#would make it even easier for his father to forget it damn

[chaoticcatbehaviour]

Nero's Imperial Household HCS

⚠️ Anything about the Gods that are written about here refers specifically to the RRverse. I am in no way talking about the actual deities themselves.

• Son of Hermes

- I'm calling him Dolios for now because it's an epithet of Hermes and it makes it easier to remember him.

- Son of Hermes, either one of the athletic epithets or the Psychopomp epithets.

- About 18 years old? Honestly what even was the age limit of Nero's stepchildren?

- Ok so I'm still confused as to what his powers would be but I'm leaning into the psychopomp side of Hermes. Although I'm also leaning on him being stronger than the average person because there's no way Nero didn't teach his step children to defend themselves without using their powers (Also Hermes is the god of Athletes sooo)

- I headcanon the Hermes kid as the oldest, partially because I don't know who else to make the oldest stepchild of Nero, and partly because I have a feeling that Nero would make the "calmer" cabins (AKA Cabin 11 and Cabin 7) really really feral just so he can showcase his strength in a "Hey I made the kids from the calmer cabins really feral HAHA IMAGINE WHAT I CAN DO" kind of way and also because he's an asshole and can't let kids be kids. Also because Nero's a furry.

• Nero definitely gave all of his stepchildren jewellery that represented their godly parent btw. I headcanon Dolios to have something like this.

Because why not? (And no this is not an excuse to show literally every piece of jewellery I have saved in my pinterest board) Meg has half-moon shaped rings that turn to scimitars but I have no idea what weapon these earrings would turn to so if y'all have any ideas tell me!!

• Lucius

- Nero really wanted the entire world to know who his step childrens' godly parent was huh 😭 Anyways onto his character!

- Son of Apollo, specifically Apollo Nomios.

- 16 to 17 years old (probably).

- LISTEN. WHAT DO YOU MEAN THAT THERE AREN'T CHILDREN OF APOLLO WHO HAVE SHEPHERDS AS THEIR MORTAL PARENT. HOW DARE RICK FORGET ABOUT BRANCHUS MY BABY. Anyways in my head Lucius's mortal father was a shepherd which is how he attracted Apollo. Again, I'm not sure what powers he would have but he definitely knows how to fight (because like I said, there's no way Nero didn't teach his stepchildren to defend themselves without using their powers). Also he can talk to ravens. And crows. And sheep. Because how come Percy is the only one that can talk to his father's sacred animals? That's unfair!

- I'm pretty sure he is one of the oldest demigods in Nero's Imperial Household? In my mind he's the second oldest out of them all.

• His jewellery is probably something like this bracelet.

It turns into a Gladiator btw. Not sure how that works but then again we have no idea how Meg's rings work either so yeah.

Also a bow and arrow seemed way too basic to me. Like may the Gods forbid that their children use anything other than the ones their godly parents use.

• Aemilia

- At first I got really confused over what godly parent she could have but then I searched up the meaning of her name and.... yeah.

- Daughter of Athena, not sure which epithet tho.

- Same age as Lucius, about 17 years old.

- Oh gods I know damn well that Nero made this girl suffer. Like you already have people having high expectations about Athena kids and then your step parent is NERO. Like this girl was probably given some big ass sum to solve at the age of 7 or something ( WISDOM IS NOT THE SAME AS KNOWLEDGE NERO). Oh my poor little girl. We know next to nothing about her but I'm gonna make her and Lucius my pookies.

- Either the third oldest stepchild in Nero's Imperial Household or the same age as Lucius.

- Not sure what jewellery Nero would give her tho. An owl necklace? Something that looks like this?

What weapon could this even turn into? A shield maybe? Y'know the thing with Medusa? (RR messed up her myth so bad in PJO that now I'm confused as to whether it's following the Greek or Roman myth).

• Hunter of Artemis

- I have absolutely no hcs about her whatsoever because I'm still confused as to who her godly parent could be. Like we know that Meg is supposed to replace Demeter which means that his other stepchildren are also mostly the children of the god they're supposed to replace.

- Still, I'm gonna have to make her a daughter of Diomedes and an ex hunter of Artemis otherwise I don't know how it'll work. I'm not sure about her name either.

- Younger than Aemilia and Lucius by a year or two, so that makes her 15 to 16 years old.

- She and Lucius are probably always paired together since Artemis & Apollo are twins. I'm not sure what power I want to give her so I'd love to know what you guys want her powers to be!

- Third oldest stepchild of Nero.

- Her jewellery turns into a bow and arrow because that's usually the weapon that the Hunters of Artemis use. I HC it to look something like these two.

How would this turn into a bow and arrow you ask? I have no idea!

These are only for the four oldest demigods, if you guys want I'll make one for the others too! (I've basically divided it into 3 parts, there are 4 children in each group and the groups are -Oldest, Middle and Youngest, the same way Apollo divided them)

Tagging- @actual-gremlin @arihuntress @humburgercheeseburger @sahebro-apollosangel @lesbianbanana @whats-a-lester @please-be-nice-im-sensitive me if any of you want me to remove you next time!

, ╱|、

(˚ˎ 。7

|、˜〵

じしˍ,)ノ

I'd really appreciate it if y'all actually read it tho....

Please don't let this flop I beg you pls

[threadmonster]

I need world building ideas for my OCs so I can write real mainline content. Why is it so difficult.

[bamfkeeper]

Parents.

Kurt Wagner x F!reader

RQ: 'CAN WE PLS GET MORE DAD!KURT HC'S??? PLS I BEG' - @thel0v3hashira143

Warnings: Baby themes, mentions of breastfeeding and other recovery things from birth and pregnancy.

A/N: Pleaseee I love Kurt as a dad <3 Dad!Kurt has to have a goatee I don't make the rules 😩

Kurt loves being a dad. He's always wanted to be a father and he was so excited when you got pregnant and gave birth. He was so attentive to you, and during labor and the birthing process, he was there helping as much as possible.

When it was the first night home from the hospital, he made sure you got your baby inside safely and you got to bed right away. He didn't want you moving around too much. He had already prepped the bedroom, the bassinet was beside the bed for you to easily reach for your baby at night for feedings.

He had water, cream, medicine, everything you needed. He popped up at night when he felt you move, checking on you nearly every hour.

If you wanted to only breastfeed, he'd absolutely be okay with that, and he'd make sure you were alright doing so. He would help you pump and offer bottles if you needed, but he'd mostly try to respect your wants.

I don't think Kurt would care what gender the baby is. He'd love it no matter what. I always had a feeling that if he had a boy he'd name it Gabriel.

Names in general can be played with. You can imagine him going the religious route, or the German route, or if you have a name you like from your own culture, then you could choose that. Kurt is just happy you're having a baby, the name isn't something he's going to argue about with you.

Kurt is absolutely super protective over the baby and you, especially fresh from the hospital. He advocates your wishes to all your friends and family. No visitors, no pictures, no holding the newborn, etc. whatever rules you have.

You love watching him hold your baby, how he cradles them in his arms and hums so sweetly. He gently rubs his nose into the baby's tiny one, he's so gentle with them.

He kisses your baby's feet, listening to the sweet giggles because his beard tickles their toes. He loves to give them raspberries too.

He likes to sing German lullabies or songs to your baby. His singing voice is actually really good.

You thought Kurt was protective before, but once your baby moves around more often, he becomes even more so. Anyone says anything about your baby's appearance or yours after your pregnancy, he loses it. You didn't think that would get you going but...damn.

Your baby would be bilingual. They'd learn English and German growing up.

Walking is fun. With the tiny tail your baby has, balance is much easier, so your baby is walking long before normal babies walk.

As your baby grows, their little voice develops an accent in both languages, and you both adore it. Kurt is so proud of your little one, going on and on about how smart they are and how they get it from you.

Kurt loves dressing your baby too, he definitely puts them in little overalls or lederhosen.

Kurt plays with your little one all the time, especially at parks, he loves pushing them in the swing and sliding down the slide with them in his lap. He absolutely makes up extravagant make believe scenarios about sailing the seas on a big pirate ship, aka the couch.

Speaking of...pirate costumes for Halloween is a MUST.

Also let's not forget the spoiling your child will endure. Kurt gets them whatever they want. Stuffed animals, toys, clothes, sweets, within reason of course. But he can't resist.

Kurt loves to cook German dishes for you and your child, it makes him happy to do and it connects you and your child closer to his roots.

Bedtime stories are big for Kurt too. The showman he is, he tells the stories in different voices, he completely acts out the parts to make your child giggle and laugh. He tucks your little one in and gives them a kiss, a soft lullaby, then it's off to dreamland.

You adore seeing this side of Kurt, he's grown into a wonderful parent, even if he did have some worries before. He is absolutely perfect. A perfect father and a perfect husband.

Dividers by @/adornedwithlight

Cover images: Immortal X-Men #7 (2022), Pinterest for others

[dumbpsique]

DATING OLIVER AIKU; how it feels.

|If by a miracle you won this man's heart, what kind of boyfriend would he be?

|Red stars: NSFW

☆ I disagree with those who say that Oliver is not jealous. He is absolutely very jealous, after all, he understands very well how the male mind works.

☆ lots of hugs in public, without caring if the entire press is pointing cameras at you.

☆ He wakes up early and plays on his cell phone, which means he will have lots of photos of you sleeping with your mouth open, drooling or even videos of you snoring.

☆ It absolutely makes you embarrassed. without wanting to? Don't be silly, it's a hobby.

☆ He eats while playing on his cell phone, so while you're complaining about all your problems, he's watching some tiktok at full volume.

☆ your dates are car trips where you can put your feet up, choose the music and adjust the air conditioning temperature.

☆ When he comes into contact with kids, he acts like an idiot, running after them, spinning them around, jumping, doing whatever they want. then you comment about wanting to start a family and he blanches "god, no."

☆ 100% needy when he wants something. holding onto your waist, sniffing your neck and whispering "pleeeeease" in your ear.

☆ calls you the most shameful petnames possible in public. Are you in front of a waiter? "my little parakeet." They are having lunch with his parents "cute baby, can you pass the salt?" Yes, he is ridiculous.

☆ He never knows how to give you gifts, he always buys the most expensive one.

☆ thinks you're the hottest woman in the world and loves showing off by your side. points to all the guys on the team "that's my girl"

☆ He stresses you out in fights because he doesn't respond to your insults. use sarcasm or just respond with "okok, if you think you're right"

☆ his parents adore him. Oliver is a natural extrovert and even gets along well with his grandparents. he talks about football, helps your mother in the kitchen, plays with your younger siblings and bothers your father.

☆ It cooks SO badly that it's depressing. Every romantic night ends with a burnt pan and a last-minute pizza order.

☆ squeeze your ass regardless of who you are in front of. zero embarrassment, every couple does this, right? in public or not, what changes?

☆ he says he's going to braid your hair (you always end up with knots, but you leave it because you think it's cute.

☆ 8 or 80. he will open the car door in a gentlemanly way or forget you outside and leave.

☆ the kind of guy who if you ask him to buy pads he will ask you what size your pussy is.

☆ makes jokes about having lovers, but would never trade you for anyone.

☆ double meaning jokes ALWAYS! this guy has no discernment of limits (he dies laughing at his own jokes.

☆ every event he takes you to, you end up on a couch with a glass of wine in your hand while cursing everyone there.

☆ he enjoys semi-public sex, he feels turned on by the fact that he can be caught or that he can hear you melting for him.

☆ tags you anywhere you consider hot. his fingers are marked on her waist, bites on her neck and breasts. That's why he thinks he's exceptional.

☆ "do you like this? oh you do, look at the way you're whining." damn, he's dirty.

☆ it will break your ego painfully, denying you orgasm and making you beg for it.

☆ I would ask to record. no one is made of iron, what would he do when he was horny and in another country without you? having videos made everthing easier.

☆ have rough sex and sleep spooning FR

[riahreadz]

Okay ideal Teen Wolf fanfic pack Take 2! 🎬 Sterek✨️

If Derek is Alpha, then obviously Stiles is Pack Mom and Alpha Mate.

All the good fics have Peter as a good little wolf or at least relatively good to the Hale Pack whilst protecting them doing some dirty work as the Left Hand. Peter and Stiles, as best friends, 🤌🏼✨️ is just t it's golden. Derek honestly gets scared when they team up - he knows it'll never end well, especially if Erica is involved. Peter supplies Stiles with all the family heirloom books and artifacts or from his own personal collections.

Stiles just has a habit of collecting Hales, first Derek, then Peter, Cora, and even Malia.

And in the rarity that I read a fic where Ell isn't Stiles's son well Stiles took one look at the kid (maybe before he even knew Eli was Derek's) and filed him under Lost (Hale) PuppyTM Derek is particularly fond of Stiles's seemingly sixth sense when it comes to protecting the Hales. Despite also yelling at the younger man who can't get it through his thick skull that putting himself in the line of danger won't help Derek losing him anymore than losing another Hale.

Somewhere along the way, Peter gets back together with Chris cause, yes, they dated as teens with an unfortunate near 20-year pause due to the Argent/Hale shit show extravaganza. They are raising their teen/young adult daughters Allison and Malia as sisters - bonus points if Jackson and Malia are twins.

Now I can't for some reason ever really see Allison and Isaac being romantically involved after her death and resurrection. Usually, Stiles figures some way to bring her back,and going forward, she gets back with Scott, Issac becomes dependent on Chris as a father figure, so Allison and Issac are just good friends once she's back. OR he sees Derek as a brother or father figure kinda situation being the Alpha that originally turned him, and skips over the emotional attachment to Chris all together.

Malia and Kira make for an interesting side ship that I never saw coming but a cute addition lol

Boyd and Erica are mates, obviously. Erica is a little shit just like Stiles and especially teaming up with Stiles, but Boyd balances her crazy. Crazy fun that iS.

I do love a good fic with Cora being involved. The dynamic of her and Derek finding their footing once again as siblings just makes me super emotional, okay? Plus, Cora and Isaac make for a good couple/mates.

Given that I love a good bad friend Scott fic, Isaac has pulled away from following Scott like a lost puppy. His lost puppy status belongs to Cora or Derek, depending on whose good side he's trying to get on that day. But back to Scott - his main roll usually is to tear down Stiles or attempt to anyway. Usually, Allison is there to gather his wits back together and reel him back into being a good friend. I'im game with a good redemption arc for him, but it ain't required.

Lydia and Stiles make a good team, and she makes a damn good motivational ass kicker when Stiles needs one, which is usually at least once in every fic, let's be honest. She's either with Jackson or just a bad ass that doesn't need a partner to ground her. Jackson is still an asshole - it's why we love him. But he and Stiles develop a pretty decent friendship when they bond over healing from losing control from the Kanima and Void. He'd kill to protect Stiles. They all would. He's with Lydia, Danny, or Ethan.

