#* sometimes my mind plays tricks on me ( thread. )

[otomehoneyybearr]

Kagari Amagase:

Entangled Threads and Hidden Allures

It was a calm afternoon, enveloped in the fleeting scent of cherry blossoms.

I couldn't help but call out to Prince Kagari as he passed by.

Emma: "Prince Kagari, do you have the day off today?"

Kagari: "Yeah, how did you know?"

Emma: "You're not wearing your usual clothes."

Kagari: "Ah, I see. You haven't seen this yet, have you? I often wear these when I'm not at official or social events."

(So his casual clothes look like this. They look comfortable.)

Unlike his usual refined and elegant attire, today he wore something more relaxed, in a subdued color with a looser fit and an open collar.

Maybe it was because I'd always seen him looking so polished, but I found Prince Kagari’s casual look a bit cute.

(Even though it's just a change of clothes, it feels like I'm seeing a new side of him.)

Kagari: "…"

Suddenly, our eyes met, and for some reason, Prince Kagari spread his arms and spun around on the spot.

Kagari: "Since you were staring, I’ll give you a little show, Curious Princess."

Emma: "Um… thank you?"

(Actually, I was just admiring how he looks in that outfit, but it's kind of embarrassing to say it out loud.)

Kagari: "So, were you here under the cherry blossoms, enjoying a quiet little flower viewing by yourself?”

Emma: "Yes. I was also practicing cat’s cradle a little while ago."

Kagari: "Cat’s cradle?"

I picked up the looped red string resting on my lap.

Emma: "Your aide, Shigure, taught me how to do it. He said I might get bored just looking at the flowers."

Emma: "He even gave me this string."

Kagari: "…Really."

(…Huh?)

Kagari: "That string is usually used to tie up packages at a confectionery shop. Looks like he gave you some trash."

Emma: "Tra–"

Kagari: "Don’t take it too seriously; I was half-joking. I often use that string for cat’s cradle myself too."

(I think his words might be true though… I DID notice that Shigure had some snacks with him.)

Kagari: "How many patterns have you learned?"

Emma: "Three! May I show you?"

Kagari: "Sure, go ahead."

He sat down in front of me with his legs crossed the unexpected closeness making me stiffen.

Prince Kagari sometimes has an odd sense of personal space.

(I don’t think he’s like this with anyone else, though...)

Trying to stay calm, I spread the string, recalling the steps as I began to create each shape.

Emma: "The first one is... a cradle!"

Kagari: "A cradle, huh."

Emma: "Next... this is a rice field!"

Kagari: "A rice field."

Emma: “And now… the jewel… um, let me see...”

Kagari: "…Your pinkies."

Emma: “Oh, right! Hook the pinkies… release the thumbs… and it’s a jewel!”

Kagari: “You pass.”

Kagari: "But you look tired Princess, even though you’re just playing cat’s cradle."

Emma: “I don’t usually use my fingers this much, so it’s actually a good workout.”

Kagari: “They say cat’s cradle is a great exercise for both the fingers and the mind.”

Kagari: “Your movements are still a bit clumsy, but you did well for your first time.”

(It makes me so happy to be praised by Prince Kagari …)

Kagari: “The next trick after the jewel is the drum. Want to give it a try?”

Emma: “I’d love to!”

When I nodded, Prince Kagari touched my hands and began to move his fingers slowly, making it easy for me to follow along.

Kagari: "Keep the shape as it is. First, move only your thumbs and slip them into the gap under your pinkies."

Emma: "…Okay."

(Oh… since he's not wearing his usual outfit, he's also not wearing gloves today.)

His hands, normally hidden by gloves, were surprisingly large, easily enveloping mine. They were firm, bony, and warm—enough to make me fully aware of him as a man, causing heat to rise to my cheeks.

(I need to focus since he’s teaching me.)

Kagari: “—Finally, hook the opposite string around your pinky and open your hands.”

Emma: “...There! I did the drum!”

Kagari: "Your finger movements were smooth. A gold star for you."

As Prince Kagari released my hands, I felt a strange, fleeting sadness—though it was probably just my imagination.

Kagari: "Are you feeling more tired than before, Princess?"

Emma: "It's probably because it was my first time trying the drum."

Emma: "Cat’s cradle is really fun. It helps improve my dexterity, and seems like a good way to sharpen my concentration."

Emma: “I heard that most of the children in Kougyoku know how to play cat’s cradle. Did you play it a lot too, Prince Kagari?”

Kagari: “...Yeah. My brother taught me.”

His gaze suddenly shifted toward the drum made of red string. His emerald-green eyes seemed to waver slightly, as if reminiscing about something.

(Kougyoku’s territory is roughly divided into three factions.)

(Prince Kagari and his brother belonged to different factions, if I remember correctly.)

(I don’t know how things are between them now, but I wonder if they used to be close brothers in the past.)

Kagari: “Princess, did you know that cat’s cradle can be played with two people?”

Emma: “Yes, I played together with Shigure earlier.”

Kagari: “...Is that so?”

Emma: (...?)

Kagari: “What about with me?”

(Does he want to play?)

Emma: “If you’re willing, I’d love to.”

Kagari: “Let’s do it.”

(So he DID want to play.)

(I understand the feeling, though. Childhood games can make you feel so nostalgic when you play them again.)

Seeing how much Prince Kagari enjoying cat’s cradle made me smile. We returned the string to a loop, and I created a suspension bridge, while Prince Kagari deftly made a rice field. Then I created a river, he made a boat, and as we continued to take turns—

(What… is this?)

Kagari: “What’s wrong, Princess? Did you forget the next step?”

Emma: “I’m sorry, I thought the next pattern would be the jewel, but the shape looks different, so I don’t know how to continue…"

(It looks like it could be a rice field or a net, but it’s slightly different. I’ve never seen this shape before.)

Kagari: “If you don’t know, that’s fine. First, pinch the ends of the string.”

Emma: “Got it.”

Kagari: “Now, insert your hands into the gap in the middle, up to your wrists.”

Emma: “Alright, done.”

Kagari: “Next, I’ll pull the string from one hand and use the other to tug the string hooked around your middle finger.”

Kagari: “That way, both of your hands will be tied together.”

Emma: “Wow! It really worked!”

(...Wait--)

I never expected to go from playing cat’s cradle to being tied up like a captive.

Prince Kagari hooked his finger around the string and gently pulled me closer.

Kagari: “If you let your guard down too much in front of a man, you’ll find yourself bound and helpless in an instant. Remember that.”

Emma: "Sure… but I only let my guard down because it's you, Prince Kagari. I don't do this with anyone else."

Kagari: "…I see. Only with me, huh?"

Kagari: "Good, then. Don’t forget that feeling in the future."

(Did his mood just improve a little? His expression didn’t change, so maybe it's just my imagination.)

Emma: "So, how do I get out of this…?"

Kagari: "Think of it as practice for the future and try untying it yourself. It’s not tied too tightly."

(I’ll give it a try, but…. I hope I never need this skill in the future.)

Thankfully, the knot wasn’t too tight, and under Prince Kagari’s watchful eye, I managed to untie it. He clapped his hands in applause, though I wasn’t sure if I should be happy about it.

(Was I really that careless…?)

But I didn’t want to end things just like that—

Emma: "Prince Kagari, can we play one more time?"

Kagari: "Sure."

We returned to making the suspension bridge, then the rice field, river, and boat, alternating turns with the string—

(This is it…!)

Seizing the moment, I tied Prince Kagari’s hands together with the string. My tying was a bit of a mess, but it seemed tight enough that it would take a while to untangle.

Kagari: "…"

Emma: "Ha! That was payback for earlier."

Emma: "Now, you’ll have to untie yourself—whoa!?"

Kagari: "Untie myself… What? I didn’t quite catch that. Could you say that again?"

(He’s… so close!)

With his bound hands, he brought them behind my head and pulled me closer to him. The distance between us made it hard to even breathe, and my heart pounded furiously.

(Prince Kagari … seems to be enjoying this. Even more than when we were playing cat’s cradle.)

His green eyes, tinged with joy and a trace of heat, were so captivating that I couldn’t look away, despite wanting to escape. Whenever I moved, his grip tightened, further restricting my freedom.

Kagari: "Come on, if you don’t say it, we’ll stay like this forever. I don’t mind that, though."

Emma: "I’m sorry! I got carried away. I’ll treat you to as many dorayaki as you want, so please let me go."

Kagari: "Denied. You don’t have enough money for that."

(A man with a bottomless stomach for dorayaki!)

As our foreheads lightly touched, my heart practically leaped out of my chest. If anyone saw us like this, they would definitely get the wrong idea.

Kagari: "Your so flustered just from our faces being close. It’s cute, Princess."

Emma: "P-Please stop teasing me."

Kagari: "I’m not teasing you."

Kagari: "…But I was a little jealous."

Even though I kept trying to escape, he never let me go, and—

On that day, I firmly swore to never try to get back at Prince Kagari again.

▼・ᴥ・▼

[mommyownsmee]

TW // Stalking; blood; slight gore; obsession; murder.

You don’t know how long I have watched you. How long I have traced the curve of your shadow, followed the delicate rhythm of your breath as it rises and falls, memorized the scent of your skin in the stillness of the night. I have been so patient, my love, moving just beyond the edges of your sight, a whisper in your periphery, a shiver down your spine when you think you are alone. You never are. You never were.

I have seen you through windows, through doorways left slightly ajar. I have followed your footsteps through empty streets, felt the heat of your body linger in the spaces you’ve left behind. I know the way your fingers tremble when you fumble for your keys, the way your breath catches when you hear something—a sound too soft, too distant to be real. But it is real, my love. I am real. And I am closer than you think.

I know the way your heart beats when you think no one is listening. I know the way your pulse flutters beneath the fragile skin of your throat, the way it quickens when fear brushes its lips against your ear. I wonder, sometimes, if you sense me there. If, deep down, your body already knows what your mind refuses to admit—that I have already claimed you, that I have always been inside you, waiting for the right moment to press deeper.

In the beginning I was gentle. Subtle. A soft weight in your chest, a whisper of pressure behind your ribs, a hunger curling low in your belly that no feast, no touch, no pleasure could satisfy. You thought it was nothing. Stress, exhaustion, the simple ache of being alive. But, my love, that was me.

I have watched you sleep, your body curled, vulnerable, unaware. I have listened to the murmurs of your unconscious, the words your lips shape in the dark. Do you dream of me, I wonder? Does your body call for me in ways your mind does not yet understand? Perhaps you have felt it—the way the room seems smaller when I am near, the way the air thickens with something unseen, something inevitable.

I have spent so long studying you, memorizing you, wanting you. And now, the time has come. I will slip deeper beneath your skin, weave myself into your flesh, bind myself to you in the most intimate way imaginable. I will press against the fragile boundaries of your body, stretching them, teasing them, testing just how much you can take before you come undone.

I‘m the slow, deliberate shift beneath your skin, a creeping warmth slithering through your veins, coiling around your spine. You are trying to ignore it at first. You tell yourself it is nothing, that it is just your mind playing tricks on you. But I promise you, my love, I am real. I am inside you, and I am not leaving.

You feel it, don’t you? That subtle pressure, the weight of something unseen pressing against your ribs, threading itself through your muscles like a parasite that has found its perfect host. You tell yourself it’s anxiety, a trick of the light, a stray thought that lingers too long in the dark corners of your mind. But that shiver down your spine, the prickle of sweat at the nape of your neck—that is me.

I am burrowing deeper, threading myself into the marrow of you, slow and insidious. My presence is no longer an external thing, something you can lock out or escape. No, my love, I have already slipped past the gates, past your flesh, past your walls. I am part of you now, filling the hollow spaces you didn’t know were empty, whispering to your bones, teaching your body to crave what it should fear.

I wonder when you will finally understand—when you will stop pretending this is something outside of you. Because it isn’t. I am already underneath your skin, breathing with your lungs, pulsing with your heartbeat, dragging my fingers along the insides of your ribs.

And when I do—when I finally open you—I will not be cruel. No, my love, I will be precise. I will be deliberate.

I want to hunt you down—not with rage, not with haste, but with the kind of patience that makes the air feel thick, suffocating. I won’t chase you in the open. I won’t let you see it coming. I will slip into the spaces between your thoughts, nestling into the quiet, feeding on the moments when you think you’re safe. I will coil around your bones, settle deep in your gut, growing, waiting, whispering to the parts of you that don’t want to listen.

I will press against your ribs, testing them, mapping out the most efficient way to split you apart. Your flesh will tighten, strain, stretch to accommodate my growth, but there will come a moment when you won’t be able to contain it anymore.

My first touch will be the deepest—just beneath your sternum, an incision as intimate as a whispered confession.

I will not be cruel. Cruelty is careless, mindless, the act of someone who does not understand what they hold in their hands. No, my love. I will be reverent. Devoted. Worshipful. My hands will tremble as I carve you open, not with hesitation, but with unbearable anticipation, with the kind of desperate, aching hunger that has festered beneath my skin for too long. The way a starving man touches his first meal, the way a drowning man inhales his first breath.

