#ooc: i should make a tag for these longer posts

[thatoneguy031]

At this point, we had all made our way to Castelia, and it wasn't too difficult to make it back... After a while, getting from one end of Unova to the other stops being such an exhausting task.

Bars.

But anyway, yeah, we made it to the dock, and I was scared about how many humans were there. I could tell Mx. Suicune was too, but probably for different reasons. To sort of calm their nerves, I gave them my sunglasses, y'know? They were really concerned with how they looked for some reason. It's not really something I think I should ask about yet.

I, personally, had one of my seamitars out, just in case someone decided to get too personal. You can call it force of habit or even dangerous, I call it being prepared.

Imagine my surprise when I heard a familiar voice shout "Yo! Mido-Rott-a!"

I turn around, and I see someone practically swimming through the crowd of people and Pokemon alike to get to where me and the others were.

...Blair?! What is HE doing here?!

He was saying, "Yo, dude! It's so awesome seeing you here! And you brought your friends, too!", and he had reached back into the crowd to yank someone else from inside. Another human, of course, wearing a blue coat and red glasses. Oh, and he had black hair too.

"I'm telling you, Blair, this better be worth fighting through so many people," he said to him. "Heavens, the foot traffic here is worse than the streets!" He was upset, and I was too. Why ARE there so many people here?!

"Trust me, Cheren, these dudes are really cool!" Blair gestured to us, like we were some kind of blender or vacuum or something from one of those infomercials. "These are the Pokemon I was talking about, from the party! They learned how to write, and helped me out with Team Plasma some time ago!" He held out his hand, probably for me to shake it.

I stared at him. I mean, I'm fine with him, I guess. He doesn't mean any harm. But like... I don't even know him like that.

Of course, I still shook his hand, but I was still wary of him, reaching for my notebook with my other paw. <What are you doing here?>

"They can communicate," the other boy, presumably Cheren, said. He looked fascinated. "I can see why you were so interested in them. And- Wait, is that a Suicune?!" He yelped, leaping back a little.

Mx. Suicune didn't like that very much, and they chose to stand behind me They looked like they were snarling, but no sound came from his mouth. I have no clue why he did all that. I don't mean any disrespect, but what was I gonna do if they couldn't do squat? <Don't say that so loud!!!> I told Cheren.

Cheren had to take some time to readjust his glasses. "I need to get some contacts in the future... Anyways. We had decided to come here because Blair had said that you, a Flygon, and a Suicune would be here, although he wasn't sure on the latter. Why are you here? I'm sure the boat would interfere with your swimming, no?"

<That's why I'm even in Castelia,> I wrote. <I plan on taking that thing to Sinnoh.>

"Did any of you partner with a Trainer?" Cheren asked, and I obviously shook my head. Why would I? Stupid question, next.

"You do recognize that you have to be with a Trainer to even ride this, right?"

"And that's where I come in!" Blair declared. He reached into his pocket, and out came a sort of plastic card with his name on it. "Here's a ticket to ride the ferry! I got one, so you dudes would get off scott-free! Just show this thing if folks get suspicious!" He gave it to me, and I nearly expected a "psyche" kind of thing. But... No tricks? No cost? Nothing? He's just... giving this to me?

I took the ticket. Maybe... Maybe he really WAS just being nice.

And then I remembered that I never really introduced myself properly. I thought this would be the best time to do that.

<My name is Guy, and I'm trying to travel the world. That's my life goal.>

I hesitated after that. It wasn't like I'd be lying, but I still felt slightly dishonest in saying that. Blair really wasn't a bad person, not compared to other humans, but... I don't know. Something was still making me uneasy.

...<I'm glad to have met you, Blare.>

He laughed a little. Did I spell his name wrong? It didn't last long, though, as we all heard the horn of the ferry going off.

"Oh, shoot! Sorry, but we gotta go!" I grabbed Cherry's paw, and we made a mad dash towards the entrance. "And one of my friends said hi!" and Blair nearly broke into a sprint in the opposite direction, saying his goodbyes as Cheren struggled to keep up with him, saying something like "It's been nice seeing you, but it looks like we both have to get going, see ya!" But, he dropped something as he ran off.

His hat.

I rushed back to the ground to get it, and I was going to tell him that he dropped it, but he was already out of earshot, even for how loud my species can be. I didn't have any time to chase him down and give it back, so I just... stuffed it in my bag.

I had to run in order to get back to the boat in time, and even then, Cherry had to yank me partway through the doors before I got stuck.

But haaaahh, we're on the boat.

...It's fine now.

[tojifile]

Hey, can I make a request for your event?

Fyodor x fem!reader, except he's madly in love with her but doesn't accept it bc he thinks it's useless :)

@Fyodor Dostoevsky . . . (＾-＾)

Tags: smitten!fyodor, fluff, angst if you squint, gn!reader, domestic Fyodor, kinda ooc, vol 14+ doesn’t exist, yandere themes if you get 400+ graded glasses

A/N: Hello anon !! I’m so sorry this took so long, probably 2-4 months (?) I’ve been so busy with school that I just didn’t have time for requests. I’ll treat my fics like those “mafia!dazai who…” type of posts, if that makes sense. I know it’s a big change from my old writing style but I really hope you would still like it :))

smitten!fyodor who met you while walking around Yokohama. He asked you for directions one day and as faith would have it that was the exact place you were going to as well. Although, he didn’t actually need directions, he just wanted to test his skills in deceit.

“Excuse me miss, pardon me for being a bother. Could you please tell me where the nearest train is?” You softly smiled at the gentleman who had gotten your attention. “Of course, I was just heading there myself, you could just follow me if you’d like.”

smitten!fyodor who was fond of the way you spoke to him in such a polite manner. It was endearing to have someone be so courteous (bare minimum, I know).

smitten!fyodor whose voice you couldn’t forget. Softer than silk yet even the sun itself would revolve around its gravity.

smitten!fyodor who “accidentally” bumps into you from time to time. It’s been going on for several months now and during the first few times you jokingly accused him of stalking you.

“Fyodor-san? This is the fourth time this month, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were stalking me!” You teased. He responded to your joke with a small chuckle.

smitten!fyodor who denies feeling anything for you since he thinks it would hinder his plans for a better world. He constantly tells himself that it’ll pass, but each day he spends with you feels like a dream.

smitten!fyodor who reassures himself that this was all part of his master plan; that you were just another pawn in his epic chess match with Dazai. Surely someone as simple as you couldn’t destroy his plans, right?

smitten!fyodor who tells himself that keeping you happy is all part of his mission to save the world. When he’s overthinking his actions around you he tells himself that he only keeps you happy because a world where you’re sad confuses and frustrates him—oops, wrong thought!

What frustrates him further is the fact that he can no longer tell himself that you’re just a pawn. He never has internal struggles, so how could you do this to him? For years and years he chased his ideals. He tried to attain the unattainable, he never thought something as simple as affection could be that unattainable thing.

smitten!fyodor who saw you on a date with somebody else and he felt like that was God’s way of telling him that he should continue to fulfill his mission rather than chase someone who clearly doesn’t like him back.

Comment 🪩 to be on my taglist !

[safination]

Partners in Death... and Life

Part 3: Not Everything You Hear From the Radio Should be Trusted

| Part 2: Radio Will be Dead if He Doesn't Explain Himself| Part 4: The Radio Star’s Co-host Just Wants To Do The Dishes||Masterlist| ao3| Tag-list| Parings: Alastor x wife!reader Tags: fem!reader, established relationship, hopefully not but just in case ooc!alastor (I'm still trying my best to keep him as canon as possible) Reader is in hell for a reason. Please take note of the following warnings: Body horror. Graphic descriptions of injuries, glass piercing skin, cutting of skin, cutting of chest. Dissection of Human muscles. Misogyny Just…be careful out there

Series Summary: After a seven-year absence, you find the man you were married to in life, not only back in town, but also helping... *checks notes*... the Princess of Hell run a hotel aimed at rehabilitating sinners who were sent to the bad place for a reason.

Hello. I usually aim to post on Wednesdays, and I knoooow it's not a Wednesday. But, in my defense, this chapter is longer than chapters 1 and 2 combined. Also, I tried to keep the body horror to a medium level. I tried to find a perfect balance of horrifying but also still readable. Would you guys want more body horror, or less, or is this a good amount? Updated: 5/01/2024 *just realized that I forgot to add the part I was supposed to add*

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The heart monitor beeps with a steady rhythm. The model’s ECG reading dip, but that’s normal for her species. You study the model asleep on your table, and take your place.

Turning to your interns, you adjust the fit of your gloves as say, “Are you ready?

From the other side of the table, Lys nods her head with such vigor that you’re afraid it would fall off. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be!”

Heme takes their place next to you, wheeling the cart within your reach. “Aren’t there supposed to be more people here?” they ask, adjusting the fit of their mask with their shoulder. “We don’t even have an anesthesiologist present, and the technician dumped the tools and left without a word!”

Sighing, you take another look at the screen, and monitor the patient’s ECG readings. Just a couple of decades ago, you wouldn’t even be allowed to take five steps into a surgical suite, but in your death, you stare at the state-of-the-art Vox technology heart monitor.

“This was dumped at the last minute. And the Vees paid a hefty amount for the best,” you say, smiling to yourself. “I guess it doesn’t help that most of the staff have clocked-off for the night already.”

“It really doesn’t,” Heme says. You think they frown, you’re not actually sure. It’s hard to tell with masks on, but Heme sounds like they’re frowning.

“On the bright side, this is a special case, and special cases require special means,” you say. “Stick around, and I’ll make sure to show you something amazing.”

Lys squeals, jumping a bit, “I can’t wait to see your work.”

You turn to Heme. “Tell how you were guided into stopping the bleeding by Doctor Neisseria.”

Heme straightens, round their shoulders. “Hemostatic dressing for the capillaries,” they recite. “Then Lys clipped the bigger vessels, and Doctor Neisseria used an electrocautery for any that we missed.”

“Good,” you say. “Lys, is this your first time using a clip?”

“ . . . Yes,” Lys tells you. Even with a mask on, you could tell she was sulking.

You eye the cart between you and Heme, double checking that the technician brought everything you requested for. “It shows,” you say. “Practice every chance you get. Make a deal with some poor and down on their luck Sinner who wouldn’t mind making a deal for permission to poke around whenever you want. They’ll heal on their own if it’s not too severe or don’t—I mean, that’s how I did mine.”

Lys blinks at you. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Your shoulder slumps. “ . . . Shall we just begin?”

Heme hands you a needle driver, the needle already clipped to it. A bunch of suture forms around your palm. It’s study, and made of pure Sinner Magical Energy, or just magic or whatever. It comes out of your and you have full control, that’s all you need to know.

Heme and Lys lean closer to observe the threads you make.

I don’t get to do this often.” You turn your head, motioning to the detached arm placed on the side. The skin has been stretched and the jagged and stringy muscle fibers sticking out tell you it’s been ripped off rather than slice. The radius protrudes out into the air, jagged and sharp. It would have hurt this model quite a lot. “Steady her arm please.”

Lys snatches the arm, holding it with confidence as she steadies it. “This is so cool.”

Heme hums. “Cool in a gross way.”

“Whether your patient is awake or not, a steady hand is key,” you say. “When you pierce your needle, be sure to do it right at the epidermis when dealing with the skin. Too deep and you’ll puncture the arteries or nerves.”

Lys brings the arm closer, and you do the first suture that will connect the limb of Velvette’s model. Valen-something apparently tore her up, but it wasn’t enough to kill her. So, they rushed her into the Emergency Room three days before this poor girl’s debut, and dropped her into your care with her arm and leg in an ice box.

You sew the model’s arm. The threads around your fingers are light, but sturdy. You entwine some around your fingers like some puppet master for better grip. Blood vessels, bones, nerves, and muscles. Not a single cell escapes your control.  

You quiz your interns from time to time or tell them to take a closer look at where the vessels stick out the muscles, making sure they’re able to observe how a proper reattachment is conducted.

You study the threads connecting the arm to its body There are thousands of loose sutures. One single pull, and it will be completely reattached.

You shift your shoulders and crack your neck, giving it a slight stretch. “How long has it been?”

Lys glances at the clock behind you. “Five hours. I think it’s almost sunrise.”

“Be ready to be here for a while,” you say, rolling your shoulders. “The leg will be more complicated.”

Heme groans and their shoulder slump. “I guess I should just be thankful the model is mostly humanistic.”

You pull on the singular thread, and the stitches shorten until the arm is fully connected to its base. A thing line is the only indication that any limbs have been detached.

The door swings open and you snap your head at the sound.

“Hey doc!” The little Egg Boi saunters into the room, an envelope in his tiny hands. “I got something for you.”

Your feathers crack and sharpen. “If you wish to keep your shell,” you hiss at him, “you will leave this room before you contaminate it further.”

Egg Boi #04 wobbles a bit. “I was told to give you a message.”

A headache forms on your temples. You want to massage it, but that would contaminate your gloves. “Lys, show the egg to the observation room. Show him the microphone.”

Lys pouts a bit but exits the surgical suite.

Heme grabs the leg, and you begin again. You pause to take a deep breath. The threads don’t just appear out of thin air—they’re created because you will them to take shape. It gives as much as it needs to take from you.

Egg Boi# 04’s voice echoes on the speaker. “I have a note for you.”

“Read it then leave.” You pierce the tibia bone with your needle (special hell needle, you guess. Normal needles definitely cannot pierce bones) and connect it to the model’s leg.

Your concentration does not waver, even as Lys enters back into the room.

“ My dearest good doctor, ” Egg Boi #04 reads. “ What a helltastic day for –"

“Stop!” you exclaim, and the threads you’re producing fizzle a bit, “Is that from Alastor?”

“Uhhh . . . yes?”

“Give me 10 minutes.” You sew the model’s leg just like before, starting from bones, then vessels, the muscles, and finally skin, but this time at a much faster pace.  

Thousands of strings connect the detached leg to its place.

Heme gawks at you. “I thought the leg was more complicated?”

“It is.”

“It took you five minutes to sew everything ,” they say. “Why did it take the arm until sunrise?”

“You wouldn’t have been able to learn anything if I went too fast.” You hand the needle driver to Heme, who takes it with eager hands “I trust you will be able to close for me?”

“Yes!”

“Go around the skin—remember not too deep,” you say. “Once it’s all connected, just one strong pull and the threads should work their magic. Lys, once she closes, you can practice your knots.”

The door closes with a swing. You discard your gloves then peel off your protective layers, but you keep the scrub cap on your head.

The Egg Boi waddles into the room, threatening to tip any moment. He holds up Alastor’s note and you’re forced to bend when you reach for it.

You open the envelope and sigh. “This is a letter, and definitely not a note ,” you say counting all the pages jammed into the envelope. “Notes are small pieces of paper, and not fifteen pages of paper scribbled back-to-back.”

You take one deep breath, flaring your nostrils as you contemplate your marriage choices, and begin reading.

Heme enters the holding room as you’re reading through the last page.

They take a look at the pages you’ve read. “Ohhhhh a letter?” they say, discarding their mask into the trash. Their gloves are next. “Who is it from?”

“My husband.”

“Why a letter?” Heme asks you “Why not just shoot you a text or a phone call?”

“He mumbles to himself when he writes, and he just loves hearing his own voice.” You turn to the Egg Boi once you’ve read the last word. “Tell Alastor I’m busy—I can’t leave work to go to the hotel on such short notice!”

“Right . . .” Heme leans against the sink. “Management will be dropping by this afternoon.”

Your eyes squint. “This afternoon? I was told there'd be visiting tomorrow!”

“Yes, they informed you last night,” Heme says. “It’s tomorrow now—morning, actually.”

Your eyes twitch as you turn to Egg Boi #4. “Tell him I will be early. Now go, run along now, lest you get scrambled.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Bustling sounds from the other side of the circus themed doors. You knock then take a step backwards, least Vaggie greets you with a fist to the face.

A crash sounds from the inside. The door slams open, and Charlie pops out, hair disheveled and sticking out in odd places. You see the relief oozing into her. Charlie’s smile relaxes and her eyes stop bulging at the sight of you.

She says your name with enthusiasm. “It’s just you! I am so glad to see you.”

You wave at her. “Hello, Charlie. It’s good to see you as well.”

“Would you like to come inside?” she says at the same time another crash sounds. Charlie’s smile turns sheepish. “I hope you don’t mind the mess.”

“It’s quite alright,” you say with a polite smile. “Who am I to judge another person’s mess? It can be quite entertaining sometimes.”

 Charlies smoothens the stray hairs sticking out. It does little to actually fix it. “Sooooo what brings you by? Not that you’re not welcome here! Everyone is welcome here! We don’t discriminate at –”

The door swings wider and Alastor pops out with that permanent smile of his. “I called her here.”

Alastor helps you out of your coat as you enter through the doors, and drapes it over his arm. “I came early. I hope you don’t mind,” you say, glancing at the crudely attached banners. Strobe lights are being taped to the railings. Its brightness makes you blink. “Are you throwing a party? Is that why you called me here?”

Alastor hangs your coat on the rack. “We’re preparing for a sudden guest,” he says. “It seems we’ll have to delay our plans, only if you’re happy with waiting for me.”

Charlie shrinks and her eyes water a bit. “Alastor . . .,” she says with a frown. “If you have plans, that’s alright—go. We can manage without you here!”

“Not at all, this is where he needs to be right now,” you tell Charlie, placing a hand on her shoulder. Her smile brightens immediately. “Who will be the special guest today?”

Charlie fiddles with her fingers. “We invite my . . . dad .”

Alastor twirls his microphone. “The King of Hell himself.”

“Oh,” you start, “ the demon is coming here?”

“That’s actually Satan,” Charlie says with a smile. “Dad often gents confused with Satan but they’re not the same

“Oh . . . So, Lucifer is coming here.”

“Pretty much.”

You laugh a bit—you’re not even sure why. Maybe you shouldn’t have laughed. It sounded so awkward, even to you. “Well, how can I help? If it’s alright with you, of course.”

Charlie’s eyes brighten, and she shakes your shoulders. “Are you sure?”

Alastor grabs Charlie’s fingers with the tip of his own and pry them off you. “I’ve already come all this way,” you say, and turn to your husband. “I’m sure we can make the most out of this situation.”

Charlie leaves to change her clothes, and hopefully brush her hair while she’s at it.

Alastor offers his arm, and you loop your own around his, even when you know it’s unnecessary to escort you to a living area that’s five-feet away.

He leaves you, walking to the kitchen with a wave of his microphone.

The hotel looks the same, just more diverse colors hanging around. Niffty stalks past you without a word, engrossed in her task of sweeping the floor. Angel Dust or Vaggie don’t seem to be around, nor is Husk at his usual post. Only a one-eyed cat keeps you company.

On the table,  deflated balloons are left forgotten with two pumps resting next to it. You take your seat, and complete the unfinished task.

You’re on the third balloon when Alastor presents a mug to you.

He leans over the chair, reaching his arms to place that ‘ Oh Deer’ mug on the table. It’s difficult to meet his eyes when he leans so far in front that his whole face is upside down.

His hair hangs in the air, and your husband looks goofy in such an awkward position that you can’t help but laugh. “You look awful this hellish morning!” he says, and his grin widens until his teeth show. “I thought you could use a bit of brightening up. You’re practically dozing off in the chair.”

 “Thank you,” you say, a small smile on your face. “The coffee smells good.”

Alastor swings back, and lands next to you. “I know we agreed to leave such tasks to you,” he says and he waves his arms as he talks. “But you look ready to drop dead any second. Poor Niffty had swept about a hundred feathers on your short walk from the door to this chair—Long day?”

“ Longer day, actually. Yesterday’s long day turned into a late night that bleeds into today’s early morning.” You take a sip, and revel in its taste. Even after all these years . . . his coffee still tastes like acidic bean water. (If you smile, then that’s your business.) “The coffee tastes good.”

Alastor crosses his leg, cracking a laugh hard enough for his eyes to bulge. “You didn’t even try to check if it’s been tampered,” he says with that same wild smile. “Are you that tired, my love?”

You smile at him, lips curving bright and wide. “My deerest, did you place something into my coffee?”

“Not at all.”

“That’s disappointing,” you say, taking another sip. “That suit of yours could use some brightening up! A splash of this bean water would add such an interesting texture to it.”

“We’ll it good to see you’re not tired enough to lose your way with words,” Alastor says, smiling at you. “But if you’ve had a ‘ longer’ day, you could have sent the Egg Boy—"

“It’s Egg Boi, my deerest.”

Alastor squints, his brow furrowing as he does. “That’s what I said.”

“You said Egg Boy, deerest,” you tell him, taking a longer sip than usual to drown your laughter. “Those eggs are called Egg Bois . They have different numbers—except Frank.”

On the corner of his cheek—just where it’s always been—Alastor’s smile strains. “You said the same thing as I did.”

“Egg Bois.”

“Egg Boys.”

“Egg Bois .”

“Egg Boys .”

You chuckle a bit, and take another long slip. “If you say so.”

Alastor rolls his eyes and he makes it a point to show you he’s doing so. “You could have mentioned to that egg creature that you’d had a long day.”

“Management was dropping by my floor today.” You grab another balloon to pump it.

Alastor’s head tilts, and you hear the small crack of his neck. Static fills the air. “Well, I’m always glad to be used in such a way.”

You roll your eyes, making it a point to show Alastor that you’re doing so. The sharpened feathers and the glow of your eyes were just for the fun of it. “There is another reason why I dropped by the hotel.”

“Do tell!”

You knot the end of the balloon and throw it to the side. “Who am I to refuse the summon of the Radio Demon?”

“His wife.”

You snort, and toss a balloon at him. One balloon becomes two and now you’re just tossing whatever balloon you could get your hands on.

Alastor pops a balloon and static emits from his microphone.

You cross your arms, staring down at him. “I was going to use that.”

Alastor grabs the second pump. 

An hour passes too soon. They always seem to do around your husband. The balloons are stringed and weighted. Razzle and Dazzle—the two lambs Charlie made a point to introduce you too—put up . . . er  . . . interesting banner on the railings.

Sir Pentious slithers out the kitchen, a tray of cookies in his hold. The Hazbin Hotel looks lively. The space looks decent—live in — as if Sinners actually gathered and used the space. (Those are your favorite kind.)

Sir Pentious offers a cookie to you, and you munch on it. You give him a compliment for its taste.

By the entrance, with Vaggie to her side and Alastor at the other, Charlie takes a deep breath, her nostrils flaring as she does.

Vaggie gives her a smile, and Charlie opens the door.

The bringer of sin rushes to his daughter, drowning her in a hug.“Chaaaaarlie!”

Charlie squirms in his hold. “Heeeyy, Dad!”

Egg Boi #13 and Egg Boi #08 twist their poppers and confetti pops into the air. Niffty grabs her broom, sweeping the floor.

You watch Lucifer, and try to hide your smile. The King of Hell looks different from any paintings or drawings humans make. They can’t seem to capture how shy he looks. How awkward. No painting has been able to capture his search for a place to belong.

This Fallen Angel has blond hair. He’s not the brunette you thought he’d be, which was a shame for you rather liked brunets. It makes sense he’d be blond. Afterall, Charlie has blonde hair as well, and she is the spitting image of her father.

If someone told you it was Lucifer who birthed her, you wouldn’t be able to deny it.

“It’s finally nice to put a name to the face.” Alastor shakes Lucifer’s hand with his microphone, wiping his own right after. “You are much shorter in real life.”

You turn aways, coughing to hide your laughter as Alastor banters with Lucifer.

Husk rolls his eyes at you and grumbles. “Of course, you’d find that hilarious,” he says. “Everyone knows it's smart to insult Lucifer.”

You place a hand on your cheek. “Guilty as charged.”

Charlie brings Lucifer to meet your group. He calls Vaggie, Maggie. Smiles awkwardly when Angel Dust calls him a ‘short king’ . Lucifer waves back when Husk waves at him, and shrinks when Niffty jumps and pulls him by the collar. One by one, you’re introduced.

You extend your arm for a handshake.

Lucifer smiles awkwardly, shrinking a bit, but reaches out to shake your ha—

The chandelier crashes to the floor.

And oh God . . .

Lucifer begins to sing.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Your hair sticks to your face.

Water droplets splash on your clothes. You accept your fate, and trudge through the rain, even as your fingers freeze. The breeze blows your hair, making you nuzzle into your damp coat. You should have brought an umbrella, or taken a cab. Just your luck, a sunny day turns into a drizzle that turns your shoes into a lake. You hate damp socks.

An umbrella blocks the rain from your soaked clothes.

You spring out of its coverage, spinning to look behind. Your arms jerk out, causing you to wobble because of the wet pavement. (That’s totally not embarrassing.)

 “The point of an umbrella is to stay underneath it when it’s raining.” Alastor smiles, giving you a small wave.

You wave back.

“Oh . . . hello,” you say, adjusting the straps of your bag. Alastor takes a step forward, and you jump backwards. “I’m alright—I can manage by myself.”

“Why don’t you tell me all about your very capable self from underneath the umbrella,” he says, twirling the umbrella. “Come on, now.”

You dip your head inside. Alastor inches closer, but there’s still a respectable gap between your shoulders. “I’m really alright,” you say. “I quite love the rain.”

“Yes, the rain is a beautiful thing to frolic underneath when you’re in a meadow,” Alastor says. You can’t help but feel that Alastor is scolding you, “not when it splashes off buildings and drips off power lines and other items that have not been cleaned. We are in the city, my dear.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“My mother would roll in her grave and haunt me when she finds out I left a lady in the rain.”

