#the mist in soul || headcanon

[shiroi---kumo]

Misterica's White Prince || Salvation's Sickness

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ So I didn't know what the Cloud rant of the day was going to be until spotty hit me in the face with a song again and then my brain started thinking about replies and things I owed so now we're here because my brain went to this section from one of Theo's posts for Kain :

The problem that Kumo loves to ignore and fundamentally fuels him as a person is the fact he is fueled by grief.

Where as Kumo described the Unlimited this way in a very old post:

Kumo is the one drowning in his grief and the strongest part of that grief is the loss of Misterica. The destruction of his world is what weighs on Kumo's shoulders the heaviest. More so than even the shattering of his own soul. More than anything that's happened within the space of Wonderland or Windaria.

The thing is Kumo will tell you to your face that he is a Wonderlander but he doesn't mean it. He means A Misterican turned Wonderlander, because at his core he feels like if he accepts the title 'Wonderlander' then he is throwing away the title 'Misterican' and he just can't do that.

It's been sixteen years since Misterica fell and he still hasn't found a way to cope with it. The only way he found to deal with the pain was to simply not deal with it at all. To simply just go numb to it. Kumo has described to many different muses that his situation concerning Wonderland is "I've been stuck here for sixteen years." when, in fact, he could leave through the use of dimensional portals if he so chose to do so.

There is an internal war going on inside Kumo that he refuses to talk to about to anyone and that he both loves Wonderland desperately because he understands that the people here are not at fault for what's happened but at the same time he also hates Wonderland and blames it for taking everything away from him.

He knows. He knows in his heart that Wonderland only takes what Chaos destroys and Wonderland is not at fault here and that Chaos is but sometimes he can't stop himself from being furious in general because of all he lost.

And he also knows full well that every person who lives in Wonderland has lost just as much as he has. That they're all in the same storm together, just sailing different ships. He knows.

But he is holding back so much anger and rage from losing his entire world (see: planet) that he doesn't know how to handle or process any of it, so he does the only thing he's known how to do with it since he was a child and that is bottling it.

Kumo is deathly homesick and he will not tell anyone. He was raised in a situation where as a Misterican Royal it was his life's purpose to give himself to his people and live in service to them. He honestly believes his life belongs to that of Misterica and her populace and now that populace is gone so he hardly knows what to do with himself.

So he's turned his eyes on Wonderland in response. As the Unlimited of Salvation, his mind demands that he has someone to serve, and he's decided that since Misterica is gone, he will serve the Universe instead.

The whole of the entire cosmos.

Kumo has decided he will just dedicate his existence to serving them. Where Kaze is a "Monsterous as I must" type of existence, Kumo is a "Whatever it takes to protect and save." He was raised as a Misterican Royal in a situation where Misterican Royals bowed their heads to the populace - not the other way around. Without that place marker in his life, Kumo feels lost and he doesn't know what he's exactly supposed to do with himself.

That is but one of the many reasons why Kumo wants to take the reigning throne of Wonderland for his own. The biggest difference your will find between the Unlimited is that Kumo regrets. Kumo laments. Kumo wallows. Kumo feels sorrow. Kumo carries remorse. Kumo grieves.

Kumo's entire person at its core, is that of a grieving boy lost in the world unsure of how he is supposed to proceed.

Kumo both loves and hates Wonderland simultaneously because it is his home now but he doesn't want it to be. He wants Misterica. He wants his palace. He wants his family back, and Kumo regrets the fall. He wishes he knew then what he knows now so that he could have saved his people and saved his home.

Kumo is in a constant state of grieving in the concerns of his parents, his brother, and his soul binds. They were his entire world and they kept him balanced. They kept him "level with the clouds" if you will.

But the thing to remember is that even though, Kumo grew up in the high society situation that he did - Kumo's entire life has been one gigantic illusion of choice. It's always been an illusion. He was born a the Child of Salvation to his people and they dropped a heavy prophecy on his shoulders the minute he took his first breath. He was expected to save them from whatever calamity was coming and since he didn't - he blames himself for it to the highest extent he can.

He has tried to accept Wonderland as his home. He has tried to tell himself The Comodeen is home now and he has done what he's been able to make a little space within its walls that is all his own, but it doesn't take the pain out of his heart that what was his home is dead and gone.

Worse because a piece of Misterica exists within Wonderland and Kumo knows where it is. He has just been too overcome with grief and sadness that when he thinks about exploring the one sky island that survived - he is overcome with a fear he can't begin to understand or explain.

Not just an island but his island survived. The Capital. Taivaallinen Keskusta. He's too scared to go too far in. He's terrified but he wants to so badly because it is all he has left of his home. His palace, his city, his water, his lakes, his trees, his plants, his home.

He is terrified to explore it and his heart won't give him anything other than soul crushing pain as a reason why. It's not just an emotional pain for him but a physical one. He can feel the pain in his chest. He can feel his lungs get tight. He can feel his whole body become overloaded with pain because his anxiety runs wild so instead of going in any further than he already has, he just runs.

And he stays away for months on end.

He tries to pretend the thing he is longing for isn't out there, so he doesn't have to deal with the feelings and the pain and the regret in his chest.

That is the problem with the Unlimited of Salvation, while he has accepted his role to save the universe and serve them. He has accepted his duty to save those around him and everyone that his hands can reach - he can't even begin to start on the path that would let him save himself.

[heliacalxrising]

While the Sinners know of the Seven Rings of Hell despite being trapped in Pride, there is an 8th Ring that Lucifer and Lilith created together intentionally, simply called Punishment. It's deeper than the other Rings, with very dim lighting, and it's reserved for the Souls that they find repugnant. The Sinners who go to Punishment are the only souls that are exempt from the Exterminations, simply because the magic that manifests a Soul into Hell sends them to Punishment depending on the severity of their crimes on Earth.

In Punishment, these Sinners are tortured for all eternity. Forgotten by all, in the dark, feeling never ending agony. It's what they deserve. And Charlie will never know that Punishment exists.

[the-haunted-office]

PINNED for Doomsday!

GLIMPSES OF THE PAST: a headcanon / prompt collection send PINNED for a scene from my muse's past in which they were stuck somewhere, literally or figuratively

Thursday can't really tell where she is. Not at first. Perhaps not for a long time. There's not much she can tell, actually, if in fact she is telling anything. She knows... something. After all, she can tell that she is telling anything. She can tell that she's somehow there. But she can't tell much else. And that's all there is for a while.

She then becomes aware of some specific things. Like the fact that she's in an enclosed space, and that she can't seem to leave it. She's stuck. Trapped, somehow, even while getting the sense that there's a space outside of where she is. It's difficult for her to tell, but she can tell all the same. Regardless, she knows she can't get to out there, only that she is to be in here.

She can also tell that this place is an office, and that she has been here for a long time. How long, she can't tell, just that it's been... a long time. And that she's alone. It's dark. Quiet. Lonely. She tries to call out, tries to get the attention of anyone who might be there, knocks things over on occasion even though it's difficult. But there is no one. Not a single soul, dead or alive.

There's no energy in here either. Somehow she can sense that that might be important. No other souls. They're all gone. And she can also tell that her soul, whatever it is, is... different. Damaged, somehow. Broken. Something is wrong with it. Wrong with her. She can feel it. It's different from the way it was before. And now she remembers, there was a before. Before being lost in here, when her soul was whole and she was alive.

There's no way out of here. There's no one here, and she is stuck in here, alone, the way she was before, only now this time it's forever. This time it's like this, in this treacherous state. What did she do to deserve this? What god did she anger? Who did she hurt in life to earn this karma?

Is there nothing she can do to escape this- Cycle?

[summonedglory]

tag drop // senna abaru

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ⏖ ’  simple acts of love from skz

—All the times stray kids said I love you in the little things.

words・6.8k pairings・stray kids x reader genres・fluff, a little crack, established relationships warnings・lots and lots of kisses!! happy tears, drunken re-confessions, silliness, playful living room dancing, minhos a shy baby, he's also a little shit in changbins, erotic painting in hyunjins, hans is a little bit more emotional, silly little proposals, my terrible attempt at writing lyrics, jeongin stalks your goodreads profile and buys your entire TBR list like I don't have at least a thousand tbr books...some of these are silly some of these are sickeningly sweet,

a/n・I wrote these drabbles based on these headcanons, but I did change Minho's because I believed it fit him better!! Also, this has been rotting in my drafts for MONTHS im not super proud of them, but I hope you like them anyways.

ᡣ𐭩 chan + sneaking into your bathroom to trace hearts onto the bathroom mirror.

"This is a suicide mission!" his lungs scream as he slips into your inferno of a bathroom, a heavy cloak of steam hugging him instantly. His respiratory system begs for release, a moist cough rolling up his throat; but like the magnificent boyfriend he is, he shoves those rebellious bodily functions right back down his windpipe.

Was his silly little plan worth the ability to breathe? Yes. Did he also wonder how you even could? Also yes.

The mirror fogs like the surface of an ancient lake, obstructing the image of his mischievous grin. He brings a pointer finger to the glass, drawing all his ardor in the mist—though it only comes out as lopsided hearts.

Your voice floats out from behind the curtain, absentmindedly humming to a silent tune. Shadows of your hands move through your hair, your body refracted onto the thin sheet.

You are so beautiful...

Cupid smacks his jaw shut.

He manages to slip out right as the water sputters off, sliding into the living room by his socks. He face-plants onto the couch, scrambling to sit upright. The loud smack of your towel echoes in his ears as his wide eyes dart to the table, frantically searching for something to occupy his attention. He snatches the first thing he sees, which just happens to be a... candle?

Whatever, no time!

Chan is intently studying the ocean-blue Bath & Body Works label, when you come pattering out, damp hair dribbling water behind you. The moment you step into his line of sight, his heart plummets—that stupid aromatherapy candle nearly tumbling with it.

There you were, in all your drenched glory, your towel wrapped snug against your chest, tears rolling freely down your cheeks. Did you hear that?! Tears!! You were crying?! Why were you crying?!?!

Chan must have embodied the spirit of a kangaroo, because he’s never jumped up faster in his life.

"Why are you crying? You're supposed to be happy!" he yelps, yanking your body into his arms, water seeping into the thin fabric of his tee shirt. His brain becomes the equivalent of the world’s most fucked-up ambrosia when you begin laughing, the curve of your smile pressed into his chest. He blinks—he doesn't know whether to kiss you or call a priest. Maybe he should do both?

Suddenly you pull away, cocooning his cheeks with pruney hands, your bottom lip wobbling as you sob, "I'm so in love with you."

Well, good job—now he's sobbing too.

"I'm in love with you too, baby."

You had drawn hearts on the walls of his soul in the same way he had drawn them in the steam of your mirror. The only difference is, yours would never fade away.

ᡣ𐭩 minho + randomly sending you songs that remind him of you.

Minho wasn't the type to throw his arms around you, pressing kisses to your face with all his overflowing ardor. Instead, in the minuscule overlaps of time between talking on the phone and constructing a perfect dance routine, he'll find himself sitting dazed upon the lounge room couch, mindlessly nodding to a catchy tune. He had left his Spotify on smart shuffle, finding comfort in the idea of a song found without searching, as if it were fate's gentle finger dusting the path to new adventures. He flutters his eyelids shut, ripples of sound washing over his skin.

And I've heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime

And I'm pretty sure that you are that love of mine

'Cause I'm in a field of dandelions

Wishing on everyone that you'd be mine, mine

In a rash flood of emotions, he sends you the song just before Chan steps into view, announcing his dire need to finish choreographing the final steps of their newest single. Begrudgingly, he slips his phone into his back pocket, his earbuds following suit. The only thing that keeps him sane throughout the day is the anticipation that he will go home and see you, and that makes it all worth it.

ᡣ𐭩

May I have this dance?" you declare, extending your arm with feigned seriousness, though the playful smile tugging at your lips betrays you instantly.

“What?” Minho chuckles through furrowed brows, observing the unusual surroundings; candles flicker dim lighting on the walls, throwing shadows on the rose petals you had scattered around your living room, forming an intriguing resemblance to a romantic dance floor. He sets the bags of groceries on the ground. Lee Know is so beyond confused, yet also pleasantly surprised, especially when you waltz over to him, tight red dress hugging all your gorgeous curves.

“You still haven't answered my question,” you sing, playfully twirling into his arms. Your hands find their way to the nape of his neck, tracing mindless circles in his hair. A shiver rolls up his spine as you tilt your face forward, lips so close; his heart flutters like a fragile leaf tumbling down from an autumn tree. He blinks before exhaling—

“Of course, I'll dance with you.”

A delighted squeal erupts from your lips, and you jump away from his arms, heading straight over to your phone to play the song he sent you prior. A warm blush floods his cheeks, painting them a bashful red.

“Did you like it?” His eyes fall away from yours.

“Did I like it?? Of course I liked it!” you squeal, gaping at him like he was the dumbest person on the planet. World War Three rages inside his chest as he fights not to fold like a lawn chair, flopping on the floor like a flustered starfish. Though when your hands rub their way up from his chest to his shoulders, he's surprised he's even upright. Your hips sway to the melody, a warm smile melting away all his defenses; but when you guide his awkward hands to the dip in your hips, it’s game over. He stuffs his face into your neck, littering the sensitive skin with kisses, his brain screaming: distract the enemy!! distract the enemy!!

“Do you know how much I love you?” he mumbles with striking genuineness. Instead of answering his question, you simply twirl yourself around his finger, placing his hand to wrap around the small of your back. He dips you down right as the music swells. It was magical, really—the candlelight twinkling in your peripheral, spills of starlight dancing off the ocean's surface. It was all so perfect—that was until your shoe caught on one of the rose petals, the floor turning slick under your feet. You send yourself tumbling straight to the ground. Minho squeals, grasping at thin air, but then he too also slips, frantically shooting his wrists out so he doesn't crush you.

The music cuts through the deafening silence as petals weave their way into your hair. You roll your lips into your teeth, glancing over to an eerily still Minho, staring at the ceiling like a spooked tabby. As if he could feel your eyes, his gaze finds yours, and only then does he burst out into roaring laughter, which prompts you to also join the fun.

“Are you sure you're the main dancer?” you tease through breathy giggles. He gasps, smacking a dramatic hand over his chest.

“I’ll have you know you fell first.”

And I've heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime

And I'm pretty sure that you are that love of mine

'Cause I'm in a field of dandelions

Wishing on everyone that you'd be mine, mine

In that moment, as the light hits you just right, he swears he finds the universe in your eyes. Your skin is showered in candlelight, head tilted back—joy flickers on your tongue as honey drips from your teeth. His heart pounds against his ribs, flowers sprouting in his lungs. To the world, he was an aloof grump with smooth moves and an impressive affinity for cats; but to you, with you, he was so much more.

