#memento babbles

[mementokore]

So my gamer tag has been Memento Mori for literal years now - probably like 7-8 years - on Steam and Battlenet and basically everywhere I can. And it's so funny to see everyone's associations with the words whenever I play:

Obviously there are the people who watched Unus Annus,

There are the people who play Dead by Daylight (I have too),

Apparently it got something to do with Persona 5 too - gotta check that one out,

And I'm pretty sure there was more

And I love that I can connect with people through this simple phrase that my name is, but ironically, I did not choose the name because of any of these fandoms/reasons. So whenever someone asks me like "oh, Memento Mori? Like in *references any of the above*?" I gotta be like "oh yeah I love that! That's not why I chose the name tho, no" and it's so bitter-sweet

Edit: Apparently it's Persona 3 not 5, I'm so sorry, thanks for pointing it out! I guess I REALLY need to close that gap of knowledge xD

[mementokore]

Okay so listen, for a fast answer I'd say: Hand Cannons. Legendary, Exotic, all of them. But especially "My Collection of Exotic Hand Cannons TM" in general. My Guardian loves collecting them (but also using them in battle of course).

If they had to choose (careful, this is gonna be a lot of text) they'd probably name three of them off the top of their head:

Ace of Spades

Thorn

Malfeasance

Ace of Spades is the weapon I (and so my Guardian, too) have the most kills with in game. Why? I mean, c'mon, I'm a Hunter main, we worship Cayde, and I spent a lot of time on the old Exotic quest as a newer player to finally get this weapon. Why, again? I loved the theme (card games) and the connection to Cayde, but after finding out the Exotic Perk literally is my gamertag - I loved it even more. I couldn't believe my own eyes. It felt like a sign. I've always loved hand cannons, Ace of Spades makes shit go BOOM and the Exotic perk has the same name as me? Uhh yeah, easy choice!

Thorn was the second exotic hand cannon I felt some kind of connection with. Sadly, I absolutely fit into the "Hunter main being edgelords" cliché - and this weapon is like a 10 on an edge level scale. Also, poison? Love it. Sounds good, feels good. I don't need more than that. I do use it more on my Warlock now tho, Necrotic Grips and all. My Warlock is more of an edgelord than my Hunter tbh. I was so happy when Thorn got a Catalyst, too. Made it even better!

Malfeasance is just everything I'd ever want, especially since it got the Catalyst: Add clear, insane boss damage, and edgy as hell with the right ornament - tho the bright pink-purple one is dear to my heart, too. I just love my Taken-destroying machine so much, it feels great! I worked hard to get it, just as with Ace of Spades, the Malfeasance quest is a pain in the ass and I am proud to have done it (the mission was a close call TWICE, first when I did it for myself and then for a friend). Anyway, it's my fav pick for any activity.

Honorable mentions would probably be Dead Man's Tale (like a hand cannon, but long range), Ager's Scepter (I love freezing stuff, works great with Shatterdive) and the legendary Taipan-4fr (I have like almost 300 levels on that one).

And I usually match my Exotic Hand Cannons with fitting Auto Rifles or Submachine Guns, my favs would probably be the Garden of Salvation Auto Rifle (Reckless Oracle), Chroma Rush, Ikelos SMG and Gnawing Hunger.

I LOVE the Exotic Hand Cannon - Legendary Auto Rifle combination. Just feels right. Add a LFR and I'm happy. My Guardian is happy. Everyone is happy :D

Guardians, what is YOUR weapon?

Im NOT asking which is your best weapon to clear a room or kill a god. I’m asking which one you would NEVER delete even if it’s not the best or even very good. I don’t care if it’s an exotic, legendary, a rare or even uncommon or common OR EVEN IF IT WAS SUNSET. I don’t care if it’s super popular or a weapon nobody knows about.

Which weapon out of your entire arsenal feels like it’s YOURS? Like it’s special and unique and that it only feels right in your hands? The one weapon you would call a true friend if it was a person.

Reblog with your answer and maybe a pic and explanation of why you feel that way about it.

[pine-the-mighty]

created a playlist specifically designed to give me emotional whiplash. got memento mori right after euthanasia. regretting my life choices

[fruitsaladc0wboy]

Hii first off I love Clovers design, second for the oc questions what about question 3?

HIIII THANK UUUUUUU and um um THIS ONE!!!!

alternatively also vignette by twenty one pilots and mercy by sir chloe :3

[blanketorghost]

Octomer Baby Development: A guide for new parents (Part 3)

After a year taking care of your Octomer hatchling, you may notice how quickly they're developing and gaining independence. This may be a bit bittersweet, especially if yours was especially clingy, but this only means your hatchling is happy and healthy! After their 1st year of life, they also officially graduate from hatchling to a proper baby, and their growth will start slowing down to that of an average mer.

PHASE 3─THE BABY:

12-14 Months:

Now that their chromatophores are fully developed, you may notice that your baby will start to mimic the colors of their enviroment. As they start experimenting with cammouflage, parents are encouraged to introduce more bright and vivid colors and a variety of textures to stimulate your child.

15-17 Months:

Teething! Like most caecalea, your baby's teeth will start growing, with one big frontal beak-like tooth always coming out first. this first tooth is made entirely of keratin and is slightly weaker than your regular baby teeth, which helps your octomer crack hard shells before their other, more specialized chitin teeth set start growing. Many parents choose to keep this first 'beak tooth' as a memento. Interestingly, mer-snakes (like the Naga subspecies) have a similar tooth that's used to pip out of their egg. This is the perfect time to introduce your baby to various types of shellfish. In fact, there's quite a large amount of toothing toys made out of shells to help with that annoying itch that comes with this phase.

18-20 Months:

As they grow up, your baby will not only start developing their personality, but will also start to babble and chirp. Especially as they start growing more teeth, it's imperative that parents start talking to their child more often and incentivise them to vocalize various sounds and words. Wonder what your baby's first word will be?

21-23 Months:

Now that your baby is starting to learn how to talk and communicate with others, their brain will start to develop a more complex memory and start to understand their relationships with others and the world. Socialization and play with other babies their age will help your child understand how to interact with others and develop their grasp on both body language and spoken words.

24 Months and Onwards ─ Toddler stage

Congratulations! Your baby has grown up to become a toddler, and now new and exciting developments will occur as they continue growing up! We hope this guide has helped you understand your baby's growth better, and that your newest family member continues growing up happy and healthy.

[...] - [There's a photo inside one of the pages.]

[writers-reach]

I have a request for joker (could you use akira for the name please).