“But—”

“Constant refusal is quite rude, you know,” he tells you. “And I still owe you one favor.”

“You really wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all,” Alastor says with a smile that makes you smile back. “If it makes you feel more comfortable, I’m happy to leave my umbrella in your umbrella-less but capable hands, and be on my way.”

You shake your head, inching closer. “We can share if you don’t mind walking.”

“I love walks. It keeps me stimulated.”

Alastor follows your every step, covering you with an umbrella that was meant for one. You glance at his shoulder, and turn away to hide your frown. Half of his shoulder sticks out into the rain, gathering droplets, while not a single speck of water slides on you.

Alastor is giving you the bigger half of the umbrella.

“Would you mind holding this?” he asks.

“Not at all,” you say, and take a hold of his umbrella. Alastor is taller, and you have to quirk your arms higher to avoid hitting his head.

Alastor slips out of his coat. You watch him slide it off his shoulders and pull his arm out the slits. He’s wearing a vest—a fine vest as well. Alastor flicks out stray waterdrops. He leans close enough for you to smell his cologne. He drapes his coat over your shoulders, grabbing the lapels to adjust its fit. His body heat lingers. It’s warm . . . he’s warm.

Alastor pries the umbrella from your grip with a wide smile. “Before you say anything, the only response that I will be accepting is, ‘thank you’.”

“Thank you, Alastor.”

“You’re welcome.” He adjusts the angle of the umbrella, careful to keep every drop of rain from touching you, even at the cost of his own clothes. “Whatever made you decide to walk?  There are cabs and busses for a reason.”

“It wasn’t that bad when I started,” you say. “Plus, I was eager to get home.”

He keeps his eyes ahead. “It’s still quite dangerous.”

You step over a puddle, narrowly missing it. “Dangerous?”

“Yes!”

“The sun is—well, was still up when I began walking.”

Alastor hums, shaking his head. “Murders and thieves do not magically dissolve in the sun.”

You smile to yourself. “I’m sure you’re quite knowledgeable on that subject.”

Alastor turns to you, and his hair shifts as he tilts his head. “Pardon?”

“I heard your voice on the radio this morning,” you tell him, adjusting his coat around your shoulders. “I caught the news segment.”

“Well,” he starts, his smile widening. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “you must have been busy when I mentioned the forecast then.”

You inch closer as much as he’ll allow you, trying to keep a respectable distance, but still close enough that Alastor doesn’t need to sacrifice his clothes to keep yours dry. “Speaking of radio, what brings you to this area?” you say. “Isn’t the radio station all the way across town?”

Alastor laughs in a way that makes you wish you’ve kept your mouth shut. “Have you been tracking my movements?”

“Not at all,” you say and try to mimic his laugh. It comes out strained instead. “I just know how to read a map.”

Alastor steps over a puddle. He places a hand on your back, guiding you away from it. “I just had some business in the area,” he says and drops his hand. “I turned the corner and I found you walking all alone in the rain!”

You smile, careful to keep your eyes forward. “I’m thankful to whatever beings that fated our paths to cross.”

Alastor leans closer, eyeing your hands. “Been gardening recently?”

You glance at your nails, at where stubborn soil sticks underneath the cuticle. “No . . . not at all,” you say slowly. “I guess you could say . . . light treasure hunting . . . ?”

“The more I get to know you, the more I find myself dumbfounded at your wide range of hobbies.”

“I hate seeing things go to waste.” You try to ignore the squish of your socks. You are definitely never forgetting your umbrella again. “For example, your garbage is my treasure.”

“What a wonderful philosophy to live by.” Alastor meets your eyes and smiles.

You smile back. “Indeed, isn’t it?”

Alastor’s hold on the umbrella stays firm, even as he follows you around the corner and across the street. Not a single drop of water lands on you. “What treasure were you able to find?”

“You have a lot of questions for me today,” you say and ignore the thumping of your heart. “I feel as if you know me more than I know you—I think that’s rather unfair.”

“Well, what would you like to know?”

You move your foot to avoid puddles of trash. The city could really use a good cleaning. “You know so much about my hobbies. So, I’d like to know some of yours.”

“There isn’t really much to tell,” he says. “The radio is my life.”

A strong breeze has you sinking deeper into Alastor’s coat. “You have your hunts.”

You glance at Alastor, and oh . . . his hair is as brown as his eyes. Wisps of hair stick to his face because of the rain.

Alastor’s brows furrow a bit, but you swear his smile turns sweet. “Those are more of a necessity than a hobby.”

“In what way?”

“The woods around my area have a lot of . . . let’s say, mammals that don’t necessarily belong there, it is as if someone just leaves them from time to time. I hunt a few here and there to thin the population a bit.”

You smile to yourself. “Well, tell me about the radio—What is that like?”

He places his free hand on his chest. “Why, it is the proper medium of expressing oneself, of course.”

“It must be nice having such a creative outlet,” you say. “Sometimes, I wonder how you’re able to come up with the most exciting segments.”

“Sadly, you would think after all these years of bringing success and money into the company, I would be allowed to have more control over my content.”

You step over another puddle. A small tug on Alastor’s arm, and he steps over it as well. “That is quite sad to hear.”

“For example,” he starts, adjusting his hold on the umbrella. “I wanted to have this whole portion just on crimes that have been committed.”

“Like . . .  the news?”

“No, not at all,” he says. “I was thinking more on the lines of old cases like robberies and murders—some solved, some not. Unfortunately, the director said it would be too gruesome.”

“It really depends on how you choose to present it,” you say. “I think audiences would love a good mystery with a satisfying conclusion.”

“That is exactly what I thought so as well!” Alastor’s smile widens. “I came across this story . . . Oh, well I wouldn’t want to bother you with the details.”

“I’d love to hear this,” you say, chuckling. “Show me how you would present it.”

“One winter night,” he starts off with that never ending smile on his lips, “a child—no ordinary child—disappears in the middle of the night. There were no signs of a break in and nothing other than the child was taken from the home. Not a single dust was out of place.”

“Wait, what was so special about the child?”

“I will tell you,” he says. “That child was the two-year old son of aviator Charles Lindenberg! Some newspapers called the child the ‘Eaglet’ because his father had become the first man to fly across the Atlantic Oce—Oh, why are we stopping?”

He angles the umbrella, careful to keep you dry. You smile at him and point at the small apartment complex behind you. “This is where I live.”

Alastor doesn’t frown, but his smile droops a bit. “Oh . . . ” he says. “I was getting to the most interesting portion of the story—what a shame.”

“A shame, indeed,” you echo. “You have such a captivating way of conveying your words.”

“Thank you.”

The rain splatters on the umbrella. It’s not going to stop anytime soon. Your socks are damp and it’s starting to get colder. “Would you like to finish what you were saying?”

Alastor’s smile widens, just a bit, but it was enough for you to notice. “On the month of May, after continuous searching, a tiny little corpse was found abandoned on the side of the road. Forensics determined that the baby was bludgeoned to death.”

“It’s quite funny,” you tell him. “You talk of such gruesome murders but I find myself captivated.”

“Indeed.”

“Thank you for going out of your way for me, Alastor.” You slip out of his coat, returning it to him. It’s cold—has it always been this cold. “Will I see you around?”

“Of course,” he says. “We always meet in such unconventional places.”

You duck out of the umbrella, giving him one last smile and head up the steps.  A twist of a doorknob, a few flights of stairs, and you would be home. You were tired, your socks are soaking, and the back of your clothes stick to your skin. So, why . . . why do you find yourself running back into the rain?

“Wait!” you find yourself exclaiming.

Alastor covers you with his umbrella. “What’s wrong?”

‘I . . . I may have a problem.” The words are slipping out of your lips. “Are you busy by any chance?”

“Not at all.”

“What about your business in the area?”

Alastor raises his eyebrows. “I can always come back.”

 “Would you help me?” You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Of course.” Alastor brings the umbrella closer to you. “What can I do for you?”

“I think . . . ” you begin to say. Stop. Stop! You should turn back; head inside where warm clothes and a bath awaits you. “I think I’m in the wrong area.”

Alastor laughs, and it’s that same breathy and light laugh as before. He drapes his coat over your shoulder once more, and adjusts its fit to secure it around you. It’s the warmest thing you’ve ever experienced in your life. “I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I left a lady stranded in the rain.”

“Not at all,” you say with a smile that you do not remember smiling. “Lots of scary thieves and murders out there—apparently they don’t disappear during the day.”

Alastor nudges you along, down the path, to a destination either of you have the faintest idea where it will end.

Your feet stay locked in its place, and you hold Alastor in your gaze. (His bowtie is crooked, and even with his coat around you, he looks presentable. His vest matches his shoes. You note how his smile is asymmetrical, and how his eyes are still as brown as his hair. Alastor’s glasses are frosted, but he doesn’t seem to mind.)

“Are you alright?” Alastor asks you.

“I’m fine. It’s just . . . .” You shake your head and smile. “It would be a waste to forget this.”

“Come on,” Alastor says in a voice that is oh so soft. He offers his arm, and you hook your own around his.

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“ Motherfucker! ” Husk curses into the air, his ears quirking as he does. “Would it fucking kill you to be gentle with that shit?”

“I am being gentle.” You stare him down, keeping the towel pressed firmly against his foot. “Would you want to know what it’s like when I’m not? I’d be very happy to comply.”

“ . . . No.”

“Then settle down, Husker ,” you say and use your free hand to grab the forceps from the hotel’s medical kit. “This will be much easier if you stay still . . . or don’t and give yourself a harder time. I’m not the one with glass sticking out of my foot.”

Husk sinks into the clinic bed, sulking as he crosses his arms. He picks on the pillow, fidgeting with its seams. “ Bitch. ”

You raise your eyebrows and huff. “ Virgin. ”

“I am not . . .grandma. ” Husk’s fangs show when he growls. 

Your feathers bristle. It’s smart to keep Husk talking, even if hurling insults is the way to do so. If it keeps him distracted, you won’t complain. “I died in my late twenties . . . or was it my early thirties — I honestly forget.”

The blood on his foot begins to clot, and you toss the towel to the waste basket. You walk to the sink, rinsing stray droplets of Husk’s blood with soap.

“Settle down then, grandma,” he says with a triumphant smile, and you roll your eyes. “Today, it’s your memories. Tomorrow, it could be anything.”

You plop on the clinic chair, waiting for your hands to dry. “Yes, it would make sense you’re familiar with the signs,” you shoot back, “considering you lived long enough to be called Pawpaw — Is that why you’re a cat?”

Husk barks a laugh, his wings flaring. He grabs the pillow and tosses it to you. It hits the side of the chair and langs on your lap. You pick it up and toss it back at him. “At least my husband didn’t walk out on me for several years without so much as a word.”

You chuckle, and settle his foot on your leg for better access. Taking your forceps, you brush away slivers of glass from Husk’s foot  . . . or would this be his paw?

You clip a shard of glass, and glance at him. When Husk doesn’t whine like a little bitch, you pull a shard and drop it to the metal pan across you. “At least my marriage lasted even through death, Arachnid Simp.”

Husk rolls his eyes. You smile when his whiskers twitch. “Where did you even learn that word?”

“I see you’re not going to deny it.”

Husk sinks deeper into the bed.

“This wouldn’t be happening if you—I don’t know—wore these things called shoes ?” You pluck another shard of glass. Husk tries to jerk his foot away, but your hold stays firm. “They were invented a long, long, time ago, and were created to keep your feet protected .”

“Stop talking as if I’m a child.” Husk frowns and his teeth stick out. “Wearing them feels weird.”

“I guess they kind of are weird.” You grab a fresh towel when blood squirts out of Husk’s foot. “You die and then suddenly waking up to see you don’t have toes

A beat passes between you. “Do you . . . do you not have toes?”

You toss the towel, and pick out the last shard. “Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy.”

“ What does that even mean ?” Husk growls, running his palms over his face.

“I . . . have absolutely no idea.”

You reach into the medical kit, grabbing some dressing. You peel the plastic and toss it to the trash, and press it against his foot.

Egg Boi #03 waddles up to you, a gauze roll in his tiny hands — you weren’t aware the little egg creature was in the room. You thank him with a smile, and wrap the gauze roll around Husk’s paw then his ankle. Satisfied, you clip it in its place.

“You’re all done,” you say. “It might be weird to step on it for a few hours, but it’s not impossible. The glass didn’t puncture you too deep.”

“Good to know.”

“Oh . . . and just in case, the amount of blood you saw isn’t anything to be scared of. There’s just a lot of tiny vessels on the foot. That’s why it took a while for it to stop,” you say and toss him a new set of gauze rolls and pads.

Husk stares at the items. “I don’t know how to use this.”

You stare at him, leaning into the chair. “Just slap the square on the skin and roll the gauze around your foot.”

Husk hops out of the clinic, keeping pressure off his injury.

It takes a while to clean up after yourself, but Egg Boi #03 keeps you company. The little egg speaks a lot of nonsense, but it’s entertaining nonetheless. You flick the lights, and Egg Boi #03 follows behind you.

The chandeliers had been dragged away, and the glass and debris cleared off the carpet.

Mimzy’s hug makes you take a step back.

You squirm in her hold, placing a placating hand on her shoulders.

“I am sooooo glad you are here!” Mimzy exclaims, shaking your shoulders. “This is like one big reunion, ay. Just between you and me, that Lucifer is a real looker—shame on Alastor for not warning a gal. I would have dressed better, and who knows? Maybe I could be the Queen of Hell. Ha! ”

Mimzy grabs your arm and drags you to the bar. Husk pours you a drink with a nod, and stalks away. Seeing him hop up the stairs makes you laugh.

You swirl your drink. “It’s always good to see you, old friend.”

“Not that old!” Mimzy swats your arm, a huge grin on her lips. “And there’s no need to lie to me, darling. I doubt you actually feel that way.”

“Well, I still have those burn marks on my wall from the time you decided to play bartender with matches.”

Mimzy barks a laugh, and her legs kick. “C’mon you can’t still be blaming  me! If I remember correctly, it was Alastor who brought out the matches.”

Angel Dust walks up to you with Sir Pentious trailing behind him. You wave.Sir Pentious waves back, his hood flapping open.

“Mind if we join ya?” Angel Dust asks.

“Not at all,” Mimzy says. “I’m always weak to such lookers.”

Angel Dust takes the seat next to you and pushes back his hair. Sir Pentious takes the one behind him. “Sooooo, you two and Alastor run in the same circles.” He takes a drink. “And you guys are friends with him?”

You take a sip of your own drink. “You could describe it that way.”

“Well, those are your words, not mind, but I think it fits.” Mimzy glances at you, a knowing smile on her lips. “But our good doctor here is more than just—Hey! Why do you look so surprised?”

“Well, I just didn't know he had any of those. He's been here a while and is still a big, creepy mystery,” Angel Dust says. Sir Pentious nods, his head squeaking as he does “What's his deal?”

Mimzy is happy to explain tall, dark, and creepy’s ‘deal’ .

“But before that, he was the prime bachelor of my day,” Mimzy says. “Not a single lady wouldn’t want a taste of that twink. But eh  . . .  I wouldn’t wish marriage with Alastor on even my worst enemies. It would be a real shock when you die and find out your hubby’s got a real screw loose.”

“Well, it wasn’t a shock to me,” you say, rolling your eyes. You swirl your drink—hmmm, it’s good to know Husk still knows what you like.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that!” Mimzy chuckles nervously. She scoots closer, elbowing you lightly.  “You happy he’s back? I still remember the few months you’d visit my place to look for your deerest, most darling Alastor, Mimzy at the bottom of a bottle.”

Your eyes twitch. “Quite pleased actually,” you say and force a smile. “It’s great to finally see my husband again.”

“ Husband? ” Angel Dust chokes on his drink.

Sir Pentious tilts his head and his hat slides off a bit. “Oh you’re married?”

You show them your ring, wiggling your finger. “Indeed.”

Sir Pentious puffs out his chest. “I would love to meet thisss husband of yours,” he says. “If you cannot be my rival, he can fight in your stead.”

“That wouldn’t be a smart idea

Mimzy stares at him. “He’s not the brightest is he?”

Angel Dust drops his drink with a clink. “ Pause ,” he splutters. “Shut u—” He coughs, still reeling from his drink going down the wrong pipe. “Shut up. Plause. Pause!”

Sir Pentious frowns, and his tongue sticks out. “No one elssseee is talking.”

“There is no way,” Angel Dust says. He turns to you, eyes bulging. “I refuse to believe that Freaky got hitched.”

Sir Pentious gapes, and his hoop opens. “Alastor is married as well?”

Mimzy slaps her forehead and points to you. “He’s married to her!”

“You are mess’in with me,” Angel Dust says. “Well, you can’t trick me. I refuse to believe it, toots.”

Mimzy takes a swig of her drink. “No one’s mes’in with ya,” she says with bright eyes. “They had a big white wedding and everything. I even got to bless them with my singing.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Mimzy glares at Angel Dust, a hand on her hips and her noise in the air. “You calling me a liar?”

You place a hand on Mimzy’s shoulder. “It was a good day, wasn’t it?” you say.

“Could’ve been better without the rain,” she says shrugging.

The lights flicker. Static fills the air, making your skin buzz. The bar glows a faint green. “The rain made it sentimental actually,” you say and glance up the stairs. “We quite like the rain.”

Angel Dust crosses both sets of arms. “I thought you said you were friends.”

“ I said partners,” you tell him. “Alastor said friends.”

Angel Dust blinks at you and sighs. “So, you married him? Like you’re his wife.”

“I am, indeed!”

“Are you sure?”

“I sure hope so,” you say, crossing your legs. “It would be weird not to be sure considering I was there in a white dress, walking down the aisle.” Mimzy barks a laugh, and the feathers on her head sway. A part of you hopes she topples off the chair.

“Uh . . . Is this something we should know?” Angel Dust asks. “He’s not going to try to kill me because I learned about this right?”

“We’re not trying to hide it, but we don’t broadcast it either,” you say. “And well . . . no wife likes to be introduced as a ‘ friend ’.”

Sir Pentious’ tongue sticks out. “Does Alasssstor own your soul or something?”

You empty your drink and revel in the taste. “We got married back when we were alive.”

Angel Dust reaches across the bar, grabbing a whole bottle off the shelf with his long arms. He pops open the cork and takes a swig straight from the bottom. “I still have trouble belive you,” he says, squinting his eyes. “I just . . . I can’t!”

“Your belief, or lack of, won’t change the fact that I have a ring,” you say. “And it’s not really for you to believe, now is it?”

“Why . . . ?” Angel Dust’s mouth quirks into the cutest frown. “Why . . . ya’know?”

You sigh and place a hand on your cheek with a smile. “He makes me laugh.”

Angel Dust makes a face, and coils back like he’s been shot.

“Oh he’s a total kitten,” Mimzy says with a bright smile. She inches her glass closer to Angel Dust, and he fills it up for her. “Catch him in a good mood or pour him a drink and play some jazz and he’s totally harmless.”

“You still shouldn’t toss caution into the air, Mimzy” you say. “If I were you, I’d be wary about trusting Alastor just because he likes cleaning up your mess.”

Angel Dust crosses his arm, and his eyebrows quirk. “Ain’t he your hubby?” he says. “Isn’t there this whole spiel about trust and love and faith and all that other boring vanilla shit.”

“He wouldn’t be the Radio Demon if he could be trusted by just anyone, now would he?” you say. “It still crosses me when I remember how he lied to me.”

Angel Dust’s eyes shine. “You said no wife likes being introduced as a ‘ friend ’.”

“Yes?”

“It must have crossed you quite a lot, huh?”

You shrug, a bit confused. “I mean . . .  I wasn’t really a big deal at the end of the day.”

Angel Dust’s smile widens and that golden tooth of his shimmer. “I want to know everything .”

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Despite the rain, clear skies show the moon, not a cloud in sight.

The flashlight clipped on your collar shines on your path. Your boots sink deep into the mud, but that’s alright. A few inches of goo won’t stop you from your destination. You adjust your leather medical bag—double checked that there are gloves inside.

Between those two trees, your treasure lies buried.

You lay your kit on some nearby stones and reach in for your gloves. You dig until bits of the cadaver’s skin stick out. You brush the soil of his chest and peel open the flaps of his skin. The underside of his skin has blood vessels attached to it. It was worth cutting out the fat to have a glimpse.

Superficial fascia connects his muscles to his dermis. You take your probe and disconnect the thin filament. It reminds you of spider-webs.

You discard your probe and exchange it for the bottle of formaldehyde. You can’t study the whole body, not when it’s exposed to the elements. His fingers are starting to rot, but that’s alright. The chest is all you need, for now. So, the chest is all you’ll preserve.

The cheesecloth you placed on him last night is still damp. Good, that means it’s been sanitized this whole time. You take the cheesecloth and wipe it against his open cavity, sanitizing every surface you can reach.

The formalin stings your nose and burns your eyes. It makes you cough, but you push through the pungent chemical.

You peel off the cheesecloth and use it to spread formalin into the deeper crevices between his skin and muscle.

Good. There are no maggots yet. It means you still have time.

You discard your gloves for a fresh pair and prepare your tools. You take your forceps and clip the scalpel blade onto the handle. You lay all your tools on a clean cloth for easy reach.

A human’s adipose tissue buildup is thicker than animals. This man’s fat is soft, easily squishable. Sadly, you’re not here to study his fat.

The scalpel blade is balanced perfectly. Throughout this Earth, no . . .  not just Earth, but Heaven and Hell as well, nothing will ever be as perfect.

You slice through his adipose tissue, discarding it behind you, carving the cadaver until a nice rectangle opening forms. Muscles are grey, not like the red color printed on textbooks. You run your fingers along the smooth fibers of his pectorals. It’s slimy. That’s probably moisture mixing with the formaldehyde.

You quirk your shoulder to adjust the angle of your flashlight, still running your hand on his pectoral.

There, on the side of the chest where a muscle resembles a fan, do you find what you’re looking for.

Taking your probe, you define the muscle. You don’t use your scapple—never a scapple, because it could slice the fibers. You’ll scrape off the muscles later when it’s time to move on to the systems.

You take a pen and write your notes.

Muscle name: Serratus Ventralis. Description: The Serratus Ventralis appears to be a fan-shaped muscle, just like Hyman writes it to be. Although he’s not describing humans, I think it looks the same. Willd double check to see if such similarities are indeed correct. Just like the book says, I can see the muscle extending anteriorly and posteriorly from the scapula and to the walls of the thorax. The Serratus Ventralis appears to be divisible into anterior and posterior portions, with the anterior originating deeper into the body. (Will cut open if there is still time.) The posterior border seems to be where it originates from, and while it is buried by other muscles, I think it originates from somewhere between the ribs.

Origin, Insertion, Action: Origin: Textbook says it originates from the outer surfaces of the upper eight or nine ribs.  (Will double check once I’ve moved on.) Insertion: The muscle fibers appear to move upward to the side. Inserts along the anterior surface of the medial border of the scapula Action: If it indeed is inserted from the scapula, this could mean that it could draw the scapula, forward, backward or against the body.  

You flip to the previous page, and cross out Serratus ventralis. You move on to the muscle on your list: Xiphihumeralis. Based on the name, the muscle should pass through the xiphoid process to the sternu—

“Is this what you meant about my trash being your treasure?”

You startle, jumping back until a tree hits you and there’s nowhere else to escape. Run. Run. Run! Your heart screams at you, hammering in your chest. No one is supposed to be here. You’re supposed to be alone. You were careful—not careful enough, apparently.

Alastor emerges from the trees.

He waves at you when your gazes meet, but you don’t wave back. He’s smiling. “Hello,” he greets you with a gentle voice that strikes your core. It would be foolish to mistake his gentleness for kindness. “And yet again, I’m forced to comment on how you have such interesting hobbies.”

You press deeper into the tree, even if a knot digs into your back. “This . . . .” You pause, trying to find your voice. Do you run? “This isn’t a hobby. I’m merely studying.”

Alastor drops a bag on the ground. It looks heavy. “A man?”

“A cadaver,” you say, careful to keep your voice steady. You cannot let this man see any cracks. “They’re already dead, aren’t they? Wouldn’t it be a waste to let them rot like this? At least now, their sorry lives will be making a meaningful contribution.”

The admission of your crime was easy to say. You don’t want to know what that means about you.

Alastor laughs. It’s not that breathy and light laugh he had earlier. This one is lighter, more elated. “Please, tell me more.”

You harden your heart, searching for any speck of bravery. “Why would I?”

Alastor smiles until his teeth show. The moon makes his brown eyes glow—you did not think it would be such an attractive color. “I’m the one holding the large knife.”

You glance at his hand, and oh . . . that indeed is quite a large knife. It’s not even a kitchen knife, but a proper hunting blade meant to kill. “I see you’re resorting to threats,” you say and you don’t know why you do. It’s not really a smart idea. “I did not think you, a man, would feel the need to say such things to a woman.”

“That was barely a threat,” he says. “I’m just curious to know your motivation to dig up trash.”

“I’m studying—that’s my reason.”

Alastor waves the knife as he talks. “Are there no other dead bodies for you to prey on?” he says. “Don’t hospitals have an area specifically to keep the dead?”

“Only morticians or medical students are allowed access,” you say. “I am neither.”

“Why not become one then?”

