’s residence when the twins were ill?” 

Abel nods, leaning his elbows on his thighs and tugs at his black turtleneck, scratching his skin furiously like his anxiety has started to grow. “I’m sure you already know about his stand and a part of his past, but that’s exactly what’s so worrying about him.” He looks back, taking a moment to observe Esme, who’s still asleep in Rohan’s arms, then looks back at Rohan’s face, unable to get a read on how he’s feeling. “Akashi doesn’t even know if his name is really that. Bocelli says he could be suffering of dissociative amnesia, but—”

Rohan cuts him off, “You can get him a psychotherapist. I’ve heard the newest techniques are quite advanced. Surely they can work with him to–” 

Abel frowns, sharp canines visible when he snarls, biting back immediately: still on edge after his confrontation with Giorno. “That’s what I’m trying to explain! It’s not possible! You’d know that if you were patient enough to listen.” 

Rohan almost, —almost— rolls his eyes, but he prevails, sitting there without the heart to put down Esme now that she’s made herself comfortable in his arms. Newborns were notoriously sensitive and he remembered how clingy Ellie was when she finally arrived. Plus holding them was good for development, he reasoned.

“His brain is damaged,” Abel starts once again, desperation clear in his voice when he keeps going, crudely explaining. “Fucked up, that thing could be rotting inside that little skull of his and the dude wouldn’t even realize until the smell got to him, or if his nose got all runny.”

Rohan grimaces,“No need to get so graphic.” 

Abel imitates him, though almost comically: “Then don’t make me.” Sighing, he crosses his arms, leaning back into the chair. “He’s been trying to give you clues so you read him and tell him his real name.”

“So that’s why he was so insistent with his stories?”

Abel nods silently, arms still folded, glaring at the mangaka with a frown.

Rohan frowns in return, anger flaring: remembering the tiny being in his arms, however, calms and grounds him enough to reply. “What makes you think that information is still in there, if his brain is damaged?” 

“That’s a tricky question. But your stand works reading a person’s soul, not their brain or heart. Correct?”

Touché. 

Rohan sighs, nodding. “Alright, then. I’ll discuss this with Giovanna later.” 

Abel stands up, looking down at the artist. “Giovanna’s not the one asking for help, it’s me.” 

“I meant the details. The place and time for that. Don’t get ahead of yourself.” 

Abel sighs–exasperated, worried and upset. Heading for the door, he gives Rohan a half-hearted “Need’a smoke” and exits, leaving the room quiet again. 

Standing slowly, Rohan walks over to the hospital crib and gently lays down Esme, watching as she fusses, then immediately settles down. Letting out a relieved sigh, Rohan takes a few steps back, glancing over at Helena’s sleeping form. 

Had Akashi been the matter Giorno and Helena wanted to discuss with him later? 

It didn’t seem like it, because if it was, Rohan thinks, Giorno would have been there and Abel wouldn’t have said anything until Giorno was there. It had to be something else.

Feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket, Rohan slips it out, finding a text from Ari: “just scanned in with Ellie. Be up in a minute or two 💖”

He smiles, heart beating slightly faster, and likes the message, sending back “see you soon.”

Pacing around the room as he waits, Rohan glances over at Esme, watching as she already brings a tiny thumb to her mouth, sucking gently and scrunching up her eyes. Letting out a quiet chuckle, Rohan smiles and walks to the door, watching out the window for his wife and daughter. 

As soon as they show up, Ari’s waving silently through the glass and holding up Ellie, who smushes her hands onto the glass, giggling as she sees her dad and yelling out to him.

“Papa! We came to see you!”

Ari shushes her gently and sets her down, kneeling to talk on her level. “Ellie, this is a healing area. We need to be reeeeealllly quiet so the people here can rest, okay?”

Slapping both hands over her mouth, she nods, looking up with big, sad eyes. Ari reaches out to hug her, rubbing her back. “No, no, it’s okay. Shhhh. You didn’t know yet, you’re not in trouble.”

Grabbing onto her mom’s neck, she buries her face in Ari’s shoulder, waiting as they get permission to enter the room from the door guards and finally see Rohan. 

“She’s being a little shy, just give her a minute.” Ari smiles, stealing a kiss from her husband. He nods, smoothing his hand over Ellie’s hair.

“She has to learn certain protocols, it’s alright.”

Turning to look at Lena, Ari gasps a little, seeing her best friend asleep, in a comatose state. “It never gets any easier to see her like this…”

“I know.” Rohan reaches out, squeezing her shoulder gently. “But you should come meet Esme. She just went down after feeding, so we may need to change her soon but. She’s…” He pauses, choking up slightly. “She’s beautiful.”

Finding the nearest couch, Ari sets Ellie down gently, letting her adjust to the new setting and walks over to the crib, beaming when she sees the tiny being inside.

“She’s perfect!” Ari whispers excitedly to Rohan, reaching out for his hand. “I don’t want to wake her, so we’ll wait until she lets us know she wants to get changed.”

“Mmmmh.” Agreeing, Rohan squeezes Ari’s hand, then goes over to Ellie, picking her up and setting her on his shoulders. “Come over and see, Ellie. It’s your new cousin, Esme.”

Holding tight, Ellie peers down at the sleeping baby, repeating “Esme.” quietly to herself.

“Abel will be back soon and then we can grab a late lunch together. They have a nice cafe on the main floor. And good coffee too from what I hear~” He glances over at Ari, grinning.

Ari grins back, nodding enthusiastically. “Nature’s ADHD meds~” Laughing softly at her own joke, she walks over and places a soft kiss on Esme’s forehead, then does the same to Lena. 

“We’ll be back. Sleep well.”

‘Don’t let hope become a memory.’ 

Those had been the words he wrote for Lena in that small, meaningful note. Those words were the first she spoke to him after learning his story, back when he was unable to recover after losing his job and his whole life —the one he was used to, at least, he was still, indeed, alive— and career in the incident, and with it, losing all his hope and dreams. Those words had meant, and still did, everything. In times when desperation came over his incapacity to talk, those words always came to him like a mantra. 

In times of turmoil, like these, he always thought back to that. Maybe he should have said them to Giogio, too, but the way he and Giorno communicated was different, more into the silent agreement of understanding and respect. 

“That’s exactly what’s so wrong with society labeling people as heroes: once those heroes get ill, age or can’t do their job anymore, they forget about them. And if they have physical marks left from their ‘hero’ days, they’ll be judged by the very people who shoved that role into them.” Giorno’s words had been harsh back then, when West mentioned some rude tourists poking fun over Corvo’s scarred lips. To this day, he’s not sure where those words came from: if hatred, disappointment, sadness or his own rage still left from the life he had to endure. 

Corvo blinks twice, noticing how he’s now standing before the store he had been walking to. The front of it was painted in pastel tones —purple, green, blue, pink, yellow,— and from his position he could see the variety of accessories for babies. Slowly, he makes his way inside, not exactly sure what he’s looking for, but still willing to get something for his future student. After this, he’d go to the closest florist and pick a bouquet of flowers, wishing to take something back for Lena as well. 

Thirty minutes later, he leaves the store, carrying a couple of bags: one contains a fuzzy blanket and the other a stuffed animal, a bunny, that he had liked the second he saw it. Walking down the street, he sighs, suddenly hit with the warm weather. For a moment he ponders on taking his tactical scarf down, but the memory of the scars across his lips and jaw stops him from doing so. 

He takes another sharp breath in, deciding to ignore the heat as he keeps walking down the street: in the distance, he can recognize a flower shop. There are multiple bouquets outside, made of flowers that can handle the sun, and around those, tiny trees in their pots, each with a ribbon around the pot.

Corvo comes in, eyes roaming everywhere in search of the owner or at least an employee: anyone who can help.

“Welcome!” someone calls from the side, cheerful and brilliant, and he turns, following the sound of their voice. 

