#i would tag the characters but again i still feel like its too early for that

[squiddo01]

guess whos been plotting ive had the idea for this game almost as long as knightmare, but its not nearly as fleshed out story-wise, not only because its much, much longer and more complex, but also because... i have 0 experience making games, hell, i still dont, this is just concept art, ive got nothing in terms of coding talent

but still, this will be a game, mark my words, it might just take 16 years to become real

id say keep an eye out, but there probably wont be any news on this game for the longest time

also, to the 3 of you who have seen this post as well, you might be asking where varik went. well varik is a character owned by falcom, i cant just use him, so meet xiva. they fill pretty much the same role

[bunnwich]

Cinnamon Sugar Kisses🍬(Happy Birthday Leona)

Leona's birthday always finds a way to bring him down, maybe a visit from his favorite creature might lighten the mood.

Characters: Leona Kingscholar x Yuu!Reader (GN. No physical description for Yuu. )

Words: 6k, 3rd person, Leona's POV

Notes: It's long, but I am really proud of this one. Leona is DOWN BAD in this. Deals with themes of depression and slight substance abuse.

Tagging: Moving tags to the comments!

--

Leona groaned, the sounds of the night an unpleasant cacophony in his ears as his body tangled in the blankets. The clatter of the blinds, the rushing of the waterfall down in the lounge, and the rumbling snores of the other Savanaclaw members. Riddled with envy, a soft growl passed his lips, tendrils of loose hair sticking to the sweat on his face. Climate-controlled; his ass. After stewing a bit longer on these grievances, he finally lamented to his restless mind. 

Accepting his fate this evening, he kicked off the covers.

His hand went for the familiar object stashed under his pillow. 11:47. The light of his phone screen seared into his vision. It was too damn early to be having so much trouble already.

Scoffing as he sat up fully, he bent his body over to fumble in the drawer of his nightstand until his fingers wrapped around what he was searching for. A small bottle of prescription pills. Right. He was only supposed to take one a night but, three…three had a much better chance of working.

He hadn’t even really taken them since the tournament, but his mind was on double time tonight to torment him. Leona eyed the clock again as if the inanimate object would care about his ire in the least.

“Hmph.”

11:50.

Soon, another birthday. 

He grunted in disgust. The empty family group texts, the gifts he didn’t need and definitely didn’t want. The forced grins of his peers and underclassmen that almost made him sick, all this racket for what? The solemn day of his birth? A whole country holding its breath, only to be immensely disappointed.

A day that arguably shouldn’t have happened. His parents had gotten it right the first time, right? He was well aware of the conditions of his birth…an accident ten years after his brother. He huffed at himself, and the pity party that brewed in his chest. So, what? Lots of people are born by accident.

It’s not that he didn't appreciate it, especially from the cuter underclassmen: Jack, Epel and even Ruggie. The whole Savanaclaw dorm was earnest enough. But…still there would remain that nasty feeling, nagging in his gut that made him wanna skip the whole song and dance altogether. 

His heavy eyes fell to the white pills that rolled around in his palm, before tossing one back into his throat, able to convince himself for just one extra. After all, he didn’t wanna be too groggy for the mandatory celebration tomorrow. 

He let out a little laugh to himself, the sound resonating off the walls of his room as he dumped the extras back inside the bottle. Cheers, to a life of just…existing, and joy…he had a whole lifetime ahead of him to do it more. He should feel grateful; lucky. But sometimes, it was hard to not sink comfortably into these thoughts of morbid existentialism.

Just as the dry pill rolled down his throat, a few raps sounded off at his door like magic. Fuck. He twisted the cap back on and tossed the bottle under his bed, he didn’t need another scolding from Ruggie. That or the guys were coming to wish him Happy Birthday at midnight again, he wasn’t really in the mood for visitors. “Come in.” He called out to the intruder, voice cracking. “What do you want? I’m-” 

When the door finally creaked open his back straightened and a laugh of relief rumbled from his lips. It wasn’t Ruggie or anyone from Savanclaw at all. Leona squinted, the effects of the pill from earlier making the room hazy around their face. He hadn’t even smelled them, that's how out of it he was. He tugged at his shirt to pull it down over his chest, still wearing the same brown tunic of his dorm uniform from earlier. He cleared his throat and smoothed his hair back from his face.

Yuu shrugged at his efforts to preen himself from the doorway, hair sweeping over their face and a loose tee hanging off their frame. 

“You.” Leona sounded off suspiciously. It felt like a strange dream but lucky for him, they were real and standing just a few feet away in their nightclothes. He didn't even know what to say. He hadn’t seen them in weeks. He had a strategy, after all, secretly hoping that that stupid little saying might be true. 

Distance…something…fonder… Well, it worked for him.

But, from what Ruggie had told him, Yuu was so wrapped up in the VDC rigamarole with Schoenheit, they had little time for much else. 

“Hn.” Three whole weeks of constipated feelings died inside his mouth and he grumbled at them. “What are ya doin’ here?” Leona blinked a few times, feeling the heaviness of his eyelids increase more than ever. He hoped his tone sounded better to them.

As usual, they weren't scared off or detoured by his sourness. The little beast only rolled their eyes at him and huffed as if he was inconveniencing them instead. There was that audacity he loved. 

Using their back to press the door closed, they finished shaking their head at him and dared to move inside his room. As they approached him near the bed, blue shadows from his potted palms danced over their soft, but stern face. So they intended to stay…at least for a while.

He let out a breath and swung his legs and tail over the side of the bed. All the while, the numbness in his chest began to flutter and unfreeze. Suddenly, he was aware of his heartbeat again.

“Um, it’s your birthday? Duh.” They shrugged and the crinkle of whatever was in their arms made his ears twitch.

He leaned forward to get a better look, rubbing one of his eyes before staring at the bundle in their arms. “Oh, right…” He muttered, acting like he had forgotten, “Though, you're a little early….” He gave them his best smirk, but it took more effort than usual to summon. 

Their mouth dropped open as their eyes glanced at the wooden clock on the wall.

11:58.

“Hmph.” This didn’t seem to phase them, propping a hand on their hip. The edge of their oversized shirt lifted to reveal their shorts underneath. “Guess I'll be your first.” They dangled the shiny bundle in the air between them. It was haphazardly covered in iridescent yellow wrapping paper and tied with some twine.

Leona shifted his gaze back to their coy face and he couldn’t help but smile at their usual bull-headed earnestness. He reached over and took the package from both their hands, his knuckles brushing against theirs. 

“Mmm, guess so.” He mused at their chosen words and just like that, his heart sped up. So, that thing was still working, they still had him in a vice grip. 

His first…

“Your hands are cold. You walk all the way here?” He inquired, running his finger over the small tag that dangled from the top. His name was scrawled in large, irregular handwriting along with a doodle of a frowning lion.

“Yes...how else would I get here?” They asked facetiously, adding an extra softness to their playful words. He could tell they felt sorry for him. Damn, did he look that bad? Despite their apparent pity, their face puckered into a cute little scowl, unable to hide their annoyance any longer. “Come on-” As they shook their head at him. “Just open it, okay?” They chuckled and their nose crinkled. 

Leona felt that fatal, bittersweet dip in his stomach that made him ill, and then…everything was fresh again. 

Damn, he was pathetic. Leona cleared his throat and unwrapped it slowly, smelling what it was before he saw it.

“Uh, i-it’s not much but…let’s just say, her highness hooked me up.”

He laughed at the mention of his sister-in-law, heart squeezing as he unveiled it in his lap. “Awe.” It was the smallest bag of baobab candy he’d ever fucking seen.

“But you know…I-I paid for it! I insisted, okay?” They tipped their chin in the air indignantly, poking a thumb into their chest. “Your sis, she just showed me the website basically. I ordered it online to be shipped here-” A little huff left Yuu’s mouth as they babbled on, before crossing their arms. “You like it? It’s your favorite, right?”

He looked down at the bag of candy in his lap, it was cute that they remembered cinnamon was his favorite. Just like at Vargus Camp when they sprinkled some over his cup of hot chocolate.

 “Yeah.” But, the thought of them working, only to spend money on him, made him feel…sick. But…he knew it made them feel good to do it on their own. It was good for em’ and it was…cute how worked up they were getting. At least, they thought of him.

Leona bit his lip, trying to conceal his smirk. “Thanks, really.” He knew it had to be expensive to get it sent from his country to the college. The fees themselves probably cost double what the damn candy was worth. He bit his tongue and resisted his body’s urge to move closer.

Nah.

Space… Distance, all that shit. That was safer. 

“You didn’t have to get me nothing.” He blurted out, halting the thoughts in his head, knowing they understood how much he appreciated them being here. “...But hey…If ya wanna pay tribute to me, I can think of some other ways too.” He jabbed, trying to urge some more fire from them.

Before he could blink they swatted him on the shoulder. “Cut it out…” They hissed, eyes scanning the room. What were they looking for? “Well, you’re welcome.” Their hand lingered on his shoulder instead of pulling away like he thought they might. The warmth of their fingers through his tank top, it’s all he could focus on in his sleepy haze. 

Meanwhile, they used their other hand to gesture over to his chess table. “Sooo, since I’m here. I thought maybe we could…play a game?”

He yawned at the mention, pushing some air past his teeth, looking up at them incredulously. “Tch, seriously? Chess at this hour? Ya sure it's not too boring for you?” He probably shouldn’t have added that, but his ego couldn’t help it. “You know…” His eyes drifted to their fingers, now tangled even more in the fabric of his shirt. “...If you wanted something else from me. All you have to do is ask, alright?” He said through a whisper, mesmerized by the subtle movements of their hand.

They seemed to take it better than he thought, brushing him off and still playing with his tunic. “Nope. Just a game, that’s all. “I just mi…uh-” The edge of their pouty lips curled into a smirk as they trailed off. 

His ears perked up.

“...Uh, u-unless you're too tired to take me on?“ 

“Mmm, never.” Leona snapped back, he could see the spark in their eyes. They were much more awake than him. Great Seven, what he would give for a little of that energy. He sighed as he stood slowly, stretching his arms over his head and pulling up his jeans. “Fine, if you have any chance of winning it’s gonna be when I’m dead tired like this, so-”

Their lashes fluttered, a bit of concern flashing in their eyes at his appearance, how noble. “Oh, I mean... You sure you’re up for it…?”

Leona rubbed his face, groaning in defeat. Without saying anything else, he sat down in one of the chairs by his chess table. White side, as always, and the pieces were scattered from a solo game he played earlier. He gestured to the chair across from him. “Just sit down. Come on, I’ll set the board.” --

He observed them intently as they popped another candy in their mouth. Their cheek was pressed against their knees as they eyed him back from across the board. “...What?”

Leona’s chair creaked against the floor as he leaned back some, folding his arms. A smirk tugged at the edge of his mouth. “So, what’s the verdict on my candy?”

“Mmm, it’s…not bad.” Their eyes drifted up and their lips pursed thoughtfully, sliding one of their pawns into defense against one of his knights. “Things taste better when they belong to other people you know.”

“Hm.” His smirk grew. “Is that so?” Leona had to admit, they had started out the game pretty strong. Must have absorbed something when he used to lecture them about chess openings. But, now they were falling off, the game sapping them of their vigor. Poor thing, he chuckled to himself hiding his smile as he watched them, watching him.

He knew they were just playing for his sake and he wasn’t sure if he was flattered or not. “My brother hates them.” Leona finally said, making his next move to draw the game out. Couldn’t be helped, he wanted to…look at them a little longer. 

“He says they’re...too spicy.” He chewed his lip. “You should taste the real deal though, sometimes the vendors in Sunrise City make ‘em fresh in front of you…” 

They rolled their eyes. “Pfft, well maybe he's just got bad taste.” They barely could get the words out, mouth full when they grinned. “That sounds nice.”

Leona shook his head, watching them pop in a few more pieces of the cinnamon candy, the seeds building up in one of their cheeks. “Maybe.” He remarked, his eyes widening as they kept going, stuffing their mouth full. “‘Ey now… You don’t chew the seeds up, remember?” He sighed, holding out his hand for them. “You’re supposed to spit 'em out when you're done.”

They looked at his open hand like he was insane, whites of their eyes visible. “Whaght? I didn’t vanna vee’ rude!”

Leona gestured again for them to spit, moving his open palm closer to their mouth. “And damn near choking to death is where you draw the line on being rude? This ain’t Pomfiore dorm, you can do whatever ya want here. I’ll allow it...as your gracious dorm leader.”

They made a face before spitting the now plain seeds into his palm. “Much obliged, your highness.”

He looked down and shook his head again, smothering the voice that told him to pop one of them in his mouth. Instead, he tossed the seeds in the trash a few feet away, rubbing his hand on his jeans. “Uh, it’s your move.”

Yuu rubbed their face, lids concealing half of their pretty eyes. “O-oh right...” They let out a breath, forehead wrinkling as they made their next move.

 Sloppy.

Leona tapped his chin, one side of his mouth going up at their stubbornness to continue. “Hmph.” He could tell how bored they were. He gazed down at the almost clear board and fiddled with his queen piece, reaching behind his neck to rub it. “Thanks, for…coming to’ see me tonight.” He looked at the clock, it was almost 1 in the morning now, “But, ya don’t have to stay if you're tired.” He tilted his head at them.

“Whaaaat? No, I’m not!” They dug their heels into their lie, tugging their sleep shirt over their legs. “Okay…yeah.” They confessed. “I guess this is making me a little tired but-”

Leona’s eyes trailed up the curve of their legs to their conflicted face, still squished against one of their knees. Their gaze bore into him with a rare doe-eyed stare that he was no match for. “...I wanna stay and finish the game. Okay?”

“Fine, then I’ll make this easy for ya.” He smirked, mating them with his queen piece. 

Yuu’s reaction was delayed, eyes scanning the board in disbelief. “Damn,” They grimaced. “Hey, I was actually trying there for a minute!” They cried, plopping the bag of candy in the center of the board, knocking over a few pieces. Twisting around, they pulled their phone from a pocket on their shorts. “Mmm, look!” They turned it around. “I’ve been practicing…when I have time. I’ll have you know I’m…uh- number 795 on the Night Raven College Board!”

Leona crossed his arms again, ears shifting toward them. “Hmph. I know, I could tell. You did...good there in the beginning. Just need to work on your midgame and-”

As he was going on they stood, snatching up the candy bag, knocking one of the pieces on the floor. They began pacing around his bed like a kitten looking for a sleeping spot, before plopping down where he had just been tossing and turning an hour ago.

They fiddled with the small bag of candy, before popping a fresh one between their red-stained lips. Laying back against the sheets, their shapely legs crossed as they wiggled their little feet. After a minute, their head slowly turned to him as they sucked on the seeds, the moon outside making all their bare skin glow. “Hm?” 

Oh right, he had stopped talking. “Hn, Nevermind.” He grumbled, waving his hand in the air. He stood too, and followed, getting a closer look at the creature who so bravely laid claim to his bed right now. His? Nah, more like a wild little beast passing by. He had always known they weren’t the type to be tamed.

He chuckled as he came up to the side of the bed and looked down at them. “C’mon. Go to sleep now. No need to hang ‘round here for my sake. My birthday’s nothin’ important…I’ll have enough people kissin’ my ass tomorrow and singing my praises. Go back to the Ramshackle where you belong.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Lion.” Their features wrinkled indignantly as they only lifted their head to stuff more candy in their mouth, rolling it around behind their teeth. They flipped over to lay on their belly, kicking pointedly on one of his pillows as they spoke. “Oh, come on,” They propped their head on their elbows to glare at him. “You know you don’t want me to leave.”

“So?” He rolled his eyes, unsure of what game they were playing now. “Ain’t about me.” He snorted and worked his fingers on his temple and at the headache that was building behind his eyes.

“It is…your birthday.” They continued to roll the candy on their tongue and he was close enough to smell their saliva mixed with the cinnamon. “Do you…want me to stay?”

Leona blinked a few times, the purr of their words causing his ears to tingle. The pills were still not helping his twitterpated haze. “Course. Course, I do.” He sat down a safe distance near the end of the bed, still haunted by the sound of the candy in their mouth. “Tch. You should know that.” He turned his back to them.

After a moment, they sighed and crawled toward him. They crept up beside him like a timid little rabbit now, still laying on their belly, breaching his space until their bare arm was touching his. “How have you been?” They asked without missing a beat or lingering on any awkwardness that came before.

He had to laugh. There wasn’t much to tell. “Fine.” He said simply, it wasn’t a lie. “Don’t feel like a complete nuisance lately. And ya know…practice has been going pretty well. Everyone’s all fired up to do better in the summer, of course.” He sighed as his smirk faded.

“That’s good but-” They lifted their brows, a smile tugging at their mouth. “You’re fine?”

“Awe, don’t fret about me now… Wouldn’t say I’m worse. School’s got me in this troublesome therapy program, you know after…everything. So uh, it’s more like: I’m…treading water. Survivin’. I’ll be alright.” He looked away, the end of his tail tapping on the sheets. “Though I gotta say my birthday, you know…the concept of my existence ‘n all: my “place” in the world. All of that, always finds a way of…bringing me down a little.” 

He couldn’t see their face but he felt them shift, sitting up. A pair of legs appeared to dangle beside his. He figured he wouldn’t have to explain himself any further for them to understand. 

“I’m…sorry, Leona.”

“Don’t be, said I was fine.” He cleared his throat and looked down at them, now perched so diligently by his side. The warmth that kindled between both their arms felt…nice. Most of the skin-to-skin contact he received nowadays was from tumbling into club members during practice. “Can’t fix what you didn't break and all that.” He rubbed his face and peeked at them through his hand, watching them process his words. 

As usual, he wanted to know what they were thinking. Leona smiled, he may not know for sure but he could see it, the way their eyes watered up. He hated the idea of being pitied but...he’d like to think it was something more now after all they'd been through together. That they were now somebody to each other, both their lives altered in a way they couldn’t go back on. And that the way they looked at him, meant something more.

“I understand.” They said in a voice so quiet it made his ear shiver. “If…it’s any consolation next time you’re, I don’t know, pondering your existence? Just know, I’m glad that you exist. I’m glad that we met, Leona.”

“Oh, really?” That was it. His breath caught, and his heart pounded at the simple words. How cute, he could even see them nibble on their lip in the dark. He knew they meant it, but he couldn’t help himself. “...Awe well, I’m glad my 21 years of torment could bring some levity into your life. That I exist for your entertainment,” He bit his lip and snickered at their expression of disbelief.

Soon they laughed too, covering their mouth quickly to spit out the baobab seeds into their hand, then hurrying to put them on his nightstand. 

They butted their whole body against him when they came back and he gave in, letting their weight fall over him as they both cackled. 

“Shut up.” Yuu slapped his chest once, but he seized them easily, pinning their arms to their sides. “Let go of me! You deserve to be hit! You almost made me choke to death just now!” They sputtered, loose hair falling all around their flustered face. “Then, just think, every year on your birthday you’d have a real reason to be mopy!”

He laughed even harder, laying his head back into the blankets, their soft, warm weight feeling good on top of him. “Heh, I guess you're right.”

Yuu scoffed, looking down at him disapprovingly but stayed anyway, chest pressed to his. They didn’t flinch in his arms like a skittish little prey animal, or look away in shame of the feelings between them. This time they only gazed down at him, eyes like mirrors, tilting their head to survey him. Leona stared back with equal intrigue, resisting the urge to wipe the stray cinnamon dust from the corners of their mouth.

Leona felt them let go of a held breath and relax into his arms. He took that as a sign to loosen his grip and wrap his arms around their lower back. In response, they only secured their position of dominance, nestling their head into his shoulder, acting like they belonged there. 

Hmph.

His heart began to settle down and accept their gentle nuzzles, he still had to play it cool after all.

They smelled so good, just how he remembered. Sweet, but not too sweet, and earthy like the gardens back home in the dawn. His eyes fell closed. Oh, yeah. There it was, rearing its nasty head. Forces beyond both their understanding and any sense of logic, tangling them together again. Oh well, he was too weak to refuse.

In this moment of honesty, they only wiggled their foot against his as he let his tail drape over the back of their soft legs. Who did they think they were? Laying on him like he was just there to be a handsome pillow for them? Ack, who was he kidding? This is what he wanted, as soon as they stepped through his threshold an hour and half ago. Just comfort.

“You hungry?” They blurted out, face squished against his collarbone. “I’m starving.” They flicked their fingers at the end of his braid, their voice small like a child. He would have agreed no matter what they asked.

“Yeah.” --

They lead the way down the wooden walkways, wrapped tight in one of his blankets. Every so often their eyes would glint as they turned around to give him a small glance, making sure he was still following behind them. He laid on the counter while they cooked and while they complained how unsanitary it all was. It was bittersweet to see that they still remembered where everything was in the dorm.

He chuckled as they rambled on about various things while cooking, content to observe their chaotic technique. It was a lot like their skills in potion-making class. Climbing on the counters, spilling things and sticking their fingers in the mixture to taste along the way.

At the end of it, Yuu managed to cook the two of them some sort of egg dish along with some of the ham for his birthday tomorrow. It was his wasn’t it? Surely no one would notice one rabbit-sized and one lion-sized serving carved out of the side of the meat.

Once back in his room, they present the meal as if they were dining somewhere fancy.

The flavors were simple but good. For someone with no training they were good in the kitchen. That’s what he liked about their and Ruggie’s food. It was never boring, but the ingredients were few and humble, like their potion making: each one had a purpose. There was no fluff or pretention in the end product. As they ate together on his bed he forgot all about his birthday. It was just the two of them, and he was already homesick at the idea they would leave again.

“Ugh,” They lamented, face twisted in disgust as they poked their fork in the last bit of food on his plate, offering it to his awaiting mouth. “I swear you always win, And what you don’t...you cheat at.” They narrowed their eyes at him.

“Sore loser talk.” He retorted with a sly expression, opening his jaw to gladly savor the final bite of the meat and eggs, arms behind his head to rest back on the pillows. They lost to him alright and feeding him the last of his meal was their “punishment.” “Mmph, and how pray tell would I ever cheat at rock-paper-scissors, Beast?” He asked through his chewing, licking his lips.

They pulled back the utensil roughly, letting it clatter to the plate. “Ugh, I don’t know. but I’m watching you.” Their upper lip curled up as they scowled, revealing their own little fang before crawling over him to flop down. The black and white shadows played over their face from the screen. He didn’t use the digital projector much that his family got him last year, but tonight was an exception.

“How ferocious.” He purred at them, letting out a content sigh. Now that his belly was full he was even more weary. Leona’s lids grew heavier and heavier as his eyes settled on their form on the end of his bed. Their little huffs and rhythmic breaths sent tingles up his legs as they lay draped across him watching the movie. 

How could he go to bed with a view like this?

“Mmm.” It was quiet as nothing but the film played out, the pictures reflecting in their wide eyes as they watched in rapture. He decided on one they hadn’t seen yet: an old noir he was fond of; a mystery. He figured they’d like that. Their little feet popped back and forth in the air as they continued to watch and after an indeterminate amount of time they gave him a backward glance.

“What’s up?” As their brow wrinkled at him they fished their two fingers into the candy bag. “Got a staring problem?” Licking the cinnamon from their fingertips they laid a seed on their red-stained tongue. They grabbed another and he could hear that they hit the bottom of the bag, eyes going a bit wide at the revelation, hoping he wouldn’t notice. 

“Nothin.’” Leona responded, head dizzy and chest a bit lighter. “Are ya comfortable?” He used his tail to mess with them, flicking the end of it in their face.

They sputtered, attempting to swat it away as he dodged them, continuing to play with them. “Yes, Yes I am and you’re botherin’ me!” They put a finger up to their lip. “Shh! I can’t hear when you talk.” They knitted their brows at him before licking at the seed pinched between their fingers  “...And get that thing outta my face before I bite it.”

“Oh, I’m quivering in fear.” He hissed before he finally had enough messing with them. His lips curved into a small grin of his own, his tail settling over the small of their back.

They looked back at him with mischievous eyes, form glowing by the moon on his bed.

“Mmm.” As their eyes settled on the screen, a dullness painted over their gaze as they looked down fumbling with the empty candy bag, clearly too beat to take any more jabs at him.

“Hm, You’re tired, aren’t cha? How is it? At the madhouse?”

“Well,” Their shoulders went up in a shrug and their eyes wandered the room. “To be honest…That’s kinda why I wanted to come here. Uh, I mean besides your birthday and all. Is that… bad?” They grimaced, awaiting his reaction.

