#if i had infinite time perhaps i could make this a separate choice for like. lion/lioness stag/doe etc. but i simply don't | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

foundationsofdecay · 2 months

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Thinking again about this post that @a-s-levynn made a while back, as well as @moonchild-in-blue's and @tonguetyd's comments there, about Vessel and the mask's own identity and the idea of the person Vessel used to be before meeting Sleep, this nebulous Him that we hear in intermissions during rituals, was "cocooned" inside a body that was no longer his and is experiencing this all as a spectator, and that Vessel kills the current version of himself that he's become, a spiritual suicide of sorts. How that was done so that He, without the influence of the mask and by extension Sleep, can move forward and start anew even after being irrevocably changed by what He's seen, and Vessel finally obtaining that "redemption, eternal ascension, setting [him] free" that was described in "Ascensionism".

I'm especially thinking about the funeral pyres reflected in Sleep's eyes. This could imply the fates of past vessels of Sleep, or it could imply that Vessel is dead in all ways but physical, or perhaps it could be a promise of Vessel's demise, burned alive and left to turn to ash - or are "those eyes like fire" and the raging flames within doing much, much more than that?

To add a very belated addition to the discussion, I want to bring up something regarding the lyric "I'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre." In fact, it is going to be the focus of this entire post. In continuing with this idea of the death and rebirth/resurfacing and possibly rebuilding of the self, and identity fractures that I described in great detail in this post on "DYWTYLM", it's important here that I start off stating that there's two underlying assumptions that I'm making, which first is that He and Vessel are both the insect at first, their own selves tangled as noted by Levynn but capable of separation under the right circumstance, like a fantastical version of plurality where they can separate physically while still being connected as parts of a whole. My second assumption is that Vessel meets his death voluntarily, and Sleep is involved, regardless of whether or not Sleep is actually the one to do the job.

I'm using these as bases because in my interpretation of this theory, Vessel has to die, and that even though the two of them connected in mind and soul and often body, He is ultimately able to survive and live on, which requires physical distinction. This separation is in accordance with descriptions in the same song we've been discussing of Vessel fighting back against Sleep. Vessel, who used to fight Sleep's enemies "to let them know that they contend with [him]", now turns the blade against Sleep, his new enemy that he faces for Him. Perhaps this is a show of both his anger and his newfound devotion, a final attempt to damage Sleep to whatever extent he can while he has the chance, not with any hope of surviving but to give Him the best chance to carry on, since Vessel knows firsthand how much Sleep struggles in a weak enough state.

Describing Him and Vessel as a winged insect is a very interesting choice, which is what I ultimately want to focus on here and dissect. What kind of insect would that be, I wonder? I don't recall if there is official artwork depicting that, but without anything official as reference there's a near-infinite number of possibilities to choose from - flies, mosquitos, cicadas, bees, wasps, butterflies, moths, beetles, the list is endless - all with their own symbolic interpretations and impacts on this original theory and extrapolations. I would need an entire separate post to go over all of that, though - imagine examining just the different eyes that vary from species to species! - so I'll just go into one possibility and leave the rest as an open question.

One major question I have about this winged insect, and about Sleep, is this: Does Sleep still have eyes looking in other directions like we had seen several times in previous songs, or is Sleep's attention all on Vessel now, "[taking] aim at him for once" like he used to ask for?

See, there's an inherent contradiction here, going back to the labeling of a pyre. Sure, it's said to be for a funeral, but it's never explicitly stated who it's intended for. Not only that, but we also questioned at the end of the first paragraph if there is something else to be said about the fire and its behavior, what all Sleep is doing with it and plans to do with it. That's the thing about fire - perhaps it's been created and cultivated for a specific purpose, as part of a funeral in this case, but when you take a look at how Sleep has historically behaved, and the kind of language we see used to describe this behavior and motivation, there's other themes that comes up that give Sleep's fire another layer of meaning.

For fire doesn't just burn, it consumes. It has an endless hunger, latching onto anything it can grab hold of that can fuel its existence, taking and taking until there is nothing left. There's a sort of joy in that, a celebration, bursts of light and sound coinciding with the addition of more fuel, greater the more powerful that intake is over time and growing wide and tall in the most ideal circumstances. When the fire is weak, a breeze could snuff it out, but even a pinch of smoldering ash can manage to survive and grow into something that can lay waste to forests and home and towns, nearly apocalyptic when watching it as it razes thousands of square miles and jumps across roads and rivers. It, too, can rush and flood you, and swallow you whole.

Before Vessel, He discovered Sleep in a state like that smoldering ember. Yet, with the fuel of His initial deal and Vessel's inception and overtaking of Him, with every ritual bringing worship in greater numbers and greater fervor enabling rapid growth, this is what Sleep has turned into. This is what Vessel must face, not just a powerful God but one that he fed and nurtured into this state. The fire in those eyes is extreme, but it's also not eternal. It can still be deprived of that which feeds it, and if that were to happen, even be extinguished. There's hope in that.

Throughout the story, we see Vessel always coming back to Sleep, despite the flames that threaten to lick at his skin and singe and burn. Instinctively, perhaps even compulsively, he returns to this source of light and love and fear and wonder, the flame that grows each time he's fed by Vessel's worship. Examining one of the possible winged insects, his behavior is like that of a moth, drawn to the aura and essence of this God that desires him and hurts him in unequal measure.

Recall how one of our basic assumptions is that separation between the two is possible, despite how entwined they've been from the start even as they've been drifting apart. This coexistence and indeed codependency with Him is all Vessel knows, it's quite literally his entire life next to Sleep. If you consider the admission that "it's been two days since the mainframe went down and [he's] still messed up" as a reflection of the breaking down of the connection between Vessel and Him, which we've been seeing accelerate over time in songs like "DYWTYLM," with this "life like wires," severing those wires is all it would take, messy and painful as it would be.

No longer would we have "the mouth of the wolf, the eyes of the lamb," but that'd turn out to be the key to Vessel's victory, even as it sealed his fate. It's clear that Vessel would eventually get too close and be brought down by those eyes, but this time it was deliberate in a way that is fueled by something completely different than any self-destructive behavior he exhibited in the past, and it paid off. That lamb survived, by no means unscathed but still not lost.

The one thing that remained the same, persisting throughout their parallel existence that transcends life and death itself, is memory. The autumn leaves, the rain, the night. The lights of his eyes, his grin. This grief that accompanies it will never go away, will never grow any smaller, but He can break though the walls that are closing in on Him, keep running forward, become something new. Most importantly, He has to do it for Himself. He'll be alone, but the memory will always be there, knowing Vessel is just an inch apart from Him, on his own continuum.

#okay this went WAY off the rails and it suddenly had romantic vibes at the end? that's just what euclid does to a mf ig #sorry about the direct username tags orz i wasn't sure what the best way to credit was #(yes i plugged my dywtylm post again no i am not ashamed. i like it a lot so it's going in there)#sleep token

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macil · 2 years

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The Black Box

The last few months have felt like I've been thrown into the world I only figured out in my head. Like some greater power said, alright, you got it a long time ago -- I'm done waiting, get your ass over there.

The last ten years ... feel like an extended intellectual vomit -- a kind of soul detox. It is hard to dismiss some part of me feels like I haven't moved anywhere in all that time. I know that isn't true -- I don't think I could have gotten here any other way. I know I have made leaps & bounds as a person, yet I also feel like in many ways I am starting over.

I may have done a great deal of inner work in the last 10 years and yet my (immediate / local) physical world remains much the same. I have not really gotten any closer to any of the (physical) ideals I created for myself. Again, that is a partial truth -- my real progress is in removing mental obstacles that may allow me to actually achieve those original dreams.

I feel a little like my boat sank and I have been washed ashore upon a new world. I arrived at my destination, yet without anything I brought with me and I am trying to make sense of it all. Maybe that is a blessing?

Gaming has always been a big part of my life. Gaming for me wasn't just escapism but it was a superior world. I figured that if the ‘real world’ couldn't engage me better than a mere video game, then the ‘real world’ wasn't worth the attention. It was contingent upon the real world to be more interesting and engaging, no? That's what I figured. While I am nowhere near the stereotypical “Hikikomori”, my life has certainly been lopsided to isolation -- or perhaps just “aggressively mediocre.” I feel more like a well-traveled ghost than a hermit hiding in a cave.

On the other end of this, though, I see the “real world” was always a doomed prospect if I had already decided it so. And in so deciding, I started seeing & creating a world less and less desirable. I was shrinking the “available world” and making my realm smaller and smaller.

This is what I know: we aren't meant to live our lives through boxes of glass. What is natural about sitting alone talking to virtual people? It doesn't matter one iota if those people have some real physical substance somewhere “out there” -- I have met plenty of them -- but this is way harder for a subjective idealist. When you are talking to that virtual person -- in your own dream -- it doesn't change the fact you are sitting alone, talking to a box of freaking glass. That's, uh, how they say ... not ideal.

The more I think about it, the more bizarre it becomes.

A video game is essentially a game within a game. We already “in a game” and yet we are escaping into another game. There is something very wrong here. The video game can't be “separate” from qualia, yet instead it represents a kind of denial or rejection -- a quiet acceptance of mediocrity? Do gods play games on computer screens?

You argue -- well, life is all about ways to spend our time -- there are no “wrong” choices. That might be true, yet whenever I ponder these questions I ask: “If this were a dream, would I waste it playing a video game, or go out and explore what the dream had to offer? Would I rather spend it alone -- or with others?"

There are certainly “less ideal” choices, or choices that seem to open more vectors to Nonsense. The world may seem unappealing, yet sitting with a box of glass has infinitely more “unnaturalness" to it than the “greater world.” The fact that I can even question the “naturalness” of gaming should be a clue. Why am I even negotiating with it?

You counter, saying the game is “part of the dream” also and so is as valid a choice as anything (and that is true), yet when I began to glimpse at -- what I believe/d -- to be the nature of the universe, I began to ask: “Why play a video game when I can work on myself to create the same experiences without the narrow perspective (box of glass)?”

Games offer us experiences we couldn't otherwise have, but will that always be true? If we don't work on ourselves, how could we ever expect a more fantastical “real life”? If magic emanates from consciousness, then it is contingent upon us to embody the consciousness capable of magic. Wouldn't we all rather play our “video games” in the full breadth of our life/qualia rather than sitting alone in a room facing tiny screen? In what “ideal” universe do we ever sit in front of a computer rather than playing the actual role of a wizard or a space man?

Why is the "isekai" genre so popular? Because it knows this shit. On some deep level, we'd rather be run over by trucks rather than keep messing with this black box.

An hour spent on a game is an hour delayed that could have expanded your consciousness -- made you more of a god. Even if took a thousand years of reincarnation, wouldn't that be a better use of my time, than descending further into the “game within a game”?

The same truth holds for anything we have derived from the black box. Social media, news/reporting, information of all kind, entertainment ... Would not each of our lives be better with communities, friends and relationships?

Ah, moderation, you say -- none of this is a problem with balance. But I do not see this as a question of moderation, or addiction, or unhealthy habits. It is about the nature of the beast to begin with. Is it not such an irony that the thing that is suppose to “connect everyone” actually isolates and disconnects them into their own worlds? Inch by inch, it takes you. Sounds familiar, doesn't it? Yeah, sounds a lot like our daily descriptions of Nonsense.

Should we simply abide these very immediate and salient truths? I have always followed the philosophy that whatever we believe is ultimately true (IDEAL) even if it “not possible” should imminently inform our behavior to the best of our ability. We live our lives “now” and any compromise on “now” should really be unacceptable, no? Like negotiating with a terrorist. As soon as we allow “tomorrow” to inform right now, we have already lost.

I have an overwhelming love for art & animation and computers have become integral to that medium. I am not suggesting we become luddites, yet in my opinion either the Internet/computers or the nature in which we interact with it is in dire need of revision.

If we saw computers “only for work”, would that fix it? Then it is just a tool, like a hammer or a saw, not an excuse or black hole separating us from our own lives. This re-framing completely changes how we even approach the computer -- its other functions don't even EXIST. You train yourself, with as much arrogance as you need, to look at The Other like they're crazy when they talk about how they're using a hammer to talk to people across the world. Nuts!

Why do we do this? Because we want real people in our immediate qualia -- not virtual people (as even a concept) -- and we don't need be creating "interim steps."

[ edit: This was a bit tongue-in-cheek. I want to clarify this is a mental exercise to move one to seeing the computer as a tool, not a denial that it can also be used to meet real people. Actually, we can include that as part of the 'tool' function -- maybe write about this later -- as usual, discernment/skill is needed with all things. ]

I know that in my own life I have to change how I approach the black box. I am going to narrow the scope of how I use it only to creative pursuits as best I can. Anything that even approaches consumption over engaging my own qualia needs to go. I'll talk a little more about Creation & Consumption in a subsequent post.

Someone on my Tumblr feed posted a quote about burning bridges to the light the way. I agree. For now, I leave with this -->

That's 12,870 hours that could have been applied to ascension. And the 666 is eerie.

GoG and Humble Bundle are also in process.

I see you, Nonsense. I am on to you. I already hear the laments from The Other. I do this because I am tired of mediocrity.

youtube

#quitting #mediocrity #internet #computers #blackbox #spirituality #philosophy #mastery #self-improvement #subjective idealism

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getouswh0re · 3 years

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Howdy!! Could I request Yandere Gojo and Geto from jjk, with a special-grade sorcerer reader? Ty in advance, I really like your writing!✨

an; thank you for the love ˊᗜˋ💕 here are some drabbles for them separately, hope you liked it :3

warnings; yandere, gore, blood, unhealthy relationships, obsessive behaviour. do not condone such actions in real life, and please kindly read at your own discretion.

THE night was quiet, almost serene, totally at odds with the glowering menace in Geto’s eyes. Gone was the subtle gentleness in those inky slits you had grown to adore; in its place, inscrutable darkness bore holes into the back of your skull as you shuddered beneath the curse user’s glare.

It was still Geto in the flesh: the same face, unique hairstyle and robes he’d wear just like any other day. Yet it was no longer the special-grade sorcerer whom you once knew and loved. You never knew what caused such a drastic change in him; all you wished for, was for the old Geto to return, hoping that all of this was none other than another nightmare.

“Suguru? W-What are you doing at my door? It’s already late, you should be taking some rest ...” A hint of dismay — maybe sadness, ghosted his expression when the raven picked up the quivers in your tone. Nonetheless, a gentle smile adorns his face, emerging from the shadows to reveal himself as the raven explained himself.

“Why? Can’t I come and visit you?” He cocked his head, a playful smirk evident. Geto never ceased to make your heart flutter; perhaps it was his flirtatious nature and mellow personality that drew you towards him, but even after being one of his closest friends for a long time, at times you felt like you couldn’t understand him at all, with this being one of the occurrences.

You chortled, about to invite the raven into your apartment when warning bells started to ring incessantly in your head, warning you that there was something awry about him once you caught a glimpse at his clothes imbrued with crimson splatters.

“Sugu ... what is that on your clothes?”

“Oh this? Satoru splashed me with red paint, it’s not much of a big deal.” You knew he was lying, instantly picking up the revolting metallic stench from the stains. Dread filled your mind while you staggered back, keeping a distance from the male who gave you a perplexed look in return.

“You and I know a smell like this isn’t red paint ...” Trying to be as calm as you could, you retracted a step backwards with every stride Geto took. “Be honest with me. What on earth have you done?”

“Sharp as ever, y/n.” A condescending look took over as Geto finally revealed his true colours. “The world needs to change. All these monkeys are the reasons why curses exist. They can’t even control their cursed energy properly, and we sorcerers have to battle with death every time a curse poses as a threat to them. Their ignorance is revolting in its core, and I believe to make the world a better place, it would be better off to remove all of them out of sight. Don’t you agree —“

“What the fuck are you thinking?” Unable to withhold your seething rage, you snapped at the curse user. “This isn’t what sorcerers should do! What you are doing is of no difference from a brutal murderer Geto! I can’t fucking believe you!”

“How can you think of me like they y/n? That hurts my heart you know.”

Before you could even scream, he was already inches away, blood-stained hands caressing your cheeks tenderly as if you were made of fragile glass. “I just want to make life easier, there’s no need for us to put our lives at stake every time we exorcise curses. Right? We could be enjoying peaceful days together, free from the dangers of this world ...”

“Stop! Your delusions are sick, this isn’t you at all Geto! I don’t know what is wrong with your brain, but it’s never too late to turn back —“

Suddenly, your vision darkened — your consciousness sinking into a bottomless void as the raven carried you in a bridal style, the two of you vanishing into the tenebrosity of the night.

“And I thought you were the only one who’d understand me ... love.” He shook his head in disapproval, but the disappointment in his eyes were eventually replaced with glee as Geto stared at your limp figurine in his arms.

“But don’t worry, what needs to be done will be done. For our sake, for our future together.”

EVERYTHING would always be uglier up close.

At first glance, one might find Gojo Satoru a perfect man: with talent, looks and wealth all in one package. Men envy the greatest sorcerer of all time, and women grovel at his feet, desperate for a sprinkle of the man’s attention. Despite living the life everyone dreams to be in, the heir of the Gojo clan couldn’t care less about how the world spins around his axis. For the sorcerer has his eyes set on something much more worthy of his time and effort.

He is a man of determination, willing to achieve his goals with whatever means possible — even resorting to dirtying his own hands. It is such an irony that underneath the charming façade, such a disgusting soul exists.

“For the last time Satoru, I am not interested in dating anybody.” Heaving an exasperated sigh, you politely shoved the lavish presents piling up at your front door back into the man’s arms.

“I feel really flattered that you have feelings for me, I truly do. But I’m sure you know as sorcerers, we fight with death every day. If there is any regret that I’d dread to have ... it would be to leave everything I love behind. And I would rather die alone than leave my partner suffering on their own.”

“That’s what I love about you y/n.”

A loving sigh slipping from his tongue, Gojo took a step forward, cupping your face with utter delicacy. Yet you felt more than revolted by his sudden intimacy, struggling to writhe away from his tightening grip.

“You are always so kind, so considerate ... something I cannot find in anyone else other than you. But think about it sweetheart! You and I are both special-grade sorcerers, but I can protect you from the curses — at the same time giving you the moon and stars. We could move in together, you wouldn’t even need to work anymore. Why make your life harder when I could simply provide for you? Seriously —”

“S-Satoru, I hate to tell you this but you’re pushing the boundaries right now.” Trying to reason with the sorcerer, you spoke with a harsher tone, praying that Gojo would get the hint and respect your choices. “You’re out of your mind! And why would you force

Nonetheless, your words fell on deaf ears.

“Now this is not how you should react when someone offers you their heart and soul.” The light in his cerulean eyes darkened, cyan hues glimmering beneath the penumbra of nightfall. “And I know you are a smart young woman, so you’d come to realise what is in your best interest. I really don’t want to do this to you y/n; but if you are trying to push me away from your life again, I would have to keep you to my side — the hard way.”

With that, he pulled down his blindfold.

You were aware of how dangerous Infinite Void was; still, experiencing it first-hand was one hell of a terrifying experience. Fleeting images flashed across your vision as if all of this was in fastforward motion, depicting your fate in the past along with future. As certain blurred vestiges showed up, your heart sank in indescribable despair; moments of you and none other than Gojo were portrayed — blood splattered across the labyrinth of streets in Tokyo, your trembling hands intertwined with his, platinum bands wrapped around both of your ring fingers, adorable kids that were exact replicas of both of you. At this point, you could feel the will to fight back dwindling to fickle embers.

No matter what you did, Gojo would always find his way back to you.

Even if he had to tear the world apart with his hands.

#🖤 requests #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere jjk x reader #yandere geto #yandere geto x reader #yandere geto suguru #yandere gojo #yandere gojo satoru #yandere gojo x reader #reader insert #x reader #yandere oneshots #yandere drabbles #yandere imagines

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someonestolemyshoes · 3 years

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Yo, saw your post about levihan prompts:

How about Hange discovering Levi’s secret hobby (of your choice)

Feel free to do whatever you feel like

And I love your work! 💕 have a good day

Hello! So sorry for the delay in this one, but thank you so much for your patience 🙏 I got stuck for such a long time in the middle of this ksksks but it is finally done! I also played around a little bit with the whole...discovering a secret aspect, but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway! And I hope you're ready for some sweet sweet childhood friends levihan~

Levi likes photography.

This, in itself, is no great secret. Hange can barely remember a time he wasn't following after her with a camera strapped around his neck, or packed into his bag—always within reach, should something striking catch his eye. A little neon plastic toy, at first; each click of the shutter cycled through preloaded images, expert shots of famous landscapes, places they could only dream of seeing. And then, a polaroid—still a toy, in essence, still plastic, still gaudy, but this one took real pictures in real time, and spit them out into their eager, shaking fingers within seconds.

Hange remembers them ruthlessly wafting the little laminate squares and watching with bated breath as black mottled into foggy grey, as the blurred silhouette of the park bench faded slowly into being. It was a fascinating thing, at the time. Magic at their fingertips. The picture turned out fuzzy and overexposed in places, where the sun had glared in over the corner of the park bench, but Levi had settled the little square on his little palms and looked at it like he held the whole world in his hands.

There were innumerable disposable cameras, too. Light little things with reels of film, never enough for Levi's insatiable desire to snap pictures of every single thing he saw. They spent half their childhood in the chemist, sitting in the hard plastic chairs, wriggling anxiously as they waited for the film to develop. Kuchel always handed them the envelope, fat with prints, with a small smile curling the corner of her mouth and a fond twinkle in her eye, and Levi always took it politely, while Hange gave a boisterous thanks, and the pair of them delved greedily into their spoils.

He was older, in his early teens, when he was gifted his first real camera. It was heavy, compared to all the others, a case made of metal with buttons and gadgets and a fancy screen on the back, to preview each picture he took. Levi was wholly enamoured with it. He spent hours adjusting it, figuring out what each button and knob did, how they affected each picture; took countless shots of the same rock in the park until he'd tested every combination of settings he could think of.

He had cycled through more cameras since then. Grown a small collection, each one a little different, a little more suited to particular shots. Hange understood the concept in theory, but the particulars were lost on her, and Levi never took the time to explain. Not that she minded—Levi's pictures were beautiful, breathtaking in the way he could capture even the most mundane details and make them something wondrous. Perhaps for the first and only time in her life, Hange had no desire for the magician to reveal his tricks.

He has an eye for things that Hange simply cannot see. She is observant—to a fault, at times, intensely analytical and endlessly curious. Everything is a question, an opportunity to research, to learn, but she doesn't see the way Levi does.

Wild daffodil. Narcissus pseudonarcissus. Hange sees a perennial flowering plant, native to Western Europe, classified by its pale yellow petals and elongated central trumpet. She sees phylogeny with a rich taxonomic history; subspecies originating all over the globe, some larger, some smaller, some more vibrant and some more muted. She sees anatomy, science.

