#Crow of Remembrance

[pyreball]

The Hanging Tree

[seekers-who-are-lovers]

What a year

—

Written for @fictober-event with the prompt No. 3: “it’s been a long time.” (This is my first entry). And @flashfictionfridayofficial with the prompt #FFF274 Empty House. Thank you so much for these prompts.

I’ve been reading the “Crows of Remembrance” on the side that I felt so inspired to write this out of the blue. This is an alternate universe, but there are a few spoilers ahead. I would suggest that please tread carefully if you are going to read this. (Dedicated to Andy @clouds-of-peach for her eagle eyes!)

—

Fandom: Yatagarasu: The Raven Does Not Choose its Master

Characters: Yukiya (Kitayama), Miya/Himemiya, and a mysterious guest

Word count: 787

—

AS SOON as the child was asleep, Yukiya Kitayama prepared a provisory altar next to the living room. He burnt the incense sticks, put a worn-out but sturdy ivory hair clip next to the lily-white vases with chrysanthemums in them. He gently rocked the bell so as not disturb Miya upstairs and recited the Sutras.

At the tail-end of his prayers, one could hear a pair of shuffling black leather shoes whose owner was taking his seat on the nearby couch.

“It is nice to be remembered, isn’t it?” Said the voice, cool and gentle at the same time.

Yukiya chuckled. He closed his eyes and after saying his prayers, lowered the incense sticks and placed them on their burners.

When done with the rituals, Yukiya then joined his guest. He began to study the face he once knew.

Compared to the man before him, his shoes and the girl’s were at the genkan keeping the tradition and for hygienic reasons. Besides, tatami mats covered the ground floors in an otherwise empty house.

“You are here,” Yukiya let out an exhale he was keeping for so long.

“Yes, I am. How are you, Yukiya? How’s Himemiya? It has been a long time. Aren’t you happy seeing an old friend?” He laughed. It was a rarity seeing that face laugh. Once Yukiya’s heart tugged when it first happened especially after seeing the owner’s face with dimples on the cheeks. He was still beautiful, so feminine that the skin was flawless like a freshly blossomed flower, the long, black hair remained silkier than ever that that it took Yukiya’s breath away.

“So far, we are all right. We are coping,” Yukiya then quickly bent down his head as tears threatened to fall. He would love to take him into his arms but could not.

“What’s stopping you then?” He read Yukiya’s thoughts. He furrowed his brow, worried about seeing the younger man in front of him like this.

He immediately reached for Yukiya then stroked his face. His faint perfume, a whiff of musky-sweetish wisteria blooms, overwhelmed the other man. It made Yukiya feel heady. Memories of them together came back. A smell of home. The next thing he knew he was cradling him like a baby. Yukiya began to cry earnestly, his right hand searched for the guest’s collar, which turned wet from all his tears, and hanged on to it like there was no tomorrow.

“You need to come back to us. Everyone misses you. We need you, Yukiya. The situation in Yamauchi is getting worse every day,” the gentle voice whispered to him while he kissed the top of his head, his ears, and cheeks alternately. “Most of all, Himemiya’s mother misses her so much. Her heart aches for a year now. I hate to see the empress that way. She does not deserve it.”

Yukiya nodded. It was an order that he could not refuse.

“Your Majesty, please forgive me…”

He was not being selfish when he asked the girl to join him, to escape from the country he served aimlessly, but the thought of starting his life, their lives, anew, that was what prompted him to leave that place when half of his life he had dedicated to only one man, who was holding him right now.

They stayed like that for an hour and a half when he heard dainty footsteps came down from the second floor.

“Yuki-san?”

“Himemiya? Did I wake you up?”

The girl shook her head. When she looked at him again, her eyes turned bigger, a concern on her face.

“Yuki-san? Your eyes are so red. I thought I heard you talking to someone.”

“No, uhm…” Yukiya wanted to lie, but he had always been honest to the girl ever since taking over the responsibility of being his parent in the outside world. He still remembered the day when he said goodbye and she quickly ran up to him incognito at the Suzaku Gate, hugged him, not wanting to let go.

“We have to say goodbye to your friends in school and mine too,” Yukiya told her as he gently stroked her back.

“I miss my mother,” Himemiya blurted out then let out a muffled cry.

“It is time to go back, Himemiya. It is time to see her again,” Yukiya’s arms enveloped the girl. Both searching for comfort.

“Thank you,” mouthed the guest standing in the alcove, a smile on his lips.

Yukiya raised his right hand gesturing him to join them. He took the invitation. Spreading his purple chiton, he held Yukiya and Himemiya tighter. His face, at ease.

A gentle warm breeze surrounded the two replacing the vanishing guest and Yukiya cried even more.

(Illustration: Naoyuki Nakajima)

~ fin ~

[patron-saint-of-your-demise]

the fact you also level the memosprites is so cool I really like that

[justsomecorvid]

Did a piece for Remembrance Day

[musouie]

art by ohto.begone ノ divider by @/adornedwithlight

⟢ précis: vi seeks your comfort after reuniting with powder ꒱ inspired by s1 ep6

⟢ contents: hurt/comfort, angst, gn!reader, references to s1 ep 3 + e6, wc: 0.9k

Vi comes to you early in the morning.

She slinks in with the rising sun, tiptoeing across your floors, narrowly missing the floorboards that often creak with an ease that can only be learned — and then, she sits. 

Quietly, on the edge of your bed, stifling her pained groans from throbbing wounds through clenched teeth and blueblack lips — taking the brunt of it as she’s always done …

... alone.

She tries to fight it — the intrusion, the remembrance — but she’s never been good at forgetting, at smothering all the misshapen fragments of her memories until they were soot in her skull —

(Fire, heady and ashen on her tongue; the explosion, the beast Vander had become — and then all that came after. The poison of her words, the gravel of her voice, the tremble of Powder’s bottom lip as she harshly gripped her jaw)

— they haunted, they haunted, they haunted.

Her own lip begins to tremble, and quickly, she begins to undo her bandages, minding the shallow dip of your mattress as she shifts to a better position. (Perhaps the pain would distract her, one sting to outdo another of a different kind?) She unwinds it once, twice — and immediately her nose scrunches at the foul odour it emits: of blood and grime and sweat and —

“Vi?”

Her head snaps up; you’re staring at her blearily — vision blurry and cottoned around the edges as you fight your heavy eyelids.

You blink twice and she nods, slowly turning her muscled back to you as you pull yourself into a seated position, legs still tucked beneath your blanket. “What are you doing here?” Her shoulders tense; you try again. “...When did you get in?”

“Not too long ago,” she mutters, gathering the last of her bandage in her scraped palm. “Snuck in through the window.”

You rub at your eyes. “You know I hate when you do that. There’s a key beneath the welcome-mat, you can just come through the front like normal.” 

She says nothing to that, but her shoulders do that curl. The one that tells you she’s annoyed, that another wall has been drawn up between you. You think it’s because you used the word ‘normal’ – your error. I’m far from normal, she’d whisper on starless nights, the things that happen to me don’t happen to normal people. 

She’d groan when you’d whisper back, And what is it that happens to you?

(What followed was predictable — routine. The crow’s feet by her eyes eased, and her lips hardened into a line — one that you knew not to cross, not to touch…not to kiss in lieu of all the ‘I’m sorry’’s and ‘Please forgive me’’s that neither of you would appreciate the outcome of.)

So you wait for her shoulders to straighten themselves, for the sun to peek through your window, one shy ray behind the other — and for the breath she’d been holding to release itself in one large huff.

“I–” she turns, and it’s then you glimpse the extent of her state, of her lips — indigo and swollen; berries crushed beneath a careless fist, one bruise atop another that has yet to heal. “Can I just lay beside you?”

“Your lips—”

“—They’ll heal.”

“But—”

“I said they’ll heal,” she bites.

And there it is again — the wall.

The wall.