The young man must be around twenty three years old: blonde hair swept up into a low bun, dirt on his clothes and apron, tinted glasses resting on his hair and a succulent held firmly yet delicately in his left hand. 

Corvo also notices it immediately: his prosthetic left arm. 

His eyes flicker from the succulent, to the prosthetic, then to the young man’s face. He looks calm, like his eyes don’t have any effect on him. 

Instead, he asks: “How may I help you, sir?” 

Corvo raises a finger up, setting down the bags —making sure they don’t get dirty— and pulls his notebook out, starting to write the same introduction from always: 

‘Good evening. My name is Melmoth and I am mute so this is how I communicate.’ 

The young man leans in, squinting to read, then leans back and slides the glasses that had been resting at the top of his head to the bridge of his nose: leaning back in, this time he gets to read over Corvo’s words. His eyes sparkle when he looks back, and he grins:

“Oh, don’t worry, sir! I am more than happy to help. My name is Noah, by the way!” 

Melmoth nods, smiling: he knows Noah can’t see him smile, but maybe he does notice the way the gesture makes his eyes have that certain glow from kindness. The man moves, leaving the succulent aside —and Melmoth notices the way he so carefully sets it down, even going as far as to pet it slightly with the pad of his prosthetic finger. 

“So, Melmoth,” Noah, starts, turning to face him. “Is there something you’re looking for specifically? Any special occasion?” 

Melmoth ponders his reply for a moment, eyes drifting around the different types of flowers around them. Then, he slowly writes down a response. 

‘A friend is recovering from childbirth.’

Noah reads over the words, then, immediately lights up: his baby blue eyes shine bright along the rest of his face, and he leans back: “Oh, that’s— I take it she and her baby are okay, no?” 

Melmoth nods, slowly. 

Noah then keeps going, eyes scanning around. “Okay, so, I can put something together for her. Any flowers she might like? I can also add some pink tulips to wish her well, or maybe some yellow roses to represent your friendship…” 

By the time he’s done, Melmoth shows another note to Noah. 

‘She likes sunflowers.’ 

Noah nods, grinning from ear to ear. “Oh! Then that works out just right, sunflowers mean loyalty!” Turning around, he picks up some sheets of craft paper, scissors and a small bag with different colors of ribbon rolls inside. “Alright,” he says, and Melmoth doesn’t hear any more of it as he watches Noah work effortlessly, without a care or worry over his prosthetic arm. He watches the limb shine under the sun, the light blue painting of it reflects the sun beautifully, making his eyes sting. 

It must be nice, Melmoth thinks, to not feel ashamed of that. How does he do it? 

Noah picks some tulips in his hand, setting them aside. And looking over his shoulder, he says, quiet now, like all his energy has been pushed back and replaced with a sad expression. “Are you an amputee too?” 

And Melmoth jumps, startled, eyes wide. For a second, he looks so frightened he might compare to a five year old who just took their mom’s makeup to mess around. After a moment, he recovers, barely, and shakes his head. Slowly, he lifts his notebook up, writing down his thoughts. 

‘I am sorry for staring. I am just unable to understand how you handle all the glances and looks around you. I say this because I suffered from serious burns along my face and don’t feel comfortable going around without hiding my scars.” 

Noah sets down his scissors, forgetting about the half-ready bouquet. His blue eyes have taken after a rather sad smile and his tone has changed to one of pure understanding. “Do you want to know how I do it? How can I go around without caring?” 

Melmoth nods, solemnly. 

Noah nods, turning to him fully, his left arm stretched before him, where both can see it: like he’s appreciating it. “I accept it as part of me. Of my story.” his eyes stare into Melmoth’s. “Accept your scars as part of yourself, of your story and who you are. I don’t know what happened, but I’m sure you must have been strong to recover. If you can, accept this piece of advice: accept your scars as a sign of your bravery. Sometimes darkness can show you the light.” 

He turns around, back to his work, leaving his words hanging there, like he’s sure Melmoth needs a moment to take all in, to understand and go over his words over and over again until the full meaning behind sinks deep into his brain. 

And Noah laughs, adding after a moment: “That last part, my brother used to say it a lot to me during recovery. He plays the tough guy out of us but he’s actually a sweetheart…” 

The sad tone underneath makes Melmoth turn back, squinting his eyes, and his ears pick on every word Noah says after: 

“He’s always been like that, you know? Always trying to protect me. It’s cute. He was the one who got the Speedwagon Foundation to help with my prosthetic, ever heard of them? They’re amazing.” 

The SPW Foundation, of course. Melmoth is not surprised, actually: said foundation had been there since—Wait, his brother got the Foundation to help? It was not a rare case, but the wording sounded different, like he had been trying to hide something, or to keep himself from saying too much. 

Tilting his head to the side, Melmoth scribbles something quickly, showing it to Noah. 

‘My friend is actually the Naples branch boss.’

Noah reads over it once, twice —then, slowly, his mouth hangs open: “You mean your friend who just gave birth?” 

Melmoth nods and Noah laughs, throwing his head back.

“Oh, man, what a small world! She must know him then. His name is Sebastian Worsnop, he’s a technician there.”

 He’s probably not a normal technician, he thinks, but pushes the thought aside and shakes his head, then looks down to write another note that he soon holds to Noah. 

‘I don’t think I have the pleasure of knowing him, but she for sure does.’

Noah nods, still chuckling under his breath. “Okay, then, let me send something to her. Let her know it was me, please, I am forever grateful for all the help. This bad boy,” he taps at the metallic prosthetic, grinning when the sound of his fingers tapping against it produces a ’clink clink’ sound. “—My brother says it is the latest technology.”

Melmoth nods, again: accepting his request, understanding his feelings and approving of the fact that it is, indeed, the latest technology. 

The foundation never stops working and trying to innovate and, judging by the cyberpunk aesthetic and the neon lights underneath the metallic plates and accentuating the bicep and running around to the circumference of his forearm, disappearing under the plate that unites his forearm to his wrist, Corvo can tell this was Paolo’s work. 

He watches as Noah finishes wrapping the bouquet he asked for, and then, he starts working on another one, this one only made of another different flower he doesn’t know the name of. 

“Hydrangeas,” Noah says, giving him the bouquet, “They mean gratefulness.” 

Melmoth softens visibly, shoulders relaxing as he takes the bouquet. He takes his wallet out, then, and Noah stops him: 

“It’s okay, it’s on me.” 

Shaking his head, the man still leaves more money that he knows would be necessary to pay, and before Noah can protest, he gives him a silent, playful look of ‘Don’t you dare.’ 

“Alright,” Noah says, raising his arms in defeat, playing along. “I’ll take it.” 

Forty minutes later, Corvo is back at the SPW Foundation, bouquets and bags held securely in his arms as he walks through the main doors, greeting the lady at the front desk with a curt nod, to which she stands up with a polite smile and a: 

“Welcome back, Mister Angelis! Our visit hours policies say we can only have two persons per room, so… I’m afraid you can’t stay tonight…” 

He nods, taking a quick glance at the clock in the wall behind her: 6:45 PM. He stops before the desk, setting the bouquets on the desk and the bags on the floor. Taking his notebook out, he writes down, showing the message to her: 

‘Don’t worry, I just want to leave these presents and then I’ll be on my way.’ 

She reads over the message quickly, sending him a nod and a small, shy smile. “Okay, thank you for your understanding.” 

He nods, again, and taking the bag and bouquets, he makes his way to the hall and to the elevator. The cubicle arrives empty, and when he gets in, his eyes drift around the walls: there’s a mirror by the right, perfectly clean. 

His reflection catches his eye. Grey skin, bags under his dark brown eyes, his mohawk kept perfectly: and his tactical scarf still there, covering his nose, mouth, chin and jaw all the way to his neck, where the fabric pools around his shoulders. Noah’s words come back, then, and his hand twitches: tempted to try and go around without the piece of clothing. 