Levi sees the way the evening sun rusts the buttery petals until they blush; sees the way dew drops hang like pearls from the tips of the leaves in the early morning, when the light is still smoky and thin. He sees a moment to be captured.

It should be impossible for a picture to hold so much detail. Hange can look at Levi's daffodil and feel the way the spring wind blows gently on her skin, the sun warm but the breeze a little biting, a remnant of the fading winter. She can smell the pollen heavy in the air, feel the tickle of short grass on her ankles, hear the trill of songbirds in the branches of distant trees.

His proclivity for photography grows with them. Hange's interests spear out in a thousand different directions, from physics and chemistry to botany, to engineering, to literature and mathematics, to history, languages and landscapes—life is a limitless source of information and Hange chases it every which way, insatiable.

And wherever she goes, Levi dutifully follows, with his camera in hand.

Until now.

Now, they are eighteen. The summer is lazily drawing to a close, and tomorrow, at 8:45am, Hange will be boarding a plane that will take her to the other side of the world to attend the university of her dreams.

And Levi will be staying here.

Despite Levi's perpetual scowling and indiscriminate grunting, their last evening together had overall been a pleasant one. Levi and Kuchel had worked hard on their meal, and it had been nice in a warm, filling kind of way, to spend her last night at home with the two of them.

Now, she and Levi are holed up in his bedroom, while Kuchel had insisted on doing the clean up herself. Hange's mind has been churning non-stop for weeks now, ramping up with each passing day, and tonight, her thoughts are unstoppable, and they spill from her with giddy, jittery excitement.

"The university is huge, but my course is pretty small—only like, 30 places. It'll be easy to get to know everybody."

"Nn."

"And did I tell you? There's a museum right on campus? They've got a huge collection, and I heard students can access it after the first semester."

"Hm."

"And there's a flower garden, too—they've got species from all over the world, Levi. They'll have plants I've never even heard of."

"You said."

"Oh! And—my accommodation isn't all that far from the coast. The water looks beautiful in all the pictures I've seen—look, see?"

"I know. You showed me already."

Hange looks up from her phone, where the screen is lit with a bright, sunny beach, tan sand and a stark blue ocean. Levi flicks his gaze over it and offers a noncommittal shrug of his shoulder. Hange frowns at him.

"You could at least pretend to be excited, you know."

Levi gives her a deadpan stare.

"It looks...warm."

Hange sits back with a thump, and kicks weakly at Levi's shin. She pouts over at him. "Better than nothing, I guess."

They sit at opposite ends of the window bench in Levi's bedroom, legs tangled haphazardly together in the space between them. The window was thrown open in some vain hope of tempting in a breeze, but the air is thick, and the soft wind that does blow is still stiflingly warm. It sways Levi's fringe against his brow, but does little to stave off the oppressive heat.

The sky outside is dark, but it is alive with stars. They cast bright sparks on an inky black canvas, and there is no moon in sight. Already, Levi has snapped pictures of it, twisted dials and pushed buttons and switched lenses until he was satisfied.

It is a beautiful sight. Infinite.

Hange lets one leg dangle out the open window. Levi gives her a sour look and wordlessly closes one hand around her other ankle. She has a long history of behaving carelessly—Levi has borne witness to one too many slips and stumbles to trust her entirely. It would be just like Hange, to miss her flight in favour of a trip to the emergency room.

His thumb strokes back and forth absently. There is a callus there, rough and catching, that scratches against her sensitive skin.

Her predominant feeling is one of excitement. Studying abroad had been a dream of hers for almost as long as Levi had owned a camera—to travel beyond the bounds of their small rural town, to see more, learn more, fuel the relentless hunger in her. But there is an undercurrent of something else, some squirming discomfort that refuses to settle. It intensifies with every sweep of Levi's thumb against her skin until it sits heavy in her gut.

She looks over at him. His gaze is trained out the window, a small frown furrowing the skin between his brows, but his eyes are glassy, with none of their usual sharp, unwavering focus. Whatever he is looking at, he is not really seeing it.

It would be a lie to say that his silence had not troubled her. He had been quiet throughout dinner, opting instead to listen to Hange and Kuchel's companionable chatter as he pushed his food around his plate, and he had barely said a word since they had cleared the table and retreated to his room. He had hardly even looked her way.

Irritation bubbles within her. Levi is always more subdued than she is, content to sit quietly while Hange babbles endlessly, about anything and everything. But he usually has something to say. His silence, today of all days, makes her angry. They have one night left like this—one more night to talk, face to face, before they will be separated for who knows how long, and Levi is offering her nothing.

"Levi," she says, before she can think. Something in her tone must startle him, for he blinks rapidly, as though pulled out of a daydream, and rolls his eyes to look in her direction. His gaze settles somewhere near her shoulder. She bristles. "Can you at least—"

"Levi?" Kuchel's voice is distant, floating up from the bottom of the stairs. Levi looks at the door instead. "Can you come give me a hand for a minute?"

Hange clamps her jaw shut. Levi casts her another sidelong glance, and ticks his tongue against the back of his teeth. He squeezes her ankle once, then pushes himself to his feet. "Don't fall, idiot. I won't be long."

Hange feels distinctly like a child on the verge of throwing a tantrum. It's immature, and perhaps it's unfair of her, but she had assumed that Levi's invitation for dinner might, at the very least, come with a little conversation.

She takes a deep, steadying breath. They never fight, not really—they bicker endlessly, poke each other's cheeks and pull each other's hair, childish rough housing that they never grew out of. But they don't fight and as grumpy as Hange feels about Levi's near silence, she doesn't want to start now. She runs a hand back through her hair and sweeps her eyes about the room, counting long, even breaths as she does.

Levi's room is immaculately neat and tidy. Everything has its place, on clean, dusted shelves, or stacked in straight, neat piles atop his desk. It is a level of organisation Hange has little energy for; she herself is a hurricane, picking up and dropping off detritus everywhere she goes.

But Levi's borderline obsessive cleanliness makes it easy to spot something that is out of place.

Hange's gaze falls on a drawer in the desk. The drawer itself is as immaculate as everything else, gleaming wood and a reflectively polished brass handle. What catches her eye is the corner of a glossy piece of paper, caught when the drawer had been closed.

Hange is a curious creature. Rarely can she hold herself back from exploring an unknown, and now is no different. She unfolds herself from the bench and stretches to stand, then crosses the room on light, tip-toed feet.

Levi is, by and large, a rather private person. He does not share much of himself openly, hides behind an impassive mask, guards what is dear to him close to his chest. Hange is an exception to this rule, whether Levi wanted her to be or not.

As such, she has no real issue prying the drawer open, and is unsurprised by the predictable contents within.

Photographs.

Of course it was photographs.

Her lips tug up in a fond smile and her eyes roll, but it is as she is reaching in to flatten out the rumpled picture that had been poking out of the drawer, that she notices what they are photographs of.

Her.

Hange picks out a stack and sits cross-legged in the desk chair. She flips through them, eyes growing wider with each new picture she uncovers. Every single one is of her. Some recent, some not so recent—some must be from the very first real camera, for she is still in her braces, all thin, gangly limbs and scruffy hair and taped up glasses.

There are pictures of her in the winter, mitten-clad hands wrapped around a paper cup of hot chocolate, blowing steam into the chill air. She can see in stark clarity, the red tip of her nose and the chill bitten over her cheeks; she can almost feel the cold, taste the cocoa on her tongue.

She finds a picture of her from an autumn years gone by. She remembers it as though it were yesterday—they had spent the whole afternoon raking fallen leaves in the courtyard behind Kuchel's cafe, scooping them into a terribly tempting mound beneath the shedding tree. Hange had been unable to resist. Levi had captured her moments after her dive into the pile, sitting up with her weight propped back on her hands, dry leaves clinging to her messy hair and sticking to the fibres of her cardigan. The sun was low, and it cast her in a golden glow, highlighting the vibrant red and orange of the fall foliage around her, drawing out the auburn undertone in her hair and the amber of her eyes. Her smile is almost blinding.

Another shows her in the spring, laying on her belly in the long grass beside a row of blooming daffodils. There is a book spread open before her and she is, as expected, engrossed in it; Levi has snapped the shutter as she was turning the page, the thin edge of the paper caught between the delicate tips of her fingers.

Hange has never considered herself to be particularly pretty. She is just...Hange, a little bit of wild, a little bit of manic, a lot of clumsy and dirty. Being attractive has never been of much concern.

But there is something in the way Levi has photographed her, time and time again, in the way the light catches her, the candid ease of each new picture, that looks....beautiful, in its own way. Somehow, he has made her mess into a masterpiece.

Levi likes taking pictures of things. Plants, rocks, rivers, landscapes and skylines—he likes capturing the mundanity of everyday life and turning it into something spectacular, but he has never done the same thing with people. As far as Hange was aware, Levi had taken very few pictures of anybody at all.

And yet, she holds this pile in her hands, and there are plenty more pictures littering the drawer before her.

There is a strange feeling brewing on her as she stares at them. She had been so excited about moving away to study, so eager to explore the world beyond their quiet countryside home, that the reality of leaving had never truly sunk in. She feels it now though, acutely; a hollow ache in her chest that grows with each picture she flicks through.

Levi has been her shadow for as long as she can remember. There are few memories that he is not a part of, few moments that she can recall in which Levi was not by her side—he has been a constant for her. Something certain and dependable.

And from tomorrow, he will no longer be there.

Hange had known this. She had known it from the moment she had accepted her offer, and she had known it as they looked through her options for accommodation together, as they explored the local area through pictures and videos and maps online. She had known it as they had prepared her visa, organised her finances. Booked her flights. Every step of the way she had understood, logically, rationally, that studying abroad meant leaving Levi behind.

But the weight of it is only hitting her now. The reality of it is like a slap in the face, a punch in the gut—it leaves her shaken and breathless in the worst way.

From tomorrow, Levi won't be with her at all.

Her grip tightens on the photographs hard enough to wrinkle the glossy paper.

She had done a pretty good job of not getting too emotional about the whole thing. For the most part, Hange had been overwhelmed by her own excitement—there had been no time for sadness between all the loose ends she’d had to tie up in order to make the move a possibility. Now though, all that is left is to head to the airport and board her plane. No more distractions.

Hange doesn’t realise she is crying until the bedroom door opens again, and Levi steps into the room, coming to a sudden halt halfway over the threshold.

Hange can't tell if Levi's look of shock is because of the open drawer and the pictures still clutched in her hands, or the tear tracks on her cheeks. He stops dead in the open doorway, fingers still curled around the handle, and for a moment he stares at her with eyes wider than Hange has ever seen them, but then his brow dips low and his lip curls, and his grip tightens around the door handle. Hange holds the pile of photographs close to her chest.

She is expecting anger. She doesn't suppose she could blame him if he lost his temper with her, then. She has a terrible habit of bulldozing into everything, after all, and perhaps this was the one thing Levi had longed to keep secret from her. Her snooping, on top of his already sullen mood—perhaps this is the final straw.

But instead, he turns his face away, staring resolutely into the corner of the room. Starlight spills through the open window. Even in the thin, muted light, Hange can see a vibrant flush colouring the skin high on Levi's cheeks.

Hange sniffles, and wipes clumsily at her cheeks.

"I didn't have you pegged as a closet pervert, Levi," she says, waving the handful of pictures at him. Her voice comes cracked, and weaker than she'd hoped. Levi's knuckles turn white.

It's a funny thing, seeing Levi embarrassed. His emotional expression is usually limited to small twitches, here and there—a slight furrow of his brow, a wrinkle of his nose, a soft twitch of his lip. Hange can count on one hand the number of times she has seen his feelings show so completely. It's almost painful to witness.

"I don't mind," she says. Levi doesn't look at her. Hange looks down at the pile again. "They're nice."

Levi finally releases his death grip on the handle and pushes the door closed. His eyes are still downcast and his cheek is still cherry red, but he hasn't run away and he hasn't snapped at her (yet). Hange takes these things as good signs.

"I didn't know you took pictures of people," Hange says.

"I don't."

"Are you saying I'm not people, Levi?"

Levi lets out a disgruntled sigh. He crosses the room, and plucks the pile of pictures from Hange's hands. His cheeks are still pink, and his brows are still furrowed, but he has composed himself some.

“No, you’re not,” he says. “You’re a creature. You’ve got snot all over your face.”

Hange laughs wetly, wiping her nose with the back of her hand and rubbing the mess on her pants. Levi gives her a look of pure disgust, parking his hip against the edge of the desk beside her and skimming through a few of the pictures. There’s a curious expression on his face, a softness in his eyes that Hange isn’t used to seeing.

“Stalker,” she says. Levi kicks at the desk chair without looking up. “If you wanted a photoshoot, you could have asked.”

Levi scowls. He straightens the edges of the pictures with care, and sets them carefully on the desk. “If I wanted to take pictures of you posing, I would have asked.”

“Wanted to capture me in all my natural glory, huh?” Hange braces her elbows on the desk and rests her chin in both hands, grinning cheekily up at Levi. It must look ridiculous, with her watery eyes and the red point of her nose, but Levi isn't even looking at her to notice.

Levi says nothing. His gaze lingers on the pictures for a little longer, and the colour in his cheeks deepens. Hange nudges him with her elbow, smiling. The pictures are...sweet, in a way. There's something flattering about it. She slumps back in the chair, her smile wavering where a fresh wave of melancholy tugs at the edges of her lips.

“I’ll miss you, you know.” Hange’s voice cracks humiliatingly as she speaks. Levi looks over at her. Hange curses the wobble of her bottom lip and wipes at her eyes beneath her glasses. She isn’t expecting much; Levi is terrible at expressing feelings at the best of times, and so it’s more than surprising when, after a moment of consideration, he nods at her.

“Same.”

Fresh tears spill down her cheeks. Hange presses her fingers into her eyes, trying to stem the flow, ease the sting there. She doesn’t want to spend their last evening together crying, but now that the tears have begun, Hange can’t seem to stop them. A lump builds in her throat, aching beneath her tongue and she can feel her chin wobbling, lips pulling down at the corners. She sniffles pitifully, draws a shuddering breath.

“Oi…” Levi says, though he doesn’t sound angry, or even uncomfortable like she had expected. His tone is gentle. It rips a sob from her.

Hange feels him move closer. He jostles the front of the chair, and when she opens her eyes to look at him she finds him standing right in front of her, between chair and desk, looking at her with a furrowed brow. It’s different to his usual scowl—his brows are a little upturned in the middle, exposing some kinder emotion; something like worry, or concern.

Hange tilts forward until her forehead presses into his chest. Levi’s hand comes up quickly to the back of her head. His touch is familiar, comforting, and Hange cries a little harder when his fingers tunnel into her messy hair, cradling her against him.

She cries until she feels spent, sniffling and gulping empty air. Her fingers twist into the hem of Levi’s shirt as she composes herself, mumbling, “you’ll keep in touch, right? You won’t forget about me?”

Levi clicks his tongue at her. “Stupid,” he says. “As if you’d let me.”

“I’m serious.” She sits back and looks up at her. Her eyes are burning, raw and wet, and the skin of her cheeks stings from crying, but she looks at him with as much determination as ever and says, “call me. Every day.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not! Just once, every day. Even if it’s only five minutes.”

Levi flicks her between her brows. “You won’t have the time, dumbass.”

“I’ll make time.”

Levi scrutinizes her for a moment, then says, “I’ll text.”

“Well, yeah, obviously.”

Levi curls his lip and pulls at a lock of her fringe, muttering, “brat. Why don’t you call me?”

“I will,” Hange says plainly. Levi’s eyes widen a fraction. “I’ll call as much as I can. But you need to call me too, okay? I wanna hear from you a lot.”

There is a long pause, and then Levi turns his eyes away. The light in the room is pale and muted, but it is just enough to highlight the pale flush gathering anew on his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. It’s almost cute.

“Fine. I’ll call. Happy?”

Hange grins at him. “Very. And I’ll send you photos of everything, all the time.”

Levi leans down towards her, pinching her nose between his thumb and forefinger and giving her head a little shake. “On your shitty phone camera?”

Hange nods. She bats his hand away and cranes herself up into his space, smiling something wicked. “You’ll hate it. They’ll be all blurry and I’ll have my thumb in the corner of every picture.”

“Pest.”

“Lots of selfies, too. So you won’t forget what I look like.” Hange blindly swipes up a picture from the desk, holding it up between them in front of her mouth and nose. Between Levi dipping down into her space and Hange stretching up into his, they are so close that Levi has to cross his eyes to get a look at it. “Not that I think it’ll be a problem.”

He rolls his gaze up to look at her over the top of the photograph. Up close, Hange can see just how bright the blue of his eyes is, how dark his lashes are; she can see the shadows they cast on his cheeks, the deepening flush bruising the skin red. Levi has always been a pale thing, but now, Hange can see the smattering of light freckles across his nose, barely visible in the low light. He looks pretty. Her heart stutters in her chest at the sight.

Hange has never fully understood Levi’s drive to photograph everything. To preserve any given moment, bottle up every minute detail. She sort of understands it, then—it’d be nice, she thinks absently, to save this particular view for forever. The thought makes her face grow warm.

“I won’t forget.” Levi’s voice is quiet, caught somewhere between embarrassment and uncertainty. He sways closer, rocks back, hesitates. And then he leans down and lets his forehead drop against hers. Hange can feel the press of his nose against her own, separated only by the picture between them.

Hange is used to being close to him. She’s a clingy person by nature, always grabbing him and hugging him, smooshing her cheek against his or shoving her face into his hair, but she is always the one to initiate such contact. Levi is tactile, in his own way—small, non-invasive touches, his fingers on her wrist or his palm at her back, always delicate, understated.

To have Levi enter so wholly into her space like this is new. It’s nice. Hange finds herself feeling very, very thankful for the paper between them, for the urge to lean forward and kiss him comes unbidden, so suddenly she isn’t sure she’d be able to resist the impulse if there hadn’t been a barrier in her way.

“Is it my dazzling good looks?” she says, acutely embarrassed by how breathless she sounds. Levi makes a small, noncommittal noise. His fingers find hers where she’s holding the picture, gripping it and pulling it until it slips out from between them. For the smallest moment, Hange feels the skin of Levi’s nose against hers, and the warm puff of breath on her lips, and then Levi straightens up, flipping the picture for her to see it.

“I’ve looked at your ugly mug every day for long enough. Don’t think I’d forget it so easily.”

It’s a truly unflattering photograph. Hange has her head tipped back, laughing boisterously at some thing or another, with her eyes pinched closed and chocolate sauce smeared over her lips, a drop of cream stuck to the end of her nose. Hange is sure she has looked better, but the thing is—despite her state, the picture still isn’t bad. Hange can hear the lilt of her own laughter and feel the tacky syrup, savour the sweetness of the cream on her tongue. There’s something so...animated about it, about the way the light dances over her skin and in her hair, and the way the background blurs around her, drawing her into sharp focus.

It’s nice, in a strange, unreserved kind of way.

But she’s still a mess. Hange snatches it and slams it down on the desk, glowering up at Levi.

“Why would you take that,” she whines, petulant. “You’re supposed to take pictures of nice things!”

“Because it’s very...you,” He says, neatly slotting the pictures back into the drawer, and moving back to sit on the window. Hange follows, drops herself onto the ledge opposite him with a pout.

“What, disgusting?”

Levi shrugs. “Messy. But...not bad.”

“I’m supposed to take that as a compliment, I guess? That’s almost sweet coming from you, Levi.”

Levi scowls over at her. She dangles one leg back out the open window, dropping the other heavily into Levi’s lap. He adjusts it until he is more comfortable, his hand wrapping again around her ankle, but does not let go once he has settled. He keeps a hold of her, his fingers tracing thoughtless patterns on her skin. The space between them is warm, comfortable. Hange leans her head back and breathes it in—the peace, the quiet, the simple pleasure of spending a tender evening with her favourite person in the whole world.

It’s nice. A small, frightened part of her doesn’t want it to ever end.

Hange has been set up in her student apartment for three weeks when the package arrives.

Moving had been harder than she had anticipated. She’d accounted for common issues—problems with her visa, her plane tickets, and had checked multiple transport options from the airport to her accommodation in case problems arose—but she hadn’t put all that much thought into what would happen once she settled at her apartment.

Unpacking had been boring. Her roommates were nice enough, the studious, bookworm-y type, but unlike Hange they weren’t overly sociable. They kept mostly to themselves in their rooms, perfectly content with brief conversations in the kitchen before retiring again, and with classes still two weeks away, Hange was finding the lack of social interaction difficult. She had explored some, but the city was vast in a cluttered, claustrophobic way. Hange had always enjoyed travelling, and had talked relentlessly of every adventure she could take herself on in a whole new country and all the new places she could explore, so much so that it was almost embarrassing, the way she had found herself so unwilling to stray too far from her accommodation without a companion by her side.

She’d felt a little homesick in the first couple of days, lonely and isolated. She missed the small comforts of the country, things she hadn’t even realised she had taken for granted. Quiet nights. Star studded skies. Long grass and trees and the fresh, earthy smell on the breeze. The city was unbearably loud at times, and even when the wail of sirens or the beep of car horns quieted, there was an unidentifiable hum beneath it all that never ceased even for a moment.

She felt Levi’s absence most acutely. Hange had known she would, but she hadn’t been prepared for how much it would hurt to be apart. She felt silly for it—it was ridiculous, to miss her friend more than she missed her own family, even. But Levi’s presence had been more constant than anything else, back home, and without him, she felt like a small part of herself was missing.

He called, as promised. Once a day, though oftentimes it was very late in the night for him, and he sounded tired. If Hange were less selfish, she might tell him to get some sleep instead—but she missed him. Hearing from him was the best part of her day.

It was about an hour before their designated call time when the post came. Hange answers the bell with a frown, which only deepens when the delivery driver hands her the package.

She takes it into her room, settling cross legged on the bed and inspecting the mystery item. It's a decent size, like a large shoe box, wrapped neatly in brown paper with her address lettered in tidy, familiar handwriting in one corner. Hange’s stomach lurches—she’d have recognised the writing anywhere, but her suspicions are confirmed by the return address. Levi’s.

She rips into the paper quickly, snatching up her keys to tear through the tape on the top of the box. It is stuffed full with packing paper, an envelope with her name on it sitting on the top. Hange picks it up and with trembling fingers, she opens it and unfolds the short note inside.

Hange,

Sorry things have been kind of shitty. This stuff might help or it might make things worse, but I figure you can just throw it out if it’s no good. Or give it away. Whatever. I don’t even know if all of this shit will make it through customs, so if you get an empty box it’s not my fault.

I don’t get how you eat half this junk, but I hope it makes you feel better, anyway.

Look after yourself. Eat real food.

