#willing to ramble about this in endless detail

[agua-cat]

APHTOBER DAY 1; TOGETHER

Hi guys I forgot to draw for day one as I’ve been busy making designs for an apocalypse AU and talking about pretty men to mutuals (if you’re interested hmu…)

Anyways all I can provide to you is this old drawing I did of said apocalypse AU

TW: WEAPONS, BLOOD

It’s not my greatest work and it’s a bit outdated but I thought the Ro’meave brothers were a really strong contender for day 1 of Aphtober!!

The prompts are kinda vague so I’m gonna cry in a hole if i got this wrong

Enjoy the artwork anyhow?! This is my food to the people… until you see my Kul’Zak design, at least

AND LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT THE LORE FOR THESE GUYS

[aldryrththerainbowheart]

Drunk

Fandom: Castlevania

Characters: Adrian Fahrenheit Tepes/Alucard

Relationships: Adrian x reader

Note: I suck at titles

You walked through the dark hallway in hopes of finding your room. Even after months spent in Castlevania, you still couldn’t navigate through endless corridors even to your own space. You were confident you had walked through this particular hall three times now. Just when you were about to turn left, you heard a faint noise. You keened your ears to decipher the sound and concluded it must be someone's voice. There was only one person other than you who lived in the castle. You pushed the ornate doors to one of the drawing rooms ajar and found Adrian reclining in one of the lounge chairs.

He looked like he was posing for a painting, but then again, he always did. You knew Adrian was something more than a human but these small things which it showed, such as being in a state of constant elegance and poise, no matter the situation, still amazed you. He was lying on the comforter with his torso slightly turned to the back of the chair. One of his legs was stretched over the edge while the other one was bent at the knee. His right arm was hanging off the armrest while the other was holding an empty wineglass precariously perched between elegant fingers. How he didn’t splatter the red liquid on the pristine white shirt, which was unbuttoned to reveal almost the entirety of his chest, was a mystery to you. His head was buried in several pillows and golden tresses fell loosely down the chaise and around his face. He had a faraway look in his eyes and was mumbling something incoherently. When you stepped closer and had a chance to decipher his mumblings, you realized he wasn’t talking to himself, he was singing. Poorly.

“…and the fish’s at the sea…they sway by me…” or whatever gibberish you were able to discern. Probably some tavern song he learned from Trevor. That moment he noticed you standing there, golden eyes squinting at you.

“Oh…hello-” A small hiccup found its way past his lips.

You were trying your best not to laugh but your mouth still twisted into a smile as you watched him cover his mouth in embarrassment.

“Pardon me. I think I’ve had too much to drink.” He sat up, or rather, tried to sit up as he swung his legs over the sofa. You attempted to help him, pressing your arm at his back. “Are you alright?” You tentatively asked him. You didn’t know what his life was like before you came in. He wasn’t willing to share many details about his past, but from the small pieces of information, you concluded he was living a very sad, lonely life. That sometimes resulted in evenings spent drinking away his sorrows.

He shooed your hands away. “Nothing is wrong. I’m a vampire, so I am particularly able to hic keep my countenance in place.”

At that time you were fully grinning at his efforts to remain decent in his drunken stupor. Of course. You thought to yourself while you watched him fix his collar as if to add modesty to the already gaping hole in his shirt. There, you could see the pink sliver of scar that ran across his entire torso, marring the otherwise flawless pale skin. What sort of fierce battle the powerful dhampir face to mark him in such way. Every time you caught sight of that scar, your heart clenched painfully at the thought of Adrian in pain. He snapped you out of your thoughts with his drunken ramblings.

hic “You astound me, did you know that?” He said out of the blue and you were staring at him in surprise. He continued, “You are hic …most incredible person I’ve ever met in my life.” He looked you in the face a desperate look in his eyes as if he needed you to understand his statement more than he needed his next breath. “I mean that I mean it,” he softly whispered. “You are unlike anyone that I’ve ever met in my life, he put his hand on your cheek, studying your features.

“I…expose myself… to you.” You looked at his opened shirt in panic. The last thing you need is to have the dhampir deep in his cups to start undressing in front of you.

Adrian noticed your frightened expression and realized he was misunderstood. With laughter, he added, “no, not like that. I mean emotionally,” he grabbed one of your hands and placed it on his chest, right above his heart. It seems alcohol also made him sentimental. “I bare my soul and you don’t run away. I‘m a vampire lord’s son, THE vampire lord’s son…and you’re not afraid of me…and we can go on walks…and talk…and…and…I’ve just never met anyone like you…” his words dissipated into silence.

hic

Oh, Adrian.

All this time you had no idea he harbored such thoughts in his mind. You had a feeling he was being courteous to you by letting you stay in his castle, but not overly caring for your presence. If you knew what these brief encounters you two shared meant to him…

“I’m rambling a little bit,” Adrian bowed his head in shame and dropped his hand from your cheek to cover his face with it.

“I’m ashamed that you’re seeing me…like this,” he gestured to his disheveled appearance.

You patted his arm with placating smile, “It’s alright Adrian, sometimes we all have our bad days.” Then, you draped one of his arms over your shoulders and took hold of his waist.

Some light stumbling, a few knocked candelabras, and plenty of hauling on your part later, you made it to his bed-chamber. Where was the floating when you need one? You let out a huff as you threw Adrian’s limp body on the bed and almost fell on top of him in the process. The close physical proximity the two of you shared when walking into his room was already enough to paint your cheeks a rosy hue. You threw a blanket over him and prepared to leave when you felt a hand grabbing your wrist. The dhampir was looking soberer now. Still holding your arm, he brought you closer to bed.

He propped himself on his elbows and looked into your eyes with more clarity than before, “I likely won’t remember any of this in the morning…but…,” he paused for a moment as if gathering the courage to finish the sentence.

“I…can I…kiss you? Just one time…”

You were taken aback by his words once more. He practically confessed to you earlier, and the thought of touching those soft, plush lips sounded tempting. You didn’t realize that you’d been inching closer to his face until you felt his wine-laced breath on your lips and by then, you were too lost in his eyes to pull away.

He tasted like the sweetest of vines. Soft and supple, his mouth danced hesitantly over yours. You were sure that no vinery in the world has vine more rare and luxurious than the one you’re tasting on his tongue. You pulled away and whispered to him “goodnight Adrian.”

He mumbled goodnight to you as well and fell asleep mid-sentence.

You chuckled to yourself, caressing his cheek. *Creatures of the night, what symphony they make…*you pondered as you listened to his soft snores.

[sorryimananti-romantic]

i've been reading fanfictions and online novels for so many years (too many really) and for a very long time there was one common event or phenomena within the writing community that i never experienced myself: finding that ONE fictional novel that you will never let go, whose plot just will not leave your mind and you come back to reading it over and over again like you're a broken record.

most of my time in the recent weeks was spent commuting across country and when's a better time than to read fiction all by my lone self? trains, busses and bustling fading into the background and acting as a form of white noise. (blame it on growing up with ghibli)

tldr; i've picked up Horizon again lol

and i wanted to once again come here and extend all and every compliment towards you for writing (the entire series tbh!). it doesn't get old and it has once again sent me down an endless spiral of emotions even when i already know how it ends. how my adoration for the characters continue to grow is a mystery even to myself. and it's amazing how with every read-through, i find more and more clues and details to complete the bigger puzzle that i hadn't even picked up on during my first reads.

gotten so bad that i'll see the word Horizon, listen to the actual song Horizon and i can not stop myself from thinking about horizon!san and gaeul (also neve my baby).. google, can you be downbad for a fanfiction? asking for a friend.

getting lost in thoughts again and distracted by this universe, i have yet to bring up why i'm even writing this essay lol

after collecting my thoughts and my notes (and rambling a friend's ear off about the series and the universe and more..) i believe i have found that ONE fictional novel that i will never forget about and know will always end up coming back to - which is Horizon ♡

there's not much more to say other than just that, if i'm quite honest (otherwise we'd be here all night and i'm not willing to test if asks have a character limit lol)

but i do know that unless readers verbalize their thoughts and feelings for a piece of writing, the writer will never know the impact they might have had on someone else with something they wrote by themselves without expectations to reach such great distances and touch so many hearts (definitely mine). writers might be masterminds but even they can't read minds through a screen. (i hope..)

also as i am writing this, what a humorous coincidence that it's been exactly one year since the release of Horizon :') <33 happy one year ♡

all the hugs and kisses to you yumii 🩷 ○ chron

chron- 😭 first and foremost let me apologise bc i went to check if horizon really turned one year old today and foound your lovely feedback reblog that i. missed.???????? HOW DID I MISS THAT?? but also nice time discovering it bc after reading this ask and feeling some sort of way (emotional asf is what it is) i went on to read the reblog and i-

look, i'm really not an emotional person but i had to physically stop take a breather drink some water I DON'T CRY MUCH BUT THIS. THIS MAKES ME CRY 😭😭

and secondly, i love you so much 😭😭 your presence here and feedback and the encouragement and everything literally means so much to me you have no idea how good i'm feeling right now 😭 (be replying to the reblog on horizon soon btw i have no idea how i missed that gem)

i'm honestly beyond honoured. i don't know if you know but take me home/horizon lore is so so precious to me! it's literally my baby and i'm ngl i live in that lore. you'll catch me randomly thinking about it and coming with potential ideas for the future if i write another installment (honestly want to for every member one day) but horizon being that ficitonal novel for you? i'm clutching my heart rn 😭❤️

we're both ghibli kids hehe it's def been a solid influence on my imagination! ghibli movies were literally the first ones that i watched i'm glad my dad got me cds of them without having any idea what they were LMAO but the influence is there and i'm happy to find another ghibli enthusiast <3

and omgg finding more details on the sec read? ahaha that's lovely to hear :') i love how the fic horizon is now an additional with the song horizon for you hehe and neve, ugh. everyone's baby daddy neve :')

i'm honestly so thankful that you took the time to send this message, that you feel this way (and the reblog lord it's making me cry i'll reply to it soon too bc wow.) take me home was my first fic and i have no idea how i came up with the story (covid times, vacation, and first time worldbuilding was a dangerous combo lmao) and i honestly had zero plans for another installment in the lore but so many take me home san enthusiasts kept me engaged even long after take me home ended. thus horizon was born- i needed to do san justice after hinting that he and yena might have been sth.

horizon is my baby. i think horizon is one of my favs because i was ngl a big brain with how i extracted points from take me home to create the premise for horizon. like it's the most unplanned planned thing i've ever written? if that makes sense. i had a hard time coming up with twists but everytime i connected some event of horizon back to take me home i would literally evil smirk LMAO and i'm so glad you enjoyed it so much! it makes me feel proud that i wrote it 😭❤️

as you can tell i can talk about the lore forever. it was so fun to plan and write it and to find someone who appreciates it so much? literally in shambles rn. and to find this message and that reblog on the one year anniversary? god, i wish i could tell you how i'm feeling rn 😭❤️

again, thank you from the bottom of my heart! if i ever find the time to write another installment in that lore (idk if many will read it tho lmao but i could literally write another series for you) i think i'll def come to you for brainstorming :') i know the next one is going to be woo x darkling or yunho x some ice-user faerie (with more neve features bc they literally can't do this without him anymore LOL) and ahh i should stop writing now you're literally making me want to drop everything and start writing this ahaha

[lutiaslayton]

Hello! You seem to be knowledgeable about Japan-exclusive Layton stuff so I wanted to ask if you knew how many chapters were there in Mansion Of The Deathly Mirror? I tried to look it up myself but I couldn't find an actual answer

Thank you for all your translations btw I really appreciate them!

Hi, and thanks! <3 There are six chapters in total. For more info, I will simply give you (and anyone else who reads this) a Reddit post:

This post explains everything we know about Mansion of the Deathly Mirror and how to deal with the fact that this game is lost media.

That link aside, I have a transcript planned for Mansion of the Deathly Mirror just like I did with Chelmey's Casebook and London Holiday, but I don't even have the full first chapter completed yet, so I'll have to catch up whenever I have the time and materials to do so. I haven't had the time to work on it in many months, but don't worry, I haven't forgotten about it and I WILL make a better, FULL version of the translation, as soon as I can get to it (but right now I'm kinda supposed to be preparing for my PhD defence hahahahaha).

Now for some ramblings related to the above-linked Reddit post. Long story short: we have chances of securing the game. But for that to happen, we need to be patient, and we need to be silent. If you ever find footage of the game on youtube or elsewhere, no matter what you do, leave the player alone.

Let them upload at their pace and gather the crumbs as they fall off the table, because asking for them to let you eat the whole cake has never worked in the past. By that I mean: asking someone who owns the game "hey can I see your cool shiny thing asap plz plz plz" will result in that person blocking you, no longer posting any footage or content related to that cool shiny thing, and possibly disappearing off the face of the entire internet forever. I am neither joking, nor exaggerating.

I'm not talking that much about MotDM because we don't want to get too much attention drawn to it for the time being. But don't worry, if this game ever is found (and we have a whole team searching for it, we're just secretive on purpose -- for the reasons I mentioned here and for those that are explained in more detail in the Reddit post), we WILL make sure that the fandom knows about it. It's mostly just that right now, the only person we know who has the game and is somewhat willing to make a playthrough does not want any unwanted attention, and this person is not a friend of ours. They will stop uploading if people ask for them to upload faster, and they already threatened once to delete all their videos when someone asked them if they could "share the ROM." (No. No they won't. And even if they were willing to, we can't even make anything out of a ROM yet because of the hardware being stupidly complicated anyway.)

---

So there you have it -- your answer is "6," and I could have left it at that because I have no strict obligation to say anything more since you didn't ask for any other info haha.

Unless you want to dive into this endless rabbit hole, I highly suggest you just keep that answer, leave it at that for now, and go about your day minding literally anything else. We will get back to you and the rest of the fandom once we have real news about it! It's just that for now we're all stuck in limbo hahaha, there's some stuff done in the shadows but nothing worth hyping about until we're done with it. I mean -- we can't do anything until the one (1) person who owns the game decides to upload more footage of it. Given how desperately lost this game is, we should actually be happy we get to have anything at all, even if even NWoS might come out before it.

[EDIT] Needless to say, the player who is sharing some gameplay footage does NOT know that I have a website with the beginning of a fan-translation, and if they learn even so little that it exists, they are going to have a heart attack and will likely delete their entire playthrough. And nobody wants that.

I personally won't celebrate and heave a real breath of relief before footage of the full game from start to finish with as much content as possible is secured, which is why I don't talk about it a lot. I'm just paranoid that something might go wrong like it already has multiple times in the past hahaha

---

DO NOT show my website link around at random until I say it's ok to do so. And if you share it with friends, ALWAYS mention that I am the one running it. That way if you or your friends have questions, you know who to ask for explanations.

[outofangband]

(I have  some more free form Maedhros post Angband thoughts as I work on revising my more detailed trauma posts! As always more can be found in the post Angband and in the iron hell tags!)

There are lots relevant metas I have but I will link these two for now, mostly just for my own organization! x x

Maedhros loses hope in Angband time and time again. He loses it until he does not regain it again.

The prospective of an eternity in such a place is unimaginable to contemplate, especially for an immortal. Maedhros comes to know something as strongly as he has ever known anything; unless he is granted the mercy of death, he is never leaving these walls. He knows his brothers are not coming for him. He knows that there is no one coming for him.

He languishes on that cliffside, in unending agony, lips dry but for the poisoned rain that lashes him. It burns his throat when he drinks it but he still does so. He wants nothing more than death but knows he will never be allowed to die in such a simple way

I think it is nearly impossible to retain a sense of self, at least a consistent one, in these circumstances. To have a sense of self becomes unbearable. If you are conscious, if you are aware, if you are you, you are suffering. As much as possible, Maedhros tries to be detached, to let the endless torment and indignity erode at him until his own names seem foreign and any memories of the past flit in and out of his mind, unacknowledged and as inconsequential as the fractured bits of dream that disappear as you wake.

How do you regain the ability to go through your days after such an experience?

How do you return to eating and sleeping and caring for your horse and writing letters and preparing for war when for decades you wished only for oblivion?

Though of course…Maedhros does. He heals and leads a war, leads the settling of his father’s host throughout Eastern Beleriand, leads negotiations for land and allies. I think Maedhros had no choice in this. After the unspeakable stasis of Angband which denies both freedom, rest and stillness, he cannot stop for even a moment, not until the end.