A haze surrounds him, and he snaps out of his thoughts, heart skipping a beat as the scent of roses and smoke fills his nostrils. 

“Mistress…” he whispers, a wanton whisper of her title, eyes eagerly seeking her out. 

She, Death, appears behind him, arms wrapped around his shoulders and eyes staring into his through the mirror. The black veiled bride, his Mistress, reaches out with her arms still around his shoulders, fingers grazing his jaw as her eyes peek from underneath the fabric before her face, leaning down to mumble into his ear: 

“The boy is right, my dearest.” She rubs at his shoulders, “And I know what you’re thinking: no, Melmoth, your beauty never ever scared me.”

The haze is gone, then, and as he realizes, the elevator doors open. 

Stepping out, his legs feel like jelly after seeing her —like always, he is wholly devoted to her, to her very wish and command, hands aching to hold her, eyes yearning to finally get a glimpse of her from underneath the veil that covers her head to toe. If he could, he would make amends and sin enough to get a glimpse of her. But he knows her and knows she wouldn’t want that. 

Silently, he makes his way to Lena’s room and, setting a bag down, he knocks twice, picking back the bag, thoughts clouding his senses. 

Her words… What did she mean? beauty —his beauty? What even was that? What is beauty? Is it to be tall, short? to have clean skin? Who can define beauty without insulting others? Was his Mistress aware of how confusing her words could be? 

The door swings open after that: Abel’s standing by the other side with a grin and a:

“We were expecting you.” 

Arching an eyebrow, he comes in, but soon realizes why Abel used that playful tone. 

A woman and a little girl look back at him from Kishibe’s Rohan side, and Melmoth nods, walking up to set both bouquets by Lena’s bedside and then, turning to leave the bag with Esme’s presents by her crib. He walks back to the bouquets, taking a couple of flowers from them and turning to them, Melmoth does a small reverence, hoping to not scare the little girl in the woman’s arms. 

“His name is Melmoth,” Kishibe starts while he writes, “He works for Giogio.” 

Just when Ariel looks back to greet him, Melmoth already has a note extended out to her. 

‘My name is Melmoth and I am mute, so this is how I communicate. It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Kishibe. I take it this is little Eliana?” 

When Ari looks back Melmoth is already kneeling before Ellie, offering the flower he had taken from the bouquet with a gentle look in his eyes —he’s always had a soft spot for kids: they hold a special innocence and, back to his days as a firefighter, kids used to come up to him with lots of questions regarding his job. Now, sadly, kids are scared of him. 

Ariel nods, smiling at her daughter as the girl looks back at her with confusion written all over her features: upon this, the little girl turns to Melmoth with a rather shy smile. 

“It’s okay, Ellie, he’s friends with uncle Giogio and aunt Lena.”

Melmoth waves, then, and offers the flower to Ellie. She takes it from him with a quick nod and then, suddenly shy, she turns around, hiding into Ariel’s legs. 

“Don’t worry,” Ari says, nodding towards Melmoth, “She’s always a little shy around new people, especially when traveling. We’re getting her more used to new places and people. She’ll warm up fast.”

Acknowledging her with a nod, Melmoth writes a new note, holding it up to read.

“Of course. I understand.”

Writing once more, Melmoth holds the note up.

“I’m sure our paths will cross again on this trip. For now, I have other matters to attend to. I just wanted to drop those gifts off for Lena and Esme.”

Nodding, Ari bows her head slightly towards him. “Please come back any time.”

April 19th, Giovanna household: 6:23 AM. 

Sighing, reality crashes over him. Right, she and Esme are still at the Foundation. He came back home yesterday to take care of the twins, shower, have dinner and sleep. Despite getting all those done and drinking some oral electrolyte solution Giorno couldn’t find an explanation to his exhaustion. 

His back hurts. Terribly. His birthmark stings like hell. His hair is a mess and his eyes sting. It’s been a rough night. As he sits up in bed, his eyes squint to take a look at the clock by the wall as his right hand reaches out to find only a cold bed. 

Running a hand down his face, he sighs, grunting as he stands up and walks up to the bathroom. 

Taking a quick shower, the cold water seems to soothe his aching muscles and bring a sense of calm to his troubled and worried mind: as he stands before the mirror, electric razor in hand, his eyes drift to his shoulder, where the birthmark is: it hasn’t stopped stinging since the twins’ stands awoke and it only got worse during Esme’s birth. Soon, he thinks, as he makes sure to get rid of the stubble on his jaw, he’d have to tell Lena about this. 

After shaving and hydrating his tattoos, Giorno steps into their closet, retrieving the outfit he had put together the night before. Dressing goes fast and by the time he’s putting his shoes on, the twins come in with wide grins and sleepy eyes. 

“Good morning, boys.” He greets, straightening to open his arms as the boys run up to him, throwing themselves into his arms. 

“Is mommy coming home, daddy?” One of them asks, and he feels his heart sink. He makes a sound, something like a hum, and replies:

“I will go see how she’s doing, I’m not sure either.”

 This time Jovi pouts, “And Esme?” 

“She needs mommy, Jojo!” Dante replies now, turning to his twin with a knowing look —it had been something Westwood had said in hopes of soothing their curiosity. Giorno makes a small note to thank him for that: because then, both boys calm down and instead of asking more questions, they settle down in bed while Giorno goes to the bathroom to fix his hair. It had grown too much by now and it was hard to comb and style the way he liked it. Soon, aside from telling Lena about the sting on his birthmark, he’d have to get a haircut: maybe a nape undercut to try something new. 

Closing the bathroom door, Giorno comes back to the twins, waiting until both are distracted to lift them in his arms with a warm laugh, “You’ve been caught, boys! What will you do?” 

Giggling, both boys trash in his hold as he throws them into the bed, making sure to do it from a close distance to minimize accidents: then, he makes a disgruntled sound, flopping down in the mattress with a: “What have you done to me!! I can’t stand up!” 

Jovi giggles, standing up as Dante takes the sheets, bringing them closer to Giorno, “We’ve caught you, dad!” 

Between giggles, the twins throw the sheets on Giorno, pretending to tie him up with them. 

“We won, dad!” Dante screams, grinning from ear to ear, Jovi by his side with the same expression. 

Giorno stays under the sheets, though, silent and biting back his laughter. 

“Dad? Jovi asks, hand reaching out before Giorno reaches out from underneath, catching his leg and tugging gently, but making an overemphasized growl similar to those one would hear in cartoons, earning a squeal from the boys before he lets him go and the three burst into a fit of laughter, with Giorno sitting up and getting the sheets off him and the twins sitting each by his side. 

“Okay,” Giogio says, running a hand to fix his hair again, taking a deep breath to calm down, “It’s too early for you to be awake, is there something bothering you?” 

Dante pulls at his sleeve, replying once he has his dad’s attention, “Uncle West said he’s taking us to the park!” 

Jovi, by his other side, hums. “We said we’ll get to see the cats that live there!”

Giorno frowns, looking forward… Cats living in a park— oh, right. The park in the center of the city, the one close to Mister’s Belluci gelato store, the park he and West used to hang out after complicated meetings and hard days. 

“Oh,” he says, turning to his sons with a soft grin. “Then, let’s get you breakfast and get ready for that, hm?”

Both boys nod in unison, jumping off the bed and running up to the door. Too much energy, he thinks, amused, as he follows them out.  

Two hours later, Giogio walks into the garage, playing with the keys to the Biugatti Veyron Grand Sport that he had requested to get ready thirty minutes prior. He twirls the keychain around, his walking slower, relaxed —much more calmer than when he woke up. The twins had that effect on him, always reminding him of the good side of life. They had that calming effect on him with all their questions, grins and kindness. He believed they’d grow up to be strong, kind men. Hopefully they would not get involved in the underworld life like him. Maybe they’d pursue different careers: whatever they wanted, but not this. Anything they wanted to choose, he’d make sure to support them all the way: and he knew Lena would do it too. Their family was something both treasured deeply. 

