#people are mourning his friend’s death and wondering why he isn’t

[0vergrowngraveyard]

what if someone actually died during the war and sonic just didn’t react to it because he thinks it’s just one of infinite’s tricks. he’s seen this before. it’ll go away at some point

[navybrat817]

The Dad Diaries: Grief

Pairing: Dad!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky explains grief to Jamie as best as he can when you need a minute to yourself. Word Count: Over 1.2k Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, touch of fluff, grief, loss of a friend, reflecting, talk of death, feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning and a dad, okay?). A/N: Another part to the The Dad Diaries . Hope you lovelies enjoy. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky could hear your cries before he reached the bedroom, the sound causing a lump to form in his throat. He could picture you hastily wiping at your face when he knocked. You were in pain and it hurt him to know you were hurting. The worst part was that it wasn’t the kind of pain he could fix by patching it up. It was the kind of hurt that lingered beneath the surface before it clawed its way out.

Grief.

“Do you need anything, doll?” He asked.

“Just give me a minute, please!” You called out, your voice close to sounding like your normal self. You were trying your best to be strong when what you needed was a moment to break. People didn’t realize the weight of the things they carried until they buckled under them.

And you didn’t need to be strong all the time.

“Mama?” Jamie asked, reaching a hand out toward the door.

Bucky kissed the top of his head. “Mama needs a minute,” he whispered before he held him against his chest. He hoped his smell and steady heart beat soothed him. “She’ll snuggle up with you soon, okay?”

If anything could make you feel better apart from being in his arms, it was having your son nuzzle against you.

Jamie made a small sound, his lower lip trembling. “Mama,” he said again.

Bucky didn’t take it to heart that his son wanted you. He understood that there were days when he’d want his dad and other days he’d want his mom and times when he’d want both of you. If anything, he felt proud that his son wanted to go to you. Maybe he sensed that you needed support and love.

“I know you want your mama,” he said, carrying him back to the living room. “But you are stuck with me for another minute.”

Jamie moved his head, his eyes set in a stubborn stare. He looked so much like you at that moment, demanding with a look to know what was the matter and how to fix it. What could he say?

“Jamie, you know how you have your Uncle Steve and Uncle Sam and Aunt Nat and everyone else?” He asked, a sad smile touching his lips at the happy look in his little boy’s eyes at the mention of his friends. He wanted his child to hold onto that innocence for as long as he could. “Well, your mama had a friend who was going to be like an aunt to you, too.”

Was. Past tense. Because your friend recently passed away. You wondered if she knew how important she was to you. If she knew how she impacted your life. She was too young in your eyes to go. Still had so many things she wanted to do. While death is fair in that it comes for everyone, it doesn’t always feel fair when someone you care for is taken away too soon.

The one thing you were thankful for was that she was no longer in pain.

“Mama’s friend, your aunt, isn’t here anymore. She misses her and she’s sad that she’s gone.”

“Mama sad?” Jamie repeated, his eyes wide.

“Yeah, Nugget. She’s very sad. Grieving. And grief is… so many things,” Bucky explained, swallowing a bit as he felt a crack in his heart. “It’s loss and mourning. It’s love that you carry inside and it no longer has a place to go.”

Jamie gazed at him, soaking up every word. His son was too young to hear something like this. Too precious. But if life taught him anything, it’s that it was too short and there was no guarantee of tomorrow.

“Some days the grief comes out of nowhere. You never really know when it’ll happen or why. You may hear a song you’ve heard dozens of times before or catch a scent of something familiar and it triggers a memory or feeling,” he told him, kissing his forehead again because he needed to ground himself. “You think you’re fine and then you fall apart.”

That was exactly what had happened a few minutes prior. You were smiling one moment as the three of you sat in the living room and the next you burst into tears before you rushed out. Bucky wished like hell he could’ve manifested your sadness into something tangible so he could snuff it out. It wasn’t his battle to fight, but he could be by your side to wipe the tears away if you let him. Or whisper words of care. Or to say nothing at all. Some didn’t always want to hear words of comfort or hope when they just needed to feel.

He would be there to give you whatever you needed or asked for.

“It’s okay to feel those feelings, Jamie. I get sad, too. There’s no timeline for healing or grieving. It takes as long as it takes. And we’re lucky in a way to feel things so strongly,” he told him. You were always understanding and patient on his off days. He more than lucked out by having you as his wife. “You know what your Uncle Vis says grief is? That it’s love persevering,” he added, bouncing him a bit to make him smile. It put a smile on his face, too. “And your mama has so much love to give.”

“So do you.”

Bucky looked toward the doorway where you stood. Bloodshot and puffy eyes, but with a small smile on your beautiful face. He wanted to hold you and remind you that you weren’t alone. “Hey,” he said as Jamie reached for you. “I think he wants to cheer you up.”

“Is that right? Well, I think a snuggle with my boys is just the thing I need,” you said as you took a seat beside Bucky and took Jamie into your arms. “Sorry I rushed off like that.”

“Don’t be,” Bucky whispered. He had plenty of moments where he needed to step away and compose himself when his thoughts got too loud. “We just want you to be okay,” he added, kissing your temple before Jamie grabbed your face.

“Mama no sad,” he said, forcing your cheeks up in a smile. The sight almost brought tears to Bucky’s eyes because it was so simple and heartfelt. “No sad.”

You giggled, a soft sound, before it erupted into full blown laughter. It soothed the crack he felt earlier in his heart. The room felt brighter, especially when Jamie joined in with the laughter. “Not sad, Nugget,” you assured him before you looked at your husband, love shining through like always. “Not anymore.”

The grief from your loss would come again in waves. Just like the days Bucky mourned the parts of his life he lost and couldn’t get back. Some days were harder than others, especially when regret and “what if’s” came to mind, but the important thing was that neither of you allowed yourselves to live alone or lose yourselves in grief. Not when there was so much to be thankful for.

You felt what you needed to feel. You asked for help and leaned on each other. And you carried on together.

Because what is grief, if not love persevering?

I lost more than one loved one recently and writing this helped me process some of the loss. We all need someone like Bucky. Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[dumbseee]

united in grief.

f1 au/fic: in which, you’re jules bianchi’s little sister. you’re the same age as charles and grew up with him, when jules passed away your world completely fell apart, and you left monaco for paris. eight years after jules’s death you finally decide to comeback to monaco to visit your old friend.

charles leclerc x bianchi!reader.

fc: madison beer.

warnings: mention of jules bianchi, grief, angst, fluff.

note: happy eighth heavenly birthday, jules, we will always love and remember you, champion 🤍

y/n just posted a story!

caption: missed you monaco 🤍

_

you really thought about going back for a while, you missed you life in monaco so much. all your friends were here, your family was here, even after jules’s death they stayed, but you couldn’t. every step you took in the luxurious city reminded you of your brother. his presence was everywhere. you were seventeen when you lost jules, he was your whole world, you always wished you were the one in that car. you left monaco for paris because you needed a fresh start in a new city where you could walk without feeling the people’s eyes on you. but a small part of your heart wondered if leaving monaco meant that you were abandoning jules too. he was buried there after all, his soul was now forever in monaco and you were leaving to run away from him.

but your parents reassured you, and told you to fly with your own wings, to find your way, that no matter what jules would be proud of you, and would follow you because he was now your guardian angel. that reassured you a lot since your worst fear was to disappoint him. but your parents were right, jules was an angel when he was still here, and he’s still one up there. so whenever you felt bad, defeated, sad, you knew jules was around you, that gave you the strength to stand up and stay strong. you had to, for your brother. to make him proud.

that’s why you decided to attend today’s race. the monaco grand prix, your brother’s home race. he loved that circuit so much because he knew his friends and family were watching him and cheering for him. you came back without telling anyone, but of course your mother had to tell pascale, so the elderly woman immediately called you to invite you to have lunch with her and lorenzo, her oldest son. you couldn’t say no, because you missed the leclerc, but also because you knew how much you leaving hurt them. you left without saying goodbye, it was too hard for you, so once jules’s funeral was over, you packed your bag and left.

pascale and lorenzo welcomed you with open arms and big smiles, the mother apologised for charles and arthur’s absence but they were busy. charles… you were glad he wasn’t here because you didn’t know how you’d be able to look him in the eye. "you should go to the grand prix with us." lorenzo had told you, with his usual warm smile. at first you refused, but after thinking it over you realised that you owned it to charles, you left him behind when he was also mourning. of course it was harder for you since he was your brother, but jules was everything to charles. his second older brother, he was also lorenzo’s best friend. you hated yourself for being such a selfish coward. guilt was eating you alive and lorenzo noticed it. "don’t be too hard on yourself y/n, jules isn’t going to be happy." he smiled and you had to fight back your tears.

so you came with the leclerc to charles’ home race, you knew that your presence would be the only talk in town and on the internet. "oh my god, y/n!" someone yelled from behind you and you smiled when you saw ‘little arthur’ like you called him back then. he ran to you and made you spin in his arms. you laughed and brushed his hair when he finally put you down. "look at you! where is my little boy?" you asked, still laughing. he flexed his muscles and flashed you a cocky smile before pascale came to hit him in the head. "where is charles?" she asked. "getting ready in the garage, he’s really nervous, i think you should go say hi." he told you. you immediately took a step back, you were nervous as hell too, but for different reasons than charles. what if he didn’t want to see you? what if seeing you ruin his race? what if-… "he still talks about you y/n, he misses you so much you have no idea." pascale chimes in, patting your shoulder.

you were in front of charles’ driver room, you knew that he was just behind it. you could hear voices inside which had to be charles and his teammate. you closed you eyes and knocked three times before waiting. a tall and tan man opened the door for you, he smiled at you and you recognised him as carlos sainz. "isa is waiting for me, see you on track charles." he told charles. "it’s nice seeing you here, y/n." you smiled and watched him go. you took a deep breath before walking into the room. your hands were sweaty and you didn’t know where to look. "y/n?" you haven’t heard his voice in nearly a decade, so him calling your name startled you. "h-…" you couldn’t even finish that charles had closed the gap between you, pulling you in his arms. his face was buried in your neck and his arms were hugging you tightly. you were completely frozen, you didn’t expect him to be that affectionate after what you did to him. "charles, i’m so sorry for leaving." tears were now rolling down your cheeks. he broke the hug and immediately wiped your tears.

"sorry for what?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows. his hands rested on your shoulders, his touch soothing you. "i’m not mad at you for leaving, y/n. i just wished i was here with you to help you through the grieving process." he smiled and you looked at the ground. he was too good to you, you didn’t deserve it. "you lost jules too, i acted like i was the only one grieving, i didn’t realise the impact my brother had on people’s lives." charles gently kissed your forehead and stroked your cheek. "let’s talk about that later, let me enjoy your presence, you don’t know how much i missed you." he hugged you once again, and this time you wrapped your arms around him, savouring the moment. "my lucky charm is back in town." you couldn’t refrain your laugh at his cheesy comment.

_

"and charles leclerc wins the monaco grand prix for the first time in his career!" the whole stadium cheered for the monegasque meanwhile you couldn’t stop crying. he won. he won in monaco. it was his goal and he did it. pascale hugged you while cheering for her son, lorenzo and arthur ran to their brother. but you stayed in your seat, looking at him jumping everywhere and celebrating with his brothers and carlos. then, when he turned around to face your direction he did something that sent shivers all over your body. he pointed at you, then at his heart, and then at the sky. this was jules’s celebration every time he’d win something and you were there to support him. he honoured jules even when he finally fulfilled his dream. "jules, you are so loved." you muttered to yourself, looking up at the bright sky.

liked by charles_leclerc, arthurleclerc, philippe_bianchi17 and 2 682 789 others.

y/n: coming back in monaco was hard, but i wanted to be here for charlie, i was scared at first because i knew that i handled my brother’s death terribly but in eight years i forgot how kind you were. i finally understood why jules loved you so much. congratulations on winning your first grand prix in monaco! i’m so proud of the man you became charles, i know that my brother is proud of you and will always look after you. je t’aime charlie ♥️

_

charles_leclerc: this one was for you, and of course jules, i’m so happy to have you back, je t’aime aussi ♥️

fan1: i can’t stop crying wtf

fan2: jules’ death affected everyone, even the people who never even met him, like me, he was such an angel

fan3: your brother is proud of you y/n! don’t be too hard on yourself!

fan4: we love you!

fan5: so happy to see you healthy!

fan6: man, this family suffered too much, i hope they’re happy now

fan7: charles and y/n relationship is so cute omg

fan8: the way he dedicated his win to the bianchi siblings 🥺

[pricelessemotion]

Labyrinth | Javy "Coyote" Machado

pairing: Javy "Coyote" Machado x fem!reader (prev Jake "Hangman" Seresin x fem!reader)

summary: [4k] Jake may be gone, but Javy isn't. The two of you navigate your lives and your grief. Together.

warnings: jake is dead, RIP jake, grief and mourning, emotional hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, sickfic moment, friends to roommates to ...?

a/n: coming out of my writer cave to post a tgm fic that nobody asked for. idk why I became obsessed with the idea of jake's widow!reader falling in love w javy but here we are! enjoy and lmk what you think <3

read on ao3 | navigation

Lieutenant Commander Jacob Michael Seresin died on a Tuesday morning. At least that’s what they tell you, you don’t remember much of the days and weeks surrounding his death. 