Two notes:

- I know the Nírnaeth was a disaster but thinking about all of this makes Maedhros’s feeling of Morgoth being not insurmountable just so much more!! And its conclusion so much more devastating

-there are other reasons that he feels compelled to keep going in the efforts in the war, and this is in part because of the view of survivors, and ask prisoners among his people and throughout the continent at the time. I talked about this in a lot of post Angband posts so I won’t ramble on about it too much here, but I think that’s also important. He is acutely aware of how former prisoners are viewed and this is one of the best ways to deflect a lot of that suspicion and hostility that he might get even from his own people. I’ve mentioned that a lot of those who follow him are highly suspicious, and do not trust him both because he’s a survivor and because he abdicated the throne. However, they’re more willing to follow him then his uncle.

I do not mean to mitigate the element of revenge and of the oath, as part of his motivations, to be clear that they are profoundly important but I think about the others too.

(To be clear not justifying the crimes or anything! This is mostly about pre Nirnaeth stuff, it’s still present afterwards but I do not have the spoons to get into autonomy versus the oath and agency at the moment)

[coffeewithcutcaffeine]

hello my darling lin 💞 i'm afraid i can't keep it to myself any longer, i must know all about your character tags, they're simply too intriguing 👀.

Ahhh, my loveliest Lizzie! Thank you so much for sending this ask my way, it was such a lovely and generous surprise to find in my inbox today! 🥹❤️ I have a lot of different tags for five separate works so, please, bear with me as I briefly try to elaborate on all of them skdskfjsksfjsk. I apologise beforehand for my seemingly endless rambles, though I hope it will turn out to be interesting nonetheless! 🥰✨️

VOIEVOD:

The majority of my tags come from my medieval magnum opus sksksk because numerous distinct characters are already detailed and elaborate in my mind — let’s dig into them! I do have to confess that some of these tags have yet to make a proper appearance, but I have prepared them in advance, just in case.

( oc: if i cannot move heaven i will raise hell ) — Vlad Dracula. This phrase is a well-known quote from Virgil’s Aeneid: “Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo.” I have always felt that it perfectly encapsulates Vlad’s entire life — he is quite the prototype of a Machiavellian ruler willing to resort to more violent methods if needed (which we know very well from history, after all). Throughout the works, he repeatedly acknowledges his belief that he is destined for hell and expresses his willingness to sacrifice his soul for the greater good of his people. And he is also a very strong-willed and stubborn person who will always find a way to achieve his goals, whatever it costs him.

( oc: sanctuary ) — Cătălina. At first, I greatly hesitated to use this symbolism as I truly believe this remarkable woman is defined by much more than her role as the royal mistress and the mother of the voivode’s sons, and I try to depict that individuality of her character. However, this role does significantly influence her life and defines many of the decisions she makes. Throughout their relationship, Vlad sees Cătălina as his sanctuary because she accepts him as he is, loves him despite his perceived defects, and offers him a sense of belonging and peace. Sure, he loves that she keeps him on his toes, but this acceptance and the notion of having a kindred spirit give him the feeling of healing and safety. He can take off the many masks and let himself be exposed as he is, deep down. She also serves as a sanctuary for their sons, acting as the family’s anchor since they spend most of their time with her.

( oc: golden child; lion boy ) — Mehmed the Conqueror. His tag comes from the beautiful poem written by madzieloss on Tumblr, with the whole quote going, “Golden child, Lion boy; Tell me what it’s like to conquer.” I initially tried to use one of Mehmed’s poems from his diwan to make it a bit more personal, but this particular poem works perfectly because it encapsulates Mehmed’s whole essence — the Sultan of the Empire, the gifted child, the great conqueror. I also love using the recurring theme of gold and sun for his character. Gold represents the splendour of the Ottoman Empire, as well as his personal visuals (a lot of rich clothes and jewellery, the gilded Ottoman armour, his ginger hair and beard). Sun is the lovely little dichotomy seen in his character as it is both radiant and invigorating (his manners, generosity, education, intellect, aspects of rule), and merciless and blazing (his cruelty and the destructive sides of his politics towards other countries). Like the sun, he can either help grow or burn everything down.

( oc: the dragon ) — Vlad Dracul. I hate admitting that I could not come up with anything even remotely unique for Vlad’s dad as his moniker Dracul literally means “the Dragon” skdhskfskdks. However, the nickname was used for a reason, and we do not fix what isn’t broken in this house. The dragon’s role in medieval symbolism reflects a complex interplay between themes of heroism, morality, and the battle between light and darkness — on the one hand, the creature is seen as a protector and symbol of power, strength, and courage, but on the other hand, a dragon also represents a cunning and dangerous figure. He is called “the Dragon” both by people who admire him and despise him, so it shows the double meaning and the complexity of a ruler’s nature. At the same time, the meaning also spills over to his private life as he is both a figure of protection and (unwilling and unintentional) destruction to his family.

( oc: of burning martyrdom ) — Mircea Dracula. The eldest sibling is without a doubt the most tragic figure in the entire story, and I wanted his tag to reflect the tragedy and inevitability of his fate. He was killed at nineteen at the hands of his father’s enemies and in the cruellest way imaginable, and the “burning” part hints at some of the circumstances of his death. In his own way, he dies as a martyr because he dies refusing to give up his beliefs — and he is a martyr figure because the majority of his short life is marked with great struggles.

( oc: keeper of secrets ) — Alexandra. This tag is supposed to represent all the inner turmoil and complexities fighting one another inside Vlad’s younger sister. Because the two siblings share most of their personality and physical traits and are also close in age (there is a three-year gap between them), Vlad has always had a fond spot for his little sister and always considered her his little confidante — hence the meaning of keeping secrets. In return, Vlad has always been the brother who has granted Alexandra the most freedom and experience. She also keeps many secrets because there is a lot of her she has to repeatedly suppress inside of her — as I have mentioned, Vlad and Alexandra are quite alike, but Vlad’s personality tends to be accepted more while the same traits in Alexandra are often frowned upon.

( oc: cel frumos ) — Radu Dracula. My laziness shows here once again as that is Radu’s moniker, meaning “the handsome” or “the beautiful”. Radu has been given a fair share of horrible portrayals in media over the years, so I aim to further develop his character and show the varied aspects of his personality that are frequently overlooked. I initially tried to find something that would suit his complicated character but eventually settled on the nickname itself as it nicely shows the irony of his life and the most defining issue of his life — always being disregarded and reduced to only a sliver of his being.

( oc: cel mare ) — Ștefan the Great. (Or, as I like to call him, Fane.) There is no possible tag that would fit the famous Voivode of Moldavia and Vlad’s cousin (Vlad’s mother was a Moldavian princess) more than his own nickname, “the Great”. He is considered a national hero in both Romania and Moldova and undoubtedly earned his monicker through his actions.

OPEN HEART:

( c: i rise with my red hair and i eat men like air ) — Laura Levchenko. Her tag comes from Sylvia Plath’s poem called Lady Lazarus and, although I wanted to find a fitting quote from Lesya Ukrainka to represent Laura’s roots (that form a great part of her being), this one has the right amount of sharpness and edge fitting for my darling spitfire. Her fiery hair is undoubtedly one of her trademarks, and the quote also represents an independent spirit that will not be pushed down by being seemingly “inferior”. It also shows her own stance towards men, beginning with the painful experience with her dad and marking her whole life, as well as people who look down upon her.

( c: veni vidi vici ) — E.R. This is incredibly embarrassing because I was desperate to find something better for Ethan, something more fitting for his character… but there it is skdksfksldls. I do not think this quote even needs any introduction, so I will mention instead that “I came, I saw, I conquered” expresses the way Ethan achieves everything he sets his mind to, as well as the ferocity with which he pursues all his goals. When we compare his character to Laura’s, it might also imply the briskness with which he achieves certain things in life as a straight white American man — as opposed to Laura who is not only looked down upon for being a woman but also has to face a lot of xenophobia in her life. (You also want to re-enact the Ides of March on him sometimes but… I digress sksksk.)

CRIMES OF PASSION:

( c: this ghost sitting year after year upon my heart ) — Milena Rosa. This quote comes from Federico García Lorca’s play Yerma, in Spanish being, “este fantasma sentado año tras año encima de mi corazón”. I have to admit that I have yet to get myself familiar with Milena and craft her character in detail the way she deserves, but we know from canon that Jimmy’s tragic death greatly defines not only her own inner life (because she battles with all the demons his loss has inflicted upon her) but also the trajectory of her future career and the purpose she finds in her mission.

( c: bleeding sun ) — T.T. Trystan’s tag is from Lucie Thésée’s Poem, and the full quote goes, “Handsome as life and poison. Sun-blood handsome. Bleeding sun.” This was an instant fit because Trystan is undoubtedly the product of the environment he grew up in — Drakovia is both a place of beauty and vibrance, but we know its regime is bloody and deadly. Trystan will also never suppress the essence of who he is, and his character is both full of life and somewhat fierce (sometimes even violent) in nature. A lot of my worldbuilding for the story comes from my own experience as an Eastern European, and this little corner of the world is brimming with endless contradictions, so I tried to come up with something that would evoke that as closely as possible.

THE WAYHAVEN CHRONICLES:

( c: i am the sea and nobody owns me ) — Kimberley Cunningham. Kimble is my TWC newborn that I have only recently crafted into a character she should have been from the very beginning. Her tag is actually the legendary quote uttered by Pippi Longstocking which, apart from its fierceness, also fits Kimberley’s playfulness and carefree approach to life. She is a rebel through and through in every aspect of her life, which stems from the disastrous nature of her relationship with Rebecca. Her main objective in life is to do the exact opposite of what she is told, and she enjoys shocking people around her. But, just like the sea, she can be tempestuous and unpredictable, and some of her decisions can be quite destructive. Kimble ends up in the love triangle which kind of mirrors the rest of her life — initially harmless fun turns complicated and messy.

( c: a ribbon of loneliness ) — Sydney Brannagan. My poor baby Syd has been characterised through his melancholy since the very first moment, so I needed to find this little nugget that would instantly evoke his inner world. Then I found this quote by Jenny Slate that goes, “I think I’ve come to terms with the fact that there will always be a ribbon of loneliness running through who I am.” Loneliness runs through Sydney not only in the sense that he is such a sorrowful soul, but also because a part of him always feels so detached from others. All his life, he has felt like he has to prove his worth to his mother to feel accepted, and he also unconsciously builds a wall around him as the time goes by. In the professional setting, his personality does not stand out in any particular way — he is diligent and polite, some might even consider him a bit bland.

BLEEDING HEART:

I do feel like I need to give a bit more context for this interactive fiction beforehand, especially because there is only Chapter 1 out so far. The story is a retelling of Bram Stoker’s Dracula through the point of view of Mina Murray, and the first chapter already explores several wonderful themes I cannot wait to get my grubby little hands on! I have a very clear idea of who I want Mina to be, how she struggles in the setting and society she lives in, and how her personality drives her emotions and decisions. I do not know if my personal HCs will align with the story as it progresses, but there is nothing this user cannot tweak to her liking skdhskfjfksks.

( c: growing fruit around cyanide ) — Wilhelmina Murray-Harker. Mina’s tag is a part of a poem from a collection called Swallowtail by Brenna Twohy and goes, “Peach pits are poisonous. This is not a mistake. Girlhood is growing fruit around cyanide. It will never be your for swallowing.” Essentially, it encapsulates the conflict between who Mina seems to be on the outside and who she truly is on the inside. I have always felt like the Victorian times were one of the most suffocating periods for a woman to live in, and Mina always has to suppress a huge part of herself to somehow “fit the mould”, hence how she grows fruit around cyanide. Just like the society, her relationship with Jonathan also suffocates her — her engagement is a choice made out of reason, but she does not feel fulfilled with him in practically any way, which ultimately drives her into the arms of Dracula.

( c: the master of the night ) — Count Dracula. His tag is just the tweak of the quote from Bram Stoker’s Dracula: “Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!” Since he commands all the creatures and phenomena of the night, I have changed the bit to the “master”. I wish I had anything interesting to add to his character but, so far, I am waiting to see what he turns out to be like in Bleeding Heart — I know we are able to make him be the big villain or give him redeeming qualities, so I will wait and see which route will seem more fitting to me though I do play around with the idea of making Dracula more redeemable and a different character more villainous). Also, Count Dracula the Vampire has absolutely nothing to do with Vlad Dracula the Voivode in my fictional world — I know merging the two into one character is very popular, there is even one novel that did this that I absolutely love, but… not happening here lmao.

[adasknife]

ada wong's selfishness in the remakes with a dash of og, aka in defense of ada:

*um, rambles because of posts i see.*

Ada Wong is forgettable to some. Only remembered as a part of a ship to others, but her actions are remembered more. While the Wikipedia of fans, Ada is called a morally gray character yet all her pure of actions appeared in mostly in resident evil 6.

People defend Ada with the same words. Over and over, they mention, "Even though it is not her job to save Leon, she risks her own life to help him." [X].

It's just a huge disgrace to her character to only mention her goodness towards Leon and never around Luis. Or how it's assumed that she wants to destroy Wesker's evil plans in the Original Resident Evil 4 to 6. Especially due to the lack of understanding of Ada, people used to assume that Ada sold the highest bidder.

I just find it so difficult to believe that people struggle to assume Ada is a bad person. Or how the misunderstandings of her character led to Ada only caring of Leon. Leon didn't make her soft. Seeing her actions finally have consequences is what made her better. She rejected Simmons because he wanted to infect the world. But Ada saw Carla. She saw the world fall apart because of her.

In the original Resident Evil 2, people often discuss who is right or wrong. Of why Leon decided to chase Ada. If you were Leon, you saw an uninfected woman running around. Why wouldn't you help? And for Ada, it made her job easier.

selfish

(of a person, action, or motive) lacking consideration for others; concerned chiefly with one's own personal profit or pleasure.

Many people dislike calling Ada selfish or even cold to way. But let's review small details of the original separate ways and partial part sof the original Resident Evil. What purpose is there for Ada to save Leon? Outside of the forced romance, what is there to share?

Before anyone says anything, when I say, forced romance, I mean when the writers obviously have a preference for a couple, but they lack to properly write it. For example, in an interview the director said, "Initially when we started working on the plot for this thing, I wanted to do a love story between Leon and Ad, but that didn't happen." [X]

The discussions between fans and how they some overlysexualize Ada [X].

Ada and Leon were just a promise without a story.

But that's when other fans called in Leon as an idiot. Which, let's be real, he is an idiot. Leon and Ada never had a story in the plot. All they had was the idea of sex in damnation. For Leon, Ada was suppose to be his answer, but in the end of the day. Ada wasn't saving Leon because she loved him.

Ada saved her own skin, and we can not blame her. Ada is allowed to be selfish when she worked with monsters. Those being Wesker and Simmons. Leon was her protection, and I don't blame her. Leon saved her in the books (I believe they aren't canon anymore). And like in the remakes said, "You owe me." Which I think that's their dynamic.

We fall into the endless circles of not good writing coming from Capcom. Leon and Ada didn't even spend a night together, yet Leon claims, She is a woman he'll never forget. (Resident Evil 2 to Resident Evil 4)

But then the others words come along: isn't Ada good?

She is good enough. Only enough for the writers. Ada isn't a character made with love. She was used to protect Leon and put sexual tension in later stories after Resident Evil 2. Ada deserves more in her writing.

Now, in the remakes, the story is similar to the original, but they changed the story a bit. Leon was reduced a bit from his original writing, but once again, in defense of Leon. Leon thought Ada was willing to help because she was FBI. Why wouldn't he believe that?

Ada kissed Leon, yet it was the least romantic thing when Leon didn't seem to like it. Ada wanted help considering her position, and then she helps him with the tryant.

But we fall to Resident Evil 4 remake, Ada doesn't properly care about Leon and only helps him when she is close to the situation.

Ada ringing the church bell (you owe me); Ada shoots Mendez to only get inside of the house; she tells Leon where they took Ashley (After talking to wesker that Leon helps her with messes); she tells Leon about Krauser only when Luis dies (it's implied she is hurt about Luis's death); she helps Leon and Ashley with Saddler (main goal was to get the amber). Lastly, the final battle was that she only helped to get the sample and to get the amber.

But let's us recall: she does care enough for him. That's when my game theory comes along, Ada feels guilty in a way or two. Wesker telling Ada to blow up the island, you can practically see the doubt in her eyes. "Okay, Luis. What was it that you said again? You should have known by now, wesker. I don't always play by your rules." And her helping them with cure (another you owe me).

This is the beginning of her character arc to the good. At least you see it, unlike the original, where fans had to guess what the hell she is doing.

