#Young dream is a gremlin | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pnutbutter-n-j-elyy · 1 month

Text

Chan x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Suicide, Death, Grief, Blood, Life after loss, Cursing, Mentions of cursing higher power out of anger, Angst.

Word Count: 5.5k

If you or someone you know is suffering from suicidal ideation or thoughts of harming themselves, please reach out for help. You never know when someone's last day will be; no one ever does. But if you can help - even just a tiny bit, sometimes a word, text, or even a call can be a catalyst for positive change.

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Part One.

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You vividly remembered the day your older brother debuted.

The memory was seared into your mind, a day full of nervous excitement and overwhelming pride. You were only 9, still young enough to idolize him in the purest way, but old enough to understand how much this moment meant to him. The two of you had grown up together, inseparable since the day your parents brought you home from the adoption agency. Hajun had always been your protector, your constant source of comfort, and now, he was going to be a star.

It was a chilly autumn afternoon, the kind where the crisp air nipped at your cheeks and the golden leaves crunched beneath your sneakers. You were clutching your brother’s hand tightly as you stood in the crowded concert hall. The anticipation in the room was palpable, a mix of excitement and nervous energy that buzzed like static electricity.

Hajun had always been the rock in your life, the one who knew how to make you laugh even on your worst days. As the lights dimmed and the opening notes of Eclips3’s debut song filled the air, you could barely contain your excitement. You had seen him practice countless times, but this was different. This was his moment. Your father had you on his shoulders so you could see up and over the barricade, yelling.

"JuJu!" You squealed, holding up a sign with your sloppy handwriting that said: "That's My Brother".

When the spotlight hit him, you saw the confident smile that always made your heart swell with pride, although you were too young at the time to understand that feeling. Dressed in sleek black and white, he looked every bit the star you knew he was destined to be. He danced with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly, his movements precise and full of passion. The crowd’s cheers grew louder with every beat, and you felt your chest tighten with a mix of joy and admiration.

During their dance break, when Hajun was at the center, it felt like the crowd was the loudest; but maybe you had imagined it because you loved him the most; maybe you didn't.

But you didn't imagine the excitement in his eyes, and the smile he couldn't even bother to contain.

You remembered how, in that moment, everything seemed perfect. Your brother was up there, living his dream, and you were there to support him. His eyes met yours briefly, and he gave you a quick wink. It was a silent reminder that no matter how far he went, he would always remember where he came from. It was a promise that you held close to your heart.

He loved you and you loved him.

As the final notes of the song faded and the crowd erupted in applause, Hajun waved, his smile never wavering. When he finally came offstage, his face was flushed with excitement and exhaustion. He scooped you up into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you as if he never wanted to let go.

“I don’t, want you to move away.” You mumbled sadly, digging your head into his shoulder, the rush of adrenaline and happiness fading instantly as you realized this hug was unlike his other ones; this was a goodbye. Although temporary for now.

“Don’t worry, Gremlin,” he whispered in your ear, his voice a mix of triumph and tenderness. “I’ll always be here for you, no matter what. I may be far away, but you can always ask Mom and Dad to call, okay? And I’ll visit, and you can watch my videos and I’ll mention you in them too. I promise, I’ll always be here for you.” He stuck out his pinky, his eyes twinkling, and you gave your gap-toothed smile as you locked your pinky with his. He placed a kiss on your cheek and ruffled your hair one last time.

Little did you know, those words would become a beacon in the storm of your life. Something you would always come back to. And that promise he made would be tested.

Because all things made, are at risk to break.

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Your alarm went off and you just stared at the small black box that had one of those plastic zoo animals hot glued to it - a racoon. The noise was annoying, and sometimes you wondered why you didn't just switch to using your phone alarm, but there was just something nostalgic about using a physical alarm clock.

You hadn't realized it had been going off for almost 20 minutes until your mother walked into your room.

"Sweetie, you up?" Her voice was soft, melodic. A hint of raspiness in it, although it was more pronounced today; you figured due to the time of day and how much she had cried over the past week. She looked as if she was about to go out. She had her bag hung over her shoulder and her makeup done.

"Yeah." You mumbled. Technically you had been up.

Since you hadn't even fallen asleep.

It wasn't like you could get much sleep these days.

"They're announcing it today?" You mumbled quietly, the soft hum from your ceiling fan the only thing breaking the almost unbearable silence. You figured thats why your mom was going out, you had heard her on the phone with one of the ladies from church, and heard her telling her that your father was working overtime at the hospital and that she wanted something to do throughout the day to keep busy.

"They wanted to wait a bit longer; to give us time to grieve, but fans are starting to realize something is up."

"It's only been a month since Kae-Joon killed himself as well. Are you sure it isn't just the company trying to keep their image intact?" The venom in your voice made your mom flinch.

"I'm so sorry, baby."

"Apologizing won't bring him back, Mom." The cool air hit your legs, as you threw off your blanket, causing a slight sting so some of your open wounds. Three hours of constant scrubbing left your skin raw and sensitive, and it had yet to heal. But you didn't want any traces of his blood on you.

"Just like you, I'd rather not watch when they make that announcement." You stood up and made your way to your closet, finding some pants and a sweater to throw on. You could feel the stress your mom was carrying when she sighed.

"Did you at least open the box he left you?"

It was as if you were deaf to her words. After a few minutes of silence, she got up and left, softly shutting the door behind her. You made your way back to your bed and under the covers deciding to not even comb your hair.

What could anyone tell you to do?

It had been a week since you strained your vocal cords, screaming for help, screaming curses at God when you had found your brother bleeding out on the guest bedroom floor.

You remembered seeing Hajun act the same way, when his leader had walked the same path, not even a month ago.

But he had been happy the past few weeks, hadn't he? He had come home, and you had gotten to be with him.

He loved you. He wouldn't do this. Not to you.

You reached towards your nightstand, and your fingers wrapped around his phone.

You powered it on to see a picture of him with you on your first day of high school.

You both had wide smiles, and Hajun was squeezing your shoulders, his chin rested on top of your head as you both laughed.

Your mom and dad had always joked that Hajun loved you more than he loved them.

But the irony of it was that it wasn't a joke at all.

The minute you had come home from the adoption agency, apparently Hajun had been all over you, wanting to hold you, and have your crib put in his room.

Your mother had given birth to a baby boy, but due to complications he died just hours after his birth. Distraught your mother had been pleading that it wasn't true, and a teen mother had heard a few nurses talking about how heartbreaking it was. She was putting her baby up for adoption and having heard another mother's grief wished to ease some of that.

You wondered if it was one of those instances where another's one's trash was another's one's treasure after you had gotten into a huge argument with your mom one night.

But looking back you couldn't have been more grateful to be put into the family you were in, with your mom, dad and Hajun. Your mom had also gotten the daughter she had always wished to have. And you got a love you believed everyone deserved.

You wiped your eyes once it became too blurry to see Hajun's screen staring back at you, and scrolled through the large number of missed calls he had gotten.

Sunwoo Hyung 🤍😂- 47 missed calls

Favorite Hyung 🤠🤓- 92 missed calls

Chris🦘- 4 missed calls

Grumpy Hyung 🖤🐈‍⬛ - 38 missed calls

You could scroll through it all day. Goodbye texts, calls placed in denial.

They were all one in the same, and you subjected it to yourself for the past week, refusing to swipe the notifications away.

Your parent's had seemed to want you to forget most of it, as that was there way of copying. To forget everything; minus the fact that Hajun has left a box addressed to you in his room.

It was hard to accept his suicide when you deluded yourself into believing it was something done in the moment; you didn't know if you could even begin to cope with the pain of acknowledging that he had meticulously planned it. So, you hadn't looked at the box, let alone in it yet.

In a weird way your parents wanted to know. To find closure you figured. They hoped his suicide note would be in that box, and the battle you had gotten into with your parents when your mom had brought up the possibility did nothing to help aid in the hurt you all were facing.

Your father had been out at work every day, refusing to take bereavement leave so he could distract himself from his eldest child's death. It hadn't helped he had worked the shift Hajun was rolled into.

Your mom had been packing up the house in a move that you knew would be inevitable. None have you been anywhere in the house much rather than your bedrooms, ordering food in, using the bathrooms on the highest levels of your home, and completely side stepping any area of the house where your brother held his presence the most.

You wrapped your arms around yourself and tightened your own embrace, as you felt more tears begin to form.

"I miss you."

Your family has always been an affectionate family - Hajun the most - and since his death that all seemed to sever. Your mom had barely touched your father, let alone you. It seemed everyone's version of coping was isolation, and that just made Hajun's absence even more noticeable.

He always had to have skin ship with someone. Most of the time it was hugging or sitting close enough to someone their legs were rested by each other's, with you he would rest his head on your shoulder, or pinch your cheeks telling you how adorable you were, and 'how could you not be when you have the most handsome brother in the world'?

It had been an ongoing laugh in the industry and in his fandom that he was his own dating ban. Due to his inclination to hug everyone he met, his company had to deflect rumor after rumor, to the point where they eventually had no choice but to make an official statement. Thirteen separate articles had speculated about his love life, each one feeding into the frenzy that surrounded him. His warm nature was both his charm and his curse, a constant point of speculation in a world where even a simple smile could spark a scandal.

But now you knew better. You knew the real reason behind that warmth, the desperation behind every hug, the way he clung to people as if they were his lifeline. He had always been the light in every room, the one who could make anyone smile even when his own smile never quite reached his eyes. You used to marvel at how he could be so kind to carry so much of the world’s weight on his shoulders, his friend's, his family's, and still manage to hold his own.

You were selfish to never realize that the weight was slowly breaking him down, piece by piece.

Maybe, it's my fault... You had wondered while sitting the hospital waiting room. Maybe if I never complained, maybe if I solved my own problems instead of looking for him to solve them.

After the leader of Eclips3 had taken his life shortly after being involved in a trafficking scandal that had led to the death of four separate women, and the group went on an indefinite hiatus which sparked Hajun's homecoming, that light had dimmed even further.

"I could've saved them. If I would've known..." He repeated over and over.

You saw it every time you looked at him—the way his once vibrant energy now seemed forced, his laughter a hollow echo in the house that had once been filled with genuine joy. You tried to reach out, to be the rock for him that he had always been for you, but he would brush it off with that same reassuring smile.

He had gone through a few of these ruts prior. You once had mentioned to your mother he seemed more tired than usual, but soon enough after a break he was back to normal.

Two nights before he had ended it all you laid in his bed as he spoke to you softly.

"Sometimes...I wish I never chose this life." He had told you.

"Then quit. Come back home. Mom and Dad will take care of you."

He had pinched your nose. "How could I when I make so many people happy? I can't just throw away God's gift to me hmm?" He laughed quietly. "Besides, who would buy you all the things you want if it weren't your big brother?"

The breath you had released betrayed your true feelings about the situation.

His eyes would always betray him, and the pain in them at the moment was so deep that it made your heart ache. Yet you didn't say anything.

"Just a break, Gremlin," he whispered, ruffling your hair like he always did. "I’ll be back to annoying you in no time." His eyes would always betray him though, and the pain in them at the moment was so deep that it made your heart ache. Yet you hadn't said anything.

If I said something, would he still be here?

The break never ended. Instead, it shattered into a silence so profound that it consumed you, wrapping around you like a suffocating blanket. Wrapping around you just the way Hajun's arms had so constantly wrapped around you, tight, secure, an unbreakable hold.

You were alone now, in a world that had lost all its color, where the joy that once filled the rooms was replaced by a deafening quiet that you no one could escape. Every corner of your home felt empty, even though it was still filled with the remnants of his life—his clothes still in the coat closet, his favorite mug still on the kitchen counter, his music equipment still set up as if he might return to use it any moment.

Sometimes in the quiet hours of the morning when your brain shut off momentarily, you believed he would walk through the door, the gentle hum of his voice accompanying the staccato patterns of his keyboard.

His room, once a sanctuary of music and late-night confessions, now felt like a tomb. The posters on the walls, once vibrant and full of life, now seemed to mock you, their bright colors dulled by the memories they carried.

The posters of countless amines you had forced him to watch on his tours were hung up, the corners curling inwards from the stagnant air in his bedroom. His guitar, propped up in the corner, was still out of tune, left that way after the last song he played—a song you couldn’t bring yourself to listen to again.

Everything was frozen in time, preserving the last moments of his presence, moments that were now too painful to revisit, yet too precious to let go, and too blaringly obvious to set aside in hopes of a happy future.

But you had to. You had to go through his things, even if every object you touched felt like another stab to your already shattered heart. You needed to feel close to him, even if it meant opening the wounds that hadn't begun to heal even further. You couldn’t just leave his room untouched forever, as much as it felt like disturbing it would make his absence all the more real.

So, you managed to pull yourself out of your bed and make the walk to the end of the hallway.

The black paint he had painted once on his doorway was peeking through a part of the peeling white paint that your dad has used to cover it up.

Your hand slowly grasped around the doorknob, and you stood there for a minute, an hour- or maybe it was seconds. Time was foreign in that moment.

You stood in the doorway, the air thick with the scent of his cologne, the memories clinging to every surface like ghosts. You inhaled, and it almost seemed like he was standing right next you, or behind you, hugging you and telling you how he was proud of everything you had done, or telling you how much you meant to him, or how grateful he was to have a baby sister.

Your steps were hesitant as you crossed the threshold, each footfall extra loud in the stillness; the snapshot of a life that had been cut too short. You couldn’t help but feel like an intruder, as if you were trespassing in a space that didn’t belong to you, even though it was now yours by default.