You flip the funeral card in your hand, over and over and over again. No expense was spared. It’s textured cardstock with fancy but easily legible cursive font. It reminds you of your wedding invitations. The back is a picture of him in his dress whites, face unsmiling. The same dress whites he’s going to be buried in. 

Lieutenant Commander Jacob Michael Seresin was called home

Funeral to take place at Graham's Memorial Home 

Reception to follow 

Called home. It’s such an interesting phrase. It suggests that he’s meant to be wherever he is now. That the house that you bought together, the plans that you made were all just a waiting room until Saint Peter called his name. 

You never considered yourself particularly religious. Jake, being born and raised in Texas, was a god-fearing Christian man. He believed in heaven and an afterlife. You’ve always been on the fence.

The day of the funeral, there isn’t a cloud in the sky. You want to scream and laugh at the same time but the only sound that escapes your mouth is a strangled gasp that has Javy taking you into his arms. It had rained on your wedding day. Poured would be a more accurate description. The officiant said he had never seen that big of a meteorological turnaround in all of his forty years of weddings. Due to California existing in a near-constant state of drought, there simply wasn’t the infrastructure in place to support the torrential downpour. Most of your guests had been left stranded in other states, their flights being put on a constant loop of rescheduling and then cancellation. 

You thought it was a sign. An omen. Now you wonder if maybe it was. 

Jake had simply shaken his head and laughed. He was never one for superstitions. It’s what made him a good pilot. He relied on skill and instinct. He said that there was no way in hell that a little water was going to get in the way of him marrying the love of his life. 

His mother lightly smacked him on the bicep for using such language in a house of god, before subsequently melting and muttering how she must’ve done something right. 

You think that this unnatural weather must’ve been his doing. It had been overcast and depressing all week. Or at least, as far as you could tell from your brief moments of lucidity before descending back into a fugue state. You know that he always hated the days that were few and far between when the weather would be too bad for him to properly run drills or train new recruits. 

You loved the man more than anything. He always reminded you of the sky, the way he took you to heights that you had never even imagined before. Still, despite the thrill and the rush of adrenaline, all you could think about was the fear of falling. 

Husbands and children have been left back in Texas. Jake’s mom and sisters have taken over the house. There’s not a dish left unwashed nor a basket of laundry left unfolded. You've eaten more casserole in the last week than you have before in your entire life. The fridge is filled to the brim with tin foiled pans that people will probably want back but won't bother asking for if they don't. Despite the array of choices, they all taste the same. Ashen and tasteless is the I’m-sorry-your-husband-died special. 

The house is more lively than it usually is, with four Seresin women milling around. You see him in them. In the quirk of their mouths, the tilt of their heads when they’re thinking about something, the hard line of their jaws when they hold back their tears. You can barely look his mother in the eyes because they’re his. 

They try to take you everywhere with them. Trips to the grocery store and walks around the neighborhood are treated as milestones when you spend most days unable to get out of bed. 

On one of the drives, you can’t remember which one or even where you were heading to they all seem to blur together in the end, you passed by a car wash. Jake would usually handle all the car stuff himself, but he told you to go here when he was on deployment because it was the only place that didn’t upcharge for ridiculous shit. They have one of those inflatable tube men outside. Waiting at the intersection for the light to turn green, you’re stuck looking at him. 

When they do finally leave, it's with little fanfare. They remind you of the food in the fridge and the local bereavement group they found. Kisses on cheeks are exchanged and you stand like one of those inflatable tube men at the end of the driveway, mechanically waving goodbye. 

Once the cars are gone from view, it’s like someone’s turned off the fan that’s kept you upright. You crumple to the ground.

–

Javy tries his best to decode the text that you sent him while his phone had been in his gym locker. The series of texts seems to get more and more incoherent as time went on. He was used to this by now. He had told you that you could talk to him about your grief at any time and that he would always be there for you. 

Which is how Javy comes to find you here. 

You’re on the ground outside. Green California grass caresses your fingertips, despite the near-constant state of drought. You know you came out here to look at the stars but closed your eyes when you could feel the Earth spinning. 

You feel like the two-headed calf because there are twice as many stars as usual. The Earth spins at a rate of 1,000 miles per hour. You swear, right there in the grass, that you can feel every single mile. You’re holding on for dear life. 

“Jake said that when he was a kid, he used to believe that stars were actually holes in the sky. The white light that came through was Heaven. He used to sit on the grass and look up and dig his fingers into the dirt. ‘Said he was scared that if he let go he’d float away.” 

Javy only hums in response. Slowly, his left hand nudges your right one. The warmth of his palm covers you and despite yourself, despite marring and ripping apart the beautiful meticulously cared-for lawn, you let go. 

When your hand rises to meet his, it’s not without a few casualties. Blades of grass are plucked from the ground making snapping sounds like muffled guitar strings. It’s the saddest sound you’ve ever heard.

–

“I’m thinking about selling the house.” 

The words hang in dead air. There’s a slight pause in Javy’s movements. From behind, you can see the muscles beneath his flannel tighten up before they relax again. He resumes stirring his coffee, the spoon hitting the sides of the ceramic mug with muted ting ting ting sounds. 

The mug itself is UT Austin merch from many moons ago. It’s Jake’s favorite. Or at least, it was Jake’s favorite. The mug used to remind you of quiet Sunday mornings and waffles for two. Now it just reminds you that he drank from it and put it in the dishwasher, thinking that he would get another Sunday, another cup of coffee.

You’re not mad at all that Javy is using it. On the contrary, you’re glad that the mug is being used for its purpose. That it’s not being memorialized and thus, rendered functionally useless. It drove you crazy to see it sitting in the cabinet collecting dust, but you refused to be the one to drink from it. It’s good that this memory of him is momentary and not a monument. 

Javy takes a long sip from his mug, cradling it in both hands as he leans into the kitchen counter behind him. “When you say thinking what do you mean?” 

Javy knows you too well. He knows that if you’re telling him about it, then it’s pretty much already decided. You’ve gone about every major decision in your life this way. You research and refine results until you’re sure that the way you’ve chosen is the only way forward. It’s how you decided that being with Jake was worth the risk of losing him. 

You never said that it was a foolproof system, just that it was the system you’ve always used. 

“I mean that I’ve already gotten the house appraised and have been talking to a realtor. She thinks we could list it and sell it before the year is out.” 

Javy blows out a breath, puffing out his full lips. He swirls his coffee cup once, twice before taking a sip and asking, “Are you sure that this is what you want?” 

“Yes, I’m sure. I can’t–” Your voice thickens until it breaks, the words brittle. I can’t keep living in a haunted house.

Javy nods, taking another sip before setting the cup down on the counter and saying the last thing you expected, “Move in with me.”

–

Moving out occurs with very little fuss. The other daggers drop in and out, taping boxes and dropping them off at Goodwill per your request, but everyone seems to be keeping a respectful, yet unnecessary distance. 

Before you even touched a single cardboard box, Javy went from room to room and photographed everything. From the arrangement of the magnets on the fridge to the clutter on your bedside table. He insisted that one day these would be memories to hold back on. That it wasn’t the house's fault that it was haunted. That sometimes ghosts don’t have to haunt you. 

You’re beyond the point of sentimentality anymore. If you were, you’d still be catatonic on the couch, refusing to sleep in the bedroom you once shared with your husband. Everything is objective. Every dish is just a dish and not the first real set of glassware that you bought for the house after eating off of paper plates when the movers accidentally dropped the boxed marked kitchen FRAGILE off the side of the truck. 

You’re glad that all of the Christmas ornaments are still boxed up in the attic. There’s one in particular that you loved. The one that you put on the tree first every single Christmas. It was the ornament Jake got you when you first got together. A silly little reindeer.

You’ve mostly gotten everything out of the kitchen now. The shelves are bare and now you will once again have to resort to paper plates and plastic forks until this move is over. You haven’t seen your new roommate–God, it’s still weird to think of him like that–in a while so you tentatively call out his name. 

“Javy?” Your voice is rough from hours of speechless focus. It cracks and breaks the silence of the house like a pebble on a windshield. 

He doesn’t respond. You call out again, removing your gloves and moving towards the staircase. The door to Jake’s office is left ajar. Javy volunteered to pack up the room and you let him without a fight. Jake didn’t spend too much time in his office when he was home. Honestly, you think it might’ve saddened you more to see his legal pads and his sticky notes with reminders that he’ll never get the chance to forget. 

You knock, easing the door open and softly calling out Javy’s name before you stop. There he is in the middle of the floor, head to his knees, back shaking with silent sobs. You crumble immediately. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and feel his wet face causing the fabric to stick to your collarbone. You don’t care. 

It occurs to you that the roles have finally been reversed. All these months, you’ve been so grateful for Javy’s steadiness. His immovability. You thought his lack of tears had been because he was processing his emotions in a way that was different than yours. You thought maybe he was better at compartmentalization than you were. And maybe that was true. 

You look around the room, hoping to find the catalyst for what caused this breakdown. Maybe there was a picture from the good old days, or an old card that Jake always meant to give him but never remembered to. But looking around, you come up empty. That’s when you realize that it’s not one single thing that set Javy off. It’s everything. It’s the dust on the keyboard. It’s the stale air. It’s the way the calendar on the wall has an X drawn through every day and then stopped in the middle of June. It’s the World War II book that has a bookmark placed so close to the end, you wonder if Jake was leaving the epilogue until after he came home from work. 

It’s been hours since Javy made his way up here. The two boxes he brought with him sit flat behind the door. They haven’t even been folded out. 

So you just sit there with him, rocking slightly back and forth. This continues until he leans back and spreads himself out on the carpet, not unlike the way you did all those months ago in the backyard. You burrow into his side, your ear pressed to his heart, paying attention to the furious tempo. You lay there until the hiccups in his breathing cease and the rise and fall of his chest is as rhythmic as waves crashing on the San Diego shore.

–

“You can lay down, y’know? This is your couch after all.” The gray L-shaped sectional is more than big enough for both you and Javy, who has been trying and failing to stay upright for the past twenty minutes. 

“First of all, this is our couch. Second of all, I will lay down thank you for offering.” 

He starts out perpendicular to you. His large frame takes up most of the sofa cushions. Though it can’t be comfortable for an extended time, he stays propped up on his elbow, making jokes about whatever's on TV. His exhaustion starts to take over and his elbow slips, one, two, three times. He always catches himself before his head drops too far, agile and responsive even when fighting sleep. 

You know you can’t outright offer it to him, so you go for the next best thing. Leaning back, you shift your position until your blanketed thigh is touching his bicep. From there, it’s only a matter of time until Javy gives in to the sands of time and his head falls into your lap. 

You’ve missed this, you realize. There are a lot of things that you miss about Jake, specifically. But this, the simple act of being close to someone. The simple choice to be there for someone else to lean on. Joy and guilt are like lightning and thunder. When one comes the other will soon follow. 

You think about this from the outside looking in. Javy coming home, kissing your cheek, telling you about his day. Him cooking dinner while you do laundry. You doing the dishes while he does the crossword. The two of you, lying down on the couch after a long day and watching television together. The scene is exceedingly domestic in a way that makes your cheeks tingle and your chest ache.

Your left thumb instinctually goes to caress the base of your ring finger, only to come up empty. Your heart drops to your stomach. Then, you remember. You always take off your rings when doing the dishes. It was best practice, to make sure that the delicate gems wouldn’t get unnecessarily tarnished. You’d never once forgotten to put them back on, though. 

You linger on the absence of the rings and the presence of the man sleeping soundly right beside you. Joy and guilt. Lightning and thunder.

–

There are large hands around your waist. Lips flush against the skin of your neck, murmuring and muttering words of praise and astonishment. Those hands slip lower and lower, rucking up the hem of your nightgown to your waist. Calloused fingertips brush the junction of your thighs and you feel heat licking up your center. 