Mid-snort, he captures your cheek, pressing his lips to yours. In a single gesture, he is pouring all the words he wished to say—

though to you, it tasted a little bit like—

If he had to blow a wish on every dandelion in the universe just to keep you, he would; and only through your lips would he find the power to keep breathing.

ᡣ𐭩 changbin + gushing about you while drunk

The balmy patio is sticky with soju-infused groans, most of the boys slumped in their respective seats, throwing back exasperated swigs of their drinks as they desperately try to drown out Changbin’s relentless rambles.

The two semicircle outdoor couches form a full circle around an unlit bonfire pit. On one of the couches sits a completely unfazed Felix, taking small sips of his soju between chuckles; an extremely annoyed Seungmin, glaring daggers at Changbin; and I.N, who doesn’t seem to be doing much of anything except, well, sleeping—body slumped against the armrest. Hyunjin is sandwiched between Chan and Changbin on the other couch: Chan, who wishes he never even brought up the idea to buy beer in the first place, and Changbin, who is currently slumped over a very irked Hyunjin’s lap. Han is somewhere in the house, probably giggling at his own swirling reflection.

Hyunjin digs his fingers into the roots of his locks, fighting every urge not to yank the tufts straight out.

“N-no, but Jinnie, you don’t u-understand—she’s so pretty,” Changbin slurs, stuffing his face into his friend’s hoodie, which makes Hyunjin frown and swat him away.

“That’s it! I’m calling Y/N!” Seungmin announces, jumping up from his seat. Chan grabs his sleeve, yanking him straight back down, much to Seungmin’s dismay. he sinks into the polyester in a puddle of disgruntled grumbles.

"Or we could record him," Minho calls out from the shadows of the back entryway, only ever appearing when he needed more beer or more entertainment. And right now, it was dinner and a show. Minho simply shrugs as if his evil plan wouldn’t ruin his best friend's bad-boy reputation. "Send it to Y/N later," he mumbles to himself, the devil tilting his cheek up. Nobody seems to hear him, so he slyly pulls his phone from his pocket and presses record.

"No, no, no! You can't call Y/N. She’ll know I love her!" Changbin gasps in horror, stumbling to grab the phantom phone that apparently appears on Hyunjin’s lap with the way he paws at his jeans. Hyunjin takes a nice, long swig of his soju.

"You know you and Y/N have been together for over four years, right?" Felix chuckles, finding the whole ordeal pure comedic relief.

"No, you don’t understand. She’ll know I love her... lover," Changbin’s words slur into an incoherent shake of his head. Minho's evil cackles float out from the concealment of the doorway, and Chan perks up.

"Minho, what are you doing?!" Minho slams his phone against his thigh. What the hell?? Does Chan have Spidey senses or something??

"Nothing!" he yelps, sounding super convincing. Chan narrows his eyes toward the darkness where Minho is supposedly lurking, sporting an eerily perfect rendition of a frustrated father. That is, until Changbin begins a very off-tune version of “The Itsy Bitsy Spider,” rolling over on Hyunjin’s lap to tap his fingers up his arm and eventually landing on Hyunjin’s nose with a giggle. When Hyunjin almost bites his finger off, Chan finally diverts his attention. Minho thanks God for the shadows—how else would he have gotten away with recording all of that?

“I’m about two seconds away from bringing you back to Y/N,” Hyunjin sighs, his lips pressed into a tight line as he glares at the man whose eyes just burst with light at the thought of seeing you. Chan smacks Hyunjin on the back sympathetically, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Why me, Lord? Why me?" Chan sings his woes under his breath but just loud enough for the camera to pick up—and for Minho to giggle.

"Y/N, I miss Y/N. Can I go home to Y/N, please?" Changbin hiccups, slumping his head onto Hyunjin’s shoulder. Hyunjin’s eye twitches. "I wanna tell the pretty girl I love her."

Felix emerges from his silence with a fit of laughter, nearly spilling his beer all over the floor. "Weren't you just saying you didn’t want to tell her you loved her?"

Changbin whips his gaze forward, his eyes hardening into a very foggy glare. "Well, now I want to tell the pretty girl I love her," he states matter-of-factly, his eyes fluttering a bit, betraying just how drunk he is.

Felix’s amusement is transparent as he raises his beer in Changbin’s direction. "Somebody needs to bring him to Y/N and let him re-confess his undying love for her."

Seungmin has never jumped up so fast in his life; he’s mid-volunteer when Chan grabs the cuff of his sleeve again and yanks him right back on his ass. Seungmin collapses onto the couch, ready to spit a disrespectful insult at his elder, but he folds like a lawn chair when Chan shoots him that look.

"Seungmin, you are far too drunk to take him home, while I," he looks to the sky with regret, "am very regretfully sober." Chan sounds like he’s going through the five stages of grief in one sentence.

"Okay, buddy, I’m taking you home," Chan grunts, clapping the drunken boy on the back. Changbin beams like he just heard there was a cure for cancer.

"Hell yeah!" He jumps up, only to stumble slightly, the patio swimming in his vision as he catches himself on Hyunjin’s forehead. When he finally, barely stabilizes himself, he throws his hands up. "See y’all bitches later! I—” he dramatically points to his chest in pride, “—am going to see my girl," he declares and marches straight out the door. Chan is mid-goodbye hug turned introspection with Felix, wondering what he’s doing with his life, when he hears a loud shatter in the hallway. Chan falls out of Felix’s arms immediately, his stride turned sprint. 

"Son of a bitch, Changbin, that was my favorite vase!"

ᡣ𐭩

“Go ahead, tell the pretty girl how much you love her,” you tease, playfully mimicking kissy faces while simultaneously poking Changbin’s crumpled form, his boiling cheeks sandwiched between his knees.

Why did Minho have to send you that video? But most of all, why did he have to send it while Changbin was still hungover? All this humiliation can’t be good for his headache.

Changbin groans, falling back on the bed to pull a pillow over his scorching face. The fact that the whole mattress hasn’t burst into flames is truly beyond him. Giggles pour from your lips, even as they settle atop his stomach, leaving kisses all the way up his torso. You can hear his flustered pants from down here.

“Okay, that’s enough bullying for one day,” you say, straddling his waist to snake your arms around his waist, pressing your chests flush together. Your teeth graze his shoulder, softly biting the flesh. “Come on, baby, take the pillow off your face.” You press your smile against his shirt before resting your chin on his chest.

He peeks out from under the pillow, tugging it down just enough to reveal his eyes, still reluctant to fully reveal himself. You bat your lashes at him, pouting ever so slightly. He folds—like a damn lawn chair, at this point, he’s practically collapsing in on himself with how much he’s folded. His face melts into a grin as he finally pulls the pillow down.

He so regrets that.

Your face lights up with laughter as you take in his beet-red cheeks, your eyes disappearing into crinkled slits. “I’m sorry, I just... I just can’t,” you cackle, doubling over in heaves.

“I hate you,” Changbin shouts, flustered, smacking you square in the side of the head with the pillow. It does nothing to quell your amusement; in fact, it only makes it worse.

“That’s not what you said last night,” you snort, falling off him as you kick your feet against the sheets.

Despite his urge to tie a millstone around his ankle and jump off the face of the earth, he can’t help but smile, caught in an unusual state of awe. Your mouth is boxy, laughter filling the air like strands of warm honey.

“Apparently, you think about me a lot,” you snicker, still rolling around. his smile only spreads wider.

If only you knew how much he thought of you.

ᡣ𐭩 hyunjin + painting perfectly captured portraits of you

“Hold still for me, baby,” Hyunjin whispers, his voice low and intimate, as he lightly drags his brush down the length of your arm, adding the final touches to your portrait. His gaze traces your bare body, memorizing every inch until even the freckle on the upper left side of your waist is drawn onto the inside of his eyelids. The valley of your breasts trembles with each labored breath, your muscles tightening against the couch where you lay.

“I’m really trying, Jinnie, but it hurts,” you whine, fighting to keep your head steady. Your boyfriend lets out a breathy laugh, savoring one final glance at your naked form. With careful precision, he drags the sharpest part of his brush down your thigh, finishing the entire painting with his favorite peice of you.

“Done,” Hyunjin murmurs, settling back into his chair with a satisfied smile, admiring the art he’s just created. Usually when he painted, there was always something he hated about his work—whether it's the proportions or the colors were slightly out of harmony—it was never good enough. but when he paints you, there's never an issue; for he could capture you with children's finger paints, and you'd still find a way to look utterly breathtaking.

“Let me see,” you squeal, jumping up from the uncomfortable spot you’d claimed on his couch. A faint blush appears on his face as he turns the easel around, unraveling his heart before you. And oh, when he does—you collapse into his arms, all your strength diffused into a shuddering gasp. He had dipped his brush into your soul, and with every meticulous stroke, he gathered the very essence of your heart. It was almost unreal how perfect he made you appear to be—your moles speckled across your skin in gold, dusted like stars; your stretch marks adorned in silver, shining like slips of light.

How are you not sobbing right now??

“Is it okay?” he asks, bashfully wrapping his arms around your naked waist, completely unfazed by your current state of undress.

“Hyunjin, this is more than okay,” you sniffle, voice crackling with emotion. You turn to meet his gaze, only for his palms cradle your cheeks with a touch so tender, it's barely there. One second, you’re breathing; the next, you’re transcending, existing only between his lips.

By the time you come up for air, the world around you has changed. He’s on top of you now, his hands resting on either side of your head, thoughts long forgotten. He moves closer, allowing whisps of his hair to tickle the sensitive flesh of your neck; for his lips to settle upong the delicate curve of your collarbone. He doesn’t stop—he doesn’t stop until the sun kisses your skin, until the sky is filled with the very stars he painted upon your skin.

Only in love and art are you eternal and in hyunjin, with hyunjin, you are both. 

ᡣ𐭩 han + hiding messages into every song he produces

"In every lifetime," a heartfelt promise whispered between shuttering breaths. Han's lips parted, your tongue savoring his astonished gasp. "What did you say?" quickly transformed into "Did you mean it?" when you had tenderly threaded your fingers into his hair, the pad of your thumb settling just under his jaw. Your needy hands had fogged his head, but he never forgot it.

"In every lifetime," you had uttered many moons later, nestled underneath the stretch of midnight sky. The universe had stilled, all of time and space screeching to a deafening halt. You unraveled the scrolls of his soul, and with the eternal vow of "I do," swore forever. So, he, for however long he may live, intends to hold you to that promise.

From: Hannie 🐿 Do not by any means play my new song!!!

From: Hannie 🐿 Im serious!!

From: Hannie 🐿 Promise me Y/N!!!

You giggle at his earnestness, clicking the notification to message him back.

From: My Wife ❤ I won't I promise!

From: My Wife ❤ Scouts honor 🫡

You admired Han's dedication to his craft, but what you admired most was his need to share every single part of it with you.

"You didn't listen to the song, did you?" Han calls out from the foyer, slamming the front door behind him. He urgently throws off his shoes, his heavy footsteps following him all the way up the stairs. Your mirth bubbles up behind a bitten grin, lip firmly tucked between your teeth.

"No!" you shout back, feigning indifference; though when he swings your bedroom door open, you’re overcome with breathy giggles—his hair is tossed around at all angles, puffed cheeks pink and gasping.

Now that was the man you fell in love with.

"Somebody's eager," you tease, chucking your phone somewhere on the bed. His eyes are oddly fearful when you lift yourself up from the comforter, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek. His chest heaves, breath labored and shaky; flighty fingers find the knot of his tie, yanking it loose. You reel your head back. Since when does he wear a tie? You flick your gaze down his figure. Since when does he wear suits?? Your confusion only festers as he lets out an anxious chuckle, wringing his hands like wet rags.

"You have no idea." You didn’t know—didn’t know what he was about to risk. His heart was clay in your hands, and with the delicacy of a butterfly's wing, you pressed your fingerprints into his skin. For now, through touch alone, his soul will find you in every lifetime; but first, he must promise you himself in this one, and that appeared to be an impossible feat.

It's now or never, he tells himself.

So, with an arduous breath, he steadies his quivering hands just long enough to slip his phone out of his back pocket. Was it just him, or is it suddenly really hot in here? He swipes to YouTube. Why was it getting so hard to breathe?? He presses play. His heart somersaults its way down to his stomach when the opening melody echoes from the speakers. Your brows lift, lips pursing in your signature concentrated quirk. His mouth forms around a smile, breathing getting marginally easier, but that peace is short-lived as the chorus begins—only then does he feel the symptoms of real fear.

In every lifetime, his warm voice melts from the speaker.

A falling star just shot from space and hit you directly in the chest, rendering you utterly speechless; even as your gaze finds his glassy eyes, you just can’t believe it.

In every lifetime you swore.

It’s just too perfect.

So, for as long as I may live, I wanna be yours.

He’s just too perfect.

In every lifetime I'll dip my knee down.

There’s no way.

And yet he sinks to one knee, slipping a velvet box from the confines of his pocket. Your hands make purchase around your mouth, stifling a wet cry.

In every lifetime I'll ask to be yours.

"Y/N L/N, will you marry me?"

You drop to your knees, tears tracing cordate-shaped rivulets down your cheeks. "Yes, Han, I'll marry you! I'll marry you!"

Your lips swear forever as they land on his, and that promise echoes far into lifetime number twelve.

ᡣ𐭩 felix + giving you gum wrapper hearts

Lee Felix was stupid in love, heavy on the stupid, figuring he was about to start World War Three to get that gum wrapper out of Seungmin’s hand.

“Please,” Felix begs, drawing out the "e" in an obnoxious whine.

Felix has been professing his love for you through gum wrapper hearts for about as long as he’s been chewing gum, so he is going to be damned if he lets one gum wrapper gets away without meeting his fingers first. Seungmin’s eyes harden into an frustrated glare, about two seconds away from punching a pizza-sized hole in his best friend’s face.

“You know, the more that you beg me for this wrapper, the more I don’t want to give it to you,” he deadpans, voice flat with irritation. Felix throws his head back in an ear-splitting groan.

“Whyyy not??”

“Oh my gosh, Seungmin, just give him the damn wrapper,” Chan interjects, exasperated.

“Yeah, listen to Chan. Give Felix the wrapper,” Felix teases, laying his chin on his hand, fluttering his lashes with a shit-eating grin. Seungmin clenches his jaw, crumpling up the foil—much to poor Lixie’s dismay.

“Did you see that, Chan?! Seungmin crumpled my wrapper!” Seungmin squeezes it harder. “Look! Do you see that, Chan?! Seungmin is bullying me!” Chan sighs, digging a knuckle into his eye. He is about five seconds away from sticking both grown toddlers in time out.

“Seungmin, for the sake of my sanity, give Felix the damn gum wrapper.” The fact that he actually had to tell two full-fledged adults that was truly beyond him, yet here he was.