Getting in, he rolls his shoulders, taking a second to glance around and make sure everything he needs for the day is there: keys, jacket, his thermal mug tucked safely in its cup holder by his right. 

The engine roars to life and he sighs hoping that when he comes back home, his wife and daughter come back with him. 

10:27 AM. April 19th. SPW foundation, medical bay. 

Abel can't stand hospitals. Any medical facility, in fact. Any place where pain and sadness lingers in the air: he can't stand the picture of someone lying in bed, sick or attached to any device. 

For a mercenary that makes millions chasing after people who earn Don Giovanna's rage he's really extremely empathic. A coward under his own judgment. 

And it's funny, really, because he's an assassin. Has been all his life. Just because he's labeled himself mercenary doesn't make it less of a fact. 

He's been in the room for a few hours —all night,— sitting on the couch by his boss's side, stealing lingering looks at her and tearing up in silence. 

Memories come to him as another tear slides down his cheek and falls to his pants. When they met, Giorno and Lena had been dating for around two months: his first impression still makes him laugh. 

When Giorno walked up to him holding her hand he did not expect the difference of aesthetics: though her style was more alternative-oriented and his more like the usual office look and the colors they wore were similar, it was the fact they seemed so different that took him by surprise. 

He remembers the way she so kindly took his hand into a handshake and complimented his eyes. 

Now, as he looks back and she's still laying there asleep, his eyes fill with tears and he sighs, reaching a shaking hand out to place it over her hand. 

“C'mon, Lena, don't make me cry.” 

Looking off through the window, he keeps going despite the lump on his throat. “Giogio left yesterday to shower and get some sleep." He chuckles, “He's crazy, you know? Man got bored of getting his usual boiling coffee: he switched to iced coffees. All because he didn't want to leave your side.” 

Looking back and noticing he feels calmer now, his smile grows and he laughs genuinely: “But I guess you're just as crazy as him. You're both insane.”

Someone else speaks up from the door and he jumps —his heart almost bursts through his chest, too.

“Son, I don't think Giogio will appreciate those words.” 

Turning to the man in the doorway, Abel grins, wiping the remains of his tears with the back of his hand, eyes shining as he spots Dr. Bocelli there. 

The old man has a habit of calling everyone son, almost like he's trying to make up for the lack of his own. Still, he doesn't mind: his care brings familiarity. 

“Sorry Doc, I just, you know. Miss her.” 

Dr. Bocelli comes in, stopping to close the door behind his back with a soft click and then, leaning on his cane, he walks up to the bed, his smile turning into one of sadness: “We all do.” 

Doctor Bocelli leans in: checks the monitors and the IV, everything he does, Abel notes, is done with practiced care and simplicity. He has a vibe of wisdom within his mere presence that makes Abel wonder if he’ll ever be like him when he grows older. If he’s been blessed with wisdom or he has gained it through his path on earth. 

Bocelli’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts, immediately focusing on him:

“It seems she’s recovering faster than before. Not at the rate I was expecting, though.”

Abel leans back, eyebrow arched. “What do you mean?” 

Bocelli sits down on the couch before Abel, setting his cane between his legs and leaning on it, he looks back at Lena for a moment, pondering his reply and trying to figure out what’s going on. From the looks of it, Abel could consider this was not something written in those medical books, guides or articles. He turns back and Abel frowns, waiting for his response. 

“Do you know the date?” 

Abel’s frown deepens and he opens his mouth to reply, exasperated and offended, when Bocelli keeps going, “It’s April 19th, right? According to my calculations, she should have been in her current state on the 22nd.” 

Abel’s frown disappears and slowly his eyebrows arch up, “But… I take it you’re basing that off the twins' labor, aren't you? This was just one baby.” 

“Son, even if it was just one… It’s too soon. This time labor took more time. There was no way she could be like this by now. Unless…” Bocelli turns back to Lena again, thinking back to a certain someone. 

“Unless…?” 

Bocelli turns to him, his hypothesis just a mere vague thought; a possibility. “Unless Giogio’s healing her. Aware or not.” 

Abel frowns again, turning to Lena and then standing back again, walking up to the door: he’s confused and worried. Facing him, Blinding Lights’ user almost chokes on his spit when he asks, “Does that put her at risk?”

“It does not.” Bocelli pauses, taking a moment to think about it, “It’s just a thought, I still have to ask Giogio.” 

Abel sits back down, elbows on his thighs as he leans over, restless and anxious. “But he would have told you before…” 

Bocelli shrugs, “Maybe he doesn’t want to say it or doesn’t know he’s been doing it this whole time. We'll have to wait until he's back." 

 The man in the SPW lobby walks in fast, showing his ID to the lady in the front desk and waiting until she scans it and gives him a short nod to walk around and into the hall, getting into the elevator. 

As the metal cubicle moves, Giorno looks at himself in the mirror. White dress pants, navy blue shirt perfectly smooth and tucked in. He pushes the dark shades off the bridge of his nose to his hair, rubbing at his eyes with a soft sigh. 

He’s better now that he’s slept –tired, but definitely better. The twins are home with Mista waiting for West to arrive so he can take them to the park, as they mentioned earlier: though they’re calmer now that they’ve seen their mom, they still ask when she’ll be back home: when will Esme come home so they can show her their toys and her bedroom? Or introduce her to Ares? 

The solution? Sticking to a soft and reassuring smile, all relaxed shoulders and dimples, and a brief explanation of ‘mama’s still getting some stuff done.’ 

Out of everything he could have prepared himself for, their questions and glances were not something he would have ever felt prepared for. Maybe it’s because of that fact —that they’re conscious and old enough to ask about their mother— that he finds the situation so hard to deal with. On one hand he doesn’t want to lie to them and on the other, he knows he can't blurt out the situation to them. They’re still young to understand. 

It’s because of this, their questions, that dealing with the whole situation has felt like he’s lying to his sons and betraying their trust. He feels like a hypocrite. At least the thought of Westwood taking them to the park close to the gelato store eases his worries: he knows he will take care of them, distract them for a while…

Sighing, he feels his chest expand as he exits the elevator and walks down the hall, eyes roaming around and spotting a few members of his team guarding the door to his wife’s room. 

“Good morning, Giogio.” Marco greets him first, hands behind his back as he stands by the right side of the door, a small smile lifting the corners of his lips. “How are you feeling?” 

“Good morning, Marco,” He replies, stopping there to greet his friend properly: he smiles, gentle. “I'm okay. Thank you for staying here, I'll get someone to cover for you so you can go home.” 

Marco waves it off, “‘S okay, Abel’s inside with Dr. Bocelli. C’mon, get there.” 

Patting him in the back, Gio steps in, turning the knob and coming inside. 

Abel and Dr. Bocelli turn to him. The first eyes him suspiciously and the latter greets him a wave and a smile. 

Gio stands there, looking back at the both of them, expecting something from them, but not quite sure what: was his choice of clothes too much for the occasion? Did something happen? 

Dr. Bocelli speaks up first, gesturing him forward. “Giogio, Lena's making great progress.” 

"I'm glad," Giorno smiles, walking up to the bed and sitting on the edge of it, reaching his hand out to Lena, talking without turning to the man, eyes glued to the sleeping figure before him. “You need a break too, Bocelli.” 

Abel frowns, turning to Dr. Bocelli. The man nods and Giorno notices the interaction: before he can ask, Bocelli turns to him.

“Is your stand fully under your control, Gio?" 

Giorno frowns, confusion written all over his face as he turns to the both of them. “All the time.” He turns to him now, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “Why?”

Bocelli shifts in his seat, offering an explanation shortly after. “Lena’s healing process has been faster this time. I expected it beforehand, but it’s… Different.” 