I will not tear you apart in a frenzy—I will unwrap you, piece by delicate piece, as if peeling away the layers of something sacred. I will trace the edge of every incision with the same tenderness one might use to caress a lover’s spine, my fingers slick with the proof of my devotion. You will not simply feel me—you will understand me, in the deepest, most primal way possible. This is not destruction, my love.

This is revelation.

And when I press deeper—when I slip inside that trembling, glistening warmth—you will know what it is to be truly known. I will spread you open with meticulous care, my touch a whisper, a prayer, a promise. Your body will resist at first, instinct tightening muscles, tensing fibers, but I will be patient. I will coax you apart, unraveling the sinew of you with methodical precision, feeling the moment you give in, the second your flesh stops fighting and starts yielding.

I wonder how you will sound then. When resistance melts into inevitability, when the last of your strength drains into my hands, when your body ceases to be yours and becomes wholly, irrevocably mine.

You will bloom open like a flower, petals of flesh unfurling as I pull myself free. You’ll feel every inch of it. Every sinew snapping. Every tendon peeling away. I will drag yourself out of you, slow, savoring the way your body shudders, the way your nerves fire off useless warnings that there is no escaping this.

Your flesh will part for me, trembling, welcoming. You will feel me—every slow, savoring motion as I slide through your insides, exploring, carving, claiming.

You will tremble for me, your body taut, nerves alive with the ecstasy of pain and pleasure, of surrender and inevitability. You will hear the wet, shuddering sound of your own unraveling, feel the warmth of yourself spilling over my hands, soaking my skin, marking me with your essence. Every shudder, every gasp, every strangled whimper will be a hymn in my ears, a song meant only for me.

And I will revel in it. I will drink in the scent of you, taste the salt of your suffering on my tongue, let your crimson devotion paint my lips.

I wonder how much you can give me before there is nothing left of you. I wonder how much you can take before your body breaks open beneath me, before you are no longer something separate, but something that belongs to me entirely.

And through it all, I will remain. Watching. Listening. Learning you from the inside out, the way you should have learned to fear me long ago.

By the time I am finished, you will not simply be broken. You will not merely be ruined. You will be open. Hollowed, yes—but not empty. No, my love, never empty.

You will be mine.

This was never about ending you. That would be far too simple, too crude. Death is fleeting, but this—this—is something more. This is devotion. This is love. This is forever.

[safination]

Partners in Death...and Life.

Part 7: Me and You In Eternity

|Part 6: Radio's Last Broadcast| |Part 8: The Calm Before the Fall| |Masterlist| Ao3| Taglist| Pairings: Alastor x Wife!Reader Series Summary: After a seven-year absence, you find the man you were married to in life, not only back in town, but also helping... *checks notes*... the Princess of Hell run a hotel aimed at rehabilitating sinners who were sent to the bad place for a reason. Tags: fem!Reader, AFAB, Established Relationship, Asexual! Alastor, Alastor is in hell for a reason, Reader is in hell for a reason, dishes, being a simp for your partner, Asexual! Alastor, husband! Alastor. My classes started already. That's why it took a while to pop this out. Have fun with this. I'm pleased to announce that there will be two chapters left. So a part 8 and 9. (Hopefully). It will finally cover the last episode of the season

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Four Weeks Before The Extermination

Someone swipes a thumb over your cheek. The strokes are hesitant, but filled with a gentle purpose.

Your eyes flutter open. It’s all blurry.

There’s a figure standing above you. Some small part of your soul wants to give in. It wants to believe it’s Alastor who stares down at you, capturing your gaze with the reddest of eyes. That it’s him who caresses your face with a softness that has you leaning into his touch. How cruel of your mind to play a trick on the flickers of your soul—the very same soul that continues to yearn for the missing.

What a cruel, yet old trick. It can’t fool you, not anymore.

You reach out for Alastor, poking your fingers on the edges of his lips to force a smile. This Alastor shows you the widest smile as he takes his thumb and runs it over your eyelids.

It’s wet.

Another lonely tear threatens to fall out. He brushes it away before it could get too far. The warmth of his thumb transfers to your skin.

You scramble backwards, distancing yourself. The questions thread through your mind. It distracts you, pulling your focus on the important facts. Here’s a fact: The bed doesn’t span as wide as you think it does. The edge looms closer. Still, you persevere with the quest to stumble backwards, far away from Alastor and the tears he’s been wiping away.

The chance to fall never arrives.

Alastor slithers out of the shadows, catching you in his arms with ease. “Hi.”

The back of your fingers trails down the skin of his cheek. It’s very real and very solid. There’s nothing else to say except, “Hi.”

“Terrible shift at work?” Alastor asks you with a smile the displays the yellow staining his teeth. “You weren’t in such a state when I left yesterday.”

You don’t know how to respond to him.

Alastor carries you to the vanity table, moving his thumb up and down the bare skin of your knees. It’s the smallest of acts.  Sometimes, you wonder if he’s aware of such an action. The topic never gets mentioned in feat he would stop.

Alastor waves his hands, opening them wide to drop you with an annoying flare. There’s an audible ‘thump’ when your ass connects to the cushioned but hardwood chair. It earns Alastor a glare, which he immediately responds to with that smug and self-satisfied smile of his.

It seems there’s a stray feather clinging on your scalp. It’s made aware to you when Alastor picks it out for you.

His eyes turn to the radio playing on the vanity table. It’s kept playing during the night. “Are you just playing static on this one?” Alastor asks, twisting the knob to switch it off. “It isn’t tuned to any registered stations.”

The hand smoothening your feathers isn’t a cruel trick. It’s as solid and as real as it should be.

“Playing static for extended periods of time will damage the speakers,” he says, lips twisting. Alastor and his radios—always so particular, even in death. “What do you have to say for yourself? I’m worried about how you’ve been caring for all our other radios.”

“I play the static as a white noise,” you say, and it’s the only thing your pride allows you to comment on the topic. “It helps me sleep.”

Alastor takes the brush next to the radio. The soft bristles run through your scalp. He untangles the twisted feathers, smoothening the ones that poke out. Alastor’s much gentler on your feather than you ever would be. It’s quite the sight to see how careful the Radio Demon is not to tug on his wife’s scalp.

Alastor runs the feather between his fingers, untangling the harsher knots.

“When did you…,” you start and trail off when you notice how hoarse you sound. Does Alastor notice it as well? “When did you get home? I didn’t hear you come in.”

Alastor catches your gaze from the reflection of the mirror. “I used my keys,” he says. “You said not to knock. It’s quite nice to know you haven’t changed our locks.”

There’s a small box on the vanity table. The paint on the wood faded decades ago, only leaving streaks of dull colors. You grab it, twirling it around your fingers. “What brings you by?”

“Was it not you who told me it’s not a visit when it’s your own home?” Alastor wags his fingers, shaking his head with such vigor it’s almost mocking. It probably is meant to be mocking.

The box goes back on the table.

Alastor allows you to intertwine your fingers on his free hand. This definitely isn’t some trick.

“Good morning, my deer,” you say, pressing your face into his very real hand. “I’m happy to see you, more than you know, but I have this feeling you aren’t here to tell me all about how you’re going to be living with me again.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he says, studying your face. There’s nothing much to pick apart when only a simple smile paints your face. “I’m here to take you to the hotel with me. It would be convenient to do all the preparations there.”

You shake your head, trying to release your hold on his hand.

Alastor refuses to release his hold on you, even as you give it a slight tug. It forces you to intertwine your fingers once more.

“I have work.”

Alastor drops the brush rather than releasing his hold on you.

He snaps his fingers, and a piece of paper pops into his hand. “How convenient then that I happen to have a signed and official letter from the Princess of Hell granting you one month off from work,” he says. “I’ve taken the liberties of sending a copy to Management.”

Alastor takes a step back when you reach for the letter. He doesn’t get far, considering how tightly your hands are linked together.

He inches his face closer, the paper still far away from your grasps. “Are you not forgetting something?”

You press a kiss on the edge of his lips, letting it linger longer than it should, and grab the paper from Alastor when his ears perk up.

It’s a proper and formal letter. It’s free from any squiggles or smiley faces. There’s only one type of ink instead of a barrage of crayons and markers. You read through the lines of paragraphs then study Charlie’s signature.

Alastor grabs the brush to continue his work. “I was referring to a ‘thank you, deerest’ or a ‘How absolutely wonderful of you. You’re such an amazing husband, my deer’ as basic manners dictate, but I guess a kiss shall do.”

You roll your eyes, but press another kiss on his cheek.

It’s easy to push off Alastor’s hand from your scalp. It’s even easier to jump back into bed, and tug the blanket over your head. Doing so undoes all of Alastor’s careful brushing. There are wet patches staining your pillow. It’s something you ignore immediately in favor of pretending its existence isn’t real.

“Come on, now.” The bed dips from Alastor’s weight. “We have a full morning ahead of us! There’s breakfast, then the matter of packing presentable clothes, and getting you settled.”

Presentable clothes? All your clothes are presentable! They’re more than presentable! It’s him who wears the tacky bow ties and striped coats. Alastor saw how red his eyes and hair became and decided to lean into the whole thing.

“We can nap as much as you want once you’ve gotten your things sorted.”

“I’m going to sleep in,” you say, ignoring the wobble in your voice. Every single fiber you own wants Alastor to ignore it as well. “Go away. I’ll just meet you at the hotel on my own time. I’m sure there’s work for you to keep you busy there.”

A single tear drips to the pillow. He shouldn’t be here, not when control threatens to slip from your grasps. Alastor isn’t allowed to see the cracks. You shouldn’t let him see them, not when he wouldn’t like it.

“Look at me,” he says, tugging on the blanket. “My love, come on, look at me. There’s no point in being stubborn.”

You shake your head, bringing out your arm to show him how beautiful your middle finger is.

It’s easy to see his annoyance, even from underneath the blanket. Alastor’s lips will close into a strained smile. This one will replace his usual unsettling smile. His eyes will squint and twitch as he furrows his brows with controlled tolerance. And there it is, right on cue—the faint static.

Alastor rips the blanket off you.

There’s a neutral expression forced onto your face, even as your eyes remain shut. It’s a simple act to pretend there isn’t a lonely tear leaving your eyes. Maybe if you ignore the tear trailing down your skin, Alastor won’t see it drip to the pillow.

He brushes the next one away, and secures the blanket around your shoulders. It’s such a simple detail that can be ignored, but Alastor adjusts the blanket, tugging on the ends to cover everything…except your face.

There’s nowhere to hide anymore. It doesn’t stop you from keeping your eyes snapped shut, and ignoring the single tear sliding down your cheek with a blank expression. You’re not supposed to show him the cracks. What are you doing?

“Look at me?” Alastor asks you, running his thumb over your eyelids.

These eyes of yours heed to him. Denying Alastor is an ability that you do not possess. Not in life, and surely, not in death.

Alastor holds your face with both his hands, still intent on wiping away the wet streaking your cheek. “We can stay here for a minute,” he says. “Don’t turn me away.”

It’s as much of a command as it is a plea.

“Will it cost me?” you ask him, leaning into the warmth of his hold. “I think I have a spare soul lying around.”

He brushes a stray feather away from your face. “Just a smile will suffice.”

“Only a minute?”

“We can stay here for a lifetime if you wish.” The bed dips further when he inches closer to press a kiss on your forehead. “Smile for me.”

You show Alastor a smile that could rival the very stars themselves.

The coat slides off his shoulders, and he tosses the thing over the back of a chair. Alastor peels the blanket off your shoulder to slot himself underneath, pressing himself oh so close to you.

There’s no need to question the tears, not when you’ve had decades to ponder on the answer. It’s an event that’s been inscribed to the story of you and him, and its existence demands your very soul to mourn.

What is grief if not the time that never was—the time that was never allowed to be?

All the time spent washing the dishes alone. All the time spent cooking a meal for one. All the time spent sleeping in a bed made for two, but houses one. It’s that very same unspent time that gathers up in the corner of your eyes, and trails down your cheek only for Alastor to wipe it away.

Alastor intertwines his fingers with yours, thumbing your ring finger. “Did you lose your wedding ring?” he asks. “Ha! I always knew you would be the first one to do so.”

“It’s on the nightstand,” you say, giving him a kick. Alastor uses this opportunity to hook your legs, trapping it to tangle them with his own.

He releases his hold on your hand to slip the cool metal around your finger. The ring slots back to where it belongs. Alastor traces it, feeling how the ring fits into your fingers.

Alastor pulls on your shoulder, hoisting you until your head lays directly on top of his chest. Every breath he takes raises your head up and down. Up and down and up and down and up and down—as it should be.

You ball your fist and smack his chest lightly. “Alastor.”

“Yes?”

“Alastor.” You smack his chest once more. Still, it goes up and down and up and down and up and down.

“What is it, my dear?” he asks you in a voice that is oh so soft and very, very, alive.

“Alastor…,” you call out to him, letting his name leave your lips like a prayer. “Alastor.”