Now we can't forget Sheriff Stilinski, rather his name is Noah or John, he's a big player in this pack. Despite being only human, he has a lot of sway when it comes to this rag-tag group of puppies and puppy adjacents. Derek and him make for a good team in the fics. Derek is a deputy. Or just the Sheriff adopting Derek as an unofficial Stilinski once he realizes his son won't ever let go of the Hales but especially one Derek Hale - plus it's easier to expain to his across-the-street-neighbor that Derek is family rather than filter through the panicked 911 calls of astrange man in a black leather jacket climbing once again through his son's bedroom window. Cause the Hales don't know how to use front doors - a trait they passed along to the whole pack like a worst kept secret family tradition.

Oh, and it's recently been brought to my attention that the Sheriff is in a secret relationship with his deputy Jordan and eventually gets exposed by Stiles seeing them on a date. Bonus points if it turns into a double date. Didn't know I needed this one until I needed it. However, I'm down for seeing him with Melissa or even a thropple with Chris and Peter. If he's with Melissa, then Scott has to have a redemption arc, or he was the good best friend/step brother all along.

And last but certainly not least, Eli Hale or shall I say Eli Stilinski-Hale or Hale-Stilinski? Doesn't matter as long as we all can agree that Elis Stiles's son. l'm not picky on whether it's adoption, mpreg, or Stiles and Derek got together after Eliwas born. Stiles. Is. Eli's. Father.

If some of this seems repeated from my Steter Ideal Pack - well, that's cause it is, lol. I wrote this first but finished Steter before Sterek. I'll probably rewrite this cause it's rushed, but I need to get it out to link for my Secret Santa in the Sterek Exchange.

✋️🛑 Now, all of this is just my personal preference on fics I've read. A lot of these obviously stray from the actual character on the show but 🤷🏻‍♀️ show canon meet 🫱🏻‍🫲🏽 one person's fanfic canon. All respect and rights for the cast and crew in bringing these characters to life, though. Also, I'm not saying that I won't read fics that don't include this stuff - like I've mentioned just some stuff I've read over the years and liked. ✋️🛑

[imaginesmai]

His precious treasure - Eris Vanserra

First time writing for Eris! Let me know what you think

Plot: Beron manages to ask the right questions at the wrong moment, making Eris suspicious of your safety. His hidden treasure in the forest, where he cannot get fast enough.

Warnings: mention of torture, death and blood.

His steps resonated through the long corridor, servants and guards bowing to his presence. They never met his eyes, not even when he was just a young prince who barely reached their waists. He used to fool himself thinking it was out of respect, out of fear. But Eris had learned that it was easier to ignore the problems of their loved court, the abuse, when they didn’t look at him.

Countless times he had walked down those corridors with blood streaming down his face, bloody nose and bruised eyes. Burned flesh and peeled skin. It used to bother him their indifference, but that day, he barely paid them any attention.

All his focus was set in leaving the palace he called home as soon as possible without looking suspicious, without letting anyone know the terror that threatened to paralyze him.

Eris could feel his eye bruising, the burn marks on his back and chest from his father later outburst. He didn’t mind the abuse, could endure it just fine. What was breaking his soul in two were the answers his father looked with that abuse, and that he had managed to hide. But Beron was asking questions he shouldn’t have been formulating.

“Tell me, my son. Why do I keep receiving notices of your disappearances? Why are my guards worried that you might be lacking in your efforts to keep this court standing?” Beron had asked before backhanding Eris in his office. “Should I be worried about your not-so-subtle trips to the forests?”

The excuse had fallen from his mouth naturally, like he had always planned. Testing the borders for possible threats, assuring the outer posts were functioning correctly, searching the ground with his hounds.

Eris had swallowed every hit and humiliation with a tight jaw, only answering when he was spoken to. He had closed you off the bond and hoped to be strong enough for you not to notice. Then, Beron’s had asked him that damned question and his resolution had cracked.

“You look distracted lately, maybe that’s why you keep forgetting to update me about your whereabouts” Beron snarled, as if the sight of the blood spilled by his hand unsettled him. Then, he locked his eyes with Eris and fire danced behind them, and he smiled. “Maybe it’s the recent lack of servants what has your mind busy. Strange and unexplained disappearances, right?”

He was sure Beron had bought his indifference, or he wouldn’t have let him go. But he still raced through the hallways, a bad feeling twisting his gut. Running would catch too much attention, yet he knew leaving after his father’s questions was an answer by itself.

Eris prayed to the Cauldron, to whoever had unanswered his prayers through his life, that he arrived to the cabin with enough time to make things right. If Beron was asking about missing servants, he could only be talking about you. The kind-hearted lesser fae who had the misfortune of being his mate.

Three years ago, Eris had almost burnt down the entire court one of his brothers got a little too handsy with you. As a servant, you were supposed to endure it and be thankful for his attention. But your heart belonged to Eris Vanserra in secret for almost a century, and you had denied his unrespectful advantages. That earned you a beating that had left you unconscious in the middle of the backyard, where Eris’ hounds had found you.

After weeks of healing in secret and convincing him not to slaughter his own court and find death at the hands of his father, only the promise of your safety had kept him still. He had taken you away to his hidden cabin, where you had been staying part of a cozy side-town, where no one recognized you.

Thoughts of the last three years flooded his mind as he jogged the last steps of the castle, quickly hoisting himself up in his horse and riding off into the forest. He pushed his mare to her limits, until the ground and the trees were nothing but blurry colors.

He wouldn’t waste time thinking why his father hadn’t acted yet, why he had been granted those few minutes to try and save you. The answer was clear when he smelt the uncharacteristic trace of blood in the quiet village.

Eris dismounted without stopping, his mare moving restlessly in the familiar cottage. His heart pushed furiously against his chest, blood rushing to his ears when he noticed the door hanging open by an unnatural angle. Male scents and horses’ prints were all over your hidden cabin.

“Y/N!” he screamed your name, not caring about anything but your safety. With everything about to change, he could throw secrecy as the last of his priorities. “My love, where are you?”

No answer came from the outskirts of the house, and Eris all but threw himself inside. The beating he had just endured almost sent him stumbling to the ground.

The insides of the cabin were a mess, just like his soul. Scattered papers and wooden furniture, broken plates, shattered windows. Fire embers started to fill the messy space as his laborious breathing turned panicked. He leaned against the wall where pictures lay now crooked, and tried to think what to do.

Where to look, who to kill, how to survive knowing his worst nightmare had come true. Eris had always feared having a mate, having someone to love and that loved him back, because he knew the world would take it away cruelly.

What he didn’t expect was the stairs creaking under your weight, and your disheveled head poking through the stairwell. Your eyes widened, at his state, his presence, or his blood. But he didn’t consider much apart from the fact that you were still breathing, somehow, and alive enough to be standing.

His body gravitated forward until you collided into his arms, the composure he had kept during the last hour crumbling like paper against water.

“Eris” you whispered against his chest and his breath hitched, your voice so concerned and soft against his worries. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“You’re alive. You’re alive” he repeated, twice, and willed himself to believe it. “I thought – the door was open, and you didn’t answer. Why didn’t you answer? I called. Didn’t you – didn’t –“

“I didn’t know if it was you. It’s been…”

You trailed off, it wasn’t necessary to acknowledge the obvious mess. Eris pressed you tighter against his chest. Just like those nights where nightmares consumed him, where his father’s reign of terror was too much, he hugged you so tight that your bones creaked under the pressure. You didn’t mind when it was the only thing holding him together.

It was silent for no longer than three seconds, the amount of time it took for the first and only tear to roll down his bruised cheek. If he let himself any more time, if he let his guard down, none of you would make it out of there alive.

Eris ignored the rough phantoms hands he could still feel on his body, the feeling of his father’s fingers tugging on his hair and crushing his throat. His touch was soft and careful as he pulled you away and inspected you with bright eyes. Only a gash on your cheek and a light limp on your left foot. Even if your dress was stained, he didn’t find any threatening injury.

He pushed the anger once more down his chest, until he turned it into resolution.

“How many?”

“Three of Beron’s personal guard. Rookie heard them before they came and I could hide” you motioned with your chin to the enormous dog that guarded the back door, on four and alert. “She took care of the first one, and the other two… it was them or me”

“You did well” Eris whispered, cupping your cheek and brushing his thumb under the bleeding wound. “Where are the bodies?”

Those deaths would haunt you for a while. His innocent, kind mate who had been the only one brave enough to risk sending him pain tonics after his father’s beatings. Who took care of his dogs when he couldn’t leave the bed, and stubbornly stayed by his side as he pushed you away.

Eris followed you silently to the first floor, to your bedroom. Where you had spent so many nights tangled together, now three bloodied bodies stood. He could identify which one had been finished by Rookie, their face unrecognizable. His father’s personal guard embroidery stood bright on their uniform, and it threatened to make him vomit.

He fished their bodies for weapons, ignoring the urge to kill them all over again slower a crueler. When he finished gathering what was worthy, he guided you out of the room, his arm around your shoulder.

“Don’t look” he advised you, pressing you tighter when your body trembled. “We’ll be okay”

You had talked about that outcome for three years, and you had spent each borrowed minute like the last one. It wouldn’t be forever, you understood, so you had crafted a plan. An emergency plan that you needed to carry out.

Eris didn’t let you take anything and you didn’t stop to grab your belongings as he lit fire to the cabin behind you. Each step you took made your knees tremble, knowing that Beron had once more managed to drown any hope in your life for your relationship.

Heat scorched both your backs as you exited the cabin, now full ablaze. Eris’ mare was dutifully waiting at the entrance, with the dozens of neighbors that were gathered in a half-circle. They all scattered when Eris walked out, and didn’t get to see how your knees finally gave out. With just one arm, he managed to keep you standing against his chest and grab the reins.

His whole body tensed under the weight of your sobs, that racked your body in sadness. Twice now, he had seen your life crumble because of him, because of who you loved and loved you back. Until Beron was dead, until his body was cold and forgotten, there wouldn’t be a place in Prythian safe from his hands.

And no matter how much it pained, only one was safe enough to last until he killed his father. Or died trying to.

“Y/N” he whispered against your sobs, against your desperation. He held you firmly as you shook your head in denial without looking up from his chest. “It’s time, my love. We don’t have much time”

Maybe his father was stupid enough to think three men were enough to kill you, but they hadn’t returned and Eris had left – and, surely, his father himself would come to end with his son’s happiness and will to live.

Shadows gathered around his feet, but he didn’t look to the owner nor acknowledge the new presences in his court, in his forest. He had long ago granted them access for that day, had supplied them information for his part of the bargain.

Rhysand and his court had kept their promise.

“I don’t want to” you cried, so hard and fearful that his resolve shook. Yet your safety, your life, had always been his one priority.

“It’s for the best. Look at me, Y/N” his voice didn’t harden, he didn’t slip into the mask he wore around them for your sake. “Y/N”

His own voice was broken too, with despair and agony. He too dreamed for a world where he could hold you freely, where he didn’t need his worst’s enemies help to keep his mate alive. But those dreams were not for people like him. Still, he held onto that thread of hope that he would make it through tonight. That, tomorrow, he would comfort you like you deserve, endure your berating about his selflessness and kiss your tears away.

When you finally looked at him, he smiled, ignoring the surprise radiating from his unusual partners. Eris waited until your sobs subsided and you calmed enough to accept the next step.

In silence, he let his eyes tell you everything he didn’t allow himself to say. How grateful he was for your soft hand when no one else dared to help you, for your patience words against his lashings when you helped him. How sorry for each and every scar you carried from his court, his brothers and father, and for not being able to give you the life you deserved.

How much he loved you, witch every fiber of his being, until he was nothing more than embers and ashes, and beyond.

Eris pressed his lips wordlessly against your forehead, his hands holding your head in place. Your own circled his scarred wrists. With the glamour off, everyone could see the scars and marks on his body. You caressed the rough skin and held him tight, until he tore apart.

“I love you. And if I die tonight, know that your love was what has kept me alive for so long” he watched your glossy eyes, your shaky lips. “I only burn for you, my little fox”

“They’re here” Azriel talked, his voice breaking your daydreaming.

A soft spark of proudness lighted in his chest when Azriel tried to gently guide you back and you brushed him off with a stern look. Your eyes, kind and loving for him, were hard and unforgiving for the spymaster. Eris knew they would treat you well, would take care of you, and was sure you would give them hell for him.

You looked at him one last time, sad resolution in your eyes, and kissed the edge of his lips before stepping away. With your torn dress and blood over you, you looked like every inch of mate he adored and cherished.

Azriel finally gripped your wrist with an annoyed frown, and shadows swarmed both your beings just as the first group of soldiers rounded the edge of the town. They wouldn’t be the problem, but the High Lord who rode behind. Eris didn’t allow any of his fears or worries show when he kept eye contact as you disappeared with Azriel.

“Come back for me” you begged him one last time, cracking once more his already broken heart. “Please, my prince. Come back”

“I love you”

He let those words be the last thing you heard from him. Eris was powerful, but his father could crush him like a leave under a boot. Maybe Rhysand would keep to his promise and keep you safe – and still loose you against his father’s armies. Eris was just happy knowing he would die knowing what being loved by you felt. How your arms felt around his shoulders, your breath against his neck.

Eris would die happy because you had chosen him when even he hadn’t chosen himself.

The sound of horses and men screaming got more intense when you disappeared, and the prince prepared himself to face one last battle. His fists lighted up with bright fire, his body vibrating with energy.

He expected a wave of angry soldiers from his right.

Not a stony-face Rhysand looking at him with a raised brow.

“You do love” he proclaimed, his voice laced with curiosity and something else. “I was tempted to believe she was just another one of your tricks. One that assured you your climb to the throne”

“I have business to attended, in case you can’t tell” Eris grumbled, letting loose the rage and anger. “So if you would be so kind, please fuck off”

The first round of autumn males broke through the left with raised swords and angry scowls. Some of them had fought by Eris’ side in the last war, some of them had been by his father’s side as he beat him.

Neither of their faces was marked in Eris’ memory, as they all vanished away to a terrible darkness that swept them off. As if they had never existed at all. The prince’s fire died down a bit as he looked at the High Lord, who had taken his hands out of his pocket and whose violet eyes were shinning dangerously.

For all explanation, Rhysand shrugged and gave away no intention of leaving with Azriel and his court.

“I made a bet on you when we made that bargain. A bet on a new high lord that would change things with me” Rhysand stared at him and Eris didn’t break eye contact, too stunned to speak. “Wasn’t certain it was the right bet, but now I am. I hope we both get to withdraw the price”

Without another word, the world was consumed in a wave of darkness, Beron’s power emerging not so far away. Eris let himself become fire in the dark, brighter than ever, and with the memory of your last smile and the possible hope of a world with you, he launched himself into battle.

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

[atoltia]

We all make our choices (don't go too far)

Eiland finds the farmer injured and bleeding at the entrance of the mines.

TW: blood, panic attack

Tags: angst with good ending

Eiland x gender neutral farmer

-0-

It was his fault.

He didn't know it would come down to something like this, didn't really think about the consequences of his decisions.

