#also i had no reference for any of these. i couldn't find any. pray for me lol i hope they look okay

[hell0mega]

"but it's pretty!"

trying something new after hearing what his crush's fave color was

maybe it's working too well (bonus under the cut 👀):

[mauesartetc]

Redesigning Helluva Beelzebub

Hoo boy, roll up the sleeves for this one.

The Original

In my review of Helluva Boss 108, I mentioned that Beelzebub's character design put me in mind of how some DeviantArt kid's fursona might look. And... Yeah I stand by that statement. The most likely reason I can figure Viv Medrano wanted her to be dog-like was to make a reference to her Die Young music video, which featured an anthro wolf singing a Kesha song (for context, Kesha herself voiced Beelzebub and co-wrote a song for this episode).

But for those who are unaware, Beelzebub's traditional depiction looks nothing like this.

Really the only visual similarities the Helluva version shares with the Infernal Dictionary version are the insect wings, six limbs, and the crown thingy over the head. (At least I think that's a crown-? Kinda hard to tell on both counts.)

Bee's eyes get somewhat more insectoid later in the episode, but that feels like a cop-out. Wow, her eyes and colors changed. Totally a bug demon, right?

They had the same problem in Hazbin Hotel with Katie Killjoy, who's allegedly supposed to be a praying mantis but barely resembles one, even after her transformation.

I understand the desire for fresh takes on old figures, and taking creative liberties so the new interpretation doesn't feel generic. But the changes should at least make sense. By now it's pretty clear Viv couldn't care less about representing Ars Goetia demons faithfully, as demonstrated with Paimon, Andrealphus, and now Beelzebub. You could slap completely different names on these characters and it wouldn't change a thing. I posted this meme a while back but it's never been more relevant:

On top of that, what reason could there possibly be for the design to be this damn complex? Why did she need so many markings on her face? Why did she need so many layers of hair? Why did she need flowing goo for her hair, tail, and body, each requiring dedicated effects animation?

When it comes to a hand-drawn production, less is more. Any superfluous details on a character just make unnecessary work for the animators.

Anyway, here's what Viv has to say about it.

Alright, I'll admit: The lava lamp bit is a little clever. Basically it works as a regular stomach does, but on demonic steroids. But it wouldn't look so much like Viv's making this up as she goes if we'd seen Bee's stomach performing its intended function in the episode. Let her chow down on a giant piece of food (maybe that cotton candy she's been handing out-?) and swallow it, and let Loona (and the audience) see it dissolving in her transparent belly. As a general rule, if it's not shown or explained in the work itself, it's not canon. Like I've said before, Viv: Elaborate on the nuances in the story you're telling, not on social media.

Also, "Her ears are designed after beehives"? Wh...Wha? Ma'am have you ever seen a beehive.

(Hell, even if you told me the ears were inspired by the generic cartoon beehive we're all familiar with, I wouldn't have guessed. There's a difference between being subtle and being vague.)

I can kinda see it in the overall shape, but that's a very specific design inspiration that wasn't clear at all in the design itself. Same with the "animal trainer" thing: I never would have picked up on that if Viv hadn't pointed it out. If a character design doesn't visually convey all the necessary information, it's not a successful design. Show, don't tell. There's a communication breakdown between what Viv's telling us and what Bee's design shows us.

(It's possible she actually meant "Her ears are designed after honeycombs", but even then, each compartment has a specific pentagonal shape that's not coming across at all here.)

I also find it interesting that Bee and Loona have almost the exact same body type. Of course Viv's pretty infamous for samebody syndrome, but it's actually unnerving how similar these two are.

Might this be a reference to Vortex's "type"? Is this foreshadowing a relationship with Loona? Am I overthinking this? Yeah, probably. Viv's demonstrated a clear preference for tall, skinny body types over the years, so it's safer to assume that's the explanation. It's all aesthetics. It ain't that deep. Occam's Razor and all that.

Finally, Bee how the hell does your shirt work.

The Concept

So at this point it seems most logical to lean into the "bee" thing for the redesign, and scrap all the canine elements. As for the blobby hair and tail... yeeeah let's nix those too. We're going for a streamlined version that's easier to animate. And because I ignored the ringmaster look for my redesign of Asmodeus, it only makes sense to do the same for Bee's animal trainer vibe (what little there is) for the sake of consistency. I know this version of Hell has a circus theme with its highest-ranking demons, but there's never been an in-universe explanation for why that is.

Let's look at actual bees, then. A quick peek at Google has informed me that certain insect species have smaller, "simple" eyes (also known as ocelli), in addition to their compound eyes. In bees, this manifests as a triangular grouping of three beady eyes on top of the head.

In her Helluva Boss episode, Bee's full demon form has three eyes, which could be a reference to this triangular arrangement, plus her regular form has two spots on her forehead in addition to the third eye. So it's possible Viv actually did research for something. Pleasantly surprised on that front.

Next, the body. I've noticed that some folks find Bee's skinny body type refreshing, as the sin of gluttony is too often personified with fatness. And that's fair. That's valid. But consider this:

Imagine any Vivziepop character saying that about a chubby person. Imagine the series sending the message that fat people can be sexy too, and that they have worth outside of their appearance, enough for at least one character to consider them girlfriend material. That they're valued and appreciated regardless of this culture's beauty standards (which we know nothing about since the worldbuilding is as thin and flimsy as tissue paper, but whatever). Imagine if this show finally had a fat female character who wasn't relegated to the background. Don't know about y'all, but that would be refreshing to me. And when you take into account all the fat-shaming of a character who isn't even fat, portraying a fat character as attractive would be a nice change of pace for this show.

Now let's talk about clothing. In the episode, Bee's clothes show off a lot of her body, with a cutout crop top and short shorts. We can take a similar approach for the redesign (something that still shows off her chest, belly, and limbs, in keeping with the extroverted "party girl" persona), but that perhaps includes more queenly elements.

The Redesign

Because this is a redesign, many elements were already in place, but I still had to figure out how this character would look as a bee. Here's where the preliminary sketches came in. Lots of trial and error in this process.

Wrestling with this character's face got a lot easier once I realized I could mold it into a pentagonal shape akin to a honeycomb compartment. It took a few tries, but at last, I had a final sketch.

All that was left to do was test out some color combinations.

I tried a few different approaches, but in the end, this is the version I felt worked best.

I used many of the colors from the original, but pushed the orange much harder since orange is the symbolic color of gluttony as a sin. And overall it gives Bee a nice honey-ish look rather than the generic black and yellow we already see on so many bees in cartoons. I thought the colored outlines on her clothing would add a soft, feminine touch, as well.

And just for kicks, here's a quick sketch of her giant form, inspired by the Infernal Dictionary drawing of Beelzebub.

Conclusion

The canon version of this character exists in the form she does for no reason than to stroke her creator's ego. "Hey guys, remember when I animated that Kesha fan video? Remember how cool that was? Wanna see me foist this unnecessarily-complex character design on other animators while I take a victory lap?" I wouldn't mind so much if Viv animated any of this herself, but she didn't. I could almost excuse this if she had no animation experience and didn't know how much work it requires, but she does. The self-aggrandizing entitlement is just off the charts. But a nonsensical design is leagues better than a stolen one, so... brownie points for that, I guess.

[bellamybellamyblake]

Violet Eyes, Red

Pairing:

rhysand x reader (pretty sure it's gender neutral - there might be a "she" i missed while referring to you from the original draft bc second person pov is not how i write)

Summary:

you and your mate reunite after feyre defeats amarantha and this is the fallout of what the bitch did to him.

Warnings:

aftermath of SA - i can't really tell if it's graphic which tells me it is, loose description of a panic attack, PTSD, please let me know if I missed anything. guys, please, if these topics are triggering for you, don't read this fic. i am not responsible for your media consumption, but i also don't want to throw you headfirst into your trauma.

Word Count:

2,140

A/N:

literally broke my own damn heart with this one. rhys' trauma is so ignored and that needed to be rectified. rhys might be my second favorite bat boy, but he's still a lil baby who needs to be protected

The human girl had beaten her - the woman of his nightmares - once and for all. At the first moment he could, Rhysand winnowed. After fifty years, he knew there was only one place he could go. After all, it was the last Sunday of the month, and that Sunday was the day he and his mate reserved just for themselves. The High Lord and Lady would not conduct any business on that day.

You'd spend most of your day on the balcony. You'd serenade him with the piano. You'd fly around Velaris - creating patterns in the air. You'd cradle each other in your arms. He'd sketch out a new drawing - trying and failing, in his opinion, to encapsulate your true beauty.

One day, he broke that promise, that vow you had made, and went to what he thought was a simple trade meeting. That morning was the last day he saw you, and he still couldn't live with himself.

Those memories alone kept him breathing at times. When Amarantha stole his bed, his body, his hope.

Then the human girl showed up, and he tried to help her. Wanted to give her what she needed to beat the beast he didn't think he'd ever escape. But he had lost the will to pray for it. To the cauldron, to the Mother Above. Despite his pessimism, she persevered. The girl had won. And then he was free.

He was on the balcony before he could even think about it. After a quick glance around, he realized it was empty. At first, he felt a pulse of disappointment, but with the realization of how long it'd been, he breathed deeply. How could he expect you to keep up the tradition? Fifty years of solitude on those Sundays would have made him mad if your roles were reversed.

At the thought, he allowed himself to feel the mating bond. It had gone cold the moment he winnowed away all those years ago, but now it was as beautiful as he remembered. The pull of another person at the end of a tether, forever binding them in the purest forms of fate.

But he heard your thoughts, and he almost broke down in sobs at the sound of your voice in his head. Please come home, my love. I don't know how to do this anymore. Please. The last word, you were begging. Your inner voice, the one he had to get used to living without, was broken. Pleading for him to return - despite everything you'd probably heard.

And with that, he took action, winnowing to every room in the house so he would find you as soon as possible. He knew you were close; your scent wasn't stale. It was fresh, clinging to every piece of furniture you owned together.

It was the last room he checked, his office, where he found you. You sat in his desk chair; the leather more worn than he remembered. But the sight of you stopped him from rushing to you. Nursing a bottle of wine, you slouched on your elbows, hands in your hair, as more thoughts streamed through the bond.

I'm losing myself, Rhys. I don't know how much more of this I can take. I can't let myself believe you won't come back because that- that will ruin me. What she's doing to you, what she's making you do. I don't even know a fraction of it, but I can't stop it. I- I can't protect you. And I hate myself for it. 

He was watching you as you sent the words down the bond, the bond that had been desolate for half a century. You run your hands down your face, not looking up from your wine, the third of many you planned to drown in.

Just get through it. Please just- just survive. Do what you have to do to come home. I'll be here. I love you. My mate.

You'd only allowed yourself to talk to him once a month. Initially, you would try to send him something every day. Thoughts, images, songs you'd learned, prayers for him. You never heard anything back, and it slowly started eating away at you. It shattered your hope every time you didn't get a response.

You'd heard the rumors, Amarantha's whore, he'd been called. Every time you heard it, it ate away at you more and more. As if he would choose that - choose to warm the bed of another when you were waiting for him at home. You knew him better than that, and you winced at the thought. He wouldn't choose it, but would she force him? Was she that much of a monster? 

You had to shake that thought away for the thousandth time that night, downing the rest of the glass. As you reach for the bottle, nearly empty at that point, a hand wraps around your wrist. The touch is gentle but firm - stopping you from drinking more, but not rough enough to hurt. Instead of startling at it, the wine slows your instincts. You can only stare. The tattoos on the dorsal side interweave into vines under the sleeve. Vines you know, vines that you've held, vines that have and will continue to have free rein of your body.

Faster than you thought you were capable of, your eyes flew to its owner's eyes. Violet. The most ravishing violet. Violet you'd feared you were forgetting.

With a new urgency, you pulled yourself to your feet, your hands flying up to his face without thinking. One on his cheek, the other on his neck, pushing, pulling, grabbing, unsure if it was your mind playing tricks on you.

In your desperate touch, you missed the way he flinched.

His hands. Mother Above, his beautiful hands were on your neck too, placed at the sides. When your mind would play you for a fool, it would never let you touch him, let alone allow him to reach you. But there he was, and you could feel him. You tugged at the bond, finally noticing it was warm and delicate and sweet and serene and everything you wished you knew how to describe. 

He breathed your name, barely a whisper. "I'm home, my darling. I'm home."

"You're here." The words barely escaped you, and you couldn't stop the tears. He didn't hesitate a moment, pulling you in for a frustratingly rare and fierce embrace. You clung to each other for dear life, tighter and tighter and tighter, like he'd disappear if you let him go. Frankly, you weren't convinced he wouldn't. "You're really here."

You stood like that for a while, holding each other, when he ultimately pulled away first. "Rh-Rhys, don't go-"

"I'm not," he promised, his voice raw, kissing your forehead. He took in every inch of your face. "I just wanted to look at you. My mate."

Since Rhys had been freed by the human girl, nothing had been normal. Not that you expected it to be, but you didn't anticipate just how awful a recovery for him would be. He couldn't share your bed, and you didn't mean that in a sexual manner. He couldn't sleep with anyone else in his room - if he had even been sleeping at all. He could barely stand to be touched. You knew he wanted to be able to let you, but every time you seemed to blink, he would flinch.