“Yes?” His thumb brushes over a tear that refuses to be hidden.

Alastor smiles at you, his yellow teeth displayed as he stares into you. It’s no longer brown, but red. That’s not important. The color will never be important. His eyes are here and they’re looking at you. Nothing’s changed—nothing important at least. To you, these red eyes still shine brighter than starlight.

“You keep answering me.” You squeeze his hand.

Alastor squeezes back. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Alastor.”

“Yes?”

“Will you keep answering me?”

He takes a moment to think, letting the silence ring as he draws out his answer. “It’s quite compelling to stop,” he says. “I can practically see it. Your brows will furrow, and these lips of your will twist in a laughable attempt to conceal a frown. It would ruffle all your feathers right off your scalp!”

“Alastor?” you ask.

“Yes,” he answers.

There’s work to be done. It forces you to have to pull yourself away from the lifetime that should have been, and start the day. Alastor has to re-brush the tangled feathers. If he has any complaints, he doesn’t voice them. It takes a few minutes more to pick up the feathers that fell to the floor, and throw them in the trash.

He takes your hand, and brings you to the kitchen.

Breakfast is whatever’s left inside the refrigerator. Alastor, somehow, manages to create a proper and relatively healthy meal for you to consume. The first bite of scrambled eggs brings a smile. It’s the same eggs you’ve used for yourself, but somehow, this one is the best eggs you have ever tasted.

It’s been years since you’ve had a proper meal on this dinged up table. The turmeric stains have faded into a small yellow. The cracks on the table have rounded with dullness. Most meals were eaten at work or in front of the television.

“How was your day?”

Alastor leans on the palm of his hand, watching you eat. “That’s a question reserved for dinner.”

“It’s a question from when I wasn’t able to witness the happening of your day,” you say. “Will you not be next to me from now on? What’s there to ask when I will be there to see how the rest of your day will go?”

“There isn’t much to say,” Alastor says, tracing the dents on the table. “I awoke quite early, got dressed, dropped by your workplace, and then went straight to our home.”

There’s a smug smile on your lips. It’s not something you’re keen on hiding. “Were you that excited to bring me to the hotel?”

“Eat your eggs.”

You take a bite off your meal, doing as he says. It’s seasoned perfectly. When you cook, its either too salty or tasteless. You never did get around to figuring out the perfect amount, but it seems Alastor was able to solve the mystery of how much salt to add. “I’m not hearing a ‘no’.”

“Eat your eggs.”

You take another bite, and point the fork at him. “I’m still not hear—”

“And you never shall,” Alastor says, grabbing the fork to push another mouthful of eggs into your mouth. “So, just eat your eggs.”

He keeps the fork with him the whole meal, shoving food into your mouth to prevent further questioning.

Inside the sink, an assortment of bowls and tiny plates and pans are neatly arranged. There are ten dishes neatly piled, minus the pot and the pan (of course). It’s twelve with the pot and pan. All this for a simple plate of scrambled eggs.

Alastor presents his work to you with a wave of his hands and a proud smile.

This has you barking out a laugh.

Your eyes shut once more, because despite the laughter, it seems this tear is determined to fall. “How absolutely dumb of me. I don’t know what’s gotten over me this morning,” you tell him, even if you do know. “I guess work was a bit much yesterday.”

“There’s nothing stupid about you,” he says, wiping the next tear. “I’ll go wash this mess.”

“So, you do admit it!” you say, sticking your tongue out. “Are you finally going to admit that you made a mess?”

“I never have and I never will. Go to the living-room,” he says, and his ears flicker with the smallest of movements. It would be an easy miss had you been any other Sinner. “…I’ll handle this for you.”

You show Alastor the brightest smile when you press your lips on his cheek. “I think you’re mistaken, my deer. I’m incredibly happy right now,” you say. “Can we finish the dishes together?”

Alastor’s shadow pokes your leg thrice.

It looks at you with a jagged smile, fiddling with its shadow fingers. The shadow waves you at you in a way that has you waving back. It points to its cheek and looks at you with as much expectancy as a shadow could produce.

“Oh dear,” you say, smiling at the shadow. “I keep forgetting about you. Would you forgive me if I made it up to you?”

The shadow crosses its arm, pointing its nose to the air with a frown.

It’s an easy thing to position your shadow. Just a step back and careful angling makes the shadow of your lips cross past its cheek and presses a kiss on its own shadowy lips. Look at you now—feather on your scalp, four fingers on your hand, and smooching the shadow of your husband.

“Have I earned your forgiveness?” you ask. “Or shall it take another?”

The shadow offers a thumbs up, its shadowy smile somehow becoming even wider.

Alastor summons his microphone with a distracting type of flare, and strikes the edge on his own shadow. The poor thing scampers back into him with lowered ears.

You raise your eyebrows at Alastor.

Alastor leans forward on his microphone, using it as a cane, and shows you’re his most innocent smile.

You press another kiss on the edge of his mouth. What an absolutely silly man to be married to.

Alastor grabs your hand, and all twelve dishes are cleaned with only one usable hand. It takes longer than it should. The inefficiency of having one functional hand slows the whole process.

The dishes get done. Even if the bowls and plates have to be held out and supported for Alastor to sponge, the dishes get done. No matter how long it will take, the dishes will be completed together.

The coffee mugs warm your hand.

There it is again, the ever present, ‘Two’. One for you and one for him. You and him. Him and you. It seems there won’t be any wasted coffee beans today.

Alastor’s outside, seated on the steps of the porch. The legs on this body are far longer than his old ones. It forces him to stretch them out to sit comfortably on the steps. There’s a smile directed at you when Alastor receives his coffee mug.  And if Alastor was a silly man, then you are a silly, silly woman. Even after decades, it makes you giggle like a bumbling school-girl.

You take the seat next to him, staring at the reddened morning sky. “My, most, deer,” you say, calling out for him. “Do you miss the sun or the moon or the stars?”

“It’s not something I think about.”

“Ask me if I miss it,” you say, bumping your shoulders with his and showing off your most innocent smile.

Alastor rolls his eyes. “Do you miss the sun or the moon or the stars?”

The coffee mug gets discarded to the steps in favor of grabbing his face with your hands. The pads of your thumb go up and down the skin of his cheeks. “I don’t, actually,” you say with a smile that could rival the sun. “I have all of it right here in the palm of my hands.”

The laughter from his microphone mixes with his own laughter. Even his shadow chuckles at your words. “You are the most ridiculous person to be able to sit next to,” he tells you. “Did you ask me just to be able to say all that?”

“I did, actually.”

“And how long have you been waiting to say that?”

“Hmmm,” you say, taking one long sip of coffee to delay your answer. “Five or six years, give or take.”

Alastor’s original voice bleeds into his words. “Years?” he says, wheezing as his eyes bulge out in different directions. “You’ve been waiting to say that for years?

You lean your head on the palm of your hand, watching Alastor take a sip of his coffee to calm himself. When was the last time you had a morning as lively as this one? “Well, it was only ever meant for you to hear.”

Alastor flicks your nose. “No flirting before coffee’s been finished,” he says. “You should already know this.”

“Then hurry up,” you start, rubbing your nose, “and finish it then.”

He takes a small but long sip.

It makes you think he’ll drag out finishing his coffee, but Alastor throws the rest of his obviously, very full, coffee behind his shoulder. The drink splatters to the plants. He smiles at you like there isn’t coffee dripping down the leaves and into the soil.

“Look who’s being ridiculous now,” you say. “My coffee isn’t finished yet. So, I guess you’re going to have to sit there and wait.”

You take small and drawn-out sips, showing off just… how…slow…you…will take to finish.

“Horrible dream earlier?” Alastor asks you with a smile that shows off all his teeth, staring at how he fiddles with the handles of his mug.

“Not one bit!” you exclaim, taking a gulp of coffee. “It was a good one.”

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense,” he says, bumping your knees with his. “What wonderful things did your mind dream about?”

“Well, this is a dream I’ve decided to keep to myself,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Although, I think it’s one of the best ones I’ve had in a very long time.”

Alastor brushes his thumb over your eyelids, even if the tears stopped slipping. “Then why?”

“Because,” you begin, leaning into how gently he caresses you, “the dream ended too soon.”

Alastor snatches the mug around your fingers, throwing the content behind his shoulders. The coffee splashes to the plants. “It seems you’ve finished your coffee.”

“That’s wasting!”

“I’ll brew you another cup at the hotel,” he says, smiling at you. “But as of now, you’ve officially finished your coffee.”

A soft chuckle escapes your lips. “Can I be greedy?”

Alastor picks a feather out of your head. “As little or as much as you want,” he tells you. “Anything you could ever want and anything you could ever wish for—it will be yours.”

“You promised me a kiss when you came home,” you say. “I think I’d like to cash that in now.”

Alastor studies your face, holding you in the palms of his hands. “And when did I do such a silly thing?”

You place your hand on top of his own, nuzzling deeper into his hold. Home has never felt more like home until this very minute. “I guess it must have been something I dreamed up,” you say. “Are you still willing to fulfill your promise?”

Alastor presses a kiss on the crown on your feathers. “I was in this dream of yours?”

“You always are, especially when you have this special talent of finding my last nerve and tap dancing all over it,” you say with a snort. “So, are you going to fulfill your promise? A proper kiss this time, please.”

“A doting husband always does so.”

“I never said that.”

“You did.”

The wind blows as you sit on the steps. It pushes feathers to your face. Alastor tucks them away, letting the loose strands flow through his fingers. He holds your face, and you would like to believe that his fingers were carved to perfectly fit along the outline. It could also be the other way around.

Even in this lifetime, his lips are chapped. The cracks poke you when Alastor hover above, brushing his mouth ever so slightly on the skin of your cheek.

You pull on his monocle, discarding the thing to the plants. It gets in the way of how deep you press yourself into his skin. Soft exhales mix together. Alastor’s nose pokes you as he brushes his face across the outline of your face.

Alastor presses a kiss on your cheek, allowing his lips to linger for what seems like a lifetime.

The next kiss lands on your other cheek.

Alastor torments you, demanding so much space in your soul that it’s become filled with him and only him. In life. In death. In the in betweens and the afters.

A kiss to the forehead.

A kiss on the edges of your lips.

Alastor runs his thumb over the soft skin of your mouth, and your eyes flutter to a close when he finally connects your lips. The pads of his thumb go up and down into a gentle caress as he presses kiss after kiss. Your arm snakes around his back, drawing spirals on his back as you pull him into a hug.

The kisses he blesses you with are slow. It’s like he savors each and every one. Alastor kisses you like there’s no place he would rather be than using the language of your rings to write you a poem.

It’s you who pulls away first. You’re being greedy, demanding too much affection from him.

You smile at him.

Alastor smiles back at you, and leans back into a kiss, pulling you closer by the neck.

There have been lifetimes of tomorrows and there will still be many more tomorrows to experience.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Two Weeks Before The Extermination.

There’s no television in this room. The lack of modern technology in Alastor’s room isn’t even the problem…you just…really miss that television.

Sure, soap operas are trash. So, what? Who cares if it doesn’t make sense that Mara and Clara are sisters? Or how a perfectly normal couple can suddenly birth a blue child that’s able to heal people with tears? Like yes, that’s not how holy water works. It’s the dumbest thing ever, but entertaining trash is still entertaining.

Alastor refuses to breathe the same air as a television, going as far as to avoid them even with you present in the room. No amount of begging or pouting convinced him to watch a single episode. You could just watch it alone, but that would mean you would be…alone.

The low dim of the fireplace and the soft music playing on the radio join to create this cozy morning atmosphere. The warm coffee around your fingers and the soft cushion of the armchair tit the whole scene together.

Something hoots from Alastor’s bayou.

That’s totally not creepy—not one bit. It does not bring a chill up your spine, and there’s totally no reason to dig yourself deeper into this plush cushion. You refused to step one foot into his bayou, preferring to stay in the part of the room that actually resembles a room. Not even the tempting offer of a picnic has you agreeing to go past the wooden floor. If Alastor refuses to watch television shows with you, then you won’t bring a single feather into his bayou.

Alastor smiles at you from the armchair across, drinking coffee like there aren’t trees and unknown animals spilling into his room.

A hesitant knock sounds from the door.

“Can I come in?” Char’s muffled voice calls from beyond the wood. “Wait, are you guys away? Oh gosh. Should I just come back later?”

You glance at the clock, checking the time then slide your eyes to Alastor. “If we stay silent, do you think Charlie will assume we’re sleeping?”

“That would be rude, my dear.”

Alastor stands from his chair, placing the coffee mug on the little table. There’s a smile on his face as he smoothens the lines of his dress pants. He walks towards the door, taking long strides. It’s as if he’s showing off just how determined he is to open the thing.

With a twist of the doorknob, Charlie comes into view.

She stills by the entrance, and gives Alastor a small wave. There’s a bright but hesitant smile on her lips. Charlie fiddles with her fingers, staring at Alastor as he blocks the opened door with his body. It keeps her from fully entering.

An awkward type of silence rises to the air.