Giorno hums, eyes darting down as he thinks about it. He’s been tired after all the time he’s spent up and watching over her… 

But he’s not sure. He can’t reply to that: anything he says could play against him. Not because he wants to keep secrets, but… Denying such an event and getting a positive response right after would not be of help: confirming such a thing without being able to explain would also backfire. Maybe not the worst of consequences, but it wouldn’t be of help certainly. 

“I don’t know.” He confesses, turning to Dr. Bocelli with furrowed brows. Taking his glasses off his hair and setting them on the table, he turns back to the old man with an almost shy expression, “Only Goldie can reply to that. If he did, then it must be a matter of… I don’t know, a leak?” 

As he talks, the smell of honey and flowers starts to surround the golden being materializing aside him. Gold Experience Requiem’s silhouette stands there. The stand doesn’t acknowledge Abel and Bocelli’s presence, instead turning to Lena and approaching her fast. “Mistress?” 

Abel moves to stop him when Bocelli raises a hand to stop him, watching over the stand’s interaction with the woman. Goldie’s hand shines when he touches her and the monitors pick up on their pace, registering a sudden peak on vitals and then, seconds later, parameters come back to their normal rates, steadying themselves. 

Bocelli’s Type O Negative team pops out from behind the monitors, climbing up the bed and around Lena and Goldie. The nurse closest to Bocelli nods up at its user, giving a firm thumbs up with both its tiny, green hands. 

Esme stirs awake in her crib, getting a bit fussy over the new presence, almost like she can already sense her father’s stand. 

“Oh?” Bocelli mumbles, eyes the size of dinner plates as he sees Gio approach her crib and cradle her close to his heart, rubbing her back while she starts to calm down. “I think we have a special case here.” 

Giorno sits down by Abel’s side, letting Esme sleep on his chest with his hand spread across her back and the other keeping her in her place, his voice is firm but gentle at the same time when he calls, “Goldie, have you been healing her?”

The stand straightens his back, turning to his user with wide pink eyes and, pulling his hand back, he nods. “I am, Master. Is that wrong?” 

Giorno’s voice turns cold unexpectedly, silent rage flaring up underneath the surface, “When did I give you permission to do so?” 

The stand stares back at his user coldly, and before any of them can say anything else, Bocelli steps in. “Let’s calm down, yeah? She’s not at risk, but we could have used some warning from any of you.” 

Giorno sighs, feeling the tension leave his body slowly. His green eyes have a darker shade to them, clearly troubled as his mind keeps running faster than he can process his thoughts, “Please run all the tests you need to ensure her safety.” He turns to his stand, eyes turning darker for a millisecond when he addresses the powerful being, “Goldie, get back. Now.” 

Gold Experience Requiem dissipates into thin air, leaving behind a stronger scent of honey, like the confrontation arised its presence somehow. It was obvious they wouldn’t fight physically… It was Giorno’s own guilt shining through. 

Dr. Bocelli stands up, letting his stand approach Lena. “I’m certain nothing is wrong, Type runs tests constantly so, anything out of place would have been already reported to me.” 

Abel, still tense, sighs. It’s shaky and clearly intentioned, forced: an attempt to make himself know everything is okay. He shifts in his seat, mumbling out. “We should ask Paolo about this.” 

“Later.” Giorno says, eyes drifting to Lena’s form as Bocelli keeps himself busy with some papers. 

The old man hums, and when he looks back, the light behind his eyes makes Giorno know of impending good news. “I think we can keep the healing process with her awake. If everything goes well, she should be home tomorrow’s evening.” 

His heart skips a bit and unconsciously, he straightens his back, holding his daughter closer to him: the ghost of a grin curling his lips up for the first time in days, making his dimples stand out: his eyes, that had been darkened, go back to their usual tone. “Can we have Ariel and Rohan here all day, then? Can she receive longer visits now?” 

Dr. Bocelli thinks about it for a moment, pausing to think for a second. “Yeah, just remember newborns are fragile so make sure she’s not in constant contact with them: her immune system is still adapting.” 

Giorno nods, quietly going through every word. Bocelli walks up to the door, then, and before he leaves, the old man turns to Giorno: 

“I believe your souls are connected, Giogio. That’s why your stand was healing her without you noticing. To put it simply: it’s what others describe as soulmates.” 

His breath hitches right as the door closes behind Bocelli. Abel, still there, stands up slowly, a grin curling up his lips. “That’s cheesy, but he’s right.” He says, “I’m sure Paolo would say the same —I wouldn’t be surprised if you could share your stand abilities somehow.” The Capo walks closer to Lena, noticing the nurses working to calculate new lower dosages. He ignores it, though, not wanting to see furthermore and instead, he turns to the bouquet of flowers, pointing at each of them: 

“So. Corvo got these for Lena. The one with tulips and sunflowers is his, and the other comes from a grateful patient.” 

Giorno’s attention drifts to the other bouquet, recognizing the flowers: hydrangeas. Gratefulness. His eyebrow arches and he looks at the Capo with a curious look. 

“Does the names Noah and Sebastian Worsnop ring any bells?” Abel asks, grinning now. 

Giorno squints, as if the action would be enough to bring back those memories —the names do sound familiar, but he’s not sure how to explain it. “Kinda,” he ends up saying, shifting his hold on Esme when she sighs, settling down against him. “Why?” 

Abel hums, “Corvo met a florist, turns out his brother works for the Foundation and got direct help from her to get him a prosthetic. Not sure when, but I assume it’s been a few months, maybe a year. He said the boy looks healthy and recovered.” 

Giorno hums, thoughtful. “Well, I don’t remember. But maybe Fugo can find something related or I can ask Lena once she wakes up and sees the flowers.” 

The door opens, then, and silent footsteps are met with curious glances from both Giorno and Abel. 

“Good morning.” Akashi greets them, a wide smile across his face and eyes soft as he glances at the bundle in Giorno’s chest, “Is the little princess asleep?” 

“Yeah,” he says, letting him see her face. “Are you going home?” 

Akashi nods, eyelids heavy with sleep. “Mhm. Alma’s here to cover for me.” 

“Good,” Giorno says, “Who’s gonna cover for Marco?”

Akashi looks up into the ceiling, taking a moment to remember the schedule sent by Fugo to the group chat: after a moment, he looks back: “Paolo.” 

“Excellent. Go get some sleep, you look like shit.” 

Akashi laughs, walking to the door and quoting him: “No swearing in front of kids, remember?”

Giorno shrugs, biting back laughter as he waves him off. “Adiós, kid.”  

With a playful scowl, Akashi leaves and with him, Marco and the rest of the team. The others settle in their positions, ready to work. 

Right when the door closes behind Akashi’s back, Abel blurts out, like he couldn’t hold it in anymore: “I told Kishibe about his situation. He should be talking to you about it today.” 

Giorno’s eyes scan over Abel’s face —back and forth, calculating and knowing. His lips part, and slowly, he speaks. “Are you aware we won’t get that done today, or tomorrow? We need to see his schedule, he’s busy. He has work and a family to attend first.” 

Abel hums, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Of course I know.” 

Giorno nods, silent, lips pressed into a line as they settle in silence. Then, his honeyed voice can be heard as a whisper. “You should go home too, Abel. I’m thankful for your stay here, but you need to rest too.” 

Rome’s Capo shakes his head no, sitting down beside Lena’s bed, hopeful eyes darting to her and back to Giorno. “I want to see her awake first.” 

“Don’t wanna be a killjoy, but you can go home now, Abel.” A tiny voice cuts through, makes both men whip their heads back to the stretcher where Lena lays awake, hazy eyes and a tired smile: the braid Giorno had made to preserve her curls falling over her shoulder as she takes a deep breath in, senses slowly coming back to their best, as analgesics are still working. 