You had suspicions about what went on under the mountain, but you had no idea it would be so evil.

He stood before a cabinet, staring blankly into it, lost in a memory - a memory he'd been refusing to share. You understood why, but something in you told you that you needed to see. Not just for curiosity's sake but to know how to help him. Even if it was past your pay grade.

"Rhys," You called quietly for the second time. You didn't want to touch him, shock him back to reality. The fear of that setting him off more held you back. With a harsh and sudden breath, he fearfully glanced at you and around the room, forgetting where he was for a moment. "You're at home, Rhys. You came home."

"I'm sorry," He rasped, ignoring your words. His hands pulled at his hair, and you were nervous he'd start ripping it out. He backed away from you, so far away he was caught by the wall. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Your own formed at the sight of his tears, but you couldn't conjure up what he'd have to apologize for. "It's okay, honey, you're safe. It's okay."

"I didn't- I didn't want it. I swear on my life, I didn't want to."

You shook your head, not understanding. But you knew asking what he was apologizing for was the wrong thing to do. You could see it, the shame, the regret, the blame. "I know you didn't."

He squeezed his eyes shut, buried his face in his hands, and sank to the floor. He kept murmuring apologies, pleading for your forgiveness. "I betrayed you, you have to- you have to leave me."

His words shocked you, and now you were the one that flinched. "Rhysand, look at me." He visibly shrunk at the command, pulling his hands away from his face. "As far as I'm concerned, anything that happened...there...is the furthest thing from your fault. I know there are things you can't tell me, and that's okay. I'll be here when you're ready-"

"I can't!" He bellowed. "You'll never forgive-"

"Show me the memory." You demanded, your voice quiet but assertive. But you wouldn't push too hard if he was adamant about keeping you out. You knew. You knew. Based on the way he had been acting, what had happened. But you also knew he needed to show you. So someone, fucking someone, would tell him it was out of his control. He couldn't govern everything, even if he was the High Lord of the Night Court. The words hurt as they left your lips. "Because I can promise you that I will."

You weren't a daemati, but you could see him battling with himself. Debating, if showing you what really happened, would bury him deeper under the surface or pull him back up for air.

Eventually, he released a rare sob and a barely audible "Okay."

He showed you the first time, how he just laid there like a statue as her hands took everything for herself. Then, the fifth time, when she started demanding he respond, pretend he wanted it. Then, the eleventh time, when his body started reacting. Then, by the next time, he had stopped keeping count.

He showed you, whether he meant to or not, how he prayed for it to end, prayed for someone to rescue him.

How he had been praying for you.

With the confirmation of your theory, you squeezed your eyes shut, trying and failing to hold back the tears. The angry tears, wishing you could've been the one to rip her throat out. Tears that enraged you because that was not Tamlin's kill. Furious tears because that wasn't even your kill. Devastating tears because your mate not only had to play a character for so long, but he had to endure being called her whore. Like he had any fucking say. 

Overwhelming tears because your mate was in pain and there was shit all you could do about it.

"Can I touch you?" The question shocks him, but he nods without thinking, confused at the request. You slowly lift your hands to his cheeks, brushing away his tears with your thumbs. "There is nothing for me to forgive you for. I know you didn't want to do any of it."

"But I-"

"Bodies respond to stimulation whether it's wanted or not. It's how we work." You explained slowly and carefully, keeping direct eye contact. "You forget, sweetheart. I can hear your thoughts when you show me a memory."

"I've-" His voice caught, putting his hands on your wrists, rubbing them up and down your arms until they got hot. "I've been so scared. That it's still happening. That all of this is going to go away, that she's not really gone, that I'm not really here, and this is just another tactic-"

You shake your head, finally pulling yourself together to say what you've wanted to say for weeks. "I swear on my life that I will never let anyone hurt you like that again. I will spend eternity protecting you from her and anyone like her. And if you forget that this is real, just ask me. I'll tell you."

His eyes darted between yours, furiously blinking. Violet eyes, red. Pleading craving begging praying.

"Is it?"

[chososdiscordkitten]

Obsessive!Choso♡ pt 11

pt 10 here

Content: direct cont of last chap, reader wears heels, implied reader has boobies O-O, soooo much hand holding it should be considered lewd, 2 pics to help see what I picture (underlined text), date hehe, reader wouldn't mind if Choso kidnapped them 0-0, they play battle ship, jokingly implied Choso is an escort(?), reader is kinda mean, reassurance, idk just my usual bs??? just reader nd Choso being cute man what else can I say. Word Count: 11.9k (wtf, im sorry)

(a.n) this was so long, I know, pls excuse any mistakes- I underestimated how hard it was to edit something longer than 5k words. ALSO???? take this as a celebration of me hitting 1k followers!! yayyy

Taglist: @eristi @sunaumi @ex-ria @just-pure-trash @kha-0s @iluvreinah @iamboredowo @integers @waytootiredforthisss @1arminsimp @hannas16 @chosowhore @tojicvmslut @ofalcaodacolinablue @thesharkcollector @mochipip @hotvillianapologist @ziklope @saeline @morinuu @b3llair3 @24hrnanami

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

After you left his apartment, Choso’s mind blared with the possibility of you being kidnapped- only to find solace in the small red dot blinking on his phone. Cautious eyes watching as he expected it to move- but no. It stayed still at a restaurant right outside of campus. Choso wanted to desperately leave behind those incessant urges to follow you- to make sure you were safe. 

Knowing that his day of reckoning would come. Choso knew that if he kept following you- the day would come when you’d see him. And he wanted to trust you now that things were starting to advance. 

There was nothing he wanted more than to trust you, to trust that you could take care of yourself- 

But everytime he’d try to ignore the blaring ‘warning’ signs in his mind. He’d remember every time he watched you walk home without caution, every horror story he read of people getting kidnapped and trafficked- and on the occasions where Choso couldn't shake off the invading thoughts, your voice would haunt his mind.

Overwhelming his brain as he tried to focus on what you were saying- your whispering voice making his brain pound in his skull as he watched that blinking dot.

Choso had to call you- if he couldn't run out of his apartment and find you- the least he could do was call you. Feeling like one of your clingy ‘friends’ as the phone rang, his pointer finger picking at the side of his thumb as he closed his eyes. All but praying for you to answer, opening his eyes as he heard the receiver being picked up, 

“I was just thinking about you-” he spoke, hearing your angelic laugh ring through his ears. ‘I left like 20 minutes ago.’ you teased, “I know-” he mumbled “What're you doing?” he continued, not in the mood to dance around what he wanted to hear, ‘uh- I'm at..lunch with a friend.’ you hesitated. –

‘What're you doing, Choso?’ you asked, confused as to where this was going. Choso let out a half laugh from his chest. “M’sitting in the dark thinking about you.” he professed, pressing his hand to his forehead and hearing you laugh at the serious tone he took. ‘Sounds healthy.’ you joked back with a playful tone, closing his eyes and thinking. Your tone was kind- speaking sweetly as you normally did. But. You hesitated.

The same way you hesitate whenever you refer to him as your friend. 

“M’sorry. I just wanted to hear your voice.” he sniffled, “Tell your friend I say hi.” hearing your smile when you replied a quick ‘Okay.’ at his request. 

⋆ ⁺  .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .  ₊˚ ⊹⋆ ⁺  .⋆

The conversation of the date was a rough one. Sitting in his apartment as you played chess. The timing was horrible- sure. The econd week of February left an unavoidable holiday sitting in front of you. “We can wait...till after if you want.” he offered a solution as he moved a pawn. 

“It's not so much the day for me.” you admitted, scanning the wooden chest pieces on your side of the checkerboard. “If you want- we can wait till after.” rephrasing his words as you watched his eyebrows furrow, “S’the same for me.” mentally chanting ‘pleasepleasepleaseplease’ as you pondered. 

And with those words- the date was set for Valentines day. Which made Choso believe there really was a god from how well this turned out. And you're thinking of moving out from that house full of idiots- and into the small apartment complex as his neighbor.

For the first time in Choso’s life he felt like life dealt him a good hand.

When it came to actually thinking about what to do- he didn't want to ask you. Knowing you were indecisive on what you were eating for lunch that day- so he didn't want to plague you with planning a date he owed you. Checking his bank account and barely seeing enough for a stack of pancakes in the town diner. 

Choso contemplated it. He thought about it over and over again, weighing the pros and cons in his mind before going into his closet and reaching into a pair of boots that were 3 sizes too small for him. Finding the thinning wad of cash he was looking for. The so-called ‘rainy day fund’ thinned every time he ran out of money for the month.

But this was worth it, you, were worth it. So he pulled the rubber band from the roll of cash, slowly counting the bills in his hands to be sure he didn't miss count. 

⋆ ⁺  .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .  ₊˚ ⊹⋆ ⁺  .⋆

The next time you saw Choso you asked him what his plan was- “Just be ready by 7.” he smiled to himself, already picturing you on that day. 

Furrowing your eyebrows before speaking, “Well-” you scoffed “what are we doing?”

“It's a surprise.” he grinned, looking down at the stupid game you called ‘Candy Land’ 

You sighed dramatically, “Choso, I hate surprises.” as you stared at the little pieces of plastic on the colorful board. “Atleast tell me what to wear.” you insisted, seeing his lips flash a pearly smile to you. 

“Wear whatever you want- I’m sure you’ll look great.” he scoffed, holding the little piece of plastic between his fingers, making it hop as he counted the squares. 

“Well if you're taking me to a nice restaurant and I'm wearing a t-shirt nd jeans- not gonna be very fun. Or if you're taking me to a horse race-” Choso laughed at your assumptions, “And I open the door in a dress and heels? Then what?” you threw the possibilities at him as he smiled at your nervousness. 

“It's a first date- I wanna make a good impression.” You mused, earning a half laugh from his chest. “C’mon-” you batted your eyelashes at him, trying to convince him to tell you what he was planning.

Nodding his head at your coercion that was working better than you thought, “You're terrible.” he whispered, making your pouting grin turn into a toothy smile. “Wear something nice-” he avoided your eyes, moving the character on the squares again as you listened carefully, “Bring a coat- weather app says it's gonna be cold.” He instructed.

“Do I eat beforehand?” you grinned, seeing his jaw clench at your question, “Hmm- No.” you smiled at how a few pleads convinced him to tell you. 

“How nice should I dress then?” pressing the issue with a winning smile on your face as you moved your plastic character, pleased at how easily he was to convince. “Atleast tell me that.” Choso looked at you and pondered the question, before nodding his head ‘no’. Knowing he's already said too much. 

You pouted playfully at his denial, “Just a hint- just oneee.” seeing his eyes look over your face, “I’ll even settle for one word.” he thought of a word to use, staring at you as he skimmed through words in his mind. 

“Wear something- striking.” he squinted as he settled on the word.

With raised eyebrows you started, “Striking huh?” in a teasing tone the choice of word he used, “Must be some first date to wear something striking.” your borderline bullying caused Choso to regret his choice of telling you anything. 

⋆ ⁺  .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .  ₊˚ ⊹⋆ ⁺  .⋆

On the 13th of february, just one day before your date- Choso facetimed his baby brother Yuuji, knowing out of all 9, he was probably the best one to call about this delicate topic. 

“What about this?” he holding a black knit sweater to his chest while looking at the screen, Yuuji let out a snicker- ‘If you like it-’ his tone was snide- almost mockingly as Choso tossed the knit onto his bed, staring at the pile of clothing that he had gone through. 

Showing him a band t-shirt from one of his drawers and hearing Yuuji let out a small laugh before he tossed the t-shirt on his already messy bed. “You're no help.” 

‘M’not here to helppp-’ Yuuji droned on, “That's precisely why I called you, Yuuji.” Choso retorted in a stern tone, not enjoying the game his brother was trying to play, slipping on a black dress shirt and doing up the tiny buttons.

‘Didn't you wear that to your graduation?’ he heard from the phone with a half laugh forming in his brother's words. “Can you tell?” straightening his back and seeing the fabric flex against his chest and shoulders, ‘Looks a lil tight buddy.’ Yuuji held back a laugh, being able to see the buttons strain and form small openings down his chest.

With an exasperated sigh he looked back to the mess on his bed, “I don't know what to wear.”

‘The dark navy button down you wore to parent teacher conferences and black slacks.’ Yuuji spat quickly, ‘Hey when am I gonna meet this person?’ Smiling as he changed the topic, “When you stop being so nosy.” Choso muttered, looting through his closet and finding the button up Yuuji was talking about. 

Unbuttoning the taut buttons and slipping off the small shirt. Tossing it onto the pile of discarded options before slipping on the better fitting dress shirt, doing up the small buttons and looking in the mirror, ‘I'm not nosy-’ Yuuji laughed, ‘Excuse me for trying to find out who’s involved in my big brothers life-’ enunciating the words. Attempting to make Choso feel bad for scolding him. 

“If you ever come out here- I'll introduce them to you.” he looked at the top two buttons that were undone, trying to decide whether or not to do them.