Look at me while you come for me, baby. 

You do look up, mind overtaken by heat and lust and longing. Your breath catches in your throat. You know this jawline. You know these lips. You know that voice. 

Say my name. 

Your mouth goes to form the word but you lose yourself in huffs of breath and twisted sheets. You wake, just as you hit your peak. The sound that was so difficult to make in your dream state emerges from your mouth, watery and wanting. 

Javy.

–

You spend the next three days locked in your room. You take all your meals to go, even though you can see the disappointment on Javy’s face every time you do. Disappointment you only see when you are confident that you can look at him without bursting into flames. The opportunity is few and far between these days. He’s always in the background. Asking if you’d like to accompany him to the store or go on a hike. Your answer is always the same. 

Your forced solitude only lasts for another two days before Javy politely knocks on your door and enters your room. You mumble out a lackluster greeting barely looking up from your laptop or your desk. There’s a water stain near your left wrist, a circular ring that matches the bottom of your favorite mug. 

“Are you gonna tell me why you’re avoiding me?”

Maybe you should get a coaster. Civilized people used coasters, didn’t they? Civilized people used coasters and went hiking and did not have sex dreams about their dead husband’s best friend. 

Javy says your name. It sounds weary. Like he’s approaching a wounded deer, hoping that she’ll let him near her before she goes running off into the forest to bleed out alone. 

He sighs and sits on the edge of your bed, keeping a respectful distance. The mattress dips under the weight of him. 

“Is it because we’re living together now? Do you—“ He clears his throat and suddenly, despite being well over six feet tall, he looks small. “Do you regret moving in together?” 

You realize now that you’re not the deer. Javy is. He was living a fine and peaceful existence before you showed up with a shotgun and a need for flesh. 

His question is tentative. Bleeding out in a forest alone doesn’t sound so bad, all things considered. 

“No!” You blurt out your answer so fast it almost startles you. You take a moment, “No that’s not it at all.” 

“Then what is it? Is it something I did?” 

“Not exactly.” 

“It’s just–God, I can’t believe I’m telling you this–I had a dream.” 

“Like a nightmare? You know you can talk to me about those–”

“Not that kind of dream.” Javy had been helpful with nightmares in the past. He knew how to calm you down, especially when you realized that waking up didn’t necessarily mean that the nightmare was over. 

He sits there, earnest and sympathetic and terribly understanding in a way that you don’t deserve and don’t know if you can handle right now.

“It was a sex dream.” You breathe out, cheeks hot and fists rumpled in your bedsheets. 

“Oh. Oh.”

You both sit in silence for a moment. Javy decides to break it. 

“Was it– Was I–” He tries so hard to make the words come out, but nothing does. His hands rest on his thighs and he furrows his brows and directs his gaze to the carpet. 

“I think it was because we’ve been around each other so much. And obviously, it’s been a while.”

Javy agrees with you because of course he does. You try to breathe some lightness into your tone, anything to battle this heaviness that’s sunken into the conversation. “It’s crazy how the human brain works, right?” 

Javy’s eyes drop to your lips, but only for a second. He smiles politely and bows his head in subtle agreement. “It is crazy.”

–

Flu season passes through San Diego like a plague. It seems every week, another one of your coworkers is out, whether it be their own health in distress or their children’s. It was only a matter of time before it came to you. 

Despite having gotten your flu shot, you experience probably the worst bout of sickness in your life. You’re bundled up on your bed, fluffy robe with the drawstring pulled tight. Javy is hovering in the hallway–because that seems to be his neutral state of being these days, hovering. He dares not to open the door because of your self-imposed quarantine. You’ve created an imaginary moat of used tissues and dirty clothes, all to protect the fire-breathing dragon that is your feverish body.

“If you don’t go, I will strangle you.” You threaten, though it comes out weak and nasal. 

“I can always reschedule–” 

“You’ve been rescheduling on this girl for two weeks! I’ll be fine, I promise! I’m probably just going to watch old episodes of New Girl until I pass out from exhaustion.” 

“Fine, but if you need anything–anything at all–just text me or call me.”

You verbally push Javy out of the door with more assurances and less thinly veiled threats. Things have been awkward between the two of you since your confession. You’re almost relieved at your sickness and the way it has allowed you to avoid more unnecessary face-to-face contact. At least that’s what you tell yourself. But when you hear the front door shut and the sound of Javy’s engine starting up, you look around the room. Running your hands over the wrinkled bedding, a feeling almost like loneliness settles over you.

–

It was an unfortunate ending to a mild evening. A broken Javy crackled over the speaker before he was speeding his way across town. 

You’re shivering by the time he reaches you. Which makes no sense because you’re so hot that Javy hisses when his palm touches your clammy forehead. He’s about to scoop you up and load you into the back seat of his car when you come to. You murmur and whine and he tells you that he’s got you and he’s here. He explains that he’s gonna take you to the hospital and that seems to be the only thing that breaks you out of your feverish state because you open your eyes and tell him No hospital.  

He’s lucky that the upholstered lounge chair in the corner of your room is as comfy as it is because that’s where he stays for the rest of the night. He holds a cold damp cloth to your forehead, murmuring apologies when you whimper at the disorienting change in temperature. He routinely uses a thermometer, because damn your wishes if it means that you die in this bed on his watch. Your fever stays just below the concerning range and it isn’t until 4 am that it finally breaks. 

Only then does Javy let himself fall asleep. 

You wake up weak and disoriented. Javy pulled up the chair from the corner of the room to right next to the bed. After a bowl of soup, he convinces you to take a bath and changes out your sweat-soaked flannel sheets for fresh ones straight from the dryer. 

“Oh my god, your date! I’m so sorry—“

Javy waves you off with a wave and a gentle dismissal. He insists it’s fine. That there was no spark anyways. 

It’s not until you’re tucked under the covers with half a cup of tea on your nightstand that he slips into the hallway and sends out a text. 

Had a lovely time last night. 

I just don’t think I’m in the right headspace for a relationship right now. 

I hope you understand. 

[dap11]

MY WIFE

Chapter one

Death has been with me for as long as I can remember. I welcomed him like an old friend the day he came to me, the day that I died.

I died after protecting everyone from a monster attack. People mourn my death that day, especially my husband.

My earth, my home was terrorized by a monster. Monster that would rain blood of innocence.

My whole life I fought just to survive. Fight until your body can no longer move. I don't know why I kept fighting when I no longer had a reason to live, until I met him.

Kim Rok Soo, My husband

I woke up to a dark surrounding, confused as to why I'm still alive when I clearly remember dying on the cold hard ground.

"Hello child"

A voice broke me from my thoughts as I looked at the source of the sound. There stood a man, who is taller than me so I had to look up to him.

"Who are you?"

"I am the Shadow monarch, ruler of the dead"

He stood confidently as he looked down at me due to our height difference, he wore a purple and black armor that has a cape going down behind him.

"What do you want from me?"

"A second chance in life"

My eyes widened at what he said to me, I scoffed in disbelief knowing that a chance like this always turned out to be a trouble.

"Why? Is my life not messed up enough for me to just rest"

"..."

"What? Are you not going to answer"

"You answered it already. I want to give you a second chance in life due to what happened to you"

I narrowed my eyes on him, still not believing every word he said so I decided to ask.

“What’s the chance?”

His helmet covers most of his face but I can tell that he is smiling by the way his body shifts.

“You will live once more in another world, another world where your husband will be transmigrate”

“What…transmigrate?”

My eyes widened at the mention of my husband but what shocked me is that he will also live in another world.

“He died too”

My breath starts to get heavy after as my mind starts to drift into the void as I imagine my husband's dead body. Suddenly I felt a hand on the side of my face, I looked up and was shocked by what I saw.

“Rok soo…no your not him”

He smiled at me and suddenly pulled away.

“No it’s still me I just thought that you might be comfortable talking to someone you knew”

“How did he die?’I ask hoping that his death is painless, I know he dislikes being in pain and how he tries to avoid it in every way he can.

“He didn’t die, Kim Eun Ji…his soul was simply pass into another body”

“Hah…that’s…I don’t know how to react to that”

Hearing that he didn’t die lifts all the worries I have for him. Instead it turns to curiosity.

“Then how did he transmigrate into another world?”

“Someone from that world made a deal with the God of Death. They took his soul and put it into your husband body and they put your husband soul into his”

I was stunned at the information that was given to me. His soul transfers into another body, I wonder how he reacts to that.

“I suppose you want to do the same thing to me”

“Yes but instead of just transferring your soul I want you to be reincarnated, because this chance I’m giving to you isn’t that simple”

NEXT CHAPTER

[writing-for-life]

Sunday Mourning—About Dream Entities and Stars

Why Head-Canons Are Wonderful, But Forcing Them On Creators Isn’t

First of all: I don’t want to take anyone’s head-canons away from them, it’s what fandom is partly built on. I support them, I love them, I have plenty of my own. The Sandman very explicitly tells us about “books never written” in Lucien/ne’s library, and we can be sure ours is in there.

But that’s not quite the same as harassing both creators and other fans in an attempt to make fanon canon, and that’s what partly sparked this post. So if a super-long meta exploration of “Sunday Mourning” (and there is a lot in this post) that also contains a bit of fandom criticism (feel free to skip that if you just want the meta) isn’t your thing—this is your warning 🤣

Also: Massive spoilers ahead…

The theory that Morpheus forever lives in Hob’s dreams (and with Hob) as a dream entity regularly makes the rounds. And it’s a nice theory, and I get why people like it. I also get that “The Wake—Sunday Mourning” is maybe ambiguous enough to consider it a possibility (which then goes into head-canon territory). All good so far.

What’s problematic is when fans begin to leverage their head-canons/theories as “true because Neil gave it a like”, and then proceed to present them as canon.

Neil likes posts, yes, but he said *several times* and *very explicitly* that’s never endorsement of anything, but rather valuing that people put thought into stuff and engage with his stories critically (and he also said that it’s sometimes just a slip of his finger, but that just as an aside, you’ll find one example here).

So if Neil liked a happily-ever-after-dream-entity post, that means he supports your head-canons as head-canons because he always does (or his finger slipped—I guess we’ll never know). Again: In a way, it’s even an integral part of The Sandman. It also means that he likes the fact you engaged deeply with the source material, in either a heartfelt or critical way.

What it *doesn’t* mean: Head-canon is the same as canon despite both being valid in their own way. He said all of this a million times in a million posts.

Let’s explore that particular theory and start with an ask:

His endorsement goes as far as acknowledging that “it’s never only a dream,” and that “dreams are where the stories are.” And we need to stop pretending it’s anything more than that, even if he likes a few posts here and there (posts that go in all different directions, btw). Neil used his own experience with grief and mirrored it 1:1 in how Hob handles Morpheus’ death in The Wake and Sunday Mourning.

Here is a quote from the Sandman Companion:

NG: […] Bette's stories have happy endings. That's because she knows where to stop. She's realized the real problem with stories—if you keep them going long enough, they always end in death.

HB: It also makes me think of Hob's dream in part 3.

NG: That was something that actually happened to me. [1]I dreamt about a friend who'd died six months earlier, woke up completely upset that she'd died, [2]and then realized I'd simply had a dream and felt enormously relieved... [3]and then I woke up all the way and remembered that she really had passed on.

[numbers and bold by me]

And then remember what happened to Hob:

1. He found out in a dream Morpheus had died and woke up upset and crying in The Wake, Chapters 1-3 (#70-72).

2. Then he had another dream that somewhat gave him closure and a sense of relief (Sunday Mourning, #73).

(Can I also just point out where Destruction’s fingers are pointing here and then contrast it with what he told Daniel in The Wake about “walking amongst the stars”, or Morpheus actually turning into a star?)

(What might the end of the story be? Who knows, but once again, have a look where Destruction’s fingers are pointing.)

3. Then he woke up all the way and felt peace (also in Sunday Mourning).

Make of that what you will, but to me, saying that scene was based on his own dream is basically Neil confirming that Morpheus has “really passed on.”

Will Hob remember Morpheus? Of course he will. That’s what humans do. Does Morpheus live a happily ever after in Hob’s dream with Hob? And would that be in character? And would he want his memories to be intact to make that happen? Would that truly be passing on?

I will explore why canonically, we don’t find much to support that notion, and why it would seem OOC. But if you believe it, it’s your personal truth. Should we call for the ending to be changed though to make our personal truth that of the author?