“Women as doctors are still a relatively new phenomena,” you say. “There is not a single medical school in this area that will allow me to study, nor are there any that won’t bring me into debt.” Your blood boils and it replaces your thumping heart. It still beats in your chest, but it’s not because of fear. “I needed to find a way to learn, to study, and textbooks could only describe it in words. I want to see for myself.”

Alastor plays with the tip of the knife. “Sounds like a classic case of lusting for knowledge.”

“If lust is to be my sin,” you start and a wonky smile appears on your face, “pride would be yours. A classic case of judge, jury and executioner.”

“I do not need to explain myself to you.”

“Well, you are holding the larger knife,” you tell him, rolling your eyes. “Anything more you’d like to know?”

Alastor hums at you. “How did you figure it out?”

“A little bit of a suggestion?” you say, and you can’t help but smile to yourself. “You should buy suspicious items at different times and places. Your turn—How did you know I was here?”

“A little bit of a suggestion?” he echoes laughing like he’s told the funniest joke. “You shouldn’t have told me where you lived so easily. I thought I would have to hang around your clinic for a few days before I got your address.”

“I made sure to be careful.”

“You weren’t in the slightest,” he tells you. “Even an animal is harder to track. It was quite a surprise to see you heading in this direction.”

“Wait . . . ,” you say slowly. “Hang around the clinic? You . . . you were stalking me?”

“I wouldn’t say stalking,” he says, putting his arms up. “And if we’re pointing fingers, you would have had to follow me around for a few days to learn where I buried my trash.”

Your eyes drift to his bag, and then to his knife. Realization hits you like a cruel bus. You face heat. “You!”

“Me?”

“You lied to me!” you say, venom lacing your words as you puff. “You had no business in the area, nor did you randomly spot me! You followed to kill me, didn't you?”

Alastor smiles at you.

“Oh my God!” you scream at him, throwing your arms into the air. You point at him, glaring “You’re still going to kill me?”

“I can’t exactly let you leave, my dear,” he says, rolling his eyes. “What did you think?”

You stare down at him from your nose. “Don’t be so brainless,” you spit, crossing your arms. “If you would use this thing on your head called a, ‘brain’, and use it to think, you would be able to deduce that you’re currently not in cuffs.”

Alastor glares back at you, tightening his grip on the knife. You don’t give a single flying fuck.

“Since you are adamant on not using your brain, I shall do so for you,” you say, voice dripping with sarcasm. “If I wanted to rat you out to the coppers, wouldn’t I have done so already? Hmmmm?”

“Don’t speak to me as if I am a child.”

“I wouldn’t have to, if you aren’t thinking like one,” you say. “Why would I tattle on someone for giving me what I want.”

 Alastor gives you a dry smile. “So much sarcasm to the person who does so.”

You cross your arms and lean against the tree. “I suppose I should be thanking you.”

”Will you?”

“No,” you say. “I don’t thank liars.”

You smile to yourself when Alastor rolls his eyes and furrows his brow. That strained smile of his is an extra bonus.

“If you’re going to kill me, be quick with it,” you say. “I’d like to die with my dignity as a lady.”

“How curious,” he says. “You’re not going to try and run? Fight me off in some clever way? Those are always the best kinds of hunts.”

You roll your eyes, making a point to show him that you are doing so. “That would be a waste of our time, wouldn’t it? And I think you’ll forgive me if I am not exactly keen on giving my murderer the satisfaction of experiencing ‘the best kinds of hunt’.”

Alastor laughs, breathy and light this time. He tosses the knife into the trees and puts his arms up as if surrendering. “It seems you have made me change my mind,” he says. “Not many are able to do so—especially not when I’ve settled on a hunt.”

“What an honor then,” you say, smiling dryly.

“Indeed, it is.” He takes a step forward, and when you don’t run, he walks to you and brushes stray dirt off your shoulders.

“Why change your mind?”

He smiles, inching closer to you.  That is for me to know,” he says. “But, what I will say is I know potential when I see it.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“Someone, please, kill me again!” Angel Dust massages his forehead with one arm, using the other to empty the bottle. His third arm reaches into the bar shelves for a new one. You stare at his arms and wonder just how it got to be so long. “You’ve got to be shiting me right now. That’s your example? That’s your final answer?”

You pick at the wooden table, suddenly finding it hard to meet his eyes “Yes . . . ?”

Angel Dust chugs his bottle at your answer.

Mimzy avoids direct eye contact, choosing to study her empty glass.

Even Sir Pentious keeps his gaze locked to the floor. You bite on your cheek, letting out a soft huff.

If they didn’t want to know, they should not have asked.

“Out of all the misery he’s caused and will be causing,” Angel Dust says, “you think that Freaky ly’in to you about his reason for walking you home was the best possible example.”

“Yes?”

Angel Dust takes a deep breath. “Let’s be clear, okay? I’ll rephrase what I said, so listen closely,” he says. “Alastor lied about – and let me get this right—he lied to you about why he was in the area, and that’s why – hold on, bear with me – and that is why you were angry.”

You cross your arms, huffing a bit. “You make it sound stupid.”

Mimzy sighs, shaking her head with amusement. “That’s because it is, darling.”

“It is not!” you say, pouting. “It’s a very valid reason to be cross.”

Angel Dust takes another swig of his bottle. “It’s the fact that you weren’t angry that he was going to murder you in cold blood for me.”

You throw your arms into the air. “Okay, so it might not have been the best example,” you say, tapping your legs. “But that isn’t exactly my fault. Alastor is strangely honest.”

Angel Dust gapes at you. “No, he is not!”

“I don’t know, hun,” Mimzy says, leaning against the bar table. “Alastor kina is.”

“You won’t get the truth if you don’t ask,” you say, nodding your head. “And when you do ask, Alastor will either say the full horrifying truth, say it in a way that’s vague but still considered to be true, or dodge and not answer your question.”

Sir Pentious tilts his head, and he keeps a hand on his hat to keep it from falling. “And that is why we should not trust him?”

“There is no we , my dear,” you say. “That’s why you shouldn’t trust him.”

The hotel trembles.

You startle in your seat, gripping the table for stability. Mimzy clutches your arm, and you grab hers. It’s a small reassuring gesture that would make you smile at any other moment.

Someone pounds on the door.

You snap your head towards the entrance, nearly giving yourself whiplash. The hinges creak with every bang, and you watch with horror as the wooden frame begins to crack. Whatever wants to go in is determined to do so.

“ MIMZY! We know you’re in there, you lousy bitch!”

You lock eyes with Mimzy, glaring at her with bristled feathers. “Really?”

“Whooops . . . ?” she says with the most innocent smile. You grab your glass and throw it at her head. Mimzy snarls at you, searching for a stray bottle. She never finds it.

Glass rains down to the floor. Dust fills the space, and you cough when it irritates your throat. The whole hotel is in disarray. With a yelp, you jump away from the bar when one of the bone heads detaches and crushes your seat.

Mimzy scurries behind the bar.

A portal rips open in the middle of the room . . .  Huh , that’s pretty cool. Vaggie steps out, Lucifer and Charlie behind her. “What is going on?”

Mimzy explains what she did. You roll your eyes when she does.

Fireballs shoot out the broken windows.

Motherfucker! You are going to kill Mimzy. You press against the wall to avoid Sir Pentious’ long tail from smacking into you as he slithers about. Angel Dust scurried away at the first sign of trouble. Of-fucking-course this happens today. Niffty scurries about, cleaning every debris in sight, You grab her by the collar, pulling her away from a stray fire. Niffty squirms out of your hold, and hops away. Another fireball keeps you from pursuing her.

“We’re under siege!” Sir Pentious exclaims, slithering about. “Take cover!”

Alastor pops out of your shadow, jerking your arm to pull you away.

You flap your arms to regain your balance.

Alastor keeps a steady hand on your shoulder, his hold on you firm. His touch keeps you grounded. Your eyes flutter to where you pressed against the wall, but Alastor pokes your cheek with the tips of your fingers, nudging your face to keep your eyes on him. The hotel burns in chaos, and you dig your fingers into the fabric of his coat.

Alastor holds your gaze. He smiles at you softly, but you see the hardness in his eyes and the tension is his jaw. 

You try to give him your best smile. “Much better?”

“No, not in the slightest” he says, eyes squinting into a harsh glare. Alastor doesn’t frown, but his teeth bare into a snarl. “Are you hurt?”

The hotel trembles, and more fire crashes through the windows. 

You try to turn to the chaos around you, but Alastor leans to the side, blocking the surroundings with his face. “I’d like an answer.”

He smoothes the feathers on your hair, and you lean into his hold, shaking your head. “Not a single feather out of place,” you say. “Thank you, my deerest.”

The hotel trembles once more, but you keep your gaze locked into Alastor’s.

“All of you get a safe distance,” Vaggie says, spear raised.” I’ll take care of this.”

 Satisfied, Alastor drops his hand from your head and turns to the door. “No, my dear. Leave it to me.” Radio static warps the air around you. His eyes morph into radio dials. “It’s time I remind everyone why I am here.” He has the smile on his face—that same smile that tell you he’s on the hunt. It makes you buzz.

Mimzy pops her head out.  “Ugh, finally!” she says, rolling her eyes. “Took you long enough.”

Tendrils shoot out of Alastor’s back and it waves around the air as if owning a mind of its own. His bones break with audible cracks to adjust to his expanding size. “A reminder to all, not to mess with the radio demon!” His teeth stick out when he smiles, and the little ‘x’ on his forehead appears.

Alastor laughs and begins his kill.

You rush out when your husband crawls out the broken doors, bolting from the bar and out the entrance. You watch Alastor. He grabs a shark with the tips of his fingers and uses the others to pull him apart, slowly, painfully , with a grin.

“Mimzy . . . ” you say, slowly.

Mimzy shrinks next to you. “ . . . Yeah?”

Alastor’s nails elongate and he pierces the shark, letting his blood trail down, reveling in his screams. “I really appreciate everything you do for me.”

A leg sails across the air, it’s bone sticking out. You smile to yourself as Alastor hunts down his prey. Blood paints the flowers red when his tendrils wag like a happy tail.

You’re faintly aware of Lucifer and Charlie arguing behind you.

The show is over too soon.

Alastor shrinks, twirls his microphone and stretches.

Mimzy runs, the first to approach Alastor. You don’t hear a word they’re saying, but Mimzy jabs her fingers into his coat. She leaves with a frown and a middle finger pointed at him.

You walk closer to your husband, a smile on your face. Alastor inches to you, bending close enough for you to reach his bowtie. The fabric is smooth against your fingers as your straighten it for him. “Much better?” you ask.

“Indeed.”

“You put up quite the show,” you tell him. “You looked absolutely riveting, my deer.”

Alastor’s smile widens, and he offers his arm, guiding you back into the hotel. “Did I?”

“You always do, my love.”

And oh . . . 

Another song.

Lucifer leaves, taking his singing with him.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

As quietly as possible, you grab your belongings and check that nothing is missing: wallet, flip-phone, bus card, pieces of mint, various essential items, and lastly, your umbrella. You step out of what is left of the Hazbin Hotel’s front doors and stifle a yawn. Today’s excitement has gone on for too long. It was time to go home.

Drops of acid fall from the sky, a light drizzle forming. It was a good idea to stash that umbrella in your bag.

Alastor slithers out of your shadow, and covers your heads with an umbrella. “Did you happen to forget your umbrella?”

You force a sheepish smile on your lips. “I did, actually,” you lie to him. “But a walk seems rather lovely today.”

Alastor twirls the umbrella, his smile widening. “May I join you for your walk?”

“Are you not still working?” You glance behind you, observing the hotel.

Angel Dust sweeps glass off the carpet. He steals glances from time to time, trying his hardest to avoid looking in your direction—it doesn’t try hard enough. Your eyes meet, and you brush your stray feathers from your hair. A not so subtle way of showing off your ring. You stick out your tongue.

Angel Dust laughs, shaking his head with amusement.

Alastor adjusts the umbrella, angling it to block the prying eyes from inside the hotel. He raises his eyebrows, looking at you with a questionable glance.

You offer your most innocent smile. “I think they’re going to need a new door.”

“I think it’s time I clocked out,” he says, inching the umbrella closer. “I shouldn’t have them getting too dependent on me.”

“Are those not grounds for prime picking?”

“I wouldn’t exactly be a doting husband if I left my wife to walk alone in the rain,” Alastor tells you.

“ Doting husband ?”

He nods, leaning closer to you. “Yes. Was that not your condition for our marriage?”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Did I say that?”

“You did.”

“Are you sure?” you ask, humming a bit. “I do not remember saying that at all.”

“Well, it wasn’t for you to remember,” he says. “And in any case, I did not call you to the hotel to prepare for some party.”

“Then why did you call me here?”

Alastor meets your eyes and his smile widens. “Allow me to join you, and you shall find out.”

“You’ve piqued my interest, deerest,” you say. “The best walks are usually the ones that are shared. It doesn’t hurt that you have an umbrella.”

“What would you do without me?”

You roll your eyes, and take a step closer. “You always seem to remember for me.”

Alastor fiddles with the umbrella. “What did you do for several years—get pelted by acid?”

“You would know the answer to that had you been present for those years,” you say and you don’t fight the coy smile that forms on your lips.

Alastor hums in displeasure. “Well, in any case, I only have this one umbrella.”

“I guess we’ll have to share.”

“Yes, it seems we will.”

Alastor offers his arm, and you loop your own around his. He doesn’t need to take precautions to ensure your clothes stay dry nor do you have to for his own attire, not when you press closely against each other. The umbrella covers the both of you just right.

You rest your head on his arm. It’s nice. Warm. Even if it was as thick as a stick. His bones press into your cheek. Your eyes flutter into a close . . .  just . . .  one . . .  second . . . 

Your knees buckle causing you to trip.

A frim grab of your waist keeps you from the ground. Your nose crinkles when you collide with Alastor’s chest. Finding strength in your legs, you dig your foot into the ground and stand.

Alastor keeps his hold on your waist steady, and you don’t move from his hold.

“Before you say anything—you are not fine,” he says. “I don’t want to hear anything else but an agreement.”

You peel your face from his chest, meeting his eyes to give him the brightest smile you can muster. It doesn’t come out as you hope. “It seems . . . It seems it will be my turn to postpone our outing today,” you say. “The excitement of the day seems to be catching up to me.”

You fell asleep while walking,” he says. “If it was not for me, you would be on the pavement.”

“Then it is a good thing I am no longer alone.”

A single tendril emerges from his back. It wraps around the umbrella’s handle, keeping it secured over your heads.

Alastor’s hand shifts from your waist to your back. You feel his other arm snaking down your legs, trailing your skin until he reaches the back of your knees.

Alastor lifts you like a bride.

Well, you actually are a bride . . .  his bride, specifically.

Alastor continues the walk, holding you in his arms. You lean into him, and he places a chin on your head. “Your pointy chin is poking me, my deerest,” you say but you don’t move to push him off. “It’s digging into my scalp.

His chest rise and fall as he laughs, and you feel every bit of it against your cheek. “I could always drop you right over this puddle.”

“That wouldn’t really be part of the doting husband image, would it?” you say chuckling into his suit.

“No, I guess it would not.”

Smiling to yourself, you nuzzle deeper into the crook of his neck. “Hey, Al,” you mumble softly, “tell me a story.”

At the corner of your eyes, you see Alastor glance at you. His gaze lasts a second before he turns back ahead.  “It was 1929,” he says. “The beginning of the glorious Great Depression.”

You roll your eyes even if he doesn’t see it. “You are the only one I know who calls the Great Depression ‘ glorious’ . People were starving, and we almost got fired from our jobs.”

“That’s because it was a great year.”

“Because you got to see the sufferings of the masses?” You laugh softly. “That’s definitely something you would do. I can practically hear you laughing at the way they try to claw their way out of misery, only to fail spectacularly.”

“Because we got married that year,” he says. Even if you’re wearing a coat, and Alastor wears his gloves. Even with layers of cloth between your skin, you still feel the way Alastor caress your with his thumb. “Can I continue my story now or would you like to bicker about your failing memory?”

“Continue.”

“So, the start of the glorious Great Depression,” he says. “That day, I saw an ad for the local zoo. I wasn’t doing anything important, so I decided to support my local animals.”

“How kind of you,” you say, stifling a yawn.

“Indeed it was,” he says. “I stalk through the animals. Looking at every malnourished species they kept locked up—”

“You get to the alligator enclosure and to this day, swear that you saw it do a backflip,” you mumble softly, eyes dropping. “That’s pretty good for someone you claim to possess failing memories.”

“Alright then. I shall find another.” Alastor hums as he thinks, and his chest vibrates as he does. “Summer of 1916–long before I met you.”

“You don’t need to tell me that,” you say, huffing. “I’m well aware of the year we met, my deer. So, Summer of 1916?”

“It was a dark and stormy night. Weird for the summer seasons. Usually, the house becomes a furnace, but it was terribly cold,” Alastor tells you. “During that second night of the hurricane, a knock sounds from the door.”

“Oh . . .  I’ve heard this as well.” You pick on the lapels of Alastor’s coat, tracing the white lines.

“You have?” Alastor raises his eyebrows

“Yes, it was your neighbor. His tree fell into the window and you and your mother ended up sheltering him for the night,” you say. “Then, you’ll tell me that he gifted you three pounts of cheese the next week.”

“I guess there’s nothing left to tell.”

You lean back to meet his eyes. They’re no longer brown. Once, a long time ago, you thought it was your favorite color. Now, you don’t think you’ve ever had a favorite color. You just liked his color. “Nonsense,” you says. “We are definitely not that old. I’m sure there should be be at least a few.”

“Alright, this one began fifteen years ago,” he says, tightening his grip on you. “I was waiting outside St. An’s, and a Sinner came out. It was my first time seeing a cow. It was quite a conundrum because — Oh, I think you’ve heard this already. Have you?”

Your eyelids are heavy. “I have.”

“And you choose not to inform me?”

“Can you tell it to me again?” You sink deeper into his hold.

“Of course, my love.”

Alastor’s steps lag until he comes to a full stop. He holds you in his gaze as the acid rain splatters grow stronger. It’s just you and him in this tiny bubble of an umbrella.

His eyes flicker, touching every inch of this scene. You do not know what he is thinking.

“Are you alright, my love?” you find yourself asking.

“Yes,” he says. “I’m just . . . trying not to waste, that’s all.”

“Come on,” you say in a voice that is oh so soft.

Alastor continues his story. You don’t hear the end of it.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Next Part: | Part 4: The Radio Stars' Co-host Just Wants To Do The Dishes| I am excited to know what you guys think about this chapter. My replies and inbox are always open for any questions. I always get so happy to see my notifications. It's a bit addicting actually. Thank you to everyone who has interacted with this story. Every like, reblog, and reply means so much to me. Part 4 will be poasted as soon as possible

[displ3azant]

CURRENTLY ASK-ABLE: - Unpleasant - Infected (Plez oversees the questions, though.)

(Before cut is In-Character.)

Hiii! Helloooo!

Hello!!!!!! Hehe, thiz iz actually super weird trying to write an intro-- give me a minute.

So, HIII!!!!!!! I'm Unpleasant! That'z not a joke, that iz literally my name. There'z no "deep reason" behind it, it iz literally just what people refer to me az. But, if that'z too weird, I do also go by Unplez or Plez for short.

Uh, pronounz? I don't really care, actually. I don't have a set gender, I've never really met a gradient who doez. That being said, since I started hanging with Infected I have been called he and she specifically a lot... so if it'z easiest for you, just roll with the crowd.

Right, so... the blog. Thatz thiz blog, haha! Well, the easy answer iz I waz super bored, Infected can suck a huge ####, and I like talking about myself! But... I kind of suck at talking in general, so I guess I'll type and answer questionz about myself.

BUT KNOW MY BOUNDARIEZ BEFORE YOU ASK QUESTIONZ! 👇👇👇

(Below cut is Out-Of-Character.)

To those who know me: Good to see you're still stickin' with me! I promise I will make an effort to make this blog much less of a dumpster fire like the last one.

And to those who are only now coming across this blog: Hello! My name is Hex. You don't have to call me "Mod Hex", or anything, just "Hex" will do. I'm the only guy running this thing here. I'll talk more about myself soon, because oversharing is what I do best.

Blog-Context

So, if it wasn't obvious enough from the intro, this is an ask/rp blog for the Unpleasant Gradient from Regretevator, but specifically in the context of the plez-centric au I have created for him. Or, well, the "AU" in question is actually just some freaky amalgamation of all my fucked up headcanons, which means...

I AM NO LONGER DOING DIRECT BLOG ASSOCIATIONS! Really sorry about that, I love my friends with all my heart but if I wanna keep consistency, I'm gonna have to "write the story" on my own. However, I do want to give full credit to my friends @sk8tr1101 and @party-noob for some major concepts involving Unpleasant, especially Audrey who already has some awesome ideas herself. Go check them both out!

MAIN TAGS:

#unpl3zansw3rz - Asks

#unpl3zrambl3z - Non-ask related posts/reblogs

#unpl3zlor3 - Plot points and similar

#ooc - Out-of-character post

OTHER TAGS (to be updated):

(nothing yet, hehe)

Blog-Owner

So hiiii, I'm Hex. If I can be bothered, out-of-character posts will either have the #ooc tag, be in purple text, or be signed off with my name. I'd prefer if you refer to me using he/it pronouns, thnx!

I'd also like you all to keep in mind I am 17 years old, therefore a minor, and even if I wasn't 17 I do not appreciate NSFW/Explicit jokes towards me, ESPECIALLY if you don't know me. It's one thing when you're my very close friends or my partner, it's another thing when you are a stranger on the internet asking me things I should not have to answer.

My other accounts are: @hexexists - my main blog, if you receive notifications from this account, please know it is just me! @hexational - my regretevator blog @geometricgiovanni - a Jeremy ask/rp blog set in the same universe as this one! Please note, however, that in the context of this blog, Unpleasant is not aware of the blog nor would he like to be.

Ask/RP-Boundaries

Let's start off by reiterating that I AM NOT OKAY WITH NSFW/EXPLICIT ASKS IN ANY CAPACITY! Sick of getting them, they're repetitive and annoying. Asking safe-for-work questions involving Unpleasant's anatomy is one thing, but I am not responding to ANYTHING involving genetalia.

ALSO! I am very unlikely to respond to things that is either hard to make a unique drawing for or don't progress the story (unlocking "lore" and such). I'm watching your ass, Mango, I know what you like to do (/lh). Joke asks are still okay, you don't *have* to progress story, but please keep in mind my "criteria" for answering asks when sending them. A clean inbox gives me a clear mind. I do not like notifications.

Shipping content: Shipping content is okay, but I don't care much for romance personally and so will likely not play much into it. Please don't push anything, I guess, and nothing that promotes proshipping or any kind of literally illegal pairing. If you dislike any direction taken ship-wise for this blog, then block me and move on with your day.

Roleplaying: While I'd prefer to not be in direct contact with other rp blogs, I am totally cool with roleplaying side stories and stuff, interactions and such! Please keep in mind though, Unpleasant in this is not a very social person, so you're probably not going to get the reaction you want.

Also! I think OCs are super cool and am happy to respond/interact with them as well! However,

PLEASE DON'T SEND YOUR GRADIENT OCS TO THIS ACCOUNT IF YOU WANT ME TO DRAW THEM! Please instead send them to @hexational! A lot of people were sending me their Gradient ocs to the previous Unpleasant account, and as much as I love seeing Gradient ocs and Gradient sonas, I'd love to be able to draw them, and if you are just asking an opinion on them and not an in-character ask or a genuine question involving other gradients I'd much prefer you send them to the account previously tagged!

That's pretty much all I can think of! Sorry for the long post, I just have a lot to say hehe

Lots of love, - Hex

[fatesundress]

⭑ sunlight parallel pseudostars. tom riddle x reader

summary. your reunion is long overdue for the small thing it should be, sacred for the dingy place it finds you, and most consequentially, entirely on purpose.

tags. gn afab reader, part one of an inevitable part two but this one is just pining because nonny asked so nicely, yes there is fluff but it's a tom pov, so... i do what i can, post-hogwarts, mutual pining (but emphatically, arduously, overwhelmingly tom), tom and reader were hopeless fools in school who never confessed their feelings for each other, legilimency/occlumency training as flirting, reader definitely filter searches the slow burn tag, self-cockblocking, i can't tell if this is ooc even by my own delusional standards, hopeful 'ending' as an apology for my last tom fic, please accept this humble offering

note. finished my first request!! who knew i could do it! i apologize first and foremost for my inactivity and i want to say WOAHHH thank you so much for 400! i'm hoping to make up for my absence by turning this into either a two-parter or a longer mini-series. i did actually forcibly refrain from ending this in smut because i want to try my hand at a slightly slower-burn since my usual preference is like... at least 100k words of longing stares before they even hold hands. i'm trying my best.

word count. 4.9k

There’s something, at least, in the far table at the right side of the bar, that makes the process a tad less dull. It’s somehow quieter here than his flat over Knockturn, sparse with a few old wizards with beards caught in the froth of their cups, Tom’s bend of the pub warm from the fire, crackling with kindling and the scratch of his quill, drizzled in moonlight tealish enough to remind him of the Slytherin common room when little else does nowadays. Something — yes. A tolerable reprieve. The sort of monotony he likes.

As opposed to Caractacus Burke’s constant, doltish solicitations; Tom ponders when the day will come that the man strikes a deal so dumb it lights the tip of someone’s wand green and kills him. It doesn’t drive Tom to any immense grief to consider. On particularly tedious days, he staves off boredom by imagining doing it himself.