‘I'm on the next flight out.’ Yuuji quipped, making Choso scoff.

 “No Yuuji. Go to school.” Choso demanded, knowing he was skipping more than a handful of classes. ‘One day I’ll fly out there and you won't be able to say no to me till I’m standin’ at your door.’ Yuuji threatened, Choso offered only a sarcastic ‘haha’ in response.

‘How you got a date before I got a girlfriend is still insane to me.’  he pressed, “Why’s that Yuuji?” rolling up the sleeves of the dress shirt as he looked in the mirror. 

Yuuji laughed- knowing just what to do to annoy his older brother, ‘Cause you're so… weird.’ Yuuji struggled to say the words through a bully-like smile, “For your information- brother of the year,” Choso snapped playfully, which surprised Yuuji since Choso was never the type to banter- not because he didn't want to. But his quips would always come out in stutters, never being able to come up with smart replies fast enough. 

Choso smiled as he recalled your slurred words,“They like that I'm ‘strange’.” Yuuji chirped from the phone, ‘They tell you that?’ with a sarcastic tone. 

Looking at Yuuji with a cocky smile, “They did.” earning for his baby brother to raise his eyebrows in feigned shock, ‘The world is so backwards.’ he scoffed before asking more questions about you. 

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Choso wanted to make tonight special, he wanted to make this the last first date you ever went on. 

So as he looked at himself in the mirror, putting on his many rings and muttering words of encouragement to himself, hands shaking as he rolled up the sleeves of his dark navy blue dress shirt. Trying not to nitpick any detail that he didn't like about the reflection staring back at him- whispering that even if he was ‘strange and off putting’ you still liked him. 

Side eyeing the clear bowl shaped vase that held three white lilies, Choso felt nerves eating away at him as his eyes flashed down to his phone that lit up with a message from you. 

‘lmk when ur outside :)’ your message read. If only you knew Choso’s stomach was in knots. A specific kind of anxiety he had never felt before, it almost felt like how your stomach churned while in line for a scary rollercoaster for the first time. 

He quickly typed, ‘im omw now’ with trembling thumbs.

So as he put on the torn up carhartt jacket he relied on whenever it was cold, he straightened his back as he held the clear vase in his hand- Choso hesitated to turn the doorknob of his apartment. Thinking on if this was a good idea- a million doubts racing in his mind. 

But he only needed one thought to pull him from his doubts. All he needed was to remember you to open the door. 

The walk across the lively campus full of people carrying bouquets of red roses and overcompensating stuffed animals made him think that maybe the three lilies were not enough- Till the realization that he was actually taking you out on Valentine's day hit, which only made him even more nervous, the pondering thoughts of ‘am I making a fool of myself?’ making him overheat in the heavy jacket. Choso must've taken it off and put it back on 2 or 3 times before he reached your neighborhood. 

Standing on your rundown porch, thinking about ringing the doorbell. Those doubts daring to creep back into his mind, but his hesitant finger pressed the button anyway. Holding the bowl in both hands as he heard muffled shouts through the heavy wood door. He watched the brass handle turn before the door cracked open- his eyes being granted the honor of seeing you. 

‘Breathtaking’ was the word his mind formulated once he felt air fill his lungs again. 

Choso swore that every single time he looked at you, it felt like the first time. But this time- this, took the cake. This would be the mental image he’d remember every time he thought of you. The nerves and unease he felt in his chest melted away when he saw the warmth of your smile.

His eyes blinked quickly- almost in disbelief as he looked at you, so love drunk it hurt his chest a little. 

And you, bent to the side and fiddling with the tiny buckle of your heel. To Choso it felt like you came straight out of his teenage dreams as you looked at him.

Smiling as you uttered the word that was stuck in his throat, with a hurried smile you spoke, “Heyy-” before placing your foot back onto the ground as you stepped back with a quiet gasp, looking at the bowl in his hands. “Come in!” you urged sweetly, seeing his eyes scan your frame, darting to your living room that was full of your gawking roommates and their friends. ‘An anti-valentines day movie night’ you called it.

“Thought I told you to tell me you were outside-” you grinned, standing at the entryway of the house. ‘God, you are haunting.’ You looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to reply. Unknowing your roommates were ignoring the movie on the living room tv. Furrowing your eyebrows as you looked at the round vase in his hands.

“T-these are for you.” He muttered, his heart racing at an abominable speed by seeing you grin kindly before your smile fell.

It turned into a grimace, “I have something for you too-” looking back up at the stairs you practically fell down when the doorbell rang. Turning back around to face him. Taking the bowl from his extended hands with a prolonged touch, “They're lovely. Thank you.” you smiled, “Stay right here- I'll be right back.” You hushed, turning around and dashing up the stairs. 

Choso stood at the doorway, almost mournful knowing the sight of you that greeted him would only exist in his memory now. Fiddling with his rings as he felt the people's eyes burn through him. Unintelligible whispers from the prying gazes. Gulping as he heard your bedroom door slam shut, urging footsteps on the ground as you hurried down the stairs. Both hands held behind your back as you hid his present. 

A silly smile on your lips as you looked at him, the thin heel of your shoes clacking on the tile as you stood before him, reaching your arm around as you a box with a small bow on top. Raising his eyebrows and looking at the box holding a pair of white glass plates inside. “Plates?” he smiled defeated at the present as you tried to suppress a small laugh. 

Your shoulders moved in a silent laugh as you watched his eyes flash back up to you, “Yes. Plates.” seeing him exhale through his nose, amused at what a coincidence it was that you bought him them.

“Thank you.” He mumbled softly, already being able to picture using them.

Choso held the box in one hand, looking at you with adoring eyes, you cleared your throat, “Striking enough?” you sneered proudfully. He practically choked on air at your question. 

He took a second to look at you, trying to find the correct thing to say, “You look beautiful.” he breathed softly, words that came straight from his heart. Mentally he was shouting any word he thought of when he looked at you. Words that are not to be said on a ‘first date’, confessions of yearning love and descriptive words of how he felt about you. 

‘Captivating.’ Choso thought as he admired your features that were accentuated by the warm lighting, almost casting a glow on your skin.

You felt the warmth in your cheeks trail to the tip of your nose at the compliment. ‘Thank y-’ you mouthed silently, being interrupted by a loud over exaggerated cough coming from the living room. 

Squinting your eyes as you turned around to face the source, “When did you say you'd be home?” one of your roommates spouted from the couch.

“I didn't.” You spoke with a raised tone laced with irritation, scoffing before walking into the living room. Focused on your coat that was draped on the edge of the couch.

Their eyes looked up at you as though you owed them something, “Where's he taking you?” desperate to keep you home.

You raised your eyebrows before you spoke, “No idea.”, reaching your hands into the pockets of your coat to be sure you had what you needed. 

Picking it up from the couch before turning around and speed walking back to Choso, looking at him with an urgent look on your face. “Let's go.” you whispered as you reached for the doorknob, “It's not safe to go to an undisclosed location with a stranger-!” your roommate shouted as you stepped through the doorway. Sighing as you pulled the door behind you. 

“Sorry about that.” you breathed, inhaling the cold air as you scanned the cloudy overcast with squinted eyes and creased eyebrows.

Choso inhaled sharply before he spoke, “Was that-”

“Yes, that was my den mother.” with a scoff, Choso parted his lips in a silent wince as you slipped your coat onto your exposed shoulders. Reaching a hand down and raising your ankle halfway to tweak with the strap of your heel again.

“Lead the way.” you smiled as Choso took a step forward onto the rickety stairs. 

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“Can you tell me where you're taking me now?” You sounded almost defeated as you walked side by side on the pavement. Choso made sure that he was on the open side of the sidewalk, walking between you and the potential risk.

Quiet streets derived from people made the walk peaceful, the sunless sky causing everything to look pale blue- almost as though you stepped through a blue tinted filter.

The weather was fresh- cold enough for a coat but not freezing the way it was a few days ago. A small breeze would have made you regret your choice in what you wore- your calves and ankles exposed to the frigid air.

Looking over at him as he held the boxed plates, with a smug grin on his lips, “We have to go pick something up first.” you hummed at Choso’s denial as his rundown oxford-esque shoes stomped on the ground.

Seeing an opportunity to wear down that smugness, you looked at him with an unashamed smile. “You look beautiful too, Choso.” circling back to his compliment that was interrupted by your roommate. He looked over to you- not shocked but surprised at your choice of words, despite the gloomy weather- you looked warm in his eyes. As though the sun was shining and it was the middle of summer.

He sighed as he felt your shoulder brush against his, “I don't think I’ve ever been called that.” he admitted honestly with a flustered smile. 

You laughed, “I can call you something else-” with an enthusiastic grin, looking up into the sky as you thought of the words to use, “How about- scenic. Or uh, captivating-” watching the blush on his cheeks trail onto his exposed ear.

Choso’s teeth stuttered as he heard you- trying to silence the sudden compliment, “My name is fine.” He insisted with a nervous laugh, trying his best to ignore your gaze.

You raised your eyebrows, “Are you sure? I can keep going-”

“Ju-” he breathed, “Just Choso is fine.” he implored, his heart racing at an unimaginable speed.

You were pleased with his stutter, “Okay. ‘Just Choso’, where are you taking me?” grazing the back of your palm against his as you walked, his eyes on the ground watching the lines on the pavement come and go.

Choso sighed, “I already told you- We. Are going. To pick. Something up.” He paused between the words as though that was an answer, flinching when you bumped your knuckles into his as you strolled beside him.

“Don't take that tone with me, mister.” you teased playfully, holding your knuckles against his as you saw him perk a smile. 

“Sorry-” he grinned as he looked over at you sweetly, “We’re gonna go pick something up.” he corrected himself, smiling at the sugared words, not moving his hand from yours- if anything pressing it closer. 

With a sigh you took the initiative and interlocked your fingers with his, your cool hand icing his warm palm, “If you're gonna kidnap me- let me know. Promise I won't fight back or anything.” you joked, making Choso shiver at your accusation. 

With a grimace he hesitated the words he was about to say, “That is a terrible and equally horrifying thing to say,” he spoke your name in a reprimanding tone.

“I mean in the way that life sucks right now, and you're a pretty cool person. And you're nice, and tolerate me.” squinting your eyes at the sudden frost-like breeze puff against your bare shins.

Your circling hum on the side of his pointer finger made this conversation suddenly very difficult for him to focus on. “Just don't put me in a glass cage. That's all I ask.” You continued the unsettling topic as you squeezed his hand. 

Choso laughed at the reference, “You see,” being able to conjure the words in his mind. “I had reason to worry about you getting kidnapped.” he murmured, mentally damning you for putting that thought into his head again. 

“That's different though.” you hummed, tilting your head towards him. “Of course if it was a stranger I’d fight tooth and nail-” a playful grin on your lips, watching his eyebrows slowly pull upwards. “But, if it was you?” you continued, feeling his palm subtly start to clam against yours.  

Choso looked over at you- waiting for you to finish what you were saying. The troubled expression on his face made you smile at how easy it was to fluster him. 

Shaking away the words in your mind, the sky dimming as you clutched onto his hand, you let out a ‘tsk’ at the thought, “Now that would be something quite forward to say.” you grinned playfully.

‘Your smile hides your mischievousness a little too well- I think you're just being cruel at this point.’ he thought as he looked at your profile. A proud smile adorning your lips. 

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“A parking garage?” you asked, twitching your ankle as you watched Choso input a security code into the metal receiver.

Choso sucked his teeth with a smile, “Did you expect us to walk for the entire night?” looking down to your shoe that was clearly bothering you. 

“You have a car?” you asked as you watched the metal gate creak open. 

He winced, “Technically no-” hand in hand as he led you through the barrier of the two story garage. Walking up the sloped concrete as you looked at the dusty cars. 

“I didn't even know this place existed.” You muttered, eyeing the gray walls illuminated by old yellow lights. Swinging your connected hands softly as Choso laid eyes upon the black car cover he hoped was waiting for him. 

“Let's hope it still runs.” he joked as you let go of his hand. 

“Hold these for me won't you?” he whispered, handing you the cardboard box as you tapped your heeled foot on the ground, causing Choso to look down at your ankle once more.

Placing his hands on the front end of the cover, yanking it off as you laid eyes on the two seater maroon colored classic. Almost perfectly polished as you raised your eyebrows in shock, his hands balling up the black car cover and placing it on the hood haphazardly.

He inhaled almost painfully, “It was my father’s-” as he inserted the key into the driver's side and turned it, unlocking the doors before walking to the passenger side and opening the door with a hand held out to you.

Taking the boxed plates from your hands and placing them on the roof of the car, holding your hand as you eased into the vehicle.

Connected matte black seats meeting your eyes as you eased into the seat. Silent as he nervously tried explaining why he had the car, “H-he left it behind- and I didn’t wanna leave it to be sold.” He smiled, looking down at you as he held the frame of the door. 

“So you brought it with you?” You hummed, fiddling with your hands on your lap and looking at the interior.

“I stole it- yes.” he admitted without shame, leaning on the frame of the opened door.