It wasn't Leon's love or appreciation. (As if Leon had love for her in this story).

Anyways, this was way too long to be a ramble, but this is just defense to Ada. Ada is allowed to be 'selfish' in her line of work. She is meant to survive to please the client, but she isn't morally gray if she is more of a chaotic neutral. She isn't a perfect hero. And her unpolished romantic plot line doesn't define her as well. She saved her own skin.

[sunstaar]

A Piece of Cake (or not)

Kakashi Hatake x reader

Word Count: 3,5k

Ao3

The happiest of birthdays to @wind-becomes-lightning ! Thank you for being such a wonderful and sweet person, it has been a joy to know you. Have a great birthday and start into your next year of life! I wish you all the best and more, so here's a little something for you! I hope you enjoy it 🖤

Summary: It is your birthday, and Kakashi is determined to bake a cake for you. If he had only known how wrong it would go.

Kakashi was not a baker, and for years already he had thought of the fact to be alright. Rather, he had always prided himself in the fact that he was a good cook, a great one even. There was not one meal of his that missed the mark, tasted off, or even made him feel a wrong kind of fuzzy inside. Without a doubt, cooking truly was a forté and due to the dislike he harbored toward sweet things, Kakashi never saw baking as something he needed to do often or be particularly skilled at.

For many years, he had no reason to, after all. That was at least until you came into his life, more specifically, your birthday.

Already a month prior, Kakashi had made sure to get a gift he knew you’d love, one with which he could spoil you as much as you deserve the be spoiled. Since that day it had been sitting at the bottom of his closet, cheekily hidden away from you and your prying curiosity, waiting for the day on which it could be opened.

Kakashi had to admit to himself, that he was rather proud of the gift he had chosen for you. Not only did he put a lot of effort into his choice, browsing more stores than he would have liked to until he finally managed to settle on something he considered to be close to perfect, but he was also very happy with his choice. So much so, that he had already wrapped the gift in the prettiest wrapping paper he could find in all of Konoha, topped off with one of the bows he had seen Kurenai make for her daughter Mirai.

Gift-giving was something he had never been convinced he was good at, always finding a way to somehow critique his own abilities. Yet, for you, he found it important that the gift he good was one that could make your face light up as it always did when you were happy. The huge smile your lips tugged into not only lit up the room, but also a smile of his own underneath his mask, one he could barely contain at the sight of you glowing.

Up until yesterday, he had thought of his gift as close to perfect, something he couldn’t improve if he tried. And he wouldn’t have changed anything about his gift, hadn’t it been for Gai interfering last minute.

As the energetic man had already been prior to the Fourth Shinobi War breaking out, Gai always strove to help people do their best. Especially following the war, Kakashi had found himself growing only closer to his dearest friend, seeking his advice once in a while, too. While Gai’s advice was always a double-edged blade, either too pompous or just right, over time Kakashi had become more willing to listen to what the dark-haired man was saying, his words more so an inspiration than easily dismissed ramblings.

One day until your birthday and Gai couldn’t keep his curiosity to his own anymore. So, Kakashi wasn’t surprised when the man asked what he had gotten you for your birthday.

In great detail, Kakashi began explaining his gift to Gai, barely stopping his explanation to take a deep breath or maybe sip from a drink to soothe his drying throat. He kept talking on and on, giving more information than initially requested, background information, all his scrapped ideas, and endless thoughts he had dedicated to you. And as though he couldn’t stop talking about you, Kakashi continued on and on, barely minding how Gai’s brows began settling into a slight furrow.

“My eternal rival, did you not get your lovely partner a cake?” Gai asked in his usual loud tone, so much so that he managed to catch the attention of a few people sitting around them in the bar.

Underneath his mask, Kakashi’s cheeks felt hot as his uncharacteristic rambling came to a screeching halt.

A cake? He hadn’t thought about that up until now.

Gai took a sip from his drink before he began explaining as though it was entirely obvious, “They are turning thirty, it is something to celebrate with a cake! It is once in a lifetime milestone!”

Of course, Kakashi knew that, he had once turned thirty too, after all. Luckily for him, it was a birthday he had been able to spend with you by his side, cheering him on throughout the entire day and giving him all of your love and affection. There had been barely a day like that one in his life, barely one on which he had felt as much joy as he did when he had been able to spend the entire day with you.

Kakashi awkwardly cleared his throat. “Right … a cake.” How was he gonna do that?

The few pats he had gotten from Gai on his shoulder were not the help he needed, especially as he was standing in his kitchen, doing his best at baking your favorite kind of cake for your birthday.

(Hypothetically, Kakashi could have gone ahead and bought a cake from a local bakery, chosen the prettiest and best-tasting one, and brought it home to surprise you, but he wanted to do something on his own, something more personal. He only wanted the best for you in the end.)

On the counter beside the ingredients lay a sheet with instructions for baking a cake, given to him by a kind elder lady long ago as a thank you for his help with her groceries. According to the woman, it was a family recipe of a delicious and easy-to-bake cake, passed down from generation to generation, at least until the kind woman had chosen to give him a copy too.

Kakashi was doing his best to do the recipe and also you justice, though, he soon found out that it was harder to do than initially expected. All those things he knew to do with his eyes closed while cooking suddenly seemed to just go as wrong as they could.

The first thing went wrong when he began beating the eggs to change from their yellow tone to white. In the middle of beating them, he not only remembered that he was supposed to add sugar soon, but also that he had somehow forgotten to add one egg. The fact that he forgot both made him groan aloud, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to focus on the daunting task before him. Maybe the impending headache he was forming was the reason for his growing forgetfulness, but either way, it left him a little frustrated that everything was not going to plan.

After taking a deep breath, Kakashi added the extra egg and continued to beat the eggs until white, ready to then add the right amount of sugar he double-checked this time. As written in the recipe, the mixture did indeed triple in volume, which had him breathing in a sigh of relief.

Now he had to gradually add some flour into the mixture and whisk it in. Weighing just the right amount of flower hadn’t been the problem for Kakashi, he had done this countless times already while cooking. But yet again, things weren’t meant to go right for him. As he added in the flour bit by bit, much of it missed the bowl and instead landed on his previously clean counters, causing a mess he knew he had to thoroughly clean up later before you came home. His counters were now painted white, a stark contrast to their original color.

“Nothing is going to go as intended today, is it?” Kakashi muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he moved on to the next step and went to melt the butter on his stove. To him, it felt as though he wasn’t meant to bake that cake for you, no matter how hard he tried to. That did not mean that he would stop trying because under no circumstance he would. The cake was meant to be a surprise for your birthday, and Kakashi would make sure the cake would be ready until then.

All he wanted was to surprise his spouse with something self-made, and nothing was going according to plan. A small voice in his head told him he should’ve just stuck to cooking them something, but another added that he always did that, that it wouldn’t be as special as when he baked something. Whether Gai had been right earlier was debatable, but Kakashi knew for certain that making something for his spouse was a clear sign of his affections, and all the love he held toward them.

With a heavier heart and fewer expectations than when he started, Kakashi dared to continue on. His mind was just all over the place today, a mere hour before midnight announce itself as would your birthday.

You. All he could think about was you. For you, Kakashi really wanted to make this right and bake the best cake he could, in spite of the bad day he was having so far. There was nothing he wanted more than to see you happy, and he would do anything for it to happen (even bake a cake if necessary).

Bravely, Kakashi continued, added the milk, and waited until the butter was completely melted. In comparison to the other steps, this one went better. While he was stirring the mixture carefully, his eyes traveled over to the recipe again to take a good look at the next step, one that had him hoping his streak of sudden luck would continue.

Next, he mixed some of the previously made batter into the hot milk, and luckily not one drop of anything spilled beyond the bowl. According to the kind grandmother’s notes, the step was supposed to both cool down the hot milk a little, and have the hot milk become foamy. Kakashi was especially glad when that in fact did happen, a breath of relief leaving his lips.

He only needed to pour the milk texture back into the whipped eggs, and then he would be done with the batter for the cake. He could do it.

Admittedly, his work was a little sloppy, uncharacteristically of him. While nothing ended up going over the bowl and right onto his kitchen counter again, Kakashi did feel more frustrated than he ever did when preparing a meal. He hadn’t expected baking a cake to be that difficult to do, given his skills when it comes to cooking. And yet, here he was, struggling.

In the back of his mind, he could hear your voice speaking to him, telling him not to worry about making mistakes, about not being good at everything. When he was down, you were the one pulling him up and back onto his feet, keeping him stable until he could continue on his own. Kakashi knew, that if you could see him right now, you would most likely let out one of your melodic laughs and shake your head at him. A teasing comment would fall from your lips, one that wasn’t meant seriously but rather to cheer him up. The kiss you would press against his cheek would have his cheeks heating up and reddening instantly.

For you, he would finish what he started.

As instructed in the recipe, Kakashi went to pour the now-finished batter into one of the several pans he owned, making sure that he covered the bottom with parchment paper first so the cake wouldn’t stick to it once it was done baking. Then he scraped the remains of the better out of the bowl and into the pan, making sure not to waste any of it in the process. To get out the air bubbles forming in the pan, Kakashi picked it up and dropped the cake pan onto the counter several times, successfully managing to get the bubbles out.

Despite most of the steps have gone wrong, Kakashi thought that his cake did not look too shabby. While it wasn’t what he would consider a visually appealing batter or one he would dare to attempt again, it did appear eatable so far. What he did not dare was to taste the raw batter, so, instead, he pushed the cake into the oven, set the timer to remind him later, and began washing up the used bowls and cutlery.

His hands were shaking a little as he washed each of the bowls and then dried them, nervousness beginning to build up and course through his body. There was something nerve-racking about baking a cake, or so he discovered today. Kakashi hadn’t thought of it as possible, but the thought of disappointing you quickly settled into his mind and had him anticipating the result of today’s escapade more and more with each passing minute.

Looking at the cake in the oven, Kakashi couldn’t help but grimace at his work. Despite the bright lights of his oven shining down upon the cake, they did not flatter it at all, and instead gave it the appearance of a big blob of batter just sitting there.

Exasperated with himself and his (more so Gai’s) idea, Kakashi rubbed his forehead as he watched the cake turn a golden brown shade. The smell coming from the oven was satisfying, to say the least, and even had his mouth watering a little, despite his dislike for sweet things.

The quite ironic cherry on top of the cake would be if it were to burn now, which was why Kakashi chose to keep a careful eye on it. In the meantime, he got the gift for you out of his closet and placed it so he could grab it and hand it to you once you returned from your day out with your close friends.

Excitement and anticipation were beginning to build up in his stomach and had him feeling rather queasy.

What if you didn’t like the gift he got you? That question had been bothering him for a while now. Kakashi had never been the time to care much about what other people thought of him and his actions. More so, he tended to ignore the public opinion and whisper about him. When it came to you, however, he cared more than he liked to admit. He valued your opinion a lot, and quite frankly, it also affected him.

Your disapproval would crush him, he knew that.

Luckily for Kakashi, before he could further explore that thought, the reminder he set began ringing and he immediately went to grab his oven mittens to take out the cake and place it on his counter. From first expectation, the cake had the same shade of golden brown as the recipe described to him, as did it pass the toothpick test.

What he hadn’t expected, however, had been that you would walk through the door five minutes before midnight, five minutes earlier than expected by him. As an experienced Shinobi, he should have expected such a thing to happen, he should have been prepared for it to happen, but he had been careless and as a result, was caught red-handed.

When you suddenly stood in the doorway to your shared home, Kakashi swore his heart was about to stop beating. For one, you looked so gorgeous and breathtaking, Kakashi could barely keep his jaw from falling open in both shock and awe, his pair of charcoal eyes almost shamelessly racking over your form for a moment. A mere moment later, the realization of what your presence meant settled in.

“You’re home already …” Kakashi said, quickly trailing off.

“I am,” Your gaze flittered from his flour-covered figure over to the cake placed on the kitchen counter, and then back to him again. Beside the cake lay two unopened candles shaped like the number three and one shaped like a zero, the intention rather obvious. “Is that a cake?”

One glance at the clock hanging above the doorway told him that there were only three minutes left until midnight when it would officially be your birthday. His plan was failing again, he could barely believe it.

“Yes, it is,” There was no point in hiding anything for the next few minutes or at all, especially since you had already seen what was meant to be a surprise. Your birthday, it seemed, had his head dizzy and thoughts disorganized, leaving him as unprepared as ever. Kakashi’s gaze flittered over to the cake before he took a step to the side to reveal the unfished treat to you, saying, “It’s for you.”

His nerves were practically shaking from how nervous he was becoming. If he still had his Sharingan eye, it would be activated by now, taking in your reaction without missing the instant upward tug of your lips or the way your eyes lit up in the way he loved so dearly. Your immediate positive reactions did manage to soothe some of his qualms, but not all of them.

With your eyes solely focused on the cake, you walked toward it in hesitant steps, a large smile gracing your stunning features. There was something about you, Kakashi thought as he watched your every step. To him, you were the most graceful person ever, the one who could captivate his whole attention with a mere word or action. To watch you take a look at the cake he made just for you, though with many complications, as excitement became more and more evident on your features had his heart beating faster than it did before. It practically hammered against his chest.

You turned toward Kakashi and the silver-haired man felt as he did when he first fell in love with you. Your gaze traveled over to the clock, mere seconds before midnight, and you smiled wildly at your boyfriend, joy radiating off of you in waves.

“Thank you, ‘Kashi,” You said, walking toward him to press a loving kiss to his cheek. You rested your cheek against his shoulder, taking a deep breath as your arms went to wrap around his figure. “It means a lot to me.”

Kakashi’s brows dropped into a furrow. “But you haven’t tried it yet?”

Truth was, you didn’t need to try it to know that Kakashi did his best. That was just who he is, someone who did the best he could for those he loved, and you also knew that you were lucky to be one of the people he did so much for.

“Well, it does smell amazing,” You began, further snuggling into his figure. “but I’m still a little full from my meal just now. Now I want to spend some time with my boyfriend who I love dearly, celebrate my birthday, and then have some of the best cake to top it all off.”

Kakashi swallowed the lump of worry stuck in his throat and smiled. The anxiety previously coursing through him was beginning to subdue, allowing him to gently knock his head against yours. “Alright then. But first, I still have a gift for you.”

“A gift?” You let out a gasp. You moved your head to now look at him, gaping. “‘Kashi! You didn’t have to!”

The man removed himself from you and walked over to where he had previously hidden the packed gift. Out of the cupboard, he took out the perfectly wrapped gift and hid it behind his back teasingly, walking toward you with a grin slowly becoming visible from underneath his mask.

To you, his sudden lift in spirit had become obvious quickly and had you smiling brighter than before.

Nothing could beat your reaction to when you unpacked the gift. Pure and undiluted delight, Kakashi was unsure how else to describe your reaction to it. Without a doubt, it was completely genuine, and yet, he was sure he had never seen you light up as you did the moment you opened the gift.

Kakashi was ecstatic to see that you were enjoying his gift. All the worrying he had done were almost for nothing as there was nothing to worry about in the end. He should've known, really, but the doubt everpresent in his mind had yet again managed to overpower all of his rationality. 

There you were, his light, his love, his everything smiling at him as though he was the whole world. Never in his life had he felt so loved before.

Kami, he loved you so much, he barely could put it into words.

"Happy thirtieth birthday, my love." Kakashi whispered into your ear before he pressed a kiss to your cheek, his lips remaining there for a moment longer than necessary.

The laugh you let out had his cheeks feel warm. "You could've left the thirty out, you know?"

"I know," He quipped. "Now that we're in the same age group again, I just had to mention it."

Playfully, you slapped his shoulder and let out a huff. "Idiot."

Kakashi let out a breathy laugh at your words. "But I'm an idiot you love, right?"

How could you not? You'd be a fool not to.

"Yes."

But here you were, a happy fool instead.

[westmoor]

the hart

(«- the fox. «- the hare)

(3.6k, shifter!jaskier, geraskier. some angst, some anxiety, some whump and violence - and healing.)

Destiny had favoured him, or so he’d thought.

Jaskier had been a different creature then. For the creature he is now, the world has little mercy.

Whatever courage youth had given him, darting down secret alleys on daring quests in the streets of Oxenfurt, skittering past the guards of his childhood estate to chase whatever whims the night presented, it’s all gone now.