It was just so exciting at first. They'd finally have a chance to open the mines again. It just made sense in his mind. Despite the destruction the earthquake caused, it also shifted the land so much that artifacts and hidden ruins that were once completely hidden were much easier to find.

And that was great, no? Their museum needed that, needed new things to make it a place where people all around Aldaria would come to visit and be happy. Mistria definitely needed it, needed that sort of attention since he knew how much of a challenge it was just to get some of the scraps from the Capital, even with their mother and father's influence.

He just wanted what was best for Mistria, wanted what he knew would bolster their renown tenfold. It was for knowledge, it was for truth. It was selfless.

He was selfish.

He should've known, should've known, should've known. Should have listened to Errol when the man aired his concerns. Should have done more research about the mines that they had. Should have asked Olric about the things that lurked there.

But he didn't.

And you had to pay for it.

-0-

It was like any other day for you.

You did your morning chores, did your daily greetings, did your daily deliveries. You remembered spending a few minutes hanging out with Reina at the inn, with her talking about the latest recipe she was developing.

She gave you some, of course. She always made sure to save you a serving to take to the mines since it wouldn't do anyone good if you went hungry there.

And it wasn't like you'd ever refuse, even though you did think it was unnecessary. You know that you have a good head on your shoulders and wouldn't put yourself in any needless risk. Yes, accidents can happen but you've assured Dr. Valen multiple times that you'd get out of the mines the moment you get into trouble.

Yeah, you were in big trouble this time.

You remembered a rather peculiar mound of dirt at the thirty-fifth floor of the mines the last time you were there. It wasn't like you didn't see mounds of dirt anywhere else, but you knew, just knew it in your gut that there was something special there.

An artifact, maybe? It's been a while since you've gotten a legitimate artifact. The Caldosian sword that you've given to the museum was the last one and it's already been several months since you've found another one like it.

You hoped to find another one, even if it was a small piece of pottery or a broken stone tablet. You like seeing the museum fill up with artifacts from a different time, a different age. It was wonderful.

(And it also didn't hurt that it made Eiland ridiculously happy.)

It took a while for you to admit it. You didn't even want to think of it the first time you had the smallest inkling of it. You didn't come here for romance, not really. Retirement. That was the plan. To have a place to call your own, to earn an honest living without the stress and dangers of mercenary life. The mines provided enough thrill for when you needed it, anyway.

But there was something, a tiny little thing, whenever you see Eiland smile. There was that shine in his eyes that just blew away all the shadows that lodged in your heart. There was a melody to his laugh that you found you couldn't get enough of, couldn't get out of your mind. It made you go insane.

And you tried, didn't you? Tried so damn hard to just forget it, forget him, and just focus on your damn self.

Of course, we both know just how weak you are to such things.

He was just so goddamned earnest whenever he talked to you, whenever he rambled on about the history of an artifact that you've brought, of the history of this place, of the several nuances in the transitions from age to age - you didn't stand a chance.

So there you were, deep into the mines with a shovel and brush in hand, carefully extracting a broken piece of pottery engraved with words that you didn't understand.

Really, it was your fault for not fully clearing the area before you decided to dig.

You barely noticed it, barely heard the sound of the... blob? slime? heading straight towards you as you still had both hands deep into the dirt. But you felt it, though. You sure as hell felt it when a projectile the size of a fist hit you straight in the chest, hurting like a bitch.

Your sword was in your hand, quickly parrying the projectiles to send them back as you know it to be the most effective way to kill those blobs. But the throbbing at your chest distracted you too much, the blinding white of the pain making you blind.

You didn't see the other one.

It happened so fast you barely even felt it. You just knew that you fell back into the rocks, knew that you couldn't see a damned thing, and knew you had to get the fuck away.

The handles for the elevator levers were slick. It took several tries, several pulls before you were able to jumpstart the mechanism, wincing as several more projectiles hurled at your already battered body.

It took a minute. Sixty agonizing seconds before you finally reached the top of the mineshaft. Just get out, just get out, just get the fuck out and get some help.

You made it a few steps, one foot after the other, which in itself was a testament to your strength of will. Breathing was difficult and you could barely see as the world kept spinning, swaying, doubling and tripling.

You swore as your leg gave way, and once again you fell down, down to the ground as the cavern kept moving under your gaze, your hand the only thing to catch your fall. Just needed to get back, needed to get help, needed to -

The sight of your hand perplexed you.

It was like as it was normally, more scratched, dirt underneath your fingernails. But there was a slick to it, trailing down, down, dripping onto the floor.

You didn't realize your breath pick up, didn't realize the way your heart started beating wildly as you turned your eyes from your hand to your waist.

And then you saw nothing else.

-0-

He didn't know what he would have done if he didn't convince Errol to take that walk with him.

It was a cool night, the crisp autumn air a refreshing sensation against their skin as it blew away the slight inebriation they had after a few glasses of wine at the inn.

It wasn't all that late into the evening. The other townspeople would most likely still be at it for a few more hours yet. He knew that Adeline wanted him to take another hour more to just enjoy the merriment of the place, but he was just so ecstatic at the find he and Errol unearthed at the Western dig site.

Errol humored him, as he always did, and he did admit that he also wanted to get in a few more hours of work on the thing before heading to bed.

"I can't believe winter's coming around." The wind blew at Eiland's cape, rustling against his covered body. His soft, bubblegum pink hair dancing amidst the evening chill. "Adeline's already started with the logistics for this year winter festival with Nora, so we'll probably gonna be busy in the next couple of months."

He laughed, playfully nudging Errol at the next gust of wind when he stopped, raised a brow.

Eiland looked around, his brows furrowing as he turned. Errol stopped along with him, frowned as his companion did.

"Is there something wrong?"

"I think I saw something." Eiland kept turning, looking, his hands now pulling his cape closer to his body. "I think-"

He gasped, blinked, when he thought he saw the wind and leaves assemble themselves into the visage of a dragon. It held his gaze for a heartbeat, and then another, before rushing into the cave entrance.

Eiland followed without a moment's hesitation.

And almost gagged.

He saw you on the ground, eyes turning glassy as you weakly attempted to staunch your own wound.

There was blood, there was blood, there was so much blood as he stood there, eyes wide, body frozen. It was so dark, so dark and yet he could still see the glint of the one eye that peaked out from beneath your hair, the shine of it dulling by the second.

He didn't know what to do, he didn't know what to do, didn't know what to do please someone help, he didn't know what to do-

Eiland was pushed aside rather harshly as Errol stepped into the entrance, already pulling out a clean kerchief from his coat pocket. "Pull yourself together, Eiland!"

Dazed, still confused, Eiland stumbled forward to where you laid, choking in a sob when those blinking eyes of yours focused slightly the moment he got into your space, your bruised and bleeding lips quirking upwards into a soft, somewhat cocky smile at the mere sight of him.

"Don't look too good there, Pink."

"Don't talk," Eiland whispered as he desperately tried to apply pressure onto your wound. "Please." He tried hard to concentrate on the task at hand, pointedly ignored the heat of your blood on his hands. "Please just don't talk."

"Let's get them to Valen." And in one swift motion, Errol muscled you onto his wide, wide shoulders, marching as fast as he could towards town.

And still, the thick scent of iron never left his senses.

-0-

It was close to dawn when Eiland came back to the manor.

Yet the sun hasn't peaked through the horizon yet, hasn't broken the tight clutches of the night.

There were bags underneath his eyes, a paleness to his otherwise rich brown skin. His soft, pink hair mussed from being tugged at too many times that night.

The usual bounce that pepped his step was gone. That bright, enigmatic energy that bounded with him whenever he walked was nowhere to be seen.

It was touch and go, the doctor said. Minutes. It all came down to minutes. If he and Errol were a mere five minutes too late...

His legs buckled, his exhausted body hitting the wall with a loud thud, his elbow rapping against the stone when his hand wasn't fast enough to brace him.

The sharpness of the pain jolted him, woke him, pulled him back to reality as he felt the burn of the bile that he's been holding all night tickle at the back of his throat.

You almost died. He saw it clearly on Valen's face when she tended to you, saw the way her eyes turned stony when those deft hands of hers worked on you.

There was a grimness to it. Those first two hours were the slowest of his life as he waited for Valen's word. As he waited with baited breath, waited, prayed to the dragon that oversaw the ancient people of the land from a time long gone.

The dragon was there. He saw it. So he prayed to just- please, please, please wherever it was, he just pleaded for it to watch over you.

He clutched his chest, those long fingers of his tugging, his hands pushing at his chest with the heel of his palm as he just couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe-

Eyes, bright with panic, looked around desperately, looking for something to hold on to, something to help, someone to help. But there wasn't. He was alone, he was alone, he was alone and there was no one else there everyone else was already asleep he had no one there at the time oh god please please please just help him up just help him up please it was his fault it was his fault it was his fault he knew that it was his fault that you almost died please it hurts it hurts it hurts so much please-

"Eiland!"

He choked, tears falling down his face like a violent torrent as slender arms reached over, encircling them around his waist. Smaller, firmer hands pulling him into a comforting embrace as the other rubbed at his back.

"A-adeline?"

"I've got you."

She lowered his head onto her shoulders and just rocked him, rocked him until his body unclenched, until his breathing evened out. It didn't matter how long. Didn't matter how hard he clawed at the carpet. Her brother was in trouble. That was the only thing that she needed to know.

She smelled like the plum blossom perfume that she loved, the sweetness of his evident on her being. And yet it couldn't replace smell of iron on his nose, couldn't distract him from the shaking of his hands as he remembered your blood, slick and hot, painting them with a horrifying red.

It was there, it was there, it was still there no matter how hard he scrubbed them away to the point where his hands were rubbed raw.

Not even the visage of his beloved sister could take away the image of your broken body laying just a few feet away from the mines elevator, your blood pooling around your body as your one visible eye stared at him as if it was you who came to save him instead.

It was his fault, it was his fault, it was his fault.

"No," Adeline said as she shushed him, maneuvering his body into a more comfortable position while they sat on the floor, the light of dawn slowly breaking through the massive windows. "No, it's not."

"I pushed for the mines to open, it was my fault. I almost killed-"

"You did no such thing!"

"How do you know?" His voice was barely a whisper, a pathetic blow of air as he drenched his sister's shoulder with his tears. The hands that were clawing at the carpet, now ruined with his own blood, gripped at Adeline's dress. "How do you know?"

"I just do." The way his brother cried devastated her. In all the years that they've lived together, in the years that they grew up together, she's never seen him this way and it just tore her to shred.

She tugged him up. "You need sleep."

He didn't resist. Not even when she hauled him to his bedroom, not when she removed his cape, not when she urged him to take his boots off, not when she tucked him under the covers.

"I'll be here, " she assured him as she pulled a chair over. "Just go to sleep."

He fell asleep in seconds.

-0-

Eiland sprinted to the clinic by mid afternoon.

He just woke up and without any other thought, just bolted out of bed to go to you. He didn't know what time it was, found that he didn't care. He just knew that he needed to get to you.

He quickly rapped at the door, his bandaged fingers stinging, as he looked around the window, trying to see if he could get a glimpse of you.

Valen opened the door, and Eiland noted the bags under her eyes, but she smiled at him as she let him in, chuckling as he headed straight towards the single private room she had at the clinic.

He did his best to be quiet as he peered through the door, fully expecting you to be fast asleep.

You weren't, to his dismay, if the flutter to your eyes at the sound of his footsteps was an indication.

You've been in and out of sleep for the past few hours. Doctor Valen assured you that everything was going well, though you weren't sure if that was the truth or if she just didn't want to scare you any further.

There was barely any memory of that night. You remembered that you were getting artifacts, remembered that you got attacked. But other than that? Nothing.

So to wake up at the clinic was a surprise, if a little terrifying. You weren't really the type to be fond of clinics and hospitals, even though you should have been used to it given the requirement of it ordered by your guild.

You just had to suck it up since you were already there. You weren't stubborn enough to ignore an injury, especially when said injury left you bedridden for the whole damned day.

It was boring here, too. Maybe you could borrow a book from Valen later, but other than that, there was nothing else that you could do except for maybe sleeping another ten hours away.

So to have Eiland peep through the door was a welcome distraction.

And yet you frowned. His hair was in disarray. Exhaustion was evident on his face and there was a hollowness to his expression that upset you.

You didn't like that expression on his. Didn't like it one bit.

"How are you?"

There was a smile on that tired face, and you were a little relieved to see that it reached Eiland's eyes.

"I wanna go home," you said a little cheekily. "I hurt like hell and I wanna sleep on my own bed."

The chuckle that Eiland gave was all the lift you needed, ecstatic that it seemed to push the dark cloud over the man's head away. But it seemed to have come back just as quickly.

Eiland tried to hold it together, did his best to not show you just how terrified he was. But seeing you on the bed, with flecks of dried blood on your face and fingers, with bruises that littered your body, was very close to breaking him.

He sucked in a breath, closed his eyes as his fingers clutched at your bedsheets. His lips trembled so much that he bit it. Hard. But still it didn't stop the tears from flowing.

"I'm sorry."

You frowned. "What for?"

"It's just-" he looked away, tried to reach for the composure that was ingrained in him since a very young age. "I'll talk about it later, okay? After you've been discharged."

It upset you to not know what was hurting him like this, but seeing how he seemed like he was only being held together by a single thread, you let it go.

"Come here," you said when Eiland kept quiet. You took his hand when he reached over, tugged him closer to you, holding his trembling hand in yours.

"I was so scared," Eiland murmured as he massaged the back of your hand. "I was so scared that I-" He caught himself, inhaled. Looked away.

"I thought I was going to lose you."

You blinked at him. And it clicked.

You smiled.

"You won't. I promise."

And you held each other's hand even though the day grew long, even when Valen asked if Eiland would stay the night.

He did, of course. He wasn't going to leave you anytime soon.

---

Check out my masterlist! and feel free to send requests in if you like haha

So I thoroughly enjoyed writing the entirety of this lmao

angst is just so fun to write.

[hiraethwa]

one summer day

06 saturn ii. where ushijima’s words take you by surprise. 

<< 05 saturn i. | >> 07 sun and moon.

pairing: ushijima wakatoshi x reader a/n: i am back from my trip now, i will be posting more regularly again, thank you for staying! i loved reading the tags on your reblogs of one summer day, they make my heart go WAHHH! my inbox is always open if you want to chat <3 - ave word count: 1.5k warnings: angst, childhood trauma, parental neglect/verbal abuse, past death of a family member

april, second year

“you don’t have to be the person in your house with me.”

since he stayed with you that night, there has been a medley of conflicting feelings swirling in you. you had felt embarrassed in the morning, but also relieved for his presence. and this burning shame in your chest whenever you see him and his eyes seem to ask, are you alright? 

you could tell he wants to ask so many questions, but he is holding himself back, waiting for you to tell him yourself. worst of all, you wanted to tell him, consequences be damned. but you were afraid he would see you differently. you don’t think you could bear the person who’s seen you at your worst decide you were not worth his time. but if you wait any longer, perhaps he would decide that anyway. 