Pulling off his jacket as your hands reached out to take it from him, a small ‘Thank you’ fell from his lips as you held it in your lap. His lips parted in a grin, looking at your expression as you pinched your eyebrows together. Reaching your hand down to the bothersome buckle that squeezed your ankle a little too tightly. 

Your fingers struggled to fix the issue as he watched you. Flashing your eyes up at him with an awkward giggle before you spoke, “When you rang the doorbell I accidentally pulled the-” You sighed, trying to pull the black strap from the bothersome buckle, “-the strap too tight.”

Choso smiled before mouthing an understanding ‘oh’ 

“May I?” he asked, frustration starting to seep from you and into him by just watching your aimless attempts. You eyed him, lowering himself to his knee, the other propped up as you turned your body to face him. 

Suddenly all too aware of the veins on the tops of his hands, the light arm hair on his outer forearms that were exposed from his rolled up sleeves. 

His calloused hand held open awaiting you to lift your dangling foot to his palm. Without a word, you lifted your ankle. Choso delicately placed his hand onto the back of your calf, your cold skin warming in his palm as he guided the back of the heel to rest atop his bent knee. Trailing his fingertips mindlessly on your skin as he gently unbuckled the silver rivet of the shoe. 

Feeling the instant relief as he slid the buckle into a neighboring notch. A warm blush forming on your cheeks as you watch his painted hands trail gentle touches on your skin.

“There?” he mumbled, looking up at you as his thumb settled on the protruding bone of your ankle. Only offering a blushed ‘Mhm’ from your dry throat as he laced the rest of the tiny strap beneath the metal. Your hand was clutched on the edge of the seat- if your grip tightened any more you’d scratch the pristine leather.

Choso gently placed his palm back onto your calf, easing your leg back down gently before he stood up again. “Now for the moment of truth.” he winced, taking a step back and leaving you with your feet on the ground.

You inhaled sharply as his hand rested on the door again, waiting for you to sit correctly. You turned your body back to face the windshield, he closed the door for you- reaching his hand on the roof of the car for the plates before walking to the drivers side.

With how easy it was to fluster him or make him nervous, you were unsure why out of the two of you- you were the one who was on the verge of hyperventilating from the innocent act of kindness. In your mind an obstacle presented itself; how you were expected to keep your composure for the rest of the evening. 

Your hand dared to tremble as you placed his heavy jacket on the center of the benched seat. Some kind of desperate attempt at a wall to keep you from acting on your self-indulgent thoughts. 

Hearing a small thud as he placed the plates on the roof again. The driver's door opened smoothly, Choso eased into the seat as he placed his hand on the wheel with the keys in hand, leaving his door open with one foot on the ground.

Choso cleared his throat as he turned the ignition, raising his eyebrows in hopes the car would turn on. A wave of relief washed over him when he heard the loud roar come from the muffler. Quiet music playing from the staticky radio breaking the silence.

He stepped out of the car once more, walking to the hood to grab the car cover he carelessly folded. Your eyes followed him as he slid the pair of plates from the roof and walked to the back of the car, your shoulders tense while trying to breathe. 

Flinching when you heard the trunk pound shut, clearing your throat when you saw him walk back to the opened door. 

He settled into the driver's seat once more, mindlessly picking up your attempt at a wall and placing his jacket onto the ledge of the rearview window, leaving nothing but air to keep you separate from him. 

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The drive was silent, the quiet radio music easing the tension in the air only you felt. Hands in your lap as you fiddled with your thumbs, Choso was unaware of your tense shoulders till he stopped at a red light. 

Looking over at you- your head locked forward and sitting very, very far away. The look on your face though, furrowed eyebrows and unblinking eyes, lips pressed tightly together as though you were in deep thought- that's what made him realize something was wrong. 

Replaying the last 10 minutes- not recalling a single snide comment or any attempts at flirting since he started driving.

He murmured your name- trying to pull you out of the thoughts that were whirling in your mind at that moment. Blinking your eyes and turning your head slightly, looking at Choso’s face that was illuminated by the red light. “Something wrong?”

You nodded your head ‘no’ intertwining your hands harshly together. Choso looked down to your latched hands, then back up to you with a perked brow- He didn't need to speak, you knew what he was asking with the look on his face. 

You inhaled, trying to find something clever to say- “M’trying to keep my hands to myself.” you murmured, looking out of the window, gathering he was driving into the neighboring city as your knees pointed to the door along with your head.

‘...hands to yourself..?’ Choso mentally repeated your words, not knowing why you had to try to, when you were never shy about it before.

Air caught in your throat at the realization you said that louder than you were expecting, “In a- a non creepy way.” you reiterated, scrunching your eyes together at the stutter in your words. 

Mentally you were cursing the stupid old traffic light that refused to turn green, even with the lack of cars around- it still beamed red. “Did I do something?” he asked, worried he offended you in some way. 

You sighed, “Yes-”, refusing to look at him, “Yes, you did something.” you muttered as you looked into the glass, staring at him through the reflection. 

“I’m sorry- I didn't mean to-” he started apologizing unknowing what he did- but it still felt like he had to. 

You let out a laugh that rang through his ears in the sound of a hymn, “You don't even know what you did.” corners of your lips twitching upwards, turning your knees over to him as he looked forward at the now green light- accelerating slowly as you scanned his side profile. 

“Must've been something worth an apology if you- of all people are keeping your hands to yourself.” he joked slyly. Only he meant to think those words- not actually say them to you.

You squinted your eyes at his banter, “Oh haha-” you grinned sarcastically, planting your hand onto the seat, “I'll make sure to keep ‘em to myself from now on if you feel that way.” You played, feeling your confidence soak back into your words. 

Choso turned his head slightly over to you, low eyes knowing you wouldn't be able to keep that declaration, dropping his hand from the bottom of the wheel as the other held onto the side of it, placing it on the black leather to tempt you. Suddenly the distance you set between you too was too evident- too far, his eyes were forward- watching the road. 

You gulped, scanning the top of his veiny hand, slowly you shifted closer to him.

Now close enough that he could sense you, “Choso?” you whispered, earning for a small hum to leave his throat, a childish smile on your lips “Can I hold your hand?” you spoke in a whisper- Choso furrowed his eyebrows at the question.

A gentle grin on his lips, “You don't need to ask me.” he whispered back, looking forward as he heard alarms and bells ring in his head from excitement. 

So as you scooched closer to Choso, he held his hand out for you. His heart couldn't help but beat at an alarming pace, so close your thigh was pressed against his. Your knees pointed in his direction as he felt his palm threaten to sweat. 

You slumped the tiniest bit into the matte seat, looking up at him as you gently took his hand into yours, interlocking your fingers with his as your other hand caged the back of his palm. 

Both of your hands overwhelmed his tender one, smiling as you leaned the side of your head onto his bicep. Resting your joined hands on the seam where his thigh ended and yours began.

“I've always liked your hands.” you mumbled, caressing your thumbs on his skin as he drove- he was grateful the sky was darkening. Cause he was so sure the blush he was sporting on his cheeks was starting to roam down his chest.

Choso’s breathing hitched- catching in his throat, “My h-hands?” feeling his heart pound in his chest. And for the foot that wasn't on the gas to start bouncing nervously. 

You giggled, “Yeah, your hands.” you hummed, unaware of the state you were pushing him to. “They're so pretty.” you complimented him with a tone only heard in his frantic dreams.

And as you scanned his jeweled hand engulfed by your own- the veins that trailed up his forearm beneath his pale skin proudly, you smiled as you pressed your thumb down onto a blood filled ridge on the top of his hand. Stopping the blood flow from the prominent vein. 

His mind was whirring in his skull- had you said anything else he would've had to pull over to catch his breath. 

But you didn't, no you only traced mindless doodles on his skin softly. ‘This has to be some kind of attempt on my life.’ his brain managed as the scent of your perfume infiltrated his nose.

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Though he was eternally grateful to be so- (some would say too close) to you, he felt his lungs able to breathe with a set pace once he found a parking spot in front of the building he was looking for. Streets full of couples as the moon started arising. Choso exhaled expectantly, switching the ignition off and feeling your grasp on his hand loosen.

“We’re here.” he practically choked out. You furrowed your eyebrows and looked onto the street, watching the people walking past the lit up glass doors. 

“What's here?” you grinned, straightening your back and looking at Choso, you were so very close to his face. The light on the roof of the car made it very obvious that he was blushing.

“A uh-” he inhaled the air between you, “A museum.” his shoulders were tense, looking from your eyes to the curve of your nose- darting back and forth from the cupid's bow of your lips back up to your eyes. You smiled hearing his hesitant tone- relishing the sight of pure nerves flooding in his pupils from how close you were. 

With an amused smile you snorted softly, “Ouu you want to kiss me sooo bad- I can see it-” you teased, earning for Choso to look away from you in embarrassment. 

And as you pulled your hands from his, he opened his door, mumbling small curses, racing to the passenger side- reminding himself that he needs to be polite and well-mannered.  

As he pulled your door open he held a hand out to you, giving you a brace to step out from the old car. 

The sight of your hand in his as you stepped from the car elegantly made one thing click in his mind. Choso felt in his heart that he would be more than happy- elated even, to do this with you every weekend till you were both old and wrinkly. 

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Hand in hand as you walked past the white walls. Stopping at any piece of art that caught your attention. 

Your eyebrows pulled tight as you looked at a piece painted black with glimmers of red. Choso’s eyes were on your profile as you examined the art, “What do you see?” he mumbled, looking back to the large canvas. Unable to understand how you could see meaning in a few colors. 

You sighed, tilting your head and staring at the streaks “It seems sad.” you whispered as he furrowed his eyebrows. “Like the person who painted this was distressed.” 

Choso didn't see what you saw- he saw a lazy attempt at modern art- “You can see it in the brush strokes-” you leaned over to him as you pointed to the seemingly violent brush strokes. He tried to see what you saw, “In the way they decided to use a little bit of red.” You continued, looking over to his lost expression.

When you walked into the room of sculptures you stared at an old wooden chair placed on a small platform with a harsh spotlight on it, “Performer.” you read the words on the silver plate at the bottom, “What do you see Choso?” you repeated his question as he stared at the chair.

He squinted his eyes before speaking, “I think it's a chair-”, feeling your elbow shove him gently. He sighed, “Well, the chair is old, and the spotlight is on it almost in a mocking way.” Choso expressed his depiction of the piece. “And the title signifies that the chair is a piece to be gawked at.” he muttered as you smiled at his intune thoughts.

He huffed, almost feeling like he said too much. “You?” he broke your silence as he looked back at you.

“I think it's just a chair.” you mocked with a perked smile. 

On the other end of the room there was a wired sculpture, if you looked in the right angle you'd be able to see the projected image within the silver wires.

You were tilting your head trying to make out the image, “I think it's a face?” you whispered as Choso furrowed his eyebrows, “Or two?” you squinted your eyes as you finally saw the image with a gratified exhale. 

Choso huffed- frustrated from how tedious this was. “How are you seeing anything?” he asked frustrated as his neck started to strain from how long he was tilting it. 

You dropped his hand- taking a step behind him and placing your hands on his shoulders, “Here.” you hummed, moving him to where you previously stood. “Lean down a little-” you whispered, you weren't able to see it- but his eyes were wide and his cheeks were tingling from your guidance. 

And as he lowered himself, you placed your hands onto the side of his head- angling it softly to this side as he allowed you to. You stood behind him- close enough for him to be able to feel your breath wisp on his nape. “Can you see it?” you whispered- Choso felt goosebumps form on his arms at your soft tone. 

You slid your hands from the side of his head- seeing him stay in place as he looked at the sculpture. “Can you?” you whispered as he raised himself back to stand up straight. 

He looked at you with a horrified look on his face, “Yeah I can.” he muttered before you took his hand in yours again. 

And when you found the room he specifically chose this museum for- he lit up with a smile.

“Art history-” you read the plaque on the wall.

Choso led you into the dimly lit room, “Finally some real art.” he muttered before turning the corner. Standing before the grand in size portraits- he looked at them in silence. Only you didn't find the same fascination in the old paintings as he did- you found the excitement that gleamed in his eyes more interesting than the dusty art works.

With every piece he knew, he'd tell you the tragedy behind them, star crossed lovers and small comments of the trageties- “Why are you looking at me like that?” he paused his previous sentence, looking at you worried that he was talking too much. 

You offered a timid smile, circling your thumb on his skin lovingly. Reaching a pinkie up to his temple and brushing away a loose strand from his temple, “I can't look at you now?” you murmured playfully, his eyes glimmered with shock at the sudden contact against his face. 

Choso diverted his eyes from your gaze, looking down to his shoes before mumbling, “You can't look at me like- that.” he felt his heart pound in his chest recalling the expression on your face with closed eyes. 

You giggled at his words, “Why not?” you pressed, being able to feel his hand tighten its grip on yours. 

He sighed, looking back up to your seemingly intoxicated face. Choso parted his lips, daring to say the first words that came to his mind. You raised your eyebrows and gripped his hand to urge him to give you a reason. “Cause I don't know what it means.” he retorted quietly.

You scoffed, an amused smile on your lips as you nodded your head. Not knowing how he could be so insightful in some ways and completely blind when it came to this. 