And even when your brother had been around, he had always left his door open for you; if not physically metaphorically. The bed was still unmade, the sheets tangled from the last night he had slept in them. His desk was cluttered with notebooks, sheet music, and pens as well—tools of a trade that he had dedicated his life to, tools that he would never use again; tools that you pinned some of the blame on.

It was while you were rummaging through the drawers of his nightstand that you found it—a small, weathered box tucked away with a pile of old notebooks that he had countless lyrics written in. Lyrics to songs that would never be released.

Your mom had told you that there was a box in the nightstand, but out of respect to Hajun's wishes, she didn't touch the box as it was addressed to you. Just informed you of its existence. Constantly.

Your breath caught in your throat as you pulled the box out, your fingers trembling slightly. The box was unassuming, just a plain wooden box, but it was heavy, as if it carried more than just the objects inside. You knew your brother’s handwriting well, and the simple label on the top read, "For Gremlin, when you need me the most."

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest. You sank down onto the floor, the weight of the box in your hands almost too much to bear. What could be inside? What had he left for you? Was it really a suicide note? You weren’t sure if you were ready for whatever it was, but you couldn’t not open it. Not now. Not when you decided that it was time to acknowledge whatever he had left behind. The box felt like a connection to him; a connection that you weren’t ready to sever, even though it had been only days since you last heard his voice.

But it would be even longer without hearing it now.

With trembling hands, you lifted the lid, your breath hitching as you revealed a stack of envelopes, each one labeled with a different emotion—“Read when you’re sad,” “Read when you’re scared,” “Read when you’re mad.” There were fifteen in total, each one written in his familiar handwriting, each one a piece of him that he had left behind for you.

They still smelled like him. And the ink still smelled fresh as well, as if he was in there moments ago as he was writing them.

You wondered if he had waited until the morning before to write them, or if he sat at his desk, with his desk lamp, writing them in the moments the ones he loved most slumbered.

Did he feel even more alone in that moment?

Did he feel as lonely as I feel right now?

The tears that you had been holding back for so long finally broke free, spilling down your cheeks as you ran your fingers over the envelopes. The reality of his absence hit you all over again, like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of you. He had known. Somehow, he had known that he wouldn’t be there to help you through the hardest moments; that no matter who he turned to he knew he wouldn't be able to defeat the biggest demon raging in his mind; so, he had left you these pieces of himself, a way to still be there for you, even in death.

Your vision blurred as the tears continued to fall, your breath non-existent as you tried to hold back the sobs that threatened to break free.

It was so like him—always thinking of you, always wanting to protect you, even when he couldn’t protect himself. He had been hurting so much, more than you could have ever known, and yet he had still found the strength to think of you, to leave behind something to comfort you in your darkest moments.

Why couldn't he have focused on himself? Why did he have to worry over me so much, that he couldn't reach out for help? He could've have been dialing a number, talking to a therapist- mom, dad, me - instead of writing these and admitting defeat. Why couldn't he worry about himself for one moment?

It's my fault. You told yourself over and over as you looked through the envelopes, a weird anger boiling in your stomach at how kind your brother was that it aided in his own neglect.

You were about to put the envelopes back in, when you saw something flash in the bright lighting of his room.

At the bottom, beneath the envelopes, was a photograph. A tiny polaroid that had been taken in what you had assumed was a party, or a club. It was dark, but you could tell the photographer had used flash.

You pulled it out, recognizing only one face in the picture—your brother and another young man that you had assumed was Hajun's age, both grinning widely, arms slung around each other’s shoulders.

Their smiles were both wide and white, and you instantly could tell just by the way the man smiled - his eyes nearly disappearing and his nose scrunching up slightly, that they had to have gotten along extremely well.

The young man was familiar, his face one you had seen before, but couldn't pinpoint. You were more than sure he had to be another idol, since Hajun didn't have many friends outside the industry - unless they were back home - due to the safety concerns and harsh restrictions of his company.

You flipped the photo over the photo out of habit, not expecting anything to be there, but slightly surprised when you saw a somewhat messy penmanship on the back, an unfamiliar handwriting that had engraved the words in fine tip sharpie, “Call me when you get lost.”

And beneath it your brother's familiar chicken scratch:

You'll be okay.

He knew. He planned.

And a hatred burned in your heart, but you couldn't bring yourself to accept that anger.

Why did you leave me?

Your hands shook as you held the photo, tears slipping down your cheeks as the reality of what he had done washed over you.

He had left you more than just words. He had left you a connection, a way to reach out to someone who might understand, someone who might help you find your way out of the darkness you were drowning in.

But how could you?

How could you listen to your brother's instruction when he had delivered you the worst kind of betrayal.

How could you listen to his instruction, listen to his words and believe them when you had once believed in a promise that he so easily broke.

How could you reach out to someone when you didn’t even know how to begin to heal? The thought of calling a stranger, even one your brother had trusted, felt impossible. Yet, as you sat there, surrounded by the remnants of your brother’s life, you knew you couldn’t do this alone, you didn't want to admit it, but you had to.

The photograph slipped from your fingers as you collapsed back onto the floor, the weight of everything crashing down on you all at once. You laid against the cool hard wood of the floor, trying to grasp anything that could keep you tethered to reality.

The pain, the grief, the overwhelming sense of loss that you had been trying so hard to keep at bay finally broke free, and you were powerless to stop it.

The sobs that tore from your throat were raw, primal, a sound of pure anguish that echoed through the room, through the house, through your entire being.

"Mom! Dad!" You cried out. "JuJu."

The house remained silent, your parents out and about. Staying away from anything that brought them back to that moment.

"JuJu." You croaked. "JuJu..."

It felt like the world was crumbling around you, like everything you had ever known was being ripped away, leaving you with nothing but emptiness. How could he be gone? How could the one person who had always been there for you, who had promised to never leave, be gone? The thought was too much to bear, too painful to comprehend, and it left you feeling hollow, like a part of you had died with him. You wanted to die.

You couldn't end up like him, you couldn't.

But you couldn't even fathom living without that support.

You weren’t sure how long you lay there, curled up on the floor, your body wracked with sobs that seemed to have no end. Time had lost all meaning, and you were trapped in a cycle of grief that felt like it would never end. But eventually, the sobs began to subside, leaving you drained, exhausted, and aware of your utter loneliness.

With shaking hands, you wiped at your tears, but they kept falling, as if your body was finally letting go of the grief that had been festering inside you for so long. It brought almost a physical relief, being able to release that second half of tears that had seemed to stop when the gravity of Hajun's death had hit you.

The photograph lay beside you, the words on the back blurring through your tears, but you could still make them out.

"Call me when you get lost."

The words echoed in your mind, and for the first time since your brother’s death, you allowed yourself to hope that maybe, just maybe, you could find your way back.

You found a tentative belief in Hajun's last promise; a belief knitted together solely by desparation.

With trembling fingers, you reached for your phone, your heart pounding in your chest as you dialed the number scrawled on the back of the photograph. The line rang once, twice, three times, and for a moment you thought it might go to voicemail. But then there was a click, and a voice on the other end—a voice you somewhat recognized in passing. But would be at a loss if needed to pinpoint who it belonged to.

"Hello?" The voice was tentative, cautious, as if the person on the other end wasn’t sure who might be calling. It was laced with an Australian accent, a deep and rich and prominent tone. You could hear the sound of music playing faintly in the background, and the voice of multiple people speaking, a reminder of the life you had once known through your brother, the life that was now so far out of reach.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, a jagged breath escaped. Your throat felt tight, your heart pounding so hard you thought it might burst. But then, as if sensing your hesitation, the voice on the other end softened. "It’s okay," he said, his tone gentle, reassuring. "Take your time."

And somehow, those simple words were enough to break through the wall you had built around yourself. The tears started flowing again, but this time they weren’t just tears of grief. They were tears of relief, of release, of finally letting go of the pain that had been eating away at you for so long.

"I miss him," you finally managed to choke out, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. "I miss him so much, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to live without him. And- And I found this- and you said call me wh-when-" You gulped for air.

There was a pause on the other end, and for a moment you thought the call had disconnected. But then, the voice came back, stronger this time, yet still harboring an immense amount of sadness as well.

"You're Hajun's little sister, aren't you?" The voices in the background quieted, as the man on the other end moved to a quieter spot.

"You don’t have to do it alone," he said, and the sincerity in his voice made your heart ache with a strange mix of pain and comfort. "He wouldn’t want you to go through this by yourself. And neither do I. So, whenever you’re ready, I’m here. We’ll figure this out together."

And in that moment, for the first time since your brother’s death, you felt a glimmer of hope. It was small, fragile, like the first rays of sunlight breaking through the darkest of clouds. But it was there, a guiding you toward the hope of a future that, while uncertain, wouldn't be so terrifying anymore.

You had lost your brother, and nothing would ever fill the void he had left behind. But maybe, just maybe, you could learn to live with the pain, to carry it with you as you moved forward. And with the help of the person on the other end of the line, the person your brother had trusted enough to leave you in their care, you knew that someday, you would find your way out of the darkness.

Maybe not entirely, but right now you figured a life with any light- even if only seen at a distance, like the exit of a tunnel, would be better than whatever the hell you were going through at the minute.

"I-I'm Y/N." You stuttered out, your tears coming to a slight halt. There was yet another silence on the other end, and you wondered if he had hung up; but somehow you knew by just talking to him for a moment, he wasn't the type to do that.

"I'm Chris. Hajun was one of my closest friends. And I'm sorry." His voice was choked with emotion for just a slight second. "But I promise, I'll do my best to help you. It's what he would've wanted."

"I... I don't know. How can I escape this. I can't...what if I can't?"

"If you can't escape, then know that I'm here. Know that you can call me, tell me where you are - whether in a deep anger or sadness tell me -and I'll come find you."

Even in a moments time, you trusted him. You trusted those word's he said. You were lost, and he would do everything in his power to make sure you were found. Because no one did that for Hajun. No one found him until it was too late.

Maybe it's a promise he wished he could make to Hajun.

But now Chris was making you that promise. A promise that you prayed to God he would keep.

Because you didn't know if you could handle another broken promise.

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vxnuslogy · 4 months

Text

— the angel who lived. ft sunday

— warnings: f!reader (referred to as mother) but still uses "you/they" pronouns, angst, mentions and themes of death, brief mentions of blood, very lengthy/word vomit (~8k words), not proofread that much so apologies for any grammatical errors

— author's note: this is more of a character study on sunday and how i think he'll come to learn that escapism isn't really the way go about things but overall, i'm really happy with how this turned out. i hope you guys enjoy :p

death doesn't have a requirement. regardless of age, gender, or race, it will eventually reach everyone at the right moment.

sunday has always remembered the words - or rather the rumors the dreamchasers spoke of - that when death comes knocking at their door, they'll be clad in purple and a trusty crow perched on their shoulder for a companion. sunday wasn't the type of man to believe such rumors, but now, after waking up from what seemed to be an endless dream, he was forced to believe their words.

“can the angel walk?” you spoke. emphasizing the way you called him angel made sunday furrowed his brows in contempt. you were mocking him. with a huff of his breath, he slowly rose from his position and walked with you.

“where are we?” he asks. you looked at him from the corner of your eyes before replying. “death's waiting room.” sunday felt his blood run cold. “you'll be staying here with me and the rest until your time is up.” he wanted to question you more. press you for answers on when and where death will take him.

but he never had the chance to. not when children of all ages came rushing towards you, all with bright smiles on their faces. he stood in shock, mind boggled at the thought. they were hugging death. did they not feel any ounce of fear?

one of the many children that surrounds you took notice of his presence. she had long brown hair kept in two low pigtails and bright green eyes that remind him of the garden he and robin used to play in when they were just their age. she waved him over and you urged him to walk up the steps of the giant house that stood in front of him.

“you'll be staying here with us until your time runs out. do be an angel and help me around with the chores, alright?”

and so for an indefinite amount of time — and against his will — helped you around the “orphanage”.

the younger children were all unruly and liked to cause trouble. every morning he'd wake up to a young child jumping on his bed and would be subsequently dragged into his bathroom to get ready. they'd tug at his hand with an iron grip - it really wasn't, sunday could easily pry his hand away but choose not to hurt the child’s feelings - leading him to the main kitchen where you and one of the oldest girls, elenaor he learned, cooked everyone breakfast.

“woke up on the wrong side of the bed, i presume?” your voice laced with amusement made sunday sigh. putting on the apron elanaor had given him, he reluctantly stood by your side and waited for you to hand him a few ingredients to chop. “it was more of woken up by a gremlin and getting dragged all the way here.” your and elanaor’s snickers of amusement never failed to make heat rise up to his cheeks. he had to fight the urge to hide behind his wings, if he did, you'll tease him relentlessly. this wasn't how he would normally act under any circumstances. he had a reputation to keep, but here, in what you call “death's waiting room”, no one knew him. so he was free to act how he wished.

“you've been here for a while,” turning off the tap, you pat your hands dry and walk towards a pot on the opposite side of where he was. “you'll get used to it.”

“i don't think seeing “death” act like a mother towards soon to be dead children is something i’ll ever get used to.”

the halovian bit his tongue the moment his words stumbled out of his mouth. he could still hear you moving around the kitchen but you had made no effort to respond. sunday was ready to issue an apology but you had beat him to it.

“it's something i’ve never really gotten used to.” the sound of chopping ceased from his station. the sound of water boiling echoed between the two of you - he hadn't realized that elanaor had left to escape the tense atmosphere - he turned to stare at your back, watching you dutifully stir the pot. something that reminded him of his mother. he wonders then, did you also take his mother here to this very orphanage. did she also chop ingredients as you stirred soup?

