#Cross-Posted on Ao3

[fangsforiris]

Kanato Sakamaki HC’S

Word Count: 10,004 Included Topics: General, Looks, Hair, Body, Skincare, Makeup, Voice, Mentality, Family, Brides/Yui, Academics, Fashion, Magic & Bag.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

⇘ : : [General]

🕯️ He has an uncanny interest in death and dead bodies. (Canon fact.)

🕯️ He likes watching Reiji bake. The way he so skillfully moves his fingers, and how he never questions his movements is fascinating.

🕯️ He listens to Melanie Martinez and Malice Mizer.

🕯️ He worked as Karlheinz’s secretary for a few years, starting when he was 13. He stopped when he was 16. 

🕯️ People in the Royal Court really liked him, and Karlheinz liked having a, in his words, ‘pretty thing’ next to him in every meeting. 

🕯️ Cordelia also worked as Karlheinz’s secretary when she first met him, before having an arranged marriage. She was a minor, while he was well into his 20’s. (Canon fact that he groomed her.)

🕯️ Karlheinz definitely forcibly feminizes Kanato. 

🕯️ As in, he definitely enjoys when he cross-dresses. Much to Kanato’s displeasure. 

🕯️→ It’s already established how horrible Karlheinz is, so I wouldn’t put it past him to do something like that. 

🕯️ Kanato sometimes uses his looks to his advantage, such as getting things for free since people assume he’s a girl. Some of the things people bought him for free: drinks, clothing, makeup, jewelry, food, whatever it may be. 

🕯️ Him acting like a deer in the headlights also helps get him out of trouble. 

🕯️ Call it pretty privilege. 

🕯️ Once he and Ayato were trespassing and when an officer came up to them, he used his charms to get them both out of trouble. 

🕯️→ “Oi! You two, hands where I can see them.” The officer blared his flashlight at the two siblings, their eyes squinting from the sudden blindness. Ayato groaned, putting up his hands, “Ugh, what is it?”

🕯️→ Kanato slowly put his hands down, looking at the officer with big doe eyes, batting his eyelids slowly, “Oh! I’m so sorry officer… you see me and my brother got lost! I happened to drop my ring while we were here… and… I couldn’t find it.”

🕯️→ The officer stared at Kanato, his severe demeanour softening as he was temporarily struck by the innocent charm that radiated from him. “Lost, huh?” he mumbled, his voice no longer harsh. “Well, you two ought to have taken greater caution. Trespassing is a serious offense.”

🕯️→ Kanato nodded earnestly, his act of innocence unwavering. “Yes, officer, we understand,” he replied softly, his voice laced with feigned sincerity. “We'll be more careful next time, I promise.”

🕯️→ Ayato rolled his eyes, but remained silent as the officer sighed, shaking his head. “Alright, just make sure you don’t come back here again,” he warned, before turning to leave. “And find that ring quickly. We don’t want anyone else getting into trouble over it.”

🕯️→ As the officer left, Kanato let out a sigh of relief. “That was close.” Ayato turned to face Kanato, a smirk playing on his lips. “Too close, also–”

🕯️→ “Not another word,” Kanato interrupted sharply, shooting Ayato a warning glance. Ayato chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright then,” he knew better than to push his luck with Kanato when he was in one of his moods.

🕯️ Kanato often wonders about the possibility of going missing. It’s a fantasization of his to see if anyone truly cared about him. He’d also want to know if he’d make it out alive. It’s one of those dark thoughts that come up every once in a while, more so when he’s doing the dishes. 

🕯️ He definitely has one of those girl blogger accounts.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

⇘ : : [Looks]

🕯️ Kanato is obsessive about his appearance. 

🕯️ From afar you wouldn’t guess it, but Kanato cares a lot about his image, he wants every single thing about his appearance to be perfect. 

🕯️ He has a set image that he was to adhere to 24/7 and if just one thing is off he’ll spiral. (Think of Reiji with absolutely anything, but multiply it by 100x. It’s that bad.) 

🕯️ Kanato has very soft feminine features. 

🕯️ His obsession started because of his mother, who valued her looks along with his. Also partially influenced by those around him in the Royal Court, who at first glance, would identify the similarities between the two. 

🕯️ In fact, Karlheinz would be skeptical for a bit of Kanato’s true gender, finding it uncanny with the parallels surrounding his first wife and 4th son. He’d treat Kanato as a girl despite knowing later on that he isn’t. 

🕯️ This would partially add to Kanato’s slight (not really slight) insecurity of not being seen as ‘man enough’ or atleast a boy. 

🕯️ Since he looks the most like Cordelia, she would keep him on a strict regime so as to not ‘ruin her name.’ 

🕯️ Kanato’s desired image depicts a doll. He wants so badly to look and feel like a doll. In the sense that it’s hauntingly ethereal, and those who cast their gaze upon him are forced to stop and stare. 

🕯️ Almost like his mother, but part of him knows he doesn’t want anyone to see him in that sort of light. Just in the way that they can’t take their eyes off him, and are filled with envy of how surreal he is. 

🕯️ He wants his very entity to invoke a sense of surrealism. As if he came out of a 1900’s portrait, and just looking at him gives off an ‘out of body’ experience. 

🕯️ He prides himself dearly on his looks, but that also has its limitations. (Semi-canon fact.)

🕯️ Sometimes, he wonders how his life would be if he were to look more like his first cousins-once removed (Shin and Carla) and brothers. Would his mother still take pride in him the same way? 

🕯️ Because of him gaining Cordelia’s features, many upon first meeting assume he’s a girl. He gets upset at this, but other times he’d leave it be and proceed to accept it as a compliment. 

🕯️ He’s also pretty short, especially compared to his brothers, so the shock factor from others when discovering he’s a boy also adds to the whole ‘Kanato Experience.’ 

🕯️ TW!! He is used to being catcalled and harassed because of his looks. These are the moments where he wonders if it’s a curse or a blessing to look so much like his mother. 

🕯️ TW!! Due to this, he understands both perspectives, both men and women, and has slight empathy towards their struggles. (Slight. As this is still Kanato we’re talking about.) 

🕯️ TW!! But he has only felt true fear when he was placed in a situation where he happened to be barricaded and incapable of fighting them off. He wondered how he was so powerless, as his hands shook and his body trembled. How he was so quick to become prey instead of the predator. 

🕯️ TW!! He’s had some close calls of being assaulted, especially with the majority of men who are physically larger and stronger than him, but has been saved by older women and couples. 

🕯️ TW!! After this happens, he is usually filled with feelings of resentment and self-loathing. Such as → ‘Why was I so weak? I am no mortal.’ and ‘If the others saw me, they’d call me pathetic– I was pathetic.’ 

🕯️ TW!! Kanato would rather die or skin himself alive than admit he’d been placed in such a situation far too many times for his liking. With countless close calls at that. He wouldn’t want to be seen as a victim like Laito, and definitely not be doted on with the focus of his weakness being called into question. 

🕯️ Because of this, on his days out into the town/out of the house, he carries pepper spray and a small retractable pink combat knife. Just in case his vampiric strength isn’t enough. 

🕯️ Slight TW!! Kanato has been catcalled by Ayato and Laito, before the former two would realize and profusely apologize for mistaking him for a girl. It was embarrassing when he happened to be at the dessert cafe he particularly enjoys in Vandead Carnival, picking up macaroons for Laito and him, when his two brothers started hitting on him out of nowhere. 

🕯️ Ayato would initially not talk to him for a week, making a point to avoid him in every single room they both happened to enter, before Kanato would throw his Teddy at him. 

🕯️ Laito on the other hand, would laugh it off. But inside he’d somewhat hate himself and think back to the similarities towards Kanato and their mother. It’d make him feel more uncomfortable if anything. 

🕯️ Upon first meeting, the Mukami’s would assume Kanato was a girl as well. They’d find out the hard way when Kanato rejects both Yūma and Kou’s advances and Ayato pipes in to get them away from his brother. 

🕯️→ “Oi! Kanato ain’t a girl, that’s my brother, you half-blooded creeps!” 

🕯️→ “Didn’t you and Laito also mistake him for some chick…?”  Shuu would retort, causing the former to go silent and red, while Laito waves his hands dismissively, giving small uncomfortable chuckles. 

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

⇘ : : [Hair]

🕯️ He prides himself on his purple hair (Canon fact.) 

🕯️ His hair is kept at a medium length, sometimes reaching his collarbone. 

🕯️ Kanato trims his hair every month. 

🕯️ He has a step by step hair care routine.

🕯️ He washes his hair 1-2 times a week.

🕯️His hair is naturally silky smooth, however it’s more flat in comparison to having volume (smooth > volume, flat > fluffy.) 

🕯️ Shockingly, out of the triplets he has the best hygiene, even going as far to rival Reiji in that department. 

🕯️ He likes to smell like strawberries and vanilla. The light, cute scents that many associate with those girls from shoujo mangas. He absolutely adores it. 

🕯️ He owns high grade shampoo, conditioner, hair masks, hair oils, and even purple shampoo just in case his natural colour lightens even more to his dismay. 

🕯️ He makes sure to wash, shampoo and condition his hair correctly, ensuring that he doesn’t get back acne or neck acne from leaving the product to suck into the skin. 

🕯️ It’s one of his pet peeves to have acne there, and also upsets him greatly when feeling an unnecessary bump on his ‘need to be’ smooth porcelain skin. 

🕯️ Kanato takes an ‘everything shower’ every end of the month, which includes him staying in the shower for 2-3 hours on end, deeply perfecting everything. 

🕯️ This heavily annoys the others, as he tends to take long, hot, excruciating showers which drains the hot water and ups the water bill each month. (To Shuu and Reiji’s dismay.)

🕯️ But make no mistake, Kanato benefits from the hot steam of the shower in comparison to just submerging his entire body in it. If he did, his entire body would be pruned up. Not a good look for his tastes. 

🕯️ His hair used to be darker, a more accurate colour match to Cordelia’s, but overtime due to stress, it lightened. 

🕯️ He prides his hair— and so does his mother. On most nights when she wasn’t dealing with Laito, she’d stay in his room, make Kanato sit in front of his vanity on his chair, and brush his hair. 

🕯️ It was an intimate moment for the two of them where their relationship grew. Oftentimes she’d take solace in these moments and reveal information about herself that no one else would hear. And Kanato would listen. 

🕯️ It was like their own little secret. Their thing that nobody else could take away from them. 

🕯️ This is where Kanato would find his likability to being seen as and called ‘a doll.’ 

🕯️ Cordelia would oftentimes refer to him as her doll or just the nickname ‘doll.’ 

🕯️→ “My little doll, you’re like Mommy when you’re quiet like this.”

🕯️→ “Am I, Mother?”

🕯️→ Cordelia would smile fondly, “Most definitely. You’re lucky to look like me, you know? Who else would dare to pay attention to you or your talents otherwise.”

🕯️→ Kanato would turn his head when he noticed his mother stop, the brush still clutched in her hands. He met her eyes, “I am?”

🕯️→ She’d put the brush down on the vanity, motioning towards the mirror where the two saw their reflection. Emerald green and pure lilac glew, its prominent glow reflecting off the mirror in the dark room, causing the latter to blink for good measure. Kanato would focus diligently, watching for what his mother had to say next. “Yes. Would you like to know a secret, doll?”

🕯️→ He’d nod, “You’ve always been my favourite. Your brothers just don’t have what I and everyone else sees in you.” His eyes would sparkle at that comment, leaving Cordelia to play with his hair.

🕯️→ “I’m… Mommy’s favourite?” The woman smiled, moving her hand to caress her son’s face, the looking glass delaying, “You will always be Mommy’s favourite.”

🕯️ He would never tell anyone of those nights, especially her admittance to him being her favourite. It was one of the secrets he’d take to the grave. 

🕯️→ (This reminded me of the audio on TikTok: My father is the worst person in the world; and I’m his favourite daughter.) 

🕯️ After Cordelia died, he’d sometimes hold his hair and play with it the same way she did to remember the fond memories and secrets they’ve shared. 

🕯️ After his makeup routine, he would style his hair accordingly. 

🕯️ He normally lets his hair air dry, mainly to prevent heat damage. 

🕯️ But in the slight occurrence he absolutely has to use a hairdryer, he will. 

🕯️ He always brushes his hair every time before bed, and in the morning. Exactly 12 strokes each time. Don’t ask. He simply thought the number was perfect for his hair and always does the trick every time. 

🕯️ His hair doesn’t usually tangle. 

🕯️ Kanato uses mousse on his hair when he wants the definition of volume. After this, he’d style his side bangs accordingly. 

🕯️ Sometimes he’d clip his side bangs to the side with his cute clips. The girls at school love this. They eat it up every time. Some even ask for hair tips as his hair is always shiny and well kept. 

🕯️ He always has a comb in his bag, just in case if his hair gets messy. He also keeps portable, travel sized, hair care products. 

🕯️ You know those hair gel glue sticks mainly used for fly aways? He 100% uses them and brings them in his small bag everywhere he goes. He can’t stand the fact that if one thing is wrong, it’ll tear him apart. 

🕯️ Kanato absolutely hates frizzy hair. He does everything to prevent it. Another reason why he isn’t as fond of the rain, it messes up his hair. 

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

⇘ : : [Body]

🕯️ Kanato has a slim body. 

🕯️ Almost like the ballerina type, but more towards the feminine side of things. 

🕯️ He has long legs, with his torso being a bit more shorter than he’d like. All of this adds to the doll vibe he wants, though. 

🕯️ His neck isn’t that long, and his head is an appropriate size (in his opinion.)

🕯️ He’s more bony if anything, due to his unhealthy tendencies. 

🕯️ His ribcage can almost be seen, but that doesn’t stop the fact that his waist is still defined. 

🕯️ Put simply, he has a bony version of an hourglass figure. There’s fat, but it’s heavily set on the ‘almost anorexic’ side of the scale, especially defined by doctors and the countless physicians that have attended him. 

🕯️ When comparing his mother and him, she really shines when comparing their bodies. It’s like that’s the one thing the genes had to dominate. If he were a woman, their bodies would be exactly the same. Only major difference is Kanato lacks the fat on his body. 

🕯️ It freaks him out sometimes with how skin tight his body happens to appear. But that also gratifies him. Knowing that whatever it is he’s doing is working, makes for a great remedy in a psychotic episode. 

🕯️ Kanato really is almost like skin and bones. It does add to the living doll thing, though. 

🕯️ His collarbone is quite defined, along with his broad-set shoulders. 

🕯️ His complexion is quite fair. 

🕯️ He doesn’t have any known birthmarks to him, his skin is like a blank canvas. 

🕯️ His favourite part of his body are his hands and lips. There’s just something about the fragility of the two that intrigue him. 

🕯️ He loves the natural curve of his lips, the way that it can easily be rosier by biting it or putting more product on it. 

🕯️ It’s obsessive the way he tends to his lips. Always subjecting it to lip scrubs, and moistures. He really likes the way they perfect his face. 

🕯️ Kanato’s hands. Where to begin? He likes the way they’re thin and long. Not too long, that would freak him out. But just enough to allow him to examine them in a deeper context. 

🕯️ He does his best to not bruise them as bad, and if he were to, he’d want to have a contrast of red and pink splotches on his knuckles. He absolutely loves the contrast of the fair skin to the bruised bits. That goes for anyone. 

🕯️ His nails are always maintained. Always done. Either professionally or himself, he can’t catch himself falling short of his list of long expectations for himself. 

🕯️ They’re always filed nicely, and he always keeps his cuticles pushed back. 

🕯️ It’s always a medium length, perfect if he needed to open anything, pick a lock, or defend himself. He especially likes when he sees the damage his nails can cause his victims. 

🕯️ What he doesn’t like is cleaning the dried up blood from his nails. He hates the dirt and grime, but alas such pleasures do have consequences. 

🕯️ Speaking of, he normally paints his nails. Like you’ll never see him without painted nails. If they aren’t painted, someone call the ambulance immediately. 

🕯️ Kanato usually paints them sheer colours. Queue the jelly nail polish. He loves the pink ones, and how it delivers contrasts to his sickly pale hands. 

🕯️ He’ll do other colours, and even full ones but you’ll definitely see this boy with his signature pink. 

🕯️ He’ll even go as far as adding glitter. He loves the sparkly look, it reminds him of what he majorly missed out as a child. 

🕯️ Kanato has 2 ear piercings. One on both ears for his central lobe, the other on both ears as a helix.

🕯️ This was because he was pressured by Ayato and Laito to get another piercing and ‘live a little.’ They used it as a bonding exercise. 

🕯️ Kanato likes to act like he hates it, but secretly he enjoys the variety of earring combinations he can experiment with. 

🕯️ He mainly goes for diamond glittery earrings that don’t dangle as much. Mainly studs. However if it was a special event, then he’d have more of a statement earring in.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

⇘ : : [Skincare]

🕯️ He has a set skincare routine.

🕯️ He does his skin care every night. He never misses a day. 

🕯️ Kanato has dry skin, but not as sensitive. 

🕯️ He usually uses moisturizers to hydrate his skin, followed by a hydrating serum which is notably his favourite part of his routine. He likes the way he can squeeze the tube connected to the cap of the bottle, how squishy and malleable it is. 

🕯️ Also the way the serum falls on his face, he has no idea why that particularly catches his attention, but he’s fine with it nonetheless. 

🕯️ Kanato despises his eye bags, loathes it even, so you know he’s dead-set on doing everything possible to get rid of them, or atleast make them not as noticeable. They really hinder with the whole ‘doll-look’ he’s trying to viciously obtain. Queue the eye cream and patches. 

🕯️ Shockingly, they do wonders. And anything that isn’t as covered is covered by his makeup routine (mainly his colour correcting concealer and skin-tint light coverage foundation.) 

🕯️ He has very clear skin, and rarely gets acne/pimples. He is only second to having the best skin out of his brothers, the first being Shuu. 

🕯️ The skin care he uses is bought in small quantities, the only thing he regularly buys in bulk are his eye cream and patches. 

🕯️ He always starts his skincare routine by drenching his face in an ice-cold ice bath for 10 minutes, to reduce any puffiness he might have. 

🕯️ Kanato wears contacts most days, only resorting to his glasses if he absolutely has to. His glasses are black cat eye framed. He used to have a rose gold frame but he didn’t like how washed out it made his skin. 

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

⇘ : : [Makeup]

🕯️ He uses makeup 100% (How else will he keep up his doll-like image?)

🕯️ He never needs to use any high coverage foundation considering that his skin is quite clear. He uses a light coverage skin-tint. 