Your eyes scanned his features, “How many times do I have to tell you before you get it?” you quipped, seeing his eyes pool with confusion at your question. 

“I like you so much, Cho.” you whispered, seeing his eyebrows furrow harshly at the shortened version of his name. “I stare at you because I like you.” You assured, “I laugh at everything you say because I like you.”, watching his eyes blink down in timidness. In his mind, actually processing your words took a lot of effort. 

“Can I be honest?” you whispered, seeing his lips mouth an ‘okay.’ to your question. “I don’t think I've ever liked someone in the way I like you.” Choso exhaled at your words- mumbling a ‘stop’ as you smiled.

You exhaled, “I'm being serious. You're just-” you started, only for Choso to raise your hand and place it flat onto his chest. His eyes trembled as he looked at you with a stern but pained expression. You raised your eyebrows at how fast his heart pounded in his chest, explaining why he asked you to stop without words. 

Your lips curled into a sweet smile, pulling his hand that was wrapped around your wrist, holding your hand flat on his chest as you led his hand towards your exposed cleavage in attempts to show him how fast your own heart was beating.

Only for his eyes to widen and pull his hand from your grasp in shock- all but clutching his imaginary pearls as he hissed your name. Mortified to even think of touching you there. 

A small laugh left your throat at how he exclaimed your name. You were kind enough to not attempt to do that again- fearing his heart might go into cardiac arrest from being skin to skin. Instead you pulled your hand from his chest, guiding his opposite one onto your wrist and pressing his index and middle finger onto the pulse in your wrist. 

His eyebrows furrowed as he felt your racing pulse against his two fingers, “You make me just as nervous.” you whispered softly, smiling as he parted his lips. 

Choso softened his gaze, “You do a great job at hiding it.” he whispered back, recalling every moment his heart palpitated in his chest- wondering if all those times your heart was racing too. 

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“I think this is the first official date I've ever been on-”  you smiled, now standing outside. Thinking how stupid it was that the exit was on the other end of the building.

Choso furrowed his eyebrows, “First, first date you mean?” he clarified your statement assumingly.

You scoffed with a smile, “No, the only date I've ever been on.” seeing his expression fall in surprisement. 

Choso nodded his head as though that proclamation didn't make his heart burst in his chest, “Besides the times where we'd hang out after class- but I think this one is the first official one.” you grinned, pulling his hand with you as you turned to start walking back to the car. 

‘The times we’d hang out..?’ he thought, recalling the afternoons you'd spend with him. 

He inhaled quickly, “Those were dates?” he urged with a horrified look on his face, scanning at your profile. You looked at him as you stepped slowly.

Raising your eyebrows almost amused, “Well when two people like each other- and admit it to each other,” You taunted playfully, turning the corner of the sidewalk, “If both are consenting parties-” you continued your mocking tone as Choso listened to your words, to be sure he wouldn't miss hearing what you were saying.

“They start dating.” you teased, looking at him with a smile full of satisfaction.

In his mind, he replayed every moment from when he admitted he liked you till now- reevaluating them at the new information. With warm cheeks that were grazed by the cold air, “Are we..” he started, his palm becoming clammy against yours at the words he dared to spout. “Dating?” He asked, looking at you in a new light at that word.

No longer were you a person he liked- or a school friend. He was a person you were dating.

A soft chuckle left your throat at the dramatized words, “Don't tell me you just wanted to be a situationship?” you asked with feigned offense, furrowing your eyebrows as he listened to your words.

His face fell, trying to process the word you just said, “What is a situationship?” he asked almost scornfully at the unknown word as his grasp in your hand tightened. A sweet laugh left your throat at his question, not even being too sure of what that word meant yourself.

“Cho- are we dating or not?” you asked- turning the question around on him. His face went pink, both at the confrontation and the nickname- looking at you as though you hung the stars in the sky. You raised your eyebrows waiting for his reply. 

Choso tried to think- he tried using all 4 fried brain cells in his mind to formulate a proper sentence, but all his trembling lips could muster was one word;

“Yes.”

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The walk back to the car was silent- You were pleased with how much he blushed, how you practically forced him to confirm that your goal was achieved. 

Choso, on the other hand, had a mortified look on his face. The fear of taking the first step was long gone since the first 3 steps were already taken unbeknownst to him. In his mind he started seeing every possibility, every negative thing that could wait for him 10 miles down the road. Choso knew he should've been elated- but he couldn't help the heavy feeling in his chest as he thought of the future.

Staring at him lovingly, “Where to now?” you broke the silence as he opened the car door for you, holding your hand with trembling fingers as you eased into the vehicle.  

Choso hurried to the other side of the car, taking a deep breath before getting into it. Thinking how everything is different now- he drove this car as your friend and now he was driving it as a person you were dating.

You scooched back to the spot you previously sat in, “I hope you're hungry-” he started, his cheeks tingling as he felt your hand interlock with his again, “God– I am starving.” You interrupted, looking over to him with an enticing grin.

Choso smiled to himself, “I have a fridge full of groceries waiting for us.” he tried ignoring your tracing thumbs as he put the car in drive.

You reached a hand over and pushed a few stray strands of hair that blocked his profile from you. “You gonna cook for me?” You hummed sweetly, seeing the blush on his cheeks deepen. 

A small ‘Mhm’ left his lips as he pulled out of the street parking, you looked at him with adoring eyes, intoxicated on how close you were to him. “Those plates were definitely a good idea huh?” you asked smugly.

He sighed with a smile, “Yes. They were a phenomenal idea.” he fed into your boastful tone.

You looked at him, admiring that he cared enough to agree with you,“You’re so-” you hesitated as you tried to find the word, “So,” Choso was smiling as he awaited your words. You gritted your teeth- feeling cuteness aggression, “It's like I made you in a computer.” You smiled, hearing a hearty laugh from his chest.

The entire ride back to the campus- you didn't let go of his hand. The cringey love songs played on the radio quietly, with any song you recognized you’d tell him a memory from your upbringing. Grazing the tips of your fingers along his larger ones. 

Choso made sure to listen to every single word you'd speak into the air- “M’sorry I know I'm talking a lot-” you sighed, noticing he wasn’t replying to your words.

Hee scoffed, “Don't apologize- I like listening to you talk.” flashing his eyes over to you as you nodded your head in disbelief at how smoothe he could be at times.

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You didn't check your phone the entire time. So you were happily relishing in the peace you felt being in the presence of him. 

Walking past the entryway of his apartment, reaching into your coat pocket and taking it off as Choso reached for it in your hand, hanging it along with his on the coat rack. 

You checked the stupid piece of aluminum, widening your eyes at the countless messages from your overbearing roommate, and checking the time. 9:05 pm as you heard Choso set down the boxed plates onto the kitchen counter in front of you.

You sighed as you pulled out a barstool from the wall, furiously typing as Choso gently peeled off the tape from the box.

Looking across the kitchen counter at you as you settled on the barstool with furrowed eyebrows. Scanning your bugged expression, “Everything okay?” he pulled you from your thoughts. 

You sighed as you shut off the phone, placing it onto the counter faced down as you looked at him- completely defeated. “I’m moving out.” you claimed with a deadpan tone.

Choso looked at you from the cabinet, “What now?” he smiled as he reached for a pan. 

“I have like- 50 texts and 20 missed calls from my-” you were interrupted, Choso finished your sentence, ‘roommate’, watching as you huffed a sweet smile at how he knew what you were ranting about. “Regardless, I'm moving- even if I live on the street for a few days. I can't stay at that house anymore.” You sighed, watching Choso turn on two knobs on the stove. 

Looking at him with defeated eyes, “You won't live on the street.” he assured, turning around and opening the fridge. 

You rested your elbow on the counter, placing your chin in your hand as you watched him set various small containers of already prepared herbs onto the counter. “At the end of the day people really are disappointing aren't they?” you asked with a sigh, watching as he pulled out two pre-marinated chicken breasts from the fridge. 

Choso decided to ignore your previous statement- not wanting to sullen the mood even more, “Are they like this with your other roommates?” he asked with a smile, drizzling oil into the pan. Going to lower the heat on the small steel pot on the back burner before moving to stand in front of you. 

You watched as he slowly pulled his jewelry from his fingers, “No- if anything they enable their behavior.” eyeing the silver metal on the counter, your proclamation earning a sigh from Choso.

He noticed your eyes following his hands, furrowing his eyebrows at your gawking. “You need better roommates.” he declared, turning to the sink and washing his hands as you reached for the abandoned metal he left on the counter.  

As you rolled the warm metal in your hand you sighed, “I need to move out is what I need-” watching as he dried his hands. You smirked to yourself, “If I was your neighbor would you cook for me everyday?” You asked- half joking as he looked up from the searing pan.

Choso smiled at your question, picking up one of the raw chickens, “If you were my neighbor I’d cook for you anytime you asked.” he flashed his eyes up at you before placing the white meat into the pan, a loud sizzle coming from the action.

You rested your elbows onto the counter with a hearty giggle, “You say that now- But when m’knocking at your door 2-3 times a day- you can't complain.” you warned, watching as he let out a half laugh.

He picked up metal tongs from the utensil holder, “If you knock on my door 2-3 times a day- I won't have any reason to complain,” he spoke your name in reassurance as he flipped the grilling chicken on the other side. 

You laughed to yourself, not being able to sense any nervousness or hesitation in his words anymore, almost as though he gained more confidence in the past half hour. 

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As he plated the cooked chicken, you watched with a grumbling stomach. Almost drooling as he scooped a decent portion of mashed potatoes onto the brand new white plate, “God- that looks so good.” You bit your lip, reaching your hands to the plate. 

“Wait-” he held onto the edgeas he reached for a pre-cut lemon- squeezing it gently as the citrus glazed the browned chicken.

With a warm smile he spoke, “There- now you can eat it.” looking down to the beautifully plated meal, you sighed. Grabbing onto the edge of the plate and pulling it towards you.

You looked back to him, “I can wait for you-” you muttered, hoping he'd say no. 

He exhaled, smiling as he watched your eyes full of hunger flicker from him back down to your serving. “It's okay- you eat.” He assured, watching the smile return on your lips as you picked up the metal fork placed on the side of the plate. 

Choso watched you expectantly, the fork scraping against the plate as you sliced into the meat-piercing the chunk you cut off and lifting it to your lips, looking at him as you placed the fork into your mouth. The warmth from the grilled chicken landing on your tongue as you pulled the fork from your lips- leaving nothing on it with a sigh from your nose.

Chewing a few times as you closed your eyes, savoring the flavor between every bite. 

You swallowed, opening your eyes and nodding your head, “You're insane.” you mumbled, looking at his expression unchanged- not knowing if that was a good thing or a bad thing. 

“Please finish cooking so I can eat more-” you joked, placing the fork onto your plate, he scoffed at the words that seemed like a compliment. 

And as you asked, he plated his own serving, not with a quarter as much love nor care- but it was infront him as he leaned down to take a bite, assuring you it was fine for you to continue eating. 

He hummed as he placed the fork down onto his plate, “I didn't even offer you anything to drink-” he scoffed to himself reaching to the cupboard above his head and pulling down two glass cups. 

You opened your mouth- hesitating to speak as you watched him turn to the fridge, “Not to sound alcohol-dependent or anything-” you grinned as he peeked back to you. “But do you…?” you insinuated with half lidded eyes. 

Choso sighed, “I don't. I have water and orange juice.” he mumbled, knowing exactly what you were trying to do- but he knew in his bones it wouldn't have been a good idea to let you drink right now. 

You gave a half laugh, “Water is fine.” you smiled as he reached into the fridge. Choosing to keep the bottle of ‘Titos’ he had a secret from you.

Pulling out a glass bottle from the fridge he had bought yesterday. Pouring water into your glass as you chewed on your affection infused meal. 

You placed down your fork, swallowing the previous bite before reaching for the cold glass. “You'd really be okay with me moving next door?” watching his eyes trail down to his plate.

Choso inhaled, “If it makes you happier- and not feel so stressed, I would let you move in here-” he spoke mindlessly, halting his chewing as he realized what he said. He inhaled sharply- feeling like your silence was deafening. He was about to apologize-

Only you laughed, “All my clothes would not fit in your closet.” you inhaled as you placed a bite of the mashed potatoes into your mouth. He huffed through his nose at your comment, pleased that you took it as a joke rather than how he truly meant it. 

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Somewhere between him finishing half of his meal and your 5th compliment on how fucking good the food tasted- a battle ship board was put up between you. 

Furrowed eyebrows staring back at you as he called out a number on the board. You hissed as you looked at your side of the game, “Nope.” you grinned as he gruffed at his attempts.

You were examining your grid, trying to use all the divination you could muster before he spoke up- “Did I tell you I'm thinking of getting a job?” he smiled, watching your furrowed eyebrows ease at the question. 

You gasped, “No! Don't do that-” holding a peg in your hand as his expression churned to confusion. “I won't be able to see you as often.” you pouted, looking down at your board. The words seemingly came unfiltered from your heart, and the sight of you pouting at the idea of not being able to see him as much anymore was more than enough to push that idiocy to the side.