Levi

Hange presses the note to her chest, grinning. Her heart aches, but having Levi go to this much trouble for her...it feels nice. Knowing he is still thinking of her. She’d never have admitted it out loud, but Hange had been concerned that perhaps Levi would forget about her after all, without her there to pester him all the time.

She pulls out some of the packing paper, and smiles widely at the rest of the contents.

Levi had put together what Hange can only call a care package. There are packs of her favourite snacks and sweets, things she’d complained she hadn’t been able to find in stores here; crisps, chocolate, hard candy, little mini boxes of sickeningly sugary cereal. There are tea bags with blends Levi knows she likes, each neatly labelled with instructions on what temperature to brew at and how long for. Levi had also packed some of the soaps Hange likes, the ones he uses but she refuses to buy for herself. The lavender scent drifts up out of the box and Hange’s heart squeezes tight in her chest. There’s a shirt in there, too—Hange recognises it at once, as one of Levi’s old, worn tees, thin grey cotton that feels impossibly soft in her hands. It’s far too big for either of them, and had always been the go-to item Levi would chuck at her when she decided she was staying over for the night and had nothing to wear to bed. Hange pulls it on quickly, savouring the soft feel and the smell of it.

In the bottom of the box, there is another envelope. This one is thicker than the first, and Hange knows what it contains before she even opens it.

Photographs. A small pile of them, depicting places she and Levi had frequented from when they were children right up until this last year—her favourite part of the forest, where the trees thin out and the river pools at the foot of a small waterfall. The great, open fields, sometimes full of long grass, sometimes clipped short and striped with windrows. Kuchel’s cafe, with umbrellas raised to block the sun on the tables outside, or else warm and low-lit and cosy in the cold winter. Hange settles back on her pillows as she flicks through each picture, a soft smile on her face. Looking at the images of home hurts, but it isn’t a terrible pain—she longs for these old times and these familiar places, but each recovered memory makes her happy.

In Levi’s pictures she can vividly recall moments in each and every location. He works some kind of magic with a camera, to trigger so many sensory memories—the scent of freshly cut grass, the feel of hay, dry and sharp, poking into her back through her clothing, and the gentle trickle of the river water, the splash of it as it runs over the falls, the feel of it cool on her skin. The tangy zest of fresh-pressed orange juice in the cafe, peach fuzz on her lips and the soft flesh of ripe fruit bursting between her teeth, sticky nectar coating her fingers.

Hange looks at each picture in turn, until she reaches the bottom of the pile, and there she stops abruptly, eyes widening at the last photograph Levi has packed for her.

It is one of Hange, taken in the window of Levi’s bedroom. She was looking out at the night sky, her elbow braced on her bent knee, chin in her palm, a small smile lifting the corner of her mouth. The starlight haloed her, shining from her hair and illuminating the jut of her chin, the curve of her nose and the slope of her brow. Behind her, Levi had captured the bright glow of the stars like jewels on a deep velvet canvas. She looked peaceful. Happy. For lack of a better word, beautiful.

Hange grins widely. Her eyes sting and her throat aches, but the picture—the whole box, really—makes her happier than she's felt in weeks. She brews her favourite cup of tea from the blends Levi had sent her and settles into the corner of her bed, lifting her phone to snap a quick selfie. She sends it to Levi, complete with a caption: thank you for my presents 😊 all ready for your call!

Levi responds almost immediately, first with a simple you're welcome. And then, after a minute, you look good. Speak to you soon.

Hange sinks deeper into the cushions, cradling her tea close to her face, masking the pleased flush on her cheeks with the heat from the steam.

Hange keeps him longer than usual, today.

There is a simmering warmth in her stomach as she listens to Levi's voice over the line. It comes tinny through the speakers, low and rough in the late hour, and his dark, grainy image looks tired, lamp light casting him half in shadow. They talk of everything and nothing, same as always—Levi tells her about his day, about the cafe and Kuchel, and Hange pouts as she tells him how little progress she is making in befriending her new housemates. Levi never voices any concern for her aloud, but Hange can sense it in the dip of his brows as she talks. She gives him a genuine smile when she reassures him that classes will start soon, and she's confident she will settle better after that.

Levi seems reluctant to leave, but after a little over an hour of aimless, comfortable chatter, he is yawning and blinking heavily, the lower half of his face nuzzled into his pillow. In the end, Hange makes up some watery excuse about visiting the coast while the sun is still high, if only to let him get some sleep.

"Sure. Have fun."

"I will! Sleep well, Levi."

Levi hums. The view shifts, blurry and indistinct, the mic muffled by the rustle of sheets, and when everything settles he is laying on his side, fringe mussed and falling over his eyes. He covers another long yawn with his fist. "I will."

"You'll call tomorrow?"

Levi rolls his tired eyes, but the corner of his mouth pulls up in a fraction of a smile. "Sure."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Hange grins. Levi watches her for a long moment, eyes scanning over her face. Then he holds up a hand in a tired wave. "Night, Hange."

"Night."

Hange stares at the screen for too long when the call ends. That terribly selfish part of her would have loved to keep his company for the rest of the day. Maybe, with a little travel sized Levi in the palm of her hand, she'd have been brave enough to explore some more, enthused about all the new things to see with somebody to share them with.

Sighing, Hange drops her phone to the desk and stands from the bed, stretching. There are still things she can do—she has plenty of recommended reading to get through, a small mountain of books at her disposal, and she has mapped the route to her campus often enough that she isn't feeling too overwhelmed by the prospect of the journey.

As she heads for the door, Hange notices something on the floor beside the bed. A neat, rectangular piece of paper; one of the photographs Levi had sent her, laying face down on the ground.

She picks it up again and brings the paper close to her face. Levi had written something on the back of it in small, quick letters, less tidy than his usual practiced script, as though he’d scribbled it as an afterthought, or else that he wasn’t sure he really wanted her to read it.

There is a date, the same night she had found Levi’s secret photo stash, followed by Hange’s name, and the location of the shot. And beneath that Levi had scrawled a few words. Hange squints to read them, and then her eyes grow wide, blinking owlishly down at the note. Her heart swells almost painfully and something solid balloons within her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs. Her lips tremble into a smile as she props the picture carefully on the bedside table.

The day is still young. Hange brews herself another cup of Levi’s tea and settles on the bed with one of her books, content to spend the next few hours reading—though she finds it strangely difficult to focus, with the words Levi had written on the back of the photograph swirling round and round in her head. Hange doubts they will leave her any time soon. They left her feeling more homesick than ever, but there is a soft, giddy kind of comfort in them all the same. It's a feeling that Hange will savour for as long as she possibly can.

It's weird here without you. Come home again soon x

#ask #levihan #my writing #snk #the way this has kicked my ass for hjkjhg MONTHS #I'm so sorry for the delay but thank you so much for the prompt!!! I was so excited to work on it #and I'm glad I finally got it finished :)#sorry it once again got incredibly out of hand length-wise #drabble my ass

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johaerys-writes · 3 years

Text

Fandom: The Song of Achilles

Pairing: Achilles/Patroclus

Summary:

Patroclus is a sailor, and Achilles a merman that saves his life when his ship is caught in a storm. The two end up on a deserted island, and the friendship that develops between them will change both of their lives for good.

Chapter 3: The Nymph Who Became Star, the penultimate chapter of my Merman AU Fall Into Your Tide is up! Art is by the wonderful @katartstrophe :)

Read on Ao3! Or read from the beginning

Once upon a time, deep in the Laconian mountains, there lived a nymph. The forest was her home; she walked the woods and swam in the streams, protected the animals that lived there and helped the trees and plants grow strong.

One day, she met a young man from a nearby village. He was a healer’s apprentice, and had ventured deep into the forest in search of medicinal plants. Touched by his gentle manners and dedication to his craft, the nymph decided to help him and share her knowledge with him. The man returned the next day, and the day after that, bringing her gifts of flowers and honeyed sweets. His visits became a regular occurrence; they would spend hours together, talking and gathering herbs, exploring the forest. It wasn’t long before the two fell in love.

Months passed in peaceful bliss. However, when the next summer came, a terrible war broke out with a neighbouring state, and the man was called away from his village and sent to battle.

Endless days rolled by without him. The nymph waited and waited, fearing the worst, for she knew well how fickle and short the lives of humans were, winked out in a fateful instant like the flame of a candle. Finally, after several months, the war came to an end. The men who had gone to battle returned— or what was left of them.

The young man did not come to her. Overcome by worry, the nymph decided to approach the village in hopes of seeing him, even though she had always kept her distance from humans and their settlements. When she finally found his house amidst the multitudes of others, she hid in the trees of the garden and peeked inside.

She was overjoyed to see that her love was still alive, but her relief was short-lived. He had been grievously wounded, and his life was hanging by a thread. The healers of the village had done what they could, and all that was left was prayer. Incense burned around him night and day, while he lay on the bed, pale and unmoving.

The nymph's heart ached with longing and grief, such that she had never known in her long life. Tearful and distraught, she returned to her forest, determined to find some way to help him.

She searched for the other nymphs, much older and more experienced than her in the art of healing. None knew of a way to bring back someone that was only a breath away from crossing Hades’ rivers.

“Death cannot be healed,” they admonished her, “and it should not.”

The nymph listened to no one. She kept asking, kept searching. Only a dryad, knowledgeable and wise and older than the forest itself, her skin tough and leathery like an oak tree’s bark, knew of an answer. She told her of a herb, one that grew on Olympus’ highest peak. It was the rarest plant there was, unmatched in its potency. It could mend the deepest wounds, cure the most severe of illnesses.

"The gods guard their home well," the dryad warned her, "and do not tolerate trespassers. No one dares enter the Olympians’ realm without their consent. Anyone who does, must pay the price.” T he nymph thanked the dryad for her help. There was nothing else for her to do other than to brave the long and arduous journey to Mount Olympus.

She was quick and silent as she travelled, yet her movements did not go unnoticed. Zeus' eyes were on her long before she'd reached the foot of the mountain. For an oread, a mountain nymph, to leave the safety of her forest and travel such great distances, to cross rivers and plains and deep ravines and pass so close by so many human settlements was unheard of. So he watched, curious, and waited.

When the nymph reached the middle of the mountain, he disguised himself as a centaur, and presented himself to her. When asked where she was going, the nymph told him the truth:

"I have come to gather a herb, to heal the one I love. It grows on Olympus' highest peak."

Zeus was angered by her boldness, but her earnestness intrigued him more. He warned her, not unkindly,“If you continue on your quest, you will make the gods angry. They do not take kindly to such insults.”

The nymph thanked him for the warning, and continued on her way.

Zeus kept following her, taking on many disguises: a deer, a hunter, a satyr. Each time, he told the nymph the same thing, and she responded in the same way: she thanked him warmly, and continued.

When she finally reached the peak, and her satchel was filled with the precious herb, Zeus presented himself to her. He thundered and shone, blindingly bright, in all his menacing godly glory. I nstead of cowering before him, the nymph stood tall.

“I am aware that this is your land,” she told him, “and this plant belongs to you. Whatever price you command for it, I will gladly pay it.”

Zeus thought long and hard. The nymph’s insolence was unparalleled, but he found her bravery refreshing. In the end, he decided to let her go, allowing her to take with her not only the rare plant she had gathered, but also enough provisions for her journey home to Taygetus’ misty peaks.

The nymph returned to the young man’s village as swiftly as she could. In a matter of days, he had regained his full strength; he was lively and healthy again, as bright and fair as he had been before he had left for the war. They were both so glad, that their love shone like a midsummer sun.

It was then that Zeus reached down and plucked the nymph from the earth and her lover’s embrace. He placed her among the stars and tasked her with guarding the very plant she had stolen, for all time. Before he left, he set one of his fearsome eagles upon her, to make sure she would never shirk her duty.

The price for saving her lover’s life had finally been paid.

The Guardian star shines in the midst of the constellation of Aquila, Zeus’ eagle. The star shines the brightest during the summer months, when the plant is in full bloom.

Achilles let out a sigh after I had finished. The sky had darkened while I recounted the story, and the stars were now twinkling above us. We were lying on our backs on the sand, still warm from the sun that had been beating upon it all day.

“Olympians,” he muttered darkly, “and their cruelty.”

Many times before had Achilles expressed his dislike of the Olympians. The nereids were Titan-born, and the Titans had not been on good terms with the powerful and arrogant sons and daughters of Cronus for millennia. By the way Achilles’ brow furrowed whenever I told him tales of their many transgressions or fierce punishments of those who displeased them, I could tell that this animosity between the old and newer gods was far from forgotten.

“Why did not Zeus simply let her take the plant?” he asked. “He didn’t need it. He wouldn’t miss it. What could one mortal’s life have meant to him, in the grand scheme of things?”

“In truth," I said, "I do not think it was about the plant at all."

“What was it about, then?”

“Perhaps it was because the nymph attempted to hold on to something she was never meant to have," I told him earnestly. "She wasn’t meant to have a long and happy life with that man; he was dying. Nothing could change that other than this plant, and it was forbidden. She wished to avoid the pain of losing him, therefore she was punished."

Achilles frowned. "Anyone would wish to avoid that. That doesn’t sound like that serious of a crime to me.”

I took a breath, letting my gaze drift over the dark sky above. Achilles’ scent of ocean currents, of salt and sand filled my lungs, warming me. His hand was so close to mine, I could feel the faint heat emanating from his skin, yet I did not dare close the distance between us. Something held me back. It always did.

"Pain is only a natural consequence of living,” I said, and the words sounded dry to my ears, harsh. “Death, separation; those are the rules. Life is the exception. This is how it’s always been, for humans. If the souls in Hades’ halls were released, they could fill the earth ten times over— there are so many more souls down there than up here, an infinite supply of them. The only certainty for any mortal is that, one day, they will die. For gods, it’s different. Life is guaranteed; death is but an improbable outcome. The nymph wished to defy this rule, to give her lover something that wasn't hers to give, or his to keep. In so doing, she would have challenged the order of the world itself. It could not happen. The gods could not allow it.”

Achilles turned his head to look at me, his large, feline eyes piercing me to the core. The light brush of his breath against my shoulder sent a roll of warmth cascading through me.

“Do you think she shouldn’t have done it, then?”

I stayed silent for a moment, pondering his question. "That is not for me to say," I said after a short while. "I'm not sure it was a matter of choice for her. It is said that, when you love someone, you act to keep them with you for as long as you can." I shook my head lightly. "I have never loved someone like that before, the way the nymph loved this young man. But I think… I think I can imagine what it must have been like, for her.”

The truth was, I had never let anyone too close to me. I did not know what it was like, to care about someone deeply enough to risk everything to keep them by my side, the same way that no one had ever fought to keep me by theirs. My father had given me up when I was far too young to know the difference, and since then I'd had to largely rely on myself for my survival. I always tended to keep my distance from most people I met, and never lingered in any one place or ship for too long. Xanthos was my closest friend; we had known each other for years, but even he would go away for months at a time to return to his family, while I stayed at sea. I had always been alone, and I always told myself I preferred it that way.

I had thought my life peaceful, comfortable, even. A life of hard work and few luxuries, yet it was mine. I was a free man, depending on no one. I had thought myself content. It wasn’t until I had come close to losing my life in that storm, until I had found myself on this island, until I had met Achilles, that I realised how drab and colourless my life had truly been.

Achilles was looking up at the night sky now, his profile illuminated by starlight. The stars shone bright, like a multitude of silver pins on a dark blue canopy, keeping it in place. He lifted his arm, pointing at a cluster of stars right above us. "Is this the nymph's star?"

"No," I told him, "it's this one." I took his hand and moved it slightly to the left, until it was pointing right at the Guardian star, the smallest of the bunch.

He gazed at the star for a long moment. Then, he asked, "Whatever happened to the young man? The one she fell in love with?"

"I don't know," I replied. "That was where the story ended. I never learned the young man’s fate."

He sighed. “I would have liked to know what happened to him,” he said. “What his life was like, after the nymph was taken.”

“You would?”

"Yes." Achilles tilted his head to look at me. “It is the greater grief, after all, isn't it,” he said softly, “to be left behind when another is gone?"

The nightbirds cooed above us, and the chill breeze stirred the leaves of the cypress trees that lined the coast. The world was peaceful, and in the silence that lingered, I thought I could hear his heart beating, a quiet and steady thump between us. His skin reflected the pale moonlight, and in its feeble glow he looked very nearly transparent. When his eyes focused on me like this, soft and dreamy, almost wistful, I knew that I wanted nothing more than to be where they could see me.

I swallowed, willing myself to meet his gold-flecked gaze. Gods, I could drown in those eyes. I would gladly let their shifting currents swallow me whole.

"It is," I whispered.

Read the rest on Ao3!

#the song of achilles #tsoa #patrochilles #patroclus x achilles #achilles x patroclus #achilles #patroclus #achilles/patroclus #patroclus/achilles #tsoa fanfic #tsoa fanart #merman au #fall into your tide #johaerys writes

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babyybitchhhwrites · 3 years

Text

Sukuna x Reader 18+

Rating: Explicit./R-18+

Words: 3567

Warnings: body horror, torture porn, cannibalism, urination, dead dove do not eat.

Just took a fucked up idea and ran with it. This isn’t much, but its honest work. Happy end of hiatus. : ^ )

♥♥♥♥

Slowly, slowly you move. Bidden by nothing more than a single pointed glance from the man across the room. His eyes follow you, always watching and all seeing. Your heart thunders inside its cage of ribs. It's hard to breathe, but he’s still looking so you keep moving. Almost lose your balance on the dutifully polished hardwood floor, your thumb and forefinger not quite enough to steady you. Bare knees ache with the pressure of holding up the majority of your weight and he, of course, does not miss the way you falter.

Sukuna’s mouth splits open in a toothy grin.

You forcibly swallow the bile rising in the back of your throat, the raw stump at the end of your left arm burning something fierce with needle sharp pin pricks. It still hurts.

“Are you having trouble getting around, little one?”

A mute shake of your head. Another fumbling shuffle forward.

He’s waiting, expectant and quiet; infinite patience etched across the cruel face you’ve come to recognize as the center of your universe. You have no choice but to answer his exigent summons. Even if it caused you physical distress and mental anguish in equal measure. Even if you died in the process of bending over backwards for his baneful wishes. You were compelled just the same as if he’d barked a command at you, his well trained little pet.

It’s a tedious, cumbersome journey from one end of the room to the other. Your body was simply far too battered and broken to respond quickly and you’d long since lost your voice in the time you’d spent in his care - weeks, months. It was hard to tell when every waking nightmare bled so seamlessly into the next. Your very autonomy was gone. All that was left were the whims and fancies of the monster slowly consuming you one piece at a time and now he’d called you to his side. You knew better than to disobey.

But it wasn’t speed he seemed to care about. Rather, it was your unfaltering submission to his endlessly vile inclinations and it clearly didn’t matter if you needed five minutes or five hours to drag yourself over to his throne of pillows. You suspected he’d be just as happy watching you squirm across the floor, worm-like and helpless, which was surely only a matter of months away from becoming reality. He’d be sure to keep you alive long enough to see such an amusing spectacle with his own eyes.

Your gait is awkward with only one mangled hand to brace on, but you push through the discomfort. Making him come get you was a fate much worse than whatever he already had planned for you, so it was easier just to comply. Save yourself the terror that inherently came hand in hand with displeasing him. It wasn’t any less harrowing, but at least it was easier.

And Sukuna watches you every step of the way, drinking in the pitiable picture you paint as you hobble closer like a wounded animal. He clearly enjoyed demeaning you like this. Stripping away your humanity, systematically removing what made you you with near fiendish glee until you were the empty husk of a woman struggling to get to him despite knowing only bad things awaited you at his side. By his own design, you were less than cattle.

At the very least cows had to be led to slaughter, sometimes by force if they sensed their impending doom. All you required was a single, silent look and you were in motion, slumping over to him despite every survival instinct in your body screaming at you to do the opposite. It was obvious which creature had more dignity.

“Good girl,” He murmurs, a small eternity later when you were finally within arms reach. You could all too easily extend your hand and touch him with the tip of your last remaining finger but you don’t dare. He doesn’t make a move to close the remaining distance either. Just keeps watching.

A quiet whimper rises in the back of your throat as you painfully drag yourself the last few inches separating you from him until you’re prostrated between his feet. The rich, expensive silk of his kimono brushes your shaking shoulders and the sensation makes goosebumps erupt across your skin. You can’t seem to catch your breath. Every inhale is short and quick. Each exhale a small burst that robs you of more oxygen than what you were able to take in. The fear vibrating through your naked body is palpable, you can almost taste it in the air, and he can sense it too. The way his eyes - all four of them - turn up in delight is all the proof you need of that.

“You’re trembling, dear. Are you cold?”

Another mute shake of your head.

Wordlessly, Sukuna lifts a hand and you flinch. Reflexive tears spring up in your eyes, pooling along your lash line so instantaneously that it almost catches you off guard. He pays it no mind though. Couldn’t care less.

His knuckles touch the spot between your shoulder blades before dragging a slow path down the length of your spine. Jolting at the contact, you instinctively try to arch away from him. But there’s nowhere to escape and all you do is impotently twist, awkwardly contorting your body like a cat in heat. The nerves feel like they’re alive and they dance under his touch with such intensity that you almost cry out in distress. The most you’ll allow yourself is a half strangled gasp, but startled horror quickly dawns when you realize you’d vocalized a sound suspiciously like that of a groan of pleasure and you freeze.

Pausing at the small of your twitching back, he regards you with a quiet, unreadable look. You quickly avert your gaze so you don’t have to stare directly into his horrible face anymore, as terrified of the man as you were ashamed of the humiliating noise you’d produced. There was nothing enjoyable about this. Nothing in this arrangement that brought you pleasure. He knew that as well as you did and you weren’t about to explain yourself to the likes of him.

The terse silence was almost suffocating.

At length, Sukuna hums. Thoughtful. Contemplative. Amusement coloring the wordless commentary even as he slides his hand back up the path it had just traveled. The sensation is no less powerful the second time, and you tremble under his attention. You make a concerted effort to bite down on your cracked lip and silence yourself, though, and he chortles when he reaches your shoulders again without another peep out of you. He found it all so very funny.

“If you aren’t cold,” He croons, soft and disarmingly gentle. “Then why do you shake like this, hmm? Surely you don’t find joy in being touched by the likes of me.”

You close your eyes. Swallow your nerves.

Clenching your jaw in grim resolution, you bring your face around and pin the demon with a hollow, unamused stare. Sukuna merely smiles, leers at you with unconcealed humor wrought solely from your expense. His hand shifts against your back and sharp talons replace the rough but smooth texture of his knuckles. Your blood pressure spikes, so fast you feel momentarily faint. The sweet release of oblivion does not claim you though and you quake as he drags inhuman nails across your neck in a thinly veiled threat that seemed superfluous at this point. You were all too aware of what he was capable of. There were three raw nubs where fingers used to be and a blunt stub where your left hand should have been. You didn’t need to be reminded that he was a monster.