Something like his s/o is also in the phantom thieves and when they are in safe rooms she likes to do small braids in his hair, also while chilling out at leblanc maybe :3

Might be a silly request but I thought it was cute, have a great day!

persona 5: playing with his hair (akira kurusu/ren amamiya)

notes: akira kurusu for protag, fluff, fem!reader, reader is a phantom thief, this might be sliiightly inaccurate since i haven't touched p5 in a while and idc to check myself

you were grinding through mementos one day with the rest of the phantom thieves, and things were going pretty well! shadows were being slain, treasure was being looted, and you were overall having a fun time riding around in morgana's van form.

you were grateful, though, for makoto's recent membership of the team. she was better at driving the van than akira was (bless his heart), which meant she took the wheel while akira sat in the passenger's seat, telling her where to go.

you sat behind him in the second row of seats, often leaning your head on the seat in front of you, sometimes babbling to get akira's attention. he'd always reach back to ruffle your hair or playfully offset your mask.

but your attention always drifted to his hair - his soft and undoubtedly fluffy head of black feathery hair. you'd been together for a while, so physical interactions weren't uncommon, but you've never really asked him if you could play with his hair.

you really, really wanted to play with his hair. holy shit, you wanted nothing more than to do that. but now wasn't the right time, being in mementos and all. you'd have to strategise for another time.

thankfully, that time came when after leaving mementos, akira invited you back to leblanc to destress and chill out. he'd make some coffee, you two would chat and cuddle, probably watch some tv.

you accepted, obviously, and taking his hand in yours, led you through the subway system to yongen-jaya and to leblanc. after pouring the two of you a damn good cup of coffee, you two went upstairs to his room in the attic.

after watching a few episodes of that cheesy action show you two like to riff on (and getting the neo featherman r theme song stuck in your head), you two migrated to his bed. akira sat down and extended his arms, inviting you in for a spooning sesh, but you waved your hands in denial.

after a puzzled and slightly pouty look from your boyfriend, you clarified what you meant: "i wanna be big spoon. i kinda... wanna play with your hair? is that cool?"

akira's eyes lit up and he adjusted his glasses that slipped down his face. a slightly goofy grin played across his lips and he shuffled on the bed, allowing you to slot yourself behind him.

"yeah, sure! go right ahead."

you quickly got to work, running your hands through his hair (which was still surprisingly soft and felt like heaven's clouds within your fingertips). you twirled some strands around your digits here and there and massaged his scalp.

akira leaned his head back into your touch, smiling all the while. you could've sworn you heard him purring (maybe that was your imagination, or maybe he was spending too much time with morgana).

you pressed a kiss to the side of his temple and kept playing with his hair long into the night...

a/n: cat-coded joker ftw!!! also i love writing akira being more, like, a dork? i love his canon characterisation in the anime and it's not something i see often. you'll be seeing more silly goofy joker from me if y'all request it lmao

[sealofarchives]

Could you do a headcanon of the Rottmnt Leo of how he would react when he realizes he is in love with the reader? (neutral gender)

Headcanon/Oneshot: The slow realization of Leo falling in love with the reader. (Requested prompt)

A/N: Accidentally went with a slight oneshot but, hopefully this has what the request is looking for.

Insomnia won another night as Leo gave up trying to stick to a normal sleep schedule. Now scrolling on his phone bored from the lack of funny videos on youtube. And decided to try and organize the photos he saved on his device. Until he found a few photos of you two together.

Going backward from the most recent picture and then eventually. Seeing the first photo of you with him.

You weren't really one for photos so... Your face had a bit of trying to smile like what you usually do at awkward family gatherings. But, still had fun around this self confident red slider turtle.

A digital memento of the white lie of

"I was supposed to check out this place ahead of time but..."

"Naaaah, where's the fun in that!"

"Might as well hang out with (Y/N) for a bit so it doesn't seem like a boring escort mission."

His focus now taking mental notes at the later pictures where.

You felt comfortable enough to speak up about your personal space and sometimes not in the mood for a hug. Which he, Raph, and Mikey are guilty of giving surprise affection and very much took the issue in a serious manner.

Resulting in you sometimes out of your comfort zone and taking the lead when something has your full attention. The pictures almost being subtle examples where you can finally be yourself.

Memories of a safe and mutual trust built between you and the turtles' small friend group.

Even joining in on some goofy poses that he can't help but, tease you about it on some random night out.

His heartbeat almost stopped at a past video where he surprised you with a plushie of your favorite character for your birthday.

.

..

...

He saw himself blushing being pulled into your bear hug that almost choked him out of breath. While Donnie recorded the said video as the softshell turtle snickered at his brother's obvious sign of a crush. Leo gave a light glare at his brother until seeing the sweetest smile on your face. The video ending just as the blush deepen close to spreading acrossing his light blue mask.

He remembered how Donnie immediately went with a dating survey. The what type of person you date icebreaker. And a bit of payback of Leo stealing the second slice of your birthday cake.

"Totally not taking notes for your potential future spouse."

Leo facepalmed how much he had to hide any bit of jealousy to avoid ruining your special day. But, it stung hearing you laugh at Donnie's idea and going along with it. Thinking of it as a fun what if game.

Since you almost give the same attention to him. His snarky attitude is rarely at you with how often you're never bored by his routine techno babble. Along with how much patience you have. Dealing with two turtles who deny having some ego problems.

Leo lazily put his phone away on top of his bed.

With a slow sigh to relax his nerves, he replaces his sleep mask with a fresh light blue mask and stood up to wear a dull blue hoodie.

Holding one of this signature swords as he opens up a light blue portal.

("Sorry Donnie but, I'm not into the idea of sharing (Y/N) with you.")

("I feel more at ease with them by my side...")

("Even if I don't have the words for a proper heartfelt confession...")

("I know they can help with me with that.")

Leo held onto to his phone staring at the new phone wallpaper.

Just the two of you. Almost posed together like a couple while attempting to stay focus for a boring grocery shopping list.

He shook off the embarrassing feeling and will pick a different one later but, for now.

The instant text message reply of you still being awake at these late hours gave him another push to ask you out on an actual date. As he jumped through the portal to your room with no hesitation.

[lightlycareless]

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTNL3PDf8/

I saw this and it made me think of Naoya. I’m not sure which kid this would be but this feels so much like Naoya in how sassy and done the dad seems about the situation. He also does seem like the type to climb into the backseat on the road to see what his daughter is saying XD idk I love seeing videos of dads with their kids and imagining it with Naoya

Awww, I love this so much!!

I already envisioned Naomi as a chirpy baby, always talking to her mama or papa, so this was just perfect!!!

warnings: fluff. Naoya and you are parents to an adorable baby girl named Naomi❤️ Also this is not exactly the same as what happened in the video, it actually inspired me to write something somewhat different, still related, but not identical... if that's ok 🥺 I still hope you enjoy it though!!