“It’s the principle of it, old man—” As soon as the words leave his lips, Seungmin wants to stuff them right back in. Chan grits his teeth, steam practically whistling from his ears.

Oh, crap.

“You little—” Chan dives for Seungmin, to which he squeals, ducking from his elder’s hand, gearing up to smack him square in the forehead. In the clamber of movements, he ends up dropping the beloved wrapper. Felix lets out a squeal of excitement, lunging for the foil. When the crumpled aluminum sits in his hands, he has never felt so rewarded in his entire life, smiling like he just won a million bucks.

Almost out of muscle memory, he begins smoothing it out, folding up all the right corners. He beams, stuffing the little token into his pocket, fingers itching to give it to you later.

“Thanks, Seungmin,” Felix smirks, taking a proud sip of his drink. Seungmin manages to stick his tongue out while trapped in a headlock.

“You suck,” he wheezes, throwing weak slaps onto Chan's bicep. Felix giggles, his phone buzzing against his jeans. Felix quite literally drops everything to pick it up, his heart singing the same song as your special ringtone.

From: My world 💙 Look, baby, isn’t it so beautiful? I took the pic while I was on my way to work. I actually swerved off the road to take the picture, haha. Just wanted to share it with you. Love you, baby!! [Image.png]

When he clicks the image, his phone is flooded with the most breathtaking view. The sky is stained like melting ice cream, cotton candy colors that burst around your hair, though that isn’t what Felix is looking at—he is looking at you. The moment he looks into your lopsided smile, Cupid shoots him all over again.

From: My star-light 🌟 Wow.

From: My star-light 🌟 No words.

From: My star-light 🌟 I didn’t know my girlfriend could look so stunning.

From: My star-light 🌟 Oh, wait, there was a sunset back there somewhere.

From: My star-light 🌟 Yeah, that was pretty too.

From: My star-light 🌟 Are we still on for tonight?? I miss youuu.

From: My world 💙 Oh my gosh, Lix, you’re making me blush, haha.

Seungmin chokes somewhere in the background. Felix doesn’t notice. Felix is submerged in the silky ocean of rose-colored love.

From: My world 💙 Of course we are!!

From: My world 💙 I miss you too, baby!!

From: My world 💙 Literally can’t wait to see you.

Felix is mid-text when his friends suddenly turn bright red, clambering to untangle themselves from the mess of limbs they got themselves stuck in. Felix doesn’t realize the reason Chan is suddenly fixing his hair or Seungmin is unruffling his shirt is because two of the most stunning women just walked past them. Felix was too focused on making time move faster.

ᡣ𐭩

Felix has never been to space, though he can accurately say that he has tasted the sky.

He sips the stars off your lips, every shared breath an inhale of the galaxy. Felix knows that somewhere, someplace time exists, but not here, not now, not with the blades of grass lacing through his hair; not when he’s pressing your chest flush against his, rolling around on the ground until the night sky is kissing the earth in his vision. Your laughs are buried in his neck when he gets too dizzy to continue, littering kisses on the sensitive flesh there. You pull away for only a moment, brushing a rogue strand of hair off his brow. You smile, dipping to press a soft peck to the tip of his nose.

The two of you had crept into this darkened backyard hours ago; you proposing a date under the stars only to share them between your lips instead. You have been locked in this position for lifetimes, and Felix has no plan to stop.

His palms lift to graze your cheeks before sealing your mouths together again. His soft laugh puffs against the seam of your lips, his smile curving against your own. “God, I am so in love with you.”

He was; he so, so, so was.

He was so in love with you, he had almost forgotten about his gift. Key word: almost.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he gasps, chasing your warmth when he pulls away, sitting up.

“What?” you playfully whine, biting back a grin, settling your hips against his thighs. He chuckles, poking a finger into his pocket, fishing out the gum wrapper heart.

“I know it’s not perfect,” he whispers, cupping something in his palm, “but I hope you still like it.” He rolls his fingers out bashfully, offering you the crinkled silver heart. He bites his lip, a faint blush falling over the apples of his cheeks. The little gift was by no means perfect; it was ripped, wrinkled, and just a little lopsided. Yet you can’t help the fondness that explodes in your chest. Still cradling the heart with care, you throw your arms around his neck, tackling him to the ground. Your chest flush against his, he grunts when you land upon the earth, smacking slobbery kisses all over his face. You don’t stop, not until he is flipping you over, now attacking you with equally wet kisses. Your giggles live in the balmy summer air.

To you, he was the sun; but to him, you were the universe 

ᡣ𐭩 seungmin + buying you a bouquet every time the old ones wilt

October 11th, 2020.

That was the last time your apartment smelled like something other than florals. That was also the first time Seungmin had ever bought you flowers—a simple gift for your one-year anniversary that spiraled into a four-year tradition. You don’t ever talk about it, and he certainly denies it, when you thank him for how the wilting tulips magically evolved into beautiful daylilies. You find it endearing, the faint blush that falls over his cheeks when he tries to convince you that it wasn’t him.

Now that you think about it, your white roses did seem to have a little bit of brown on them yesterday.

Mid-wipe of the bathroom counter, you rush down the stairs, almost sliding into the kitchen in your socks. Without fail, there they were: bright red tulips, replacing the withering roses that had been in the vase earlier. A spreading grin pulls at your lips as you check the stove clock, quickly connecting the dots.

You had been cleaning the bathroom most of the evening, your earbuds blocking the world out. He had probably heard you humming from upstairs, choosing the perfect time to sneak in through the door. You squeal, sprinting up the stairs to throw open your bedroom door. You expect to find him lounging on the bed, but instead, you find him below it, cradling a square object in his hands. His head whips around, panic falling over his features. He slams the lid shut before fumbling to shove it right back under the bed, much to your dismay.

“Hey, what?” You yelp, diving for the box. Seungmin blocks you, accidentally knocking it out of his hands, unfurling its contents all over the floor.

It looks like a garden just threw up in your bedroom.

Hundreds, thousands of differently shaped petals are scattered on your floor, tufts of colorful memories spread out like a silky scroll. First, you freeze. Then, you gasp; your muscles thawing like a flower unfurling in the snow. It hits you slowly, blossoming in your chest and spilling from your eyes—Seungmin hasn’t been throwing away the flowers he bought you. He’s been collecting them.

You didn’t realize you were crying—not until you spoke—“Seungmin, what is this?”—then you heard it, your voice withering and wet. When you finally go to meet his gaze, he can’t seem to look at you, tilting his head down in shame.

“W-Well I-I’ve just…” he begins, trailing off with a rub of his burning neck. “Fuck, this is going to sound so stupid,” he flushes, staring down at the single yellow petal that fluttered onto his folded thighs. Suddenly, Seungmin feels your thumb brushing over his knuckles, and something shoots through his skin, something that straightens his spine and evens his breathing.

“I-I’ve um…” This was harder than he thought it would be. “Been collecting them for a while now, I wanted to keep them for when we get married. Wanted to scatter them down the aisle…”

His voice gets smaller with every word, sinking into himself as though that will make the gravity of the sentence less exposed, less raw. For a second, as silence stretches between you, Seungmin feels so stupid, embarrassment painting his cheeks red. You must think he’s such a fool, must think he’s crazy for ever believing he could marry you—his thoughts stop the moment your lips meet his, palms pressed firmly against his cheeks.

“I love you,” you whisper in between breaths, kissing him until it feels like you can’t kiss anymore; until he falls back upon the feathery bed made of magnolias and memories; until, with a star-lit sigh, he pulls away, untucking the red of a dried rose tangled above your brow. Even surrounded by God's most beautiful creations, he can’t bring his gaze to fall from yours, your eyes and all the mesmerizing sparkles they hold.

Seungmin couldn’t trace the exact moment he fell in love with you. Rather, it bloomed slowly over time, a feeling that took root; wrapping around the slabs of his ribs.

With you, he grew, and all of a sudden, with every breath he inhales, he finds you fluttering in his chest. At first, it terrified him. Though, now he knows—some gardens never die.

ᡣ𐭩 jeongin + stalking your goodreads profile to annotate your favorite books

“So, you’re a stalker, huh?” you muse, brushing your palm over Jeongin’s shoulder, which was clearly not a good idea, cause no sooner do you make contact is he jumping twenty feet out of his skin. You throw your hands up when he swivels around, ripping off his headphones like they were going to materialize into a baseball bat.

“Crap, y/n, you scared the hell out of me,” Jeongin pants, a relieved smile pulling on his cheeks; grateful that the intruder was indeed his girlfriend and not a 6-foot-tall man in a scream mask. For a second, he wonders if you’re possessed, a lopsided smirk playing on your lips while you tweak out, kind of laughing, kind of nodding, kind of looking like you need an exorcism. Then it hits him. Hits him like a 200-pound dump truck, rendering him breathless once more. He puts Flash to shame by how fast he slams his laptop shut, scrunching his face in cringe. The laugh you let out is devastating, a full-belly guffaw that makes you double over, stumbling straight into his arms.

For a second, when the lamplight hits you just right, Jeongin has to stop.

His breath catches in his throat, taking all of you in. There you were, with your hair falling in messy tangles, your eyelids slightly smudged in black, your smile boxy and sun-bright, you were perfect, and you were sitting on his lap. If you didn’t start talking, he would have stared at you for hours—probably would have started drooling as well.

“So, this is how you’ve known all my favorite books, huh?” you tease, wrapping your arms around his neck. It takes him a hot second to gather himself, heart fluttering at the newfound proximity.

He stuffs his head into your neck, the heat of his cheeks burning into your skin. “Yeah…is that weird?”

“Is it weird?? Yang Jeongin, I’m pretty sure you just inadvertently proposed to me,” you reply, your tone light-hearted though you're dead serious.

“What?” He chuckles with a shy smile, leaning back.

“Yeah, I mean, you stalk your girlfriend’s Goodreads profile to read and annotate her TBR list. That is a proposal. I don’t make the rules.”

“Is that so?” he smirks, inching forward, your noses brushing together.

“Yeah,” you whisper, hot breath fanning across his lips, you lean in, finally sealing your mouths shut. Jeongin groans, your thumb swiping the nape of his neck. His heart pounds with a thousand different translations of 'I love you'.

“How many?”

He hums, slamming back down to earth, still a little bit dizzy.

“How many books have you bought?”

That sobers him up.

His eyes widen slightly before he bashfully chuckles, awkwardly scratching his ear. “Oh, uh…not that many.”

“Can I see them?” He’s two seconds from saying no, until you brush your lips against his cheeks, then his forehead, then the sides of his eyes, before, finally, he is tasting your grin instead, “Please?”

Well, how can he say no now?

He fiddles with the bottom of your shirt, biting his lip before sighing and pointing under his bed. “They’re all under there.”

You squeal, clambering off him to dive at the foot of his bed, sticking your hands into the dusty abyss below. It doesn’t take you but five seconds to find the box, though it takes you 5 minutes to actually pull the damn thing out, feeling more like a dead body than dead trees.

However, when you flip open the lid, the struggle is all worth it. Your jaw drops. Jeongin’s stomach flips upside down.

"Yang Jeongin, there’s no way..." You peer at him through dewy lashes, there had to be at least fifty books in this container. "You were planning on giving me all of these?"

"Well, yeah. Just...when I had enough time to annotate them."

"You've already given me like 10. How have you found enough time to read them?"

"I read them every night before I go to bed."

"And annotate them?"

He clears his throat, a faint blush falling over his cheeks like rose petals. "Yes."

"Where did you get the money for all this? These books have to have been like a thousand dollars."

"My check had just come in, and I knew how much you liked to read... I just wanted to do something nice for you. Why is this starting to feel kind of like an interrogation? Are you mad? Is this, like, really weird?" Jeongin can feel his eyes widen, anxiously shifting in place.

“One more question,” you step forward, pinching his chin between your thumb and forefinger. He shutters when you make contact, gaze fluttering down. Jeongin expects you to laugh, maybe demand that he takes them back, or the worst of them all tell him he’s too obsessed. What he doesn’t expect you to do is drag him forward, and smash your lips together.

“How are you so perfect?” you exhale, puffing onto his lips like a breath of his own. He was going to show you how, he was going to show you how all night long.

ᡣ𐭩

If you thought he was perfect then you definitely think he is perfect now.

The sun slips through the curtains, dyeing your sweaty skin in gold; your mouth is nuzzled into his neck, lashes tickling his skin every time you shift. He draws phantom circles over your naked waist, savoring this moment, soaking your body in until he can remember the feel of your form through memory alone. You stir, feeling his heartbeat pick up.

It must have been a dream that urged you to say it, because somewhere, on the edge of sleep, you murmur, “What’s your favorite story?”

He didn’t have to think about the answer, not when he had thought about it a million times before. Without hesitation, Jeongin whispers, “Ours.”

(I rushed tf out of some of these I'm sorry)

[kabukiaku]

The Summoning of Mist. Yes, I was very much inspired by Mike Mignola's Hellboy artwork.

Pasting my headcanon here to explain and bonus art:

the reason her summoning was so traumatic was due to it almost failing. she was summoned by a lake near the ministry. that same said being infamous as a 'portal to hell' due to the number of deaths and murders (both supernatural and human caused) that have happened there. Right after emerging from the Pit, she was getting pulled back, feeling the actual sensation of drowning like a mortal. Mist was encountering the lost souls begging her to liberate them. Omega was in the scene while this went down and was able to pull her out in time. Both Terzo and Omega came in close to comfort the new ghoulette. and once after she calmed down, did they get to know her name and such. (hence why in that one drawing you see how paternal Terzo is, and how serious Omega looks)

to add on: because of this, Mist often has nightmares of what she encountered that night she was summoned. she fears large bodies of water, which ironic for a water ghoul, but can you blame her?

[vomitspit2]

went to the doctor and came back with the test results on jade leech. (headcanons/exploration from canon)

1. doesn’t like strong scents and stays away from most colognes/perfumes. if he is going out to a certain high-quality function, he might wear body mists or perfume oils to give off a certain air of maturity. finds anything heavier than those two alternatives gives him a migraine. a book that would interest yet disgust him is perfume: the story of a murder by patrick süskind.

1.2. despite the constant ‘i must cut off my nose if i smell anything stronger than a candle’ feeling he carries with him, he really does enjoy the plain smell of his loved ones. just a whiff of floyd or azul’s sweat and his own tension melts away. would bury his nose in their neck throughout the day for a quick refresher if he wasn’t so guarded around the public’s eye.

2. picked up his potionology expertise from azul. when they were kids, they often brewed potions together to give certain ‘poor unfortunate souls’ their end of the bargain when azul’s UM was still underdeveloped. azul was always a little bitter his potions never turned out as flawless as jade’s and jade is aware of this sentiment.