“Al, stop messing with the poor girl, and bring her in,” you say after five painful minutes of awkward silence. It takes three long sips of coffee to kill the laughter that threatens to escape. “Good morning, Charlie.”

Alastor grabs Charlie by the shoulders, and her heels scrape the wood as she’s dragged deeper into the room. There’s this hilarious frown on Charlie’s lips. Basic manners demand you stifle all laughter. It’s simply not right to laugh at the owner of the establishment currently housing you.

Alastor offers Charlie the free arm chair. “Care to take a seat?”

“Sure…thanks,” she says, blinking, It takes her a moment to settle on the cushion. “Sooooo, how are you liking your stay here? If there’s anything bothering you, just mention it to me. I’ll be happy to try and work out a solution.”

“There’s no need to do such a thing. You’ve been so accommodating towards me,” you tell her, brushing a stray feather away. “I appreciate how silent it is here. Loud noises tend to strain my ears.”

“I’ll be sure to keep any noise down,” Charlie says. “But I’m glad to see you seem to be enjoying yourself. I really appreciate how you join our activities as well!”

“It’s the least I can do.”

Alastor decides to sit his ass on your chair. He buries himself next to you, squeezing into a chair meant for one. You bump his legs, shoving him away to gain more personal space. It’s taken as an invitation, instead. Alastor presses even closer and takes up more space.

You bump his legs once more.

 Again, Alastor squeezes closer.

There’s a strained smile on your lips when you turn back to Charlie. “I’ll tell you my secret as to why I’m enjoying myself,” you say, shoving him further away. “Any place tends to be nice when I wake up to Alastor’s snoring.”

He glares at you. “I do not snore.”

You cover your mouth as if whispering to Charlie. “He does,” you say with a lowered voice just to be infuriating. “It’s the faintest of static. It just comes out of him.”

“Whatever can we do for you?” Alastor tells Charlie, smiling as he places a hand on your shoulder. “My wife will be happy to fulfill each and every one of your requests! She’s quite handy with a sponge. Although, keep your bowls away.”

You dig your elbow into his side.

Alastor elbows you back.

“I’m actually here for the both of you. “There’s this questions that couples ask each other, and it’s supposed to deepen their relationship.” Charlie twiddles her thumbs. “I want to try them with Vaggie. Can I go through the questions with you guys first? Tell me if there are any stupid questions.”

Alastor’s smile widens to show off his teeth. “There are some bulk items we need—”

“Nonsense! I will be happy to fulfill each and every one of your requests, apparently,” you say, placing a hand on Alastor’s shoulder. “And my husband would agree to anything that makes me happy. We would love to help you.”

Alastor elbows your side.

You return just as much as he gives. Maybe a little more.

There’s an adorable type of shine in Charlie’s eyes. Thank you…so much,” she says. “I’m so glad you guys are here. We are going to have so much fun!

Alastor’s coffee awaits to be finished. It’s still discarded on the table between the arm chairs. You reach for it and return his mug to him with a smile. There have been so many wasted cups of coffee-several years’ worth of coffee down the drain. There’s no need to waste anymore—not where Alastor smiles back at you.

“I think it’s endearing how you want to do this with Vaggie,” you say. “You should have seen how furious I was with Alastor—”

“When I lied” Alastor finishes for you. “Are we ever going to move past that? It’s been decades.”

“Never.”

Charlie tilts her head, furrowing her eyebrows. “Wait…,” she says, slowly. “You know Vaggie was an exorcist. How? You weren’t there when we announced it.”

Your eyes flicker to Alastor for the briefest of moments.

Alastor makes it a point no to look your way.

“You told her?” Charlie exclaims, gaping at him. “I mean…I’m not mad or anything.  Vaggie thought it would be better to tell you afterwards or if you decided to stay permanently. We just didn’t want to scare you away.”

“I thought it was common knowledge already…?”

Alastor rolls his eyes, and the base of his ears flicker down with annoyance. “Dearest, when has anything I told you over morning coffee ever been ‘common knowledge’?”

“Well, I’ll tell you this ....It was common knowledge to everyone when Ally from neuro cheated on her girlfriend.”

“Do tell!” Alastor takes a sip of coffee. “Don’t keep us in suspense.”

“The room they were in? It happened to be one that had an intercom that connected to the whole building,” you say, laughing. “Every little sound was broadcasted to every floor!”

Charlie’s eyes bulge a little, and she leans ever so closer.

Alastor reaches over you, grabbing the coffee pot. A snap of his fingers, and a whole new coffee mug appears in his hand. There’s a filled mug being handed to Charlie. She takes it without thinking, leaning on the edge of her seat.

“That isn’t even the worst part,” you say, fiddling with the handle of the mug. “The person Ally was with? The father.”

“The father?” Charlie echoes with disbelief. “That’s horrible!”

“Oh, my dear, it was. Believe me…it was,” you say. “What a horrible day to have ears.”

“So how did the girlfriend react?”

You press your shoulder closer to Alastor, slightly leaning your weight on him. “The girlfriend works as an accountant for the hospital and heared the whole thing. Apparently, it wasn’t the first time her father’s done suc—”

“Shall we head to the questions?” Alastor grabs the coffee pot, taking it upon himself to refill all the mugs. “There are actually some deliveries that need to be arranged.”

Charlie blinks and leans back into the cushions of the arm chair. “Right…Yes, of course.” She brings out her phone, swiping down the screen. “I guess we should just jump right in?”

“Go ahead.”

“Okay…The first question asks you what your most treasured possession could be.”

There’s a box on top of Alastor’s fireplace. It’s hidden in plain sight, blending with all the other stray items he likes to keep as decorations. The painted designs faded years ago. It should have been left at home, but you found yourself pocketing the box to take with you.

“It’s just this old box,” you say, studying the rim of the mug. “It’s quite expensive. It took at least forty-years to save up for it.”

“Oh, what’s inside?”

“That wasn’t the question.” You take a sip of coffee, letting the liquid slosh down your esophagus. “I believe it’s your turn now, deerest.”

Alastor loves his personal space. It’s something he makes perfectly clear. However, it seems he also loves your personal space. He places an arm around your shoulders, shaking your like a rattle “Why, it’s right here” he exclaims. “I couldn’t have asked for a better dishwasher despite the magnitude of broken bowls. It’s quite the attractive model.”

“Stop it.” You swat his hand when the coffee around your fingers threaten to spill. “Go finish your coffee.”

Alastor slides his eyes to Charlier, watching her reactions as he inches further into your personal space. “Should I change that rule?”

“It’s his microphone.” You push his face away, rolling your eyes at him. “He never goes anywhere without it, and hardly allows anyone to touch it.”

“I allow you to hold it all the time.”

The way you sip your coffee hides your smile. “I’m not just anyone, now, am I?”

Charlie groans in her palms, pushing strands of her hair behind her face. It’s funny to see how her lips twist into the adorable sort of frown.

“Oh, stop it.” Alastor flicks your nose. “Finish your coffee.”

The armchair squeezes the both of you into this small space. It’s much more comfortable to just press together. You lean closer into his personal space, allowing yours to mix with his, and wrap your arms around Alastor’s neck. The strands of his hair brush against your skin.

“Charlie…,” you begin, inching closer, “be a good girl and close your eyes.”

There’s a loud groan escaping her mouth. She sulks into the chair as if she was being deflated. “Seriously?”

“Go on,” Alastor says, urging her with a smile. He leans ever so slightly into you.

Charlie closes her eyes.

There’s a stray strand that slides down Alastor’s hair. You brush it away, letting the strands flow through your fingers. There’s a smile on your face when you press a kiss on the edge of his mouth. It lingers longer than it should.

The tips of Alastor’s ears flicker, and you snatch his mug. It gets tossed into the fireplace

Alastor grabs your chin with the tips of his fingers, and steals a kiss.

“Can I continue now, or should I just leave?” Charlie snorts, eyes firmly shut. “I swear, Mom and Dad were exactly like this—it’s kind of cute.”

Alastor presses one last kiss on your cheek. “Let’s continue!”

The mug around your fingers gets snatched. Alastor takes a sip of coffee. It seems this is a shared coffee mug now. “You can open your eyes now.”

Charlie stares at the both of you, taking one good look and sighs. The phone’s pulled out again as she reads the next question. “Is there a personality trait or skill that the other possesses that you wish you had.”

“I do wish I could be as proficient with words as you are.” You take the shared coffee mug from Alastor and take a mouthful. “The most horrible things come out of your mouth in such a poetic way.”

“That’s too sweet.”

“And quite the ridiculous question,” Alastor says, rolling his eyes. “If there’s a trait or skill I want, then I simply acquire them or someone who can. There’s no use wondering about such things”

You snort at him. “Well, humility certainly isn’t a trait you would wish to possess.”

“Charlie, close your eyes.” Alastor inches closer, pressing his weight into you. There isn’t enough space in the arm chair to lean away.

There’s that hilarious frown on Charlie’s lips again, but she does as she’s told. “Again? Will you be doing this every time?”

Alastor leans away, and drinks a mouthful of coffee. A delighted hum escapes him as he savors the taste.

It’s quite peaceful. There’s this type of silence that takes over. One meant to be enjoyed during the early mornings. The crackle of the fireplace and the soft tunes of the radio blend into the background of the scene. You chuckle at Alastor and drink from the mug when he offers it to you. The morning becomes peaceful once more. You and Alastor squeeze into an armchair made for one, drinking coffee in silence.

Charlie squirms in her seat with closed eyes. 

It takes five minutes of silence for her to summon the courage to speak up

“Uh…” Charlie plays with the ends of her ponytail, twirling the loose strands of her hair around her fingers. “I hope you’re aware that I’m…you know…still here?”

You bark a laugh, leaning your head on Alastor’s biceps. “You can open your eyes now.”

Her eyes peek open, slow and hesitant.

Loud laughter echoes around the room and into the bayou. “I apologize, sweetheart. We’re just pulling your leg,” you say. “Let’s continue on to the next question?”

Charlie rolls her eyes and brings out her phone once more. “Alright then…Is there something you’ve been keeping from each other?” she asks. “Oh, I guess it’s like a secret or a confession you haven’t mentioned before.”

An answer pops into your mind. It demands to be said out loud. That demand is ignored. Who does it think it is to ask you to heed against its requests?

“I think you own too many radios,” you tell Alastor instead. It’s a safe answer. “There certainly doesn’t need to be three in the bathroom.”

Charlie tilts her head. “Why would you need three?”

“That’s a question I’ve been asking myself for the last few decades of our marriage,” you say. “Sometimes, I think he can hear me through the speakers.”

“Alastor can’t actually do that, right?” Charlie glances at him. “…Right?”

Alastor grabs your face, squishing your cheeks. His eyes flicker all over your face, studying your every reaction. “You thought of something.”

The sound of your heartbeat echoes in your ears. “I thought of the radios in the bathroom.”

“What did you think about?” Alastor says, shaking your cheeks. “I know when you lie to me, dearest.”

Charlie gives you a thumbs up with a bright smile.

“Answer the question, my love.”

The sound of your heartbeat echoes louder. The answer refuses to be held back, coerced by Alastor’s demand. You pull Alastor’s hand off your cheeks. “I broke your piano.”

The confession lifts a weight off your chest.

“I was just at home.” Alastor squints at you. “Our piano is fine.”

You sulk into the cushion of the arm chair. “I meant the piano at the old house.”

“How did you even manage to break one of those?” Charlie asks. “Those things are quite large.”

It’s somehow possible to hide yourself deeper into the chair cushion. “I used Alastor’s bat and just…swung.”

“Oh! Oh! This would be a great opportunity,” she says, eyes shining. “Would you like to say anything to Alastor?”

There’s quite a lot you would like to say. “I apologize for breaking your piano.”

“And how did that feel?”

“Great, actually. I’ve been keeping this for decades.” It’s impossible to keep the lid of secrets now that it’s open. “Is this the wrong time to say I used the bat to smash your radios?”

The mug shatters from Alastor’s grip. The shards fall to the wooden floor.

Alastor pulls out a handkerchief. It has his name neatly embroidered. He wipes his hands, drying the drips of coffee. There’s a pleasant smile on his face. That’s totally not worrying.

Alastor stands and suddenly, the armchair sits one. He places a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Can you give me and my wife a moment?”

Charlie’s eyes slide to you as she rises to her feet.

The way you shake your head with vigor strains your neck. You try to send Charlie a message. Please don’t leave. Charlie, stay here! Please stay.

Alastor doesn’t allow Charlie the opportunity to respond.

He grabs her by the shoulders. Once more, her heels scrap the floor as she’s dragged to the door. It would be funny if you aren’t calculating how much scolding you were to receive.

You fucked up. Oh, you fucked up big time.

The door locks, and your sentence seals.

Alastor’s fingers linger at the doorknob. The base of his antlers grows…then it shrinks. The pattern continues for one long minute. It grows and shrinks as if Alastor doesn’t fully know what to do with them.

Symbols glitch into the air. It disappears just as quickly as it manifested.

The sound of cracking bones catches your ears. It has you sulking into the cushions of your chair, a pout on your lips.