Life and death are our own, and it’s never just a dream

Destruction was in Hob’s dream (when Hob never really knew him), and Destruction walked away from it all. As did Morpheus. They’re both free. It was very likely (and I'm phrasing this carefully on purpose) a dream gifted by Daniel!Dream (who had a very long talk with Destruction during the Wake) to give Hob closure, and it seems straightforward enough if you read The Wake not just single-mindedly focused on one thing. Daniel!Dream is not in the original panel, but he is in the background of concept art of that panel for a movie pitch by Jill Thompson and Neil Gaiman, so we can probably assume it was always the intended subtext.

And what does Death say in Façade? Or what does Morpheus say to Orpheus, or to Delirium after he killed Orpheus? That life and death are our own.

Destruction’s life is his own.

Morpheus’ death is his own.

And Hob’s life AND death are his own.

The three of them are the literal embodiment of that sentiment:

One walked away and chose life.

One walked away and chose death.

One chooses life for as long as he sees fit and can choose death if he stops doing so.

It makes sense to put them in a panel together at the end for that very reason (and a few others of course).

That, right there, is already “more than just a dream.” It is the story, not just a metaphor. It is canon, and it is fairly explicit.

Would Morpheus ever want to be a dream entity with all his memories intact?

From this point onward, we get more into interpretation based on canonical character traits:

Morpheus living forever as a dream entity *tied to Hob’s dream* is canonically antithetical and OOC. There, I said it. He wanted to be free from the Dreaming, he even said so to Death (“But even the freedom of the Dreaming can be a cage, of a kind, my sister,” in #69).

But existing as a dream entity WITH ALL HIS MEMORIES INTACT (that alone should make people say, “He would never want this in a million years” because it’s the very source of his pain—he wanted punishment for Orpheus’ fate/death—Nuala called him out on it) would forever tie him to it. Plus, it would make him Daniel’s subject in a way. It would be, again, very OOC.

Also: Dream had very strong feelings about the dead NOT belonging into dreams/the Dreaming permanently, or the living building their lives around them. WHY would that apply to Hector, but not to Morpheus himself? Again, it makes no sense in continuity.

But Destruction was in that dream…

Destruction visited Daniel!Dream during the Wake. They talked about a lot of stuff that’s very relevant, I recommend a reread if you’re not certain (this is long enough as it is, so I’ll skip it at this point). And it makes narrative sense to anchor that in Hob’s dream for reasons already outlined (they might not make sense to Hob, but they make sense to us, the reader, if we are willing to see that “it’s more than just a dream” isn’t equal to two people riding off into the sunset together, as nice a head-canon that might be). What I *do* want to point out though is that Destructions talked about “walking amongst the stars” and again, where he points in Hob’s dream.

Someone said this somewhere else and drew parallels to Stardust: Morpheus *does* become a star (or returns to them, who knows), it’s all over The Wake. That star is in literally *every* panel with a window/sky after his barge has transformed. And what becomes of him as that—who knows, since we all know stars have some sort of sentience in Gaiman’s universe, and that “oblivion is not an option” if Death took your hand to lead you into the afterlife. Again: Head-canon territory…

Head-canons are beautiful

No one is trying to take them away from us. Let’s knock ourselves out in fanfic and fanart, it’s comforting and healing. The Sandman is a story about stories. Our stories are our own, and they are true for us, that’s the whole point. And Neil will *never* tell you your head-canon is not real, because for you, it is, and that’s all that matters. But the constant need to elevate fanon to canon really gets exhausting at times, especially if it involves pestering the creators, constantly being on their blogs/tagging them and trying to get them to confirm what we want.

And to those that insist we will undoubtedly get a happily ever after because “Hob’s dream says so”, and think the writers somehow should “read the room” and provide fan-service (side-note: What is it with this entitlement in fandom? The creator tells *their* story, not yours):

One of the main messages of the story is (already in 24/7) that stories only have a happy ending because we know when to stop, but that they ultimately *all* end in death. No matter how much people say that “the show is so much more hopeful”, that very line has already been brought into the show. They didn’t take it out. It will have weight at some point, I’ll put my money on it.

But show!Murphy isn’t comics!Murphy...

People point out that show!Morpheus is different from comics!Morpheus to justify we will get a different ending. Making Morpheus a bit softer around the edges seems, at least to me, a move to make him likeable as the protagonist, because it would be very hard to like early comics!Morpheus, to be frank. The fact that he brought Gault back from the darkness—I saw that as giving show!only fans a nicely wrapped end of the first season, because we didn’t even know if we would get a second one at that point. It also shows us that he is capable of change—a thing I am near certain he will repeatedly deny as we go on (he already did). So no, I personally don’t think it set him on a different path. There are even scenes in the show that very heavily foreshadow The Kindly Ones (the cracks in the window are overlayed onto his face in such a way that they heavily hint at the scar he is going to receive).

So yes, by all means, let’s have a bit of ambiguity in Sunday Mourning for the people who don’t like the tragic ending, but let’s also focus on more than just making everything about the ship. Their relationship is important, and even more so because it isn’t romantic—that’s why it grows and lasts (unlike Morpheus’ romantic relationships). But it’s only the tiniest fraction of what The Sandman is about.

I write fanfic. I give Morpheus happy endings, too. I get it, I want him to be happy, too. But no matter how much we write him in character, we will ultimately break character the moment we make him do things that lead to a different outcome. In canon, he is the way he is. And I am afraid to say:

I personally think he is also like that in the show, even if they softened him a bit around the edges and shoved certain messages down our throats that people who know the comics didn’t need, but newbs to the Sandman did (“I’m listening now…”)—it was a good move, and all of that made sense for show-narrative reasons. But not once did I have the feeling that he wasn't exactly the same Morpheus underneath it all, and we already had too much foreshadowing to think that we would really get a different ending.

Why chemistry isn’t confirmation of the ship

That’s another one: To turn one (!) show-writer’s comment that Morpheus’ and Hob’s chemistry was a thing, and that they allowed that type of ambiguity, into, “Their romantic relationship is canon.” These two things are not the same. And Neil said that Benton’s comment did not make Dreamling any more real/canon, but people conveniently forget that. He also didn’t deny it, he just didn’t confirm, because, again: He doesn’t confirm or deny head-canons. They’re ours. Let's please stop pestering the man to confirm our head-canons and fantasies, but that just as an aside.

It shows one thing, however:

How conditioned fandom is to make everything about romantic relationships (ideally m/m), even if they have nothing, and I say nothing, to do with the main message.

And it’s okay the wish for these relationships matters to some people, but they don’t have to matter to everyone else, to the extent that we expect the actual story to change. Why try to twist his arm into changing his own story, and the way he wanted to tell it?

So again: Head-canons are beautiful. Trying to get them confirmed by creators and foist them upon everyone else (to the extent that people get harassed) is not.

And if I'm proven wrong on this, I’ll still die happy, but I'm putting my chips down right now and say:

Morpheus will die in exactly the same way as in the comics. And if we get The Wake, we will get a scene in Sunday Mourning that can hold ambiguity for processing our grief, just like the comic can. And the shippers will say, “He’s with Hob, yay!”, and the non-shippers will say, “Nah, not what I saw.” And Neil will get a million asks and answer each single one with:

“What do *you* think?”

[dragon-queen21]

hi it's me again

just wondering if I can have agere venti angst! A few angst headcanons:

1) thunder makes him reminded of Decarabian from Old Mondstadt (he is the god of storms, after all!)

2) anytime he is injured, he gets ptsd from the archon war and half the time he regresses due to it

3) on rare occasions, he will get really forgetful when small and want someone who is dead (makoto, the nameless bard) and then he cries remembering they are dead

4) when he's regressed, he has nightmares 99% of the time and whenever he wakes up he's in babyspace and can only cry

Regressor Venti headcanons

Hello again! :D Hehe my favorite kinds of requests. The ones I can ramble and make my favorite characters suffer /silly