But this reprieve can only serve him so well. Tom doesn’t drink — certainly not the dreck they serve here, though he doubts even the finest of wines could tempt him to obfuscate his better senses — doesn’t dance, doesn’t take anyone home even on the rare occasion there’s someone in this pub of bearable taste (except the one time, and that was more a case study than a surrender to gratification). Essentially, he sits at his table and steals the heat and the barkeeps are wise enough to let him.

He’s mused over the exact verbiage of this tome for days. Alchemical equations are the one thing that still occasionally stump him, and Tom is eager to rectify that.

He puts quill to parchment. It bleeds when he comes up short of words. He holds infinitesimally tighter, and the ink spreads like tendrils imagined in the dark; the sort of amorphous shapes that appear on the ceiling when all the lights have gone out. He stares. He lets the shapes form, but finds nothing informative in them, and so sets his quill down and watches leaves fall from the chestnut tree splitting open the sidewalk outside.

Cold air wafts in when the door groans open. There’s the click of dress shoes and a murmur at the bar, followed by a tumbler shaking and a glass being poured.

“Oh, no — er — that one always sits alone,” he hears the barkeep say to the dress shoes.

Tom refrains from turning his head.

 “Doesn’t like to be bothered,” he adds, dress shoes skidded to a halt.

A pause. A sense of eyes on him Tom elects to ignore.

“I know.”

There’s a smile in that voice. He remembers it. The teeth of it, the lips, the tongue that sometimes darts between them.

It must be very late.

He’ll look up and realise there are things other than wine that can addle a person. Too many books, not enough books, not enough sleep, a day gone by without a single spell cast, an itch for control, wanting and not having, and,

you, after all this time.

The lattermost two have for a long time been the same.

Your hair is different than it was before, your figure presented in the rarity of your own clothes when he’s so accustomed to your school robes, but it would be rather bizarre if you ever wore those again. You’re too modern for muggle and magical alike — trousers and a formal shirt, hair somewhere between kempt and wind-blown, the aforementioned nice shoes Scourgified to a squeaky black as you come closer. (You’re coming closer. What a revelation.) A drink floats beside you, your fingers undulating softly to maintain the charm.

“You,” he says, like he doesn’t remember.

You grin. “Me. Sharp as ever, Tom. You look it too.”

The nebulous shape of acumen returns to him and it’s disarming enough to be disarmed — on principle it should not be occurring — but you also should not be here.

He stands. You present your hand as if practised for the proper convention of having it taken, October-cold gloves soft when his lips press to one and he wonders if the skin beneath is softer, or if callouses mar the mounts of your palm. He lingers as the thought does. (What are you up to now? Are you tried by new labours like he is; your knuckles hard from the work? Would they feel voltaic to touch as they once did?)

“Sit, please.” 

Increments of re-introduction tie him to the tangible instead of unfurling from the knots of why you’re here or how you’re here, which cannot possibly be tethered to reality because for all the hours he’s been with you, none in the last three years have happened awake.

There are the dark shapes on his ceiling again. The scraps won’t last. He’ll need to know the details. 

You’ll want to tell.

You take a seat in the chair he pushes out for you, glass sinking onto the table where the condensation immediately shades a ring into the wood. “This wasn’t where I’d expected to find you, you know.”

“No?” Tom asks, returning to his seat, “I wasn’t expecting you to find me anywhere, so the surprise is mutual.”

“I’d have written to warn you, but it was easier to find the places you frequent than the one you live in — wouldn’t know how to get my owl to you directly, you know — and I’m sure that’s not an accident.”

“I feel strangely as though I’m being accused of something.”

“Mm. Your guilty conscience.”

He smiles reflexively. Old habits. “I’m sure.”

You smile too, at least. “You know, when we left school, I gave it — what — two years before you were the youngest Minister of Magic in British history?”

“Then I’ve disappointed you.”

“No, I think I knew you well enough once to know even now that the fact that you aren’t only means you have something better in mind. I’ll have to trust your judgement, because I can’t imagine what that could possibly be.” You take a sip of your drink, twirling your straw as you do. “Come to think of it, though, brooding over a book in an establishment you patronise enough to have all the workers trained to leave you alone despite not even knowing your name is… very Tom.” 

“That one appears to have done a poor job,” he says with a glance at the barkeep. “You’re over here disrupting me. I think I’ll rescind my tip.”

“Still funny, too.”

“Still indecorous.”

“Still saying things like indecorous. You’d better tip, Riddle.”

“Be good company and I might.”

“Oh, I see. I need to prove that I’m a worthy disruption.”

“I was reading a very good book.”

The book was rubbish. His moleskin has roughly four lines of notes jotted on its open page, which he closes promptly, and hopes it doesn’t seem done with too much gravity. Your eyes like to wander, he recalls. Your hands, absentmindedly, too.

Torturous creature you are.

“I missed you,” you say, like you’ve never had the good sense of holding your tongue, or armouring your heart, or not feeding an animal without first seeing the size of its teeth. 

You are so withholding with your work, and so generous with yourself. He wishes you wouldn’t offer him so much. He’s never had the kindness not to take everything you let him.

“You missed me,” he prompts, already asking for more. 

“I missed disrupting you. No one else lets me — or calls me indecorous, and still lets me.”

“You were quite studious, in case you’ve forgotten. More literate than disruptive.”

You raise a brow. “My, I’ve never had a man call me literate before, and I’ve been courted plenty. I’m swooning.”

(Note: you’ve been courted plenty?)

“Inventive, then? Erudite?”

“Do go on.”

“I shouldn’t. I believe you were describing the manner in which you missed me.”

“It was just the one, unfortunately.”

“Why did you find me?”

This generates pause, at least, and that intrigues him.

Addendum: “Why now?”

“I was around,” you decide on, “and I haven’t been in a long time.”

You wanted to continue your studies after Hogwarts. He thinks he remembers that conversation; academics were the topic of most of your discussions, after all. Anything deeper was incidental, crumbs scraped off a plate at the end of a meal.

“Where did you go?”

You drink again. “Portugal, after school. But that was — it’s a bit of a story. I ended up at an academy in Iceland doing a few very boring, ultimately useless courses on spell creation and wandlore. Will you be horrible if I tell you I’m here because I left in the middle of term? Because then I didn’t tell you.”

“I suppose I knew you well enough once to know even now you wouldn’t have left unless you had something better in mind.”

You beam at him, and he acknowledges briefly that it feels like a reward the same way solving a problem does.

“I found you —” (You are far too generous; the question was already answered and here you are offering more) — “because I considered everyone I wanted to see again and you were the first person I thought of. I don’t like to deny myself the little things.”

“No,” he says, “you don’t.”

Rain trickles down the window, and the cool dark of autumn obscures half of your face. He wishes it didn’t, and that’s bizarre.

“I’ll be doing a course in Occlumency in Norway in the new year.”

Oh?

“I know you were always quite good at Legilimency, so don’t start,” you add hastily.

He itches not to smile. It is truth and not arrogance to say that quite good is an understatement.

“I didn’t know you had an interest.”

You scoff. “Please, everyone has an interest. It’s just hopeless for most of us, and painful to be hopeful to learn something so hopeless.”

“Well-put. A terrible ego punch for you, I’m sure.”

“It was. Until I tried Occlumency and realised I’m quite good at that, and then the wound closed a bit.”

“Glad to hear it. You’re honing the skill?”

“Slowly but surely.”

“And — you’re here seeking a teacher?”

“Oh, stop. I told you why I’m here. But if you’re — oh!” You frown suddenly. “Didn’t you say that you were going to apply for DADA after graduation?”

Ah, that. “Denied, unfortunately.”

“Seriously? On what grounds?”

“On the grounds that I’m too young.”

That and the matter of Albus Dumbledore and the air that is ceaselessly wasted on his breath.

“Oh, please; half the staff are over eighty, I imagine it might be nice to have a professor who doesn’t forget to grade their assignments every other week. You were Head Boy! That’s completely mad.”

“You’ll have to write an owl.”

“I could.” And you sigh, and stir your half-empty drink of what must be less than ten percent alcohol and ninety percent spice and apple. “Would you… would you mind, though? If your schedule isn’t terribly busy?”

“Teaching you?”

“Helping me with something I’m already good at,” you correct, “as an excuse for me not to go back to a very frilly muggle hotel by myself after coming all this way to find you.”

He echoes the part of that sentence that matters least — your invitation is all that counts, but he has no wish to make that obvious when you’ve always done this, always tugged on a string you seem unaware even exists. “Frilly muggle hotel?”

“What? I used to go to them when I was on holiday. Didn’t I tell you that?”

No. He would have clung onto it if you had. He didn’t even know you had the money for things like that after two wars, but then maybe that was something new. How would you have attained it while in school, though? An untimely familial demise? A wealthy suitor? You wore no ring. You came back to him.

Illegible signs for him to attempt to read.

“Well?” you ask, pulling two sickles from your pocket and leaving them on the table.

His answer is yes, naturally. 

It’s absurd you even feel the need to ask; your reunion is long overdue for the small thing it should be, because of the small thing you were, sacred for the dingy place it finds you, and most consequentially, entirely on purpose. You didn’t stumble upon each other in the aisles of a shop after years gone by, pressured into empty conversation for the courtesy of it. You missed him, so you found him — and Tom thinks he’s been missed before, in some vague sense by some people blurred long ago by unimportance, but — found? He reconciles not finding you himself by assuring he will make something of this.

“For a worthy distraction,” he says, putting down two sickles to match.

You grin, and he takes your arm again as you thank the barkeep and depart into the slow drizzle of the street.

You tell him of Ponte de Lima and the rootless craters of Myvatn, of old cathedral spires and covens masked as monasteries. You detail the scenery like you detailed your essays in school, and it makes the ennui of London marginally better — that you are walking it with him, talking about beautiful things, in a night dark enough he might not notice the usual absence of them here.

And then, as you step onto busier streets, you say you missed this too, and he is jealous beyond sense of the architectural blemish of Piccadilly Circus.

He glances away from you and the invisible path to your hotel for the first time since issuing Wizarding London for Muggle.

It’s a crowded tableau. The post-war square is spangled with flashbulb advertisements and buskers and skinny double buses orbiting Eros atop his fountain. People skip from hotel bars and teahouses in trench coats and long skirts. Someone outside the Trocadero looks dressed for burlesque. Storefront letters hiccup light through power abscesses and imminent bursts, and the lights… The lights herald cigarettes and chewing gum and Coca Cola and performances at the theatres on Coventry Street. 

You light up with them, sunlight parallel pseudostars. Tom feels half-blinded. He isn’t sure by which.

“You missed London?” he asks. It’s hard to hide in his tone how much he cannot imagine a reason why. All of the things you described in your travels sound better than this.

“I missed home.”

He possesses only a theoretical understanding of what that must feel like. The word itself is a thing long gone. There was Hogwarts, but it was never his.

“Well — I miss this,” you amend, “which I never remembered being like this, and maybe it wasn’t. All I saw in anything growing up was shelter. I’d look at buildings and imagine which ones could survive bombs, and which ones would shatter under gunfire. Since coming back, I’ve liked seeing it a different way. The lights, the people — The Criterion; they’ve a section called the Witches Cauldron, which is very risqué. You would hate it.”

His mouth twitches at the corners. “Risqué?"

“Mhm. Women with skirts over the thighs, men with skirts over the thighs, music with questionable lyrics, and really, borderline indecent comedy. But I think that's the heart of muggle theatre — the good kind, anyway."

“So I was right in calling you indecorous.”

“Hardly. I’m an observer.”

“Upstanding, then.”

You tug playfully at his sleeve. “Saintly.”

“You might revisit those churches in Portugal.”

“And you might learn to let something go. We’re here.”

He looks up at the little dais of steps before the big arch of your hotel door, stones cracked here and there, cigarette stubs smushed at his feet, and back at you, an inviting smile on your face.

“Come on.” You take his arm again and guide him in.

The lobby is all dark wood carved like lace. Fretwork in the moulding, fretwork at the counters, fretwork in the thick columns bolstering the mezzanine; and there, tables with seats turned to face the sound of music, the dulcet flicker of candlelight over plates of food that smell sweet for the hour. As you lead him up the stairs, he gives you a look that warns this was not what he was promised, but you shush him and he abides.

You are lucky for his intrigue. You are lucky for the dullness of his teeth at the maw of his hunger. He doesn’t pretend to understand — he thinks he likes not understanding.

The music gets louder. He can see the entire mezzanine from the top of the stairs; a woman is singing, a man is playing saxophone, the tables are set for dessert, and the plates are almost all licked clean.

You’re watching with the flicker of candles caught in your eyes now, grip imperceptibly tighter on his arm as you lean in to whisper. “There’s something new every night. Yesterday there was the most beautiful pianist. And they served this lemon pudding  — tonight I think it’s… torte? It’s chocolate, at least. It smells amazing.”

“Did you want to stay?”

He did not. It was a courtesy question.

“Just for a song?” you ask, rather more sheepish than suits you.

Just for a song, then.

You press against his shoulder. You’re warm, despite the cold walk.

“Do you ever practise on them?" he asks.

“Legilimency?” You shake your head. “I usually refrain from digging into the thoughts of innocent muggles.”

He raises a brow. “And the bad muggles?"

“I should like to do worse to the bad muggles."

He smiles. You smile too, though you resist it for a moment. “You're as wretched as you were in school."

“Wretched, was I? And what would I have found, if I'd sought out your thoughts back then?"

You laugh, face canted toward the performance. “Thoughts of Os on every O.W.L, what Slughorn meant by a semi-formal dress code, how to get into the kitchens at night..." You turn to him again. “And you? Do I dare ask what I would have found in yours?"

“Hm. Secrets.”

“Damn you.”

The saxophone swells before the last note fizzles out, the contralto timbre of the woman’s voice washed out by a small round of applause. You clap with the other guests, glance over at Tom, frown, take his hands and force them together. He doesn’t resist, but he certainly doesn’t aid the motion. His hands are instead idly patted together, palms hitting the sleeves of his coat and making for a very poor ovation. 

You give up without much effort, fingers looping beneath one of his cuffs to lead him back to the staircase. 

“Wretched,” you repeat.

You search your coat pocket for your key as you walk up the stairs, remarking the artwork on the walls and evidence of a drunk muggle man who spilled champagne on his way to bed last night — you tell him to watch his step, and he averts the side of the stairs where dark spots pepper the carpet. The place is fine elsewise. You mentioned the risqué of The Criterion and he can see notes of it here, in the late night music and the drinking and a few ogling men among the guests, but it’s nicer on the inside than he’d assumed by the exterior, and you can certainly handle yourself amongst debauchees without wands.

Tom stops when you do. Your room is the furthest at the end of the third floor corridor.

“Welcome,” you say, as the key clicks and the door swings open.

A frilly muggle hotel indeed. You flick a switch and the chandelier ignites, dim but extravagant. You go to light a few additional candles at the dresser and windowsill, clipping floral drapes aside as you do. The bed, a queen, matches the fabric of the drapes, with a thick lace skirt and golden brass rails. There’s a small table and two chairs, plush with cushions that loop through the spine and knot like hair ribbons. You tuck your wand away after the room has been brightened and fix him with a look that says, I told you.

“It’s clean,” is all the opinion he offers.

“Hard to make a mess in two days.”

A rather uncharacteristic thought crosses him. He can imagine ways which would not be so difficult.

“Of course.”

“Did you want anything? I could call for room service. Wine? Chocolate torte?”

“I’m more curious to observe your Occlumency firsthand.”

“Right. I’ve been depriving you.” You sit on the edge of the bed and slip off your coat. “I meant what I said, though; I’m good at it.”

“A battle of wills, then.” And he pulls a chair from the little table by the window, sitting it across from you.

You make a face. “This is why I studied with you and never challenged you to anything.”

“Perhaps you should have.”

“Perhaps… I might have saved myself from the predicament I’m in now.”

“You brought me here.”

“I did.”

“You enjoy the predicament,” he guesses.

You smile. “I do.”

He leans in with his arms at the wooden rests of his chair, fixed on the space between your eyes and then the apples of your cheeks, looking for new scars or freckles or stray eyelashes to cast wishes on. Mostly he wonders what’s underneath. That you have presented him the opportunity, even to wonder, feels almost like a wish granted. And Tom is not the sort of man to make them.

But here you are, and the room is quiet, and your gloves sound soft rolling off your fingers, and he should take a chance on one now. He should be greedy. He should want for more.

“Shall I count to three?”

He does. He does want more.

“Whenever you’re ready,” you say, and he can see you steel yourself before his soft surge into your mind.

Your resistance is like a cliffside. His effort is a wave, lapping at the rocks, seeking erosion. It’ll come. It never hasn’t.

You stay there in the cracks between the rocks, not pushing against him as much as shielding yourself from him. He leans an inch further from his chair and inclines his head. Your mouth falls open, breath caught on the sharp edge of his next intrusion. He eases forward but you only hold stronger. An impasse is reached — immovable object and unstoppable force.

Tom’s mouth curves at the corners, patient, persistent and proud. The chase is half of it. Your capability is the other.

“How did you discover your gift?" he asks.

“Don't distract me," you answer, and the softness tells him it’s an exertion for you to speak through this.

Tom nods, though distraction suddenly seems a tempting venture. If he pushes otherwise it will be painful.

For a while he just searches — between the old moss atop the cliff, the space where water strikes and memories propagate in verdant clusters, little runnels in the stone to keep little thoughts. He can see the outlines of those moments you’d described to him on your walk, but nothing deeper, nothing untouched. The abacus on either side of a Portuguese church but no hint of the nave or the apse. The flat horizon of Myvatn lake but none of the pseudocraters.

And still the walls stand, and the wave trickles through the runnels only to feed the moss.

You’re good. He wants to break you. He wants to be gentle. He wants to know if there is a way to do both.

Yes, he thinks there is.

Tom inches his chair closer. There’s perhaps an arm's length between your knees and his, and your expression flickers as you glance at the way it shrinks. A forearm, now. A ruler. Nothing at all, if you look long enough, think about how easy it would be for the space to vanish altogether. And he is thinking about it.

Your eyes dart back to his and he glides through the first crevice of your confusion he can find. A second’s glimpse is all he gets — words on an image of the skin unclad at his wrists, like words on the storefronts of Piccadilly Circus, they spell his name. There’s the cadence of a question. He resists the urge to sink back in his seat in honest pride; that the first thought he’s carved out of you is of his hands and sudden curiosity.

Perfectly innocuous, he rolls his sleeves to his elbows. There’s a quick twitch at your mouth.

“Do you know,” he says, searching again, “there’s something in particular I want to find.”

You indulge him carefully. You must anticipate a trick. “What’s that?”

“The moment you first missed me.”

It is a hard thing to be reminded of a moment and not draw it immediately to the surface. He can see on your face that you have to push the misbehaved thing down with force. But that’s only evidence that it exists, that it’s true, and he must see it like it’s his own. 

Is your missing him not his, in some way? Is his missing you not yours?

“I wonder if you missed me over quill and parchment,” he says, “in old libraries, at a café in Paris… Did you remember me by certain colours? By times of day? Or was it —”

There.

It’s the Athenaeum of Madrid, under the ceiling of the assembly hall. You’re craning your neck to admire the art, and you’re thinking how much he would have liked a place like that.

And then he’s back in the frilly hotel, and your face is in something like a gasp. You’ve swallowed it down, batted him away, but he can see it even from the outside; the curiosity is still there despite. The question unposed but sitting neatly on your tongue ready to be asked.

Tom smiles. “I didn’t know you went to Spain.”

“Well, I thought I might leave something for you to learn instead of be told.”

“Ah, so you let me in?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Will you?”

You glance involuntarily at the gap between you. Has it shrunk again? He can note the details of the face he’s missed without trying.

“Will you let me in?” he murmurs.

“I don’t think they teach this method of distraction at school,” you say softly, and now the words have been put in the air.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He shifts his chair ever closer. His eyes go to your lips. And he does mean to look away but your mouth quirks the slightest degree upward and he stays there a moment because he was expecting something else.

“Didn’t I tell you I’ve been courted before?”

“Plenty,” he recounts.

You lean in. Your knees brush his. You incline your head so your eyes find the path of his, the smile on your face finally full. It’s an error of time that he doesn’t expect it because it must not be an error on his part. “Then you should know to make a greater effort.”

You hold a hand to his cheek, watching the motion as your warm fingers trail from jaw to white collar. And then you pull back; a breeze in the place you sat when you get up. 

“That’s enough for today, don’t you think?”

He recovers quickly, but there’s a lingering heat at his jaw and a curiosity he was faulted to have planted himself — he’s suffering the barest satiation for the million more questions he has. But you missed him, and you invited him here, and you wanted to see him in your mind, so he must wonder if you meant to plant some curiosity too.

“And tomorrow?” he finally asks.

There’s rummaging in one of the cupboards, the twist of cap from its tube, and the quick rush of the faucet before your face peers out from the bathroom’s thick archway, still with that smile.

You flick the light on and brush your teeth like he isn’t there. For whatever reason it’s the most disarming thing you may have ever done, and it reminds him that he had considered you torturous like it was something incidental, which means he’d begun the night with only one equation still able to stump him, and ended it with two.

He could sooner solve alchemy (the entire subject) than this.

“I’ll be out,” you say when you’re done, “but you’re welcome to join me.”

“And what might I be joining you in?”

“Tourism.”

“Tourism?” He inches out of his chair, rolling his sleeves back down.

You lean against the bathroom archway and the candlelight makes a sculpture of you. Your silhouette is a blaze tenderly burning the dark.

“It only feels right after years of doing it in other places, don’t you think? Every street I discover something I didn’t notice before.”

Tom looks at the toothbrush fitted in your hand like an unlit cigarette and imagines putting it back like he’d stomp one out, kissing you and tasting apple and cinnamon and mint stuck on the corner of your pretty mouth.

“Well? Is it below you?”

“Yes. What time?”

“Eleven,” you say, and your breath hitches beautifully at your bare collar when he glides into the archway beside you. “Is that all right?”

He brushes the dab of toothpaste away from your lip. “It’s perfect.” 

Your eyes flit down his face, and now it’s him smiling.

He places a kiss on the back of your hand, looking up at you through dark lashes and a smirk as he mutters your name, a soft remembrance, a rekindled wanting. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Tom.”

The noise outside his flat that night is trivial. He has not for a long time sat awake at night watching the sky instead of the shapes on his ceiling. He has not for a long time thought of you with the tranquil knowledge that he will see you again.

[wandixx]

Ghost of fries and hero of cookies final part

All work words count: 14 643 Words in this part: 244 Summary of whole work: Duke wasn't expecting to wake up from his quick rooftop nap to some meta kid with fries. He also wasn't expecting kid to stay Or Danny asked Dani to stay safe while she was in Gotham. Where would she be safer than under the wing of local hero? And he looked like he needed bad day combo anyway This part summary: What happened to Dani (author needs a certificate for being little shit) Beta read by @audhumla-sailor though English is second language for both of us, so proceed with this in mind. I also know all of the charaters through fics alone, so probably ooc. Stay catious if it's something you don't like

First part, Previous part

Dani packed her stuff as soon as she got back from patrol. While doing it, she called Tuck and Sam to coordinate travel plan with them and to make sure she heard where and when correctly. Danny’s birthday were coming, an alien’s autograph would be a good present. Unfortunately she wouldn’t have time to get any of his merch on her way so the sky map she printed in Gotham’s Public Library would have to make it. Because of Sam’s demand she stocked herself in protein bars, other high calorie snacks and tons of drinks. Guy at the register looked disturbed but correctly guessed it wasn’t his business. Thanks for physics meets magic mess that made her backpack lighter. It worked like thermos in a way, though she didn’t even try to understand it.

This flight was going to be challenge not only to her speed but also, mostly, her stamina.

Ancients let her survive.

*

Turns out, phones couldn’t survive falling from over a hundred feet at around 60 miles per hour. Well she had all important numbers (Jazz, Val, Tuck, Sam non- and yes-emergency Danny) on paper phased inside her hip. From Sam’s money she could buy one in Los Angeles and explain the change of number then. She would have to come up with an excuse though.

She wasn’t going to admit she got distracted and bumped into a bunch of pigeons, got startled and dropped her phone like a silly child.

********

I know I could and should post it with previous part but I wanted to build the tension.

Batfam: We will finally meet our almost niece! Dani: Oh, look, plot convienient reason to leave city fast! Dani was setting up most intense and insane work-out playlist known to mankind to get her through her journey when she bumped with these pigeons face first

Starting notes are longer than this part.