The expansion of limbs and the slow growth of antlers forces you to press your hands into your face. You peek at Alastor through the slits of your fingers.  His antlers are so long now, growing like tree branches. Faint stitching outlines the edges of his cheek as he smiles with sharpened teeth. The lines around his body sharpen with an edge to it

Static buzzes around the room. It emanates from the radios, and from Alastor himself. Tingles run down your skin.  Alastor takes wide steps as his body continues to crack with expansion. “Let’s have a talk.”

The lights flicker all around, and a faint green glows into the room.

You shake your head, still peeking at him through your fingers.

His left eye morphs into radio dials. Alastor blinks and his pupils return to their original form. Another blink, and the full force of the radio dials gaze into your soul.

“…Deerest,” you mumble into your palms. “If you continue to look like that, talking will be the last thing I would want to do with you.”

Alastor’s neck snaps as he tilts his head. “Look at me

Once more, you shake your head and press deeper into your palms.

It takes a moment for his bones to snap back into place. The lights stop flickering, and his shadow pulls back into his body. Gone are the growing antlers, and the glowing radio dials to look into your soul.

Alastor takes your wrist, peeling it off your face. “Can we talk now?”

“I’m sorry about your stuff,” you say, quickly. “It wasn’t right of me to do so.”

There it is again. Alastor’s thumb goes up and down the bare skin of your wrists. It’s such a small act. Does he do this on purpose? Is he even aware of such a motion?

You give Alastor the most innocent smile you could produce. “I think this is an even worse time to mention that I burned down—”

“What, my house?” The tips of Alastor’s ears sharpen. “You burned down my house?”

Your lips twist as you sulk deeper into yourself. “Yes…?”

Alastor runs a hand over his hair and turns his back to you. The air glitches once more. It appears and disappears as if it’s unwanted. He runs another hand over his hair, and turns back to you with a sharp glare.

“You know what?” you say, and you can’t help but glare back. “No, I’m not sorry.”

“I hardly care if you feel sorry or if you don’t.” Alastor’s smile wobbles. “I could care less. Just stop saying it like that.”

“Like how?” you say, grumbling. “I’m confused right now. Do you want me to apologize or not?”

Alastor reaches for your hand, pulling it closer to him. He traces the cool metal of your ring.  “Your piano. Your Radio. My house,” he says, and his smile strains ever so slightly. “You speak as if those weren’t all yours as well. As if it was only me in that house.”

Your thumb moves up and down to caress him. “Is that what’s been bothering you?”

Alastor pulls away from you. The smile on his face becomes one thin line as he squints with annoyance. His ears flick down. Alastor looks at everything except you. You have to hide your face into the palms of your hands. The heat of your face spreads all over. It seems Alastor’s correct—you are ridiculous.

Alastor begins to walk away, but you grab his hand to keep him in place.

Just a moment. That’s all you need.

You intertwine your fingers around his, refusing to release your hold. Just a moment. That’s all you need. The clock ticks, and you stay like this, hands intertwined for what seems like a lifetime.

Up and down. Up and down. Alastor’s thumb brushes you. Part of you hopes he never stops.

“It wasn’t…,” you begin, searching for the courage to continue. “It wasn’t right of me to destroy our piano, and our radios, and our bookshelves, and burn down…our home.”

Alastor kneels to search your eyes, tilting your chin to look at you. It’s still red, and still brighter than starlight. “What possessed you to do such a thing?”

You take his hand, playing with the tips of his fingers. There’s a ring on his finger that matches yours. You plant the gentlest of kisses on his ring. “It’s because of this.”

Alastor tilts his head, raising his eyebrows at you.

“It’s alright if you don’t understand. That was something I hope you will never have to find you,” you tell him, brushing your thumb on his face. “My love, I hope you will never understand.”

Alastor brushes a feather away from your face with a smile. The things you would do to keep him smiling. It doesn’t even have to be towards you. Just keep him smiling.

Please…Please never let him find out.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

|Part 8: The Calm Before the Fall| Alastor’s love language is just being the biggest nuisance, and we love him for that. Taglist: @mybrainsautocorrect @ray-rook @valentique @qardasngan @valentique @teavibesaf @tobyisher3 @amoraneuro @okay-babe @alastorssimp @aestheticgals-blog @reikamasama @slaggylemon @lyralibra @holymusicalmothman @amoraneuro @littledolly2345 @b-o-n-e-daddy @infinitefox @ayyyyyy-vase @kny-kween @amoraneuro @obessivlyonline @@@@soohaneul @@stelen-sweethearts

[iwanttoswimintheswanepoel]

Candice’s Advice

(heavily inspired by @entice333 ‘s “adriana’s advice” on youtube and a thread made by @YVESOTICA on X. i also watched as many candice interviews as i could to collect some parts of this so enjoy :p)

beauty

-“i sometimes go a little bit overboard in the morning with my perfume”

-“everything is in the eyes”

-[what makes you feel the sexiest?] “being on the beach in the sun and in the water. i feel sexiest when i’m tanned and free”

-“a great tan will always make you feel better”

-“a bombshell is all about a voluptuous woman, not being afraid to put on an extra bit of makeup. a nice eye, a red lip. just embracing being a woman and being more powerful”

-“i feel sexy and glamorous if my skin feels great, like moisturized. go for a great facial.”

-“i do like to take time and do a look its kind of like a ritual. doing your makeup i think its a moment for yourself as a woman to just tune into you and make yourself feel good”.

-“the bushier the better [eyebrows]”

-“the trick to get the messy mascara bits is dipping the q tip in concealer.”

-“[contour]i went in on the eye, i go into the hairline as well and into the jaw.i would be nothing without contour.”

-“i like the hula benefit it gives you a great tan”

-“i like to put a lot [bronzer] on my forehead because thats where the sun would hit the most. i didn’t go to Greece but thats not a problem because i can fake it.”

-“on a day when i don’t have any time this [lip tint] is the only thing i would put on”

-“instead of doing a liner you can kind of paint it onto your lips to look a little more pouty”

-“i’ve always felt freckles look really youthful and like you’ve been in the sun”

-“if you want to look a little more awake you use a cream pencil on the inside of your eye here it just opens up your eyes and you put a shimmer in the corners. it just kinda pops”

-“i’m drawn to the classic bombshell women who are unapologetically themselves. women who really played on femininity and grace. thats our superpower”.

-“for me i like very floral scents and soft scents nothing to strong”

-“if you want to look a little more awake you use a cream pencil on the inside of your eye here. and you put a shimmer in the corner it just pops”

lifestyle

-like candice swanepoel i understand the beauty and importance of mother nature.

-i am a spiritual being that aligns my chakras and my needs to obtain my greatest desires

-i’m always described as a kind, positive and lovely girl by everyone around me

-i’m that one bitch that collects crystals except they actually do solve all of my problems

-like candice swanepoel i love being an extremely intuitively feminine woman. i love to surround myself with like minded beautiful women

-“i’m very kind of a spiritual person, a lot of the time i listen to my heart”

-“my summer fantasy is to just be on a beach somewhere , relaxing. drinking a nice coconut water and being active on the beach”

fitness

-i eat antioxidant rich foods like candice swanepoel’s “beauty smoothie” which contains coconut oil, banana, protein and antioxidant rich fruit like berries

-little workouts are better than nothing

-i truly feel best when i’ve taken the time out of my day to sweat out my bodies impurities at the gym

-i love squats, yoga, ballet, boxing & pilates more than i love to bed rot

-i always pack resistance bands & ankle weights in my bag lol i can’t rest if i haven’t done a set of squats

-my legs have to look long and toned and my butt has to look as round as a cherry because what if rhianna looks???

-i’ve found a balance of wellness that i’ve grown to love in my daily life. a constant dedication to myself and my absolutely divine body

-i choose to travel and stay in hotels that will accommodate my gym and wellness needs.

-david goggins hope core? nah bruh i just need a cute alo set for motivation

-i love to eat dairy products. its almost like i grew up on a dairy farm

-i’ve truly found active activities i enjoy that make me feel my best

-“if i only had five minutes to workout i’d do squats”

-i love avocado, bananas, blueberries, strawberries and make lots of smoothies at home

-“if you want to stay away from sweet stuff, frozen grapes”

-“i’ve been focused on boxing. doing a lot of weight stuff to build some thighs and a good butt. and a lot of (resistance) bands”

-“i’ve been working out for years my body is like a machine it just has a lot of muscle memory and i get muscle quickly”

-“try to run on the beach if you can, i have certain weights to take with me to the hotel. whatever works”

-“i think its really important to have beautiful strong legs and a nice full butt”

lingerie

-“lingerie is the perfect way to show someone you love them”

-“who doesn’t want an extra push up?”

-according to candice swanepoel the key to feeling sexy is lingerie and fragrance

-“whats important is what you wear underneath. a little something sexy”

-“i have great motivation i’m in lingerie all day”

-“buy yourself some sexy lingerie just to say i’m a woman. i’m feminine”

-“i have a crazy collection of lingerie”

-“always having the feeling of great lingerie under what you’re wearing. that gives you a sense of i’m a sexy woman you know?”

[+]

- i always have silly names on my personal products “do me baby? nice!”

- “the ultimate candice swanepoel beauty secret is literally coconut oil” -YVESOTICA on X

-i use coconut oil to remove my makeup and have luminous glowing skin like candice swanepoel’s

-i understand the power of an at home exfoliator like one using coconut oil, coffee & sugar. and one using sugar & coconut oil for my plush lips.

-i owe my glowy skin to using coconut oil for that luscious dewy sheen

-i owe my silky locks of voluminous hair to my coconut oil hair mask

-rose water keeps my skin silky smooth and my aura bright

-everyone can automatically associate my desired fragrance note to me. i’ve made it specifically my own and entirely one of a kind.

-i wouldn’t be caught dead without sun protection in my bag

-i roll out of bed with perfect beach waves because like candice swanepoel i’m just that girl

-i always have the perfect beach ready sun kissed tan like a swimsuit model

-my fragrance is an extension of my personality as is my style

-i travel with a hydrating mask because i won’t be caught dead with dry flakey skin

-i radiate the same beauty and appeal as candice swanepoel

-i’ve acquired my desired humidifier to keep my skin hydrated at night

-i have feline like eyes like candice swanepoel

-i take care of my body through acts of self care and devotion like candice swanepoel

-i have the same sex appeal as candice swanepoel

[championofthefade]

Thinking about Veilguard sometimes really makes me start picking it apart.

Yes, I did like it for what it is. But as someone who played the three games for the first time this year, I found it disheartening at times.

Long story short for those who rather not read my rambling: I liked Veilguard, but there are parts that just don't feel right and that everything we've done in Thedas the last three games were all for naught. (I'm yapping about my complaints, might make a more positive post later)

It's a mixed bag, really.

While I liked the gameplay, there are things that just don't rub me the right way.

The first immediate example is how the (only, in my opinion) major choice we are presented with is choosing Treviso and Minrathous. We have the choice to harden the other companions in spirit, but the only ones that actually are affected are Lucanis and Neve.

While I have done both paths, I can't say that one is a better choice over the other. Shadow Dragons are decimated if you choose Treviso, Treviso is blighted if you choose Minrathous. I think that it's fair that Lucanis doesn't want to romance Rook if you choose Minrathous, because he wants to save his city from dying. He trusted you to follow through, while Neve expects that you won't since she's a cynic. Which makes sense why she's willing to still romance you if you choose to save Treviso, although it'll be a bit more challenging to, because you were presented with an impossible choice. I don't mind that he ends up with Neve, even if the romance for all the companions kinda fall flat if you think about it too much.

Another thing is Taash. Their identity is important to their story, but having Rook (us the player) choose how to deal with their cultural crisis doesn't make sense and makes me not want to repeat those quests. Why is there no option to embrace both the Qun and being Rivani? Why am I the one choosing how Taash chooses to express themselves? Relating back to the city choices, Lucanis and Neve both choose their hardened options with Illario (getting jail) and Aelia (being given to the Threads). With Taash, the choices are a little less clear to me. I think we shouldn't be able to dictate one's cultural choices.

One of the worst choices that we have to make as Rook is Harding vs Davrin. Thinking about the amount of people who are saving Davrin just for Assan is actually crazy to me. I love Davrin, but he's reminding me of what happened to Wyll in BG3, and it's not a fun time. (I can barely pick up BG3 for various reasons and this is one of them.) I'm glad Bioware doesn't pander to the fans that are loud, because I don't have to worry about everyone's favorite white boy getting more content than the only black companion (saying this as a white person myself). I will always save Davrin because he is a compelling character even without Assan. I love the feather-brain but I feel like I want to know Davrin more than his mythical son.

I hate that we only got three world state choices, two of which don't really matter since it's more flavor text. It doesn't matter if we disbanded or merged into the Chantry, we don't see the consequences of those actions. It doesn't matter if your Inquisitor wants to Stop Solas at All Costs, because apparently they feel responsible for Solas being... Well, Solas. And our romances, outside of Solavellan, were reduced to a codex entry and sidelined.