He wanted to say it, but the words were stuck in his throat, and he didn’t wanna push it. He could behave, hold back. 

“Nah,” He assured them and the rest of the words just slipped out. That and his hands had a mind of their own. “...Happy to be your distraction.” He sat up fully and moved closer, reaching down to tuck their hair behind their ear.

This caused them to adjust their position on his legs, blinking up at him. They gave him a little nod to assure him that how close he came was okay, even moving closer so he could reach them better. “But...Is that fair?” Yuu asked through a whisper, pupils a bit shaky.

He chuckled as he let his fingers drift down their cheeks, wiping the corners of their mouth with his thumbs, like he had been wanting to do all night. “Life’s not fair.” He said, letting out a small scoff at the deflated candy bag beside them. “Well, looks like you cleaned me out. So much for a birthday gift…” He teased, but he couldn't give less of a fuck.

Their wide gaze darted down to where he was looking but still allowed him to continue touching them. “Shit.” They hissed and he could feel their face go warm in his hands. I guess I’m a little distracted.” Yuu puffed out a breath, and they smiled “Vil doesn’t even let us have snacks. He locks the fridge after 8. Like…I’m not even competing! S-sorry, about the candy.” 

It wasn’t like them to apologize. He tipped their chin up so he could see their face better. “...I’m just messin’ with ya. C’mon.” He was listening to them as best he could but he also felt himself getting sucked in. He swallowed. “Ey...you can eat whatever you want when you're with me.” He arched his brow, giving them a little wink.

“Hmph.” They let out a little relieved chuckle and relinquished his touch, letting their weary face fall into his cupped hand like the cute little herbivore they were.

“Oh.” He let out an audible sound at this development, as something stabbed through his chest. They were so damn cute and he was so damn pathetic. Sometimes the feelings were so intense that it hurt. Who woulda thought someone like him would be such a sap?

“It’s overwhelming…” They continued to wiggle closer, until they could lean their forehead in the center of his chest. Their eyes fell closed, and his fingers tangled in their hair as he began stroking the back of their neck. 

He didn’t really know what the hell he was doing, he wasn’t used to comforting someone like this. But he was trying, and their skin was so damn soft under his fingertips. 

“At every turn…there's someone telling me what to do. Everyone at the house being all needy and in the way. Ugh, I’m over it. Is that selfish?”

“Un-uh. Nothin’ wrong with wanting a little peace of mind,” He said, his fingers wrapping around their shoulders. “Know I wouldn’t last more than a day in that place…” He slipped his hands under their hair and traced down their back, letting his knuckles skate down their spine. “Looks like you’ve got more patience then me.”

They took note of his attempt to soothe them and began to play with his shirt as they talked. 

“-Sounds like you could use a break…” 

They froze at his words as if a realization struck them, features softening before him. “Yeah I-” Craning their head back they looked up at him, now eye to eye “I think…that’s why I came here.”

“Mmhmm,” He couldn't help it, his smile grew tenfold and his ego swelled. “Oh really? I’m that boring then, eh? That you only come to me to eat and sleep?” He was teasing them, but he could tell he struck a nerve.

“What?” They rolled their eyes at him, cocking their head. “N-no! I- Look! I know it’s your “day of birth” and all but I think I prefer the cocky, less self-deprecating Leona.” Unfortunately, this caused them to move from his lap and Yuu began to stack both their plates as they mumbled to themself. He resisted the urge to hold onto them and instead watched them pout and clean up, reaching down to set the objects on the floor.

“Tch, well…he's tired.” He shrugged. “Wasn’t a jab anyways I-”

There was a small rattle and he went quiet, knowing that they saw the bottle. They didn't say anything at first as they stretched back up, but after a moment of silence, their gaze went back to him. “You…goin’ to classes tomorrow?”

“Nah,” He crossed his arms. “Not if I can help it anyway.” He let himself fall back on the bed again, staring at the ceiling.

“You’re sure you're okay, Leona?”

He cursed himself for not hiding it better. “Don’t ask me that. I told ya, I’m fine. I wasn’t just saying it to make ya feel better. Tonight’s actually the first night I’ve taken ‘em since-'' He shook his head. “And it’s still not enough…” He muttered. “I’d sure be much better if I had a drink too tomorrow, heh.” He smirked as he rolled over, only to find them kneeling there close to him in the center of the bed. “Awe, now don’t look at me like that either...”

Their shoulders lowered and their face was soft again as they studied him, tunic hanging off of one of their arms. “Like what?”

“Like…my family.”

Yuu’s brows shot up and their expression shifted to one of defense. “I’m not.” They clenched the sheets below them. “No way I can judge you…” Yuu released a breath.” Were you…having trouble sleeping then? You just look…” They reached down, to tug on his braid. “...tired.” As they said this their hand went around his jaw, carefully moving his hair from his face.

“So I look that much like shit, eh?” At their touch the weight of it all began to collapse on him, Leona reached a hand to his face to overlap the back of theirs. “Yeah. I only took one anyway. Well, two...”

“Leona!” They scolded him in that voice, the one they used to use to keep everyone in line at this damn school. He missed it. It wasn’t too naggy or condescending. It hit him at his core, made his back straighten, and usually he knew they were right.

“What?”

“You’ve been tellin’ me to go to bed all night but…you are the one who should go to sleep!” They bit their lip as they laughed at him, shaking their head as they continued to pet him.

“But, I…can't.” He mouthed, the vision of their face above him a bit blurry. He wasn’t sure how it happened, how his head ended up in their lap, but he did, their soft thighs pressed against his face. They must have felt pretty bad for him. 

“Mmm, looks like being a bit pathetic has its perk-”

“Shh-”

A wry chuckle rumbled in his chest and he put up his hands in defeat, lowering his ears. “Fine. You’re the boss, but…if you're gonna put me to bed…don’t I get a little somethin’ sweet? Technically you ate all my-”

Before he could say anything else he felt something soft and supple on his face, tracing on the edge of his scar. He let out a breath and his eyes widened as he sat up, tail standing on end.

They looked down at him a bit coy, touching a few fingers to their lips. “Sheesh… Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Didn’t know you lions were so jumpy.”

He swallowed, but tried to save face, running a hand through his hair. “...You lions, huh? He echoed. “Didn’t know little creatures like you were so…bold. N’ what was that all about?”

They rolled their eyes at his words, meanwhile they were acting so innocent, the final scenes of the movie playing behind their head. “I don’t know. Just a little…birthday gift. Something sweet.” Their shoulders rose up as they continued their little game. “If that’s okay.”

It was more than okay, he liked this game, when they came to play with him on their own. “Oh? A gift, huh?” His chest pounded so fast it was hard to speak, those damn pills. “...Sorry think I was a little…half asleep. I don't remember anything sweet…” He said through a delirious smirk. No way would it work but-

Without warning they slipped their fingers around his jaw, leaning down to kiss him again. This time, Yuu didn’t miss. They went straight for the kill, fitting their pouty lips between his for only a few seconds. Their soft little sighs, pulling at his broken heartstrings. When they were done, he was able to catch his breath again, a tingle going up his spine. He licked the taste of them from his lips, savoring it, the spices from the candy making his mouth water. The ball was in their court and if this is what they wanted he wouldn’t refuse them.

But, as usual, he was greedy…so he tested his luck once more. 

He panted chewing his lip, “Hmph. That…all I get?” He frowned as if he wasn’t satisfied. “Hm, it is my birthday, after all.” 

He managed to get a little laugh and a snort of disbelief from them. “...Needy.” The words were hot over his mouth as they lowered themselves to him again, nails digging into his jaw. They took their time with him, spreading their attention to the rest of his face beyond his mouth, leaving a trail of fire behind each little kiss. 

Leona’s eyes rolled back, no one ever kissed him quite like they did. 

He swore they did it on purpose, trying to coax the little noises from back of his throat. As they laid their lips on him more, his fingers gripped onto own his shirt, heart thudding against his knuckles. He let them do all the work as they pampered him, his tail bobbing between his legs. And all he could do was melt into their lap as they killed him over and over with their cinnamon sugar kisses. Unfortunately, he knew if he let himself taste them back, he wouldn’t be able to stop till he devoured them, and he didn’t wanna overwhelm them…this time. 

When they were done he felt drunk, his lips still burning from the candy dust, lungs full of their sweet breaths. His head was dizzier than sleeping pills would have ever made him. It was fatal. He knew this would be even more habit-forming than any of his other vices. 

“Now, that was somethin’ sweet…” 

They stared down at him, a bit unimpressed, wiping the left over drool he had left on the edge of their mouth. “...You gonna sleep now, Lion?” They mused, playing with his braid, and using it to tap at his forehead.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m going.” He let his eyes fall closed and sighed, the hole in his chest stitched together, for now. He felt himself drifting off already, safe in their custody, still licking his lips. 

“Hey?”

“Hm?”

Tell me…’bout your day, hm? Mmm, what have you been doing since I last saw ya? Tell me anything.” He commanded softly. His body became more weightless in their arms as they petted his hair, massaging his scalp around his limp ears. “I wanna listen while I…”

“Oh? Am I that boring? You want me to put you to sleep?” Their soft laughter echoed above, so far off now.

He used the last reserves of his energy to chuckle one last time. “No, I just wanna…hear ya. That’s all.” 

The last thing he felt was their lips over his left eyelid, then his right. That was it, this little move caused his eyes to burn. Hm, no one had ever kissed him like that, it was like he was a kid again. 

“Fine. Happy Birthday, Leona.”

--

[peonysgreenhouse]

-`♡´- the day you and the stars disappeared.

summary: the discovery and aftermath of your disappearance. what do your beloveds do in your absence?

tags: obey me characters (lucifer, mammon, levi, asmo, satan, beel, belphie, diavolo, barbatos, solomon, simeon, and thirteen) x gn!reader, angst, spoilers for the first chapter of obey me! nightbringer.

When Lucifer wakes up, the left side of his bed is cold.

It's not the most unusual thing. Lucifer was much less of a morning person that you were. He glaces to his bedside table. 8:30; it was too early for you to be out of bed on the weekend. Even if you woke up early, you'd still be tucked into his arms, or scrolling through Devilgram on your D.D.D.

Lucifer sits up, a pout on his face. You couldn't have strayed too far in such a short time.

"Beloved?" He calls, hoping you could hear him if you were in the bathroom. Lucifer says your name, this time a little louder, but again gets no response.

It wasn't your turn to be on breakfast duty... Perhaps you had a bad dream? You did tend to hide those things from him.

He closes his eyes and thinks of you. Usually, he would feel a faint warmth, like the fluttering of a moth's wings underneath his skin; it was the feeling of your soul connected to his through your pact. But now, even with all his focus, the feeling of your soul connection is nothing but a cold static.

Lucifer swallows the panic welling up in his chest and stands, quickly throwing on his clothes and rushing from his room. He starts in the basement, looking in any place a human could possibly squeeze into, desperately calling out your name. The ever-composed Lucifer, reduced to tearing the house apart when his human isn't in his sights.

He hopes that he is overreacting. He hopes that he'll find you curled up with Mammon, or on a walk outside the house.

He hopes that you are still somewhere that he can reach.

"Oy, Lucifer, what's going on?" Mammon. Lucifer takes a deep breath and tries to collect himself. If he let himself be emotional, his brothers would take that as a sign that something is very, very wrong. He would have to hold himself together, for now. "You're waking everyone up."

"Mammon, have you seen MC?" Calm enough.

"I haven't seen 'em since last night, they were with you, right?" You and Lucifer stayed up late to finish paperwork for your new student council role. "You didn't make 'em angry, did you?"

Lucifer's pout deepens. He's sure he'll age a millennia faster with how much he worries over you. "No, nothing like that. We finished up the assignments and then went to bed." Lucifer sighs, "and then when I woke up this morning, they weren't there. It's unlike them."

"You sure they just didn't go for a walk or something?" Mammon checks his phone to see if there were any messages from you.

"Mammon... try to connect to them with your pact."

Mammon closes his eyes, and repeats the same action Lucifer did only a few minutes prior.

Nothing.

Mammon instantly shifts into his demon form, fear evident in his eyes.

"I'm gonna go drag Solomon over here. He'll be able to track 'em if they're nearby, right?"

"He should be. Bring Simeon too, if he's there.". Lucifer straightens himself out. "I'll wake Leviathan and then go get Diavolo and Barbatos. Maybe they'll know more about what's going on."

Mammon nods, out the door before Lucifer can even finish his sentence.

Lucifer doesn't allow himself any more moments alone, he rushes upstairs to shake Leviathan awake.

-`♡´-

"No need to pound on the door, Mammon." Simeon smiles, but Mammon can tell he's annoyed. Giving Simeon a minute to open the door was Mammon's idea of being patient, he had half a mind to knock the damn thing off its hinges. "Is there anything—".

"Where's Solomon?" Mammon cuts him off, pushing past him and into Purgatory Hall's living room. The smell of fresh coffee fills the air; just how early did these guys wake up?

"He's still sleeping, I believe. Why are you in such a rush?" Simeon asks.

"MC's missing. Need him to find them. He in his room?"

"What?"

"You heard me!" Mammon can hardly keep it together. He didn't want to talk about it, he knew that if he started talking he wouldn't be able to stop.

He hadn't felt your soul connection so cold since... since...

"What's going on?" Solomon steps out of the hallway, still in his pajamas. "I heard Mammon yelling. What happened to MC?"

Of course he'd have been listening in. "Lucifer woke up this morning and they weren't there. Can't hardly feel their soul at all, it's like they're—".

"What do you mean?" Solomon's eyebrows quirk up, clearly not expecting to hear that. "What does it feel like?"

"Damn it, Solomon, it feels like it did when Belphie... y'know." Mammon can't bring himself to say it. It was too awful, what he did to you. "Enough talking, do your magic thing and find 'em!"

Solomon and Simeon exchange worried looks. "Alright, let me get dressed. Then we'll head off. But Mammon...".

"What?" Mammon huffs, already heading towards the door.

"I'm sure they're fine. You know how capable they are. Perhaps they just wanted some alone time."

"Yes, MC has survived a lot. I'm sure they just popped back up to the Human World or something... We'll probably be laughing about this with them at the end of the day."

Simeon smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Mammon tries not to let the thought that they might be trying to placate him bother him.

-`♡´-

"You want me to watch over our brothers? Why? What's happening?" Levi sits up in his bathtub bed, disoriented from being shaken awake so suddenly.

He had heard the commotion earlier, but assumed that Mammon had done something to warrant Lucifer's ire. Lucifer searching through Levi's room while he was sleeping wasn't the strangest occurrence. Mammon did hide things in here from time to time.

"Levi, don't worry over this right now. I'll fill you in once we figure out what's going on."

"No, Lucifer, tell me now!" Levi stands, suddenly very awake. "You're worried over something, and you're never worried, not like this."

Even standing up straight, Lucifer was still looking down at Leviathan.

"Telling you would only make the situation worse." Levi hates how patronizing Lucifer sounds. He hated it when they first fell and he hated it now. "Make sure the others stay put, I'll be back soon."

Levi moves quickly to stop him from leaving. "If you don't tell me, I'll... I'll summon Lotan!" Lucifer steps forward, but Leviathan doesn't budge. "I'll really do it, Lucifer! I'm serious about this!"

It would probably take Levi a few hundred years to muster up the courage to stand up to Lucifer like this again. But watching the cold pity fade from his brother's eyes and turn into something more akin to pride was worth it.

"MC is gone, and I'm going to the Demon Lord's Castle to seek Diavolo and Barbatos's help." Lucifer says it with such a barely-maintained calmness that Leviathan knows this is serious. That you weren't sucked into a silly game or hiding out in Purgatory Hall for the weekend.

Levi feels his heart sink.

"Now, can you do as you're told and stay put? I'll be back soon." Lucifer squeezes Levi's shoulder, forcing Levi to listen. "If anything happens, call me."

He nods, but once Lucifer turns to leave, he quietly falls back into bed. Levi watches Henry swim around in his goldfish tank; you had just fed him yesterday, how did things change so much in just a few hours?

No, he can't shut down here. If something happened to you and he wasn't there to help he would never forgive himself.

You had saved him so many times before, it was time for him to be your Knight. (God, he sounded like a normie).

-`♡´-

When Mammon arrives back to the House of Lamentation with Simeon, Solomon, and Thirteen (Solomon had called her for help), the front door is blown off its hinges. Levi peeks through sheepishly at the four of them, waving for them to come in.

"What the hell happened here?" Thirteen tries to shut the door behind them, but it slowly starts to creak back open as soon as its closed.

"I told Satan what happened." Levi sighs, fiddling with the ends of his sleeves. "He went out to calm himself down. Said he'll be back by the time Lucifer gets home."

"Have you guys found anything here?" Simeon asks Leviathan. Just past Levi in the living room was Asmodeus, who was anxiously staring down at his phone.

Beel descends the stairs at the same time Belphie comes up from the basement: "I checked all the rooms upstairs, they're not up there."

Belphie shakes his head: "They're nowhere in the basement, either."

"I've been texting anyone that knows them from R.A.D. No one has seen them yet." Asmodeus blinks back tears. "This is crazy, you know! Why does this kind of thing always happen to them?"

"Well, they're not dead. So stop acting so sad!" Thirteen chimes in, sprawling herself out on the living room couch. "I checked their candle this morning myself. I can check again but trust me, I would know if they died. I'm a reaper, y'know?"

"You checked their candle this morning? Isn't that quite a walk from where you sleep?" Despite the situation, Solomon just can't help himself. Thirteen sits up and throws a pillow at the sorcerer, cheeks flushed.

"I just had some business over there, that's all." Thirteen huffs, sinking back into the sofa so she doesn't have to see Solomon's smug face. "Anyways, aren't you supposed to be doing your thing?"

"Yeah, get to it, Solomon." Mammon tugs on the back of Solomon's cape, pointing him towards Lucifer's room. "They were last seen in there. See if you can find anything."

-`♡´-

Simeon stands near the doorway to Lucifer's room with Mammon, watching as Solomon searches for traces of anything that might give them a clue as to your whereabouts.

Simeon had thought that he had accepted being human. He thought the feeling of powerlessness that was so overwhelming to him at first had finally settled; there was nothing he could do to gain his grace back after what he had done, after all.

But now? He knew even as an angel there wasn't much more he could do to find you. If he had become your Guardian Angel like he had teased so many times, he could at least feel out if you were in danger.

Cautious Simeon, always so scared to make that final jump.

He says a prayer for you, quietly. Simeon hopes that his Father would still lend his ear to his own child, no matter how far he had strayed.

"There's one strong concentration here." Solomon frowns, gesturing to an area a little above shoulder height, right beside the left side of Lucifer's bed. "but that's all I can sense right now."

"Yeah, there's gotta be something else you missed." Mammon anxiously looks around the room, checking to see for himself if anything was out of place. "Keep looking."

They both follow Solomon as he does just that. He checks Lucifer's bathroom, in the closets, in the halls by his door... Nothing.

"I just don't get it." Solomon says, eyes closed in thought. He leans against the low table in the hallways. "If someone went through all this trouble to kidnap MC, why would they leave such an obvious trace behind?"

"Who gives a shit their motive right now. Tell us that you found something that can lead us to them, Solomon." Desperation drips from Mammon's voice. Mammon needs some hope to hold on to; Simeon empathizes with that feeling.

If Thirteen hadn't assured everyone you were still alive Simeon is sure he'd be snapping at Solomon too. Solomon was a good friend, but there's something about how casual he is with everything that makes Simeon angry. Did he not love you too?

"I did, don't worry, Mammon." Solomon pats Mammon's shoulder, "Once everyone gets back, I'll explain what I found."

-`♡´-

Diavolo, Barbatos, and Lucifer arrive shortly after Solomon is done with his search.

The anxiety in the room is palpable; any news at all could set them alight. Especially Satan, who seemed to be trying to remember old breathing exercises to keep back his demon form.

"Solomon, they're here!" Asmodeus announces, and Simeon, Solomon, and Mammon come out from Lucifer's room to join everyone in the living room.

Lucifer doesn't comment on the broken door, he doesn't much care if the house itself was destroyed in the process of finding you.

"Tell us what you've found." Diavolo asks; Lucifer had informed him and Barbatos about what had happened on the way back from the castle. It had been a long while since Diavolo had seen his old friend look so grave.

Solomon comes around the couch and takes a seat by Thirteen. She scoots away.

"Well, there wasn't much left behind to find.... Which is good in its own way." Solomon crosses his legs. "Time magic was used sometime in Lucifer's bedroom last night. It appears MC has been taken to another point in this timeline."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, all eyes go to Barbatos. Even Barbatos looks stunned, eyes widening in shock.

"Time magic?" Satan stands, hands clenching at his sides. "I would like an explanation then, Barbatos. Now."

"I... am afraid I am as in the dark as you all are." The hesitation in Barbatos's voice does little to persuade the brothers. Beel stands and keeps a watchful eye on Satan. If you were here, you wouldn't want anyone to get hurt for your sake.

Diavolo stands in front of Barbatos. "Now, you all know Barbatos isn't the only being capable of time magic."

"Is it possible that someone else used your portals?" Thirteen asks. "You leave those things wide open, don'tcha? Seems like an easy target."

"I would know if anyone other than myself used them, yes. But I did not feel any abnormalities last night."

Belphie turns to Solomon. "Wait, you said time magic, what time period did they get sent to?"

"Ah, well that's a little tricky." Solomon answers with a sheepish smile. "The residual magic was strong, but you would expect more to be left behind if they went to the future. Future magic is highly unstable, anyways. It's more likely they were sent somewhere into the past, probably around the time of the Celestial War based on my analysis."

Belphie shakes his head. "You can't say 'probably', you have to be certain about this."

"Then, yes, I am certain that is where they are." Solomon answers smoothly.

The second the words leave Solomon's mouth, Mammon speaks up:

"Okay, so how do we get them back?!"

-`♡´-

With lots of loud disagreements, and a few almost-fights, they come to terms that it has to be Solomon that goes after you.

No one particularly likes that idea, but he was the only one who wouldn't completely disrupt the timeline. His past self wouldn't be in the Devildom, so he could avoid paradoxes, and he was more than strong enough to protect himself if need be.

That same day, Barbatos prepares the portal for Solomon to go through after you. But not before one last warning from Diavolo:

Diavolo's eyes are stern, hand gripping Solomon's shoulder tight enough to where it would be painful. Solomon takes a step back, but Diavolo's body follows him.

"You bring them back safe." A warning, "And bring them back swiftly. Whatever you must do to get them back... do it."

Solomon, frankly, had had enough warnings from the demon brothers, and from his old friend Thirteen to understand that his life was forfeit if he came back without you.

He supposed he couldn't fault their protectiveness, however. If your safety was left alone in the hands of any other, he's sure he'd do worse to guarantee you came back alive and well.

"Of course," Solomon rolls his shoulder, shrugging off the Prince's hold. "You know I want them back just as much as you do. Perhaps even more."

Diavolo pats his back, his usual genial smile returning to his face, and he laughs. "Oh, I doubt that."

Barbatos gestures to the two, indicating that everything is ready for Solomon to step through. Solomon doesn't feel anything but calm, for what did he have to be anxious about? He was getting to see you again.

Was it selfish of him to be happy that he would be in a time period where the one you would rely on the most would be him?

"Bring them back to us," Is the last thing he hears before he steps through the portal, and into the past.

-`♡´- Lucifer

Lucifer busies himself with his work. If he fills his schedule enough, he doesn't have time to worry about you constantly, doesn't have time for his mind to cycle through the worst of what could happen with you out of his reach.

He volunteers to take on all of your duties that you were newly appointed as R.A.D.'s newest student council officer. Lucifer doesn't want anything to get in the way of you spending time with him again once you get back.

When he isn't working, he takes care of his brothers. The House of Lamentation always becomes a little quieter when you're not around, but the silence this time is more somber.

Lucifer doesn't scold them as much, gives them more leeway when they skip classes or forget to turn in assignments. He knows they're struggling and he doesn't want to add to that burden.

He hardly sleeps unless he passes out from exhaustion. When he does, his dreams are of blame. Why didn't he just wake up when you were taken? You were right there.

-`♡´- Mammon

Mammon had to be held back by Levi and Beel to keep him from going into the portal after Solomon.

It wasn't fair that that guy got to go and he had to stay behind. He was your first man! Mammon wasn't even sure that Solomon didn't play a role in helping you disappear. He never trusted that guy.