“Lena.” Giogio whispers, mouth open for a second before he stands up, clutching Esme closer to him. He sits by her side, legs like jelly and eyes filled with tears: he leans in, careful with the baby in his arms, and presses a soft, long kiss to her forehead, paired up with a whisper of: “Missed you.” 

“Missed you too.” She whispers, weakly: the type of voice one has after an unexpected nap at five in the evening on the couch after coming home from a long day outside. 

“Make room,” Abel calls, voice shaky as he runs to the other side of the stretcher, coming into Lena’s sight with a wide grin and tears already falling down his cheeks. “Missed you, Lena!” he leans in, pulling her in for a short, friendly hug. Pulling back, his grin and tears a contradiction but a solid, carefree expression. "How long have you been awake?" 

She replies in a whisper, voice tiny and hands coming up to rub at her husband's arm, "Was gaining consciousness when I heard Giogio tell someone to rest." 

Gio sighs, laughing under his breath, with Abel scoffing and replying instead; "Silly. Take care of yourself first, I'm all good." 

This time, Giorno looks back at him, eyebrow quirked and an amused smile tugging at his lips, "Good enough to be considered a corpse." 

Both men laugh and Lena grins, soft brown eyes drifting around them and noticing the bundle in Giorno's arms. She taps at his arm and he turns, exchanging a look so he relaxes his hold around the baby. 

Looking at Esme, Lena's eyes fill with tears once again as she glances at her, deeply asleep in her father's arms and dressed in a white onesie with a character's face she can't make out from her unfocused eyes. "She's really daddy's girl, huh?" 

"Of course," Abel says, wishing to pay back: "This man will soon wear a tiara and all." 

The couple chuckles and Abel finally gives in, rubbing a hand down his face, "Alright, Imma head out. See ya' later, hm?"

"Of course, thank you." Giorno's reply comes out easier: a weight has been taken off his shoulders, effectively making him appear genuinely calm now. Happy. 

Again, the door closes and Giorno stands up to set Esme down in her crib with Lena's eyes fixated on him. Making sure she's properly tucked in with the blanket Corvo got her, the Don turns to his wife, eyes soft and an equally softer smile thrown her way. 

"It's been hard without you, you know?" He steps closer, sitting in the stretcher by her side, his hand brushing hers. 

"I can imagine." She whispers, moving over. "C'mere?" 

Giorno hums, turning to lean back against the pillows and then, sets a leg up, careful not to put most of his way in the stretcher in case it can't hold up. His arm, the one closest to Lena, reaches out, wrapping itself around her shoulders and serving as a pillow for her once she settles by his side, cuddled up against him. 

“There is so much we need to talk about, but I don't want to bug you with all of it." 

She hums, appreciatively, "We can start slowly, from the things that can’t wait and we can actually do something about, to the ones out of our control.” 

He sighs, laughing right after: the sound soft and more like a puff of air leaving him: “What would I do without you?”

She hums, taking a deep breath to take into his cologne and shampoo, as well as the smell of fabric softener. “You’d carry on for our children.” 

He hums, the sound sudden but hiding an affirmative undertone to it, like it had taken a moment for him to accept it. Moving on, he starts to think and possibly categorize everything that has happened —Akashi and Rohan, the twins, the florist Corvo had met, Rohan and Ariel and the proposal they wanted to make, his birthday… 

The first one: one of the ones they can do something about. 

“So,” he starts, tone lighter now. “Do you still want to ask Rohan and Ariel to be Esme’s godparents?” 

She doesn’t stay silent for so long, replying right away: “Yeah.” 

He hums, nodding to himself. “Good. Dan and Jojo have been asking about you nonstop: West had to take them to the park to get them to relax.” 

She stays silent, seeming to think about it: Giorno doesn’t need to look at her to know she’s trying to find something to say, or maybe she’s trying to find a reason for their behavior even if it’s obvious. 

“They’re stressed.” 

Giorno hums, eyes slowly closing and opening again. “Bocelli said you could go home soon, seeing you back will soothe the—.” A tiny tug to his shirt and he looks down, finding one of Type O Negative’s nurses pulling at the fabric of his shirt: as soon as the stand senses it has his attention, it points to the door: 

“Dr. Bocelli will come to check in, please get off the stretcher as you are not in need of it.” 

Grumpy little shit. He thinks, trying not to laugh as he stands and throws his arms up in a gesture of surrender. Lena laughs, too, sitting up as the nurses keep working around her and her eyes take a look around the room, staying on the flowers by her bedside. 

Noticing this, Giorno steps in, pointing at each bouquet he’s referring to; “Corvo got you these bouquets: the one with sunflowers is his, the other… Do you remember someone called Noah and Sebastian Worsnop?” 

It takes a moment but Lena nods, slowly, and after a moment of contemplative silence she speaks up. “The first case I took after getting appointed director of the branch was the case of a boy who had lost his arm in an accident. My team had told me about it, but then his brother came to my office and was willing to stay the night just to get a talk with me. So I let him in and we talked. I know he should have waited like everyone, because the Foundation would have gotten to their case eventually, but… I don't know.”

Giorno stands before her now, watching the nurses walk around her, but still replying: “Compassion.”

“Yeah…” she trails off, looking to the side. “After that, I asked Paolo for help and he took the case along with the rest of the team.”

Giorno nods, not willing to ask why he didn’t know —sometimes both were too tired to talk about work, and if he remembered right, that must have been around the time he had to leave in order to fix the mess he had caused with Rohan. Back when they had that ugly confrontation. “It’s okay, I was just not sure. The names did sound familiar, but I’m not exactly sure where.” 

She looks back, a small smile in her lips, “Gio, one of your interns took the case: Noah’s car was severely damaged and they had to get it solved in court. You just happened to help your interns with that case.” 

He blinks, once, twice: and unable to remember, he shrugs, “Honestly, too many cases go by my hands every day. Can’t remember every single one. Oh, by the way…” he trails off, seeming to pick on someone coming over: 

And so, the door cracks open and Dr. Bocelli comes in, lighting up when his eyes meet Lena’s: the grin that breaks through his face makes his eyes smile too, a rare view. 

“Mrs. Giovanna,” he says, with a playful tone to it, “How are you feeling? I didn’t expect you to wake up so soon.” his tone shifts to one of seriousness, like he genuinely wasn’t expecting for her to wake up after the reduction of dosages on both painkillers and benzodiazepines because, technically, it should have taken more time for her system to process the reduction of said drugs and then it would also mean her body would have to take out all the reminders of the higher dosages, making room for the newer ones: it made sense but it also didn’t. Still, he doesn’t say anything, waiting for her response —like she’s taking time to think and feel, to find out what she’s feeling and name it. 

“Good,” she says, shifting to lay on her side so she can talk to Bocelli, “Just sore, but overall, everything seems just right.” 

“Mhm.” Bocelli closes the door behind him, pen and clipboard held under his arm as he starts with a small questionnaire: “Dizziness? Nausea? Pain?” 

She shakes her head, “Nope.” 

Bocelli nods, writing down her replies, and, coming into the room, he gestures at Giogio to sit down as he takes the chair besides the stretcher to set it by the foot of the bed, where he can see both of them. “I’m glad. So, while you were unconscious and Giogio was here, it seems like your souls have bonded —further— somehow. Gold Experience sped up your recovery.” 

She frowns, sitting up slowly. Leaning against the headboard, she looks at her husband, then Bocelli with a confused pout, “But… Goldie can’t deal with pain?” 

Bocelli nods, and Giorno speaks up before him. “That was Type, both stands managed to work together somehow, am I right?” 

The old man nods, sighing under his breath. “It’s an enigma. But,” he turns to her, soft eyes and an even softer smile: “Type has confirmed you’re out of danger. We just have to wait until you’re fully healed, which should be around this evening.” 

Giorno grins —a wide, happy and excited smile, one that makes him look hopeful again. “Really?” 