“i find that quite hard to believe…” his voice is uncharacteristically quiet and unsure. so unlike the voice of the head of the oak family.

you turn to him with a raised brow. “and why is that?” he walks to your station, chopped vegetables in his hand as he dumped them into the pots before putting the lid back on. “you look at home here. is this your home, death?”

you close your eyes and smile. “for a while, yes, yes it is.”

sunday didn't question you further. the two of you quietly set the plates on the multiple tables in the dining room. he would often take glances at you, soaking in the black off shoulder top you wore under that frilly apron; the long muted purple skirt that swayed with your movement like it was your dance partner for years; and the most eye catching of them all, the black gloves you never took off. all of the sudden, sunday remembered this one particular rumor about you.

“they say before death became death, they carried life in their steps; but their fingertips eventually caused everything they touched to wither away.”

sunday wonders if that particular rumor is actually true.

elanaor came back with wary eyes flickering between him and you. with a small smile from you, the girl started taking the utensils from the cabinet and started laying them on either side of the plates. sunday will never get used to this almost domestic scene unfolding in front of him.

“breakfast is ready!” you cup your hand beside your lips as your voice echoed throughout the house. it wasn't long before little feet dragged against the wooden floor and started to pile in the dining room. “be sure to wash your hands first.” your gentle reminder was met with a chorus of ‘we remember!’.

sunday stood idly in one of the corners, hands crossed over his chest as he started to remind himself of the next chores he'd be doing. sighing to himself, he pushed through his messy hair as his wings fluttered. without another word, he left the dining room and made his way to the backyard where there were piles of wet clothes waiting to be hung dry.

“oh! good morning, mr. sunday!” said a young boy with blonde hair and matching blue eye - the other covered with a black eye patch. “good morning, louis.” he replied with a smile before starting to take a few pieces of clothing and helping the boy with his chores.

“breakfast is ready,” sunday reminded. “i’ll take it from here.” louis shook his head and continued his actions. the older man didn't bother to urge him to get breakfast further. if there was one thing he learned by being here, it's that the children had adopted your stubborn and independent nature.

after hanging all the clothes, sunday bid louis to get breakfast - scolding him for trying to skip eating - and quietly made his way back to his room and plopping rather ungraciously on his bed with a sigh. his arm came to cover his eyes as he pondered, “when will death come to me?”

“not now, that's for sure.”

sunday quickly sat up from his position to see you come inside his room, a tray with plated food in your hands.

“it's rather rude to enter someone's room without knocking first.” he barked. you only rolled your eyes at him and placed the tray on the small table in the middle of his room. “i did, but the angel seemed too lost in his thoughts to notice.”

“be sure to finish everything. once your finished, bring them downstairs so i can clean them.”

and without another word, you exited his room. sunday sighed for the nth time today and made his way to the table, pulling a nearby chair and said his prayers before digging in.

he didn't want to admit it, but you were a good cook. every dish that you served him tasted like home; as if you had dug around his mind to take all of his nostalgic feelings and poured them all in the soup he was eating now. for “death's waiting room” it was ironically peaceful. sure the children would get into scuffles here and there, but without a fail, you'd come just in the nick of time and quell the burning banters.

but today you seemed distracted. sunday was an observant person by nature; he reads through people's emotion by the frequency they create and interpret them through the halo behind his head. recently, your usual soft yet peculiar frequency was replaced by something erratic; something that couldn't sit still. in the back of his mind, sunday wonders if it's related to the crow that's been following you like a shadow recently.

taking the tray in his hands, he made his way back downstairs to help you wash the dishes. on the way the children greeted him with bright smiles as they haul one another to play in your reading room, eager to pick out the bedtime story he or you would read later tonight despite it not being even noon. sunday didn't fight the small smile that crept up his face as some of the older kids tried to take the tray away from his hands, urging him to rest while they wash his plates.

“it's nothing to worry about.” he would reassure them with a pat on the head. “a few plates won't be the death of me.”

by the time he was back in the kitchen, his chest began to feel heavy as you and elanaor talked. both your backs facing him but judging from the heavy and somber frequency you created, he could only assume you're talking about something sorrowful.

“angel?” you're voice snapped him out of his stupor. “apologies, i zoned out.” he avoided your eyes as he set the down his dirty plates to the side and pulled his sleeves up to his elbows.

“you alright?” you question him, a brow quirked up in wonder. he looked to elanaor who was already looking at him with worry, “i should be the one asking that, but i’m alright.” you only hummed as you wiped your hands on the spare cloth and took off your apron.

“i have something i need to do.”

elanaor's frequency spiked making sunday’s heart skip a few beats.

“ely, angel, can you keep an eye on the children? i’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

“mother, wait!”

sunday felt his eyes widen as elanaor called you “mother”, dropping the plates she held on the sink and instead came to grip at your arm. her head hanging low as her hands curled into fists.

“does he need to go…?” she asks, voice below a whisper.

golden eyes met yours. sunday was trying to decipher how, or rather, why, your frequency suddenly flatlined, like how a heart would when someone passed. you were the first to break eye contact. leaning down to whisper something in elanaor's ear that broke the girl’s heart.

“angel.” your voice felt off too. it made his ears ring uncomfortably. it sounded like an untuned violin trying to play a complicated piece to impress the audience. “keep the children entertained while i’m absent.”

sunday didn't like you; he hated you. but right now, as you left the poor girl trying to harshly rub away the obvious tears spilling from her eyes, not bothering to turn back as you walked away, he decided he hated you even more.

—

“i understand. we’ll proceed like usual.”

your office was off limits to certain people for various reasons, but sunday and elanaor were exceptions. without turning to look back, you heard elanaor's voice from the other side of the door as you put the telephone down.

“come in.” you called out. the creak of the door always unnerved girl, you said you'd get it fixed but after the angel’s arrival you hadn't found any time to do so. “do you need something?”

“the children are asking for you.” this time it was the angel who spoke. his voice like a river flowing endlessly in a creak, you were distinctly aware that his kind had a natural affinity to having captivating voices.

“i’ll be down in a—”

you were cut off as a crow started cawing and scratching at your window. from its reflection you see elanaor look down and sunday staring at you with a narrowed gaze. with a sigh, you circled around your desk and opened the window. the crow situated itself on your shoulder, a piece of paper tied around one of its foot.

“the two of you go ahead of me.” you spoke, taking the piece of paper from the bird. “i still need to finish this.”

from the corner of your eyes, you see elanaor leave but sunday didn't budge from his spot.

“something the matter, angel?”

“enough with the mind games, death.”

he barged in your office, closing the door on his way and standing face to face with you. an angry fog clouding his eyes that reminded you of molten gold and sweet dreams.

“what's going on?”

“nothing is going on.”

“you're a terrible liar.” he snapped. you quirked a brow at him with a tilt of your head that made him even more furious.

“so the angel can feel angry. that's good to know.” you turn your back on him and open up the piece of paper in your hand despite already having guessed it's content.

gaining back his composure, you heard him take a deep breath before trying to calmly question you further.

“what did you whisper to elanaor this morning?”

“i believe that's none of your business.”

“you—!”

sunday was ready to snap again but reigned himself in just in time for you to walk past him.

“if you're so curious,” you opened your office door and paused to turn back on him. “why don't you join us later tonight?”

“join you for what?” he didn't like where this one was going. the air felt heavy, it's as if the entire world were resting on his shoulders. it didn't helpt that you gave him a bitter closed eyed smiled as you left the room.

“one of our boys will be leaving soon.”

—

“and so, they all lived happily ever after…”

by the time you and sunday reached the reading room, children of all ages were all huddled into a cozy circle with elenaor in the middle. in her lap was an old storybook you had found in one of your travels.

you placed blankets on each and every children sleeping on their makeshift fortress of scattered pillows and stuffed animals. brushing some of their hairs away from their eyes, letting your gloved hand linger on their faces for a while longer. all the while, sunday kept his gaze on you as elenaor stood by his side, storybook in her hands with an iron grip.

after tucking in everyone, you joined the two of them. you were the last one to exit the room. turning off the lights and letting your gaze loiter around the many sleeping faces in the now dark room.

“let's go.” you uttered with a sigh. taking the storybook from elanaor's hand and tucking it under your arms. “where are we going?” sunday asked who was a few paces behind you.

“we'll be bidding farewell to one of the older boys here.”

he didn't question you further like you had imagined, but you were grateful nonetheless. on the way you stopped by your office to take a candlestick and lit it up to serve as your guide through the dark house.

after climbing up a few steps, you stopped in front of an old rusting door. turning back to elanaor and sunday, you asked, “are you sure you want to be here?”

sunday was the first to answer.

“you were the one to invite me.” he crossed his arms over his chest. he kept his eyes closed to hide the anxiety he felt, but the wings behind his ears betrayed him as they came to try and hide away half of his face.

you turn to elanaor who only nodded solemnly.

“death doesn't have a requirement..” you mutter as you open the door and enter the room. the two followed you inside and heard elenaor choking back on her tears. “it will eventually come to everyone, regardless of their age, gender, race.”

“death will find us all.”

in the cold and lonely room stood a bed, a boy with deadly pale skin laid there as he looked at you with a knowing look on his face.

“it's good to see you again, mother.”

sunday was at a loss for words as you sat down on the edge of the bed as you took off the gloves you wore and placed them on the bedside table along with the candlestick. the crow that was perched on your shoulder came to rest on the boy's bedframe instead.

“it's good to see you again too, corvy.” the sickly boy reached out his hand to pet the crow’s head but heaved a cough in the middle of the action.

the sound of his coughing urged elenaor to leave his side and run towards that other side of the bed opposite to yours. she gripped the sheets in a tight fist, sunday feared her palms would begin to bleed if she gripped any tighter.

“everyone's time eventually runs out…” you mutter as a strange red chord appeared in your hands the moment you touched the boy's forehead. “it's only a matter of when and how you're time runs out.”

“did you enjoy your stay here, michael?”

the boy named michael smiled with content. his boney hand holding yours that rested on his cheek.

“i did, mother.” you smiled at his response. the same smile you would greet the children with once they have woken up; the same smile the children would close their eyes to whenever you finished reading them a bedtime story.

“that's good. i’m reassured that i did my job just fine.”

“you've always done a good job, mother.”

sunday couldn't believe his eyes. he didn't want to believe his eyes as your tears slowly cascaded down your face as you leaned down to press a kiss to the boy's forehead. elanaor jumping over to your side and hugging you tightly as her tears soaked your shirt.

your other hand came to hold the red string that was tied around the boy's sickly figure on the bed. you motioned your hand in a weird way and suddenly a pair of black scissors appeared. sunday felt his blood run cold as sweat dribbled down to his chin.

“may destruction have mercy on you.” you whisper to him, forehead resting against his. “leading your journey in the afterlife, forever peaceful.”

“may this be the end of your painful dreams.”

and in the blink of an eye, the cord was cut and the boy closed his eyes.

sunday read the way his lips moved and felt his heart break in sympathy.

“may you have peaceful dreams, too, mother.”

—

you carried destruction — death — in your fingertips. ever since that night, sunday had kept his distance from you. he always kept his distance with you, but now, you would never catch him standing near your vicinity.

the children found it strange. the two of you, without a fail, would always banter back and forth until the halovian had to leave to do other chores. some would turn to elenaor and ask what had happened between the two of you, but girl would only smiled with her eyes closed, pat them on the head and say “it's alright, they'll come around.”

but sunday thought otherwise.

how could death, shed any tears? it didn't make any sense. you were an emanator of destruction - he deduced from your words that night - death itself, so how come you brought life to the very house he and the soon be deceased children here?

they all considered you a mother. a mother. a parental figure they could go to to share their sorrows and woes.

you couldn't possibly be the death he's come to know and fear, but at the same time you were.

he wanted to hate you. hating you would be easier. it is easier. but his mind kept reminding him of the multiple times you would treat these children with the utmost gentleness. because you knew that one wrong touch could end their dreams.

“mr. sunday,” he looked up from his downcast position to look at elenaor. she'd been crying, sunday concluded. her eyes were red around the corners and she would sniffle from time to time. “will you be joining us for lunch?”

“ah…” he awkwardly turned his head away to hide the scratch that one of younger girls had accidentally given him. if she were to notice, elenaor would come bursting into your office to inform of his injury. “i’m feeling rather full as of now. I'm afraid i’ll have to decline.”

“i… see…” she only gave him a closed eyed smile. “well, goodbye then, mr. sunday.”

he waved goodbye to the girl who ran back inside the orphanage and sighed. hand coming to graze the cut on his left cheek and wincing as he did so.

“it'll get infected if you don't get that treated soon.”

sunday visibly froze, much to his dismay, as your figure emurged from his side. speak of the devil and they'll arrive, he thought.

“it's a scratch.” he weakly argued to which you only just hummed.

he kept his eyes on his hand playing with the grass as a shadow was cast over him. sunday flinched back when a gloved hand came to reach for his face, making him back up more to the tree he had been leaning on all morning. his actions startled you making you recoil your hand, all the while your hair obscured your eyes. but sunday swore he saw a flash of hurt in them. he felt guilty.

against his better judgement, his free hand came to hold yours in his.

“sunday?!” you said in shock trying to pull your hand away.

your hand was warm. he wondered if they ever got sweaty and uncomfortable when the heat reached its peak, wearing black under the scorching sun didn't seem too appealing.

“you said my name.” sunday replied, making you furrow your brows. of all the things he took note of, it was the way you said his name. slowly, he let go of your hand and let it fall back to your side. you held such a strange expression on your face, but who was he to talk. he did something strange too.

with a sigh, you pinch the bridge of your nose. “come on, let's get that scratch of yours a bandaid.”

sunday walked quietly with you as you navigated to the house’s makeshift infirmary. on the way there, children looked at the two of you with wide eyes and quickly rushed to each other's side to have hushed conversations.