“what i mean is, you can be yourself around me, always.” you know that. deep down, you feel it. 

“ushijima–” you start, staring down at your shoes, thinking about how to explain that day to him without trauma dumping on him. 

he corrects you, “wakatoshi”

your cheeks color, testing the way his name rolls off your tongue, “wakatoshi… i owe you an explanation…”

you decide it is easier to start from the day everything changed. so you tell him what you haven’t been able to tell any of your friends since that day eight years ago. about your sister, akiko’s death anniversary. that she passed away in an accident, and that it was your fault for leaving her outside the house when your mother tasked you to look after her. that even though eight year old you went in to get some water for the both of you playing outside, it was still your fault. that she had ran out after a stray cat and did not see the car coming. that it was your fault. 

“am i a terrible person?”

and then you hold your breath, knowing there is a possibility that he would have that accusing look in his warm brown eyes. beautiful with tiny flecks of greens and golds. you think those are your favorite features of him. and fuck, it would hurt like hell if that is the way he looks at you from now on. but you had taken a leap of faith, all you can do is hope for the best. hope that the feeling in your gut is not wrong.

“and your parents, why weren’t they around?” for their daughter’s death anniversary goes unspoken. of all the questions he could have asked, he sure did pick the most difficult one, you thought. 

“let’s just say we all cope in our own ways. akiko’s death… it changed our family for the worse. my father threw himself into work to forget about it… my mother… her grief made her meaner, colder, it changed her.” 

he gives you a concerned look, causing you to hurriedly explain that your mother is not abusive. “she’s just different than the mother i had when akiko was still here. she cared less about us, her words became sharp, like knives designed to hurt, especially when it comes to me, but she never laid a hand on us. i think her grief morphed into anger, and she never stopped blaming me for that day.”

“it isn’t your fault, you know that, right?” he grabs your wrist, turning you around to look at him. 

your next words comes out in a whisper. “i know, but if i hadn’t left her, akiko would still be here. if i had done what i was supposed to, my parents wouldn’t have lost their daughter, and we could have been happy,” your voice cracks. 

“you were a child. it wasn’t your fault. do you understand?” his strong grip on your shoulders forces you to look into his eyes. there was no judgement in them. no accusing look, no blame, only resolution. and they made you feel safe. “you cannot be blamed for your parent’s decisions, and it was their responsibility to look after their children’s well-being, not an eight year old child. your only duty was to grow up.”

an unidentifiable feeling overwhelms you, welling up tears in your eyes. what is it about me and crying in front of ushijima? you had been fine, just fine before he came along and messed up your coping system. every year before this on that day, you wouldn’t even cry, believing that all your tears had been spent when you were eight. that all you could do is feel empty and sad and self-destructive on that day while lying in your bed, staring at the ceiling until the sun comes up. 

oh gods, you were eight, and you had believed that it was your fault your family lost a sister, a daughter, and your mother let you believe it. she never let you forget it. all the hurtful words hurled at you. all the pain you swallowed and carefully locked away in a box. 

your home stopped being a home that day. 

home should feel safe. home should be a place you long to be after a long day, not somewhere you dreaded. home should feel like a warm blanket on cold winter days, not a house that is a place to eat and sleep. home should feel safe. but it doesn’t.

you had known it for a long time. but you had been running away, refusing to face the fact. that maybe if you pretended hard enough, it would all go away. all this heartbreak that you had hidden away would vanish. 

“i don’t think my mother fully forgave me for it. i don’t think she forgave herself either.” but you were only a child. and all you wanted was her love, and approval, and support, and presence in your life. 

you look up at the stars shining in the dark sky, wondering if your sister is one of the millions smiling down at you from a far away distance. “she would have been in junior high if she was still here.” you smile sadly at the stars, thinking of the life that she could have had ahead of her. all taken away in one unfortunate moment. 

“your sister would want you to be happy, to live for yourself. i think she would find solace in that.”

you turn sharply to look at ushijima. “i–i have been doing my best to survive.”

his voice turns gentle, “but not truly living.”

“have you spoken to anyone about this?”  he inquires, though you think he knows the answer.

you clench your fists, looking away, a rising feeling in your chest that you identify as discomfort. oh, he is safe, but he is not afraid to tell you the truth, no matter how much it hurts. “you’re the first.”  

no one would understand anyway. not your parents, if they even cared enough to listen to you. not your brother, who had pushed you to open up, he lost his sister that night too. 

“then you no longer carry the burden by your lonesome. live, y/n, for you and your sister.”

live. he says it like it is so easy. as if living in that house doesn’t make you gasp for breath. if only your house did not also feel like your prison. if only being alive when your sister no longer breathes does not feel like a sin. as if everyday does not feel like being trapped in the past. 

and then with excruciating realization, you admit it. “i don’t know how.” 

the recognition leaves your head spinning, and you seek the comfort that you had felt in his arms. looping your arms around his torso, you bury your head into his chest. how do i do this how do i do this how do–

“you take it day by day. one foot in front of you at a time. and you keep looking forward.” he tilts your chin up, searching your eyes. “i will be right next to you.” he promises. 

“don’t say things you don’t mean.” please don’t make promises you can’t keep.

“y/n, i only say things i mean.” you hope he sees the gratitude in your eyes. you really hope he means it. because you think you can make it, with him by your side. when you’re with ushijima, you can truly breathe. with him by your side, you can see a glimpse of your future tonight. maybe not tomorrow, not a month from now, but one day, you could be happy. 

akiko, did you send him to me? thank you. i love you. i miss you. i miss you so much. but i think i need to learn to let you go now. 

reblogs and comments are appreciated!

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[rollinouttahere-writes]

Listen in my defence Garp is a Dilf or a Gilf depending on the time line XD 

Maybe Garp (or Sanji if writing Garp makes you uncomfortable) S , K , I , W , H

Congratulations! You got six letters because I accidentally did V instead of W at first!

Also I will write for any character from One Piece (barring child characters given that this alphabet is inherently more mature) so long as I've gotten to them in the show, so you don't have to worry about me not wanting to write for a certain character. Like I would write for Blackbeard if someone requested him.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Given Garp's insane strength, it would be very easy for him to hurt you even just accidentally. He never sets out to hurt you. With his power and his connections, there's no real need for violence. However, if you catch him in a bad mood and really push your luck, he might grab you too tight and effortlessly break your arm. He realizes what he's done the second he hears the snap and immediately regrets it. You'll be hauled off to see a doctor immediately and he spends the next month spoiling you in an attempt to make you forget about what happened. All that being said, upsetting him to this point is borderline impossible, so this is very unlikely to happen.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

All that he wants is someone to have by his side for the rest of his life. Ideally, someone that isn't going to raise his blood pressure like the rest of his family does. He just wants to be able to relax and have fun with his darling in his down time. You guys are going to get married, but it'll likely be no more than a marriage certificate unless you really push for a wedding. He's too old and set in his ways to care that much about ceremonies and "superficial shit", as he puts it.

Don't worry about children. This man has adult grandchildren. He's good. He really does not want to be starting over with a baby at his age. Not to mention the fact that everyone in his family is a damn criminal. He does not want to see another descendant on a wanted poster before his deathbed, thank you very much.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Presuming that you two have a significant age gap, Garp is usually mistaken for being your father. He isn't a particularly romantic man (no one in this family is), so very little about his behavior would make people think that you're a couple. In public, he'll be walking beside you, but usually isn't touching you beyond brief touches to get your attention. He's talking loudly (usually lightheartedly complaining about his family) and making dumb jokes.

In private, he's a bit more affectionate, but most of the time it's in an annoying way. He's like a young boy that thinks the only way to get his crush's attention is by being a nuisance. Except you're married and he's in his seventies. He'll be pranking you and going out of his way to do things that'll get a rise out of you. He can be normally affectionate with quick kisses on the cheek before he leaves the home, or by picking you up in a hug and spinning you around.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Desperation for a normal family member combined with his devil-may-care attitude. If he finds someone that he likes well enough to pursue a relationship with, why shouldn't he go after them just as strongly as he would a pirate? What's so wrong about him wanting to have some company on lonely nights? He's a marine. He's a good man. You'll come around and learn to appreciate this arrangement.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

You have three options with Garp:

1: If he isn't bringing you with him on his ship while he's working, you have all of that time to make a break for it. It might be tricky giving the marine base he keeps you at the slip, but it's much easier than trying to run away from him directly. These escapes will be short lived. Maybe a week into your freedom, Garp will rock up wearing a hawaiian shirt and carrying a suitcase while asking why you went on vacation without him.

2: You have three step-grandchildren that would be eager to get involved. You don't even need to convince them that you're here against your will. All you have to do is ask if they want to piss off their grandfather and they'll be on their way to wherever you are to begin the game of darling-keep-away.

3: Assuming there's a big age gap here... you could also just wait him out. Sure, it'll probably take a couple of decades for him to finally kick the bucket. He isn't the type of yandere to kill his darling so he can "take them with him", so you'll still have the rest of your life left. It'll be easy to afford a therapist for everything you went through after you cash in on your late husband's pension and life insurance policy, so at least you have that to look forward to.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

As discussed in H, yes, but it's accidental. He genuinely has no desire to harm his darling. His attitude is too carefree and lax with you to become violent without several other extreme factors being at play.

[bittiebunnie9232]

Merry Christmas @evacrazyfandomlover !!

TW: Mental illness, mentions of Dazai-typical suicide, self harm, guns (not used, mentioned)

@bungostraydogs-secret-santa

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Winter was always an awful time of year, and Christmas was the worst of it. Never once did he understand the “holiday cheer” everyone always droned on about. Everything was done up in pretty lights and covered in snow but… it wasn’t right. The whole holiday felt so artificial, so utterly pointless. As lackluster as the metal of his shipping container, the whole concept of Christmas seemed like a distant shiny dream- like suicide. So far beyond his grasp, but right there, brushing the edges of his finger tips but never within reach. It was like life taunted him with the things he could have, what could make him want to live, but dangled them just outside of his reach to lead him by the nose into misery.

Melancholy came around this time of year, everyone knew it. Seasonal depression (or in Dazai’s case, just depression) didn’t go away because of the twinkling colored lights, and warm drinks. The cakes were always better this time of year, the apples were too. Yet he couldn’t stand to stomach such menial things, the only time Osamu ever really ate was when Odasaku forced him to- and even then it wasn’t much. It was like his body just rejected winter, it rejected care and loving and he was stuck with the cold of the season. The warmth of the holidays was a fleeting dream that haunted him as much as this stupid shipping container he called a home.

The whole thing was another reminder that he wasn’t human- just a crude mimicry of something he was born as. Nothing could be more of a slap in the face as being faced with his own inhumanity every year when people were the most outwardly cheerful. How could something actually inhuman be more human than him, and at the same time enjoy the warmth and light of the season where he could barely hope for a draft to not enter his shipping container. Osamu would rather be at work than in this damned drafty lump of scrap metal, freezing and shivering in what little heat his blanket provided, but he couldn’t. Mori gave everyone the holidays off, as a gift for the year- it was more like a facade of an excuse so he could spoil Elise with no one around for the next three days, the greedy bastard.

Walking about the warm stores sounded good, until he had to take into account having to act all cheerful like everyone else so no one would approach him. All the people and their happiness was like a poison, it made him want to die more than sitting here in the cold with nothing but a lamp to light up the space a little. Maybe he could spend the next several days sleeping away the time off he had, at least he wouldn’t feel so cold then.

Laying down, curling up and keeping the blanket over him, Dazai closed his eyes and tried to will sleep to overtake him. Nothing would be better than simply being unconscious right now. Sleep wouldn’t come either, memories taunted him instead. Memories of his early childhood, before the mafia, always flooded him. Flashing images of people he’d much rather forget completely, times in his childhood where he was certain that he was nothing more than an after thought. His mother, and how coldly she looked at him, she had no love for him and it was obvious. Father wasn’t any better, he may as well have left them behind, even if he was around he was like a ghost in Osamu’s life. The times he was around weren’t any better, it was easier when he was a living phantom.

Warmth trailed his face, over the ridge of his nose and down his cheeks leaving an icy chill in its place. Curling in on himself tighter, he tried to drown out the pain spiking in his chest. It wasn’t real, it was just the cold. Maybe if he abandoned his impossible quest for heat, there would be enough cold to just disengage entirely. Trying to numb himself inside would help by being numb on the outside too. He could be as weak as to be crying over something as silly as a stupid holiday that was all saccharine smiles, trees and stupid multicolor lights in the darkness of winter. Damn Mori, damn winter, damn holiday… a soft sob left his lips, the palm of his hand scrubbing at his closed eyes. The stinging of tears was too familiar, as much as he swept a blanket of snow over his emotions, somehow the holidays came to stab at his chest with everything he could’ve had.

Why did it hurt so much? He should have been numb to it all after so many years. All the hurt, was usually gone, stuffed away to the back of his mind in ice where it chilled him from the inside out. The ice helped him, it numbed all the emotions, and it made him work better. The colder he was inside, the more demanding and cold he could be on the outside too- it made sense, after all keeping up his demon prodigy persona was difficult. It wasn’t easy to keep up a cold uncaring act unless he truly was cold and uncaring- and sure, he didn’t understand people despite being able to predict them, he didn’t understand emotions or anything beyond how to make someone feel them, but it worked. Results were all that mattered, and the one place he wanted results was the place Dazai always failed the most. Suicide.

When the blanket of ice didn’t help, the melting of his frozen inside would always be a dreadful thing, the heat helped. As much as he tried to feel the cold nothingness inside of him, the void of a snowy landscape that contained his emotions prickling at his skin with annoyance, sometimes the ice wasn’t strong enough. The pain consumed his mind, until it was pushing pushing pushing at every button it could get its sticky little fingers on. How many times had the ice melted and he cried until he threw up what little was in his stomach? The prickling pain poked needles into his brain until it was too much to bear, sometimes heat washed it all away. The heat that filled his body with warm euphoria every time he did it, every bit of hot red linings his thighs, his arms, the evidence left on his chest. As much as they stung and itched and pulled on his skin later the relief, euphoria, numbing heat always made the prickling stop until the ice helped again.

CLANG

Freezing for a split second, Dazai listened to the sounds outside his little slice of hell. Sometimes the wind would make things bang against each other, and when everything was made of metal and pure silence drifted over the yard of containers any small noise was amplified. So far, he could only he hear his breathing and soft sniffles, only silence awaited him in the dark of the outside world. At least the noise had broken him out of the spiral that his mind let whirl until he crashed. Taking a breath, he tried to force his body to relax. Despite his paranoid mind, there was probably nothing outside, nothing was ever outside. Anyone who knew about him living here avoided him like the plague, and Mori would just call him. Maybe a stray dog was walking around or something.