Happy reading!

To me this sounds like it would happen a road trip, or anywhere where the two have to drive to their destination and grow quite unsure if Naomi will be able to handle such a thing.

But of course, she does! Kind of, Naomi is always one to entertain herself thanks to her wit and curiosity, either creating complex storylines involving her plushies, or sharing whatever crossed her mind with her parents—regardless of if they were fluent in babbling or not.

“—jump! Kitty jump!”

“Is that so, dumpling?” Naoya smiles, always enjoying listening to the voice of her adorable daughter. “And what else did she do?”

“Fly—no, sleep! Kitty tired…”

It was always endearing to see how the two interacted, like they had an unbreakable father-daughter bond you could only dream of having! Still, you weren’t jealous—no, of course not. If anything, you were simply happy they got along perfectly, God knows how guilty Naoya felt for his prolonged absences, so to see them so close… it made your heart soar with happiness.

Until Naomi eventually grows tired of being in the same sitting position for hours, and demands to be attended, which Naoya naturally jumps to do so.

“Papaaaa!!!”

“What is it, pumpkin? Is everything ok?!” Your husband naturally frets.

“Tired papa, hungry!!”

“Oh, I know what to do.” You say, reaching over for your bag to give Naomi one of her many pre-prepared meals—but she doesn’t want it, neither the milk nor the fruit; and that’s when both knew a break was due.

“Now, now—isn’t that better, princess?” Soon after finding a place to pull over, he cooed at her while gently holding her against him, watching her eat as Naomi glanced back at him, with those bright round eyes that let him know she was satisfied to be away from that uncomfortable seat and instead in the arms of her beloved papa.

“We should stretch our legs for a bit before continuing.” You suggest, to which Naoya enthusiastically agrees to—he had driven to a near lookout with the hopes of distracting Naomi (though it was more like rushing to find one, he wasn’t to stop in the middle of the road and expose his family!) and get a few more pictures of her; mementos to reminisce his loved ones while away for work.

“Look over here, little mochi!” you sang, waving your hand at Naomi to catch her attention and get her into the right position: a lovely picture of her and her papa standing before the beautiful scenery of the Japanese countryside.

“Alright, I think it’s time we head back on the road if we still want to be on time.” Naoya says, wanting to take advantage of the sunlight as well as Naomi’s now calm demeanor, believing it wouldn’t take long for her to fall asleep, lulled into deep slumber after being tired out…

Or at least that’s what either hoped, for Naomi, upon seeing her parents approach the car, quickly understood that she’d be relegated back to that awful seat, far away from dear papa and all the attention he was giving her—no can do!

“No!” Naomi cried, shaking her head. “No, papa!!”

“What’s wrong, Naomi??” Naoya, as usual, worries. “Are you still hungry? Or do you want to stay here a little longer—”

“Papa no go! Stay!’

“Oh, you don’t want me to go?” He asks, flattered by her request. Though concerned, because if he were to stay with his little princess, then who…?

“It’s ok, I’ll drive.” You suggest, taking the keys from his hands. “Go sit back with Naomi, our mochi needs you.”

“Are you sure, my love? We still have much to traverse.”

“I’ll be fine.” You encourage with a smile. “Now go, sit with her. I’m sure the two of you will have much to talk about!”

And that, they did, for Naomi wasted no time to jump back on whatever playful scenario she left pending, now with the addition of her equally imaginative father (no surprise where Naomi got it from) who made her playtime even more exciting.

“And then, the great Toji-kun appeared, defeating all enemies around them and rescuing Kitty!” Naoya effused, playing with one of her plushies—a stern-looking penguin that somehow reminded him of his cousin.

Naomi giggles, liking the addition of this so-called amazing Toji-kun into her games, alongside noticing the fondness her father seemed to have for this character for he’d always bring him along one way or the other, regardless of what they were playing—

Never comparable to her adorable Hello Kitty, of course, but she wouldn’t tell him that. Not when she was having so much fun!

And so, your chirpy daughter and doting husband continued to entertain one another, making the ride to your first destination quite enjoyable—it kind of made you sad having to interrupt them just to ask Naoya a question regarding your hosting reservation, but since they quieted down a bit this might be the best moment yet—

“Honey, at what time do we check-in?”

Only to realize their silence hadn’t come from observing the scenery around, but rather, succumbing to their own exhaustion, Naoya’s head rested over Naomi’s seat while her hand tightly heled onto his, for even when asleep she didn’t want to be far from him.

You smile at the sight of them, giving them one last glance through the rearview mirror before continuing looking ahead, hoping that by the time you arrive you’d still be able to snap a picture of them.

Until then, you look forward to spending the weekend with them, on what was Naomi’s first holiday as a family.

Been wanting to write about Naoya, Y/N, and Naomi spending a holiday together ajkghkajgha I don't know what exactly, but you know, I'll figure out something :)))) (suggestions are greatly appreciated too hehe)

Thank you so much for feeding my domestic au. We just love a doting Naoya, don't we :') 🥹❤️ if only... Well, that's why I'm here for 🤭 still have more to come!!

Now, take care, and hope to see you soon!

[mrs-dr-reid]

My Personal Spencer Reid Headcanons Part 2/? (Dad!Spence Edition)

(This one’s for you, Ozzie)

He gets Derek to help him build a little bookshelf that can be completely dedicated to children's books

Reads every book on early childhood development he can get his hands on because he's a worry wart

GIRL! DAD! Although for me, I imagine he has a daughter first, then a son a few years later (mostly because I'm a first-born daughter and my brother is four years younger than me)

He does the thing where whenever his baby babbles or makes any type of noise, he responds with something like "Oh, really?" or "That's very interesting, tell me more" to help them build up their conversation skills

Fully commits to the bit during play time. Whether he's pretending to slay an imaginary dragon or falling over when hit with pretend magic, he'll do the absolute most to make his kids laugh

Would probably show up to work with his baby strapped to his chest in a baby carrier if it wasn't against FBI protocol to have a literal child in the same room as crime scene photos and multiple firearms

He'll carry his baby around and point out seemingly mundane things, but explain it to them in a way that makes it seem like the most interesting thing in the world. Especially with people, like he'll say, "See that pretty lady right there? That's your mommy, and she's the most wonderful person in the whole wide world."