Yes, Solas is important, and yes, I expected his romance to be given more light. I'm in the camp of people who feared that was going to be the case. And it was.

Yes, I agree that him getting a Good Ending with his vhenan is one of the better endings, but his friendship one and facing his fear of dying alone is also important. I liked playing a Rook that tricked him, I liked playing a Rook that chose to fight him as well. I'm glad we have at least those aspects that we can control.

As someone who has romanced Lucanis and Neve so far, I wish there were more little cutscenes, and not just for Lucanis. I'm just okay with how things are, even if they're a bit empty in comparison to what we could've had. That being said, I think that there's always room for improvement to have a more fulfilling resolution to the romance in the game the devs claimed was the most romantic. I wish there was more, I wish that there had been more to support that claim. I want to feel closer to these companions, and I am sure that I will as time goes on. But as it stands, for now after sitting with the game for nearly a month (11/29), I wish we had gotten more.

I would like to say that it really doesn't feel like the most romantic compared to the other three games. (Blackwall's "heart laid bare", Dorian's "you're dreadfully dull and I hate you", Josephine's letter of "let me make a promise to you here. I dream you will say yes", Zevran's "I'll storm the Black City for you, never doubt it", Anders' "ten years, a hundred years from now, someone like me will love someone like you, and there will be no templars to tear them apart", just to name the few that feel more romantic than what we're sitting with for Veilguard romances. And one of them is a codex entry.)

I hate that we have to learn through missives that the South is gone, save for Skyhold. I hate that we had no power to help the South, and that the last three games were all for naught. It's upsetting to know that Ferelden is gone. RIP Orlais, you slayed too close to the sun. Kirkwall being empty is a scary thought, but it's gone too.

It makes me wonder where HOF is. Did they ever find a cure? Are they even alive? What about a Hawke that didn't get left in the Fade? You mean to tell me that they wouldn't be out there in the frontlines doing something? You mean to tell me that they're sitting on their asses?

Varric dying is something else entirely, but it's just gut wrenching that we don't even get to mourn him. A second playthrough was mindbogglingly eye-opening. Harding was mourning when you check on her in her little room. Neve reminisces about how Varric brought her onto the job and she wishes that she didn't take it. They were mourning while Rook probably looked like they were in the denial stage of grief. What killed me inside was the fact I caught it the first time when Bellara name dropped Varric like she didn't know he was there. That's when I started thinking maybe he was gone, but I didn't want to believe it. I had to step away from my computer when the reveal happened because I was devastated.

We don't get to see just how the team made the fake lyrium dagger, or how they even managed to find Rook in the first place. We don't get to see the love interest's reaction, only the aftermath where they are still registering that Rook is there. We don't even get an explanation on how those things were possible. To create a perfect lyrium replica and locate someone in the Fade? Knowing that we could've had a mission to save whoever was left in the Fade hurts. RIP to those left in the Fade.

The secret ending is just... Bewildering to say the least. What do you mean that there's an even bigger force that has been controlling the narrative from Across the Sea? What do you mean these incredibly well written villains had no agency in their choices and were being used to orchestrate whatever the hell the Executors wanted?

Again, what do you mean that all that we've been through in Thedas just doesn't matter anymore?

[jumpywhumpywriter]

A Life in the Hands of the Enemy -- Villain reluctantly saves Hero's Life part 9

Warnings: violence, bleeding, near-death experience, captivity whump, cruel Villain whumper

He gestured to the syringe in his hand with a knowing smirk. "This is a strong sedative. Whether you'd like to proceed with the operation conscious or unconscious is entirely up to you. All you have to do is ask me for it." He gave it a second to sink in as Amber narrowed her eyes at him distrustfully, clearly thinking he was going to sedate her no matter what answer she gave, and that offering her a choice was only another form of torment. Wrong. Dead wrong. Another miscalculation on her part.

"Conscious it is," Zack said without batting an eye, and promptly rolled up her shirt to expose her midsection. Amber shivered as he wiped antiseptic across her skin, quickly realizing that he wasn't kidding. He'd do the procedure whether she was awake or not. It was only when he picked up a scalpel that it finally hit her.

"Wait... WAIT!" She shouted, straining against her restraints and eyeing the blade with a flicker of genuine fear.

"Yes?" He looked at her innocently, his voice dripping with hidden danger.

"Okay, fine... k-knock me out..." Amber stammered weakly, her voice dropping to a low whisper.

"What's the magic word?" He twirled the scalpel skillfully in his hand, flashing her a sly grin. He enjoyed the rush of power he got from these kind of games. Knowing he could get his victims to say whatever he wanted... holding their life on a thread...

Amber's face reddened with anger and humiliation.

"Speak now, or forever live with your answer," Zack pressed, and lightly touched her side with the flat side of the scalpel, making her squirm in fear.

"Please..." Amber finally hissed through gritted teeth, looking as though it physically pained her to force the word out of her mouth. She knew exactly what he was doing with his mind tricks, and hated giving him the satisfaction of winning. But her defiance wasn't worth the pain it would cost her, in this particular instance.

Zack smiled coldly, setting down the scalpel to pick the syringe up again. "See? That wasn't so hard. Good manners are basic common courtesy."

Amber scowled viciously at him with a glare that could wilt the petals off of roses as he rolled up her shirt sleeve. Her arm was stiff with coiled tension as he injected the sedative into her bloodstream.

"Don't worry, you're in good hands. I'll have these pieces of lead out of you in no time."

"Now why don't I believe you?" Amber sniped. "You're a cruel killer with a genius mind who likes to play mind games and tear your victims apart. Literally, not metaphorically. Your hands are anything BUT 'good'."

Zack shrugged with a laugh. "You're right, I can't deny my nature. But you're a special case. I need you alive and healthy to carry out my pet projects, so for once, your best interests are at the forefront of my genius mind. For my sake."

"You... sadistic... prick..." Amber mumbled, her voice slurring as her eyelids grew heavy. Another second and she was out like a light, tension leaving her features as she slipped into unconsciousness.

Zack shook his head to himself as he gathered the rest of the medical tools he would need to extract the bullets and shrapnel. Almost no one besides Amber knew that he had been an emergency surgeon in his past, one of the best of the best in the city, once dedicated to saving lives.

Until he decided to leave his career and become a villain, using his skills to hurt instead of heal. He'd sometimes perform live operations or dissections on people who had crossed or betrayed him without using anesthesia, sharpening his skills while getting satisfaction out of his enemies' suffering. Double win. Another bonus was that it set an example to anyone else who dared to think they could outsmart his genius mind. His intellect was one of his greatest tools.

Amber was lucky he had given her the option to be knocked out at all, considering how she'd acted up earlier. But Zack decided to have a little grace and not punish her quite yet, as she was still learning the rules of his hospitality. She still needed to learn to obey him better. He'd enjoy watching her fiery defiance fade into compliance. He knew all the ways to break down a person's defenses, bit by bit.

He'd been this villain for over two decades; he wasn't new to the game. Zack hummed to himself as he got to work, carefully cutting into Amber's side with practiced precision, his surgeon's steady hand serving him well.

Only a few minutes and he found the first bit of metal, a 9mm bullet lodged dangerously close to an artery. He carefully extracted it, dropping it into a collection container with a plink.

He alternated between operating and double checking his x-rays to make sure he was getting it all. After roughly an hour and a half had passed, he dropped the last piece of sharp shrapnel into the container with the rest, heaving a sigh. Amber really had it rough. She was covered in scars of all ages, both old and new. Just because she had accelerated healing, didn't mean injuries wouldn't leave a permanent mark.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

[hey-august]

As Time Passes (2 of 7)

(Fic tag)

Story Description: A story without a plot or real ending, just a window into moments of time. A glimpse of two threads that twist and turn throughout the years - sometimes winding together, sometimes drifting away - as each story is woven.

Warnings: Buggy x Mermaid!Reader, female reader, some profanity eventually, kinda angsty. This was written more for my own enjoyment and to try something different, so it's not very polished.

WC: ~200

Tag list: @lostfirefly @rorywritesjunk @ane5e

🐚 Dear diary, do you remember Buggy? I saw him again. He was sitting alone on a beach. He looked the same, but older and kinda sad. And angry. I wanted to say hi but he left before I did. I hope he’s okay.

🏴‍☠️ I think I saw a mermaid. Or my mind is playing tricks on me now that I can’t swim anymore. This is so shitty.

🐚 Dear diary, I couldn’t sleep last night and it turns out neither could Buggy. I saw him on the beach and said hi this time. I was going to ask if he wanted to swim, but he told me that he ate a Devil Fruit and can’t swim anymore. I…feel bad. I feel so bad. He was yelling and crying, he seemed really upset. I couldn’t understand anything he was saying after a while, but I kept listening. I wish I could teach Buggy to swim again, but it doesn’t work like that. I told him that I don’t care if he can’t swim and I could visit him on land when I get older. We could go for walks instead of swimming. He didn’t say anything, but he did stop crying.

🏴‍☠️ I did see a mermaid. I met her a few years ago and I’m surprised she even remembered me. I don’t know why a mermaid would want to hang out with a freak who can’t swim.  …it was nice to have someone to talk to. She didn’t tell me to get over it. Or I should know what I was getting into. She’s really nice. I hope I can make her laugh tomorrow.

[dyshonor]

backstory update

hello! after looking through some of randal's cards and considering some thoughts on his relationship with his past, i decided to make a few tweaks to his backstory.

what was formally:

at some point amid his rapid lose-some-win-more streak, he fell into a midlife crisis at twenty-something years old. his life took a slower turn as he tried to figure out what exactly it was he wanted from it his life didn’t get any easier as four decades into his life, he discovered the outrealms there, he met the rest of the cipher cast, and was quickly swept up in their realm hopping, time traveling adventures. for the first time in his life, he was able to find something - or rather, someones - that he cared about.

has become:

some time after winning his mansion, in his mid-to-late-twenties, randal got pulled away from his life of fame and fortune by the boundless chaos. suddenly finding himself privy to chance and the impossibilities of the outrealms, randal began to take a very devil-may-care outlook on life. after all, if things can be taken away at the drop of a pin, what joy is there to be found in 'having'? instead of living his life as a lord in pursuit of wealth and power as he had beforehand, he took up his sword as a mercenary and became a vagabond with no one and nothing. it wasn't until his late 30s/early 40s that he ran into the cipher crew.

this doesn't affect any threads or relationships with other characters as his backstory hasn't been brought up in great detail yet, but its something that has been on my mind since bringing him back, so i figure i should update it!

so as to not make this post any longer than it already is, i'll be putting my reasoning under the cut! feel free to read if you wanna see me overanalyze randal's card lines LMAO

randal has a pretty violent jump in his cards from when he's Young Randal (gonna write it as YR for short, and just 'randal' for his older self) to his present self.

YR is a person that is obsessed with controlling people. His card descriptions are dripping with your typical controlling, power-hungry dialogue and descriptions, and even showcase grand armies that Randal commands in the back:

Including lines/skill names like:

"You guys are pretty useful pawns." "Victory is all that matters." "Thank you for being so easy to trick."

He's a person who cares about controlling others and arguably only controlling others. He loves wealth and being on top of things, and he loves using other people.

Another interesting thing to note is that YR is not a person who enjoys chance. While our lovely older Randal is clearly a person who likes gambling and games, YR seems a person who is far more interested in tactically winning a game to get what he wants. If we look at one of his cards, we see that he didn't even win his mansion through a typical dice or card match, but a Chess match! A game of skill moreso than the roll of a die!

Well, well… Looks like I win, huh? C'mon, beat it. This mansion belongs to me now.

There is little fun to be had in these cards. This sort of "what matters is what I want, and nothing else" attitude is something that seems exclusive to YR rather than older Randal. He is far more concerned about his appearances, in the sense that he wants to appear dominating and powerful to others so as to control them. He is not one to play around.

And yet! In cards where he seems only a little older, Randal's attitude and status changes dramatically. While there are many examples to point out, and copious amounts of 'having fun' being mentioned, these two sum it up nicely:

Recently, a mercenary named Rand appears on the battlefield. Rumor has it that he can quickly collaborate with any companion, sometimes drawing out twice as much power. Who the hell is he? All I know is that he is a ``user of twin swords.''

and,

"Always take play seriously, work always have fun"…that is the motto of Rand, a delinquent knight who has no master. For him, the battlefield is like a playground. Move around provocatively and confuse your opponents, or use unexpected behavior to toy with them!

No longer of fame and status, Randal is unknown even by those who he works with. He pops in and out as a mercenary, and while his skill remains, he is now a person who loves play. While he still enjoys toying with others, he no longer seems to hold his 'use as pawns' attitude that he held beforehand. Instead, he 'toys' with them, finding enjoyment in the process rather than the result.

This sort of attitude seems one better suited to have been acquired over time as a result of realizing that he cannot hold onto what he does have post-losing his mansion and status. While originally I thought it to be apt to lose this via a morality crisis or via a game, I don't think Randal's morals are that strong lmao and I do not think he would risk losing his mansion via a game.