Kinda went off some of your ideas for these, just adding on :3 Also why do Venti and Zenitsu (from demon slayer) give me the same vibes. Cry babies who are clingy to their caregiver’s while small but feeling bad about it later… anyways!

~~~

~Not being able to regress for a long period of time even though he’s super stressed and really needs to. So he ends up drinking away his sorrows to try and numb himself into regressing.

~Diluc finds out about this and goes into older brother mode, insisting that, no, Venti doesn’t need to do that if he is struggling to regress just come to him and he will help. Which he has a couple times but he feels bad when he can’t be fully small and feels like he’s just wasting Diluc’s time and energy.

~It’s either that or he can’t seem to stay big no matter what he does. Caught in a limbo sort of headspace of not small, definitely not big. And he’s just weepy and wants to be clingy

~My own personal headcanon is the reason Venti’s friend doesn’t have a name is because he’s forgotten it over the centuries. But imagine being so little and crying that he misses his friend, his current caregiver trying ti figure out who Venti is talking about and he can’t even tell them because he’s forgotten details himself.

~Will cry at the drop if a hat. One wrong glance and the baby will be in tears

~Begs Morax to take care of him. I feel like after the archon war he would have done so a lot. Over time well life just happens but Morax still makes the time for him ever so often. Venti is never told about Morax’s plan at faking his own death and spirals upon hearing the news, made worse by the fact that he’s in Mondstadt and only hears about the rumor on the wind. He absolutely breaks down in the middle of Angel’s Share and is nearly small for the next week and a half over pure grief alone.

~Screaming and throwing a fit whenever someone insists to look after him (he needs a caregiver especially now he literally can’t take care of himself) but he feels sick that it’s not Morax, not his bubba, not right. And his mental health is bad enough to start worrying the people around him. To the point that Kaeya takes days off to stay with the regressed spirit, Rosaria checks in on him even though she has no idea how to deal with children, let along grieving ones. Even Jean takes off to watch over and support him.

~Aether chews Zhongli out over not telling Venti about his death and leaving his little one to mourn for weeks and the Traveler gets upset to the point that halfway through he’s non-verbal himself, continuing on by just signing to the other and Zhongli isn’t even sure what’s being said to him only that Aether is angry and that he messed up big time. He probably still doesn’t do anything because he’s stubborn and thinks he will hurt Venti more in the long run.

~Eventually it gets bad enough that Aether and Paimon step in directly and take Venti to Liyue, dumps the sad wisp child into Zhongli’s arms with a look and a very stern, “This is your problem. Deal with him.”

~Yeah, easy to say Venti clings to Zhongli like never before. Bonus, he gets to meet Hu Tao when Zhongli takes the little to work with him.

[avelera]

I still laugh rereading comments for Giving Sanctuary that are agonizing over the slow burn. And I completely get it, the actual amount of time passing in the story is secondary to the amount of time the reader spends in the story. It doesn’t matter that something only takes an hour in universe if it’s a 100,000 words to cover it.

… at the same time though, like, if I had put the date at the top of each chapter I wonder if it would be clearer to people how much of a relationship speedrun Dream and Hob are in that fic?

The continuous time from when Dream invites Hob to when they confess to one another is ONE WEEK. One week! It gets stretched out artificially to 5 weeks because of Destiny, but even that is only for one half of the pair, it’s still only 1 week for Dream. They are completely unhinged for each other lol.

And this part may sound a bit overly defensive but I think the amount of time from when they both knew their own feelings, both had pretty good evidence that the other might be interested too, AND they weren’t actively dealing with either 1) literally getting Hob settled after literal decades of traumatizing years on the streets or 2) actively dealing with mourning their sons either through dream flashback or the trip to Naxos (including its immediate grief hangover for Dream, because being like “Yeah I know you just ripped open the wound of your sons death to allow it to finally heal YESTERDAY but like… do you like me? As more than a friend??” Is just objectively imo the teeniest bit insensitive and something Hob is painfully aware of having just gone through it himself? Dream doesn’t pop the question after Hob’s ordeal either) … is quite literally ONE DAY.

Like literally, Hob goes home with Dream June 7th, they do the Robyn thing June 8, June 9 Dream says he wants to go to Naxos, June 10 they actually go, June 11 Jessamy appears and it’s a recovery day, June 12 Hob considers telling him but wants to wait until Dream isn’t pissed off about Destiny’s pestering and his own libido comes back which throws him for a loop and makes him anxious about dealing with the physical side of things in the midst of all the emotional stuff and that night going into June 13, Dream offers Hob the boon, more or less hoping that Hob will use it for something romantic between them or, failing that, just something that makes him happy. Dream is not clueless as of June 13, he’s 90% sure Hob is into him, they’ve had a couple days since Naxos so it’s not actively inappropriate to have the discussion, Dream is scrupulously careful of the power imbalance and wants Hob to make the first move before he makes his own feelings known in a way that could feel like pressure or Hob is beholden to him, since Hob openly voices a sense of inferiority and owing fealty.

Meanwhile Hob has screwed his courage to the sticking place, he’s ready to take the advice of Calliope, he’s got the boon and plans to use it as an escape hatch if it all goes poorly (basically as Dream intended btw! Dream sensed that something about the power imbalance was holding Hob back and he didn’t know HOW Hob would use the boon but wanted to give him an “one time use of Endless-level power” in the hopes that it might put Hob at ease and maybe even nudge him towards revealing his heart’s desire and maybe that would include Dream).

Literally that NIGHT, Hob was resolved to pose the question in the morning after a day of agonizing. Dream sensed the next morning was going to be significant and was flirting like crazy to give the “all systems go” signal to Hob that whatever he said would be welcome but Dream was PRETTY SURE he knew and wholly welcomed the advances.

Indeed, that was a huge part of why when Hob had the sex dream (courtesy of the proximity and everything that happened that day with the flirting plus his body coming back online after some time to recover its strength) Dream enthusiastically joined in. In his mind, Hob had pretty heavily implied that the next day he was going to ask to court Dream (or equivalent) so his reaching out in his dreams sexually was pretty much the same thing and Dream took it, perhaps incorrectly, as the signal he needed of Hob’s interest so he could finally pounce with his own enthusiastic consent. Dream is not a being of words, ironically. He thought Hob’s actions were pretty clear and he made very clear that he was excited and willing with this turn of events, basically “Yes! Finally!”

(Btw plenty of people picked up on this lol I’m not saying this went over people’s heads.)

The break down of communication was that Hob had his very careful, courtly, CHASTE proposal he wanted to tentatively put forth the other day, absolutely terrified he’d misread the situation or that Calliope had deliberately set him up to fail out of spite, or any other number of ways it could go wrong like—even if things had gone as planned he was going to be TERRIFIED to ask if maybe he was reading the signals right and Dream really had been flirting for the past 5-6 DAYS and if so that Hob was interested in earning Dream’s love in any way he’d be allowed. He was going to be CAREFUL and POETIC and RESPECTFUL and very ready to backpedal and use the boon if necessary to ask Dream not to be mad at him for presuming to know his mind.

So to wake up having had a vivid sex dream and be confronted with evidence that he lost control of himself in the night and basically assaulted or at least dirtied his friend in the most embarrassing way possible, all the physical stuff he would have been petrified to presume before he got the chance to be all courtly and poetic about his feelings, sent him into an absolute tailspin of fear that he’d fucked it up before he had the chance to get it right or slowly introduce the idea of adding a more romantic side to their relationship.

(Gosh now I want to write an AU of an AU where things did go as Hob planned lol)

So Hob has his freak out. Without Destiny’s shenanigans and without Dream also freaking out and potentially mind wiping Hob by accident in an effort to grant him what he apparently wanted which was to forget it ever happened… Dream and Hob probably would have reconvened the next day once they both calmed down and had a chance to think about what happened and realize there might have been misunderstandings (most likely because of Jessamy bonking Dream over the head and telling him to go make sure Hob knew it was actually him in the dream.

Even WITH the dinner though, door to door, that would mean on June 14th, 1 week after the White Horse meeting, they’re officially Together as a couple.

In that light I will say, I personally don’t think Hob was wrong on June 12 to decide to wait until morning after Dream was flirting with him all that day. He wanted to be awake and clear headed with a whole day ahead of them to discuss or patch things up if it went poorly. He was mostly sure he was reading the signals right but the catastrophe and loss in that 1% chance he was wrong was just too terrible to risk late at night after a confusing day. And Dream read that signal loud and clear that Hob was nervous and wanted to clear a space for them to discuss this and was wholly enthusiastic about reconvening once Hob had rested and gathered himself. But Dream was only holding himself back until he got a clear signal of interest from Hob first which he took the sex dream to be because dreams are obviously real to him and there was love permeating the whole thing (hence why Dream was so confused and upset about Hob’s freak out, neglecting to realize Hob’s point of view here of being in a tenuous situation, because Dream was so infatuated himself that it didn’t occur to him that Hob still found him hard to read and feared the consequences of being wrong).

Anyway! I still regret nothing about that sequence lol I love rereading the readers’ tears but I still wanted to defend my timeline and say these guys are totally unhinged and it’s not actually a slow burn at all by any normal human standard it’s like one night where they maybe could have said something sooner and it wouldn’t have been wildly inappropriate.

[tmwcs]

S E 7 E N : A F T E R M A T H P A R T 1 N E

Okay so I went ahead and retyped in SOME of the stuff, the other parts i'm going to need to dedicate some serious time to regain all the content i had lost and need to type over, but for now, enjoy part 1 of this final chapter of the series ;) NOT PROOFREAD and there might be alot of mistakes because i was literally typing away trying to get everything drafted back. nearly forgot to mention, slight bit of time skips in this chapter. so when you see the border and the discussion is featuring past content, thats just a scene from back before the current events.

Warnings: not so much in this one. mentions of death and graves but that's about it.

…………………

“You knew her from high school?” 

“Yeah….Lily…she and I were pretty close.” 

“Oh….I’m sorry to hear that.”

Gazing upon the fallen lettering of the tomb, a young man and his fiancé lay their respects. The world has returned to its former glory since the defeat of the archangel Jol, and the disappearance of Senator Forras. Unbeknownst to everyone, no one knew of the truth behind the angels appearance. With the events that transpired, the unknown seven men who dawned a demonic appearance with their Angel wings, had slaughtered the soldiers of Heaven. 

Laying a bouquet of flowers, mourning the death of a former friend, the young couple submits a prayer and part ways from the grave. 

Walking through the narrow walkway, decorated by a myriad of tombstones, the young man catches a glimpse of a name that pauses his motion. A name that he also was familiar with. 

“Maurice? Baby? What’s wrong?”

Looking at the stone, it was very vague as there were no pertinent information other than a name. 

“I knew this girl….sort of. She was really close with Lily, and I remember seeing her a couple times….”

Recalling the events that occurred a year ago, the imagery of the public becoming astounded well after the defeat of the angels, had all developed an eerie sense after noticing that the young woman, the one who was doomed to receive the execution, just before the imminent rescue by the mysterious group that appeared out of nowhere, display shadowed, gray feathered wings. 

“Y/N  L/N” 

………………..

“Oh isn’t that the girl that had disappeared? Did they ever find her body?” 

“No….not a single thing concerning her whereabouts.”

“That’s a shame…”

“Yeah….I remember…she was really nice….I wonder…..with her and Lily…..with what had happened….I wonder if there is a logical explanation as to why those things appeared in the first place….and why those who were selected….what made them stick out to receive such harsh deaths….”

The young man ponders for a moment as he takes his beloved’s hand, and continues to lead her away. 

“What did they end up burying if they didn’t find her? How do they even know she died?”

“They don’t…..but the government assumed, since her remains or whereabouts was never found out, that she died from the incineration that occurred between the two monsters. But since they couldn’t find anything, they buried a photo of her instead.”

“Oh….what a sad time….”

Indeed it was. Despite that one year had passed since then, the world was still recovering from the harshness of its former state. Relishing in the freedom of living without having to worry about sin, personal gratification was no longer frowned upon, the people moved forward, but not without learning a harsh lesson from everything that had occurred. 

“Babe let’s go inside the coffee shop real quick, I want to grab a drink, is that okay?” 

“Yeah babe, go ahead. I'll be right in.”

Opting to wait outside as he checks his emails on his new phone, he glances up for a moment upon something or..... someone catching the vision of his peripherals….

“Wait….is that……?”

The long hair that reflected a slight yet vivid violet hue from the suns rays, the glowing complexion, the cherry stained red lips, he immediately recognized the stunning young woman who walked out of the cafe, dawning a simple white halter dress with black trim. She walked around the corner of the cafe, enjoying a small coffee drink, yet remained absolutely aloof in her expression and was quiet, despite the passerby’s acknowledging her, admitting small greetings and gasps as they set their sights on the unreal beauty she displayed through the coloration of her features and that gaze in her eye.....a sight to die for. 

“……y/n???”

Trailing after her, the young man turns around the corner of the building just seconds behind the woman's trail. The moment he made it around the corner, his eyes widened with shock and panic.....

As if she had disappeared, the woman was no where to be found. Instead, a long strip of shopping outlets remained in sight. They were all closed as none would be opened this early in the morning, and with no other immediate turns or crossings, the young man found himself confused and anxious as there couldn’t have been any way for the woman to vanish so suddenly out of thin air….

“Was I imagining it? Did I really see her?….maybe…”

................

Approaching his elder brother from behind, he seldomly stares at the back of his form. His dark hair laying nicely and tapered towards the back of his neck, the back of his head delicately wrapped with the lace wrap he had adorned over his dark, lustful eyes.