He falls asleep with his kid on his chest all the time, especially after a rough case involving kids and he just needs to know that they're there and they're okay

Vehemently hates mindless children's programming, so he's definitely a nature documentary dad. Although he will allow Bluey, because he likes that it makes harder subjects easier for kids to digest while still being entertaining and fun

He gets his kids into puzzles as soon as their hand eye coordination develops, so whenever he's not on a case, he can usually be found at the kitchen table poring over a puzzle with his mini-me

Always hams it up with the voices when reading or telling his kids a bedtime story to make them laugh

He does magic tricks for his kids when they're babies just to see their eyes triple in size because their little baby brains don't have enough power to process what just happened

He cries whenever his kids copy what he does because it's too cute, whether it be mismatching their socks to match him, or calling you whatever sappy nickname he has for you like it's your name "because that's what Daddy calls you, and Daddy's always right"

Inhumanly fast at changing diapers. You once timed him, and he changed the baby's diaper and outfit in less than five minutes

He loves doing arts and crafts with his littles, and he loves it when they make something for him at school. Your fridge is positively covered in artwork, and whenever he swaps one drawing for another, he puts the old one in a memento box because he'll be damned if he throws away something his kid makes for him

He takes his kids to the park as often as he can to teach them how to play chess once they get old enough

Once you guys move to the suburbs away from all the light pollution, his favorite thing to do is to take his kids into the backyard, set up a little nest of blankets and pillows, and stargaze with them to teach them about all the constellations and planets

Sometimes he goes through little anxiety spats where he worries he's not cut out to be a dad, but the second his little one bursts through the door and yells, "DADDY, GUESS WHAT HAPPENED AT SCHOOL TODAY!!!!", every fear or doubt about his abilities melts away, and he jumps right back into World's Best Dad Mode™

[vashtijoy]

on forgiveness: best girl haru okumura

OKAY LET’S TALK ABOUT how most people’s idea of Haru (besides her being axe crazy or some shit) begins and ends with the first half of this line to Akechi. And also babble about how everyone reacts in the engine room for a bit:

Just to be clear here: Akechi murders Haru’s father. Not only that, he murders him after his change of heart, at the point he has a chance to turn around and do better and stop being, y’know, kind of a tremendous asshole. Would it have worked? Haru will never know. Akechi stole that from her.

However. Haru is also not a tremendous asshole. I know, I know, y’all want her to go crazy ape batshit with vengeance and her axe. However, Haru doesn’t believe in vengeance (that’s Akechi’s gig, and maybe Ann’s). She does believe in redemption and giving people chances, and she (besides Joker, who like, doesn’t have lines) is the Phantom Thief who embodies this most in regard to Akechi.

so let’s take a look

Let’s start with the second half of that line. “I sympathize with you”. And let’s put it together with the next line:

Haru understands why Akechi might have acted as he did. And when Cognitive Akechi arrives, she’s the one who tells Akechi it isn’t too late:

Because, make no mistake, Haru is also a child of a terrible father. A father who used her to advance himself. Haru relates to Akechi. She sees what she could have become in him—someone just like her father.

This becomes clearer later on in the scene, when the bulkhead door comes up—and let’s just take a moment here to see what “unforgivable” looks like.

Here’s Ryuji banging on the door as it comes up:

Here’s Yusuke:

And Makoto:

Now note that Haru and Futaba (and Morgana and Ann) have not come forward at this point. But what’s Akechi’s response, by the way, when you tell him you’ll hang on to the glove and keep your promise?

He fucking smiles. Tiny little smile. Sad, barely there, but a real smile, behind the bulkhead where nobody can see it. I swear, people are like “oh, he only dies to save you because it’s the only way left he can get revenge, it’s all part of the manipulation” no, get out of my hair with that shit, I will literally eat you all. He passes up his revenge. He starts his arc as someone who has nothing but revenge to live for, and he ends it (for now) passing up that revenge for someone who matters to him. That’s important.

And that’s level 10: incidentally this is when he gets Endure, “survive an otherwise fatal attack with 1hp remaining”

After this Cogkechi and Akechi face off, and that is when Haru comes forward:

And Ann:

... and then the gunshots, not quite in unison. Bye, kids, we’ll miss you. But note that it is Futaba who only speaks up now—to do her job, not to express any concern for Akechi. It’s Futaba who gives him a far harder ride in Mementos later in the third semester than Haru does. And yet I feel like I see Futaba easily forgiving Akechi all the time and Haru almost not at all?? idk.

so what happens next?

Well, here’s Haru when they resolve to leave:

She’s sad they couldn’t save him. Like her father, Akechi will never have a chance to do better.

what about the third semester?

So in the third semester Akechi comes out as an axe crazy killer and also kind of an interpersonal asshole, but he does seem to have laid off the hired killings, so that’s, uh, good?

This understandably impacts the way the engine room fell out: nobody wants to admit what went on there. Akechi doesn’t; Akechi wants to keep all of them at an emotional radius of ten thousand kilometres, for reasons of his own. The PTs certainly don’t, because third semester Akechi is an immense pain in the ass. and about as friendly as a porcupine on PCP.

Still, he comes back on the team for reasons, and Haru and Futaba understandably have feelings about this. Here are Haru’s:

But this isn’t all that goes on. What about all those Mementos chats?

Akechi doesn’t talk to the other Phantom Thieves—if they say anything, he doesn’t respond. (Sumire also doesn’t, which gives me an image of her, Akechi and Joker stuck next to each other speaking only in Royal Trio in-jokes.) But he’s not saying anything unless he chooses to say something—when the others respond.

And who responds how? Well, there are moments of connection—more than a few. But responses to Akechi often range from passive-aggressive through mocking to outright aggressive. And this is perfectly fair: make no mistake, these guys are not friends.

How does the count stack up?

Yusuke has the lowest number of responses to Akechi—he has five. Ann and Makoto each have seven. Futaba, Morgana and Ryuji each have eight. And Haru?

Haru has nine chats in response to Akechi. She has more than anyone else. And the reason she has more chats than anyone else is that there is one chat that only she responds to:

Yeah. Akechi is not someone who enjoys being cooped up in the back of a catbus. And when he complains about it, it’s Haru who’s the only one to reply. The Japanese is not that patronising, by the way

Haru is trying. She doesn’t want to sit down and hang out with him—she won’t join him in the Thieves’ Den, for instance. But her responses to him range from passive-aggressive through conversational. They are hard to interpret—she’s not comfortable with him; she’s keeping up her mask. She’s not necessarily concerned for him or welcoming—she’s saying the “right things”, making conversation; she joins in when they all laugh at him for bouldering. Haru’s mask has a lot in common with Akechi’s many masks. But she also has that one chat that only she replies to.