Dr. Bocelli nods, slowly, smiling at Giorno’s evident happiness. “I wouldn’t lie about something so important as this.” He stads up, slowly, and walks up to the door, where he waits before opening it, “Your friends are here.” 

“Please let them come in.” Giorno asks, and when Bocelli nods, he speaks again, making the old man stop on his tracks so he can listen to whatever he has to say: “And Bocelli: thank you.” 

Dr. Bocelli Enzo hums, turning to look him in the eye, then at Lena: and with a soft smile, he replies: “Of course, son.” 

The door closes behind him and Giorno smiles, sighing: things are getting better, it seems. 

That evening he’ll get to see his sons smile and rest after seeing their mother come home, and he won't have to worry about her staying behind with their daughter–

And oh, the kids would get to show Esme her room and toys: and Ares would probably try to sleep with her in her crib: and he'll have to teach him not to…

It would be a nice view. To see his wife and kids happy at home, healthy and reunited. His family…

“What’ya thinking about, baby?” Lena asks, laying in the stretcher with a soft smile and tired eyes: but awake and alive: there with him. 

Giorno blinks, snapping out of his thoughts. “I’m just happy to know you’ll come back home. The boys and I miss you. Dan and Jojo want to show Esme her room.” 

She grins: it’s soft and full of hope. Full of life. “They’re so sweet. They… will be amazing.” 

He nods, standing up slowly. “While we wait for the visits to show up, I found something you might like.” Pulling his phone out, Giorno walks up to the TV in the wall, turning it on and connecting it to his phone: Netflix’s main menu shows up and Lena sits up, leaning her head against the pillows: and as he looks for whatever he wants to show her, her eyes drift down his back, noticing how he keeps flinching. It's a small, almost unnoticeable flinching: like he’s shaking his shoulder like one would do to get rid of a mosquito…

“Does your arm hurt?” She asks, and he freezes. The loading screen darkens the image for a second, before Netflix’s intro starts with its usual sound, then the screen goes dark again. 

And in that single moment of silence, Giorno replies, eyes looking down at his phone. “My birthmark has been… Feeling weird since Dan and Jojo’s stands awakened.” 

The first credits starts, and Lena speaks up: “Do you think this has to do with Dio Brando?” 

Giorno pauses the show. The image on the screen displays a valkyrie: but none of them care about it right now. Not when Giorno takes longer to reply, head held down for a long second before he turns to her, eyes troubled. “I don’t know.” 

Lena remains silent, then, her eyes flick to the screen, noticing and recognizing the character on screen: then, she looks back at her husband, a determined look in her eyes. “Then we might have to ask him directly. Sounds like that sensation Jotaro described when the Cairo incident happened.” 

The group of five; a journey of fifty days. The source of Mr. Polnareff’s concerns regarding the stand arrow, the mere thing that brought him to Diavolo, who had obtained the arrowhead from Enyaba, who was under Dio’s orders. It makes sense, somehow. He hadn’t wanted to think too much of it: because no matter how much he wants to reunite with Dio Brando, he’s still human: he fears. 

Giorno nods, “You’re not… Mad?” Walking back to her, he still doesn’t mind the paused chapter, wanting to hear her answer. 

She shakes her head, waiting until he’s close enough to reach out for his hand, “I take it you didn’t want to bug me?” 

This time, Giorno breaks into a small laugh, nodding his head. “Yeah. You were pregnant and we had more to worry about: the twins were… Too ill for us to focus on something else.” 

“That doesn’t mean you don’t matter, hm? We could have found out sooner. Have you noticed any change of texture, shape or size on your birthmark?” 

He shakes his head, “Not really.” 

“Then… We’ll have to see what’s going on and request a meeting with him.” 

Giorno sighs, sitting down by her side in the stretcher, letting the show play: as the recap of the latest rounds goes on, he dips his head down to reply in a whisper: “Agreed.” 

She hums back, a silent agreement to contact Dio Brando soon: arrange a meeting and find out. And, at the same time, ending the cycle that had started back then when Sunnie and Catherine had asked for their help with the Board. 

Soon, their attention drifts to the show on the screen: shuumatsu no valkyrie’s second season, episode one. The fourth round of the ragnarok, where gods and humans fight for the extermination of the human race, or the salvation of it.

The door opens and Rohan steps in, eyes darting to the screen, then to the couple: he has to take a second look to confirm Lena’s awake and waving at him. 

“When did you wake up?” 

Giorno pauses the show, standing up to open the door and let Ari and Ellie in. “Welcome. Lena woke up around… Ten minutes ago?” 

“Oh my god, you’re awake!” Ari’s excited, cheerful voice comes in as she rushes inside, leaving Rohan —who’s carrying Ellie still in her pajamas— by the door. She rushes to Lena’s side, giving Giogio a quick nod as a salute, before wrapping her arms around her friend. Both women laugh as they embrace, with Ari pulling back shortly after. 

“We’ve missed you so much! How are you feeling?” 

Lena grins, softly: like she wants to let her friend know she’s okay. Like she’s still, somehow, not used to this kind of attention, To be cared for so deeply and attentively. “I’m good, still sore and sleepy, but Bocelli says I should be good enough to go today.” 

“That’s such good news!. You’ll have to get home and rest more there.” Ari smiles, softly, relieved to hear the news. Her eyes drift to the crib, hands clasped in front of her, curious but quiet.

Following her sight, Lena smiles, turning to Gio and then to Ariel and Rohan, who’s now inside the room. “Ari, do you want to hold her?” 

Ari looks back with a soft blush spreading through her cheeks and wide eyes, nodding–she had been there earlier and seen Esme, but had let her rest, settling for slipping a finger into Esme’s tiny palm, not wanting to interrupt her slumber.

Giogio stands up, walking up to Rohan. “Rohan, could you..?” 

Rohan met her first: and if they get to hold her together, then it would be the perfect moment to ask. 

“Sure, Giovanna.” Rohan gives the taller man a nod, letting Ellie go with him. Then, as Ellie settles down in Giorno’s arms, Rohan walks up to Ariel, taking her hand and guiding her to the crib. 

He gives his wife a short look before he reaches for the baby inside the crib, gently cradling her in his arms. Ari gets closer, looking down at the tiny being in her husband’s arms. And she gasps, eyes filled with tears: when she looks back, Giorno and Helena smile back at them, with Giogio holding Ellie and speaking up: 

“Ari, this is Esme.”

She nods, making the gentle transfer from Rohan’s arms to hers, supporting Esme’s head and rubbing her thumb in gentle circles at the crown of her head. Marveling quietly at her tiny eyelashes and sleepy yawn, Giorno interrupts her reverie with a question:

“We were wondering… Would you two like to be her godparents?” 

Kishibe’s mouth hangs open at the question, and Ari’s eyes have widened impossibly more: the couple stays in silence for a minute, with Ellie giggling over the sight of her parents so out of their usual expressions.  

“Of course,” Ari mumbles, tears in her eyes and a grin on her face. “We would be more than happy to be her godparents.” She trails off by the end, staring for a moment at the soft, sleepy face of the baby in her arms.

Giorno grins, bowing. “Thank you, really.” 

Rohan sets his hand on Ari’s shoulder, squeezing gently, then kissing her cheek. “You know we’re someone you can always count on, Giovanna.”

7:22 PM. April 19th. Giovanna residence. 

“Mommy!” Dante yells, eyes wide as he runs up to his mother who’s just coming through the door with her dad trailing behind. The boy stops in his tracks as he notices his dad is holding a tiny bundle in his arms: and he knows that’s his sister. His twin, Jovi, stops by his side too, and both exchange a look, before breaking into wide, stunned grins, hushing each other and deciding to stand there as they watch their mother grin at them. 

Lena sits down on the couch, opening her arms for her sons that upon the sight of their mother’s arms ready to embrace them, run up to her, climbing into the couch by each side of her, and through tears, they melt into her, tiny arms wrapped around her.