After a few more moments of silence, he finally tried to close his eyes and let his breathing level out. Nobody was around, so the sinking shameful feeling that came with crying wasn’t as heavy. There was no one to hide the fact he actually had feelings from, what harm could be done from crying in the dead emptiness of his own home? That’s what any rational person would think, but Osamu wasn’t being rational. Instead the disgust he always felt with himself writhed in his chest, a snake made of his flaws that always coiled around him to whisper every sin his ever committed in his ear. Maybe-

CLANG

Something wasn’t right, there was no way in all the silence and cold that was this time of year that something would be banging around outside! Clearly, the wind was messing with him, some dumb kid must have thought it was funny to hang up a stick by a container so it would make a banging sound every time the wind blew. Honestly, what stupid kids decided to even come here?

BANG BANG

That wasn’t the same. Sitting up quickly, Dazai came to the very easy conclusion that this noise- as it repeated again- was someone knocking on his shipping container. Who would venture all the way out to this dump, and dare to knock on his (was it even a door? Entrance? Wall?) door? Hearing a voice just outside of the thin metal sheet grumbling about something- he could have sworn he heard his name- Dazai got up. Abandoning his blanket on the mattress, and scrubbing off his face the best he could- which was to say his eyes were still red rimmed and he looked like shit- he grabbed his gun, and went up to the door.

Swinging open the entrance to a cold chill he had been trying to keep away, Osamu’s hand gripped the pistol a little tighter. What he hadn’t been expecting to see at his door, was a bright head of red hair. The boy had something in his hands, though he was clearly a bit warmer than Dazai, bundled up in a coat and scarf.

“Chuuya?” His fingers loosened on the gun, clearly there wasn’t a threat. Sure, his dog could be annoying, but Chuuya wasn’t actually going to hurt him. Ignore that- who told the shorty where he lived? He had kept that hidden on purpose, it wasn’t like he wanted visits from his partner at random! The burning of shame flushed through his stomach, churning around in small spirals.

Chuuya looked at Dazai in shock, as if he couldn’t believe he was actually seeing him. When he had been told that the great demon prodigy lived in a shipping container in the middle of nowhere, he was sure the whole thing was a prank. He had come so close to just punching the guy, until Ane-san confirmed herself that Dazai lived here. What kind of dumbass would go and decide to live in a shipping container in the middle of an abandoned area? Looking at the boy he knew something was off immediately- Dazai always looked kind of wrong but this time it was more obvious. He looked too thin, especially without that overcoat, but now that he was down to his usual button up and a very thin pair of sweatpants it was more obvious. Surely this must be a hallucination, there was no way Dazai was shivering- the subtlety of it was astounding, but Chuuya could tell. Had he been crying?

Seeing Chuuya now wasn’t expected- though it wasn’t like Dazai was expecting much of anything right now. How was it that a boy managed to make snow look so beautiful behind him? The bright warm red looking like flames in the low light of the moon bouncing against what little snow dusted the ground. He was beautiful, like an angel in his element, his beauty glowing against the dull world that Osamu hated. Salvation wasn’t what he was looking for, he was far too much of a sinner- the kind of sin that taints your skin and spreads to blacken your heart- but perhaps he could let himself believe if just for a moment that Chuuya was an angel sent to save him.

“Damn Dazai, you look like shit.” Yeah, that thing he thought about angels? Take it all back, the boy was nothing more than an ill mannered pet, there was a flaw in Dazai’s brain if he thought the boy would be angelic. Even if he knew the chill was setting in- he was so cold that his bones hurt- there some odd heating flooding his chest.

“Hah? What are you doing here?” Snarky, as always when it came to the other mafioso, Dazai tried to hold up his facade. The ice came back in a whim, but it was like the first frost over a lake. Thing and creaking ice that could shatter at any moment and threaten to plunge him into the deadly waters beneath. Even Chuuya could see the growing cracks in his mask, it was first time he’d seen it. Usually when Osamu let his mask fall a little, everyone was far away from him, an arms length away.

“I’m here to give you a gift dumbass!” Looking around, Chuuya caught a glance of inside the container. It was desolate and lifeless, metal walls with no pictures on the walls, no space heater, just a futon and a blanket piled on top of the bare mattress. A table and a lamp were the only things besides what little things were thrown haphazardly in the corner. Was this how Dazai lived?

“Chibi got me a gift? What is it?” His usual saccharine cheer fell a little flat, the usual void of his eyes sparking with something that couldn’t be placed. Everything felt wrong, nobody had ever given him a gift before, not even his parents (who forgot the holiday existed). Dazai leaned side to side to try and see what was in Chuuya’s hands, held behind his back to keep the wrapped box hidden.

“Are you gonna invite me in first? Kind of rude to have me standing out in the cold.” Damn it; this whole thing was a source of shame. Damn Mori, damn this shipping container, damn his parents. There was nothing more Dazai wanted than to send Chuuya away- or better yet to have him never arrive. Standing back, he sighed and dropped the handgun on the table. He waved the short mafioso in, trying to be as nonchalant as possible, as if this whole thing wasn’t a great hurt, not that his living situation was truly a secret.

Once Chuuya stepped inside, he glanced around and realized that what he saw from the door was all it was. Dazai really lived inside a sad little shopping container, with a lone futon, a lamp on a table with a laptop on it (but no outlet to plug it into) and a small pile of clothes in the corner. Inside of the metal cage it was slightly warmer than outside, only thanks to the fact the wind wasn’t directly hitting their skin. How did Osamu live this way?

“So… who told you where I live?” The question was awkward, as if he didn’t know exactly how to ask. For a boy who was always so blunt when he wanted things, even if he always did in that stupid mess with mind way. The ominous creak of ice that was about to shatter echoes in the far reaches of Osamu’s mind.

“I asked around.” All the ginger could get through his mind was the fact that Dazai didn’t look good- not that the bean pole ever looked like the picture of health to begin with. The barely-there trembling of his whole body, his pale face with red rimmed eyes, and the streaks of faint lines down his cheeks, it didn’t feel right to see him so… fragile.

There had been times where Chuuya outright sobbed into Dazai’s chest, gripping at his shirt with such desperation that he was sure the cold mafioso would push him away. Even if he hated to share his own emotions, the mystery of a boy could be exceedingly soft at times. He may be uncomfortable with anyone else, but Chuuya pressed all those buttons. He was more than willing to return the favor. How many nights had he relied on a short phone call to the boy he said he hated? How many times had he had a break down in the privacy of his own apartment only to have Dazai there to drag him back up from his own misery?

“Fuck who snitched, you’re coming with me.” A split second decision that left Dazai fumbling. First Chuuya had shown up out of nowhere, and now he was being taken somewhere with no warning. Honestly, he had expected to do what he usually does during the holidays for the next three days- wallow in his own misery and pretend it doesn’t exist while sobbing his heart out into a very well worn pillow.

“Where-“

“Shut up and put on your shoes and coat, idiot. I’m taking you somewhere.” Confused, Dazai put on his shoes- he was already wearing socks to keep his feet at least bearable levels of cold- and threw on his usual black overcoat. A thin thing that Mori had given him years ago, yet he didn’t own a coat. He looked odd and mismatched, wearing his usual attire except with faded blue pajama pants.

Being dragged- mostly by foot mind you, everyone was off for the holidays- through town in the snow with nothing but two thin layers, and pajama pants was embarrassing. Normally Osamu wouldn’t have cared about such trivial things- he was the demon prodigy he would wear whatever he wanted and no one would say anything- but the dam was crumbling. Seeing all the lights in person, all the chattering, couples out at night, while freezing his ass off… it hurt. Ignoring it all, Dazai kept his eyes on Chuuya until they arrived at his apartment- one of the nice ones in a building owned by the Port.

It was warm inside, not the warmth he got from a blanket or stepping into a shop whose door was always letting in cold air, actually warm. The whole place lacked Christmas lights, but that was so much better than having to be taunted by the things inside too. Taking off his overcoat and shoes at the door, he just raised a brow at the shorter boy, who was doing the same thing. The nice interior screamed of Chuuya’s doing, there was no one else he knew who would choose such a nice couch in black, with smooth touches that showed care. Not to mention the slowly growing collections of little knickknacks along the walls, each and everyone reflecting who he was as a person.

“Go shower, it’ll warm you up.”

“… huh?” Usually Dazai was more one for elegant and well thought out responses. Had the snow froze his brain too? Chuuya had to try his hardest not to laugh, though that feeling faded when he saw the dullness in Dazai’s eyes.

“Go shower, I’ll get you a shirt that’s more comfortable too.” Something soft stirred in Chuuya’s chest, seeing how distant his friend was. He knew the boy kept everyone at an arm’s length, but this was like he was retreating inside his mind. Pulling himself together, he turned around and let Dazai figure things out while he prepared something.

Slowly, Dazai’s thoughts began to settle the moment hot water touched his skin. Chuuya was right, it was a great way to warm up- and it also forced him to wash up since he continually stole this shower, or Oda’s. The whole walk here, even starting the shower and stepping into it felt vague in his mind. His thoughts had been pulling him under too hard, freezing the outside world but leaving his brain a torrential mess of barely frozen water. As he began washing himself off, one thought that repeated through his mind, {Chuuya shouldn’t have to see me like this}.

His shower was fairly quick, the sensation of water pouring down his back and over the healing scabs over his arms and thighs was quickly too much. Especially with how they burned in the head of the water, it was clean, it felt clean, but it still tainted him in a way he refused to look at. Carefully he wrapped the bandages around his body, winding them tight enough to be snug. Going to grab his clothes, he noticed that his typical button up had been replaced- when had Chuuya opened the door?- with a loose band-T.

Opening the door, Dazai was greeted with Chuuya’s empty bedroom, with a perfectly made bed and the sound of humming from the next room over. Walking to the living-room in a mild daze, the first thing he saw was Chuuya sitting by the low table in the center of the room, humming some kind of Christmas song. It didn’t sound familiar, but then again Dazai didn’t know any of the songs, just that he hated them. Sitting on the table was two cups, and a bowl, both with steam coming from them.

“What’s this?” Chuuya’s eyes flicked over to Dazai, scrutinizing him until something unknown in the mafioso was satisfied. He had no clue what the ginger could possibly be looking for, but it seemed he had it.

“Crab and cider. Eat and we can chat.” Why would he bother? Chuuya didn’t like crab that much, it was crazy he even had any. The moment he took a bite, his stomach rumbled. How long had it been since he ate? Dazai never caught the little smile the ginger gave when he started eating. Tapping his hand on the table, Chuuya couldn’t help but ask a few questions. “Are you doing okay?”

He could have facepalmed the moment the question left his mouth. Obviously not, but it wasn’t like Dazai would ever say it. There were so many other ways he could have asked, but he wasn’t going to take any of Osamu’s bullshit. Dazai’s furrowed brows made him swallow, he knew where this was going.

“‘M fine, chibi.” Muttering around a mouthful of food, his eyes never met Chuuya’s. After the shower his face was less obviously tear-stained, but the image of a red eyed Osamu tiredly standing in an empty shipping container, shivering in the cold, wouldn’t leave his mind.

“Don’t bullshit me, Osamu. You’re hiding it, but I know you’re upset. You can talk to me, you never tell anyone anything. You’re there for me, let me be here for you now.” The chopsticks froze midway to his mouth, everything about him holding still- even his breath. The creaking sound growing louder inside his mind, the currents beneath the ice rocking and growing stronger.

“I just don’t like the holidays.” His voice was barely above a whisper, the response was just what Chuuya expected. Something vague, with the way that he always evaded real answers, but clearly making him talk about it was only going to make it worse. The two sat quietly while Dazai finished his food, the peace a little strained.

Whenever Dazai got like this, Chuuya knew he wouldn’t say anything more. For someone who knew so many words, it was like they were locked away in his brain. The best thing Chuuya could do was what they always did when he knew Osamu was feeling sensitive- movies and no pressure. Even if words were never said, he always knew what the other boy needed.

A few movies in, and Osamu hadn’t said a word since dinner. They were pressed together, Dazai’s head laid on Chuuya’s shoulder, his eyes tiredly closing for longer and longer. Their silent harmony more comforting than any words or gestures that anyone could come up with, his soul was more at ease with Chuuya. Being near someone who human, who was so adamant he should live and be human too, was a balm of cool moss over his mind. The churning waters of his mind slowed to steady waves, the thin ice healing the cracks.

“Dazai, do you want to open your gift now?” He had forgotten about the thing Chuuya was trying to hand him at the beginning of the night, the offer was tempting. Rubbing his sensitive eyes, he nodded slowly, the call of sleep just starting to fade.

The gift was shoved into his hands, something small and rectangular wrapped in bright red and gold paper. Tearing the paper, Dazai was hesitant to see what was inside, gifts he had gotten were never truly gifts. Yet, seeing the red peak through, his heart started beating rapidly.

The paper was set aside, and he was holding a book he had wanted for so long in his hands. The thin book with a red cover, the Complete Guide to Suicide. How had he known this was the only thing Osamu wanted? The creaking of the ice finally reached a critical point, the only gift he had gotten since he was a child, before then even, and it was so warming. Unlike the melting that he felt earlier, the ice shattered with a rush of water.

“Dazai! What’s wrong?” Chuuya put a hand on his shoulder, and that’s when it finally hit him. Heat was streaking down his cheeks, his breath was wavering and unsteady- small huffs of air left him in a way that shook his shoulders. Crying, or rather sobbing- tears dropped down as he set aside the book, loud sniffles only making the tears worse.

For the first time since they had met, Dazai was crying in front of Chuuya. His hands gripped the soft fabric of an old T-shirt, his tears and sobs bring muffled by the warm chest of a boy shorter than him. Everything he had been numbing and shoving away finally hit him, and all Dazai could do was sob while steady arms held him close.

For the first year, maybe Christmas was worth sticking around for. He’d have to get Chibi a gift too, eventually.

[faustianbroker]

TIMING: Recent LOCATION: The Jones residence PARTIES: Leviathan (@faustianbroker) & Emilio (@mortemoppetere) SUMMARY: Levi finally emerges from the basement, and runs into Emilio in the house. They have some things to discuss. CONTENT WARNINGS: none.

—

If it was the type to be dramatic, Leviathan would complain that it'd been down in that basement for what felt like an eternity… and actually, it was, so it had. Eventually though, the demon did conjure the strength to return itself to its human form, and not finding any remaining wounds that would threaten its life, it finally walked up those stairs on two legs instead of four. 

Opening the door, Levi squinted against the light. It was early evening and a warm golden glow filtered in through the large living room windows that faced the sea, and the sight brought a smile to its face. Unsure about who might be around in the home, Levi made its way toward its old bedroom to get some clothes, slowly climbing the steps to the second story of the home, pausing halfway to rest. 

As it crested the top of the staircase, it heard a sound. A lazy glance was thrown down the hall, away from the double doors to the master bedroom in front of which it now stood, hand sitting still on the handle. That blank stare turned into something more like a smirk as it saw a familiar silhouette moving out of Teddy’s room and into the hall, stopping when it was noticed. “Emilio,” it said in a friendly tone, pushing down on the handles and letting the doors swing wide as it stepped inside.