🕯️ Considering that his complexion is more on the gray-side, he makes it a point to go outside in the sun more often without his umbrella.

🕯️ Because of this, he uses products with shade ranges that keep his very fair skin satiated. 

🕯️ Kanato’s concealer usage mainly goes to colour correcting and removing his eye bags. Everything else is fine in his eyes, it’s just his over dramatic, very dragged out and accentuated eye bags that make his face feel dragged out. 

🕯️ His contouring is quite limited, as he only applies his contour stick to accentuate his jaw, nose, and forehead. He’s satisfied with a softer approach as he prefers softer features in comparison to sharper. 

🕯️ This goes for both himself, and any sacrificial bride/potential love interest he’d set his eyes on. 

🕯️ He uses press powder. Kanato loves dipping his cushion into the powder, pushing and dabbing it onto his face and watching as some of the dust would collect around him in the air. 

🕯️ It’s like those old movies he’d watch with his brothers when they were younger, where the woman would enjoy having their makeup montage. It’s that satisfaction that allows him to revel in his routine. 

🕯️ Once he’s finished with that, his blush takes the center stage. He uses a moderately tinted blush, but uses only a small limited amount so as to not overpower his facial symmetry. It also tends to bring colour to his face and make him feel ‘alive’ so it’s extra important he gets it right. 

🕯️ Kanato also uses the powder blush found in the palettes. 

🕯️ He once tried liquid blush but instantly hated it as he could never get the timing right for how much he needed. Palette is much easier, safer, and plus, he enjoys seeing the product collect on the makeup brush, and tapping it ever so slightly for pan fallout. 

🕯️ His eyes. His absolute favourite part of doing his makeup every single time is the eye makeup. From eyeshadow, to mascara, to the eyeliner. It’s perfection. 

🕯️ He starts with his eyeshadow. He usually uses K-Beauty, considering that the K-Pop idols there have great taste for the glittery glam he’s looking for. It ranges from what he’s feeling, but most of the time you’ll see him with small copious amounts of glitter adorning his eyelids. 

🕯️ And it’s always perfection, seriously, he never misses. It’s often a fan favourite with the girls at school. 

🕯️ Kanato would start with a base colour, blending it with another before adding the small glitter adornments. He usually drifts towards soft pinks, but will use the pastels for blue and purple. 

🕯️ He never uses any of the brighter/riskier colours/shades. He prefers the softer, more pastel colours that add to his appeal. The browns/neutrals are okay too. 

🕯️ Next, his eyeliner. He tends to go for the middle ground. He has great precision, and always hits the mark on the first try. A signature cat-eyeliner is something he’d never dare to leave the house without. 

🕯️ For his lids, he uses liquid liner. For his water line, both top and bottom, a crayon/kajol based mixture. He does this to lessen the load of his already big eyes. 

🕯️ On the top, he strictly uses black. On the bottom? A combination of black and white to obtain his doll look. Near his inner corner close to his nose, he adds more white, then it blends as he reaches a half-way point before he transitions to black. 

🕯️ Admittedly, it was a lot of trial and error but once he got the hang of it, he looked more like a doll than he did bare-faced. 

🕯️ Finally, his mascara. He tends to use a waterproof mascara because of his tantrums. In the past he tried other colours than black, but found that he didn’t like them as much as the effect black had on him. 

🕯️ Also good to note that his eyelashes are long. Like you’d assume he got them done, but then be shocked that it’s all natural. Definitely one of the points many girls are jealous of. 

🕯️ Since his lips aren’t as rosy as he’d like them, he uses lip tints and red-pink lip glosses. Sometimes he’d go the matte look with his lips, others he enjoys the pop of lip gloss. 

🕯️ It’s a pet peeve to have chapped lips. He hates it. Doesn’t matter who has them, it’s hatred all around. Because of this, he keeps extra chapstick (strawberry flavoured, obviously) for his brothers when he sees them. 

🕯️→ “Eh? What’s this, Kanato?”  Laito would ponder, seeing the chapstick being thrust into his hands and a bratty Kanato turning his head away to face the walls of the limo. His arms crossed across his chest as if to prove his point further. 

🕯️→ “Your lips. Fix it.”  Laito would raise an eyebrow, moving his gaze to examine the chapstick. A smirk would grow as he read the label. ‘Strawberry-flavoured.’

🕯️→ “Whatever is the matter with my–”  Kanato would turn his body, glaring at him before moving closer to Laito. “This is the problem. Please, fix it immediately,”  Kanato would retort, pressing a gloved finger to Laito’s chipping lips, hoping to accentuate his dire point. 

🕯️→ “Oh? My, I had no idea you were so bold, Kanato!”  Laito would chuckle, as he watched his younger brother bat his eyes in confusion before a slight blush creeped up on his face. His frustration building too, no doubt. 

🕯️→ “Laito. Now.”  He was now back to his seating, and after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Laito would give in. 

🕯️→ He’d take off the cap, take in the potent strawberry scent and apply the chapstick to his lips, instantly hydrating and moistening them. Kanato would look back, huffing contently before a sly remark would slip by Laito’s lips, “Mmm, strawberry! How delightful.” A pause, “Is this your subtle way of admitting you’ve been dreaming about kissing me, dear brother?”

🕯️→ Kanato’s eyes would widen, “Huh? Don’t be absurd.”

🕯️→ “Hm, your loss~”  Laito flicked his tongue, tasting some of the strawberry flavour. 

🕯️ Kanato would then apply his highlighter. Always blended in, mainly on the tip of his nose, cheeks, and inner corners of his eyes. It’s a white iridescent highlighter, but sometimes he’d use a light pink tinted one if he runs out. 

🕯️ His setting spray is light, making it easy for him to not feel as overstimulated. 

🕯️ He always carries the travel sized perfume bottles in his bag so he’ll be well prepared, especially after gym class. He isn’t fond of smelling bad. 

🕯️ Strawberry or vanilla is his go to. But many would report him smelling a fond strawberry, making that his signature scent. 

🕯️ He always cleans his makeup brushes every 2-3 weeks. He hates the idea of any bacteria or dirt ruining his face. 

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

⇘ : : [Voice]

🕯️ He has a lighter/higher voice compared to the others, which he definitely hates (but sometimes is at peace with.) 

🕯️ It’s the type that can be light and airy, almost like a girl, but have that small bit of depth when frustrated.

🕯️ Make no mistake, it’s higher than most, which causes him to be mistaken for a girl a lot. (That is, without the looks.)

🕯️ Due to his childhood, his vocal chords are most definitely strained. 

🕯️ As in, he’s a few steps away from becoming mute. But this doesn’t stop him from letting one of his soul-crushing screams out. (Which undoubtedly, adds pressure to his throat, which makes it unbearable hot and sometimes itchy.)

🕯️ In fact, he was forced to sing until his vocal chords started to bleed, filling his mouth and throat with his own blood which definitely tore tissues apart. (Canon fact.) 

🕯️ Sometimes his voice gives out, making him choose silence and only stepping in when he thinks he absolutely has to. 

🕯️ Despite what most think, Ayato and Laito do listen to him in hopes of keeping the peace. 

🕯️ They even take his opinion into account because if Kanato is the voice of reason, then there’s definitely something off and they need to reevaluate themselves. 

🕯️ Kanato drinks a lot of herbal teas, it’s normal for Laito or Reiji (mostly Laito) to make him some because of his strained vocal chords. 

🕯️ Kanato prefers lavender and honey teas, always with 2 and a half sugar cubes. Must be hot but never piping hot to the point where he’ll burn his tongue. 

🕯️ He hates burning his tongue while drinking teas. It makes him have somewhat of a lisp and Ayato teases him about not being careful enough. 

🕯️ He will notice if the tea is not exactly to his liking. If not immediately. 

🕯️ Ayato once tried to make him his tea, and before tasting it, he could smell that something was off. He didn’t add the specific ‘half’ of the sugar cube. Kanato was upset and refused to talk to Ayato for a week, while Ayato profusely apologized since he knew it was a very sore subject. 

🕯️→ (Empathetic as always, Ayato.)

🕯️ Kanato and Reiji regularly drink tea together in the living room, or in Reiji’s office. It’s the one time where Reiji notably enjoy’s Kanato’s company as he isn't as psychotic as he normally comes across. He’s tame, relaxed, and soothed. 

🕯️ Reiji unconsciously finds himself comforted and reveals some of his internal turmoil whilst in Kanato’s presence. There’s just something about the gentle, relaxing presence of Kanato that seems to soothe everyone in the room. As if he can control the entire energy and mood of a room whilst he’s in this state. 

🕯️ Since they’re always together, Laito will become his voice (talk for Kanato) when he cannot, especially when he’s nervous to talk to someone new/foreign to him. 

🕯️ Kanato’s vocal range is very versatile. 

🕯️ He can sing in very high tones, accomplishing high notes with a smooth, steady, and clear confidence. 

🕯️ Ever since the accident with his strained vocal chords, he doesn’t sing as much as he used to. 

🕯️ However, if you saw him in his prime, you’d be filled with envy and shock in an instant. 

🕯️ His singing voice was powerful, it could be light, shrill, and gentle, but also accomplish heightened feats. 

🕯️ He and Shuu did a joint performance at a ball, Shuu played the piano, and Kanato sang whilst sitting atop of the piano. Shuu secretly still has a recording of this performance, unbeknownst to Kanato, and listens to it when he wants to be calmed. 

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

⇘ : : [Mentality]

IMMENSE TW HERE!! 

🕯️ He has severe attachment issues. 

🕯️ Kanato keeps a large assortment of stuffed toys, each with their own distinct name and personality. He’s afraid that if a person were to leave him, he wouldn’t be able to cope, thus turning to inanimate objects to fill the void.

🕯️ → After all, living people can let you down, but how can inanimate objects do the same? 

🕯️ Hence the wax dolls of all the brides he’s ever claimed. He’d like to make them look beautiful, even in their restless display of a tomb. 

🕯️→ It’s the least he could do after claiming their soul, isn’t it? 

🕯️ He also has abandonment issues which stemmed from his childhood. 

🕯️ He stopped placing faith in his brothers when he slowly watched them drift farther away from him, and closer to each other. 

🕯️ Seemingly, almost everyone in his life who he treasured left him high and dry, so he stays away and chooses not to form any deeper connections due to his fear of being left again. 

🕯️ Sometimes he mourns the person he could’ve been if he hadn’t been a vampire. If he could be considered a ‘morally good’ person, that is. 

🕯️ Kanato also mourns the family he could’ve had, if he were dealt better cards. 

🕯️ Admittedly, the facade that he keeps up is wearing on him. He finds it emotionally draining to always be on edge and be in competition with his brothers. 

🕯️ The hostility that floods the air is always suffocating, but he knows that no one wants to change, so he plays the part of ‘the hysteric’ to the best degree before he entirely burns himself out. 

🕯️ His entire ‘hysteric’ facade is just that. An act. He only does it so he’d have a defining feature for him like his other brothers, and because it made people weary and afraid of him. 

🕯️ It took away all the unwanted attention off him, especially from those with gazes that lingered a bit too long on his body for his comfort. 

🕯️ He’s very insecure of his eyebags, voice, wrists, and shockingly his weight. 

🕯️ TW!! He has self-harmed before for attention, just to be seen by his mother and not be cast aside like Reiji. (Canon fact.) 

🕯️ When his mother found out, she was furious. She complained ruthlessly, making Kanato feel even worse about himself than he did when he started.  

🕯️ He hates his self-harm scars, despite being a vampire with self-healing, they never seemed to go away.

🕯️ TW!! There are light cuts on his wrists, nearing the veins.

🕯️ He never had the courage to cut anywhere else. It scared him, but he’d never admit that. 

🕯️ TW!! Once he cut too deeply, which made the vein burst. He stopped cutting after that, and after his mother scolded him for ‘ruining his body.’ 

🕯️ Ayato and Laito have no idea of his past self-harming tendencies. His half-brothers also don’t. 

🕯️ Laito has theorized that his early comments in their childhood got to Kanato, so he has a lingering feeling that Kanato did call his bluff. (That is, to encourage Kanato to self-harm for said attention.) [Canon fact.]

🕯️ Nonetheless, he always wears long sleeves and translucent gloves which are sheer and skin tight. They cover his scars slightly, however they aren’t the best method of choice.

🕯️ Kanato wouldn’t admit he’s suicidal, however when compairing himself to the others, he doesn’t find a reason as to why he could be deemed as important.

🕯️ He feels constantly pushed away, so if he were to die, he’d be okay and at ease with it. 

🕯️ But he doesn’t go chasing death constantly. He wants to die, but will let it happen when it happens. 

🕯️ Kind of like Shuu in this case. 

🕯️ His voice may fit the doll-like criteria he places upon himself, however it doesn’t stop the fact that he wishes he could’ve been born a bit more masculine like his brothers so he wouldn’t have to resort to this aesthetic he’s plastered upon himself. 

🕯️ That, and paired with the fact that his voice doesn’t make it easier when people would harass him, assuming he’s a girl. 

🕯️ TW!! Kanato has an eating-disorder. 

🕯️ TW!! This was entirely orchestrated by none other than Cordelia herself. Due to her strict standards, and the constant pressure he put on himself to obtain the ‘perfect doll look,’ he started purging. 

🕯️ All of the desserts he eats would be thrown up, allowing him to ensure his body won’t be ‘ruined’ as his mother used to say. 

🕯️ This habit has gotten so bad and risky that Yui has started to notice a pattern, especially when he’d leave their shared Psychology class at a set time every day. Or how he’d barely eat anything at their monthly dinners and during lunch. He even took lengthy pauses for his blood drinking for good measures. 

🕯️ TW!! Kanato would push his fingers down his throat viciously, uncaring of how the medium length nails scratched at his throat, or how blood started to strain his fingertips and fill his windpipe. After all, he’d throw it all up anyways. 

🕯️ → Yūma happened to be in the bathroom one night, washing his hands as he heard the sounds of strained coughs and retching over the toilet bowl. He couldn’t make out the shoes, and whom they belonged to, but he could tell it was bad. 

🕯️→ When the stall door opened, he laid eyes on Kanato, with small tears staining his baked face, he stiffened. He kept washing his hands as Kanato used the faucet next to him, pressing his hand on the soap dispenser. 

🕯️→ “Um.. are you.. ok?”  Yūma would dare, watching as the smaller boy paid him little mind. 

🕯️→ “Yes. I simply ate something bad, that’s all.”  Kanato was quick, almost too quick with his reply. Yūma narrowed his eyes, before flicking his hands, opting to air dry instead. 

🕯️→ He took in Kanato’s figure, and how shaky he happened to be. What’s more, his hazel gaze traced over Kanato’s wrists, and the small, strategic cuts. If it were anything to go by, that wasn’t normal. Living with Azusa taught you that much. 

🕯️→ “Are you sure? Come to think of it, yer’ pretty pale–”  “I am fine.”  Kanato would swiftly cut the taller man off, not wanting to hear anymore of it, as he took out his makeup pouch and proceeded to fix up his appearance. 

🕯️→ Yūma was stunned, not only at the quick defensive position the boy took, but also at a closer glance for how out of shape he was. He was skinny, too skinny. Even by vampiric standards. His wrists were sticks, and his uniform looked a size or two oversized. 

🕯️→ “Look, I know it ain’t none of my business–”  Kanato stopped what he was doing and turned to meet Yūma. Yūma and his pathetic worried gaze. He planned his next words out carefully, “It isn’t, you’re correct about that much. I am fine. I ate too many parfaits, alright? I don’t appreciate the interrogation.” 

🕯️→ Yūma just stared at him blankly, “Yeah. I can’t force you to say anything, can I?”  Kanato would nod, before finishing his makeup and making a bee-line for the door. “But, you can talk to me if somethins’ botherin’ you… you know that.. right?”  

🕯️→ Yūma kept his eyes trained on the door, more importantly, the figure that stopped. A few tense moments of stillness would then pass before Kanato would murmur, “Yeah, of course.”  

🕯️→ Yūma would watch the door open and close, leaving him alone to reflect about what to do with this newfound knowledge. And if Kanato’s response to his aid was honestly sincere. 

🕯️ Kanato’s eye bags have to be one of the biggest things he hates. He wishes it could instantly go away. He gets enough sleep as is (he thinks?) So why won’t they leave? 

🕯️ Kanato definitely has insomnia. Hence the immense annoyance of said eyebags.

🕯️ He’s had it ever since he was a kid and all he wishes is for it to leave so he could at least look half as decent as the rest of his family. 

🕯️ When Yūma teases him by calling him ‘Eye-Bags’ he feels another bit of his self-esteem shatter. He hates it so much, and is one of the leading causes for his self-loathing. 

🕯️ He smokes. He loves the feeling of nicotine and how he makes him feel more alive.

🕯️ He has BPD.

🕯️ He secretly takes meds for them, but once Yui came to the house, Ayato had accidentally thrown them out thinking they were expired muscle relaxer pills which led Kanato to stay unstable and manic.

🕯️ He knows he needs therapy. However he doesn’t know how he could ever bring that up to Reiji. 

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

⇘ : : [Family]

🕯️ Kanato knows that Laito and Ayato avoid him due to the consistent parallels between him and their mother. 

🕯️ The two think they’ve done a good job at hiding their resentment and slight fear but Kanato can see right through them.

🕯️ Kanato oftentimes mourns the relationship he could’ve had with Ayato and Laito, especially if he wasn’t a carbon copy of their mother.

🕯️ He’d look at old photographs of the three when they were happier and at better terms, then is awakened by the harsh reality that they don’t like him.

🕯️ Oh yeah. They aren’t as fond as Kanato as they’d like to portray. This is mainly because of the similarities between their mother and him. 

🕯️ So everytime Laito pours Kanato a cup of his lavender-honey tea, the latter thinks about how Laito may truly feel to be next to someone who reminds him so much of his trauma.

🕯️ Laito is often uncomfortable with Kanato’s existence. Just because they look alike. If Kanato had the green eyes? Well Laito and Ayato would go into shock. 

🕯️ Ayato only tolerates Kanato because he feels that he has to. Not because he immensely cares as much. (Although, he stays empathetic towards their outcome.)

🕯️ Kanato wishes that he didn’t look like Cordelia on some nights. Especially on the nights where the triplets get into arguments and Ayato ends up saying what they’re all thinking.

🕯️→ “Yeah? Well it ain’t us who looks exactly like our mother! You even act like her too, Kanato.”