He doesn’t linger long, however, and instead casually drags his claws up to your clammy face. Feather light so as not to tear you to shreds but enough to leave a burning, fiery trail in their wake. You suck in a haggard, choking breath of air. Try to brace yourself against the next cruel punishment he intends to inflict on you. But, to your astonishment, all he does is touch the pad of his thumb to your mouth in what you can only assume is a twisted mockery of affectionate gesture.

Your stomach violently clenches, threatening to expunge its contents right then and there.

Sukuna, of course, pretends not to notice. “Such a quiet little lamb. If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost think I took your tongue. You do realize you can still speak, don’t you?”

Without waiting for a response, he tugs on your lower lip. Pulls down until your mouth grudgingly parts and he can worm his thumb inside. You yelp when that unnaturally sharp nail nicks the roof of your mouth, the coppery taste of blood flooding your palette even as he finds your tongue and presses down on it so hard your gag reflex activates. Heaving wetly, you try to pull away. He puts a stop to that quickly enough by curling his fingers under your jaw, locking you in place with all the unyielding force of iron. You’re entirely helpless to stop it when he tilts your face up and peers into your mouth with near clinical detachment. A terrified little croak rises in the back of your throat. You really are going to be sick.

“Maybe I should relieve you of this next.” He muses. “You certainly aren’t using it.”

Emotions swinging to the extreme, you issue a slurred protest and implore him with big, glassy eyes. Plead for some semblance of mercy on his part. It’s a lost cause, you know it is. He’s never once taken pity on you in all the time you’d been acquainted with him but you can’t help this irrational panic from squeezing you in a death grip. Fingers and hands were one thing. A tongue was something else entirely. You didn’t want to be robbed of your speech even if you’d barely used it for anything other than screaming since he brought you here. There really wouldn’t be any of your humanity left at that point, and the looming prospect terrified you perhaps more than anything else he’d done up until now.

You wanted to cling to that last remaining vestige of your former self with a desperation you hadn’t realized you still possessed. Even if it was foolish to do so. Even if it would hurt all the more when he finally, inevitably, took it away. You weren’t quite the same as an animal just yet. Not yet, and your ability to talk was proof that you were still human on some level.

It wasn’t much, but the thought of losing that distinction very nearly sent you into hysterics.

Sukuna barely even stirs though, dully observing the way you rock on your knees and shake your head. The spit dribbling from the corners of your mouth hardly register in your mind but he watches its slow descent down your chin with nothing short of distaste. You’re almost certain he’s going to rip your tongue out right on the spot, just to spite you for such an unsightly display, and yet you can’t bring yourself to stop.

Wracked by a sudden onslaught of cold, wet chills, you jerk against his hold. It succeeds only in making him tug on your mouth so hard the joints actually pop and you wail in startled distress as pain shoots through your head. The realization that he could simply tear out the lower half of your jaw with one quick yank turns your blood to ice. You can’t breathe. It feels like you're vibrating right up off the floor and, heaving loudly, your arms fly out in a misguided attempt to keep him at bay.

The throbbing stub where your left hand used to be bumps into his forearm, further shocking you on some level. It was incredibly easy to forget you were missing such a vital appendage when the phantom sensation of a palm and opposable fingers still felt so real in your mind. The disconnect is mirrored in your right hand when only thumb and forefinger find purchase in his robes but you can almost feel the missing digits curling into silk as well. Your alarm doubles, then triples. He’s still gripping your jaw painfully tight. Just watching. Always watching. Observing from his elevated seat of superiority.

You let out a wheezing groan, shuddering when your bladder abruptly evacuates.

Sukuna curls his nose as the unmistakable pssssss rises loud in the otherwise silent hall. Your eyes promptly roll back and you slump against his legs, drained of your ability to fight. The piss spreading in a puddle underneath you feels blistering on your chilled, sweat soaked skin and it almost hurts. Almost burns the same way a boiling hot bath makes your mind register pain when you first step in. This, too, becomes more bearable the longer you sit in it though and you don’t even have the wherewithal to be embarrassed about wetting yourself at this point. You were so scared. So tired.

He waits until you’re done. Lets you finish pissing all over the polished floor before pulling you up by your jaw. A low, faltering moan tumbles out of you as you acquiesce, rising up on your aching knees even when the meat of your thighs try to stick to the drenched wood but there’s no more protest left in you. The king of curses will get whatever he wants, whenever he wants it.

If your tongue was what he desired then that is what he shall have.

“Filthy.” He utters the word like its poison. “You truly are a detestable creature, you know that? I should just kill you and be done with it.” A disappointed shake of his head accompanies this statement. “Tell me, girl. Is speech really that important to you?”

You nod weakly and let out a broken, halfhearted whimper.

“Oh?” Sukuna raises an interested brow at that. “Really? Then show me.”

Numb shock washes over you when his saliva coated thumb slowly retreats from your mouth and you sway, thoroughly caught off guard. You don’t understand. He’d never taken your feelings into consideration before. Never asked for your opinion. He clearly didn’t care what you wanted so why was he playing this game now? You couldn’t make heads or tails of it and, certain this must be some sort of trap, you warily stare up at him with tightly closed lips. There was definitely some sort of trick here, but where?

Predictably, his patience runs out in a matter of moments.

“Well?” He prompts with a vicious swat to the side of your face, jerking your head around.

“Please!” You blurt. It doesn’t even sound like you anymore.

The smile that graces his mouth is downright fiendish. “Ahh. So you do remember how to talk. Surprise, surprise.” Simpering, he props his chin on the palm of his bent hand while the other reaches out to swipe a stray clump of hair off your face. You flinch, shaking so hard your breath comes out in quick sporadic bursts, but he pays it no mind. Two sets of red, horrible red eyes dance across your pinched expression for a long beat before he seems to reach some sort of conclusion. “Do it again.”

You’re too stunned to even balk.

“If you still have use of your words,” He explains in the even, haughty tone of someone talking to a child. “Then you should utilize them, no? Especially since you claim to be so attached to them. Come on, darling. Speak for me.”

One taloned finger trails down the side of your temple, across your cheek and stops at your quivering chin. With far more care than you would have ever thought him capable of, Sukuna tilts your face up at him so that you have no choice but to meet his delighted gaze headon. The sick satisfaction staring back at you makes your stomach drop. It suddenly occurs to you that this, too, is simply another part of the game. He finds this so very entertaining - and not just the systematic torture he’s subjected you to. It’s everything about your humanity that sparks his interest and that’s the sole reason he wants to play with you like this.

You’re not just food for him. If you were, he would have likely already killed you by now. No, there was much more to it than that. Sukuna had brought you here to his barren, rotting domain for dinner and a show.

“Please …” You say it again, as if it will help.

Humming in faint approval, he drags his nail lower. Across your jumping throat and along the ridge of your collarbone even as it subconsciously tries to twitch away from him. Slowly, tortuously slow, he traces a taunting path straight down to your wrist - the one with a hand still attached to it - and you choke on a terrified shriek when he wraps steel corded fingers around the appendage. Your eyes are wide open but they see nothing; mouth running on autopilot even as he guides your trembling hand up to his face. You can’t do this. You can’t.

“Please. Please. Please, please, please pleasepleasepleasepleaseplea -”

“Mm. Please what, darling? Tell me.”

A quick tongue darts out to tauntingly lap at the pad of your outstretched finger. You attempt to recoil in visceral disgust, horrified beyond measure, but his grip holds strong. He doesn’t even have to try. His strength is just that much greater than yours, and all you manage is a skittish jolt as the wet muscle drags across your prickling skin in a farcical impersonation of much, much more pleasant activities.

You let loose some awful, hysterical squawk. It feels as unnatural in your throat as it sounds in your ears, and your finger twists violently to get away from Sukuna’s mouth. Curls at such an awkward angle it’s likely a small miracle it doesn’t snap in half right then and there. The uneven, jagged nubs he’d left you burn with a pain so intense it actually brings tears to your eyes and you don’t even realize when they streak hot, wet paths down your cheeks until you blink and notice the sodden quality of your eyelashes. You’d merely traded one horror for another. How could you ever have been so naive as to believe one was preferable over the next.

“Little one,” Sukuna regards you plainly, bringing you back to the moment, and you glance up to find his mouth hovering just over your painfully contorted finger. A suffocating lump forms deep in your throat, threatening to asphyxiate you. “You have more words at your disposal than ‘please’, don’t you?”

“I … I - I ca-”

That horrible tongue of his slithers past his teeth, glinting softly in the flickering light of a nearby candle as if it were little more than a slimy pink snake. But rather than attack your remaining finger again, it lashes out at the webbing between the joints. Warm and slick, it pushes in and digs into layers of muscle and sinew - in search of what, you do not know - and your breath hitches.

Rather than being dulled, the nerves in your remaining hand were actually painfully sensitive after the crude amputation of your fingers and a sensation not unlike a static shock zaps through your heaving body. It settles somewhere in the general vicinity of your belly button, your stomach twisting in painful knots, and you let out a hoarse, startled scream. Your whole system instantly runs hot as molten warmth floods every nook and cranny inside your soft, fluttering guts, so fast and so suddenly it actually knocks you off balance.

Knees giving out under the intensely unexpected sensation, you collapse in your own puddle of piss. The sharp, wet slap makes your ears ring but you barely even notice it. The stabbing pain rides the line of something you don’t quite have a name for. It’s not pleasure. It’s not ecstasy, but something else entirely. Something that far exceeds your limited depth of perception. Too much and not enough at the same time. Horrible, yet wonderful. Your body was alive with it and, cursing him, you grudgingly squeeze your thighs together to stop them from quaking.

Oh, how you despised him for doing this to you.

“Pl - plea - please … s - stop …”

The demon hums in vague approval. “Now why would I do that?”

Those crude lips brush against the raw, stinging tip of what used to be a finger as he sucks the paper thin flap of skin into his mouth and worries it, making you outright seethe. Your vision crosses for a split second, then doubles. You can’t even see straight anymore. Can’t even fully comprehend the moment when he stops applying that delicious suction to the webbing between your joints and redirects his attention to your forefinger instead.

You’re still panting, gasping for air, when he opens his mouth wide.

You shake uncontrollably with nerve induced chills when he covers it straight down to the knuckle and seals his lips.

You whine, mewling out in desperation when you force your eyes to somewhat focus on his horrible face only to find him watching you. Still watching. Always watching. Watching, watching, watching.

Your mouth warbles open. “Please …”

Crunch

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #self insert bullshit #my wriitng

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rinharu-purple · 3 years

Text

Gavin with the Black Queen- An encounter that never happened

SPOILER ALERT!!! DUH! ^_^

One thing keeps bothering me ever since the Black Queen has ceased to exist (as of March 2021). She had various interactions with the other Lis, including Shaw, and yet she was in the same room with Gavin only for a brief moment and neither of them has truly realized the other’s presence. Why was that? Why did PG deliberately refrained from bringing those together? The answer might hide in the behind the curtain chapter.

Behind the curtain final part

Kicking off things with a memory refresh. CH5 of behind the curtain event revolves around the final moments of MC in the black cabin before making her decision and revisiting the piano concert as well as the infinite future era. There, the NW troops under the command of NW717 (Gavin from Infinite Future) enter the venue the BQ was in and cause mayhem by destroying everything in his way “I will destroy all of this!”. MC doesn’t face Gavin, but still got injured by his cutting currents of wind, unable to avoid him completely.

This encounter happens only in the background. The BQ knows that Gavin is there, but Gavin doesn’t see her. They don’t look each other in the eye, they don’t exchange words. Just a cut on BQs cheek.

This remark at the end is crucial, because the BQ only says this after Gavin’s left the venue. Meaning from this moment on, there is only one future possible. Does that mean a different future would’ve been possible if Gavin hadn’t left? I guess we won’t ever find out.

BlackQueenxNW717 vs. MCxGavin

Another aspect to this question could also be that the only time BQ and Gavin were in the same venue was when the Black Queen already has lost her faith in humanity and Gavin has spend his youth without MC, under the shadow of his father. In a way, the two versions of them meeting at this point are their alternate personalities, which came to be because those two had never met. In my opinion, this is the strongest reason for why PG didn’t put Gavin and the BQ in the same narrative. Black Queen only exists in a world, where she never meets Gavin and Gavin only chooses to join his father after high school because he never gets to know MC’s kindness. The strong bond between them which keeps their faith was never created.

In that case, those who meet in chapter 21 were actually a lost Gavin and a lost MC in the void, because they have never met and therefore weren’t there to catch each other when one of them was falling like they always do in our original timeline. They have both crashed and scattered into pieces, thus broken. We know for a thing that the BQ is lost because she says this in CH18

See the words she is using? Love and FAITH. Remember CH15... Name of FAITH. Exactly... MC and Gavin would be lost if they didn't have love and faith. Also during the Daybreak Era and Dream edge Gavin is without love and faith, He is in a completely different sprite and mental state then the Gavin we know, love and worship.

Papergames actually put a very subtle comparison to this phenomenon by showing in CH 22 how the dynamic of Gavin and MC works even if only one of them is their original self. In CH 22, MC meets NW717, who has never met MC during high school and yet she succeeds in bringing out the original Gavin hidden deep inside him, at least in fragments, hence preventing a greater destruction or even worse Gavin’s demise (he is utmost self-destructive in this chapter).

Gavin and MC always manage to bring the best out of each other so if this had happened in the case of MCxNW717, then we can safely assume that this could’ve ended the same way in a GavinxBlackQueen encounter.

Needless to say, it wouldn’t have been convenient for the plot, so the PG obviously didn’t take this route and it only exists in my head ^_^

Chapter 18: Gavin’s Route?

Taking this into consideration, let’s take a moment to imagine how would CH18 have gone, if it was Gavin accompanying MC instead of Victor in their last stance in the quarantine zone. Let’s assume Gavin didn’t know about the existence of the BQ up to this point, just like Victor, and there she was abruptly standing in front of him. Surely he would be appalled at first, but then he would show her the MC, he has always known, the MC he has always believed in and the MC she genuinely is. I don’t believe that Gavin would reject her identity as the MC like Victor did, because her eyes are different. On the contrary, I believe Gavin would say that he still knows that she is the girl he knows, because he can see it in her eyes. I think that Gavin would accept the fact that MC and the BQ were the same person and therefore would give everything in his might to save her, to save them both, without having to sacrifice any of them. There is no way on earth Gavin could’ve stabbed MC in the heart. Nothing could have ever convinced him that there wasn’t any other way. On a side note, I also don’t think killing her was really the only way and maybe not taking Gavin into consideration was Victor’s flaw in his plan.

Did MC really had to die? What would’ve happened if after MC and BQs union, MC’s mind has prevailed and both of them stayed in the same body? Thus melting two timelines together? If Gavin was there, then I think that would’ve been the case and I also think that the BQ also knew that. Which is why she deliberately avoided Gavin because he was her weak spot. Gavin would have never killed any of them. It wouldn’t have mattered to him what words had came out of BQs mouth. For him she still would’ve been “his girl”. Plus, Gavin is a person, who has faith in the good heart in everyone. Therefore his choice of action would be to fight for the MC in BQs heart. Remember, these two young women are the one and the same person with different experiences from different timelines.

In CH 18 the BQ even goes to the lengths of using Gavin to lure MC to her side:

It is really uncanny how almost everyone constantly use Gavin and MC against each other. Even the BQ shows Gavin annihilating Perry to convince MC to merge with her. It has happened at least for 6-7 times until now that people use their relationship for their end.

Final battle

In CH 36, when MC and the Black Queen have one last battle did you realize that every single LI is present except for Gavin? Kiro/Helios is there and bravely takes her on directly, Lucien is present with MC, Victor joins the group and even turns back time to allow MC to recuperate. What does Gavin do during this you may ask? He is trying to control the situation in the city as Commander of STF. Again, Gavin and Black Queen don't meet, because Gavin has the duty of saving the world from the other end and ensure the safety of Loveland citizens.

To sum this analysis up, I think there was a purpose for PG keeping Gavin and the Black Queen separate in S1, because Gavin would be the greatest threat to her existence. We see at the end that it was MCs persuasion that has led to BlackQueen leaving voluntarily. At the end she's also decided to believe in her and in the power of love (as cliché as it sounds). So in my opinion, Gavin could've persuaded her way way earlier and we couldn't have enjoyed 37 chapters of angst, drama and romance ;) I would still love to watch them interact with each other and see how the whole thing would unfold. Who knows, maybe she makes a comeback in S2 and perhaps their ways collide this time around.

Masterlist

#meta #mlqc #mlqc gavin #mlqc behind the curtain #black queen #mlqc black queen #mlqc mcxgavin #mc x gavin #mlqc haku #mlqc bai qi #mr. love queen's choice #I really need someone to proofread my posts #I always find mistakes afterwards #I think I need a masterlist btw #will work on it soon #after the Lucien analysis #its coming I promise

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nat-20s · 3 years

Text

We Don’t Need No Mournful Sounds

fuck it! *writes a fic based on my own textpost about Oliver briefly joining up with JMART post death* i don’t even generally think they died i just was plagued by Thoughts and Images

Read on Ao3

~*~

Jon wakes up.

This is unexpected. It had been hoped for, dreamed of, in his final breaths, but unexpected nonetheless.

What’s less unexpected is Martin’s hand in his own. Jon had known, with an aching deep certainty, that if he were to end up anywhere at all, Martin would be there with him.

Martin gives his hand a squeeze, breaking the stillness of the moment enough for Jon to let out a stuttering breath and finally look at the man he loves.

All of Martin’s edges are singed, previously white hair blackened with soot. His eyes are bloodshot, face is red, and hands are stained with blood. He looks terrible and broken, and he’s the most beautiful thing Jon has ever witnessed. Looking closer, he finds that there are still tears silently making tracks down his face, and Jon assumes that he’s much the same, but no amount of tears can counteract the small smile blooming on his face. Squeezing Martin’s hand back in the hope that he can express even a fraction of the endless love he’s feeling right now, feeling forever, he manages to whisper out a. “Hi.”

The haunted expression of Martin’s face breaks with a laugh, or a sob, or perhaps some combination of the two. In less than a blink, Martin wraps his arms around Jon, pulling him as close as two people who remain separate entities can be. Face buried in his neck, Martin lets muddled words spill out of him, a messy inanity of I’m sorrys and I love yous and Never agains, making for a symphony of anger and agony and care. Jon rubs circles on his back, matching Martin’s frantic words with calm, gentle ones, mostly consisting “We’re okay.” Because it’s true, isn’t it? Wherever they are, whatever happens next, there’s still a something, and they’re in that something together.

Some unknown amount of time later, maybe minutes, maybe centuries, they reach some sort of stability. Martin pulls back, though he doesn’t let go of Jon’s wrists, and Jon is infinitely grateful for the continued contact. As he’s a little more able to process external stimuli, Martin blinks at their surroundings. Not much to see, if he’s being honest. It’s similar to the nondescript blankness of the tunnels, though they can make out any texture of stone, and their environment shifts and swirls in a familiar way, though where the familiarity comes from, he couldn’t say. Voicing Jon’s thoughts out loud, Martin asks, “Any idea where we actually are?”

“I, uh, don’t know.”

“Don’t know or don’t, y’know, Know?”

“Either. Both. I…,” Jon reaches out, just to confirm something he’s known since he opened his eyes, “the Eye is gone. Or at least, any tether I had to it is. There’s..there’s just me left. More intact than I would’ve expected, honestly.”

One of Martin’s hands slides from Jon’s wrist to his hand, lifting it so he can kiss the knuckles. “That’s..that’s good, yeah?”

Jon presses their foreheads together, deciding even the foot of distance between them is far too much. “It’s wonderful.”

The moment to bask in the joy of that freedom is quickly interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Fear grabs a hold of both of them, their tensions indistinguishable from one another, but as Jon squints into the distance and the figure becomes clear, he lets himself relax.

“Hello, Oliver.”

Oliver catches to them near instantly, despite his seemingly leisurely pace. He gives them both a pleasant enough smile, despite the fact that Martin has turned his head just enough to glare daggers at the man. “Jon. Martin. I would say it’s nice to see you two, but I find that’s rarely true in my line of work.”

Voice dripping in venom Martin grits out, “What do you want?”

Before Oliver can answers, Jon gives a gentle but chiding, “Martin.”

“What, Jon? Excuse me if I not exactly thrilled by his presence.”

Dropping his head onto Martin’s shoulder, Jon tells him, “Martin. We didn’t make it.”

“Wh-,” Martin’s glances back and forth between Oliver and Jon, before finally settling on, “Oh.”

After this revelation, Oliver adds, “For what it’s worth, I am sorry. I was hoping that by being unable to see your fates that you would outlast me.”

While Martin mutters a “That’s not worth much of anything” under his breath, Jon more audibly replies, “Thank you. We appreciate it. I..suppose you’re to escort us to whatever’s next, then?”

“Not exactly. More like I thought it might be nice to have company before our paths finally diverge. I am here for my end, not yours.”

“So, after the world was restored, you were-?”

Oliver holds up a hand to stop him. “No, no, not exactly. Benefit of belonging to the End, anyone that might have a desire to revenge themselves upon you is already gone. Well, except for Martin here, though I hope we can manage some level of civility.”

Oliver levels what some might consider a smirk at Martin, to which Martin gives a sneer before conceding, “Whatever,” before giving Jon a slight tug for them to get a move on. Jon, however, could never resist satiating his curiosity, and this seems relatively harmless to pursue, so he doesn’t let himself move with the tide that is a determined Martin. “So, wait, what happened to you then? If it wasn’t an automatic effect of the fears leaving or- or someone coming after you?”

“When the fears were taken elsewhere, I was given a choice much like your own. I could follow their lead, I could try the world without them, or I could walk along my own root. There’s every possibility that I would’ve survived the new world, but I was ready for my own walk through the final doorway.”

Jon studies him, trying to use intuition rather than raw power once again, but can detect no hint of sadness on the man’s features. Jon wishes he had that same level of peace, but while he can’t quite obtain, that primal fear of death still lingering, he thinks that having Martin with him even through the end, that he can at least understand it.

The three of them set off, simply picking the direction that most feels right on an instinctual level. They walk with the silence of people that are headed towards something both inevitable and inscrutable, before finally some of the curling void pulls away to reveal a door.

It is a deeply ordinary door. It is made of a whitewashed wood, and somewhat resembles the door to the safe house. In an actual location, it would be unsuspicious, even to the paranoid. Here, it makes fear course through him. Trying to keep the tremble out of his voice, Jon asks, “Is this for us?”

Oliver replies, “For you two, yes. I have a different destination.”

Martin chimes up, sounding much more resolute out of the two of them. “Well? You’re the ruler of the dead or whatever, got any idea what’s on the other side?”