Driven out by the dying light of day, vacant darkness with its tendrils crawling closer, growing longer, lean and frail. Grasping until they find him, take and remake him, warping his body to this shape he doesn’t recognize. And at last, plunging his world into one of twisting nightmares, undulating breaths hot and heaving through the grass, and the shadowed beasts stalking, searching, as the last remnants of his fortitude slips away under his feet.

Silence, he thinks, is the only mercy spared for creatures like him.

Beyond the concert of the dawn chorus, the lyric of a nightingale at dusk, the mourning of wolves calling their distant brethren as the season grows colder, there’s another world of sound. Imperceptible to all but those that live in frequent danger, that hold their breath and press their bellies to the ground in fields and meadows, straining their ears for a sign to flee.

Sudden fluttering of wagtails and startled sparrows. Squirrels hoarsely chattering above. Watchful rabbits drumming in the thicket, ordering their children underground.

He tries to wield it, to wrap himself in it. If he stays in this voiceless creature long enough, breathes quietly enough, perhaps the savagery that trails the luscious scent of prey in his tracks will go on by, and forget about him altogether.

Perhaps if he is good enough, hides deep enough - perhaps he can forget, too. Forget about foxes and hares and men with infections in their hearts, about whichever sickness has taken hold in him.

Or perhaps his luck runs out, like it so often does for those whose lives are favoured more by chance than destiny. Then, well, that is just a different sort of silence.

But for Jaskier, when chance fails him and he finds himself outwitted and caught in the jaws of that ultimate mercy, silence doesn’t come.

Instead, what finds him is a threadbare cloak, a smouldering campfire, a red mare, and the steady hands of a witcher.

--

They make it back to the little clearing he had run from, Jaskier’s cloth-wound body bundled in Geralt’s arm like something precious.

As shock begins to lose its grip on his mind, peeling back the layer of numbness he’s been afforded, the pain comes seeping back. With every step and jostle, something rattles in his chest. His joints move, but they move wrong.

He doesn’t know if bones this brittle are made to heal, or if this is just a body built for breaking. The icy wet that trickles through his coat is almost a distraction.

It hurts so much. It should hurt more.

He doesn’t even have a voice to whimper in.

It’s not until he’s lowered gently to the ground that he realises where they are, recognizes the low-hanging branches and the saddlebags piled haphazardly where he’d last seen Geralt standing. Recognizes too the wave that now, his panic bled out into the musty leaves somewhere on the forest floor behind them, feels more like shame. Thought battles instinct in his frayed mind and he knows he cannot run, but he cannot stay, and -

And had he been an excess burden in Geralt’s life before, then now, surely -

For eyes as wide as his, meant to discern between friend and foe at a league, any feature this close might as well be cruel. The details of his face are unclear as Geralt leans over him.

But he does know movement. Feels the fingertip that strokes the divot in his forehead. Geralt speaks, but the tone is clearer than the words, and it isn’t harsh. While passing over dirtied fur, easing down his ears, the other hand moves into the space between them and makes a sign.

Just like that, Jaskier’s world grows small again.

Slowly, the phantoms crouching at his vision’s edge recede, forced back beyond the shadows of the trees, kept at bay by scant firelight. Mighty trunks stand sentinel, barring their return.

Gone is the endless sky and the swift death that soars there. Gone too are the open fields and the dangers that prowl them, pointed snouts pressed to the ground, wetting their tongues at the scent of his injury.

He only knows what moves within this temporary refuge - tonight in the forest, tomorrow in the field - and the rounded silhouettes of those that could, but would not harm him.

There is no grand reckoning. No speech or lofty monologue, no words to twist or tones to ring false. Geralt doesn’t beg for forgiveness, makes no excuses, but he talks - low and smooth, for as long as Jaskier is awake to hear it.

The words will have faded from memory by dawn, but their essence remains - the solemn promise made that night, heard by none but the tall pines, a red mare, and himself. The one wrapped around him like a cloak, applied in layers of soothing honeyed balm over claw marks and wounds before it is spoken into existence: That no new hurt will find him here.

It’s a tedious process, but Geralt is right: his body does heal. Though the first week or so is spent under a dim fog brought by his witcher’s hand, it requires a restraint he never knew he had to hold out until his flesh starts to knit together.

Once his bones grow strong enough not to snap under the pressure as they twist in their fastenings, he finds the gap between one form and the other, and wills it open.

The transformation, though not always voluntary, had always come easy. This does not. It feels like fitting an old key, like forcing a lock that’s threatening to rust shut, throwing his weight against it in the hopes that the bar gives before the hinge.

He takes his first breath in the ribcage of a man like one saved from drowning. It burns and strains, and he is dizzy with the sudden height - but relief floods him like a tidal pool, and drowns out every other sensation.

When he looks up, Geralt is there, holding his clothes and lute, the things he’d left behind when they became too much to carry.

That becomes a pattern.

I am healed, he tells himself, and tells himself until he believes it, once his shoulder bends and deep breaths come painlessly. He believes it when he sings the songs of great grey beasts and their mountain brothers, terrible monsters and greater heroes, piecing together their stories bit by bit.

I will be healed, he decides, and tries to forget the songs about moorhens’ clucking and black little paws through the dew. Putting those pieces together not because they fit, but because they must, and tries to lose the ones left over.

But more often than not, Geralt is there and he picks them up, one by one, and hands them back in all the right order.

“You weren’t a hare when we met,” Geralt states one evening, in a moment of relative quiet - as quiet as their evenings are, one tuning his lute and the other sharpening the hunting knife he’d just tried to give Jaskier a lesson in wielding.

As if conjured by the mention of its name, Jaskier’s heart sets to beating. Although many unsaid things had become topics of conversation lately, neither had tried putting words to that. He suppresses the nervous shudder that crawls along his neck.

“I’m not a hare now either,” he says, and though it’s phrased in jest, it’s a reminder more than anything else: That he is not prey, and he will not run.

Geralt dismisses it with a grunt, and Jaskier knows that wasn’t what he had meant. There was a question in that statement, one of the dozens he himself had pondered over years, though he’s not sure which one exactly. Luckily, they all have the same answer.

“I don’t know,” he says, and the pressure at the back of his throat and how the words in his head refuse to conform into sentences tells him whatever comes next will be a ramble. While he’s never had trouble speaking frankly, honesty is harder. !I don’t know when or why or… how. Not how it started, even. I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t - or when I didn’t - whatever I am.”

He’s aware that he’s stopped playing. Looking at his hands still poised over the strings, he wills the stream to slow, and tries to find solid ground to stand on. Geralt, bless him, gives him time.

“I believe it changed, though,” he continues once the whirling pool in his stomach has settled, when he’s less at risk of going under. “When we were in Rinde - perhaps later? I felt as though I’d come apart. Like a music box shattered on the floor and put back together, looking just like it had before, but the melody not playing the same.”

“In Rinde,” Geralt repeats, frown deepening with something akin to guilt. “Do you think the djinn, or Yen…?”

Jaskier has thought about it. Still thinks about it, when it all comes seeping through a bedroom window, when the sweet beckoning of the wind outside becomes curses. When it raps at the glass and taunts him for hiding his face in borrowed blankets or warm skin of a stranger, laughing at his cowardice. He remembers going out of tune, dissonant thrumming at his core at the disturbance of foreign magic.

“Yes,” he says.

But he also remembers Geralt’s gaze falling on another, losing the weight of it and coming unmoored. A beautiful sorceress, soft arms wrapped around rough, hushed voices ringing in unison. Seasons shifting and roads turning under his feet as he followed that to which he had tethered his dreams and aspirations. He remembers the scent of smoke and hunt and howl, and laying claim to a home, to a heart that wasn’t offered.

“But I think it was me, too,” he finishes. “I think the djinn - or Yennefer - or something may have pulled my pegs loose, so to speak. But the shape I took, that was mine.”

He’s always found it curious - if sometimes unfortunate - how words not intended to be spoken aloud but come by their own volition often seem to manifest more strongly than those initially planned. How much harder they are to ignore.

Curious, too, how a thing once named becomes tangible and must, at least in concept, adhere to the rules and limitations of the real world. How it can be touched and held, put away and taken out, turned over until it stops hurting.

The nights grow long in the wilderness, and the passing of summer shortens the days. And while he is no longer driven to bolt from his skin in fits that feel like madness, the whispers of the dark still tinge the air he breathes with the sweetness of rock-rose and blackberry. There are nights when it becomes inevitable, when he knows before the sun has set that the carefully balanced scales of temptation and trepidation will tip, and he will spend the hours of darkness trapped within this animal that cannot sing.

But even then, there is respite.

An index finger easing the tension of his furred head, careful strokes to coax his ears from their rigid stance, from turning at any sound real or imagined. Palms coming settling over his temples, roughened fingertips on bare skin, providing solid walls against all that feels too vast to comprehend, and reducing his world to just what can be held between two hands.

If the drumming of rabbits is his signal of peril, the signal of peace becomes the rhythm of a slow and steady heart, beating faithfully in the chest just beneath his ear.

It’s there, in the secluded space between their bodies where he draws circles to match the caresses over the small of his back, that he finds the courage to unearth the fragments of what he once was, mismatched bones and unmoored thoughts and instincts all he has been unable to lose, and starts to mold them back together into something recognizable.

As the thing that has sprouted and grown lush from the ruins of what was between them matures and turns vibrant, so do the leaves.

Autumn brings abundance the likes of which he has barely known. Roadsides overflow with wildberries to rival the richest vineyards of Toussaint. Cider sweet as honey pours in every tavern in their way, pressed apples picked from branches hung so low to the ground they must've sighed with relief at the loss of their burden.

Yet no sun-warmed apple cider shines as golden, nor has any Toussaint wine rendered him as drunk as his lover’s eyes or lips on his. At his side, in his arms, Jaskier finds the hollow indentations of a former self still vacant, still waiting. And the corresponding edges, worn smooth like river rocks over time, fall into place with such ease he wonders how they ever came apart at all.

There, safe under Geralt’s gentle touch, the wild may call all it wants.

--

Another forest’s edge, another contract, another waning moon.

Jaskier stokes the fire, tending to the warding light, wondering idly whether flames ignited by a Witcher’s sign hold more power than those lit by mere mortals. He likes to think they do. If he leans into it, he can easily convince himself of Geralt’s grounding presence remaining long after his footsteps are lost in the undergrowth. Behind him, Roach grazes in a patch of clovers, her calm tempering even the most skittish of his natures.

It is still, stiller than it has been for a while. The slight gale that picked up at the setting sun has dwindled to a breeze. He thought about unpacking his lute near an hour ago, but wouldn’t risk disturbing the sanctity of the evening, its melody would feel too far out of place in the arrangement of grasshoppers and midnight warblers.

Even to his human senses, animals of bush and green play in concert - from the whip of a falcon’s wings to the complaints of adolescent woodgrouse reluctant to leave their natal clutch - unknowingly orchestrated, and all of them distant. None, no matter their place in nature's hierarchy, dare test their mettle against the ever-present sense of death and danger that shrouds the dwelling of a witcher.

They stir and fuss, some waking while others settle down to sleep, until they don’t.

Jaskier’s buried instincts know it before his waking mind does, the urgent shift in pace and tune, discordant notes of prey’s first warning.

He listens intently.

It must be large, or voracious, or both. Seldom does a simple beast inspire such disquiet, word of its advances sending ripples of caution to every ear that knows to harken.

Be quick, they say, or be quiet.

Though he can’t make out the movements of the thing itself, the tell-tale cries and rattles of other creatures point its path. A bird takes wing, then another, each one closer and all too close to their camp.

Roach stands frozen, nostrils flared. He thinks he can hear it now. Smell the stench of its breath if he tries, make out its shape in there amongst the trees, moving with far too much stealth for anything that size. Too large for a cat, too quiet for a bear.

It closes in, so near now that a crouch, a leap, might take it into their midst.

Jaskier holds his breath. There is nothing else to do. Not as a fox, or a hare, or a man. Nothing to do but wait.

Whether real or supplied by imagination, he hears it scuff at the ground, draw a deep lungful of scent down into its massive body. And then it moves - away, back into the woods.

For a moment, he welcomes the silence, rushing elation that fortune has yet to claim his debts. But realization doesn’t follow far behind.

No wild thing would come upon a witcher by accident. None could miss the scent of one, and none should come so close to it before changing their mind, unless...

The lone hunter, whatever its goals, has picked a fresher trail: Geralt’s.

It’s ill-advised. More so, it’s stupid. The knife feels foreign in his hand.

He’s not such a fool that he thinks he can fight it, or that the blade or his ability to wield it would make any difference at all. But he must do something, needs to try. If only he can warn Geralt, call out in time and let him know before the beast can pounce…

But it moves fast, and his eyes are slaves to the light, inadequate under the ceiling of leaves and branches. Soon, he hardly knows if he follows it at all.

Every fiber of his being wills against abandoning this last shred of defense, but he knows he has no choice, not if he is to make it.

The knife lands with a thump, the soft ground cushioning its fall. For the first time in a long time, by his own volition, Jaskier shuts his eyes and folds his frame in on itself, opening them to a world tall and vast and all too sharp.

Speed is on his side. This is a body made for running, and run it does. By whatever force his kind is blessed, by fate or chance or both, nothing stands in his way. Though moments wasted on doubt comes at a price, and though he covers ground thrice as fast, he can’t gain it all back.

His vision is wide. The white of Geralt’s head, back turned as he brings his weight down to end the last of the ghouls, lights it like a beacon.

And the ragged shape, hulking even where it’s coiled to spring, attention locked to Geralt’s undefended back with an intensity that swears violence. Canine eyes do not glow, but in that moment, in his world of ash and shadow, Jaskier swears the werewolf’s eyes shine red.

And a hare’s cry, no matter his haste, no matter how shrill, holds no power to them.

He sees everything at once.

Glints of teeth under snarling lips as it jumps. The flash of the witcher’s blade as it swings too high, going clear of the werewolf’s head.

Its jaws lock at his side, tearing through armour and sinew into muscle, grating against bone. Jaskier has never heard a sound like this. Not from man, or from beast. Not from Geralt. It's sheer anguish turned vocal.

Something in him breaks, then.

Like an old joint, once healed wrong and calcified, cracking open to swing freely. It hurts at first. The snap, burning white-hot and blinding. And then: Euphoria.

His body regresses to the confines of a man, and beyond. The change is too fast to feel, too fast to track.

A new form, new instincts bursting through before he knows how to tame them. Fear gives way to fury. By the time he knows he is moving, he has already moved.

It takes no thought at all to lower his head. To align his skull and spine. Leap from his spot.

The impact ought to hurt, but it doesn’t. There’s an audible crack as something breaks, but not from him. Neither is the inhuman yowl that follows, sound reverberating through the forest.

The smell of blood fills his lungs. He doesn’t balk at it.

His face runs warm, runs wet. Twisting to free himself of frantic limbs and mottled fur, he shakes his antlers to strike again. This time, he finds the wolf yielding, limping back just shy of his sharpened crown. When it flees, he thinks to follow, to make up for every night and every hour spent in terror, driven underground by lesser beasts than this.

But Geralt’s scream still echoes in him, the sound of it a weight he cannot bear, couldn’t move under had he tried.

In the moment it takes to hesitate, doubt rears its head. Face awash and prongs painted red with the blood of another living thing, he feels about as far from the self he has learned to accept as one can come. To anyone else, he must look monstrous.

But when he turns, Geralt isn’t looking at him with disgust. Not with scorn, either. Or pity, or any other thing Jaskier had thought he’d face if he spoke the truth of his nature all those years ago.

Geralt raises the arm at his uninjured side. Had Jaskier been smaller, and softer, he would’ve slipped under it, curled up in the hollow at his witcher’s throat and stayed there, felt his heart beat and his chest rise until morning came to see them hale.

Instead, Geralt steadies himself with a hand on his neck and draws close. Giving more of his balance Jaskier than perhaps he means to, but no more than Jaskier can hold, his breaths so deep they might as well be sobs.

There are words to be had. Answers to be found. Leagues to walk, and promises to keep.

Soon enough, winter winds will sweep down across the continent, summons ringing from empty halls in far northern mountains, and they will answer.

But for now, Jaskier is home.

For now, the witcher leans his forehead against that of his hart - or fox, or hare, or bard - knowing that neither will follow that path alone.

At the edge of the woods and throughout the field beyond, rabbits cease their drumming, and the first few songbirds wake to herald the dawn.

--

Sorry for showing up half-assed four months late?