🕯️→ The three would all go quiet, with Kanato shaking as he’s registering what Ayato said. He wasn’t his mother. He wasn’t.

🕯️→ “Kanato… I didn’t—”  Ayato choked, “No. You’ve made your point.”  Kanato would leave the room. Leaving a shocked Ayato and silent Laito.

🕯️→ Kanato wouldn’t hear anyone out, and would actively ignore the two before Ayato and Laito trap him on the roof of the school one night during lunch.

🕯️→ “What do you two want?”  Kanato would start, looking at his brothers in annoyance. “We.. we wanted to talk.”  Ayato would chip in, “It’s been a week, Kanato. You cannot seriously expect to win by ignoring us like this, hm?” And Laito would finish. 

🕯️→ “What is there left to say?” Kanato snapped, turning aside to look out at the schoolyard. Ayato let out a softened sigh. “We know we messed up, alright,” he said, his eyes pleading for forgiveness. “But we’re brothers, Kanato.”

🕯️→ Laito’s normally sardonic grin softened as he nodded. With a soft tone, he continued, “We apologize. We went too far.” Emotions seething inside Kanato, his shoulders stiffened. Silence enveloped them, heavy with unspoken tension.

🕯️→ Kanato gave in with a deep breath. He mumbled, “Fine,” his voice barely audible.

🕯️ Subaru once mindlessly let it slip that Kanato deeply resembled his mother while practicing magic. That sent Kanato into a spiral and he stayed up for a week staring at himself through his vanity mirror. 

🕯️ Kanato smokes. Especially with Cordelia. The two would normally go outside in the rose gardens on especially hard days and smoke together. 

🕯️ He started smoking when he was 13, when Cordelia offered him a pack. This is what also strengthened their relationship. 

🕯️ When she died, he started to smoke more. Not because of the guilt or anything, but because he found it to be a remedy for stress. 

🕯️ None of his brothers know that he smokes.

🕯️ He highly values Reiji’s opinion, especially because he’s been there more for him than his own blood brothers have. 

🕯️ He’s slightly jealous of the closer relationship Ayato and Laito have.

🕯️ Cordelia mainly manipulated him a lot. When looking back he wonders how naive he was to believe everything she said. 

🕯️ Karlheinz sometimes mistakes Kanato for Cordelia. Even he isn’t immune to their similarities. 

🕯️ Like when Kanato worked as his secretary, he found himself calling Cordelia’s name instead of Kanato’s, and instantly shutting up after he realizes what he said. This leaves Kanato feeling dumbfounded with the one question resting on his mind, ‘Am I really that similar to her?’ 

🕯️ Kanato would later find out that his mother also worked as his secretary, making the two even more similar than they already appear, much to his dismay. 

🕯️→ “Cordelia, my dear, could you fetch those reports for me?”  Karlheinz's request was gentle, laced with familiarity.

🕯️→ With a stilled hand, Kanato’s breath caught in his throat. Despite a sense of unease, he forced a tight-lipped smile. His voice strained, “Right away, Father.”

🕯️→ Kanato felt the atmosphere change as he made his way to get the reports. He glanced back and saw Karlheinz’s expression go blank as an understanding dawned in his eyes. His brief expression of perplexity as he tried to comprehend his error spoke volumes.

🕯️ Karlheinz wonders if he wants Kanato as an option for the Adam and Eve plan because of Cordelia and Kanato parallels. There’s a small selfish feeling that lingers, making him want to keep Kanato all for himself. 

🕯️ Kanato definitely had to deal with Karlheinz’s weird/creepy advances.  🕯️→ It’s canon that he’s a bit creepy, and definitely messed up, so take that as you’d like.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

⇘ : : [Brides/Yui]

🕯️His relationship with any sacrificial bride as of late has been at face value. He knows that the way he treats others, especially as a lesser being, is partially motivated by how others have viewed him his entire life. 

🕯️ Kanato simply doesn’t know how to begin changing for the better, so the cycle continues. He’s in an environment that promotes the very bad behaviours that he’s identified. That is, in everyone (the brothers), and in himself. 

🕯️ There was one sacrificial bride before Yui, perhaps ten years before she arrived, who made him hyper aware of what he and his brothers were doing. 

🕯️ The monsters that they were. 

🕯️ That was the first time he ever thought to reevaluate himself as an individual, especially with the bride who would do everything to make him understand that everyone has at least a little bit of humanity in them. 

🕯️ He’d recall the way his father treated the wives, and the way his mother would treat him. It would send him into a spiral, before opting to lessen the way he reacts. 

🕯️ This unknown bride amongst the thousands that have entered the Sakamaki Mansion would die, however at the hands of Laito. 

🕯️ Now that was a turning point for Kanato. It was shocking how that so easily proved the bride’s point, yet he felt so empty about the whole ordeal. 

🕯️ Kanato vowed to remember that bride, name and all. She is also the centerpiece of his wax doll collection, the one who’s perfect in every way. He owes her that much. 

🕯️ He viewed her as a friend if anything. That is, if mortals and immortals could be friends. 

🕯️ He also vowed to figure out how to turn his life around for the better once given the chance. He often thinks about her, and now with Yui here, he thinks that now is the chance to break the cycle. 

🕯️ He often thinks about her a lot. Like she rests constantly on his mind, almost like a lingering repressed feeling.

🕯️ Kanato doesn’t think he could ever be loved. Like for everything, flaws and all. 

🕯️ So when Yui comes around, talking him about everything he does well and how he has a good side, he has no idea if she’s being genuine or if she wants something from him, and only wants to use him just like everyone else has. 

🕯️ He wants Yui to be happy, in his own way of course. But part of him knows that it’ll never be with him. His obsessive tendencies, especially when it comes to love, is the main driving point which pushes people away. 

🕯️ It’ll take him a bit to understand that fully, but once he comes to that settlement, he’ll be okay with giving Yui to one of his brothers. After all, most of the sacrificial brides choose them anyways, so how would this be any different? 

🕯️ When he finds out Yui has Cordelia’s heart, he almost is hurt. Considering how that’s the woman he shared most of his vulnerability with, and who exploited it. 

🕯️ He wonders if Cordelia can talk to Yui in her mind, or subconscious. Considering that they’re two souls in one body. 

🕯️ The more he thinks about it, the more he’s unsettled by the fact that she, the entire time, has taken a backseat and listened to every confidential conversation like some unauthorized third-party. 

🕯️ When he meets Yui, and hears of her temporary permanence within the house, he instantly thinks back to his redemption that the old bride talked about. 

🕯️ After all, there won’t be any more after Yui, right? This can be his chance to make the change he wants. All he has to do… is not get attached. 

🕯️ This is easier said than done, considering how Yui’s blood is almost irresistible. 

🕯️ During the awakening, when Yui would feel pains, Kanato would as well. Since he has her magic and all. 

🕯️ He’d have migraines that would go on for days on end, and the pain in his chest? Unbearable. 

🕯️ Yui and Kanato would have that one thing in common at least, being remnants of Cordelia.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

⇘ : : [Academics]

🕯️ Kanato is much smarter than he appears. He usually plays dumb to ensure that he isn’t found in any trouble.

🕯️ He’s really good at physics and math. Like a prodigy. The only reason why he hides it is because his mother often said if his true IQ was revealed, it’d put him at risk of being seen as competition and potential execution.

🕯️ He is quite good at the sciences, which is often a conversation point whenever he participates in class. 

🕯️ He always makes it a point to participate at least once for every class he attends. Doesn’t matter how, just knowing that he did one thing is all the motivation he needs to continue. 

🕯️ His schedule is as follows: 

🕯️→ Semester 1: Advanced Functions (Math), Psychology, Physics, Chemistry.

🕯️→ Semester 2: Advanced English, Japanese, Accounting (Business), Calculus and Vectors (Math). 

🕯️ Kanato has Psychology with Yui and often sits in the middle row, considering how he uses glasses. 

🕯️ Yui finds him much more bearable and engaged when in Psychology. 

🕯️ She even willing wanted to be his partner for a project. He accepted and they got the highest grade in the class. 

🕯️ For all of his classes he tries to sit in the middle row. 

🕯️ Karlheinz forces all the boys to take at least one business course so they’ll be prepared if any of them need to take over the family business. Kanato chose accounting since it’s closest to math and he enjoys it. 

🕯️ Since he took Functions (year 2 math course) during summer school, he is in the 3rd year Advanced Functions course. Reiji, Ruki, Carla and Shuu are in his class. 

🕯️ He once corrected Reiji on an answer while he was writing it on the board, to Reiji’s surprise Kanato was right and the teacher applauded Kanato for spotting his mistake. 

🕯️ Reiji, Ruki, and Carla were shocked to know that Kanato’s test scores were pretty high. He even beat Reiji and Ruki, getting 100%. 

🕯️ Shuu couldn’t care less since he barely shows up. He only shows up for tests, which he aces every time. This always pisses Reiji off. 

🕯️ Reiji and Carla are in his Calculus and Vectors class. 

🕯️ Laito is in his Advanced English class, often times he’ll tease him for working but becomes shocked when looking over at his essay for peer editing. (He barely has any mistakes.)

🕯️ Ayato and Kou are in his Japanese class. It’s especially tiring when he has to deal with the two bickering over Yui. 

🕯️ During lunch, you’ll see him and Subaru eating desserts together. Kanato likes the quiet comfort Subaru offers, and Subaru likes the companionship. 

🕯️ If those two aren’t together then it’s Laito and Kanato, however Laito usually ditches him at school. 

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

⇘ : : [Fashion]

🕯️ He’s really good at sewing. So good that he’s made his own clothes, and even could start a small business. (Canon fact.) 

🕯️ He has a small business for clothing. He takes commissions and creates magic. This is mainly done online and his website is the cutest. Kanato really cares about the small, little, intricate details. 

🕯️ He’s made clothing items for himself, Reiji, and sometimes anyone else who asks.

🕯️ Just by looking at someone, he can instantly tell what their measurements are.

🕯️ He loves the Victorian Gothic aesthetic/clothing.

🕯️ This boy loves VKEI. The clothing for him is total eye candy. 

🕯️ Kanato also enjoys the ‘dark coquette’ style.

🕯️ He likes ruffles and embroidered cuffs of sleeves, along with pretty brooches that fit his outfits perfectly. 

🕯️ His shoes have a ½ inch booster insole added in. He adores the clack and click in shoes when he walks, it makes him feel important. 

🕯️ His shoes also have a hidden blade inside, making it accessible to him if he needs to protect himself or fight back. 

🕯️ Kanato is obsessed with shiny jewelry. You’d assume he was a crow. 

🕯️ After his mother died, she left most of her jewelry to Kanato. Most days you’ll see him wear her iconic jade brooch. The one that’s shaped like a flower, with 14k gold detailing. It’s one of his most prized possessions. 

🕯️ He especially likes ancient jewels, the ones that carry magical properties. 

🕯️ Sometimes Kanato will cross dress. He does like the fabrics and can tell what instantly suits him. However everytime he does, for whatever reason (if it’s to get something for someone else, or he’s forced,) he feels that small insecurity taunting him that he’s not and never will be ‘man enough.’ 

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

⇘ : : [Magic]

🕯️ After Cordelia died, all her remaining magic/mana/powers transferred to Kanato, making him like the ‘last living remnant’ of Cordelia (not including the obvious— Yui.)

🕯️ He is really good at using magic, he’s the best out of all his brothers.

🕯️ People usually go to him if they need help with it.

🕯️ He’s memorized countless spell books, even the ones his late mother left him.

🕯️ He has pyrokinesis (Canon fact.) [Fire magic/can control fire.]

🕯️ He can perform soul transfer. (Canon fact.)

🕯️ Kanato loves contacting the other realm (realm of the dead,) he finds it interesting to hear the stories they tell.

🕯️ He has an ‘all seeing eye.’ Basically allows him to see ghosts and the dead.

🕯️ He found this out when he was 5, playing with his dolls and he saw an unknown woman sitting on his bed. She was covered in blood and she had an ax in her skull.

🕯️ This terrified him, but he mustered up the courage to acknowledge her existence.

🕯️ She didn’t say anything, just nodded to his questions. Once he brought this up to his mother but she forced him to never speak of this ability again.

🕯️→ Perhaps she was afraid? Who knows. Definitely not Kanato. 

🕯️ So whenever you see him leaving an extra seat available, another cup of tea, or bowing as a greeting to a seemingly empty space— he’s acknowledging the ghosts that linger in the home.

🕯️ To his surprise, many of the brides linger. He does his best to pay his respects. He at least has some decency to not upset the dead. (Especially since they can pay it back in full.)

🕯️ The main hot spots in the home are near Reiji’s study, the hallway that leads to the grand ballroom, and the torture chamber located far beneath the house. 

🕯️ Once, Reiji realized most of his supplies were misplaced in his laboratory. Turns out it was one of the brides he’d killed years ago who’d done it. Kanato never told him that, and Ayato was blamed and punished. 

🕯️ In his early years, many doctors assumed he had schizophrenia.

🕯️ He was heavily medicated for a while which messed with his cognitive functions.

🕯️ Kanato regularly uses magic, even for the small, simple things. Like turning on lights, closing doors, that stuff. 

🕯️ He feels that his magic is apart of him, so he really values it.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

⇘ : : [Bag]

Ever wondered what’s in Kanato’s bag? School Bag? Here you have it.

🕯️ Kanato has two bags. His school bag, and his small purse. (Yes he has a purse. But never call it that, it’s a man-purse. He will get insecure and embarrassed immediately.) 

🕯️ In his school bag all of his binders are colour coded, along with his notes.

🕯️ Everything is perfectly organized, from his notes for each class, to his homework and old tests. 

🕯️ He colour codes his notes for each subject, along with the homework assigned. 

🕯️ He takes pride in his note taking skills, since they’re very aesthetic. 

🕯️ Kanato keeps a reusable water bottle with him. Most are shocked that he even drinks water to begin with, but what they don’t know is how it does wonders for his skin. 

🕯️ He also brings his laptop with him every day to school. Sometimes he’ll forget his charger, but normally his classmates let him borrow theirs. 

🕯️ His hand-writing is sometimes messy but their legible. He’s secretly doing practice to improve his cursive. 

🕯️ His pencil case is filled with those over the top cute supplies. As in, he’ll have a teddy bear eraser, and cute highlights and pencil crayons. 

🕯️ In his school bag he also carries his purse. 

🕯️ His purse consists of his wallet (it’s this cute polar bear), his makeup pouch, his medication (pills), and travel sized combs. 

🕯️ Kanato’s makeup pouch has all of his normal makeup products but condensed to travel size. He loves his perfumes, so it’s always going to be there since he runs out of them quite easily. 

🕯️ As always, the strawberry chapstick is there for himself, his brothers, and anyone else he sees that desperately needs it. Like no joke, he’s a chapstick warrior. He’s like Santa, but for chapstick. No one knows how he has the space for it, but it’s like a never-ending supply. 

🕯️ Kanato also keeps his nail polish in his bag, in a small side component.  

🕯️ Once he started to paint his nails in psychology, and the teacher directed the topic onto the psychological effects of red nail polish. It was interesting and he found himself amused that he could cause such a commotion based on one small thing. 

I hope you stars like some of my personal HC's for Kanato. This took me two days, since I really had to think deeper about how I perceive his character.

Credits to the artist of the Kanato fanart!!

Lmk if you guys would be interested in any other HC's!!

[aindyghosh]

Fix Me Up (IronDad fic)

Peter hated formalities.

No, that was too mild a word to describe his feelings on the topic. Peter despised formalities.

Detested them. Abhorred. Loathed. And any other synonym that Oxford had come up with to date that he’d be able to remember as soon as Peter’s mind returned to the right track.

As it was, Peter’s brain felt all jumbled and disoriented, as if he were in a daze, because the morning sniffles he’d dismissed as a reaction to the accumulated dust in his room were, in reality, a case of severe cold due to the weather fluctuations that New Yorkers were experiencing and thus, very much not insignificant.

The last time Peter had fallen ill was three years ago before a visit to OsCorp had juiced him up on a — what would probably be perceived as ‘freakish’ — spider-serum (well, it was more of a spider-bite than a full-fledged serum, but that was what he called it, anyway) that turned his vision into a ten out of ten, dialled his senses to an eleven, and for the initial few months, made him stick to pretty much every surface available. No, that wasn’t a double entendre of any kind. It had been a real issue, thank you very much, until he had hauled control of it into his own hands.

Now one might ask, how did his sickness tie into his hatred for formalities?

Well, it was like this: Peter was sick, all he wanted to do at the moment was go home, politely refuse Aunt May’s chicken broth that was more likely to send him to the ER than to make him feel any better, allow sleep to treat him like he was dead until he was ready to return to the land of the living, and the fever, with any luck, would subside by the time he woke up again.

He didn’t think these were, in any manner, unreasonable demands.

Yet, his school acted as though he’d broken into Nexus and stolen the nuclear codes that he could access on Mr Stark’s servers.

Not that he’d ever say that to anyone because it would be incriminating Mr Stark, even though he was around eighty-three per cent sure it was one of those open secrets that everybody knew but pretended they didn’t. Adults were so complicated.

Regardless, coming back to the point, Aunt May was unreachable over the phone, which Peter had already suspected would be the case because she had a very important meeting with some angel investors who had expressed interest in the latest venture that her NGO was trying to set up for victims of domestic abuse.

Peter had said that to both Mr Harrington and Principal Morita, and had practically begged to be permitted to leave because anybody with a functional pair of eyes could see that he wasn’t faking an illness for the fun of it (Principal Morita had blanched at the hundred-and-three-degree temperature the thermometer had displayed; apparently, the spider-serum had increased his body’s tolerance to the extent where he didn’t keel over while burning up, but still, it would’ve been nice to not fall sick at all).

They had denied his request, of course. Formalities. See why he despised them?

With Peter being miserable in the infirmary and Aunt May not answering her calls, the natural next step in the administrative process was to either call the second emergency contact tagged to his name or the hospital.

Peter had put his foot down when Mr Harrison had tried to make noise in favour of the latter choice. Whether it was his uncharacteristic blunt protest or the pitiful murmur he had exhaled for being too exhausted to attempt anything else, Principal Morita had, though begrudgingly, relented.

That had stripped them down to one option. The second emergency contact. And that was where the root of all his problems laid.

Even when he had been one of the sickliest children, Peter’s file had been empty of a secondary contact since Uncle Ben’s demise because, besides Aunt May, he hadn’t had any such person in his life. But two years ago, his Aunt May had applied to add one.