(How many times had you tried to climb over it, to scale the bricks and mortar and find a way inside? How many times had you slipped and fallen, the jagged edges of its foundation cutting deep into the skin of your palms, your knees, the soles of your feet?

How many times had you bled, and bled, and bled, and bled, and asked no more questions?)

“Alright,” you murmur, lifting your blanket to invite her in.

(It was a small mercy, you supposed. To have a part of her, even if it was just a fraction, a piece, a fragment.

To have her close, and not so far away.) “Come.”

And so, she does. Wincing, groaning, hissing — she does.

You hold your arms out and she falls into them, her face burrowing into the crook of your neck. Her fingers, her nails, her hands — they grip the fabric of your shirt, bunching the cloth and pulling it tight.

(If you were to look down, you would see her knuckles, white, and the veins of her wrist, pronounced and raised. Most of all, you would see the tremor, the shake, the quiver, the shiver, the tremble of her entire being.

A leaf, battered and broken, blown and thrown by the wind.

A bird, with its wings torn and clipped, left to bleed and rot in the dirt.)

“I-I saw her.”

The admission is uttered so weakly, muffled by the fabric of your shirt, that you nearly miss it.

Your chest rises. “Who?”

“Powder. I–” Your shirt is drawn tighter. “It was so foggy… I-I didn’t even recognise her at first.”

“Vi…”

“I should’ve. I should’ve known. I should’ve seen her, I should’ve stayed with her, I should’ve—”

“Vi.”

“I should’ve—”

“Violet.” 

Her body shudders, her shoulders quake. “S-She was just a child.”

You pull her closer, until the two of you are flush and her body heat seeps through her clothes and your thin sleepwear, to your flesh. You cradle her, and carefully, you run your fingers through the jagged, pink strands of her hair — as though she’d skitter off at any moment.

“As were you.”

She doesn’t respond.

So you cradle her, until her breaths are yours and hers.

Until the blood on her lips are yours and hers.

Until her heartbeats are yours and hers.

Until her scars are yours and hers.

(And yours, hers.)

masterlist <3

[rememberwren]

A Girl (Not Mine) || 1

Ghost is a little obsessed with Soap and a lot obsessed with Soap's girlfriend--you.

About this: ghoap/fem!reader, suspension of disbelief regarding anything military related is actually necessary for enjoyment, canon-typical trauma for Simon, intrusive thoughts, slut shaming, voyeurism, fingering, accidentally seeing nudes not meant for you, poor writing unless you squint, try squinting. 4k

-

“I’m so glad I got a girl to think of, 

Even though she isn’t mine.”

-

The first time Johnny mentions you, the 141 is fresh from a month-long leave.

Ghost has a love-hate relationship with time spent off duty. He’d like to enjoy it—to do fuck all, to hike through Clayton Vale twice in a day if it suits him, to drink tea for every meal. But all leave does is remind him of the glaring emptiness in his life, the one he usually fills with violence. So he spent the month climbing up the walls and crawling out of his skin, waiting to be called back like a dog brought to heel. 

Here was his comeuppance for craving something to fucking do instead of relaxing the way Price had told him to do. Now they were on their way to San Lorenzo in Ecuador dealing with Ghost’s least favorite flavor of criminal: drug cartels. 

It’s too close to Mexico. Too close to that which he would forget gladly if it didn’t come with the loss of so many valuable skill sets. He’s crawling out of his skin for a whole new reason, watching the water fly by beneath them, deep in memories. 

Ghost takes all those feelings, fears, remembrances and swallows them whole. Lets them sink to a sour, dark place in his belly. He sits tense on the helo, still except for the rise and fall of his chest, his rifle a familiar weight across his knees. Sometimes he has to shut his eyes, swallowing against the rising nausea. 

He only has half an ear on Garrick and Johnny’s conversation beside him, but it is all he needs to follow along. 

“—lass of my own now,” Johnny is saying around a laugh, his accent thick enough to chafe at Ghost’s skin in a way he doesn’t want to examine, one that leaves him feeling raw but not necessarily hurt. “So no more picking up the barflies back in Hereford.”

“She making an honest man out of you, Tav?” 

“Aye, you could say that.” Johnny sounds proud of the fact. It all is so far from anything Simon has experienced in his life that he feels no distant stirring of empathy, not even a muted sense of familiarity in the words. Honest men do not exist. 

Not to mention, Simon’s never had a woman (willingly) and he never will. 

“You love her?” Garrick asks, earnestly interested to hear the answer. Ghost couldn’t care less.

“Aye. There’s something special about her.” 

“What, she’s cool with anal?”

Johnny crows with laughter, and now Ghost does feel something: annoyance, cloying, creeping up his spine like a spider in a web headed for the wiggling maggot of his brain. 

“Will you two ever shut up?” he snaps. “Not a moment’s fucking peace since we boarded.”

“Sorry LT,” Johnny says, sounding genuinely apologetic. Ghost cuts his eyes toward the other man, assessing for honesty. Johnny’s face is too expressive: brows lifted, eyes wide and earnest, mouth tipped into a tiny grimace, like the thought of irritating Ghost gives him real pain. Between the two of them, Ghost can’t help but think that it’s Johnny who needs a mask if he wants to survive in the world. 

Ghost doesn’t have the energy for this. He goes back to watching the scenery pass by. They are over trees now: thick lush jungle, the scent of which he associates with pain—plenty of which was his own. Plenty of which he caused to others. 

“What about you, LT?” Johnny asks, calling out over the sound of the helicopter blades. “Do you have a woman back home?”

Ghost lets his head turn, slow and dangerous. Johnny’s audacity never fails to surprise him. “What do you think, Johnny?”

“Honestly?” 

“Go on, then.”

“You look like if yeh’ve got a woman, she’s probably locked in yer basement.” 

(right where she’d belong.)

Garrick slaps Johnny’s thigh, his face mottled with panic. He hisses under his breath, something like, There are faster ways to die, Tav! Less painful ways, too, Ghost thinks. He fixes Johnny with a dead stare. The silence stretches, growing long and thin and dangerous, like the blade of a knife, until Johnny looks away. 

“Think less about my private life, Sergeant,” he warns him. 

“Not often you tell me to think less, LT.” 

Ghost just grunts, finished with the conversation, returning his unseeing eyes to the trees and slipping back into his own memories. 

-

That should be—well, not the end of it. He expects Johnny to become insufferable about it; that’s just the other man’s way. Still, Ghost had never expected to see you. 

He’s doing paperwork in the rec room, too stifled by the tiny, enclosed space of his office to remain there. Paperwork and debriefing are always his least favorite parts of an op. Give him a gun with which to kill and he will gladly kill; give him a pen with which to write and he spends half the time thinking about burying it in his own eye. Garrick and Johnny are there nearby fucking around on their phones having finished with their easy portion of the work ages ago. 

A phone is what Johnny thrusts beneath Ghost’s nose. It takes all of his mental fortitude not to flinch away from the unexpected action (or, more likely, not to rip Johnny’s arm off and beat him half to death with it). His eyes flicker down to the screen on instinct and—there you are. 

You have one eye squinted shut, your hand up to create a visor against the overbearing sun. The picture shows you from the bust upwards, and Simon sees it for approximately one full second before he grips Johnny’s wrist in a brutal hold and forces the hand and the phone away. 

It’s already too late. He’s committed you to memory. The way your hair sits, its color in the blistering sun. The curve of your lips (fuckable, he thinks against his will) as you give Johnny behind the camera an exasperated smile. The arch of your nose (images now—fingers pinching noses shut, forcing mouths further down his cock just to watch them choke and struggle)—

“Get that out of my face,” he grits out through his teeth. His thoughts won’t stop, not now that the floodgates have been opened, and it makes him feel like a dog backed into a corner, frightened-violence rising up in the back of his throat like bile. 