Here are her nine responses to various things Akechi says:

Haru: I think this [outfit] fits you better, after seeing how you fight. Haru: I've heard you don't actually need to be that strong to boulder. Maybe I should give it a shot. Haru: It's pretty hard to imagine a group of phantom thieves successfully getting around on bicycles. Haru: Well, the car does have ears and a tail, so I wouldn't say it's impossible to tell... Haru: Well, no one gives them orders, so it appears they just wander around. Haru: As long as you're fighting alongside us, we're happy to have you. Haru: Thanks for the concern. You should stay mindful of your health, too. Haru: I wonder... You can't underestimate the Tokyo subway system, though. It's pretty long. Haru: Then what say we take a little break when we reach the next rest area?

and what’s the takeaway here?

Pretty much this: forgiveness in P5 is complicated. The story is all about responsibility and redemption and the harm you do others. Even if you can’t forgive someone, that doesn’t mean you can’t work with them. It doesn’t make them not part of your group. It doesn’t mean you can’t take an interest in them. The Phantom Thieves have a bond with Akechi regardless of what he’s done. Regardless of whether they’re “friends” or “forgiven” or whether they will ever be close. That bond doesn’t have to be pretty, or fun, or even something most of them want too much to do with, but it is there. He is, in the end, as close to being one of them as you get.

And Haru does take an interest in Akechi: more than any of the others bar Joker, Haru is the one who seems to relate to him. Haru doesn’t model judgement (that’s Futaba)—Haru is modelling understanding, and reparative justice. She doesn’t want to be Akechi’s friend; they’re hugely unlikely to ever be friends. Any relationship they have is likely to be distant, based primarily on mutual obligation. But she understands him, to a degree.

Let Haru be the wonderful human being she is. #theend

[mementokore]

I call Spotify Wrapped releases on the 28th November

[chitty-chitty-bang-bang-bang]

“Memento Mori” (Nick x vampire!reader)

Word Count: 1,388

Age Restrictions: 16+ (vulgar language)

Trigger Warnings/Tags: Brief descriptions of blood (not detailed), fuff, crack, implied romance, during the events of the movie

Synopsis: Since nobody wanted to help Nick with his vampiric transition you took it upon yourself to help him through these difficult times and make it a little easier.

Author’s Note: I feel like my aro/ace-ness really shows in the awkward way I’m trying to write romance lmao. Really loved writing this. More love for Nick!

__________________________________________

“Knock, knock, knock!” You said in a sing-song-ish voice, as you banged on the door of Nick’s apartment. He lived in some rundown apartment building with a half-dead concierge and ugly wallpaper in the hallway, that was peeling off the cement walls. It took a bit of time, but the door finally swung open. “Yahoo! Oh-… Oh, Nick… You don’t look very well.” You scrunched your nose at the sight of him.

“Yeah, I know.” He said, his voice trembling as violently as his body. His face was pale and had red tear tracks left on the cheeks. “What the fuck did you do to me?”

You ignored his question and looked behind his back. The camera crew was there. Poor guy, going through so much stress and under the constant attention of the documentary makers. This wasn’t ideal at all.

“Invite me in, please.” You asked nicely.

“Why would I? You’re gonna eat me.” He crossed his arms.

“No, I won’t.”

“Bullshit.”

“Listen, Nick, you’re going through a lot now and I am here solely to help you. Now please, let me in and we can have a conversation in private.” You glared at the cameras behind his back. He didn’t seem to be convinced. “Look, I even brought some presents with me.” You showed him a plastic bag that you had with you.

“Okay, fine. Please, come in.” He said reluctantly and stepped away to make way for you.

You finally stepped into the house, put the bag on the counter in his kitchen and went straight to the camera crew.

“Okay, guys, shoo! Shoo shoo! We have a very private conversation here! Go on, tiptoe out of here, please and thank you!” You babbled, while actively pushing them towards the door. They knew better than to fight with a vampire, so they did the reasonable thing and complied, leaving Nick to your advices. “Great, now that we’re alone, we can finally have this talk. Sit down, please.”

Nick sat down on his bed, you took a stool and sat in front of him. “This feels really weird.” He mumbled.

“So, Nick, your body is changing right now and very drastically, I might say. This change… it’s rather normal actually.” The way this conversation resembled the birds and bees talk his parents gave him when he was a teen made Nick even less comfortable. “Factually, you are dying.” You smiled.

“Wait… what?” His shaking ensued.

“Don’t worry. It’s okay. I mean, we all died. Me, Viago, Vladislav, Deacon, Petyr. It’s not pleasant, but, trust me, it’s the worst part. Once it’s over, the rest is way easier. You just gotta desensitise yourself to drinking blood and constant murdering of innocent civilians. Not that much, considering you seemed to already kill a bunch of innocent… creatures.” You glanced at a few rat corpses on the floor.

“I don’t remember how that happened. I was-… Whatever, doesn’t matter.” he followed your gaze. “So am I… becoming a vampire?”

“Bigno!” You smiled.

“You mean ‘bingo’?”

“Yeah, bingong! Anyways, Petyr made you into a vampire. But you didn’t quite finish your transformation. That’s why you’re still half alive and suffering from batshit insane hypothermia.” You went over to the greasy kitchen counter and he followed. “Give me a glass, please.”

Despite his confusion, he opened a cupboard and handed you a wine glass, just because it’s the closest thing he had to a goblet, which is more your scene. You opened a small Tupperware bottle you had and with you and poured the red liquid in the glass, then added in some weird silvery powder from a tiny ziplock bag.

“What is this?” He looked at the weird substance you were mixing.

“Just blood and iron supplements. You need to drink blood to finish your transformation and iron is there to make it extra strong. Also because the blood might’ve gone stale. It’s been in the fridge for some time now.” You handed him the glass, making sure nothing spilled.

“So… I just…” He made a motion, that imitated drinking and you nodded. “Holy shit… okay.”

He hesitantly brought the liquid to his lips and started to chug it down very quickly. Either because he liked it that much or because he wanted to forget that he’s currently drinking blood. He put the empty wine glass back on the counter and breathed in deep.

There was a second, where absolutely nothing was happening, then out of nowhere Nick started hissing in pain as his fangs grew out right before your eyes. He was quite literally climbing up the walls from the sheer agony of this rapid process in his body. He was clawing on the plaster of his ceiling, ripping out patches of it as they fell onto his dusty carpet.

“Hey, that’s fine, that you let out your inner feeling, but you might need that ceiling later, so maybe don’t do it!” You said loudly, so he could hear you through the beastly noises he made.

Finally, after a few seconds, the energy left Nick’s body and he limply fell off the ceiling and you caught him. He was dead. Not breathing, not responding, not even blinking. This lasted less than a minute obviously, before he opened his eyes once again.