“sit down.” you command and he followed.

the following minutes were spent in silence. you scavenging for a bandaid and some disinfectant, while he sat on the bed watching you move from one place to another.

“look to the right for me, angel.” your voice instructed him. this time, it wasn't your usual soft tone, nor was it the mellow and somber one on that night. it was more monotone this time around but still held some semblance of what he assumed was “fondness”.

your fingers carefully dabbed the cotton on his scratch before placing a bandaid over it. sunday noticed you didn't let your touch linger on his face like how you would when you patched up some of the kids when they got their own injuries.

“do you sing?” sunday asked on a whim, making you pause as you put away your tools. “what brought this on?” you question with a tilt of your head.

“louis and i heard someone humming the other day.” his finger grazed the fresh bandaid on his face. gold eyes never leaving your figure as you turned to look at him. “he told me you often hummed some of the children to sleep.”

“there's your answer then.”

sunday wanted to throw a pillow to your face. with an aggravated sigh, he stood up and followed you out the door.

“would it kill you to try and answer directly?”

“maybe.”

before you could step out of the infirmary, a pecking noise came from one of the windows, stopping sunday and you in your tracks.

you left his side and opened the window and let the crow inside the room. like the first time, it sat on your shoulder as you unraveled the piece of paper it handed you.

“will another child be leaving?” he mumbled. you walk towards him again and the both of you walk out of the infirmary. “everyone in this orphanage will leave.” your eyes met his and sunday pondered on what was going on in your mind.

“including you?”

“yes.” your answer was unexpected. “including me.”

“how so?”

“i’m no exception, angel.” there you were again, calling him by that blasted pet name. he couldn't fight the urge to roll his eyes as he followed you to the library. “i may bring death, but death will eventually come for me one day.”

“will someone replace you once you're gone?”

you only nod your head in agreement. hands grazing the many spines of the books that make up your library.

“ely would probably replace me.”

sunday pressed his lips to a firm line. in his mind, it made sense. elanoar was undeniably the closest child to you. she even accompanied you and him when michael departed, and he could only imagine how many children she's seen leave this orphanage in that room.

“they aren't really children, you know.”

the gray haired man furrowed his brows in confusion. “what do you mean?”

“you know what dreamscapes are, right?” he nods and follows you to sit down on one of many seats in the library beside the window. “people sleep and enter this fantastical world created by your predecessors. this place is similar. the reason why i call it “death's waiting room”, is because it's actually a waiting room.”

“do you mean…” sunday paused, trying to connect all the pieces you've given him. “these… children… they probably aren't children. they're people who've fallen asleep and are waiting for death.”

“exactly.” you flip through the pages of the book you had taken from one of the shelves. every page was filled with different words in elegant cursive handwriting. “right now, you're in a dream. waiting for your time to run out. waiting for death to come to you.”

“then, if that's the case, when will you cut the cord of my life?”

“even i don't know the answer to that.”

“is my name not written on the paper your companion gave you?”

you shook your head. “then how do you know when someone's time is up?” you take a few minutes to organize your thoughts, trying to think of a way to explain it, but in the end you couldn't.

“i don't know.”

“you don't know?!” sunday snapped. hands crashing on the wooden table as he stood up. his eyes were furious at you, making you sigh. “i’m not a god, angel.” you snap the book shut in hand. the sound echoing in the empty library as sunday sat back down.

“i may bring death to everyone i touch, but i am no more than a pawn in the grander schemes of things.”

“even i don't know why death comes to take the lives of us humans.”

sunday was speechless as he looked at you. you looked tired — absolutely exhausted — just like how his sister would describe him whenever he refused to leave his office back in penacony.

“i… apologize..” he bowed his head in shame. “i don't normally lose my composure like this.”

“it's fine.” he heard you sigh. “everyone grows on edge when death is waiting outside their door.”

“do you have to cut the cord?”

what a silly question, you must've thought. but sunday wanted to know even if what he was asking was inevitable.

you only smiled bitterly in response.

“even i fear the consequences of death, angel. i have to.”

sunday felt sick in the stomach when dinner approached. his ears ringed with your response, that you too, will eventually meet your end. it made him sick, and he didn't want to admit it.

he didn't come down to the dining room as usual. he expected elenaor to knock on his door, carrying a tray of food, something she's been doing after michael’s departure. but this time, when he opened the door, he had to stop you from stumbling inside his room as elenaor kept pushing you inside even with her hands occupied.

“elenaor..?!” you both whisper yell to the girl.

“you two need to talk!” she said with a huff. you winced when she dropped the tray of food on his table. “everyone's been worried about you two, y'know.” you both look away, sunday scratching his cheek while you were blatantly ignoring the girl as she put her hands on her hips.

“mother,” she called out to you but you pretended to not hear. “mother!” she said a little louder, now standing in front of you as she tugged and whined for you to acknowledge her. “you're so mean, mother!”

sunday’s wings hid the growing smile and laughter that was bubbling in his chest at the comical sight.

your cold facade was cracking with the way your lips were curving upwards; eyes pooling with mirth as the girl continued to scold you for some odd reason.

“and you!” elenaor pointed at sunday with her finger. he saw you snicker under your breath, fist in front of your lips, a futile attempt to hide your amusement. “you're supposed to be the more mature one between the two of you!”

“i am?” he points to himself with a tilt of his head. “yes!” she replied with a huff. elanaor made her way to the door, but not without giving the two of you another half attempt to glare. “by tomorrow, the two of you should be back to normal!” and for good measure, she slammed the door shut on the both of you.

the room was quiet, that is until, your giggles filled the room. your poor attempt in stopping your laughter made sunday's eyes go wide in shock, though he didn't know why. you always laughed in the house. be it from the teasing you always do to him and the other kids or by something else, you were always a giggly person.

but this was different. sunday just knew this was different. the way your eyes crinkled and shaped itself into little crescent moons and how tears of pure joy would escape every now and then. and your smile, aeons your smile. that smile didn't belong to death, it belonged to you.

sunday's laugh rang like church bells, you had to double check if what you were hearing was real. the two of you shared a moment of silence before erupting into fits of giggles again. the sound reminded you both of children running around the orphanage, playing kings and queens, monsters and knights, and the laughter that came after all the playing.

“what a strange girl she is.” sunday said after coughing into his fist. he had to reign himself in when you laughed in reply. “she is. but she's my strange girl.”

your eyes lingered on the door the younger girl had slammed. they held such fondness, sunday wouldn't have guessed the “death” he's always been afraid of would be so loving.

“well, now that's done.” you wipe away any stray tears left and motion sunday to his food. “eat. louis told me you hadn't eaten lunch. you must be starving.”

sunday sat down on the chair while you sat on the edge of his bed. smoothing out any creases on his blanket as he ate his food. every once in a while, he'd look at you between bites and still see that smile present on your face.

“you should smile more.” he said before wiping his lips on the towel elanaor had kindly prepared his food with.

“i could say the same to you, angel.” you look back at him. the same soft smile still on your lips as the streams of moonlight in this beautiful dream started to fill in the gaps of the window in the room, bathing you in a glow that made you look divine. “you look more handsome when you smile.”

he coughed into his fist as you laughed. wings coming to try and cover his face and hide his flustered state.

“i never… took you one for compliments.”

you tilt your head curiously, “do i not look like the type to give compliments.” sunday shook his head. hair and wings following his movement that made you swoon inside, it was nothing short of adorable. seeing the always composed mr. sunday stuff his face with the food you cooked for him.

this wasn't good. but you couldn't bring yourself to stop.

“you're wrong then.” you say as you let yourself fall onto his bed.

“are you fond of children?”

“well, i wouldn't have gone through all this trouble by creating this dream if i wasn't.”

“just answer me directly, death.”

you laugh again in response. how strange it was, that the name “death” the halovian would always use to describe you no longer sounded hostile.

“yes.” you said softly. “i’m very fond of them.”

“why?” he questions. you hear the sound of plates and utensils move around and it wasn't long before another weight made the bed dip from the other side. “everyone dreams of having their own family, angel. i’m no exception.”

you closed your eyes for a moment before they open again in bewilderment as you looked to your side.

your right hand, still with it's glove on, was being held by sunday's own hands. his thumbs and index finger would tug at your fingers before his palm settled in your own.

you could hear the way your heart was beating in your ears. “do you not fear death, angel?” you ask as you let the man play with your hand like a child.

“i do.” he answered. you felt the bed dip and shift as he turned to lay on his side. “but recently, i've come to know them very well.”

you close your eyes again. letting the feeling of sunday tracing shapes in your palms lull you into a momentary sleep.

“what is death like, if you've gotten to know them very well.”

“death is a scary thing.” he paused, making sure you were listening. “i tiptoed around it back at home, like how two siblings would've tried to hide from their father when they played hide and seek.”

“i didn't believe death existed until it took something - someone - very important away from me. it was the first time in a while did i felt the fear and fury of it all being poured into my body.”

“do you hate death, angel?” you ask, still not opening your eyes.

“i do.” he answered with no hesitation, making you scoff. “death is impatient, not waiting for me to finish my explanation before jumping to conclusions.”

alright, you admit, he got you there.

“i hate death. i don't ever want to experience it anytime soon. it takes and it takes, and i don't want it to take anything important away from me ever again.” you felt sunday weave your fingers together as he spoke. “but i learned that death, also gives.”

“death is a lot kinder than i imagined. they didn't snarl or bite - but they did tease and scoff - at me. they're fond of children, much to my surprise. treating them with the utmost care and gentleness, even i believe i don't possess.”

“death, though not intentionally, showed me that even beautiful dreams can cause suffering. something i've refused to believe — to acknowledge — for the longest time.”

“are you scared?” you ask. opening your eyes to turn to lay on your side as well. not letting sunday's hand slip away from yours.

“no, not anymore.” somehow, you could almost see the smile his handsome face wore. “because death is gentle when someone's time is up.”

“what if they aren't gentle with you?”

“well,” he only chuckles. “death is gentle with me right now, are they not?”

ah, he got you again.

—

sunday, from a very young age, was taught that dreams were one of the many ways that the gods used to convey their intentions to mankind.

all his life, sunday had seen the ugliest side of humanity and yet he wished nothing but the best for them. he dreamed of creating a paradise where humanity no longer had to fight for survival; the strong wouldn't grow stronger nor will the weak grow weaker. everyone would be equal.

sunday's existence was to be everyone's savior; their saving grace in this perpetually cruel world. he would willingly spend the rest of eternity in solitude if it meant that others could live in a paradise, free from all misery and suffering.

he's never seen anything wrong with wanting to escape; taking the easy way out. who would want to be in pain after all.

you would.

why does life slumber? he always asks — he wanted to ask you but never got that chance to.

“we slumber because we don't want to wake up. we do not wish to see a painful and unfair tomorrow. we want to hold on to this beautiful dream where everything is alright. because we fear the future, we don't wish to wake up. the future is not kind, not to everyone. we will lose everything.”

“but we still have to.”

jolting awake, sunday pressed his hand over his chest where his heart was beating erratically, its sound ringing uncomfortably in his ears. no longer was he in the orphanage he'd grown accustomed to. now, he was all alone, in a damp, cold, and dark room.

“can the angel walk?”

twisting his head to the side, there you sat. the same black off shoulder top, muted purple skirt, and your companion perched on your shoulder as you close the book in your grasp.

you smiled at him. “so the angel can wake up, good to know.” your words ring in his ears. it feels nostalgic, a sudden sense of deja vu, but it left him with a feeling of doom as you walked to stretch a hand to him.

sunday took it with a moment of hesitation. he let himself be pulled up with your help and let you lead him somewhere else.

“where are we?” he asks.

“in reality.”

his eyes narrowed in a confused glare.

“what happened to the orphanage?” he didn't like the quietness of everything. he couldn't read your emotions, frequency practically nonexistent. “gone. everyone left.”

the ground shook along with his heart. he couldn't properly process the way you took hold of his hand and began to run straight into the darkness.

he was scared. he was so uncontrollably scared with what you've done because why…. why was he still alive?

“pick up the pace angel.” you turn your head to him. a teasing smile on your lips trying to hide the panic and terror in your eyes. “don't tell me the angel forgot how to run?”

“what's going on…”

“nothing's going on.” there you were again, avoiding the question; leaving him guessing in the dark.

against his instincts — the nagging voice in his mind to follow you and run — he pried his hand away from yours and skid to a stop.

“angel?!” you shout in confusion. your panic doubled as the ground shook more and more.

“you can't just keep me in the dark, death.” his hands balled up into fists at his sides. the look of foreboding did not suit you, he much preferred your easy going natured smile. “i’m not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on.”

what a stubborn child, your mind replayed. eyes fogging up with an unreadable emotion.

“alright,” you say calmly. “how about a game then?”

sunday looked confused but stayed patient with you. something you're not used to.

“let's play a round of tag. you're it. if you tag me, i’ll tell you everything.”

“this isn't a game, death.”

sunday had come to the forlorn conclusion that he didn't even know your name.

“all is fair in love and war.” your voice matched your somber eyes.

what did you mean in love and war? what love? what war?

“come on now, angel, can't you just play one game with me?”

his adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed his fears down along with his hesitation.

“okay.” he said. “let's play, but just one game.”

you smiled in thanks. “on my count, we run.”

“three.”

“two.”

“one.”

“RUN!”

and so the both of you did. you ran with such vigor, sunday felt that he'd lose here. lose the chance of finally knowing the truth.