—the smooth line of your throat (and his hands around it, choking the light from your eyes just to fuck you when you’re soft and pliable and he doesn’t have to listen to you crying and begging)—shut UP!—

“It’s just my girl, sir,” Johnny laughs, his own eyes flickering back down to your image on the phone, like they are drawn to you. Like it is hard to look away. Ghost doesn’t have that problem—he has some  discipline left. “And it’s not as if she’s naked.” 

Ghost grips the pen in his hand so tightly that the plastic shell cracks. He’s barely keeping it together, sick and afraid and horrified and angry that Johnny has done this to him—has done this to his own girl—

His voice is rough when he croaks out: “What makes you think I care to see her, Sergeant?” 

“‘S it wrong to share the most important person in my life with the other most important people in my life?” Johnny says, eyes too guileless to be taken seriously. 

“Share less,” he snaps. 

“Been saying that to me an awful lot lately, sir.” 

“A good Sergeant would take my words to heart.” 

“A good lieutenant would know a futile lesson when it’s biting him in the arse.”

Ghost’s eyes narrow. “Careful, Johnny. As much as I hate paperwork, I’d write you up—gladly.” 

Johnny gapes. “What for?”

Ghost grins without mirth, mask stretching around his features. Even grinning cruelly like this, his face feels unused to any expression that is adjacent to happiness. He swears darkly: “I’ll find a reason.”

It would send anyone else running. Even Garrick looks fearful, though fascinated: the same look a man wears when he’s watching a car crash in progress. But if sense were dynamite, Johnny wouldn’t have enough to blow his nose. Instead, he just flops down on the couch close enough to flutter the pages in Ghost’s lap. Close enough for their knees to brush. 

“Jesus, you’re a tadger today,” Johnny says quietly, boot knocking against Ghost’s, a touch he feels all the way up his leg. “Shove off some of that paperwork on us. What’s the use of being a lieutenant if you can’t lord it over your sergeants?”

“I’m sorry, us?” Garrick asks. 

“I don’t shirk my responsibilities, Johnny,” Ghost says coldly, gathering his papers. His elbow brushes against Johnny’s ribs, the firm, burning warmth of the other man’s body. He jerks away. He’ll take the stifling seclusion of his office, that makeshift coffin, before he subjects himself to any more of this. “You’d do well to follow my example.”

-

Ghost resolutely does not think of you. Not during quiet lazy moments on base, not during the frustration of training recruits, especially not during the eerie calm of missions. You do not cross his mind. 

His dreams are another thing altogether. 

There are the dreams where he hurts and the dreams where he is hurting, and he doesn’t know which are worse. He only knows that they are made worse by your strange presence: your body bent and being broken in by others; you, bent and being broken in by him. He wakes in cold sweats, jaw aching from gritting his teeth in his sleep. 

He hates himself for this last place where he cannot execute control: his subconscious. 

-

“Mail?” Johnny asks cheerfully at the sight of Garrick seated on the bench outside the DFAC, a stack of papers and letters laying on his lap. 

Johnny is sweaty, gray t-shirt clinging to his toned body as he (for once) keeps a companionable silence at Ghost’s side. They have been training recruits all day—work which Ghost considers far beneath his pay grade, but which he can’t refuse when ops are so slow to arrive and when he is so eager (desperate) to keep busy. Ghost lets himself sit heavily on the bench a safe distance away from Garrick, sweat cooling on his own body. 

He’s not ready to be alone yet. 

He’s allowed to do that. To want company. Of all the people on base, Garrick and Johnny (and Price) might be the most tolerable of the lot of them. During the rare moments when the pitiful piece of humanity left inside him craves companionship, this is the least painful method to mainline it. 

He ignores the lack of letters for him. There is no mail for Ghost—there never is. 

Garrick passes Johnny no less than four envelopes. Johnny’s soft smile as he flips through them speaks volumes. Ghost can guess who they’re from: his mother likely, who writes as often as she can. One of his various sisters, surely. Take your pick.  Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Johnny flip through the letters and settle on one in particular, thicker than the others, tearing it open and tugging the letter out. 

The pictures slip from the folded piece of paper and fall to the ground. 

Johnny dives to grab them, but all it does is bring Garrick’s attention to them more. Even Ghost’s interest is piqued, his dark eyes giving up pretending to watch the recruits limp back to their barracks to shower before dinner and following Johnny’s hasty movements instead, watching the hot flush that crawls up the back of his Sergeant’s neck. 

“What are those?” Garrick asks. 

“No’ a thing.” 

Garrick lights up. He practically tosses his letter to the side. “She sent you pictures?” 

“Possibly,” Johnny says smuggly, the images—old fashioned Polaroids, a nice touch—pressed to his chest. His eyes narrow at the expression on Garrick’s face. “Don’t even think about it, Gaz—!”

Garrick pounces. The two begin grappling, both of their faces split into wide grins. Johnny can only defend himself with one arm, his other protectively clutching the photographs to his bosom. They take each other to the ground and Ghost watches, half interested and half irritated, wondering who will win. 

The pictures go flying—and fate’s invisible bitch of a hand causes them to land at Ghost’s feet. Garrick and Johnny freeze.

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t, the same way he knows that he’s going to. Ignoring their renewed struggles on the ground as they fight to untangle themselves and stand, he leans down and reaches for the photographs.

The white of the Polaroid’s edges contrast nicely with his dark gloves as he gathers the pictures together like a deck of scattered cards. 

“LT—“

They’re relatively tame. Perhaps you knew the high risk of sending them. In one you are kneeling on a bed amongst a sea of mussed, white sheets, wearing nothing but a t-shirt that you have tugged down between your parted thighs to offer yourself some modesty. It is painful to flip to the next one, but pain calls to Ghost, lures him in. In another you’re wearing some strappy lingerie but still covered artfully by the sheets, both hands covering your eyes, a grin on your face like you are mid laugh. Did Johnny take these photos of you himself? Did a stranger? A friend? Another shows your side profile, back arched, topless, every inch of you curved and poised. 

You’re (a filthy little slut) so fucking pretty. 

“Give ‘em back, LT, please,” Johnny asks gently, like he expects Ghost to tear them to shreds. Or confiscate them. 

Ghost drops the photographs to the bench, wishing he could scrub the images of you from his mind. He shouldn’t have picked them up in the first place. It’s adding fuel to the fire of his broken brain, and he knows that he will pay for it dearly. 

Johnny is talking. “—shy, she’d just die to know you saw.”

“She’ll only know if you tell her, Johnny,” Ghost reminds him. His mouth feels numb, his brain the quiet granted by white noise, a conglomerate of screams. 

Johnny frowns. “Suppose so. You alright?” 

“Since Ghost saw—“ 

“No, Gaz.” 

Ghost watches the two of them enter the building. 

His hand burns, where he has palmed the picture of you topless. He stands and slips the Polaroid into his back pocket. It’s on the tip of his tongue to call out for Johnny and give him the picture back—he could find some excuse, and Johnny would believe him, he knows it—but he doesn’t. He makes for his room, feeling sick with himself. He isn’t hungry. Not for food. 

-

Ghost is compromised. 

The thought replays in his mind over and over again as he drives to Price’s house in Solihull. You and Johnny have crawled beneath his skin and infected him, dug your way into his DNA and are affecting everything from his decision making capabilities to his dreams. He knows that going anywhere where you both will be is a mistake, but it’s one he can’t seem to help hurdling himself toward at high speed. 

Nothing will happen, he tells himself, knuckles white against the steering wheel. He only does what he allows himself to do—no more. The others will be there at least, Garrick and Price and Johnny himself. Physical barriers between him and you. Human meat shields, if necessary. Ghost wouldn’t dare to lay a finger on you. (But who would stop him if he tried? Who could?) You are safe, he tells himself. 

He is the last to arrive, dragging his feet up the concrete steps to the two story brick historical home that Price owns. He lets himself in the way that Price told him to and can tell by the eerie silence of the house that everyone is already outside enjoying the well-landscaped yard. Already he sees the evidence of you: a purse (go through it) laid neatly on the dining room table. He sets his keys beside it but does not touch it. 