And though you meant it as a half joke, it still pained you to know that now- of all times. When things were finally advancing, he'd pull away. 

“If you need money-” your lungs threatened to laugh at the words forming on your lips. “I'd be more than happy to pay for your time.” You spewed as though you were a sleazy 80 year old man speaking to a lady of the night. 

Choso furrowed his eyebrows and parted his lips, “Like an escort??” he huffed a laugh, you looked up from your board with an entertained smile. “No- no, not like an escort-” you defended. 

Calling out a number on the board as he nodded his head. “Like a paid…” you thought of the word, “Though I can't call you a friend anymore can I?” You spoke to yourself as he scanned his side of the plastic game, smiling at the thought that you'd no longer hesitate when referring to him. 

He inhaled as he took a bite from the coldening food, looking over to your plate and seeing you had finished. “I thought you were broke?” he spoke thoughtlessly, not being able to feel the hesitance before he spoke now. 

Your smile fell, he squinted his eyes as you shook off the sudden heavy feeling- “You're that expensive?” you chirped, looking at him bewildered at the thought he might've taken your words seriously. 

Choso scoffed, “No, you don't have to pay me to hang out with you.” he reiterated, watching as you fiddled with the peg in your hand. Recalling your query of if he'd mind if you were his neighbor. “But I remember you said you were broke..?” he looked at you with detective eyes as you called out a square on the grid. Sucking his teeth when you actually hit one of his boats. 

You hummed as you avoided eye contact, “I uhh-” you lowered your shoulders and raised a brow, “I figured it out.” flashing a warm smile at him. Only you meant it in an assuring way- Choso saw past it. He saw the way your lips fell after you said that, the way your eyes dimmed from recalling what you were hiding. 

You cleared your throat, “Meaning, I can afford your company now.” you circled back to the silly topic with a smile, Choso sneered through his nose at your insistence. He opened his mouth to speak- but you spoke before he could. 

“What kind of job?” you looked at him, changing the topic before he called out a number on the grid. 

He sucked his teeth, “I was thinking at the library- Quiet, don't have to do a whole lot.” He muttered as he studied the target grid. “Or I could apply to be a TA.”squinting before calling out a number. 

You tightened your lips, mouthing a curse as you marked a small boat with a red peg. “Why now of all times?” you asked as you waited for him to call out another number.

Choso parted his lips- almost saying the words that popped into his mind before closing his mouth. “No- say what you were thinking.” you caught onto the little habit he had developed since he was a child.

He smiled at your attentiveness, “I was thinking, now that I’m..” looking at you with a blushing smile, you raised your eyebrows, all but saying ‘go on.’

“Now that I am seeing someone.” he murmured, looking down at the board embarrassed and trying to ignore your gaze, you laughed at his avoidant eyes. 

You inhaled, nodding your head ‘no’ disapprovingly. “You don't need to get a job just because we're dating, Cho.” you assured, standing from the barstool and taking a step around the end of the kitchen counter, standing before his figure as he looked at you with furrowed eyebrows, “Look at all the times we've hung out- not once did we need money or to go out to have fun.” placing a hand on his bicep and squeezing gently to affirm your words even more. 

Choso inhaled, “Would it be enough?” he muttered as he looked down to his shoes. You scoffed, trailing your hand down to his forearm, then to his hand. 

“I would be more than fulfilled if all we did was stay here and play board games day after day.” you whispered, holding your hand gently in his as he felt his throat close up-

He looked back to you with creased eyebrows, the tip of his nose daring to turn pink from an expression that looked close to tears. “You want a hug?” you asked sweetly, hearing a sniffle from his nose before pulling you to him.

Your hands wrapped around his waist as his arms rested atop your shoulders, holding you tightly as your bodies came together in a perfect mold. Choso held one hand on the back of your neck softly, the other pressed taut between your shoulder blades as you smiled into his chest, circling your hands soothingly on his spine, he sniffled before speaking.

“Be honest. Did you come over here to look at where my boats were?” you breathed out- defeated that he saw through your plot. Pulling away from him as his hands hesisted to let you go from the hug that felt like home. 

You looked at him with a cheeky smile, “I did.” you nodded, looking over to his side of the board and seeing you were close to winning by a few more pegs. You looked back to him, parting your lips expectantly as he took a step back.

‘Be well-mannered’ Choso thought as he watched you brush off the slight disappointment. 

He cleared his throat, “I think it's time to take you home.” he smiled, watching your eyes blink down to your shoes that had to be uncomfortable by now. 

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The trip to your house was short now that there was a car, and yet- you still held onto him as though it was the last time you'd have the chance to. 

Choso parked on the opposite side of the street, turning off the car as your eyes looked at the wooden door across the street almost resentfully. “Ready?” he asked, knowing you’d refuse to face the music were he not there. 

With a begrudged exhale, you nodded your head. 

Choso held the car door open for you, holding your hand as you stepped onto the street. You almost resented how polite he was- knowing if it were anyone else they would have invited you to stay the night- regardless if it was a first date. 

But not him, Choso didn't dare to even think of asking that of you.

And as you stood before him on your unlit porch, you smiled, “Thank you.” with a whisper, looking into his eyes as he scanned the prominent aspects of your face.

“Don't thank me.” he murmured, his voice low and throaty as he watched the sparkle in your eye round your pupil. 

With a modist smile, you looked at him impatiently. “I think this is where you kiss me goodnight.” you leaned forward mere millimeters as Choso refused to step back this time. 

He gulped at your words, “It wouldn't be polite.” he dissuaded lowly as you grinned innocently. 

Close enough that you were breathing the same air- “It would be more impolite not to, Choso.” you compelled, watching his gaze dart from your lips back to your eyes. 

He raised his hands to the side of your face- thumbs caressing your temples softly, parting your lips as his fingers kept a light touch beneath your ears. You fluttered your eyes closed as you heard ringing in your mind, cheeks warm and tingling as you awaited.

Only you awaited something to press against your lips- But Choso had other plans.

His parted lips pressed onto the center of your forehead, pulling away with your head in his hands. It wasn't disappointment- more like a challenge that you felt. “Goodnight,” he spoke your name in an intoxicating tone, softly taking his hands from your face and taking a step back from you.

You couldn't help but smile at his chivalry, “You're cruel.” you whispered, earning a quiet half-laugh from his chest. 

“It’s not respectful to kiss you on a first date.” He scolded playfully, watching you roll your eyes lightheartedly. 

You stared at him as you leaned your back onto the door, placing your hand on the brass knob before sucking your teeth. “When is a respectful time then?” you murmured, watching his hands slide into his coat pockets.

“Third. Maybe even fourth date.” he smiled, knowing that would gain a feigned groan of dissatisfaction from you. Though it was earlier than you'd like-  10:43 to be exact, you were still grateful he was courteous enough to bring you back home as though you had a curfew. 

“Goodnight Cho.” you smiled, turning the brass knob as he kept his eyes on you.

Were the porch light on you’d be able to see the beaming blush on his cheeks, “Goodnight.” he replied sweetly, watching as you stepped into your house, taking one last look at him before waving a small goodbye. 

Choso was able to contain the excitement in his throat till he turned away from your porch, his lungs threatening to start hyperventilating as he tried to confirm with himself if that actually just happened. He stood at the car door- looking up at the sky and thanking whatever celestial being was out there for the lucky hand he was dealt. 

There was one thought in his mind at that moment. He was now sure that you made him feel more alive and far less lost than he felt without you. And he relished in that thought as he drove back to his apartment, no longer fearing the future- if anything he was thrilled to know that for the first time, love finally loved him back.

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and if I told you I over indulged sooo much in this chapter??? and if i said........ I almost hemorrhaged writing this?!!! this was too cute, (just wait till I write abt the first time they have sex) And if you're curious- yes the rewarding cigarette was delicious.

[fairymagiceverlasting]

I saw a post by someone who was distressed because they couldn't manifest from the void due to going "blank" once entering it. I think this is due to the way the void is understood here on Tumblr, so I'm going to address this below.

In a book called The Vision, the author's Apache shaman mentor "Grandfather" teaches him to enter the void, which they also referred to as "the veil", and here is what he said about it:

"To modern man what I was attempting to do would be called meditation, but it was far greater than what he considered meditation...it was the absence of of all thought, of consciousness of time, place, gravity or body. It was an absolute nothingness, an equilibrium, and a limitless void. The veil was the absence of self, totally, an absolute purity of existence and non-existence.

It was in this void, this veil, that Grandfather said all things of the spirit would be found. It was there that we would have total understanding and transcend the physical planes of man's existence. It was there that the primal self could be found; it was the abiding place of the life force, the spirit-that-moves-in-all-things, and all the spirits that inhabit our worlds. It was also where we could find all knowledge, create realities, and touch the Creator."

In addition to all of this, the author said that being in the veil can make one invisible, and that the ancient scouts used to use it to protect themselves.

All of the author's descriptions of entering the void/veil involve having no thoughts whatsoever while he's there. Here are some excerpts where he talks about it:

"I lost consciousness of my body and my place...I found myself floating in a void, an absolute darkness, having no awareness of time or place, or even an existence outside that world. Though it was only for a moment, it felt like an eternity that I was there, where time had stood still."

This next part is especially important because it specifically addresses the author's frustration at his mind going blank when entering the void. The author and his friend were trying to send their conciousnesses to a time in the past and were advised to use the veil because "it knows no time." They did their meditation as usual but were not able to hold their intentions once they entered the Void.

"We tried desperately to carry the date with us to the veil, but every time we passed through, the date would disappear with all other thought. Feeling a little angry with my failure, I went to ask Grandfather why it hadn't worked.

'First' he said, 'There must be absolute faith, and second, you must not try to carry the time or place back with you. You cannot pass into the veil carrying any baggage. Instead, tell it where and when you would like to go and let the all- knowing veil do the rest."

The author prayed, presumably stating his intention, went into a "period of absolute thoughtlessness to meditate and rest," and then found himself in the time and place he intended. It worked.

So you see, there's quite a difference between "void" as it's understood in the book, versus by people here on Tumblr. In both cases it has the same possibilities, but the difference is that people here seem to believe you're floating around and still thinking about things while in the void, while the author, his mentor, and his mentor's teachers and ancestors believed that it's a place of no-thought; that it's actually impossible to think within it, and that your intentions need to be stated to it before entering it. According to them, whatever most people here are calling the "void" would not be the real deal at all, but more of a deep and relaxed state of meditation; nothing more. If your mind is going blank, you're likely actually entering the void.

As far as feeling that you must use the void to manifest anything... this sentiment is why I disapprove so much of the void-state obsession in manifestation/shifting communities. You do not need the void state to do any of that. There are SO many ways to manifest, and the void is just one of them; but personally I never even use it for that, and manifest successfully all the time just through 30-second visualizations. Manifestation should be fun and easy, and we should use the techniques that come naturally to us.

If anyone has trouble entering the void, or they try the alternative method I mentioned above and are still finding frustration, please set aside all thoughts of the void and get back to basic manifestation techniques. They work, and most of them are a breeze to perform. We as humans tend to complicate things for ourselves, almost as if we feel something isn't valuable if it isn't difficult; but the sooner you choose what works for you, the sooner you'll see your manifestations come to pass. And that's the whole point, isnt it? 💖

[originalaccountname]

Sorry to bother you but I’ve been getting into BSD and Chuuya’s my fave, but I’ve been seeing some contradictory things in fanfic so…

Does Chuuya actually have a god sealed inside him? I thought it was just like his power without limitations and was dubious of those takes, but since eldritch beings can apparently be a thing (and not an ability), I think it could be plausible either way.

Though even if it’s not I can see why people would use that route for some good angst.

This is not a bother at all! This is something I very much like to talk about

if you're really new I do recommend you go read both "Dazai, Chuuya, Fifteen Years Old" and "STORM BRINGER" light novels (but SB especially), not only are they great books with Chuuya as the focal point but they will help answer your question in depth (you can buy the English translations but I can help you find the translation online if that's what you need, just message me again)

The short version is that Arahabaki being an actual god, a separate entity from Chuuya that has a personality/a voice/desires, is a common fanon trope, but not a canon fact. The truth is more complex and much more fun, lore-wise, in my opinion

And now the long version, because I'm passionate about this and this is my excuse to deep dive into it (spoilers for Fifteen)

In Fifteen, Chuuya says this:

Chuuya himself presents "Arahabaki" as nothing more than pure power. No thoughts, no personality, but powerful for sure.