Tag list: @llamasdumpsterfire @stinastar​ @elliestormfound​ @justjess94​ @fontegagrilledcheese​ @dani-dandelino​ @honeysuckletook​ @underwaterattribute @ahhhhhhdonna @biitumen @cinary @saphiramalbec @lilbanili @sulkyshengshou @blooodymoon @dapandapod @kuripon @samstree

@tsukuyomi-selene and @herostag asked to be tagged for this one in particular, I think?

[ack3rlady]

The Universe Had His Back - Chapter 7

Summer

Chapters: Six | Seven

Master List

Warnings: Fluff, Fluff and more Fluff

Word Count: ~2.74k

Inspiration: Don't Go - Exo

A/N: And with this chapter, I conclude this series. Thank you for all the love you all gave my baby project!

Tags: @sooibian, @queenofcurse, @red-n-tall, @badbitxhbuckybarnes , @sweet-assh0le

‘Why am I nervous? We've done much more than just kiss. For fucks sake! I'm the mother of his child.’

You took a few deep breaths to calm yourself down before pushing the cart from behind your truck towards the large glass doors of the café. You had offered to take today’s batch of bread and pastries to Levi’s to snag a chance to see him, much to Mikasa’s annoyance.

“Oi, brat! You’re late.”, Levi remarked without looking up from his laptop when the bell above the door rang with your entrance, expecting her to have finally arrived.

“Levi, I’m so sorry! I made an impromptu decision to come here instead of Mikasa and -”, you emerged from behind the lofty stack of boxes.

Your hair was up in a messy bun, you were panting from hauling the weight and the resultant perspiration made you glow. Your continual rambling about why you were late, instantly gave him a feeling of Déjà vu, hurling him eight years back in time to the morning when he first laid his eyes on you.  Mirroring that day, he couldn’t focus on anything you were saying, gawking at you with unblinking eyes given how stupefied he was by the sight before his eyes and the sound of your voice.

“Levi? Are you listening?”, you waved your hand in front of his face, disrupting the mental movie playing in his head.

“Huh? Oh, y-yeah. Hi.” he shook his head vigorously and blinked a few times to bring himself back to the present.

Both a blushing mess, you stood by the entrance to the cafe, smiling at each other like two smitten high-schoolers.

“Are you finally back together?”, a shriek from the opposite end of the seating area made your ears ring.

The cacophony was loud enough that Erwin’s head immediately peaked out of his office; his face riddled with confusion. Both your necks snapped towards the source - Hange was running in your direction with the brightest grin on their face. Every head in the room was turned towards you. Eren and other new members of staff at the café, Armin, Jean, Sasha and Connie were slack jawed with their gaping eyes fixed on you after being subjected to this abrupt and unnecessary announcement. One look from Levi sent them scrambling back to work.

“Fucking four-eyes.” he mumbled as they came closer.

“I knew it! You lovebirds couldn’t stay apart for long!”, they squealed with joy enveloping you both in an spontaneous group hug, not giving Levi an opportunity to flinch away.

“Shhh! Calm down, Hange! We’re not back together. Yet.”, you tugged on their hands trying to free yourself from their clasp.

Levi's eyes met and stayed on yours when you uttered the last word, the way his heart fluttered at the sound of it clearly reflecting on his face.

Yet.

“But you were together last night. You have both put in way too much effort in your appearances today. And the color on Short-stack's cheeks can be spotted from Mars! What am I missing here?”, they observed, unaware of the heat rising within their two friends thinking about their final moments together at the Ackerman home yesterday.

Always the perceptive one, Hange. They weren’t entirely wrong. You did spend forty minutes in your closet hunting for the one floral lemon-yellow dress that Levi loved seeing you in; piling on deodorant while simultaneously cursing the hot summer. You picked your reflection in the mirror apart for way too long, fiddling with the necklace he bought you ages ago while rehearsing what you would say to him.

By the looks of it, he did too. He looked oh-so handsome today. Granted, he always did. But today was different. He wore your favorite navy-blue button-down shirt with slate grey slacks, sleeves folded to reveal his toned fore arms, and the top two buttons left open to aid with the sweltering heat; or was it because he knew that it made you weak in the knees when he wore his shirts that way? And his cheeks and ears were definitely a brighter shade of pink than the raspberry compote on the cheesecake you brought.

He stood pinching the bridge of his nose, his breathing starting to speed up. You figured it was his attempt at suppressing the strong urge to smack the grin right off Hange’s face.

“Hange, I promise, I’ll give you all the details later. But for now, Levi and I have things to discuss.”, you pulled him away before he could act on his impulse.

Taking a seat at the table by the large bay window, kissed by the morning sun, you watched the city slowly rise awake with your cheek resting on the palm of your hand. Levi, who was walking back from the kitchen with a cup of tea for himself and a caramel latte for you, stopped in his tracks to mentally frame this image. It was as if you were a different person than who he met over the last two days.

There were no signs of the anxious but adoring mother from yesterday nor the bewildered, pained ex-wife from the day before; you were the same clumsy, moody, garrulous, as well as kind, selfless and mesmerizing woman he fell madly in love with when you walked in through the doors of this very place eight years ago. How could one person flood his heart with a barrage of different emotions this way?

You acknowledged him with a soft ‘hi’ accompanied by a smile when he sat down on the chair opposite to you, nervous about the forthcoming conversation. You stole occasional glances at each other while sipping your beverages, hesitating to be the one to say the first word.

“Do you hate me?”, he asked out of the blue, his gaze locked on his cup.

“No! Why would you think that?”

“Uh- you obviously had a chance to think about what I said to you after going home last night. Why would you possibly want to still see me?”

“Well, I’m here, aren't I? I want to work on us if you’re willing to try as well, Levi. I want to see where this takes us.”, you smiled, placing your hand on his.

"Me too."

.

.

Four months later

The day of Suki and Furlan's wedding was finally here. The venue was set, guests had arrived and you were busy helping the bride get ready for her special day, having spent all morning with her, Isabel and the other bridesmaids in the bridal suite, chatting away in excitement and anticipation for the day ahead.

“Honestly speaking, Suki, I’d have a hard time keeping my hands off you if I were Furlan”, you teased while draping the veil into her hair, causing her to bury her face into her palms.

“You’re one to talk! Levi has been looking for reasons to see you all morning. I had to turn him away thrice already. I'm pretty sure he is going to murder me after the wedding is over.”, Isabel shot back with a smirk.

The last four months had been nothing short of a whirlwind. After that morning at the cafe, having breakfast with Levi turned into a routine. He brought Luna along on most days, and the three of you spent time chatting and admiring the toddler’s antics over tea and scones while sitting at your usual table by the bay window. Sometimes you’d have her accompany you to the patisserie to give Levi a much-deserved break.

Everyone there was enamored with the little firecracker. Her Uncle Miche had always been her favorite because the gentle giant ferried her around the large kitchen on his shoulders. Bertholdt and Reiner would happily comply to all the orders their mini boss belted out. Annie, although a little awkward around her, listened intently to her endless stories; Mikasa secretly pampered her with numerous treats even after several warnings from you, and Nanaba would fuss over her all the time and try to keep the little one all to herself, earning protests from the others.

The evenings varied between taking Luna to the park or the pier, or just spending time indoors at your place or his. You even celebrated her fourth birthday two weeks ago. All your friends and family, along with some little friends the birthday girl had made at the park were invited. You spent a beautiful evening in the backyard of your house around a bonfire, with a delectable meal and wonderful company.

Levi especially made sure you knew that you were being wooed by taking you out on date nights every now-and-then to the finest of restaurants, walks on the beach, to the drive-in theater a few miles outside your town, or star gazing from your favorite spot up the nearby hill. You both were working through your differences and had barely had any disagreements during the time spent together. Things were slowly falling in place; in fact, this newly re-built relationship with him felt much stronger than ever before.

The flashback ended when the wedding planner knocked on the door indicating it was time for the ceremony to begin. You, Isabel, and the other bridesmaids ushered Suki to her designated spot, making sure her dress, hair, make up and flowers looked perfect.

.

.

Standing at the altar by Furlan’s side as his best man, Levi was relieved that he would finally be seeing you soon after being apart all morning. Lately, the two of you spent most of your time together; and this sudden separation had him feeling restless.

On cue, the two harpists seated on either side of the rows began to play heavenly tune of ‘A Thousand Years’ by Christina Perry, a prompt for the bride’s party to start making their way towards the altar. He watched patiently as bridesmaids accompanied by groomsmen walked down the aisle, waiting for you to finally appear. He almost forgot to breathe when your form eventually entered the nave, walking a short distance behind Isabel and one of Furlan’s friends.

You wore the emerald gown from your encounter with him at the store four months ago, and looked a million times more beautiful this morning. Your usually open hair was tied into an elegant loose braid with some curly strands framing your face. The sun rays falling on your silhouette from the towering stained-glass windows of the church made you look like an angel descending solely upon him. He finally began breathing again when you smiled at him and mouthed “breathe”, after taking your position at the altar.

Levi only peeled his eyes away from you when Luna’s giggles reverberated off the stone walls as she waddled down the aisle, scattering petals of baby pink roses, about the same shade has her chubby cheeks, on the ivory carpet. You wiped a stray tear rolling down your face as you both proudly watched her play the part of a flower girl with utmost perfection. Upon making it to the end, she ran to you and buried her face in your gown, suddenly feeling shy from the cheers and applause she received from the smitten guests.

You instantly scooped her up and held her close, letting her nuzzle into the crook of your neck, cooing sweet words of encouragement into her ears. Levi was so taken by this divine scene before him that he failed to notice the bride's much awaited walk down the aisle; surprised to directly find Suki standing at the altar, facing Furlan with her lips curved into the widest smile before his attention found you and Luna again.

He lost track of how long he was marveling at his two perfect girls for, until he felt an elbow harshly crash into his ribs, knocking the wind out of his lungs.

“Is this revenge for your wedding?”, Furlan frowned.

Levi blankly stared at him, having no clue what he was talking about

“Ring, Levi!”, the fuming groom growled.

Oh, right. He pursed his lips in embarrassment melting under the scrutiny of the baffled guests while he handed over the ring that was in the safety of his blazer’s pocket. His eyes darted towards an alarmed Suki and silently apologized to her. Then his gaze moved back to you, an impish smirk on your face as you stared back at him, knowing exactly what was going on in his mind.

Fuck! Furlan was not going to let this go for a long time.

Luna had lost interest in the festivities midway through the nuptials and had fallen asleep in your arms. After the ceremony, when everyone began to make their way outside the chapel, Levi swiftly moved over to walk beside you and offered to carry the snoozing toddler. You groaned after her weight left your body, stretching your sore shoulders and aching back .

“Stop that. You have no idea how hard it is to control myself from jumping your bones, especially when you look this gorgeous.”, Levi whispered in your ear, snaking an arm around your waist.

You glanced around awkwardly making sure his words did not fall on any prying ears and gave him a quick smack on the shoulder, trying to suppress the heat creeping up your neck.

.

.

Time skip – Evening

The wedding reception was underway. You sat at a table sipping lemonade, watching the newlyweds grooving to the beats of music being played by DJ Zeke. Levi swapped his usual glass of Macallan for a cup of ginger lemon tea; His reason being that his throat was sore from carrying out best man duties. But you knew he was just being supportive of your goal to stay off alcohol.

Erwin and Hange sat by the bar, socializing with Furlan’s Boss, Mr. Pyxis while Luna was busy playing duck-duck-goose with some new toddler friends she made at the venue. Levi needed to be physically restrained from ambushing Isabel who he had discovered slow dancing with the same groomsman that walked alongside her at the ceremony. Miche and Nanaba were spotted in a rare public embrace, dancing leisurely to the slow music; and your army of helpers consisting of Eren, Mikasa, Armin, Jean, Sasha, Connie, Reiner, Bertholdt and Annie took the lead on setting up tables as yours and Levi’s patisserie and café were the official caterers for the evening.

The choice of DJ Zeke's next track brought a sparkle to your eyes. Your smile spread from ear to ear when ‘Fly me to the Moon' by Frank Sinatra emanated from the speakers. You sang along and began swaying cheerfully in your seat to the melody.

“Remember, Levi? This was the song we had our first dance to at our wedding.” you reminisced; a nostalgic smile spread across your face.

“How can I forget?”, he asked.

His eyes were unfocused, lost in memories of his own. He remembered how ethereal you looked in your white wedding dress. How your diamond jewelry shimmered under the spotlight, how you whispered honeyed words into his ears when he felt exceptionally uncomfortable dancing in public, how warm your hands felt wrapped around his body, how your breath tickled his neck. He’d give anything just to go back and relive that moment.

You gaze was still lost among people enjoying themselves on the dance floor when a stretched-out hand entered your line of vision. Your eyes followed it to land on Levi’s face. A quirk in your eyebrows wordlessly asked him what this action meant.

“Let's dance.”, he said.

“You, Levi Ackerman, are willingly asking me to dance? Did someone spike your tea?” You smirked, earning an eye roll from him.

“Oi, brat! Let’s go before I change my mind.”

“Only if you ask nicely.”

“May I have this dance with you, my love?”

You accepted and the pair of you headed towards the dance floor. He gently pulled you close to him and firmly held on to your hand. His other hand wrapped firmly around your waist and you rested yours on his shoulder. You both moved to the slow rhythm in perfect harmony, as you drowned in those gorgeous blue-grey eyes. It felt like the world around you had dissolved and it was just the two of you and the music.

“You look nice today. I see you bought the same gray suit you hated with a fiery passion.”, you teased.

“How could I not after you said you liked it?”

You looked over his shoulder to Suki and Furlan flashing you a wide grin from across the dance floor. And so did Hange, Miche and Nanaba from over that the bar. Erwin gently raised his drink in your direction. The heat from the from the sudden metaphorical spot light you stood under was cooled by the kiss Levi planted on your cheek.

“Did I tell you how lucky I feel to have you?”, he whispered into your ear as while brushing strands of hair off your face.

“I could stand to hear it more often.”, You hid your blush by resting your forehead on his shoulder, feeling too shy to keep his gaze.

“It's true. You’re the most beautiful woman is this room tonight, scratch that, you’ll be the most beautiful woman anywhere, any day; and I get the honor of calling you mine.” he cooed, drawing gentle circles on your back with his fingers.

“You’re awfully talkative today!”, you lifted your head again to reveal a contagious coy smile spread across your lips.

“Don’t be stupid. I’ve always been talkative.”,

“Come with me.”, he moved you off his chest and tugged at your hand.

“Where?”, you asked in utter confusion, and a bit of annoyance at the wonderful moment being ruined, just to receive silence in response.

Levi quickly glanced over to find Luna munching on garlic bread sticks with Erwin and Hange, as he guided you away from the venue and towards the lake nearby. The ripples in the water gleamed under the moonlight, resembling liquid silver. Warm yellow light from the lamps on either side of a wooden dock dimly illuminated the path that led to a gorgeous gazebo that stood at the end, its ceiling sprinkled with fairy lights that defined the intricate floral carvings in the wood. You stood in the center of the structure and slowly spun around, marveling at the work of whose ever brilliant hands built it.

“Levi, this is stunning!”, you said gazing in all directions, running your fingers over the sophisticated engravings.

“Yes, it is.”, Levi agreed, his eyes not on the architecture, but instead on the human embodiment of radiant sunny day that stood by his side.

Not remotely expecting anything to outshine the sight before you, your vision was captured by an extravagant display of red, green, and gold against the dark blanket of the night’s sky. You jumped when the sound of the first soaring explosion caught you off guard. An arm slid across your waist and a kiss was placed on your temple. You were enamored by the shattering sparks of the fireworks, eliciting frequent oohs and aahs, until a voice snapped you out of your reverie.

“Marry me.”

It took you a few seconds to fully register what you just heard. But when you did, overwhelming feelings of joy rendered you speechless; fingers absentmindedly running over the carved railing of the gazebo, stunned orbs darting between the brilliant sky and the love of your life.

This time Levi had to remind you to breathe.

Your eyes and lips both turned into wide Os, and you slapped your hands to cover your gaping mouth when he slowly lowered himself to kneel before you, opening a little black box containing the same gorgeous ruby ring from all those years ago, which he sneaked out of your nightstand during one of his visits.

“I know that you said you wanted to take this slow. But the last four months with you have been the most precious of my life, where I got a glimpse of what having a perfect family would be like. I learnt the hard way, what I lost when I lost you and you gave me a second chance at finding happiness when you decided to come back. I promise to love and protect you every single day for the rest of my life, and even after. You complete me, love, and you complete our family. So, will you do me the honor of being Mrs. Ackerman, again?”