Ghost doesn’t bother trying to delay the inevitable. Every part of him wants to run, but that’s all he’s ever wanted his whole life. He’s used to it by now, used to being forced to walk toward the thing which terrified him. He squares his shoulders and slides open the patio door, slipping back out into the muggy heat of the afternoon, face mask in place, hood up.  

The landscaping is one of the best features of Price’s house. The privacy fence is tall and appealing to Ghost’s seclusive nature, the lawn neatly clipped. There is a hedgerow running along the southern edge of the fence that is meticulously maintained. Flower beds lined with bricks rest along the house full of geraniums and phlox. The patio is smooth stone with an inlaid fire pit that would be crackling if the weather were any milder. An iron-wrought table sits nearby surrounded by chairs, and seated there are Garrick, Johnny, and Price. 

You are over by the flowers, kneeling in the soft grass, picking phlox just a few shades darker than the sundress you’re wearing, the one that skims your soft thighs. Ghost’s eyes roam over you and away all before your head even turns at the sound of the door opening. 

“LT,” Johnny calls, lighting up. “You made it!” 

“Didn’t think you’d show, Lieutenant,” Garrick says with a smile. 

“As if he’s got something better to be doing than spending time with us,” Johnny crows. 

“Jesus, will you two leave the man alone? Wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already regretting coming,” Price says. Ghost inclines his head, grateful for the backup. 

He hears your approach, the soft sound of your flats against the patio stone. You are small (weak) compared to him, craning your head up to look in his eyes. He hates the dark part of his brain that calls you easy prey as he watches you twist the phlox stems between anxious fingers. 

“You must be Simon—” Johnny shakes his head a little, subtle, visible only out of the corner of Ghost’s eye. “—ah—Ghost? I mean—” 

“I don’t care what you call me,” he admits.

“Ghost,” you settle where it is nice and safe. “It’s nice to meet you. John talks about you all the time.”

“Likewise,” Ghost says flatly, hoping you will not mistake it for a compliment. 

Garrick snorts. “Never shuts up about you is more likely.”

There aren’t enough chairs for everyone, so you sit on Johnny’s lap, legs crossed demurely, skirt riding up around your upper thighs. He wonders about the softness of your skin, wonders if his calloused touch would hurt you or if you’re used to Johnny’s by now. He could make it hurt. The thought doesn’t come with any zing of pleasure, just the cold apathy of fact. Has Johnny ever tried that? Has he ever—

Ghost’s gloved hand clenches into a fist, curling around the iron armrest of the chair. He takes a measured breath and holds it until his lungs ache. Those thoughts aren’t his own. They come from the dark part that Roba seeded inside him, that part with creeping vines too deep to root out. That part with thorns. 

He could hurt you, the same way he could hurt anyone, he tells himself. But he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to. 

He does only what he allows himself to do. No more. No less. 

You and Johnny stand, heading into the house to retrieve a round of drinks for everyone. Ghost watches Johnny’s hand dip low on your back to the curve of your ass as he guides you through the open door, shutting it behind you. 

“Are you alright, Simon?” Price asks around a cigar. “I know meeting new people isn’t exactly in your repertoire.”

“Don’t mother me.”

“Don’t have to be your mother to care about you.”

“Garrick—get lost,” Ghost barks. 

The iron chair legs screech against the stone of the patio as Garrick stands hastily. “Had the same thought, sir. Hedges look lovely this time of year.”

When Garrick is properly out of earshot, pretending to find amusement in the neat hedgerows along the fence line, Ghost says: “I shouldn’t have come. I’m… I— can’t be left alone with her.” 

“With—? Soap’s gal?”

Ghost grits his teeth in shame and nods. 

“Do you know her?” 

Ghost shakes his head in the negative, but it’s not necessarily true. He knows a thousand women just like her, soft and unexpecting. The betrayal always cuts deeper than his cock could reach (estoy preso, somos lo mismo, por favor).

He stands, chair legs dragging against the stone. “This was a mistake. I need to leave.” 

“If you say so,” says Price, knowing better than to argue. “Go around the side. You won’t even have to see them.” 

“My keys are inside. I’ll be quick.” 

“Take care of yourself, Simon,” says Price, his eyes dark and lips downturned as he watches Ghost stalk to the patio door and slip inside. 

-

He braces himself to see you and Johnny in the kitchen, but when the door slides open near-silent, neither of you are anywhere to be seen. Like a fool, he considers himself lucky. Quiet as his namesake, Ghost goes to the table and picks up his keys, palming them. 

That’s when he hears it. The unmistakable muted slap of flesh on flesh. 

(Go look.)

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t, but that is his modus operandi these days: failing himself, doing what he isn’t meant to, seeing what is not for his eyes. His feet carry him silently to the door, which is cracked open just wide enough for him to see through into the room. It is a guest bedroom judging by the bland decor, the queen sized bed. Johnny has you sprawled on it, your sundress hitched up around your waist, his fingers buried to the final knuckle inside your cunt. Ghost can hear the way it squelches from all the way outside the door, knows that you must be dripping down Johnny’s wrist. 

“Keep quiet, love,” Johnny pants, one hand over your mouth (he’s not doing it right) to muffle the whines and groans trying to slip past your lips. “Needy little thing, aren’t yeh? Squirming in my lap, making my cock hard right there in front of my Captain, in front of my Lieutenant—“

You whine something back, but it is lost into his palm. 

“Don’t have time to get my cock in you,” Johnny sighs, twisting his fingers inside you, hooking them to press against that tender spot past your pubic bone that has your knees knocking together. He shifts his palm down to grip your neck, your panting breaths filling the room. “But you can bet this dress is coming off as soon as we’re home, do y’hear me?”

“Yessir,” you whisper, and it has Ghost’s cock throbbing. 

This is not for him. He thinks about Johnny’s words from months ago: that you are shy. There’s no chance you would ever want to be seen like this by him. Reaching out, he grips the doorknob and quietly tugs the door closed, til the sound of Johnny’s palm slapping against your clit is muffled behind the wood. 

He takes his keys and is gone before you ever know he was there. 

-

Johnny texts him later that night: 

Why’d you leave early, you numpty? We wanted more time with you. 

Ghost doesn’t respond. He’s too busy spiraling in his own flat, losing control every few minutes and slipping back into that place of pain and blood and dirt. 

An hour later, Johnny ends up adding, My girl wants me to say she was glad she got to meet you. Only Jesus knows why! Ghost definitely doesn’t respond to that. But he doesn’t delete the messages either.

[sanjisprincesss]

I could fall in love with you

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Synopsis: How I think the one piece men would realize they’ve got it bad for you!

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Characters: Monsters trio x fem! Reader

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･cw: fluff fluff and more fluff! Sort of proofread

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ song credit: I could fall in love by Selena

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ LUFFY

Realized when he started to feel even more clingy towards you.

With Luffy it’s a matter of whether or not he realizes or someone around him realizes. The minute he realizes he doesn’t hold back on his feelings and tells you immediately.

He realizes when he starts to feel a certain way when Sanji or anyone grazes at you in any other way then friendly. Which is a feeling he never really felt since in any other situation he wouldn’t care about if someone flirts or flaunts over you.

He starts to crave your attention and presence more and everyone around him will most likely notice.

You and Luffy sit on top of the head of the thousand sunny pointing out clouds shapes making stories and backgrounds to them. Watching the sunset a beautiful ray of colors and scenery cover the sky.

“Shishi that one looks like a sea cow doesn’t Y/N!” Your captain said pointing and laughing at a cloud that strangely resembled a giant sea creature. You look to where he’s pointing to see the cloud he’s mentioning. You can’t help but smile and laugh at the remembrance. “ yeah it does look like a sea cow Luffy!”

As the laughter begins to die down, Luffy with an unreadable expression turns to face you without saying a word. As you turn to face him his famous smile returns to his face “Y/N i love you so much! You know that right!”