“don't give up on me now, angel. we're almost there!”

your laughter echoed in the dim lit corridors of this nightmare that seemed to never end. but the way a crown of light bathed you, sunday felt his feet push further and further until they burned from the pain.

you kept smiling back at him. the childish smile he'd always see on the faces of the many children back in the when they also played tag. you would always be “it” and tagged one child to another, leaving you the victor by the end of it all.

but this time, sunday would rise victorious.

“brother!”

sunday skid to a stop as a body slammed on his own, nearly making him stumble down. a warm embrace enveloped him, the same embrace that woke him from his dreams of order back in penacony.

“it's mr. sunday!”

“are you alright?”

everything was too fast. one moment he was playing tag with death and now he's reunited with his sister and the astral express crew.

“robin…” he quietly murmured. arms snaking to hug his sister tightly as tears pricked the corner of his eyes. “i’m here, brother.”

sunday let a smile break out of his face as he let robin check up on him. laughing at the way she weakly punched him on the chest.

“it's a good thing you're unharmed, mr. sunday.” welt said, fixing his glasses. “it took us quite a while to find you, but i’m glad our efforts weren't in vain.”

sunday furrowed his brows. “what do you mean?”

“after your disappearance in penacony, me and the astral express crew had joined forces to track you down.” robin explained.

“i… see…” sunday pondered if the reason they weren't able to find him was because he was inside your dream.

wait.

“death?!” he shouted into the space but no one answered. he was sure that everyone was looking at him weirdly as he lightly pushed robin to the side to try and look for you.

“death?!” the pink haired girl exclaimed. “what's going on mr. sunday?!”

before sunday could respond, another tremor broke out.

“brother!”

something flashed in sunday’s mind for a quick moment. his mind replayed the first time he arrived at “death's waiting room”, how he was forced to do chores and help around, tell the children bedtime stories and tuck them in for bed. how the first night he witnessed death made his stomach swirl with uncontrollably fear and how “death” itself cried for the departed.

he remembered how elanaor barged into his temporary room and pushed you in. how he ate his dinner in silence as you smooth out the creases on his bed. how, against his own judgement, came to lay on the bed and hold your hand that he couldn't believe brought upon ruin to someone's dream.

“it's time to wake up, sunday.”

sunday felt a body hug him tightly before he was pushed out of the way. in a quick flash, a red cord wrapped around him and death before it snapped.

the loud clamor of a giant gate dropping made his ears ring. sunday felt his breath quicken as he ran to the metal gate and slammed his fist against it in a poor attempt to get it to open.

“death!” another slam of his fist. “death you said you'd explain!” and another. “don't leave me in the dark!”

sunday felt his breath becoming shorter and shorter.

and how his heart dropped when crimson started to slip through the cracks of the metal gate.

“you didn't tag me, so i still win.”

“no…” another slam of his fist, louder than ever. “no! death hang on, we can save you!”

“you can't.”

“you don't know that!”

the trailblazer came to pry him away from the gate but he persisted.

“i know death better than anyone else, angel.”

“you…!” sunday felt his legs give out on him. he could only gaze at the way your blood pooled at the floor. “what did you do…”

you chuckled. “i never thought i’d die for someone else, you know.” sunday's caught wind of the cawing noises on the other side of the gate.

“no…”

“who would've guessed i would die for your sins.”

“the papers…” and you only hummed to confirm his suspicion.

there was one thing that sunday noticed whenever s child needed to depart: your companion will always bring you a piece of paper with their name written on it.

“my name…” he weakly muttered. “i was supposed to die…”

“you were.”

were. you didn't kill him.

the papers that started to pile in your office and the way your companion never once left your side; they way that never - not even once - have you taken off your gloves off whenever you fondly brushed his bangs away from his eyes or the way you let him hold your hands.

you didn't kill him.

the room shook again, this time stronger than the previous ones.

“we need to leave, now!” the navigator shouted.

sunday felt his body being supported as the trailblazer slung one his arms over his shoulder.

“fly. fly far, far, away from here sunday; you're free now.”

how ironic it was, that you, “death” itself, would die for a man who tried to go against the principles of the aeon he claimed to follow.

you brought the head of the oak family to your waiting room, waiting for the moment when his name would be delivered to you so could cut the cord of his life. but you never did.

“you're no longer guilty, your sins have been cleansed.”

you didn't want to let him go, as he did with you when he held your hand that night.

“i’m sorry i couldn't be gentle like you hoped for. but this was the only way.”

“i hope you finally understand that human suffering is inevitable. that even when we're in pain we still find a way to value our lives.”

“we are not gods, angel, we don't get a say in what happens to humankind. but i hope you'll come around to accept that it's what makes us all human. remember us — me — with fondness in mind.”

sunday will never come to know death, because death died for him and his sins.

“i hope you enjoyed your time with death, sunday.”

#—stellaronhvnters.#honkai star rail angst #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail sunday #honkai star rail imagines #hsr sunday #sunday x reader #sunday x you #sunday angst #sunday imagines #honkai star rail x you #star rail x reader #star rail x you #hsr angst #hsr x you #hsr x reader #( 🂡 ) – royal flush of stories .ᐟ

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dixons-sunshine · 5 months

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Imagine this…. for the young daryl X young reader au

Reader has a camcorder which she carries around when her and daryl go on little trips and they end up finding it again after years for whatever reason and it’s a nice little fluffy scene where they relive earlier times together before everything

A Trip Down Memory Lane | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

*GIF isn't mine.*

Summary: While unpacking your things for your new apartment with Daryl, you stumbled across an old video camera you had used to film little moments between you and Daryl in your teen years. A visit down memory lane gives Daryl the push he needed to ask you something important.

Genre: Fluff.

Era: Pre outbreak.

Part of the Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams universe.

Warnings: Swearing.

Word count: 1.5k

A/n: This request was so cute! I hope you don't mind that I paired it with another idea I had. It just seemed like it would fit perfectly. And I made Daryl romantic in this because he's a romantic deep down.

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

“Dear god, what the fuck was I thinking? That style was horrible!”

Daryl laughed at your comment, pulling you closer into his side. “I think ya looked cute. Kinda like Minnie Mouse in a way.”

“That doesn't make it any less horrible. Polka dots and frilly pink headbands are not my thing,” you laughed, skipping to the next video on the video camera you had found.

You and Daryl were in the midst of unpacking the boxes with all of your things. The two of you had just recently found a cheap enough apartment to rent and were busy organising everything when you had stumbled upon an old video camera that you had used when you were teenagers. Everything else was quickly forgotten as you and Daryl sat in the middle of what should be the living room, surrounded by a bunch of boxes as you took a trip down memory lane.

“Fuck, please tell me tha' ain't me,” Daryl groaned when a younger version of him appeared on the screen. “Jesus, buddy. Ya ever heard of sunlight? It'd do ya good to work on yer tan. Ya look like a fuckin' sheet of paper.”

You chuckled at the comment, nodding your head in agreement. “You do kinda look pale in this.”

“Looks like I needed at least 50 blood transfusions. M'surprised I didn't drop dead back then,” Daryl agreed, shaking his head in disapproval of his former self. “Can't believe s'already been a decade. Feels like jus' yesterday when we were back in yer mom's trailer.”

“Time flies. Now we're moving in to what is hopefully our last apartment for a while. You've got a great job down at that motorcycle repair shop and I've got a great teaching gig,” you replied, placing the video camera down next to you.

Daryl nodded. “Mhm,” he agreed, before giving you a playful smile. “Dun' know 'bout yer gig, though. Those five year olds are gremlins. They're gon' eat ya alive when ya start on Monday. Ya dun' stand a chance.”

You faked an offended gasp and shoved him lightly, eliciting a laugh from him. “I'll have you know, Mr Dixon, that I'm more than capable of handling a couple of five year olds. I've been doing it for two years.”

Daryl smiled and pulled you closer into his side, placing a kiss on the top of your head. “Yeah, I know. S'those high schoolers yer plannin' on teachin' one day tha's gon' eat ya up. Teenagers are the real ones ya should look out for.”

“Luckily that won't be for a while. I'm quite content on just teaching the little ones for now,” you responded, nuzzling your face into his chest. “And teenagers aren't that bad. Most of them are just misunderstood. Some of them are in situations a lot like—”

Despite cutting yourself off, Daryl knew exactly what you meant. If it were any other person, Daryl would've gotten pissed, but it wasn't just any other person. It was you, the love of his life, the person who's stuck with him despite everything, because of everything. He wouldn't fault you for one slip up. God only knows he'd said so much worse a couple of years ago, but you forgave him.

You were amazing to him like that.

“Situations a lot like wha' I went through,” Daryl finished for you, letting out a deep sigh.

“Sorry,” you hurriedly apologised, pulling back slightly to look into your boyfriend's eyes. “I didn't mean to bring it up. I—”

A tender kiss to your lips shut you up instantly. When Daryl pulled back, he gave you a reassuring smile. The last thing he wanted was for you to feel like he'd get mad at you for one minor slip of the tongue.

“S'alrigh',” he reassured you. “M'not mad. And yer righ'. There's way too many kids tha' go through wha' I went through. Tha's why any highschool would be lucky to have ya. Ya could help a lot of kids in situations like tha'. No, ya will help a lot of kids in situations like tha'. Jus' like ya helped me.”

You smiled and gently cupped his cheek, bringing him into a sweet kiss. “I love you,” you whispered when you pulled away, resting your forehead against his.

“I love ya too. More than ya'll ever know,” he responded, before pulling away and reaching for something in his pocket. “But maybe this will give ya a glimmer of how much I love ya.”

You gasped in surprise, happy tears welling up in your eyes. A choked up laugh escaped you, ecstasy flooding through your body as your eyes flickered between the man you loved and the small, round object he held delicately between his fingers.

A ring.

“I know this ain't the most expensive ring out there, and it dun' have some big diamond in the middle tha's worth more than this apartment, but m'hopin' s'enough. If I could get a better one, I would, and I will someday. Someday when I finally get promoted and yer teachin' high schoolers, when we dun' have to worry 'bout rent and shit like tha'.”

You smiled through your tears, another small laugh escaping. “Daryl—”

“Nah, please let me finish 'fore I chicken out,” he cut you off. When you nodded, he continued. “Ya've always been there fer me. Ever since we were twelve and ya started joinin' me by tha' river. When I needed ya the most, ya were always there with a reassurin' smile and a willin' ear. Then ya became my girlfriend ten years ago, and despite everythin', ya've stuck with me. Despite my outbursts, my baggage, my brother...”

You laughed at that. “I really don't like your brother.”

Daryl chuckled and nodded. “I know, but ya stayed. Fer ten years now, ya've been by my side. Yer my best friend, my partner in crime, the love of my life, and there's no one I wanna spend the rest of my days with than the beautiful, kind, funny, smart woman right in front of me. Yer my ray of sunshine, the one who always manages to make me feel better.”

Daryl adjusted himself until he was on one knee in front of you. Your breath got caught in your throat, and you scrambled to sit on your knees, your eyes sparkling in wonder as the ring glinted in the light.

“Sunshine, would ya do me the honour of bein' my wife?”

Words completely eluded you at that moment. You quickly grabbed his face and brought him into a kiss, that particular kiss conveying more than words ever could. When you pulled away, you smiled softly at him.

“Yes, I'll marry you. You didn't even have to ask.”

Daryl let out a sigh of relief and pulled you into his arms, hugging you tightly. “God, tha' was nerve wrackin'.”

You laughed as you pulled away from the hug. “I bet. You know, for a man of few words, that speech was kind of incredible. It definitely beat the one I had planned for you.”

Daryl frowned in confusion. “Wha' speech fer me?”

Nervously, you reached into your own pocket and pulled out a silver band. Daryl's eyes widened in surprise as you showed him the ring you had.

“I was kinda getting fed up with waiting for you to pop the question, so I was gonna take matters into my own hands.”

Daryl let out a laugh of surprise and shook his head. “Wow,” he mused. “Gender roles be damned, huh?”

“Damn straight,” you agreed, before motioning to the ring in his hand. “You can slip the ring on my finger, Mr Dixon.”

Complying with your request, he slipped the ring onto your finger. Before you even had to ask, Daryl extended his left hand to you. You smiled and slipped his own ring onto his finger.

Looking at the ring, Daryl smiled fondly. “Ya continue to surprise me everyday, Mrs Dixon.”

“I'm not a Dixon yet,” you reminded him, allowing him to pull you into his arms for the millionth time that day. “But I could be one soon. Maybe tomorrow, even.”

“Ya suggestin' we elope?” he asked, raising his eyebrows at the idea—an idea that sounded absolutely perfect to him. “Yer mom would kill us if she found out.”

“Well,” you began, admiring the ring on your finger. “It's better to ask for forgiveness than permission. Besides, we don't need some elaborate wedding to show how much we love each other. All we need is each other, and someone willing to officiate. We can go to the courthouse tomorrow.”

“Tha' sounds absolutely perfect,” Daryl agreed, pressing a kiss to your head.

“By the way, if you buy me another ring in the future to replace this one, I will be pissed. This ring is perfect.”

“Whatever makes ya happy, Mrs Dixon. I love ya.”

“I love you too.”

©dixons-sunshine 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified, adapted or translated to any other site or platform without evidence of my given consent.

#krys writes .ೃ࿐#shopping spree hangout dreams #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl x reader #twd daryl #the walking dead #norman reedus x reader #norman reedus #young!daryl #young!daryl dixon #young daryl dixon

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grelleswife · 8 months

Text

I was wondering why this scrumptious dollop of Phantomfam domesticity gave me such a sense of déjà vu…

And then it hit me.