Oliver makes a considering hum, then tells them, “I can’t be certain, that was never an insight I was granted. However, I know that your souls are so inextricably bound that whatever is there, is there for both of you. If I were to make an educated guess, I would say that my end will grant me rest, and for you two, time.”

As soon as he says this, they can hear noises from the other side of the door. Laughter and conversation with words that can’t quite be made out, but the voices behind the words, he recognizes. Tim and Sasha, the real Sasha, the one he can finally, finally remember. Martin gasps, and Jon knows he remembers too.

Oliver gives a wave and a very final, “Good luck.”

Jon replies with a genuine, “You too,” while Martin replies with a surprisingly cordial, “Uh huh.”

They watch until Oliver fades into the blankness. As soon as he is swallowed up, Jon pulls Martin’s hand to his scarred over heart and asks, “Ready?”

Martin huffs out a watery laugh and says, “Not even slightly.”

Together, they open the door.

#tma spoilers #tma 200 #jon sims #oliver banks #martin blackwood #tma

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link4eva · 3 years

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Kiro’s Satisfaction Date Translation (完满之约) [CN] Part 1/2

Hey, everyone! I have a couple of short but important notes to give before reading.

I don’t actually know any Chinese so this translation was done through the power of Google Translate.

This translation contains spoilers for Kiro’s 2021 Birthday Date in the CN server. So if you wish to not be spoiled, please don’t look below the cut. There is a R&S to go along with this date which has been translated by the lovely @keliosyfan . I’ll put the link to it here! I definitely recommend reading that first before reading this date.

I tried posting this date earlier but Tumblr doesn’t seem like it can handle all the Kiro goodness in one go. So, this date is split into two parts to try and manage that. You can find the second part here! The call that comes with this date can be found here!

Hope you enjoy!~

*Spoliers for future content below!*

The melodious violin sound filled the lecture hall.

Kiro closed his eyes and the tip of his left finger pulsed gently on the strings of the violin, pulling out beautiful notes.

I stood behind the cameras in the last row of the lecture hall. As I was looking at him through the camera, I couldn’t pull my gaze away.

Kiro’s birthday was finally here, but this year, it is a bit more special.

He was invited by his high school alma mater to come to California for a special performance on his birthday.

And this also happened to be the site of Kiro’s special live birthday broadcast.

Kiro: I am very happy to be back today. I know that you must be very sleepy listening to the song just now, so….

Kiro raised the corners of his mouth, turned his head back and nodded slightly to the pianist on the side, and then lightly plucked the strings with his right hand; a crisp echo coming through.

Kiro: Let’s be happy.

The brisk piano sounded, and “Canon” flew in through everyone’s ears between Kiro’s fingertips and the plucked strings.

The students sitting in the lecture hall opened their eyes wide; it was almost as if the notes were like tiny birds flying around in the soft sunlight. *Took some liberty here.*

But this was just the beginning.

Whether it is “Caprice 24”, “Carmen Fantasia”, and other classical pieces, or adaptations of popular songs--

They were all under the influence of Kiro’s fingertips, full of vitality.

It seems that the light of the entire world is focused on him at this very moment, bright and dazzling.

The last piece performed seemed to be a little different from the ones previously. Kiro looked a little cautious. He looked at me from a distance and a smile slowly appeared on his face.

Kiro: The last piece is one that is special to me. It’s a bit rusty as I haven’t played it for many years.

Kiro: I hope you don’t mind.

He raised the bow, quietly stood still for a few seconds, and then began to play the first few notes.

The tune of this piece is very slow. It seems a bit lonely without the piano accompaniment.

Perhaps no one knows the meaning of this song except for Kiro. We are all his sharers, listening to him tell a story with only a melody.

Listening to this piece, I quietly looked at Kiro’s face and thought of the gift I had prepared for him. I fell into deep thought.

Soon, the piece was over.

Kiro bowed very formally and finally sat on the edge of the stage amidst the applause with his legs swinging in the air, holding the violin and looking at the audience in front.

Kiro: In fact, your principal invited me to come, hoping that I would tell you about my experience and give some advice.

Kiro: But I think you guys don’t want to listen to all that! After all, when I was a kid, I didn’t really like listening to other people’s suggestions.

In the end, his mumbling was infinitely amplified by the microphone, and the students sitting below laughed together.

Kiro: It’s everyone’s first time coming to this world. Just be happy and be yourself.

Kiro: I never felt that I was such a special person. Although, everyone would laugh at me when I said this.

Kiro: But I always think, I just have the most love and precious things in my life for me.

He lowered his head and looked at the violin in his arms then hummed a song and looked up in the direction where I was.

Kiro’s whole body seemed to be bathed in the sun, and his smiling eyes met mine.

Kiro: I don’t know if you have encountered it.

Kiro: For me, it has always been with me in countless moments of silence.

Kiro: It illuminates me and gives me the courage to keep going forward. *Took some liberty here.*

Kiro sat there quietly, peacefully, and sincerely.

Kiro: Today is my birthday. Thank you for your blessings. I also want to share this blessing with you.

Kiro: I wish you all find what you love the most, and stay true to yourselves.

Kiro: I wish that you will always be yourself.

[Second Part]

Kiro: MC, how did I do just now!

After making sure that the students had left, Kiro jumped off the stage and rushed to me.

The bangs on his forehead were drenched with sweat and they stuck together, revealing those bright and beautiful blue eyes.

MC: It can only be said that it is better than the best. As expected of Kiro!

After hearing my compliment, his eyes curved with a smile like a bear eating honey. He wiped the corners of his mouth with satisfaction.

Savin contacted the school club week, filming and other activities that Kiro participated in during this California trip.

I calculated Kiro’s limited time and pulled him into a corner.

MC: Happy birthday, Kiro!

Kiro: You wished me so early this year. And it also seems that you have something secret to show me.

MC: Actually, I did prepare some special birthday arrangements ahead of time.

MC: But after seeing your performance just now, I suddenly changed my mind.

Kiro was taken aback when he heard me and blinked in confusion.

MC: Last year, you used the treasure map to let us relive all the precious times together. (MC’s referencing Treasure Hunt Date which will be released April 6 on the ENG server)

MC: So now, I really want to ask what Kiro wants to do on his birthday today.

MC: This time I’ve come back to visit the school where you studied. Here are four years’ worth of your past and memories.

MC: Is there anything that Kiro did not realize at that time, or what Kiro wants to do here?

MC: I can help satisfy you.

Kiro stood firmly in front of me with the bright light hooked onto his face, quietly showing the heedfulness and expectation in his eyes.

Kiro: ….Really?

MC: Of course! Today is your birthday, so naturally, you are the most important on your birthday!

MC: So, I will accompany you in whatever you want.

Kiro smiled.

He tiptoed backstage and took out his violin bag. After exchanging glances, we looked towards Savin and retreated towards the door.

As soon as he stepped out the door, Kiro took my hand and staggered out of the lecture hall.

(Cut to outside)

I didn’t know where Kiro was taking me. But as long as he is holding my hand, I am willing to accompany him wherever he goes.

Kiro ran ahead of me, turning his head back with a smile.

Kiro: Actually, when I first came to California, I was not used to many different things.

Kiro: So for my first birthday here, I was very impressed with all the choices. At that time, I had a lot of things I wanted to do. But in the end, I didn’t do them for various reasons.

Kiro took my hand and pulled me around the corner across from the playground on the campus. He pushed away a tree branch that was casting a shadow and came to stand under a high wall at the edge of the school.

Kiro: First, I wanted to do this--

In my confused state, Kiro stretched out his right hand pretentiously and raised his palm in the air.

Kiro: Skip class.

The air seemed to stand still for a few seconds. I looked at the high wall, then turned my gaze back to Kiro who was eager to try and couldn’t help laughing.

Kiro: Okay, I know it’s a little immature.

Kiro: When I was in class, the school was super strict. When I made a wish on my birthday, I had one wish in mind--

Kiro: “Ah! I really want to skip class.”

MC: Have all the big stars ever had this idea?

Kiro: Kiro was not a big star back then, and that big star was also an ordinary person.

Kiro looked at the high wall with excitement, the scattered sunlight fell on him through the lush green leaves.

I seem to be able to see Kiro, who was 14-years-old, laying his head on the desk, looking at the sky.

The sky is so wide; it seems like you can go anywhere.

MC: It seems a bit difficult to climb but we can try.

I was about to try. Kiro had already stepped on the small holes of the wall, stretched out his arms methodically, and climbed onto the wall in the blink of an eye.

MC: ….?!

Kiro: Sure enough, it’s not as difficult as I had imagined. I will teach you!

While talking, he jumped back down silently and came back to me.

He pointed to the hole in the wall and demonstrated it again in front of me.

Following his direction, I stepped swiftly on the wall like a clumsy gecko.

Kiro: Miss Chips, give me your hand.

I raised my head and habitually stretched out my hand in response. In the next second, I felt that I was being strongly pulled and I fell into a warm embrace.

MC: Why were you so scared of skipping class?

Kiro: This is just the beginning.

The distant school building faced Kiro’s back. He raised the corners of his mouth and winked his left eye at me.

I suddenly thought of myself; 14-year-old me and 14-year-old Kiro.

I’m in Loveland City and he is abroad in California.

I dozed off at my desk in the warm afternoon, and he was probably humming a gentle tune among the stars.

At that time, we hadn’t become adults and we were separated by a distant time; like two parallel lines that would never meet at all.

But these two lines seem to overlap at this moment.

Kiro: I’m ready to climb.

He whispered in my ear, and before I could react, he gently pulled me towards him and hugged me.

MC: Kiro! Kiro, you….!

Kiro: In fact, I have imagined skipping class many times.

Kiro lowered his face and the sun was behind him. A golden outline was drawn on his body.

Kiro: But none of this is what it is today.

As he lightly pushed his foot, I couldn’t help but hug his neck tightly.

At that moment of flight, the whole world was silent, leaving only two intertwined heartbeats with similar rhythms to be heard.

Kiro: Sure enough, MC’s existence can revive my imagination.

[Third Part]

Kiro: The next thing is--

In an empty fast food restaurant, Kiro bought two “actually real” meal sets and sat with me in front of the window facing the street.

Kiro: Eat junk food!

MC: Pff, why are all the things you wanted to do so cute?

Kiro: It’s okay, just laugh if you want, hmph.

Kiro: Since I debuted, I hadn’t touched any junk food. Potato chips were the first things I had finally eaten when I first met you many years later.

MC: Well, what did you do when you were craving junk food?

Kiro: Restrain, hold back, pretend there was a gun to my head. *Translation came out a little weird here so I hope this is right.*

He muttered, opened his mouth and took a bite of the burger, and sighed particularly contentedly.

MC: Why don’t you restrain yourself now then?

Kiro: It’s different now.

He answered without hesitation and quickly finished the burger.

Kiro: Because you are here.

MC: Are you trying to say that I seduce you into committing food crimes?

Kiro: That’s right!

MC: You!

Kiro: But of course it is more than that.

Kiro: Because you are here, it’s okay to indulge a bit.

He propped his head with his right hand and looked at me sideways. A spot of light fell on his defined eyelashes like he had a secret full of mischief.

With a straw in his mouth, the soda gurgled. As it gurgled, it seemed to have filled my heart at the same time.

MC: Then I will help you sneak some more snacks in next time?

Kiro: Although that sounds very exciting, I still want to have more opportunities to be handsome in front of you.

Kiro: Compared with “snack-loving Kiro”, I’d rather you have “handsome Kiro” in your heart.

He snapped his fingers, his eyes gleaming.

Looking at him like this, I subconsciously followed along and laughed.

MC: Of course you are the most handsome Kiro in the world!

We were sitting in front of the shop window; I was eating a burger and Kiro was telling me about his time in California.

Some difficult lectures to sit through, baseball games he had to participate in, exquisite violin decorations, yellow balloons from children….

He traced the past for me, like an old movie that spans over a long period of time.

Under the immersion of time, with some nostalgia mixed in, the pictures in the memories appear more vivid and beautiful.

After leaving the restaurant, Kiro rented a car and waited on the side of the road.

(Cut to the highway)

We are cruising along the highways of California and the endless highways spread to the distant sky; it was almost as if we could reach the edge of the sky.

I suddenly thought of a memory from when I first came to California a long time ago and Kiro seemed to think of the same memory as me.

Kiro: I have checked the car, again and again, this time. It will definitely not break down! (He’s referencing his Los Angeles Date which is a sweet and funny one. Definitely recommend. It’s been released on the ENG server already.)

MC: Are we going to Santa Monica this time?

He shook his head mysteriously at me and jingled some special keys in his hand.

Kiro: This time, I want to take my dazzling pearl to another dazzling place in my heart.

The scenery along the highway was quickly left behind by us. It also seemed that the time that was always moving forward quickly and impossible to stop was left out of the scenery.

The tides rolled on the coast and the seabirds used their wings to draw a neat arc in the air, in the sea and the sky.

There is a boat anchored quietly by a small port beside a bay.

(Cut to beach)

After getting out of the car, Kiro took the girl by the hand and moved towards the coast. The sea breeze blew her hair gently. He had never felt that his heart had been so at ease.

Here, the excitement is like a flood. And with it is more peace of mind. *Translation came out wonky here.*

The girl stood in front of him, watching him quietly.

At that moment, he seemed to see the blossoming of his dreams.

Many years ago, he had seen himself on a stage amongst the stars.

And now, it is once again full of his entire world.

The third thing is--

He said softly in his heart.

Bring my favourite person in the world to my home in California.

I watched Kiro raise the corners of his mouth, the brilliant light fell into his smiling eyes, but he didn’t speak.

MC: Is coming here the third thing you wanted to do?

Kiro: Bingo! The third thing is--

Kiro: Come to this bay with you.

MC: Liar, you didn’t know me at the time, how could you think of coming with me?

Kiro: Of course it is because I reserved a place for you very early on.

MC: Then I am really honoured! Let me guess, this was your secret base in high school, right?

I looked at this “secret base expert” confidently, but he shook his head unexpectedly.

Kiro: This is my home.

Here is Part 2!

#mlqc #mlqc kiro #mr love queen's choice #mr love kiro #mlqc spoilers #mr love game #date translation #mr love dream date #thanks so much for your patience!

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ectonurites · 3 years

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Conner Kent in Suicide Squad/the Infinite Frontier era: wtf is going on

Alright lads hello I just need to type out some theories/thoughts about what’s going on with my boy Kon right now. This is more for myself than anything else (just trying to organize my thoughts) but since some of y’all like to hear me talk about comics (and some of this discussion has already been happenin in my inbox) I figured i’d format it and put it on here too! its like 4k words and written over the last few days mostly at 3am. sorry <3

this is basically just me going like

Also fair warning that like, I can be wrong and misinterpret things just as much as anyone else can, like I use panels to support why I think what I do but a lot of this stuff is subjective/complicated to understand so like... in general somethings should be taken with a grain of salt, especially because exactly what changes to the universe were made by Death Metal/Infinite Frontier haven’t been super super clearly defined yet. Also sometimes comic writers make the most random nonsensical shit happen, so I as a fan am also allowed to theorize about random nonsensical shit.

But to start: let’s backtrack!

Many months ago when Infinite Frontier was first announced they dropped some promotional art, and I remember being a little confused because. Well:

(Variant Cover spread for Justice League (2018) #59)

(Variant Cover spread for Superman (2018) #29)

Notice how Conner is back to his Teen Titans 2003 look up top, but in his YJ 2019 look at the bottom? This seemed weird to me! But then they announced that Conner would be part of the Suicide Squad ongoing title, in the T-shirt look, so I wrote this discrepancy off in my brain as ‘oh I guess that cover was just the last hurrah for punk Kon’ and moved on with life.

In Suicide Squad right away we learn he’s very much so there against his will:

(Suicide Squad (2021) #1)

Which corroborates more or less what we were also shown in Future State: Suicide Squad, although admittedly it tells... a slightly different version of the events. When I first saw both of these together I just chalked it up to being a bit inaccurate as it’s shown as a memory in Future State:

(Future State: Suicide Squad #2)

Issue 2 we saw him in action with the Squad, trying to do his best to still be a hero despite the team, but things get a little more interesting in the following issue. It starts off with an account of his history

(Suicide Squad (2021) #3)

This page gave me a few immediate red flags, mostly minor things that had to do with coloring, so more irl problems than things to take seriously in-universe (Kon’s pants are the wrong color in the first Superboy shot, and Bart’s Impulse costume is in Kid Flash colors instead of the correct Impulse ones) but then also it just bugged me the phrasing “he joined Young Justice” when he was a founder of the team, he didn’t join it he made it with Tim and Bart.

But again, chalked that stuff up to just.... writers/artists being inconsistent/unaware of things that they should be aware of, or even Nocturna just not being specific with details. But it did still strike me as a little odd considering the very accurate use of villains in those same shots, Scavenger who was a reoccurring bad guy from Kon’s solo days and showed up basically nowhere else (even holding the Spear of Lono and everything!) and Billy/Harm (Greta’s brother) from Young Justice.

But then a few pages later we got this:

(Suicide Squad (2021) #3)

Which is interesting. My first instinct was to think he’s being drugged w kryptonite or something thats leaving him hazy/out of it, but my thoughts on that have kinda changed, we’ll get there in a bit. But in general the context of ‘something’s wrong’ made the slight discrepancies on some details of his own history make more sense.

I also want to then bring up the next part to this story, the crossover issue in Teen Titans Academy.

(Teen Titans Academy #3)

So a few things. Does it feel weird to anyone else that Conner Kent, a known previous Titan who literally has a framed picture of himself in a case there, would set off alarm sensors like that? Wouldn’t he be... recognized as a Titan not an intruder by their sensors? Interesting! Anyways.

He looks really pained looking at that picture, and sad, and almost frustrated, which ya know makes sense and hurts my heart because he misses them! He misses his friends and being happy.

But, importantly for a criticism I wanna make thats less theory related and more just me bein annoyed at Tim Sheridan, that’s a picture of Conner. Right there. That’s Superboy, on display at Teen Titans Academy, so the people who frequent this building would know who he is and what he looks like and be able to recognize him, he’s even in the same outfit and everything. Alinta recognized him at the end of Suicide Squad #3.

So why does only one person during this big fight then comment on his presence?? Why doesn’t it get a bigger reaction???

(Teen Titans Academy #3)

And after the fight we don’t see any on panel moment of Wallace going up to the staff Titans (who weren’t present for the fight) and saying like “HEY NIGHTWING UHHH SUPERBOY WAS WITH THE SUICIDE SQUAD?” we just see him talking with his friends upset about Crush leaving. We see Alinta talking to them but we don’t see the exact dialogue. So I do just wanna take the writer by the shoulders and shake him a little bit and ask WHY because that just feels like... something you’d wanna address on panel! This is like the first time since joining the squad that Kon’s at all in contact with people from his life before Waller got involved, I feel like not addressing those people’s reactions to it/not discussing it at least a little bit on panel (especially when Conner CAME UP in the previous TTA issue, Dick brought him up and everything!!!) is a really odd choice. Maybe it’ll happen next issue and i’m just impatient, but who knows. Anyways, gripes with Sheridan aside, lets move on.

I wanna bring up how Conner... doesn’t really respond to Wallace’s question? At all? Except to just fight him off, not even an attempt at a ‘Sorry’ or anything? (the ‘Ha! That all you got?!’ seems to be coming from Culebra not Conner, although the placement of the bubble is vague enough it could be that it was supposed to be Conner? but it seems more like what she’d say, especially as she’s grabbing Emiko like that) That just feels weird. It feels off. In general he speaks so little in Suicide Squad #3 and this issue. Tbh it almost feels like he doesn’t really recognize Wallace which I mean I suppose they never exactly met (they would have theoretically during Death Metal, basically all past/present Titans were together for a while during that), but Kon’s been back in existing long enough he’d have a sense of who current heroes are anyways.

But right, so, lots of little things that feel weird... that gets us caught up to the most recently released comics... but in this household we look at solicits as they drop. Which gives us some info on what’s coming up a few months ahead of time, albeit without full context obviously. Issues #4 and #5 don’t mention Conner in their descriptions or show him on the covers at all, because there’s just other plot things going on, so ya know seems things will be quiet for him for a bit.

But then we got the August solicitations and oh BOY it’s a doozey for him! And some things start to kinda connect perhaps!

I want to just take a moment to look at that specific wording. “The teen calling himself Conner Kent” I’m probably reading too much into it but that feels deliberate, like why wouldn’t you just say ‘Conner Kent’? Usually these kinds of descriptions are trying to keep a low word count, not add in extra words that don’t need to be there. It makes it feel like that’s a name he’s using that... doesn’t actually belong to him.

So the theory I want to propose (that has been floating around already) is that based on these covers and the description, and how the Conner we’ve been seeing in Suicide Squad apparently talks about his own personal history like he’s ‘reading a wikipedia entry’ and had little response to people he should be aware of like Wallace and apparently isn’t recognized as a Titan through a bio-scan and also bearing in mind those initial promo arts with two separate looks at the same time for him... I think we're looking at a situation where the Conner in Suicide Squad so far has actually been a clone of original Conner (like... like he’s Match 2.0 or somethin) the whole time, that’s just not aware he’s not the original.

Now that’s the base theory I wanna work with and build off of, but there’s MANY different directions that could go in/ways that could work.

For example, one idea is that the Conner we saw in #1 who was chained up is the original Conner, and he’s been being cloned and held captive, so everything else with Conner in Suicide Squad so far has been this Match 2.0

Another idea could be the original Conner in #1 is also the Conner in #2 who Waller had then commented wasn’t ready during the mission in Arkham and had zapped with a lil Kryptonite, and after that moment she took him off the field because his spirit hadn’t been broken enough to be obedient (as he was a lot quieter in Issue #3 & the TTA crossover compared to #2, and #3 is when the Nocturna thing with the history happened)

Or it could even be original Conner in #1, then in #2 was one clone that wasn’t ‘ready’ that after that point she stopped using him, and switched to a diff clone for #3, because like that first cover did show a LOT of clones. That could be more just ‘artistic interpretation’ or something, covers sometimes do exaggerate/mislead, but it also could indicate we’re looking at a lot of clones.

(Suicide Squad (2021) #2)

With all of those in mind I also wanna bring up this little bit from Future State Suicide Squad:

(Future State: Suicide Squad #2)

Again Future State is a ‘possible future’ so stuff from it isn’t set in stone, but the idea of ‘she still has his YJ 2019 outfit somewhere’ makes me think it could be something along the lines of like, Clone!Conner finds original Conner and frees him and he gets back his YJ outfit, which could lead to like the imagery on that variant cover/the idea from my very first part of this post where I was talking about Kon being shown in both outfits in different places.

Alternatively entirely from all that, another option is that she maybe got ahold of what was needed to clone Kon, but doesn’t even have the original Kon in her possession. (again with the Future State thing, she could be lying since elsewhere in Future State we did also see a copy of YJ 2019 Kon’s costume in one of the Jon-focused Future State comics in a display case 🤷‍♂️) Which could also lead to that confrontation on the variant cover & the promo art thing... and could also explain why we have seen nothing about anyone looking for him, because in that sort of scenario he wouldn’t have even been missing in the first place.