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ZORO

Realized when he got a little too overprotective of you even more than he’s willing to admit.

First of all, as soon as he gets the slightest hint that he’s head over heels in love with you he’s denying it and will try to deny it as much as he is possibly able to. DENIAL IS A RIVER IN EGYPT.

Which is also why he wouldn’t confess first.

Zoro is known for being the protector of the strawhat pirates, by nature he has his hand on his swords the minute the crew is In danger. It's not that he is more protective towards you than the crew, it's more like he’s more protective of you towards others that have pertenal feelings towards you. Which once again is not really his main train of thought yk.

Of course he would never admit, but he likes to have your company near him. May it be you reading a book in the crows nest while he trains or just being near him while he’s napping.

As the sun shines on the sea and everything in its path. You Nami and Robin were sunbathing on the deck as Sanji came by with fresh drinks for the three of us. Luffy Chopper and Usopp playing around the ship while laughing with zoro training in the crows nest.

“NAMI SWANN~ Y/N CHANN~ ROBIN DEARR~ I'VE MADE YOU LOVELY LADIES SOME REFRESHING BEVERAGES! SO BEAUTIFUL I COULD JUST MELT!”

He says with hearts in his eyes placing the drinks down on a table and hanging them out one by one.

“Aye, curly brows give em a break will ya!”

And that Is all you hear form the green haired swordsman before you and your friends share a knowing glare before smiling towards which other.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ SANJI

Realized he loves you differently than he would other women…

Let’s state the obvious: Sanji loves women. It’s a known fact about him. He has felt infatuation before to the point where he thought he was in love. That infatuation died down when he found another woman who crossed his path.

But with you it’s different. His infatuation turns into something that lasts. It doesn’t fade away when someone else is around him. He lowkey turns into Mr prince.

He goes that extra mile. He’s a gentleman all around and it’s really hot. He can have a conversation with you without any kind of questionable behavior or nosebleeds. No lustful stares of any sort, no signs of dirty thoughts, just quality time with his lover.

The crew had all departed ways to follow their regular duties and routines after dinner. However you stayed after dinner to help Sanji with the kitchen while of course he always insisted that there was no need for you to worry your pretty little head.

You always insisted on helping and how could he ever say no to you. So there you two are, wasting and drying dishes. One by one.

“ I wonder what different types of fish and seasonings are in the all blue?” “What color do you think the water is there?” You ask him while drying a plate. As he passes the next dish that needs to be dried.

“The all blue hm…you know just what to ask me, don’t you? A beautiful girl like you deserves a gorgeous answer.. don’t you think?” You nod while putting the last dish away.

“Let’s see..if I had to think of a color, one that matched the idea of all the world's fish swimming together.. I’d say sky blue. A brilliant sky blue it has to be!”

[devildomwriter]

Mammon Birthday Special 100 Fun Facts

1. Mammon states that he sleeps in the nude

2. Mammon despises witches and was nearly chopped into pieces by them once but Lucifer rescued him (although Lucifer was also the one to recommend they cut him into pieces)

3. When Levi tried attacking Mammon in his sleep, before he could even bring his foot down on Mammon, Mammon had him in a headlock

4. Mammon has a habit of stripping while drunk

5. Mammon does not like it when bath’s smell like flowers

6. Mammon’s dream for the future is having a carefree and playful life

7. Mammon starts his baths by washing his head

8. Mammon’s fear of ghosts and monsters originates a little after a year of living in the Devildom when he is possessed by a ghost

9. Mammon hates a Devildom song called “Corpse Rock”

10. Karasu refers to Mammon as noodle-boy

11. In earlier chats and Devilgrams Mammon is said to be a cat person, in later stories he is said to be a dog person, but his birthday information card again states he is more of a cat person

12. Mammon’s motto is “Money will makes the Devil turn millstones.”

13. Mammon’s daily activity is procrastinating in MC’s room

14. Mammon is obsessed with his shades and when he accidentally breaks them he’s devastated

15. According to Beelzebub, Mammon is bad at cooking and doesn’t make good peanut butter sandwiches

16. When Belphie and Beel helped Mammon pick out his human world outfit, he was so touched he bought them their human world clothes

17. Mammon states if the Devildom disappeared tomorrow he’d borrow as much money as he wanted to spend and not have to pay any of it back

18. Mammon’s favorite food in hell is Soy Sauce flavored cup ramen

19. In a love survey in B’s log, Mammin is said to be the active one pursuing love

20. Mammon is said to attract the “sassy and outgoing” types

21. The first thing Mammon does in the morning is check his stocks

22. In the love survey in B’s log when asked if he’d want to be bound by or bind his lover his response was “what do you want me to do? What did you say? Idiot!”

23. Mammon’s car is a Demonio 666 Lexura. The specific type was very rare and (unbeknownst to him originally) only with Lucifer and Diavolo’s help was he able to get it

24. Mammon easily forgets anniversaries and special dates of remembrance

25. Mammon is unable to express himself frankly

26. Mammon likes R&B music

27. Mammon is not a morning demon

28. One of the first things in the game said about Mammon by his brothers is that he’s a masochist

29. The results of a demon brain scanning app showed that Mammon’s thoughts are 90% money

30. Mammon’s worst RAD subject is Hexes and Curses

31. Mammon became Lucifer’s attendant in the Celestial Realm before Leviathan had even been born

32. Mammon was once almost roasted alive by hellfire

33. Mammon is a very bad liar and often admits exactly what he did when explaining that’s not what he did

34. Mammon was almost the one to tame Cerberus but Lucifer rushed in as he was about to confront the dog

35. Mammon is extremely protective of his little brothers

36. When forced to be honest, Mammon admits how much he admires and respects Lucifer

37. When Lucifer has a bad day, Mammon will bring him a drink and sandwich without being asked

38. Mammon was almost kicked out of the celestial realm thousands of years before the fall until Lucifer got through to him

39. Besides the people who were told what Simeon was going through in season 4, Mammon was the first one to notice something was wrong with him

40. Once Mammon was punished by Lucifer by being tickled until he laughed so hard he was humiliated

41. Mammon was given a serum with unknown results that caused him to tell MC he wanted to do many explicit things with them

42. Even Michael was unable to handle Mammon as an angel

43. Mammon is so fast that not even Diavolo and Lucifer can catch up to him

44. It’s been mentioned multiple times that Mammon uses crows as familiars

45. When Lucifer cannot trust Diavolo, he turns to Mammon

46. Mammon once called up Simeon to ask about significant lines in the TSL series so he could successfully hack into Leviathan’s akuzon account

47. Levi and Mammon sometimes perform standup comedy

48. When Mammon tried making a cake for Lucifer on his birthday in the Celestial Realm, he accidentally destroyed the kitchen, infuriating Michael

49. Mammon works as a model occasionally

50. In lesson 11 of the game Mammon claims he is well over 5,000 years old

51. In the celestial realm Mammon would often watch over the younger angels

52. Mammon once tried selling bird feathers to the lesser angels, claiming they were seraph feathers

53. In the celestial realm, Mammon once used the lesser angels to play a game of life-size chess

54. Mammon is said to have been the one who rallied and encouraged the angels in the Celestial war

55. Unlike his brothers, Mammon doesn’t often lose control of his powers

56. Whenever Mammon comes up with solutions to a crisis, they usually make things worse

57. Mammon struggles with math unless he thinks about it as calculating money

58. Mammon loves pandas because they’re profitable

59. Mammon always lets his brothers know about sales and deals going on

60. Mammon is the one who told Lucifer to always have pride and not regret his decision about the war

61. Mammon was cursed to speak like a cat during season 4 and Satan was unable to leave his side even getting Mammon to play with cat toys.