3. is known to take strolls around campus after hours and often finds himself caught in conversation with the ghosts in the portraits. during the daytime, jade will exchange a few pleasantries with them — which does not make sense to azul or floyd because he’s never interacted with them before?? how are they on such good terms?? jade likes to keep them both in the dark for how the relationship between him and the portrait ghosts was fostered.

3.2. speaking on his strolls, jade often spies malleus doing the same thing yet has yet to make conversation with the young prince. it is not out of fear but rather respect for knowing when one is enjoying their peace. jade often regards malleus with the sentiment of most teenage girls have for their favorite characters: i need to put him under a microscope.

4. his first meal with mushrooms added (lets place him around first year, after winter break) made him violently sick. it was one that he had picked on his own during a night walk, and he added it into a soup because he has seen (yet not tried) those served in the cafeteria like so. due to them being so poorly undercooked, it caused major gastric problems for him. since then, he’s been enthralled and smitten with fungi <3

4.2. speaking on the note of him being sick, i imagine he really enjoys the sensation. now! he doesn’t purposely get sick, that would ruin the ‘authenticity’ of it. but he enjoys the feeling of his body under the weather, something different from the normal 98.0 Fahrenheit, somehow a virus has slipped through his clean and disinfected body and that’s exhilarating.

5. his hair bounces up and has cowlicks in it exactly like floyd’s does. he takes to gently combing and gelling down those in the morning, but when he takes off his octavinelle hat, some will resurface over time. every time floyd goes to ruffle his hair, his wrist is swiftly caught and squeezed by a gloved hand.

6. is known to like quiet, dark, and cold places. it is hard to find such places in a college like night raven but mostro lounge’s walk-in freezer has all THREE of these attributes. has on more than one occasion scared an employee because he sits in the corner, doing homework in the pitch-black dark, and all they can see is the light from his left eye. his reputation keeps anyone from seeing this as odd rather than sinister.

7. is most certainly lying about his UM. always the wolf in sheep’s clothing, he likes to be seen as helpless and he adores being underestimated. sniffle sniffle poor me, my UM only works on one person at a time sniffle sniffle and it is not even a guaranteed thing.

8. has a vigorous appetite and enjoys a wide variety of foods, but has found his favorite fruit to be oranges. he enjoys the sensation of opening them and peeling slice by slice. additionally, vitamin C promotes healthy blood vessel function which works well for a jade with POTS, a headcanon siphoned off this ao3 work.

9. since he does not have the perfect memory like his twin brother, he takes to writing down information about the student body in multiple folders. is always on the lookout for new information and slipping secrets that people whisper in the hallways.

9.2. sometimes gets distracted listening in on other people’s conversation if a topic piques his interest. if he is in a conversation with another person while this happens, he turns it on them, maybe you weren’t paying attention to him … how rude of you.

10. homestretch … last headcanon … [pukes blood and dies before i can say it]

[jasmineandcedar]

The bargain

An Elriel one-shot (Elain’s POV).

This one-shot is inspired by @violetasteracademic's beautiful theory post about Azriel and Elain’s future bargain. You’ll find her post here.

My headcanon is that they can choose where to put their bargain tattoos, although it doesn’t seem like they can from canon. But if they could, this is one way I imagine Elain and Azriel entering a bargain could play out during a clandestine meeting in the townhouse garden…

I had so much fun writing this, although dialogue is difficult for me as English is not my native language. But I decided it was time to give it a go! I hope someone might like this as much as I liked writing it.

Warning: Fluff, kissing, sexual undertones.

-----

Elain laid sprawled across the soft grass of the townhouse garden. She knew there would probably be grass stains on her dusty pink dress. She didn’t mind that at all. That was one of the points of lying in the grass, after all. She had never liked when things were too perfect. She had secretly collected many grass stains throughout the years. Some of her favourites were the ones she had obtained during the times she spent in this particular garden with a particular shadowsinger, basking in the warmth of the sun.

She had left her shoes inside to feel the gentle touch of the lush grass under her feet. Her eyes were closed, afternoon sunlight caressing her skin like a warm blanket of the most delicate silk. The unique warmth of sunlight had a way of making her feel weightless, like she became part of the surroundings.

She opened her eyes just in time to see two starlings twirl and dance across the blue sky above, seamlessly shifting between sailing on the summer breeze and beating their wings with a cadence only nature could inspire. The hydrangea shrubs swayed in the gentle breeze to that same cadence. Heavy blossoms of crisp white weighed down their delicate branches, soft streams of hazy afternoon sunlight seeping through them to throw gentle shade across the warm grass.

Elain closed her eyes again and let the sound of the softly swaying shrubs and the delicate floral scents of the early summer blossoms connect with her senses.

Then, of course, there were those undertones of night-chilled mist and cedar, which could only mean one thing.

Azriel was sprawled on his side next to her, his head resting on a tattooed arm. Elain opened her eyes and turned to lie on her side to face him. Even surrounded by the wonders of the natural world, he was the most wondrous of them all. His dark hair caught the sunlight like a raven’s wing under moonlight. The black of his tattoos unfurled across his arms like intricate tree roots weaving across unscathed earth. His wings of jet black were sprawled gracefully behind him, illuminated by reds and golds in the early summer sun.

But most wondrous of all was that gentle soul of his that spoke to hers as tenderly as the stillness of early morning.

In this moment, sleep had finally found that gentle soul.

A soft breeze rippled through the rose bushes lining the walls of the town house, whispering of the blissfulness of early summer. It rustled lightly through Azriel’s dark hair. Elain studied his features. His lips were slightly parted, his breathing calm and slow. Rouge strands of midnight black fell across his brow, the furrow between them dissolved. He looked pristine in peaceful slumber against the floral backdrop. It was rare to find him so relaxed and for a moment Elain’s heart ached. She felt the vision of him softening her already melting heart.

How long they stayed like that she didn’t know. It could have been eons. She would have liked to stay there for eons. Maybe by then things would have changed, and a female’s choice would be enough to dictate her future.

She had made her choice already. She was looking at him.

It was unfortunate that the only acceptable choice was the one that was no choice at all.

If her choice wasn’t enough, she wished there was some other way to unravel the fabric of fate. She wanted to put a needle in it and stitch her own path across it. She was surrounded by bonds, magic, and threads but all of them seemed to just tie her in place.

Threads.

Something was tugging at her memory. A conversation Feyre had with her and Nesta shortly after they were Made.

Not threads...

Bindings. Magical ties.

Bargains.

Feyre had warned her of Fae bargains. Magical bargains that bound souls to each other, with the threat of great danger should the bargain be broken. Why Elain thought of that now she had no idea. Perhaps it was the Mother herself that gave her the idea. Or perhaps it was wishful thinking—the wish that love could trump a mating bond making her hope for things that could never be. Some would say she should have banished such foolish fantasies long ago.

But she hadn’t. Wouldn’t.

And perhaps this was it. Perhaps she could spin a new thread, superseding the stitches of fate.

Her heart soared at the thought.

Perhaps love could trump a mating bond. Her love, who was sleeping peacefully in front of her in the garden they had made theirs.

“Love,” she whispered, watching him carefully. Something stirred in the shadowsinger.

She was bursting with the need to tell him. But she couldn’t bring herself to wake him. So, she forced the thoughts aside as she waited for him to wake up. If being Made had robbed her of choice, it had given her plenty of time. They were immortal after all, a concept that had been so inconceivable from the human perspective she hadn’t yet fully grasped it.

She could wait until he woke up.

As if he had sensed her excitement, Azriel stirred again. Slowly his eyes fluttered open and Elain was met with a sleepy smile.

“Hello,” she whispered.

She let one hand travel slowly across the soft grass in the space between them.

“Hello,” he answered in a drowsy, tender voice. His hand mirrored the movements of hers.

There was freedom in the quiet collision of their fingers. The thrill of feeling his skin brush against hers was another form of weightlessness—an even better one.

“Let’s make a bargain,” Elain whispered after a few moments of silence.

“What?” Azriel said dazedly, still in that blissful space between sleep and awareness that had that sleepy smile plastered across his features. His hazel eyes moved lazily from her fingers grazing his hand to look into her eyes.

“A bargain,” she repeated.

Silence.

He blinked hard, in a way that made him scrunch his nose. Elain felt butterflies taking flight in her chest.

When he opened his eyes again, realization seemed to have dawned on him, and he narrowed his eyes to study Elain’s features.

“You do know about Fae bargains, right?”

“I do,” Elain said. “Feyre told me.”

Azriel reached out a hand to touch her shoulder. He retrieved it, holding his index finger in the air between them, eyes focused on the ladybug that was climbing up his scarred finger.

“And you know about the consequences of not upholding one?” He asked hesitantly, his eyes flickering to Elain’s before returning to the ladybug.

“I do.” She responded, following the ladybug's ascent.

“And you are aware the bargain will be marked on your body in ink?” he continued.

“I am.”

“It won’t fade until the bargain is fulfilled,” he stated plainly, his gaze returning to study Elain as the ladybug took flight, aiming for the rose bushes lining the walls of the townhouse.

“I know that too.”

“And you want to make a bargain,” he said slowly.

“I want to make a bargain with you,” Elain corrected him. She reached out her hand and swept an ebony curl from his forehead.

They watched each other in silence. She knew there were 500 years of relentless restraint battling his heart in that moment. She waited until he was ready to speak.

Finally, he laced his fingers with hers again and broke the silence.

“Let’s make a bargain then,” he echoed, curiously indulging in her peculiar pursuit. Something sparkled in his usually shadowed eyes—shadows that were nowhere to be seen now.

It was perhaps a little mad, to enter into a magical bargain on a whim. But the normally prudent shadowsinger had a soft spot for the lovely seer. Elain knew it and treated it with great care.

“What do you have in mind?” he asked.

His thumb stroked hers gently. Elain knew of the demons he had battled to be able to do that.  These days, he seemed to be winning that battle.

She looked around. Her eyes fell upon the rose bushes. Then at the wrought-iron table beside them, where she had sat with a cup of tea as Azriel sprawled on the chaise longue, sunning his wings, that first time he had taken her to the garden. Two chubby house sparrows were strutting around the area beneath the table now, looking for even more sustenance to satiate them. She smiled. That first time in the garden she had no idea how much Azriel would come to mean to her. But those rose bushes were a constant reminder of where it all had started.

“How about this,” she started and inched a little closer to him in the grass, feeling as though she was about to convey something very secret.

He would always let her have the last word. So, she weighed her words carefully.

“Whenever we see a rose, we will think of each other,” she suggested, chestnut eyes wide.

He hesitated for a moment.

“As long as there are roses you will always be bound to that bargain,” he whispered. “It can’t be fulfilled.”

“Are you saying I would be tied to you as long as there are roses in the world?” Elain asked.

Azriel’s eyes fell upon their intertwined fingers.

“That’s one way of putting it,” he said slowly, a smile crawling up the side of his face.

“Then I’ll make sure there are always roses in the world.” Elain said through a smile of her own. “I’ve been told I’m very good at planting things and keeping them alive.”

“That, you are.” It was his turn to swipe a rouge strand of golden-brown from her face. She felt her skin warm at his tender touch.

His fingers lingered, caressing her cheek. He bit his bottom lip as his gaze landed on that blush that was undoubtedly spreading across her cheeks. Elain had always found her tendency to blush a particularly bothersome one. Azriel seemed to think otherwise.

His eyes were on hers again.

“How will you explain that you suddenly have a tattoo?” he murmured.

“I don’t intend to show it.” She smirked and saw it mirrored on his beautiful features.

“Sneaky seer,” he said lovingly through his smirk as he grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“I could put it under my foot,” Elain mused.

Azriel chuckled softly. “Clever.”

Then he leaned over, and Elain felt herself fall back into the soft grass.

“Oh, goodness,” she gasped softly.

“Indeed,” said the still smirking shadowsinger.

Suddenly Elain was looking up into his hazel eyes. The dark hair falling on his brow contrasted with the blue summer sky above them, like the blue windflowers she had only seen in books, with their dark centers and delicate blue petals. Leaning on an elbow, he swept his free hand into her hair. His thumb drew soft strokes along her cheek as his eyes travelled over her features. Elain’s hand moved to gently rest on the back of his before her eyes fluttered close. Her lips parted in a silent yes to his invitation. She felt his breath gently whisper along her cheek before he moved to press a tender kiss to her lips in the way that always made her heart flutter.

“Any other ideas?” he husked, voice vibrating against her lips.

Another kiss.

There was no demand in his kisses when he kissed like this—when he kissed her like it was the first time. Not in the way his eyes closed before he slanted his mouth over hers and slowly, tenderly, pressed their lips together. Nor in the smooth rhythm of his movements, like the quiet pulsing of waves against the sunny shore. When Azriel kissed like this, his kisses were slow and enticing, intimate and inviting—a polite question mark at the end of a mischievous suggestion of something he knew they both desired. That desire, which they so rarely got to act on, swirled between them. It tangled around them like grapevines reaching for the sunlight, full of sweet fruit ready to be picked and tasted.

They deepened the kiss, falling into their perfect rhythm. Just like they did when he so often led her into a slow dance even without music to guide them. Under starry skies, safe from watchful eyes.

Elain felt his body settle against hers, their lips locked in dance like those starlings that twirled in the summer sky. She raised her fingers to graze the sensitive skin of his neck and felt him shudder at the touch.

She wanted to explore all the ways she could make Azriel shudder.

Slowly, she let her fingers travel upwards into those soft curls of midnight black. She could swear he was smiling. She knew she was.

His hand moved to tenderly stroke her neck before he leaned back slightly, lingering in the space where their lips barely touched. His nose brushed gently against hers.

It was so quiet, as if time itself had stopped, just so they could have this moment undisturbed.

“Mmm...” he murmured softly against her lips, and she felt the smile on his. “You were saying?”

For a moment, Elain had forgotten all about bargains and tattoos, except the ones underneath his clothes.

She collected herself.

“Perhaps we could make the tattoo a tiny one behind my ear,” she whispered breathlessly, still caressing the back of his neck. She opened her eyes, only to feel that familiar warmth spread across her cheeks at the sight of him.

He leaned in again and pressed a kiss to that flush on her cheek, so featherlight that Elain almost shivered at the touch.

She let one equally featherlight finger glide down his neck in reciprocation.

“I think you can do better than that.” His voice was husky against her skin. His teeth nipped playfully at her bottom lip. “I can think of a few places.”

So could the lovely seer.

“Perhaps…” She paused and locked his gaze with hers in the way she secretly knew could bring him to his knees. “On my inner thigh.”

Azriel stilled, his face barely an inch away, eyes an unblinking swirl of hazel on hers. There was a storm beneath that calm surface. The slight shift in his scent gave it away.