Tony S.

It had been Mr Stark’s idea after their initial application had been rejected because “there is no way Tony Stark is your emergency contact, Peter; such kind of pranks will not be tolerated!”

As insistent as Ms. Banks was on not being taken for a fool, she hadn’t batted an eyelid when Peter had submitted the revised application with the name tweaked from “Tony Stark” to “Tony S”. At the time, like in one of those really old movies, Mr Stark’s “People are gullible, Peter! They think they know and understand everything when they barely see a quarter of the full picture,” had echoed through his head like a voiceover.

But he was digressing. The point he was trying to make was that despite the fact his school hadn’t, and still didn’t, believe that he had an internship — which wasn’t even a lie — with Stark Industries, much less that Mr Stark would ever agree to be his secondary contact (if Peter was being honest, he too found it ridiculous and surreal sometimes that Mr Stark had been listed as one of his emergency contacts), he hadn’t imagined that Principal Morita and Mr Harrington would stammer say an outright “no” to the man’s very face.

Peter watched, perched on the uncomfortable bed that threatened to make a germaphobe out of him, as Mr Stark’s face underwent a long series of varied emotions until it began oscillating between intrigued amusement and concerned frustration.

“I am his secondary emergency contact,” Mr Stark stressed for the third time. “You saw the papers! They have May’s signature! Why, on God’s holy green earth—” ( Ooh, the fancy curses were coming out now. When Mr Stark started saying things like “God” and “holy”, the best course of action was to run.) “—would I want to compromise your records? Do I look like a kidnapper?” Principal Morita failed to reply within a satisfactory period because Mr Stark pinched the bridge of his nose for the fifth time in the past ten minutes. Someone was developing a new anxious tic. “Why would I want to kidnap a student, Principal Morita?”

“We don’t think you’re trying to kidnap him, per se,” Mr Harrison swiftly cut in, seeing as Principal Morita seemed more interested in mimicking a fish and flailing his hands like an octopus. “But surely, you must see why we’d be, um, sceptical about allowing Peter to go with you?”

“No, actually, I don’t.”

Mr Harrington waved his hands in vague gestures, not unlike Principal Morita but he resembled more of an orangutan. “You are Tony Stark.”

“I’m aware, but thanks for the reminder.” Mr Stark deadpanned, his flat features compensating for the raw vulnerability in his eyes as he kept shooting Peter worried glances. “Look, this argument is entirely pointless.” You tell ‘em, Mr Stark! “I have a sick child to take care of—” He wasn’t a child! He was an almost-adult! That was a thing! “—and he can do with some treatment that is not in this horrible room. Is this what you call an infirmary? You know what, it doesn’t matter! I will need Peter to come with me pronto.”

Principal Morita stood up taller as if something in Mr Stark’s speech had vindicated him. “That is what a kidnapper would say.”

“No, a mugger would say that while robbing somebody. Go on, accuse me of petty theft as well while you’re at it.”

Principal Morita stuttered something out, but whether that was in response to Mr Stark’s utterly unimpressed face or Mr Harrison elbowing him in the rib, Peter wasn’t sure.

The ongoing conversation gradually morphed into unintelligible white noise, overwhelming while being muffled at the same time, like being pulled out of the water after a long time under, the sound of waves rushing ringing in one’s ears and deafening them to their surroundings but unable to mitigate the imposing presence of the people around.

“M’st’r St’k?” After a short second, his brain-addled self wondered if he’d managed to get the words out in the world or if they had died a premature death on his tongue.

“Peter?”

Maybe he had. “I d’n’t f’el sss...g’d, M-St’k—”

💖

Peter blinked. And frowned when his view refused to stop swaying between pitch black and black with spots of red and green in it.

It was another moment before he realised his eyes were still closed.

Oops.

When his eyes fluttered open, it wasn’t to Midtown High’s infirmary that left much to be desired, but to a clean white ceiling with a familiar huge and fancy circle of light decorating the middle which his brain placed right away.

The Avengers Compound’s MedBay.

He had a love-hate relationship with this corner of the compound, in that his body loved to end up here, at least, once a week while he had to actively hold himself back from cursing like a pirate anytime someone so much as mentioned the wing.

“FRIDAY?” He asked in a tone that even his brain thought suited an eighty-year-old, weary of the world, than a teenage kid with superpowers. No, not superpowers. That made him sound narcissistic and ostentatious. Spidey-powers. There, much better. “How long was I out this time?”

“You missed both lunch and dinner, if that answers your question,” came the reply from the person who was very much not FRIDAY.

“Mr Stark!” He attempted to sit up to no avail, Mr Stark’s firm grip on his shoulders gently pushing him back on the bed. Peter might have been stronger but Mr Stark was much more stubborn and a lot less prone to listening.

“How’re you feeling, kid?”

“Fine, actually, y’know, given everything.” He was no longer burning up, his skin didn’t crawl, the pounding in his head had subsided, and nothing felt jammed up his nose. All in all, he felt much more in control of himself. At least, the spider-serum worked fast.

“Good, because I need to yell at you and I’d prefer to do that while you’re not being miserable in your own body.”

“Oh, come on, Mr Stark! I didn’t even do anything this time!”

“Yeah?” The man’s eyes narrowed at him in that manner where, historically, it meant he had yet to decide whether to be angry with him or let himself show his amusement at his antics. Usually, the latter won out after a few minutes of forced yelling which was more to help keep up his façade of a responsible adult than anything else. Here’s to hoping! “Then was it your clone who assured your Aunt May in the morning that you were okay and, in fact, healthy enough to attend school?”

Had Peter been sitting, he would have bowed his head or looked away. Since he was currently laid out helpless on the bed as Mr Stark hovered over him like a concerned parent mentor, bowing his head wasn't on the table and looking away could be considered impolite. Mr Stark didn’t take kindly to rudeness and Peter was in no mood to be tickled.

“Sorry, Mr Stark.” Apologising? Now that came much more naturally to him. Mr Stark said it was a problem. Peter wasn’t so sure.

“What are you sorry for?”

That sounded like a trick question. Peter eyed the other man with carefully concealed suspicion. “For falling sick?”

Mr Stark sighed in that exasperated way that was typically followed up with something either deeply profound or extremely heartfelt, and in both cases, Peter would be left speechless and a tiny smidge teary-eyed.

“Don’t be sorry for falling sick, Peter! How would you feel if I apologised for getting hurt on a mission?”

Peter shrugged. “Good, actually, because then it would mean you’ll try not to throw yourself in the active line of gunfire when the next fight comes along.” After a moment, he added, “And maybe a tiny bit worried if you said the word ‘sorry’.”

“Pot, kettle, Underoos.” Mr Stark rolled his eyes. “And stop distracting me from the real issue here.”

“There’s no real issue, Mr Stark—”

“You should have told May that you had a fever, Pete.” He didn’t have a fever in the morning! “She was so scared when she saw the missed calls. She almost hitched a ride with Karen.”

“She hates Karen.” Peter’s mumble was barely audible, but somehow Mr Stark heard it.

“I know. I talked her down from blowing her dinner invitation with the investors. She’ll be here in another—” He spared a glance at his expensive wristwatch. “—fifteen minutes or so.”

“Thanks, Mr Stark! I didn’t mean to cause any problems—”

“You didn’t,” Mr Stark said, his voice soft. “We just worry, Pete. You’d know when you reach our age and have to look after a hyperenergetic kid who can’t seem to keep out of trouble.”

“That’s right, Peter!” FRIDAY chimed in. “Boss nearly went into a panic attack at the thought of you being hurt.”

Mr Stark immediately hushed his AI, but FRIDAY made even her silence seem...smug.

“I didn’t.” Mr Stark was convincing nobody. He was such a mother-hen.

Peter shook his head with a small smile. “This won’t happen again, Mr Stark, I promise.”

“Yes. Please remember, we’re all here for you, okay?” The man squeezed his hand. His touch was warm and assuring, and it grounded Peter.

“I didn’t expect a few sneezes to turn into a fever. I’d thought the serum had taken care of that.”

“Me too. I have talked with Bruce. If you are fine with him taking a couple of samples, he’s agreed to look into it.”

“Sure.” A year ago, he’d have been uncomfortable at the prospect of Doctor Bruce Banner wasting his precious time on something as insignificant as Peter’s blood tests. But Mr Stark had beaten the so-called “self-deprecation” out with his snarky retorts and sassy eye-rolls, and Doctor Banner had, after returning from “the garbage planet” (not his words), become something of a second mentor to him.

Also, this was for science. Doctor Banner was always interested in analysing the dos and don’ts and powers and the side effects of the spider-serum.

“Boss, Forehead of Security is pulling up into the driveway with Mrs Parker as we speak.”

“Oh, goody! She can take over the yelling now. FRI, order some pizza!”

“On it!”

“Mr Stark!” Peter called for the man with a tone of voice that, to unsuspecting people, might have sounded whiny, but really, it wasn’t. “Save me!”

“Nope! You deserve it!”

“I promise I won’t do it again!”

“FRI, remind the young lad of the last time he’d said the same thing, please.”

“Three weeks ago, on the twenty-ninth of March, at 8:14 in the evening, Peter Parker had promised not to hide anything from Tony Stark and May Parker ever again post a two-hour surgery for failing to alert anybody after getting shot while stopping a bank robbery.”

Peter resisted the urge to pout. “FRIDAY! You didn’t have to recount in such detail.”

“I am not programmed to recite half-information, Peter.” She was trolling him. He could feel it in his bones.

“Hah!” Mr Stark crowed. “I am so proud of you, baby girl.”

“Boss, I have done some research and I have arrived at a conclusion.”

Peter’s heart hammered at the declaration. What now?

“Oh? Let’s hear it, then!”

“I have looked into various published papers on human behaviour and the possible environmental factors that may have an impact on it, and I have deduced that Peter Parker’s tendency to hide his injuries and downplay his struggles are identical to your documented traits.”

It took a visible minute for Mr Stark to realise what transpired, and when he did, he let out an outraged screech that would have put a whole colony of bats to shame. 

Peter sucked in his cheeks.

“Are you implying I’m a bad influence on the kid, FRIDAY?”

“No, I’m saying that you and Peter are in the same boat, and both of you panic when the other gets hurt yet none of you do anything to set an example for the other, and since you, Boss, can be argued to be the adult in this relationship—” She bravely ignored Mr Stark’s squeak of protest, and pressed on, “the responsibility of not being a hypocrite, unfortunately, falls on you.” FRIDAY finished with a flourish. Peter could hear the flourish.

A beat of silence.

“That’s it! I’m donating you to City College. How dare you insinuate that I’m a responsible adult. I hate being responsible!”

And that was the point where Peter absolutely and hilariously lost it.

He was soon joined by Mr Stark, who was more giggling than guffawing like Peter. When the titters and the chortles were on the verge of subsiding, FRIDAY played an audio recording of a woman cackling as a representation of her own emotions, and the riot powered up again.

That was, of course, until the door to his room — yes, he had been in the MedBay a sufficient number of times for Mr Stark to designate a room specially for him — was pushed open and a harried May rushed in only to be greeted by the sight of Peter and Tony all but rolling over the floor laughing.

Peter’s ears rang with her screaming for days after that.

[youphoriaot7]

He hasn't seen Roier awake in nearly a week. The two keep managing to just barely miss each other, one crawling into bed mere hours after the other has already started to warm the sheets. They haven't managed to wake up at the same time, either: the amount of times Cellbit has awoken to an empty bedside this week is unmatched.

But there is a call to the main square today, and nearly everyone is there. It isn't until they've been standing around for a few minutes that the thought truly works its way up from the depths of Cellbit's mind: cadê o guapito?

Moments later, a united buzzing on their communicators fills the air, a note from an unknown number telling them to "follow the lights." Mouse cries out, pointing towards a nearby trail of torches, and Cellbit quickly bolts after her, eager to keep an eye out ahead of everyone in case of danger.

Familiar shouts from just behind him catch his ear, and his face melts into a grin as he glances over his shoulder. "¡Guapito!"

"Gatinho!" comes the easy reply, Roier locked sword to sword with a straggler zombie. Cellbit can only pause for a moment to watch as his husband slices the arm of the zombie clean off. He swings the sword in a wide arc, twirling it around his wrist to bring it back bladefirst as he shoves it into the zombie's torso.

He always was the better fighter. 

The pull of the blade out isn't quite as clean as it usually is, Roier's hands seeming to shake a bit with the force, but before Cellbit can mention anything, Mouse is exclaiming from behind him. He smiles instead, shaking his head as he sets one foot on the staircase. "Ven aqui, vamos!"

"¡Sí, sí, sí—vamos!" He can hear Roier's quick steps behind him as they barrel up the stairs, quickly arriving at a small landing built into the hill. Mouse is already up there, scratching her head in bewilderment as she stares at the trail of torches that have simply…stopped. Dead ended against the wall.

The ledge starts to fill out with people behind them and Cellbit quickly moves aside, scanning the crowd for the familiar face he knows so well. Eventually, he manages to spot the classic flash of red and moves forward, catching the corner of Roier's hoodie and tugging him over. 

"Óla, guapito," he smiles, though the expression fades the moment his husband looks up.

Roier looks exhausted. The circles under his eyes are as dark as coal, and so deep that for a moment, Cellbit wondered if he hadn't been punched. He seems somewhat paler than usual, and it looks as though he hasn't showered in days, judging by his unruly hair. 

"...hey, ¿qué pasó?" he asks quickly, hands finding purchase against Roier's forearms, even as the younger man tries to take a step back. "You alright?"

"Nada, nada, ¡bien!" Roier responds, a bit too quickly—and he won't meet Cellbit's eyes. "Estoy bien."

It's not convincing, even despite his bedraggled state. "...certo?" Cellbit presses, but Roier just shakes his head, tugging his arms away.

"Sí, sí, estoy bien."

There's a loud shout of triumph from over by the wall, making them both jump, and Cellbit casts one last look in his husband's direction. "...we'll talk about this later, okay?"

Roier nods, throwing him a small, half-hearted smile. "Claro." Before either of them can say more, they're swept into the rush of excited people, but for the rest of the night, Cellbit can't help keeping one eye on his husband. Something's wrong, whether he's willing to admit it or not, and he is determined not to head to sleep tonight without figuring out what's going on.

— — — — — — — — — —

Fuck.

He already knew he couldn't hide from Cellbit forever. This discussion had been coming for a while, ever since the kids had vanished, really. (Died.) But with all the excitement around the new islander, and the way he'd managed to postpone it further by showing Cellbit around his newest construction, he had been hoping maybe the other man had forgotten.

But Cellbit wasn't the head of the Ordo for no reason, and Roier was definitely not the best at lying to his husband. (Plus, his current appearance made it really, really fucking obvious—even Forever had stopped him the other day; he'd only just managed to escape the other man's questions.)

But now, outside of the hospital with nothing but air between them, as Cellbit rests an arm on his shoulder—now, Roier realizes, there's nowhere to run.

"Still no news on the kids?" Cellbit asks softly. He already knows the answer.

Roier shakes his head anyway. "I think they're dead, Cellbit."

Cellbit freezes for a few seconds, his arm slipping off of Roier's shoulder. Moments later, he lets out a small laugh, gently punching Roier's bicep as he shakes his head. "Callaté, pendejo. Não é verdade."

Roier watches him step away, taking a deep breath before letting it out in a rushed sigh. "Listen, Cellbit—you wanna know what's going on? I'll tell you."

Cellbit glances back at him, sharp eyes fixed on his own. He inclines his head to indicate he's listening, reaching a hand out to take Roier's own. 

"I'm tired, Cellbit." There's a lot more weight behind the words than Roier really intended to give them, but, well. He's in it now. Might as well go all in. "I'm tired of not being able to sleep. I'm tired of lying awake in bed all night, staring at the wall, thinking about where the children could be. I'm tired of feeling alone. The kids have been gone for so long, Cellbo, so fucking long—and I don't think they're coming back."

Cellbit's face softens, an expression Roier hates to see slowly overtaking his features. It's not pity, per se—and thank the lord for that—it seems more…guilty. It's guilt.

Ay, mierda.

"...we can't give up on them, guapito," Cellbit murmurs. "If we give up on them, then who will go after them?"

Roier nods, staring at the ground. "I know. We said it was up to us to find them." He does not tell Cellbit that there may not be anything for them to find.

"Exatamente." Cellbit sighs, running his other hand through his hair as he shakes his head. "And I'm sorry I haven't been around, okay? I've been so caught up in the work at the Ordo that I haven't really…paid much attention to anything else—"

"No se preocupe." It's Roier's turn to shake his head. "I know you've been busy." He grins. "It's not like the work ever stops, so how could you?"

Cellbit doesn't return the smile. Instead, he takes Roier's other hand, staring down at their interlocked fingers. "I know you, Roier," he says softly, rubbing his thumb over Roier's ring. "I know you hide your sorrow with jokes and giggles. I know you try to be the ray of light, always try to make others laugh." He swallows hard, glancing up to meet Roier's eyes. "But I know you, and I know you're sad."

Roier takes a deep breath, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat as he nods. Cellbit's gaze holds his own for as long as he can take it before he has to pull away. They say eyes are the windows to the soul, but Cellbit simply feels like he's pulling Roier's out for the world to see. And he trusts Cellbit with it, to be clear—but this isn't the privacy of the castle, and Roier feels horribly…vulnerable out in the open like this. 

Then, Cellbit opens his arms, and Roier tumbles into them. The other man's grip is tight, and Roier's chest shudders as he takes a deep breath. "I miss them," he whispers. "I miss Richarlyson. I miss Leonarda." He swallows the end of his sentence. I miss Bobby.

"Eu sei." Cellbit presses a gentle kiss to the top of his head, ignoring the leftover building dust stuck in his hair and smoothing pieces down with one hand. "I do, too." And Roier doesn't have to look at him to hear the way his own heart is breaking.

"We're going to find them, guapito," he continues firmly. "We're going to keep looking; I know they're here somewhere."

"Yeah," Roier mutters, "somewhere dead."

Cellbit ignores him. "This is all leading up to something, I can feel it." He squeezes Roier tightly. 

Roier sighs. "Yeah, leading up to them telling us they're dead," he repeats flatly. 

Cellbit finally pulls away, shaking his head. "Eu não acho, guapito," he says softly, "I really don't think so." Roier meets his eyes, watching him for a moment.