62. The first time Mammon lost control of his powers and transformed into a demon in the game is when he misunderstood a conversation between Levi and MC and assumed they had “relations”

63. Mammon is one of the only people who will indulge Asmodeus and watch his one-man fashion shows

64. When Mammon put too many meals on Satan’s tab, Satan called up Solomon and told him Mammon wanted to try his new recipe

65. Mammon has kidnapped MC multiple times

66. Mammon sometimes goes clubbing with Asmo after part time jobs

67. After Mammon sold all of their silverware he was fired from Ristorante Six

68. Mammon is sometimes referred to as MC’s pet

69. Mammon continues to insist he’s MC’s master not the other way around

70. Mammon sees Luke as his little brother

71. Student council members used to oversee detention until Mammon kept getting detention himself

72. Mammon once accidentally cast a spell on himself that made him burst into song

73. Mammon once accidentally turned himself into a dog

74. Mammon accidentally cursed himself and became extremely small. He was scared of how Beel was looking at him

75. When Mammon made the Miss’em dolls he became extremely wealthy but later blew it all on gambling

76. Mammon is too scared to watch horror movies alone and asks Lucifer to watch them with him

77. Mammon once attacked Lucifer with a three-prong pitch fork when he embarrassed him

78. Mammon has cried from fear of Simeon multiple times

79. Mammon was unable to even pretend to break up with MC

80. Mammon is one of the reasons you need a permit to get to the human world rather than do so freely

81. Mammon got a Mohawk once but his brothers teased him so much he immediately got rid of it

82. Mammon loves the Devildom version of Harry Potter

83. Mammon often threatens lesser/younger demons to hand over all their money

84. Mammon once stopped a bank robbery and demanded the money as compensation

85. Mammon accidentally cut down a Christmas tree gifted to Lucifer from Diavolo

86. Mammon was tricked by Lucifer to gamble against everyone he’d ever screwed over all at once

87. Mammon calls going to the horse races “seeing the horsies” to try and convince MC to tag along

88. When he was Lucifer’s attendant, Mammon sought for a rare Crystal Lily flower to gift him but got lost and Lucifer had to come find him

89. Mammon used Serenity Manor as collateral in gambling as soon as he got to the human world, almost forcing everyone to go right back to the Devildom

90. When coming up with proposal’s Mammon forced Simeon, Solomon, and Luke to participate in a flash mob

91. Mammon has a blood oath with MC and Leviathan

92. Mammon accidentally won Henry 1.0 while trying his first Devildom ice cream. He was nearly eaten.

93. Mammon owns an AK-47 after winning it over in a game against Leviathan

94. Mammon fees guilty that he didn’t have a grand reason to follow Lucifer to hell rather than just feeling like it

95. Mammon once lost a bet to a bunch of rabbits

96. Mammon prefers spicy foods to sweets

97. Mammon extorted Satan for 50,000 Grimm in exchange for throwing him a baseball

98. Mammon’s highest known rank in the celestial realm within the game is a Throne

99. When Mammon was turned into a Test Name box he got used to it immediately, disappointing Beelzebub

100. Mammon died in season 4 for a few minutes but was brought back by Barbatos

[katyspersonal]

I just wanted to put Revenant's lore in one post for the sake of documenting and observations

I've finally completed her Remembrance today! I also have a friend who simply can't play this game but will explode if they miss out on any gothic horror kind of story (Crow this is uuuuuu!!!) so I guess it can double as me resharing for her? I dunno

1) She is sort of a reincarnation of Chloe, and a similar concept to the Doll from Bloodborne

So at first, Revenant just recalls herself as a doll named Daphne, but as she remembers more, she starts to instead see it that the doll named Daphne was actually someone she used to cherish and care for! She recalls herself as a daughter, not as a doll.

The doll's body starts moving shortly after Chloe gets killed right beside her, and her conflicting memories imply some sort of spiritual transition. She reaches out specifically for the keepsake given to Chloe by Edgar, too.

Again, remember how one of her earlier recollections is, "The Night took lives of the family" and then "the Night would still give chase, even in this doll's frame"! Together with thinking about the doll as a separate being, it creates an impression that spirit of Chloe "escaped" in the Doll, although without memories, yet the Night still pursues her as to make sure she's dead.

In the very end of her remembrance, the whole 'hmmm I loved this doll, what was she named, again?' vibe completely fades, as if the last what was left of Chloe finally fades too. Like sort of that personality's very last breath, and Daphne becomes sort of independent person letting go of that personality, but not of the feelings that guaranteed her existence!

Again, if you didn't play Bloodborne, it will be a bit of nothing, but it is similar with Maria and the mourning Doll of her. They are spiritually linked to the point where as one is asleep, another is awake and vice-versa! Doll is very much just a Maria with super hardcore amnesia and lost traits, carrying Maria's grudges in her heart and only being liberated of them when we do kill Maria's disturbed spirit in the Nightmare realm! Many people assume that by breaking this 'last link' and guaranteeing ego death of Maria, Doll is liberated of her former life as well, now able to be considered as a separate being and develop into her own person! Maria's spirit is the reason Doll moves and breathes, but also Maria is no more, and her death coming to true completion through spiritual means beyond the actual death itself finalises the Doll's character's beginning.

And whereas in Bloodborne it is an interpretation (although very working one), in Nightreign it IS just what happens. The ego death and final straw of a person passing, but a new person now truly living on through their feelings.

2) She might be a bit like a sister Chloe never had

She is wearing the same kind of clothes as Daphne, minus the veil and cape part of course!

They also seem to have the same hairstyle, with the braid on the behind that doesn't take up all hair and braids with these round accessories on the front! Daphne was dressed like a true family member, not just a plaything! It is almost like Chloe wanted a twin. Or maybe, they were twins, but one was stillborn and Chloe always felt that missing half by knowing what happened?

Like, this is one VERY Victorian-coded society in Elden Ring's setting if I've seen one, and normally dolls like this were made of dead people in that period.

And at the same time, there is 0 emphasis on the presumed prototype person being dead at the age that she is depicted in. There is no aura of mourning surrounding her, just a lot of love and cherishing. However, white/grey hair is what might be significant!

Duchess, who is confirmed to be a bit touched by the Night at birth, shows some strands of grey hair! Maybe the Night assaulted this family even before, and the child that was meant to be Daphne was stillborn with fully grey hair like this? Something like similarly cursed mother expecting twins but only being able to save one for some reason? Or when expecting Daphne, she refused to sacrifice herself, unlike Duchess' mother?

Basically, Daphne being depicted as if she was a family member, a twin sister no less, but with white/grey hair feels significant!

3) There could have been some cultural absorption

Yes, this is recollecting this image again:

Daphne had this kind of aesthetic that I've spotted as soon as her portrait dropped! For now, not only Chloe was wearing similar braids, but also Sebastian, member of the family, has depictions of the 'eye' too (not to mention being a giant skeleton):

At the same time, it seems that this family is in fact rather Golden Order-ish? Oriented? Not only Helen is a Page of specifically Leyendell origins, but also Revenant is first met staring (intensely) at the portrait of Radagon, and she uses golden rings of light, which are something Radagon and Miquella created! She is also using Finger Seal, a thing normally given to Finger Maidens!

It would not be the first time when Golden Order sort of assimilated a culture of the defeated nation! The family of Northerncroft might have had distant roots with Fire Giants, or perhaps hail from Astrologers that were allied with them, but since then blending in. "Become one with the Order or go die in the outskirts of life" or whatever Marika said upon declaring the war on Liurnia, all that all that. Alternatively, they want to have place within it, despite it not accepting them, similarly to Albinaurics.