The room was just as it had been left nearly a year ago, and Levi moved to the dresser, pleased to find that its clothing still filled the drawers. Grabbing a few items to help make it a bit more decent, it was pulling the shirt on over its head when it heard that uneven gait come to a stop in front of the open doorway. It looked Emilio’s way again, wondering how much Teddy had talked to him about… everything. Would he still be as mad as he was when Leviathan had left? There was only one way to find out.

“Enjoying the fruits and comforts of my labor?” it asked him with another knowing smile, something dark flashing across its expression. It certainly wasn't ever going to be above giving someone a hard time, least of all the hunter that had threatened it several times. 

—

Since Teddy’s announcement that Levi was back, Emilio had felt a little like he existed upon the backdrop of a ticking clock. It wasn’t that he thought Teddy’s father was going to kill him — they might have had their disagreements when Levi had left, but at the end of the day, Emilio liked to think they both understood that those disagreements had come from a place of wanting what was best for Teddy — but he doubted that his life would remain as it had been for the last few months. 

Moving in with Teddy hadn’t been a plan so much as a quiet manipulation, with Teddy insisting upon its necessity while Emilio’s apartment was trapped beneath goo and both of them pretending not to understand that it was no longer necessary when the goo dispersed. From where he stood, it felt a natural thing. But from Levi’s point of view? It was probably a little jarring to come back to your kid living in your house with a guy they’d at least pretended to hate the last time you saw them. 

So, he figured it was only a matter of time before Levi sent him packing. It was lucky he’d kept the apartment in Worm Row; he wouldn’t mind going back there, even if it was saddled with memories of things he’d probably be better off forgetting. He hoped Teddy wouldn’t feel the need to move with him; they’d be better off staying with their father in the nice, big house. He really hoped they wouldn’t try to convince him to move onto their boat with them. Emilio loved Teddy, but living on that damn boat certainly sounded like a level of Hell he wasn’t ready for just yet.

In any case, it was probably easier to rip off the bandage quickly rather than dragging it out. When he heard Levi moving around out of the basement (which he’d largely been avoiding under the illusion of giving the demon space), he made his way dutifully towards the noise. Levi called his name and he hesitated, hanging in the doorway as it made its way into its room. He watched it pull a shirt over its head, made note of its movements. It was clearly in some amount of pain. He wasn’t entirely sure on the details of its return, but the fact that it had spent the time since in the basement instead of bothering everyone in the main house probably spoke of some physical damage there. 

In spite of everything, he raised a brow as it addressed him. “What labor? I don’t think much work went into all this.” His tone was flat, though there was the slightest hint of amusement to it. He was trying, in any case. Even if Levi evicting him was unavoidable, he’d like to keep things as civil as they could be for Teddy’s sake. 

—

It really wanted nothing more than to go out the back of the house and down to the edge of the sea. While changing its form again was going to be off the table for a while until it had fully recovered, it could still enjoy the waves and salty breeze that came off of them. But in due time, because there were more pressing matters standing in its doorway right now. Turning to face Emilio fully, Leviathan held a hand over its chest in feigned offense. 

“Excuse me, I’ll have you know it’s very tiring work talking people out of all their worldly possessions,” the demon answered with a grin, allowing the humor to shine through whatever antagonistic reflex had been there before. “But it’s a burden I’m happy to bear. Only the best for my darling Teddy,” it added with a hint of challenge in its tone, its dark gaze raking over Emilio like it was sizing him up and determining if he was best for the spellcaster. It stepped toward him, still very obviously casting some unknown, silent judgment in its head. 

“I asked you to take care of them for me… I see you took your duty very seriously.” It narrowed its eyes at the hunter, but there wasn’t any malice in that gaze. Quiet curiosity, maybe… trying to figure out what had changed their relationship from barely tolerating one another to… whatever it was they liked to call themselves these days. To the hunter moving in with Teddy. To Teddy confessing their intent to marry him. While Leviathan was loath to deny Teddy anything that they wanted, it did want to make sure that Emilio was earnest and honest about this relationship. After all, the hunter had been a bit more loose the last time they’d crossed paths… and even though it’d been over a year ago, Levi hadn’t forgotten that night at the bar, or how the two of them had ended up here that night, in this very bed. As much as it might want to, now that Emilio was sharing a bed with its child. 

—

Levi seemed to take to the humor well enough, and Emilio wondered if he ought to be relieved. He didn’t particularly want to make an enemy out of a demon — the still-healing scars on his arms and legs left by Aesil itched at the thought — but he certainly didn’t want to make an enemy out of Teddy’s father. It was clear, in every word Teddy spoke about their father, that they both loved and respected Levi. What would they say if it disapproved of Emilio’s presence in their life? They loved him, he knew that. But their father’s displeasure would weigh on them, and Emilio couldn’t imagine that he was capable of outweighing a thing like that. 

Levi’s mention of Teddy now sewed more tension between Emilio’s shoulderblades, uncertainty clinging to him in a way that felt utterly unfamiliar. He’d never been in a situation where he needed to impress a significant other’s parents. The only real committed relationship he’d had before Teddy was Juliana, and her father had been mostly indifferent. Emilio had had a last name that carried enough of a reputation to satisfy him. But if anything, that same name worked against him where Levi was concerned. He had no idea if his family’s reputation was a thing the demon was aware of at all but if it was, it probably wasn’t something it viewed positively. Only the best probably wasn’t the kind of thing that Emilio fell into. He knew that.

He shifted his weight, defensiveness crawling up his back as he tried to force it down. Snapping at Levi probably wasn’t his best bet here. “Wouldn’t have let anything happen to them either way,” he said carefully, and he meant it. Even if Teddy had never returned his feelings, even if they decided to end what was between them now, Emilio would do everything he could do to keep them safe. That wasn’t because of any promise he’d made to Levi, though he thought it might be better not to reveal that part. “I know this probably isn’t what you wanted for them.” Flora had never gotten old enough for Emilio to even consider worrying about who she might one day decide to date, but he imagined he’d have wanted the best for her, anyway. Someone better than him, in any case. But… “I think they’re happy. With me. For… whatever that’s worth.”

—

Levi only hummed at Emilio’s insistence that he’d still have protected Teddy either way, not fully believing him, but deciding it wasn’t worth bringing into question. Hypothetical situations served no purpose here, and Emilio had taken care of Teddy, which was all Leviathan had asked of him. 

It moved around Emilio, very much like a shark circling its prey in the water, brows rising when the hunter admitted that he knew he might not be what Leviathan had envisioned for its ward. The demon clicked its tongue, coming to a stop in front of Emilio again. “That remains to be seen,” it offered, cocking its head to one side and listening as the other tried to explain that it felt like Teddy was happy. 

“It could be worth a lot,” Levi responded, turning its back on Emilio to move to the dresser again, snatching up an elastic from the top of it and pulling back its long hair. “Are you happy with them? Do you feel content to be the keeper of their heart? Only their heart?” It sighed. “I know it’s a long-standing human cliche for the parent that still needs convincing to threaten violence, and while I don’t like being predictable, I think we’re both already well aware of… situations that could arise.” It looked at him hard, expression stoic for only a few seconds before it smiled again. “But I don’t want to get caught up in hypotheticals. Just tell me how you feel.”

–

It was hard not to tense as Levi circled him. Emilio turned his head, following it with his eyes as best he could to avoid having his back turned on it. He wasn’t sure whether or not he genuinely thought Levi was an active threat. Paranoia played up every look the demon gave him, reminded him how easily it could get rid of him if it wanted to… but logic dictated that it probably didn’t want to. He had done what it asked, after all, and it wasn’t as if Teddy didn’t want to be in a relationship with him. They loved him; no part of him doubted that. 

The question, of course, was about what Levi felt. It seemed willing to at least give Emilio a chance, which felt like some relief. There was still the matter of the living situation — the slayer found it doubtful that Levi wouldn’t kick him out of the house, even if just for fun — but that was less important than the rest of it. 

The fact that it turned its back on him offered some relief, too, some quiet idea that it must at least not distrust him enough to assume he’d make a physical attack against it. Emilio relaxed a little, though it was impossible for him to relax entirely. He considered Levi’s question, weighing it in his mind. Happy was a big word. Over all, he wasn’t sure it was one he could apply to himself. But where Teddy was concerned… “There’s nobody else for me.” Teddy was it, as far as Emilio was concerned. He pressed his tongue against his teeth, nodding. “I won’t bullshit you,” he offered. “Never been one for that. Can’t say I’ll never do anything to upset them. We both know who I am. What I am. We both know I’ll be the one going out before they do, and we both know it’s better that way. But… I’d never break their heart on purpose. That’s a promise I can make. When it’s something I can control, I want to give them what they need.”

—

It was a good answer, as far as these things went. Clearly honest, as it didn’t paint Emilio as a glowing beacon of light when they both knew there were shadows that enshrined him (and his ilk) that would never be shaken off. But Leviathan was nothing if not used to the shadows, and by extension, Teddy was too. It was one thing to have to impress a guardian that was lawful and good, but a greater demon? Honestly, Emilio had a better shot with Levi than he might have with anyone else. It was just that the stakes were higher, if he were to fuck up. Instead of angry phone calls, it would be annihilation. You win some, you lose some. 

The demon nodded. “I believe you,” it said in a low, even tone. “And I want you to remember that I am what they need. They said it themself, down in that basement.” It lowered its chin. “I am the paterfamilias. I had to leave to protect them, and now I have come back to protect them.” From what, it would not — could not — say. But the sentiment was what mattered: Leviathan would not be separated from Teddy again, come hell or high water. And Emilio, though the demon had no reason to believe he would attempt to separate them, would suffer the same fate as anyone else inserting themselves where they did not belong. That was the message, and it hoped that it was conveyed clearly. 

With that out of the way, Levi slipped into a familiar role, one that was easier for all those around it to engage with. It cleared its throat and clapped Emilio roughly on the shoulder, letting out a short, barking laugh. “Well then, Cortez—welcome to the family. You know, I half expected to have to kick the both of you out of my room,” it added, gesturing at the bedroom they were standing in. “But I see Teddy was far too sentimental for that. That’s good. It could have been awkward.” It raised a brow, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that the man still expected to be removed from the household. And it would let him continue to think that for as long as the charade amused it.

—

He watched the demon’s face, trying to determine if his statement had been well received. It was difficult to tell, with Levi. It had had centuries upon centuries to perfect its poker face, after all, and while Teddy might have known it well enough to see through the smooth, careful expression it wore, Emilio didn’t. All he could do was guess at the thoughts that might be going through the demon’s mind, and he’d never enjoyed guessing. Emilio liked to have clear, concise answers. Anything less made his palms itch.

So it was a relief, the way Levi stated its belief in his claim as a simple matter of fact. He wasn’t sure he liked the follow up — Levi being something Teddy needed around wasn’t a thing he could argue with, but he didn’t like the idea of needing to trust the demon to stick around when Teddy needed it. He kept that uncertainty to himself, though. If Levi was telling the truth, if both leaving and returning had been designed to keep Teddy safe, then it had proven it would do what was best for Teddy. Emilio was reckless, but he wasn’t stupid enough to argue with the demon and risk his death in this hallway, even if only because he knew Teddy would feel guilty for it.

Then, Levi seemed to relax. It cleared its throat, it clapped his shoulder, it laughed, and Emilio surmised that the ‘threat’ part of the conversation was over. He still didn’t relax entirely, but then, he rarely did. He raised a brow at Levi’s statement, eyes darting to glance to the room behind it. “Yeah,” he said flatly, “I wasn’t really looking to move in there.” He had no desire to share a bed with Teddy in their father’s room, for… many reasons, really. Looking back to Levi, he sighed. It was probably time to bite the bullet, in any case. “Look, you give me to the end of the day, I can be back in Worm Row. Not like I’ve got much shit to pack.”

—

He was jumping right to it then. Not leaving much room for vague interpretation, confusion, or worry. How dull. How practical. Still… maybe the demon’s fun could be salvaged. “Kept the old place, did we? Hm… lots of ways to interpret the fact that you’re living here, but still paying rent there… fear of commitment? Difficulty letting go of that bachelor lifestyle? A backup plan, in case things go wrong? In case I ever came back?” Leviathan smiled knowingly — these were all shots in the dark, all things that it was more or less certain were untrue, given what Emilio had said and done thus far. All but the last one. That could still very well be true. It let the accusations hang in the air for a moment before speaking again, interrupting Emilio as he no doubt went to defend himself. “Never you mind, never you mind! You can stay…” It raised a brow, clearly enjoying itself in this new dynamic they shared. “For now.” 

Moving back into the room to pluck a pair of sunglasses off of the dresser, the demon gestured broadly with its hands after situating them on its face. “Well! Now that’s settled, I am going to go park my ass on the beach out back. Please tell Teddy where to find me if you see them first, hm? There’s much pondering to be done and work to consider…” It ought to check in with Ichabod and see how things were operating in its absence. Like a well-oiled machine, it suspected, but nevertheless… confirmation would go a long way in helping it relax. 

It moved toward Emilio again, that satisfied grin never leaving its face as it stepped past him and called down the stairs. “Oh Gabagool!” It looked over its shoulder toward the slayer as it walked over to the top of the staircase. “Have you seen the little gremlin? I missed him something fierce.”

—

Of course Levi would question the reason behind Emilio keeping his old apartment. The detective scowled, crossing his arms over his chest as the demon cycled through different excuses, focusing only on the ones that made Emilio look bad. Well… except the last one. Maybe, subconsciously, some part of Emilio had considered Levi’s return a possibility but mostly? He’d held onto the apartment for Teddy’s sake. So that if Teddy ever wanted him gone, they wouldn’t have to grapple with the idea of kicking him out on the streets, wouldn’t let him stay out of guilt or obligation. There was a little more to it, of course; with an apartment in his name, anyone who was looking for him would likely go there before they showed up at Teddy’s, giving an added layer of safety to the house. But before Emilio could say any of this, Levi was barrelling forward, clearly not concerned with the possibility of interrupting Emilio’s explanations. And, surprisingly… not kicking him out. Emilio’s mouth, which had been open in preparation of defending himself, snapped shut in surprise. The for now was a clear threat, but it was still a step above being kicked out entirely, he supposed. “All right,” he said cautiously, eyeing Levi carefully. There would be a catch. He was sure of it. He wasn’t looking forward to learning what it might be.

He watched Levi saunter back into its room, grabbing a pair of what he’d often described to Teddy as asshole sunglasses and rambling on about the beach. If that was where it planned to spend most of its time, Emilio thought, it at least lowered the risk of the two of them running into one another often. The slayer wasn’t much of a fan of the sand or the sea. “Sure,” he replied good naturedly. “I’ll let them know.” 

Relaxing a little, he moved back towards the bedroom he shared with Teddy, only to falter when Levi asked after Gabagool. Shit. There was no way that little asshole wouldn’t do everything in his power to sully Emilio’s good name here. “Ah, haven’t seen him,” he lied smoothly. The little shit had been napping in the living room with Perro when Emilio walked by. He’d have to get to him first, find a way to bribe or threaten him into keeping himself from spreading shit with Levi. “Probably off doing whatever he does.”