That phrasing in Fifteen created a lot of confusion I think, talking about gods as real but also not:

But I think it's more of a symbolic reference, talking about immense power that seem out of this world. Because in practice, as Chuuya said before, "Arahabaki" is simply raw power, not an entity. You can't pray to it, it can't understand you, it can't perform miracles (which is why he knew the Old Boss couldn't have been brought back by Arahabaki and it was all nonsense from the start)

I'm also putting part of the blame on the anime, where they decided (while not being exactly wrong either, out of context it's weird) to illustrate Chuuya "floating in a bluish-black darkness, surrounded by a transparent seal" and being pulled out by a hand:

like this:

When, if you actually reread that part in the novel with knowledge about Storm Bringer, it's actually this moment that was being referred to:

Which brings us to Storm Bringer! (heavy spoilers I'm serious)

"Project Arahabaki" was the Japanese government's attempt to create an ability weapon from an individual. They wanted to craft a singularity that could be used multiple times, thus granting them access to power that should not be accessible normally. They based their research on what France had discovered through Verlaine. The objective is to create a massive energy output through a self-contradicting ability, for which you need a vessel:

Chuuya is the device. "Arahabaki" is the massive energy. That massive energy can control gravity to the point of being able to create localized black holes! N implied that part of the lab's work for the Arahabaki Project was to modify Chuuya's body to be able to withstand the constant gravity effects on it so he doesn't just die. Chuuya's normal use of his ability doesn't seem to have any drastic effects on him, and his physical resilience (to getting hit, stabbed, poisoned, shot, electrocuted, to going through a black hole) does seem to imply they did succeed at least in part.

And this bit here explains why "Arahabaki" was the chosen name for the project; unexplained phenomena across History that can be linked to an ability going haywire, but were attributed to god-like interventions at the time. So you're a funny little mad scientist, you read research papers from another mad scientist that named their own creation after a mythological monster, and you decide to do the same with your own local folklore.

But!

There's still something to be said about how "Arahabaki" is a singularity, and therefore, has its own set of rules. Chuuya does loose control, Chuuya does regress to a sort of destructive instinct while under Corruption. But "Arahabaki" is still no more than an ability singularity. Here's what is said about Guivre and Arahabaki:

They are both singularity life-forms. They exist because they are singularities; outside of it, they are nothing. The inner workings of abilities are still mysterious, but most of them have a link to their wielder's desires. For example, Atsushi's Tiger is there to protect him, a mirror to his will to live no matter what. Verlaine's Guivre is similar:

Guivre was a beast born out of Verlaine's loneliness and resulting hatred. He felt deeply alone in not feeling/being human, and through Pan's (his "creator") special "programming" of Verlaine's ability, N was able to trigger the true form of his singularity with that flare gun and metal powder, which took the form of Guivre. It's what the hat was supposed to prevent, but Verlaine had already lost it by then.

Chuuya's Arahabaki is probably similar. Its first apparition was when Rimbaud tried to absorb him and use his ability for himself, and any subsequent use is linked to grief and survival. Basically, if they're their own entities, they are still born in a specific context and deeply linked to the original ability user's character. And Arahabaki? Only exists if Chuuya uses his activation phrase to get rid of the limitations put into place to prevent him from exploding:

More about about Corruption: SB is kind enough to give us an explanation on how the nullification process works, right here:

Chuuya's self-contradicting ability makes him able to control gravity through the sheer amount of energy it creates by permanently interacting with itself. It is kept under control through the use of an activation phrase, O grantors of dark disgrace, do not wake me again, which, after being either said or thought by Chuuya, will open his "Gate" (which I'm interpreting as a blocker put in place by the lab so the singularity doesn't just kill him, like those poor people they mentioned existed through History), and by opening it, "free Arahabaki's true power" (aka Corruption). When Dazai uses his ability on him, the base self-contradicting ability is nullified, which cancels out the singularity taking place, which stops Corruption and allows that "Gate" to close again. The red markings are there because they're cool and fun.

To conclude, I'll let Dazai do the honors:

bonus: what does that mean for Chuuya's ability?

bons 2: Perceived timeline of Chuuya's past and what happened to to create confusion around his humanity

[graycomfort]

Simon Henriksson x gn reader - Leende - Part 1

Synopsis: You just started learning Swedish.

Masterlist (coming soon) Part 1 Part 2

A/N: Hello! This is my first ever finished fanfiction. It includes two cheesy tropes, but since it's my first one and there aren't many fics for him I didn't care. If there are any mistakes in the Swedish parts, please tell me and I will fix them!

They/Them is used like three times, the rest of it refers to you as you. Hope you enjoy! : ]

Word Count: 1.8 k

"God morgon, uhhh miss?" [Good morning]

Simon raised his hooded head slightly from his pillow at the sound of broken Swedish coming from the front door. It was followed by his mother's subtle laughter.

"Åh! God morgon! Komma in, tack!" [Oh! Good morning! come in, please!] There was a slight pause before he heard the door close as if the person standing in the hall hesitated. Perhaps processing what was said to them.

Was his mother having guests? That's weird since she always told him when she plans to have guests. Mainly so he gets his shit together beforehand, so he doesn't make her look bad, he thought. Simon also couldn't remember any of her friends being from overseas, at least that's what Simon assumed from the accent. Could be a new friend of hers, which doesn't make him happy.

New people usually meant being forced by his mother to at least introduce himself to the said new person and being shown off by her to them. Simon didn't see anything worth showing off about himself, but he guessed that she just wanted to make herself look better. As in "Oh look, I raised a boy, aren't I so cool and hard-working?"

He didn't feel like doing all of that at the moment. Actually, he doesn't want to do it at all, ever. Simon buried his head back into the pillow, smushing his face down to it. Praying that it was in fact not a new friend of hers but some tourist getting lost or something. He didn't really care who, just leave him alone.

"Simon! Kom hit, snälla!" [Simon! Come here, please!]

Skit… Simon dragged his legs over the edge of his bed and groaned out a loud "Jag kommer!" [I'm coming!] Without getting up from his bed, he leaned down to grab his pants. Which he lazily discarded onto the floor before he got into his bed. After quickly putting his pants on, he lifted the blanket at the foot of his bed to find his socks. After finally being fully clothed, he fixed his hair a bit by skimming his hand through it and finally left his room.

As he met his mother in the corridor, he was surprised at who stood beside her. Simon subconsciously fixed the hem of his hoodie as his closest friend, y/n, stood before him. "Åh, Hej, I didn't expect you." His eyes were fixed on you, not even paying attention to his mother who just made her leave. "I know, I should have texted you, to warn you I would be coming but I wanted to surprise you. I brought snacks and drinks!" You said with a joyous tone. The bag you had with you was now in your hand as you shook it. This confirmed your words as the sounds of snacks hitting each other filled the hallway they stood in. "No, no! Don't worry about it. I was just surprised, I thought I heard Swedish and I remembered you said you don't know Swedish."

"Well, Yeah I don't quite do yet… but after living here for quite a bit, I thought I might as well learn it. I also thought it would be pretty cool if we knew each other's languages." You said proudly while straightening your back. "Since you already know mine, it's my turn to learn yours." You pointed accordingly to yourself and Simon as you spoke.

Simon's face felt warm at the thought that you thought about him while making that decision. "Yeah. Yeah, that would be cool" He smiled warmly at you. "Well c'mon, we still got Spyro to finish" He let you go first. "I thought we finished that one already!" You whined and went the way his room was. He decided to take a jab at you. "We would have already finished, if you didn't die so much" You quickly turned around "I don't- I don't die that much!" "Ja, det gör du." [Yes, you do.] "Nej, det gör jag… inte!" [ No, I do… not!]

In his room, Simon made his way to his PlayStation 2 to turn it on. As the console buzzed, he leaned down to grab one of the few boxes of PS2 games lying scattered in front of the TV. He looked for the one that had Spyro in it. Because it's definitely not the box that it was designed to be kept in. In the meantime, Y/n looked around, even though you have been in his sorry excuse of a room many times before. "En säng, en fönster, en TV" "ETT fönster" He corrected you without stopping his previous task. "shit. That's embarrassing." "Nah, don't worry. You just started learning, you're bound to make mistakes." You raised your eyebrow and stared at his turned back. "You will still make fun of me." "I will still make fun of you, yes" He nodded as he spoke. "fan" Simon snorted at the attempt of swearing.

He finally found the disk he was looking for and popped it into the console. He grabbed both of the controllers and passed your favorite one to you. The one you always fought for if he gave you the wrong one. While the game loaded, you grabbed your bag from the bed and dumped all the snacks and drinks in front of them. Simon immediately went for an energy drink. As soon as he cracked it open, he took a big swing of it. Scrunching his face at the carbonated drink. "Thank fuck, I needed that." "Knew you would like that one, eboy." You teased. "Oh shut, I have not slept much today… And I need to stay awake while waiting for you to finish your segments" He shrugged and took another sip. At that comment, you playfully pulled the hood of his hoodie.

Simon caught himself, trying not to let any drop of his energy drink spill onto the floorboards. "I was drinking! That was foul!" "Oops" Y/n said with a happy tone.

He was about to get back on you but the game already loaded. You cut him off before he could do anything. "C'mon, you said you will be the one waiting for me. So far it's the other way around." You said as you spammed the X button. He scoffed and joined you. He will just die in the game out of spite later.

After many tries to defeat the ending boss, they finally finished the game. Wrappers of what used to be snacks now lay empty in front of them. So did a plate they ate a frozen pizza from, that Simon's mother made for them. Which you thanked her for in her mother tongue. His mother seemed to like you, which Simon was pleased about. Hearing you speak Swedish made his mom so happy, Simon wondered why.

After screaming for about two hours, which you will definitely apologize to his mother for. And eating tons of their favorite snacks, you were exhausted. Resting your head against his bed was enough to make you pass out. Simon stood up only for a moment, to turn his ps2 off and switch to the cable. But as he turned back around he realised you were already asleep.

He knew he wasn't the strongest, so he debated on picking you up and putting you in a more comfortable position. He didn't want to risk dropping you, yet he didn't want you to wake up with a sore neck. He took all of the stuff from his bed, which isn't much, and placed it around you. Lifting your head slightly to put a pillow under it. After he was satisfied with his creation, he left the room.

Coming into the kitchen, he spotted his mother sitting at the table standing next to the window. "De verkar sova, ska jag väcka dem eller får de stanna över natten?" [They seem to be sleeping, should I wake them up or can they stay overnight?] Simon's mother smiled "Självklart kan de det, men var inte för högljudda!" [of course, they can, just don't be too loud!] Simon sent her a deadpan yet slightly glaring look. "Vi är int-" [We are no-] He paused and sighed. He knew it was pointless to argue, knowing full well she was just taking the piss out of him.

Before leaving, he took a quick peek into the fridge and grabbed the last energy drink left. Now he was ready to come back to his room. Seeing what her son took from the fridge, she quiped in. "Du borde också sova" [You should also sleep] "Ja, mama" [Yes, mama] He said without even turning back to her.

He opened the can before entering his room, to not disturb the sleeping you. Speaking of you. As he entered his room, you seemed to have made yourself comfortable. Taking a way more comfortable position. He just stood there, watching. You never slept at his place. For you to just pass out like that, you must trust him a lot. Looking back on today, he realized how content he felt. The way he could just let go when you were around. He felt happy.

That didn't last long, his mind began to spiral. He felt slight regret that he had shown his emotions, he usually hides the positive ones deep inside. But with you, it's just hard to do so. You just make him want to live, make him want to smile. The toothy grin that made him feel terrible every time he looked in a mirror. The crinkles near his eyes that the outside world doesn't get to see that often, and if they do it's usually because of anger. He has anger issues, what if he lashes out at you for no reason whatsoever? Would a person like you prefer if he was a happy guy? Or would you not like him anymore if he showed emotions?

Every thought suddenly stopped. His eyes no longer stared into the void, as he looked down to see your hand weakly pulling his pant leg. He stared at you again. But this time instead of overthinking, he spoke to himself quietly. 'You're right, y/n'. He gently removed your hand and moved to the now-empty bed. He placed the can that he held, on the floor. He didn't care about a pillow or blankets, he knew he would do anything to assure your safety and comfort.

He laid with his head next to your sitting position, so he didn't kick you while he was asleep. Simon grabbed a strand of your hair with his left hand and started playing with it. His eyes now closing shut, ready to pass out any second.

"God natt, y/n. Jag tycker om dig" [Good night, y/n. I like you (romantically)]

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

I absolutely love your story’s!

What about one where the reader is has the tendency to just ignore their own emotions? Especially the negative ones. Like they’ll just pretend and act like they don’t exist until it’s some random Tuesday and they’re trying to stop crying in the kitchen cause they did something really small and stupid but it just happened to be the last thing they could take before being forced to cry? If it’s Donna’s emotions they try to be comforting and understanding, trying to encourage her to reach out for comfort and support and it’s just the exact opposite when it comes to their own emotions lol

Yesss!!! Here it is!!! Thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes :)))

Emotions

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of depression,angst, mental health problems...

Word count: 3,931

Summary: You were not able to say what you feel, and it was getting worse

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!! Oh, well, just a reminder: if you feel sad, talk to someone, look for help, in this world there are a lot of amazing people wanting to help you :))) Requests are open!! I love you all!!!

You opened your eyes. It was just another day.

You could say that you had been lucky in life. Your family was never rich. It was never more than just one more in the village. Nothing special, nothing remarkable. Get up, work, pray to Mother Miranda and so on constantly.

Why could a routine like that be called luck? Very simple, you found a way to get out of that monotonous and boring life.

You probably wouldn't have been so lucky if you had approached the Beneviento estate that cold winter day.

Meeting Donna was a refreshing change, the discovery that the Lords were also human.