4) Revenant was corrupted at some point

When we met her, she was hostile and literally called 'Night Idol', and other Nightfarers distrusted her at first. Then her last two lived remembrances also happen after she is talking with Recluse, who encourages her to look within the nightmares that plague her and face her fears. And Recluse points out that she will be weaker against the Night after having lost to it before at some point

(Sorry I forgor to screenshot that dialogue 💀 Here ( x )) An interesting detail about her design suggests that it might have been very literal:

Looks like this gruesome wound is the source of it, and the reason Revenant is "bleeding" the dark blue

Also, the person that murders them looks like literally just a guy:

Well, not really. He looks like he is someone from this house I'd say? So maybe he got corrupted and puppeteed by the Night, in a similar way Revenant was before we freed her (by kicking her ass)

Are there some other things I needed to know? Maybe something about remembrances of the other Nightfarers that could explain more about her by effect? Honestly, finishing her first was not what I expected at all ahah

@heraldofcrow @val-of-the-north

[jihyoruri]

So i know you're super busy and all with so many request but i just wanted to add one more to further burden you lol

Can i request an interaction between wow!yn and yujin cause i know you gave us snippets but i lowkey kinda ship them hard (flustered yujin ftw)

BEST YUYN MOMENTS wow!yn x ah yujin

— clip one ☆

“i can’t find my star shirt.” yn said to camera as she walks around her room looking for the oversized shirt.

she flopped down on her bed letting out a whine, “dives i can’t find it.” she whines.

you can hear the sound of yn’s door opening and the voice of yujin, “why are you whining?” the leader asks.

yn’s eyes widened before turning the camera to yujin, who’s surprisingly wearing the shirt that yn was looking for.

“I was looking for that!” yn exclaims.

“why you’re the one who put it on me.”

yn looks at her confused before letting out a sound of remembrance. “oh,yeah.” she drags out.

— clip two ☆

yn shivered from the cold, even with the campfire.

her and yujin were on a camping variety show.

“yn looks like she’s gonna die.” one of the guys as his gaze scans the girl, everyone laughing at his comment. “do you want me to warm you?” she cuts her eye at him as him and the other men around laugh at his comment.

she rolls her eyes before looking at her member that’s sitting across from her, “yujin, come here.”

the girl gets up immediately, walking towards the girl. “yeah?”

yn doesn’t respond all she does is pull the girl into her lap wrapping her arms around her, “keep me warm.”

yujin laughs as blush runs to her face.

— clip three ☆

the camera followed yn as she walked to yujin, the girl tilting her head back for yujin to give her a water fall of the water.

yn lifted up her shirt to wipe her sweat from the all the dancing and practicing.

yujin gaze widened at the girls stomach, “oh my gosh, unnie your abs.”

wonyoung walked up to them laughing, “I know, I saw it it this morning and was shocked.”

yn smiles at wonyoung, “wanna feel?”

wonyoung laughs and shakes her head, “you joke around to much.”

yn turns to yujin, “wanna feel?”

yujin laughs as yn takes her hands and rubs it against her stomach.

“you’re blushing.” yn yells as yujin covers her face in embarrassment.

— clip four ☆

the camera followed the girls as the people crowed the girls at the airport.

as people mobbed the girls yn noticed yujin drifting to the side from all the pushing, so she wrapped one of her arms around yujin’s waist pulling the leader closer to her.

she kept her arm around yujin’s waist until the girls exited the airport.

☆ here you go 🤭

[amurderandconspiracy]

Five Stages, Two Talons, and a lost little Crow

****Dragon Age Veilguard spoilers AHEAD, read at your own peril ****

>>> 

Follow up scene with Lucanis and Viago – After “Scents and Grief” and the letter This scene is prompted by what was not shown of the companions during the Regret Prison. Viago is a worried older brother, just do not tell him I said so. My Rook is a nonbinary Crow!Mage!Rook but this scene does not necessarily give any descriptions of Rook, other than their name, so you can inject your own into the scene if that helps you.

>>> 

The sound of the room’s double doors slamming woke him from his depressed slumber.  Darkness flooding his sight as he opens his eyes to the still dimness of the wardrobe and with a brief intake, the comforting perfume slips into his nose and settles into his lungs.  The feathers of the blanket brush against his skin and a crumpled parchment clutched in his hand falls to the floor of the wardrobe as he comes back to himself.  Remembrance dawns for a moment, chilling the brief warmth in his chest.  The void of anguish spreads and Lucanis starts to sink back down as his mind fights the web of miserable exhaustion and emptiness, only to remember that the loud sound of the double doors slamming woke him.

“Where the Maker are they!?” booms an angry voice laced with deeply seated fear and worry.  The familiar and irritated lilt of Viago’s voice travels through the stone chamber and bounces off the aquarium glass, barely muffled by the wardrobe doors.

Lucanis cannot seem to muster a mood to deal with Viago in this moment and Spite uses the lack of response from Lucanis to jump to the fore, responding with irritation and unkindness, “GET. OUT!”

Lucanis rolls his eyes, and directs a thought at Spite, thanks for that, pissing off Viago is not the best idea…especially when we failed to tell him what happened to Rook...

Spite seems to catch on this thought and tilts his head, NOT GONE. ROOK IS OURS; WE WILL FIND THEM. ADDER’S MUSTACHE CAN WAIT.

Lucanis goes to respond when the doors of the wardrobe are furiously pulled open, the flood of watery shimmering light from the aquarium casts a tint of greenish-blue into the dark cupboard, an enraged Viago speaking with clipped tones as he attempts to bodily drag Lucanis into the room, “Hiding Dellamorte? Answer me!” Viago is speaking through clenched teeth and the grip he manages on Lucanis’ gear feels like claws dug into flesh.

Lucanis’ emotional reserves may be numbed to the point of oblivion but his instincts are well honed and the hostile way that Viago is demanding Lucanis answer to him allows the cool exterior of indifference to slide into place as the innate need to defend himself and his safety takes hold.  Lucanis surges forward from his nest and uses the offset of Viago’s footing to push up and out of the wardrobe while grabbing the forearms of the raging Fifth Talon.  Viago senses the shift and tries to throw his mass to reorient the balance and allow Lucanis’ sprung energy to overbalance him.  In the same instance Viago attempts to drop his weight, Lucanis anticipates the use of encumbrance for leverage, feeling himself cross the center line and performs a slight spin to disengage, freeing his hands of Viago’s forearms and preparing for a more concerted response.

“Where are they, Dellamorte!?  Where is my…Rook?!” Viago seems to strain to contain an emotional reaction as he yells the final question and Lucanis makes a quick assessment, seeing the always brooding but usually composed Viago breathing irately; a wild look about his features.

Lucanis immediately disengages and holds up his hands, stepping just out of range. “Viago, I…” he responds with a stripe of shame and guilt seeping into his voice.

“Don’t you fucking dare!  Where is Rook?  And don’t you fucking say what you almost said…where is Fae!?” Viago steps forward, pressing the advantage, fear and anger mixing in his voice as he fights for some semblance of control to get an answer. An answer that does not involve apologies.

“They…were…pulled into the Fade…” Lucanis starts to explain, the guilt and the weight of his emotional decline is evident in the way his voice drops in timbre, almost breathy as he forces out words he has not wanted to say.

“And when in damnation were you going to tell me that a member of my House was in the bloody Fade? Were you going to leave me to wait obediently in Treviso without a single word?!” Viago continues to advance, though his shoulders are dropping as if a weight is dragging him past composure.

“We…I do not have answers. They were there…one moment…the next they were not and they cried my…” Lucanis swallows and stops then, unable to say more without losing face. “I was going to come to Treviso to tell you, to tell you to your face.” Lucanis almost pleads, the mask of the assassin’s calm drawing back to reveal a haunted expression.

Spite circles Viago, stalking and observing him. SMELLS LIKE POISONS…AND…ROOK. He seems perplexed by this and tilts his head like a bird, assessing the rumpled look of Viago’s hair and the puffiness of the skin below his eyes. DROWNED IN ANGER AND GRIEF. Spite steps closer at this point, knowing Viago cannot see or hear him.

Spite, back away. Viago is Fae’s teacher, their older brother of sorts. Do not push him. Lucanis mentally tries to pull Spite away from Viago.  Watching the man absorb the response.

Viago sees the strain on Lucanis’ face and the pieces of fragmented information starts to paint a saddened expression of understanding and commiseration, “Who and what do I have to kill to get them back…is there another of these so-called gods that we need to sacrifice to bring them home?” Viago looks directly into Lucanis’ eyes, the wheels of negotiations and plans already churning in his mind.