—

“No? Hm, right… must be out gathering gossip for me. Such an eager little beaver, always looking to please papá.” Leviathan smirked, having little reason to not believe Emilio, though it did recall that he and Gabs were perhaps not the best of friends. Ah well. Maybe Levi could convince the badalisc to be nicer, now that it was home. Perhaps he was just feeling sad in the absence of his father figure, and was lashing out. It served Emilio right, anyway. He hadn’t given the poor thing any of the lamb he’d been promised while being babysat. 

With a nonchalant wave of its hand, Levi drifted down the stairs to the main level of the house, moving past the large, open living room and toward the wide glass doors that led out to the patio, and beyond, to the beach. It spotted Gabagool quite quickly, but the fuzzy ne'er do well was napping happily with that scruffy mutt that’d been clicking around Emilio’s shitty apartment when it last visited, so the greater demon went on quietly so as not to disturb them. It unlocked the door slowly, pulling it open and slipping outside, sucking in a deep lungful of salty sea air. Its gaze was drawn to the horizon, settling on a distant point where storm clouds seemed to perpetually hang over the ocean. Those dark eyes narrowed for a moment, the whisper of an eldritch curse on its tongue before it pushed away the negative thoughts and forced itself to smile again. No. Not right now. Focus on the warmth of the sun, the coarse sand underfoot, the feeling of home. Focus. Just for today.

[xtinaangelicax]

David Chiem Ultimate Rebel: Talentswap AU

Casually going to drop my headcanons for an Ultimate Rebel David talentswap. I've surprisingly never seen this one done yet (tho I could be wrong) and I think it has neat potential!

His parents, and elder sister Diana, were all killed when he was 14: Instead of a water poisoning accident as has been (I think?) implied with Xander's folks, it was a murder.

Since I headcanon David's father as a respected political speaker (who's also debatably shady- cough-) I'll say that it was a very targeted assassination on the Chiem family.

Just like Xander, David was the only survivor. It happened at one of his very own speeches. He watched it happen.

David's home-life was never… exemplary, not all the mansions or adoring public eyes in the world could make it so. Yet, things were actually beginning to look up for him and his family for once in this AU. Beginning to change. And then it all was ripped away.

Rumors circulate that Duke Spurling, a political rival of David's father, may have been involved. No one can confirm or deny this, but the man was too powerful to be convicted.

David. Is. Livid. Hope dangled in his face, and then shredded apart in front of his eyes. He really has nothing to lose anymore. While I think giving up may be his first impulse... soon, he'd grow spiteful. Depression is an ever-present stage of his grief. So is anger.

Using the tens of thousands of followers that he's already accumulated in his early speaking career (which would soon reach millions and then worldwide) David devises an organization. He is the leader of this organization, and gains much of the intel himself: But just to make things more efficient, gain easier assistance for himself in matters he can't pull off alone, and stir up some more insanity, he takes quite full advantage of his local lunatic fringe.

This organization is basically an undercover activism group, carefully comprised of fans of his insane enough to do his bidding, yet competent enough to not get caught spying, wealthy enough to bail him out of jail if he so needs in emergency, so on. This fame of his is a resource that Xander didn't have at the same age. He manipulates it skillfully. (If you're familiar with DRV3, think DICE.)

It is called Stardust. Nobody knows of it… until they're intended to.

David publicly snaps live on stage one day, and provides damning evidence to condemn Duke Spurling for the targeted assassination of his family. From then on, his speeches and public brand morpth from sunshiny and inspiring, into gritty, snapping wake-up calls.

David's manager? Locked up too. You can find a laundry list of reasons to legally get someone thrown in the hole, if you're crafty enough. Man was a controlling piece of dirt anyway. Ah; Who knew being liberated and in charge of his life for once felt this good!

(...He will never forget Diana taking that bullet in his place.)

Society is split 50/50 on what to think of David after this. Many are turned off by his sudden switch-around from the gentle-spoken boy he once was, while many others sympathize with his motives or are stirred into action or even mobs and protests by his sharp, brazen words. This controversy sparks massive public debate.

By age 18, the frigging government itself is mildly intimidated by this unhinged blue man.

…And that's how I'd theorize David would become the Ultimate Rebel in a Talentswap AU. Thank you for coming to my ted talk. I'm happy how it turned out and had fun making it up!! ;D Thoughts?

[hyenahunt]

Saga: Rivals - 20

Writer: Akira

Season: Winter

Characters: Jun, Hokuto

Proofreading: 310mc (JP) & hyenahunt (ENG)

Translation: kotofucius

Jun: My question hit a nerve and they exploded on me, just that once. And that was it. Everything was over.

[Read on my blog for the best viewing experience with Oi~ssu ♪]

Location: Sleeping Room

Jun: …Ah. Sorry, that was outta line. Please forget what I just said — That was such a pathetic thing to say.

I’m sure you've got your own hardships too, in having such a famous dad.

Hokuto: …I don’t… really have them.

In that sense, I think, Father and Mother both carried out their role as parents well. I grew up without any unfulfilled needs.

The other children always said with envy, “You have it so nice, Hokuto-kun.”

And as a little child, I liked being told that. My parents were my pride. I wonder when that changed…

I think I simply asked for too much.

I had a luxurious, big home. Delectables to fill my stomach. A comfortable life without shortages in anything.

Dressed in beautiful garments, I spent my childhood in the most ideal environment one could possibly ask for. I was raised with a lot of care and attention… A thoroughbred with pedigree.

Jun: ……

Hokuto: My parents were rarely home due to work, but that’s it…

They’d still do their best to find time, find a break in between their tightly-packed schedule, to see me.

And whenever we saw each other, whenever they were home, they were kind. They showered me with love.

I was much better off than Akehoshi, or the many unfortunate children you’d find across the world…

They didn’t throw me away. They didn’t die and leave me. They cherished me like their own treasure.

They told me over and over that I’m their most precious treasure in the world, that they love me, and they would hold me in their arms.

I was thankful for being born, and for being born as their son… I could think that way, back then.

Hokuto: Yet, no matter how everyone else envied me, and even if I wanted to show off how great my parents were…

Whenever I needed them, my parents were more often absent than not.

That’s just the way it is.

They have thousands of fans waiting for them across the world. I couldn’t just ask them to ruin the hopes of those fans just to come to school for me on parent visitation days.

I held my tongue, and tried to be an obedient son. If I didn’t, they’d surely hate me…

The greater celebrities my parents became, the more often this happened. Even pointing at a TV screen to brag and say “that's my mom and dad!” felt empty.

There was a distance forming between us, and I felt it grow larger and larger with every passing year. And now, here we are.

Before I knew it, they were no longer my parents, but just the people I'd see on the TV.

After all this time, I don’t know how to treat them anymore. Don’t you think it’s such a luxurious issue, Sazanami?

Everyone keeps saying I’m just in my rebellious phase, and that deep down I still love them even if I'm not upfront about it.

But, really, I don’t know anymore. When I was little, they were everything in the world to me, and I loved them. But now… I no longer know how I feel about them.

Jun: ……

…In the end, I really do still envy you, Hokuto-san.

Hokuto: Do you? Of course, that would make sense… It's not like I was abused or unloved.

I simply just didn’t get to be held all the time.

Jun: That so, huh? It was the opposite problem for me — The amount of attention I had was enough to get on my nerves.

Unlike your parents, my damn old man must’ve had so much time on his hands~

By the way, Hokuto-san — Have your parents ever told you to “become just like them”?

Hokuto: No… They paved the way for me, but let me choose which path to take.

Actually, Father and Mother had contrasting opinions for once over that.

Father implied that following in their footsteps would make my life easier.

But Mother complained that it wouldn’t be fun, that she’d rather I become not just an idol or an actor, but a presence that surpasses anything she could imagine.

Not to mention that choosing between those paths feels like I'm choosing between either one of my parents and casting aside the other… I'd feel guilty about it.

Despite everything, I had no intention to make my parents sad.

So in the end, I've tried to choose both. I thought I could shorten the distance between us if I could stand on the same stages as they do.

Isn’t that silly? I was like a foolish child who got lonely so easily.

Jun: Haha. You must’ve loved 'em to bits~ Gotta admit, I’m the same in that respect.

I’m starting to think that besides our dads being an idols, we do have some things in common~

My mother was just an average person, and a big fan of the old man.

When he retired and lost the attention of the public… She resolved to be the one person who'd stay by his side, so they got married.

As she raised me, she always told me to become someone like my father.

She rejoiced every time she looked at me and saw that I was becoming more like him by the day.

In this sense, I think I was much happier off than you, Hokuto-san.

My parents were all over me and meddled with my life, day and night. Only, I never had any choice in it. I was intended to become like my dad from the very start.

Jun: But y'know, when I was old enough to make my own judgement… I had no doubt I wanted to become an idol by then — I happily did my own research, and talked with people who shared the same dream.

That's when I finally found out that my old man was nowhere as admirable nor grand an idol as I'd believed.

This has to be a lie, I thought, so I asked my parents about it.

It was just an innocent question, yeah? All I wanted for them was to deny it… but instead, they flew into a rage.

They were always a gentle pair at heart, but their guilt from lying to me must have been weighing on them for all that time, even if they didn’t realize it —

My question hit a nerve and they exploded on me, just that once. And that was it. Everything was over.

Jun: My entire world shattered. Man, it was like I'd been under a wicked demon's spell the whole time…

I'd gotten all excited thinking I was surrounded by treasure and riches, and then I blinked only to find myself sitting on a pile of mud and horse shit.

The gilded coating of lies had been stripped away in an instant…

My old man just kept babbling on and on, and honestly, it was starting to creep me out. I couldn't even tell if the stuff he was spewing was true or just his crazy delusions…

My mother had tried her best to believe those lies the whole time, but she knew too much of the truth to be convinced…

She wound up emotionally unstable and constantly broke down in tears.

And if this path could make someone cry, there's no way it could've been right.

Jun: I loved my parents just like any other kids out there when I was little, y’know. But those same two people I loved so much cried before me and told me through tears how sorry they were.

So what the hell was I supposed to do? I couldn't start my life over from scratch, and this was the one and only path I had to walk on!

Jun: They taught me nothing else, so I had no choice but to imitate my dad and follow in his footsteps!

But the idol industry has become a complicated mess, and if my old man’s methods didn’t work even back during his time, how would they ever work now, right?

So of course, I ended up at the bottom of the barrel, managing to survive only by scavenging for scraps ‘til Ohii-san discovered me.

Seeing the state of me, the old man could only despair at how his past was repeating, and the old lady grieved how that which she loved had been denied by the world… and how they had only been fake all along.

I felt worthless, frustrated, pathetic — It was truly a living hell. That’s why to someone like me, you’re everything to be envied.

But y'know, I think we’ll always find something to complain about, be it in hell or paradise.

So we have no choice but to strive to live, wherever we are.

Jun: Hokuto-san, I’ve already long made up my mind.

Everything could've happened by chance, for all I care. This thread of spider silk I'm climbing up could just be something the Buddha decided to dangle on a whim.

If it was just a coincidence, then so what? — I'm never letting it go, not even for a moment. I’m gonna take it and climb all the way up…

I'm a lot happier off already, compared to back when I was a powerless brat.

But even so, I’ll keep climbing higher! I’ll go on to even greater heights!

And when I finally reach heaven itself, I’m gonna find that asshole of a God who’s been playing us in the palm of his hand and kick his damn ass! GODDAMN!

Jun: As for you, are you still gonna hold back and drag your feet? Even though your father — your own infuriating God — stands right in front of you?

You’ve got the chance to prevail over him and put him on all fours, so what're you waiting for?

Gonna hold your tongue like a good lil' kid again, are ya? Then you disappoint me, Trickstar!

I know you've got what it takes — you made that clear at SS, so show it to me once more!

Hokuto: …!

Jun: Today will be the day that I kick down Sagami Jin, the man my father couldn’t defeat, and take a step forward!

Perhaps the wall you need to overcome might be much taller and tougher than mine…

But y'know, didn’t you already make a miracle happen once before?

[ ☆ ]

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[infinitesimaldna]

Have You Ever Considered Killing Your Title?—Chapter 14.5

Masterpost

______

“Remus.” Again, Remus’ father’s voice echoed down, dulled entirely of its sharpness and instead containing a truly satisfying amount of confusion. “What is this?”

Remus snickered, allowing himself another moment to revel in it. “A change of leadership, dear daddy. I mean, you crowned an heir for a reason, it was only a matter of time before he had to take your place, right?”

He didn’t catch any of the reactions outside of his mother’s, her thin sneer of distaste melding into a full face of disgust. For once, he felt she was actually justified in giving him that look. 

I mean, he had essentially just admitted to a plan of patricide. 

“Remus, you have been crown prince for mere days. You cannot seriously believe—”

“Believe what, King Marius? That the people will follow me? I’ll have you know I have it on good authority that the kingdom already loves me. It’s maybe not the most tasteful way to take over, but it damn sure is effective!” Man, it felt good to say damn. No more hiding his words with careful consideration for where he was or who he was with. Was this how normal people got to talk?

“Remus—”

“We’ve already taken the East Wing, father. Your little tower is one of the last things to fall. I’d appreciate it if you could come down and just make this whole thing easier, you know?” He let out a harsh giggle. “I mean, we’re prepared to fight into the night but I’d rather not lose the daylight; the sunset almost makes it look blood red and that’s so on theme.”

“You would really wish to see your own father’s blood be spilled? The man who raised you, gave you everything? Even the title you now flaunt today?” As always, the queen’s voice was filled with a righteous air, making you feel the need to conform to what she was saying, to be bashful for even thinking of going against it. It was definitely the hardest instinct he’d had to shake today.

Still, Remus let his eyes darken, containing everything he never said to the woman he called his mother. “I don’t just wish it—I yearn for it.”

Her eyes widened and she took an instinctive step back from the edge, away from him. As if putting more distance between them would change anything. 

“When did you get so insane?”

They traveled through the air so easily, arcing across and aiming to hurt in a way only his mother’s words ever could. He was ready for them this time though, adrenaline and never-ending glee deflecting them without pause. 

He allowed a look to bubble up then. One he had kept in reserve since he was 8 years old, since he was first told it looked too disturbed to ever belong to a young prince. Since he was told his smile was too demented and manic to be appreciated by even his own parents, his status more important than his glee.

Well they certainly weren’t appreciating it now, and his glee was definitely the most prominent thing he let show. 

“I’ve always been insane, mother. You’ve just never noticed.”

His attention was unfortunately torn from the queen all too soon, his father making a hand gesture that started a commotion in the castle headed their way. “The knights will take you out.”

Remus allowed himself one last laugh, loud and hazy in a way he could see disturbed his family to hear. “You’re forgetting something, ‘o wise king.

“I’m the one who trained your knights.”

~~

Roman looked down from the balcony, still a little uncertain of what exactly he was seeing. 

Well, that was a lie. He knew exactly what he was seeing, he just couldn’t quite get his mind to agree with the idea. 