We have indeed seen the above panel before—during Bard’s dream in Chapter 189, while he lay bedridden after narrowly avoiding death by knife-wielding child.

I’m pretty sure Snake’s version of this snapshot in time takes place a few seconds after Bard’s (I love the added detail of O!Ciel being a little gremlin and grabbing an illicit snack! 😆), but, based on the chef’s singed hair and Mey Rin’s sudsy distress, it has to be the same scene.

Of course, the bond uniting the Phantomhive household has been a common theme for this set of miniarcs. However, whereas these happy memories and gratitude towards their young master have served to galvanize Bard and the other og servants into persevering through their missions, did Yana return to the above flashback in the orphanage arc to emphasize that, this time around, that love will go sour as Snake’s feelings of betrayal over the loss of his circus family lead him to oppose O!Ciel (assuming he survives, that is 😭)?

And it’s interesting that Bard and Snake both found themselves in similar predicaments when this memory drifted through their minds, since they each suffered extreme blood loss from stab wounds inflicted by one of the Star Lords. Is this simple laziness on Yana’s part, or was Bard’s plight meant to foreshadow Snake’s…a tonal shift on sensei’s part from /joking in the sanatorium arc to /serious now, when death appears imminent for the poor footman?

The parallels might not be that deep, but I just needed to get the post-chapter rambles out of my system. 😅

#kuro spoilers #kuroshitsuji spoilers #kuroshitsuji 208 #kuroshitsuji 189 #kuroshitsuji #snake #bardroy #bard #mey rin #finnian #finny #sebastian michaelis #tanaka #o!ciel #phantomfam #even in the sweet scenes yana punches me in the psyche 😭

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yandereforme · 8 months

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OK, I was in a boring lecture with my classes, and my brain came up with an idea.

Everyone knows that trope where the main character is stuck in a time loop. Like, they are stuck, reliving the same life over and over and over again.

What if that situation happened? With the bat family becoming Yandere?

Let me explain. It starts out with the normal story of neglectful bat family. You’re probably Bruce’s kid through a one night stand of his. Then you mom tragically dies and she leaves it in her well that you are Bruce’s. Then you go to live the Manor and none of them really have time for you or pay that much attention to you, etc. etc..

You probably die due to an accident with a rogue or maybe you get into a car accident or something. The point is you die, and instead of going to the afterlife, you wake up in the car driving you to the manner for the first time.

You end up slowly living your life in a loop of one year. Overtime, you become more and more independent of the family. I’m going to say this is like your seventh life, because that’s where things get interesting.

This time, you’ve decided to just throw the whole thing out the window. You’ve tried getting to know them. You’ve tried just actively avoiding them. You’ve even tried running away very young, and you even joined them as a vigilante during your fifth life. Nothing has stopped you from dying every single time. So this time, you deciding to fuck things up. Do whatever the hell you want. And what you want is to cause some chaos.

You deliberately fuck with them. You make references to things you shouldn’t know, but always talk your way out of any situation. You casually mention things about certain vigilante, that you know will cause, drama, and deliberately ask your brothers to be around you during a certain time when you know they’re going to be on patrol. You decided that you’re going to just have fun, and like being a little chaos gremlin.

This sort of behavior is what causes the family to fully notice you. And overtime become Yandere for you. They also keep having these strange dreams where you die in front of them. They remember themselves saying things to you that they never did. All while puzzling at your knowledge of them.

You become a puzzle to them. And after a while, you have a fully Yandere bat family obsessed with you.

You must be thinking “ OP, if the reader dies again, everything go back to normal?” Well, you are wrong. Because every life that you live after that one, they will remember more and more things, and become more and more obsessed with you even from the get-go.

During the seventh life, you caused some serious chaos and left a giant impact on them. When you return to the manor for the first time in the eighth, they are going to look with you with more interest than they normally would, because something in their gut is telling them that they need to pay attention to you.

Basically, the simple version of this is that they were very neglectful of you in your first 6 lives, and didn’t pay much attention to you until your seventh life, which you decide to fuck with them. Unfortunately, you girlbossed too close to the sun and left an irreversible impression on the soul. No matter what you do, in every single life they are going to become more and more obsessed with you.

#yandere #yandere batfam x reader #time loop au #funny #gremlin reader #this came to me in the middle of a boring class #Now I will unleash it onto you

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crystal-moon-101 · 6 months

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A while ago I had made up a Zak for each day of the week to match Zak Saturday and Monday for fun, and because I wanted to give Zak some more AU similar to how Ben gets a lot of them. So not only do they all have different last names, but each have their own backstories and colour theming! So I hope you enjoy my little AU concepts.

-Zak Saturday-

Classic original Zak. I decided to draw them all when they're 11, start of the series vibes. So that's why he doesn't look like the ways I normally draw him currently, since those are when he's 14. Nothing different with his design here, beyond still giving him those vivid orange eyes.

-Zak Sunday-

Also known as Zak Argost, having been taken in by the man after he had a certain encounter with Zak's parents, resulting in their deaths. When Argost found the young toddler, seeing the start of Zak's power, he was happy enough to take the child with him and use his powers to his benefit. Due to being taken when he was very young, Zak doesn't remember his parents at all, fully believing in anything Argost tells him, the only family he has. So he happily helps his guardian in keeping cryptids tamed during Weird World shows, or during trips to learn about them, even if Argost puts Zak in more danger than he should. Due to his appearances on Weird World, Zak is a celebrity of sorts, even if he doesn't get to go out often. Argost also gives him a lot of gifts, keeping the child in a positive mood to keep him under his thumb. So Zak truly believes that Argost cares about him.

Though things start to turn when Argost finally decides it's time to hunt down Kur and take his powers, hiring Van Rook and Doyle on the mission. This leads to Zak and Doyle getting to know each other, with Doyle feeling protective over this random kid for some reason. Eventually this leads to him taking Zak away when this whole Kur business gets out of hand. While Doyle can't seem to convince Zak that Argost doesn't care about him, the pair do at least agree to try and find Kur first, Zak worried that even Argost shouldn't handle such powers. However, only time will tell if the pair discover the truth behind their unknown family history.

-Zak Monday-

The good old twisted gremlin of a child, Zak Monday and his family were a result of the smoke mirror. They come from a world that twists the very nature of people, a poor reflection of their negative aspects. If you're naive, then your mirror self is incredible dumb. If you're a bit of a perfectionist, then your mirror self is a control freak. And Zak Monday represents the twisted doubts of Zak feeling like a monster, so why have any doubts when you can be the monster?

I decided to change Zak Monday a bit to have the green eyes and green shirt with his own logo, cause I liked the idea that after his first appearance, they switch back to what they're suppose to look like. But other than that I kept the concept of him looking just like Zak, minus the inverted hair colour.

-Zak Tuesday-

The young naga is the son of Rani Nagi. Born solely to have Kur's soul enter and be a host, but whoops! Looks like Kur's memories aren't there, but that wasn't going to stop Rani Nagi, who thinks if she keeps at her plans, eventually her son will become the old cryptid king she once knew. Even going as far as to solely call her child Kur, who secretly calls himself Zak due to him often watching humans in the shadow, curious about them and wanting a name for himself. Zak Tuesday has a lot of identity issues, not helped by his mother's teachings towards him, ignoring all his dreams and personal thoughts. Eventually he just got really good at lying rather than convincing Rani Nagi.

However, the young cryptid prince is suddenly kidnapped by Argost one day, as he figured out where Kur's soul was currently living. Zak knew he would have died that day if not for Drew and Doc recusing him, having been chasing Argost over this Kur situation. Though they're a little surprise that upon meeting the new Kur, they find it's just a young naga who really doesn't know who he is. At first Doc and Drew didn't know what to do with him, but Zak begged them to not send him back home, and let him stay at their place until he could figure things out. He wasn't foolish, he knew the nagas were planning a war, and he wasn't keen on being the face of it all. So now the Tuesdays just have a snake living around the house, but they can't exactly complain as he is a well mannered guest at least. And perhaps the house doesn't feel so lonely with him around either.

-Zak Wednesday-

Some of you might recognize this one, but this Zak is from my old Zur AU, where Kur was reborn via the Kur Stone due to it being an egg, and Zak is a dragon that shapes between human form and dragon form. I decided to update him, making him Zak Wednesday now, with a pink theme! I also decided that instead of Kur being reborn, I wanted to shake things up a bit and have it that Zak was directly Kur's son. His mother is unknown, and as Kur saw how the world was at the time, he put Zak's egg into a stasis situation until it was discovered again. After saving it from Argost, the egg hatched among the secret scientist, leading to them chasing the child of Kur. But upon using his shapeshifting abilities to look like a child of Drew and Doc, they just couldn't help but adopt him on the spot, siting there was no sense in blaming Kur's son over what happened years ago.

The growing dragon is very playful with a cheeky personality. He exhibits a lot of draconic behaviors, with a wild and free spirit. He is aware of his family history, but he doesn't like to think about it, unsure in how to view his father based on the stories he's heard. Besides, Doc and Drew are his parents, and that's all that matter to him. Though perhaps this sudden appearance by Argost, claiming he was going to far Zak's father, has been a bit rattling to deal with.

-Zak Thursday-

When Kur knew he was going to die, and also knew his soul wasn't able to live the mortal realm, he made plans to make it so his reborn self would both be born in hopefully a better time, and be without his memories. It was better that way, so that his new self could live a lovely life without the sins from his past. But that didn't exactly pan out properly, as Kur was reborn and sadly remembers everything. It took him a while to understand this growing up, his young human mind not processing it until he was roughly 7-8, and even then he needed time to think about it. And now he's a depressed 11 year old who now has to be stuck with the fact his plan didn't work, unable to run away from the person he once was. Doc and Drew found out the truth when Zak tried running away one day, their son sitting them down and telling them the truth in hopes they'd just leave him, it would be better that way. But to his surprise they disagreed, as he was still their son, Kur or Zak, and it would be too dangerous to leave him alone.

So now Zak lives with his parents? Are they really his parents? The family keeping this dark secret to themself, even from the other scientists. Doc and Drew still reach out to their son, doing their best to connect with him, but he can't help but push them away. He doesn't deserve this, and they deserve better. However, their secret might come out after Argost stole the Kur Stone and now hunts for Kur, not realizing the truth right in front of him. So now the family tries to get the stones back, wanting to protecting Zak/Kur from others finding out. Doesn't help that he has to go through being a child again with such dark memories lingering in his head, feeling tired and overwhelmed with the world. Hasn't he suffered enough?

-Zak Friday -

In a world where Kur and cryptids successfully wiped out humans, the king ruled the lands for a while after, before one day he mysteriously vanished. Many concluded that he had died somehow, the details unknown, but this lead to a prophecy that one day their king would return, leading to many claiming to be him, or praying that they will be him for the power and wealth. In this universe, Zak and his family are all cryptids, with Zak being a a Chuvash Dragon, Drew and Doyle are Epimeliads, and Doc is a Gargoyle (Other characters are also cryptids in this timeline). Zak is a serpent like dragon that breathes fire, as a very twistable body, and can freely shapeshift. He's heard about the legend of Kur returning, but frankly he thinks they don't need him, even if the cryptid world has been shattered without a king for years now.

But when a yeti named Argost claims that Kur is back, being backed up by the Nagas, everyone starts to gossip and run around trying to figure out who the new Kur is. So maybe it's best that Zak doesn't tell the whole world about his sudden new powers to control and communicate any fellow cryptid is walks by.

#The Secret Saturdays #TSS #Secret Saturdays #The Secret Saturdays AU #AU #Zak Saturday #Character Design #Creature Design #My Art

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reginalucernis · 4 months

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As you can see I've entered my Genshin era - I wonder when it'll end

In brief, I just wanted to do some warm-up before starting a big art (I hope it'll happen one day...) and show my headcanons just for fun, why not? And ofc I do not impose anything on anyone, this is just my personal opinion and blah-blah

I find Genshin char design quite entertaining. I like the devs try to rethink and use some national stereotypes, folk costumes, some ethnic motifs etc, but absolutely the same blank faces for all characters regardless of their sex and age are just killing me. So that's why I decided to diversify it a little, to estimate possible ethnic and individual differences (yes, all the nations in Genshin are fictional etc, but in fact all the national and historical prototypes seem to be quite obvious). OK LET'S GOO

Tortellini. First of all, I'm sure freckles really suit gingers. Dimples can also add some character to the image of a naive fool and a positive dude (although Tort isn't actually stupid, he's a straightforward simpleton 'cos of his young age - this fact is stated directly in the game, e.g. in Arle's dialogues). Speaking about the general features of the face, I should note the more pronounced angles of the jaw and brow ridges, thicker eyebrows, thicker neck, slightly larger chin - features that correspond to a more realistic facial structure and the difference between a male and a female face. Regarding the nose, the situation is a bit ambiguous: on the one hand, a curved nose is usually considered more Southern European or West Asian (including Arabic and Persian regions) but I once found information about two subtypes of curved noses a long time ago. Like, if the nose is curved in the upper part closer to the bridge of the nose, then this is usually the Asian type, if it's curved in the lower part closer to the tip, then it's usually European. Considering that I've met guys on the street with the latter type of a curved nose (which is also raised up) and their appearance corresponded to the "Nordic" type (light straight hair, light eyes, pale skin of a cold shade), let's assume that this is still a Northern European nose and everything is logical