But all he could do now was hope that he would bring you back, right? It didn't matter anymore who saved you, just the fact that you were alive and safe and in his arms would be enough for him.

Mammon misses you ardently.

He texts you about his day every day. He knows the messages won't deliver, but he doesn't have anyone else to send them too. Sometimes he'll even call your phone so he can hear your voice in the voicemail. It helps him sleep.

-`♡´- Leviathan

He's just so tired of this. He thought once your trials at R.A.D. were over, you could settle down in the House of Lamentation forever.

If anyone deserved a life full of peace, it was you. You had endured way too much hardship on their account to keep having these things happen to you.

Levi tries to maintain a normalcy for you to return to. He buys games that you had on your radar for you to play with him once you got back.

He likes looking at the pictures you both had taken together. Cosplay pics, photobooth strips, candid polaroids... precious memories that could never be replaced.

And, when he really misses you, he takes one of your school uniforms, hanging up neatly in your closet and takes it to bed with him. It still smells like you, and if he closes his eyes, he can picture you're there with him.

Though, waking up and seeing you weren't there is like losing you all over again.

-`♡´- Satan

Satan worries.

He knew what he was like right after the Celestial War. He knew what monstrous things he did when he couldn't control his anger; before he made a conscious decision to crawl his way out of his emotional stagnation and to be more than he was created to be.

He gets into a habit of hanging out with Thirteen. Satan never really cared much for her attitude, but she's the only one who would know if you were still alive.

She's tolerable, in that when they get together they always end up talking about you. Satan doesn't tell her the best stories about you, no, those were reserved only for himself.

When he is alone, he often drifts towards your room. He knows his brothers often sleep there when you're gone, so he washes your sheets and makes your bed back up when they're not there.

Satan even tidies his own room just enough so that you would have room to sleep in his bed with him when you returned.

-`♡´- Asmodeus

To have both you and Solomon taken away from him in the same day, it seems a bit cruel, doesn't it?

He's thankful for all the consolations from his friends and his fans; the well wishes are nice, but it isn't the same as hearing it from your voice.

Asmo tells anyone who will listen about what happened to you in hopes that they'll spin stories back at him. Even if most were lies conjured to make him feel better, there always are some true stories in the mix. He hears a few rumors of ancient, powerful demons that he hands over to Satan and Belphie to look more into. He was glad he could do something.

Asmodeus starts collecting things that remind him of you. Flowers that never wilt, lamb plushies, silk pajamas — there's a box in his room of gifts to give you once you get back home.

He writes down everything that you've missed since you disappeared, he has so much to catch you up on, after all! And if there's a lot of 'I love you's' and things he misses about you in between topics, he's sure you won't mind hearing them, too.

-`♡´- Beelzebub

Beel feels a little lost without you there.

You were so ingrained in his daily schedule that he doesn't know what to do with a lot of his time. You, Mammon, him, and Belphie would always hang out after school, since the four of you had the same last period.

There was no sun in the Devildom, but he didn't need any to feel warm sitting next to you three. Mammon would bring cards, and you would take turns picking out games to play.

You would usually win; he loved seeing your smile as you asked for praise for winning. Belphie and Mammon would pout, but Beel was always happy to tell you you did a good job. He keeps an ongoing score sheet somewhere in his backpack:

MC - 102, Mammon - 16, Belphie - 59, Beel - 20. He didn't care much for winning as long as everyone was happy.

He makes his way to the gardens and finds your usual spot empty. Beel waits there for a long while, but only Belphie shows up.

Beel thinks that maybe in the past, you were waiting for him in the same spot too. The thought makes him feel a little less lonely.

-`♡´- Belphegor

Belphie misses you, of course, but he really finds this whole situation odd.

Time magic. Diavolo had said that other beings were capable of it, but Belphie had never heard of anyone, besides Barbatos, that had mastered it enough to send someone back that far. Belphie wasn't the most well-connected person, but he thinks he would've heard about them by now.

Satan thinks the same thing, and so the 'Anti-Lucifer League' is postponed, and in its place the 'MC's Detective Agency' forms. Beel sits in on most meetings, and the rest of the brothers join in occasionally.

But with so few leads there was only so much they could do. But still, Belphie is determined not to give up. If you were in his shoes, he knows you would do the same thing.

He would never admit it to anyone, but he wants to hear you say that you're proud of his work. To feel you pet his head and tell him he did good, to kiss him on the cheeks for working so hard.

...And, of course, making whoever did this pay for what they did would be good, too.

-`♡´- Diavolo

The last note you left him is still taped to his desk:

A chibi of you fist-pumping is drawn on the side of the yellow sticky. There's a big speech bubble that reads: "You can do it, Dia! Knock out that paperwork!" He can't help but smile every time he sees it.

It's silly, but when he looks down and reads those words of encouragement he feels your loss even more strongly. He's sure Solomon will be back with you soon, but as the weeks roll on, he starts getting impatient.

He sends all his best men to search for whoever did this to you. Without any solid leads, it was like chasing the wind, but it helped settle his mind, if only a little.

He supposes you did spoil him too much. He forgot what it was like to be so lonely when you were around. And unlike the brothers, he couldn't just curl up in your bed whenever he wanted to be reminded of you.

Would it be so improper to move you into the castle once you got back? At least here, he would know you were safe. Nothing like this would ever happen to you again on his watch.

-`♡´- Barbatos

Barbatos knows that all eyes are on him.

It isn't hard to figure out that the brothers are suspicious of him. Mammon's crows perch outside his bedroom, Satan takes extra trips to the library in the castle, Belphie "gets lost" wandering the halls after dinner... Even Lucifer asks him pointed questions about that night.

He understands that it comes with the territory of his powers, but when has he ever done anything to jeopardize the exchange program? If he wanted to send you away would he not have done it when you first arrived? Would he not have let you die at the hands of Belphegor?

The him of today would never think of such a thing. Barbatos cared too much about your safety to let you wander too far from his sights.

He knows it is an indulgence that only he is afforded, but he can't help but steal looks into your life back in time as you try to find your way back to them.

Perhaps the others would like to hear about how you are doing, but Barbatos thinks these things are best kept to himself. He was never a fan of sharing, anyways.

-`♡´- Simeon

Luke cries and cries and cries when Simeon tells him what happened to you. Simeon holds the boy in his arms tight, rocking him back and forth to soothe his troubled heart.

He had done this many nights in the past, and he's sure he'd do it for many nights in the future.

The last time it had happened it had been when Simeon had told Luke about losing his powers. You had been there, then, and had cried as soon as you saw tears well up in Luke's eyes. Luke was less sad and more angry at Simeon for not telling him sooner. He had held you both in his arms that night, and before long the three of you fell asleep together.

Simeon wishes you were here now to hold him. To tell him it was going to be alright. But he supposed if you were here the both of them wouldn't have anything to cry about.

Michael allows Luke to stay in Purgatory Hall for as long as it would take to get you back. Simeon is thankful for the company; with Raphael and Solomon gone, and the Hall silent, it was easy for Simeon to start blaming himself.

He hears Luke pray every night for your safety, and Simeon slips back into the habit as well.

-`♡´- Thirteen

Thirteen spends a lot more time in her cave when you're not around.

What's the point of going to R.A.D. if you weren't there? It's not like she cared much about anyone else that went there. And to hear the brothers cry about missing you... She couldn't take it.

She cared about you too, but you didn't see her moping around about it!

But even worse was the fact Solomon got to go back in time to save you. Just thinking about you spending all that alone time with that shitty Sorcerer makes her blood boil; he could live a thousand lifetimes and never once deserve you.

She goes and checks your candle every morning to see if the flame is going strong. Thirteen breathes easy when she sees the bright orange flame light up the darkness.

Reapers weren't supposed to interfere directly with mortal's lifespans, but she supposed it wouldn't hurt if she poured some of Solomon's melted wax onto your candle. It's not like he would need it anyways.

Besides, this was her making up for lost time. Every day you were away shouldn't count! You didn't choose to go back in time, after all!

[ps-cactus]

ROOTED – Sebastian Sallow & GN!Reader & Ominis Gaunt oneshot – 1864 words

tags and warnings: no smut, no obvious romance, however - established relationship, unreliable narrator, haunting atmosphere, mystery, dark magic, death and resurrection, identity loss and confusion, obsession, (a bit of) predatory instincts, survival instincts, blood, symbolism. Also posted on AO3

A/N: characters here are in their early twenties, not long since graduation. established relationship - you've been living with sebastian and ominis after graduation - you can see this as friendship (might be challenging, but you still can) or anything else; here it can be whatever you want.

Inspired by several songs: In the woods somewhere, Like real people do - Hozier / Rebirth - Poets of the Fall / Funeral of Hearts - HIM <- that's where the 'moonlight' and 'firelight' come from, and i liked how they worked together for these characters

Summary: You died. Here is what happens after a short while.

ROOTED

As you open your eyes, you’re struck by the absence of any memory that might explain your presence here, on the icy ground surrounded by trees.

The cold greets you first. It presses against your skin—a new sensation, a pleasant one. The last thing your body recalls is the suffocating heat of a fever, endless and draining. You don’t know how long it lasted or why it broke, you’re only glad it did.

You push yourself upright, steadying yourself on a large stone nearby. Intricate carvings cover its surface. Runes, whispers something deep within your clouded mind. Important, yes, but too complex for your dulled thoughts to hold onto now.

Your legs barely obey you, but you walk. Distance and time lose their meaning. You just know you must keep moving, must find… something. You don’t know what you seek, only that something is missing.

Had your mind been clearer, you might have noticed him sooner. A man—taller than you, but his frame feels neither threatening nor overly strong. The forest around you is pitch black, the thick canopy blotting out even the cloud-covered sky. And yet, you see him as though the darkness does not exist.

“Sebastian?” he asks. You find the sound of his voice comforting, and you take a step closer.

Perhaps he’s the one you’ve been searching for?

His blonde hair, light-coloured eyes, and pale skin evoke something ethereal. If nature had human embodiments, he would surely be the moonlight—the light you suddenly crave to bask in. Drawn by that resemblance, you step even closer.

He’s been facing you for some time now. He doesn’t approach, doesn’t move—he simply waits. When you stop before him, the forest’s silence envelopes you, undisturbed by your laboured steps anymore. Slowly, your weakened mind starts picking up more. It’s still hard to grasp and analyse the details, but you guess the man has been crying recently.

He points something at you—a wand. The word surfaces in your mind just like “runes” did—it’s important. Meaningful. Dangerous. The faint red glow at the wand’s tip pulses slowly, and you don’t like it pulsing in your direction.

“Hello?” Puffs of mist from his breath linger briefly before vanishing. Though you’re only steps away, he peers around as if still unsure of your presence.

“Hello?” you echo quietly and no mist follows your words. Your voice trembles, both hesitant and hoarse. He feels like the moonlight you crave, and you’re desperate for him to speak again.

“Is it... truly you?”

You stay silent, not because you’re incapable of answering, but because the question itself eludes you. Your thoughts are growing sharper and clearer, but you find no answer within you. Only the softly rustling trees seem to know what “you” means, and you haven’t been able to listen closely enough to grasp it yet.

“Hey?” His tone grows louder and firmer, and he takes a cautious step toward you.

“Hey,” you reply instantly. Your voice is louder this time but remains frail and faint.

The man approaches with deliberate slowness. The instincts generations your ancestors honed over centuries lie dormant within you, leaving only the faintest trace of awareness in the background of your mind. You don’t move as his hesitant fingers find your hand, trail to your shoulder, and then settle on your cheek.

“Hey,” you say once more.

His hand retreats sharply. Flecks of earth cling to his pale fingers, melting into mud speckled with fragments of old leaves. He doesn’t meet your stare, though you keep looking into his eyes. You can’t be sure about anything now, yet his eyes shine with something different—in a way that draws you in.

“But how?” He glances around again, his wand finally lowering from its aim at you. “He didn’t… no…”

He pulls you by the hand, as you walk slow enough to match your stumbling feet. He guides you to a house tucked amid scattered trees. Some of the tension in your chest eases as you realise—you’re not being taken away from the woods.

With each step further from the denser trees, something deep inside stirs sharply. You’re too new to this—to your new instincts—to decipher their meaning. This is, after all, your first day with them. You only know you long to return. The forest clings to you, and every step too far away would tear at you like a root ripped from frostbound earth.

Light and warmth fill the house. The shift in temperature makes you tremble. You want to leave, unable to fathom why the Moonlight man would bring you to such an awful place.

“When did you return?” he asks, releasing your hand. His words aren’t directed at you, but you enjoy hearing his voice all the same. “I’ve been searching for you, but...”

The fire near the wall, encased in stone, is the most dreadful thing in the room. Slightly less so is the other figure—a man standing before the flames. When he turns, the firelight catches his messy brown locks, making you think of smouldering wood.

The Firelight man moves swiftly, closing the distance until he’s right before you. His hands clasp your shoulders tightly, his eyes scanning your face frantically. Freckles scatter across his face, and as he stands away from the dreadful fire, you can’t help but wonder—would this freckled skin feel cool beneath your touch or hot like embers?

“I’d stopped believing it was possible...” he mutters, his wide eyes finally locking with yours and freezing there.

He wraps his arms around you, pressing you against him. His clothes are damp and chilled, with only a few spots where the fire’s heat has left a trace of warmth. He talks a lot, but none of it makes sense to you. He keeps asking some questions you could never answer. His clothes’ scent—of moisture and woods—fills your lungs, soothing in its familiarity. The urge to retreat back into the forest grips you once more.

“Maybe I… can get the bath ready for you,” he says, resigned to your silence, pulling a twig and a few leaves from your hair. “Or let’s just—”

The Firelight man immerses your hands in a water basin and carefully cleans them. The dirt gives way to fine scars—patterns carved into your skin, trailing from your wrists up into your sleeves. These scars, fresh and tender, awaken an inexplicable attachment in you, and for the first time in this new, raw existence, you feel joy.

The Firelight man’s hands are wrapped in bandages, and where they meet the water, faint dark spots seep through. He dips a towel into the basin and carefully wipes your face. You don’t object. You don’t know what else to do, so you simply stand there, feeling the cold water against your skin. The Moonlight man slips something over your shoulders from behind. The softness is nice, but the warmth is less so. You barely notice it’s a wool blanket before he steps away.

You crave moonlight—if not his presence, then the faintest touch of its radiance from the sky. You glance toward the window, but it reveals only shadowy blackness. A hand wrapped in frayed bandages carefully shifts your face back.

The water loosens one of the wrappings on his hand, exposing already familiar patterns carved into his skin, echoing your own scars.

The icy touch of the water on your face stirs a longing to return to the forest, to its pure and unyielding cold. But you still don’t know what you’re searching for or what truly matters, so you simply remain where you are. The Firelight man’s tousled hair glints in the firelight, its colour like deep mahogany, and you can’t tear your eyes away.

“You can hear me, right?” he asks, and your gaze shifts back to his eyes—brown flecked with green, like fallen leaves scattered on the woodland ground. “Want some water?”

Your eyes settle on the glass in his hand, but you feel nothing for the water within—no more than for the moisture still clinging to your skin.

“Or the tea, you must be so cold.”

“Sebastian, stop—just shut up for a moment,” says the Moonlight man, massaging his temples as he paces the room. “What is going on? Please, what have you done?”

“The thing you’ve desired above all else yourself,” the Firelight man retorts, the glass hitting the table with a resounding thud as he turns away.

“Tell me you didn’t go through with that ritual. It’s forbidden; they warned us—explicitly.”

“I never promised you anything regarding this, Ominis.”

“Do you even understand what you’re talking about?”

They keep arguing, their voices climbing in volume and speed. They’re unbearably loud, and it feels so wrong here. You look out the window, drawn closer to it—to the serenity of the night. Beyond the glass lies peace itself—the dense weave of branches, the cushion of moss on the ground and trunks, the gnarled roots snaking through the forest floor. You can see it all so clearly and it mesmerises you.

The clamour behind you doesn’t stop; it feels wrong and chaotic, but truly—means nothing. Their voices fade into the background as you stare at your hands again, now spotless except for the delicate beautiful patterns carved into your skin.

The narrow crescent moon emerges from behind the weighty clouds, and your gaze is drawn upward immediately. For the first time, you can inhale fully, as though the moonlight’s pale, ghostly light exists purely to let you breathe.

The scents around you grow vivid. Wooden floorboards, some damp and others dry and warm. Pungent and earthy, herbs waft from a table nearby, mixed with the burlap’s rough aroma. A dusty sofa carries the weight of years, while the blanket on your shoulders smells of wool and spices... and then you smell blood.

You tear your gaze from the crescent moon, drawn to find the scent's origin. The frayed bandage on the Firelight man’s hand is seeping with warm blood. You’ve never seen fresh blood spilling from human skin before in your life, but instantly, it’s all you desire to see. This is what you were meant to find. Your hands ache to reach out and feel it.

You swallow at the idea of tasting it with your lips.

Without even looking, you sense the moonlight’s gentle touch where it slips past the clouds to grace your skin. It soothes and strengthens you. But it could do so much more outside, beyond these walls. The forest waits for you, as much as you long for it—along with the presence that you know now lingers deep in the darkness.

Your growing instincts warn you that arriving alone would not be accepted. You don’t rush. You stand still, inhaling deeply. The scent of blood dominates the house now—it’s all you can perceive.

The dispute continues in the voices lower but still tense. The Moonlight man’s cheek glimmers faintly with the tear. The Firelight man lifts his eyes to you, his words ceasing, plunging the room into silence.

Everything finally makes sense—you’ll be genuinely embraced there tonight if you don’t return alone. They must come with you.

And you will stop at nothing to ensure it.

[2demondogs]

Heartbreaking Charthur angst. Like a "What if..." Charles never left to help Rains fall and was there for Arthurs' end (high honor, help John ending)?

Anon I see ur vision, I respect your smoke, you are real for this, etc ad nauseam.

Any incorrect details um... blame it on the alternate timeline. I'll be honest I didn't proofread cuz this shit made me sad.

Words: 1.7k Tags: sickfic... :), character death, stream of consciousness, a lot of nondenominational religious Thoughts, major spoilers

Arthur had realized, since his first and last doctor's office visit, just how much time there was in a day.

Job after job after job and all that precious time he had never realized was slipping by. He wished he had never slept, for one; he hoped in the afterlife, if there was one, he might never sleep, because all things must end eventually, as he is still learning, and he'd hate to make the same mistakes twice.

He thought the Devil would look like Dutch, God save his soul — does he, here, mean himself, Satan, or Dutch? Arthur still doesn't know, supposes that they all need saved just as badly — and that he'd be worker of the month down there, too.

Turning tricks, maybe, wouldn't that be funny, workhorse to company pony, he thought recently, and then the pains started in earnest because workhorse wasn't always his middle name and it hurt badly to think of the days before.

Arthur still wants to go back.

It's been nearly an hour since Micah kicked him in the ribs. He knows, because he has become good at telling time, as if the universe is letting him on all those preternatural secrets a little early. It hurts so badly that it has ceased hurting at all— wouldn't he be sad to know it, if Charles had not shot him once Dutch had discarded him, too.

So many emotions on the matter of Dutch, yet no time to feel them. It's a good thing he began grieving him when Hosea died.

Instead of the sharp, white-hotness that he had worried was a rib puncturing his already squeezed lungs, there is now a constant ache throughout his body, maybe his very soul; he had used all of his breath screaming when Charles tried to move him, has not gotten one good one in since, and he thinks they both know the truth.

It's all up to one cough.

One last kick in the ass and it's lights out for old Mister Morgan, because that rattling in his breath can only mean one thing.

Charles kneels before where he lays on his side, looks down at him the way he had looked at that gored horse they came across while hunting, months ago— the way he looked at it before he told Arthur to put it out of its misery. He couldn't pull the trigger, even if he knew it was the kind thing to do. There is something meaningful in that memory which Arthur cannot think of words for, but he understands it the way men understand things when they are dying: silently, and completely.

Why is Charles so quiet, now? Arthur's eyes fall shut, and he cannot find the strength to open them for a long time.

He wouldn't be greedy if God came to him and said sure, son, you all look like ants from here, I'll drop you back into seventy-eight. Blood is seeping into his lungs, has to be, and every drop makes Heaven and Hell sound a whole lot more real.

In a perfect world, he might have left and made house with Eliza or made himself suitable for Mary, swallowed that boring life the happy way most men do. Because he would know. He would work in a mine and he would be happy to breathe in the coal, because he would know.

His wedding ring, he would know that, too, and suddenly this split-second daydream becomes a nightmare all over again.

I need to move on, Arthur, she wrote. It was one less thing to leave behind.

Sometimes he wished that Charles went, too, that he had chosen the type of belonging he'd grieved so often or that he had chosen Dutch, never to be on this mountain in the first place. That he had spat on Arthur and left him without a trace of his mortal life as he lay here dying, none except the familiarity of the sun breaking the sky and the grass dancing in the valley below — dancing, what a funny word for it, or maybe he's just hallucinating as his consciousness begins to slip to—

Well, wherever it's going to go.

No matter what, Arthur wishes that Charles did not look at him that way when he decided to stick around. They both knew it was because of Arthur, and they both knew it was temporary. He's been giving him the same look. Something like love, and grief.

I'm not dead, he wants to tell him, but Arthur knows there's no difference now and Charles doesn't deserve any more lies, anyways.

He lied to everyone, and selfishly.

How many of them will die? Hosea was coughin' more. Was I contagious before...?

That day, Arthur had realized just what all those science folks mean when they say humans are brief, in the grand scheme of things even if he was not egotistical enough to believe life begins and ends with himself— but men are temporary, and there's only been so many of them, and there only will be so many of them. He had marveled at the huge, ancient bones he found for that odd little critter of a lady, months ago.

Just yesterday, he entertained the idea that God had been real even before he needed Him most, and that He was telling him something by crossing their paths: Life before you, life after you. Don't get comfortable.

Rest assured, Big Man, he thinks, I am not.

But somehow, he almost is.

Death is certain, now. There is no guessing here, no waiting without knowing.

Some divine intervention, he's sure all dead men receive it as a consolation prize of sorts for completing the great big task of living. Charles' large, warm hand is on his shoulder, light as a feather. He tries to speak, even though he can barely think in words, and all he manages is a groan that comes from deep in his gut.

Arthur wishes he would crush him, that he'd hold him even if it made him scream in agony. He wishes Charles was—

Was—

No, he doesn't. He doesn't want Charles to give him the mercy execution.

Arthur just wishes he were not giving Charles his own form of execution. He is laying still, grimacing hard each time the shallow raise and fall of his chest makes his body scream. Charles has no idea what he is feeling, but he must be able to see on Arthur's face that he's feeling things inside his body which should not be happening: the sac of his lung ripping further open, his bowels threatening to let go, his sternum pressed tight to the skin above from a week of near-starvation because there is no amount of food that could feed the disease that is eating him alive.

He knows how it feels to watch a man you love die, even if his had been his father and he's certain that it's harder at their present age, and when you've chosen to love someone. No hands of blood had pushed them together.

Arthur wishes he had known it sooner.

He doesn't know if he ever wants to hear it from Charles' mouth, but he blinks his eyes open as the vague, misty image of that day finally fades for good. The sky is breaking hard beyond the shadow of Charles' form. It is glorious as sunrises always are. He feels his bones grinding on one another. He is clenching his teeth so hard, his molars are about to be pushed through the gums and into his mandible.

Never one for making his own decisions, Arthur wonders again if God is real or if he is coping with this horribleness in the only way he knows how: relying on someone else.

Again, he wants Charles to crush him. Even if it stabs the broken rib through his lung and out his back, even if it kills him before he can use his last breath to find out how his throat smells— he wants Charles to be the one to hold him.

Hosea is gone. So is Dutch. Arthur would long for Charles even if they were both here, although alarmingly he feels as though Hosea is somewhere around him — he cannot see, smell, or hear him but he knows it silently, and completely.

I love him, Arthur is thinking, has no time to study how selfish he would have felt just one month ago for his desires in this moment. Dead men cannot regret any longer, or maybe regret becomes like the pain when you are dead, grows so big that it blocks out the sun of peace. He made me feel safe, he thinks, already in the past tense, as if he is rehearsing what he will tell all the fellow skeletons.

He squints through the morning light and finds Charles' face, drawn tight in an expression he has never, ever seen before.

His eyes are open sores. He's never looked more like an angel.