“It’s okay,” She whispers, voice loving and filled with warmth; the warmth and comfort only a mother can provide. “I’m here.” she whispers, rubbing their backs as they cry quietly in her hold. 

And he sighs, biting back his laughter as Ares comes in, climbing into the crib already purring. The cat, like he thought, is trying to cuddle with Esme. Howeer, he scoops the Maine Coon, and gets him out of the room, as it’s still too soon for her to be so close to him: Giogio doesn’t want her to get sick. 

Giorno walks upstairs, carrying Esme, and arriving at her room, he sets her down in her crib —a small ritual he’s created for his kids: that once they arrive, the first place they lay down with him watching over them is their crib. Like he’s making a silent promise to them and himself to always watch over them. Because no matter how old they get, or if he grows old and his hair turns all grey: to him, his kids will always be his little ones. 

He hears footsept coming in, and he already knows those are the twins: and soon enough, two blond heads peek in, coming into the door with Lena trailing behind. Scooping both twins in his arms, he lets them peak at the crib, where Esme sleeps peacefully:

“Mommy, why is her hair like a carrot?” Whispers Dante, and the comment makes Lena laugh. 

“Red,” she says, gently correcting him, “Her hair is red. And that’s because she got that from one of my aunts.” 

“Ohhhh.” Dantes nods, finally understanding, and speaks up again: “And why is my hair like daddy’s?” 

“Because you look like him,” she says, looking back at Giorno, who’s watching the whole interaction with soft eyes. Jovi then joins, with a question of his own. “And does she have red eyes too?” 

Giorno replies this time, shaking his head. “No, they are green. Like yours and mine.” 

“Ohhh.” Both twins muse, in unison.  

The family stays there, watching over the new member —later, Giogio would take the boys to bed, promising to help them show Esme their toys and her plushies: and then, he’d set the baby monitor by the crib and let Lena know it was all done. Both would lay down after that, and watch the baby monitors, both the twins’ and Esme’s until sleep overcame them. And in the morning, they would plan a dinner to celebrate his and Lena’s birthdays.

[cyndalyssa]

The Museum

Gee, coming up with things for this was not unlike coming up with adventures for the Sorcerer’s Quest--brain farts galore! But I managed to come up with some stuff. I’ve got references to official MOTU canons, but I’m mainly doing my own thing because Trolla is free real estate for the most part. 

Okay, here we go. 

IRL you’d want a parent to be a chaperone, but Orko’s a Certified Good Boy, Montork trusts him to help keep an eye on children. 

Starting off by defining the Mage Emblems, because I’ve been looking for an excuse to do so in-story. Heck, this whole thing is an excuse for more Trolla worldbuilding, haha. 

Trollans Discover Magic

Birth of the Star Tree

Star Tree Blesses the Oracle

Coronation of a New Overlord

Doing a bit of exploring and seeing some prominent figures in Trolla’s history that I had fun coming up with (or rebranding into something else, i.e. Blim from the She-Ra episode ‘The Greatest Magic’ now being practically Santa Claus). 

And I’m skipping Dr. Seagg’s presentation because most of the artifacts he talks about aren’t really relevant to this tale, I will say he mentions belongings of the Ringbearers, and at some point, the Horn of Evil comes up. 

“Oh, he drives his sister up a wall, but he hasn’t done any property damage.”

Anyway, let’s go back to exploring this museum:

Considering that Ringbearers are extremely rare and Destroying Angels pop up at least once a generation, somebody had to keep them busy so that less innocents are killed in a rampage. DAs are extremely difficult to kill, you either need a Ringbearer or a Storm Spell cast by the Overlords (which was mentioned in an earlier post where one of Orko’s neighbors recounts the last Destroying Angel rampage), and the latter takes a bit of time to charge.

All right, I’ve saved this next stretch for last:

Whew! This was a long one!

Anyway, I admit to being a little nervous touching on Eternia. With it being the main setting of MOTU, I’m trying to strike a balance between being faithful to certain key factors and tones and stuff, but also putting my own little spin on it. 

It is kind of funny to have this story set on Trolla and portray Eternia as the mysterious world the Trollans wonder about from time to time. In this AU, Trolla’s been cut off since the Ultimate Battleground, so they have no idea what current Eternia is like.  

Orko can ask the questions when he ends up on Eternia. 

Also, say ‘Hi’ to Adam! 

I know that’s not what He-Ro’s staff looks like... I couldn’t figure out how to draw it. TT_TT

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[onmywaytofanfic]

Sometimes we need to change

So, I have been readign and trying to amend a little bit eveyrthing that I have done so far with Reina and the village (Kagenogure). I can only feel that I do need to change it drastically. I do feel that I need to sit again and really work properly on it, it feels as fi it is not well fitting in the narrative not to mention my necesity to practice it more. All this thoughts have come to my head after working on Ibiki and Eiko, a history that I do feel so far what I have in mind and how I am protraying the character have much more sense. Not to mention also that I do think that what I have bulletpointed in my stuff about them as more sense and looks better.

I feel that I have to do this because I do love hte character of Reina I adore her and I feel that I do need to make it justice to her since I have created her and all her people, I do feel that I must do that. This short time that I have been here in this media , I do want to think that it has help me grow as a person and as a creator. However, I need to prove that to myself, therefore I need to make changes on her and her history.

The same goes with my drawing skills, I would not make private ro erase my awful drawigns the same with my writings, I personally used Tumblr as a way to see if I have made any short of progress, and I do like sometimes to go back and see what has changed or not. I do feel like my writing hasn't a lot, but I am starting to feel that towards my drawing skills even though it stills need a lot of working.

I know that all of this may seen as just a huge mess and nonsense, yet I do want to dump this here for myself. To go back to this day when I decided to make changes, to go back to every otehr day that I ahve written or draw something and trully feel that I am fucking mackign some short of progress at least on this. It is just a lot of nonsense I know.

Thanks to those that have read this and have enjoyed my content. <3<3<3<3<3 You lot have a huge room in my tiny heart.

[reinekes-fox]

Hohenschwangau, Herrenchiemsee and King Ludwig I for the ROs, and you would be interesting to know

I. Herrenchiemsee: What inspires you? Why?

II. King Ludwig I: Is there anything you love to do, but would consider yourself bad at? How are you improving?

III. Hohenschwangau: What is your favorite memory?

Astoria: I. Her sense of duty to her belief, she wants to do the right thing. II. No. III. A late night drive to France.

Chase: I. Spite, he wants to see justice. II. An example: drawing (he practices a lot, and will draw a romanced MC). III. finally doing magic for the first time.

Droznik: I. Fear, he never wants to go back. II. Yes, being able to finally not lie to everyone. III. Seeing MC again.

E. Falkenflug: I. The family, they wanted to make them proud for the longest time. II. Yes, hair dressing. Thankfully the Tarsus is a willing victim. III. Being choosen as a Holy Songbird.

Fuchsia: I. Her sense of duty, she wants to help and protect people. II. Yes, music. She likes to listen to it, but somehow she can't keep the details apart. III. Finally loving what she sees in the mirror.

Jonah/Columba: I. Family, they want to make them proud. II. Yes, they love to cook.... but they suck. Their parents try to keep them away from cooking all the time. III. Looking into MCs eyes.

Marcel: I. He wants to protect his Ravens. II. Not really. III. Hurting someone tht hurt one of his Ravens.

Marter: I. They had believed something for the longest time of their lives, they are looking for something new. II. No. III. Getting to know MC.

Sebastian: I. Nothing, he has depression. II. Not really. III. When he was hiking with his parents in a snowy forest.

Me: I. It depends, sometimes what I see around me! II. Many things, I try to improve them one at a time through youtube and the Volkshochschule. III. Receiving praise from my history teacher.