Shit, I really should put it with previous part but the tension and potential for drama aaaa I couldn't resist

and @audhumla-sailor is an enabler

Tag list: @pickleking8 @mynameisnotlaura

[nekrosdolly]

albert wesker hcs (re0-1)

hi!! first post! let me know if it's ooc or not, i'm trying. tysm for reading! tags below.

cw; fluff, angst, hurt/no comfort, follows the events of re1. boyfriend! wesker bc he's so sillypants and i love him lol. not proofread, written under the influence, whoops! somewhat clingy but mostly cold reserved bf wesker. jill and chris mentioned, valenfield implied.

petnames used; primrose, little dove.

boyfriend wesker!, who's not always the most affectionate but makes sure to always have a hand on you at all times, unless you're apart. he's always holding either your hand, your waist, or the back of your neck. his hands are slightly calloused, cold, and smooth from both his lines of work. you'd shudder upon initial comment, mutter something about his fingers being "cold as ice," and melt into his touch anyway.

boyfriend wesker!, who, when you're away, sends you updates on his day so you're not worried where he's gone. if he's reading a book, he'll send you a line that makes him think of you, be it a fact or something a character said. when he's working and you're at home, he's frequenting his Nokia 6150 in his office to see if you've messaged him. he's private about your relationship with all his coworkers, Umbrella or R.P.D.

boyfriend wesker! who hasn't told you about his job at Umbrella, and likely won't for your own safety. He can't risk getting his little dove involved, especially if you're not the science type. he only tells you things you'd want to hear about his position at the R.P.D.- stories of Chris being an astounding meathead and Jill's crush on him. he'd update you on developments because he knows you like that sort of thing, even if you say you don't. off-handedly, he'd mention Barry's family, and look at you with some odd kind of longing.

boyfriend wesker!, who is incredibly protective deep down, but refuses to act out or make either of you look foolish. if you're getting hit on, he'll intervene on your behalf and simply pull you aside. he knows it's not your fault. he could never be mad at you, his primrose.

boyfriend wesker!, who has a very big soft spot for you. while he's cold with anyone else, you are the only one he'll let some of his walls down for. he feels bad for lying to you about certain things, but he has good intentions- or so he thinks.

boyfriend wesker!, whose feelings are stronger than he thought they could be for someone. his heart yearns for you at all times, and though he doesn't say it often, he would kill for you. his own feelings scare him at times- when he wakes up in the middle of the night, you by his side snoring away, and wonders how he got here in the first place. it's those times he might pull away and try to close himself up again.

boyfriend wesker!, who pushes you away when he can't handle his feelings. he reprimands himself for not being in control of himself- that's all he really wants, control. he tries to keep himself at a good distance so you're content with him, so you trust him. he doesn't realize he's manipulating you, nor that he's hurting you. he doesn't think he can.

boyfriend wesker!, who, when you end up leaving him (as you should), doesn't bat an eye. although it does hurt, he knows better than to beg, god forbid cry, at your feet as an attempt to keep you for longer. he has never been that kind of man. instead, he wishes you well and helps you pack your things. of course he's curious as to why you're leaving and in due time, he'll make all your suspicions come to life. soon enough. he'll confirm your worst fears- that he's been hiding from you, lying to you, for your entire relationship.

ex-boyfriend wesker!, who, months after the breakup, isn't over you. still sleeps with a shirt you left behind used as a pillowcase for a pillow he hugs to get comfortable. he'll wake up in the morning at times and feel around for you, his heart sinking in his chest at the reality of your absence. when he gets ready and stares annoyedly at himself in the mirror while he brushes his teeth. imagines it's you slicking his hair back with a light-feeling gel instead of himself. if he thinks about it for too long, he can hear you making little comments about how long his hair has gotten or how soft it is. his lips press into a thinner line at that, and his jaw clenches.

ex-boyfriend wesker!, who carries out his plans to get rid of S.T.A.R.S. and wonders what you'd think of him now after he's tried to kill his employees (and almost succeeds. that damn Chris.) you wouldn't look at him the same, but the twisted and frankly delusional part of him hopes you'll tell him that it's okay. that you'll still kiss him how you used to, or touch his arm and reassure him that he didn't do anything wrong, that he's justified in his actions. although these delusions would only carry him so far, as he needs the real you- not just an apparition of you.

[mccnstruck]

the dreams you let me follow.

characters: kazuha x gn!reader

tags: hurt/comfort, reverse comfort but also comfort both of you guys are a mess, not proofread, 2k+ words, long fic, gender neutral, no pronouns besides "you" for reader, self-indulgent, op is possessed by kazuha brainrot, could be seen in the same storyline as “never alone”, mentions of mental breakdowns, implied emotional abuse?, very ooc i don't know man

a/n: i know i posted like a few days ago but as today comes to an end i literally couldn't let myself go to bed without making something for kazuha. happy birthday kazuhaalkdlwklkaw AHHDHDHHAH ok. but anyways the ending was HORRENDOUS but if i carried it on any longer i would never finish this. reblogs and tags are much appreciated. oh and also you and kazuha both have abandonment issues LMFAOOAOOAOA

You looked beyond the windows of your Mondstadt home and onto the rain that poured on Monstadt City. The sun hid behind grey clouds, whose sobs embodied the roaring thunder. Its tears fell onto Mondstadt soil, and you saw people quickly run back home to the warmth of their homes. You turned on the lamp beside your bed and took a journal out of the bookshelf next to your bed. Your fingers felt the embroidery on the book’s spine and grazed over the writing on the cover. The red ink on the front read: “To Kadehara Kazuha.”

You opened the journal and grazed over your handwriting. Pages upon pages of messy handwriting took you back to the days when you first settled in Mondstadt.  

You remembered the night before you set your travels for Mondstadt. You entered your cabin (for quite possibly, the last time in a long time) and saw him writing in his journal. Crimson eyes looked up at you and Kazuha smiled. The moonlight barely shone inside the cabin, but even you could make out the tears that slid down his face.

Your heart shattered when you heard his voice. “Hello, dear.” 

“Kazuha, what happened?” 

You rushed to his side and sat on the bed. You brought your hand to cradle his face and gently slid your thumb over the tear stains on his face. 

You whispered, sadness lacing over your voice. “Kazuha…is it because of me?”

He sat in silence, and both you and him stared at the journal laid on his lap. 

“As a wanderer, I should know your situation best. It is not your fault, by all means. You should be allowed to embrace the love of Mondstadt City.”

“Kazuha-”

“Yet. Yet I keep trying. I keep…on trying…to cling on…” 

His tears fell onto the blanket and he hid his face from you; trying to wipe his tears away. 

Your breath hitched, and you felt your world crumble around you. 

Kazuha’s demeanor crumbled, and you pulled him into your arms. 

Seeing Kazuha’s usual smile taken from you….because of you. He said it wasn’t your fault, yet you felt the loneliness of Kazuha’s future travels. You felt the future lonely nights when you would have to stare out the window: wondering where your lover would share his love. 

But, you had to do this. 

You had to escape. And Kazuha knew. Both of you knew. 

Instead of comforting him with false lies you both knew to be meaningless; you instead made him promise one thing. 

“Kazuha. Keep on writing. Keep on writing and exploring the world.”

He looked at you and paused at your words. “Why wouldn’t I do that in the first place?” 

“Just…Just keep on writing. Never lose that spark. Do what you love, okay?”

You held out your hand to him and your pinky stuck out. The child in you, clinging to whatever promises you could believe in, desperately hoped for Kazuha to respond in kind. 

You softly smiled when he intertwined his pinky in yours. He promised, no matter what happened, to always follow the spark in his heart. 

At the thought of Kazuha, the journal in front of you became blurry. You looked up to find your home to be blurry as well. You were crying. Your tears fell as the gray clouds cried louder.

Archons, you wished to see him again. The unnerving fear of forgetting his face ate you alive every day, and you yearned to hear his voice once more. You were so busy laughing and working throughout the day that on nights when you only accompanied the thoughts in your head, you realized how long it had been. 

Would you even be able to show your face in front of him? You just…left Kazuha and went on your travels. 

No…you both knew. You had to leave Sumeru. You needed to build a home somewhere. 

Sumeru…

But why….why did you feel something for Sumeru? Your chest felt heavy, full of sin. Your happiness felt sinful, almost as if you needed to go back and plead for the Akademiya to take you back. 

Let them rip your designs to shreds, have them accept your crumpled academic papers with messy writing and dried tears. 

Mama, Papa.

They wouldn’t even let you acknowledge them. 

Did you mess up? Oh, you messed up. Did you? You could’ve lived with stability, with respect. You could’ve sacrificed your dreams, because everyone knows you’re just going to wake up anyways. Yet you lived your life sleepwalking, clinging to your dreams and ignoring reality. 

Was this what your parents wanted you to see? No. They could’ve supported your ambitions. They could’ve pushed society’s whispers and helped you build your wishes. 

Yet. They didn’t. 

You couldn’t even remember their faces. 

Mama. Papa. 

Mama. Papa. 

You couldn’t remember their faces. Yet their voices haunted your very being every day.

Mama. Papa. 

Mama. Papa. 

Mama. Papa. Mama. Papa. Mama, Papa, I’m so sorry Im so sorry im so soryryr mim sodttyt iams oso soryryruh please pforgive me PLEASE

Your thoughts were corrupted of pure hatred and that night, the beloved engineer of Mondstadt was left to rot in the hell of loneliness and insecurity. 

No one was to go through the rain to find you crying, so you could’ve screamed at the walls in your home and still would’ve gotten no response. Yet, knowing how alone you were, you quietly trembled and wrapped yourself in your arms. Your journal laid at your side, and the hopes of seeing your beloved turned into desperate cries to not be alone. The dried tears on the page said it all.

You don’t know how long you’ve been crying. Your chest felt the same heaviness, but your tears had stopped. You didn’t have the energy to wipe them off. You shifted on your bed to turn the lamp off when…

A thud shook your house, followed by a knock. 

You would’ve excused the thud to be the thunder, but a knock? Who was to be at your home in the rain?

“Give me a minute!”

You felt extremely bad to delay some warmth to the person outside, but your face was completely unrepresentable. You rushed to the bathroom to wipe your tears off and disregarded the other visible signs you were crying. You pulled out a scarf to offer and rushed to the door. 

When you opened the door, your eyes widened at the white hair with a crimson streak running through it. Crimson eyes looked back at you with glee, and the figure grinned at your shock. 

“Hello, dear.”

“You’re lying. You’re lying. No, I’m dreaming. This is a joke-”

In your state of denial, he pulled your hand towards him and wrapped his arms around you. He hid you in his embrace, and not even the pouring rain could separate you from him. 

Kazuha whispered, “It’s been so long…so…” He paused, his shoulders shaking, before he continued. “I wanted to see you. I’ve missed you.”

You gritted your teeth to hold back your sobs, yet the tears started again when you enclosed Kazuha in your arms. 

Your voice shook, and your chest gasped for air. “Archons, I missed you. So much.”

Even with your warmth, Kazuha shivered from the cold winds. You led him inside and let him warm up by the fireplace while you prepared something to eat. 

Kazuha noticed the tissues stacked up on your bed and your attempts to hide your journal in the bookshelf. 

“Dear?”

Your head turned rapidly toward him and you put on a fake grin. Your tears were wiped off, yet your eyes looked pained; as if they were about to close with agony. “What’s up?”

“I…Are you alright?”

“Yeah! Yeah. I’m ok. Why? Need anything?”

Kazuha worriedly smiled. “You seemed tense. And when you opened the door, your face looked pained. Desperate.”

You paused at Kazuha’s words and almost whirled back into your thoughts. You never understood how Kazuha could see past you, but it was an admirable skill, yet it made you very vulnerable. 

You regain your voice and shakily respond. “Hm. I’m just.. stressed. Don’t worry, it's a usual thing. Don’t worry yourself about it. Can’t have your pretty little head anxious over me.”

Your flirtatious remarks would’ve gotten to him, had your voice been more steady and confident. 

Kazuha, to your relief, let you drop the topic. Yet you knew he wasn’t going to let you go without talking. 

He pulled out a journal from his bag and laid it on his lap. The journal was colored red with designs that originated from Inazuma. He opened it to the very first page and began to speak. 

“That night before you left the Crux, I wrote in a new journal I had gotten. Remember the shop we visited in Inazuma?”

You hummed, acknowledging the memory. 

“I awoke in the middle of the night and wrote my first entry. It was dedicated to you. Here,” he held the open journal and gestured for you to read it, “you can read it.”

You take the journal from Kazuha’s grasp and sit down in the seat next to his. 

“To My Engineer, 

You’re so far away in the land of dreams, that I’m afraid I cannot reach you even in the night. I had a nightmare, but I don’t want to bother you right now. You have a long day ahead of you.

My Engineer. I hope I get to see you again so that one day I can show you this journal and you can ask me why I called you ‘my engineer’ instead of ‘my dear’.”

You cheekily ask, “Why did you call me your engineer?” 

Kazuha chuckled and gestured for you to read further. 

“Ever since I met you, I was so enthralled with your dreams that I forgot that those dreams aren’t stuck in place. Yet I clung on. 

To the future engineer who sees this. I am so proud of you. Leaving home, knowing it doesn’t call for you, hurts. I am so proud of you. 

I miss you. Yet you lay next to me as of right now, sound asleep. I’ll miss you, so very much, my engineer. Yet I know your dreams will inspire little kids and make Mondstadt proud. That’s what I admire about you. Your dreams don’t stop with you, but grow to communities, and will grow around Teyvat, in time. No matter what anyone says, you deserve to follow your dreams. You shouldn’t have to be stuck in one place. You’ve taught me the same.

This journal is dedicated to you. When you told me to follow my spark, a part of me hoped my spark would lead me to you. 

My engineer, I hope you build your dreams and smile at your designs. I hope I can see you again. 

Your lover, 

K. Kazuha”

Your voice lost all of its stability when you whispered Kazuha’s name. You looked up with teary eyes to see Kazuha staring at the journal with a bittersweet smile. 

“Ever since you told me to never stop writing, and to follow my spark, I thought about Inazuma after so long. For so long, I refused to remember the decline of the clan. But, that night, I thought about the promise between my father and I. I…” 

He fell silent, yet his face remained the same. 

“You’ve shown me, indirectly, how dreams heal the soul. Dreams are such temporary illusions we indulge ourselves in, but it is also a future promise to ourselves. Humanity cannot stay forever in one place. If a wounded animal wants to escape from a trap, it has to sacrifice the hind leg that was caught. Staying in the trap has far more deadly consequences.”

You held Kazuha’s hand and slid your thumb over his skin. Kazuha finally looked at you and closed his eyes; letting the touch of your skin ground him to Teyvat. 

After a little while of shared silence, you let go of his hand and wiped your tears. You stood up and moved to your bookshelf, taking out the journal with the embroidery on the spine. 

Kazuha raised his eyebrows with curiosity as you sat back down. You laid out the journal in front of him and gave him a teary smile. 

“I wrote a journal dedicated to you too. I don’t think my dreams ever not consisted of you in them.”

He opened the journal to find pages upon pages of messy handwriting in front of him; all consisting of different dates, all to him. 

“I…Even though I couldn’t see you, I still felt your presence with me. So I kept a journal of my own.” 

Kazuha flipped through the journal and saw his name on every page he flipped through. Messy handwriting spelled out his name through times of sadness and times of joy. Your handwriting spelled out his name, Kazuha. Kazuha. Kazuha. Kazuha.

“Kazuha?”

He looked up at you and realized he was crying. 

“I…I don’t know why. I tried to ease my mind by thinking that you would be so caught up in your work. I just…you dedicated this to me…”

You stood from your seat and pulled Kazuha into your arms. He rested his head on your shoulder, and both of your journals laid next to each other. 

All of your problems, the guilt, the shame, it would never go truly away. But knowing Kazuha was here, whether with you or traveling the world, kept you chasing your dreams. You only hoped that he was here to see those dreams become reality. 

The thunderstorm of the night continuously roared throughout the lands, yet for a moment it calmed itself at the two lovers’ embrace, who couldn’t be bothered by the world’s burdens placed upon them. The thunderstorm paused its cries to listen to the quiet declarations between two lovers, before starting back up again and letting its tears merge with the Mondstadt soil. 

mccnstruck. do not plagiarize or repost.

taglist: @risekuni, @omori-1, @tearsasmascara, @yinyinggie

[easycheezylemonbriezy]

Roleplay Partner Wanted!

Ding, ding, ding, here's another rp parter ad to add to the tag!

I'm a 20 y/o female who is trying to get back into doing rps! I've done them off and on (most of my youth was spent doing very cringe Creepypasta rps...don't tell anyone, though), and I'd really like to get back into them!

For a partner, I'm looking for someone 18+ who can write/send semi-lit responses at least once a day! I know that life can get a little hectic. Heck, as someone who's working a full-time job and has college classes online, I get it! But I'd like at least one response per day, at least a paragraph long! I enjoy longer responses :)

I'd also like someone to chat with ooc, whether it's just about whatever weird thing we saw going about our day, or gushing about our ocs/characters/literally anything else! My servers typically include sections for doodles, memes, and even song playlists if I get into the creative mood for 'em! I rp on Discord, as well!

Having said that, I do double-up rps (OC x Canon, where you have your oc and I play a canon character for you, and you do the same for me). I do NOT do CCxCC, nor do I tolerate Mary/Gary Sue ocs, excessively bad grammar, or one-lined responses. Please put some thought and efforts into the makings of your ocs (and responses, lol)! None of us are perfect, so neither should our characters be! We all have flaws <3

I don't typically do smut, but if the rp leads up to it "naturally", and we discuss it beforehand, I'm perfectly fine with it (as long as you're 18 and up...which, of course, is one of the requirements to be my partner lol)

I do enjoy dark themes, gore, and angst! I have pretty much zero trigger warning, ahaha.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaanyway! Here's the fandoms I'm wanting to rp for!

Obey Me! Shall We Date?

Twisted Wonderland

Creepypasta/Marble Hornets

Ayakashi: Romance Reborn

Stardew Valley

If any of this sounds like your jam, you can dm me, or comment on this post! I won't be reaching out to anybody who simply likes this post because I am socially awkward *puts on sunglasses*

[quantumripple]

Figured it might be neat to give post-mortems of fics I’ve written (in no particular order)

Gonna call this Quantum’s Post-Moretem Mondays even though I’m almost certain I’m never going to post this again on a Monday (work was just suuuuper slow)

So to start off we’ve got Pen Pals: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51609454

Premise: in early 2010 Taylor and Sveta become pen pals (hence the name).

Very much the definition of a rarepair since there’s only one other Taylor/Sveta fic that I’m aware of and it’s not even tagged.

And honestly hot take: the reason it’s a rarepair is that it lowkey just does not work as a ship. Taylor and Sveta are just not compatible, Taylor is far too… her. Sveta deserves better honestly.

What I like about the fic:

The bits of humour always blindside me when I do a reread. This one definitely leans on the sort of online humour you sometimes get with lesbians. Particularly the meme of two girls commiserating you each other that they “wish they could get a gf frfr”

I also just stole some funny bits from worm and adapted them but idk if I should count those bc they were just yoinked from worm.

I’m pretty proud of the background plot that’s happening in the fic. It’s pretty fun to explore those through only the lens of texts between two people. Things diverge a little bit and we end up with Echidna happening early, but the fight goes a lot differently. Ends up being a much longer fight/conflict but upside is case 53 stuff didn’t get leaked. Taylor eventually ended it by tag-teaming with a few heroes, getting the right power combo. S9 shows up after and a while after they’re there Amy takes Victoria. Taylor, thinking the s9 did it went on the warpath, she broke into the prt hq and stole the Bakuda bombs which she used to take out a few members before she found Amy and Victoria, made Amy fix her, then just fully executed her.

What I don’t like:

Taylor is extremely out of character. She’s too like… it’s hard to explain but she’s too cutesy, or dorky in a way that doesn’t really fit with how she is in canon. Triple especially anytime they’re discussing feelings. Honestly the only parts of her that feels in character is latter on in the fic when it starts getting into the broader hero plot stuff.

Sveta is also pretty ooc but not quite as bad as Taylor. She’s a hard character to write because while yea she’s got a lot going on at the end of the day she’s just a really nice person and that’s hard to write out unless you want something super fluffy.

And speaking of: the fic is just way too fluffy for my tastes these days. Like I had to skim the final scene where they’re being all sappy and confessional bc it made me feel ill lmao.

What I would do if I were to redo/re-explore:

Honestly this might be one of my few fics where I’d just cop it and say that it kinda doesn’t work conceptually. Taylor and Sveta just aren’t really compatible without changing one or the other.

Honestly if I were returning to it I’d probably drop Sveta (sorry) and actually just focus on the Brockton Bay plot stuff. So it’d be Taylor joining the wards, getting frustrated and then leaving and teaming up w Victoria and the focus is more in them becoming friends. And the other changes with Echidna and the s9 could be fun to explore.

Or alternatively I keep Sveta and lean into the doomed nature of the relationship, have it be a much more deep exploration of their characters and how they could interact. Follow Sveta as she makes an online friend but slowly realise that this friend of hers is weirdly violent as a cape. Have that introduce a lot more friction with Sveta judging Taylors methods more and more and Taylor just getting really defensive etc. and like…. It wouldn’t even need to have a bad ending per se. It would just be them realising that they’re really not compatible and that getting this invested in each other was a bad idea. Or the super good ending where Sveta comes around to Taylor’s way of thinking and they wage bloody war against evil, that could also be p fun. And not entirely impossible especially if Taylor is literally Svetas only friend.

Final thoughts:

This is one of those fics that still gets the odd random comment on ao3 which makes me remember it more often than other fics despite the fact that I don’t really have much to say/think about the fic beyond what I’ve already thrown up. It sits in my mind as a firm “basically ok, has its moments”

Curious to know what others think of it because honestly I barely do. I think I just picked it bc it was one of my shorter fics and sfw so I could read it between waiting for stuff to happen at work.

[carmenusedsketch]

Whats up Rotomblr!

I figure i should introduce myself before i do anything else here, so here we go.

My name is Carmen, I use she/her pronouns, and i am a young adult.

I am currently living in Freezington in Galar's Crown Tundra, which is where most of my exploring and sketching gets done, although i do occasionally go on trips elsewhere.

Speaking of sketching, thats what i do, both for a living and for fun. I usually like to go on short expeditions in the local area, however sometimes i will go on longer expeditions to explore some more in depth areas. Lots of my sketches get published in local magazines, so if you're ever in the area have a look and you might see my work!

As for my pokemon team, i have six pokemon that i take care of, who help me on my expeditions:

Candy | Goodra

Beth | Snorlax

Glory | Tsareena

Terra | Mudsdale

Noelle | Altaria

Captain | Mantine

Most of these pokemon i came across while out on expeditions, with the exception of Candy, who is my first partner pokemon, and i've had her for as long as i can remember.

I hope you enjoy your time on my blog! <3 OOC below cut:

Heyo, my name is Cherri, my main blog is @atomiccherr1bomb. This is a sideblog, so any likes and follows will come from that blog instead of this one.

I will post in character pretty much all the time, but if a post is out of character i will make sure it is clearly signalled.

I'm happy to interact with any other pokeirl blogs, feel free to say hi!

All art posted belongs to me, unless i specifically state otherwise.

While i am an adult both in and out of character, i want to keep this blog SFW, and i will block anyone who does not respect that.

I will also block anyone who is generally a creep, or a bigot in any way.

Pelipper Mail is ON.

Tagging System:

#carmenposts -> posts by me

#carmendraws -> art by me

#carmenreblogs -> reblogged posts

#carmentalks -> ask responses

#// ooc -> out of character

[thisisarcanereverie]

Monster (DARK! Moon Knight x FEM! Reader) Part 2 (final)

A/N: This is part 2, this is going to be the last part I will write to this while I focus on some other fics for you guys, Also found the header on pinterest idk who the original maker of it is, if you know please tag them in this post.

Also thank you all for all your lovely comments on the first part of this, It's been a while since I posted so it was great to hear positive things.

Word Count: 2.7K

WARNINGS: Dark themes; mentions of abuse (domestic, physical, mental),Marc being an absolute wreck of a person, unrequited love, Layla being ooc, Marc being a little ooc, 18 + MINORS DNI.

Summary: Marc has loved you for ten years, ever since he met you, Layla's best friend. But can you truly love the monster beneath the skin?

You arrived at his place ten minutes after the call, when he opened the door he wasn’t sure if your face was wet because of the rain or because of the tears. He had ushered you inside immediately and tried to get you warm clothes when you stopped him and handed him something. Neither of you said a word as he opened the crumpled piece of paper you handed him. 

To You, 

By the time you read this I’ll be gone. Maybe that is for the best. 

I know you say you don’t love Marc, not in that way. But I saw the way he looked at you the other night, like you were the sun; and the way he held you. I had been married to Marc for ten years, and never once did he look at me or hold me the way he did you that night. Not even during our wedding. 

You were my best friend. All I’ve ever wanted for you was the best; and while Marc might not have been my best, he’s yours. I was wrong for bringing up ‘him’, I was jealous and bitter and I should never have let it get the better of me. That was fucked up and I regret it. 

I don’t regret leaving though, at least I hope I don’t. I realized something that night, I can’t move forward if I’m stuck in the past, and you and Marc; you’re the past, along with this city. I can’t live here any longer, strolling through streets that we used to, reliving old memories that leave me sick with sadness. I just can’t. And you can’t move forward either, not with me here reminding you of broken promises and trust. I contacted a few people, got myself a new passport, phone number, and identity. As far as anyone is concerned, Layla El-Fouley is a ghost. So please, don’t try to find me. It’s better this way.

I love you both, goodbye. 

Layla. 

Marc held the piece of paper in his hand, something about it off but he didn’t care. All he understood was that Layla, who had been his biggest obstacle, had removed herself. But in doing so, has left you distraught, he could see your hands trembling at their sides and the rim around your eyes puffy and red. It broke his heart to see you like this, so much that he almost wished Layla would come back. 

“Something about it isn’t right.” Your voice was scratchy as you spoke, “I know Layla and she never would’ve done this.” 