“What the fuck?” Was the first thing he let out into the undead world.

“Happy vampiric transformation!” You smiled, trying to be as supportive as you could. Then gently put him down on the floor, as soon as you knew he could stand by himself. He went up to the mirror he had in the hallway, but couldn’t see a thing. “No, this won’t work, Nick. Vampires don’t have a mirror reflection.”

“Do we show in photos though?” He immediately asked.

“I mean, yeah, but it’s not like you have a camera around.” You checked your surroundings for a camera.

“I can just take a picture on my phone.” Nick shrugged.

Immediately a picture of a touch-tone telephone appeared in your mind. “How would that even work?”

Nick took out his smartphone and snapped a picture of himself, then came over to you, so you can both look at it. He zoomed in to examine his fangs for a second. Nick smiled and even barked out a quiet laugh.

“Hey, this looks cool. Nobody told me you automatically become hot, when you’re a vampire.” He kept analysing the picture.

“No, you just stop being self-conscious.” You chuckled. “You do look kind of hot though.”

He shot you a glance with a small smile, before putting his phone away and going back into his room, where you followed. He plopped down on the bed and patted the place beside him, suggesting you sit there and you did.

“So… Why did only you come?” Nick wondered.

“Well, others had their reasons.” You shrugged.

“Vladislav?”

“Didn’t want to.”

“Deacon?”

“Didn’t want to.”

“Viago?”

“Didn’t want to.”

“Petyr?”

“I was too scared to ask him if he wanted to.” You averted your gaze.

“So if nobody wanted to come, why did you?” Nick tilted his head curiously.

“I don’t know… Usually, you’re supposed to figure all of this out for yourself. I mean, nobody explained anything to us, when we were becoming vampires and that was the norm. You just turn someone and let them deal with it in whatever way they want to. But I just thought of how I was during my transition period and it really wasn’t great. I wished I had someone else to guide me, to tell me what’s going on, to help me get through it and… I thought, why subject anyone else to this kind of situation, when I can just help.” You smiled.

“You’re overly nice for a horrible creature of the night.” Nick seemed genuinely surprised.

“Hey, I’m dead, not heartless.” A chuckle escaped your lips, then switched to a sigh. “You still have a lot to learn. This lifestyle sucks ass and you’ll need quite a while to adjust to it. But I know you will.” You leaned your head on his shoulder.

“I know I will… so long as you’re here.” He said the last part quieter and let himself play with your hair a bit.

Funny how even in death you could find ways to feel more alive than ever…

[maleficore]

How many references of the same damn character can I make before I get bored?

Yes.

Some design and related rambles below because I'm in A Mood

There's uhh, selfharm mentions in there on top of the typical Durge shit. Just in case anyone needs a heads up.

I keep tweaking his design every time I draw him, but I think I'm decently happy with it now? It's mainly the burn scar that has been annoying me because I both want it to unique but still somewhat fit the game texture..

I wish I knew how to mess with texture maps to make him custom ones so that all the scars in game match The Lore, but ughh learning that is way too much work.

The scar run down so far:

THE BURN SCAR is a souvenir from Cania. It covers almost the entire upper left half of his body, but on his arm it ends abruptly at the elbow because the explosion that caused it took off his whole forearm so the limb is "brand new" and therefore, scarless.

Yes, he can regrow limbs like an axolotl. However here, I think healing magic was involved too. Just because of how extensive the damage was. I'm imagining his forearm blown off and what's left of his arm charred nearly to the bone. Same with his face, his cheek was definitely gone. An absolutely terrifying image and one that's for sure seared into Gortash's brain forever.

THE VIVISECTION SCAR is Kressa's work of course, but its shape is pretty atypical for how most of the fandom does Durge's scars. The arms of the Y incision don't extend towards his shoulders and go underneath his pectorals instead. It's mostly because his organs have fuck all to do with the tadpole Kressa was studying so I headcanon those experiments to have been done purely for sexual gratification, not scientific at all. Which makes cracking open his ribcage feel like too much of a hassle to me, she can still get in there for a rummage through his stomach after all.

THE SMALL STOMACH AND CHEST SCARS are all stab wounds. I like to think they would've healed fully long ago, but Ezra subconsciously keeps that from happening because they're like mementos to him. It was... a religious/masochism thing between him and Helena. A tad messed up, but he liked her a lot okay.

THE THIGH SCARS are self inflicted. Some are cuts, some poor, frenzied attempts at flaying the skin off to maximise the pain. They start to fade and heal post tadpole because he forgot about the habit thanks to the orinbotomy, but he used to pretty much selfharm his emotions away. Sad? Pain. Affectionate? Pain. Guilty? Nothing some more pain can't fix! It started in his youth when selfharm was his only way to get some clarity of mind when the Urge started to muddy his thoughts and it escalated from there to using it for everything.

THE HAND SCAR is also of the self inflicted kind, but that one is really old. He was around 12 when he stabbed his hand out of fear that if he didn't use the knife he was given to hurt himself, he was going to cause harm to someone else. It was pretty soon after killing his foster parents so the panic was understandable, got him banned from the kitchen for years tho. The scar never faded completely because he was really weak and sickly as a kid due to not feeding the Urge, which messed with his healing abilities (amongst other things) making it stick.

THE HEART SCAR is an another old one. It's from the wound he was killed with when he transformed into the Slayer for the first time. It's symbolic and one of those scars that don't heal because he doesn't want them to. It marks the death of the person he was before Bhaal and serves as a reminder of that whole event. The paladin who killed him (a close friend and mentor actually so that's fun) ran him straight through with a sword so there's a matching scar on his back too.

Those have all pretty much always been there and the only change is the lore of the stab wound scars, though. I just felt like talking about them because I like giving those things A Story.

And since I'm already babbling, I also added some stuff!

He didn't use to have his nails painted post nautiloid, but I had the bright idea of Shadowheart seeing the remnants of chipped off nail polish and because of that offering to do them for him at some point. Probably not until act 3 when they finally reach civilization, but still!

I once mentioned in passing that he collects rings and never implemented that into his design, but here it is now! It's mostly a case of him feeling like he should wear a ring out of habit and ending up going a bit ham with it.

Old wedding band mark :) only sticks around for a bit post nautiloid and eventually disappears, but I still included it anyway for the angst. You understand.

One day I'll do a proper colour reference and decent art of his clothing to go with it, but this will do for now. I just love him so much, he can fit so much lore on him and it's driving me a bit crazy. My beloved hairy bastard man.