He felt sorry for him.

Watching as his elder stood in between the large marbled pillars of his kingdom, the younger brother, Jungwon, had sensed a deepened fore longing within the man as he remained within his dark kingdom, quietly, always taking the time to admire the work he had spent these years in beautifying it.

Breaching Heeseung, Jungwon watches him gaze out into the open horizon of his region.

"What it is it....Jungwon?"

Without breaking his gaze or stance, Heeseung remained standing as his hands rested within his pockets as he continues to stare at the moon. His voice was calm, soft, and gentle.

"Nothing...just came to check on you really. Still deep in thought I see." Jungwon casually states as he walks up and stands next to his elder brother.

With a gentle pat on his back, Jungwon smiles as he lightly taps his elder's shoulder, before sharing the view.

"Jake says that you've been standing here since last night. It's not surprising though....ever since you left with the muses that day, you've been very melancholy. "

Looking up at his elder, Jungwon watches as the masked figure next to him slightly gulps down a breath as he maintained the view of his sight through the lace of his mask.

Leaning against a pillar, Jungwon focuses his gaze on Heeseung as he leans his head back to rest against the marbled surface.

".......I know Jake already tried, though he said he couldn't get a whole lot out of you.....won't you tell me what's been on your mind all these years?" Jungwon softly speaks out as he performs a half smile.

"................"

"I can't say that I miss the way you used to roam and slaughter, that version of you was a bit too much." He chuckles out as he jokes out of his elder brother's former manners. "But that doesn't mean that we as your brothers, wouldn't take a change that we see in you as something to be alarmed of. Please......talk to me Heeseung....what happened all those years ago when you left with the muses?"

..........

A quiet but deep sigh emerges from Heeseung's mouth as he slowly dragged his tongue over his upper lip before finally he spoke.

"It haunts me when I'm awake.....it teases me when I'm asleep. It's festering inside me....like insects devouring a carcass. It won't let me rest until......."

Jungwon displays a slightly concerning look as he leans away from the pillar his body rested on.

"Until?....."

"Until I take it....and bring it here...."

"Whats "it"?"

"...................her.........."

"...her?"

Nodding with a side smirk, it was very faint but evident, and the first one he issued in a long time. Jungwon tilts his head while admitting a faint chuckle upon seeing his elder brother displaying some normality in his features. Finally, after nearly seven thousand years, the Devil was finally breaching the moment that he had been so patiently waiting for.

"....Who is she?......." Jungwon asks, immensely intrigued that a woman had been the reason behind the change in his brother's temperament.

".......Y/N.........."

.......................................

"......MY.....Y/N....."

Authors note: Part 2 is under way.

Taglist: @deobitifull; @solstramaii; @vampiregirl215; @nshmrarki; @enhypen14; @iamliacamila; @lisaaannna; @nikstrange; @jaehaki; @luv-enhy-skz33; @silcry @honeysjae; @crackedcameraa; @stinkmonkey ; @baekxo07@raishaii @yangjungwon33 @lhspeachie ; @differentchildwombat ; @prettykia ; @kimsseonu ; @stvrryhee ; @en-thralled ; @hoonzdzbl ; @yuppppp ; @jinniespuppy ; @browsehnnie @prettykia @lprww @they2luv1naia @ellixqz @mimimovv @stvrryhee

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — ZHONGLI X FEM READER

The Qixing - namely, Keqing - have decided to pay Zhongli for services rendered to Liyue by giving him the honor of your company. You’re not amused. 

wc — 3.1k

tags — reader is best friends with Ganyu and Keqing, still dealing with the aftermath of Rex Lapis’ death, reader helps Zhongli narrowly avoid getting scammed, Zhongli deals with the consequences of abandoning godhood in more ways than one, Liyue lore 

glossary | chapter 3 of This Is How We Mourn The Living

Seeing the Yuheng at Yuhai Pavilion outside of weekly meetings is rare under normal circumstances, but especially strange in the turmoil Liyue currently faces. More often than not, she spends every waking moment at the Chasm or elsewhere in Liyue.

Well, perhaps that was the reason why - Keqing was not awake, after all. Gently, you rouse the sleeping girl, painfully aware of how young she looked in her dreamless slumber. You even feel generous enough to let it slide when she shoots upwards and knocks you in the chin as she wakes up.

“Oh! Sorry, did I fall asleep? Thank you for waking me,” she says, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “That would be embarrassing if anyone else found me.”

“No need to be embarrassed,” you smile, “but do me a favor? Let me walk you home.”

Graciously, she accepts, and the two of you fall into a steady stream of conversation. Out of all the Qixing besides Ganyu, Keqing is the one you feel closest to. Ningguang is something of a savior for you, always slightly out of reach, and too extraordinary to call a friend, but Keqing and Ganyu had brought you into their circle almost as soon as you met them.

You and Keqing were the youngest of the Qixing, both with a chip on your shoulder and something to prove. She channeled her desire to forge Liyue’s path forward with critiques of Rex Lapis that sometimes antagonized the elders. You, on the other hand, have always admired Rex Lapis. 

It was one commonality brought the two of you together - painstaking effort in the name of Liyue’s future. In the end, though the Qixing squabble amongst themselves, it is all for the city they serve, so you can forgive her almost anything.

Sometimes, she tends to take advantage of that fact.

Like now. Your friendship is why she, like Ganyu, can tease you about Zhongli so easily, and she never passes up an opportunity. “How is working with Rex Lapis?”

“I know what you’re doing,” you warn, but she pushes on.

“Come on, you can’t blame me for being curious. I wonder how he reacts to your dedication. I can’t imagine him being flustered.”

“First of all, he doesn’t know, and you aren’t going to tell him. Second of all, I am being professional, thank you very much.”

“Are you?” She hums, and then backtracks as she can feel you actually start to become irritated. You turn to face her with an intent to pinch her on the cheek, and she throws her hands up defensively. “I’m just teasing, don’t be angry with me! You’re doing important work, and we’re all grateful for it.”

“I’ve had enough of you and Ganyu,” you huff and change the subject. “Tell me about how Liyue is reconstructing. Is it going well?”

Predictably, she ignores you. “Isn’t that the man of the hour? Hey, Zhongli!”

“I’m not falling for that.”

“Yuheng, jiyao mishu.” Keqing, for once, wasn’t joking - Zhongli is actually here.

“What are you doing?” Keqing asks.

“I wanted to mingle among the people of Liyue a little more,” he says. “I thought that the markets would be a good place to start.”

A thought occurs to you. “Zhongli-xiansheng, did you forget to bring mora again?”

He pauses in his scrutiny of the goods laid out on the cloth in front of you, his fingers twitching as he tries, and fails, to conjure mora out of thin air. Giving up the status of a god comes with it’s pitfalls. “Ah. I forgot.”

Keqing has her scheming face on, which never bodes well for you. “Zhongli, why don’t I offer the company of this lovely lady as compensation for all of your hard work today? The Qixing would never deign to dishonor Rex Lapis by leaving his vessel without funds. Consider this all covered by your stipend for your new position.”

“Keqing, you can’t just trade me off like I’m some object,” you argue.

“So you’re not going to accompany him? That’s shameful, my lady. Shouldn’t our god receive the utmost respect from us?”

“You are so annoying. ”

“I’ll translate for you,” she tells Zhongli. “That’s a yes. Well, I’m off now! I haven’t slept in hours - but you two have fun.” She throws a wink at you as she leaves that you pointedly ignore.

“What were you looking at?” You ask Zhongli, giving in since you know things won’t be going your way.  

“This starconch reminds me of a friend I’m expecting soon.”

“You have a great eye, sir!” The merchant, sensing weakness, hurries over. “Do you see that orange hue? Most starconches are blue, so this is a very rare find. For that, I must mark up the price, but observe how it shifts in the light - is it not worth it? For your discerning eye, I’ll give you a discount. Only 40,000 mora!”

Zhongli makes a passive noise of agreement, just as you feared. “Fascinating. I’ve never seen this before - I must study it further. It seems like a fair price for such a gem-”

Gently, you pull his arm back. “Wait a minute. May I see that, please?”

The merchant pales as he recognizes you, originally too focused on making a sale to notice who accompanied Zhongli. “Jiyao mishu,” he bows. “A-as you can see, it’s truly a remarkable piece.”

“Spare me. Zhongli-xiansheng-“

“Zhongli,” he cuts you off.

“Zhongli, this doesn’t look right. It was probably originally blue, but he probably soaked it in a mixture of Jueyun Chilis, Berries, and Qingxin dye to get this orange color.”

“Jiyao mishu,” the merchant cries. “How could you accuse me of such a thing!”

“Are you saying I’m a liar? Look - right here, you can see a mark where the pigment has left a residue. 40,000 is not a fair price at all.” You frown at him. “What’s your name? The Qixing do not look kindly upon falsehoods.”

“Please, my lady, I meant no disrespect! I never lied - it is a starconch, and it is orange.”

“You want me to overlook your lie by omission,” you say. “Well, in that case - shall we make a deal?”

You walk away from that merchant’s stall with a promise not to attempt to scam any more buyers and the orange starconch - free of charge, for your mercy. Impressed, and in need of your practicality, Zhongli asks you to accompany him as he makes the rest of his purchases. He’s a strange mix of overly wise and completely vulnerable. Though he delights you with his opinion on Silk Flowers and Cor Lapis, more knowledgeable than the merchants themselves, he fails to recognize simple market tricks and the wily words of the vendors.

“This,” he says, “is a rare beauty. It’s been a long time since I saw such a remarkable specimen. The veins of gold must mean it was harvested from the peaks of Mt. Tianheng.” 

He held it up to the light in amazement.

“Fascinating. In ancient Liyue, noble ladies believed that glasses carved out of this material could make the most powerful love potions. In fact, there is a pool in Yujing Terrace named after a concubine who, after failing to seduce the emperor with an aphrodisiac brewed in a Cor Lapis chalice, threw herself in and drowned.”

Not everyone appreciates his commentary. Two young ladies from House Yu nearly trip over themselves in their haste to get away from you, even ignoring Zhongli’s outstretched hand. But to you, these small snippets of the past are fascinating. 

Even with your frankly unmatched memory for Liyue’s history, you had never heard of such a connection between the lakes and the royal consorts. You couldn’t help yourself from indulging him, even as you found yourself at the most expensive florist in all of the city.

“These Glaze Lilies,” he sighed and lifted them to his face, inhaling the delicate fragrance. “I had a friend who cherished these.”

The look on his face was so melancholy you couldn’t help yourself - you bought him the store’s entire inventory. It was, you argued to yourself, a justifiable purchase for a god.

As a thank you, he bought you a delicate sprig of Violetgrass (though you’re not sure how it could be counted as a gift if it was also paid for out of your pocket). “Here,” he said, holding the flower just under your nose. “It is said that the scent of Violetgrass flowers can be quite fortifying, just like the flower itself - clinging to the mountainside even in the harshest conditions. I hope you’re not overworking yourself.”

Without further explanation, he continues his appraisal of the hothouse of flowers, ignorant to the startled, but pleased smile that made its way across your face as he tucked the flower behind your ear.

“Jiejie,” a small blur practically flies across the street and into your arms. It’s one of the children of the merchants. You bring her candy whenever you see her, though she has to promise to keep it a secret from her mother.

“Who is this?” The inquisitive child looks curiously at Zhongli.

“Be polite,” you scold. “This is Zhongli-xiansheng,” but you've already lost her attention.

“Yanfei-jie was looking for you!” She holds her hands out hopefully.

“Thank you,” says the woman in question, popping up behind you with no warning, as she tends to do. “Here, have a Lotus Head for your trouble. You!” She directs the latter part at you.

“Me,” you say, amused.

“Thank you for finding that book for me! I checked every single bookstore and library I could find, and none of them carried it. If you hadn’t had it in your private collection, I think it might just have disappeared forever. What a waste of knowledge.”

“I’m glad to have been able to be of help. If you’re finished with it, you can return it to Ganyu - she’ll know what to do with it.”

“Please, let me treat you to dinner sometime,” she insisted. “Thank Rex Lapis-“ the man next to you flinches, though it’s barely noticeable- “for your contribution to the city. If you ever need some pro-bono legal advice, come to me! I’ll be more than happy to help after all you’ve done.”

As Yanfei walks off, Zhongli looks introspective. “I’ve said this before, but you really are beloved among the city, aren’t you?”

“No more than Ningguang,” you reply breezily, “and almost certainly less than you.”

“Hm.” He leaves it at that.

Another three hours into his exploration of the markets, and an agonizing three hours on your heels, he finally pauses with a furrow on his brow. He’s noticed your limp. “Please excuse me. It’s been so long since I’ve walked the streets of Liyue like this, now I find that I’ve been inconsiderate. You should’ve stopped me if you were in pain.”

“Not at all! I quite enjoyed your history lesson,” you say, and it is not at all just an attempt at appeasing him. “It was my honor to be able to hear you speak. In fact, since it is getting late, let me invite you to dinner to repay you. No, don’t protest, or you’ll wound my pride. You know the Liyue way is to uphold reciprocity above all else.”

“You’re hardly indebted to me for a few words,” he points out, “but I’ll be glad to accompany you, if you’ll have me. In fact, I know of this delightful little restaurant I’m sure will please you. Third-Round Knockout has never disappointed me.”

Third-Round Knockout lives up to it’s name - as soon as you bite into their Jueyun Guboa, it’s like your mouth is on fire. It feels like there’s smoke in your nostrils just from the heat you feel on your tongue. You’re in the fight of your life against the war being waged on your tastebuds, and yet, it’s simply sublime. You can’t get enough of it, even as tears well up in your eyes and you reach for your third glass of water.

At the man who recommended it to you, you accuse, “Zhongli, I think you’re a sadist.”

“Does that make you a masochist? After all, it looks like you’re quite enjoying it.” Still, he smiles and offers you his wine to soothe your tongue. As always, he’s picked well. It’s a light and fragrant flavor, the perfect complement to the biting spice of the Jueyun Chilis.

“Can I ask you something?” He waits for you to nod before he continues. “Do you hate me for giving up Liyue? Sometimes, watching you, I feel like I haven’t quite abdicated as much as forced you to take on my responsibilities. You are a child of this city - tell me honestly, do you hate me for abandoning you?”

How could you ever hate him? You mean to tell him, but he makes another attempt to speak first. A woman at a nearby table makes an annoyed shushing noise at him. You’re forever amazed by how people treat him now, compared to if they knew his true identity, but you know Zhongli prefers it this way, if the light smile playing at his lips is any indication. You try to speak to him again, but he shakes his head. It’s alright, he mouths. It was just a thought.