He recognizes that look. Not hope, the emotion he's watched drain from so many people's eyes the past few weeks. Not hope at all, no—this is the same look that Bad had in his eyes a few days ago, when Roier had almost the exact same conversation with him. It's the same look Foolish had when Roier had broached the topic of Leo's disappearance with him. It's the same expression he's felt on his own face before, when he had journeyed thousands of miles away from home…only to be told that his son was dead.

It's happened before. Roier knows how the Federation works, at this point. They get your hopes up, just so they can dash them all at once and bring you to your lowest point. 

He is not going to let them break him again. 

But Cellbit doesn't understand. Bad doesn't know. Foolish has never lost a child. They still have hope—desperate hope, but hope nonetheless. Just a single thread that they're left clinging to, before they shatter completely. Just like Roier did. Just like Roier is. Once again.

And he can't bring himself to be the one to cut that thread. 

Silently, he squeezes Cellbit's fingers, giving him a slow nod. "Okay," he murmurs, trying to muster up a smile. 

It's not very convincing, and Cellbit sighs. "We'll get them back. We have to."

"Sí." His response is quiet, without much hope. Roier takes a deep breath, clearing his throat. "Okay. Well, um…I'm gonna go get some rest, yeah? I haven't slept very well the past few days, so…" He shrugs. "I could probably use it."

Cellbit nods, kissing the top of his hand. "Okay. Look, I'm here if you need me, okay?" He smiles slightly. "If you need a hug or something, just message me. Eu estarei lá."

At that, Roier is finally able to crack a smile, the irony of his own phrase being tossed right back at him like a lifeline enough to ease a small weight off his shoulders. "I will." He squeezes Cellbit's hand one last time before finally letting go, waving over his shoulder. "Hasta pronto, gatinho. Wake me up when this is over?"

It's just a simple line—a half-joke, really—but Cellbit's smile turns sad, and he nods. "Prometo."

[frenchgirlocean]

wanna listen to your hands soothe

hatchetfield; original work

—  lorelai bowman & lance swohn (gen)

fluff ⋆ sickfic ⋆ comfort no hurt

(542 words)

for @wetcatschwartzy <3

Lance takes one short look at Lorelai as she throws the backpack on the floor next to the dinner table in his living room, and it tells him all he needs to know. 

“You’re not sick again, are you?”

Lorelai blinks at him for a few moments, bleary and tired, and Lance is half–convinced that he’ll need to spring out of his seat and catch her in the next few seconds when Lorelai clears her throat and shakes her head.

“Absolutely fuckin’ not.” She says, and then contradicts herself in the worst way by almost sneezing her brains out. Right into her elbow, and Lance gets brutally reminded to never borrow any of her clothes again, no matter how comfy they are. “Where did you get that idea from?”

“... No reason.” He lies through his teeth, and watches Lorelai struggle with the zipper of her backpack. “Maybe you want to lay down?”

“I’m not a baby, Lancelot, I don’t need a—” an absolutely monstrous sneeze, “nap.”

“Yeah.” 

Lorelai sneezes, then yawns, and then barks out a strange combination of another yawn mixed with a cough. She almost slumps over his dinner table, but hauls herself up once again to dive into her backpack, looking like a ragdoll being thrown around with telepathy.

“Maybe—” He puts one hand on her bare arm, and Lorelai hisses. Like a wild cat with rabies.

“Jesus, Lance! Give a girl a warning before you come with your freaky cold hand, will you?”

Lance opens his mouth to defend himself, what the hell, Lorelai. Then he remembers that trying to fight with a sick Lorelai is absolutely useless, and resumes his work to straight up pick her up from the chair and put her on the nearest flat, comfy surface.

“Wha—” She blinks, but once her head hits Lance’s covered collarbone, all signs of consciousness disappear. Her cheek rests on his shoulder, smacked like she’s already fallen asleep, and he only knows that she’s awake by her pattern of breathing — too fast for usual asleep–Lorelai speed. Otherwise, she’s completely limp, snoring through her clogged nose, and Lance already tenses up knowing how bad her colds can get.

He sets her down on his bed as gently as he possibly can, but she still stirs when he tears her already–sweaty face off his sweater. 

Lorelai stares at him with wide, dark eyes for a few moments before he awkwardly rattles off, 

“Do you need something?”

Her nose scrunches up, and she yawns again, curling up in his goddamn Arthur and the Invisibles blanket. 

“Nah.” She pulls the corner of the blanket higher, up to her face, but opens her eyes again. The way she looks reminds Lance of when they were younger, maybe in elementary school, and his mom would let her stay over for weeks when her dad worked across the country just to keep them afloat. “Actually, can y’do your work here?”

Oh. Of course. 

(He’d run to the end of Earth for her.)

“Sure thing.”

Lorelai snorts through the phlegm in her throat. “St’p talkin’ like my dad.” 

“Oh, screw you too.” He says with a bite of a smile in his voice, and when he leaves the room to collect his homework, he swears he can hear Lorelai grumbling affectionately, something about her father and him being the same person in different fonts.

He’d give his life up for her. Blanket, bed, free time and probably his own health aren’t that much.

[m0thmellow]

The Heat of your Scales | Astarion x M!Tav

Spending the last couple weeks in the sun has Astarion realizing just how cold the mountain air can be at night. He searches for warmth by the campfire and is joined by their dragonborn leader.

And an excuse for me to write more of this sassy vampire, considering I'm planning on writing a full longfic in some alternative universe or something. Also cross-posted on my archive account

Astarion was quite used to the cold, whether it was nature or not, he never shied away from it. After all, Cazador believed any kind of additional warmth was a luxury none of them could afford. So the cold air nipping at his skin, through the weathered blanket that laid over his body shouldn’t actually bother him as much as it did.

Yet, it did. The cold air was seeping into the marrow of his bone, leaving a rather unpleasant ache behind whenever he proceeded to move or wiggle to create more warmth. For a corpse, he shouldn’t feel this uncomfortable. It wasn’t even that cold either, nor was it winter. The day had passed without a cloud and Astarion could even remember the sweat crawling onto his companions faces, as they huffed and puffed, complaining about the sun's harsh rays.

Astarion hadn’t noticed the heat whatsoever, he had relished the fact he could feel it after two whole centuries. Now though, the cold was taking its toll and Astarion was beginning to miss the fire-y ball in the sky. Astarion tossed and turned, trying his hardest to get the small blanket to cover at least half of his shivering body, only to whine in frustration when he realized it wouldn’t work that way.

Defeated, he crawled out of his tent, ruffling his hair back into shape before taking a seat next to the campfire. He shivered again, the breeze nipping through his frilly shirt. It was wearing thin, especially with the amount of washing Astarion had done over the last week. Eventually the cloth would disintegrate into nothing, Astarion knew that. But it was hard to let go of something that had meaning, no matter how morbid the meaning really was.

“Hello,” Startled, the spawn twisted around, ruby eyes darkened as he searched for the voice, only for his eyes to settle on his white dragonborn companion. The dragonborn gave an awkward wave, gestured down to the ground and slowly began to sit down. “Mind if I join you?”

Tav.

It was Tav, like always. The dragonborn hardly seemed to sleep, and when he did it wasn’t for long. Tav preferred to sleep near the campfire anyhow, claiming the confinements of his tent made him worry about their safety, no matter who stood guard. Blame it on his dragonborn senses, at least that’s what Tav eventually told them. Astarion knew no one believed the man, but it also seemed that no one was interested in trying to convince him otherwise.

“Of course.” The spawn smiled, shuffling a little closer to the fire. “It’s a lovely evening af-ter all.” Mentally, the spawn kicked himself for the stutter. He hadn’t meant to, the chill just nipped a little extra hard on his nape, something he didn’t expect with his curls normally covering it. Astarion rubbed his hands together, fingers curling around one another, and squeezed. 

Then, the silence returned. The fire crackled weakly in front of them, painting the area around it in a soft orange glow, occasionally expanding when it bit into a fresh piece of wood. Tav was feeding it, throwing small sticks and dead grass into the fire and watching it be engulfed by fresh and large flames. Astarion found himself staring at the man in front of him, white and green-tinted scales reflecting the orange and making him even brighter than he already appeared.

The leaves on his shoulder shook in the small breeze and Astarion shivered at the reminder of the aching cold inside, huffing as he shuffled closer to the growing fire again. Tav caught sight of this, his green eye shifting over to glance at the spawn and raised his eyebrow curiously. He didn’t speak, the silence around them was comfortable and Astarion didn’t feel the need to fill it.

It was always comfortable. From the point he held a knife to the dragonborn’s throat - who absolutely let Astarion drag him to the ground - to the evening where Astarions teeth sank into Tav’s neck, seconds away from killing him. The druid just.. trusted too much, at least that’s what Astarion told himself.

Annoyed, he turned his head back to the wilderness in front of them and reminisced about the events of their day. The creche, the zaith’isk, the slaughter of the entire githyanki force inside that followed after.. The dream visitor and Tav’s curiously but saddened look when he returned from his venture into the prism. Now they settled on top of the mountain, overlooking the monastery - or what was left of it after Tav accidentally took the mace - and the valley below. They managed to watch the sunset, after Karlach was determined to stay up long enough to watch it.

Astarion was grateful for it, in the forest below they never managed to see more but the golden sky above them. With the wide mountain range now though and the perfectly framed split where the sun descended, it was almost sentimental. 

The moment was over when a small movement in the corner of his vision caught his attention. Tav was still beside him, still feeding the fire. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary at first, so Astarion dragged his eyes back to the mountains in front of him, ready to drift off into his thoughts and hopefully warm up from them-

Again

Another small movement caught his attention, this time enough for his eyes to fully turn, keeping their gaze steadily fixed on Tav and their surroundings, waiting as his entire body filled with tension and anxiety. What if it was another monster hunter, another Gur. What if-

Oh.. Oh.

He watched as Tav’s mouth slid open just a bit, his green tinted tongue slithered out, wiggled and quickly slipped back in when those mixed-matched eyes met his own. “Are you okay?”

The question caught him off guard, tilting his head so he could look at the druid with a confused frown, only to realize that Tav was… scenting. He had been scenting the air and had tasted Astarion’s tension after he noticed it the first time.

“Oh yes,” Astarion hummed, leaning over to tilt his head a little further. “I.. I suppose I wasn’t expecting that.” The dragonborn let out a laugh, shaking his head, frills relaxing once more. Tav, however, didn’t seem to buy his answer. The dragonborn shifted, feeding the last small bunch of grass to the fire before bringing one of his larger hands to cup the spawns cheek, who in return flinched at the contact.

“You are cold,” Astarion shivered, unsure whether to relax into the warmth of Tav’s hand or to pull away entirely. Warning bells were going off, the intense gaze he was under made him feel watched in more ways than he would like to admit. On cue, another breeze rustled through the trees, settling over their camp and Astarion took this opportunity to lean further into the hand on his cheek. “Come here.”

The vampire snarled, eyes fluttering open to glare at his dragonborn companion with defiance. Neither of them moved an inch, Tav’s eyes settled on Astarion with a look of fondness and amusement before he curled his fingers into the spawn’s white curls. At the contact, Astarion flinched once more, but allowed the bigger man to gently coax him over. 

Following into his hold, Astarion held his tongue on any kind of comments, not wanting the risk of this.. this gift being taken away from him. As he curled up within Tav’s lap, the large dragonborn pulled both of them down to his bedroll, using his free hand to grab one of his many blankets.

A laugh escaped his pale lips, leaning up just enough so he could look the dragonborn in the eye, raising one of his perfect eyebrows to playfully glare at the man. One hand splayed itself over the large surface of Tav’s chest, the scale plates beneath his fingers pulsing with every heartbeat. Tav was so.. scorchingly hot, even with those armored plates hiding most of his actual flesh. Even those radiated a heat Astarion could only dream about. 

“If you wanted a cuddle, you could also just ask, darling.” Tav’s eyes widened and his tail thumped against the floor below them. Astarion settled in anyway, moving to curl into the other side, laying his head down on one of the chest plates before trailing small shapes over the other. “You know, I’ve never laid with a dragonborn before.” 

Below him, he could feel Tav stiffen, the hand formerly on his waist retreated to the bedroll behind him as a frown made its way to Astarion’s face. Had he done something wrong? Had he said something wrong?

He didn’t believe he had, after all Tav was his conquest for the moment and his other marks often enjoyed hearing that they were his first. It was a fool's errand though, anyone with a bit of knowledge could tell it wouldn’t be Astarion’s first time doing anything like that. This time however, he wasn’t lying. Dragonborn were rare in the city, one of them going missing wasn’t something Cazador could afford. 

His master had specifically drilled it into his head - and skin - that Dragonborn and Tieflings were off limits due to rarity within the city. Anytime Astarion as much as looked at a dragonborn, Cazador would interrupt his thoughts and make sure he wouldn’t dream of doing so again. Traveling with Tav was thus the first time in 200 years that he’s seen a dragonborn without repercussions.

It was liberating.

“Don’t get shy now, my dear.” He evidently purred out, nuzzling his face into the dragonborn’s neck, right under those dangerously sharp jaw spikes of his. “You have me right where you want me.” 

Tav hissed under his touch, but didn’t fall for the trap. Instead he wriggled his clawed hands into those white curls and tugged the spawn backwards, tilting his head to cover his neck for a moment. “I want you here, sleeping, or trancing, whatever you elves do.” Astarion could hardly believe his ears, but the look in Tav’s eyes said enough. So he nodded, huffed and accepted his defeat before laying back down on the man’s chest.

Tav settled again, arm wrapping around Astarion’s waist to twist him around. The spawn was about to object, feeling the cold nipping at his shirt again, only for his entire back to be engulfed with heat soon after. Realization hit him like a brick. Tav’s smooth scales pressed into the sensitive skin of his back, his arm was coiled around Astarion’s waist with his larger hand splayed over Astarion’s entire front. From the bottom of his collarbone to the top of his navel. 

“Is this really all you want?” The spawn spoke softly, fingers moving to trace the small scales on Tav’s hand. Part of him feared the answer that was coming, of course this wasn’t all Tav wanted. It was never that easy and it would never be. Not even for their ‘knight in shining armor’, who despite his heroic deeds, managed all due to sheer luck. Astarion would consider himself a downright fool if he were to genuinely believe that all Tav wanted, was a cuddle.

A thousand thoughts flitted through his broken mind, a million things he still owed the dragonborn, which included his life and his sudden always full appetite. There was no way he would ever fully repay what he owes, but he could start to make a dent into it tonight, or perhaps give the dragonborn one very good night to have multiple debts paid at once.

All to save his own skin from a relatively worse fate than this one. After all Tav seemed like a gentle dragonborn, hopefully that carried into other areas and Astarion wouldn’t have to worry about-

“Yes.” 

“Yes? That’s all you have to say?” Tav nodded behind him and Astarion fell silent again. Yes. All he got for his worrying was a singular word. Somehow that made warmth pool in his chest, his long dead heart daring to skip a beat if it could. It felt .. nice, very nice in fact. To know he could just lie here for the evening, engulfed in the dragonic heat of his companion and not have to worry about repaying his debt in the only way he knows how. The silence must’ve pleased the Dragonborn, his frills shuttering in content against the spawn’s curls, sending him into a small fit of uncanny giggles.

Tav flicked his tongue against the other’s ear, coincidentally coaxing a gentle hum from the elf’s lips. “You’re warming up. Good.”

And he definitely was, the warmth was soaking into his skin and down to his chilled bones, waking up feelings and spots he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Astarion twisted and turned in Tav’s hold and nuzzled his face into the smooth surface of Tav’s scales once more. All he could muster was a hum of approval in return, eyes fluttering closed as he slowly slipped into the warmest trance of his entire life.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------

“Shhhh!” 

“We can’t stay here forever, someone needs to wake them up.”

“I know but look at them.”

Astarion’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of voices right behind him. His vision took a while to register what he was seeing. Still, he was laying with his head snuggled into the dragonborn’s white and green chest, Tav’s arms wrapped tightly and securely around his body, bringing him in even closer. His head was tilted ever so slightly, Tav’s chin was resting on top of his head with little resistance.

"Tck!" We should not indulge in pleasures of the flesh when there’s a battle to be had.” Lae’zel. And from what Astarion could tell, she definitely wasn’t pleased with their position.

“Lae’zel, there’s no reason to wake them up like that either.” Wyll. The knight in shining armor spoke with a soft but rushed tone. The rustling of grass and fallen leaves told Astarion that the warlock is probably physically keeping the githyanki woman from waking them up.

“I’m awake.” Before he was able to announce his presence, the dragonborn above him spoke up, his voice hoarse and raspy with sleep as one of his hands released Astarion to rub along his face. “You woke me up with your quarrel.” 

The dragonborn moved very carefully, leaning up to look at what was going on, yet he made sure not to disturb Astarion’s ‘rest’ any further. The githyanki opened her mouth and Astarion waited for any noise or complaint to come out, though nothing ever did. He could only assume their dear leader had given her a look. “Tsk’va. Fine, we’ll leave you two lovers to it.”

A hushed ‘thank you’, followed by a heavy sigh and footsteps stepping away was the tell that everyone had left. Soon, the dragonborn’s hand returned to the spawn’s hair, carefully caressing the skin below. 

Underneath Astarion’s hands he could feel the other’s chest starting to rumble, a purr-like sound slipping from Tav’s lips as they laid there. Astarion wondered for how long he could pretend, pretend to be asleep and just lay there with the dragonborn. Unbothered by their companions or their current affliction, unbothered by his own troubles and past that seemed so far away, yet so so close. He wondered just how long Tav would indulge this disgustingly sweet fantasy of his.

“I know you’re awake Astarion,” Not long it seemed, not long at all. “I would enjoy lying here with you for an entire tenday, however…” The dragonborn trailed off until silence covered them again. The spawn didn’t move, not when Tav’s fingers left his hair, not when they left his back and definitely not when Tav’s fingers found his chin. Astarion groaned, but let the dragonborn tilt his head up after a while.

Ruby eyes met those gorgeous mix-matched green and yellow, the dragonborn tilting his head with an amused smile spreading on his scaly face. “Don’t look at me like that,” Astarion huffed, sitting up fully and instantly glancing around to get his bearings. Right, the middle of camp. lovely. “Don’t speak a word to anyone about this.”

Tav snickered, chest heaving underneath Astarion’s lingering palms before they fully left the smooth scales alone. “I don’t think I have to.” Without another word, the dragonborn druid gestured behind his back, the spawn turning very slowly to see exactly what he feared.  “Shit.”