“I wouldn’t say never,” Marc put the crumpled piece of paper aside, “she was acting off the other night.” 

“She was drunk,” you defended her, even now, “people say and do things that they don’t mean when they’re drunk all the time.” 

‘Like you?’ Marc thought, his mind bringing up the kiss you both shared. How electrifying it was for him, and he thought for you as well. 

Did you regret it?

Before he could ask you grabbed the paper next to him and stashed it in your pocket. 

“Something isn’t right,” you repeated, “I know it isn’t, I can feel that there’s something wrong. Like it’s something right in front of me and it’s laughing at me in the face.” 

“Calm dow-”

“Don’t,” you say simply looking at him in the face, eyes pointed, “don’t you dare tell me to calm down.”

“Listen,” Marc gruffed, “I know this is hard, Layla was your best friend but maybe you should let this go. You know her, once she makes up her mind that’s the end of it.” He watches as your eyes narrow in on him, studying him. For once he felt vulnerable, like he’s been stripped bare and you could see all of his sins. 

He didn’t like it. 

“You don’t care.” It wasn’t a question, and Marc knew better than to respond. You tore your eyes away from him and laughed, but not the ones that sounded like bells, this was cold and cynical. This was an unfamiliar side to you, one he has never seen. It was like someone had turned off the sun, and all that was left was darkness. 

“She was your wife,” you continued looking anywhere but him, “Layla was your wife, you shared your life with her for ten years. You protected her for years and for what, for now to be the time you stopped protecting her? To say ‘who cares’.” You pushed him away as he tried to get near you, “No Marc, that’s bullshit and you know it.” You grab the coat that you had hung over the chair, “I’m going to find her. Because I care, because right now she is out there and I don’t know if she’s ok. If I find her and she turns me away, fine I’ll go, then I’ll know that she really doesn’t want to see me again and I’ll respect that. But until I know that she is ok, and safe, I’m not going to stop.” 

Frustration rose in him with each step you made to the front door. As soon as your hand touched the knob he removed it, and turned you to face him. 

“So that’s it then,” Marc could feel his control over his emotions slip away, “you’re just going to go and chase a ghost and we’re not going to talk about that night.” his arms caged you against the door. He could see your eyes looking at him, but it wasn’t with the same soft tenderness that he had grown accustomed to, your eyes were sharp and pointed, your brows furrowed leaving a small crinkle in between them. You were silent, fuming really, he was as well. Steven however was telling Marc that he was hurting you. To let go. 

Not this time. 

Suddenly there was a shift in your eyes, the anger was replaced by a look Marc was familiar with. He had seen it plenty of times when you and Steven read books together, you only get that look when you’ve reached the climax or some big reveal was made. 

It was the look you only got when you’ve had a breakthrough. 

“You’re in love with me.” Again, not a question, as soon as those words left your lips it was like a weight had been lifted from him. One that he didn’t know he was shouldering. For years he’s had to keep his feelings for you to himself, never telling anyone let alone you. Now that you know, he doesn’t need to pretend anymore. He doesn’t have to watch from afar. 

You know. 

“Have been since I first saw you,” Marc confessed as a giddy feeling took over, “God you have no idea how good it feels to say that.” His hands went from your shoulders to cradle your face, his forehead touching yours, he didn’t even notice how tense you had become. “You have had no idea what it’s been like to love you.”

   “Marc,” you finally gain enough confidence in your voice to speak. He opens his eyes and looks into yours, he denies what he sees. He tells himself that those tears in your eyes aren’t because you pity him or don’t feel the same way. It’s because you’re so in love with him that it’s overwhelming, or that the doorknob is digging uncomfortably into your back as he presses you further into it, or that he’s accidentally stepping on your toe. Anything but that you don’t love him. “Please let me go.” 

“Never baby,” He breathes, “now that I have you why would I ever let go?”

“Marc,” You say, “Steven,” you try. But nothing, Steven went into hiding and Marc felt like he was on cloud nine. How addicting you had become, the mere thought of letting you out of his arms was enough to make him weep. “I have to go, please.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” Marc says, your words cutting through him like a serrated blade. “You don’t have to go, you never have to go.” 

“Please Marc, you're hurting me.” It was only then he noticed how tight his grip had become on you. He immediately let go, as you breathed a sigh of relief. He still pinned you against the door, but his grip was lighter, he had gotten carried away without knowing. 

“I’m so sorry baby,” he whispered apologies as he kissed where his hands had been. Lingering every kiss longer than the last. 

“Marc,” you whisper, not trusting your voice to go an octave higher, “I’m feeling hungry do we still have food in the fridge?” Right you must be starving, you probably didn’t eat anything yet today. 

“There might be something left,” he said gently leaning away from you and walking towards the fridge, “let me go check real-” the last thing he remembers was the sound of the front door slamming before everything went black. 

When he came to it looked like half the day already went by, and there was this bone deep ache in his body. At first he thought he was still in his apartment but upon closer inspection he quickly realized it was definitely someplace else. 

“buenos dias pendejo,” Marc quickly whipped his head around, seeing no one. At least, until he saw the mirror. The man before him was not him, or Steven. It was someone new. 

A new altar.

“Fuck me.” 

“No thank you.” 

“Who are you?” Marc asked, feeling a headache already coming.

“Jake Lockley,” He revealed

“How long have you been here?” 

“A long time,” Jake said, his voice still holding a small latin accent, “we have a mutual friend.” 

“Who in the hell-” Marc asked until he caught a familiar figure looming behind his altar’s reflection in the mirror.

Khonshu

“We meet again, Marc Spector.”

“No,” Marc said, his hands already tangled in his curly hair, “Nononononononono-” He kept repeating as if willing it away. As if the simple word ‘no’ was going to help him escape this hell. All of that, the pain and suffering and sacrifice it took to get rid of Khonshu.

In the end it didn’t mean a goddamn thing. 

“Cálmate Marc,” Jake tried to sooth, “everything will be ok.” 

“Why is he here?!” Marc asked, “I got rid of him, why is he here!” 

“Because of me,” Jake said, “I needed a purpose and he needed a Knight. I only took up the job you and that pequeño cobarde, Steven, refused.” Marc put his head in his hands, of course, of fucking course this was happening. How could he and Steven be so stupid. Khonshu would never have agreed to honor their deal unless he had something under his tattered sleeve. Really, he should’ve seen it coming. Maybe he knew, deep down, but denied it, hoping it would go away. All those times during Ammit where he and Steven would black out  and bodies piled around him. But he always pushed it down, denied it, anything but addressed it. 

Ultimately, this was all Marc’s fault, and he knew it. 

The clanking of chains suddenly made it to Marc’s ears as he turned in its direction, only to be met with you. Your ankle was chained to the bed frame, it creaked as you turned on the mattress. It was then Marc remembered what happened. 

You knew. 

You finally knew of Marc’s feelings, and while he may have lost himself a bit in the reverie of it all, you shouldn’t have tricked him like that. You distracted him while you ran, maybe if you didn’t run you both wouldn’t be here right now. 

But he can’t place the blame on you, how were you supposed to know how fucked up he truly was when he didn’t even know. 

“You should be thanking us worm.” Khonshu’s arrogant voice rang out, back when Marc was his primary Avatar that voice would fill him with dread. 

It still did. 

“Why?” Marc said to the towering god, “for going back on your word, for taking advantage of me and using my own alters against me?” 

“You insolent-” 

“No,” Jake interrupted, “You should thank us for getting rid of the one thing that was going to keep you happy.” 

“And what would that be?”

“Layla,” Jake revealed, a blood curdling grin stretching across his face. Marc could feel the temperature drop around him as he processed it. If he focused enough he could hear a faint echo of a gunshot, the familiar burn of the recoil. 

“She didn’t suffer,” Jake comforted, “I made sure she didn’t. But she was standing in the way of our happily ever after so to speak.”

Marc didn’t know if he should feel pleased or guilty. 

Maybe the lines between the two have been blurred beyond hope. 

“She’ll never forgive us.” 

“Then let that be the case,” Jake retorted, “we don’t need her forgiveness, we just need her.” Marc wanted it though, he wanted her forgiveness, craved it, like she alone could atone for all the hellish things he’s done. One thing was nattering away at him however, and his shadow loomed over him and shrouded him in darkness as he always had. 

 “What did you promise Khonshu for this?” Marc asked, “because he never does anything for

free.” 

“It was a gift.” Khonshu explained casually, “you see Marc, I reward faithful Avatars, something you can be again.” 

Before he could tell the bird to fuck off he heard you take in a sharp breath. His eyes tore themselves away from Khonshu and onto your frame. He could hear Steven faintly telling him to unchain you. But the darker part of him, one that wasn’t sure was Jake’s or his, told him no. That this is what he deserved, after all these years of pining and agony, this was his reward. 

You were his reward. 

The only light that illuminated you was the moon, casting you in its ethereal glow. 

“I will admit this Marc,” Jake said, “She looks like a dream come true.” 

Sure enough you did, you always did to him. Marc could hear Steven quieting, he could sense him enough to know he was observing, but nothing more. 

Your eyes landed on him and immediately you backed up until your back hit the backboard. 

“You can unchain her if you want,” Jake said, “She can’t escape here.” 

Marc did exactly that, not wanting the cuff to bruise your ankle. He was surprised when you didn’t move after, or that you didn’t try to run away. You were still, studying him like you did back at the apartment. 

Only now your eyes were tinged in fear. 

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Marc assured, “I’m not like that.” 

“I used to think that too,” You quipped while your eyebrows furrowed and your nails dug into the sheets beneath you, “I used to think a lot of things.” a moment of silence before you continued, “like how great you were and how lucky I was to know you, or how you were just misunderstood. I know better now, meeting you was the unluckiest moment in my entire life and I didn’t even know it. And you’re not misunderstood,” You leaned closer, eyes narrowed as nothing but pure hate filled them cutting him deep, “you’re just a monster.” Before you knew it he leaped from the bed away from you. 

“NO!” He screamed hot tears filling his dark eyes, “no.” he repeats quieter this time his hands gripping his hair in a death grip, “You don’t get to say that to me, not you.” After a few more seconds of sobbing he calms down, you look at him with nothing but pity and contempt. “You love me,” he says voice hoarse, “you just need some time.” He walks shakily to the door and opens it, and before you could run towards it again he walks through and locks it behind him. You just needed some time alone, that’s all, to see that he loves you. 

That while he may be a monster. 

He was yours for better or for worse. 

He was your monster.

[beautifulsnake2162020]

We have it all (Hualian adopted daughter fanfic) Chapter 7

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I only do this for fun.

Premise: Not long after comforting a bullied girl named Meng Ai, Hua Cheng and Xie Lian find themselves adopting her and together they form a family they didn't know they had needed for awhile.

Story/Genre tags: Slice of life-ish (mainly), Family focused, Hua Cheng's houses finally become homes, there may be an overarching story but that's not the focus, Hualian being parents, Fengqing being uncles, Lang Qianqiu falling in love with someone who was raised by the Xianle squad, technically post-canon (though I haven't read the books so if there are some ooc moments please forgive me).

AO3 Link

Chapter 1, Chapter 2 , Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

Follower tags: @anonimgato1507 @fd139 (I tagged you just in case - Lang Qianqiu makes his first appearance in this chapter)

AN: In honor of Meng Ai's birthday here is Chapter 7 - which is either posted before, on, or after, September 21. Yes this chapter will be mainly focused on her birthday celebration (the preparations leading up to it and the celebration itself). I couldn't help myself - I love the song so much.

Chapter 7

"When exactly are we meeting Chenxi?"

"We'll meet in a mutual event for our first meeting. She wants to ask a few questions. Probably to check what our intentions are in asking her about that part of her life. She told me through her oracle that I'm the first person in heaven to actually be interested in knowing anything about her imprisonment. Or at least the first person who wasn't directly related to her. Then she released her oracle and he then told me that if she has any more messages for us she'll send her oracle to either one of our temples."

They arrive in the semi-secluded residence of the now mortal Shi Qingxuan. Unsurprisingly it was located on a windy location. Shi Qingxuan's new residence was on a coastal region in a more secluded part of the beach. The winds were too strong for the anyone else. But the former Windmaster felt right at home, even when the winds no longer followed their will. When they were certain that no other mortals were nearby they rid themselves of their disguises as Nan Feng and Fu Yao and turned into their regular forms with a finishing touch of glamour to conceal their divine aura.

"Finally! I thought I would have to do something drastic to make you both return." Shi Qingxuan says as Mu Qing and Feng Xin approach their home.

"We've been busy." Feng Xin says as they enter Shi Qingxuan's home. A modest structure compared to their residence that they used to have. Well ventilated to allow the wind in what may have been a hot indoor dwelling. Spacious enough to allow room to move and to entertain a fair number of guests. But it was small enough to not be a headache when it comes to cleaning and maintenance.

"Doing what? Let me guess; sparring, dates, making sure Xie Lian is happy and martial God duties?"

"The job that you were supposed to do but you were ill."

"Speaking of which - here." Mu Qing shoves a brown bottle to them.

"Here's the second to the last dosage. Same instructions as before; half a cup once a day after a meal."

"Do I have to?" They whined.

"I already feel better."

"Then throw it in the sea. It's not my problem that you're still lacking in energy. Come to think of it I think I should be thanking you." They sighed and immediately began to drink their medicine as prescribed.

"Thanking me for getting sick? You can start by giving me these cosmetics-"

"Not happening." The three of them settles on the dining room as the winds grow stronger at midday time. Midday is when they typically visit since mortals don't like being in this spot at midday because the winds were too harsh. That way they can take a break from their mortal guises while checking up on a slowly recovering Shi Qingxuan.

"What job was I supposed to do?"

"Babysit Xie Lian and Hua Cheng's little girl."

"What?!" Mu Qing and Feng Xin couldn't help but chuckle a little at their surprised look.

"How - What?!"

"Technically she isn't officially their daughter yet. They and her parents want to ask her first before officially adopting her."

"Have you seen the way she called out for them when her father was in danger?" Feng Xin asks Mu Qing in disbelief.

"I know we haven't seen the three of them talk much but something tells me she wouldn't mind being adopted by them."

"Woah, woah, Nan Yang, wait, care to explain everything to the should have been babysitter - is she cute?"

"Her name is Meng Ai, she turns seven years old on the 21st night of September -"

"How did you know the details of her birth?"

"Jing Mei told me - she gave birth to her just after sunset."

"More details for the next babysitter please!"

"Hey I was interrupted."

"I was curious."

"You were saying Xuan Zhen?"

"She could detect the presences of the otherworldly, she got that from her father and her mother is an oracle of Xiwangmu."

"Let me guess, she could sense your divine aura?"

"A lot more than that." Feng Xin adds.

"She could sense that Xuan Zhen, Xie Lian, and I are the same type of spirit and could feel the differences from our divine aura to the ghostly aura of Hua Cheng." Shi Qingxuan's eyes grow bigger.

"At six years old!? I wasn't able to do that till I was 15! And I was only able to be good at it at 19!"

"Yes, it's impressive that she could do it without realizing it. What a talent she has." Feng Xin says with a smiles as he takes a drink from his tea.

"But she wasn't able to tell that you were Gods?"

"She hasn't had much exposure to divine presences and the three of us are probably the first beings she has interacted with long enough for her to make those observations. Interacting with ghosts on the other hand are an almost daily experience for her. It makes sense that she could tell that we are a different being from ghosts but not know that we are Gods."

"...I hate it when you are right."

"You also love it. Why else are we together now?"

"Wait -" Shi Qingxuan interrupts before they could continue flirting. As happy as they are that these two former enemies are now a couple, they were more interested in knowing more about the new little girl in their lives.

"If her parents are still alive then why are they adopting her?" Both of them shares a look before facing back at them.

"Long story short: They are the loophole and the key to giving Meng Ai a good life. I've mentioned that her mother, Jing Mei is an oracle and she receives visions."

"Just after giving birth to her, she received a vision of Meng Ai dying as a sacrifice to Xiwangmu at the hands of her relative while her parents were already dead."

"They asked Xiwangmu for a loophole and she told them that as long as she had one parent who is dead and one parent who is alive she'll be safe from those who want to sacrifice her. And so Hua Cheng and Xie Lian are that loophole."

"Hmm? How are they sure that Hua Cheng and Xie Lian counts as a loophole?"

"Chenxi clarified her mother's solution. A parent doesn't need to be blood related to count - uh - are you okay?" Mu Qing asks as shock is shown in their face.

"Chenxi - Xiwangmu's daughter - she's back? She's freed?"

"You know her Shi Qingxuan?" Feng Xin asks in interest.

"Yes - it's...it's been so long." A smile slowly emerges in their face.

"Chenxi is one of my professors when I ascended. She helped guide me in learning about my domain and how it serves the world. She's one of the best teachers I've ever had." Shi Qingxuan pours themself another cup of tea.

"When she disappeared I had thought at first that maybe she's just in her family's mountain. I couldn't blame her - I loved it there when she brought her students there to have a rest from our studies and heavenly duties. She's one of those teachers who genuinely cares about her students. She knows when to push us and when to make us laugh at ourselves and to rest from work." Then their face becomes darker.

"When I learnt that she was imprisoned...I tried to help. I secretly went against orders against getting involved."

"What happened?" Shi Qingxuan looks at them with a dark look.

"I don't know how, but they managed to use my powers against me. One of the men - I can't remember his face, just that he had green eyes - managed to somehow choke me the more winds I made and the more air I controlled." They take a moment to breathe and to calm themself. But to Mu Qing and Feng Xin it was clear that this was a traumatic experience for them.

"When I managed to somehow escape from that man, Chenxi sent a telepathic message to me to escape. I tried to tell her that I came here to free her. She rebutted and told me that just because I controlled the winds didn't mean that I had enough strategic experience to rescue her." They couldn't help but shed a tear.

"Her last message to me was that she was proud of me - but I was not meant to rescue her. And if I wanted to honor her I should live my life to bring joy and use my domain to serve. Wasting my life away for a task I wasn't meant for is a disservice to myself and others. After that I never heard from her again." They wipe the tears that they had shed and a small smile begins to emerge as they look at the martial Gods.

"Now you know one of the reasons why I am the way that I am. Even though I was immortal, life is too short to let it slip through your fingers. Professor Chenxi was right, she almost always is."

Should we tell them?

Probably - Chenxi might want to see them again

"How was she freed? How did you contact her?"

"We don't know the exact details but Meng Ai's father, Ji Huifan was the one who freed her and her mother, Jing Mei nursed her back to health. I'm sure she would love to see you again. We're going to meet with her in some sort of mutual event. She didn't specify what yet." Shi Qingxuan couldn't help but giggle at Mu Qing's brief flash of annoyance at the Chenxi's somewhat vague instructions.

"Yup, that sounds like her. Enough instructions to know what's going on but no further questions till she thinks you're ready for more or you need it."

"Xuan Zhen was able to contact her through her oracle. Maybe she'll make an exception for you since you were her student." They let out a sad sigh.

"I'm not immortal anymore. Her nearest temple is going to take me at least an entire month to get there. I don't mind the long journey but I guess I'm still recovering on how to function as a mortal. Aging and work and all."

General Nan Yang, an oracle of Chenxi is in the temple. She says that she has a message from Chenxi and requests permission to communicate with you through the spiritual channel.

"Well it seems we're in luck, one of her oracles is in my temple now."

"Then what are you waiting for? Another war? Give the oracle your password already."

"Hmph and you call me impatient."

Granted, give her the password. Tell her that General Xuan Zhen will also be joining us.

Feng Xin glances at Mu Qing and gives a small nod. Mu Qing puts his finger on their temple and enters their joint telepathic communication. In their mind's eye they appear in their respective places as they look down on a woman with bright orange and black robes. She was kneeling down with her head down as she waits for them to speak.

Rise oracle of Chenxi.

She keeps her head down as she stands up in the center platform of the spiritual array.

You have a message for us from Chenxi?

I do General Nan Yang.

Why do you keep your head down? General Nan Yang has already asked for the message.

The Goddess Chenxi is actually asking permission if she could speak through me. She instructed that I am not allowed to look at either one of you until you have granted her permission to do so.

This was new. They glance at each other in the spiritual array. Mu Qing shrugs before nodding.

Granted.

Immediately the oracle looks up and her golden glowing eyes looks at both of them. Her back straightened and her stance now more fitting of a dignified Goddess than a follower of hers. What followed was a voice that was drastically different than hers but one Mu Qing is familiar with. Only now he realizes that what he had heard was the dulled version of her voice. It was expected since she was speaking through her oracle's body. Just like whenever her mother possessed one of her priests or priestesses, her voice blended with her mortal follower's.

Good day Generals Nan Yang and Xuan Zhen.

Chenxi, this is quite the unusual method of reaching out to us. You could have just contacted either one of us directly.

I assure you Nan Yang that there is a reason why I'm doing it this way. The short answer is that we could be eavesdropped and I'm not taking any chances.

Eavesdropped in Nan Yang's mind? I didn't know that such a thing was possible.

You also didn't know it was possible to contact me through my oracle and yet you did. But enough of that. Please tell Shi Qingxuan that I will see all three of you in Meng Ai's birthday on the 21st night of September. It will be in Paradise Manor for obvious reasons.

Understood.

And speaking of Meng Ai, the little girl has been wondering where you both disappeared to. I personally recommend visiting her before then. She's already figured out that you two and Xie Lian are Gods and is currently trying to guess which ones are you.

Well it's nice to know we've made an impression on her considering who will be adopting her...It was also nice seeing her beat Nan Yang in Go.

You were coaching her!

She's still learning the game.

Chenxi chuckles a bit.

I'll see you in her birthday celebration. Don't forget to bring a gift for her. Till then, good bye General Nan Yang, General Xuan Zhen.

She then releases her oracle who immediately brings her head down and her posture now back to a humble follower.

Thank you for your service to us. Some of my followers will escort you back to your temple for your protection.

Thank you as well General Nan Yang. And thank you as well General Xuan Zhen for your presence.

You're welcome oracle of Chenxi, depart with Heaven's blessings.

Feng Xin and Mu Qing leaves the spiritual array. Both of them grin at Shi Qingxuan.

"It seems like your old teacher has heard you. She now expects to see you in Meng Ai's birthday in Paradise Manor. Which means Nan Yang and I will have to introduce you to her before then."

"Oh gre- AH CHOO!" Horror and denial is on their face as Mu Qing gives them a pointed look as Feng Xin sends a telepathic command to some of his followers to protect the oracle.

"Which means you need to get better before going anywhere near her. Rest I'll make dinner and herbal tea tonight."

______________________________________________________________

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

He feels himself scurry along the once familiar rooms as he hides himself in plain sight.

"What are the chances that they are no longer in these lands?" A figure asks briefly looking towards his direction which frightened him that he might be caught. He made himself relax despite his fear. He cannot afford to waste any opportunity to learn more about their plans.

"If they had gone to other areas of the silk road we would have known. Our network of contacts are too vast and prominent for us to not know."

"They could have gone through sea."

"Or to the archipelagic region with several islands."

"Again, we would have known if they had fled to those lands. We have spies in the Southern coastal area and they have been closely watching every single family who consists of a father, a mother, and a daughter. So far every batch of them is not them. I still believe they are still within these lands."

"Or they could have been transported to another world entirely." A figure with green eyes say as nearly everyone groaned.

"For that to be possible they'll need a lot of energy. And no unusual power surges among mortals have been detected."

"Stop all this worrying." A figure steps in. To anyone who didn't know or look closely, the man looked to be in his early fourties. Never knowing that he, like the rest of his relatives gathered within this room was several centuries old.

"Ji Huifen and his family cannot escape forever. We can take as much time as we'd like. What's important is that his daughter is sacrificed on Xiwangmu's altar. It doesn't matter if she's a little girl or an old lady, all we need is to take her before death claims her. Are we understood?"

"Yes Zufu Bocheng." They all reply as they settle themselves in their respective seats as Ji Bocheng takes his seat.

"Tell Ji Lihua to take her time. I trust in her abilities to track Ji Huifan. But she could be impulsive and impatient. Remind her that we have all the time in the world as long as the little girl is alive."

"We will Zufu." Ji Bocheng then gives the signal to their servants. It was when he heard the incoming groans and screams of pain that was getting louder just outside of the door that Ji Huifan decided that he has seen enough. He closes his eyes as he lets go of the mouse that he has possessed. He's had enough experiences of the blood feeding rituals and he doesn't want to add more memories to the mix.

We've got you Ji Huifen

Xie Lian's telepathic presence gently guides him back to his body. He awakens in the presence of Hua Cheng and Xie Lian. All of them seated under a tree that he had felt the most calm. Both of them had leant him enough power to allow them to telepathically see and hear what he has learnt.

"Hmph if they think they have contacts everywhere then it's a good thing that I have my own network."

"Still, I believe that it is best for you and Jing Mei to stay here for a little bit more."

"Thank you Dianxia. Mei mei Lihua is probably one of the best choices they have of tracking us down."

"Why? Does she have any special abilities?"

"It's because you're siblings isn't it?"

"Correct, Lihua and I are full blooded siblings. While our forms are quite different she could easily track me down because we share the same parents. Our other siblings are only half and if only one parent is shared, there's a large number of guesswork since the identity of our blood could also be shared by distant relatives with a common ancestor. But if both parents are the same, all she has to do is to track down anyone whose blood is the closest to hers." He sighs as they stand up and start heading back towards the manor.