“Levi...”, your trembling voice was barely audible.

“Yes.”, you breathed, letting the floodgates finally open when he slid the ring on your finger.

He got back on his feet and engulfed you into the tightest embrace as you wept joyous tears into his shoulders.

“I love you so much!”

“I love you too!”, moving to look into your eyes, he cupped your face with warm hands.

And finally, his lips found yours.

It felt... like home;

Like laying in a cozy bed after a long day of work, like the warm chocolate sauce on a cold scoop of ice-cream, like wearing a fuzzy sweater on a crisp autumn evening, like walking barefoot on the beach at sunset, like taking a cool shower on a blazing summer afternoon, like everything you ever needed.

After being torn apart from the one person who made your life perfect, you were finally back in the soothing confines of his strong arms, resting against his able chest, ready to fall apart; all while the fireworks in the sky mirrored the fireworks in your hearts.

“Mama! Papa!”

You were awoken from this surreal euphoria by the most beautiful squeal you had ever heard. Both your heads turned towards the source of it – a tiny figure running towards you with all her might while all your near and dear ones including the newlyweds watched from a distance, cheering merrily.

“They knew?”, you gasped, sobbing and sniffling from the joyous tears.

“Yeah, pretty much everyone but you knew.”

Luna flew into Levi’s open arms when he bent down to receive her. The three of you merged into one blob of a positively smothering family hug, only pulling away to pepper each other with more kisses. Levi held his two girls close. His sun and moon were now back together in the sky of his life. He looked into Luna’s crescent shaped eyes and whispered,

“Moon beam, Mama’s coming home.”

[of-hopes-and-daemons]

Fuzzverse Assorted Lore

Crystal Hosts • Lacedrace and Sanya: differing opinions • Concerning Inquisitor Guy

Everything you didn’t want to know about the Fuzzverse also known as my midnight ramblings. Three topics to cover today.

Crystal Hosts

So about these crystal "hosts" Fuzzes use.

As far as I know, being in realspace is really hard on daemons, especially Greater one, if they can even manage it in the first place, so Fuzzes use these crystal-based bodies to loophole around the laws of the universe. They do limit what unreasonable daemon stuff they can do, but pretty useful regardless. Originally invented by Lacedrace, but eventually adopted in some shape or form by all four.

They all also put their own unique twists on the formula, so in the end we have: - Lacedrace has classic, but refined option of this pure warp-infused crystal. Good conduit for magic, easily reassembled in case it gets shattered and gives her easy opportunities to temporarily manifest in her true daemon form, but very bad at providing sensory input and very obviously a crystal on close inspection, unless glamoured specifically and heavily against this. Also due to how heavily infused it is with magic it is far easier to notice and pick up. And it also chips.  - An'Hangra has one with pretty significant traces of metals and especially good old brass. It is very durable, dense and strong, surprisingly heavy, harder to repair on the fly, but it is still possible to an extent, specifically made to actually bleed, because Khornate shtick, so-so at providing sensory response, aside from basic stuff. It is surprisingly (or not so) resistant to any kind of “witchcraft” as well, making An’Hangra a nightmarish opponent for any psyker.  - Balthrag is semi-amorphous and squishy, her take on the thing is having host to be, probably assembled from either semi-fluid crystal or smaller particles or whatever. Squishy blob. Has its own ecosystem of fungi and ferns and flowers, all growing, wilting and rotting in an endless cycle. Somewhat complicated to repair on the spot. How solid she is seems to be closely related to her emotional state or how much conscious effort she puts into it. And yes, she can squish herself into ridiculously tiny openings.  - Shanakay is extra, putting unreasonable amount of work in perfecting each of hosts used to be an ideal representation of yours truly. Most refined and detailed of the bunch, almost ideal mimicry of how things would feel with an actual body, definitely has greatly enhanced senses for the ideal enjoyment of stuffing her face with sad soggy fries from McNurgle. Some bits are created and added purely for aesthetic perfection, where other Fuzzes tend to go for more practical and utilitarian approach. Due to it all - incredibly hard to repair and so any damages do piss her off. Where her host luck in sturdiness or reparability, they however do win in agility, finer control and sheer speed.

Lacedrace and Sanya: differing opinions

So, few notes I wanted to share about their relationship is that, despite the fact that they absolutely do get along amazing, there are quite a bit of points they do struggles to find common ground about. 

One of those being the fact that Lacedrace is still a pretty ruthless being, that would not hesitate to bring down entire worlds to achieve her goals. This being said, for the time being their goals seem to align and they both work hard to make sure their little rowing band of renegades (and some other stuff in Lacedrace’s case) survives and prospers, but the amount of collateral damage each of them is willing to tolerate is very different. 

More or less it can be summed up as Sanya being of the “we must do our best to help others or at least do not cause harm” and Lacedrace seeing things more along the lines “this hope’s survival is paramount, I will not hesitate to bring doom to ensure it” when it comes to achieving their goals. 

In the end they mostly try to find some kind of compromise and so it would be fair to say, that in the end Polaris is, indeed, not intentionally causing any sort of stuff, for the most part, but their arrivals tend to stir things far too strongly here and there, And for better or for worse is entirely subjective. 

Another fun example of their opinion differences is after the “Severed Hand” when it becomes apparent that Sanya by using athame against Erebus did ended up signing for untimely end due to rancid Chaos vibes. Well, untimely in this particular case being “a few decades if he would survive initial trauma of being slapped around by a Dark Apostle and would get adequate amount of wards, bionics, medicine and rejuvenat” which he did. 

And Sanya was largely okay with it, as long as Polaris would be alright after his passing and would continue to grow, into a tiny nomadic fleet perhaps. Lacedrace however was largely not okay with this and was very much ready to go and gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss Sanya’s way into survival by any means necessary, and I am still not sure how they figured that out, especially given how all Sanya’s buddies largely split 50/50 on the issue and certain someone even found the napkin with the description for the Davin ritual. Because it worked so well back then.

Concerning Inquisitor Guy

So, pretty early on I figured that during the events of the main story of Fuzzverse there will be some kind of daemon-hunting crew on Lacedrace’s tail. Pun is not intended. And initially I assumed to represent them as classically outrageously evil Inquisition. 

But then I got a thought - wouldn’t it be more interesting, to give this group a central character, who can be understood and in who in different circumstance could have been a protagonist of his own story of hunting a dangerous daemon, who might cause a lot of problem for the Imperium, you know. Guy is just doing his job based on the information he has and is not being too much of a prick about it.

Because, seriously, to an outside observer whatever is going on with Sanya and his fun found family of daemons, renegades, xenos and one c’tan shard would probably be pretty horrifying. And expanding on what was said before about Lacedrace not concerning herself with collateral damage all too much - Sanya might be genuinely well-meaning and trying his best, but they do end up stirring up a lot of shit. 

So they have this Inquisitor Guy (yet to be named) always on their tail and trying his damn best to save the Imperium from the dreadful Alexander the Accursed and Crystal Sage, the vile Lord of Change being the seeming mastermind behind the despicable heretic, who have turned his back on the light of the God-Emperor. And Crystal Sage also being indirectly responsible for Inquisitor Guy’s family demise. 

All meanwhile Sanya is having a grand old time making dumplings for all his new friends. If they would ever meet face to face it is going to be hilarious. 

[yandere-wishes]

How the Original Villains Act With Their Twisted Wonderland Counterparts Part 2

I’ve had well over twenty requests for a part 2, so here it is. Please enjoy.

===========================================================

Meeting the two Scarabia boys is an utter nightmare for Jafar! Moreso it's a dream come true....dressed like a nightmare. The poor sand sorcerer didn't even know how he turned from evil genius to exhausted stay at home father overnight. It could have been because he had to save Kalim and Jamil from crashing a flying carpet. Or when he had to get the two young boys to make up after a huge fight. Either way, Jafar has become their -unwilling- illegitimate father.

He's always running around after Kalim trying to make sure he doesn't get himself killed in some way shape or form. At one point Jafar got so fed up that he just baby-proofed all of Scarabia....and still Kalim ended up with a mild concussion and broken rib. Even though the young royal is way more trouble than he's worth, Jafar still deeply cares for him, in a twisted, melodic manner he tries to morphe his relationship with Kalim as what he could have had with the sultan. Sure it's a lot of work, but it's rewarding. Just seeing the white-haired boy smile and wrapped his arms around Jafar's waist is worth more than all the treasures in the cave of wonders.

As for Jamil....well Jafar has high expectations for him. He sees so much raw potential in the boy, a glimmer of what he, himself could have been! It's comical really, how desperately Jafar tries to give Jamil everything that he lacked in life. He's always boosting the younger boy's ego, molding him to believe that he is the best! It's something Jamil never had in his life, someone who tells him that he can -and one day will be- more than just a slave.

Although he tries to mold Jamil in his image, Jafar also does try to keep both boys on friendly terms. He'd hate to see either of them wind up the way he did, lost, and forgotten in a lamp made of his own misery.

The concept of a family has always been an oddity for Hades.

The lord of the dead detests his actual family. Brothers and nephews prancing around in the spotlight, whilst he's left to dwell in the neverending darkness of the underworld. Families are useless, they're nothing more than thrones that prick your finger every time your inches away from plucking the roses of victory. 

Although he'd be lying if he didn't say that there was something...exceptional about the two Shroud brothers. They're bizarrely co-dependent, needing one another to function properly. Without one the other turns into a blundering mess of "ERRORS"  and "CAN NOT PROCESS, PLEASE REBUT AND TRY AGAIN LATER". The words don't really make much sense to Hades, but the intention his clear. They're two halves of a dysfunctional whole. 

It's even more alarming when the two boys -who, the lord of the dead, is starting to notice look a little too much like him- start to open up to him. Letting him stay in their room and permitting him to ramble about his horrible family and "shiny" nephew for hours on end. For the first time since his creation, Hades starts to get the slightest feeling that maybe, just maybe he might be wanted by someone, that someone (or someones) does indeed care about him.

The feeling only starts to spread when Ortho falls into the habit of calling him "Bampás" and wrapping his icy cold metallic arms around his waist. It's not an unpleasant feeling, just a bit shocking and almost to an extent, painful. It brings back rage-filled memories of watching Jercules and his dear big bro hugging, memories of how left out he felt everywhere, of how for almost all eternity he was doomed to be alone.  

However, it's not like he doesn't enjoy the hug, it shows the effort the little boy puts in showing just how much he loves his newly found father. Its teeth rotting sweet and...precious, yeah that's a good word for it.

Idia's more drawn back both physically and emotionally. He's constantly hunched over the glowing cube, watching armored heroes slaughtering each other and oddly attractive girls arguing over some plain, boring looking guy. It's a bit annoying, but Hades is all too familiar with the lack of interest in leaving one's dwelling and interacting with others, so he lets it slid...or rather he used to.

As Idia gets used to Hades' looming presence he starts talking a LOT more, never really stops rambling about some new "game" or "movie". It's all dandy, over the centuries Hades has become an expert in pretending to listen to others, a key talent when associating with the other deities of Olympus. However, when Idia starts trying to get him to use that glowing cube or a smaller version that fits in his hand, Hades starts wishing he'd paid more attention to the young god's endless verbose.  

The chairs in this century are annoyingly uncomfortable and Idia's constant muttering of the word "boomer" isn't helping. Every time Hades presses a wrong key button thing and Idia mutters that irritating word, he half expects the cube to blow up. Plus why must that light coming from the inside be so damn bright, his eyes are starting to peel out of their sockets. 

Ortho's a bit more helpful, explaining in superfluous detail what everything is for. Although each word coming from the boy's mouth just seems like pointless gibberish. 

Hades is starting to think that getting that hunk of moussaka out of his throat was easier than understanding these two. 

Maleficent has a habit of being just a bit too proud of the four Diasomnia boys.

Silver and Sebek are competent in her mind, which in and of its self is a compliment coming from the witch of thrones. They don't trip over themselves, they understand that babies do in fact grow into adults, and most importantly they are willing to die for their master. They'd make perfect henchmen, better than what she had in her time.

Lilia is an ever-present paradox to the mistress of evil. Ever since she found herself being alive once more, things from the past have gained the nasty habit of disappearing almost entirely from her memory. She swears one her stolen wings that she knows Lilia personally from lifetimes ago. But she can never remember where exactly they met or why every time he looks at her, his eyes are filled with a sort of distant sadness. Like an ancient wound that never healed right.

Malleus is special, to say the least. He's her grandson, after all, a reminder that all she did in this world was NOT in vain. His personality is even a carbon copy of her's, distant and secluded yet humble and fierce. He's been able to climb the ranks to fifth strongest mage worldwide, a feat unaccomplished by others in their family.

It's become a rather alleviate pass time to submerge the four ( she's probably older than Lilia)  young man in old tails and fantasies about the ancient times. Tales about how the evil human kings would seek to destroy the fae folk. How some fairies even sided with those pesky humans. Their looks of astonishment (and Lilia's look of satisfaction) soothes the old witch's, rotten heart. It even jolts some memories of a young blond girl, one who would always florrick through the forest by Malificent's side. Beasty was her name, or at least she thinks it was and in some odd prank played by fate she sees Beasty's cheerfulness in all their faces.

[egg-emperor]

I literally love watching you talk about eggman so what's your favorite headcanon for him? :)

Thank you so much! I always have so much fun talking about him here and I'm really happy that you like to see it! :'D

It's difficult to pick just one when I have an endless amount involving every aspect of himself and his life! It's easier to decide on a favorite theme, such as the way I enjoy making hcs about his personal life and what he gets up to behind the scenes. I really wish we got to see more in official media so I'm constantly coming up with ideas.

But I suppose I could take this opportunity to discuss one of my many favorites!

I love to imagine that Eggman is always delighted to talk about his interests. He's most enthusiastic about engaging in conversations about him and/or his interests lol. Tons of true love and enthusiasm show through the way he expresses his deepest passions, the most notable being robots and theme parks as his biggest interests. They go way back to when he was a child but he never got the chance to talk about them nearly as much as he'd like to.

His father never had the time, just like he never had much time for him in general. He at least got to do something he was interested in alongside him when he'd help out with his mechanic side work and learn from him as a teenager, but his father would say he needed to focus instead of talking. And he never had the time to listen to him talk about his favorite interests in robots and theme parks but Ivo knew it was because he didn't care. He could never find anyone else willing to listen either.

He's always been an attention seeker from the moment he discovered how admirable and important his grandfather was and wanted to be like him, so his father isn't solely to blame for why he demands all the attention, importance, and spotlight. But it certainly further influenced his already existing desire to get the attention he craves and also intensified his great urge to talk about his interests and accomplishments. So he jumps at every small chance he gets now, whether people actually ask or not.

With his 300 IQ, he can be a fast learner on any subject, even when it comes to things he doesn't really care for. But it seems there's a part of his brain that's seriously dedicated to storing all the knowledge of his favorite subjects and he goes out of his way to learn absolutely everything about them. His knowledge in robots and theme parks especially are endless and always growing, and he loves to talk about his very own creations on top of that. He never runs out of information to share!

This was also one of the things that initially made him interested in getting a teaching degree. It was more about showing off his knowledge, rather than caring trying to help others learn. Also because he loves telling people what to do, of course. XD

He enjoys sharing his knowledge and correcting people when they're wrong. He'll often butt into conversations about subjects he's interested in (well even ones that he isn't but especially when he is) to share thoughts and facts. Some find it rude but it's a case where he doesn't realize because he just wants the right information to be acknowledged and to correct misconceptions. He also likes to bring his related experiences and creations into the conversation so they know his sources, and because he wants to show off and make them jealous and impressed!

Some get annoyed while others find it impressive or even helpful. But the negative reactions don't matter to him because he's delighted when someone will listen to his endless rambling and let him boast, giving him full attention and no complaints. It's even better if they're enthusiastic, supportive, and praise him for his knowledge! If someone encourages him to keep going, he'll actually appreciate it but definitely won't know how to say it. Still, they can tell by the way he lights up and explains it with a big beautiful smile on his face that he can't hide!

Basically, I like to imagine that he's just as passionate when talking about his brilliance and the things he loves as I am when I'm talking about him! He still has that same child-like wonder when learning new information about the things he's interested in and excitement when he shares facts and stories and shows off his discoveries, creations, and accomplishments. They're the feelings he didn't really get to express freely as a child and it feels great to finally get to do something that he wanted all along.