[luinlothana]

Cats Are Evil

“You need to be fierce. The promise of death lurking in the dark. A born killer, always ready to practise his craft.”

Aziraphale frowned, upon hearing Crowley’s voice coming from the garden. He’d thought the demon just stepped out to do some weeding but what he was hearing sounded rather worrisome. Not only was this beyond the usual threats of plants being composted, it was clear Crowley was addressing someone. Someone who evidently needed instructions on being an agent of evil. Oh dear.

The angel set down the kettle he was about to fill and stepped closer to the kitchen door.

“You have to learn to exploit every weakness they show in your presence, push the boundaries and never apologise,” Crowley’s lecture continued as Aziraphale grasped the door handle. “Remember, no hesitation, the humans need to know you’re their master- Oh, hi Aziraphale.”

The demon broke off half-sentence as Aziraphale cautiously opened the door. To the angel’s consternation there didn’t seem to be anyone there other than Crowley. Just to be sure he looked around. Nobody.

“Crowley? I thought I heard you talking to someone. Do we have some company?”

“Nah. I was just talking to Mittens here.”

“Mittens?” the angel blinked in surprise.

“Yeah,” Crowley beckoned him to come closer. There was a tiny black kitten sitting on the flower patch next to the demon. “Aziraphale - Mittens. Mittens - Aziraphale. Mittens here wanted some pointers for being a successful cat. Can’t say he’s taking to the subject though. Too polite and submissive for one.”

As if to illustrate the point the kitten wrapped his tail around his paws, listening courteously.

“I… see,” Aziraphale nodded slowly. “Do I want to know how the subject came up?”

“Mittens is a stray. Apparently I looked like a demon who knows what’s what and how to get ahead in the world. He asked for pointers and that’s when you found us.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” Aziraphale addressed the kitten. “The first thing you need to know is that appearances can be deceiving. And don’t believe everything you hear. Being gentle and considerate is just as good a way of being loved, whether you are a cat or a demon.”

“Oi!”

“You know perfectly well I’m right, Crowley. Now why don’t you invite Mittens inside. I think we still have some fish left from dinner.”

“That’s not the point! Cats are supposed to be standoffish and evil. That’s their whole thing. If he wants some humans to take him in he is supposed to play the part.”

“Don’t worry, Mittens. We know all about standoffish and evil in this house,” Aziraphale reassured only for the cat to start purring.

Crowley rolled his eyes.

“I resent whatever it is you’re implying. And why exactly are you conspiring against me?”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean. Do you, Mittens?”

“Mrr.”

“There you have it. Now be a dear and fetch me that blue saucer.” The angel pointed to the bottom shelf of the glass cabinet. “It should be comfortable to eat from.”

“You do still remember the point of the exercise was to make you as cat as possible so you could tell some humans to take you in, right?” Crowley leaned down and asked Mittens who was politely waiting for Aziraphale to fill the saucer with food. The kitten purred. “Don’t give me that.”

“Well, my dear. If you think it’s a lost cause, we may need to consider inviting Mittens to live with us.”

“What?” the demon’s head snapped up.

“After all, what better way of showing him what you mean than to demonstrate how evil you can be on a day to day basis. Set a bad example.” The angel was smirking at him.

Crowley opened his mouth to argue. Closed it. Looked at purring Mittens. Looked at Aziraphale. Then at Mittens again. “Fine. You can stay. No nibbling on my plants though, understood?”

“Meow.”

“And you’d better remember that.” 

___

Also available on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48558550

[write-and-wander]

Touch: Epilogue

Pairing:  Kylo Ren x Fem!Reader

Warnings:  Non-canon AU

Word count:  1K

Author’s note: As much as I loved the ending of the last chapter, I can't resist a little epilogue to show where I imagine things would go in my version of the sequels.

(Part 1)

(Part 2)

(Part 3)

(Part 4)

(Part 5)

(Part 6)

(Part 7)

Epilogue: Future's Path

“General Kenobi?”  You hear Poe call out to you.

“Be there in five!” you call back, looking back down to your journal.  It’s been a while since your last entry, and you just wanted to finish recording things before The Path Forward’s first meeting for Project Rebuild.  With a deep breath, you think back on all that has transpired since the Final Victory.

The first order of business was to repair what had been broken.  For the Path- which, at the time, was still the Resistance- that meant tending to the wreckage of the bases we had built in the past.  They settled on rebuilding in D’Qar as, for most of those who stayed after the Victory, it felt like home.  Though many people left the Resistance after that final battle was won, feeling satisfied with having achieved what they had set out to accomplish, some still remained, determining that the work was not yet finished.  Those that stayed reached out to those that left and other allies to raise funds and gather supplies, and while the Resistance itself was gone, the spirit of working together to make the galaxy a better place yet remained.  We all had managed to gather enough not just to rebuild the base we once had, but to also improve upon it with the hope that future generations would be using this place to continue to strive for better.  In fact, reconstruction and renovation just came to completion- hence the meeting I’m about to attend.

General Dameron seamlessly took over the Path after the Victory.  Those of us who joined prior to Leia’s passing knew that it was exactly what she would have wanted- and seeing him lead now confirmed that it was for good reason.  He really was the perfect choice for the head of the organization.  Poe, having grown up with the group and being- well, himself- made for a natural leader.  While some members, new and old alike, still disagree with the risks he’s willing to take, it’s hard to argue against his decisions when they always seem to work out.  I don’t want to discount his natural talents, but I also believe that none of it would be possible without the force’s favor over him.  Regardless, he really is the best we’ve got.

General Storm would agree with me- and, being as force sensitive as he is, I trust his word (admittedly, sometimes more than I trust my own).  Finn’s wisdom is unparalleled, and his bravery and even head makes for a perfect counterpart to General Dameron.  I’m still getting used to calling him General Storm; it was the last name he had taken for himself while Ben, Poe, and I were working out logistics for the Path.  We were shocked when it was the first name he offered for himself, being a reference to his time with the First Order as a Stormtrooper.  However, he said it best himself: “It’s who I am.  It can always mean something new.”  It was a short deliberation, then, on how we would be referring to Finn upon his promotion to General: ‘Storm’ it was.  Shortly after, Rey took the same sort of inspiration, having found out the truth of her past- though, there was no concern about a proper title, as she would not be stepping up into any sort of leadership for the Path.

Now make no mistake, Rey was still working in a close alliance with the Path- which I believe is at least in part due to General Storm.  Instead, she had also taken on her own mantle moving forward.  She had kept both Luke and Leia’s sabers, as well as some of the ancient Jedi texts- which, I just recently learned, were otherwise turned to ash on Ahch-To by Jedi Master Yoda; meaning that the ever-resourceful scavenger managed to recover some before the fiery incident.  With those few relics, she determined that the Jedi tradition should not so easily die.  She decided to try again what Luke had failed to do in his lifetime- rebuild the Jedi Order.  While we disagreed with her decision, we’ve also decided to respect it; with the caveat that the Path would be keeping a close eye on her new Order.  Understanding the hesitation and wanting to be held accountable for the sake of the galaxy’s security moving forward, she easily accepted the conditions.

General Solo- my beloved Ben- took a similar path for himself.  While he was more invested in the Path than Rey was- enough to be given a proper title and position- he also still pursued more, taking the last words of his uncle to heart.  Actually, it’s a project we’ve both been working on for a while now.  We want to forge a new future; to pave a new path for those who are strong with the force.  It will be a way of balance, where the dark cannot exist without the light, both in the galaxy and within ourselves.  We hope to honor our ancestors with the work we do- and, having taken advantage of the presence of their force ghosts to seek out guidance from them, we can confidently say that we’re off to a good start.  Together, we began to teach new, young force-wielders what true balance and harmony with the force might look like, and how one can harness the power within that.

Finally, both sides of the force are intertwined into one, just as intended; and to think it all began when the light first touched the darkness.

You jump at the sound of the door opening, but relax when you see Ben walking in.

“If you show up any later, they might think you’re nervous,” he teases.

“Nervous?” you scoff, “Never.”

Ben laughs.  “The journal can wait, my light,” he says with a kiss to your temple. You stand.

“There’s just so much to record, I wanted to at least start-”

“Will you two stop making out in here?” Poe butts in, “We’ve got a project to start.”

You laugh and give Ben a kiss.  “Okay,” you say, taking a deep breath.

Ben grabs your hand.  “Together?”

You nod as you both follow Poe to the meeting room.  “Together.”

[goforthequill]

Homespun Vessel

"Hey, Lobo! I got your parts!"

Death raised his head from the open bowels of his vessel. Puss in Boots glided in and landed beside the wolf with a flap of the leather wings Death had crafted for him. There was some beautiful irony in watching his creation come to life.

"Not as fashionable as my cape, but they’re very cool," the cat flaunted his wings. "So yes, I will help you upgrade your boat."

"Good," Death smirked. "You will be more comfortable when you ride it."

"Sure, eventually."

"How much for these parts?"

"One kiss," Puss winked. "Or thereabouts."

[apuzzledprince]

Paradise

Fandom: Animal Crossing: New Horizons | Happy Home Paradise DLC

Word count: 655

Summary: “I get to design houses?! Interiors, without supervision?” West slammed his hands on Lottie's desk in his excitement, bouncing on his toes. “Really?!”

“Now that I’ve told you the basics,” Lottie started typing on her computer. “The only thing left is some real experience! Talk to some of the patrons outside, and we’ll get started-”

--

Following Lottie down from the break area, West was brimming with excitement. Lottie was showing him around, telling where things were and what to do and he had just designed his own uniform–it was a little different than what he usually wore, straight-legged loose pants instead of a skirt or dress and a red button-up (he kept his green boots, of course, had to tie in his hair color somehow!). Well, he put it together out of available clothing, but he still designed it himself! And now, and now! Lottie was telling him he gets to design houses!

Lottie looked at him, startled. “O-Of course! Tom Nook told me you’d be perfect for this job! And, well, you’re an adult so I assume you don’t need supervision-”

“I get to design houses?! Interiors, without supervision?” West slammed his hands on Lottie’s desk in his excitement, bouncing on his toes. “Really?!”

West squealed, a large grin on his face as he spun around once. “Oh! How exciting! I love decorating, you know. Nobody lets me decorate, not without several. Uh. Recommendations? Changes? Revisions? I’m not sure of the word I’m looking for. But! BUT!” He rested his hands on the desk again, gently this time, and leaned over them. “Ohh, how I love setting up rooms and placing furniture! When Nook told me about this job, I didn’t quite believe him. He wouldn’t let me decorate outside of my own home back in Lemonade-”

“Lemonade? I thought you were from Jester Bay-”

“Lemonade is the town I’m mayor of! I’m taking a small vacation, though I went back for several months and only got back to Jester Bay about a week ago. Do you know how excited I was,” He got back to the topic he was rambling about. “When Happy Home Academy sent me a chair that actually matched the decor of my home! I’ve decorated Jester Bay a little bit, of course, but I’ve always been a bigger fan of interiors than exteriors. Matching walls and floors and furniture. Oh, I could spend hours just looking through furniture catalogs making ideas! I’ve spent ages researching decoration tactics and brainstorming room layouts! I thought I’d never have access to a way to make any of them real, but now I get to actually do it?”

Lottie smiled, a little confused, but happy West was so enthusiastic about his new job. “Of course you do, that’s what I’m going to pay you for-”

“Is there a budget?” West stepped back from Lottie’s desk, wringing his hands together nervously and glancing momentarily at Wardell. “I don’t want to overspend on decor-”

“No, there’s no budget. You can be as creative as yo-”

The sound West made was entirely involuntary, he was bouncing again. Lottie had never seen someone so excited, Wardell was watching with a quiet understanding. “Really? As creative as I want? No budget? Oh Lottie, Lottie!” He was leaning over the desk again. “Lottie I knew this place was a paradise but this is paradise!” West turned to face the door, tool bag smacking into the front of Lottie’s desk. “I’m gonna get to work now!” The grin on his face rivaled the sun’s reflections on the water with how bright it was.

West ended up spending hours on the first home, Eloise’s reading room needed to be perfect, so many hours that Lottie had actually called both him and Niko to make sure it was going alright. When West got back to the main building, he had chatted so excitedly and animatedly about the job that Lottie had almost forgotten to pay him–she remembered only barely after he had finished showing her all the pictures he had taken of the vacation home.

– – – – – –

[thefrequentdaydreamer]

I just want to sleep, so why won't you let me? (Set after King's Tide, TOH season 2 finale)

“Luz, I’m so happy I had you as a big sister…”

“We’ll see each other after the Day of Unity…”

“Us weirdos stick together…”

“Luz, I’m so happy I had you as a big sister…”

“We’ll see each other after the Day of Unity…”

 “Us weirdos stick togethertogethertogethertogether–”

Luz shot up from the mattress, one hand clenched over her rapidly beating heart.

“King!? Eda!?”

It was dark. Why was it dark? Where was she? And sleeping? Why was she sleeping when she should be rescuing her FAMILY AND –

She stumbled out of the bed and towards the partly open door. The place didn’t look too familiar, was this another CATS hideout or something?

Why were they here instead of out there stopping Belos? Why did her head hurt and her stomach twist into infinite knots like she’d eaten one too many boo-berries? And her biggest question?

Why didn’t she remember ANYTHING?

She slammed a hand against the wall as she dug her free hand into her pocket, but –

“No pockets?”

She glanced down for the first time. To her surprise, she was dressed in her cozy pajamas, ones she hadn’t seen in ages because she had never packed them in her bag for summer camp and left them in her…

Room.

In the human realm.

Luz looked up and out the window, noting the dim glow of the street lights and the rectangular, geometric-ness of the human realm that stood out in sharp (and very obvious) contrast to the warped shapes of home.

Home.

The home she’d left behind when King’s shout shocked her into releasing her grip on the vines and sent her and Amity tumbling into the portal just before it collapsed, leaving them stranded here.

In what was supposed to be her home.

Luz braced against the wall as a spell of dizziness overcame her. The trip from the dilapidated shack to her…mom’s house was too blurry to remember, shock and a tingling numbness permeating every fiber of her being as she led her friends to the one place they’d all be safe.

She did vaguely remember knocking on the door, and the look of utter surprise and confused relief that crossed her mom’s face as she saw them all scratched up and shaken.

But she definitely remembered sitting down on the couch and feeling right like she could go to sleep, because fatigue was weighing down on her every limb like she hadn’t rested in centuries, which was ironic because the last time she’d slept was…

When was the last time she’d slept?

She remembered nearly falling asleep on Amity’s shoulder before her mother suggested they all turn in for the night and explain their story in the morning.

She remembered leading her friends to the rooms upstairs and pulling out spare sleeping bags and pillows like she knew exactly where they were – which she did, because it was her house and no amount of time and distance could change that, but it wasn’t the house she’d grown to think of as a home anymore and the fact that she could even bear to think of something like that when she was finally here with her mom was just TOO much for her to handle at the moment so she shut down and began mechanically arranging their beds until she nearly stumbled over a pillow and Vee directed her to her old bed with a simple order:

Sleep.

And that was all she could recall.

She sank to the floor, wincing as the movement jostled some injuries she hadn’t yet revealed to her mother. Then again, she hadn’t revealed a lot of things to her mother. She didn’t know where to start.

Like was she supposed to start with what had happened to all of them right before the portal collapsed, or how they’d spent weeks preparing for the genocide of the entire demon realm and maybe they’d stopped it, but the situation was far FAR worse now because that Collector kid was going around turning everything into a game and she had just LEFT King and Eda and the others there alone to deal with it all and what kind of person – what kind of human was she to just leave them in their misery and escape to her own world –

CRASH!

“Shshd! Sorry, anyone who’s still awake…I did not mean for that to happen.” A hint of golden eyes peered her direction, but the light was clearly not enough to grant them a clear picture.

Luz wiped at her tears. “I-it’s okay…”

The eyes shone with recognition, “Oh, Luz…” She stepped over the sleeping bundles and nestled down by Luz’ side. “I didn’t realize you were awake.”

“I didn’t want to be.”

“Oh.” Amity sighed, glancing quickly at their friends before lowering her voice, “Are you thinking about…what happened back there?”

“…aren’t you?” She wanted to be sharper with her question, because how could Amity not be thinking about everyone they’d left behind, but her voice quavered dangerously and she could feel a little lump growing in her throat that shut her up real quick.

But Amity had always known her too well. “Luz…”

“You’re going to say it’s not my fault and that I couldn’t have stopped the Collector or saved King on my own. I know you are.” She wiped at her eyes. “But I just LEFT them, Amity….I just left them there and now we have no way of going back andandAND!”

Amity gathered her into a hug, wrapping her whole body around Luz’s trembling frame as she wept softly to herself. “Luz…”

The girl whimpered in her embrace.

“Luz, I’m not going to sit here and try and pretend there’s an upside to all of this. Because everything happened so fast and we literally haven’t had a single moment to process it all and we’re tired and sore and hurting and nothing I say can really make you feel better anyway…but there is one thing I want you to know.”

She ran gentle fingers through thick brown hair, relishing the little content hum that came from her sniffling girlfriend. “I…I want you to know how unbelievably GLAD I am to see you alive and to be able to hold you in my arms right now…because after that little stunt you pulled at the factory,” Amity released a wet chuckle, “I thought I’d never get to see you again, or hold you again…I…I thought we’d never get that date...”

Luz’s head shot up so fast, affront written all over her face like she’d just insulted her mother. “But, but I promised you that date!”

“I know,” Amity giggled, “I know you did, and I know you always keep your promise, Luz…and maybe that’s why I shouldn’t have worried at all. But…I was so scared for you that all I could think of on the ride to the Titan’s Head was what I would do if I got there too late…and-”

“Hey,” A warm, brown hand cradled her cheek, nudging her glance back to Luz’s soft gaze, “It’s okay, Sweet Potato. I’m here now.”

“I know.” Amity leaned in, pecking a light kiss to Luz’ lips and enjoying the beet-red blush that spread across her girlfriend’s face. “There are a lot of things I’m not sure about and I know our future is really uncertain right now…but I’m just glad I get to do that again.”

“Oh, you-you can do that whenever you want,” A flustered Luz blurted out.

“Whenever?” One eyebrow went up. “So, if I were to give you another one right now, you wouldn’t mind?”

It hadn’t seemed possible, but Luz was quickly rivalling her in the tomato-face department. “N-NO! I-I mean, sure, you-you could…but-but I- I mean you-in this- and now and I just…” She groaned and buried her head in her hands with a soft cry, “Help?”