There’s a lot of possibilities! It’s still too early to solidly know anything, but I feel pretty confident we’re entering another cloning related plot with our Clone Boy so it’s... ya know. Clone time. On the one hand it’s annoying because god we have done clone/multiple Kons plots before. We’ve done them so much.

BUT on the other hand, I think it could be interesting to use this situation to tie into some older stuff from pre-reboot that I can see some connections to, because due to Infinite Frontier altering the world and people’s memories it’s all technically fair game storytelling-wise again (and like, the use of Scavenger specifically in that flashback way above, who’s not a super well known villain in general, makes me think maaaaybe the writer did do some of their Kon homework)

Something also just dawned on me that i’m not quite sure what it means but still is worth mentioning: The Conner here in Suicide Squad is back in his Teen Titans Vol. 3 outfit, and his history as he tells it stops during Teen Titans Vol. 3. And doesn’t... mention when he died? It feels like it... stopped before that, because like I feel if he was telling his life history (even the wiki version LMAO) the part where he died and came back would be pretty important to bring up?? And Nocturna specifically says that he didn’t explain how that stuff from TT Vol. 3 then led to him in his current situation. That’s a pretty big gap (like uhhh everything from resurrection until he got lost on Gemworld + all the rest of the Young Justice 2019 stuff?) So like.. there could be something funky going on here that has to do with that.

Similarly when he flashes back in Future State: Suicide Squad to his past it also goes right from Teen Titans Vol. 3 to the current Suicide Squad run? Like I get it’s one page so they can’t show that much, but the fact that there’s now two places that flash back to that same specific time period and nothing past it until the Suicide Squad feels just... noticeable! Not concretely indicative of something, but noteworthy.

(Future State: Suicide Squad #2)

Like...this almost has me thinking maybe it could be something where like, they tampered with his dead body and cloned from that? BECAUSE, for those of you who may not be familiar with how Kon’s resurrection (during Final Crisis: Legion of 3 Worlds) worked, when he came back there was time travel involved! He was brought back to life in the future (like. Legion of Superheroes era) because it was a process that took that thousand or so years to work/heal him (essentially because of his hybrid dna the process that healed Clark when he had died back in Death of Superman/Reign of the Supermen in the 90s just took a lot longer, but its the same Kryptonian healing chamber thing) meaning when he came back to the present alive again, his dead body was still also in the present just in it’s process of healing. Meaning especially if we’re bringing back stuff from before the reboot, Kon likely has his dead body just vibing out there while he’s goin around living life 🤷‍♂️

SO them doing something related to that could explain the choice to put him back in the T-shirt (since thats what he wore in the era his brain would be caught up to if we’re relating this to when he died) and why he’d recognize himself in a group photo with Bart, Cassie and Tim but maybe not someone like Wallace who didn’t exist back then. I don’t know, this branch of thought is still half baked. Will maybe come back and elaborate on this later. But I’m now really thinking there might be a connection to the early Teen Titans Vol. 3 era specifically because of it being referenced twice in stuff with this Suicide Squad.

ANYWAYS moving on, this is probably a shot in the dark and I only thought of it because I just was reading 90′s Superboy, but right away when thinking about ‘Amanda Waller’ and ‘Cloning Kon’ I was reminded of some stuff about the circumstances around the first clone that was made of Conner: Match.

(Superboy (1994) #35)

Match was created by an organization called ‘The Agenda’, that was after a while primarily under the control of The Contessa, Lex Luthor’s ex-wife, aided by Amanda Spence who had a personal grudge against Kon bc her dad was Paul Westfield the guy Kon was originally cloned from (before the Lex/Clark retcon). They were the big bad guys of an arc called The Evil Factory in Superboy (where Cadmus personnel got replaced with clones) which also then tied into the Sins of Youth event over in Young Justice (Remember how Match was posing as Superboy for a while there? yeah). After those plot lines finished the Agenda was pretty defeated (Amanda Spence was still out there and came back later but still) and... who got their hands on the remaining Agenda tech?

(Superboy (1994) #87)

Why none other than Amanda Waller herself!

If they re-canonized pieces of this (which also tied into Young Justice which ya know, YJ 2019 was all about re-establishing stuff from YJ even before Death Metal happened soooo) it would totally make sense for Waller to have complete access to the exact technology used to clone Conner before.

Now, a thing to consider here though is what happened to Kon after he’d been cloned that first time, where his DNA got all destabilized by the process (and he needed to go through a procedure with Roxy as a genetic template to keep him together, which was how he got stuck at age 16 for a while). This was something where he was fine for a period of time before the side effects began to kick in. Now, I think it’s worth mentioning that was also back in the days where he was not yet Lex & Clark’s clone, but still Paul Westfield’s. So there could easily be a ‘now that certain Kryptonian genes have kicked in as he got his newer powers it doesn’t destabilize him the same way’ reasoning or something along those lines to avoid this problem. Alternatively, it could be an interesting thing to embrace rather than retcon away, especially if we’ve been seeing Clone Conner in action and Original Conner hasn’t been in our focus, things could be wrong with him that we just don’t know about.

Another branch of thinking that I think is even MORE a shot in the dark but could be interesting (or again even related to what I just said, could be a combo of things) is if this somehow ended up related to those clones that were reverse engineered from the remains of Match from the very end of Teen Titans Vol. 3

(Teen Titans (2003) #99)

All of them were then taken down with Kryptonite and killed in battle (by Rose & Damian)

(Teen Titans (2003) #100)

But like... idk man if Waller got her hands on those corpses or even just the data from Dr. Caligan that he extracted from Match to make them... that could also be a potential way to make some new Conner clones, and that could be why the bio-scan thing at Titans Tower wouldn’t work properly because of the thing he says above about it not being a “complete match’

One thing I don’t think is the case, but has been brought up to me, is stuff with New 52 Kon. I’ve talked extensively about New 52 Kon in recent weeks because I read through all his stuff, but the thing that makes me shy away from him being part of this situation is the fact that... he’s not interchangeable with Kon the way I think some people think he is. He wouldn’t visually be recognized as Original Kon because he is literally on a genetic level a separate person. They’d prob look related, sure, like they’d pass for brothers because they both have Clark’s DNA, but New 52 Kon has Lois’ DNA and Original Kon has Lex’s. New 52 Kon would likely look more like Jon, rather than Kon. Lois specifically commented in an Action Comics issue that Kon had some resemblance to Lex, even. So like, things like Wallace recognizing him or him looking at his own matching reflection alongside the group picture at the Tower... those wouldn’t happen the same way if this was New 52 Kon.

Now I think it coooould theoretically be possible for Waller to have gotten her hands on that future N.O.W.H.E.R.E. cloning tech that had been used to make New 52 Kon, like I wouldn’t rule that out. Because she knows where the remains of their bases are as shown in Red Hood and the Outlaws (2016) #16-17, and like, Harvest is dead so she could easily just send teams out there to gather shit if she wanted.

Onto some other things I don’t think are actually related but that I was reminded of/wanted to address:

I feel i’d be a bad timkon fan if during all of this discussion of past stories with cloning Kon I didn’t even bring up Tim’s cloning attempt stuff, but I think it would ultimately be unrelated. His tech was stolen from Luthor, and his attempts didn’t succeed because he was trying to build from scratch without Cadmus’ the data about how they altered the DNA from the original process.

(Teen Titans Vol. 3 #34)

Then that initial cover for the annual really reminded me of part of the Hollow Men story from Superboy Vol. 5 just with like... Kon in a room full of copies of himself. I don’t think this story would be related either because it was more magic Tannarak stuff rather than regular cloning, but ya know. It’s the imagery.

(Superboy Vol. 5 #9)

It also really reminded me of the stuff from Hyper-Tension which was hypertime stuff not cloning but again just... visually.

(Superboy Vol. 4 #62)

In general I don’t think we’re EVER gonna see Black Zero or any of these multiverse Superboys again LMAO.

To try to sum up all of this in a way that might make sense here’s kinda a... flowchart of some of my main ideas for what the cloning situation could be/how the logic could work. Again this is borrowing stuff from across continuities because Infinite Frontier means theoretically anything’s fair game. (Also I don’t think I mentioned this earlier but I do mention it in the chart, but I think it’s also reasonable that Waller could get her hands on Cadmus tech if Cadmus is like properly made canon again. She just has funky government connections!)

Also I just now thought of this now several hours after I already made the chart and I don’t wanna remake it so sorry not incorporating it there but I remembered there was also that bit during House of Kent where Clark took Kon to the Hall of Justice and they were running some tests on him, so I’m thinking it’s also possible Waller got ahold of that data/that might be how she found out about Kon in the first place for this timeline. And they indicated that there was something wrong with him there, where he might eventually lose his powers or something, so maybe she tried to do cloning stuff to be able to have a copy of Superboy in his prime or something??? before that started kicking in. I don’t know, just more things to consider:

(Action Comics (2016) #1028)

ANYWAYS in conclusion: there is clone fuckery of some sort happening, I’m curious where it’s gonna go, and I just want Kon to be okay.

If you actually read this uhm. props to you bc this probably makes no sense to anyone but me its just word vomit <3

#this is very long! and disorganized! i am sorry #this doesn't have one theory abt things it has like. many #its basically just brainstorming/spitballing ideas #i could also be entirely off base! with much of this! i just feel i need that disclaimer #grandpa max is god? i go to church now #i need a kon talk tag bc i swear i write more analysis stuff like this for him than anyone else

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akisata-moved · 3 years

Text

a little bit of divine worldbuilding 🕊️

hi everyone! i said i would make a post about my angel worldbuilding and the lore surrounding it, so here we are. let's get into this!

(as a forewarning: this got really long really fast. sorry lol)

i. at the beginning of the universe: what's the deal with god, heaven, and hell?

you know... this guy. ...or, guys? i use they pronouns for god, not because they're nonbinary rep or anything but because the classic collection uses they pronouns for god because they are literally plural. so, multiple guys.

a. the universe's first inhabitants 🌟

we can't have angels (or anything, really) without god. so... what is god?

to put it simply, "god" is a small collective of beings that hail from a primordial race of creatures called aeons. contrary to popular belief, "god" did not create the universe as a whole.

that being said, they WERE the first beings to exist in the universe; gifted with near-immortality and the power of creation, they were essentially burdened the cosmic purpose of bringing the universe to life. think of them as... like, demiurges, really. despite being the first beings in the universe, they didn't really start popping up until ~370,000 years into the universe existing.

(whether or not there is a "supreme" being above them isn't something i've given TOO much thought to. my working idea is that the universe is quite literally a supreme being in itself.)

so, our "god" is not the only ones of their kind. there isn't a large amount of them, but considering the size of the universe and how it's ever-expanding... there's enough of them to go around, you know.

as the early stages of the universe progress, they start to become aware of the existence of each other. it's difficult to be what is essentially a god and be unaware of the presences that surround you.

the attitudes that they held towards each other varied from aeon to aeon. some of them worked in tandem, others remained solitary. some of them competed with others, and others dedicated themselves to watching over their corner of the universe and making it a home.

there weren't many "overstepped boundaries" in the infinitely expanding stretch of space they had at their disposal. in the early stages of the universe, there was no need for that kind of thing. they all mostly stayed in their own lanes.

during the early epochs, they mostly just spent their time experimenting, growing and changing, and learning the ins and outs of their little cosmic playground.

due to the nature and scope of their abilities, and their immortality, they were mostly aware that their exploits were relatively infinitesimal. they had a very acute awareness that every planet and galaxy they created would eventually crumble.

similarly to their attitudes towards each other, the attitudes they held towards their creations varied. some liked to stay disconnected, and hopped from creation to creation, moving on as soon as they finished working on their little project. others were more involved.

in regards to their abilities, they aren't omnipotent. in fact i wouldn't even really call them omnificent. if there was a way to describe what they were able to do, it would be... transmute? the universe provided all the materials for creation, and so it was their job to use their divine power to... make something with it, really. they can't create something out of absolutely nothing. there has to be something for them to make stuff.

they also don't really have any kind of set moral compass. so none of them are inherently evil, good, bad, whatever.

of course, given the fact that they mostly reside in space (we'll get to what exactly "heaven" is in a little), they aren't necessarily bound to one physical shape or form. we love shapeshifters.

b. the devilman "god", and the prison of light 🕯️

the devilman "god" is a trio of aeons who bonded over a certainty and awareness of what they wanted from the universe. they strove to create something perfect— something beautiful. better than every other creation out there. other aeons' work was... sloppy, imperfect, and quite ugly.

as stated before, the aeons aren't necessarily physical beings. that makes it really easy for them to fuse with each other, as they aren't really bound to any kind of physics or laws governing their consciousnesses and bodies.

"so are they a hivemind" not necessarily? they're all just... fused together. the pros of fusing together like that means that one single entity now has the power of three aeons, which lets them do a lot more than if they were all separate, and on a larger scale. god is a throuple

they probably aren't the only aeon group to do this, honestly.

fun note: the devilman "god" never refers to themselves as another aeon. they always refer to themselves as a "god", and it's mainly just because they think they're better than the rest of the aeons lol. i'll be referring to them as god from here on out just because it's easier.

so, then what? god decides that they need a place for themselves. a pocket of space only for them (+ eventually, the angels). they needed a home base of sorts, a place that represented their vision as they imagined it. and so, they created heaven.

so what even is heaven? it's essentially a sub-universe, or a pocket of the universe that god hid away just for themselves.... and for the angels, which were created afterwards.

once again, i doubt heaven is the only realm of its kind. i doubt that god is the only aeon who had the idea for a "home base" of sorts.

heaven started out as a home just for god, but as angelic society grew, it eventually turned into a whole kingdom. that being said, god still has a palace Just For Them at the very top layer of it!

people don't go to heaven. nope. that doesn't happen. mainly because it's not an "afterlife".

after god created heaven and the angels, heaven because a home for all of them. heaven was created to be perfect (in the eyes of its creator), or as close to perfect as god could manage while also having a species with (sort of) free will residing within it.

heaven is almost like a hidden galaxy, except a LOTTT smaller.

heaven is mostly made up of clouds and solid energy. there are actually five layers of heaven; one for each sphere of the angelic choir, one for the Archangels, and one for god.

that isn't to say that the angels are confined to one layer. they can freely travel about, it's just that they'll usually spend time in the layer dedicated to their sphere, unless they're stationed to work elsewhere.

the need for more and more angels became more important as time went on. god became more... power hungry, and they fell harder into the belief that they alone were the ones worthy of the universe. they eventually gained a very hostile attitude towards other aeons and cosmic societies. this wasn't unheard of, really, but considering how most of them stayed in their own lanes, having god be all... aggressive was a little bit of a shock. needless to say, this resulted in the formation of enemies... and other forms of cosmic politics.

heaven and angelic culture has a lot of emphasis on architecture! ...although, not in a way you would expect. the best way i can explain it is that it's very... suess-like.

lots of staircases, lots of columns, lots of... that kind of thing...

while we're on the topic of sub-universes, we can talk a little about hell, too.

hell was actually created by the universe itself, not by the aeons or god or anything. it has always existed, and is sort of a universal collection all life and souls. sorta like the universe's garbage can for all dead things.

it’s less of an eternal resting place and more of an intermediary location you go while the universe works to basically recycle your soul and convert it back to its original state.

ii. what is an angel?: a little on angelic society

a. the angelic choir at a glance📜

angelic society as a whole is referred to as the angelic choir.

the main thing about angelic society is that it's split into different spheres based on how much power an angel has/the specific task they were made to do.

why do angels exist in the first place? they were made to be servants of god, and basically do everything that they do... for them. so, deliver messages, be soldiers, do tasks and chores and watch over the things god makes... all that kind of thing.

angels have free will, but were created with an ingrained sense of duty that usually outweighs said free will. or perhaps it influences their free will. hard to tell. that being said, most angels will not do anything if it directly contradicts their purpose.

also, angels are not inherently “good” aligned. like I said, they have free will, which means they have choices. angels can be shitty people! whether or not an angel “falls” has nothing to do with what their character is like, and everything to do with whether or not they are defiant to God.

not a lot of angels do defy god, either. an angel being kicked out of heaven is pretty rare.

anyways, back to the angelic choir... there are three spheres of angel, each with three types of angel in them. the highest ranking angels are the first order of the first sphere, and the lowest ranking are the third order of the third sphere. yeah.

in the first sphere you have the seraphim, cherubim, and thrones. the first sphere angels are the only angels that tend directly to god.

the second sphere is made up of the dominations, the virtues, and the powers.

the third sphere consists of the principalities, the arches, and the angels (generic term).

Archangels are above the first sphere in rank. they're the most powerful angels, and there aren't very many of them.

b. archangels and the angels of the first sphere🔥

Archangels, as stated before, are the most powerful angels and the ones with the most important duties. they're mostly angelic supervisors that manage angels with different specialties. who are the archangels? before lucifer's fall, there were eight different archangels.

jophiel (archangel of wisdom and inspiration), chamuel (archangel of divine justice), gabriel (archangel of revalation), raphael (archangel of healing), uriel (archangel of truth and light), zadkiel (archangel of healing), and, of course, michael (archangel of strength and courage) and lucifer (archangel of love and empathy).

the first sphere angels are the angels that are closest to god, and the only ones that can interact where with them directly. they're the least... replaceable angels, except for the archangels. that's why they don't really leave heaven.

the seraphim are the bodyguards of the throne, and those who directly guard and protect both god's palace and the different layers of heaven itself. they're stationed just about everywhere on the fifth layer of heaven, and then scattered about in the other layers just to keep an eye on everything. they're also stationed at the entrances and exits.

they're busy a LOT of the time. they take their jobs very seriously.

the seraphim are the angels that interact the most with god. the cherubim and the thrones do, too, but not as frequently.

the tradition when interacting with god is to cover their faces and bodies with their wings when interacting directly with them. it's a sort of humbling thing, to show that they regard themselves as lesser than them. just out of respect.

the cherubim are the celestial recordkeepers of heaven, and the ones that really hold the knowledge of god and heaven.

they're known for their wisdom, and they keep records of everything that happens in their part of the universe. nothing goes undocumented, really. heaven's historians are also cherubim.

along with keeping records of events, they also keep track of all of the angels that are created, and those that come in and out of heaven. and those who go out and dont come back. yeah.

jophiel is the archangel who supervises the cherubim.

the thrones are some of the most intellectual angels and have wonderful minds. they serve as both teachers, guides, and counselors for the lower ranks of the angels.

they're the ones in charge of receiving orders from god and dishing out duties to the lower ranks (dominations, mostly) and explaining them. celestial teachers, really. they're very engaged with the rest of angelic society, and are always willing to offer an explanation or a helping hand to other angels.

they're also the head order that deals with cosmic laws and making sure everything that god makes works the way it's supposed to. god doesn't really have time to keep everything in check themselves, so it's up to the thrones and the virtues to make sure their creation... functions like it should.

lucifer was supposed to the archangelic supervisor of the thrones...? but, uh... that didn't exactly.... uh.... work out....

after lucifer was cast out, jophiel was put in charge of both the thrones and the cherubim. it's a lot of work for one angel, really, but she doesn't mind.

c. angels of the second and third spheres☄️

the first order of the second sphere is the dominations. think of these guys as... well, management.

they're in charge of managing the angelic kingdoms, and of regulating the second sphere angels in lower orders.

they help keep everyone organized. there's a lot of things to keep track of.

the dominions get their orders from the thrones (who receive orders from god), and pass along orders to the principalities in the third sphere along with the virtues and powers. it's just a big chain.

zadkiel is the archangel in charge of the dominations rank. he also deals with some of the stuff that the principalities handles, but mostly sticks to dominations.

the second order of the second sphere is the virtues. if seraphim are the guards and watchers of heaven itself, then the virtues are the watchers of the universe (well, god's part of the universe, anyways).

they watch over everything god creates, from planets, galaxies, luminaries, and other celestial bodies to make sure the cosmos are in order. and that nothing is going wrong.

they work closely with certain thrones angels for this reason.

it's actually very important to make sure shit isn't going wrong. especially considering how their god's... hostile attitude... attracts some not so friendly faces.

uriel is the archangel in charge of the virtues, and because of the close ties between the virtues and the thrones, he quickly became good friends with lucifer.

the powers are the third order of the third sphere, and they make up the angelic army.

can basically be split into two groups— soldiers and healers. the soldiers were originally led by chamuel, but the job was pretty much taken over by michael once he showed up, and chamuel instead switched gears to deal more with strategizing after that. raphael supervises those more geared towards healing.

running an army is hard work, turns out. there's a lot that goes into it.

the third sphere is the most populous sphere; they're like worker bees. they're very easy to replace, and are very expendable.

third sphere angels actually leave heaven a lot. they deal with intergalactic relationships.

in the first sphere, the principalities are the main managers of the lower-ranking arches and angels. they're very similar to the dominations in that regard, and they actually get their orders from them. like i said before... it's a big chain.

they're the ones that are stuck dealing the most with cosmic politics.

arches are celestial envoys, while your everyday angels work as messengers, running back and forth between heaven and other places in space. angel postal service!

the angels and arches are also assigned most of the mundane tasks not given to any higher ranks.

usually the angels go out in groups, because there's safety in numbers, and space is REALLY big. at least one arch will accompany an angel group, and on occasion, a principality will come too, depending on how important things are.

that being said, there have been many, many instances where angels don't come back. sometimes they get lost. this happens more often than it should.

gabriel is the head messenger archangel. he's the postmaster. angel. guy.

d. okay i'll bite. what are angels made of. aka, angel physiology 🌠

angels are special. lol.

they're made of photon energy (in the case of most angels) and thermal energy (in the case of seraphim).

(lucifer is an Archangel, so he is... as stated above, made of photons.)

as stated before, god can't create something out of nothing. the energy needed to create angels actually is specific to the energy emitted from dying stars. every angel comes from the death of a star.

so, this means a couple of things. first of all, as angels are created, not born, they don't actually have a functional reproductive system. because they weren't created with the intention of reproduction. the genitalia is decorative essentially tbh. also, every angel looks like this. it's definitely not a reproductive thing. it's entirely aesthetic.

"romance" is essentially nonexistent in angel culture. uh, they all see each other as some kind of equivalent of siblings, considering they were all made directly by the same creator. they all refer to god as their parents, and so they all see each other as siblings.