I love men that are really passionate and unashamed to be, especially when it shows through the way they're extremely knowledgeable about their favorite subjects and eager to talk about it. One of the many things that make Eggman so attractive to me is how bold, passionate, and unapologetically himself he is! It's really admirable and inspiring too. And I'd be sure to let him know that and encourage him to express his love for his passions and support him in following his dreams related to them.

I could listen to all he has to say and observe all he has to show off for hours! Then I'd ask questions to give him the opportunity to talk and show off even more as he answers and elaborates even further. Once he gets going, he just can't stop talking until he wears himself out and needs a nap. XD I'm genuinely interested as we have fascinations in common and it's even better when I'm learning from him. There's no better, more handsome source of interesting and valuable information heheh!

But the best part is getting to see how happy he is as he lights up, jumps for joy, and shakes his fists in excitement. He shares his plans with great confidence and presents his creations with pride. The excitement can be heard in his voice and there's a bright wide smile on his gorgeous face all the while. I would watch with total adoration as it warms my heart! I wish he could feel that kind of happiness much more often. I'd always make sure he feels deeply loved, cared for, and listened to. :') 💜

While it is canon that he's a deeply passionate person as there's evidently a lot of hard work and care put into his plans/creations and determination put into his goals, this is how I headcanon him feeling about expressing it outside of what we see in the games.

I imagine that he'd love to passionately monologue to someone that isn't just programmed to care like his robots. He can ramble to Orbot and Cubot about his upcoming plans but they always talk back and he knows they're often judging, so it pleases him when he knows someone's interest is genuine.

And his urge to talk about what he's excited and proud of is probably part of why he often says too much and reveals important details of his plans to his enemies! It might happen less often if he has someone to lend an ear, so he can tell them all about it beforehand. I'd love to be the one there for him! :D 💜💕💘💖💗💜💓💗

[n1kolaiz]

ENTJ + INFJ DYNAMIC

BSD MANGA CHAPTER 54-57 SPOILERS

Chapter 54 introduced Mushitaro Oguri, and his background involving Yokomizo was ever so intriguing to me. So unfortunately, here I am.

Mushitaro and Yokomizo's dynamic:

The 'Commander' meets the 'Idealist.'

Alright, I won't go into the details about the case of Yokomizo's death, because there's no way in hell I can explain it fluently at all. So if you need further reference to what these few chapters are about, popopretty's post would elaborate on the details and whatnot.

Before I start, here's a bit of little introduction to both individual characters:

MUSHITARO OGURI

Mushitaro appears to take a lot of pride in his ability, which contributes to his arrogant complex altogether. He had his own desires and goals, and lived out his days just to fulfil them.

His ability is called the 'Perfect Crime,' which allows him to erase any trail of evidence pertaining to whatever crime he had committed. Hence, he is also known as the 'infallible Detective-killer.'

Until Ranpo proved him wrongヾ(❀╹◡╹)ﾉﾞ

His personality type is most likely 'ENTJ,' the 'Commander.'

- ENTJs are known to have exceptional leadership skills. They are confident in themselves and what they do; basically, they don't have the tendency to second-guess what they are capable of. This explains Mushitaro's ambition to achieve his ends, and his ability goes the extra mile of complimenting his success rate greatly. Whether his motives or the end results were morally good or evil, it didn't matter to Mushitaro— as long as his wishes were fulfilled.

"With tyrants and demons, I'll make deal with a demon. That's in my nature."

- They're also quite outspoken with their opinions. It's a fairly minor detail, but this shows why he wasn't afraid to express the distaste he had for mystery novels to Yokomizo— including the extravagant ideas and serpentine stories his close friend based his life upon and discussed with him.

- The subtle insensitivity mixed in with an ENTJ's preference of logic over emotion highlights one of their core weaknesses: which brings us back to Mushitaro's ability to kill his friend. Say you were to put a person with a deeply compassionate heart, who's also very well in-tact when it comes to identifying emotions and being empathetical to other's feelings: would that person be able to kill a friend they'd known for so long? For the sole reason of making his last mystery novel a deathless enigma? This is very subjective perspective, but I believe that if Mushitaro was more of an emotionalist rather than a strategist, things would have turned out different for Yokomizo's eventual fate.

Side note: His insensitivity did, however, find its limit when he realised how devastating it was to have killed his own friend with his hands. Even though there's a wide scale that measures how insensitive a person can be, they are, in fact, still human beings capable of feeling. Killing someone dear to you is no easy task; there is a breaking point for the hardest of hearts.

SEISHI YOKOMIZO

Yokimozo, also known as Kindaichi, was a mystery writer who was very particular about detail and being exclusive, especially when it came to his works. His last wish he pursued to achieve before a terminal illness took his life was done by formulating a 'mystery that transcended reality.'

"I hate regret. So I've done whatever I've wanted to do. Up until now, it's been a satisfying life. But now… I've been given a time limit…Before then, I have to complete the ultimate mystery."

His personality type is identified as 'INFJ,' also known as the 'Idealist.'

- INFJ's are deeply creative and artistic, but they express it in various different ways. For Yokomizo, he portrayed his brilliant artistic skill through his writings revolving around mysteries and their compelling depths. The fictional character's namesake was also a mystery novel writer. Yokomizo was pretty well-versed with how mysteries worked and how their details ravelled themselves into elegantly, well-established riddles, which only added to his natural flair of writing.

- Generally, INFJs are reserved, but incredibly idealistic. Yokomizo was seen to be very abstract in his idea of thinking, and this is due to the fact that INFJs have a thing for pondering about life and the meaning behind everything.

"Mushi-kun, I bet you're laughing at me for destroying myself for the sake of mystery. But if that's the case, maybe there's no such thing as unshakable values. Maybe it's up to us to decide what to put value in and what to live for. After all, we have the right to turn our own decisions into our entire world. It is, foolishly enough, the greatest luxury afforded to mankind."

- As for their weaknesses, some INFJs are very hard to get to know. They are mysterious at times, which prevents them from being flamboyant with their thoughts and opinions. Yokomizo had a very lighthearted, mystifying nature, which made him a very interesting character altogether. Despite having a high regard for their intimate relationships— INFJs can be quite private. Mushitaro vaguely points out his self-contained, introverted mannerisms in this panel:

Now, I'll get to my point.

ENTJs and INFJs don't ideally match up, but when it comes to general friendships, there are a few details that suggest an accomodating dynamic between the two personality types. These qualities emanate from Mushitaro and Yokomizo's friendship with each other.

Opposites attract in most cases, correct?

Well, in this case, ENTJs and INFJs have a lot of similarities:

intelligent

intuitive in thinking

determined

goal-oriented

But the more numerable contrasting qualities is what really brings out the agreeable traits between Mushitaro and Yokozimo. Think of it as a system where two opposites mutually keep each other in check:

1. Mushitaro bases his life on the gaining his own needs and wants, and is very firm in his sense of realism, while Yokomizo is more focused on the deep, complexities of life itself. This may come off as impractical to ENTJs, but also compliments their coordination with INFJs. Realism limits idealism, but idealists can also expand the boundaries realists place themselves in.

2. INFJs accept people and ideas as they are, not willing to put others down just to prove themselves right. Yokozimo's tolerant behaviour stands in contrast with how authoritative Mushitaro is, especially when it boils down to his arrogance— he isn't afraid to spit his pride right into his opponent's face.

Kneel, detectives! I am the king of crime! No one can force me to sin and repent!

Just for laughs reference^

So it's safe to say that because Yokomizo had an acquired sense of serenity and open-mindedness, he was able to tolerate Mushitaro's extravagant, subtle histrionic characteristics, which were laced with his superior complex.

3. In the manga, Yokomizo speaks and converses with Mushitaro in a way that suggests that he is careful with his words. INFJs are gentle and generally sensitive to the needs of others, so they tend to be careful with what comes out of their mouths. Mushitaro, like most ENTJs, are quite blunt. This points back to how insensitive they come off, even if they don't actually mean it. So when it comes to Yokozimo explaining tales of mystery to Mushitaro, Mushitaro doesn't hesitate to mock Yokozimo; but because of how understanding Yokozimo is, he doesn't take Mushitaro's opinions too seriously to the point of discounting the value of their friendship, because he knew Mushitaro didn't use his words with the intention to harm.

If you were to place a more dominant persona in Yokomizo's position, I doubt that that person would be able to tolerate such behaviours. Then again, this is crucially subjective.

I suppose the main thing I wanted to point out was how ENTJs and INFJs balanced each other out by cancelling out each other's extreme traits, and keeping each other in the middle of the equilibrium altogether. But another thing I'd like to point out to sum up Mushitaro and Yokozimo's relationship was this: the fact that Mushitaro had to kill his own friend to grant his dying wish. Dying for someone or by someone's hands is easier than killing someone, especially if that someone is dear to you, no? I guess that's the part I can't fathom— it was the type of relationship that stood out way more than I had expected. Say, the roles were switched, would Yokomizo actually kill Mushitaro? Or would Mushitaro think of such an incomprehensible way to die in the first place? Or what if these two friends had different, more superior traits that coexisted in conflict all the time, would Yokomizo even depend on Mushitaro with such a task?

The speculations are endless, or maybe it's pretty straightforward. Though, I hope this made sense.

Okay, I'm done rambling for now. Thank you for reading!

[storysofmyown]

How the demon bros would ask you to marry them, part two!

Satan:

This boi, oh dear. This demon has a literal devotion towards you! From the moment you two started dating, Satan completely devoted his entire being to you. Satan has spent most of his life dealing with negative feeling of rage and hate, but the moment you step into his life he has to learn to deal with this overwhelming sense of love that is just so new to him. 

Though, he is always scared of hurting you. In the back of his mind he is scared that one day he might completely lose it and hurt you or even worse..But...you eased his worries on a particular day.

Satan was absolutely livid for a discussion he just had a strong discussion with Lucifer, the demon had completely lost it he was braking everything in his room when you showed up. The sound of your voice after entering his room and watching your boyfriend in demon form completely engulfed in rage sent shivers down his spine. He knew that you were not safe while he was like this, but no matter how much he pleaded you, with the last bit of control he had, to leave, you simply refused.

Satan almost attacked you, key word being almost. The moment he turned around and his eyes meet yours...he simply stopped. All the anger he felt in that moment left his body as you stepped forward and hugged him tightly. Satan was incapable of hurting you, and you knew that. And now he knew it too. After that incident, the demon started researching all kinds of information about human world proposals, he simple wanted to spend the rest of his life with you.

He would research books, articles, shows, all kinds of stuff to learn about the rituals humans performed when proposing. He would specifically look for the ones in your country, he wants this to be simply perfect. In the end, he would go for a more unique proposal, and a unique ring, contacting some people so they would hand made the perfect ring with the beautiful emeralds he had seen with you once.

On a certain day, you would find a book in your room. It was one of your favorite books, you had rambled about go Satan, trying to convince the demon to read it. There were some pages marked with some of your favorite lines, and a small paper with some numbers and a message that read “Find me” and a heart beside those words.

After cracking the code, you noticed it was the place where you guys had your first date, the memories of the visit making a smile creep on your lips as you arrived.Inside the building, there was a brother, who would only smile at you, and with a hint of annoyance, give you your favorite flower with a note in Satan’s hand writing. In total, you went to six places, each one attached to a very important memory. In the last one Lucifer gave you the sixth flower and the note, which instead of a riddle had a direction, you immediately visited that place.

After arriving, you entered trough the only door there was. You were standing in a black completely black room, the door behind you closed and the room illuminated in beautiful lights that resemble stars and constellations from the human world. Dozens of photos from the moments you two shared were floating in the air as you looked at them. You turned around to look at at the place, and to your surprise, there stood your boyfriend, with something that resembled your favorite flower in his heads, but seemed a little different from the six you were holding.

“Mc” A smile showing off in his beautiful face, but the small blush on his cheeks giving away how nervous he was feeling. “I...I have only ever felt anger and hate...even after been thought about other emotions I never thought i would experience them. But...but then you arrived and you have shown me what love feels like. I don't want to spend another second of my life without you.” He would take a few steps closer as you watched on. “And i know I’m not the easiest demon to deal with, and i cant promise you i will be easier to deal with in the future. But i can promise you, that for you and for our love, I’m willing to give everything. Mc...” he will give you the flower, which upon further inspection it was actually a box, you opened it and there was a beautiful ring with green gemstones. “Will you marry me?” He would take your hand in his and look at you, one of the few times you have seen genuine happiness in his eyes, before slowly nodding, making Satan almost cry, and for the first time, not from frustration, but from love.

Asmodeus:

No one, absolutely no one thought they would ever see the Avatar of Lust settle down...not even himself. Like, no one was as surprised as he was when he started to turn down demons in order to stay loyal to you! You would bring out of him a different side. A softer, more romantic side. 

Asmo was used to people wanting him for his body, like who could blame them? The demon was completely stunning, and he knew it! But you didn’t just love him because of his looks, and that came as a surprise to him.

He was having a bad few days. He wasn't feeling like himself at all and barely left his room. Normally the others would let him be until he picked himself back up, but on the third day you just couldn't anymore and decided to check up on him. Making sure he wasnt doing too bad and even bringing him snacks. You would stay with him for a few hours, letting him ramble about what was bothering him or just stay in silent while playing with his soft hair. At one point he would smile, genuinely, it would be small but full of emotion as he looks up at you, head resting in your lap.

“There’s my Asmo.” You would say, relieved he seemed to be doing better, and proceed to give him a small kiss in the forehead. Asmo was already in love with you, but this...this simple action spoke louder to him than all the times you had said it before. He didn't need to be with anyone else anymore because he had you and you loved him, every part of him. And he was going to love you, every single part of you for the rest your lives.

So, he started planing. He bought the ring first, it was the most beautiful piece of jewelry he had seen, it a lot of different stones decorating it, but the stone that he likes the most is a simple, small pink stone right in the middle of the ring. He would keep it in his pockets all the time, just in case.

He would plan every single detail. From the clothes you both would be wearing, to the place, the flowers, the makeup, everything! He would want to propose in a big ass party! He would plan for it to be on Diavolos castle during a ball where you two would look your best! In front of millions of demons so that the world knows about each others love.

But...

You tend to bring out a different side of Asmo, an Asmo that doesn't need the world to know how much he loves you as long as you know it. 

So, he wouldn't ask you during a ball, or in front of millions of people in the most dramatic way he can find. He doesn't ask you in the beach or a restaurant or anything like that. He would ask you in the comfort of your room, a place can finally consider safe and a home, when the two of you would be simply be holding each other while kissing slowly after a returning from a fancy date.

He would open his eyes and the love radiating from your face as you look at him with messy hair and the moon illuminating the room, and he would simply it.

“Marry me.” To you, it come as a surprise the question, and you almost thought he was joking. But he would pull the ring out of the pocket of his jacket that laid on the floor, look at you in the eyes again and spoke in the same soft tone. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He could not be able to say another word, because you would immediately hug him and kiss him.

Beelzebub:

Dear lord, Beel is the most sweet demon there can be. He is simply so soft for you are the only person he will share his food with, he is always touching you somehow. Be it holding hands, hugs, piggy rides, playing with your hair, head in your lap, soft touches, sweet kisses, all that kind of stuff. He literally loves you just so much!

But, the idea of marriage never crosses his mind. It wasn't that he didn’t want that kind of thing with you, it’s that he simply never thought about asking for your hand in marriage. If he had thought abut it sooner, he definitely would have asked you sooner. Because the moment he realizes he wants to marry you, is the moment he ask you.

It was a quiet night in the house of lamentation. Everyone was asleep, everyone besides you and Beel. The demon had woken up at midnight and decided to go raid the kitchen, the movement of his body leaving the bed woke you up to and now the two of you were in the kitchen waiting for the food to be done.

You would be sitting in the table, while Beel is siting in a chair with his head resting in the table as he waits. But he isn't looking at the food that is getting heated, no. His eyes are on you the whole time. His eyes are focused on your face as the light of the fire illuminate your eyes. Beel smiles, a sincere beautiful smile. It warms his heart the sight of you and for a second he ponders, what his future might look like with you. And what he sees...is simply a testament of your love.

Quiet nights were you two are just holding each other while small kisses are left on the others skin. Moment of reassurance and endless hugs as flashes of your smile appear before his eyes. The sight of your laugh and the mere idea of sharing everything with you makes the demon’s heart warm.

At one point, there is a image in his head he simply cannot shake. Is his family. All of them, in a table together simply spending family time and being peaceful and happy, and right besides him there you are. Holding his hands like you have done so many times in the past when he wakes up from a nightmare. In this picture he might even see the children of you two, and it would simply melt him, the idea of spending his life with you and expanding his family makes him slowly lift his head with a big soft smile.