With the last of his breath, Arthur opens his mouth and finds it suddenly very hard to draw in air. His throat itches, and if he swallows this cough he will simply choke on his own vomit instead— so he begins to hack, feels his lungs decompressing and the violent convulsions through his abdominal wall as things that are not meant to touch it touch it.

He gets his wish, because Charles is curling around him. He wants to shove him away, but then he doesn't; if Charles is going to get sick, he already has, and this is all he could have ever wanted in this moment. Charles is warm, and his chest presses over Arthur's jolting side as if holding him still, and he realizes the man has been talking but he has no time to regret not listening.

He's forgotten English, anyways, doesn't think in words anymore but feels everything. His throat thickens with the metallic taste of blood and his body squeezes, squeezes— Arthur goes stiff in panic and shock, fingers of both hands clawing into Charles' arm, and if either of them were sober the blood his nails draw would be felt.

In the moments before he can no longer breathe, he sees — with that nonmaterial eye that shows men dreams, nightmares, the best novels — something like peace.

Yes, Hosea feels very close now, and Charles, very far away.

[butterfliesornauseous]

“And I’m sorry”

(500 special 5/5 with just many months later)

Fun fact, I originally started this blog with the intention of being an oc sickfic writer and originally was posting prompts to start getting my name out there and get more comfortable before I posted fics, but I only posted one actual fic and took it down because I still didn’t like my writing and became way more comfortable with prompts and had a lot of fun with them, I think for the final part of my late special I’m ready to bring River and Milo back so here’s them early in their relationship :)

Warning for Emeto, stomach noises, awkwardness, food mention, embarrassment ,reason of illness is in tags for spoilers,

**both characters have also had past ed’s it’s only very lightly touched on and not out right stated, but it’s still hinted at so trigger warning in case**

(Also my sickfic style is way different to my prompt and a and b stories, so I hope the change up is all right and still okay to read:))

Something had quivered inside River’s stomach. A gentle wave of butterflies fluttered in his gut, dancing to the pattern of his fingers drumming softly against the velvet table cloth while he waited. The cosy little restaurant wasn’t exactly buzzed with life tonight but Milo, the bleached blonde he adored was nowhere to be seen.

The air was bursting with spices and sauces scents that would bring a hungry growl out of any stomach yet for River’s own it tugged him deeper into his nervous daze.

River had thought ‘where is he?’ A couple of times now, each time caused a new picture such as the possibility that Milo was probably triple checking his outfit or had begun to fret over his hair as always, or he lost his wallet again, to enter his mind. Each tugged at River’s lips in a way that made his body’s inside feel that much more warmer and mushy.

Realistically he knew it was sort of his own fault that he had been waiting a while for his date. He arrived at the restaurant early just so he could work on taming his need to fidget every few seconds so hopefully he could prevent his hands shaking and his voice rising to a higher octave all night. The issue however, was his brain constantly turned back to giddy thoughts about how he was finally going out with his best friend.

It was the acknowledgement of the butterflies that increased how intense everything felt, and he shifted in his seat as one of his hands came up to play with the thick choker around his neck.

The sound of a squeak being across the table brought River out of his thoughts and grounded him fully into reality with a delicate but rushed voice spoke.

“I’m so so so sorry for being late!”

There he was, Milo bobbing his head in multiple short paced bows that caused his small half up ponytail to bop with him. Milo paused for a second looking at River siting and then quickly sat down himself, tightening his ponytail in the process and tucking his fringe behind his ears. “Sorry…. You look really nice River.”

River’s voice blurted out a fast “Thanks. “

Taking a moment to force himself to breathe he added “Nono it’s not an issue at all." His hands shook for emphasis.

He wanted to choose one of the million compliments swimming through his head, but his voice had died on him ending its permission for him to say nothing more than a “You too.”

‘Get a grip you’re making yourself worse’ River mentally sighed. He would rather not have the butterflies turn into anxious queasiness or possibly even make it to the point where he loses his lunch and possibly forever scars Milo’s memory of him and first dates forever.

Milo stated to apologise again. “I’m so sorry, see one of my friends borrows my charger which was cool dude but then my phone was flat, and I needed to get an Uber because my car is in the shop and I-“

“You’re rambling.”

‘Cute’

There was something about the way Milo had been trying to say so much in one go. The informality in his tone and red in his cheeks eased River’s mind and a just tiny bit of the pressure in his belly.

Milo’s mouth gaped somewhat before another “Sorry.”

River himself can’t really talk on repeated unnecessary apologies, he’s always the first to apologise for everything, still he found a light smile on his lips as he replied “You don’t have to keep saying sorry for everything.”

If he was a bolder person, he would have taken Milo’s hands, kissed them and spoken that the blonde is adorable. That he should stop fretting over everything because he’s just River and River isn’t someone worth getting this flustered for. Yet another squirm in the pit of his stomach made just a small noise come out his throat.

The silence that followed for a beat was broken by Milo deciding to speak first. “Sooo…” he glanced around the room and settled on picking the menu up, “have you seen anything you like yet?” His tone was bashful, spoken in a slightly quieter than previously.

‘He must think I’m weird damn it’

River shrugged. “Not really I honestly kinda of just sat here.” He picked the menu up himself not really reading it. The restaurant's ambience was the only thing heard between them again with the only lick of comfort being they were both together yet at the same time the tension was created because of the fact they were both here together.

“Look I’m going to be completely honest,” Milo folded his menu down so he could gaze at River. “I’m so nervous that I apologise if this is awkward.”

River wasn’t sure if it was Milo would want to hear if he even wants any validation at all but River felt the tension leave his body.

“Oh god I’m sorta glad, I’ve been sitting here for the last couple of minutes thinking I’m so awkward you must find me weird.”

A laugh bubbled from Milo’s mouth, the type of laugh that bounced off the walls and melted into River’s ears. It was enough to pull River into Milo’s spell and make him turn into a love drunk fool who lost control of his brain before he could stop the spill of him finally being able to say longer unfiltered sentences.

“To think we have known each other for so long, and yet I can’t form words right to explain how happy I am that we are out together, You know nine-year-old me with have been stoked to hear he’s on a date with you.”

Milo’s eyes went wide. “R-really?”

“You’re surprised?”

“Mean… Well… I’m not going to lie about it, when we used to hold hands it did make me feel weird things in my tummy and I would be disappointed when you would let go but…” Milo this time gently pulled his fringe back away from his ears.

The pound in River’s heart had stopped for a second like it needed to get ready to speed up after. ‘Milo liked me back as a kid?’

“That sounds like a crush Milo.”

“It so is not, perhaps it was a small infatuation with you but not a crush-” he watched as Milo’s face twisted with a cringe at his wording then it changed to him laughing. If only Milo had known that his laughter was causing all those silly sensations in Rivers stomach to feel like permanent function of his body.

This is all River wanted for Milo. For him to feel free with him and loosen up like this, he would do anything to keep Milo feeling comfortable. But it was a big step tonight for the both of them, outside the first fire date context and River said the first thing that he could think of in hope of continuing the night go be easy for them.

“Want to maybe spilt a dish, would that be easier for you?” That would be easier for River.

Milo’s expression changed first to a look similar to suspicion which morphed into relief. “Actually that would kinda would be nice.” His eyes held a small twinkle of relief. “Uhh what about the carbonara… maybe?” Milo held up the menu, this being the first time River truly held interest for anything on it.

“I think it sounds good too.” River nodded. He bit back his tongue for a moment to make sure his tone conveyed he’s asking this for Milo’s sake and not as a disguise for his own issues. “Are you sure you are okay with this?”

River’s hands were pulled away from his own menu, the softness of Milo’s warm skin leaked into his own as Milo intertwined their fingers tightly. Milo looked to the side as his voice sweetened into fondness “I feel comfortable eating in front of you River.” He squeezed River’s hands. Meeting river’s gaze again.

That meant a lot to him, more than Milo would ever know.

“Milo… I… I do too.”

—————————-

They both put their fork down at the same moment. Milo leaned back into the chair and River hunched. The carbonara was heavier than River expected, a taste different from what he was used to. It sat heavy in his stomach, getting ready for when ever his stomach decided to attempt to digest the rich sauces.

“Good?” Milo asked with a some hesitance as he leaned back up as he patted the top of his tummy while Milo tried to loosen his choker.

River nodded. “Yeah……Good….” No not really, it’s not a taste River was used to, a little on the stranger and chewy side but it was his first time trying this restaurant. Who is he to judge how different places cook their food.

It probably took them over an hour to finish their one shared carbonara from River being a slower eater. A normal eating speed was something River could never let himself do in front of others. His insecurities had attacked him the whole night that he would be judged if he did so and through our the years he had learnt Milo is the type to try to match the pace of who he is eating with.

A gurgle had been brewing in his stomach. He felt his belly tense before he heard a sludgy type of sound emit from him as his stomach went loose again. Milo was sitting slightly slouched over with his thumb circled under his chin with the rest of his fingers in front of his mouth with no reaction of hearing anything when River hastily glanced up to him.

He squirmed involuntarily. Ages ago the flutters finally shooed off only for them to slowly creep back into his now packed stomach, raging back to full life.

It took a strong movement inside him for him to put a hand to his stomach. He hadn’t noticed he was a beginning to bloat until his felt the strain against his pants.

Under his hand he was painfully aware now of how thick the sauces and pasta were mixing up under his skin like small bubbles of unease were popping around the sitting food.

Across to him, Milo blew through his lips and River sat up. “Sorry did you say something?” River’s voice came out shaky, he mentally blamed it on a mix of embarrassment and the chill growing in the late night.

“…. No….did you want me to say something?” River shook his head at Milo’s prompt. He knew the blonde also probably needed a minute to let his tummy prepare to digest as well. He would hate to force Milo to get an upset stomach for him.

Quietness retuned between them, the lack of sounds from the boys forced River to gain more consciousness over the expanding trouble in his belly, which had begun pushing a bit more out.

He took a deeper breath, holding it for three seconds to placate his urge to rub his tummy or do anything else to ease any of the pressure swelling. River allowed himself to close his mouth and squeeze his throat muscles to compel a small quiet burp that he breathed out his nose but stopped at just one with how much it tasted like their dinner but warmer.

The gurgling in his stomach wasn’t held back from it. They were gurgles that ranged from higher sounding foaming noises that fell down to deeper small rumbles that had him sure Milo must be hearing something from the orchestra.

River didn’t feel it but a sudden curdle noise that got higher until it broke into a grumble issued itself, and he cringed. His eyes shut at the loudness yet once he opened them he saw his date blushing a pretty red. “S-sorry, I’m digesting loudly.”

Similar to earlier Milo bowed his head again before his grabbed his tummy when a wetter noise rose from him. “I think it might do that all night-uh that’s so embarrassing.” Milo grimed as he rubbed his hand under his ribs with a small “shhh please.”

He wished he had the confidence to tell Milo it was okay and that his own gut had been churning up a quiet storm for a bit now and Milo’s reaction was cute, but his energy had started to drop the more his meal sat. “It’s no….problem.”

Milo seemed like he was to add something else but instead settled on reaching for his drink when his hand nearly hit it over. In response River jumped forward to grip Milo's wrist, noticing the faint shake and sweat to his hand. Both locked their eyes at the same time.

“Am I allowed to apologise again?”

River hesitated then nodded.

“I kinda of use all my elegance up at dance” Milo said flustered boarding on embarrassed. They took a second longer of River holding Milo before pulling away from each other.

“I think… I think it’s our time to go. River muttered as he realised a couple waiters were staring at them. “We have been here for a while.”

“I-yeah…”

————————————

The bright night sky outside the restaurant grew cooler as the stars became more clear while they walked on the sidewalk. River pulled his jacket closer to his body.

“You don’t have to walk me to the train station…. But I do really appreciate it Milo.”

Milo seemed almost untouched by the cold, even undo doing his top buttons on his blouse. Under the faint street lights, Milo actually looked even a tad sweaty.

“What type of….date am I if I let you walk home by yourself?” He faulted in the middle, sounding unsure of his choice of words.

River offered a hum. His response was more pained than he intended to sound. His focus wasn’t cooperating with him anymore, it being hard to concentrate when the feeling of bubbling in his belly felt like it could have bubbled up at any moment. ‘Of course you let your nerves get to the point of nausea’ Heat pooled in his cheeks.

Milo sighed and all that followed was the sound of their matching footsteps, the new silence that fell between them

Was no saint to be kind enough to mask the occasional boil inside Milo’s stomach that River was too kind to point out.

He did however take notice of the sounds coming from Milo had started to turn into a more constant watery burble compared to earlier’s growls. Again that wish of courage to reassure Milo he also was going through his own embarrassing gut issues, layered guilt inside the uncomfortableness under his clothes that had become completely tight.

River wanted to be polite. On a normal night he would have wanted to spend as much time as possible with Milo but in his stomach he knew deep down he couldn’t handle that much longer with him.

Saliva invaded his mouth, coating his tongue in the taste of carbonara, he shakily uttered, “Y-you really don’t have to stay, it’s-…. It’s cold out here, I don’t mind if you go.”

The ‘O’ movement made a burp escape his throat. Another one followed a little louder with a spin that was a little sour. “I’m so sorry.” River’s hand went up to cover his mouth “I’m so sorry” the other went to his stomach.

It was that feeling in his stomach that happened every time something went wrong. A deep tug that stirred deep within him before it gurgled up his throat and slipped through his fingers onto the pavement.

River gagged again, the warm liquid felt like it could rival the heat that flamed his cheeks as Milo gasped and made a strangled noise. His body stopped anymore coming up but at the cost he became locked up in complete embarrassment and worst was his gut was still heavily sloshing, still full of bile that desired to make another appearance.

‘You are so disgusting River.’ He could have died on the spot, and he would never be more thankful, his nose and throat burnt, his head was fuzzy, and his eyes went watery. Milo must have been so disgusted with him.

“C-can I touch you?”

River eyes shut tight. His mind fell blank as to why Milo could ever want to touch him after losing his dinner, his heart beat fast like it’s expecting Mill to push him over.

Though all he felt was Milo’s fingers on the chain of his choker loosing it and with care, pulling it off his neck. His whole body relaxed, un restricted now, he managed to straighten up.

He wiped his mouth and finally turned to face Milo. His mind span trying to form another apology but… Milo was trembling. The street light above revealed his pale face and-

“Sorry” Milo said before he pitched forward himself, gagging only once before pasta spilt out of his lips.

Oh, this wasn’t just a nervous stomach anymore….

River had chosen the meal that they shared and “I’m sorry” is all he could say before patting a hand on Milo’s back, he then leaned forward himself with another heave.

[curioussubjects]

I just finished Veilguard, and...I'm really not sure how I feel about it?

All in all: good game, had fun, but still didn't quite hit some of the highs it wanted to hit and it's still not as good as DA2

(Spoilers galore below for everything)

The Good:

Pretty game is pretty;

Love the codexes, especially the ones written by companions or with their commentary;

Speaking of, the Mementos had so excellent tid bits of lore flavor to them, as well;

Regrets of the Dread Wolf was a damn good quest;

Some truly funny party banter;

I actually thought it was really easy to figure out who my Rook is as I played the game, which was much harder for me to do for my Lavellan in DAI;

And speaking of Lavellan, she was in character she WOULD say that she WOULD do that. Bless;

Everything about Nevarra and the Mourn Watch, I wish there was more content there because I was so into it;

Orb and dagger mage is really fun to play, which was VERY surprising considering I don't play close range ever;

I also really enjoyed destroying blight boils for some reason lmao;

Petting cats (they PURR WHEN YOU DO);

Assan <3;

Taash being so autistic;

Teia and Viago my beloveds;

✨Friendship✨

The Solavellan of it all;

And Solas, too. Love that sadsack disaster man;

Maybe this is super basic of me but I liked Varric's narration...idk it's comforting;

Honestly, just Varric in general was a bit safety blanket in a nice way for me because the game feels overwhelming at first;

There's no party like an all Dalish party!

Exploring -- loved finding all the fun details in each location, and I know I didn't even do enough in my playthrough;

I'm weak for stories about guilt, fear and regret. And I'm even weaker when those stories are so obviously about forgiveness and moving forward. Also love. Always love.

The Bad:

The pacing. I've said this before but DAtV could've used a more explicit arc structure or have quests note which level they're meant for or SOMETHING because some times it seemed I was doing quests too early or too late for when I was in the main story. I also thought events kept oscillating from happening too fast or too slowly, and it very much did get in the way of immersion;

The romance. Literally what are you doing Dragon Age that you fumble the romance. Granted, I only romanced Davrin so far, but I'm getting the sense from looking through the tag that maybe Lucanis' romance also feels a bit off? Honestly I have so many issues with the romance progression for Davrin that it's its own section;

I hope this is only a Veil Jumpers issue, but I thought Rook was so separate from the faction. I felt very little connection to them;

I've seen some people point out NPCs talk to Rook like they're a child, and while I don't really agree with that I do think Rook doesn't have enough opportunities to be knowledgeable in their own right. Especially annoying with a mage Veil Jumper Rook! I miss the Inquisition perk dialogue options that let my Lavellan be a smarty pants;

Holy overdesigned armors! Yikes!

Not all areas are as well developed as the others: Rivain is the most egregiously empty and underdeveloped, but I actually thought Arlathan Forest was super lifeless too. So was the Lighthouse! You get the early game discovery bit and then nothing ever again and it's like oh that was really it huh (and the stuff we did get was so good please more?);

I hate to say this but BioWare missed the mark with Rook's place in the group. The companions seemed connected to each other, yeah, but Rook was like some cross between group therapist and not-so-undercover boss. There was none of the warmth Hawke got from their companions (or the Inquisitor, for that matter!). The game really needed 1. a lighthearted party hangout cutscene and 2. companions coming together to take care of Rook (the fact this isn't even a thing in the romance is bonkers to me);

Taash's personal quest being about choosing between being Rivain and Qunari as if that's how culture works is Bad Actually;

The worst minimap I've ever seen in a game wow;

Also: give me back my beacon marker;

The gods were in a regret prison but what were their regrets exactly we just don't know.

The Bad (Romance Edition):

Again, the pacing! Incredibly slow to start (and not in a slow burn way, mind!) and then super fast in the last third of the game;

In fact, the romance seemed to be running on a completely different level than the rest of the story. The last romance scene was incredibly out of place tonally, especially.

The first two romance titles for Davrin are "Thrill of the Chase" and "Hot and Bothered"...and like WHERE????

Davrin never writes about Rook as a romantic partner or as if he has any concerns with the relationship...which we later find out he has, but was news to me;

Tbh, the romance felt like an afterthought. There were cutscenes that in any other DA game there would've been flirting options, for instance, but this time there was nothing (what do you mean Rook can't make a flirty comment when Davrin is shirtless working out with Taash? It's low hanging fruit!);

Not nearly enough flirty banter between Rook and Davrin, which is nuts considering their personalities;

I'm really super disappointed with Davrin's romance, which sucks because he's actually perfect for my Rook and I really like his character. There was so much potential for a really fun romance that was both tense and sexy, but also sweet. But no. Secret good Davrin romance that exists in my head save me.

The ???:

Southern Thedas got scorched when the North didn't how?

Please tell me who was catfishing Andraste;

Making enemies super aggro on Rook unless you specifically have companions taunting was very weird.

[strlitetheatre]

MARK CHASITY THOUGHTS !!

thank you @biscuits-spooky-diner [ sorry for the tag again lol ] for reminding me w ur reblog i went fucking bananas w this LMAO

a lot of these are heavily headcanon-centric and i wanna preface that before i get into it bc i know some people may not agree!! thats fine!! i just like thinking these silly lil things

thoughts below the cut because its a Lot and i may add to this but idk?? shrugs we'll see

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

starting off strong, i really am a sucker for the 'two [ or more ] characters that one actor/actress plays are related on some level' concept and i believe mark and duke are cousins bc CAN U IMAGINEE

theyre cousins on their moms sides but their moms dont really get along due to differing views and ways of parenting, but mark and duke are pretty close. theyre each others favourite cousin

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

mark and karen are both gay in opposite directions but they were very close friends growing up due to overlapping social groups (their parents, church groups, most likely abstinence camp goers, etc), and because of their respective families and being unable to be true to themselves, they got married and had grace very early after they graduated highschool

mark loves karen very much, but purely platonically. he is the type to tease her, sometimes poke fun at her, and he respects her immensely! they both work insanely well as a duo, and they hold down the fort of their picket fence home extremely well, but they are not in love

he n karen live a very domestic life, they can even be pretty physically affectionate at times [ hugs, cuddling, kisses to the head, cheeks, hands even ] and share quick 'i love you's before separating for the day, but something about it was always just slightly askew from romantic love and affection

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

circling back to highschool, mark and ted definitely had a secret on-again-off-again relationship for at least a few months to a year.

they inevitably fell out because ted was sick and tired of being kept as a secret [ i have so so many thoughts about the spankoffskis too dont get me started on that tho ] and ended up giving mark an ultimatum: either choose to stay with ted and become public, or choose his family and run away from himself

i think its clear which mark chose. they dont talk much anymore

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

his middle name is anthony :33 no reason for this i just think it fits. mark anthony chasity :3333

he is a very sensitive man! growing up was extremely hard for him between an overbearing and coddling mother, and a hardassed and pushy father, and being heavily sheltered on top of it all

he wasnt shown a lot of genuine love and affection growing up (his mother would lovebomb him, his father didnt believe he needed it, and they were both pretty strict considering he was their only child) and he tries to do better with grace but still ends up unintentionally repeating cycles out of wanting to keep her 'safe'

he truly does love his daughter, he loves grace s o fucking much, but he n karen didnt have many positive role models to base themselves off of parenting-wise, therefore carrying a lot of fabricated truth into their relationships both separately and together with grace

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

mark has an architecture degree and he would love to be an actual architect but alas. realty was what he could get into

hes the one in charge of most of the chasity homes interior decoration! he has an eye for colours n specifically he really enjoys pastels, but his favourite colour overall is actually green

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

MARK CHASITY IS THE MARK FROM WORKIN BOYS [ getting forcefully pulled off stage, gripping the mic ] PLEASE P[LEASE JUSR HEAR ME OUT

before mark began working in realty, he worked at a bank. golden parachutes bank [ 'golden parachutes' is something mentioned in show stoppin number w like no context?? this concept is my gfs idea tho ] [ **I WAS INFORMED ITS A BUSINESS TERM but atp i feel like hatchetfield Would have a bank named after a business term lmfao ]

mark met greg through duke when he was about 20 or so [ I ALSO FIRMLYY BELIEVE THE GREG FROM WORKIN BOYS IS MAXS DAD BUT MY JÄGERMAN FAMILY TREE IS A WHOOOLEE OTHER CAN OF WORMS ], began seeing him, and greg was the one to bring mark into the polycule around 23-24

all of them worked at the bank! henry hidgens was one of the younger executives there

HIS N HENRYS DYNAMIC SPECIFICALLY was never sexual i believe, but it wasnt healthy overall because there was a power imbalance between them, and i also believe mark wouldve been one of the younger men in the polycule

henry and mark had a very 'wolf and lamb' dynamic, mark being perceived and treated as 'innocent' due to how he carries himself and how he was raised, and henry sometimes doing specific things to intimidate and even scare mark

all in all things do not go well. yeah. i am Not gonna get too deep into that bc it delves into pure indulgent au headcanon bullshit [ this entire post rlly lol ] but to shorten it: i believe mark to be a sole survivor of the workin boys incident in some aus and after the deaths of the boys he quits the banking job n goes into realty god bles

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

coughs. anyway. he really likes historical art and i believe mark n grace are so similar in how theyre both So abnormal about historical things [ graces general interest and infatuation w the waylon place and its history that she basically infodumps about in npmd ]

he would infodump about historical pieces and their stories to anyone that would listen, which is usually his wife or daughter

SPEAKING of historical art n bringing back his architecture degree, when grace was around 10 mark built her an exactly-to-scale miniature replica of the waylon place as a dollhouse, down to the scaffolding, lighting, wall decor, etc

it took him years and was a complete surprise. it is his favourite and most pride-inducing project to date, even more bc it was for his baby

[punishing-eden]

Rant/Review: Wuthering waves, its Writing...

((An Essay about what I think about the game so far. Note, I have not played into the story of the Blackshore))

Edited

Tags: Feel free not to read, rant, review, essay, long read, opinions, spoilers

*Do note that everything I say are my opinion*

So, I started playing this game since it's launch. Agree to disagree how I feel about this game and it's current trajectory, because my take on it won't be an overall positive one.