“Yes,” he breathed, a little too quickly.

Excitement overtaking her, Elain pressed a hand against his chest to push him back into the grass. Azriel’s eyes widened at the sudden movement. But as they lay there on their sides again, face to face, she simply hooked her pinkie with his.

“Promise?”

He chuckled softly and hooked his pinkie with hers, eyebrows raised in puzzlement.

Nothing happened.

He watched her in silent amusement.

“I know about Fae bargains, but I don’t know the details of how you enter one,” she admitted. “I was told I shouldn’t do such things.”

Azriel laughed—quietly but unrestrained. Elain's breath caught as she took in the sight of him, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

She would kill another king to keep him laughing like this.

He bit his lower lip to collect himself.

“Is this how humans bargain?” he chuckled and wiggled his pinkie against hers.

“Some of them,” Elain said through laughter of her own. “How do we do it?”

“This… would work, actually,” he said in surprise, perhaps mostly to himself, as he watched their interlinked pinkies.

“Repeat the bargain,” he commanded, hooking his pinkie more firmly around hers.

“Whenever we see a rose, we will think of each other,” Elain recited, eyes widening in anticipation.

“Agreed,” he said.

She was still staring into those hazel eyes of his as she felt what could only be magic zap between them. It rippled through their interlinked fingers and spread through her entire body. She let out a gasp as she felt a tingle on her inner thigh.

A few silent seconds passed.

“Is it done?” she asked.

Azriel only inclined his head.

She scanned his body, the already tattooed golden-brown skin visible on his neck and arms.

“Where is your tattoo?” she asked.

“I guess you’ll have to find out,” he said through another smirk. “But perhaps not here, because I would have to take my clothes off.”

Once upon a time, she would have blushed at the suggestion.

Now she laughed.

And blushed.

The townhouse may not be used much these days, but there was no guarantee of privacy.

“You would take your clothes off for me elsewhere then?” she asked cheekily.

“It’s not like I haven’t done it before,” he said, flashing her a wicked grin.

Suddenly visions flashed before her eyes. Tanned skin under moonlight. Her back against his chest, his hand in her hair, lips on her neck and praise in her ear, the roll of his hips, and his name on her lips like a prayer.

Azriel.

Not visions. Memories.

His voice brought her back to the present.

“You only need to ask.”

Offer and permission.

She had a feeling he would do anything she asked of him. She vowed to never misuse that devotion. Azriel was far too precious to her for that.

After a long pause, his brows furrowed.

“Are there any roses that don’t look like normal roses?” he asked a little hesitantly. “What if I don’t recognize it’s a rose?”

“You will!” Elain said confidently. “I hear Fae bargains are very painful if you don’t adhere to them.”

She gave him a grave look before her smile broke free once more.

And there it was again. That unrestrained smile of his. She’d figure out all the ways to pull it out of him. She had come to find out she was quite good at that. Perhaps all that work in the gardens had taught her a thing or two about nurturing precious things to life in more ways than one. Those hazel eyes that hid so much kindness were made for smiles and laughter and love. She would make sure he knew of it.

There was also some self-indulgence in her desire to see more of that smile of his. But the way he stole glances from her, brushed his fingers against hers, or threw her wicked smirks when no one saw them had her thinking he wouldn’t mind that at all.

There was liberation in that smile.

For both of them.

“It won’t matter much, whether I know how to recognize all the roses of the world, I guess,” he said through that liberating smile of his after some contemplation, leaning over to pin her to the grass once more.

“It won’t?” Elain asked, running a hand through his hair.

He smiled against her neck as he spoke.

“I think about you all the time, anyway.”

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Any thoughts on the mystery behind the Veil of Death and the three brothers?

ana-lyz: So... What does it mean to be the Master of Death in HP universe? And like what does being MOD mean specifically for Harry?

Okay, funny thing is I got the first of your asks like an hour after I added to my drafts a post titled "Master of Death", so I was just thinking about it. And then I started answering it and you sent the second ask, so, great minds think alike, I guess.

Long post ahead:

The Veil, Death, and its Master

I'm going to cover what we know from the books, my opinions on it, and some of my evidence-based headcanons, since there is a lot of speculation on my part.

The Afterlife and the Veil

So, I wanna talk a bit about death, as it appears in the Harry Potter books. We know an afterlife exists in the HP world both when Harry dies and when he speaks to Nearly Headless Nick after Sirius dies.

I want to start with the scene in Deathly Hallows in the King's Cross limbo. Specifically these few sections:

Barely had the wish formed in his head than robes appeared a short distance away. He took them and put them on. They were soft, clean, and warm. It was extraordinary how they had appeared just like that, the moment he had wanted them. . . . He stood up, looking around. Was he in some great Room of Requirement?

(DH, 596)

“Where are we, exactly?” “Well, I was going to ask you that,” said Dumbledore, looking around. “Where would you say that we are?” Until Dumbledore had asked, Harry had not known. Now, however, he found that he had an answer ready to give. “It looks,” he said slowly, “like King’s Cross station. Except a lot cleaner and empty, and there are no trains as far as I can see.” “King’s Cross station!” Dumbledore was chuckling immoderately. “Good gracious, really?” “Well, where do you think we are?” asked Harry, a little defensively. “My dear boy, I have no idea. This is, as they say, your party.”

(DH, 601)

“Tell me one last thing,” said Harry. “Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?” Dumbledore beamed at him, and his voice sounded loud and strong in Harry’s ears even though the bright white mist was descending again, obscuring his figure. “Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?

(DH, 610)

I don't think this place Harry was in is the Afterlife, or even connected to the Afterlife. I think it is in Harry's head. Harry having complete control over it, actually calling it out as behaving like the Room of Requirement, Dumbledore not knowing where they are until Harry knows where they are, etc. All this doesn't fit with it being a limbo on the way to death and the figure there being the real Dumbledore. Dumbledore, throughout this scene, acts kind of strange, way more helpful and finally says all the right things Harry wants to hear.

Not-Dumbledore himself tells Harry he already knows everything he explains to him:

“Explain,” said Harry. “But you already know,” said Dumbledore. He twiddled his thumbs together

(DH, 597)

So, I truly believe it isn't really happening. That this isn't death and it isn't Dumbledore. throughout the scene, Dumbledore doesn't actually give Harry new information Harry couldn't guess on his own. He's just going over things Harry already knew and creating a nice narrative out of them. At some points, he asks Harry what he thinks, and only starts explaining once Harry knows the answer (or what he wants the answer to be). I think this is Harry's subconscious coping and not actual death.

Additionally, there's the disturbing baby Voldemort thing. Now, the real Voldemort is still alive, so contrary to what Not-Dumbledore says, it isn't actually Tom Riddle:

“Oh yes!” said Dumbledore. “Yes, he destroyed it. Your soul is whole, and completely your own, Harry.” “But then . . . ” Harry glanced over his shoulder to where the small, maimed creature trembled under the chair. “What is that, Professor?” “Something that is beyond either of our help,” said Dumbledore

(DH, 598)

What I believe it is, is the soul in the Horcrux in Harry. Separated from Harry's own soul within his mind. That's the only thing it can be, in my opinion. I don't believe the soul shards in the Horcruxes could pass into an afterlife, or even to limbo. They were created to be bound to life and passing away is against their very nature (unless, maybe, if you throw them through the veil).

Besides all these oddities in the scene, it just doesn't make sense for Dumbledore to be there. Nearly Headless Nick gives some insight about death and the Afterlife:

“He will not come back,” repeated Nick quietly. “He will have . . . gone on.” “What d’you mean, ‘gone on’?” said Harry quickly. “Gone on where? Listen — what happens when you die, anyway? Where do you go? Why doesn’t everyone come back? Why isn’t this place full of ghosts? Why — ?” “I cannot answer,” said Nick. “You’re dead, aren’t you?” said Harry exasperatedly. “Who can answer better than you?” “I was afraid of death,” said Nick. “I chose to remain behind. I sometimes wonder whether I oughtn’t to have . . . Well, that is neither here nor there. . . . In fact, I am neither here nor there. . . .” He gave a small sad chuckle. “I know nothing of the secrets of death, Harry, for I chose my feeble imitation of life instead. I believe learned wizards study the matter in the Department of Mysteries —”

(OotP, 861)

From the way Nick speaks, ghosts are caught between life and death, part of them remains among the living while the rest moves on. Ghosts live in limbo, unable to be alive or dead. From his words, it also implies the properly dead, those who chose to move on, stay dead. They stay gone.

If that's the case, how could Dumbledore come to greet Harry in limbo? He's dead, truly gone, and death has no exceptions. There is no reason Dumbledore could speak to Harry in limbo and his parents won't. Once you're dead, you reach the afterlife and there you stay.

So I don't think the white King's Cross in Harry's death vision was connected to the afterlife, nor was it the real Dumbledore there. So, what is the actual afterlife?

Well, we don't really know. But, I can cover what we do know about the nature of death in the HP universe.

From Nick's words, the afterlife is the better option, than becoming a ghost. Nick describes ghosts as imprints left behind, but imprints of what specifically?

I talked about this already when I discussed how to make Horcruxes, but in alchemy, everything is comprised of three things:

Sulfur - soul

Mercury - spirit (that binds the body and the soul)

Salt - body

A ghost doesn't have a body, and we know all that moves on to the afterlife is one's soul. Therefore, it stands to reason ghosts are an imprint of a soul, while the spirit leaves at the moment of death. That's what an Avada Kedavra does, it removes the spirit, the connection between the body and the soul. That's how it kills instantly and without a trace.

So, when someone passes into the afterlife, it's their soul that passes away.

What about the echoes of Harry's parents and Cedric in Voldemort's wand during the duel in the graveyard?

Well, they're dead, they moved on, so it can't be their soul. The figures aren't even described the same way as ghosts or diary Tom, figures we know are made of souls:

and then something much larger began to blossom from Voldemort’s wand tip, a great, grayish something, that looked as though it were made of the solidest, densest smoke. . . . It was a head . . . now a chest and arms . . . the torso of Cedric Diggory. the dense shadow of a second head, If ever Harry might have released his wand from shock, it would have been then, but instinct kept him clutching his wand tightly, so that the thread of golden light remained unbroken, even though the thick gray ghost of Cedric Diggory (was it a ghost? it looked so solid) emerged in its entirety from the end of Voldemort’s wand, as though it were squeezing itself out of a very narrow tunnel . . . and this shade of Cedric stood up, and looked up and down the golden thread of light, and spoke.

(GoF, 665-666)

Their bodies are buried, and Cedric's is just lying there, neither are they physical enough to be bodies. I believe this is their spirit. Remember what I said about the Killing Curse just now, it severs the tie, and as such, it keeps the spirit. So, Harry is speaking to his parents' spirit, the echoes of their lives, not souls.

Now, let's talk about the veil. The veil is one of the most fascinating things introduced in the books, and the way it is introduced is fascinating on its own, but that's for later. The veil is a physical archway into the world of the dead.

The concept of such an entrance exists in multiple mythologies. In Greek mythology, many heroes (Odysseus, Orpheus, Heracles, Theseus, etc.) all travel through the underworld in one way or another, this is why the hero's journey goes through the underworld, it's very common. In Mesopotamian mythology, Gilgamesh and Ishtar both travel to the underworld. The point is, a gateway into the afterlife you can travel through, is a concept humanity has been toying with for millennia.

What's interesting is that, like Thestrals, those who've seen death (Harry, Luna, and Neville) can hear whispers from it. They experience it differently from others who haven't witnessed death (Ron, Hermione, and Ginny) who feel unnerved by it (although, Neville and Luna react differently from Harry, but more on that later). Not much more can be said about it, except that unlike all these gates into the underworld from myths, the veil is meant to be a one-way ticket.

In general, the afterlife in the Wizarding World is a one-way passage. Once you're gone, you're gone. Hence the closest thing to proper necromancy they have is creating inferi, which are soulless since the soul can't be pulled back from the afterlife.

The veil was also there before the Ministry of Magic, which was built around it. My guess is that some ancient wizards made it, and how or why were forgotten over time.

As the Peverell brothers were born around the 1210s and the Ministry of Magic was founded in 1707, it's possible, that the same Peverells from the story have built the veil. I actually think it's quite likely.

Death Himself

The idea of death personified is just as old and prevalent in many myths and cultures as a gateway leading into the afterlife. Whether Death, as a being, exists in the Wizarding World, I'm uncertain, but I don't think it's likely.

God-like spirits like Death feel out of place in the world in a way. Like, having a pantheon of gods feels wrong for the world of Harry Potter. It feels out of place with the established lore and magic. We don't see any evidence of wizarding society having any kind of unique religion in which such beings exist. Death, in the tale, is also described as similar to a dementor, making the idea that the author based Death's appearance on that of a dementor plausible.

That being said, Death's similarity to dementors could be the other way around. As in, the dementors look like death because of their connection to him. And, Death from the Tale doesn't really act like a god. How he behaves and is spoken of in the Tale of the Three Brothers reminds me a lot of a fae-like creature. Like, a powerful being who's a trickster that twists your wishes into something that he can use against you.

However I look at it, I still don't feel a being like this would fit in the world of Harry Potter, it feels wrong to add gods (or fae) in there. We don't see any hint that such beings might exist, which makes me feel they don't. So, I don't really think a personification of Death as appearing in the tale actually exists, but they do have an afterlife, as established above.

The Peverells and the Hallows

So we all know the legend about the three Peverell brothers who cheated death and received his gifts. Dumbledore (the one Harry imagines in his death fever dream) is certain it went down a little differently. That the tale is to explain incredibly powerful magical artifacts made by extraordinary wizards:

“Oh yes, I think so. Whether they met Death on a lonely road . . . I think it more likely that the Peverell brothers were simply gifted, dangerous wizards who succeeded in creating those powerful objects. The story of them being Death’s own Hallows seems to me the sort of legend that might have sprung up around such creations.

(DH, 602)

While it's not really Dumbledore and more Harry's own mind, I agree with him the Peverell brothers were probably no run-of-the-mill wizards, and I agree it's unlikely they've met Death, as I don't believe he exists.

Now, all the Hallows have a sentience to them beyond just any magical artifact. Even the wand is more sentient than any other wand, which are already quite sentient ("the wand chooses the wizard").

The wand of the first brother is a Hallow I already wrote about how it chooses its master. It is a wand intrinsically connected with death, having a core of Thestral hair. (I wonder if a core from a Thestral would agree to work for a wizard who hasn't seen death, but I digress)

This wand is actually the least impressive Hallow, in my opinion. Even though it said to be unbeatable:

Naturally, with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor

(DH, 352)

Its user is beaten quite often, that's how the wand changes owners, after all. This wand's tendency for even more sentience than other wands is what is particularly unique about it. How it chooses its master repeatedly, and sometimes even decides it prefers another over its current master, something unheard of for any other wand.