He would reach for you, taking your hand in he intertwines his fingers with yours. You eyes meet with his as the orange slow glow from the fire dances over him, the stars reflected in his eyes as his hair slowly falls over them. He would squeeze your hand

“I want to marry you.”

Just like that, it a simple proposal, but its true and genuine and so full of feelings you cant help but brake into a smile, only to be embraced by the gentle giant that is your boyfriend. Later on, he will buy you a ring with orange stones and whenever you two are just laying in bed, he will take your hand in his and admire the ring in your finger before simply giving you a soft kiss.

Belphegor:

Belphie is a...special demon. To him, marriage didn't seem necessary. He loved you and you loved him, why did you need to trough all that hard work of planning and stuff just to for your relationship to stay almost the same? But, this all changed really fast.

He woke up around midnight. His mind was tired and the room was really dark, so he couldn't see anything. Instinctively, he reached out to you, who should be sleeping right beside him but in this occasion you weren't there. He opened his eyes and trough the darkness, he noticed that the space where you always laid in bed was empty. He sighed and turned over, figuring you must have gone to the bathroom, so he just tried to go back to sleep.

It was impossible. He kept moving around and shuffling and he could not find a comfortable position, and even if he did find it, he couldn't go to sleep. It was frustrating, not being able to fall asleep when he was the Avatar of Sloth. He kept moving until at some point he sat up, back against wall and sigh on his lips, hoping sleep would come soon. After a while, you came out of the bathroom and slipped right back into bed, after settling in your side, you took his arm and passed it over you, so that he would be spooning you while sleeping.

The moment his hands wrapped around your waist and his face rested in the crook of your neck he felt all that stress and worry leave and by God, never in his life had he ever felt as comfortable as he did right now with you in his arms. In that moment he noticed how used he was to you sleeping with him, and how he simply did not want or could sleep without you close by. He breathing in your scent as he smiled thinking about how much he wanted to spend the rest of his live with you, so he decided to propose.

Normally, he would have just asked you right there and there. But, you were already asleep, so he decided to wait, and while trying to fall back asleep he came up with a cute idea. A few days had passed since that and you were simply chilling in your room when a certain demon knocked on your door. It was Belphie. He had a sweet smile and an inviting look as he extended his hand towards you. You took it, and he lead you to the planetarium. In there, a small table had been set. He ushered you to sit down, a few seconds passed and Beel brought you guys food, surprisingly he didn't eat any of it. Belphegor couldn't take his eyes off of you as you took in the small yet pretty lights that had been set around.

“Whats the occasion? What are we celebrating?” His eyes would meet yours, a sweet smile tainting his lips. “That I love you.” It’s a sweet and simple moment, with you two just starring at each other with big smiles. “We are celebrating that I love and that I...” He would get up, and walk up to you, bend down, smiling at your expression the moment you understand what is going on. “I want to spend  the rest of our lives together so...would you please marry me?” he would not have time to take out the ring, as you tackled him in a bug hug, both falling on the floor and staying like that for a couple of seconds simply rejoicing in the happiness of the other. He would would put the small ring with purple stones in your finger, and it will never came off. 

Aight!! Here y’all go. The second part of this thing i wrote the other day. I feel like it inst as good as the others but i still enjoyed writing this. I also apologize to the Belphie stans, he was so hard to write! But anyway, i hope y’all liked it and thank you so much for the response to the first part! I also wanted to an undatable but i didn't like how it was turning out so...sowwy :(

[sunnysviolin]

Reading that one post it makes me imagine Mari comforting her Mob Husband when he had those nights where he feels horribly guilty about those three deaths.

Nonnie....I kinda went off with this ngl. I didn’t really stick to your prompt but like...I went off with this. Hero is my favorite character and I love him so much in this AU and if you want to resend this and get bulletpoints or something then aok but I think you’ll like what I have. I’m...obsessed with it ngl. I’ve been working on it all day long, and I think it’s not half bad. But also ummm Huge fucking TW on this one guys. 

TW: Death TW: Violence TW: Mafia TW: Knives

In his dreams, Hero always ends up back in that parlor. 

It was an opulent room, extravagant to the point of garish. There was a tall ceiling with a simply enormous chandelier hanging down. The tiny crystals glittered in the light, sending dancing shadows along the walls. Along one wall was a bar with a gleaming gold rim. It was gilded with real gold, Hero knew on instinct. He had become an expert in finding the truth since he had taken his place at Mari’s side. 

The only ordinary thing in the room was the knife. Just a straight butcher knife, polished clean. It sat on the table in front of the couch he sat at. Everything else was excellence, the best of the best. This one thing was average. The thing that Tommy “Hedonist” Barone was going to use to kill them was average. The irony would have been funny if it didn’t make Hero feel sick. 

Those are the things that stick out to him- the glittering chandelier, the glowing bar, and the knife. 

Hero knows it's a dream because he’s wearing his pajamas. Just a t-shirt and boxers, remarkably plain for everything in the room. That day he had been in a custom made suit, tailored to fit his exact frame. He had burned that suit, it no longer existed. It had been a beautiful thing, the fabric sinfully luxurious against his skin and light enough he barely noticed. Barone had apparently paid an italian seamstress thousands for each piece of the ensemble, just for the perfection of that night. Hero had hated every second of wearing it. 

He knows its a dream, but he’s still terrified. He’s still shaking as he sits on the too soft cushions of the couch and waits alone in this too big room. There’s no point in trying the doors, he knows that right outside wait two burly guards. They are the same people who marched him here from the cell they had been holding him in. The cell Tommy Barone had tortured him in. 

The cell where he had laughed about how he would kill Hero’s family. How he would rip apart his brothers, Aubrey, Mari, his father, even his mother though she had been dead for over a year. Over and over he had taunted Hero, cutting him and beating him and burning him, all in an effort to get him to scream. Hero had stayed silent. 

The human part of Hero wants him to run and hide or pick up the knife and prepare to go down fighting. Hero keeps himself still and straight. He is the consigliere of the most powerful crime syndicate in the world. His wife is Don Migliore, a legend. Tommy Barone was nothing. He would not be what made Hero break. If he was going to die, he would die, but he wouldn’t be turned into a puppet for Barone to use against his family. The door opposite the one he came in opened, and in walked the Hedonist. 

Tommy Barone was every stereotypical mobster- his greasy hair and his rotund belly. He hid himself under fancy shirts and fingers fat with rings, but Hero had known him most of his life. Hedonist was a slimeball who liked to pretend himself into being a capo. Hero hated that there was fear inside of him from this man, this pig of a man. 

“Well well. You shine like a jewel. I dare say you didn’t even look this nice at your wedding Henry!” Hedonist taunted, the words forever branded into Hero’s mind. He would remember the exact words said to him that night for the rest of his days. Hero loathed being called Henry. Only his mother had ever gotten away with it, but that didn’t matter to Barone. Hero shot a harsh glare towards Barone but kept his mouth shut. 

“Still not talking? And after all the trouble I went through to get you that suit.” Barone stepped further into the room and waddled his way over to the bar. He grabbed a crystal decanter and poured himself a glass of amber, continuing to speak, “I have a little jewel myself- my own personal seamstress. Of course she lives in the old country, she would never want to leave, but I pay her well to be available whenever I need her. She handcrafts everything I wear. Isn’t her work magnificent?”

Hedonist turned from the bar and began to walk to the lounging area. He took a second to do a slow spin, turning to Hero with an expectant look. Hero bit the tip of his tongue between his teeth. A beat passed and Hedonist sighed, coming to sit on the couch directly opposite Hero. 

“I’m fine with continuing to talk if you don’t want to, Henry. You were always a bit quieter though. Your brother, what a chatterbox!” Hero couldn’t help the slight jump in his shoulders when Hedonist mentioned Kel. Barone noticed this and jumped on it, continuing to ramble like the pathetic old man he was, “Even when you two were little you were always teaching him when to be quiet. You should hear him on the phone when your little wifey is arranging your safe return to her. I offered to send them a little piece of you when she tried to say I didn’t have you. Ha I think they had to drag him kicking and screaming from the room,” 

Hero was going to kill him. Hero was going to fucking kill him. Barone had been a part of his father’s business, had watched him and Kel both grow up. Tommy Barone was one of his father’s bannermen, a staple of their organization, but Hero had never liked him. When Mari had taken over she and Hero had cleaned house. Hedonist had been one of the first to go, his methods too messy, his tastes too extravagant. Barone had always lived up to his nickname, and Mari hadn’t wanted to deal with his exorbitant costs. Hero didn’t see it as a waste, and now he knew it wasn’t. 

Barone took a long slow sip of his drink, appraising Hero who continued to stare him down. Hedonist was forced to look away first, and his congenial attitude quickly soured, small blue eyes blown wide in fury.

“You should blame her for this, you know. Your precious Mari. Your family used to be powerful, one of the greats.” Barone sneered, downing the drink and slamming the glass down next to the knife. Hero jumped, his hands trying to pull away from one another. When had he been bound? Weren’t they free only a minute ago? 

Hero looked down at the rope rubbing angry red bracelets onto his wrists. Barone was still going on, but Hero was able to ignore it in favor of looking down and trying to remember how he got this way. He had been forced to listen to Barone’s drabble on an endless loop for the three weeks since he had been taken from outside the Bakery. Hero couldn’t remember anything from before he got in this room, but he knew it had happened. He knew he had been taken, he knew what Tommy had done to him, but it all felt murky. The details existed, but they held no meaning. Barone, clearly done with being ignored, leaned up and grasped Hero’s shoulder, pulling him roughly forward. 

“Now look at you, heir to nothing but being a bitch for some uppity woman who calls herself a Don.” Hedonist leered. Hero shook the man’s hands off of him, leaning back as far as he could. There were a thousand and one things right on the edge of his tongue, but he held himself back. He had gotten this far, he just had to keep playing the game. 

Barone laughed at the boy’s fire, a twisted noise that Hero had always loathed. He had heard it more than he ever wanted in the last few weeks, as Tommy took his pleasure from doing everything he could to get him to buckle. Barone stood, walking towards the door Hero had come in. 

“I hope I do get to hear you scream eventually, Henry. Maybe when Mari gets here,” Hero couldn’t help his quiet gasp. His heart beat a thunderous pattern, sick both with longing and fear. His girl couldn’t come here, not near this monster. Not for him. Hedonist saw that he had gotten a crack, and he chuckled again, “She’s coming herself to get you tonight. Mistress was finally willing to pay the price for her lost puppy back. I told her to come alone, but I’m sure she won’t. I’ll get the satisfaction of wiping your whole miserable family off the planet. At least the last time she sees you, you’ll look perfect. Aside from a few bumps and bruises.”

Barone locked the door, and Hero’s head spun. Mari was coming for him. He knew she had been looking for him, he knew that they had sent her pictures of the damage they had done, humiliating photos that Hero hoped Mari had destroyed before anyone else saw. He knew Mari would eventually come, but now that the reality was at his doorstep, Hero felt his control beginning to slip. Hedonist turned back around and with slow sloping steps began to get closer. Hero was never more aware of the knife in the room, the same knife that had given him the injuries that were still healing all over his body. They pulsed with a familiar wave of pain, and Hero tried to define the exact moment he had gotten so hurt. He didn’t understand, he hadn’t been hurt before. But he had? This was a dream. This wasn’t real. Why did it feel so real?  Hedonist was speaking again.

“The silent treatment is getting boring kiddo, and you know what I’m like when I’m bored.” Hero knew. Hero knew all too well. He had the evidence written into his skin. Hero kept his mouth shut. Mari would be here soon. Mari would make everything okay. Mari would make sure that Tommy begged for mercy, and then she would deny him. 

“Just a few more minutes… actually, I think I’ll kill you now. I was going to kill Mari first, just to get you to finally do something, but it would be more fun to throw your corpse down in front of her and see her lose it.” Barone’s face contorted in glee at the thought, and Hero’s stomach bottomed out. A few more minutes. Mari was coming. Mari would be here soon. 

“You’re the reason she killed her daddy after all. So...maybe all of this is your fault then.” No that wasn’t their fault. That wasn’t Hero’s fault. That was Mari’s father. Mari’s father had made his choices, and forced their hand. Mari had killed him to protect Sunny, to save their families. It hadn’t just been for Hero. It couldn’t have been just for Hero. He couldn’t have been the reason behind everything. It wasn’t true, it couldn’t be. Barone twisted the knife in his hands, throwing his final punch to Hero’s mind, “You’re the reason your family is nothing. You’re the reason your mother is dead.” 

Hero breath began to quicken, and Hedonist jerked him up by an arm, pressing the knife tip against his throat, tracing it almost lovingly against his pulse point. Hero was nearly hyperventilating, his eyes up, staring at the chandelier shaking. Was it the chandelier? It looked fuzzy. Maybe it wasn’t a chandelier at all. This was a dream? Why were his palms sweating? Why was he so terrified? If it wasn’t real, it wouldn’t be like this. He would wake up. 

Please wake up. Please wake up.

“Any last words? Anything to say?” Even if Hero had any, he wouldn’t be able to speak. His mouth was a desert, his throat closed tight. There was no air. This wasn’t a dream. He was going to die. He was only eighteen, and he was about to have his throat slit by an ex-mobster in a parlor. They were using him to get to his wife. Hedonist was going to hurt his Mari. “How disappointing,” 

A series of gunshots tore through the air, throwing them both out of synch. Hero took the two seconds that afforded him. He slammed his bound hands into the side of Tommy Barone’s head, taking all of the rage he had been storing up in the last 24 days and unleashing it. Barone stumbled back and Hero surged forward. He grabbed the blade end of the knife, wincing in pain as it cut into his palms. Hedonist’s grip was loose from disorientation, and that was enough for Hero to wrench it away, spin it around, and thrust it deep into Tommy Barone’s stomach. 

All sound cut out. A high pitched whine was shrieking in his ears. The knife handle was sticky in his grip from the blood. 

Tommy looked at him, confused as a lost child. Hero ripped the knife out of the other man’s gut and buried it in the side of his throat, joined hands holding fast to the black plastic handle. Hot blood sticky and disgusting sprayed out, staining Hero with it. The fabulous suit that Tommy had commissioned was destroyed, ripped from their scuffle and forever marked with red. 

Hero pulled the knife out with a horrific squelching noise, and Tommy fell back. His pale fingers went up to his throat, trying to stem the bleeding. Sound cut back in, there were people yelling and shouting outside. Someone was banging on the door. Hero took two stumbling steps towards it, then paused. 

He was panting from exertion, the feeling of the suit and the blood curdling in his stomach, but he wasn’t done. Not yet. Not after what Barone had done to him. 

Hero turned back. Tommy was a lost cause, panic racing across his features as mortality flew towards him. Hero felt a cruel smile settling on his features, so unlike anything he had ever done before. His face felt like wax, molded and shaped by some unknown force. He practically slid over to where the dying Hedonist lay, tilting his head and staring down at the monster turned human. He stepped over the older man so one foot was on each side of him. 

“You’re going to kill my wife?” Hero’s voice was shredded after so many days of keeping from speaking, but he kept going. He doesn’t recognize his own voice, “Kill my family? You want to hear me scream?” 

Hero turned the knife so the point was directly above Barone’s heart. The man was making a horrific wheezing noise, and the stench of death hung in the air. Someone was rhythmically pounding against the door, clearly trying to break it. Hero ignored them. He had a job to do. He had to protect them from this monster. He had to do what had to be done 

Hero fell to his knees, drove the knife deep into Barone’s chest, opened his mouth, and screamed. 

Hero wakes up still screaming, the iron taste of Hedonist’s blood heavy on his tongue. He thrusts himself into a sitting position, pitching forward and letting his head smack down onto the mattress. A broken howl of agony heaved from his chest, and he continued to wail. His joined hands were pressed up against his chest, no longer bound to one another but stuck in the position all the same.  Hero’s voice gives out on the fourth cry, and Mari’s hands are cool on his back as she runs her fingers along his spine and hushes him. She is speaking to him in soft whispers. He can’t hear her words, but the smell of her shampoo is strong in his nose. She is here. She is safe. 

Hedonist is dead, his body burnt and ashes scattered in a dump. Hero is not bound, his injuries long scarred over. The horrible suit was destroyed. It was a dream. He was safe. He had saved his family. He had done what he had to, and it had broken him, but he had protected them. 

Hero continues to cry out silently until the sun rises pale in the sky.