Remus, his brother, was currently down beneath his parent’s balcony, besting all the palace knights in combat. The four who had at first looked to be Remus’ captors were holding off the influx so Remus could deal with each knight one on one. Most of them went down in mere seconds, and few lasted more than a minute. It was obvious then exactly how good Remus had been at his job: he knew every man, each of their weaknesses, how to beat them good and wholly without even wasting time. 

At this rate it would be impossible for the guards to best him, and there was only one trained fighter in this castle who hadn’t learned their skill at the hands of his brother.

He was moving down the hidden passageway before he could think, lingering in the alcove where he entered for only a moment to check his parents weren’t calling him back before starting down the narrow staircase that led to the bottom. He took the steps two or even three at a time, feeling gravity weigh down on him and using that to drive him forward, his feet barely moving fast enough to ensure they were there to catch him each time. 

When he reached the bottom his momentum was so great, he had to brace himself as he made impact with the door to the outside. Maybe not the best choice right before what he was certain would be a fight, but it was too late to take it back anyway. 

He slipped out the door, closing it behind him if only for his own comfort. It wasn’t like the passage was unknown to Remus; they had discovered them all together. Passage 2, Roman believed this one to have been. 

He discarded the memory quickly, not willing to let himself get lost in the innocence they had once upon a time. Instead, he stepped out carefully, cutting off the next knight who charged forward to fight and taking their place instead.

“Remus, what on earth is happening?”

The fighting around the ring continued, but everything halted in the center. Remus had now locked onto him, a bit of surprise but not seeming terribly bothered by it. In that moment, Roman chose to examine things a bit more closely.

Remus had switched the morningstar for a sword at some point, probably swiped off one of the bodies of the knights who were steadily finding themselves on the ground. His hair was wilder than Roman had seen him keep it since they were kids, and he got the feeling it wasn’t just from all the combat he had done. His outfit looked brand new, probably one of the looks created for him for the ceremony a few days ago. It was no wonder it wasn't chosen though—why would the tailor even create something with green? He couldn’t deny it looked nice altogether though; compared to Roman’s everyday attire he had on, Remus had a look much more royal about him. From the silver epaulets to the matching trim on the green sash that crossed his chest, it was a beautifully designed outfit. Even the dark gren of the main fabric body mixed well with Remus’ skin tone, making him look every bit the role he was trying to take by force. 

“Roman? How did you—” Remus halted, a small giggle bursting forth. “I had forgotten about that old passageway. Oh, how inconvenient. ” His statement sounded truthful, but something in Roman’s gut told him not to trust it. It was hard to recognize what exactly was up, and he wasn’t about to let his guard down lest the consequences be fatal, for him or his father.

“Remus, what happened? I hardly thought you the type to resort to something like this mere days after receiving your role.”

“Oh, Romie, Romie, Romie, are you really the best to judge what ‘type’ I am? I mean, have you even known me in the last decade? The last time you really saw me had to have been when we were what, seven?”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” Roman shouted back, his grip on his own sword tight. Sure, their relationship had… dissolved a little over the years, but it hadn’t been that early. They were still friends at age 7, still did everything together. 

“Oh, of course you wouldn’t think so. Poor, innocent Roman who is so quick-witted, thinks he understands everything that’s going on, but doesn’t stay to see the outcome of whatever damage he causes.” Remus leaned on the hilt of the sword as he spoke, the tip dug into the ground just enough for him to put his weight on it. “I was always the one that had to cover it all up.”

Okay, now Roman was well and truly confused. For as angry as Remus looked in that moment, he had to know the words he was saying weren't true. There were far too many instances of the two of them working together, coming up with a plan to sneak away or hide something, but never alone—always in tandem. 

“I suppose it’ll be your turn for a coverup though, huh Robro?” Remus gave him a look then, filled with information he couldn’t possibly decipher. “What’ll you tell the kingdom if you beat me here today? That your poor brother went mad with power, that he snapped under the pressure, trying to claim what wasn’t his too soon? Anything to keep people from seeing how this had all been coming together since the very beginning.

“We were pushed towards this from the start,” Remus continued, standing up again and drawing the sword from the ground. “Our parents have had us fighting and competing against each other since we were born.”

Remus grinned. “Let’s give them what they want, shall we?”

The first strike came fast, his movements so quick Roman struggled to block it in time. His feet just barely held, his stance nowhere near correct enough to combat the full weight he was being hit with properly. He staggered back a bit when Remus pushed, moving their fight out of the center of the commotion and further onto the grass. His mind oh-so-helpfully quipped that they had been pushed closer to the cliff’s edge, and that not keeping his movements sharp could very easily result in a very dangerous tumble. 

Now was the time to focus, and he was ready to do just that. 

The next strike was easily blocked, and his own attack forced Remus to turn, moving so they were parallel with the cliff’s edge instead of having Roman with his back towards it. They exchanged blows, each clash of steel sounding too sharply in Roman’s ears as it grated on him who exactly he was fighting. This was not like the games of pretend they would play as kids; this was real, and he couldn’t figure out why it was happening in the first place. 

Their fight moved them around quite a bit, taking advantage of every solitary strip of land along the edge as they blocked, parried, thrusted. It was a skillful, artful dance, one Roman wanted to lose himself to so badly. He couldn’t however, not when the opponent was actually real this time. 

He had already lasted longer against Remus than he had in years, perhaps his adrenaline giving him an extra boost. It also helped that Remus was following his lead and going with an Italian fighting style, his own predilection to the German techniques seemingly discarded. 

It should have been enough of an advantage for Roman to gain the upper hand. It wasn’t. 

“Oh, come on, Romie. Sir Logan is better than you, and he’s only a knight! I expected more from my dearest brother.” 

What, Logan? The comment caught Roman off guard, and his next move was sloppy, even if it forced Remus closer to the cliff. What was Remus bringing Logan up for now? Of course he was a skilled talent, there was a reason he was the head of the knights—

A moment will come soon, and you’ll know the right thing to do.

Roman inhaled sharply as he recalled the other’s words from weeks ago now, the deep timbre of the knight’s voice ringing clearly in his head. He said it had involved his brother, that it was for him. He couldn’t possibly mean this, could he?

He grunted as he gave a hard push, causing Remus to stumble and find his footing just before the cliff’s edge. He held his sword up for another strike, chest rising and falling resolutely as he stared down the other. 

He begged that his ability to read his brother hadn’t completely disappeared as he held his stance, poised to strike but not moving just yet.

“Remus, the crown was yours. You held the power, everything we had worked for our entire lives.” He allowed some of the hurt he felt to enter his voice, and cataloged the way Remus suppressed a grimace at that. Like he was fighting himself—like he didn’t want to hurt Roman. 

“What could possibly have driven you to this?” That was as close as Roman could get to asking what was really going on. Each word between them had obviously been carefully crafted on Remus’ part, every detail and anecdote he let slip chosen with purpose. Please, he pleaded, every part of him screaming to be heard by his brother. Let me in on what you want here. On what I can do.

“I’m only doing what’s right.” The words were spoken with a smile, and Remus’ eyes looked up to meet Roman’s. Briefly, he realized it was the first time they had made eye contact since the announcement that Remus was crown prince. Those eyes were devastating to look into, especially as they seemed to convey only one message: trust me.

“I’ve always been the evil twin.”

The strike came fast, but this time Roman was ready, blocking it in the perfect position to change from defensive to offensive. It was one of his favorite moves to do, and Remus knew that. He also knew the force of it would be enough to drive himself back, and there was very little land left for him to stand on. 

Roman hesitated, muscles tight with the weight of the other’s blow, every part of him waiting for that signal to move forward with a move he’d practiced so many times he could do it in his sleep. 

Trust me, was the message he had gotten from his twin.

He grimaced and stepped forward, allowing his full weight to tip the other back over the cliff’s edge.

~~

Freefalling, Remus had decided, was not nearly as peaceful as some people made it out to be. The wind was too loud in his ears, the churning of the sea too aggressive for it to be described as anything near peace. 

That just made it all the more enjoyable in his opinion. Peace really had never been his thing. 

There are some rocks off this cliff, he knows. He also knows from a height, the surface tension of water can be like running into a stone wall. To go tumbling off this cliff could be painful, and he hadn’t even tumbled—he was shoved. 

He was glad his message got through to Roman, he just hoped his own acting had been good enough. 

The pitch of the wind in his ears seemed to get higher, and he held back a wince as it got a little higher than was comfortable. Then again, if he wanted any part of this to be comfortable, he would have chosen a different plan. 

An image flitted through his head then, as he careened his way towards the waves. A skull cracked open; the way the blood would ooze out, or perhaps stop altogether if there was nothing to tell his heart to keep pumping it. If you landed on the right portion, could you destroy your pain receptors first? Make it so you didn’t feel the impact shattering each and every bone in your body? Make it so the experience was nothing but euphoric?

And then it hit him that this whole thing was already euphoric. There was no one to tell him to stop thinking that way, to press down something all too gruesome. No, for the first time in his life he could think his thoughts all he wanted, and no one would be able to stop him, or tell him to find something better suited to his role. 

He wasn’t sure if anything would ever be better than that freedom, and he let it carry a smile onto his face as he was greeted by the sea.

------

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[seaoftales]

@akagamiko sent:

“Javi..?”

How uncharacteristic of him. To hesitate and linger in the open doorway. His shoulders sagged slightly, weighed down by his own thoughts and wandering mind. Javier had been around him long enough to know his moods, of course. Javier had been around since he was a boy and now—well, Shanks had watched him grow into a man for many years now.

How odd that Shanks could see so much of himself in Mihawk’s son, but after fifteen years together, maybe it shouldn’t have been a surprise.

With a heavy sigh, Shanks smiled, shoving away the growing sadness. “You got everything you need?” He walked closer and clapped him on the back. Bags backed, travel secured, and a large amount of coin from the crew’s treasury. More than enough to buy a small island. More than enough to get him to the Cross Guild’s headquarters to meetup with his father.

“You’ll give your old man some Hel for me?”

Damn would he miss Javier.

His hand lingered, as though desperate for the physical contact that would soon be missing, and moved to grip his shoulder. “Come ‘ere.” Pulling Javi into a tight embrace and clung to him. Letting out another deep breath, Shanks took a step back and leaned down to bump his forehead against Javi’s. Letting him leave stung, to say goodbye to another child...but when he finally released him, Shanks smiled. He'd do whatever it took to make him happy. 

“Safe travels,” he said, finally. “Don't forget to visit us now and then, yeah?”

The hesitation in Shanks' voice was quite enough for tears to threated to sting his eyes, Javi pausing whatever little packing he still had left to do. The hand on his back weighted heavily, even more so than he really anticipated it would, the decision to leave now once more being questioned whether it was right or wrong. He was leaving his home, and the only proper family he ever knew. It was hard leaving it all behind and he knew he would miss every single one of them dearly. In a way, it almost felt like betrayal. They had given him everything, raised him, and now in turn he was leaving.

There was one thing, however, that Javi knew to be true --- this wouldn't be for forever. They wouldn't get rid of him that easily.

The embrace he was pulled into was what did him in in the end, tears now running down his face as he wrapped his arms tightly around Shanks. ❝ I got everything and then some, ❞ he tried to chuckle. ❝ And you know I will. I plan on being a menace to him and the entire Cross Guild, just like I was a menace to you and the crew. You won't get rid of me that easily, though. I plan on coming back, if you'll have me back, that is. ❞ He wanted Shanks to know that. Javi was a proud member of the Red Haired Pirates, and would continue being so, even if he wasn't with the crew anymore.

❝ Thanks for everything, Shanks. For taking me in, raising me, being a father figure I needed and being somebody I have and always will look up to and aspire to be like. ❞ He was a second father to him, even Mihawk wouldn't be able to deny that. ❝ Maybe we'll even meet sooner than thought, too. Could be that the old man and me grew too far apart and won't have anything in common. Maybe we'll both come back. ❞ That would be a sight to behold.

❝ Before I leave, I had two things made, for all the crew but mainly for you. ❞ Javi gave Shanks a bright smile, then turned to fetch the two things he acquired to make being apart a bit easier. The young swordsman presented his captain with two things: a small transponder snail in his likeness and a piece of his vivre card. ❝ So we can always stay in touch and so you guys can always find me, no matter where I am. ❞

[harpershigh]

Cont. from here

"How could I not tell?" she replied Duri's question with a low voice, carrying a hint of sorrow. "It's in the way your shoulders carry a weight you can’t explain to others, the way your eyes flicker with guilt before you even understand why. It’s in the way you hesitate, like every choice feels heavier than it should." She paused, studying Duri with an intensity that could cut through stone.

"I’ve seen it before. Abdel had that same look — the one that screams you’re at war with yourself. A fight you didn’t ask for, against a darkness that whispers it owns you. And you don’t just see something like that once and forget it. No. I’d recognize it anywhere." Her tone grew firmer, unshakable. "But I’ll tell you what I told him: you are not defined by the blood in your veins or the shadows clawing at your soul. You can fight it — and win."

“He resisted? He was good?”

There was no short answer to this. Not an easy one. Jaheira’s jaw tightened as the memory clawed its way to the surface, unbidden and sharp as a dagger’s edge. She could still feel the heat of the fire she’d summoned to defend herself, the scorch of betrayal hotter than the flames. Abdel, in his worst moments, was not the hero she’d fought beside but a creature consumed by his father’s curse — the Slayer's claws as merciless as the rage in his eyes. He’d struck her once, a blow meant for an enemy, and in that instant, it wasn’t pain that gripped her but a bone-deep sorrow. She had called his name, pleaded for him to return to himself, but all she’d seen was the shadow of Bhaal twisting his features. It wasn’t Abdel who attacked her — it was what the Lord of Murder had tried to make him become. And yet, even then, she’d never stopped believing in the man buried beneath the monster.

"He was a hero," Jaheira started, a smile forming on her lips despite the heaviness in her heart. The kind of smile that came with a thousand memories — each one a piece of someone no longer there. "He was kind, selfless, and — by the gods — so stubborn. He fought tooth and nail to forge his own path, to stand apart from what was expected of him. And he did."

Her voice faltered for a moment, her gaze drifting toward the horizon, where the sun dipped low, painting the world in hues of gold and red. "He wasn’t perfect. No one ever is. But Abdel made a choice every single day. He didn’t have to, you know. It would’ve been easier to give in, to become what everyone feared. What his father expected. But he didn’t."

Jaheira turned back to Duri. "That’s the thing, Duri. Blood doesn’t define you. Not the blood of gods, not the blood of devils, not even the blood you spill. What defines you is the choice you make with every breath you take. Abdel proved that. He lived it."

Her hand reached out, resting lightly on Duri’s shoulder, firm but comforting. "It won’t be easy. It never is. But you don’t have to walk this path alone. I’ll be here." The unspoken part burned in her chest like a brand: because Bhaal be damned. If Jaheira had her way, the Lord of Murder would never claim another soul. Not one. Not ever.