I will mostly take about the story writing in this essay since it is the most glaring issue for me. This topic, I know, would set off some really heated debate, mainly, as I have observed within my scope.

In regards To Wuthering Waves, I'll start with the positives, the combat. I think this is an area that actually outshines Genshin. The bosses in Wuwa are harder, but fun to play. The stakes are higher, and the flexibility of player attack combos feels nice to play.

Unlike Genshin, the boss does not hover, go under, or flash around the area for the majority of the time. I can count how many times I have to wait in the area for a few seconds just for the boss to reappear, hit them within a few nano seconds before having to wait again.

The bosses have their own movesets, attack, counterattack, parries, and combos that keeps you at your toes. They don't shy away from giving you a hard time, and Kuro allows the bosses to have their abilities to be on par with the playable characters.

What I also like are the bosses, or anything really, does not caters to certain limited characters' playstyle or element. This, however, might be too early to say.

The graphics looks quite nice, the NPCs have personality, and I enjoy the many expressions they give. More generous cutscenes, and Rover being allowed to speak. Exploration modes like the grappling hook and parkor are nice touches as well.

With many good stuff happening in Wuthering Waves, it is easy to see how this game can compete with Genshin Impact in the market. Yet, despite so, it did not stop me from uninstalling the game from my Ipad.

It has been said before by many since the launch. Voiceover, music, dialogues, Ui, and other details in general are making and breaking the game.

I have heard a lot of theories and things as to why the launch is what it is. Back then I was told to wait due to their history with PGR. As a fan I was willing to wait, and endure the state of its launch and mediocrity as long as the experience of the whole package is good.

Which brings me to the glaring issues:

1. The Writing and the Execution.

Needless to say, people flocked to Wuthering Waves is because the game feels like it could offer something different in the genre of open world RPG. Not only is the combat a factor, but also the type of themes and the stories it can tell.

Genshin's story is not bad, but some players deemed the themes of the plot are a little too fantastical and childish. Wuthering waves, given how serious its lore is, and the devastation theme in their concept of a sci-fi world seems like a nice change from a pg friendly game.

I would like to point out, Lore ≠ Story, and Plot ≠ Storytelling.

I think the marketing team stating Wuwa as a story rich game might be a mistake, because the game certainly did not live up to the hype; it did not execute that hype it display in the launch trailer. I won't go into a detail analysis of the storytelling. But, I know this topic has sparked heated debates.

We can all agree to disagree, but this still does not take away the disappointment, and the issues that I have for the game.

The reason for my source of unsatisfaction are due to the quality of the writing, the writing direction, and the medicore execution of plot points. This extends to character story as well.

I want to experience what the lore and open world has to offer, as it was marketed. The story is essentially the overarching experience of the game; a window to the world of Solaris-3

This is where I am coming from when I am getting into the game.

Yet, as the patches progress, the glaring issue of actually writing a story, instead of a fanfic fantasy tested my patience. To me, the main story didn't feel like a progression of the protagonist's journey of their own agency or their accord.

Which brings in my next point:

2. Characters and Fanservice

I hated the fanservice in Wuthering Waves. I know, quite a big statement.

I believe a good story and fanservice can co-exist, as long as there is a good ratio to it, and is tastefully done.

The fanservice is overly glaring in the story and character quest. Mostly, it was unwarranted. This is what I hate, not the nature of the fanservice itself, but the unwarrent fanservice that is shoved down our thoarts.

Given the vibe and type of game Wuthering Waves convey through the main story, the fanservice really feels jarring. Pairing it with bad writing, it feels like a amateur fanfic writer wrote this, and somehow the Creative Director green lit this as good.

Yinlin's character quest is an example, the one I have gripes with the most. The writing of her story, by how I experienced it, did not make me like her at all, and to force a fanservice scene really takes the cake. It doesn't make sense to me, and it made me begin to question am I playing an Sci-fi open world apocalyptic RPG, or actually an anime isekai dating fantasy game.

The latter is not what I signed up for.

So, it is no surprise I never rolled on the character banner after the beginner's banner. I was pretty much rolling for weapons for my existing characters instead. (Hence, I wish I can convert my green and gold convene to weapon convenes.)

In theory, I should have rolled for Jiyan, but I didn't, because there isn't much interested shown by his character other than the beef with Geshu Lin. ((Edit: The craziest thing is, I legit have no idea what that beef is even about?)) His character quest did nothing to convince me to roll for him.

I shed a few tears during Xiangli Yao's story quest...but it's for an NPC and his monoluge. Not sure what Pascar has to do with Xiangli Yao's, at least how I understood it, urge for solitude to ponder and search for answers to his intellectual curiousity(?).

The characters in Wuthering Waves, to me, feels like a 3D manifestation of tropes rather than characters. There is no depth, and has shown no depth, in their own personalities, and how their dynamic with other characters, NPCs, and Rover develops. It's (the developed relationship) there because the story said so.

My favourite characters so far in the story are actually, Aalto and Encore. These two have more personality to show, and when they are together, they actually create character dynamic. They are also introduced with something to contribute to the progression of the story; providing an insight to the lore of the First Civilisation and the Black Shore.

Scar is also a character that seems to be interesting, but I won't say that for sure until we see him more in action. In all honesty, I think he is interesting because he is the "antagonist" in the story who provides tension and conflict, something like building up to a climax or a twist.

With an antagonist, there is a protagonist:

3. Rover as a protagonist

Now, I know that the silent protagonist is seen to be a self insert. But, I tend to believe even if the protagonist is silent, there should be at least some consistancy to the characterisation. Because, the switch between the UwU rover, to the Serious/Hardcore Rover feels jarringly inconsistent.

Another point to make is Rover and their, still, lack of agency. From my own understanding of what was presented to me, we should be viewing the story through Rover's lens. Yet, there are times where I felt their response and reactions are passive to naught, and I does not make sense to me, as there is no reasoning on Rover's behalf.

For example, should the seed of doubt linger in Rover's mind after a confrontation with Scar? Since Rover has no memory, what makes them fully trust Yang Yang to the tee? When Rover learns about their significance to the world through Jue, during the confrontation scene with Jinhsi, should the first thing Rover did was to demand for more answers? Ask more questions on the spot, instead being like, "Oh... Okay...". Should the first thing Rover did, after Yinlin zapped them unconscious, is to deem her as a potential enemy for self preservation purposes?

Instead almost all of the agency are given to other characters. In the arc at the Northfall Barrens, most of the agency were given to the resonator cast when they were defending Jinzhou; having their Avengers moment. Rover was just there. Then they were told to find Jiyan. And the rest of time was Jiyan speaking, taking initiative even towards the end.

Like, what was the purpose of Rover being there? Was it because Yang Yang said so? What would Rover achieve by fighting with the Midnight rangers other than earning a hero status? Who knows.

Because of having little to no agency for the Rover, the story feels lost. There is no definate overarching goal.

Sure, they might be searching for their lost memories, but there is no definate goal post for the story to reach it's conclusion for Rover's journey. There is no intrigue to keep the story moving forward.

Genshin's story, as an example, has always been about the MC finding their lost twin, with the conclusion that they will, hopefully, reunite and continue on their mysterious journey. Along the way of finding their sibling, things happened. The regions and their crisis as subplots, that reveals the lore and the trajectory of the world MC is travelling in to reach that goal.

Gameplay alone can only take a game so far. In the Jinzhou region of Huang Loong, the exploration of the world map needs more work, and even then there needs to be stories that makes the world an interesting place to explore.

I am not saying Genshin has the best writing. It has it's flaws. But, regardless of the sometimes, messy and muddled execution of plot points, having a good story can really make an impact to the gaming experience with games like these.

Due to the three points mentioned, I was heasitant to begin the new chapter to the Blackshore. With how the story's bad ratio of Character/story development to Fanservice, and the execution of the storytelling, I have been, instead, grinding the domains, bosses, and Tacet fields.

The voice about whether or not I have been phished to play an Anime Waifu fantasy game grew louder at each patch. The fact that I, as a player, have no choice but to endure the jarring superficial segments of dates and fanfiction-quese sequence (I mean the cliche and chessy ones) is enough to turn me off from the game.

It might have not been it's intent, but with how intergrated the fanservice is, it's really hard to take this game seriously anymore. To me, I feel like I was in a lost.

The gameplay alone was not holding the game up for me, as there's only so much you could do in the open world. Either it's boss, puzzles, or combat. The events are always in relation to combat alone, and they are recycled at each patch.

My patience for the, "Just wait, it will get better just like PGR" is wanning. I don't think being a fan of PGR can be used to excuse the apparent state of the experience of Wuthering waves.

Which is a shame, because I really tried to be patient, and I tried so hard to like it. I have been waiting for this game since its first announcement. I remember looking at Rover's very first design and the promo art, being all excited, wanting to play it so badly.

Needless to say, Wuthering Wave, unfortunately is not living up to what it says it's going to be. I think there is potential for the game to be great, but, as of now, and the direction things are going, it feels like they have decided to go a certain way.

Though, I wish they didn't have to phish me into adding numbers to their download count on lauch day. (They didn't actually phish me, but given how everything turned out felt like it.)

I hope, things will get better in the game, and that the experience can be more enjoyable for players alike. Yet, as of now, I won't been having it in my gaming roaster.

[dat-town]

haunting

never seen circus masterpost

Characters: Yunho & female reader

Setting & genre: magical realism au, ghost au

Summary: Yunho was the centre of your universe. He made you so happy and you wished you could do the same but his eyes were always so, so sad.

Warnings: general creepiness of an eerie circus, ambiguous ending, mentions of blood, injuries, car accident, self-conscious MC, implied past death

Words: 1.4k

i guess i will tag you in all of these @restlessmaknae 

You remembered the day you had met Yunho and fallen in love with his dimpled smile almost immediately. He was the typical boy next door with his easygoing and kind personality, it was impossible not to love him. But somehow it had been you whose seatmate he had become on the first day of university and then all other days too during your shared Economics lectures.

You and him had been inseparable ever since.

You had spent a meaningful majority of your early twenties with him by your side. Study sessions in the library had turned into café dates and then cuddling on the couch in front of Netflix. Weekend trips to the beach, dissing terrible job interviews, murmuring I love yous into his warm skin under the blazing sun and him kissing every one of your fingers until you couldn’t feel the unforgiving cold of January.

You loved him more than anything.

Especially after the accident. He was the only one who still looked at you the same way.

It had been awful. You remembered the yelling, the honking and a blinding light. Then the pain had come and everything had gone dark. When you had opened your eyes, it had been Yunho you had seen first. His temple had been bloodied, glass shard cuts all across his lovely cheek. He could barely open his eyes and his head had been wrapped in white gauze.

You had cried yourself to sleep because you had known it had been your fault. You had been the one who had insisted on visiting the circus even in the pouring rain. Looking back you couldn’t understand why it had been so important to go on that particular Sunday. There would have been other days and other circuses. There was no other Yunho. No circus was worth that much.

Yunho had recovered but after that you had promised yourself you wouldn’t let him get hurt ever again. But something must have been broken between the two of you after the accident because his eyes had become so, so sad. He still looked at you lovingly, like you were the most precious thing and for those moments you felt seen and beautiful even if other people looked away when they saw you. Nobody else mattered, not when you had Yunho. You just didn’t get why he felt so far even when he was brushing your hair behind your ear.

“Are you happy?” The boy asked, cautious, and you blinked at him in confusion.

“Of course, I am. I have you,” you smiled at him but Yunho looked like he was made of glass, crackling at your words.

When your boyfriend proposed a weekend getaway, you were more than happy being on board with the idea. You hadn’t really been going out since what had happened. You needed it to feel some normalcy again.

“Where are we going?” You asked curiously while you were walking through a forest during the golden hour. You liked surprises and Yunho was always the best with date nights as he was a much better planner than you were but you had always been curious by nature.

“You will see,” he said with a half smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He sounded tired but that must have been because he worked those extra hours over the week.

He didn’t let go of your hand even when you reached the edge of the forest path and you saw a circus right in the middle of the meadow in all its shiny gilded glory.

You flinched at the laugh of clowns and the eerie music, phantom pain throbbing in your skull. Your steps halted and you took a shaky breath.

“Yunho…” You whispered, feeling uneasy.

“It’s okay,” Yunho reassured you in his soft voice, letting you nuzzle closer. “I’m here.”

You tried to find excitement and awe in the wonderful spectacles all around but deep down you had a bad feeling. Maybe it was because of what had happened and your brain subconsciously associated circuses with inevitable tragedies but you could almost feel yourself spiral into panic. You didn’t quite feel okay in your body. It was almost like you were watching yourself from the outside.

You jumped in surprise when a black cat ran across the road right in front of you and heck, you weren’t superstitious but did it mean that you would be unlucky? Maybe you should have left.

But Yunho seemed determined to stay and he was clearly looking for something, so you told yourself to be patient. It must have been the surprise. What could it be, you wondered, a fortune teller or a palm reader?

The tent of a ghost whisperer wasn’t what you expected even though it felt awfully familiar. Have you been there before?

You turned to Yunho, the question burning on the tip of your tongue, but he was looking at the girl behind the candle lit desk, hovering over a bone coloured board with letters scattered over it. You vaguely remembered that tool from horror stories as something used to communicate with the dead. An Ouija board.

The young girl in old fashioned clothes behind the desk looked up at the two of you and hummed knowingly. There was something unnerving about it as she looked at you.

“I knew you would be back. Most people are,” she said, melancholy ringing in her voice and you furrowed your brows in confusion. She wasn’t sure whether she talked to you or your boyfriend.

“She… she is just a shell of herself. I can’t… I can’t do this anymore,” Yunho spoke up hoarsely.

“I told you there was always a price to play,” the girl reminded him but the entire scene had you going a little crazy because you couldn’t understand anything.

“What’s going on, Yunho? Who is she? Why are you talking like you are breaking up with me?”

Yunho turned to you, his usually warm nougat eyes devastatingly sad and then he walked you to the full body mirror on one side of the tent.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered and there were already tears pricking your eyes because what could have been so terrible about your looks that made him call you a shell?

Then you saw it.

There was Yunho, tall and handsome, perfect if only a little pale and his smile you loved so much was lost on him. And you? You were nowhere. In the mirror there he stood alone, no sign of your reflection. You reached out to touch the furniture with shaky hands and looked down at your skin, half-transparent in this new glow.

“Am I dead?” Your voice hitched, panic coursing through you.

“Your soul is trapped in a limbo between this world and the beyond,” the stranger girl explained patiently. “He’s the one keeping you here.”

So you did die. Now that you thought about it, you couldn’t tell when was the last time you interacted with somebody else other than Yunho. Or when you last spent time alone. Or when you ate or went to the bathroom. All you could remember was being with Yunho, everything else was just a blur. As if he was the reason why you even existed, the Sun of your universe.

You felt like crying but you couldn’t. Ghosts didn’t have tears. You must have imagined every tear and every touch since the accident and it only made the loss cut deeper.

Yunho was crying though, crystal-like tears were running down his cheeks and when you reached up, you could feel the warmth on his skin against your own cold nothingness.

“I love you so much that I brought you back,” the boy whispered and you could feel your heart break for him even if you didn’t have one anymore. You never wanted to see Yunho suffer, not like this, not because of you. “But it’s not the life you deserve. You should move on. Find peace.”

The thought of him saying goodbye, of losing him scared you.

“No. I don’t want that. I’ll be staying with you, Yunho. Please, don’t do this,” you begged because you wanted to stay by his side, you didn’t want to be alone. The two of you were supposed to be together forever.

But it was too late. The boy was already taking off the couple bracelet you both had and the ghost whisperer took it from him, letting it fall into flames, smoke going up dark and quick.

Your scream cut through the night, extinguishing every lit candle and by the time the sun came up, you were once again faded.

But Yunho swore he could catch sight of you in mirrors from time to time.

[ghoulodont]

With the Bathwater

Rain offers to take a weight off Dewdrop's shoulders. Part of the Blur Turns to Haze series, but can be read on its own.

Relationship: Raindrop Characters: Dewdrop, Rain Tags: Bathing/Washing, Caretaking, Fluff, eepy dew Words: 1808

Read below or on AO3

It’s still early in the evening, but Dewdrop’s energy seems to be flagging. He’s lying on his side on his bed, curled in on himself loosely. He’s blinking slowly like a contented cat, letting his eyes stay closed a fraction of a second longer each time.

Rain, sitting on the bed next to him, is frozen, held in place by a desire not to disturb the present calm. They’re trapped together in an ambiguous place between sleep and wakefulness. Realistically, Dew would be more comfortable under the covers, but Rain is caught in the paradox of avoiding the short uphill climb that would lead to the easy descent of restful sleep.

So he gives Dew a few more minutes before prompting him, “You going to call it a night?”

Dew shakes his head, or makes some semblance of the gesture, the best he can with his head pressed against the mattress. He rolls onto his back and, laboriously, sits himself up. “I was going to take a shower.” He leans back, propping himself up with one arm extended behind him. “I need to wash my hair. I feel gross.”

“You’re not gross.”

“I just meant… I feel gross.” He drags his hand through his hair. It gathers together between his fingers, stiffer than it usually is, more substantial. Then he holds his empty hand in front of him, palm up, like he’s displaying something. There’s nothing there, just the suggestion of a sensation.

“Oh.”

Dew sighs. He makes no move to get up, to head for the bathroom.

“Do you want…”

Dew tips his head to one side.

“Do you want me to help?”

His eyebrows raise, a barely perceptible twitch. “You mean…?”

“To do it for you? Only if you want.”

He pauses, silent for a moment that feels like forever, before he speaks again. “I’d like that.”

Rain stands, released from the lingering air of meticulous stillness. Dew stands too; he sways slightly in place before he starts walking to the bathroom. Rain follows.

In the bathroom, Rain turns on the shower. He spins the handle until it’s set almost as hot as it will go — Dew’s preference. Standing at the edge of his peripheral vision, Dew pulls his shirt over his head.

They’ve showered together before, but they’ve never really done this before — taking their clothes off in the bathroom for the sole purpose of showering with each other, as the main event. Dew’s shirt drops from his fingers and crumples to the floor.

Rain pulls his own shirt off, steps out of his pants. He feels the water with his hand. It’s hot. He knew it would be; steam is starting to fill the room.

They step into the shower, Dew first and Rain after him. Dew stands facing the wall, directly under the water, his head tipped forward so that it runs off his forehead in a flat sheet that splatters noisily against the floor. Then he takes a small step back, moving out of the spray, and flips his sopping wet hair out of his face with one hand. Behind him, Rain is barely getting wet at all, which is fine. It’s not why he’s here.

Dew picks up the shampoo bottle. Almost immediately, it slips from his grasp; he drops it on the shower floor, the hollow plastic clattering a cacophonous thunder on the tile. His shoulders first rise towards his ears in response to the jarring sound, then sink in a forceful, frustrated sigh, inaudible over the sound of running water.

“Let me,” Rain offers — or reminds, really. This was the idea in the first place. He picks up the shampoo from where it’s come to rest after skittering across the slippery surface, somewhere near his right foot. He uncaps the bottle and pours some of its contents into his open palm. Dew, still facing away, fidgets in place, bending one knee slightly, shifting his weight.

Rain brings his hands to Dew’s wet hair, slowly, like he’s trying not to startle a skittish animal, and presses the shampoo into it with gentle strokes of his hands. He works it into a lather with his fingertips, rubbing small circles into Dew’s scalp.

Dew is so pliable, tilting his head in accordance with the gentle pressure applied to it. Rain rubs behind his ears, at the base of his horns, along the junction where his skull meets his neck. A hefty blob of shampoo foam drops to the floor with a quiet plop.

“They increased my dose,” Dew says, breaking the relative silence between them. “Last night. Feels like starting over.” He’s offering a handful of vague, disjoint half-statements, expending the minimum energy required to get his point across, leaving Rain to fill in the gaps.

“Like the first day? I saw you, it looked like you were sleepwalking.”

“I feel like I’m sleepwalking.”

Rain hums. He drops his hands to Dew’s shoulders and guides him to turn around so his back is to the water. Dew’s eyes are closed. With gentle fingers against his scalp again, Rain tips his head back into the stream.

He rakes his fingers through Dew’s hair, plowing furrows in the dense foam, creating channels into which the water rushes and whisks it away. He strokes Dew’s hair back with his hands, squeezing the water from it over and over, until all the shampoo rinsed out. He picks up the bottle of body wash. Dew opens his eyes just a sliver, peeking out past damp lashes.

Rain snaps open the flimsy plastic flip-top lid of the body wash. Once again, Dew is remarkably pliable, allowing Rain to lather soap all over him, providing easy access to all his limbs, shuffling around as needed. He braces a hand against the tiled wall for balance.

Rain guides him back under the water falling from the shower head. It quickly rinses off the majority of the soap suds, driving rivers through a landscape of rolling hills formed by a thin coating of white foam. Bubbles gather at the drain in a heap, holding on to the last moments of their life before they succumb to the flow of water.

He brushes his hands over Dew’s skin, slippery with a residual coating of soap. He pushes the running water across his shoulders, neck, arms, down his back, over his legs. The slipperiness washes away, dissipates until only the feeling of wet skin remains. Even so, he continues, pushing clean water away to be replaced by more clean water, again and again.

“Rain.” Dew’s voice is quiet, mixing in with the sound of water droplets hitting the shower floor.

Rain’s hands pause, frozen in place on Dew’s body, held against either side of his ribcage.

“This is nice, but can we go lie down now?”

“Of course.” Rain drops his hands away.

Before Rain can lean forward and turn off the shower, Dew turns around. He places his hands on Rain’s sides, just above his hip bones, an echo of the position they paused in just moments ago.

The water is hitting the back of Dew’s head now, like earlier, but this time he’s looking up, looking at Rain. A rivulet of water runs down the side of his face. The image evokes some dramatic romance movie scene, a climactic moment where the love interests are caught in a torrential downpour.

Rain feels his lips pull into a smile, an involuntary expression betraying his thoughts. He’s not sure he could put a word to this emotion. There’s a fondness at the forefront, a familiar, deep sea of warmth he feels whenever he looks at Dew. The salt breeze of it carries the vague, ambiguously masculine scent of his body wash, some wood smell. Cedar, maybe.

The sea is deeper than before, more vast, impossibly so, its waters all-encompassing. Its shimmering surface ripples with so many more feelings, thoughts, ideas, a kaleidoscopic interface with the ambient air. Comfort. Worry. Humor in the inadvertent romance movie parallel. Appreciation for the trust Dew is putting in him right now.

“Thank you,” Dew says.

Rain pushes a stray lock of wet hair away from Dew’s face. “Of course.”

He turns off the shower, the steady thrum of water quickly diminishing to a slow, rhythmic drip. Dew steps out and wraps himself with a towel, draping it around his shoulders like a blanket. He shuffles out of the bathroom.

Rain hastily dries himself off and puts his clothes back on, retrieving them from where he discarded them on the tile floor. When he returns to the main room of Dew’s dorm, he finds Dew curled up on the bed again, still wrapped in the towel.

Rain picks out some clothes from the dresser — boxers and an old t-shirt. Dew lets the towel fall against the covers as he sits up. Rain slips the neck of the shirt over his head. It’s large on him, the worn fabric draping loosely against his torso. Dew puts his underwear on himself. Rain uses the fallen towel to blot Dew’s still soaking wet hair dry.

When he’s satisfied with the state of Dew’s hair, Rain removes the towel. Dew flops back onto the bed and lies there for a moment, perfectly still save for the rise and fall of his chest, but then he drags himself up and heads back into the bathroom. Rain busies himself tidying up — hanging the used towels to dry, gathering Dew’s clothes from their pile on the floor and putting them with his dirty laundry.

In the bathroom, Dew brushes his teeth, leaning heavily against the sink. When he’s done, he pads back into the other room, flops onto his bed, and crawls under the covers.

He nestles his head into the pillow, then looks up at Rain. “Stay?”

“Oh, um, it’s— it’s kind of early…”

Dew stares at him like his mental gears have jammed trying to process that statement. His tired eyes look like they can’t perceive a world in which any of its inhabitants wouldn’t want to go to sleep right now.

Rain kicks himself for saying something like that. Of course he can stay. “Until you fall asleep.”

Dew snorts. “It’ll be, like, two seconds.” He pulls the edge of the duvet to his chin.

Rain lies down next to him, on top of the covers to maximize his chances of sneaking away later without waking him up. There’s not much of a point, really; if Dew is feeling the way he did a few days ago, like he said earlier, he’ll be dead to the world soon. Still, he arranges himself carefully, thoughtfully, rolling over so he’s face to face with Dew.