Amity couldn’t help but giggle at Luz’ adorableness as she removed the hands, “If I knew you were going to get this flustered, I’d have kissed you sooner.”

Luz was mere seconds from passing out, “S-sooner? Like how much sooner?”

Amity felt a hint of warmth creep across her own face. Thinking about when or how she might have summoned the courage to kiss Luz without the end of the world looming in the distance was far more than she cared to think about this late at night, not on top of everything else.

“Maybe I’ll tell you later. After you get some sleep.”

“Noooo…” Luz whined, an adorable pout on her lips, “Please, Ames…ya can’t just leave a girl hanging like that!”

Amity feigned indifference, “I’m immune to your wily ways, Noceda. Your charms can’t bamboozle me.” Her expression softened as Luz stifled a yawn, “See, you can barely keep your eyes open. Bed first, talk later.”

Luz huffed but allowed Amity to help her to her feet. “Will…?” She blushed and rubbed her forearm, but the hesitation and the awkward silence was enough for her girlfriend to get the hint.

Amity blushed a deep red, “You…you want me to sleep with you?”

It was a miracle neither girl had passed out from lack of oxygen. But Luz sure felt on the brink of it. “J-just for tonight…I-it’d help.”

“Oh…” Amity sucked in a deep breath, “O-okay.”

They crossed over their dozing friends and to the bottom bunk, brushing aside the scattered covers so that Luz first, then Amity could crawl under.

“Um…are you sure your mother is okay with this?”

Luz bit her tongue. She hadn’t yet told her mother about…well, anything. But it was far too late to worry about that now. “I’ll tell her in the morning. Besides, we’ve had a long day, she’ll understand.”

“Okay…” Amity laid down, her arms stiff against her side like wooden boards.

“Hey,” Luz curled her arms around her girlfriend, brushing her fingers against her sides, “Relax hermosa, be comfortable.”

“B…but…”

“Shhhh.” Luz nuzzled her head against Amity’s shoulder, “Bed first, talk later. Remember?”

Amity managed a nod. She could do this. She could overcome her gay panic and cuddle with her girlfriend in her bed, in her room. Right?

Soft lips landed on her cheek before Luz settled down into slumber, “Good night, sweet potato. I love you.”

The surge of warmth that swelled in her heart vanquished any lingering anxiety. Amity pressed a soft kiss to the brown hair before her before wrapping her arms around Luz. “Good night, batata. I love you too.”

In mere minutes, the couple were fast asleep.

…

…

…

…

Hunter released his breath, lightly patting Willow beside him, “What-what was that thing she said? Batata? And why did they say I love you to each other? Are people supposed to say that to each other normally? Or is that something they do because they’re ‘together’ or whatever?”

Willow sighed. As delightful as Caleb’s curiosity could be, it was way too late at night to handle all his enthusiasm. She patted his arm, “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“…but I am –!”

[snapback-gravity-falls]

Sail Away With Me

Summary: In this dimension, Stanford tries to sail away with Stanley.

This fic is inspired by and based on this comic. Thank you @daidz-art for making this beautiful comic! (Cross-posted on AO3)

It was supposed to be fine. Everything was supposed to work out.

But it didn’t.

West Cost Tech had rejected him.

If it had been because his project truly wasn’t up to snuff, he would have been fine with that. He would have been able to move on.

But his twin did this.

He had taken away the only opportunity either of them had to get away from New Jersey. Of course he’d have been by himself in the school, but he’d have scraped up enough money after college to bring his brother to him. That had been the plan.

It wasn’t the plan anymore.

He yelled without regard to how his twin—the only other one that mattered other than himself—flinched, without really paying attention. He saw his future—their future—shattered before his eyes. It hadn’t involved treasure hunting because that wouldn’t have been viable, but it would have been something. It would have been better.

It wasn’t so much the words that had snapped him out of his angry stupor, but it had been the seething voice that slithered down his spine. It wasn’t a roar, but it didn’t have to be.

Filbrick Pines could make himself heard without even raising his voice.

Stanley stared up at their father with fear written all over his face. “Wait, no, I can explain! It was a mistake!”

“A mistake?” He shoved his son down onto the couch and stared at him for not even a heartbeat before he stormed out of the room.

“Stanley, what happened?” Caryn demanded as she bounced the crying baby.

He didn’t even look at his twin, he was busy looking down the hallway where they could hear Filbrick riffling through things. “I-I broke—Ford’s project. It was an accident though, I swear. It was still moving when I left so I thought it was fine.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You should’ve told me! I could’ve fixed it last night.”

Stanley looked over at him, eyes wide and pitiful in a way that they had never been before. “I—”

Footsteps started down the hall and everyone went quiet as the storm rolled in. There wasn’t time to ask any questions because before they knew it, he had grabbed Stanley and started hauling him down the stairs.

Caryn started after him. “Fil—”

“No, you’re not gonna get him outta trouble this time!”

Stanford knew what would happen—it was inevitable with their father’s temper. He went to their room, determined to give Stanley the silent treatment when he was returned with red marks on his back and legs. Stanley always squirmed.

Upon opening the door, he saw the window was open and clothes were strewn about in a way they hadn’t been when he left earlier that evening. It was clear to him that their father had rifled through their room, but why would he open the—

He heard the front door open downstairs and rushed to the window to look outside just in time to see his twin sitting on the sidewalk with their father standing over him. His eyes weren’t drawn to the two men, but rather to the duffel bag that sat beside Filbrick’s feet.

He threw the duffel bag down before he walked back out.

He had been packing Stanley’s things.

He was kicking Stanley out.

The bag was thrown into his twin’s chest, and he barely managed to catch it for all of his shock. “Stanford, tell him he’s bein’ crazy!”

He gaped down at the scene, unable to quite process what was happening.

He couldn’t kick out Stanley. He was just supposed to give him licks and send him back upstairs. He was supposed to give him a lecture and take away privileges. Stanley wasn’t supposed to be thrown out of their lives.

“Filbrick, what are you doing?”

“Quiet, Caryn!”

That snapped him back to reality. “Pa, this is crazy! You can’t kick Stan out!”

Because for all his faults, Stanley was the one that had been there for him most. When their mother was distracted and father was ignoring them, they had each other to rely on. They were brothers—twins—and that meant something.

“You stay outta this unless you wanna tag along with him!”

There it was. Exactly what Stanford had expected.

He was one mistake away from being kicked out, too. It hurt. It made him angry.

As much as he wanted to go to WCT, as angry as he was with Stanley, he couldn’t… he couldn’t live with the thought of his brother on the streets.

Because that’s where he’d end up and that’s where he would stay. Stanley was more stubborn than anyone else in their family. They wouldn’t see him again until he made millions… if he made millions. How could a kid without a high school diploma make that kind of money?

He couldn’t.

The worst part was… he could see Stanley dead in a ditch without any of them knowing.

And that made up his mind.

“Fine!” He yelled back, turning on his heel and hurriedly packing his own things. He turned to shout out the window, “We can make it on our own!”

After he was sure he’d gotten everything they would need—including the money they had stashed away—he ran downstairs and pushed past their father.

“Can’t we just talk about this?” Caryn pleaded. “Boys, come back inside.”

“No, Ma, he made his choice!” Stanford pointed to their father. “Shermie wouldn’t even come around if it weren’t for us—” He gestured between their ma, himself and his twin. He didn’t break eye-contact with the towering man. “—and when we’re all gone, no one’s even gonna visit your grave.”

“You’re not thinking clearly,” Filbrick stated, voice low and warning.

“Well, neither are you.” He turned and pushed his twin towards the car. “C’mon Stanley. We’re leaving.”

He got into the passenger’s seat and threw his bag between his feet, refusing to look back at their parents. If he looked at their Ma, he would break and go back, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t—leave Stanley.

“Ford, are you s—”

“Just drive!”

With a sigh, the car was started, and they were driving away.

They would need a plan.

Moses, what would they do?

“If the college board isn’t impressed with my experiment tomorrow, then okay. I’ll do the treasure-hunting thing.”

“Take us to the beach,” he said suddenly, staring at the road ahead with his mind filling with broken dreams and childhood fantasies in place of the weight of reality.

“Go home, Stanford.” Stanley had never sounded so tired before, so resigned.

He couldn’t think of that: of his brother’s sudden change in mood or reality. He could only follow through on his promise.

Their promise.

“The beach, Stanley! Drive us to the damn beach!”

There was a long silence before he wordlessly turned the car to take them on the familiar route.

His hands shook in his lap, but he ignored that.

They would set sail tonight and reach the next port by morning. He’d use the money they’d scraped up the past year and a half to get supplies. They’d been fishing enough to know how to survive. They would take work on the docks, rent out their ship for tours. They could do it.

He would make it happen.

The car parked and there was the beach.

Dark water kissed the pale sand under the pale moonlight. In the distance, the silhouette of the Stan O’War stood proud like a beacon calling to him.

He grabbed their bags when Stanley didn’t move and got out of the car, determined. They would come back for the car tomorrow, for now they needed to set sail and let the ocean wash everything away.

He threw the bags up onto the deck and pushed against the boat. After a moment of it not budging more than an inch, he realized his twin was still off to the side looking at him.

“H-help me push the boat,” he panted.

He couldn’t do it alone. Neither of them could ever do anything alone. He should have known better.

They could go, they could run.

They could disappear into the night.

“Ford…” Quiet—Stanley was never quiet—and resigned—Stanley never gave up.

Why was he like this? Didn’t he say this was the silver-lining? They could sail around the world and hunt treasure—he said that was the plan wasn’t it? Stanford had promised him this would be their fall back. They had to sail away.

He turned and started pushing against it with his back, looking at his brother with desperation. “We’ll go sailing together! Just help me!”

Stanley lowered his eyes, dejected. “Stanford, stop… just go home.”

Go home? That place wasn’t home without laughter and Stanley was the only one that made them laugh. He was still upset, but he couldn’t let his brother go without him. He couldn’t lose him forever.

The thought alone made his chest tight and vision blurry. “Stop saying that!”

Stanley glanced at him but couldn’t hold his gaze. He looked so broken and tired. It wasn’t the Stanley he knew.

“I… I don’t wanna go home without you.”

A weak, sad chuckle. “You must be pretty stupid if you wanna run away with me.”

There was so much inside him—anger, sorrow, anxiety, and emotions he wasn’t sure had names—and somehow, despite knowing so many words, he couldn’t find any to express everything he felt he needed to. What came out was immediate and desperate; it made his raw voice crack and hands shake.

“I said we’d go sailing if WCT failed! It failed!” His hand fisted his own shirt. “I promised!”

Stanley grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. “I know… but sometimes promises break.” He looked up with quiet, dejected earnestness. “You can make something of yourself if you go back. You don’t have to be a fuck up like me.”

“Stop that! I’m not leaving you—never!”

“You think I’m gonna die out there on my own… don’t you?”

His breath hitched.

He wanted to deny it. He wanted to shake his brother and tell him that he was amazing even if everyone else thought differently. He wanted to be angry at him for ruining his chances at getting into the college of his dreams, to demand to know what he was thinking, to get that goddamn look off of his face so he could be mad at him properly!

Most of all, he wanted to go back in time to fix everything so Stanley wouldn’t have to look at him like that.

His knees gave out from under him, and he sat heavily in the sand, back pressed against the boat as a sob escaped his lips. His hands moved as they always did when he cried: pushing his glasses up so he could hide his face without smudging them and tangle his fingers in his hair.

“I don’t wanna lose you,” he confessed through the tears.

It felt as if there was an eternity before he noticed a warm body sitting next to his. When he looked over, Stanley was staring at the stars above them, head leaned back against their boat. He’d known Stanley every day of their lives and he had never seen him look so old and tired. Would he always look like this if he was alone?

“I always thought it was you and me against the world,” Stanley said quietly, chest heaving. “Now I know better.”

“Stanley—”

“We both know that you shouldn’t be here.” He turned to look at him with tears streaming down his cheeks and a sternness that hadn’t been there before. “Go home. I’ll be okay.”

Without thought, he grabbed Stanley and pulled him close, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “No, not without you. It’s you and me against the world—always.”

Fingers dug into his shoulder, but he was neither pushed away nor pulled closer.

“Go home.”

“No.”

“Plea—… please, just go home.”

“No.”

[bittsships]

Spell The Word Fey

(This is for my friend @phinix53)

(Yes, I know the title is a pun, fight me!)

Outer startled at the soft *Tap* *Tap* on his window.

"You have to stop doing that, one of these days your gonna give me a heart attack," He said, sighing.

"I'm sorry my queen," A fey replied.

The fairy was tall and possessed an otherworldly beauty. Resting on their brow was a crown woven out of Belladonnas with a piece of silk hanging from it and covering their face. Underneath the vail a Black Beauty Pansy grew from one of the monsters eye sockets, which leaked a black liquid similar to blood. The tunic the other wore was blue - almost black - in color. The moss cape that draped down their back and dragged along the grown was soft to the touch, it also made a good pillow, from it grew small patches of mushrooms that glowed at night. On top the cape rested a set of wings they reminded him of dragonfly wings that looked to be made of the night sky. His hands blackened and tipped with claws.

"What are you doing here Nightmare, you know what will happen if a mortal sees you," The witch demands.

"Oh! That's right, hear," The fey says as they pull a rock out from under their cape.

"Night, are those what I think they are."

In the fays hands sat an Emerald, Rose quartz, and Citrine.

"Thank you so much Nighty."

"Anything for you my Réalt," The fey smiled as he handed the other the stones. "Oh! I also have this."

From the cloak he pulled a circlet of olive branches with an oval Moonstone wrapped in small vines and hanging from the crown.

"It's beautiful night, thank you."

"Your welcome Réalt," the fey said as the two leaned forward to share a soft but passionate kiss.

Réalt (Rail - ta) - Star Emerald - Love Rose quartz - Beauty Citrine - Luck Moonstone - Protection

Part of fey courting rituals is that both people have to go on a quest that the other sets and must complete it before the wedding, the quest has to be physically possible for for both party's to do in their current state. Nightmares was that he had to make the crowns for the wedding, Outer has to make the outfits.

[tsukikoayanosuke]

Lower One's Waltz

Summary:

Two times Cater danced with his beloved, and one time he danced with a traitor.

('Twisted-Wonderland: Our Precious Treasure' 125 kudos celebration!)

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done to me, betrayer Throw your stones and stab me with your hateful stares Curtain call, the final act, so say your prayers So long to you beloved traitor

The first time Cater danced with his beloved was when he was feeling a little hope.

One thing the Queen of Heart is famous for is the saying, "off with their head". Ever since he was little, Cater always thought that the queen was a great person. Someone who can express her annoyance and actually do something about it. For a little boy who is trapped with his stepfamily whose heart is filled with hurt. Cater longs to have the power to express himself one day.

Going to NRC is an escape for him. He's the loud kid, the social butterfly, the one who always smiles on magicam. He's the dominant one in conversation who would whine and sigh loud when nothing goes his way. However, he's careful. Nobody knows the hurt. He can't let anyone knows about it. He doesn't want his reputation to be ruined. He has to keep smiling.

So why the fuck was Trey Clover being suspicious of him?

He was his roommate back in the first year. A gentle guy and a rather good-looking one as well. A great baker who provides all-nighter snacks for everyone in the room. A smart student, making sure no one gets left behind. A perfect candidate for a prefect or at least vice prefect. Maybe it was because he is so gentle that Cater lowered his guard down.

It was that one instance when Cater didn't smile. It was a bad day for him where everything became too overwhelming. And the ever-so-patient Trey was there, sitting next to him with their back leaning against the bed. He didn't force him to tell him anything. He was offering:

"If you need someone to talk to, I'm always here to listen."

"Why?" Cater asked.

Trey smiled gently. "Because I believe that no one should be alone."

Cater wasn't ready to believe him fully, but there was a little piece inside of him that was willing to give Trey a chance. He wasn't ready to cry in front of him or to admit emptiness clawing inside him. But instead, he stood up and pulled Trey's hands. Trey didn't protest albeit a little bit confused, but the ever bright Cater (no matter how fake it was) didn't stop. He spun them around in a childish dance and he smiled genuinely. It was rare for him because Trey even widened his eyes. Cater had suspected Trey knew he was wearing a mask to hide his real broken self away, thus this moment of vulnerability in form of a noncoordinated dance was a precious moment for both of them.

It ended too soon, unfortunately, but Cater pulled them closer, clutching Trey's back as he rested his face on the other's shoulder. "Thank you," he whispered. "I'll tell you soon."

Trey hugged him back. It was so warm. "I'll be waiting."

———

The second time Cater danced with his beloved was when he was feeling a little jealous.

The one name Cater fears and hates is Riddle Rosehearts. He came during his second year and he had been getting on his nerve since the coronation. Yes, there was a coronation. Held to crown the new prefect of Heartslabyul.

And that prefect was Cater.

It was something unexpected, so totally out of the world. At the same time, it was a dream come true. The power that he wished for a long was now in his hand. He swore to himself that he won't lose it, that he will use his title with care, to make Heartlabyul a fun place to live in.

And of course, he chose Trey to be his vice prefect.

Call him selfish, but Cater had become too attached to Trey. He had appeared very often in his picture (more like Cater pulled him along, though Trey never protested it), they had spent many times studying and hanging out outside of school. He wants to always be with Trey.

And yet, Trey seemed to try to get closer to Riddle. Cater saw them talking to each other so often that it made him grit his teeth. Trey was with Riddle when he was supposed to be with Cater. He's his vice prefect.

So why the fuck Trey Clover is trying to get closer with this first year?

"What's your relationship with him anyway?" Cater asked one cloudy day.

"He is..." Trey let out a sigh, "...was my childhood friend. It had been so long since I've seen him."

Childhood friends, huh? They had a relationship before them. Something inside Cater cracked like the dark thundering clouds above them. He was afraid. Afraid that Trey would leave him for Riddle Rosehearts. Afraid that the emptiness becomes worse without him. Afraid that he had to wear a thicker mask to the point he no longer knows recognize his true feeling.

Cater wasn't ready to lose that and he still want to keep Trey on his side. He was still holding on to that childish hope that Trey would be the one who could take this ugly feeling away from him forever. Thus, he grabbed Trey's hand and pulled him to the center of the rose maze. Trey didn't protest, but even he had a hard time keeping up with Cater. His dance is harsh and fast like the downpour to the point of almost ripping Trey's arm off. For the first time since he became the King of Heartslabyul, he abused his authority in this dance, dominating and not letting Trey slow down. It was about Cater and Cater alone.