"Having said that while she may be good at tracking me down, she isn't the best fighter compared to our other relatives. Knowing her she probably thinks this is more of a chore."

"What do you suggest?" Xie Lian asks.

"Keep her bored. Or make sure that nothing peaks her interest while staying on the task. If she's bored enough she'll move on to something else."

"On the contrary I suggest we keep her on the task." Hua Cheng says as they stop for awhile after all three sees Meng Ai and Jing Mei entering the gardens. This was a discussion that Meng Ai doesn't have to hear.

"You've mentioned that she's not the best fighter among them but she's the best choice to track you down. What if we finally eliminate her?"

"That...may work. But I'm not entirely sure if she will become mortal once again just by being drained of her blood till she passes out or if she also needs to accompany it with grief."

"Let's continue this at another time." Xie Lian says as they enter within earshot of Meng Ai and Jing Mei.

"Baba, Xie Lian, San Lang, I need your help -"

"They are not going to help you Aiai."

"But-"

"You're not old enough for a puppy."

"But mama the puppy and it's mama doesn't have anywhere else to go."

"Aiai - I know you love animals. But you cannot adopt every single puppy and mama dog that you see."

"Hmm? Where did you see a puppy Xiao Ai?"

"Mama was doing her water ritual San Lang, it's where she sees things through water. And she was just checking on the areas just outside of ghost city and in one of the nearby cities there's a puppy with it's mother and both of them looked alone -"

"And you are not yet old enough to take care of them."

"But mama their round green eyes looked so sad."

And that caught everyone's attention.

"Xiao Ai how would you describe the type of green eyes the puppy and its mother have?"

"They were beautiful bright green Xie Lian. Like jade if it managed to glow."

"They were glowing Aiai. But you are still too young." To everyone else it became clear why Jing Mei was refusing to allow Meng Ai to get anywhere close to them. Dogs typically didn't have eyes that had the color of bright glowing jade green. It was definitely something else that was in the guise of a puppy and its mother trying to lure innocent victims like Meng Ai who wasn't aware of the dangerous trap she was being lured into. Probably a couple of demons who was using glowing jade green eyes to lure victims into their trap.

Though that didn't mean Jing Mei was wrong in saying that Meng Ai was too young and not ready to take care of a pet.

Then Ji Huifan fortunately remembered something.

"Mei, doesn't Chenxi and Xiwangmu raise animals as a community pet?"

"Those animals are technically pets which belong to the Goddesses; which is why with a few exceptions they stay inside temple grounds and are never slaughtered or killed."

"I have an idea."

"I'm not taking one of their pets and gifting it to Aiai."

"No no, what if Aiai raises one and offers it on her birthday? Then we could see how ready she is for a pet of her own."

"Hmm that could work. It could show Xiao Ai here what it means to take care of another life who depends on her."

"And every week we check their progress. Her birthday is only a few weeks away and it would be a valuable experience for her."

"And how are we supposed to remain hidden while offering the future pet to Xiwangmu?"

"Xiao Ai doesn't have to actually leave here. Something tells me they'll send someone here for her birthday. What do you think little one? Are you up for the challenge your parents gave you?" Hua Cheng asks with a teasing tone.

"Yes please, pretty please."

"I'll be choosing what you'll be raising. And I will tell you now it's not a puppy. Xiwangmu already has plenty of dogs that play around in her temples."

"Okay."

"Don't worry Aiai we'll guide you. But it's still you who will be taking up the responsibility of raising the animal whom you will offer to Xiwangmu."

"Yes, baba." Meng Ai nods eagerly as she waits for more reminders from her new parents.

"Xiao Ai why don't you play with Ruoye for awhile." Xie Lian allows Ruoye to fly towards Meng Ai as it wraps itself around her hands while a part of it rubs itself against Meng Ai's cheek in their mutual delight.

"While you're at it, take E-ming with you. Just don't take E-ming out of it's sheath." The sentient scimitar coos in delight as Hua Cheng carefully gives it to Meng Ai with a subtle but noticeable glance to Yin Yu to watch over her while she plays with their spiritual tools. Once Yin Yu leads Meng Ai to a safe distance away from the four of them while still being within their vision, the discussion becomes serious.

"I'm going to investigate the hidden demon nearby."

"I'll come with you San Lang."

"How sure are you that it's just a demon? What if it's a demon summoned by one of the mage mercenaries to try to lure us out - or even worse lure Aiai out."

"That's even better Jing Mei, getting information will be easier. If you need anything Yin Yu will know what to do." In the distance they hear Meng Ai laughing as she was chasing Ruoye who was carrying a sheathed E-ming around a field of Asters.

"Please you two, let San Lang and I handle this." Ji Huifan sighs, shares a look with Jing Mei before they both nod.

"You probably already know this but from my experience these demons are the most likely ones that they've summoned." They listen intently before making their way to where the disguised demons were located.

The couple lands a short distance away from where the hidden demons disguised as a puppy and its mother were. Standing near them made their demonic aura more obvious to them.

"They don't seem to be puppets. But that might just be because whomever created them is highly skilled."

"Hmm my bet is that they themselves are demons since if they were just puppets they would need some external power source to do that level of deception while still keeping itself intact." The sun begins to set and children begin staying indoors or staying in areas that are more crowded than the sparse field where they are in now.

"How do you want to do this San Lang?"

"We go together but you could approach it first. You'll ask the easy questions." He turns to Xie Lian with a dangerous glint in his eyes that Xie Lian couldn't help but be drawn to even after seven years of marriage.

"While I ask the difficult questions."

"Do you think they'll be truthful?" Xie Lian quickly asks to try to ignore his blush. Though he knows that Hua Cheng had already noticed.

"We'll know, and we'll have our ways to finding out the truth." They share a nod as they make their way to the hidden demons. The one disguised as a puppy starts whimpering and making pitiful sounds as it looks at Xie Lian's figure approaching.

"Whomever you are go to your true form. There are questions that you need to answer - both of you." Xie Lian says with a serious but still approachable tone. But the once seemingly innocent look of both demons are now glazed over with darkness and anger.

"Don't make us force you." Xie Lian warns as he prepares himself for any possible attack. The demon in the form of a puppy launches itself at him but its demonic face with a mouth full of sharp teeth emerged. Xie Lian quickly moved away with ease and dodged an attack from the demon in the form of the mother dog. As he bent down Hua Cheng managed to grab their throats in each hand and both demons began choking with fear.

"Go to your true forms or I will make you." He throws both demons on front of them and they immediately go to their shadowy forms with reluctance and fear of the Crimson Rain Sought Flower.

"Now." Hua Cheng continues as he holds their jade green glowing gazes.

"We'll ask some questions and you are going to answer them. Lie and we will know."

"Hrraah...Fine...Graah."

"Why are you here?" Xie Lian begins.

"Krrah ... Krraah...to...Krraah...lure..."

"Lure who?"

"Hrrah...Graaah...a...krraah...little girl...KraAAh..."

"Do you know her name?"

"GrraAWAah...Hrraah...No...Krrraah..."

"How about what she looks like?" Hua Cheng asks in an intimidating tone.

"Krraah...Hrraaah...No...Krraah...GrAaAh!" They share a look.

Shall I make them show us?

Go ahead, you did warn them earlier.

"Hmph why don't we see for ourselves." Xie Lian slips his hand in Hua Chengs and intertwine their fingers while Hua Cheng with his other hand now outstretched reaches into the memories of both demons. He quickly found the memory he was looking for and projected them telepathically to Xie Lian's mind so they may both uncover them together.

"WE SUMMON YOU!" Cried a group of hooded and masked mages in a dark night without moonlight. The only light present was the candles arranged in a summoning formation.

"KRAahAHaha...GrahaAh...who summons...HrahaAah?"

"We do, youth devourers."

"We have a task for you."

"GRAhahaKraah...Offerring...HraAah...first." One of the mages lead two children who were in a trance to each demon. Xie Lian couldn't help but wince in horror as the youth devouring demons take their souls and devours them.

Gege?

I'm fine...its just awful

I know

"Satisfied?"

"Grahakraah...Yes...Grahaaah."

"We need you to capture a little girl."

"Her left eye is blue and her right eye is amber brown. She would be about six years old. By the end of September she will be seven years old."

"HRAAH...Krahaagh...why...Graaahk...us...kraaAAagh?"

"You youth devouring demons specialize in luring and hunting down children. Even in areas where mortals cannot easily go."

"We have prepared other offerings which you will recieve when you bring us the girl alive and with her soul intact."

"GraAAAahhk...krAaAh...her...KRaAaAhk...name?"

"She is known as Meng Ai, and her presence was felt in Jingdezhen before we lost track of her."

"Bring her to us and you will recieve the rest of your offerings."

"GRAaAh!" "HraAAaAghk!"

The memory ends but Hua Cheng keeps his control over the two demons.

"Should we ask them to lead us to them?"

"No need. I already know where those mages are, even if they travel around." Hua Cheng then summons E-ming out of its sheath.

"GrAAH krAAaAh - you liars! HraAahk!"

"We never promised your safety and continued existence." These were Hua Cheng's last words to them before E-mind destroyed them.

"Good job E-ming." Xie Lian says as the scimitar's eye looked to him for approval. Having received it, E-ming coos of soft delight.

"Hmm they're getting desperate. Something tells me that this won't be the last thing they summon to hunt or lure Xiao Ai to them."

"I'll increase the security measures when it comes to her safety. And when all else fails she still has our silver butterfly pendant on her. Our combined powers in that pendant should be able to protect her and send a message to anyone who dares harm her." Xie Lian couldn't help but smile as he notices how Hua Cheng is already thinking of her safety.

"What amuses Gege so?"

"I like this side of you. Being protective over our daughter. I don't mind seeing this more often." Xie Lian couldn't help but tease a bit as he brings himself closer to Hua Cheng's look of surprise.

"Is...is that so?"

"Mmhmm" He sighs as he embraces him with his arms around Hua Cheng's neck.

"Let's visit Puqi Shrine for awhile. Since Meng Ai couldn't be there for the meantime we'll have the bed to ourselves." Hua Cheng quickly takes out the dice and tosses it but barely looks at the number that will inevitably lead to Puqi Shrine. His gaze instead was focused on his husband as he feels his desire for him increase as he feels himself share an expression of lust with him.

"We're here Gege." He bends down to kiss him and to carry him as a groom would carry his bride. Never breaking the kiss he enters the living quarters and gently placed him on the bed.

"San Lang mmm" Xie Lian moans as he keeps Hua Cheng close to his lips with one hand while undressing him and teasing him with the other.

"Mmm Gege mmm."

They would deal with the damage left by the previous battle once morning arrives. For now they were savoring being united in their love.

______________________________________________________________

"White Lotus is clearly the better mooncake filling." Mu Qing argues as he, Feng Xin, and Shi Qingxuan went to the nearby town. It was their promised reward to Shi Qingxuan for taking care of themself to recover quicker and thus meeting Meng Ai earlier before her birthday.

"Its too subtle for a little girl's birthday."

"Well clearly not for Meng Ai since she loves it."

"She also loves the Red bean filling. The popular choice."

"Hey you two why don't you just go for the third option? You both mentioned you liked how her mom mixed both fillings together, why not go with that? Also," Shi Qingxuan browses the fabric on display.

"What do you think her favorite color is? Or or what colors do you think looks good with her?"

"The four of us secretly decided to give all three to her. We'll give her an official answer so that she won't suspect and so her mother could begin making it, Nan Feng and I will buy one mooncake with either White Lotus paste or Red bean filling and her new parents will buy the other."

"Red bean filling is easier to find and it easily sells out. Oh and I think you should just ask her since we'll be going there once we finish up here."

"Which is why we should buy the White Lotus one so that it's easier to get."

"Do you know how easy it is to screw up White Lotus mooncake?"

"Any mooncake made by an idiot will be screwed up. Why do you think we'll be tasting them first before giving it to her?" Sighing as they hear the argument continue Shi Qingxuan decides to ask the store owner if they had some fabric samples they could show. They couldn't help but laugh at both of them remaining firm in their arguments.

"Here you go sir, a book sewn with a small piece of all the fabrics we have in our store."

"Thank you so much. Come on you two, you can continue arguing outside." They say with a laugh as both of them follow them out.

"Is that your only gift to her?"

"Of course not, we're also giving her a Go set." Feng Xin says as Mu Qing enters the first store selling mooncakes. The Mid Autumn Festival was only a few weeks away and this year Meng Ai's birthday would be in the week after that. Stores were now selling their mooncakes as a form of advertising their products. By selling them now the public could gauge which stores would sell the mooncakes that appealed to their taste and stores themselves could gauge how many orders to prepare as the Mid Autumn Festival came nearer.

"Did you check with Hua Cheng and Xie Lian if they already have a Go set in Paradise Manor? I find it hard to believe that Hua Chengzhu wouldn't already have one."

"Well another one wouldn't hurt."

"Because he already bought it." Mu Qing says as he emerged with six small mooncakes. Three of the White Lotus Paste filling and three of the Red bean filling.

"I didn't buy it! It wasn't used and was just collecting dust in one of my temples and I compensated my priest with blessings in exchange for offering it to me."

"In other words - you bought it from your priest." Mu Qing rebuts as he eats his share with the red bean filling. While the taste itself was not bad it had a strangely sour after taste that he isn't sure that Meng Ai would enjoy. Jing Mei's remarkable mooncakes were smooth, flavorful and did not have any of the aftertaste he was currently experiencing now.

Perhaps it was just the red bean flavor.

He eats the White Lotus paste flavor filling and while the flavor was better than the previous mooncake, it still had that sour aftertaste.

It must be the dough.

"Uhm Xuan Zhen, I don't think a little girl is going to like this." Shi Qingxuan says as he swallows only out of politeness. But it was clear from their and Feng Xin's expressions that none of them were fans of the sour aftertaste.

"I know, this is a far cry from her mother's version."

"I honestly doubt we'll be able to find someone who could match hers."

"Describe how her mother does it. Maybe I know a place that will have something similar."

"Smooth, flavorful, concentrated in its flavor that just complements the egg inside it, sweet but not overwhelmingly so. Just enough to make you want more."

"It's almost like there is a subtle burst of it in every bite you take and because of its smoothness the flavors becomes more intense." Feng Xin adds as they begin making their way in a secluded area after they notice that it was late in the night and it was time for them to make their way to Paradise Manor. Mu Qing begins drawing a teleportation portal to get them close enough to the entrance of Ghost City.

"If she's willing to make us some, you'll understand what we mean."

"Are you sure Xiwangmu wouldn't let me borrow her for her visions and her amazing food? She's got plenty of other oracles." At this Mu Qing couldn't help but laugh.

"We've already talked about this, I highly doubt she would lend her to you just for those reasons."

"What if I send some of my followers to protect her and Chenxi's temples?"

"You don't need to request for her specifically! You can get anyone else to cook for you or to give you visions."

"Okay what if I teach Meng Ai how to fight?" Mu Qing pinches the bridge of his nose in both annoyance and amusement.

"Go ahead, try your best to convince one of the most powerful primordial Goddesses if you can borrow one of her most active oracles. I'm going to enjoy watching her kick your sorry butt." Now it was Feng Xin's turn to laugh.

"Hmph please, we both know you wouldn't let that happen."

"Well it looks like the portal is ready! Enough stalling let's go." Shi Qingxuan says quickly before Mu Qing could respond with what seemed to be a more teasing and flirtatious reply based on the expression on his face. Their flirting was often more confusing to the former Wind Master. At least whenever Hua Cheng and Xie Lian would flirt, their flirtations were more obvious and Shi Qingxuan knew to ignore it and give the married couple privacy. But with Nan Yang and Xuan Zhen being a relatively new couple (in public at least, they knew that the Generals were together a little longer before that) their flirtations with each other were a sometimes not so obvious and it was difficult to tell if the new couple were seriously arguing or if they were simply teasing and goading each other into initiating more physical forms of affection.

They emerge out of the portal and make a final check to see if their divine aura was obvious or not. Then they join the ghosts entering Ghost City.

When they enter the actual city they were greeted by Yin Yu.

"Welcome back to Ghost City. Just follow me to Paradise Manor."

"Thank you Yin Yu. What are they doing?" Shi Qingxuan asks in curiosity.

"It's going to be your first time meeting her, correct?"

"Oh yes! And might I just say I would have jumped at the chance of babysitting her if only I wasn't sick. But unfortunately I'm now mortal and I'm now more prone to illnesses." Shi Qingxuan gives a chuckle at the end. They decided that it was best that they take over the conversation since they aren't exactly sure what type of dynamic the other two have with Yin Yu. They are at least confident that Yin Yu and they can have an easy conversation. Or Yin Yu willingly listened to Shi Qingxuan's thoughts about almost anything.

"It is understandable, let's just say her mother has found her an animal that she will raise for the next few weeks and she will offer it to Xiwangmu on the day of her birthday." Yin Yu let's out a small chuckle.

"All because Xiao Ai wanted to adopt a puppy and its mother which turned out to be a couple of youth devourers in disguise."

"So she's taking care of a dog?" Feng Xin asks as they reach the entrance of Paradise Manor.

"Not exactly." Yin Yu says with amusement, when they reach the entrance of the building and before Yin Yu makes his leave he gives them one last hint.

"I hope you won't mind a certain meat being absent in your meals here - or at least whenever Meng Ai is present while eating. She's that committed." He then takes his leave and the three of them enter the manor. What greeted them was an amusing sight.

It seems that their presence was not yet noticed since Hua Cheng and Xie Lian had their backs to them while to their side was another couple who was looking down at what Shi Qingxuan presumed to be Meng Ai who was currently hidden by them.

"You know she can also eat bugs Aiai."

"No! Baba she'll be vegetarian."

"But you'll deprive her of nutritition and she's already the runt of the litter." Jing Mei says amusingly.

"But mushrooms are also protein!"

"I hate to agree Xiao Ai but plenty of mushrooms are toxic to both humans and animals." Xie Lian adds in a light tone.

"Aw." Hua Cheng chuckles in a way that they've only heard him do around Xie Lian. And now this little girl had the power to bring that out from him. Much to their astonishment. Mostly of Shi Qingxuan, but also to Feng Xin and Mu Qing.

"Xiao Ai don't worry, she's not going to be slaughtered. You're raising her to be Xiwangmu's pet."

"I know San Lang." They then hear a little squeal and what emerged was Meng Ai craddling a swaddled little piglet.

"Oh I'm so sorry we didn't notice your arrival." Xie Lian immediately says as he approaches the trio. It was then that Meng Ai noticed two familiar faces and one new one.

"Nan Feng! Fu Yao! Meet Chang-Chang." She holds up the little swaddled piglet as she eagerly runs to them. The piglet blinks innocently at them and as the three of them kneels down to her level to take a closer look.

"She's my birthday gift to Xiwangmu so she's actually her pet."

"Hello there." Shi Qingxuan says as they reach out and pet Chang-Chang on the head. Turns out the little piglet loves cuddles and immediately leans in on their hand.

"You know what - surprisingly cute." Mu Qing says as he gives a little pet to Chang-Chang on the head while Feng Xin pets her from underneath her chin. The little piglet, much like Meng Ai was happily soaking up all the positive attention from her new audience.

"Mama chose her for me because she couldn't get milk from her mama."

"Not enough nipples and too many piglets." Jing Mei clarifies from where she was standing.

"Is this why you don't want to eat pork until after she goes to Xiwangmu?" Shi Qingxuan asks and she nods vigorously.

"I didn't want to offend her. But don't worry since she'll be going to Xiwangmu in the morning, in my birthday party in the evening we'll be eating pork again." Feng Xin took the moment to carry Chang-Chang while Xie Lian formally introduced Shi Qingxuan and Meng Ai. After a few minutes he felt dampness in the swaddled cloth accompanied by Hua Cheng's laughter.

"Chang-Chang!" One of the servants accompanied Jing Mei in helping Meng Ai in cleaning the little piglet whose pee soaked through the swaddling cloth and dripped a bit on Feng Xin.

"I'm so sorry Nan Feng - if it makes you feel better Chang-Chang also peed on me when I was carrying her yesterday." Mu Qing laughs as he hands a handkerchief to Feng Xin.

"Don't worry Meng Ai, let's just say Nan Feng is used to fluids being dripped his way." Before she could ask further Jing Mei and the female servant ushers her out to clean Chang-Chang.

"Well would you look at that - it's nice to know that even Chang-Chang has taste in companions." Hua Cheng says as he joins Xie Lian's side.

"Hey! At least she's comfortable around me."

"Aw you two were right, she is adorable. Congratulations on your new little girl you two." Shi Qingxuan immediately says to quickly dissipate any incoming argument between Hua Cheng and Feng Xin. Even though they knew that these three couldn't help but bicker, they didn't want to start their visit with them bickering among each other (though it was still entertaining from their point of view). Xie Lian gives them a thankful glance and guides them to the dining room and takes advantage of Meng Ai being absent for a little while.

"Chenxi has contacted you?" Ji Huifan asks them as they enter.

"Yes, you knew?" Mu Qing asks.

"No, but she did send a message to Mei and I that she will be attending Meng Ai's birthday party."

"Huh interesting." Shi Qingxuan says as female servants begin placing food on the dining table. They couldn't help but wink at a few of them while also giving a sympathetic look. They recalled the time when they were going undercover and had to blend in among Hua Cheng's female servants.

"Any ideas on what are their next moves?" Mu Qing asks when they all settle down.

"Considering that they ventured into summoning youth devourers they would probably start summoning other demonic creatures." Hua Cheng says seriously. Xie Lian slip his hand into Hua Cheng's for their mutual comfort.

"Based on their last movements the entire group is mainly headed towards the southern areas. Probably to investigate if they had left or if their contacts have seen the three of them leave through the southern coastal areas. I'd like to request if you two could keep an eye on them."

"Of course." They then sense that Meng Ai and Jing Mei were coming. This time Chang-Chang was swaddled in a new cloth and was now laying inside a basket whose walls were high enough that the little piglet couldn't escape even if she jumped.

"Chang-Chang is not sitting on your lap."

"But my eyes are not leaving Chang-Chang."

"Chang-Chang already ate, she'll be more comfortable in your room."

"But I haven't yet and I need to see her at all times."

"Xiao - Ai would you like to put Chang-Chang nearby?" Xie Lian asks in a gentle persuasive tone and trying to find an approach that would help Jing Mei and Meng Ai have a compromise.

"She could be within your view."

"Okay Xie Lian." Xie Lian then takes the basket holding Chang-Chang on the seat in front of Meng Ai which was in between Shi Qingxuan and and Mu Qing.

"Don't worry, she's sleeping now so I don't think she'll relieve herself again. I just want to make sure I know where she is." With everyone complete they begin eating their meal.

"Say Jing Mei, by any chance do you still have any of those sample mooncakes? You know just so Shi Qingxuan here could understand Meng Ai's dilemma."

"Oh yes, I just made a new batch this morning - and no Aiai you're not getting any until your birthday."

"I was wondering if Chang-Chang could have some."

"I know what you're trying to do but the answer is still no."

"Meng Ai, think of it this way - once you get your mooncake on your birthday it will be much sweeter." Shi Qingxuan says now excited at finally tasting the coveted mooncakes of Jing Mei.

"That's true, but by then Chang-Chang will be with Xiwangmu."

"Don't worry Aiai, I'll make a pig friendly version to accompany Chang-Chang on the morning of your birthday when you offer her as a pet to Xiwangmu."

"Oh why didn't you say so mama!?" Finally satisfied the rest of the meal went on and by the end of it Shi Qingxuan now understands why Feng Xin and Mu Qing were no longer satisfied with just any mooncakes and why Feng Xin wants to borrow Jing Mei for her cooking skills.

"How do you like things so far Meng Ai?"

"Oh I love it Fu Yao. Everything is so red and warm and cozy."

"Ah so is red your favorite color? Oh and before I forget you can call me A-xuan. I give you my full permission." Shi Qingxuan says with enthusiasm. Meng Ai couldn't help but giggle as she shakes her head.

"Red is beautiful but blue is actually my favorite color."

"Oh why is that?" Feng Xin asks amused.

"Because whenever blue shows up in nature, it is always a work of art. That's why you don't see many things in nature that are blue."

"Hmm? But the sky is blue." Shi Qingxuan points out.

"And so is the sea." Added Mu Qing.

"The sky is up there, and the waters only reflect it, that's why they are blue. But there aren't many species of animals that are blue. There's no blue dog, blue cat or blue horses. But peacocks have beautiful iridiscent patterns on their feathers and the most beautiful butterfly in nature is the blue butterfly." At this she excitedly turns to Hua Cheng.

"San Lang, did you know that somewhere beyond our lands is the most beautiful blue butterfly? One of Baba's friends summoned some through a portal and it was the most beautiful butterfly in nature. And Baba explained that the reason why its so vibrant is because the butterflies are not using pigment, they use some sort of structure that is too small for us to see to make their wings blue. Since they live in a part of the world that rains a lot so they need to keep their wings vibrant even when they are wet."

"How interesting Xiao Ai." He says with interest as he listens to her.

"Oh yes and it's also why when you look at it in different angles sometimes it shifts in color - Baba what do you call it?"

"Iridesence."

"Iridesence! And it's the same method that Peacocks use for their feathers. That's why their feathers are so beautiful." By the end of the meal, the new people in Meng Ai's life have a good grasp on what gifts she would love and appreciate.

______________________________________________________________

"Thank you for visiting scrap collector gege!"