Dew’s eyes are closed, his breathing even. Is he already asleep?

“Goodnight,” Rain whispers, so quiet it’s barely more than a breath.

“Goodnight,” Dew whispers back, eyes still closed.

[lindseybots]

Welcome to The Wind’s Track AU!

A lot of people have been stopping by to check this AU out, so I thought now was a good time to make a pinned post for this.

What is this AU?

This is a Legend of Zelda AU in which Link, the Hero of Winds from Wind Waker and Phantom Hourglass (nicknamed Wind in this AU), sticks around New Hyrule as a spirit after his life has reached its conclusion.

During his wanderings as a spirit one day, he went to check on his old pal Niko to find that Niko had taken in a baby named Link (nicknamed Spirit in this AU) whom he found washed ashore. This baby will eventually grow up to be the Hero of Spirits from Spirit Tracks. Wind is surprised at the matching name and almost identical appearance, but even more surprising than all of that is that this kid has the ability to see and hear him.

Basically, the ghost of the Hero of Winds helps raise the Hero of Spirits.

Don’t know where to start with exploring the AU? Try this, or try exploring some of the tags!

Important Links / Tags

Tags:

#The Wind’s Track AU

#The Wind’s Track

# WT AU

#WT Fanart

#WT Comic

#WT reference sheet

#Lindseybot answers

#WT Wind

#WT Spirit

(if you want to type these in manually, do it lowercased. Tumblr sometimes gets weird with the tags if you capitalize them.)

Links:

WT AU Collaborative Spotify Playlist (A Spotify playlist for the AU made with y’all’s help.)

Some WT AU Questions and Answers (under the break)

Q: Is this associated with Linked Universe?

A: No. While Linked Universe is a wonderful AU, the Wind’s Track is its own, separate AU. The events of Linked Universe DO NOT and NEVER WILL HAPPEN in the “canon” of this AU. If you would like to see a little more of my thoughts on that, please view this post.

Q: Can I post fanart, fanfics, etc. of this AU?

A: Absolutely! If you do, all I ask is that you credit me for the AU. (Also, please tag me so I can see it. 🤭) While on the subject, feel free to check out the tag #WT reference sheet if you’d like to see references of the characters within the context of the AU.

Q: Is there an official fic for this AU?

A: Unfortunately, no. I am not a confident writer. I have an Ao3 account (Lindseybot), but I never post fics on it. I, instead, use it to subscribe, leave kudos, leave comments, etc. I occasionally post little comics of the AU here on Tumblr, however.

Q: Will there be a full comic then?

A: As of now, I do not have any plans to do that. Not only is this AU still very early in development, but that would take a LONG time. With my current schedule being the way it is, it just wouldn't be feasible. Still, never say never. You never know what the future may hold. As of now, I plan to just occasionally post mini comics and art pieces that take place at any random point in the timeline of the AU.

Q: Can I use your art as an icon, banner, etc.

A: Sure!! I’m honored that you like my art enough to want to use it for that! Please just make sure to credit me!

Q: Can I send you asks? / Can I send you a lot of asks? / Can I send you suggestions?

A: PLEASE DO! Hearing from y'all makes me very happy. Anons are welcome too! If you decide to ask anonymously, I will give you an anon name. If you ask about a character’s shoes or something (as a silly example) I might dub you "Shoe Anon." Whether or not you use the name is up to you, but if you want to send another ask later and make it known to me that you are the same anon as from a previous ask you can be like: "Hey! It's Shoe Anon again! I have another question!"

Q: Why does Wind look young? Did he die young?

A: Nope! Don’t let his looks fool you. He may look no older than during the days of his adventures, but he actually lived a long, happy life. His adventures were the most impactful part of his life. As such, his appearance as a spirit is simply a reflection of that.

Q: What ships are in this AU?

A: ST Zelda x ST Link. If you want to see more of my thoughts on that, check out this post.

Q: What games will this AU cover content from?

A: This AU will contain spoilers for the following games:

The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker

The Legend of Zelda: Phantom Hourglass

The Legend of Zelda: Spirit Tracks

Other games within the Legend of Zelda series are subject to be mentioned, but they are a lot less likely.

Q: The Spotify Playlist collaborator link isn’t working, but I want to be a collaborator. What do I do?

A: Not to worry! Spotify’s collaborator link always expires after seven days. We are forced to put up with that feature. Send me an ask about it. I’ll renew the link! :)

Q: I want to add a song to the playlist, but I don’t want anyone to know I was the one who added it. Is there still a way for me to add it?

A: That’s perfectly fine! Send me the song name and artist name through an anon ask. I’ll add it for you!

[fishedeyelenz]

ANNOUNCEMENT FOR THE BLACK CHRISTMAS FANDOM

Hello everyone who's been following my writing and art and OC's!! Your support has warmed my heart, and got me through some thought times. Thank you very much for sticking by me, commenting, sending me kudos and asks regarding Dilf Billy and my oc-verse I made around him!

However... I have come to realize I have made Billy, at least the older 45-50 year old version of him my own. Very much my own. I think there's a discrepancy between my characterization of him, and how he is portrayed in the movie/novel/commentary. Another thing is that I love him too much. I want to make him my own, not an interpretation of a pre-existing character...

So that's exactly what I am going to do! I'm taking him and making him an OC. Currently I am in the process if changing up his backstory to make him distinct from Billy Lenz, though the Dilf version we see in Rats in the shadows and partially in So give me coffee and tv will stay similar.

My goal is to create a group of ocs consisting of the character formerly known as Billy, Camille, Bean and other side characters who will exist in a story about an ex serial killer father. I'm still early in the rework, but I feel like I don't have change too much.

What this means I will effectively be distancing myself at least partially from the Black Christmas fandom, at least in terms of my content creation though these past few months I have been in a rut given college preoccupying most of my time. I still love Black Christmas, it will remain one of my favorite movies forever. I cherish the friends I made and the experiences I had, but I want to move on to more original creations, uninhibited by primary existing source materials.

I will still interact with fan works in terms of reblogging art and writing , and I will most likely draw more of Billy Lenz and the other characters from the movie in the future. Anything regarding Camille, Bean, "dilf Billy" though, will be something divorced from Black Christmas, entirely its own thing, though obviously inspired by it.

Will I return to writing for Black Christmas? At this point I am uncertain. I have a WIP of a priest!au thing for Dilf Billy, which if I ever get around to finishing I would post under the pretense that it's a Black Christmas fanwork. However, I am not sure if I will finish it, given that I don't really have the time, and at the moment motivation to really work on it. Another story idea exists too, one which would better fit into the Black Christmas ethos with is very dark tone and heavy subject matter (while still remaining a smut work) which I would gladly have exist as a fanwork.... But once again I am lacking the time and want to do it. It would be a very big project, all things considered.

So what now? I will keep all my Billy Lenz/Dilf Billy content up on my blog, my AO3 will stay intact (though I will forward this announcement onto there), and I won't change my tags on Dilf Billy related posts. Moving forward, though, everything created for my oc inspired by Billy Lenz/Dilf Billy Lenz will be tagged as that. I need to come up with a new name for him first...

I will also make a post regarding how the plot of Rits/Sgmcatv would have went if I'd finished them, to give you guys some sort of conclusion. Though the new oc story with Bean, Camille and the new Billy oc in it will very closely follow Rits original storyline. Most of the events of Rits are canon still in regards to Camille's and Bean's backstory, with of course some caveats (no Brahms, Camille and "Billy" meet differently etc.). But the large majority of the plot points and story beats are the same.

I will be happy to answer any further questions, as my inbox is open. I'm sorry to disappoint anyone, but I've felt the need to move on, to elevate this story. I hope I can be forgiven. Now I bid farewell to this part of my life and creative era, and look forward to the new.

[arvandus]

Touch Pt. 13 - Relapse

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader

**18+ ONLY - MINORS DNI**

OVERALL FIC WARNINGS: Soft!Dabi, F!Reader with a fictional backstory, fanon version of past events (I started this before the canon stuff dropped), manga  spoilers, canon deviation, drug abuse/withdrawal (with inaccuracies since it’s outside of my experience and relies on research and imagination), violence, heavy angst, past trauma/abuse, anxiety/panic attacks, PTSD, hurt/comfort, pining, slow burn, eventual emotionally charged SMUT,  all characters will be written with complexity (i.e., no  one-dimensional/hateful representations). *please pay attention to specific warning tags within each chapter!*

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Explicit 18+ themes, drug use (opioids, weed, alcohol, smoking), drug dealing, drug withdrawal, chronic pain. Primarily a Dabi POV chapter, Reader is minimally present.

Chapter Song: Go Easy On Me (Stripped) by Matt Maeson

Part 1   Part 12

Artwork credit to @hellowon31 on Twitter (https://twitter.com/hellowon31)

Chapter 13: Relapse

He was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming, but he didn’t care.  It was the only way he could have you, the only way he could satisfy that deep, devouring desire that threatened to consume him and shred him to pieces.

 Your soft lips locked over his, your hands on his jaw as he opened his mouth hungrily to welcome your wet tongue.  Your body was pressed against his as you straddled his lap, your soft thighs framing him. His hands roamed your sweaty skin, deft fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to pull it over your head, exposing your cotton-clad breasts to his gaze.  The bra you wore was strangely familiar, its simplicity echoing like a forgotten memory in his mind, but he didn’t care.  All he cared about was you, the feel of you, the heat of you, the taste of you... he buried his face between your breasts, his tongue flicking out to lick the sweat there, and you moaned against him, your fingers tangling in his hair as your hips ground down into his lap, desperate to feel his firmness.

 This. This was all he wanted. He wanted to bury himself in this place, bury himself in you until he forgot who he was.  He wanted to freeze himself into this moment and let the rest of the world fall away.

 But he knew any minute now it would change. This moment would vanish, this wanton picture of you bursting into an explosion of blue flames beneath his sweating palms only to be replaced by nightmares.

 His grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging into flesh as if it had the power to change fate, to change the inevitable rising of the sun.

 Any minute now.

 You whispered his name desperately against his lips, the heat of your breath like warm honey, before trapping his lips with your own again, your body moving against him.

 He wanted to close his dreaming eyes, to let himself sink into the feeling of you, and yet he couldn’t – if he did, then you’d be ripped away from him, taken hostage by the monsters in his mind.

 ‘Not yet.’ He thought. ‘Don’t go.’

 But you didn’t go. Not this time.  Your skin still felt warm against him, the touch of your flesh soft and familiar. So familiar, and yet... something was different this time.

 It felt real. Too real...

 Dabi’s eyes shot open, and the first thing he saw was the back of your head.  His breath stopped in his throat while his chest pounded, bewilderment locking his body in a frozen panic.  His eyes darted around the room, taking in what he could see as he slowly began to make sense of what his eyes were showing him.

 He was in your room. The early grey light of morning seeped in through a crack in the curtains, stretching across the lower half of your bed to end at the closed bathroom door.  It wasn’t as bright as his room in the morning, your bedroom facing west instead of east.  But it was enough to allow him to see the details of your space draped in a monotone hue.

 The memories of the previous night bubbled forth like flotsam.  Compress, you, your sensory overload, Dabi fighting to carry you, the waiting, the darkness, the conversations, your hand on his shoulder...

 Dabi’s pulse slowed, and he once again took in where he was and what he was feeling, his gaze shifting around slightly.

 He felt warm, and he realized he was pressed up against your back with his right arm trapped under your head. His left hand was resting on your hip, his thumb tucked beneath your shirt where it rested against your bare skin.

 No wonder it felt so real...

 You were so warm. The scent of your hair tickled his nose, and he fought the urge to inhale, his muscles tensing against the instinct to pull you even tighter against him and bury his face into your neck.

 Instead, he watched you silently, taking in the steady rise and fall of your breathing.  You were still asleep – that much he was grateful for.  He wasn’t sure how you’d react to waking up with him wrapped around you the way he was. To make matters worse, the dream he’d been having was still very much present in the forefront of his mind, and his pants felt uncomfortably tight against the pressure that had made itself at home within his black jeans.

 You shifted slightly in your sleep, your rear rubbing against his groin, and his fingers tensed on your skin.  A part of him wanted to push you away, the other part wanted to pull you closer and-

 You shifted again, blissfully deep in dreamland, unaware of your actions, as you pressed further against him. This time, Dabi’s entire body stiffened as he clenched his jaw.

 God damn it. You weren’t even awake and you were torturing him.

 He wondered what you were dreaming about but before his imagination could go too far, your head moved slightly, a soft, innocent moan coming from your dreaming lips. The sound alone sent an electric jolt through his body right down to his jeans and ignited a war in his brain between his arousal and his common sense. How quickly his body wanted to respond on instinct, to see if he could pull that sound from your lips again, this time with more... intention.

 But the fantasy of that thought was in stark contrast to the reality of the situation, and the deep thrumming of his pulse shifted like a pendulum from arousal to panic. If you woke up right now, to the touch of his hand on your side and his hard-on pressed against your ass through no fault of his own... Dabi imagined the slap you would deliver to his face.  Maybe even take a couple more staples out of his cheek while you were at it.

 Dabi removed his hand from your body and rolled to his back before he did something incredibly stupid. You were still pressed against his side, his right arm still trapped beneath your neck.  The touch of you felt like fire against his skin, every undamaged nerve on high alert, but at least it was manageable.  And most importantly, you stopped moving.  Deep sleep had claimed you once again, and Dabi was mentally thanking whatever deities granted his silent plea.

 Silence stretched, long and painful as he laid there, still as a stone, forcing steady breaths in and out of his lungs.  His dream of you still had its grip on him, and Dabi struggled to think of things that weren’t you in an effort to cool the hot desire that still coursed through his blood. But it was in vain.  You were everywhere – your scent, your warmth, the weight of your neck on his arm, your ass nestled into the crook of his hip and looking awfully cute in your pajama pants that he’d personally selected for you last night.  His blue eyes caught the shape of your bra on the floor, abandoned and forgotten, and it immediately brought forth the dream he’d been having, with your legs straddled across his lap, and your breasts-

 Shit.

 This obviously wasn’t working, and now the binding pressure in his pants was beginning to get uncomfortable.  He adjusted himself outside of his jeans in an effort to relieve some of the discomfort, to find a position within the dark denim that didn’t feel like being bound in a torture device, but all it did it was make it worse.

 Dabi needed to get out of here.  He needed the privacy of his own room so he could handle the problem in his pants and finally have his first rational thought of the day.

 He began scanning for his things.  His shoes were on.  His wallet was in his back pocket. His phone- where the fuck was his phone? He was holding it last night when he fell asleep...

 His free hand tried to search the covers, his head tilting slightly to look over the edge of the bed. Finally, he spotted it, on your nightstand next to your own.  You’d plugged it in for him, your own phone left uncharged.

 His chest constricted slightly.

 Dabi carefully reached over your sleeping form and grabbed it, making every effort to not touch you more than he had to as he deftly unplugged it with one hand.  He paused when his face was mere inches from your cheek thanks to the angle of his reach, hesitating for just a fraction of a moment to drink in your features.

 Fuck, you were pretty.

 Then the moment passed, and he averted his gaze and retreated carefully back to his side of the bed.  The device was safely in his fingers, and he laid back down before finally releasing the breath that he’d been holding.

 Time froze as Dabi noticed a text message notification from Giran.  His pulse spiked as he unlocked his phone and opened the message.

 Hey, kid. I found someone who has what you need.  Lemme know if you’re still interested, and I’ll give you their contact info.  It’ll cost ya, though. Prices are up right now. This guy ain’t cheap, but his stock is legit.  Lemme know if ya need a loan.

 Dabi’s eyes widened, and instantly, everything shifted.  What had started as an awkward morning of silent suffering now shifted to a single-minded focus.

 He could get his drugs. Today.

 A wave of relief washed over Dabi, transforming into giddy excitement.  He could almost remember the feel of them, the low hum of constant peace. It was so very different from what you gave him.  Your pills and your quirk helped, but it wasn’t the same.  The pain was always too quick to return every time they wore off, and mentally, well...

 Something was always missing, something important.  Something vital.  Something he needed more than anything.

 Silence.

 His life had been so much simpler with his own pills.  They kept the pain within his heart buried deep under a constant stream of artificial chemicals, and hid away the old, dusty memories, the ones that used to make him smile when he was young. In its place it left an empty space, a residual footprint of old things lost, those rooms of his mind abandoned and locked.  Joy was a figment of the imagination, a secondhand experience lived by a stranger. Sorrow was a small footnote, the undertone that set the tempo for his rage to thrum against, transforming tears into spiteful laughter. With everything else buried deep, it’d allowed him to focus on his anger, his bitter need for justice, giving him the strength to pursue his mission with single-minded focus at the cost of everything else.

 His drugs were the double-edged sword that would bring him both victory and destruction. They were a necessity that allowed him to transcend his limits so that he could see his work done.  Then he could vanish like the ghost he was, let his quirk take him like it was meant to. Maybe then it’d finally be over, and he’d finally have the peace in death that he’d never been able to find in life.

 That was what he always believed, at least.

 ‘Promise.’

 The word echoed in his mind like a faint whisper, a reminder of something that should have never been said, hastily spoken from an immature, inexperienced heart.  Dabi pushed the thought away swiftly before it could worm its way deeper into his mind.

 Still, he couldn’t help but look at you.  You looked so peaceful right now, content, even.  The steady rise and fall of your breaths, every muscle of your body relaxed and loose in perfect comfort.  The corners of Dabi’s lips pulled down in a frown, his brows drawing together slightly.

 You wouldn’t like it. Dabi knew that.  You’d try to talk him out of it, telling him that he didn’t need to do this.  You’d say that you were already working on it, that his pills would be ready for pick up any day now.  That if he’d just hold out a little longer...

 Dabi rubbed at the bridge of his nose as he began to feel the dull throbbing of a headache. Irritation simmered and he stared at the text message again.

 He didn’t want to wait any longer.  He didn’t want to be held back from getting what he needed.  Even if you did manage to get his pills for him, you’d want to control his access, out of concern for his safety.  Your intentions were pure, but the thought soured his mind.  He didn’t need a babysitter. And he didn’t want to delay what he was owed. He respected you, and valued his growing bond with you, but he’d be damned if he let anything get in the way of his purpose, even you.  He’d already wasted enough time.  Endeavor was ripe for the picking now that he was the number one hero, and Dabi was on borrowed time.

 And yet, even so, in this moment with his phone hot in his hand and the thin black line blinking in the text message box, he hesitated. It left him feeling bewildered and frustrated at his own inaction; he’d never hesitated, not once. Not for this.  But now, here he was, deliberating as if one wrong move would cost him more than he was willing to pay.

 Discomfort tightened in his chest like a coiled snake.

 If this had happened before last night, he would have left the instant he got the message without a second thought.  But now...

 Now it felt like he was being ripped in two, pulled in different directions.

 Something was different, a shift in his world that had happened right beneath his feet.  Dabi couldn’t quite put words to it and what it meant and that irritated him more than anything.  Yes, he felt closer to you.  Yes, he could finally admit to himself that he cared about you, although to what extent, he couldn’t quite say; there were things he felt that he didn’t yet have words for, and he wasn’t ready to define them.  But his goals hadn’t changed.  His focus hadn’t changed.  No matter how he felt about you, taking down his father took priority.

 And yet, all he could picture in this moment was the disappointment on your face and the hurt in your eyes once you’d learn what he’d done.  Because you would find out.  As soon as you woke up and he was gone without receiving your help, you’d know.

 Dabi stared at you again, long and hard in the silence of the morning as he absently tongued at the wound in his cheek from where you’d ripped out his staple the night before. He could feel the pain there now that your quirk was starting to wear off, throbbing in tandem with his growing migraine as last night’s pills burned from his system.  The ache made his jaw stiff and his teeth felt like they had needles shoved into them.

 It was a pain you’d given him, the consequence of your generosity.  The crying, the screaming, the agony you’d suffered as your quirk turned on you because of him... And before that, it was the bruises on your arms, the fear in your eyes, the constant state of exhaustion that hung on you like a shroud...

 So, this was probably for the best, right?  He’d be back on his own pills, with his own supply, and you’d be free of him, free of his constant need of you. No more sensory overload.  No more late nights dealing with his bullshit.

 But even with that obvious fact, Dabi felt a resistance within himself, a selfish stubbornness. He knew that doing this would drive a wedge between you that could not be undone. It’d be the highest betrayal, undoing everything you’d sacrificed for him, everything you’d worked for. There would be no forgiveness after this.  It would erase every heartfelt conversation, tarnish every vulnerable moment.

 The thought tasted bitter on his tongue.  He’d just finally allowed himself to tear down the wall he’d built against you, for the first time allowing himself to connect with another person.  That act alone had cost him more than he’d expected, opening up a vulnerability within himself that he was still grappling with. And you’d met his vulnerability with grace and kindness, which was far more than he deserved.  He didn’t want to give you up. He didn’t want to lose you over this. He’d grown accustomed to having you around, always there when he needed you. Always being checked on, always being seen. He liked it. The way you made him feel... your smile, your touch, your quirk-

 Your quirk...?

 Something intangible tightened around Dabi’s throat, cold and hard.  It took him a long moment to be able to put a name to it.

 Fear.

 Because the fear of losing your quirk and how it made him feel had nothing to do with feelings.  It had everything to do with addiction.  And he knew better than most how addiction preyed on the mind, warping and twisting lies and illusions into false truth.

 Maybe all of this... whatever this was... these feelings he felt, this attraction that consumed him... maybe it was just because of your quirk and your pills.  Was he really attached to you? Or was he attached to his addiction of you?  Did he just trade one drug for another?

 Was none of this real?

 You. You were real. Your words and your hand on his shoulder last night were real.  Your kindness and friendship towards him were real.

 But that didn’t mean that his feelings were real.  It could just be his addiction, a monster in sheep’s clothing, a leech looking to attach itself to whatever will feed it.  Dabi was familiar with it, had watched with dulled, detached interest as it had drained liquor bottles and gone through opioid medication like they were candy.  But this time was different.  Because this wasn’t alcohol or pills. This was you, a person.  A person that, for better or worse, Dabi gave a shit about.

 Dabi rubbed his hand down his face, stopping over his mouth as his fingers tightened around his clenched jaw.  He stared at the message again.  The chasm of conflicting desires sewed shut, two roads coalescing into only one option.

 He was going to get his drugs.  Today.

 It was the only option that made any sense.  You’d stop suffering because of him, and he’d get back to his mission of taking down Endeavor.  And then maybe he’d finally be able to figure out what was real and what wasn’t.

 Dabi slowly slipped his arm out from under your neck.  You shifted slightly but stayed deep in slumber. His body ached all over, a combination of lingering exhaustion and the downward spiral of his withdrawal beginning to sink its teeth into his bones.  As he stood up, a fiery zap shot up his leg, and he nearly buckled back down onto the mattress.  His teeth bared as he sucked air into his lungs.

 Shit, shit, shit. That desperate need filled him again, and he immediately felt the pull of you and all you offered.  He needed your pills, your quirk.  Anything to take away the pain.  

 He loathed it.  He loathed his dependency and the way it controlled him and sapped him of his strength.  How the hell was he supposed to meet up with Giran’s source when he could barely even make it to his room?  

 He’d have to wake you. You hid your pills from him, after all. It wasn’t like he could just help himself to your bag and leave you a note.  

 An idea lit up his pain-addled mind.  If he woke you up now, then you wouldn’t suspect anything once he left.  He could get his drugs and you’d be none the wiser. Maybe he could get away with it... maybe he could keep it secret... maybe things wouldn’t have to change...

 All he had to do was wake you up.  Ask for your pills.  Let you use your quirk.

 Dabi looked at you again. The wound in his cheek throbbed, a warning.  The night before flashed again in his mind. His hands clenched into tight fists as he stood rooted to the floor.

 He couldn’t.

 He refused.

 He’d have to figure it out on his own.  He had cigarettes, he had alcohol, and he had weed. All of them were poor substitutes for what he really needed.  But a deep hit of a joint and a couple of quick shots of cheap whiskey would be better than nothing, and he could keep a pack of cigarettes on him to help with the jitters until he met up with the dealer.  Besides, once he got his pills, the problem would fix itself.

 He just had to survive long enough.  He could do that; he’d done it before when his bottles had run dry.  Only before, the drought he’d experienced had been mere hours instead of days.