Silence descends on the small restaurant - the bards have arrived. One is from Mondstadt, but most are from Liyue. On a dimly lit stage, they set up their instruments, and among them is a zither. Your fingers twitch, a fact that does not go unnoticed by Zhongli. “Can you play?”

“A little,” you say, and leave it at that, because the bards are speaking. It’s impolite to talk over them, and besides, you love their stories. As a child, you had preferred the aftertaste of folklore on your tongue to an actual dinner. Ningguang liked to joke that you were raised on starlight and fairy tales.

All of that respect for their carefully honed craft goes out the window as they begin their story - about you , and the monster you had brought down in the service of Liyue, the first act that had garnered you the attention of Ningguang, all the way above in her Jade Chamber.

Back then, Ningguang had just been in the process of building her home, and it was much further below the skyline than it had been when it was used in the battle against Osial. It was a stroke of luck that she was close enough to witness you crush a yao guai that had gotten too close to the city. Stonehide lawachurls were, though infrequent sights, easily dealt with by the Millelith.

This, a huli jing, was a completely different matter. A fox spirit looking for another life to take in order to complete it’s nine tails, it had prowled the city limits in order to find fresh prey, preferably young and pretty. They were vain creatures like that. 

Ningguang, a new recruit of the Qixing at the time, had not realized how close the creature had gotten to the gates, but did not have time to act before you struck. In front of nearly half the city and the Tianquan, you took down the monster in the name of Rex Lapis.

At that, you see Zhongli lean forward, interested in the mention of his name, and you can bear it no longer. Your chair screeches as you shove it back. Zhongli looks confused and concerned as he reaches for you, but you’re too busy trying to do damage control.

“Jiyao mishu,” the bard cries out as he sees you, not expecting the subject of his song to be present. The people around you go down on one knee, all excluding Zhongli, once again earning him the ire of the woman at the neighboring table, who whispers loudly of the disrespect, and how if he was her son, she would cuff him around the ears.  

“Thank you, for such a wonderful tale,” you say, fighting back your embarrassment, “but may I borrow the stage now?”

“Of course,” he stammers out, already making room for you.

“The moon is bright tonight,” you muse. “I’d like to tell the story of Chang-Er, the girl on the moon, and her Jade Rabbit. Does that please everyone?”

“You know your stories are incomparable, my lady,” shouts an encouraging voice from the back, and you laugh.

When you’re finished, the entire restaurant is silent, still basking in the glow of the tale you’ve woven for them. If they blink, the moon still hangs bright and full behind their eyelids, and the sad-faced girl who occupies it smiles at them. They break into stilted, then roaring applause - a standing ovation.

“I can’t believe it,” whispers the woman who had shushed Zhongli. “Who would have thought we would be so lucky? It cost Ms. Bai 200,000 mora to hear one of the jiyao mishu’s legends at a concert hall.

“I heard that she’s always invited to speak at Lady Ningguang’s exclusive dinner parties.”

“What a night!”

All around you, the whispers abound. Zhongli sits as still as a statue as you make your way back to him, accepting thanks and compliments as you go. He looks like a mystical being carved out of moonlight himself, as if the goddess you had spoken of had been so moved by your retelling, she had sent you a gift. He’s always beautiful, but under this full moon, his eyelashes tipped in silver and white, he’s heartbreakingly beautiful.

“An interesting tale,” he muses, “though I hope you still prefer Rex Lapis to the lunar goddess.”

“You know I do, my lord,” you laugh. “I’m not sitting with her at the moment, am I?”

“I wasn’t aware you had such talents. It was a wonderful performance.”

“Well, I am Ningguang’s jiyao mishu. As the enforcer of the law, she needs Liyue’s past available to her at all times.” You incline your head. “That is my role. I am Liyue’s living history, guardian of the memory of the land.”

“Memories,” he says softly. “I see why Ningguang sent you to me.”

“If I may, Zhongli-xiansh-“ and, at his frown, correct yourself, “Zhongli. I’ve been thinking about what you said last time. Rex Lapis may only exist as a memory now, but if you just watch your people, you’ll see. Their eyes are shaded with grief, but all around us, the city of rock endures. When even stone crumbles to nothing, memory outlasts all. Your people will survive, even when you are just the whispers of a great-great-grandmother’s bedtime story.”

Zhongli looks at you as if he is seeing you for the first time.

“I’m glad,” he says softly. Though not drunk off the wine you’ve been served, it’s loosened his tongue somewhat, mellowed him out. He’s always carried himself with a sweet sort of sadness, an ever present ache, but it seems to leave him for moments at a time, like now. “I’m glad that my people have someone like you to watch over them.”

[alphaman99]

Creative Systems Thinking

In a long ago edition of the Paris Review, writer Ray Bradbury responded to a question about a mysterious character, Mr. Electrico, who appeared in "Something Wicked This Way Comes."

What an answer!

BRADBURY

Yes, but he was a real man. That was his real name. Circuses and carnivals were always passing through Illinois during my childhood and I was in love with their mystery. One autumn weekend in 1932, when I was twelve years old, the Dill Brothers Combined Shows came to town. One of the performers was Mr. Electrico. He sat in an electric chair. A stagehand pulled a switch and he was charged with fifty thousand volts of pure electricity. Lightning flashed in his eyes and his hair stood on end.

The next day, I had to go the funeral of one of my favorite uncles. Driving back from the graveyard with my family, I looked down the hill toward the shoreline of Lake Michigan and I saw the tents and the flags of the carnival and I said to my father, Stop the car. He said, What do you mean? And I said, I have to get out. My father was furious with me. He expected me to stay with the family to mourn, but I got out of the car anyway and I ran down the hill toward the carnival.

It didn’t occur to me at the time, but I was running away from death, wasn’t I? I was running toward life. And there was Mr. Electrico sitting on the platform out in front of the carnival and I didn’t know what to say. I was scared of making a fool of myself.

I had a magic trick in my pocket, one of those little ball-and-vase tricks—a little container that had a ball in it that you make disappear and reappear—and I got that out and asked, Can you show me how to do this? It was the right thing to do. It made a contact. He knew he was talking to a young magician. He took it, showed me how to do it, gave it back to me, then he looked at my face and said, Would you like to meet those people in that tent over there? Those strange people? And I said, Yes sir, I would. So he led me over there and he hit the tent with his cane and said, Clean up your language! Clean up your language! He took me in, and the first person I met was the illustrated man. Isn’t that wonderful? The Illustrated Man! He called himself the tattooed man, but I changed his name later for my book. I also met the strong man, the fat lady, the trapeze people, the dwarf, and the skeleton. They all became characters.

Mr. Electrico was a beautiful man, see, because he knew that he had a little weird kid there who was twelve years old and wanted lots of things. We walked along the shore of Lake Michigan and he treated me like a grown-up. I talked my big philosophies and he talked his little ones.

Then we went out and sat on the dunes near the lake and all of a sudden he leaned over and said, I’m glad you’re back in my life. I said, What do you mean? I don’t know you. He said, You were my best friend outside of Paris in 1918. You were wounded in the Ardennes and you died in my arms there. I’m glad you’re back in the world. You have a different face, a different name, but the soul shining out of your face is the same as my friend. Welcome back.

Now why did he say that? Explain that to me, why? Maybe he had a dead son, maybe he had no sons, maybe he was lonely, maybe he was an ironical jokester. Who knows? It could be that he saw the intensity with which I live. Every once in a while at a book signing I see young boys and girls who are so full of fire that it shines out of their face and you pay more attention to that. Maybe that’s what attracted him.

When I left the carnival that day I stood by the carousel and I watched the horses running around and around to the music of “Beautiful Ohio,” and I cried. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I knew something important had happened to me that day because of Mr. Electrico. I felt changed. He gave me importance, immortality, a mystical gift. My life was turned around completely. It makes me cold all over to think about it, but I went home and within days I started to write. I’ve never stopped.

Seventy-seven years ago, and I’ve remembered it perfectly. I went back and saw him that night. He sat in the chair with his sword, they pulled the switch, and his hair stood up. He reached out with his sword and touched everyone in the front row, boys and girls, men and women, with the electricity that sizzled from the sword. When he came to me, he touched me on the brow, and on the nose, and on the chin, and he said to me, in a whisper, “Live forever.” And I decided to.

[spitfiregal]

How Ahsoka Sees Anakin

Clone Wars Ahsoka has faith in Anakin, they’ve saved each other’s lives multiple times, he’s mentored her, and cheered her up, he’s family. 

A sith tells her Anakin will Fall. A sith who she knows hates Obi-Wan with his every breath, why should she believe him? 

When everything goes wrong, she senses Anakin in a conflict and then her bond with him feels as if he is dead. In the book, she believes that he is dead, and she remembers him well, no one wants to remember the bad parts of a friend that they lost, they want to cherish the best parts. That’s just how people work. 

She didn’t know Anakin committed genocide for sixteen years. She didn’t know Anakin was Vader. I feel like some folks in the fandom forget that.

Then in Rebels she senses him in Vader, and then she’s filled with turmoil. The pedestal she’s been putting him on for more than a decade crumbles and she’s filled with self-doubt. 

In the Lothal temple, she denies to herself what Anakin has become. But wouldn’t you? Imagine, there’s a good chance your best friend betrayed you and everyone you loved, what wouldn’t you give for it not to be true? 

In the Malachor temple Vader tells her Anakin’s dead. To me, I think she’s aware of the double speak. She says she will avenge his death. To me, she’s saying the man I remember would abhor you, the man I remember is gone, and only you who has destroyed everything remains. And so they fight. 

Then Vader says her name. Anakin says her name. 

That’s the whole point of Star Wars, you know. That there is still good in Vader. 

And it’s at that point Ahsoka recognizes that there is still good in Anakin. Anakin whom she left behind then lost forever, of course she regrets how they parted, who wouldn’t? They didn’t part well. Part of has to wonder how much of it was her fault (even if it could never be her fault). She’s only been dealing with the weight of his Fall for a few months at this point. 

She says, I won’t leave you. 

Anakin is alive. Anakin is Vader but Anakin is and always has been capable of good. Just as every human is. 

And yes, her declaration is a show of loyalty, a demonstration of love, for the man she once knew, for the man who was once her brother. 

She doesn’t say, I forgive you, or I love you, or anything that absolves him of his guilt. Only I won’t leave you. 

And maybe that’s selfish of her, maybe the right thing for her to do is to run away to fight another day, but isn’t that a lot to ask? She loved Anakin. She mourned Anakin. But Anakin is now a monster, and at some level she believes it’s her fault, that her choices could have changed everything.  

Narratively, Ahsoka cannot bring Anakin back to the light (that’s Luke’s role). 

But she doesn’t know that. 

And that’s what makes her character interesting. Ahsoka always tries to do the right thing but the greater narrative negates all her efforts. 

Ahsoka almost always fails, but she never Falls. Anakin almost always gets what he wants but he Falls anyway. 

Ahsoka isn’t a perfect character, if she was she wouldn’t be interesting. She’s a tragic character, just because she doesn’t die doesn’t mean she isn’t doomed from the start. 

The question isn’t just about Ahsoka’s morality, it’s a story: the question is about our own morality. 

What would we do if our loved one made terrible choices? And what if we thought those choices were our fault? 

[animebookworm16]

So, first things first.

Yes. This is another Izuku has a quirk that isn’t AFO or OFA. In fact this is also an Inko Midoriya has a different quirk! 

Mother and son have functionally the same quirk. It is also, in many ways a generational quirk. How? Because Inko’s family has always had someone in the family with this quirk in one form or another. On all public records it is called “Excessive Crying”, pretty self explanitory right?

Wrong. It’s actually called, “Banshee”.

Yes. You got that right, this is an idea for an AU where Izuku has a quirk that more or less makes him a mythical figure.

A bit of lore for this quirk. Originally, it was a mutation between a mild precognition quirk, and a singing quirk. As time moved on, two other quirks were mingled in: an empathy quirk which caused anyone who heard the singing to feel the emotions of the singer, and a screaming quirk that amplified sound and helped carry the song further.

Which brings us to Inko who marries Hisashi and gives birth to Izuku. 

Now, you might be wondering, ‘okay, so Izuku’s got a quirk now. big deal. why all the secrecy? why cover it up with Excessive Crying? What’s so scary about it?’ And I would tell you that these are all excellent questions. Which I will answer now.

All of it leads back to the original Precognition quirk. You see, much like Nighteye’s quirk, it could only be activated under certain circumstances, and was fairly weak compared to the fifth generation quirks we’re used to seeing in the show. The Precognition quirk could only show the death of a single person a day. As you can imagine, such an ability wouldn’t make you many friends, or make you a very happy person.

Now, what happens when you combine that with a singing quirk? You get a child who can see when a person is going to die, and the only thing they can do is cry. Again. Not many friends, but a marginally happier person because they were able to mourn these people

Mix in an empathy quirk, and you get a third generation quirk that makes you see when someone is going to die, causes you to lament that death, and now causes anyone who hears it to know exactly what’s going to happen, because they can litterally feel your sorrow.

Add in a screaming quirk and suddenly it isn’t just a few people on the street hearing someone sing or scream a haunting melody that fortells death, now it’s the whole block caught in a swirling storm of grief and sorrow, and if the death is especally awful, sometimes the whole city. Needless to say, Inko moved around a lot as a kid until she learned to control her quirk, and rename it to avoid the bad reputation. 

When she had Izuku, she worried that he’d have the same problem. But the first time it happened, Katsuki was there and managed to pull Izuku from the grips of the quirk.

It was at that point that the two became the best of friends. 

Inko taught Izuku that he could cry all he wanted, should in fact, but that he could never under any circumstances allow himself to fall under the sway of his own quirk. 