"You're welcome Gu Zi." Xie Lian says as the little boy is escorted to have his formal lessons by a teacher whom Lang Qianqiu personally checked would be good for Gu Zi's temperament and would be considerate of his background. Now he and his former Guo Shi were alone ever since the battle of the heavens against Jun Wu.

"Lang Qianqiu? Is there something in your mind?" Xie Lian asks as he hears Lang Qianqiu sigh.

"Am I fighting a losing battle...Guo Shi?" Lang Qianqiu turns to face him with uncertainty in his eyes.

"He still awaits for his father's return. I don't know if that's his original father or that monster anymore. No matter how much I try and attempt to explain things to him he rejects it. What if...what if this means I'm not ready to take care of him? Or worse, what if I mess things up?" Lang Qianqiu then realizes that as much as he tries...he needs his Guo Shi.

The man who willingly painted himself as the villain in his life so that peace would prevail and so that he could be the ruler who listens to the needs of his people.

"Qianqiu." Xie Lian starts with a gentle tone. Gentler than when he was Fang Xin Guoshi, but nevertheless it was still sincere.

"I also wasn't ready when I came into your life." Lang Qianqiu nods solemnly.

"But you managed to do it so well."

"But I wasn't perfect." The stillness yet cooling air of the heavens only emphasized that there was nowhere to run. Deep inside both of them they longed to be able to form a bond, even though it will never be like how it was. One of them believed he was undeserving and it was all a wishful dream but Xie Lian couldn't help but hope. Lang Qianqiu didn't know how to reforge it, but he had to try. To try his best even though it made him uncomfortable right now.

He misses him.

But he also knows that the wounds from the recent revelations were still too fresh. And he could see that his Guo Shi knows that some things take time to heal.

"Qianqiu, there is no such thing as a perfect parent or guardian." Xie Lian couldn't help but place his hands on Qianqiu's shoulders to reassure his former student.

"But that doesn't mean you shouldn't do your best. And I know you enough that you will." Lang Qianqiu's eyes become watery as he allows the words of his Guo Shi to sink in.

Somehow, even till now...he knew just what he needs to hear.

And he couldn't help but smile in thanks to him.

"I have an idea, why don't I introduce you and Gu Zi to someone. She's six years old but it would be nice for Gu Zi to be with children around his age."

"Ugh, I've tried Guo Shi. But he refuses to interact with them whenever Mengyou and I take him to the mortal realm. I'm trying not to force things on him. He's so obsessed with his father and Qi Rong that I'm afraid that he will miss out on living life."

"Don't worry. You still have time. And I have faith in you."

______________________________________________________________

"Chang - Chang, sit." The little piglet lay down instead of sitting. Taking a deep breath Meng Ai tries again.

"Chang - Chang, stand." Mu Qing, Feng Xin, and Shi Qingxuan watches her squeal in delight as they watch the piglet stand up. The three of them have decided to take her to Shi Qingxuan's new residence with permission from Hua Cheng and Xie Lian. Since those hunting her were specifically looking for a family of three - a mother, a father, and a daughter, they tended to ignore groups that didn't meet this description. As expected Hua Cheng initially refused until Xie Lian convinced him that Meng Ai needs to take trips outside of Ghost City since she was still mortal. Even if the powers they bestowed on her butterfly pendant was more than enough to allow her to live everyday in Ghost City, Meng Ai did miss being around regular people. It was only when Hua Cheng made a special kind of illusion on her so that anyone who wasn't taking care of her couldn't see what she actually looks like.

This also gave a chance for all of her parents to rest from taking care of her while Shi Qingxuan is making up for lost time by showing that they can be relied on as her babysitter.

After all there were at least twenty hidden wraith butterflies watching over her and their treatment of her. These hidden twenty were only visible to the trio of babysitters. Threatening them by their mere presence and proximity should any harm fall on Meng Ai while she is under their watch. Meanwhile there were another ten wraith butterflies playing with her and Chang-Chang.

"You know for someone who recently became a father, Hua Chengzhou is quite protective over little Aiai." Shi Qingxuan says as they fan themself to keep cool. While it wasn't a hot day, it wasn't cool enough to be comfortable either.

"I can't believe I'm saying this but I don't blame him. Qingxuan if only you knew what these cursed immortals had sent to hunt her down you too would be concerned over her safety." Feng Xin says as he takes a bite of the latest sample of mooncakes that Shi Qingxuan bought from the capital city of this area. It was definitely better but still not as smooth as how Jing Mei makes hers.

"Hmph, never thought the day would come when Hua Cheng would be protective over someone other than Dianxia." Mu Qing says as he puts a black stone on the Go board before turning to watch Meng Ai play and teach Chang-Chang basic commands.

"Chang-Chang, down." The piglet lies down and an enthusiastic Meng Ai gives her a treat. Even from where they were sitting they could see that the butterflies were being very gentle and playful with her. Some of them have began attaching themselves on her hair, keeping some of the stray strands from flying into her face.

"Chang-Chang, stand." The piglet stands and was rewarded with another treat.

"By the way, has she guessed your identities yet?"

"She already knows Xie Lian is the Crown Prince of Xianle when she asked him last dinner and said why she thinks so. He didn't have the heart to not answer her." Feng Xin places a white stone on the Go board before once again facing the direction where Meng Ai and Chang-Chang was.

"Well to be fair Nan Yang he is going to be her new father. If there's anyone whose identity she should know its him and Hua Cheng. She's quick so it won't be long till she guesses our own identites."

"Chang-Chang, walk." Happily trotting beside her and some of the wraith butterflies trailing along behind them they go back to where the trio were seated at the outer porch area of Shi Qingxuan's home.

"General Nan Yang! General Xuan Zhen! A-Xuan! Look what I taught Chang-Chang!" She doesn't notice the look of surprise when she immediately turns and commands Chang-Chang to sit, lie down, and stand. Shi Qingxuan couldn't help but laugh.

"Oh that's brilliant Meng Ai!"

"I know A-xuan! I can't believe she finally learnt my commands now." After Chang-Chang consistently follows Meng Ai's commands she picks her up and carries her as she settles herself beside Shi Qingxuan so that she may watch the Go game.

"Meng Ai what did you call Nan Feng and Fu Yao just now?"

"General Nan Yang and General Xuan Zhen. Xie Lian said that they've been bickering ever since their early days with him. And since Xie Lian is the Crown Prince of Xianle and since they have the same type of spirit as Xie Lian the only two Gods I know who like to compete with each other are Generals Nan Yang and Xuan Zhen." She turns to look at their Go game to see if she could recognize any patterns from their first lesson with her. As she was looking she hears both of them chuckle above her.

"You just had to predict it don't you Xuan Zhen?" Mu Qing only gives him a smug look in return.

"Oh but I do have some questions - what does Ju Yang mean? Did you have to become a giant in a famous battle? Why do some of the villagers and ghosts laugh whenever they say it?"

"Well-"

"You're not ready to know yet!" Feng Xin quickly says as he cuts off Mu Qing from explaining any further. This only lead Mu Qing to laugh at his expense

"Huh? Why not? Why is your facing becoming red?" She innocently asks confused.

"Meng Ai let's just say it was an embarrassing incident for Nan Yang here and that's why he doesn't like to say it."

"But I will."

"Because you're enjoying it."

"Why do you think I have all the poems memorized Qingxuan?"

"Oh I'm sorry Nan Yang - I could tell you an embarrassing memory of mine. Would that make you feel better?"

"Oh there's no need for that Meng Ai." Feng Xin quickly says but from her expression she was going to tell them anyway.

"One time somebody ask me to do the story of the butterfly lovers ten times. But I was confused because I don't know what they mean, and because this man wanted me to do it and not one of my parents. I didn't want to ask them what he meant so I just guessed. So I made ten different drawings of Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai. It turned out that he wanted me to write it down. But for some reason mama and baba said that it was good that I didn't do it because that man wanted to get a sample of my calligraphy." Unbeknownst to her all three of them were alarmed.

"What did he look like?"

"I didn't see his face, but I remember he was wearing a hood and a mask. But it was during one of the village festivals when plenty of people were wearing masks."

The air became chilled at this new revelation. With the butterflies still on her hair at least they know that they wouldn't need to tell Hua Cheng of their new discovery. Feng Xin and Mu Qing share a look as the memories of their clones escaping the camp full of the hooded masked mages and the cursed immortal who was Meng Ai's aunt. What she almost did.

And now they learn that a mage mercenary had interacted with Meng Ai hoping to get a sample of her calligraphy. While they aren't entirely sure what that man was going to do with it, all three of them knew nothing good could come out of it.

"What happened to the drawings?"

"Oh I didn't like my drawings so Baba set them on fire so that the ashes could be used as a fertilizer."

They all breathed out a sigh of relief.

______________________________________________________________

"What do you think?" Hua Cheng asks as he shows Xie Lian the new modifications he made to their cottage. The cottage where they spent many of their passionate nights after their wedding. Now they both stand at the entrance of what would now be Meng Ai's room. A bed by the window since she loved waking up to the view. A desk to practice her calligraphy in and for her to read. Several stacks of blank notebooks and books on the shelves that she had always wanted to read.

And of course it was a tasteful blend of blue, Meng Ai's favorite color.

Xie Lian couldn't help but chuckle as he notices the paintings of blue butterflies and peacocks that decorate her walls.

"You really searched for and studied the blue butterfly she was talking about." Hua Cheng smiles at him with a knowing look.

"I couldn't make an accurate painting if I didn't examine the specimen itself. Fortunately I was able to get a sample of it and made some here." Xie Lian embraces him. Knowing that despite all his work he could still sense that Hua Cheng was nervous on whether Meng Ai would actually love it. But knowing her and knowing how she actually is when she is safe and happy, deep down Xie Lian knows Meng Ai would love it because Hua Cheng made it for her.

"San Lang, do you want to give it to her before her birthday in a few days? That way she could move in and if there are any changes she'd like you would know right away?" Hua Cheng couldn't help but gaze lovingly at him. Xie Lian always seemed to know what to say to relieve his worries.

"I would love that Gege." He bends down and they share a chaste but sweet kiss as their foreheads press against each other.

"Let's reinforce the wards so that we won't have to worry about any of them finding her and taking her away."

"I couldn't agree more Gege."

Three days before her actual birthday, while the rest of the world was in the midst of the week long Mid Autumn Festival, they lead her to the cottage. Ruoye once again acting as a blindfold. This time on Meng Ai whose hands were held by Xie Lian and Hua Cheng.

"I thought we would be staying in Paradise Manor?"

"We are still staying there. But you need to also be within the mortal world since its not good for a mortal to stay in Ghost City for too long." Hua Cheng explains as they guide her.

"Even when you and Xie Lian placed power on my necklace?"

"Even the powers of your necklace needs to rest and replenish every once in a while Meng Ai." Xie Lian says as they stop on front of the cottage and Ruoye unwinds itself as it goes back inside Xie Lian's sleeve.

When her eyes opened she couldn't contain her delight and hugged both of them.

"Can we go inside please?" They both laugh as she pulls them both to the door. Someone else would think that she was trying to convince them to buy the cottage.

"We have a few more surprises for you." Hua Cheng says as Xie Lian holds his hand to help with his nervousness.

Only for a few minutes as they here squeals of delight as she enters her room.

"Is - is this really for me? THANK YOU SO MUCH!" She drags them both inside as she jumps on the bed.

"Of course this is for you little one." Hua Cheng chuckles as he finds himself laying down on one side of the bed, Xie Lian on the other and Meng Ai laying down in between them with her facing him.

"Does this mean you wouldn't mind if I'm your daughter? Is it okay if I call you two Baba Lian and Baba Lang?" She asks nervously. A part of her is scared at still being rejected. But the love on both of their faces made her feel happy and safe.

She wasn't losing anyone, she's gaining more people who will love her.

"You are our daughter Xiao Ai." Xie Lian says as he leans on one arm.

"We both want you to be our daughter." After he said this Hua Cheng felt his anxiety fade away as their daughter, their Xiao Ai laughed with joy.

______________________________________________________________

The morning of the 21st of September had finally arrived.

Chenxi in disguise as one of her mother's priestesses arrives at the entrance of Paradise Manor. At the entrance was Meng Ai holding Chang-Chang who now had a blue collar around her neck. Behind her were her four parents and her three baby sitters. Everyone except Meng Ai instantly knew who she was. Meng Ai could sense she was a God but couldn't tell which one.

"Are you Xiwangmu?" She asks as she held Chang-Chang back.

"No, but she's very important to me. And I believe you have a pet offering for her."

"Will Chang-Chang be safe?" Chenxi smiles as she nods.

"I will personally make sure she is. Xiwangmu will love her. She knows you've been working hard on raising Chang-Chang." Meng Ai nods and makes Chang-Chang face her.

"You be good okay? I'll visit you if I can." She couldn't help but cry as she embraces Chang-Chang one last time. All the sleepless nights, all the time spent raising and loving her and training her...it will be over now but she knows it's because the priests and priestesses of Xiwangmu could better take care of Chang-Chang than she could.

Is that why it still hurts?

Chang-Chang sensing her sadness nuzzles her one last time as she gives her to Xiwangmu's priestess who now also carries treats and food for Chang-Chang.

"I'll be back later for your party tonight little Meng Ai. I'll just make sure Chang-Chang is safe." Chenxi smiles reassuringly as she escorts Chang-Chang to her mother's temple. There she will join all of her other pets offered to live a natural life.

"Mama it hurts." Chenxi smiles as she overhears her. Ji Huifen and Jing Mei did a great job at showing her that even they are going to be grieving. Grieving at the chance of not being the ones who will raise her. Even though they all know this is for the best, it doesn't mean that it didn't hurt.

A lesson that she herself had to learn the hard way.

She tucks that in the corner of her mind as she makes her way to the temple. There will be plenty of that when Nan Yang and Xuan Zhen ask her about that time in her life. Today was a day of celebration and she intends to keep it that way.

Once the sun had set Meng Ai's birthday celebration has begun. The guests being restricted to those she has already met but it was still more than just her parents.

While there were games that entertained her if you were to ask Meng Ai what the highlight of the night would be, it's that she got to eat all three flavors of mooncake.

"We didn't want to keep fighting what was the best flavor so we decided to give you all three." Hua Cheng couldn't help but rebut this as Feng Xin and Mu Qing gives Meng Ai their Go set gift.

"You're right, you and Nan Yang would prefer to fight over more petty things for the fun of it now."

"Pardon me!"

"Now now it's Xiao Ai's birthday."

"Hey Meng Ai, I've got you something!" Sensing another argument may happen Shi Qingxuan immediately interrupts by giving Meng Ai their present.

"Shi Qingxuan how were you able to bring a Guquin here without us noticing?" Feng Xin asks suspiciously and Shi Qingxuan couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"Hey I still know and use magic, it's just not the same as before but obviously I am still highly capable for your information."

"And speaking of musical instruments." Ji Huifan and Jing Mei present their own gift, the Guzheng.

"I can finally learn the Guzheng and the Guquin. Oh it's so beautiful."

"This is the Guzheng I was playing when your father first met me." Jing Mei says as she begins playing a simple tune that gradually began to become more and more complex.

"It was once my mother's, and now it is yours Aiai."

"But-but how did you get it here?"

"We had some help." Ji Huifan says as he bends down and kisses Meng Ai's forehead.

"Remember, never stop learning. We will always be with you no matter what." She smiles as she embraces them.

"Thank you mama, thank you baba."

Now having experienced a pain similar to theirs she kisses both of them on the cheek.

And for the rest of the night, there was lively music heard in Paradise Manor celebrating the latest member of Hua Cheng and Xie Lian's family.

AN: I had to end it there for now because Chenxi's assessment and conversation with Fengqing would take place as everyone else is busy.

Zufu - Formal way of saying grandfather (at least according to google)

Mei mei - little sister

Ji - Hope, Lihua - Pear blossom

Chang-Chang - Flourishing (I found this in a site for chinese names for female dogs [ https://www.pupnames.com/dog-names/chinese/female ] )

I wanted to give Chang-Chang more scenes but I'm not too experienced with pigs as pets to contribute specific scenes.

I was so inspired and guided by the reconciliation scene in the story "A Splinter in the Heart" by theearlymorningmist (read here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54114421/chapters/137010871) although I will be approaching Lang Qianqiu reconciling with Xie Lian more gradually in this story. They'll still have the big heart to heart reconciliation talk but I feel Lang Qianqiu has to gradually be ready for it and needs to understand what it's like raising a kid first. Also just to make things clear - Lang Qianqiu is Meng Ai's love interest but I won't let them meet till after she grows up.

[perpetuallyoverworked]

Intro Post

You can call me Ling Wen, she/her. Here because my partners thought it would be good for me to "loosen up".

My team: Zhengqi (Cinccino) Bai Jing (Goodra) Shai (Espeon)

I'll also have my amazing partners introduce themselves since they were the once who wanted me here in the first place. They might pop up occasionally.

Shi Wudu. He/him

wow, what a great introduction. anyways, hello people!!! Pei Ming, also he/him. i like going to gyms to train. it's important to stay active! i often train together with my team, it makes it much more enjoyable, and we all hype each other up!!

Your intro is longer than Ling Wen's and this is meant to be her blog...

ooc under cut!

so uh. it's me again! @kleeper123

Pelipper Mail and variants are ON, magic anons are OFF

crossing my fingers that i'll be better at managing this blog since it should be more chill - they're not going through any mainline game or anything

anywho! ling wen and gang are from tgcf, except this is like. pokemon AU. they live in galar :3

oh yes - shi wudu posts will be tagged "#water tyrant's ted talks", pei ming's will be "#pei ming's questionable advice" and all three of them together are "#it's tumoring time" because i am very funny

everyone’s probably going to be a bit OOC just because the environment is so different. don’t worry tho they still all suck ass (affectionate) you don’t get a nickname like “the three tumors” for no reason ksjdjsks

[sinnerofwalpurgisnacht]

As seems to be the rule on this site. Here goes my introduction. With frankly unwarranted intense scrutiny from Rodion, I've rewritten it some few times to appear less "Faust-y" as she so eloquently put it. I find this insulting as Faust is perfect as she is, yet the need for effective communication is expedient.

Faust is a genius with whom you're lucky to cross paths with even once in your life. I work as a Sinner as a part of LCB.

Please do feel free to interact with me through this blog so long as it's respectful and appropriate. Any variety of topics are welcome. Willingness to answer a question isn't guaranteed, though.

Should anyone act inappropriately, Faust will happily demonstrate the inner workings of Mephistopheles's engine to them in close detail... But really, don't. I'm here for research and to investigate a working theory of Faust's, not deal with nuisances. No offense, Heathcliff.

Thank you Sinclair and Yi Sang for helping set up this blog. There was no need for the assistance but it did speed up the process. Unfortunately, our Ryoshu may make appearances directly or indirectly from time to time on this blog. Don't be surprised.

//OOC: Sorry I didn't make this part earlier.

Blog Rules:

1. No NSFW asks. There will be no NSFW content. There will be only mentions of blood and gore in line with Limbus Company's setting.

2. Please, if possible, translate longer or less common SANGRIA in asks, even if added as an extra ooc section. I like SANGRIA it's just hard to answer an ask I can't understand.

3. Be aware the Project Moon's content, and thus this blog, is not appropriate for minors and all content warnings for Limbus Company apply to this blog.

4. I cannot predict lore in advance and there will be fun and silly headcanons as well as mistakes, but I will try my best to stick to established lore. As a general rule posts will be made in line with story updates. Spoilers will be tagged but there will be spoilers as I go off of the recent information of each content update.

5. In-character asks from other characters in Project Moon media are okay so long as they can be interpreted as being from another mirror world (just so I can keep things consistent.) OC content is a gray area. I can't do crossovers from other fandoms.

6. Faust, and especially Ryōshū, as characters can be rude sometimes but please do not take it as personal or to mean I don't appreciate the ask because I do <3 Their canon dickish moments are part of their charm imo and none of it is to make askers feel bad!

7. If you have an out of character question for the owner of this blog, please surround it with //slashes// or put "OOC:" before it.

This blog's mainly just for writing practice, fun and because I really like Faust, it's queer and ND friendly.

If you have any questions about the rules please feel free to comment on this post or send an anon ask and I'll update the list.

Also sorry if I get to asks late, I have frequent fatigue and can't always answer quickly, especially if it's a longer/more difficult ask.//

[lumenflowered]

OOC: Right so the readmore just entirely gave up on my new and hopefully final intro post, so. Fuck it, we ball, I'm putting my OOC info here.

Hi. I'm Hope, you may find me elsewhere at @ofstormsandfire where I am routinely not remotely normal about my favorite fictional characters. One of said faves is Lady Maria of the Astral Clocktower, because I am really enjoying Bloodborne and also she's just. She's just a really cool character okay. Yes I know she has four lines it's about the ~implications~ y'all.

Last summer, a lot of my friends were getting really into pokeblogging so I made one myself, but I have not gotten anywhere near as invested with any of my other ones as I have with this one. Because I had the thought, the critical thought that started all this, that was "oh hey, people are throwing their faves from other pieces of media into here, I could totally do that too."

And then, near the end of November last year, I thought for too long about how hilarious it would be to throw someone from a tonally incongruous piece of media like Bloodborne into the comparatively much kinder world of Pokémon.

And then I thought for too long about how I could throw this woman who was, in all likelihood, extremely traumatized at a world far kinder than anything she'd ever known before. About how this could be a journey about healing, about falling back in love with life.

...And then I came up with the blog url and it was really all over for me from there.

My own ramblings on how this blog came about aside, Bloodborne is a horror game, it is normally fairly dark. Canon-typical themes for Bloodborne will be present, but I'll do my best to tag for anything that isn't your usual pokeblogging fare and if you'd like anything I'm not already tagging for to be tagged, just lmk, I'm happy to.

And now, assuming my readmore works here (I have my suspicions as to why it isn't on the other post) have some navigational tags under the cut!

Story tags!

#firebird arc: I combined the Radio Tower takeover and the Ho-oh subplot, made the Kimono Girls more relevant, and ramped up the stakes. Ho-oh is a firebird and I think there's a type of rocket called the firebird. I like puns.

#from the ashes arc: Giovanni became an actual threat, there got to be an entire Rocket base in Tohjo Falls, and Silver got traumatized more. Mind the tags and also the warning OOC post at the beginning.

#kanto rocket arc: There wasn't much to do in Kanto so I had Rocket start causing problems on purpose. Silver transed her gender and Giovanni... seemed to no longer be a problem at the end of it.

#downpour arc: Starting soon! First post in the tag is an OOC post explaining a little about what I have planned, there's a few others that are foreshadowing/buildup for it, and then once we're formally starting I'll make another OOC post with more detailed warnings.

Character tags!

(...I really should think about making a character tag for Ade at some point. That would require going back and tagging so many posts and I don't actually have an idea for her yet, but maybe sometime in the future.)

#passing stranger: Dee (better known as the Plain Doll in Bloodborne canon) is here! And is now on the blog full-time because I love her and it made thematic sense! The earliest posts from her are from her 24-hour takeover back in February, before anyone knew who she was in-character and Dee was then very invested in keeping it that way.

#milf time and sonboy hours, #milf time: The first tag was specifically posts from Ethan and Reina, but Tumblr stole my yellow and I think stealing it back broke the cut on the other post so I'm not going to risk using it here. Ethan might show up again occasionally, Reina is more likely to show up on her own though. She likes birds and may or may not have had a bisexual awakening when her kid brought a Faller home.

#rainbow wings: Posts from (or sometimes relating to) Ho-oh. They don't post that often but they're a giant rainbow bird they can do what they want. What they want, when they happen to be online, is generally for injustice to Not Happen. Good luck buddy this is the internet.

#the first to fall: The Hunter from Maria's world taking on the role of the player character in Bloodborne. Her name's Mallory, she got the Childhood's Beginning ending for people that means anything to, and she was a Faller in the other direction before dragging herself and Dee into the world of Pokémon. (And, unintentionally, Maria too. She's probably the only unintentional tag-along, though. Right?)

#what's with this sassy lost child?: Posts from Silver, before she got her own blog at @cosmic-crobat. These days she mostly uses her own blog, but she'll still get blue text when she shows up in recordings.

Misc other tags!

#ask game: Reblogs of ask games and responses to said ask games. This one isn't chronological.

#hints to the future: Specifically, responses to that one ask game with the gear emojis that lets you hint at future events. I am always accepting asks for this one no matter how long it's been since I last reblogged that ask game. I like hinting toward what's to come and I like writing prose.

#glimpses of the past: That one ask game with the hourglasses that lets you see into the muse's past. Again, always open because I love writing prose and I can write out prose for things that have already happened this way.

#pelipper mail: It's open, it keeps happening, it keeps causing problems. Note that while I do not have magic anons on, if you're sufficiently creative with Pelipper Mail and it isn't too story-breaking you can probably get a similar effect to a magic anon that way.

#sword lesbian things: Silly and fairly self-explanatory. For when Maria's doing things with her sword, now that she has it back.

#the death hole: Scarvio DLC spoilers! Maria decided to Pelipper Mail herself to Paldea to help a friend. The death hole lived up to its reputation, and she will probably be Pelipper Mailing herself to try and solve other people's problems by ignoring her own more often in future.

#the vampire allegations: Silly tag for posts involving the recurring jokes about Maria being a vampire. It keeps happening, due to her entire aesthetic and also me deciding she can be allergic to garlic for coincidental and completely mundane reasons.