Lucanis hesitated for a moment, not knowing the right answer and after their little breakdown last night, he was not currently apprised of the battle plans or developments from the rest of the team.  He knew Emmrich had been formulating some theories; Neve as well.  Harding and Taash had immediately started reaching out to their contacts and network.  The loss of Davrin and Assan, and the capture of Bellara had not even been discussed, everyone avoiding the subject all together.  The team had been in shock, disassociated from the reality of their losses when they had mercifully escaped Tearstone Island following the firestorm that Elgar’nan had kicked up in response to the slaying of Ghilan’nain.

Viago looks at him in anticipatory silence, Lucanis shakes off his hesitation and responds with a voice of surety he is certainly not feeling, “Let us go down to the kitchen table, we can put on coffee and discuss with everyone our strategy going forward.” Lucanis steps forward then and places his hand on Viago’s arm, redirecting him with very little effort toward the doors.

“We will get them back Viago. We must.” Lucanis promises, not entirely to Viago, not allowing acceptance of anything less.

WE WILL. Spite affirms, settling into Lucanis with purpose and determination.

[ineffableaddiction]

What’s in a name?

I wonder if Crawley chose the name Crowley in honor of the crows that showed Aziraphale what his true intentions were.

I also wonder if AZ Fell was chosen by Aziraphale in remembrance of talk he and Crowley had on the beach after they saved Job’s children.

[linkons-most-wanted]

Sweet Evil Trap

Image credit: Nirvana Bakery

Amidst whispers of the N109 Zone's disastrous gang war of 2036 and a strange reunion, an invitation for a special someone waits on the Connoisseur's menu...

Today's Special: Sweet Evil Trap Pepper walnut tart, rosemary gelato, pomegranate jelly, red wine marshmallow, and 10.5 grams of soul. (0) Description: I'm waiting for you.

"This was made for a certain lady and isn't available for others." "Who could get that kind of privilege?" "That's confidential info, I'm afraid I can't tell you." "I see... then can you at least tell me about the side dish?" Mr. P doesn't want to give up. "I'd love to, but I'm afraid I can't..." Aislinn smiles slyly. "I don't have the courage to serve our sponsor as a side dish."

Every ingredient is chosen with care...

Walnuts were prized in Ancient Greece as the "royal nut" [1] and they retain their reputation as an aphrodisiac [2], complemented by pepper's heat and pleasurable pain. Rosemary symbolizes remembrance, loyalty, love and protection [3] while Pomegranate evokes the forbidden fruit [4] and the underworld trap that snared Persephone [5]. A red wine marshmallow recalls an effort to quench an insatiable thirst [6], which then gives way to a luxuriant softness... Plus a little soul to sweeten the deal [7]--half of one, to be exact. A soul weighs 21 grams, after all [8].

Even if you wanted to sell your soul, you'd still have to find someone willing to pay the price.

From World Underneath 14, Elysium.

Other sources:

[1-5] as linked above

[6] Long Awaited Revelry, Ch 1 Ambiguous Chaos, 05 Desire

[7] Long Awaited Revelry, Ch 1 Ambiguous Chaos, 02 Alike | Beyond Cloudfall

[8] as linked above and thank you to @\kittens-and-crows for the tip!

[crowttore]

Somehow, my Amphoreus self insert is moving towards fairy vibes... I'd be remembrance with the white crow as my memosprite >w<

[ananiel]

I promised i would take today a brake as it is my birthday but i am writing and writing is me so here we got again, because this idea has Been eating me from the morning!

--------------------------------------------------------------

Would anyone be interested in a darker version of a Dionysus!Reader? One that lingers not in the revelries of wine and ecstasy, but in the quiet spaces between death and rebirth, where the echoes of lost souls hum like wind through hollowed-out bones? A Dionysus not of indulgence, but of tragedy, of grief and the madness that follows when one has seen too much of both?

Dionysus, after all, was born from ruin. Zagreus, torn apart and scattered, left only embers behind—embers that reformed, that reshaped into something new, something weaker perhaps, but still alive. A reborn god who carries the weight of what came before, who remembers, if only in flickering dreams, the pain of being unmade. And maybe, just maybe, that memory clings to them still. Perhaps it manifests in the way they walk through the world, never quite at home in Olympus, never quite at peace in the Underworld, forever straddling the threshold between life and death.

This Dionysus!Reader would be different, a god not of drunken revelry but of fragile liminality, one who brings comfort to the lost, who walks among battlefields before the crows can claim their due, pressing grapevines into the blood-stained earth so that something may yet grow from it. A god who cradles the hands of the grieving, leaving wine not for celebration, but for remembrance, a drink to steel shaking hands and soothe ragged sobs.

Perhaps they are gentler than their more well-known depictions, quiet in their sorrow, seeking out the forgotten and offering them a place in the vines that grow from graves. Or perhaps they are bitter, laughing sharp and hollow at the festivities of Olympus, at their fellow gods who know nothing of loss, nothing of impermanence, who feast and fight and love without consequence. Perhaps they refuse to sit on that golden mountain for too long, feeling the weight of Zagreus’ death press into their bones, weakening them, drawing them downward, back to Hades' halls, where the truth of the world is carved in shadow and stone.

And maybe it is in this duality—this split between joy and grief, between life and death, between the living and the dead—that they find their true power. Perhaps this is why they understand tragedy so well, why their stories cut so deep. Because they know both sides. They have been both sides. And in the end, perhaps they are neither.

Would they be more mystery than mirth? Would they still dance, but only in twilight, their feet pressing against the dirt where the dead lie waiting? Would they whisper to souls long gone, telling them of the vineyards that bloom from their resting places, of the way the world still turns despite their absence?

A god of rebirth. A god of insanity. A god who knows that sometimes they are the same thing.

Would anyone like Something like this for the concepts of god reader?

[seekers-who-are-lovers]

Something tells me that if ever they decide to animate “The Crow of Paradise/The Paradise of a Crow”, this could be made into a film.

Or a live action?

I am on the first pages and I am seeing à la Wong Kar Wai scenes on my head with a young-ish Takuya Kimura as Hajime Yasuhara. (Okay, probably i am still holding on to his Howl voice, but he’s not only that.)

When it comes to manga adaptation, however, Natsumi Matsuzaki admitted that adapting it to manga is a challenge.

Matsuzaki : "The Crow of Paradise" came out right after we started the comic version of "Master"... I didn't know anything about the content of (Paradise), so after reading it, I thought, "I've gotten myself into something serious."

[Note: "The Crow of Paradise" is the first book in the second part of the Yatagarasu series, released in September 2020.]

… I was reading it at a café in Ikebukuro, and as soon as I finished reading it, I called (Abe-san) over... Abe was like, "Oh no, I've been called out!" (laughs). So, when I went to meet her, she looked at me with sparkling eyes as if to complain, and I thought, "Oh, good. It seems like 'The Crow of Paradise' will be okay..." (laughs).

Matsuzaki: But after that came out, and then the next one, 'The Crows of Remembrance,' I started to think, "This is getting difficult to adapt into a comic..." Is that so...?

…

Abe: From the perspective of the original author, this work is part of a series, so there is an overarching theme for the entire series. However, if you focus solely on that, each individual work might end up being incomplete.

Matsuzaki : That's right. It becomes blurred... The theme is too large.

Abe: That's why I create "major themes," "medium themes," and "minor themes." For a standalone piece, I focus only within that piece. For a main work, I focus only within that main work, and I resolve the "minor themes." But when you connect them all, a larger theme emerges... It's like creating a "mosaic picture."

Matsuzaki: But I haven't been told what the picture will look like. I try not to ask about the theme of a standalone piece, the theme of a main work, or the themes going forward. Instead, I interpret the words and events written in the current original work myself and try to create a coherent narrative.

(This q&a talk is included on the fourth volume of the manga.)