 With a final glance at your sleeping form, Dabi left, careful to make as little noise as possible as he opened and closed the old door.

 Once he’d crossed the hall and made it safely into his own room without being seen, Dabi took a deep breath of relief.  Another arrow of fire laced between his shoulder blades, and he buckled, crouching down to sit on his heels against his closed door.  A second wave came soon after, this time igniting up his neck, blending into the ache of his wound on his cheek.  It made his vision blur, and he shut his eyes against it, letting it wash over him, helpless.

 Once the pain subsided, he settled down and leaned his head against the cold wood, his breathing ragged. He could already feel his body begin to sweat.

 Shower.  He needed a shower.

 Dabi pulled himself up and made his way into the bathroom where he turned on the shower faucet.  As the water ran, he pulled out his phone and texted his response to Giran.  He declined the offer for the loan; he knew better.  A loan from Giran was a loan that never got paid back.  He’d have to find his cash in other ways.

 Then, he stripped down and entered.

 Dabi cursed as soon as the cold water hit his body and he leaned forward to prop his forehead on his fist against the cold tile as the icy tendrils ran rivers down his skin.

 For minutes he stayed that way, letting the cold compete with the frayed nerves and aching muscles. As he stood there, he kept glancing at his phone resting on the counter, waiting to see it light up, to hear the buzz. Panic began to fill him as he waited, staring, silently begging for Giran to respond.

What if he missed his chance?  Did he wait too long?  What if you wake up before he can leave?

 But then he saw it – the familiar screen of a new text message, the phone vibrating on the countertop. Dabi snatched it immediately, careful not to get the phone too wet from the stray shower drops.  He quickly opened up the message, and there it was...

 An address. A time.

 And a note of urgency – the seller had another buy lined up but was willing to meet Dabi first to see what he offered at the behest of Giran, thanks to Giran’s good reputation.

 Dabi frowned at the information.  The meetup time meant he had to leave.  Now. Which didn’t give him much time to put together enough funds for what he was about to do.

 Still, he had to try. Dabi shot back a quick confirmation text.

 Then he finished his shower and dressed himself.  He threw on his hoodie, sunglasses, and stuffed his face mask in his pocket. Where he was going, he wasn’t anticipating being seen by any heroes who might know his description, but with his current weak condition, it was better safe than sorry.

 Also, his hoodie made it easier to hide stolen wallets.

 Dabi downed whiskey straight from the bottle and found an old joint inside one of his jacket pockets. He lit it with his finger, taking a long drag of it into his lungs.  As he waited for the effects to kick in, he began scrounging his drawers and his pockets for every single wad of cash in his possession.  It didn’t take long until he’d overturned nearly every pants pocket, every cubby and hidey hole.  He frowned at the pitiful amount crumpled into the palm of his hand.  His gap in his medication had left him unable to find work doing seedy jobs for hire, or even just simple pickpocketing or robbery. Between the two weeks of no work and the money he’d spent on ramen and junk food, his savings was severely dwindled.

 Would it be enough?

 Maybe he could borrow some cash from the other League members.  After all, they were able to go out and steal whenever they needed to. Surely they had something they could give him...

 But the longer he lingered here, the smaller his chances of leaving before you woke up. Not to mention there’d be questions, and prodding, and each conversation would steal precious minutes from an already tight schedule.  He could end up missing his appointment entirely.

 Well, that obviously wasn’t an option.  He’d just have to find ways to line his pockets during his commute.

 Dabi took another long drag of his joint, the smoke swirling out of his nostrils on the exhale.

 He'd have to be careful about it, nothing too showy or noticeable.  No flames.  No dead bodies.  He didn’t want to make himself noticeable to heroes.  In his current state, there was no guarantee he’d be able to fight or escape if he got caught.

 Pain curled itself along his neck and a wave of nausea followed soon after, twisting his gut. Dabi sucked air through his teeth before forcing a few quick breaths through his nostrils, fighting back the impending sickness watering his mouth.  His vision blurred.  His entire body tensed, waiting for it to pass.  After a moment of intense focus, it subsided, vanishing back to blend into the dull hum of suffering that was beginning to shroud him like an invisible cloak.  His vision refocused and he stared at the crumpled joint that was now clutched tight into his fist, its ashes littering the floor.

 Fuck.  He didn’t even get to finish it.

 His pain was getting more unbearable, the withdrawal creeping up like a swiftly rolling fog.

 Borrowed time...

 Decision made, Dabi stuffed the cash into his pockets.  He grabbed the whiskey bottle one more time and took a quick swig from the neck.  Then he grabbed his dented pack of cigarettes and stuffed them in his jacket pocket as he headed downstairs, careful not to make too much noise past your door.  He could only hope the stench of his self-medication didn’t wake you.

 He left quickly, forcing himself out in the bright daylight before any of the league members could ask about his whereabouts.  Once he’d put sufficient distance between himself and the hideout, he pulled out his phone and entered the address into the navigation.

 ------------

 You were unpleasantly woken up by the all-too-familiar skunky smell that seeped beneath your door, invading your space.  Your senses were still a little on edge from last night, and the odor assaulted you, causing you to scrunch up your nose and pull your covers over the lower half of your face.

 You stirred and rolled to your back, your hand reaching out next to you to meet only empty space and cold sheets.  He was gone.

 You sat up quickly, your brain swiftly putting the pieces together. The stench of weed, his absence, and the very obvious fact that it was morning and you hadn’t treated him yet.

 Maybe he was self-medicating in his room, biding his time as much as he could to let you rest.  Maybe he was just having a smoke and nursing a bottle of whiskey until you showed up.

 ‘That idiot, why didn’t he just wake me?’

 You threw the covers off and slipped your feet into your shoes before leaving your room. You crossed the hall and knocked on Dabi’s door, and you held your breath as you fidgeted and bounced nervously.  

 Surely, he’s in there. Any minute now, he’ll answer the door, giving you one of his half smirks as a wall of smoke hits your face.

 But nothing but silence greeted you.

 You knocked again, banging harder this time.  Maybe he was really fucking high and napping, or in the shower...

 He had to be here.  He had to be.

 He wouldn’t leave, right? Not in his condition, not without receiving your help.  You had everything he needed here.  You had a system, a plan in place.  It wasn’t ideal, but it was enough.  It was working.

 Unless...

 Unless he found something better.

 You pounded on his door again, this time letting out your frustration, panic rising from your chest to your throat.

 “He’s not there.” Grumbled Shigaraki’s voice.  You spun to face him as he stood a few feet away, drying his hair with a towel.

 You swallowed.  “Where did he go?”

 “Dunno. I heard him leave a few minutes ago.  It’s not my job to keep tabs on you guys.” Then his red eyes narrowed.  “Is there a problem?”

 You hesitated. “No.”  

 Then another entirely different thought came into your mind just as Shigaraki turned to leave.  

 “Wait!”

  Shigaraki paused and half-turned to face you, the towel now draped over his shoulders.

 “What happened to Compress?” you asked. “Is he okay?”

 “He’ll live.” Shigaraki replied.  “He’s still recovering with Giraki.”

 Elation filled you as you inhaled and released a deep breath in relief.  “Thank God...”

 “God had nothing to do with it.” Shigaraki replied casually. “ Garaki said your quick thinking probably saved his life.”

 You felt your skin flush at the praise.  “Thank you.”

 Shigaraki stared at you a brief moment before turning and retreating to his room. Once you felt free of his scrutinizing ruby eyes, you turned and hurried towards the stairs.

 You stumbled into the common area to see Toga, Spinner, and Twice playing cards.

 “Have you guys seen Dabi?” you asked.

 “He left.” Toga answered.

 “When?”

 “I dunno, like five minutes ago?”

 “Did he say where he was going?”

 “No? He never tells us anything,” Toga pouted.  “He stunk to high heavens, though.”

 Spinner scoffed.  “That’s nothing new. He always seems to be on something one way or another.” You froze at Spinner’s casually astute observation, but kept silent.

 “He’s probably back to recruiting members for the League. It’s all he cares about.” Twice said. “Guy’s gotta get a life.”

 You ran for the door. Five minutes.  Surely, he couldn’t have gotten far in five minutes...

 You stumbled outside, your eyes squinting hard against the daylight as you covered your brow with your hand.  You scanned up and down the street, looking for his familiar form, his dark sweater or swirling jacket.

 But there was nothing. Dabi was gone.

 “Shit.” You muttered.

 You went back into the hideout before too many people started to notice you standing out in your pajamas.

 Three sets of eyes stared at you as you closed the door behind you.  “Does anyone have Dabi’s phone number?”

 ----------

The bus was fuller than Dabi thought it would be, and it was working in his favor. He’d already managed to snatch two wallets, one from when he stood waiting for people to step off the bus, and another as everyone shuffled in to find their seats.  All of the seats were taken now, with a few people forced to stand.  Dabi stood as well, positioning himself to be conveniently in the way of anyone who opted to leave before he reached his designated stop.

 An old woman stood next to him, her metal rolling cart in front of her, its handle held in her gnarled fingers.  She was short, barely coming up to his chest thanks to the hunch in her back.  He stared down at her through his dark sunglasses, taking in the look of her clothes, her belongings.  She’d gone to the market evidenced by the bok choy sticking out of the bag in her cart.  Its green leaves drooped in the heat of the bus, surrounded by all of the warm bodies and closed windows.  Her other hand held the vertical bar, and she swayed like a leave on the wind with each bump and jolt. It was obvious that she didn’t have much of value on her. Nothing but a simple gold band on her finger, its surface scuffed and worn as if it had sat there for decades.

 Still, the elderly were more likely to carry cash on them then the younger generations, who relied more on credit cards.  With her purse bag zipper already open, it had taken just a quick dip of his fingers to snatch the worn leather wallet and tuck it up his sleeve.

 Dabi’s phone buzzed in his pocket.  He didn’t have to look at it to know it was you, but he did anyway. He stared at the number with no name attached, a strange awareness leaking through his muddled, inebriated mind.  Now he had your number. You’d offered it to him before, and he’d declined. What a shitty way to finally get it.

 “Someone special?” the old lady asked.

 Dabi turned the phone to silent and shoved it back into his pocket.  “No,” he replied.

 Just then the bus hit an especially deep pothole.  The old woman to stumbled, tripping over her cart and landing on the man sitting in front of her. His coffee spilled all over his cheap suit, and he cursed.

 “What the hell!” he shouted. He shoved the old woman off of him, and Dabi subtly positioned himself to catch her body against his to keep her from falling back.

 Others stared at the man in reproach, but no one spoke up as the old lady stammered an apology, pulling out her kerchief to wipe away at the stains on his clothes.  He batted her hands away from him.  “Don’t fucking touch me,” he demanded.

 The man pulled the string above the window and grabbed his things in a huff as he made his way to leave. “Clumsy old hag...” he muttered under his breath.

 Dabi’s eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses.

 The man made his way to leave, and Dabi blocked him just enough to bump shoulders with him, which earned him a glare. “Outta my way, jackass,” the man huffed.

 As the man exited the bus, Dabi felt the weight of the new wallet now held snuggly in his hand within the sleeve of his hoodie. He wasn’t sure if it had much in it, but even so, a twisted sense of pride lit up his veins just the slightest.  Dabi wasn’t very picky on who he stole from, but this one felt especially good.

 Once the man was gone, the old woman wiped away the remnants of coffee from the now open seat and sat down. On the next stop, the seat next to her opened up and Dabi gladly took it, his head swimming from the constant motion. His headache was worsening again, the numbing fog he’d induced earlier through alcohol and weed starting to dissipate. He was grateful for the sunglasses, but the heat of the bus was stifling. He forced open the window latch and inhaled as soon as the crisp air hit his lungs.

 “Thank you,” said the old woman.

 It took Dabi a moment to realize she was talking to him.  “For what?”

 “Opening the window. It’s gets so hot on these buses sometimes, and my old hands can’t open the latches anymore.”

 Dabi grunted.  He hunched himself over as his stomach twisted uncomfortably and his leg began to bob up and down.  His phone buzzed again, and once again, he pulled it out and stared at the number.  Again, he silenced the call, sending it directly to voicemail.

 A sharp jagged pain cut across his back and his muscles tensed as he braced himself against it until it passed, his eyes squeezed shut.

 “Whoever it is must be worried about you.” She commented, her voice cutting through his haze.

 Dabi kept his eyes closed and didn’t respond, hoping she would stop talking to him. He didn’t like when strangers started talking to him, especially nice old ladies that he’d just stolen from.

 He heard a panicked gasp, and he opened one eye to see the old woman desperately rummaging through the contents of her purse.

“Where is it?” she asked herself.  She looked at Dabi, her wrinkled eyes desperate. “Have you seen a wallet?  It’s brown leather, torn on the edge...” she returned to rummaging through her things.  “I know I had it, I paid my bus fare, and...” her expression fell with each passing moment, and she looked on the verge of tears. “Oh, no no no...”

 Dabi sighed inwardly and snuck the wallet from his sleeve before pulling it out from behind him as if he’d sat on it.

 “Is this it?”

Her face lit up instantly as she took it from his hand.  “Oh, bless you!  Thank you, I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost it... It must have fallen out of my purse earlier...”

 Before Dabi could close his eyes again to wallow in his failure, she’d opened the worn leather to show him a picture of an old man with glasses.  “This is my late husband.  It’s my favorite picture of him and it’s the only copy I have.”

 Dabi stared longingly at the yen notes that were poking out of the top edge, his eyes barely registering the photograph she was showing him.  He gave another brief grunt and went back to closing his eyes.

 She continued talking. “I take it with me everywhere I go. Makes me feel like he’s still with me.”

 Dabi shifted uncomfortably, leaning his head back against the window as his leg continued to bob.

 Silence fell again and he listened to the sound of her once again rummaging through her purse.

 Then Dabi felt a small nudge against his shoulder and he opened his eyes to see a folded 1000 yen note.

 “For your help,” she explained.

 Dabi hesitated for a moment before taking the cash and pocketing it.

 “Thanks,” he mumbled. He stared ahead of himself at the person across from him reading the newspaper, Endeavor’s face plastered across the front.  His hands balled into fists and he felt his temperature rise slightly. If he could just go one day without seeing his damn face...

 The old woman’s voice cut in again. “...You look like you’re having a rough day,” she commented.

 “Not for long,” he replied curtly.

 She took out a bottle of aspirin and opened it, popping a couple of the contents into her wrinkled, frail palm.  She held them out to him in offering.

 Dabi let out an exasperated sigh. “Look, lady, I’m fine.”

 “Hm... maybe something stronger...” she muttered.  She put the pills away back into the bottle and began to rummage through her purse again. Dabi leaned his head back and contemplated getting off the bus early. He just wanted some damn peace and quiet while he suffered on his commute...

 Another tap on his shoulder got Dabi’s attention, and he turned to see an open tin canister with a single rolled joint inside as the old woman gave him a knowing smile. It took him by surprise, and he stared at the offer dumbly.

 “What’s that?”

 “You know what it is,” she chided.  “Just take it. I can see you need it.”

 Dabi took it.  “You’re not what I expected...” he replied.

 “I use it for my joints. Arthritis, you know,” she explained.

 “What if you get caught?”

 The old lady laughed. “What’re they gonna do? Throw me in jail?” she laughed again.  “No, they’re too busy catching real villains to deal with an old lady like me.  Besides, on this side of town, no one cares. You could light that right now and the bus driver won’t say a thing.”

 Dabi was tempted as he stared at the joint now resting between his fingers.

 He glanced at her purse. “Why not get a prescription for pain meds? It’s legal and stronger.”

 “Ah, no.” she replied. “Nasty stuff, those opioids... seen one too many old friends get lost to it. This works just fine for me.”

Dabi’s gut sank in disappointment.

 He stared at the joint in his hand then back at the empty canister.  He handed it back to her.

 “I’m fine.” He replied.

 “I have more at home, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

 “I don’t need it,” he said.

 He’d had enough charity and pity from others to last him a lifetime.

 The old lady gave a small laugh.  “I’ve been around a long time. I know withdrawal when I see it.”

 Dabi’s mouth pulled into a frown behind his mask and he took the joint back begrudgingly. He put it in his pocket, to save for when he reached his stop.

  “Are you trying to get clean?” she asked.

 Dabi glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his blue eye locking with hers behind his sunglasses. “Not really.”

 “Hm, you should.” She replied.

 Dabi’s mood soured at the unwelcome critique.

 “Not really an option,” he replied. To make his point, Dabi pulled up the sleeve of his hoodie just enough to give her a glimpse of his scars.  Her wrinkled eyes widened slightly.

 “I see,” she replied. “That’s unfortunate luck.”

 “Yeah.” Dabi replied. The next stop was his, so he stood and pulled the string by the window.  “Thanks for the joint.”

 “You’re welcome.” She replied.

 He turned to leave but she called to him one more time.

 “Call her.  Don’t let her worry.”

 It was just a lucky guess on her part, but when Dabi looked back at her, he could see a hint of pain in her eyes.  For the first time since she came onto the bus, he wondered about her, about her life and her experiences.  Did she lose someone close? A child? A friend? A spouse? He glanced at the old wedding band on her finger and he tried for a moment to recall the face in the photo she’d shown.  It cut through Dabi’s sickness enough for him to hesitate.

 Call you... he couldn’t do that.  Not now. If he heard your voice, he might...

 Pain danced along his sweaty skin causing a wave of nausea and he forced himself forward. Without answering, he looked away and stepped off the bus.

 ----------

He was screening your calls. You knew it.  It would ring a couple times then go straight to voicemail.

 ‘ Leave a message.’ *BEEP*

 “Dabi... please call me back.  Please.  This is important,” you said as you struggled to keep your voice from shaking.

 Please don’t do this...

 Mental images of Dabi passed out, overdosed in an unknown alleyway flitted through your mind.

 Please come back to me...

----------

A short walk and one joint later, Dabi found himself within eyesight of an uneventful building in a poverty-stricken neighborhood without a hero in sight. He looked at the address number on the map, and identified it as an old hole-in-the-wall eatery.  Its windows were frosted over in yellowish tones from years of sun damage to its laminated surface and it was marred by so much graffiti that he couldn’t even see inside.

 He ducked into an alleyway a couple of shops down and pulled the stolen wallets from his pockets and sleeves.  One by one he checked each of them for cash, pulling what value he could out of them before incinerating them in his hands.

 Once all the cash was gathered, including the yen note the old woman had given him and what he’d started off with before he’d set out this morning, Dabi’s total cash amount was around 10,000 yen.  While that amount would have fetched him a half a bottle of pills before, he had a sinking feeling that it wouldn’t be nearly enough this time around.  

 Dabi slipped a couple of the coins in his back pocket, enough for the bus fare home.  The small bit of change wouldn’t make much difference in the deal anyway, and he didn’t want to get stranded so far from the hideout.

 The joint the old lady gave him helped a little, but it wasn’t nearly enough. His booze had worn off, leaving his headache worse than before, the weed making him foggier than ever. And the pain... the pain hummed along, unforgiving and relentless.  His gut felt twisted and on fire, his legs ached miserably.

 He knew it was going to be a rough meeting.  Offer too little to start, and the dealer would laugh in his face.  Offer everything up front, and the dealer would take advantage and inflate the price, banking on his desperation.

 There was nothing else he could do about it. He’d just have to try to get whatever he could.  Maybe he’d be able to get just enough to last him until your source pulled through.  Either way, he needed this.

 Dabi left the alleyway, the cash stuffed deep into his pockets.

 Dabi stared at the door handle, his hands clutching the hidden bills and coins in a death grip.  That uncharacteristic hesitation took hold again and your face flashed in his mind again.  His phone felt hot and heavy in his pocket.  He wondered how many messages you’d left. He wondered what they said.  Were you angry? Crying? Telling him to go fuck himself and that you hated his guts?

 Dabi clenched his sore jaw. You wouldn’t understand.

 He was doing this for you.

 It was what he wanted to believe at least, even as his fingers twitched, dreaming of the feeling of the yellow bottle in his hands, of the weight of the pills resting on his tongue.

 He opened the door.

 The smell of food hit his nose, making his burning stomach churn.  He hadn’t eaten anything all day, but he knew in this state, nothing would stay down anyway.  To his right sat the only other person in the small food joint.  He didn’t look up when Dabi entered, his eyes busy with the folded newspaper in his hand, but Dabi knew it was the man he was looking for.  A magazine sat next to his half-eaten plate, a picture of All Might across the cover.

 Without so much as a word, Dabi sat down at his table.  The man didn’t bother to look up, his eyes still on the paper.

 “Not even gonna order something to eat?” he chided.

 Dabi stared at the untouchable spread of food in front of him as the man took a bite.  Dabi’s lips pressed into a thin line.

 “Not hungry,” he replied.

 Already, Dabi was being put at a disadvantage, cornered into showing some of his own hand by the simple choice of eating or not eating.  He was either too poor to afford food, or too far into withdrawal to want to eat. Either way, his choice communicated desperation.

 The man finally looked over his paper, his dark green eyes locking with Dabi’s through salt and pepper bangs.  This guy was good, and had likely been doing this for years, maybe decades.  The man returned to his meal without a word.

 Dabi hated men like this, men who got cocky on their ability to lord their goods over the needy, the poor, the desperate.  And Dabi hated being all of those things.  It was a cold reminder of how far he’d fallen from grace, from how far he’d landed from his birthright.

 If they had met in an alleyway, Dabi could have taught him a lesson about arrogance.  It was his favorite lesson to teach, after all...

 But the man was smart, and now doubt was experienced in dealing with men like Dabi. There was a reason he chose an eatery rather than a more secluded meeting place.  And there was no telling what sort of quirk this man may have in retaliation.

 So, Dabi resigned himself to waiting, each minute ticking by slower than the last.  The migraine tightened its chokehold on his senses, making the daylight coming into the establishment brighten, dark spots starting to float in his vision.  The itchy irritation of his healing burn began to grate on him, and he fought the urge to move his body within his hoodie to provide some semblance of relief, knowing you’d scold him if he reopened the healing tissue.

 “Are we gonna wait here all day?” Dabi finally snipped.  “I got shit to do. If you’re just here to waste my damn time-“

 “I’m here as a courtesy to Giran.” The man wiped his mouth and put down the newspaper.  He eyed Dabi up and down, his eyes narrowed in judgement. “Hm.  Look at you.  Let me guess. Fire quirk?  You look like you’re already on death’s door, probably be dead in a year.  I don’t know what he sees in you that makes you think you’re worth my time or my resources.”

 “I have money.” Dabi replied.

 “Not very much, apparently.” The man replied, his eyes on Dabi’s clothes.  “And for how high in demand my resources are, I’m afraid you may be below my price range. I have to maintain a respectable business, and if word gets out that I’m giving handouts to street rats, then every rat will come knocking.”

 “Then why bother meeting?” Dabi’s limited patience fraying.  He did not run out here, risking everything, just to be told no. “Why waste my fuckin’ time?”

 “You misunderstand me. I’m not wasting your time. You’re wasting mine.” The man picked up his newspaper again, but Dabi’s hand stopped it from blocking his view of his face.

 “Giran said you were willing to make a deal,” he hissed.  The paper beneath his hand started to smoke.

 “HEY!” interrupted a deep voice.  Dabi turned to see the store owner glaring at him. “No fucking quirks in here, got it? Take it outside if you have to.”

 Dabi suppressed his rage and crumpled the burning paper in his palm, snuffing out the fresh embers before they could cause more damage.

 The store owner held his glare a moment longer, his mustache bristling, then turned away to return to cleaning his grill, muttering, “Fire quirks.  I fucking hate fire quirks...”

 The man stared at his ruined newspaper for a moment before setting it on his now empty plate.  “Giran gave you false information. I said I was willing to meet. The deal depended on this meeting, and I must say, it’s not going well for you.”

 Dabi’s jaw clenched tight and the pain from his torn staple blossomed.  It flooded his brain, sweeping away the rage only to replace it the fresh memories of how he’d gotten the wound.  It helped him refocus his temper... barely.

 Besides, killing the dealer certainly wouldn’t look good for Giran’s image.  Impact Giran’s reputation, and you lose Giran’s support. And Dabi couldn’t afford to lose that, even as a member of the League.

 The pain throbbed, and Dabi forced his wounded ego aside.

 “I’m willing to pay,” he grumbled.

 “How much?” the man asked.

 Dabi pulled out the cash he had in his pocket and put it on table, papers laid out and yen coins ringing. It didn’t matter that the owner was there, able to see it.  He was sure this wasn’t the first deal to go down under his roof.