Cater snapped his fingers. "You're my vice, aren't you? Shouldn't you be with me?" For the first time, Cater felt like he terrifies Trey.

But the other still nodded. "Of course."

"Then stay with me tonight."

"Yes, prefect."

———

The only time Cater danced with a traitor was when he was feeling a little dead inside.

Cater knew that his time was limited. There were rumors circling in the dorm of Riddle Rosehearts' overpowered magic ability. The kid had made a name of herself. A perfect replica of the Queen of Hearts from her anger and her ruthlessness in enforcing the rule. A perfect candidate for the prefect position and a threat for Cater. Days went by with building anxiety like the dread of execution and he had no way to escape this. It was embarrassing when he admit to Trey that he hadn't been doing well in class these recent days. He wasn't really touching his afternoon snack. He hadn't been able to post on magicam. Even smiling felt like a chore. He was slipping and he knew it. And yet he couldn't drop it. Not now. Not when he had built it for a year.

Of course, Trey was the first one to notice. He was true to his world to be with him more than just being his vice prefect. But there would be times when Cater would catch him hanging out with Riddle. What was worse, was how Riddle seemed to warm up with Trey. He could see a small smile when Trey handed his signature strawberry tart. Cater recalled the night Trey made that tart, saying how Riddle was the first one to taste his baking when they were a child. While Cater did coo, deep inside he knew he felt the swelling jealousy.

But Cater couldn't stop it. He couldn't stop the countdown. It was too late now to become a harsh prefect. He had built his persona as the sunny kid who is always smiling despite the problems surrounding him, the fun prefect who let you do whatever you want as long as you aren't breaking the rule. Everyone would assume that these things won't bother him, thus he kept up the act. He had to keep up his image.

So why the fuck is Trey Clover testing his patience?

The hallways were dark, devoid of any students for it had passed their curfew. Cater and Trey stood facing each other, not really talking. For one, Trey actually looked guilty and Cater didn't know why at the moment. But suddenly, Trey pulled Cater closer. Cater did let out a confused noise, but Trey seemed not really paying any attention as if his mind was filled with puzzles. His dance was desperate yet unsure. It felt like he wanted Cater to take the reign but he wasn't ready to hand it to him. Trey stepped on Cater's foot many times and never apologize (but Cater didn't mind because the pain sort of grounded him) and very pulls were carefully calculated like was holding on to the flimsiest string (Cater held his hand tighter to remind him that he's not fragile). Trey wasn't even smiling, only frowning, which made Cater unable to smile as well.

Finally, Trey stopped and he pulled Cater into a hug. Cater could feel Trey's lips close to his ear. And the other whispered. "Riddle challenges you to a duel for the crown. And the headmaster allowed it."

Cater sucked in a breath. This is it. "He can't..."

"I'm sorry." Trey held him tighter as if Cater would break if he didn't (and to be honest, he would). "I tried to stop him."

Cater didn't say a word. What was left to say? His execution was the next day. It was too late to confess everything to Trey. He would carry this to his graduation.

It turned out to be true as the collar cast by Riddle's unique magic closed around Cater’s neck, marking the end of his young reign. Riddle's coronation was held later that evening and, of course, he chose Trey as his vice prefect.

Cater didn't even stay for the rest of the celebration, choosing to leave the dorm and walked down the main street. He stopped in front of the Queen of Heart statue.

Perhaps a lower one like him doesn't deserve the power and companions. Perhaps he's never destined to be the King of Heartslabyul until his third year. Perhaps Trey is never meant to be his faithful partner.

Perhaps longing for something that is impossible in the first place was his biggest mistake.

Even if we have to say our goodbyes, Even if we lose sight of our lives You'll always have me in your heart, I'll never part from your side If only I could stop you leaving If I could hold you right here with me, I'll make sure that all my secret sins- Everything my heart has hid, All the feelings deep within; Beating in my heart's the Truth, Amen.

[iceshard1011]

Chapters: 1/10 Fandom: Sanders Sides (Web Series) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders Characters: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Deceit | Janus Sanders, Morality | Patton Sanders Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, On the Run, Brotherly Bonding, slight body horror, Hurt/Comfort, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Sleep Deprivation, Blackmail, Panic Attacks, Angst with a Happy Ending, Whump, Near Death Experiences, Violence, Blood and Injury, Mild Language, Road Trips, Found Family, Established Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders, Eventual Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Eventual Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders, Kid Morality | Patton Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders Are Siblings, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders Angst, lovers to enemies to friends to lovers, cliché as fuck, roman stans come get your juice, i hurt a lot of characters in this fic but my bias wouldn't let roman get away unscathed Summary:

“Logan, hey. It’s me. I need a favour. It’s hard to explain. I… it’s Remus.”

Roman never thought he would be anything more than a broke university student struggling through life with half a degree and a thousand dollars of debt. Now, with labels like criminal and “werewolf tamer” adding to the list of things he didn’t ask for, his life seems to be taking a much different turn.

(AKA: the fic where Remus is bitten by a werewolf and everything goes down from there.)

1.4k prologue below

The dark house was lit by only the dim light of a half-charged phone and the brightness crawling out beneath the bathroom door. A shaken voice echoed through the empty house, spoken into the receiver.

“Logan, hey. It’s me. I need a favour.”

Roman sat outside his bathroom, curled against the wall. The chill of the unheated house shivered through his skin, yet he made no move to get up. It was as if he hoped the cold would shake him out of shock.

“Yeah, I know it’s a school night.” He rolled his eyes, but the attempt at fooling himself into nonchalance failed. Behind him, the bathroom door shuddered on its hinges.

“Listen, I’m… not sure I’ll be able to make it to classes for a bit.” He was cupping his head in one hand, his eyes drooping with exhaustion and anxiety. “It’s hard to explain. I… it’s Remus.” Roman’s knuckles blemished white against his phone. “We’re in trouble, Specs. I don’t know what to do.”

He was quiet as he listened to the response, frowning at the floor between his socked feet. His eyes widened with sudden horror.

“No!” he cried but abruptly snapped his jaw shut with a wide-eyed look towards the bathroom door. It shook again.

“Sorry, sorry,” he murmured into the phone. “Just… Can you come over? Please? I need…” He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. His voice cracked. “I need some help.”

Not ten minutes later, headlights pulled up onto the house’s driveway. They were immediately switched off, leaving the car uncharacteristically carelessly parked. 

Logan Berrycloth, a twenty-year-old forensics student, atypically dishevelled and flustered, burst into the Parata household, wide-eyed and hyperventilating.

“Roman!” he cried, immediately stumbling in the dark house. Receiving no response, he fumbled his way through to the only source of light: the closed bathroom door. The worst possible scenarios and outcomes and any potential solutions running through his head, he burst through the door – and immediately staggered to a stop.

Roman was sitting on the bathroom floor with pools of water splashed over the tiles. He was utterly drenched from head to toe, his usually meticulously styled hair plastered to his forehead and his woollen nightshirt clinging to his body. He looked utterly put out.

Behind him, in a half-filled bathtub, was a great hulking shape that choked Logan’s scream.

The dog was so unnaturally large that it almost didn’t fit into the bathtub. Its dark brown fur was dripping with water. Its ears were pinned back against its skull, eyes glowing ferociously.

“What the hell is this,” Logan breathed, floundering back against the far wall.

“A wolf,” Roman said with a soft groan, far too calm. Logan had a million questions.

“Why is it wet?”

Roman looked like Logan had gotten him in trouble in class. “I gave him a bath.”

Logan gaped, horrified. How had this canine gotten into the house in the first place? Did it belong to the brothers? Where was Remus? Why was the dog looking at him as if it wanted to lunge at his face?

Roman seemed to take his startled silence for judgement, screwing his face up the same way he did whenever he was ready to pick a fight. “He was stinky, okay?”

Logan shook his head. This could be dealt with later. “Where is Remus?”

Roman huffed, a bitter smile crossing his face. “You’re looking at him, Specs.”

“That’s impossible.”

Roman stared at the floor tiles, head in his hands. “He was acting weird all day. Fever, eating like he had been starved for weeks – and you know how much he normally eats during the day. He actually snapped at me when I got too close at one point. I thought he was just sick, but… I heard him scream earlier tonight.” Roman’s fingers curled tightly into his hair. “I watched him… transform… into this.” His smile was brittle. “I wonder what the government thinks about werewolves.”

Logan clenched his fists to keep the tremble at bay. “This is absurd. Your pranks have long gotten old. Tell Remus to come out here now and return this poor dog to its owner.” He scowled. “And get yourself off the ground. You’re sopping wet.”

Roman huffed with a breathless laugh. He glanced at the wolf, who was licking its jowls. “Hey, Rem. He’s calling your bluff.”

The wolf yawned with a whine and shook itself, somehow turning its baleful gaze upon Logan on command as if it could understand English. Logan stuck his head into the living room, scowling at the dark, empty house.

“Remus!” he yelled up the stairs. “That’s enough! Come here!”

“Maybe calling you wasn’t the best idea,” Roman murmured wearily.

“This isn’t funny, Roman!” Logan snarled, whirling back towards him.

“It’s not a joke!” Roman snapped back.

“For once in your life, learn when enough is enough!”

“You need to learn when to listen to others,” Roman argued.

“For god’s sake, Roman –”

“You are so insufferable –”

“I will drag you outside myself –”

Abruptly, the wolf started barking, spittle dripping from its jaws. It stood, stepping out of the bathtub with ease, its hungry gaze fixated on Logan. Its barks almost rattled the door hinges. It certainly felt like they were rattling Logan’s ribcage.

As the wolf took a slow step forward, Logan realised only now that there was a pile of ripped clothes on the floor. Logan recognised Remus’ green jacket, one he hardly took off and whined like a baby when so much as a stain got on it. Logan didn’t think there would be a single force in the world that could ever encourage Remus to willingly tear up that damn jacket.

Logan took a step back, despising how his legs had begun to tremble.

The wolf had a mark – only a small one, but it was identical to the scar Remus had over his left eyebrow from when he was twelve and had face-planted off the school playground trying to tackle Roman.

Logan forced his voice not to shake. “Roman. Get over here.”

“Oh, believe me now, do you?”

“Roman –”

With a snarl, the wolf lunged.

Logan snatched Roman’s wrist and yanked him from the bathroom. He darted through the house and out the front door. He slammed it behind him, heedless of the wood shuddering, and vicious barking followed them all the way out to the driveway.

“Get in the car,” Logan snapped. Roman jerked away from him.

“What are you –?”

“Get in.” Logan shoved Roman into the passenger seat and flew in beside him, throwing the car in reverse and gunning it down the street. In the rearview mirror, Logan watched as one of the Parata’s windows exploded and the wolf leapt through the glass onto the front lawn. It took after them, running down the middle of the street relentlessly. It chased the car for a few blocks but trailed off after Logan made multiple turns at a highly illegal speed limit.

“What the hell, Logan?” Roman shouted.

“That’s not your brother anym– right now, okay?” Logan kept his gaze on the road. Rain pattered against the windshield. Roman was deathly silent. His eyes burned the side of Logan’s face.

“What were you going to say?” he whispered.

Logan sighed heavily. “This is insane.”

“I wouldn’t make this shit up, Logan,” Roman muttered darkly.

Logan’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “I –”

“You were going to say ‘anymore,’ weren’t you?” Roman interrupted with fire in his voice. “He is my brother, and no matter what he is or does, he will always be my brother, understand?”

Logan shook his head mutely. Anger flashed in Roman’s eyes.

“Stop the car.”

The car swerved with Logan’s surprise. “What?”

“Let me out.”

“Roman, I’m not going to –”

“Logan, if you don’t let me out of the car in the next five seconds, I’m calling the cops right the FUCK now.”

Logan blanched. Roman glared furiously at him from the passenger seat, his phone between his clenched knuckles.

The car pulled over to the side of the road, the yellow indicator light reflecting off the rain puddles on the asphalt.

Roman slammed the door behind him, inattentive to the rain beginning to patter against his hair and clothes. He stood with his back to the car, even as Logan rolled down the left front window.

“Roman,” he called, ducking his head to meet Roman’s baleful gaze as he glared over his shoulder. “Don’t go back to the house tonight. Please.”

Roman looked away. Logan glanced down the road. “There’s a motel just around the corner. I’ll… send you some money.”

Roman said nothing.

“I’ll see you in class tomorrow,” Logan said carefully. “Okay?”

Roman didn’t respond. Slow with hesitance, Logan pulled away from the curb. Roman watched the red brake lights fade into the rainy night, standing on the corner of Moa Street, soaking wet, shivering, and alone.

[clood]

for my beloved selkie <3

written for the greed island server card #92, swap ticket! please find a self-indulgent lil thing for selkie under the cut and on ao3!

The fact that your girlfriend appears to have no birthday has always been a fact that has confused you. Now, you’re not really confused by the fact that she doesn’t know it—no, coming from a place like Meteor City, it’s actually quite common not to have an official birthday—but rather by the fact that Machi has never even picked one for herself. 

“Why do I need a whole day to acknowledge the fact that I’m alive?” she had said when you’d asked her why. “I’m here, aren’t I? Isn’t that enough?”

And, you suppose, you can’t really argue with that. 

However, birthday or no birthday, you simply will not be stopped from trying to find at least one, singular baked good she will actually like to eat. Every day that you, a human with a gigantic sweet tooth, is doomed to spend in love with a woman who Does Not like sweets is absolute torture—or it would be, if you didn’t get to bask in her sweet kisses and that icy blue stare. 

You love Machi, and you love baking, so naturally it’s become your life’s mission to make something she’ll enjoy. The fact that you always present it to her on the third day of the third month every year has absolutely nothing to do with birthdays. Because you definitely don’t wish her a happy one. Nor do you sing her a song about it in your head as you present her with her annual treat. And, before anyone asks, the date doesn’t have anything to do with a certain incredibly sexy tattoo she has, that only you and her closest friend Pakunoda have ever seen the location of. No, never. 

And if Machi has ever caught on to your little game, she’s never said anything. Though, you suspect she’d probably humor you silently before ever admitting to the fact that she might not actually hate the entire idea of birthdays. And cakes.  

But just what the fuck is culinary-grade matcha?

This year, you’ve settled on a matcha sponge cake. After scouring the internet for a new cake recipe that isn’t heaped to the high heavens with tooth-rottingly sweet buttercream, you’d finally decided that maybe a sponge made with green tea might suit your girlfriend’s tastes. However, this has led you down a rabbit-hole of food bloggers arguing back and forth about the merits of regular versus culinary-grade matcha in their incredibly long-winded posts and in each other’s comments sections. 

After staying up so late trying to figure out the mystery that Machi came home from her latest job to find you, somehow, still awake and shouting nonsense at your monitor, you’ve finally decided enough is enough. All you’ve really been able to glean from the heated online arguments is that maybe there’s some difference in the leaves used? But, like, isn’t all tea just leaves anyway? The store really only has the one kind, and you’re sort of pressed for time here, so whatever is in the “tea for plebs” section of your local discount grocery store is simply going to have to do. 

When you make it to the part of the recipe that demands you beat the eggs and sugar within an inch of their lives—and yours, it seems—you have to close your eyes and remind yourself how much you love your girlfriend because yesterday was arm day at the gym and you could hardly lift your left hand over your head to get the sugar down from its spot in the cabinet. 

“For Machi!” you mutter softly under your breath, revving up the motors of your biceps and going absolutely ham on those eggs. After that nonsense is complete, it’s thankfully pretty straightforward! Fold in the flour and the tea, bake for thirty minutes, stab the sponge like it’s one of Machi’s many voodoo dolls from her prized collection. 

You debate on making some whipped cream to sit atop your lovely green creation, as your chosen food blogger recommends, but decide against it at the last minute for fear of overwhelming her delicate taste buds with too much sweetness. A light dusting of matcha and powdered sugar will suffice, and you’re bounding out of the kitchen to present Machi with her birthday cake before it’s even fully cooled. 

“And to what do I owe the occasion?” Machi asks with a subtle smile, the hint of a joke playing on the corners of her lips. 

You set the small cake down on the table and usher your girlfriend into her seat, hoping that she gets it at the same time that you hope she doesn’t. “Do I need an occasion to bake for my beloved girlfriend?”

Machi laughs softly and rolls her eyes, knocking her forehead into your shoulder as you lean over her, adjusting the plate so it sits just so in front of her. She makes grabby hands for the fork that sits just out of reach on the other side of the kitchen table, sneaking a kiss on your cheek when you reach over to get it for her. Whether or not you blush is of nobody’s concern. 

The next several moments are tense as you watch Machi lift the smallest of bites up to her delicate mouth and gingerly taste the sponge. You do your very best not to be distracted by the way her pink pout looks with the smallest amount of green powder on them, choosing instead to pretend like you’re on the latest season of Sliced, Menchi and Buhara’s newest cooking show on the Cuisine Channel, and she’s the judge who is about to make or break your entire life. 

“I think this is the best birthday cake yet,” Machi says finally, after setting the fork down on the edge of the plate and dabbing at the corners of her mouth with a napkin. You flounder for a moment, both at the admission that some cake upon this earth might not suck, but also at the acknowledgement of it being a birthday treat. 

“It’s—I mean—It doesn’t have to be—” 

Machi places a delicate hand on yours and you can feel the calluses on her pointer finger and thumb from all the sewing she insists on doing without a thimble—all words and their possible combinations fly out of your head at the touch. “Did you seriously think I didn’t know what you’ve been doing all these years?” she asks, cocking her head at you in a way that’s altogether quite distracting. “I appreciate it, I really do. I don’t like birthdays, but I like you. And I like that you try so hard to make me something every year.”

Relief floods your system and you smile gratefully at your girlfriend. “You liked it?” you ask, unable to say anything else. She nods and takes another bite before pushing the plate and the cake towards you, motioning that you try it. 

The cake itself isn’t really very sweet, just as intended, but rather it’s got this incredible bitter yet comforting flavor to it that’s entirely unlike anything else you’ve had. Still, you can’t help but wonder if maybe this cake could be turned into a chocolate one? The fact that there’s “culinary-grade” and a nebulous “other” matcha still bothers you more than you’re willing to admit. 

“You’ll have to work hard to beat it for next year,” Machi says playfully, and you’re already thinking up recipes for her next birthday treat. Maybe you’ll look into that Earl Grey shortbread recipe you stumbled upon last week…?

[astraea802]

Cross-post of my 2016 International Fanworks Day submission. If you’re more of a fanfiction.net person (Is anyone? Still on there?) check it out!