(that being said, it's not like they're incapable of love or anything. ryosatanlucifer retains his feelings for akira even after he turns back into an angel, so it's not like he can't feel love or anything like that. i mean, that should be obvious, but i felt the need to specify anyways)

the second thing this: angels lack all forms of physical sensation. their bodies are... kind of numb to all sense of touch, taste, smell, etc. they are, in some circumstances, intangible. what does that mean? well...

sorry for having so much stuff from go nagai world.... we never got to see satan in the actual ovas </3

they can float through stuff sometimes. their tangibility (on earth) is actually up to them. so, for example, if they wanted to, they could float through a door. or they could open a door by turning the doorknob. though, they wouldn't be able to experience the sensation of actually touching the doorknob.

anywho. there are actual a few variations of angelic appearance depending on what rank of angel they are! i have... erm... drawn a few examples of some of the angels, but not a whole lot? ahh.... there they are anyways. some of the descriptions are a little outdated bc i've changed into since then but YEAH!!

Archangels, at the very top of the angelic choir, are beautiful with 12 large snow-white wings— two on the head, two from the shoulderblades, two on the middle back, two on the lower back, on on each arm and one on each ankle. they’re all nearly identical- though, most of the angels within each order looks nearly identical. they’re identical in the way that cats of the same coat color and breed are identical. michael and lucifer are actually identical, though, because they’re like real life twins, and are born from the same star. yeah!

seraphim are made from condensed thermal energy rather than light energy. they’re super hot. Lol. they have 10 wings (head, shoulders, lower back, arms, and ankles) unlike the Archangel’s 12. They’re warmer in color scheme than the Archangels, which are usually a sort of yellow-white color? they glow. seraphim are more red-orange because they’re… heat. They also have the ability to manifest flames out of their body, though it’s kind of just for show considering how it can't really do anything.

the cherubim are covered in eyes. or, their wings are covered in eyes- they have 8 of them! wings, I mean (head, shoulders, lower back, and ankles). they have way more than eight eyes. Also, they can open eyes up on their bodies when they get really stressed or angry! it’s a fun neat cherubim trait. all the cherubim are so tired. let them go home please.

the thrones are the third order in the first sphere of the Angelic choir, and these are our ringy-boys. they're the angels with the most emphasis on halos- they can make them spin really fast and manifest more rings around them whenever they feel strongly or honestly just when they want to. they’re usually surrounded by them, just as a sort of status thing. they typically serve as messenger angels (delivering orders to the second sphere) and bodyguards for the cherubim. they have 6 pairs of wings (head, shoulders, and lower back).

from there on out appearance is mostly dictated by sphere— second sphere angels (dominations, virtues, and powers) have two sets of wings (on the head and the shoulders), while first sphere angels (principalities, arches, and angels) have only one set of wings on their shoulders, and look pretty similar to the standard depiction of angels.

e. some more about angel culture in general

i just wanted to share some more fun little details about angel culture, because there IS stuff beyond work for these guys lol

society is really easy to be sustained when there's no need for "hard labor", and when everyone is created with a sense of purpose. and the fact that they don't really need to eat or anything.

since there isn't much of a need for extra work outside of everyone's Assigned Jobs, when there is free time, it's mostly dedicated to the arts. there's actually a LOT of focus on art in angelic culture!

though, it's a lot less... genuine? than "human art". the idea of "perfection" is heavily exalted in angelic society, mainly because that's what god wishes for, and god is the One Real Authority in their society. a lot of angelic art tries to reflect this idea of perfect beauty that they've had drilled into their heads from the beginning of their existence.

of course, perfection is unachievable for the angels. so sad.

art that depicts any kind of "flaw" is entirely unheard of. angels are the ultimate perfectionists.

since none of the angels actually LOOK at god (the archangels and first spheres cover their eyes with their wings when they come in direct contact with them), a lot of art is actually of god. it's always sort of a contest to see how perfectly and beautiful they can depict god. it's a form of worship, really.

they do have a written language. but "novels" aren't really a thing. they aren't super big on fiction. what's the point of that?

instead, they use written language to keep historical accounts, archive events, and write PSALMS. so so many psalms. they really love to write music dedicated to praising their god.

"music" in quotes, because it's... not exactly comparable to human music. it's angel music, guys. cmon.

they also like writing poetry a lot.

because of the way they worship perfection in art/writing, things end up feeling a little bit... sterile? yeah.

obviously, since they are in space, they don't use any kind of timescale similar to days/hours/weeks/etc. there's a sort of "day" equivalent in which things are a lot... brighter? but that's really it.

angels don't age, either. they have no concept of age.

they do have another consistent method of keeping time, though, and it's based on how long it takes for angels (third rank of the third sphere) to be created. lower rank angels are really being produced at a constant rate, to make up for losses, so it's easy to divide time this way. the time it takes to make one angel = one angelic "day".

they don't really have any equivalent of years, instead naming longer periods of time (ages) after whatever archangel was created last. so, the age of gabriel, or the age of uriel.

when michael and lucifer were made At the same Time, the cherubim got into a lot of arguments over who to name the age after. it wasn't like there was any way to choose between the two.

so they just decided on both eventually. lol. they called it the age of lucifer and michael.

after lucifer well, a new Age started. so the age of lucifer and michael and the age of michael are two separate time periods.

michael is sooooooooooooo cocky about that, too. what a bitch.

anyways, like stated before, the idea of perfection is super important to angels. to them, god represents the ULTIMATE perfection.

and on that same note, talking bad about god, and going against god's will, is a very big NO!!!!!!. they REALLY do not do that.

.......okay!!!!!!!! whew!

that was a LOT, but if you read all the way through... mwah! thank you so much for listening to my thoughts!!!! i might make a separate post about lucifer's history/his relationships with the other angels/his fall later on. but for now.... here's just some basic stuff about angels and how they work!!! yeah!!!!!

#devilman #hi i made this post because i ... erm... saw some other posts that just horrified me today<3 #how is everyone else doing.#me pulling info from three different word docs i have up rn #tbh... i dont expect anyone to read this. this more of a personal post for myself #LONG POST BTWWW #angel stuff #<- new TAG

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itseivwhore · 4 years

Note

Hey can you do something short about ezio and jacob with a sick reader, I have the cold and it's so overwhelming and painful, and I can't help the sore throat

Heyo there anonimo,thank you a lot for requesting this,it's something that I have never written before,so now the time has come! I am glad you sent me this little request just now,for I am having a pretty much rough time lately,so writing this managed to distract me,someway,even if a little...

I started to write this as soon as I saw your request in my inbox,I didn't want to make a reader of mine wait for so long (because 1) you are sick,and I HATE having a sore throat; and 2) I said 'so long' because I take a lot of time in writing my one shots). I hope you will feel better soon!Just stay at home,rest,sleep,all comfy in your warm bed between fluffly blankets aaanddd...read this ;)

So,starting with this little note: I didn't and I don't actually understand what you truly meant with 'something short' ...a mini one shot with BOTH Ezio and Jacob in it?Two separated imagines,each one with Ezio and Jacob?

I don't know,but I have decided,since I have never done this before,to go for modern heacanons (pretty long ones too,so am I forgiven?). I am so sorry if,maybe,I misunderstood you and if you wanted just a whole imagine,or two different ones. Just let me know once you'll read this?Mh?

Now,let's start,shall we?

~~~~~

|°Ezio°| :

"Dolcezza?Are you alright,amore?"

When you returned from a long,tiring,to say the least endless day at work,the first thing you did was to collapse on the sofa,sighing heavily and deeply as you closed your heavy eyes,your head spinning as you tried to melt in with the softness of the sofa.

As soon as you entered the house,you heard a muffled,sweet sound coming from the kitchen,not far from the living room where you had let yourself go;managing to smile slightly when you recognized the familiar voice of Ezio who,while cooking,was busy humming an Italian song you grew accustomed to know,to learn and to sing with him.

But he stopped humming cheerfully when, hearing the sound of the keys in the lock and the loud noise of the door being locked, he did not see you coming.

Usually,every evening and every time you finished your shift at work,once at home,the first thing you did was to run into the arms of Ezio,who constantly and faithfully waited for you to come back:finding him sitting on the sofor preparing dinner,or doing some chores around the house,knowing that you would come back tired after a long day at work...but always happy to find him here,promptly with open arms and with that bright and joyful smile,to hold you in a strong and long embrace and with sweet and passionate kisses,immediately followed by his genuine questions,purely interested in knowing how your day went.

So the guy became quite concerned when he didn't see you running towards of him as usual.And he worried even more when he didn't hear an answer from you,a thousand thoughts that suddenly flooded his mind.

As he left the kitchen,he quickly leaned on the door,softly called your name in a barely audible whisper.

His eyes grew dark with worry as they wandered around the big living room,finding your form lying,almost helpless,on the couch,not moving even a little.

No,you were not alright.

And Ezio understood that immediately.

Walking quickly in the living room,he sat next to your lying form,his eyebrow furrowed,a worried and thoughtful expression on his face when he heard you mumbling something under your breath,your voice being muffled by the couch.

He stretched out a hand,delicately turning your head to the side,rising up a corner of his mouth and giving you a small and sweet smile as he observed,and studied,your visibly tired and weak face,leaning down and pressing his lips on your forehead as he caressed your warm cheeks,you lazily leaning in his gentle touch.

Let's be honest:when Ezio understood that you were not just tired,but you were terribly sick,with a headache and most likely with a fever too,he started to panick a little.

The poor boy was not used to get sick,he rarely did,thanks to all that sun and warm days he grew up with in his homeland.He was not used,at all.

But he knew his things:many times his little brother,Petruccio,got sick,and many times he watched how their mother looked after him.

So,keeping his worry and panick within and for himself,not wanting to worsen the situation and not wanting to make you worried for him,he started to organize everything.

Preparing and fixing the kingsize bed you shared,delicately picking you up and bringing you in your bedroom,laying you on the bed,helping you changing your clothes,leaving chaste kisses all over your warm skin before covering you with layers of warm blankets,pillows all around you;a bottle of water on the nightstand and a glass there too.

Ezio was so devoted and focused,now even more than he already was:laying beside you on the bed,his chin resting on his palm as he gazed at you,softly talking with you,humming lowly,playing with your hair,reminding you how much he loved you,making you flattered,making you giggle amusedly too with his funny,dirty jokes.

"I can't wait to make you tired for another reason,tesoro"

Of course he was there all the time,rushing and running inside the bedroom from wherever he was whenever he heard you calling him,giving you everything you wanted and needed.

"Salute!" every time he heard you sneezing,shouting that loudly and hearing his voice from downstairs.

And,obviously,being the good chef he was,he didn't stop cooking,preparing you some of your favourite dishes,showing up in the bedroom with plates for lunch and hot drinks during the afternoon.

"Don't be uspetti,eat some spaghetti".

Tons and tons and millions of sweet Italian nicknames.

Him occasionally being dramatic,just to make you laugh,throwing himself on the bed beside you as he started to speak and to gesture in a very theatrical way,pretending to be sick too.

Malicious smirks and sly winks when,once you started to feel a bit better and when you were able to leave the bed,he found you standing near his drawer.

His shiny,clearly excited brown eyes wandering all over your body,that smirk only growing more as he saw you wearing one of his t-shirt,obviously way bigger than you,knowing how much you adored wearing them,feeling his perfume on you.

"Stealing my shirts again,I see" seeing Ezio giving you one last grin before walking away.

"Where are you going?"

"You know I can't control myself when I see you wearing my clothes,vita mia!" he shouted,going downstairs.

You were eternally grateful to have Ezio always at your side,helping you to rest and recover,making you smile when you last feel like laughing,making you feel extremely loved,making you feel special and making you feel better for the way he was looking after you.

"Anything for la luce della mia vita"

~~~~~

|°Jacob°| :

"Tea"

That was the first thing that Jacob said when you told him you were sick...not that he didn't already know,anyways.

The younger twin could seem distracted and nonchalant,but underneath all that thick layer of sarcasm and cheeky smiles,his observer side was hidden.

And Jacob watched you,more than he could ever admit;not that you didn't like this,but quite the opposite:you loved as his hazel eyes always watched and observed you in that warm way,you loved as he remembered the smallest details of you,you loved and admired him with all of yourself,because he was the only person in the world who knew you so well.

And the younger Frye also watched you closely,and more importantly,when one weekend evening,while waiting for you to come back from work,he saw you running towards his car,rushing in,soaking wet,head to toe,trembling violently.

Oh,the infamous downpour of the UK!

Jacob knew well,way too well how lethal the violent,sudden winter downpours were.Who knows for how many times he had or stayed at home when he was a child,whole days spent out in his garden in the rain,serious consequence of him getting a rough cold and a high fever.

As soon as you started having the first symptoms of what was preparing to be a severe cold,Jacob didn't waste any time.

Needless to say that,all your protests and all your futile attempts to convince him that you were fine,were not exactly taken into account by him.

Perhaps you were stubborn,not wanting him to worry any more...

But no one could be more stubborn than Jacob Frye himself was.

"You aren't going to win,love.Not with me"

He preferred you staying in the livingroom more than in the bedroom,saying that it was easier for him and that he didn't had to run up and down when he could have you right there,him at your disposal,and you under his attentive gaze.

A lot of pillows and blankets around and on you as you comfortably laid down on the sofa as you took naps there,or as you watched the TV,lights switched off as he lit up some candles all around the living room,making just a relaxed and soft atmosphere.

A lot of pillows.He nearly built a pillow fort.

The younger twin always was there when you needed or called him,finding him standing in front of you in a blink of an eye.

"Your humble servant is here,Miss,to fulfill his duties" saying that in such a solemn way,bowing down and bringing his hand towards his heart as his eyes shone brightly in hearing you giggle.

"Tea cure and heal everything,remember this,darling" that's what Jacob kept on saying every day,almost every hour with a firm tone,it becoming his loyal and faithful motto.

So you bet that Jacob always made sure you had a cup of hot,warm tea between your hands,warming you inside and out.

"Headache?Tea.Insomnia?Tea.Sorethroat?Tea.Stressed?Tea!"

Tea was the answer,and of course the solution,of and for everything.Everything seemed to revolve around tea for that guy,and he had a couple of reasons to defend his thoughts on the subject.

"Earl Grey tea?Or English Breakfast tea?" the choices were infinite,innumerable,intermimable,for you were pretty sure he had all kinds of tea in some specific and hidden drawers of the kitchen.

And oh God,the tea he prepared was something divine,to say at least.Starting to think that,most likely,he was right with all the long speech about his tea being the cure of everything.

If Jacob was good at something,more than anything else,was preparing tea.

You madly loved to watch him preparing it:you sitting on the counter of the kitchen,a big blanket wrapped around your trembling body as your legs swinged forward and backward;adoring to see how focused and precise he was while making it,adoring to see how his brows furrowed in concentration.

But the thing you adored the most in that precise moments,was when he turned around to face you,giving you a big smile,walking towards you and wrapping his muscular arms around your middle,pulling you closer to himself,really and truly warming you so well,swinging you lazily;closing your eyes,a genuinely happy smile on your lips as you placed your head on his broad chest,his slow heartbeat calming you.

Obviously,his sarcastic and witty will was still there,accompanying him and his words every hour of the day.Cocky answers and sassy phrases filling his cheerful voice,not helping but feeling proud of himself when he managed to gift you of a laughter and of a smile,feeling incredibly glad in seeing you getting better day by day.

But that smug behaviour quickly faded away when Evie started to visit you,checking upon you,making sure that her twin brother was doing a good job.

His sister telling you some little,funny stories about a younger Jacob when he had colds,which,as you knew,was not rare.Making you laugh in a purely amused way in hearing how he behaved...

Not that he changed much anyways.

"He was so,so whiny"

"He WaS,sO,sO WhInY.Liar!"

But he didn't care about his pride and ego being a little hurt by all Evie's stories,as long as he heard your amused laugthers and your joyfull smile he loved to bits.

°*TrAnSlAtIoNs!*°

"Dolcezza"= literally:sweetness.Sweetheart;

"Amore" = love;

"Tesoro" = darling;

"Salute!" = bless you;

"Vita mia" = my life;