The Resurrection Stone has the supposed ability to pull a soul imprint from the afterlife:

“Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered.

(DH, 352)

Something that I just discussed above should be impossible. Once dead and in the afterlife, nothing comes back out. Harry uses it as well for the same purpose and describes them as being similar to Tom from the diary:

They were neither ghost nor truly flesh, he could see that. They resembled most closely the Riddle that had escaped from the diary so long ago, and he had been memory made nearly solid. less substantial than living bodies, but much more than ghosts, they moved toward him, and on each face, there was the same loving smile.

(DH, 589)

Because that's what the stone brings back, echoes of souls, but they aren't what Tom Riddle was in CoS.

“We are part of you,” said Sirius. “Invisible to anyone else.”

(DH, 590)

This line, made me believe the resurrection stone does something different than its name suggests and more similar to the lie Tom in the diary told Harry. They aren't souls, they're memories, echoes from within Harry himself. "Memory made solid"

Magic, in the world of Harry Potter, can't bring back someone who has moved on to the afterlife. It's a one-way ticket, as I've established before, once your soul moves on, that's it (if you try to resurrect someone immediately after they died and their soul hasn't yet moved on it's a different story). So I think, these shades are based on Harry's memories, and not actual souls brought back. It'll make more sense magically since his thoughts and memories are there, but the souls have gone on.

It also makes the tale of the second brother make more sense. He suffered because it wasn't really his wife that came back, but a shade based on his own memory. The tale said that she suffered, but I think it was Cadmus who suffered, not truly having her back. However, depending on how she died, her suffering might've been his memories of her that the stone resurrected, or the tale made it all up just like it made up Death.

The stone is just as picky about its master as the wand. It does not seem to have worked for anyone other than Cadmus Peverell and Harry himself. We don't hear of any Gaunts who used the stone, nor do we hear from Dumbledore he succeded in using it (I don't think it's actually Dumbledore in the conversation in King's Cross as I mentioned above). Regardless, I think the real Dumbledore probably did try to use it, and I will hazard a guess he failed. Since the stone didn't choose him.

The Cloak is unique in many ways. Lasting centuries, way longer than any invisibility cloak can, passing from parent to child for generations. It also does a better job of concealing you than another invisibility cloak, if, it still has its limits:

“...We are talking about a cloak that really and truly renders the wearer completely invisible, and endures eternally, giving constant and impenetrable concealment, no matter what spells are cast at it. How many cloaks have you ever seen like that, Miss Granger?”

(DH, 354)

The cloak is similar to the other Hallows in how picky it is regarding its master. The cloak wouldn't belong to anyone who just possesses it, it's not enough. It has to be passed willingly on the owner's deathbed, as they greet death as an old friend. It means that in the books, no one but Harry could be its owner.

All artifacts are powerful, but they aren't capable of anything that breaks the laws of nature (as the stone doesn't really resurrect), they are also sentient and picky, but it isn't something beyond the capacity of wizards. Why, we know of four wizards who made three sentient magical artifacts already — The Hogwarts founders.

The four founders enchanted the sorting hat together, but more relevant to the discussion of the Hallows are the Book of Admittance and the Quill of Acceptance.

At the precise moment that a child first exhibits signs of magic, the Quill, which is believed to have been taken from an Augurey, floats up out of its inkpot and attempts to inscribe the name of that child upon the pages of the Book (Augurey feathers are known to repel ink and the inkpot is empty; nobody has ever managed to analyse precisely what the silvery fluid flowing from the enchanted Quill is). Those few who have observed the process (several headmasters and headmistresses have enjoyed spending quiet hours in the Book and Quill’s tower, hoping to catch them in action) agree that the Quill might be judged more lenient than the Book. A mere whiff of magic suffices for the Quill. The Book, however, will often snap shut, refusing to be written upon until it receives sufficiently dramatic evidence of magical ability.

(from pottermore)

The idea of multiple sentient, powerful magical artifacts that need to agree is something wizards are capable of. And that, I think, is the secret to becoming the Master of Death — having all 3 Hallows pick you. Just like the book and quill need to agree a student should be admitted to Hogwarts.

Master of Death

Or more specifically what does that actually mean and why I think even if someone retrieved all 3 Hallows they wouldn't have become the Master of Death if their name isn't Harry James Potter.

This is definitely more in the headcanon territory, but the first scene that really made me think about it is the one in the Death Chamber in the Department of Mysteries. Because I think Harry and death always had a weird connection, it might've been around before the failed killing curse, and it was definitely around before Harry mastered all 3 Hallows.

So, why do I think Harry was always bound to be the Master of Death, and even if Dumbledore or Voldemort had all the Hallows it wouldn't have helped them?

There, are a few things that led me to this conclusion.

First, as I mentioned above, the cloak can not belong to anyone other than Harry in the books. It means that no one but Harry could master all of the Deathly Hallows, regardless of what they did.

Second, This first scene in the Death Chamber with the veil. I'll copy parts of it below and ask you to note, as you read, that Harry, Neville, and Luna are the only three who can see Thestrals and therefore should react more to the veil:

“Who’s there?” said Harry, jumping down onto the bench below. There was no answering voice, but the veil continued to flutter and sway. “Careful!” whispered Hermione. ... He had the strangest feeling that there was someone standing right behind the veil on the other side of the archway. ... “Let’s go,” called Hermione from halfway up the stone steps. “This isn’t right, Harry, come on, let’s go. . . .” She sounded scared, much more scared than she had in the room where the brains swam, yet Harry thought the archway had a kind of beauty about it, old though it was. The gently rippling veil intrigued him; he felt a very strong inclination to climb up on the dais and walk through it. “Harry, let’s go, okay?” said Hermione more forcefully. “Okay,” he said, but he did not move. He had just heard something. There were faint whispering, murmuring noises coming from the other side of the veil. “What are you saying?” he said very loudly, so that the words echoed all around the surrounding stone benches. “Nobody’s talking, Harry!” said Hermione, now moving over to him. “Someone’s whispering behind there,” he said, moving out of her reach and continuing to frown at the veil. “Is that you, Ron?” “I’m here, mate,” said Ron, appearing around the side of the archway. “Can’t anyone else hear it?” Harry demanded, for the whispering and murmuring was becoming louder; without really meaning to put it there, he found his foot was on the dais. “I can hear them too,” breathed Luna, joining them around the side of the archway and gazing at the swaying veil. “There are people in there!” .... “Sirius,” Harry repeated, still gazing, mesmerized, at the continuously swaying veil. “Yeah . . .” ... On the other side, Ginny and Neville were staring, apparently entranced, at the veil too.

(OotP, 773-775)

The interesting to note:

Luna, who can see Thestrals, also hears the whispering. I assume Neville does too.

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny are mesmerized but unnerved by the veil. Ron and Hermione seem to fight this memorization in their fear for Harry as he nears the veil.

Harry is the only one who is drawn to the veil He is the only one that moved, the only one whose feet take him against his will to the dias with the veil.

Harry thinks of it as oddly beautiful.

He has an urge to pass through that no one else does. All of them are frozen in place.

Harry is so affected he needs to be reminded twice that he's there to save Sirius before he can draw himself away from the veil.

Third, later in the book, after Sirius fell through the veil, there's this part:

He had reached the floor, his breath coming in searing gasps. Sirius must be just behind the curtain, he, Harry, would pull him back out again. . . . But as he reached the ground and sprinted toward the dais, Lupin grabbed Harry around the chest, holding him back. “There’s nothing you can do, Harry —” “Get him, save him, he’s only just gone through!” “It’s too late, Harry —” “We can still reach him —” Harry struggled hard and viciously, but Lupin would not let go. . . . “There’s nothing you can do, Harry . . . nothing. . . . He’s gone.”

(OotP, 806)

Harry's instinct to go through the veil to get Sirius out is so odd. The way he thinks that he himself can pull him out, not anyone else, but he... I don't know, but, this scene is interesting. It almost makes me feel Harry could pull Sirius back out. He defied death already once and will defy it again in the 7th book, so why not? Why wouldn't he be able to pull someone back from beyond the veil if they fell through just now (the timing is relevant, I don't think Hary could pull, say, his parents out).

My headcanon is that in that very moment if Lupin let Harry pull Sirius out, it would've worked. Caused a pandemonium about the fact Harry can apparently resurrect the dead (even if it's not really what he did), but that it would've worked. (I actually really want to write a fic like this)

Fourth, throughout the 7th book, once Harry finds out about the Hallows, he can't let the thought go. He knows his cloak is one, he is convinced the stone is in the snitch Dumbledore left him, way before he opened it. He just has a sense about it, and a fixation on it that's almost instinct:

Dumbledore had left the sign of the Hallows for Hermione to decipher, and he had also, Harry remained convinced of it, left the Resurrection Stone hidden in the golden Snitch. Neither can live while the other survives. . . master of Death. . . Why didn’t Ron and Hermione understand? “‘The last enemy shall be destroyed is death,”’ Harry quoted calmly

(DH, 374-375)

So, these are my reasons why I believe Harry is the only character in the books that could or would be the MOD. It's just that he always was, in a way. The Hallows already chose him before he ever held any of them.

But what does it mean to be the Master of Death?

“Well, of course not,” said Xenophilius, maddeningly smug. “That is a children’s tale, told to amuse rather than to instruct. Those of us who understand these matters, however, recognize that the ancient story refers to three objects, or Hallows, which, if united, will make the possessor master of Death.” ... “When you say ‘master of Death’—” said Ron. “Master,” said Xenophilius, waving an airy hand. “Conqueror. Vanquisher. Whichever term you prefer.”

(DH, 353)

We don't really get much besides this. Along with what's written on James and Lily's grave:

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.

(DH, 283)

Harry believes all phrases, along with the prophecy are connected and lead him to believe he should become the Master of Death:

Three objects, or Hallows, which, if united, will make the possessor master of Death. . . Master. . . Conqueror. . . Vanquisher. . . The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death. . . . And he saw himself, possessor of the Hallows, facing Voldemort, whose Horcruxes were no match. . . Neither can live while the other survives. . . Was this the answer?

(DH, 369-370)

So what can the Master of Death do? Death isn't a personified deity, what is defeating or contouring death mean? Does it mean immortality?

I don't know if I'll say full immortality, I think the Master of Death can die the same way Ignotus Peverell did. I think Ignotus Peverell was the first Master of Death, in a way, he at least represented the concept:

And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life

(DH, 352)

He was death's equal, he could escape it and live a fulfilling life, before choosing to meet Death on his own terms. I think that's what it means, that Death won't find Harry until he is ready to move on, and when he finally chooses to move on, Death would greet him with open arms.

The crux of it is the choice. That death can't touch you until you choose to allow it. And those who become Masters of Death, would always eventually choose to greet death, as these are the type of people the 3 Hallows would choose. It's all about choices.

(For the record, yes, I think there could be more than one MOD, I think Ignotus was until his death, and then in the books, Harry is)

And considering how much emphasis is put on choices and intentions in the magic of this world, it seems only right to be so relevant here too.

Like with the Mirror or Erised, which only let someone who wanted to have the Philosopher's Stone but not use it, have it; the Hallows won't choose a master who wouldn't, eventually, be willing to accept death. Because mastering death, isn't only not dying, it's understanding it, and accepting it. Both the deaths of others and eventually your own.

Also, as I mentioned above, I headcanon that Harry could pull Sirius out the moment he fell in through the veil. I don't think anyone but Harry could. I believe, as a Master of Death, Harry is the only wizard (well, being) that can go into the afterlife, walk past the veil, and come back out. A Master of Death is the only one who the afterlife isn't a one-way ticket for.

(Although, I think it's possible that if you wear the invisibility cloak you might be able to pass into the veil and come out even without being the MOD, but, I wouldn't bet on it)

Summary of my thoughts

The afterlife exists in the Wizarding World and nothing that passes beyond the veil can return. It's a one-way ticket.

The scene in Deathly Hallows with Dumbledore in King's Cross station limbo didn't actually happen.

Death, as a deity of sorts most likely doesn't exist.

The Peverell brothers were powerful wizards who made the Deathly Hallows and perhaps the veil too.

The Resurrection stone can't bring a soul back from beyond the veil so it does the next best thing — reviving an illusion of a memory.

All 3 Deathly Hallows are very sentient magical artifacts like the sorting hat. Each of them is very picky when choosing its own master.

When all 3 Hallows choose the same master, this person is the Master of Death.

Being the Master of Death means the MOD won't die until the time of their choice. But the MOD will always choose to die eventually because that's the kind of person the Hallows would pick.

There can, over time, be more than one MOD (not at the same time though). And it's possible Ignotus Peverell was one, in a way.

The MOD might be the only person who can go into the veil and come back out.

The invisibility cloak might also allow you to make a trip into the veil and then back out.

[jmliebert]

bg3 on a beach (modern headcanons)

some little beach-day headcanons ˙ᵕ˙

𓇼 Astarion 𓇼

the one who brought sunscreen with SPF 50

and basically an entire beach bag of skincare essentials— lip balm, hand cream, hand sanitizer, hair comb (gold-plated), facial mist, perfumes….