 The man stared at the money before he began to pick them up one by one and straighten them as he counted. Dabi watched silently.  When the man was done counting, he set the money back down onto the table and pursed his lips.

 “Is this some kind of joke?” the man finally asked.

 “The hell you talking about? This would get me at least half a bottle.”

 “Not in this economy it won’t.  Did you hear about the shipment that got intercepted? Feds and heroes were all over it. They’re still following leads and plucking up users,  dealers and cartel throughout the city.  Half the dealers aren’t even selling right now, waiting for this whole thing to blow over.”

 “It’s all I got.” Dabi muttered.

 The man eyed him for a long moment, before finally speaking.  “It’s not enough.”

 Dabi scowled and reached for his cash, but the dealer’s hand got to it first, sliding the bills and coins back towards himself.

 “However... I am willing to be generous today.” He replied.  “It’s not enough for the whole bottle, but it can cover some of the pills.”

 “How many?”

 “Five.”

 Dabi’s jaw dropped.  “Five??” he shouted angrily.

 The owner slammed down a clear plastic bin filled with vegetables and gave Dabi a hard glare.  Dabi clenched his teeth and his fists and lowered his voice.

 “Five??” he repeated. “That’s extortion and you fucking know it.”

 “It’s business. Supply and demand and all that,” the man replied with a casual wave of his hand. “And if you can’t play by the rules, then maybe you shouldn’t be in the game.”

 Dabi pursed his lips again as he struggled to hide another sharp snake of pain that laced along his arm. “What’s the dosage?”

 The man pulled the bottle out of the inner pocket of his jacket and showed it to him before hiding the bottle away again.

 “That’s it?? That’s half than what I was getting before.”

 “Like I said... hard times. You should feel lucky that there’s any still on the market at all.”

 Dabi’s leg began bouncing vigorously under the table as he weighed his options, but his options were limited.  He had no more money, and he had nothing else to barter with.

 “Let me see one.” Dabi ordered.

 The man’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

 “To make sure it’s legit. You can’t just raise the price that high and not expect me to check.”

 The man silently pulled out the bottle again and showed Dabi the pill between his thumb and forefinger. Dabi leaned forward and stared at it with narrow eyes.  It had the right color, and there… the stamp of authenticity, proof that it was made in a pharmaceutical lab.

 Still....

 Dabi held out his hand. “Let me hold it.”

 The man pulled the pill back out of his reach, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. Then he slowly handed it over.  “Don’t try to take it.”

 “I’m not a fucking idiot.”

 Dabi held the pill in his hand, checking the weight, the shine of it, and once again looking over the details of the number stamped on the side.  It was legit.  Dabi felt the loss of it as soon as he handed it back to the dealer.

 “Fine.”

 “What was that?”

 This fucking asshole...

 “I said fine. I’ll take the five pills.”

 The man grinned, and Dabi fantasized about knocking out his perfect teeth before setting his face on fire.

 “A wise choice.”  The man took a small dime bag out of his coat pocket.  Then he opened up a clean napkin and counted out the pills in front of Dabi.  Once Dabi nodded his approval of the five pills, the man put them into the small baggy and handed it over, pocketing Dabi’s cash with his other hand.

 Dabi took the bag and carefully put it in his hoodie pocket.

 “Don’t lose them.” The man commented sardonically.  Then he stood up and went over to the owner, slipping him some of the cash Dabi had paid him.  The man gave a curt nod and pocketed the bills.  The dealer turned around and winked.  “Cost of doing business, am I right?  Pleasure doing business, kid.” And with that, he left.

 Dabi sat for a few minutes, staring at the half empty plate and burned newspaper.  The magazine was gone, to be used as a way to discretely hand over the rest of that bottle to someone with more money.

 A wave of self-loathing and hatred washed over Dabi, but he stuffed it down before he let it consume him. If he dwelled on it much longer, he’d burn this whole building to the ground.

 With a stubborn set of his jaw, Dabi grabbed what remained of the food on the plate and ate it quickly, the taste like ash on his tongue.  Then he pulled out the small bag and grabbed a pill, downing it with what remained of the dealer’s water glass.

 He had to eat something if he wanted to keep the medication down, and there was no point in letting food go to waste.  Especially when his own pockets were now empty.  

 Dabi stared at the rest of the pills, debated swallowing another, but decided against it.  He had to make it last.  He had to make it worth it.  The guilt crept up again, unwelcome and intrusive.  He forced it down again and pocketed the little bag back into his jacket.

 Then he stood up and left.

 Dabi eyed the street up and down for the dealer, but he was already long gone, no trace of him anywhere. Dabi kicked an empty soda can in frustration.  How he would have loved to have cornered him...

 Probably a teleportation quirk... Dabi thought.  It was the only possibility that made any sense, why he’d be willing to meet in broad daylight with the risk being as high as he made it out to be.

 Begrudgingly, Dabi made his way toward the bus stop, his hands in his pockets.

 The bus back was less packed than the one he came in on; he found a seat towards the back where he could watch people come and go in solitude.  He knew he should stand again, wait for opportunities to pick more pockets in order to line his own empty ones.  But at this point, the combination of sleep deprivation, withdrawal, dehydration, and starvation were all beginning to take a toll on his weak body. All he wanted was to sit and wait for the opioid to take effect, to feel that high that he’d missed for so long. All he wanted was a reprieve from life.

 Ten minutes in and it hit him like a wave, washing over him, cleansing of him of his discomforts.  A part of him wanted to cry at how good it felt. The blissful blanket of pleasure surrounded him, cradling him like an infant as the beast of addiction purred contently in his veins.  Euphoria warmed his blood until he was floating, protected and safe from the harsh pain of his body and the world around him.  It hit harder than he’d expected, but then he realized he’d been without them for two weeks, even with your pills to offset his withdrawal.  His body had already started to forget, resetting years of carefully laid out neural synapses.

 Either way, he didn’t mind. If anything, he was glad it was working as well as it was; he’d been afraid the pills would be useless at their lower dose.  But now he was grateful – so, so grateful – that he’d managed to negotiate for at least some of them.  He’d forgotten how good it really felt, and he let himself soak in the bliss as he sat on the bus.  People came and left in a hazy blur.  Dabi stared out the window, the motion of the bus lulling him into a half sleep as he finally began to surrender to the exhaustion of his broken body.  

 But the smaller dosage had its own small consequences, its effectiveness wearing off faster than he’d hoped.  It seemed like he’d barely closed his eyes before being woken up again by the throbbing pain in his head and aching limbs.  What had it been? A few minutes? His eyes noted the shift in the shadows and daylight within the bus, the rays now coming through the opposite side.  No, hours had passed.  How many?  The nausea was awakening in his gut.  His awareness began to sharpen, jagged and cutting, unwanted emotions beginning to bubble to the surface like black tar. Not enough.  He needed this, for just a little bit longer.  He pulled the small bag out of his pocket and swallowed another pill.  His phone buzzed in his pocket but he didn’t feel it.

 A few minutes later, he sank back under, safely nestled in the pill’s effects.  Time lost its meaning.  Business signs and streetlights lit up, one by one in the late afternoon that steadily faded to twilight.  They blurred as they passed, like watercolor across a page that made the faces on the billboards blur and fade into a sunset palette of oranges and blues.

 Dabi missed his bus stop. And the one after that, and the one after that.  It wasn’t until he saw the harbor spread out before him that he realized he’d reached the end of the bus route.  The sight of the water called to him, and he quietly he got off, his feet never quite touching the ground.

 He walked to the edge and stared out into the water as stars began to awaken and twinkle.  Storm clouds hugged the horizon, and the cold, damp gust of wind across the water brought the promise of night-time rain.  The bridge crossing the bay was lit up in white lights, the low distant hum of traffic floating over the lapping waters at the base of the wall.

 Dabi felt content. For the first time, his world was quiet, the struggles he’d been grappling with faded and disconnected. The memories of his troubles were softened around the edges, blurring into the hazy background until nothing was left.  Nothing left but you.  Your voice, your gentle laugh, your soft touch.  Memories of happy moments drifted forth.  You throwing a napkin at him. Eating ramen in your room.  Laying on your bed as you treated him in the late hours. Your feet stretched out across his lap as you slept.  

 Holding you in his arms after he’d caught you.

 Waking up next to you.

 He stood there as time passed, and all that kept coming up in his mind was you.  You, you, you.  He felt warm despite the cold, and he knew it wasn’t because of his quirk.

 So maybe it wasn’t just addiction after all.

 A sinking feeling began to grow in his chest, its weight an ache that he couldn’t quite name.

 ‘Promise.’

 His own word echoed in his head, the hazy memory drifting up like a leaf caught in a gentle breeze. The weight of it stifled his lingering high, pulling his thoughts back closer to the present.

 What did he promise again...?

 He struggled to remember, but the details were slippery, fading in and out of his mind.  All he could remember was your face in the dark, the feel of your chin between his fingers.  You were sad about something...

 BZZ BZZ BZZ

 Dabi pulled his phone from his pocket to see a series of text messages.

 Are you okay?

 Where are you?

 Please call me.

 Dabi, I need to know you’re okay.

 He could hear your voice in the words, and with it he finally remembered.

 ‘I don’t want to end up alone again...’

 Reality sharpened around him as his senses began to return – the chill of the damp cold night air soaking through his clothes, the itching on his back, the ache in his legs. The pulsing in his temples began to throb, and he closed his eyes against it, pressing his fingers against his closed eyelids.

 The medication was finally wearing off, and now Dabi realized how much time must have actually passed. Twilight was long gone, the dark of night in full swing.

 When he opened his eyes again, your words blared bright in the backlight of his phone screen.

 I need to know you’re okay.

 You were worried.

 Of course you were. You always worried over him.

 ‘I don’t want to be alone again...’

 You were alone now, stuck back at the hideout, desperately sending messages into the void and hearing nothing in return.  And it was his fault, his choice.  He left you alone.

 But he’d promised...

 I did it for you, he thought.

 It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours...

 You did it for yourself, a voice in his head answered back.

 Anger welled up in his chest.

 “GODDAMN IT!!!” the curse ripped from his lips, and his fist collided with the wooden telephone post next to him.  The pain of the punch erupted across his knuckles and his wrist, but he didn’t care. He punched it again, with his other hand.  Then he did it again. And again.  Blue flames licked and teased off his knuckles, little dancing demons that left scorch marks on the damp wood before being snuffed out on the next hit.

 Over and over Dabi punched, as if the pain could erase his mistake, could erase the mental picture of the look on your face that you’d give him once he returned.  But it didn’t do any of those things, and he kept punching until his knuckles were raw and bleeding, littered with splinters.

 He didn’t stop until the familiar sharp pain of his damaged nerves lit a streak of agony up his leg, just as it had that morning.  He buckled, collapsing to his knees before falling to his haunches until he was leaning against the post, his breaths heavy.  His hand instantly went to his pocket, eager for relief.  Just as he pulled out the last three pills from the little bag, he froze.  He stared at them, his hand shaking from the adrenaline and the withdrawal.  They were small, harmless looking things, but they felt heavy, filled with guilt, accusation, and dependency.  They drew his attention like the gravity a dead star threatening to suck him in until there was nothing left.

 He recalled all of the ways he’d convinced himself it was worth it. How it would free you from his clutches, how he’d be able to get himself back on track if he could just get some.  They had promised relief, freedom. But Dabi knew it was fake, knew it was a temporary fix. They’d be used up by morning, and then he’d be back where he’d started. And you... you would never trust him again.

 Yet he still wanted. He craved.  He stared at the pills and licked his chapped lips. He picked one and brought it to his lips.

 ‘Promise.’

 Dabi hesitated, his hand shaking.  

 Then with a frustrated yell, he threw the pill into the harbor, followed quickly by the remaining two, still tucked into their little bag.

 And just like that, they were gone, swallowed up by the night, their contents lost to the lapping waters.  Dabi stared at the black water dumbfounded at himself as regret settled in the form of aching limbs and a pounding head.

 Stupid fucking idiot, he told himself.  Why did you do that?

 The voices in his head didn’t respond, the answer buried too deep for him to find.

 A raindrop touched his head, and then a moment later, another landed on his hand.  More and more began to fall, speckling his hoodie, his head, the ground around him.  A flash of lightning lit the sky, followed a moment later by the loud boom of thunder. The drizzles instantly turned into a downpour, and Dabi sat in the rain, letting the cold wash over him as the raindrops sizzled on his hot skin.  If only it could wash away his mistakes.

 But it wouldn’t.  He’d have to go back eventually and face what he’d done.

 He’d just gotten you back. The one person who gave a damn about him, and the first person to truly see him for who he was.  And now he was going to lose you - all over five, measly, stupid little pills.

 Dabi forced himself up and walked away from the water’s edge.  He held his phone inside his pocket.  He should respond to you.  Let you know he was okay.  But it was pouring buckets now. He needed a safe place.  He made his way back to the bus stop, where the awning that covered the bench from the elements gave him the protection he needed.  It certainly wasn’t perfect, with the wind blowing the rainwater sideways with each gust, but it was enough for Dabi to pull his phone out and hunch over it against the elements.

 He found another missed message from you, time timestamp on it from fifteen minutes ago.

 Please come home.

 Dabi tapped the message box, and the little text bar blinked, waiting.  Dabi stared at it, his fingers frozen.

 As if you had sensed his hesitation, your number popped up, his phone buzzing with each silent ring. His thumb hovered over the red button before switching to the green and tapping it.

 He put the phone to his ear and waited, his mouth dry, tongue stuck.

 “Dabi??  Dabi, are you there?” your voice came through, slightly choppy from the interference of the weather and the poor cell phone service. But it was there, panicked, and shaky with worry.  It grounded him instantly, and he finally found his voice.

 “Yeah.  I’m here.” He finally said, his voice slightly hoarse.

 “Oh, thank God,” you breathed.  “Are you okay?”

 Dabi hesitated a moment, before answering.  “No.”  He was far, far from okay, he realized.  He wasn’t sure if he’d ever been okay in his entire life.

 “Are you hurt??”

 Another pause. “No.”  

 A half lie he realized as he inspected his knuckles on his free hand.

 “Okay. Are you close by? Are you able to come home?”

 Home...

 Dabi felt a stone form in his throat and his eyes began to burn.  He rubbed at them with his thumb and forefinger, refusing to cry so many times in a single week.  He cried all the time when he was younger and weaker.  He wasn’t weak anymore.

 He cleared his throat.

 “I don’t have any bus money.”

 “It’s okay, Kurogiri get you.  Where are you?”

 Dabi looked at the map next to him, encased in plastic on the inside of the bus stop.

 “I’m at bus stop 23, at the harbor.”

 “Okay, stay there. I’ll let Kurogiri know.  Do you want him to transport you to your room?”

 “Yeah.”

 “Dabi, don’t hang up.” You ordered.

Dabi didn’t answer, but he didn’t hang up either.  He could hear you on the other end of the line, opening and closing a door, the sound of footsteps, your muffled voice talking.

 A moment later, the familiar black portal opened up to his left.  Dabi hesitated then stepped through.

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Chapter 14

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TAGLIST: @babayaga67 @ladroone​ @samemec​ @georgettesand​ @horsetechie​ @ajaviary​ @thegratefulbread25 @lovingandenjoying​ @jammakesjam​ @christalcake​ @moth-baybee​ @kdadss​ @stealingyourturts​ @purplesweethart​​ @reapersbarge​​ @ren-z​ @dabi-lover​ @ohh-takuuu​ @darkovergrownforestnymph​ @silverrings-n-prettythings​ @kirisbeltbuckle​ @wynnsmelody​ @sleepyfairyxo​  @noonasaryn​ @alittlemoth​ @prettylambs​ @n0san1tyl3ft @afuturefailure​ @sleepycrybby​​

[otomes-and-tears]

JUST SAW UR SOULMATE WRITINGS AND I-- XKDNXKNSKXNDJX AAAAAAA

Can I request the 'character A sees the world grey until they meet their soulmate,character B' with Qiu and Tamarack from OL2?? In step 1,since that's when we meet them and with GN Reader?? With extra fluff if you could??

You can even add other steps or headcanons and such if you want! THIS IDEA INSPIRED ME SM THANKS FOR WRITING IT /gen 💕

♦ You can only see grey until you meet your soulmate for the first time with Qiu and Tamarack♦

► tags and warnings: Soulmate! Au

► words: 1103

► A/N: I usually only write headcanons when people ask me for multiple characters in one request, but I love soulmate Aus so much I made an exception and wrote these as one-shots. I'm so, so happy that my original one-shoot inspired you, anon! It's the best possible compliment I could ever get as a writer. I hope you like these as much as the original!

► Masterlist

Tamarack

Well, Tamarack was never one to care about things she couldn’t see.

There were far more important to worry about, like waking up early enough to be able to explore the forest and finding the prettiest rocks and leaves to gift to her omi and opa. It just didn’t make sense to worry about not being able to see colour, because all she knew was life without it, and the world was plenty beautiful already!

She still had her favourite shades of grey— the one that her omi told corresponded to the colour pink, the lively yellow and deep red. All of them were special in their own way, even if people who were able to see colour would say they all looked too alike, and she’d fervently insist that they were quite different.

People who saw colour just lacked imagination. That’s what her grandmother had told her once, with a kind smile stretched on her lips. They had grown so used to seeing the world that way that they lost the ability to see the nuances in different hues of grey. Sometimes, you have to lose something to gain another.

Well, if that’s how things were, Tamarack didn’t know if she’d ever want to see colour. 

It seemed awful to lose the ability to see beauty in how she has always seen the world. To stop appreciating how pretty the autumn leaves were when they changed shades, to stop being able to tell the difference between the cool grey of a bright summer’s day to the cool greys of a stormy afternoon.

But things were always bound to change.

Tamarack had woken up that day, feeling like that day would be special in some way.

Maybe because all days so far had been special— Moving so far away had its drawbacks, but getting to spend so much time playing in the forest had proven to be as fun as she’d hoped for.

It was still relatively early in the day when she saw a piece of cottony cream paper lying on the floor. She picked it up, hoping to help mother earth by cleaning the litter away when she saw a kid standing in the distance.

Locating her target, Tamarack quickly folded the piece of paper into a paper aeroplane and threw it at the target, her perfect aim hitting her victim.

She was able to escape in time, trying not to giggle too loudly so as to not attract too much attention to herself yet. Something told her she would see that kid again, and when she did, she hoped she could at least be able to surprise them!

It ended up not taking as long as she had expected for them to find her— and before they could, Tamarack hid underneath a pile of grey leaves, jumping out as soon as she heard the sound of her footsteps approaching her.

She closes her eyes for a moment, smiling and giggling due to a plan well-crafted, opening her eyes to a whole different world.

The leaves that fluttered around her were different from before, reds and oranges almost causing sensory overload now that they weren’t hidden behind greyscale.

She missed the way the world had looked before, but by staring at the forest with wonder, she realised that this change, maybe, wouldn’t be too bad at all.

Just like moving away had given her the opportunity to have fun in the forest every day, seeing colour allowed her to experience the world in an entirely different way. 

And, looking at the kid who looked at her in amazement, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling, she’d have someone new she could experience all of that with.

Qiu

Qiu really wanted to find his soulmate.

He liked getting to know other people. Meeting new kids, making friends and learning all he could about them. 

But there was always something special about the idea of getting to know your soulmate. The idea that you’re cosmically bound to one another, that there is someone out there meant to fit just perfectly with him. That his boring, monotonous world would fill with life and colour, and he’d gain a companion for life, someone he’d love and cherish just as much as his parents did with each other.

There is no telling when you get to meet your soulmate— some people were lucky enough to know them when they’re little, and people who don’t get to meet theirs until they’re old and wrinkly, So Qiu makes sure to get to know as many people as possible to cover all his bases.

It didn’t really work so far, but Qiu wasn’t really disappointed. 

His exploits led to him making lots of new friends. Kids now looked up to him, they liked him, and Qiu liked making them happy! And his mother made sure to reassure him that he would meet his soulmate when the time was right, and it would be just as wonderful as he’d imagined it.

For the time being, he was stuck in a greyscale world, left only to wonder how different things would be when he could see colour.

Sometimes his pursuits seemed a little hopeless, whoever. It didn’t really matter how patient he tried to be, Golden grove was a small and quiet town, and not a lot of new people ever showed up there.

Maybe that’s why the new neighbours intrigued him so much.

A kid his age. Someone he had never met in a town where everyone knew everyone.

Something stirred in his chest when Qiu heard their name. Something about it just seemed right, fitting.

He tried not to get too hopeful, but it was hard not to when all his instincts seemed to scream that yes, that was the person he was looking for.

Well… Even with all his excitement, Qiu still managed to forget about MC’s impending arrival.

It was something he pushed to the back of his mind after filling his day with his usual activities— talking to people in town and playing in his secret hideout.

It was when he heard a strange sound.

Someone was trying to climb his playhouse.

He stood up and looked down at the intruder, greys melting into colours he had never seen before as soon as they locked eyes.

For a moment, neither said anything. Too overwhelmed to manage to utter a word.

As much as Qiu had thought about that moment, it’s like, for the first time in his life, he was left speechless.

“You’re so pretty.”

Mc blurted out, and Qiu knew he had nothing to worry about.

[bapydemonprincess]

I’m 24 and I’ve been in this fandom since like 2010 . So not the entire time it’s been around but I was here for its main surge I feel like. And I won’t lie, when I was 10 and a majority of the fandom did ship sebaciel publicly and people made you feel weird for not shipping it, I definitely did engage with it. It was pushed on me as a 10 year old by a majority of the fandom, and I didn’t see anything wrong because I was younger than ciel/same age and I was like “yeah I think Sebastian is cute and I’m the same age as ciel so—“ BUT you know as I got older I’d say even by 14 I had the realization of how gross it was and how I didn’t actually ship it it was just that they were the two main characters in the fandom and that typically main characters are the ones who get shipped and that at that time in the fandom it was impossible to not be faced with ship stuff. And I was groomed by adults in the fandom on this very website. They knew my age and would send me smut and talk to me about myself and flirt and I honestly feel bad that I ever did engage with the ship. I didn’t know any better. But now as an adult when I do see sebaciel stuff I find myself questioning if they’re just young and if they’re going to grow out of it too and I wonder if maybe they’re also having it pushed on them by older fans like I was. I find it concerning because i know what it did to myself and what kind of situations I was put in because of it. I try to avoid the adult ones because unfortunately I think if they haven’t grown out of it and realized the implications of the ship and how it does affect real life I don’t know that they ever will. I hate that this fandom has such a bad label on it. Every person I mention it to is like— “oh the pedophile demon anime?” And it just sickens me. Idk this is kind of just a rant and I wanted to offer my thoughts as someone who has been in the fandom a long time and as someone who was in the fandom as a child even. I’m sorry if this is weird ask to send but I see you posting content about it sometimes and it made me feel safe to share my thoughts

Well I am not personally good at answering these types of asks but I am glad you felt safe to send this to me, specifically, and get it off your chest, it's all good!! 💖 And glad to know you came to realize how bad the ship was at one point, I'm always happy to see that happen once in a while in kuro, because there are so many folks around my age refusing to accept the truth and doubling down on proshipping, and also I notice very recently too trying to cause problems on purpose for antis in their spaces. 😒 It's getting hard out there since the new anime came out, and a lot of those types have attempted to return.. likely from twitter where they ran off to last time they were booted (some quite literally banned hmm I wonder why) from tumblr.

And the worst WORST part knowing proshippers around my age is knowing.. remembering.. the very beginnings of kuro, seeing the early fics on ao3 by those guys, who really started it all, knowing somewhere they're still out there.. some even maybe with kids of their own WHO KNOWS... Ugh.

And I hope new fans, no matter their age really, make sure to be careful esp on here in the main kuro tag, for these proshippers have been constantly- AND VERY BLATANTLY I MIGHT ADD -trying to advertise their blogs and discords as safe spaces for interacting... CLEARLY trying to start/continue the process of grooming that is so well known in fandoms like kuro at this point.

Overall just use block on tumblr recreationally, it's free real estate ✨, stay safe in general, and again don't be afraid whether on fellow anti blogs like mine send messages or if you feel more comfortable make posts of your own on your own blog expressing how you feel, getting it out of your system.

Hope my response was okay (I say because I'm at work at also health-wise a bit out of it so sorry grbhjfkugu) and hope you, anon are currently doing okay now!! Thank you again for sharing your personal experience!!