"La luce della mia vita" = the light of my life.

~~~~~

I know you asked for something short,and well,as you can clearly see this is everything but short.

Anyway,this apart,I hope you'll like it!Pleaseee let me know if you will,even sending me a private message...or not if you want to keep your persona as an anon!Just let me know,I am still a a bit afraid/insecure of what you wanted.An one-shot with both Ezio and Jacob in it?Two mini separated imagines? Guess we will never know.

Cia.

#thanks for the request!#ezio auditore #ezio auditore x reader #ezio auditore modern #ezio auditore imagine #jacob frye #jacob frye x reader #jacob frye modern #jacob frye imagine #assassin's creed #assassin's creed modern #ac modern #assassin's creed headcanons #my writing

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peakywitch · 4 years

Text

Alibi - Sean Wallace

“ Hiya creative human being! I was wondering if you could make an imagine with Sean Wallace using 19,28,54 in which he comes back home after been hiding and find out his girlfriend was pregnant and they have a 2-moth-old baby girl???? Random, I know. Love your writing, bye 💕 “

19. “It’s a long story.” “You made me believe you were dead. For eleven months. I have time.”

28. “What…is this?”

54. “I had no choice.”

words: 3097

TW: strong vocabulary, blood, death and yeah

Jesus i have been writing this shit for months MONTHS now, hope you enjoy it!

MASTERLIST

A year ago

"Marian?" Y/N's voice sounded behind the door of the Wallace residence, alarmed “Marian, your car is outside! Open up, please! "

The knocks of her hand against the door sounded incessant. It was eleven o'clock on a cold and rainy Sunday night. No one was to be seen on the street. Her white sneakers were soaked in water and mud, staining them in strange colors. She had stepped on several puddles while running the blocks that separated her from her mother-in-law.

Through the window, Y/N could see that the light came on in the hallway, letting her know that someone was in the house. Impatient and nervous, she clenched her fingers tightly. When the lock began to click, Y/N bit her lip, and nervously combed her hair.

"Y/N?"

Marian was wearing black satin pajamas that brought out the white of her skin and was barefoot but wearing stockings. How could she?

"You were Sleeping?" Y/N asked, unable to understand the situation.

"Of course, Y/N. Tomorrow I have to work early."

The woman spoke tiredly and calmly, she was not upset.

"So Sean is here." She affirmed, breathing for a second and closing her eyes. She realized that she was holding her breath, or at least taking short breaths.

"Sean is not here." The woman denied.

The girl's eyes widened in fear. Marian knew in an instant that everything was wrong.

It was five in the morning; the moon was still hidden behind rain-laden clouds. Three hundred and fifteen calls had gone out of Y/N's phone to Sean's phone. Marian, with her phone, had sent hundreds of messages and the whole family was alerted. No matter the schedule, there were people on every block in London looking for Sean Wallace.

Each call that was diverted to the mailbox was one more tear than Y/N cried. Finn had been killed a year ago, but this had nothing to do with the anniversary of his father's death. He would have warned Billy, so his brother can explain to us all. This was not typical of him.

Nine months ago

Marian set the food on the black marble table and began to store groceries in each drawer. She started the conversation by suggesting to her daughter-in-law that she go to a doctor, to which she laughed.

"I don't want to go without Sean, I won't do this alone."

The woman rolled her eyes, she was stubborn.

"You will not be alone, Y/N." she whispered, as she put down the milk cartons and hugged the young woman. “I am with you, I will help you with whatever you need. Always."

"I can't do this without Sean, Mar." The girl cried, in the woman's arms "I just can't, I ..."

Marian's heart ached just to see the girl Sean loved so devastated, sad, and desolate. There were no words to comfort her or enough hugs to heal her. Her heart ached, she felt lost.

"I will go with you. I will hold your hand and celebrate with you if it is a boy like you want. I will help you put together the room, the crib ... I will teach you everything I learned with three children." She smiled through tears, as she stroked the girl's hair with teary eyes.

Y/N's arms encircled Marian's body, as she

smiled and affirmed that everything would be fine over and over again.

Three months ago

Y/N was in the hospital bed, her white and pink coat was tied and the sweat on her forehead was dry. Marian was sitting in the chair to the right of the bed. She was reading a magazine while thinking that Y/N was resting.

Although she had her water broken, the doctors found it appropriate for her to rest a couple of hours to regain energy before starting the final stage.

"If Sean doesn't show up today..." Y/N whispered, diverting Marian from her magazine. She raised her eyes and approached the young woman so that she did not have to exert a lot of force "If he doesn't appear these days, then..." she took a deep breath, swallowed with effort, and continued "then he is no longer here with us."

"Y/N, Sean... he..."

“No, he promised. He would never leave me alone in this. No ant moves a damn leaf without the idiot knowing. If he doesn't show up in a week, then he's dead, Marian."

The anger in the girl's voice hit her like a bucket of ice water.

Her son.

Her Sean.

Dead.

Marian's eyes filled with tears, just thinking about it broke her heart. The pain made her ignore the apology the girl whispered. Everything was spinning.

So what if Y/N was right?

What if Sean was dead?

Even with the weight of the woman's words, Marian remained there in the hospital. She moved impatiently in time with the clock on the wall. After three hours of parading down the long, white corridor a few thousand times, the doctor mentioned Y/N's name.

"Yes, I am her family." She responded with a slightly nervous smile to the doctor's question. Marian walked shyly through the door, and there she saw Y/N with a small baby in her arms and a smile as big as the sun on her face. Her eyes were full of tears, and her fingers gently caressed the baby's small nose.

Y/N looked up and saw Marian nervous and anxious at the door, watching from afar.

"And?" she smiled "Wouldn't you like to meet your granddaughter, Marian?"

Marian was able to regain consciousness when she saw the blue eyes of a baby staring at her. Those blue eyes, so typical of Sean. Her eyes were very prominent. She had pink cheeks, a nose as small as a button, and soft, plump lips.

"Say hello to your grandma, Olive."

"Olive Wallace," Marian smiled, "Welcome to the family, beautiful."

Present

Marian, Y/N, and Olive had been the best trio London could have ever met. The baby was a fan of photos, or so it seemed since in each photo she looked excellent. Wherever Y/N and Olive were, Marian was by their side. They took care of each other and helped Y/N rest on days that work took a little longer and Olive wouldn't stop crying. Marian had been faithful to her, teaching her tricks, unthinkable ways of doing things, and offering her a shoulder to cry on when she felt like she couldn't take it anymore.

That afternoon had been like any other. After lunch they both bundled up, Y/N bundled Olive up and went for a walk so they could enjoy the cold with a coffee and a good chat.

When they returned, laughing they opened the door. Olive was sleeping peacefully in her pram and Marian was remembering aloud one of the most disastrous days of her life.

"I swear to God, I love my kids but I would never go back to that damn picnic."

Marian took Olive upstairs so she could put the baby to bed in her adorable pink crib. And while Y/N took off her cover, she walked to the kitchen to start making Olive’s dinner.

Although she was happy and infinitely grateful to Sean's mother for having always been by his side, Y/N kept wondering how this last year would have been with her husband by her side. Would he have taken more photos than Marian? Would he speak to Olive, trying to calm her down all those early mornings before her birth in which she wouldn't let her sleep? And suddenly, among so many questions, her eyes burst into tears when she imagined what it would have been like to paint Olive's room with him, see him full of paint, excited, tired, perhaps frustrated by something with the brush or the color. She couldn't help it, the pain overwhelmed her every time Sean's face appeared in her memory. She couldn't even look at his photos, how would she tell Olive who he is, or was, Sean?

She wiped her tears with the sleeves of her woolen sweater, lightly scraping her skin and looking out the kitchen window that overlooked the backyard. Sean loved that garden. He liked to sit on the grass on the days he had off in the spring and read. Or he would watch Y/N take care of her plants for hours, from sunrise to sunset. Then he would fill her face with kisses, pulling grass out of her hair and putting a flower in her ponytail.

“Sean, I ask you for the love of Olive, don’t be dead. I know you checked the cameras every night, so you will listen to me. Please…” she whispered through tears “please don't be dead, come home, I won't be able to without you. I don't want any of this without you. "

As she got ready to prepare Olive's bottle, she heard the rain begin to fall heavily. The sky seemed to fall, as did Y/N's hopes.

As she waited for the microwave timer to ring, her cell phone rang.

Elliot, she read.

"Hello, Elli." Y/N smiled, tired, and trying to sound normal.

"Are you at home?" he asked, agitated. A shrill horn sounded, a few screams, and more honks.

"What happened?"

"Are you at home, or are you not? I need help!" he yelled, then cursed another driver. She pulled the phone away from her ear, briefly stunned.

"Yes, how far away are you?"

The adrenaline rush of the Wallace family business was something that always left a sweet taste in her mouth. She hated violence, but she was almost addicted to the adrenaline it brought.

"I'm parking outside."

The cell phone fell from Y/N's hand, allowing her to call out to Marian with a yell and run to the door at the same time. She flung it open, watching as Elliot and Bill lowered a man with his face covered in blood.

"Oh shit." Y/N was disgusted, containing the retching.

Elliot and Billy knew Sean and Y/N's house by heart, so they took the dying man to the bathroom.

Or so she thought.

The amount of blood she saw made her dizzy, her eyes closed and her back pinned itself to the wall. After taking a deep breath, she felt Marian close the door.

She corroborated the girl's state with a simple question and a caress on her hair. The poor girl could only smile.

"I think that man is going to die, you know?" laughed sadly Y/N “We can only send money to his wife and children. As we do with everyone. "

Marian's lips were tight, she was disgusted, but Y/N was right. That was something she admired about her, she was always right and it was easy for her to tell the painful truth.

She followed her into the kitchen and watched her sit at the table, staring at the wall. Marian was pouring her a glass of water so she could calm down. They remained silent, and it was not until she had completely drunk the glass that she spoke.

“Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I hadn't met Sean. I think I would still be at my mother's house, without a partner, and with a cat."

“There is no way to know that, Y/N. Because you met him and now that…” the woman stopped short, she wouldn't say it “and now that you are here, we are a family. With Billy, Elliot, Olive… we are a family, okay? And we will be there for you, always."

When she was about to answer, Elliot walked into the kitchen. His shirt was bathed in red, all wrinkled. The bleeding cut on his eyebrow alarmed the two women, and the interrogation soon began.

What happened, why, how, where.

Elliot answered everything. An undercover agent broke his alibi, a gang from a strange-named country, near downtown.

"Where is he?" Y/N asked.

"In Sean's office." Elliot replied.

"What is he doing in Sean's office!?" yelled Y / N, and ran off.

"Y/N!"

Elliot chased her through the house, calling out her name. But Y/N all she heard were complaints from herself, Sean's office? Really?

"You have to ask for my permission, Elliot!" she yelled, reaching the door.

"No, Y/N, we ..."

“You nothing, Elliot. This is my house and Sean’s; you can't put anybody in his office! "

Y/N was furious, the screaming had awakened Olive.

“What even is all of these?!” she screamed, the blood always drove her crazy “Listen to me well…” the woman pointed out to the man covered in blood “when I come back in two minutes, I want my husband's office empty and that man in the bathtub in the downstairs room. I don't want blood on the rugs, because you'll clean it up yourself. You heard me?"

Elliot nodded poker-faced, as he watched the woman walk away from him.

Y/N entered her screaming daughter's room with a tired smile. And having closed the door behind her, she took her in her arms and began to sing a soft song to her so that she could fall asleep.

"Olive... princess, sleep with the little angels, mommy loves you..." she whispered at the end of the song, as she left the sleeping baby back in her crib.

"So, I'm a nobody?" a voice whispered from the door.

Y/N spun as fast as light.

There was Sean.

Bathed in blood, with his hair short and no beard. His face was swollen from several punches and had a new scar on his lip. But still, he had that mischievous smile on him. His eyes were tired, but they still held the same sparkle as Olive's.

"You're dead." Y/N assured.

"No, Y/N, I ..."

"Marian!" Y/N cried out.

The rapid footsteps climbing the stairs were heard throughout the house, Sean did not move his eyes from his wife.

"Sean..." Marian whispered in shock. She looked him up and down, saw the blood, the blows, and the cuts. Then, between tears and a sob, she hugged him. They both hugged tightly, and all Y/N wanted to do was throw up.

The blood, the smell, her husband… everything. Everything made her dizzy.

“Where were you?” she murmured, a shiver bathed her body.

“I am sorry…” he started, but she interrupted him abruptly.

“I don’t fucking care if you are sorry or not! Tell me where the fuck you were, because I just went through the hardest year of my life alone, Sean!” she shouted from the top of her lungs.

“It’s a long story, baby, and I am all beaten up.” He smiled tiredly.

He has the nerve to smile?

“You made me believe you were dead. For eleven months. I have time.” She said, now calmly but cold. “Plus, I had to drive a car while on labor, because you decided to disappear. So, start speaking or I swear to God, Sean Wallace, this time it will be you the one suffering a loss.”

“Y/N…” he whispered, trying to get close to her. He tried to take her hand in his, but she got further away from him.

His smile disappeared and got exchanged with a sad look on his face.

Right there, in Olive’s room, he told both women everything. A deal he did a year ago, enemies, guns, drugs, and city from the third world he had to hide in and every name from the people he had to hide from. They spent two hours listening to Sean’s misfortunes, but Y / N wanted to be able to recriminate everything that made her go through alone and to be able to get rid of the anger that was eating her inside.

"Well, the blood on me is a sign of the end of this problem." He had a nervous look, you could see it even though his face was covered in blood. So much seemed fictitious.

Y/N sighed, getting up after her husband finished telling the story.

"Ok." She whispered, walking out the door of her daughter's room with her in her arms.

Sean wanted to follow her, but Marian recommended him to leave her alone for a while, there was too much information she had to process.

Hours passed, Marian, Elliot, and Billy had left the house hours ago and Y/N still did not speak to Sean. For hours she had been sitting on a blanket in the garden. With a book in her hand and a tea by her side, which was quite possibly already cold.

When the sun was no longer visible on the horizon, that was when Sean became concerned. The chill of the London night was ugly, even worse for a baby. Then it was decided, he took two jackets that were in the room and went outside with a doubting pass.

"Hey…" he whispered, sitting next to her and covering her shoulders with his cardigan. She did not answer.

“Where you watching over us?” she asked, on the verge of tears.

“Couldn’t keep my eyes off of the security cameras.” He laughed shily.

“How many times did you see me…asking for a sign?” she began after a few seconds of silence. “How many fucking times did you see me cry at night, Sean?” she started to shed tears. “While you were God knows where, doing Devil knows what…” he interrupted her.

“Y/N, I told you, I had no choice…”

“No!” she spat “Shut up, Sean! Just… shut the hell up. I dreamed of this reunion every single night and prayed every fucking morning. So just let me tell you I fucking felt. Because I was alone, as alone and desperate as you felt when your dad was killed. So please, just understand I won’t be jumping into your arms right away. Even though I missed you, fuck… I missed you like crazy…” he smiled sadly “I am so, so angry Sean. And I want to make you go away again, but the truth is… I can’t be away from you any longer.”

Sean rested his right arm over his wife’s shoulder, and his hand got her head closer to him, allowing him to kiss her skin for the first time in months. After she got the kiss, she broke down in tears, not being able to compose herself.

“I am sorry, I will never leave you again.” He promised while holding her steady against him.

“I know I left, and I hurt you. But you were never alone, you were being watched over, night and day, you and well, that little munchkin.” He said, timidly.

“You want to hold her for the first time, Sean?”

His face lit up.

#sean wallace headcanon #sean wallace #gangs of london #joe cole #sope fanfiction #sope dirisu #joe cole imagine

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machinations-ii · 3 years

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A Quote to Live by

"Every path is the right path, everything could have been anything else, and it would have just as much meaning"

Mr. Nobody (2009)

One of a lot of movies that scarred me for life. Nemo Nobody (Jared Leto) is 118 years old and reminiscing—on the time he had spent on this planet. His parents separated when he was 9-years-old and he went to live with his mother and her boyfriend, or did he? He might have stayed with his father and fallen in love with Elise. Although he remember falling madly in love with Anna (Diane Kruger), his step-sister and making love to her. His marriage with Elise was a nightmare with Elise suffering from clinical depression and Nemo might have died multiple times. Foreseeing this (Elise’s mental illness) Nemo might have settled with Joan, a girl he met at a party, and had two kids, whose names he can’t remember.

Perplexed, right? So is Nemo because he can’t decide upon the life he has led.

Oh and did I tell you that Nemo can see the future. Or can he?

You were unable to take a decision because you didn’t knew what would happen and now when you know what will happen you still unable to make a decision.

The problem with reviewing this epic fantasia by the Belgian director Jaco Van Dormael, is that you know you’ll fall short of words and ideas to write your understanding of the film, knowing still well that your understanding is probably a meager fraction of what the film is about. I’ve seen no other film, that drags for roughly 3 hours, challenges your mind thoroughly, makes you ponder about things you would've never thought of otherwise—and all these, throughout it’s playtime. Mr. Nobody is an ensemble of numerous mosaics from all the possible lives Nemo might have led, interwoven with just enough precision to not let you go: “Fuck this shit, I’m hitting the bed.” Not a single frame is a filler.

It is but the first of many decisions said above that cause Nemo’s history to fracture and diverge into multiple timelines; he gives a love letter, he doesn’t give a love letter, he becomes a photographer, and a TV personality, he marries Elise, Jean and Anne, he drowns in his car, is killed by a meteorite, and executed by mobsters. The result is a rather confusing collection of alternative realities that are even further complicated by being framed through the complex physics of time and space.

And yet, I believe that, at the center of it all, all this complexity serves one single purpose, one fundamental question; how do we make meaningful choices? To answer this question, we first have to answer several others.

We can immediately see how this one-directional movement places a burden on our decision-making; We cannot go back, that’s why it’s hard to choose. But what is the right choice? What makes one choice more meaningful over another? This question can only really be answered if there is such a thing as meaning, something to serve as an anchor against which to weigh our options and base our decisions. However, looking to the universe for such a guiding light is likely to leave you disappointed. Have you ever heard of the butterfly effect? The butterfly effect is a part of chaos theory, suggesting that a small change in one state can result in larger differences in a later state. And as we see in many of Nemo’s timelines, this causal reaction often undermines our own agency, although of course, we generally experience this phenomenon as random chance, bringing us either good fortune, or bad luck.

In the opening scene, we are also presented with an experiment in which a pigeon is given a treat every 20 seconds. The researchers discovered that if the pigeon happened to be flapping its wings when given the treat, it would continue to do so, convinced its actions are what caused it. This phenomenon, which is referred to as pigeon superstition, further emphasizes the dissonance between

how we perceive causality, and how the universe actually works. In other words, we may believe our choices and actions affect the world in a certain way, but in reality we know very little about what forces move our lives into certain directions. It is why, whenever something unexpected happens, be it good or bad, we are left wondering; what did I do to deserve this? Well, it's important for you to understand that in life, things don’t always turn out as we plan them. Life isn’t always what we think it will be.

So what does all this imply for our ability to make meaningful choices? How can we make informed decisions if we cannot even oversee all the variables? It is perhaps why we long for immortality,

for infinite time to figure out the right path and infinite chances to correct ourselves if we take a wrong turn. But I think this is where we have to consider Nemo gift, for Nemo is not like everyone else.

The point is that when faced with a difficult choice, knowing everything that will happen is just as paralyzing as not knowing what will happen. A philosopher Ruth Chang exposes a fundamental flaw in how we approach decision-making. Basically, she explains that we tend to make choices by weighing alternatives against each other, and judging whether one option is better than, equal to, or worse than another. And while this may be a reasonable approach for easier decisions, when it comes to the hard choices in our lives, where do we live? Who do we marry? what career do we pursue? This approach often falls short.

That's why the choice is hard. What distinguishes these kind of choices is that they do not become easier even if the outcomes are clearer. Nemo’s omniscience showed him every possible path,

but this couldn’t tell him if the love for his mother was more valuable than the love for his father, it couldn’t tell him if the heartbreak from Anna leaving was worse than that of Elise’s depression, in short; it couldn’t tell him which path was the right path, and here lies the crux of the problem; we are searching for meaning outside of ourselves, for external reasons to support these difficult decisions.

“Every path is the right path.

Everything could've been anything else.

And it would have just as much meaning”

And so instead of desperately searching the universe for guidance, for that one sign or reasonable argument telling us what we should do, it is we ourselves who have to make our choices meaningful. So the lesson of hard choices: reflect on what you can put your agency behind, on what you can be for, and through hard choices, become that person. This is no easy task, even if we believe we are on the right path, there will be mistakes, there will be sorrow.

We all experience moments of regret, moments where we feel life has passed us by, where we long for that reset button to give us another chance; another chance to say what we really meant, to show courage when we were afraid, to be the person we really wanted to be. But if we truly act from the heart, if we base our decisions on our innermost voices, we will also experience something else. We will find that if we want to, if we choose to, it is possible to love, to be loved, and to experience moments of genuine happiness, moments in which it becomes absolutely clear that, even if it is for a brief instance in an infinite universe, our lives can be profoundly meaningful. I'm not afraid of dying, I'm just scared that I haven't lived enough.

#Mr. Nobody #Quotations #Movie #Impact #CreativeNonFiction #BLog2

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stellarcat52 · 3 years

Text

Timeless blue chapter 11

Archie flew ahead as Douxie and Krel hurried behind him. The shattering of glass quickly notified them of where Arthur and Morgana had just jumped out of the window, and where Nari had been frozen solid in a block of ice.

With a quick spell Douxie frees their friend. “Oh, thank you. The order shall surely rip your soul to pieces for this.”

“We’ll work on your pep talks later. I don’t think my little trap was going to last-“ Archie flies in as Douxie speaks.

“The arcane order is back, we’re out of time Douxie.”

“Alright, let’s get Nari back to the others. She’s safer with all of us.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll make sure the order doesn’t”

as if summoned by their name Bellroc and Skrael make their presence known, “Nari!”

“Find you. Go!” Douxie casts his arms back, pushing his friends away from him and their enemies. “Keep running, don’t look back!”

Without the head start the others had, Douxie fell behind the order. His infinite corridor suddenly replaces him as the only thing between them and Nari.

“An infinite corridor eh? Beginners magic. This cannot hold us!”

Douxie let’s a sphere of fire fly past him and into the door that would transport it to behind Skrael. “Buttsnacks!”

“You will die for this!”

Douxie summons his staff, “That was kinda the plan. But it’s worth it, because it means my friends, Krel,” his voice softens as he realizes this is what Krel had feared. Their separation, someone getting hurt, “and Nari can get away!” He finds his courage, saving the world or saving his friends wasn’t a choice he could make. He could make the choice between saving the world and saving himself, although he forced the pain of leaving Krel behind into his stomach.

———

Krel looks behind him immediately after he hears Douxie being pushed down, seeing the infinite corridor go up, even without knowledge of what it is. That barrier would trap Douxie in with two beings more powerful than Krel knew.

“Krel! Douxie will be fine!” Archie had seen more of Douxie’s battles than Krel had, and yet he had to force himself to trust the small dragon.

Even as spells sound from behind them, Nari, Archie, and Krel only spare a few glances back, none of them pausing for more than a moment to try and listen for Douxie’s voice. When they finally got to a place where Archie could safely fly Nari down, Douxie and the Order’s battle is naught but echoes.

Archie glides down and Krel takes inspiration from Morgana in the past to try and levitate himself down. He still falls a great distance, but the Akiridion body is not as fragile as a human one.

Jim and Claire were having a face off, Toby and Steve were off to the side. Krel had never seen such bright human eyes before now, Claire had unnaturally purple eyes that flowed with her own magic.

Krel glances down to where his arms have these magical traces inside, each one glowing and fading as they’re needed or dormant.

As Claire unleashes a great beam of dark magic, Jim falters and gives the whole team hope. This side of him was a result of the order’s magic, if Claire could overpower it and save Jim, surely Douxie, and Morgana, could do the same.

Behind them, Krel saw the gold of Morgana’s magic against Arthur.

“The world isn’t ours anymore, you have failed to destroy it, and I have failed to save it.” The fight between Claire and Jim seemed to fade to background noise, Krel could almost entirely forget about it. “Perhaps they can fare better!” She unleashes another attack. “You are no longer worthy of wielding Excalibur! Magda mani achtenebris kraga doom!” The explosion caused by her spell inturrupted Claire’s concentration and cast Excalibur aside. Just as all seemed to be doing better it was made clear that Excalibur is not what kept Jim tied to the green knight.

“Please Jim, I love you!” Claire’s choking cry almost made Krel jump in to help. “We all do.”

Jim drops Claire after what seemed to be a moment of thought.

———

Douxie was struggling against the order, but he was holding his ground better than he ever thought he could against such powerful legendary creatures. The Order were gloating of his defeat even though the wizard still stood, out of breath albeit. As the order finishes, speaking of a summoning that will happen once they are through with him, Douxie mustered up a final spell.

“Tenebrius...” he started, a blue magic circle being danced to life in each hand and then on the surface on which he stood, “exellium!”

His and the order’s unspoken magic meets, both sides struggling against each other.

Between the magic circle holding his spell together and the mystic glow in his eyes Douxie struggled to see clearly.

“Goodbye, my friends, goodbye Krel.”

He lost the magic keeping him alive and safe from the Order’s attacks. He only hoped what last burst of strength he had given would keep the order away from the other’s far below.

———

Krel watched as Camelot fell, how Claire and Jim got their happy ending. He finally thought things were going up, but as soon as the Order’s lair explodes, and he sees Douxie’s limp body falling through the air, he thinks it foolish for those thoughts to exist.

He was the first to start running. He didn’t bother risking using a portal, Douxie was right about him being untrained.

He still was out of sight of Douxie’s body when he hears that sickening thud.

Claire and Archie had made it there faster. Arch had an ear to Douxie’s chest and with every breath that Douxie must not be breathing his feline features only seem to grow more grim. Krel takes a few moments to get the guts to join the others around him.

He looked down and wished that somehow he could give his core to the human he loved.

Douxie’s body seemed too cold for someone who had only been dead for a few minutes at most. Krel sat down on his knees and pulled Douxie’s head onto his lap. He just stared at him for a minute, tears blurring his vision and too scared to blink them away in case Douxie vanished. He hung his head down, only taking a moment to wipe each of his eyes individually.

“Krel?” Archie caused him to look up, just for a second.

“Why did he have to face them alone?” Krel choked. “I was right there, I could have gone back.”

“That’s just the way Douxie is.” Claire answered, Krel only now noticed she was holding onto one of Douxie’s hands.

Zoe spoke up as she came over to kneel beside them. “Hisirdoux never really learned how to accept help. Not from anyone beside Archie. He always had to them himself, stupid apprentice.”

“Wait!” Archie shouted, pressing an ear to Douxie’s chest again. “His heart!”

Krel could feel the tensing of Douxie’s back muscles as he loses the stiff relaxation of death. His skin grew to a temperature that wasn’t as frightening, but still cold.

It was if Douxie had a second chance, like what a core would have given an Akiridion. Maybe this is something magic could do to humans.

The moment Douxie opened his eyes, Krel stopped caring how. He couldn’t even find the words to say.

“Douxie.” Archie purring into Douxie’s chest. “You brave, foolish boy.”

“Ow!” He yelped as Douxie helped him sit up, shifting to be besides him. “Ow! Everything hurts!”

“Sorry.” Krel mumbled as Douxie looks over at him and grins.

Claire took his attention back for a second. “I can’t believe you’re okay!”

“Barely, seems you’re the one with mine lives!” Douxie let’s Archie rub his head against his cheek. “Don’t you ever do something like that’s again.”

Krel pulls Douxie to his feet, holding him up with his arms. “You scared me you idiot.”

Douxie nearly falls and clutches his chest. “Hey! I just came back from beyond the grave! Be careful.”

“Sorry.” Krel turns his head and kisses Douxie’s cheek. “I’ll protect you next time.”

“I feel like I missed a lot.” Jim spoke up, eyes widening as Claire ran up to hug him, still very happy to just see Jim as a human again.

“Same, but I think we can catch up over brunch.” He looked around again, Krel could see the worry in his eyes. “What about Arthur and Morgana?”

“Squished.” AAARRRGGGHHH looked towards where Excalibur lay imbedded in the stone.”

Of course Toby immediately tried pulling the legendary sword out of the rock it had cut into. To no avail, but he tried nonetheless. Blinky, Douxie, and Claire all urged Jim to try, but his efforts were fruitless as well. Excalibur stayed rooted, and as the group leaves it behind, Jim leaves behind his hope that he may still be a trollhunter, though that might not be the worst thing right now.

———

Zoe and Nari got ready to leave, New York would be gaining two magical beings within a few weeks, and Akiridion 5 would be gaining at least one new human citizen. Claire and Jim were still on the fence of whether or not they wanted to stay or just visit Eli and Aja. Either way after this they knew they wanted to stay together.

Krel and Douxie had told the group they were dating, and Krel got a surprising amount of threats from the almost everyone. AAARRRGGGHHH being an exception but also Jim, Nari, and Toby.

Krel knew that Douxie would get some as soon as Aja and Varvatos were told the news, and Eli would be ready to ask Douxie so many questions about magic that he’d go crazy. Still, nothing could make these two want to risk staying on earth with the Genesis seals one more day, so alongside with Toby, Jim, and Claire, they step into the portal to Akiridion 5 and are whisked across the universe, traveling past planets and stars in mere seconds.

The earth would be safe unless something changed, and although they knew something would, Krel and Douxie were willing to put that to the back of their minds for as long as they can. They are happy, safe, and together.

And as long as Nari is out of the order’s hands, that’s all they care about.

#timeless blue fic #krexie #finale!!#Krel x Douxie #Douxie x Krel #Krel tarring #hisirdoux casperan #tales of arcadia wizards #TOA #that’s it until rise of the Titans!

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