….a chic umbrella that screams "I don't do tan lines" (you didn’t know umbrellas might be chic? wel, you’ve obviously never met astarion, you poor soul)

struts around in Dior or Armani swim trunks that probably cost more than everyone else’s entire beach wardrobe (taste, darling)

throws subtle shade at anyone who dares to get sand near his setup

𓇼 Gale 𓇼

sitting next to Astarion under the chick umbrella, reading a brick-tome that looks way too heavy for a beach day

loose, unbuttoned shirt flapping in the breeze, looking like he's ready to casually narrate the next chapter of his life

dips into the water only to cool off, then returns to his book (wears a wide brimmed hat while swimming because sunburns are for novices)

brings some fruits, maybe homemade snacks i(f he’s feeling particulary extra)

puts on sunglasses, claiming it’s for “eye protection,” but really so he can unashamedly observe everyone else (astarion observes everyone at the beach as well, but making no effort to hide it though)

𓇼 Halsin 𓇼

totally would have preferred to go to a nudist beach, but hey, what won’t he do for his party?

sunbathes directly under the scorching rays, basking in nature's warm embrace

gives off major retired surfer vibes—minus the board, plus a lot of wisdom about underwater ecosystems

spends most of the day diving, befriending the fish, and enthusiastically recounting his underwater adventures to Shadowheart

as the sun sets, he meditates, he’s body looking positively glorious as the golden light hits just right

𓇼 Wyll 𓇼

rolls in with a cooler full of chilled beer, instantly becoming everyone’s favorite person

the one who’s super into every beach sport there is

performs cartwheels and somersaults, showing off a little (endd up with a head full of sand)

borrows Halsin’s goggles and disappears for an hour or two, only to resurface with a story about an underwater adventure

comforts a crying child who lost their bucket, instantly becoming a hero of the beach

𓇼 Karlach 𓇼

alexa, play starships by nicki minaj

fearless of the sun—probably doesn’t even know what sunscreen is

the most grateful for Wyll's beer, probably cracking open a can before she even sets up her towel (if it's a bottle, she’ll open it with her teeth)

hypes everyone up for a beach volleyball match, whether they want to play or not

dominates the game with killer serves, yelling “BOOM!” every time she scores

𓇼 Shadowheart 𓇼

aka Wednesday Addams on vacation, complete with a black swimsuit and a hat so big it casts shade on half the beach

floats around on an floatie, giving off strong “don’t bother me” vibes

quietly builds a sandcastle that turns out to be an architectural masterpiece (It’s somehow both gothic and impressive)

doesn’t know how to swim but hasn’t admitted it to anyone. Instead, she’s perfected the art of looking mysterious while staying close to the shore

smiles at dogs playing in the distance

𓇼 Lae’zel 𓇼

laughs in the face of sunburn

side-eyes Astarion and Gale applying sunscreen, muttering something about “weakness” under her breath

joins Shadowheart for a few minutes of sandcastle building, then pretends she wasn’t enjoying it

hyper-competitive during beach volleyball, diving for every ball like it’s a life-or-death situation

inevitably gets sunburned, grudgingly wears Gale’s hat, and glares at anyone who dares to mention it

𓇼 Jaheira 𓇼

doesn't have time for this shit

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

you can find more of my works about bg3 ♡here♡

the summer is ending, I feel it in my bones, so I just had to write this one hihi

[ineedjesusverymuch]

Diabolik lovers headcanons pt. 4

Hi! After that huge response my other post got, I decided to write more/be more active on here. I really enjoy writing my thoughts on just about anything regarding dl out and it makes me happy that so many people liked my post!

Although that big of a response was quite a shock. Seemed that I did not, in fact, yell into the void that time :).

Though I am not sure if that post did anything different, I'll continue posting on here no matter how big the response is. If I can make even one person happy with those posts, (including me) I'll keep on writing those silly headcanons of vampires that do not exist. :)

I am going to focus more on the mukamis and Yui in this post since the last one was almost only the Sakamakis.

⚠anything triggering will be marked like this: ❗trigger❗

⚠I am going to briefly discuss childhood trauma and depression.

As always, I'll try to stay at least a little bit true to the source material.

Asks are always appreciated!

This time, I rambled quite a bit about Azusa ':)

headcanons under the cut⬇

Firstly, Yui. Our dear heroine who deserves just about everything!

Really good at dancing those old, classical ballroom dances. She had a few lessons by Ayato (who spent the entire time giving his best not stomping on Yui's feet) and Reiji (whose lesson was the most horrifying experience she had ever had)

After those lessons, she refined her skills. Ayato is quite a good dancer, so she had someone to practice with.

Her best dances are waltz and rumba

Ayato is literally not physically able to stop watching her when dancing together. Never has he seen someone that beautiful (I stand by Ayato being totally besottet by Yui)

Her style is so coquetteish, old fairy tale princess, etherial soul, cottage core - genuinely dresses like a pinterest board

Really fcking pretty??? I don't get why the boys humble her all the time

Immune to pretty boys/play boys. She has seen it all.

really adores bunnies. Lionheads? She'd like a dozen of them.

Had at one point a guinea pig. It died and her father buried it and told her that a fairy had taken it to be her loyal companion. Yui believed it until she was like 16 years.

Her hair has those light curls and feels like the softest thing ever

The clasp in her hair is not the only flowery hair adornment she has, Yui loves to wear different clasps on special occasions

Definitely got gifted a hair pin with rose details from Subaru at one point

Best friends with Subaru. They like to spend quality time caring for his flowers and Yui is allowed to brush his hair on tare occasions.

Shu tried to teach her the violin once and she was horrible at it (but flute was her thing)

Has those shirts with horribly kitsch prints on them but no one says anything to her because she loves them so much

She has thought a lot about her faith since being with the Sakamakis. Read a lot about her god and the different religions.

Has though about studying theology and psychology in University

collects squishmallows

wears those light perfumes that smell like vanilla and flowers occasionally

Everyone turns their head when they first see Yui

Etherial beauty

Smells like vanilla. It's because she uses those body lotions and a lightly scented hair mist

Ayato goes mad at the smell

Ayato genuinely loves Yui. Just her, living her life. He adores her.

Also; Ayato is a himbo.

Dumb and dumber duo

Subaru teaches her material art as defense for anything coming at her

Natural at fighting

Decked Ayato in the face once as he materialized out of thin air behind her

Knocked him unconscious

Laito laughed for literal hours at the though of Ayato getting knocked out by Yui

Her dream is living in peace with eveyone she loves

Had an actual talk with Ayato at some point. They are a healthy couple now (No, I do not care about the canon. They're in love your highness)

Goes to therapy. She decided to after nightmares regarding her early days with the boys

Also, scared that Cordelia will come back at one point and take her body over completely

Yui is the nicest person ever

Will talk with you about everything you'd like

Gentle soul.

Gives great hugs?? Knows how to comfort someone who's feeling bad

She's not only good at baking but also at making those highly decorated cakes and cupcakes. Kanato begs her for themed cupcakes as soon as autumn starts and Halloween decorations appear

next, Ruki.

Eats way too much dark chocolate

We're talking about two entire bars minimum a day

Coffee junkie

Has a disproportionately large consume of anything caffeinated

Wears the same crusty, dry eyeliner since 1990

Refuses to buy a new one since "the old one still works" (it does not)

flirts with Reiji. Its so obvious that even Yuma has realized it

(Reiji is oblivious to it)

Academically speaking, really good at the natural sciences.

Fcking sucks at english though

Studies quite a lot, Ruki despises being on the same level as Reiji

Bad loser

Will be sulky after losing a game of Uno

Definitely cheats at card games

Really good at annoying Reiji. It's such a high level of annoying, he could give courses on the matter

Really good older brother

Checks on the other Mukami brothers when Ruki sees them struggeling with their pasts

Will check in every night if Azusa or Kou are plagued by nightmares

Has nightmares about the orphanage

❗sometimes wakes up scared that his brothers are actually dead and can only calm down after checking that each one is still alive

❗Definitely scared of anything happening to his brothers, he has panic attacks just thinking about that night

reads self help books

Has at least one "how to raise unruly children" book on his shelves

Culinary mastermind

But also makes the weirdest combinations of foods? Why would anyone like to taste jam with cucumbers and pepper????

now, Kou

Likes those really creepy stuffed toys

really good at drawing winged eyeliner

Has worn pink mascara and it looked so fcking good???

Hugest crush on Subaru

Flirts with him but the dear boy does not recognize romantic affection even when it slaps him in the face

Almost fainted riding the first time on Subaru's motorcycle

The scariest thing since really long

Wears really dangly, long earrings

With the weirdest motifs

Has one pair that has clams that can open. The pearls inside them glow in the dark.

his stomach is a bottomless pit. The first time he came over to spend a night at the Sakamaki's, Reiji was genuinely afraid that they had nit enough food to last to breakfast

Laito and he binged the Kardashians

Loves gossip. Knows everything about everyone

Makes rad nail art

Loves styling Azusa. Its their quality time, combined with trying those really spicy crisps

huge energy drink consumer

Helps him trough those sleepless nights were Kou stays up and chats with Laito the whole night through the phone

quite good at learning historical facts

Due to Kou's eye, he can see truths and lies in humans. But he is also really good at deciphering the human psyche.

Doesn't always use his eye. Sometimes, just Kou's knowledge of psychology is enough to recognize lies

There are some headcanons that Kou is italian. I agree with that. I can really image him enjoying the culture and the food. Also, I read a headcanon once that Kou's real name was Emilio. (If someone knows the name of the OP, please tell me)

Now, our vegetable freak: Yuma!

loves scrunchies and hair claw clips

Got one from Kanato once and uses them since

Also, I propose: Yuma with those hair claw clips in butterfly shape. Gifted by Kou as a joke

but now, he always wears them

Kanato braids his hair in really elaborate hair styles. Bridal style vibes. Kou thinks its the funniest thing ever

Shu loves toying with his hair when bored. It's just so soft and smells really good (Yuma uses Kou's shampoo on the regular. It causes quite a lot of fights)

took 1 (one) "Am I Gay" quiz. It came out a hundred percent positive. The next day, he confessed to Shu. They've been together ever since

Feeds the birds on the porch of their house every morning, together with Azusa

Actually really educated about current politics (at least the ones in Romania. But knows quite a lot about the USA and Japan, too)

Will start fights with Ruki about politics during dinner

If you ever want to hear angry romanian yelling, just go to the Mukami house during elections

Cares for every houseplant in their house

Brings at least two new plants per week at home. Ruki is on the brink of forbidding Yuma from accessing his monthly allowance

wears really shitty clothes. I'm talking thousand times stitched together trousers. They look like potatoes sacks but he refuses to get new ones

Has a toolbelt that looks atrocious

He wears it almost every day

The dirtiest shoes known to mankind

So dirty with soil and just about anything you can find in nature

Ruki gets daily aggressions about the spots on their carpet, since Yuma thinks changing shoes just for going inside is stupid

Wears the most amazing eyeliner but it is actually just old as fuck eyeshadow and mascara

He makes it look good

Has the longest lashes known to humankind

Brown skin due to being outside so much

Disneyprincess in secret

loves those huge dogs

now, Azusa!!

jesus that boy can be seductive

No, I wont elaborate

That was a lie, I will elaborate on anything with Azusa. He has the art of subtle flirting refined to mastery

Tried to flirt with Kanato. But Kanato thought he was being made fun of

Great at subtle makeup

Also; great dancer. Especially latin dances such as cha-cha-cha or salsa

He has those hips (breedable, as some folks would say)

Canonically doesn't like peppers

That doesn't apply to stuffed peppers with spices though

Great at remembering faces, not so great at remembering names

Can draw and paint and do art so good????

God of art

Not god of natural sciences though

Is doing alright at school but doesn't like the education system

Speaks not only romani and japanese but also a bit of English (and has the thickest british accent. No one knows where it is from and Azusa refuses to tell them that it is from watching Harry potter so often)

Colours his hair in a blue-black colour to give it more depth sometimes

Wears very pretty, light blue-ish glitter on the inner eye corner sometimes

So beautiful eyes??

Long, dark lashes

Likes to wear a bit of mascara

Naturally a defined jawline and straight nose

But a bit chubby cheeks

Is very pale but tans quite a but when longer outside in the summer. But dues to his sensitivity to heat, he'd rather stay inside

His eyes have a bit of an almond form, which gives them a sharp look, but still quite big

Azusa likes to wear too big clothes, especially hoodies and sweaters from Ruki and Yuma.

Also, cargo pants. The wide ones

Combat boots are a staple in his closet

Loves plateau boots and sneakers

Converse all stars are his to go shoes if no plateau boot is available

The shoes size him up quite a bit so the first time he met the Sakamakis, they all thought he was quite big. They all were surprised as they arrived at the Mukami home and Azusa just shrinked a few inches

Paints his fingernails in hope that he doesn't chew on them that much if they're pretty and colorful

Cuts his hair himself because he feels that his slow manner of speech annoys the staff in hair salons

But he likes the choppy style so its not as big of a problem for him

❗has a problem coping with what happened in his childhood. He canonically sh, but has frequent anxienty attacks too.

Due to that, he has a few weightened blankets and lots of pillows on his bed to simulate the feeling of getting hugged

Big hugger

His love language is physical touch

bug lover

Has a really cool sweater with the life cycle of a frog

That was it, actually. I rambled quite a bit about Azusa but I still hope you'll like it.

I hope I was able to make your day a bit better.

If you have any requests, just ask!

Thank you for reading all of that. I really appreciate you! I hope you'll have an amazing day/night!

[shiroi---kumo]

Let me talk for a moment about the importance of COLOR in Misterican culture again because it has been a hot minute since I explained Mist and I did not have this many color examples to my name the last time I did.

So Let's talk about MIST.

Mist is a magical substance that is contained with the lungs of a Misterican and it is kept there as vapor until they exhale. Misterican lungs are pressurized so they can store the Mist Vapors their body produces naturally. Misterican bodies make and produce Mist from the liquids and foods they consume.

I.E. meaning if a Misterican consumes alcohol - the mist their body produces and stores will become alcoholic in nature and they will remain intoxicated until they release that vapor from their lungs.

Misterican Mist is produced in different colors and that color is dependent on the color one is born to.

Misterican Mist exists in every color of the rainbow excluding black and the only Misterican ever born to the color White (the hue) is one Valkoinen Pilvi / White Cloud -> aka Kumo! Please see the religious notions behind this here.

But the Color of one's mist is important because the Color of one's mist will tell you the power it contains.

Mistericans all possess a color to their souls and that is the color of their Mist - and you can tell what color a Misterican is by the color of their Hair and sometimes their eyes. Misterican hair color = Misterican Mist color and Mist colors contain different status effects that go into effect as soon as that Mist is exhaled into the air.

The Misterican in question cannot stop this status effect from activating, it simply does as soon as they exhale and that's why they wear masks to filter their mist from their breaths to prevent the effects from effecting those around them.

So the status effects that exist within Mist Colors are as follows:

🟥 - Red - Paralysis 🟧 - Orange - Silence 🟨 - Yellow - Confuse 🟩 - Green - Toxic / Poison 🟦 - Blue - Slow 🟪 - Purple - Healing 🟫 - Brown - Stone 🩶 - Silver - Charm 🩷 - Pink - Blind 🤍 - White - Sleep

Mistericans DO NOT control these status effects. They activate the second they exhale their mist into the air and anyone who inhales their mist will be affected but there are a few conditions that apply

The thicker the Mist, the stronger the effect

The lighter in color it is, the more potent the effect

The more potent the effect, the longer it lasts

The thicker the Mist is, the faster it works

Bonded Mistericans are unaffected by each other's mist powers.

Mistericans who soul bound to a royal will have the potency of their Mist heightened by that royal's own power.

Same Color Mistericans do not affect each other. (aka blue doesn't affect blue, green doesn't affect green, etc etc )

Mist effects will wear off given time or if something happens to the source of said mist. So if the Mist User dies the effects would lift immediately and of their Mist in the area would dissipate instantly.

✨ Special Rule ✨ - The Child of White, due to his Immortal Godly Status is unaffected by any and all Mist effects. This includes healing.

The reason lighter color = more power is due to the fact that Lady Tiamat, the Celestial Mother of all Mist's color is White (hue) so the closer one's mist is to white the more power it possesses.