[adureus]

At his heels lie beds of near every hue ( pampered, thriving ), though their floral collection is limited. It's not for lack of ambition, or a lack of labour. Nay ⸻ the Blight has robbed the land of much. In that quiet morning, his only company is the babble of rills throughout the backyard's nursery, an echo of a lifestream in all sense. Not too long ago, this sight was consigned to fantasy. During their nascent years, they had naught ⸻ no seeds, no preparations were salvaged since Kupka's assault. All which remained would serve as monuments, mementos, proof of an existence lost to time and dust. He bristles at that. They need not desecrate memory with a want so trivial as a sample of a wildflower. Would he have thought the same of this passing request, some moons ago, regarding the harvesting of Snow Daisies and their seed ? Their temperamental needs were attributed and tailored to their environment. To mimic these conditions would normally be considered a trivial use of resources already strained thin. Once vernal lands choke on hibernal corruption, half-buried dreams, and an unprecedented scarcity both flora and humans alike must face. Yet their gardeners had achieved the impossible. Despite the odds, despite the difficulty. In secret, they'd mottled what they could. A modest patch, tended and nurtured. And now, their patience is rewarded, with the added boon of resilience.

Daisies aren't a common choice, but they embody a particular beauty. Refined, reticent in their presence, yet deadly. As is one Jill Warrick. Horticulture wasn't his forte, though he'd been informed of their toxicity. A fitting comparison perhaps, considering her skill with a blade. Roses, while cliché, deliver messages of affection effective and clear. Though, he gathers them this day not for the uniqueness of the arrangement, rather for a union of loyalty unwritten. Both flowers serve as vestiges of home, bundled in delicate parchment, suspend the glory and essence of nations beloved and bold. Rosaria and the Northern Territories, respectfully. Now they rest as bitter shells of yesteryear.

It’s a small, meaningful lull to days of activity and no pause. He’d even gone as far as inscribing words of appreciation onto paper ⸻ far from a letter of love ( and uncharacteristic ), he’d never been the sort to find himself fanciful with language. But she needed to know her importance to him : her contributions, his pride in seeing her grow and heal, and her ascension to personhood ⸻ unfettered, she climbs closer to the fruits of freedom.

The quill pauses then.

In youth, following her arrival, she held a predictable reticence. Yet, she also lacked a certain regality about her ⸻ no pretension or haughtiness embittered her words. The Princess of the North graced them all : a sharp interruption within the walls of Rosalith. So different. So stark. Blue to red. Red to blue. The Rosfield heirs welcomed her as any other, lacking prejudice and honouring her origins. It wasn’t long before she established roots for herself, now warmly settled despite her apprehension. And as they grew close, he’d learned much from her. With her, she'd brought wise perspectives, intentional words. Emotion guided her, true, as it did all youth ( before logic and maturity stunted their wonder of the world ), but she enlightened him with what many would consider an ancient wisdom. Perhaps the conflict had acquainted her with worldly knowledge, of lessons seldom taught so early. But war was not courteous enough to spare anyone. She’d protected him, cured him of indiscretion and lapsing confidence, remained realistic. She'd kept his expectations within the realm of man, constrained and attainable, promoted his success. Even at an age so tender, she carries words so wise. A song honed through generations, as though the Queen of Rime sung them within her ear, imbued through slumber. She’d done much for him ( down to catering to his own hound ! ) and in return, he’d incurred naught but debt ⸻ debts she futilely reminded he need not pay.

He’d insist.

During one of his father's annual tours, he'd reciprocate. Once they'd broken from the procession, exploring field and wood unseen, he'd aimed to surprise her with sights wild and wonderful. It would not be. The heavens wept, drowned his hopes, and earned her a nasty cold. Yet, she laughed nonetheless. Laughed lovely and sweet. He apologized post-haste. Bashful. Ashamed. Still, she forgave him. In retrospect, that’d been the day he’d come to love her much more than a friend. But fate is not so forgiving, and their separation stung deep and malignant as a wound ⸻ perhaps more so. Physical wounds mended with time and patience. The brunt of emotional wounds had a lifetime to foster their potential. And it’s precisely what he’d feared would happen. Once reconciled some thirteen years later, she forgave him. And again, he requests a pardon. It’s naught but apologies which he gifts her, or torment, or eves marked by worry. She gives unconditionally. He wishes to do the same. It took their reunion to rend him from a myopic, transactional relationship to war and destruction and a devilish temper.

To him, love is not overt. It’s intentionally unassuming, expressed through touch. The sweep of a strand too keen upon her brow, or a reassuring stroke to the small of her back. It's delivered through questions regarding her well-being, through attentiveness, through notes of her preferences. It's expressed through a protective glance in battle, or an assist ( akin to a dance. Poetic, albeit macabre, but harmonious nonetheless ). It's through the way he trusted her wholly with his affairs, both personal and professional. While she supports, she also challenges his ire, grounds him, reminds him of the alternatives. He needn’t be so headstrong, and throughout the years, she has reinforced his empathy, strengthened and nourished his soul.

The letter is completed, with melted wax to seal. It's melded with the pigments of woad and rouge leaning stains, not quite overtaking the default alabaster in its bleed. Two fingers press to lips, fall downward, impress atop parchment. Unseen, as an incantation, yet present. It’s the gesture which mattered most. He'd likely find her hovering about the map table of their shared chambers ⸻ her routine was predictable. She’d sift through newly delivered missives and glean any urgent matter. If she hadn’t dealt with them then he would upon his return. In that time, he hopes she will appreciate the gift in full, in the peaceful hum of shared company and thought. And, as predicted, as he emerges from those oaken doors, he is greeted by his beloved and a silken hello. She is usually the first to initiate, but he’d done so first, sinking into her approach, leaning, pressing lips flush and wanting into her own. It’s comforting. It’s sanctuary. The flutter of lashes tickle cheeks, as does her giggle ; in times like these he doesn’t feel so scorn. As they retreat to their short distance, fingers entwine with the bouquet and foreheads press. They fall into step naturally, recalling bygone days and the countless lessons for galas they never wholly got to appreciate. It’s only the creak and whispers of the Hideaway which serve as their tune. He didn’t mind. It’s a comfortable silence, a comfortable appreciation of the company they kept. He needn’t honour a day to show his gratitude, but at times he needs an arresting realization to slow down. He didn’t just live for himself anymore.

𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫. @nievea

[patchwork-crow-writes]

"Liminal"

Grief is a house with the lights all turned off, The curtains all drawn, the windows all locked. I wander alone through darkened hallways, Hoping that round the next corner there'll be a new place and time, a resplendent new you, Exactly how I would imagine you to be; A homecoming, a shelter from the cold, Answer to a question I never knew I was asking; solution to a sum That I did not then know was incomplete.