Signora. Her facial features are slightly softer. She has a usual straight narrow nose. Her appearance is close to the type of a femme fatale, she is suited by slightly defined cheekbones and plump lips (I have nothing against symmetrical round "bow" lips which are trendy today, but I just prefer classic ones with a pronounced cleavage in the middle). Her head is proudly raised. Moles can complement the image: a mole under the eye can add some sophistication and elegance, while the one above the upper lip can add a bit of sensuality (for example, look at the photo of Nika Turbina - her story raises many questions, but her appearance is definitely memorable). In other words, quoting The Twelve Chairs by Ilf and Petrov, Rosaline is "a sultry woman, a poet's dream" :)

Dottore. On the one hand, his color palette gives the impression of albinism (although albinos among humans, unlike animals, practically do not have red eyes, but let's forget about it). On the other hand, his Sumeru origin directly asks to add something appropriate, so I decided to choose a hooked nose (yes, I love noses, the most diverse and memorable part of the face). His character and his actions are conducive to introducing a bit of "monstrosity" into the image: sharp facial features and teeth, withered thin lips, a greenish tint in the palette. Well, it turns out he's a true gremlin. I like the widespread headcanon about him having scars, why not - in general, the guy could both earn one in the process of experiments and receive it from his fellow countrymen. I decided to make him stoop a little, but this is a dangerous move. I mean the Doctor is bursting with aggression, determination and arrogance, he is a daring and self-confident person, and such a tightness doesn't fit him. However, his obsession with scientific research, poring over books and constant work on experiments can (probably) cause a curvature of posture. In the end, I decided that this man can straighten up normally if necessary, but he usually still slouches (just like my uncle :)). Or at least like Dead Space protagonist who is also stooped but still is quite a good fighter

Arlele. Here I didn't do much 'cos the developers have already given her a bunch of distinct features: crossed pupils, and black hands, and some patterns on them, and contrasting hair (although most chars have more or less monochrome or at least similar shades of their hair). In general, she's good the same as she is now. In comparison with Signora, her image is slightly more restrained and refined, her lips are slightly thinner, her eyebrows, on the contrary, are slightly thicker, and her cheekbones are less pronounced. The only major detail added is a slightly hooked, drooping nose. I don't know why, but it seems to be very French for me. Some famous French actors and actresses have kinda similar noses (e.g. Louis de Funès, Pierre Richard, Christian Clavier, Sophie Marceau, Laetitia Casta etc.) - well, at least I think so

By the way, I honestly wanted to diversify somehow emotions in my drawings, but all of the characters are smiling again - what can I do if the smiles suit these guys as well as nobody else: Tort has a half-friendly, half-self-confident smile kinda like 😼, Signora has a proud one, Arle has a cunningly condescending one, and Dottore has just a snide "ehehe"

Hooray, it's a Chinese wall of my text again - well, this time it has at least some sense

Have a nice summer everyone!! I hope to see you again before the autumn :)

P.S. hello to the old ones who has recognized the original album cover, it's been 19 years since its release, feel old yet?

#my art #digital art #genshin impact #tartaglia #la signora #dottore #arlecchino #gorillaz demon days

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sixzeroes · 2 years

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moon taeil’s basement is where dreams come true. at least, that’s how it goes for no celestial, a pop rock band on the rise. part-time students, full-time artists—the four of them are booked and busy, their entire souls poured into their musical careers. but what the quartet want more than just fame is a taste of love—something taeil’s basement can’t exactly fulfil.

maybe, college might offer some help.

alternatively, a retelling of my college experiences through a not-very-researched band au because i’m desperate for band!nct </3

TRACK #01 _ is this song about us?

► eight years ago, you decided to end things with your first boyfriend after agreeing that the relationship wasn’t working. it was heartbreaking, but you got over him with time—or so you thought. your heart is starting to run at an all-too-familiar erratic pace. perhaps, your feelings for him never went away. and perhaps, he’s in the same predicament as you, considering that the band’s latest album is allegedly dedicated to his first love.

pairing. vocalist!renjun x psci-major!reader(f). genres. exes-to-lovers, pop rock band au, university au, non-idol au, tbd.

status. unreleased.

TRACK #02 _ the mundane things in life.

► you’re a little plain, but it’s not like you really care. there’s nothing wrong with simply living life on do not disturb, low power mode, silent mode on. but some alarm begins ringing in your monotonous lifestyle—and all of a sudden, you’re out on your very first clubbing night, drinking your very first cocktail, listening to a live band for the very first time, and having your very first kiss with the hot drummer in the restroom.

pairing. drummer!jeno x art-major!reader(f). genres. strangers-to-fwb-to-lovers, pop rock band au, university au, non-idol au, tbd.

status. unreleased.

TRACK #03 _ keeping tabs on lee haechan.

► this is the first time you’ve seen your best friend in love, and to be frank, it’s kind of scary. she’s developed a crush on some guy she slept with who just so happens to be a student in your faculty, too. so, you’re tasked with keeping tabs on her newfound love. no biggie, except for the fact that you’re starting to fall in love with the guy who was lowkey an asshole at first but is now caring and gentle and—wait, he has a twin brother?

pairing. guitarist!donghyuck x bio-major!reader(f). genres. (one-sided) enemies-to-lovers, pop rock band au, university au, non-idol au, tbd.

status. unreleased.

TRACK #04 _ ditto (hope you feel the same).

► one month, and not once have you seen the face of your student’s guardian. you’re more of a babysitter than a tutor at this point, teaching the teenage girl a few basic survival tips. when you begin to doubt the existence of her uncle, he comes stumbling through the front door, reeking of alcohol. you aren’t sure who you had been expecting, but nothing would’ve ever prepared you for the sweet family guy no celestial’s bassist is.

pairing. bassist!jaemin x econ-major!reader(f). genres. acquaintances-to-lovers, pop rock band au, university au, non-idol au, tbd.

status. unreleased.

IN A CERTAIN SENSE, MOON TAEIL IS A FATHER TO FOUR YOUNG ADULTS. In the same vein, he’s basically the manager of a pop rock band. Don’t ask him how or why; he’s not too sure either. At one point in his life, he ended up babysitting his younger brother and three of his friends. They must’ve had one hell of a time because afterwards, four little gremlins would show up at Taeil’s bedroom with expectant eyes.

Those four little gremlins are the same ones that have now established a band and utilise Taeil’s basement for all sorts of things. Not only is it their studio, it’s also become their makeshift living space. At least they pay rent through the revenue their gigs bring in.

Club Moonlight is located at the edge of Neo Culture University, amidst a plethora of restaurants that close by ten p.m. It’s a sensation on campus, a must-go-to-at-least-once-in-your-life sort of place. With the nightclub alone, Taeil rakes in a good amount of money. But when No Celestial performs, the income is outstanding.

Taeil, to be frank, is a little worried for the boys. He can’t even refer to them as ‘boys’ anymore, either. They camp out in the basement and live off of cup ramyun whenever Taeil forgets to feed them. But then again, it’s not like they lack survival abilities or social skills. Perhaps, Taeil is just overthinking as a result of practically raising them for nearly fourteen years.

He sighs, setting down the cup he’d been drying for the past ten minutes. In thirty minutes, the club is to open and No Celestial is planning to play a few songs. Taeil looks over at the stage, where the DJ set had been pushed aside for the band’s equipment.

Huang Renjun, the lead vocalist and keyboardist, is busy messing around with his electric keyboard, adjusting the volume to his liking. Taeil is the least worried about him; he’s quite the competent kid who has demonstrated independence on many occasions. Renjun is just…a little too mean to people with his blunt truths. Taeil fears he might end up creating several enemies here and there without actually meaning to.

Lee Jeno, the drummer, is flipping through his music sheets with his lips pressed into a thin line. Taeil is very, very worried about him—not that Jeno is incapable of surviving, but as his older brother, Taeil can’t help but feel nervous at the thought of allowing the kid to live all on his own with no adult supervision. Additionally, Jeno likes to sleep around. Taeil respects the game, but he’s concerned about, you know, STDs and the like.

Lee Donghyuck, the rhythm guitarist, is off to the side with his guitar, plucking the chords and fixing the tune. Taeil is also very worried about him. He’s a smart kid and will probably survive just fine, but he comes from a rich family who are rather dead set on making him a doctor. Donghyuck is also an alcoholic, although the kid firmly denies the accusation. Taeil just hopes that the habit of downing soju will disappear soon.

Na Jaemin, the bass guitarist, is nowhere to be seen. Taeil technically has nothing to worry about as Jaemin is already a legal guardian and has been taking care of his niece for three years now. But the kid is overworking himself to provide for the girl, and it’s evident that the hours spent doing physical labour is taking a toll on his body. Taeil can only pray that graduating will allow him to land a stable career with a hefty income.

The clock strikes ten forty-five. In fifteen minutes, the nightclub will be in full swing, with No Celestial on stage and his employees running around to keep things in order. Taeil scans the bar, ensuring that everything is tidy. He clasps his hands together.

It’s time for another night of fun.

now playing ► no celestial by le sserafim.

nabi’s note | whaaaat a pop rock band au when i have zero clue as to how bands work??? (dawg could i even count this as a band au it just feels like a college au,,) n e ways i am so so excited to start this series bc it’s a mix of my fantasies and my irl experiences lol we’ll see where this goes 👀 ngl this was supposed to be a university/college au but i really felt the need to make it a band au so i decided to shift some things around to make them a band 😹😹 i am a sucker for rockstar!00line so it was about time i made a cute lil bad boy rockstar band au for the dudes that i’m obsessed with ^^ ik i’ve been lowkey uploading a lot of stuff but i just have sm ideas rahhh i need to get them out asap! also yes this is inspired by le sserafim!! i don’t really listen to them but this song is so good i just had to <3

btw | i’m not too sure yet but depending on the flow of my feelings, these works may contain smut! for now, the series is definitely suggestive, but i might write smut if i feel brave enough lol ^

taglist | @strangevante @bockhyun @matchahyuck @ablackbtsstan @jlsavy @thesunsfullmoon @hwanunjin @loveazri @sundamariis @just-michell @mora134340 @haechology @leleluvss @loevngyuno @rum-gone-why @dandelionxgal @byungbyungbaek @littlestarjasmine @iheartchoerry @ldhstrap @wonforgyu @lovesuhng @schwizhies @ahnneyong @jenyoonoh @patitotodd @eaglesnotravens @sukistrawberry @haedgaf @vivisoni @shentlngz @haechoshi @minkyuncutie @maeyoung @carelessshootanonymous @hibernatinghamster @1oving-j4em

please send an ask or comment if you’d like to be added to the tag list! <3

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doodle17 · 1 year

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She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Is it... Okay? That, I'm afraid...?" She began to fidget with the engagement ring on her finger.

Raz turned to her, his eyebrows furrowed with sudden concern. "Afraid? Afraid of what?"

She let out a heavy sigh and looked at her ring.

"Of this."

Hi sorry for taking your little gremlin characters and making them go through drama, it WILL happen again.

Anyways context under the cut if you want it 👍

SO basically premise for this is Elton, Vernon, Kitty, Franke, Adam and Lizzie decide to take Raz and Lili out for drinks and stuff because their wedding is coming up pretty soon. Fun, right? And it is. They all dance and have a good time, Lizzie and Elton are getting absolutely hammered and Adam is coming to the realization he's going to have to drive everyone home tonight.

Later, Raz asks if Lili wants to come out to the van so they can take a break from the big crowd for minute and get some fresh air. She agrees and the two manage to slip away from their crowd.

While Raz admires the sunset Lili anxiously lightd herself a cigarette as some very unpleasant fears of hers start poking at her brain.

Her parents divorce is no mystery. Almost everyone knew about it, and even though she was very little when it happened, Lili remembers it all to well. From a young age she learned that a marriage could end and all it could take would be one heated argument.

Its strange because since she was 8 she dreamed of her wedding day like any other girl. The beautiful flowers, the dress... It was something she was excited for as a kid, but as the day got closer, it kind of scared her. Unlike Raz's parents, her parents were hardly seen together. They had some respect for eachother, but seeing them get into fights wasn't rare.

And it definitely didn't help Lili that all of her family members and various employees at the Motherlobe would spread rumors about why they divorced.

Anyways, it's pretty obvious why Lili is so afraid to get married. She doesn't want to end up like her parents. And what's worse, is since Raz had his parents as an example and Lili had hers, she thinks if something does happen, it'll be all her fault.

Of course, it's just silly. Yes, they fight but what healthy couple doesn't? And it's not like they don't make up for it afterward. Needless to say, it's probably best for them to head back home...

#Ouuughhhh #I need #To go to bed #doodles rants #psychonauts #psychonauts 2 #razputin aquato #lili zanotto #razlili #psychonauts future #I am NOT going to apologize for giving these aged up children marriage issues #You can FIGHT ME #I live for drama and angst tehee

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incorrect-riordanverse · 2 years

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Riordanverse Characters as quotes by people i know have said

dedicated to @lord-of-pterodactyls, i know you asked for friends in particular but i’m broadening it as even people i consider my nemeses (old ass philosophy teacher) are funny

Percy: i truly feel as if nothing will ever incapsulate my being as truly as the singing monsters water wubbox

Annabeth: *screaming from adjoining room* GET LOST APPLE MUSIC PRIVACY

Piper: *in bikini* i don’t like people with big boobs

Jason: *trying to compliment piper* your hair looks like dementia

Leo: *emerging from the stinky depths of his room after being in there for 16 hours straight and no showers with clothes from 5 days ago, red scabs all over his body and lips so dry it looks like a snake shedding its old skin by how crusty it is* guys on a scale from 1 to 10 how sexy do i look rn?