Mistericans also can be trained to use their Mist for a controlled form of Magics known as Mist Magics and Summoning. The users of this type of Mist Magic are know as Mist Mythics or simply "Mythics". You can read about them here.

But this is why 9 times out of 10 why Kumo and the other Mistericans are probably wearing a mask when meeting with your muse. They exhale status effects and color matters.

Now if Kumo takes his mask off and it's just a light mist and not really filling up the space around him - its going to take a while for the effect of sleep to kick in, but please be aware that no matter what, if Kumo has his mask off he will eventually build up a little cloud of mist around him. The seeing your breath when it's cold out thing? That's Kumo at all times when maskless.

[mmavverickk]

Pjo hadcanon, - demigods don't really suffer from PTSD, they can't suffer emotionally at all or are as blunted as possible.

They are disconnected from their feelings/emotions and cannot react to bad things Like ordinary people.

They are frighteningly indifferent to any pain, mental or physical - the pain from physical injuries or something emotional lingers for a maximum of a couple of weeks and then disappears into oblivion like a morning mist. grief passes easily and quickly, fear disappeared in a few minutes, the risk of pleasant waves of adrenaline warming the blood.

And they are prone to sadism and any enjoyment of any kind of violence.

It doesn't matter if it's over yourself, a monster, a mortal, or another demigod.

They are always happy to use weapons or hands/abilities.

These children learn to hold weapons, wear armor and be able to cause serious harm, as soon as they enter the camp, do not expect anything normal/correct or at least explicable from them.

They are not human, they - living weapons, expertly crafted from golden divine blood and mortal flesh.

They were born to fight and die in battle with a blissful smile on their lips.

They were born with broken souls and sick minds.

It's just that someone is bigger, someone is smaller.

this is a fun headcanon, but i want to put a bit of an angstier spin on it:

these children are human, but only partly. they can suffer PTSD. they know what's happened to them, what's been done to them, is wrong. they can suffer flashbacks and repressed memories and trouble sleeping and nightmares and intrusive thoughts and panic attacks and depression and apathy. they do suffer it. but they always get back up. there's surety in their recovery, and there's tragedy in it. they can't stop, can't falter, can't take time to process, can't slow down enough to work through their trauma before the next terrible thing happens.

these demigods are too inhuman to move at a normal pace. they have too much mythical strength in their bones and their blood to stop for any amount of time and heal. they throw themselves at each threat that comes their way like a battering ram with terrifying speed and strength and awareness. it just builds, and builds, and builds until they die or they break.

(sometimes, they think the ones who do die are the lucky ones.)

maybe it's the ever-growing trauma. maybe it's the divinity in their veins. maybe it's something entirely new, entirely too human to be godly, but too godly to be human. maybe they've just finally snapped.

some slowly feel their grasp on reality slipping. what time is it? did they sleep through a whole day again? when did they get to the lava wall? how did they reach the top, and is that a real burn on their hand? it doesn't hurt. is that a camper, or a monster? did the border fail? are those heavy footsteps outside the cabin real? are they really still alive, or is this their eternal punishment for failing succeeding?

some watch as their moral code slips through their fingers like sand. they'll fight as hard as they have to to save their siblings and their allies. they'll kill any monsters that come their way. maybe, they'll kill any demigods, too. maybe even humans. maybe they couldn't save someone, but the battle was still a victory. maybe that sacrifice was necessary to win. maybe sacrifices are okay, to minimize the damage. maybe damage is okay, so long as the enemy dies. maybe, just maybe, a pyrrhic victory is worth it, no matter who was lost, so long as they're still standing at the end of it all.

some stop feeling. it starts as depression. is winning wars worth it if they couldn't save everyone? their sibling died, their friends and lover died, and the world still turns on, cold and unfeeling. maybe cold and unfeeling is the way to go. maybe joy is unnecessary in the long run. maybe sadness is, too. maybe it will make things better. they pick themselves up, resume their routine. everything is normal. archery practice. lava wall. weapon smithing. capture the flag. everything is normal. everything is numb. why should the gods care when their children can't even manage it?

some turn violent. they grew up in war, training endlessly, fighting battle after battle, the only thing standing between the world and its doom. what is there to do now that the war is over, is won, than train more? practice weapons they've never tried, master moves they've never managed. kill in ways they've never thought of. they grew up in war. what good are they without it? what good is a weapon, just sitting around, gathering dust? maybe hurting people isn't right, but if it makes them feel something, isn't it worth it?

it's a cold world. it's not meant for children, human children. those children evolve to survive, and what they turn into barely resembles their mortal parentage. it's a dog eat dog world, survival of the fittest, and the unlucky ones? the ones that didn't die? the ones stuck in their trauma and PTSD and broken minds? they have to figure out how to live in it.

[ahqkas]

hii! can i maybe request some headcanons/blurbs for arthur morgan and charles smith having a girlfriend who has chronic pain in her hands? on days my flareups get bad, all i want is some comfort and i just know these two would help their gfs through it so well. thank you!! <3

LOOKING OUT FOR YOU ; arthur morgan & charles smith

PAIRING! arthur morgan x gn!reader, charles smith x gn!reader

NOTES! hi ml, i’m sorry if i got smth wrong, i don’t have any experience or know people with the experience of having chronic pain , lmk if i messed it up so i can fix it !!

RED DEAD REDEMPTION 2 MASTERLIST!

ARTHUR MORGAN’S NATURAL INSTINCT IS TO PROTECT.

when arthur first learns about your chronic pain, his reaction would be one of concern and and strong urge to protect

he’d ask you questions about it, the tone of his voice gentle and quiet to not frighten you as he listens attentively to you describing your pain and its impact on your daily life

arthur would be mindful of your needs, always thinking of you first at any given situation. taking over your chores at the camp that would put stain on your hands to assisting you with any personal tasks you might have (he would do that all without any complaints !!!!)

in moments when the pain flares up, there’s nothing that would keep that man from you. he’d sit beside you, holding you gently, his large hands resting lightly on yours (he’s such a big man), providing you with warmth and comfort

he’d talk to doctors, herbalists, and anyone else he meets on his way who looks like they might know about the subject

arthur’s words would be a source of comfort. he’d speak to you in his soft, gravelly voice, offering reassurances and reminding you of you strength. “We’ll get through this together, I promise.” his steadfast presence and unwavering support would be a constant reminder that you’re not alone in your struggles

the outlaw would find ways to distract and cheer you up. he’d tell stories of his adventures, share his thoughts, or simply sit in comfortable silence, allowing you to rest your hands in his. he’d take you on gentle rides, the steady rhythm of his horse’s gait a soothing backdrop as you enjoy the peace of the open plains and colorful skies

Arthur Morgan knelt beside the campfire, his rugged features softened by concern as he gently took your hands in his. Your eyes were misted with pain, and he could see the toll it was taking on you. With a tenderness that belied his rough exterior, he began to massage your hands, his touch light and careful.

“I’m here, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice a soothing rumble. “We’ll get through this together, you and me.” He brushed a stray lock of hair from your face, his gaze steady and reassuring. “You’re stronger than you know. And whatever you need, I’m right here by your side.”

As he continued to soothe your aching hands, Arthur’s presence provided a comfort beyond words.

CHARLES SMITH IS NATURALLY GENTLE AND ATTENTIVE.

he often massages your hands with herbal balms he’s learned to make, using his knowledge of natural healing to provide you with some sort of relief. his touch is always careful, mindful of your pain

charles is more on the quieter side, understanding that sometimes words aren’t necessary. the man often sits with you in silence, offering his calm soul as comfort. he holds your hands lightly, providing warmth and reassurance without needing to speak

he’s quick to adjust daily routines to accommodate your needs. he takes over tasks that require more of motor skills or strength, from chopping wood to preparing meals, ensuring you don’t strain your hands unnecessarily

charles is highly protective, especially when your pain flares up. he keeps a watchful eye on you, making sure you’re comfortable and has everything you need. his protective nature extends to ensuring others in the gang respect your limits and he often sets up a peaceful space for you to relax, by the river or under a tree, where you two can sit together. he brings your favorite books or tells you stories to distract you from the pain

charles takes the time to learn about your condition and adapt his approach accordingly. he’s always seeking new methods to help alleviate your pain, whether through herbal plants, new techniques, or advice from healers and doctors

Charles Smith knelt beside you, his eyes filled with quiet concern as he gently took your aching hands in his own. He began to massage them with a soothing herbal balm, his touch tender and precise, knowing exactly where you felt the most pain. "I’ve got you," he whispered, his voice a low, calming murmur. "Just relax and let me take care of you."

As the pain slowly eased under his skilled hands, Charles leaned in closer, pressing a soft kiss to your head.

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified.

[seireiteihellbutterfly]

Headcanons: Reiatsu Descriptions

We all know that people in Soul Society can figure out who’s who based on their reiatsu but what does each person’s reiatsu feel like?

Jushiro Ukitake:

When calm: It’s like the ocean breeze at night, with the waves washing over you, the scent of the salty air hanging over you like a mist. It’s cool, relaxing, and calming. 

When at battle: Imagine the worst storm you’ve ever seen on the open ocean. Not a single patch of land anywhere. The water is churning mercilessly, the waves 100 feet in height, threatening to swallow up the earth into its depths. You’re trying not to drown, forever lost to the abyss. Dark, desperate, and lost. 

Shuhei Hisagi:

When calm: Rock concert on a summer night. There’s good, happy energy there, the kind that makes people want to gather together and celebrate. Vibrant, positive, cheerful.

When at battle: Abandoned amusement park at night. All the people are gone, and no one has been by in a long time. All the good times have come to an end. Creepy, desolate, with an eerie feeling that something bad is about to happen. 

Kuchiki Byakuya:

When calm: Tea ceremony vibes. A bit of tradition,a bit of indulgence, the tea bringing your senses alive, while the pastries bring about a touch of sweet and savory. Nothing is overdone, it’s all balanced, in harmony. 

When at Battle: World War II trenches. I mean, we’ve seen how pissed this man can get when he was fighting Ichigo. Despair, the smell of blood fills the air. It’s hard to tell if anything is alive. Cold, damp, and dead.  

Kensei Muguruma:

When calm: Summer road trip when the company is good. Non stop conversations, rest stops, seeing unique things, singing in the car, and bonding. Happy, warm, and sentimental. 

When at battle: Army tanks invading an enemy territory. It’s loud, and commanding, crushing anything in its path. Powerful, world crumbling, and terrifying. 

Renji Abarai:

When calm: Beach day. Sunshine, warmth, the strong kind of energy that comes from swimming and laying out on the sand. 

When at battle: Hospital ER after a mass attack. Panic, worry, and a struggle to find order through the chaos. It’s confusing, painful, a fight till his last breath. 

Ichigo Kurosaki:

When calm: This boy feels like home. He’s the place you go to when you’re tired or had a bad day. It’s where all your comfort stuff is and where you can just exist, without having to deal with anyone’s expectations. Welcoming, non judgmental, and friendly.

When at battle: Atomic bomb blast. There’s nothing left. Just blankness. Smoke, ash, and debris.  

Shinji Hirako:

When calm: Carnival! Bright lights everywhere, cotton candy, enjoying yourself on the Ferris wheel. It’s enticing, warm, and full of excitement.

When at battle: Earthquake. Everything rumbles and collapses, threatening to swallow anything it can find. Loud, devastating, and damaging. 

Rose Otoribashi: 

When calm: A ballet theater on opening night. There’s high expectations to see a visual treat, the energy from the dancers and music thrilling you every second. Entertaining, beautiful, and a must have experience.

When at battle: The faint noise of a music box dying. The notes choke out in an unsteady manner, trying it’s best to continue before the mechanism gives out. When it stops…run. Because the music box stopping isn’t the end. It’s the beginning. 

[theflatpancakes]

If you couldn't tell from my reblogs I'm suddenly a huge Dreamtheory shipper so yk 😜

Uhhhh here are some headcanons dor Ness and Mike ig

Ness:

•He went to Freddy's all the time as a kid and was really sad once it shut down, although he didn't know why it got closed

•He has a true crime podcast that he does after he gets home from work; each episode is at least an hour-an hour and a half

•One day someone requested him to cover Freddy's and he was just like "???What???? When did something happen at Freddy's?????" And that's when he figured it out

•Every episode after the Freddy's episode he mentioned it at least once, and mist episodes were just covering new stuff he found out about Freddy's and the murders/disappearances

•He has been tempted to break in just to look for evidence so many times, although he never did

•He's a horror movie fanatic

•Also a conspiracy theorist

•He unironically owns the Dream Theory book that Mike has jn the movie. He got it to investigate for an episode of his podcast but eventually just got actually into the ideas the book was talking about

•Coffee. Addict.

•Doesn't care for labels, really. He likes anybody that likes him

•Theater kid; no, not just because MatPat is a theater kid.

Mike:

•Regular at Sparky's, both before and after getting the job at Freddy's

•He sometimes feels Garret pulling at his pants/shirt and is convinced he felt something, but always brushes it off

•Chugs energy drinks like there's no tomorrow

•He never got any sleep, even before he started working the night shift

•^ He also stayed up late when he was a kid/teen despite having to wake up early for school

•After the events of the first movie he quit Freddy's and went and got a job at Sparky's since it was close to his house and nearly guaranteed to not have haunted animatronics with the souls of dead kids in them!

•Always thought he was straight up until he randomly caught feelings for Ness after they started working together and seeing each other all day almost every day

Both/their relationship:

•Mike sometimes shows up in Ness' podcast

•Back on about the 2nd night of Mike's working at Freddy's, he invited Ness to come check some stuff out since he showed some great enthusiasm about Mike working there and him knowing about Ness' podcast and stuff

•Ness confessed first

•^Mike was just letting his feelings sit and shoving them down while he was in denial

•After about a month or two of being together, Mike was like, "Hey broski, so like.... you wanna move in with me and Abby????" And Ness was like "Uhm. Yeah, of course I do" so they moved in and played video games together all the time and Ness because practically a second dad to Abby even though Mike is technically her brother but whatever

•^After that, Mike was in almost every episode of Ness's podcast, and instead of just referring to Mike as his guest/coworker, he actually started referring to Mike as his boyfriend

•^So a little more about what they called each other on the podcast. Ness started calling Mike his boyfriend on there a few episodes before they moved in and the first time he said that he actually said how long they'd been together and when they moved in together he announced that on the episode that they did once Ness actually fully moved at least his recording set up into Mike's house

•So remember how I mentioned Mike was a regular at Sparky's??? So the first couple times he went he got sat in Ness' section and it was a funny coincidence so after that he started asking to be sat in Ness' section because he was funny and nice and just a cool dude to have as your server but Ness didn't know that Mike was requesting to be in his area so he thought it was just a coincidence