Another thing to note is that YR actually appears in Cipher Frontier himself. While it's hard to differentiate what is 'canon' and what is not 'canon' here given the silly nature of the comics, it's still something to keep in mind as 'this was Randal's first experience with world-hopping'.

I realize these thoughts were a bit disorganized, but I hope that the contrast is explained well and why I think the change was necessary! I really enjoy thinking about the 'past' vs 'present' versions of Randal, so I hope my thoughts got across. yayyyyyyy

[iamatomicstarlight]

AJR Para Title Ideas

Hello Everyone! This RPH is very slow in the making, but I have been making a directory of thread/para titles to be used in the RP world. What better way than to start these posts with one of my favorite bands? This time, I've gone through the album OK Orchestra by AJR and added about 100+ title options to the directory. This whole thing is just for fun, but if you find it useful, send me an ask on what else you want to see!

A Better Me A Do-Nothing Day A Hell Of A Ride A Sad Orchestra A Trumpet In A Sad Orchestra Adventure Is Out There All A Bit Cloudy All The Songs I Wrote An Apartment Across From the Park A-Okay Bad Before It's Okay Bang, Bang, Bang Be Somebody Sometimes Buckled Down But The Sheep All Died Christmas In June Countin' Sheep Danced In The Rain Don't Make Me Choose Don't Pity Me For Long Down A City Street Downer Friends Fell In Love With The Lie Finally Free Forget It All Friends In Weird Places Fuck It Up Getting Wasted (Without Me) Go Out With A Bang Goodbye Half Past Three Hamilton (Without the Hits) Hold On, Love Holy Moly Humpty Dumpty Humpty Dumpty Went Down I Can Be Anything That I Pretend To Be I Can't Afford No Nice Things I Can't Be Eighteen My Whole Life I Don't Wanna Cry No More I Get Up, I Get Down I Hope You Like the Show I Know A Trick I Set My Bar Real Low I Think I Bored My Therapist If Anything's Real Or Not If Love Dies, Do I Fuckin' Bother? I'll Never Ask You I'll Scream When No One's Around I'll Slip Away I'm Not Dead Yet So I Guess I'll be Alright I'ma Smile Right Through It In A World Speeding Up Insane It's Three AM, I Should Be Sleeping It's Time To Go It's Time To Grow Joe, Do You Think I'm Cool? Kissin' Nobody Laugh In A Real Way Let Me Play My Violin For You Let's Blame Our Parents Like A Necessity Livin' Sucks Love Wasted Metronome My Brain's On Fire My Dog Can Dance My Tiny Symphony Not Proud Of The Truth One Day, Maybe Someday Only Going Up From Here Ooh-Dee-La-Dee-Doh Our Drums Become Our Melody Pathetic And Tired Pretend You Didn't Know Pretend You Know This Song Put Your Best Face On Quite The Run, Didn't We Though? Remember Vegas Rumpus and Rukus Scared of Caving In Scared to Look It Up Sellout Sex Is Overrated Sigh Yourself To Sleep Smithereens Smoke An Eighth So Whatever Someone Evil Someone Evil, But He Means Well Somewhere In The Sea Somewhere In The Universe Somewhere, Someone's Got It Worse Sorry Dear Sorry To Bail Spaceship Spending Every Penny I Own Stay On The Fence Take A Shot Of Hennessy Taxes Are Due The Death Of Me The Old Couch The Plan I Miss The Truth Is That I'm Screwed They Taught Us Their Ways Think I'm Losing My Mind This Is Our Melody Thumbed Up Too Fuckin' Young To Feel So Fuckin' Old Too Happy Too Young To Lie Here Forever Tryin' Too Hard But I Can't Not Try Two Sides To Everything Two Things Can Be Sad Two Things I Love Way Back When You Weren't Anyone Way Less Sad When No One's Around When You're Nobody, Then Nobody Minds Wish I Didn't Feel The Hurt Worlds Smallest Violin Would You Go Running If You Saw The Real Me? You Could Be The Remedy You Wonder Why

[utilitycaster]

The chaotic player thread has been really interesting for me, because while I wouldn't call myself one I've been described as getting pretty chaotic in some campaigns I've been in. But my trick is that when I wanna do something wild, even if I know the dm very well, I absolutely shoot them a quick private message to ask first, and if it directly drags in another player, them as well. The rest of the table still gets the feeling of something random happening, but I 100% always do it with the plot and world in mind. I've made some moves that were pretty wild many times, but I only do that with dms I have an established relationship with AND have been checked in with. This obviously wasn't what you and the original anon were discussing, but I wanted to throw in my two cents as someone who's often been labeled as chaotic in case there are people reading who feel discouraged from being wacky! Dms often love big moves as long as they've been given tools and prior knowledge in my experience, and will often give you more opportunities to go hog wild or redirect your creativity if what your first thought is would impact the game negatively. Dms! Are! Your friend!

Hey anon,

So the original anon's definition is relevant here: "self-described 'chaotic' players (who seem to really only see their GMs as opponents to be bested and to ignore their story)" is the exact phrasing they used, and that's what I've been talking about specifically.

People getting called "chaotic" by others is a very different beast. I personally try to avoid it because it's used so much as to be meaningless. Sometimes it's a compliment, sometimes it's an insult, and often it's wrong. A lot of the time people just use it to mean something silly (eg: the Hilda Hilda scene with Emily Axford) or something cleverly unexpected (Jester and the cupcake) or something that's literally just "playing D&D correctly by interacting with your environment instead of trying to optimize everything" (Fjord touching the red button).

It depends on the exact situation, and also if your GM appreciates this then I don't want to fuck things up for them, and I do agree that if it involves other players you should make them aware - but I actually think you're being very cautious here! If you are genuinely taking the story and world and vibe into account, and you're just making a particularly bold and unconventional choice, unless it's likely to require drastically more prep on the GM's part, I think that's something a GM should be able to manage and roll with. And for what it's worth, they're a player too - an unexpected lateral thinking solution at the table in real time can be a pleasure for them the same way it is for everyone else.

The thing about good GMs is that they are your friend and your opponent. In most games, especially D&D, they want to get right up to the brink of beating you and they also really want you to pull out a win, too.

[missallanea-aa]

GETTING TO KNOW YOU.

respond to the following prompts out of character. then, tag others that you'd like to get to know a little bit better!

ROLEPLAYER NAME: Missa

ROLEPLAYER PRONOUNS: She / Her

MUSE NAME: Multimuse ( too many to list here )

PREFERRED COMMUNICATION: IMs. I'm getting back into adding people to Discord as well, but that's a bit slow going.

EXPERIENCE: 12 years on Tumblr ( hhhh ) and 18-ish years spent writing on various forums and instant messengers.

PREFERRED ROLEPLAY TYPE: I mostly write slice of life type stuff these days, although leaning toward fluff or angst is always fine. I can't say I necessarily have a preference : the only thing I don't necessarily prefer to write is fighting ( as in writing physical fights, not arguments ) or smut.

PET PEEVES & DEALBREAKERS:

"WANNA RP" ASKS : These drive me absolutely up a wall. I'm not talking about people reaching out in IMs or asks with "hey I have an idea I want to play out," or sending me plot ideas. No, I mean asks that straight up, just say "wanna rp?" or some variation therein. First off : I'm a roleplay blog. So I feel like the question is irrelevant. But second off, these asks always, always come from non-mutuals who clearly have disregarded my rules to send the ask. I delete them on sight. Petty? Probably. But I cannot stand them.

PUTTING MORE THAN ONE-TO-THREE SPACES BETWEEN YOUR WORDS : So, I can't really see the difference when people put two or three spaces between their words versus one. What I'm talking about here is when people put like... five-to-ten. It makes your posts impossible to read, and if there's some aesthetic to it, I just... don't see it. It just hurts my head and makes me mad.

REPETITIVELY STATING NO ONE WANTS TO WRITE WITH YOU : Yes, this is petty of me, but dear lord. Nothing is more annoying to me than looking at someone's blog and seeing endless pages of them whining or passive-aggresively saying things like "WELL since NO ONE wants to write with me I guess I'll log off" or something like that. It just... drives me up a wall. I get it, it feels like crap when you feel like no one wants to write with you. But this is a hobby, and if it is effecting your mood that deeply that often then you may need to disconnect to prevent the social bleed. Once in a while is one thing, everyone has a down day. I'm talking about blogs where every other post is some variation on this theme.

PLOTS OR MEMES: Memes, honestly. I'm not against plotting, but I am so horrifically bad at it. If you come to me with a plot you wanna play out, I'll probably be game! But I'm... not likely... to come up with anything.

LONG REPLIES OR SHORT REPLIES: Yes. There is no or, the answer is yes. My one exception is one-liners : I don't mind short posts when you give me somewhere to go / something to go off of. But a single line of dialogue is probably not gonna do the trick, unless it's just a silly crack thread.

BEST TIME TO WRITE: Late evening into middle of the night. Sometimes I can also get writing done in the middle of the day, but not often.

ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSES: Yes and no. On a multimuse like this, the answer is definitely : some of them, absolutely yes. I see a lot of myself in Amity, Eda, Kagami, and Maxi. But others, not in the least.

tagged by: @serabellyms thank you ♡

tagging: whoever wants to steal it uwu

[nixstarmaven]

DAY 1 I’m not entirely sure how long it's been since I fell from the heavens. Time moves strangely here. Sometimes it crawls, sometimes it stands still. But I wasn't alone—Withers was there with me, keeping me company in the old church. His presence was... unsettling at first, and his words often felt more like riddles than conversation. Still, in his own cryptic way, he was a companion.

Eventually, he grew quiet. Too quiet. I think even he got bored of our little sanctuary. He went to sleep—and stayed that way for centuries. Just silence after that. Endless, heavy silence.

That was until an adventurer arrived. A human, no less. His name was Roland.

He was handsome and quick with a joke, the kind of charm that gets under your skin before you even realize it. He told me Withers would be traveling with him and his companions, and then—with that same smile—suggested I come along too. He tried to impress me with a little show of strength. It was... cute. He didn’t know I was strong as well—stronger than I looked, certainly stronger than he expected.

I caught him staring. He tried to play it off, but I couldn’t resist teasing him.

“See something you like?” I asked, and watched the surprise flash across his face. He recovered quickly, but the moment lingered. I scolded him—playfully—and we both ended up laughing. Real laughter. The kind that echoes in your chest and feels warm in your bones.

I hadn't laughed like that in decades. I met Roland's companions not long after we left the church. The first was a wizard named Gale. He was… polite, but clearly less than thrilled about traveling with a fallen star. I can’t say I blame him. The elf, on the other hand, remained silent. He didn’t say much, but I sensed no hostility from him. Just quiet observation. We made our way to a Tiefling and druid sanctuary nestled in the woods. It was beautiful. There, we met a swordsman named Wyll. He has the heart of a hero and a soft spot for children. I watched him play and laugh with them, sword always close at hand but never threatening. There's a warmth to him. Soon after that's when I learned the truth about my companions. All three of them—Roland, Gale, and Wyll—carry something inside them. Tadpoles, parasites buried in their brains, threatening to turn them into mind flayers. They’re searching for a cure, a way to rid themselves of the corruption. Unfortunately my healing magic just isn't enough. Despite the danger hanging over us, there was joy too. Some Tiefling children took a liking to me and taught me a few coin tricks and tried to pick my pockets. Later, we met a human named Volo. A storyteller. His tales were fantastical and impossible to believe—but I listened all the same. Roland stayed by my side, and as the sun dipped below the horizon, we listened together. But even when Volo retired for the night, Roland and I didn’t stop talking.

We stayed up through the night, words flowing like water, laughter threading through our conversation like gold. There’s something in the way he speaks to me—like he sees me, not just what I am.

I haven’t felt this... awake in a long time, and so our journey began.

[koiturine]

married | ritual.

i think i'll take the chance, 'cause after all, what are the chances?

"cheers." we clink our champagne flutes together after a successful acquisition. "the ipc's gonna be reeeeally happy about this one... right?" i have to ask to be sure. i don't 100% understand how his job works, or the ipc. i think it's evil, and while i've criticized it to aventurine's face his defenses are too confusing for me to really fight or wrap my head around.

"mhm. i might even get bumped up to p46." ooh, fancy! i think. i hope his spiel somehow makes more sense after downing my champagne. "the shares barely cost a thing. we went from 20% shareholder to full ownership." i still don't understand how a planet has stocks, but okay. following.

"having full control of psimante means we don't have to worry about any red tape. more importantly, it's not so much a hostile takeover as it is a simple trade." most acquisitions through his department when they're tied to debt are kind of massive pr nightmares. a lot of internal fighting, a lot of annoying paperwork. aventurine always has a more interesting business strategy, but i'm still having a hard time wrapping my head around him going with this venture in the first place.

it's just so not him to go after virtually no risk.

sure, there's an incredibly high reward. but even the rube goldberg-esque scheme he cooked up didn't have as many moving parts as usual.

he knew the astral express would come, even without our fake wedding.

even for a below average investor, psimante was chump change.

really, the value was so low he could have bought it without any scheme.

he didn't need me at all.

i'm forcing myself to focus on the joy of eating at the first place we properly met. at least the first place after he became aventurine. my favorite spot in psimante. i should be grateful that my home planet is in good hands now, right?