So Izuku got the reputation of a cry baby. This isn’t because people around him were dropping left and right. No instead it was because on his way to and from school he’d come across an older lady who was reaching the end, a business man who was going to get mugged on his way home from work, a small time hero who wasn’t going to make it out of a fight, and so on and so on. 

One thing Izuku became very familiar with, was stifling the cry that always seemed to be sitting at the back of his throat, and death. Izuku knew to mourn the ones that he couldn’t help, and became determind to save those he could. Hence his desire to be a hero.

[liltumgrum]

Op I think you are right and here’s why.

The women who seems to be Tarah is noticed by Gaz and Veil in chapter 44 page 450 of Oathbringer.

Kaladins flashback chapter where we are introduced to Tarah is chapter 112 starting on page 1046 of Oathbringer.

I’m using quotes from both of these instances. Quotes are color coded in how they relate to each other.

Similarity 1 (yellow highlights) Kaladin notes how Tarah prefers Thaylen style dress despite being Althi. Veil makes the same observation while Gaz mistakes her for Thaylen.

2 (lilac highlights) body type. Obviously Kaladin isn’t going to be describing her boobs like Gaz does, but he does describe her a a little plumb. Though obviously being a little chubby and having larger breast are not mutually exclusive it’s not far fetched to assume they are both features of her body.

3 (green highlights) Kaladin notes that Tarah likes to wear bright colors. Veil also points out her bold color choice.

4 (orange highlights) Veil observes that the women seems used to dealing with attention from men. While this isn’t stated in the Kaladin pov I think this is implied by their exchange about measuring new recruits.

Here are the quotes

So if the women Veil and Gaz spot is actually Tarah this raises *a lot* of questions. At this point in Oathbringer, basically all of the Alethi in Urithiru are people that were already on the shattered planes. She transferred to Mourns Vault specifically so she could avoid her father and subsequently her going to the Shattered Plains. So why was she there at all?

My theories for this are either that her father died/was killed at Mourns Vault and she was again promoted and sent to the plains, or something went wrong and she didn’t get to transfer at all. Maybe she got redirected.

And if she was on the shattered plains working under Sadeas, she might have been there when Kal was running bridges. An unfortunate coincidence. There’s a non zero chance that she heard about him after he got promoted in WOR to being Dalinars guard. I’m so curious about how that might have been from her perspective. Knowing that somehow her ex with death on his tail is still alive.

So you might have noticed I left out the blue highlight. That veil noticed that the women who might be Tarah was looking for someone. Was she looking for Kal? Maybe, also that’s really sad and cute. Was she waiting for a date or friend to show up? I hope so.

Also just. We’ve been wondering who Tarah is since she was mentioned in book one. We’ve been asking Brandon about her since then and after Oathbringer. I swear if we saw her in Oathbringer before we even knew it was her…. And Brandon has been rafoing stuff where already seen…… well played Mr Brando Sando. Well played.

In Oathbringer at a tavern when Gaz is training with Veil they describe a plump Alethi woman dressed in bright Thaylen clothing at the bar- is that Tarah?????

[campbluelake]

the rain fell all night, and it kept me awake. | saya | ch3 body reaction

Saya has never felt grief.

This is a simple fact. She never has. This isn't to say she hasn't experienced death; by sheer virtue of her profession, Saya might have seen more of it than anyone else present. Saya is used to corpses. She's even had people die right in front of her eyes. Not because of anything she's done or hasn't done, of course, but simply because there isn't a surgeon in the world good enough to save everyone who gets thrown on their table. Very little about a corpse can shock her any more after years of doing her job- not the icy skin, not the pooling blood, not the grisly details that turn other's stomachs.

Death is nothing to her. It's a headache, maybe. In her old life it was explaining to someone's family why she couldn't save someone who got on the wrong end of a garage spring. In her new life it's been a silent thought of 'at least it wasn't me'. She didn't mourn Julio. She was only upset at Niko's death for stupid reasons. Kaede's demise she was cheering for. Lydia didn't faze her much, and Tommy's death was a net positive because it meant she could crawl into Cabin 4. None of them evoked something she thought was grief, so she assumed she couldn't feel it. Easy. Simple. No sleep lost.

...But.

Warrick.

Warrick was not... like the others.

He had been, once. Don't get her wrong. On the bus ride here he had been a clown, an idiot so caught up in his pride that he didn't realise she was blatantly cheating in their game. Before the fog rolled in he had been a dummy for her to foist Garfield on. An emotionally constipated clown with his head so far up his own ass he could save major money on colonoscopies, she thought, and that had been her only major read on him. She put him low on her kill list simply because she thought him a physical threat, not for any other emotional reason. And she thought she had a grasp on who Warrick was. Already written off before the first trial began, already filed under 'going to be a huge pain about all this'.

Yet he wasn't. Warrick wasn't who he thought she was. He was more complicated than that. He was more human. Repressed, yes, totally ignorant of what he wanted, yes, somehow dense and perceptive at the same time, yes- but human. Endearing. A friend to her despite her flaws (the amount of which would send a less courageous person running for the hills). Saya grew... fond.

When had it happened, she wondered? When was the flipping point when her interactions with him went from 'making fun of him' to 'enjoying his company'? When had she begun to genuinely care about how he felt? And could she truly say that the ridiculous amount of effort she put in to make him realise his feelings for Leon wasn't spurred by her wanting to see him happy, pure and simple? She couldn't.

But- the point stands. Saya has never felt grief. And staring at his corpse, battered by the pouring rain with Leon sobbing by her side, all she feels is rage. Not grief, but rage. It's familiar. Saya has felt rage before. It's selfish, and she knows the full emotional spectrum of selfish like the back of her hand. She feels so much rage that it eclipses everything else entirely. It picks a hole in her chest and nestles inside, it chews up everything she ever felt for Warrick with a fiery maw and turns it to ash in the process. Her rage will burn bright and then it will burn out.

What comes after that? Is it nothing?

Saya has never envied people who feel grief, not one bit, but she thinks she gets it now. Warrick deserves to be remembered. To be mourned. To be always someone to Saya, not something. So she hopes that she has the ability to do that in the first place. That when all's said and done, when her fury burns out into ashes, that there's still something left inside the hole it carved.

That Saya can say -

with full honesty -

that Warrick is the first person she's ever been able to grieve.

[working-dreamer]

The Person Within: An Analysis Of Professor Layton's Hidden Character Development

Spoilers for practically all of the Layton games!

Hershel Layton as a character is sometimes criticized outside of the fandom for having no personality other than his gentlemanly nature and taking the concept of enjoying puzzles to the extreme.

While I think this criticism shows a blatant misunderstanding to his character, I do think from a different angle that perspective makes Professor Layton more interesting.

Think about it. Most of his personality is taken from the tragedy of those around him. Randall was the one who was originally obsessed with archaeology and puzzles. Claire was the one who originally perceived Hershel as a gentleman (thus giving him the idea.) We don’t really see Layton take these aspects of his personality onto himself until tragedy strikes and these people are taken away from his life.

In the case of Randall's death, Hershel blamed himself for surviving and moved out of town because of his self-loathing and guilt. And when Claire disappeared Layton paused his studies for an unknown amount of time trying to find out what happened until he was beaten into a coma by a group of people associated with her death.

And yet instead of grieving like you’d normally expect from a person who lost his best friend and girlfriend, he internalized their interests and aspects of their personalities into himself. He wears their passions and dreams as his own to remember them. In a way, he’s always reminding himself that he couldn’t save them.

However one might wonder how Layton really feels about those things outside of his previous losses. Does Layton even enjoy archeology and puzzles? Or is it something he has grown to accept in his life simply because he is living out Randall’s dream? Does he feel like he has a choice in the matter?

I can easily imagine Layton having doubts deep within himself: Randall didn’t get to live and it’s my fault. His dreams should live on. I don’t deserve anything else.

Same with Claire. She saw him as a gentleman but he certainly didn’t feel like one after her disappearance if his memory of events is to be taken seriously. How long did it take for him to turn into the perfect gentleman? Especially if it's just a painful reminder of her loss?

It’s probably after waking up from his coma that he starts to really embrace the idea that he has to be the perfect gentleman because he knows he can never get her back. So all he can do is embrace what she thought of him before she died. So with all of this in mind is Layton’s gentlemanly persona genuine to who he is as a person? Or is it just a persona created in order to keep her memory alive?

Layton has kept the shadows of his lost loved ones close to his heart for years and probably would have always done so had he never gotten any closure. However, when Randall turned out to be alive Layton now has the opportunity to let go of that guilt. Claire came back in the future momentarily and Layton got to say goodbye. He no longer needs to keep their personal traits as his own.

So why does he still embody Randall's passion for archeology and puzzles and Claire's perspective that he's the perfect gentleman?

I think it's because Layton doesn't know who he is without these borrowed parts of his personality. Without those aspects that he adopted into himself… who is Hershel Layton? Deep down he is someone who has silently mourned his loved ones and repressed those emotions. And yet most of his life has been embodying said grief. It makes me wonder if Layton would ever look deep within himself and realize that he doesn’t have anything to claim as his own. His entire personality revolves around past guilt and trauma from people he loved and lost.

Shoot even his name isn’t his own! Hershel Layton was actually the name belonging to his brother and in a moment of sacrifice switched names so our Layton could be adopted. So our Layton loses the only family member he has left without even knowing who that is for the majority of his life!

So we have a man who feels guilt and remorse for the deaths of his best friend and his girlfriend so he doesn’t allow himself to develop his own interests and personality because he doesn’t feel like he deserves to be his own person. It's even implied that he believed for a time that he didn't deserve to be the one who survived the events that killed his best friend and girlfriend. And then adding to the fact that he never knew his real family so he most likely felt a different kind of loss by not knowing where he came from. All and all we find a man that feels alone and tries to make it right by embodying the traits of those he cared about.

We don’t get to see Layton develop his thoughts on all of this but we do see an interesting development later on. I’d like to think that Layton slowly began to heal after his adventures thanks to adopting Katrielle in the anime.

This is because, for the first time in Layton’s life, he had a family to look after. Someone who doesn't need a mystery-solving archeologist or a perfect gentleman detective. Someone who doesn't need the grand "Professor Layton." This little girl just needs someone to be her father and, while he tries his best, he doesn't really know how to do that.

Sure he had a familial relationship with Luke and Flora, but he never called himself their father. I don’t think he allowed himself that privilege because of all the self-loathing he had been dealing with before. When he adopts Kat it feels like it’s the first time we see Layton truly allowing himself to be a father figure. And yet he is still uncertain about if he should be the one in this role.

Layton feels like his adopted daughter should know where she came from (something he didn’t get to have) before he can start thinking of himself as a father. He’s scared that if he gets attached then it'll hurt worse when she eventually returns to her own family should she decide that is her wish. But if he finds her family first then he doesn’t have the go through that heartache. He wants to find them first so she can make an informed decision.

And he says this with the logic that he always had as “Professor Layton” with that calm and collected smile. Notice that he says "I want to solve this puzzle so that we can become a true family." He doesn't say "so that we will become a true family." It’s almost as if he is going to let Kat decide if she wants to stay with him or go back to her real parents and that choice will be up to her. However, it's somewhat implied that he already thinks that she would naturally choose her real parents if she had the opportunity.

Despite his wishes to be her father, he still seems to be internally preparing himself to say goodbye (hence why he disappeared for so long in the first place.) He just doesn’t want to get too close to another person only to lose them and suffer alone again.

It makes sense why he is distancing himself, but he’ll still solve the mystery. It's what “Professor Layton” would do and he’ll have to accept whatever happens once Kat learns the truth. He doubts that she would still see him as her dad if she could be with her real parents. He doesn't even know himself outside of the role of "Professor Layton" so how can he be a true father to her? She'll go away with her real family eventually anyway. Why would anyone choose him?

And yet when he sees her again Layton is surprised when she immediately cries out for him. She still calls him papa. She wants him to be her papa.

In a public display of overwhelming emotion, we see Layton openly weep for the first time. He is so overcome by these emotions and for once doesn't repress them. He's just so happy to see his daughter again (to truly call Kat his daughter again) and allows himself to fully express those feelings for perhaps the first time in decades.

If Layton from the original game trilogy saw himself like this he would have been mortified by this “un-gentlemanly” behavior. His mindset back then was that a gentleman never cries because he has trouble coming to terms with his emotions. He even chastised Luke in Unwound Future because “a gentleman never makes a scene in public.”

However, he was never a gentleman for himself. It was always for holding onto the guilt of losing his loved ones while trying to honor their memories at the same time. But he doesn’t have to hold himself to those impossible standards anymore. He no longer blames himself for their deaths, he found closure, and now he has found himself in a family who chooses to love him not because of those attributes “Professor Layton” embodied, but because she loves him for the person hidden under that persona. And that is enough for Layton to openly weep as he embraces his child.

I believe Kat's words here helped Layton more than she'll ever know.

So who is Hershel Layton if he’s not a gentleman or a fan of archeology?

The solution to that puzzle is really quite simple.

He is a caring person. And that’s all he ever needs to be.