What do I call you, my erstwhile shadow? Words without form, no shape and no sound, That nonetheless touched my digital core Across a sea of shimmering photons. Where do you fit, in the cracks of my heart? Insubstantial as soul, yet soul-to-soul A gossamer thread runs taut, endlessly Thrumming with feelings too strong to ignore. And all the old certainties fall away Like petals of ash from a burning house.

Eyes may never again know communion, Hands shall never again exchange their warmth, For naught can sweep aside that fatal veil That sundered you from my world. And yet what Beautiful trick does my fractured mind play? Silvery spirits swim through rippling mirrors, Water laps and babbles around me, then Tumbles into an indifferent abyss. My cup runs over, a mournful deluge, Yet never has felt so parched, so hollow.

Your absense is a violence upon my soul; Grief pouring forth from an open wound The well-worn stitches of your words can't hold. I wouldn't have let you in if I'd known You would just leave me all alone like this. It isn't enough. I need some more time, Just one last talk, the warmth of your skin. Your embrace was all that kept me intact; Nothing else mattered when I felt your heart, Nothing could hurt me wrapped up in your care.

Lost in my head, no twine to mark my way As your world enfolds mine, and the outside Disperses before my sight like smoke. You Are the world reborn, I its curator, Caretaker to the demons you bequethed. The mementos of a life shared, scattered Haphazard through our headspace like lost toys; To hold them is to know you, to witness The depth of my devotion and honour, This maddening flame that devours my heart.

Fall with me into a space between, A new universe just for you and I. We are nothing and all things, all at once, Down here in this breathless, bottomless now. I'll have to let go soon, but let me dream A moment longer, play like we used to Before you must go back where you belong, And I find myself back at the start. There's Nothing more to say; yet still I must speak. No more you to love; yet still I must love.

[trashbinbackyard]

0 - The fool

A journal entry of an unknown author, written in code.

I have been thinking. Of time, and we as a people have always been the same. The child from 400 years ago would cling to her mothers hem the same way the children accompanying their parents in the grand bazaar would today. People have felt the overwhelming joy of love, the heartbreak of loss, and keep mementos of their dearest ones. 

Truly, most of my discoveries on dig sites have been little glimpses into the life of the ordinary, the forgettable people who have come before us. Of course, these aren’t considered finds worthy of grand research or public acclaim, and I feel like people outside of my field do not find comfort and appreciation of the ordinary. It is my duty to acknowledge them, and to remember them, so wherever they might be, they shall find comfort that their lives, no matter how small, had meaning.

So, a little prelude to what happened today.

Grand people come few and far between, a single king or queen could define an entire century, and in their shadow, would be the ordinary, toiling away, forgotten.

The many wise men and women before me have given our era of life, the name “Second age” after the astonishing event known as the Rapture, it is believed to be the source of our magic, and its very nature, but nothing beyond that was widely known. That was until I met him. 

To the clergy he was more precious than anything, a relic in his own right. He had accurately called me out for snooping in the archives of the grand temple, under the altar for Sune. At first I didn’t realize who exactly I was speaking to, and frankly I was a little on edge. A tall elven man dressed in all black stood behind me from where I was reading some tomes. I couldn’t really make out details in the dim light.

“You’re an inquisitive one,” I remember him saying, in a tone that I found quite pleasant, not accusatory, nor aggressive, curious, even.

I let my mouth get the better of me and babbled on and on about the many fields of research I’ve dabbled in, and that my current interests lie in the first age, that I was very close to finding out where a great lord used to have a winter estate, and that the according to the historians, he was great patron of arts. Oh to just think of it leaves me giddy, to see all the art collected by someone from that age, what time defining pieces would he have, what they would tell me about the lives of the people, what they appreciate, valued, revered, what they found appealing.

At that point I’m sure I had rambled on for so long, the man had started leaning against a wall with what I assume was his best attempt at a polite look, hiding his boredom. I'm sure he had seen and heard things much more magnificent than an art collection.

He was very gracious in his listening, and In fact offered for me to come meet him at his estate. Which brings me to today.

The estate address I was given was in the Pera district, on the other side the grand river from where I resided, the location quite idyllic, on the tall hill near the shore. The manor itself didn’t stand out, a three story building of light sandstone, no names on the door, nor the street.

I walked in like the man had instructed me to do. A tressym greeted me as I nearly stumbled on the poor thing. It kept vocalizing and rubbing against my legs for a while, which would’ve been the highlight of my day if not for the revelations to come. It hopped up the flight of stairs soon after, looking at me 

Seeing no one else, I assumed I was meant to follow the tressym, so I did. It led me to a terrace between the second and third floor. A tea set had been laid out, three chairs around a circle table. The view on the balcony was one of the best I’ve witnessed in Nia Vasileos.

Turns out I wasn’t the only one admiring the view. The man who had invited me here stood leaning against the balcony railing, his ear twitched at the sound of my footsteps and I knew he had noticed me entering.

He turned to greet me, and now in the broad daylight (which was a beautiful, sunny day), I could see him better, still dressed in all black. His black hair was long and straight, with white roots, a scar crossed his brow, his eyes… an impossible shade of bright orange, like fire burning. I got a little uneasy to be fairly honest. Now, there was an air of something grander, something ancient around us. I was looking history in the eyes.

He was very polite, despite the immense power he held. He had set up an afternoon tea for us, he let me know that he had followed me around for much longer than I would think, that I was an “interesting person” to know. And that I may ask him anything I wanted to know, but he held onto his right to not necessarily answer.

We had the most delightful conversation. I asked him about the first age, how old was he, what were his favorite things from the first age, are there others like him?

He entertained all of my questions, even the silly small ones, in the midst of taking sips of the perfectly brewed black tea. 

The tressym had curled up the third chair, and he would occasionally give it a few scritches, I asked about it, he said it was his partner’s, now, he hadn’t really given me a straight answer when I asked if there’s is any more people… or beings, like him. I would assume someone beyond the reach of time would be… lonely. 

He gave a laugh and shook his head, “oh believe me, it is a lonely existence, but at least I can share it with someone”, he would turn his head to the sea, “I’ll be honest, I’m not sure how many of us there are, the world is a large place after all”.

I followed his gaze to the sea. The scenery, the very moment, was idyllic, the gentle lap of the waves against the cliffside under us, the occasional whistle of the boats passing us by, the cheerful screams of children jumping off the cliffs into the warm water below.

A gentle breeze blew through my hair, through his hair, and I turned to look back at him, waiting if he had anything else to say still.

“A little too large.” He said, with a hint of melancholy in his voice, “But you still have time, enough to see a lot of it, should you wish”.