Hazel: *yeets her foot out and jiggles her toes menacingly at people she dislikes as an intimidation tactic because her toes are particularly hideous*

Frank: *after literally being targeted by a racial ‘joke’* worse than that, you white people eat spam

Grover: *pats air purifier* a good trusted friend

Nico: *drifts into hazel’s room* bro i ain’t even gonna lie, the holidays are better than the black plague *leaves room before she can question him further*

Reyna: *sleeptalking* stallion le meghan

Rachel: *pretending her coloured markers are vapes*

Thalia: *pointing at luke* my bro be the victim and the perpetrator

Tyson: *when talking about doing math* all i have are my fingers and a dream

Clarisse: *sees a sick person in bed* you’re looking pretty vulnerable *proceeds to ransack their room and steal their sheets like some gremlin*

Octavian: i am THE riddler *speaks in riddler voice and puts on devious little expression* what is... a curtain?

Will: *sees a dying person and looks pointedly at nico* and thats because they didnt take their cenovis vitamin c

Luke: i am constantly one snap away from either committing homicide or suicide

Apollo: *feeling face after new skincare routine* gosh my face feels as soft as a silicone tit

Meg: *pointing at apollo after redemption arc* YOU WON’T GO TO HEAVEN BECAUSE YOU ARE A COMMUNIST!

Magnus: *eating falafel* this is an orgasmic experience

Samirah: *substituting random words in english for arabic and not realising no one understands what she’s saying*

Alex: *laughing at the death threats she gets online after posting a meme about BTS in the military*

Blitz: *does something naughty* omg sorry im such a libra（＾ν＾）

Hearth: *walks into room* god is dead.

Carter: *walking into sadie’s room visibly upset with a box of cadbury favourites* here take them. if you don’t im going to eat them all. please, dont make me do this

Sadie: take a shit and be late to school or dont take the shit and be on time hell loop

Zia: my top artist on spotify this year will be xi jinping’s wife

Walt: *simply, appreciatively and completely without context* yeah, buddha is a pretty amazing guy

Anubis: i dislike being emo because i can only go as death note characters for halloween

Bast: *absolutely entranced by watching love island uk and is just repeating everything any person says back in a treacherous essex accent*

Bes: *walking into classroom full of young teens with an oversized ‘free james assange’ shirt* today i am a nice, trendy leftist. tomorrow, who knows?

#of course im putting them in the context of riordanverse or else they simply would not make sense otherwise #i have so much quotes that cant apply to these characters because theyre all asian jokes bc me + my fam + my entire friendship group r asian #i had to censor the frank quote too bc what happened was 100x more out of pocket 💀#riordanverse #incorrect riordanverse #heroes of olympus #the kane chronicles #percy jackson #trials of apollo #magnus chase #annabeth chase #thalia grace #zia rashid #rachel elizabeth dare #piper mclean #leo valdez #nico di angelo #carter kane #sadie kane #jason grace #will solace #samirah al abbas #hazel levesque #lester papadopolous #frank zhang #meg mccaffrey #grover underwood #reyna avila ramirez arellano #bes bast anubis blitz hearthstone apollo octavian tyson #luke castellan walt stone alex fierro clarisse la rue

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isopodcowboy · 8 months

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Rdr2 Sleep Heacanons Pt 2

Characters:Dutch, Eagle Flies, Abigail, Sadie, Micah

Part 1

Yall seemed to like the first part so here's another one, didn't know which characters to do so it's just whoever I had ideas for.

Sorry these are kinda short

_________________________________________

Dutch:

•Talks in his sleep, you can make out much of it but it's usually something along the lines of "faith" and "society"

•Constantly pushes people off the bed, not on purpose he just moves quite a bit

•Very vivid dreams

•Doesn't snore too often but when he does it's very hard to block out

Eagle Flies:

•The type of guy to be all ready for bed, literally laying down with his eyes closed and than get one thought that mildly pisses him off and now he's pacing around seething

•Probably takes him awhile to fall asleep just cause he's constantly thinking about shit

•When he finally manages to get to bed he tends to mumble a lot

•Likes to sprawl out on whatever space he's sleeping on, just finds it more comfortable than being curled up

Abigail:

•Light sleeper, she's used to waking up to care for Jack so she's pretty easily roused

•John steals the blanket like 90% of the time so she either cuddles closer to him (if they're on good terms at the moment 💀) or just steals it back, leads to a lot of moving around in the bed

•Used to getting pretty little sleep when Jack was young but when he's older she manages to get a lot more rest

Sadie:

•She's always had nightmares but after her husband died they increased ten fold

•Gets cold easily, either needs a bunch of blankets or will just curl up like a fucking gremlin to try and retain warmth

•Sleeps really quietly, like people don't know if she's dead or alive sometimes lmao

•Startles awake often, either from nightmares or just from hearing a sudden noise

Micah:

•Look me in the eyes and tell me this bitch doesn't kick in his sleep

•His dreams are weird as fuck, always wakes up confused from them

•Moves around a LOT

•Snores too

•F in the chat for everyone who shares a tent with him

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 headcanons #dutch van der linde #eagle flies #abigail rdr2 #sadie rdr2 #headcanons #im noy very good at writing but there was an attempt #yeehaw #micah #yall can tell how much i dislike micah in this lmao

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possumsandprose · 4 months

Note

Hello, fellow Elriel!

This is your Elriel Month fic exchange announcement. Remember to not post this Ask until the days of your prompt (feel free to post your fic directly to this ask).

Gifting: @slytherhys

Prompt: Endless Possibilities

Tropes: Fluff, Hurt/comfort, HEA, AU

Send @elriel-month an ask if you have any questions. Can’t wait to read it! 🦇🌹

Happy @elriel-month @slytherhys from your gifter!

This fic was inspired by a conversation I had with @shallyne a few months ago as well as my own desire to read a fic with Elain adopting a bunch of children. I hope you love this!

Warnings: nothing really, it's just a ton of fluff. Slight mentions of past abuse maybe?

Word count: 1.8 K

Loud shouts of glee filled the air around Elain as she pulled another sheet of muffins out of the oven. A small smile grew on her lips as she thought of the small children who would soon come charging in to grab the sweets before they were all gone.

Elain dusted her flour-coated hands on her apron, looking out the window and surveying the scene outside. Around 40 children of all sizes were out there, some Illyrian, some fae, and some were species of lesser fae that she didn’t recognize. That didn’t stop her from loving every child like her own, though. Small groups had broken off to play tag, while some of the older ones were playing something that looked like dodgeball.

Amongst the trees she Emeline, her eldest. With her black hair, brown eyes, and dark skin she was the spitting image of her father, and like her father wisps of shadows swirled over the surroundings. In Emeline’s arms was the youngest, Aurelia, at just 10 months old.

A loud crash sounded from the entryway, announcing her sister’s arrival. Sure enough, when Elain peeked out of the kitchen, Feyre was on the floor, having tripped over a potted plant. Elain shook her head in amusement. Many words could be used to describe her sister, but coordinated was not one of them.

Offering her a hand, Elain grinned, and the two walked to the back rooms of the orphanage together.

“Elain! I’m so sorry about your plant. I swear sometimes I could trip over the air. Anyway, I wanted to wish you a happy anniversary! I can’t believe you’ve already had your 50th anniversary, and that this place is now officially 25 years old. It’s so incredible what you’ve done with the place,” Feyre said excitedly.

Elain could hardly believe it either. 50 years since she married the love of her life, and 25 years since she’d begun to fulfill her dream.

Feyre continued, “I’m delighted that this has turned out so well, not only for the sake of the children but for you and Azriel as well. I know you always wanted a big family, and all of the little ones are just like my own nieces and nephews.”

“For sure,” Elain replied, “I love each and every one of them. I’m glad I could make a difference in their lives.”

The war had been brutal on many families, leaving lots of children orphaned. In addition, lots of Illyrian children had been abandoned or abused by their parents for lots of reasons. The reason never mattered though, all were welcome here.

The sisters reached the end of the hall, and Elain unlocked the double doors that led into a room covered in dropcloths, with easels and canvases already set out and waiting.

“Oh Elain, you are a dear. I about burned all those tarps in anger last time I tried to hang them up. Anyway, if you want to go give the little gremlins their sweets, I can get the paints out and ready,” Feyre said, already pulling things out of the supply closet.

Despite how busy she was being High Lady and all of the duties that came with being the mother of 4 children, Feyre always carved time out of her week to give art classes here, for which Elain was eternally grateful.

So many of the young found comfort in painting or sculpting, or whatever it was they chose. Others simply enjoyed the freedom that art allowed and preferred to go crazy.

Elain left her sister to it, returning to the kitchen and banging the loud bell by the window. Everyone turned to look at her, and she beckoned at them. Not long afterward a mad rush of people entered, and quickly everyone spread out onto the cushions, chairs, and couches in the living area.

In the back was Emeline, though the baby had been passed over to her middle child, Edward. Being fully blind, Elain’s eldest was always very hesitant about being near the crowds, but Edward had a heart of gold and looked out for her at all times.

They too sat down, and Elain left to go clean the dormitories. As she gathered up all the linens into her massive wicker basket, she thought about just how much the building they were in had changed.

Azriel had first told her about this place some 30 years ago, having found it while he was away on a scouting mission. He told her he’d gone inside and had found a small group of children of varying ages huddled by a dying fire.

He’d immediately gone back to her and asked if she could make some food because all of them looked like they hadn’t eaten in days. That made sense, too, since in the dead of Illyria’s winters you’d be lucky to find even just one of the bony mountain birds with not enough meat on it for a baby.

Elain had jumped into action, making her favourite hearty soup recipe, and while it was cooking she had gathered all the blankets, wraps, towels, and whatever else she could find in the River House.

The children were at first quite scared, but eventually, after Elain (and Azriel, when he could) visited them for a few weeks they began to open up.

The eldest, Blair, was the unofficial mother of the group, and she was doing all she could to support the others. Blair had a younger sister, Sabeena, but the rest were all similarly abandoned or orphaned with nowhere else to go.

Working as a maid and doing some other odd jobs got them a few small coins for clothes, but not much more. The dilapidated cabin, most likely once a hunting lodge, was in dire need of repairs, but it sufficed well enough to keep the cold out.

But as Elain found out, Blair had gotten faeriepox recently, a nasty illness that due to a lack of medical care had taken her out for weeks on end. And without the money she brought in and without local game to hunt, there was nothing.

Elain’s heart shattered listening to the story, different parts told by all the children. Most were Illyrian, with all of the females’ wings displaying the brutal clipping scars, though there were a few males in the group.

After that, it had been her personal mission to provide for the group who, in Elain’s eyes, were now just as much her children as her own daughter. Rhysand and Feyre, once they’d found out about it, were only too happy to provide her with funds and support to transform the tiny hut into a huge building with proper insulation, real beds, running water, and a stocked kitchen.

Feyre had told her in private how much it reminded her of the cottage they used to grow up in, and Elain had to agree. The young ones hadn’t looked much different than she and her sisters used to when they were poor, and the haggard look of a person hunting for food that couldn’t be found was all too familiar. She suspected that was one of the reasons Feyre was so impassioned now about the restoration and upkeep here because Feyre rightfully believed that no child should have to experience what they did.

25 years ago on this day, the orphanage opened its doors for the first time to anyone who wanted to stay. At first not much happened, but eventually people started to trickle in. Lesser fae with skin all hues of the rainbow, Illyrian children with scars so horrific it made Elain want to cry, even a few high fae, and though nothing looked physically wrong with them, Elain knew deep in her heart they had seen more than anyone should ever have to.

And that was how it was, 25 years later. Anyone and everyone was welcome to stay for as long as they wanted-whether just for food or to move in until they found a way to support themselves. It was the pride and joy of Elain’s life, running this place. She’d dreamed of having a big family ever since she was a little girl, and now, finally, it had come true.

As Elain turned around, arms full with the baskets of laundry, she ran right into a solid wall covered in leather.

“Hello to you too, darling,” came the soft, melodious voice she loved so much.

“Az!” she squealed in glee, abandoning the basket on the floor in favour of jumping into her husband’s arms. He swept her up in a kiss, hugging her close.

“Happy anniversary, love. I can’t believe it’s been 50 years,” said Elain breathlessly.

“It’s been the best 50 years of my life. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I thank the Mother and the Cauldron and whatever else is up there that I get to spend the rest of my life with you,” he told her. Even after all this time, Elain’s heart still fluttered like it was their first time whenever he said that he loved her.

Their moment was interrupted by a soft babbling noise down below, and Elain felt a tiny hand tugging on the hem of her dress. There on the ground was Aurelia, having toddled her way in to find them. Her tiny wings beat uselessly behind her, which never failed to amuse any of her family.

Rhys had told her that Illyrians usually began to fly at around age 5, but until then her wings wouldn’t do much than make her more prone to accidents.

Az’s shadows swirled down to meet his daughter as they always did, and she squealed in delight while trying to grab them.

A soft smile flitted on the shadowsinger’s face watching his baby play with his shadows, and Elain thought back to the first time he held Emeline.

She remembered how excited he’d been when she’d told him she was pregnant, but also terrified at the prospect of being a father. He worried constantly that he would frighten or harm the child accidentally, no matter how many times Elain reassured him that that would never happen.

It had never really sunk in, though, until the first time he held Emeline in his arms, and his shadows had come out curiously to investigate. Emeline had been born blind, and so watching as she giggled with the tickling sensation of shadows swirling around her seemed to finally have persuaded Azriel that he would not be like his father, and that he would love and care for his children no matter what.

Azriel scooped Aurelia into his arms, and the three of them left for the dining room. They looked out at their big, happy family, and standing there, with her husband and her children, Elain had never felt more at home.

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