"wanna rate my performance, koi?" i blink back to paying attention mid-chew on my dinner roll. it's sweet that he wants to keep these schemes fair... but he could be better at it. "it did feel a lot more like a proper, clear mystery this time. you actually bothered to leave clues for once."

i play with the fake wedding ring dangling on my necklace. having this on the whole week really added to the suspicion. not to mention him keeping his sunglasses on the whole time to really hammer in the speculations about mind control. so much confusion about who was playing who with just enough little details to let the discerning mystery solver figure it out. but...

god, it's on the tip of my tongue. i snap my fingers until i remember the easier question to ask. "oh! yeah, what was the point of making us both untrustworthy?" it felt a little unfocused, but aventurine understands the 'psychology of the player' better than i do. (aka: he knows how to trick his friends.)

"if there are more conflicting opinions, you could have one half going after the stellaron through you, and the other half going at it through me. i know they say you shouldn't 'split the party', but i like to think about it more like i'm splitting the deck." if the thread i was chasing to find it was useless, he'd have his own as a back up. i think about that approach to myself, but ultimately decide to nod when enough dots connected.

i should ask why he picked my hometown in the first place. angelux bay might be profitable, and he might love the sun and the sand and the luxury it has to offer. the question of why he'd bother to do something he'd find so painfully boring is still gnawing at the back of my mind.

the way he's looking at me might be with that usual poker face, but the way his elbow isn't sitting on the table is enough of a tell. he knows i have something to say. and he's waiting ever so patiently for me to say it. my critique.

"...no notes." aventurine isn't even remotely surprised. "honestly, sometimes simple is better. you had fun with it, right?" i manage to snake in my concern a bit more vividly.

"it's hard not to have fun when i have an excuse to spend time with my unlucky charm." no matter how many times he calls me that, i'm not going to find it any less stupid. i know it's revenge for calling him avie, but this game of gay chicken has lasted a little too long.

...and it will continue to last too long. hopefully. i guess it's a bit better than jackpot.

the waiter comes along and i order my usual. aventurine tries something different, like he does every time. he's probably gonna make me try some, and i'm probably gonna hate it. something about the mundane predictability finally pulls the question out of me.

"so, why did you go for psimante?" aventurine looks wide-eyed at me. oh, so he didn't expect that question.

"because it's your birthday?" how the fuck did i forget my own birthday i am getting WAY too old. he scoffs out a chuckle as the shame looms over my face. his laughs only get more pronounced the more i sink my face into my hands. i'm an idiot. i really am an idiot.

"to be fair, last year you reserved my favorite theme park in pier point just for us."

"you really think i'd do the same thing every year?" he bats his eyelashes at me, elbow finally back on the table with his cheek resting in the palm of his hand. "i have ooone more gift for you, though. if you'll take it."

...huh?

yeah, okay, sure. aventurine spoiling me is literally nothing new. he bought me an entire fall/winter collection for a designer i offhandedly mentioned i like just last week. but he's--

holding my hand... and... and putting a ring on my finger. he speaks in avgin for a moment. i can't make everything out, but some key words sound familiar. 'under her three eyes...', 'secret love...'

"you wanna get married, kakavasha? ...actually?" he's melting. there's such an ethereal energy to him when he gets... soft. for lack of a better word. he knows that tone. that tone of unbridled, unapologetic sentimentality that i only know how to show to him.

there's a hitch in his breath. then a hitch in mine. we're both sniffling and fighting back tears, laughing at the fact that we're sharing such an intense happiness we thought we didn't deserve before.

i pluck the other ring from his hand, whispering my own vows while slipping that gold band around his finger. i always thought that i wanted a huge wedding with a tailcoat that has a train that's twice my height. instead of an aisle, it'd be a runway. a reception with a literal champagne fountain.

i think he thought the same thing.

but sometimes simple is better.

[casspurrjoybell-31]

The Consort - Chapter 31 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

Finn

Evening approaches.

My feet lightly scrape across the wooden porch as I rock myself back and forth on the porch swing.

The noise quickly becomes lost to the chilling wind.

Everything around me is engulfed by darkness.

I huddle the blanket around my shoulders and pull out the folded picture from my pocket.

I've tried to study it half a dozen times today as something to do while waiting for Kelly and Fiona's return.

Every time Brayden interrupted me, though, unaware of my hidden discovery.

The moonlight casts slivers of light against the fragile picture.

I study the contours of the man staring back at me.

My fingers trace around his still face, his warm eyes, his square jaw, and his calm expression.

He's beautiful.

I flip the photo over, squinting at its pale back until I notice a small bit of worn cursive scrawled across the bottom.

The year is missing but the date says November 28th.

A name and a message are scribbled beside it and my heart pumps with angst as I try to get a better look.

Arch r R bbins Rec iving fi st pl ce medal, hig jump

The missing letters are too smudged to read.

Either that or the moonlight is playing tricks with my mind.

I try to fill in the lost information, piecing together the note as best as possible.

Only a minute passes before the front door swing opens.

If it wasn't for the slightly squeaky door hinge, I wouldn't notice it at all.

I quickly fold the picture and stuff it back into my pocket as Brayden noiselessly steps through its threshold.

His red eyes scour over stretch of land surrounding us.

Only when assesses the coast is clear does he take a seat beside me.

He plants his feet firmly on the ground and begins rocking us back and forth.

The swing bends to his movement, the speed much greater than I managed to produce only minutes ago.

I lift my feet and balance them on the swing, nonchalantly moving closer to my vampire.

Our shoulders touch.

He stiffens at the contact but doesn't move away from me.

"They're still not back," I whisper.

"I see that."

"Weren't they supposed to be back?" I press.

Brayden's red eyes continue to survey our surroundings.

Then he grunts out a simple...

"Yes."

"Are you worried?"

"Worry is not an emotion I feel, human."

I let out an exasperated sigh.

As much as my emotions get the better of me sometimes, I can't imagine not being able to feel any at all.

It must be so hollow, going through the motions of daily life without feeling the emotions that go along with them.

It's far too dark to see the weeping willow but I swear I can hear her long, wispy branches aching in the wind.

The sound reminds me of sitting on the lawn at one of the Fall festivals I attended last year around this time.

It was one of the ones where Kelly played, if I remember correctly.

Fiona and I cleared our schedules for the night, watching him play while eating to our stomach's delight.

The memory stirs up a bittersweet feeling of nostalgia.

Music was such a big part of Kelly.

It was as if the notes themselves wove into his soul, creating the threads of his being.

The man had a gift in the arts.

I remember watching the eyes of listeners every time he took the stage.

The songs practically radiated from his fingertips every time he played.

"Brayden?" I whisper, staring at the dancing branches.

"What are we doing here?"

He frowns.

"What do you mean, human?"

I shrug my blankets off my shoulders enough to gesture to the vast land before us.

"I mean here. In the north. What are we doing here?"

"Keeping you safe."

I sigh.

"I know. And I know you need my blood but what happens when the war is over? Are you going to try to keep running? Hiding?"

Brayden shifts beside me.

"If that's what it takes."

I swallow hard.

Even if it's only because of my blood, the fact that he is willing and wanting to keep me by his side makes my heart ache.

Both of us have turned our backs on our species.

Sure, the reasons might be different but the outcome is still the same.

We are both on our own.

Together but alone.

I reach out, grabbing a hold of Brayden's chin and turning his gaze to meet mine.

"You can't hide me forever," I whisper.

"There are always humans who are going to want to find me and vampires who are always going to want to drink from me."

His red eyes swirl with a sinister black.

Speaking of hunger... It's only been days and his thirst has returned.

This time though, there's a spark in the depths of Brayden's gaze that's ignited by a different kind of hunger.

Lust.

I suck my bottom lip into my mouth.

His gaze follows the action, and his teeth begin to elongate.

With a trembling stomach, I somehow find my voice.

"Do you want to go inside to feed?" I whisper.

He stares at me, unblinking.

Then he nods.

The two of us stand and the porch swing sways slightly at our absence.

Brayden guides me in the darkness.

He opens the door and maneuvers us through the house with skilled grace.

His cool, slender fingers lace with mine as we climb the rickety stairs.

By the time we reach the landing, my erection is painfully pressing against the inside of my thigh.

His touch is toxic.

My rising pulse flutters against my wrist and my neck.

I know he can sense my change in emotion but can he tell just how badly I want him?

The moonlight spills through the broken blinds, casting just enough light for me to find my way to the bed.

The comforter is thin and soft, the mattress spacious enough to fit the two of us with room to spare.

I crawl across its surface and roll onto my back.

Brayden remains standing, staring down at me.

The red and black in his eyes swirl together, the two colors sparring in a fight for dominance for their own satiety of hunger.

Normally now would be the time I'd tilt my head to the side, permitting Brayden to settle in to his next meal.

This time, however, I find myself wanting something different.

Something more.

I clear my throat and try to muster every ounce of courage within me.

"Brayden," I say with a hoarse voice.

"Before you feed... please kiss me."

[ninevoltzheart]

sometimes i forget that my mind play tricks with me. sometimes i forget that the colors arent exacly what they might seem to be, not that rusty and pale and neither as brightly and saturated as my eyes seens to notice. i fail to remember that my brain is wired diferently, even when im just saying i've read in some reddit thread that x thing happens cause people like me perceive the world colder, hotter, louder, bigger, wilder than it should be. im a allucination of my own dreams, but im not a dreamer myself - despite this being the focus of my writing for god knows how many years - im a amalgonation of little nightmares, the ones that deceives your eyes, im that little girl under the water, smiling upon the way sun hits the water and seems to be something magical, just two seconds before realizing she should not have gone too far, too deep, too abruptly. sometimes i forget i need to be saved, by myself, from my mind. to learn how to breath again, after a long time searching for a calmer water, a way to float, any piece of sand to get up and not swallow salt tears in sea form; sometimes im scare that one day im not gonna be able to get out of the water, to see the sun in their glorious form, to see the ones who are still here, who are patience and loving enough to bare my nightmare days, weeks, months; sometimes im afraid to float again, to be late enough and to lose it all - again; but somedays, like this morning, im able to see the sanity island as a whole, to be fortunate enough to be breathing, to breathe through, breathe deep and breathe out; and even if i am always afraid to forget who i am, i'll never not be terrified that someday, in the deep water, i might be able to forget those i love, my angels, the keepers of my soul; but even so, i'll be fighting, every second, to sink this fear, to never let me lose it all again to this disease. now im a warrior, is written in my back, and it's more than time to act like one.

[argenteell]

The man, as it turns out, is unfamiliar with the Masked Fools (Argenti sympathizes with him; how upsetting must it be to get pranked out of the blue by an unknown force?) but gets right down to business asking about Miss Sparkle's methods. An excellent question that might possibly point to a lead once it is answered... possibly. "From what I've witnessed, she has a penchant for the dramatic and performative, and she is very, very unpredictable. She appears rather fond of explosives, as one of the things I overheard during my trip to the planet-hotel of Penacony was of her handing out buttons for... what was it again? Ah, yes, 'Mutually Assured Destruction.' The more tangible evidence I have of her doing such things is her remotely announcing through one of her dolls—another thing she seems to like—that she had planted over a thousand bombs in the form of these dolls throughout the Radiant Feldspar." Argenti sighs at the memory; and her prank had interrupted such a nice evening with a lovely doctor and two others too! "Fortunately, we found all the dolls in time, and they ended up setting off fireworks... but still. One thing I have gathered about her is that she likes to play people to her own tune for her own benefit and amusement. She follows the Aeon of Elation, Aha, and for all intents and purposes is quite keen on spreading her form of 'Elation' around. Knowing this, I have surmised that her goal here is to force us together and gain some entertainment from this situation."

Perhaps there is much less surprise in Miss Sparkle choosing the two of them: two complete strangers bound to each other indefinitely, one of whom cannot fulfill the terms for severing the binding? No doubt this is as thrilling to her as an epic tale of a knight on a quest is to him. He cannot help but remember that sometimes the knights in those stories die in a heroic and tragic manner... is that really what she wishes to see? Personally, he is, of course, prepared to give his life in service to the Beauty at any moment; he would, however, appreciate discovering the truth behind the mystery of Idrila's disappearance first.

"I suppose that to us, her choice is very bizarre. But if we are to follow the logic that she does what she does to serve and garner Elation, then it is highly likely she saw an opportunity to play a trick that, in her mind, must be turning out rather hilarious." Argenti shakes his head, then perks up. "Ah, yes, of course, how remiss of me! My name is Argenti, and I am a Knight of Beauty in service to the great Aeon of Beauty, Idrila!" He smiles and dips into his customary bow, still mindful of the thread. "Whose acquaintance have I made?"

[♥️] Red Roses and Hood — Argenti and Otto Apocalypse Thread.