Monster, psychopath and reclusive. Those were the names the villagers referred to her by. You had no way of knowing if it was true or not. You feared her like the others, until you met her.

She was a woman with problems, mysterious, shy, and above all, very far from the concept of monster. It was almost like looking at yourself in a mirror: emotional problems, real rejection of any human relationship. That two antisocial people like you, soon could not live without each other was curious.

How you fell in love didn't matter, it was just fate, or so you thought, or so you liked to think.

Your new life was much better than the previous one, but, just as they told you when you were a little girl: when you try to run away from your problems, you take them with you.

A truth that was difficult for you to understand, due to the feeling of being happy with the woman you loved. The ghosts of your own tribulations appeared to torment you soon.

You were never particularly good when it came to understanding your own emotions. Pain, sadness, anger... Everything that your mind considered as something negative, as something that could prevent people from appreciating you, loving you, were always hidden in a dark corner of your feelings. If you hid them, you couldn't feel them. Or so you thought.

Perhaps that constant joy and the apparent desire to live and enjoy the moment were what caught Lady Beneviento's attention. A wandering soul, with its own emotional problems, could find light in someone like you, in someone who, apparently, didn’t suffer, didn’t hate; someone who was happy, even if it was just a facade.

With a sigh, you sat up, letting your feet dangle over the edge of the bed. You were alone, Donna wasn't sleeping next to you and you wondered why you didn't miss her, or why you didn't need to seek some comfort in her arms. You still denied to yourself that you were going through a bad time, an existential crisis and the negative feelings that were taking up more and more space in your mind.

“Angie, where is Donna?” You asked the doll, who remained next to you, as if she could know that there was something wrong with you, that something was going through your head, torturing you.

“She's gone to take a shower,” the puppet answered, studying your expressionless look, that serene look that you naturally forced yourself. You were so used to doing it that it didn't even take any effort.

“She hasn't woken me up?” You asked, rubbing your eyes. Why hadn't she woken you up? Didn't she want to have to put up with you? Why?

Again paranoia and fear took over your thoughts.

Angie simply shrugged, getting off the bed and leaving the room.

No, you couldn't think that somehow you were to blame. You were always happy. In front of her you were always happy. Was she ignoring you? It was very unlikely, but your thoughts were far from reality.

After staring at the wooden floor for longer than you'd like, you got out of bed, looking at yourself in a mirror. Smile: ready, tears: hidden.

You walked through the dark hallways, listening to the characteristic noise of a shower. At least Donna was there. Why were you thinking that she had left you or something? You hadn't done anything for it. That depressive state you had been living in lately was getting worse and worse.

“Donna?” You asked, opening the bathroom door.

There was no response, just a sob.

The woman you loved was there, but she was not well. Her body was curled up under the water. Poor Donna had suffered another crisis and you hadn't even noticed. Once again, you had to put aside your own problems. She needed you. She needed the cheerful and understanding (Y/N). It's not like you needed her comfort, or so you thought.

“Donna, my love...” You whispered, approaching the shower and crouching next to her sad body. “Honey, what's wrong?”

“(Y/N),” the doll maker sobbed, looking up a bit. “I… I don't…”

You sighed, kneeling next to her and letting her throw herself into your arms. The scratch marks on her skin betrayed a panic attack, one of the many that poor Donna frequently suffered.

“Hey, darling... Come on, calm down,” you whispered affectionately, turning off the tap and letting her body settle into yours. “Have you suffered another crisis?” You asked, with your clothes soaked, but without stopping hugging her.

She nodded embarrassedly, clutching the fabric of your nightgown.

How could a stupid existential crisis be more important than Donna's problems? You felt selfish, you felt like you were putting problems typical of a 22-year-old woman ahead of you, instead of hers, instead her own emotions that tended to get out of control.

At least she showed her emotions.

“Come on, that's it, honey. It's okay, I'm here with you, do you hear me? Nothing and no one can hurt you. Come on, Donna, stop crying...”

You hugged her silently, starting to feel cold because of your wet clothes. Donna cried inconsolably, for no reason other than the demons she was born with. How ironic. She cried for no reason and you, with more than one, were incapable of doing so.

“Come on, honey, let's shower and have breakfast, okay?” You said affectionately, to which she nodded erratically, letting herself be carried by your arms.

Most days were like this: a small crisis always solved by your eternal patience and then... Then the tranquility of that life full of love, silent gestures, kisses and caresses.

You didn't understand what exactly the reason for your regret was, but it became more and more present in your emotions. At least in the ones you wanted not to be seen.

The cold of winter washed over your body as you left the house, resting your cup of coffee on the porch railing. If it was winter… That meant you had been with Donna for at least a year. You were so happy that it barely seemed like a sigh, but repressing your sadness or your worries so much had taken its toll on you.

“(Y/N),” a soft voice interrupted your lost gaze towards infinity. Suddenly the cold became much more present. How long have you been out there?

Your expressionless face gave a fake smile, one that you were already an expert at.

“Donna,” you sighed, letting yourself be hugged from behind and closing your eyes. Her hugs were relaxing, calm, although your problems began to cloud the emotions you felt, the positive ones, the only ones you were capable of showing.

“What are you doing out here, tesoro? It's very cold,” she asked in a soft, tender tone, as if she hadn't just been crying uncontrollably in the shower a moment ago.

No, in no way you envied the ease with which Donna cried, showed her sorrows or her weaknesses. But you wondered how she could feel after having let out everything that tormented her, why she had no problem talking to you about the things that made her sad, that made her shake and lose her mind. Surely you had the real problem.

It was time to smile even wider.

“Oh, well,” you said, gently grabbing the hand around your waist. “This morning it was very difficult for me to get up,” you lied, letting her body sway yours slightly.

“I know, you were so pretty asleep that I didn't want to wake you up,” the woman in black whispered, kissing your cheek. There was certainly nothing to tell you that she had suffered a terrible crisis not long ago.

You laughed fakely knowing that, although you had wanted to get up, the invisible chains of your emotions prevented you from doing so. You wanted to never get up, to spend your life in the warm embrace of the sheets, where you wouldn't have to pretend, where maybe, just maybe, you could cry, you could be able to cry.

“Is there ever a time when you don't think I’m pretty?” You asked trying to joke with the naturalness you had learned to fake.

“Mmm,” Donna murmured, kissing your neck innocently, like she always did. “No”

You laughed, this time genuinely, letting your sadness and anguish camouflage themselves again with ease. Maybe it had just been a bad time, maybe you had the feeling of being sad when in reality you weren't, you never were.

If you had stopped to reflect, you would have realized that this was impossible.

Time continued to pass and your desire to get out of bed decreased more and more. There was something inside you that was dying to come out, but you were unable to know what it was, unable to seek comfort that you yourself didn't think you needed.

And so another week passed. Tuesday the 24th, that's what it said on an old calendar. You and Donna were happy. That weird feeling had was nothing to do with her, but everything to do with you. Sadness turned into anguish, anguish from not knowing what to do with those negative emotions, from not being able to express them properly. The smile and your apparently calm and happy attitude were still the protagonists of your life.

“Do you like it?” Donna asked, unsure as always that her food wasn't good enough for you.

The day had started like many others, but, for some reason, that pressure you felt in your chest had grown out of proportion.

“Well, of course, you know I love the way you cook, Donna,” you said with a tender smile, oblivious to the pressure you felt in your body.

She smiled and lowered her head, embarrassingly pleased. You looked at her for a moment and continued eating.

“Oh...” you said when you went to get the jug of water that was always on the table. “I forgot to get water,” you said, without giving it importance but with a knot in your stomach. What was happening to you?

“It's okay, honey, I'll go down and get it,” Donna said softly, wiping herself with a napkin.

“No!” You shouted, without knowing why, making her turn the head sharply towards you, her eye wide open. “I... I... I'll go down, it's my fault,” you said to try to fix that shock that came out of nowhere.

“Don't worry, tesoro. We all make mistakes," she said, with an understanding smile.

You tried to control your breathing. You were nervous, upset about something.

“Yeah, but I make them more than anyone else,” you whispered, as if the truth, a truth that was tormenting your mind, suddenly left your lips.

“What? Why do you say so?” Donna asked, with an air of concern as you walked past her. Her hand stopped you, settling on your arm. You shook your head, not quite sure why your throat was stinging.

“Oh, no, it's nothing, Donna. It was just a joke,” you said, taking a deep breath and flashing a sincere smile, heading to the elevator.

You walked slowly through the dark hallways, aware that something inside you was dying to come out.

“Okay...” You murmured, placing the jug under the faucet. The solitude of that kitchen gave you a contradictory feeling of tranquility and melancholy.

You were thirsty, so before lifting the jug you poured yourself a glass, with the bad luck that your thoughts distracted you enough for the liquid to overflow.

“Oh, shit,” you protested, pushing the jug away, which made it even worse, causing your clothes to become soaked with the liquid of life. “Fuck!”

You screeched, making your voice bounce off the rickety walls of the old kitchen.

“Fuck!” You screamed again, hitting the counter with your fist, hurting yourself.

It seemed stupid, but suddenly the burning in your throat increased to such a point that an unfamiliar moisture began to be felt in your eyes.

After so much time, so much repression, empty mornings and strange thoughts… Finally, you were crying.

The reason? You didn't know specifically.

You were happy. Your life was going well. Donna was a sweetheart despite her problems. She loved you, you loved her. No, Donna Beneviento was not the problem. You were the problem.

All your life you had been wondering what you contributed to the world, what the meaning of your life was. You never knew how to answer. Why did you live in that village? What would have happened if you had been born somewhere else? Would you have been happier? Would your life have been better, or worse? What would your life have been like if you had never met Donna?

They seemed like stupid questions, which came to light with the simple act of spilling a glass of water. Maybe that's what was happening to you. Negative emotions filled your soul, until, like that water, they ended up overflowing.

What was it that made you special? What virtues did you have? How serious were your flaws?

That existential crisis followed you throughout your life almost like the B side of your own shadow. Present, but barely visible. Did you really deserve the life you led? What had you done to deserve it?

No, you didn't deserve that life. You hadn't done anything memorable, you didn't think you were an angel, a good person who cared about others. No, you weren't special. You were a villager like so many others, a strange villager, attracted to women, considered a freak by your own family.

Yes, everyone despised you for the way you were, for being different from the rest. Since your emotions were not predisposed to come to light, you were not able to realize that this was the reason for your depression.

Everyone despised you, except Donna. She loved you, she understood you even though she didn't know she had to. Your cheerful attitude and tireless smiles surely made her believe that you were always a happy girl, that suffering had not happened in your life.

But that wasn't true, it never was true. You had realized it too late.

You had no talents, no great aptitudes for anything. You didn't know how to paint, to work wood or to care of flowers. The only thing you knew how to do was exist and you weren't even good at that.

 That sudden revelation made you unable to stop crying, making everything that you were hiding inside appear in front of you like a tornado ready to destroy everything. Crying wasn't something you did, something you wanted but at that moment, you couldn't stop doing it.

You turned, hands covering your eyes, the emotions you had so repressed eating away at you from within. You wanted to stop crying, but you couldn't.

Your body leaned, lowering itself to the floor with your back resting on the counter. You didn't want to move. You couldn't do anything but shed tears tirelessly.

“(Y/N)?” Your lover's voice reached your ears with difficulty “Is everything okay? The food getting cold...” Donna stopped talking when she turned the corner and saw your pathetic crying on the floor.

“Donna, leave me alone, please,” you said sobbing, not wanting to look at her face.

She remained silent, watching you as if she were seeing something extraordinary.

“Why are you crying, tesoro? I had never seen you…” She murmured confusedly, approaching cautiously.

“It doesn't matter, okay? Go away, Donna, please,” you continued sobbing, looking away from her.

The woman in black approached slowly, putting a hand on your shoulder and studying your eyes hurt by crying.

“But, but tesoro. If, if something happens to you I want to...” Donna insisted, crouching down next to you and caressing your cheek.

Not even her innocent comfort could stop the horrible feelings passing through your body.

“Donna, please, I don't want you to see me like this, go away,” you said again, pushing her hand away from your face, which made her frown with a confused look.

“I want to help you,” she said, with a pleading tone, unable to calm your discomfort even in the slightest.

You shook your head. Another rare feeling, anger, shot through your nerves.

“Help me? I don't want your help!” You shouted abruptly, unpleasantly. “You're not even able to help yourself! So, no, Donna, go away.”

The doll maker stood up frightened by your words, looking at you with sadness and deep pain.

Your nerves calmed when you realized how unfair you had been to her.

“Donna, please go. Go before I say something stupid again,” you said in a low tone, your voice broken by crying.

She shook her head slowly, nervous but calm at the same time. No, she wasn't going to move from there.

“I'm sorry, (Y/N), but I'm not going anywhere,” she whispered, bending down and sitting next to you without speaking, with her gaze away from yours, but without separating from you.

Time passed slowly. Your sobs wouldn't stop, no matter how much you wanted them to. Donna was still there, sitting next to you without speaking, not saying anything that would cause your pent-up anger to explode against her.

Her hand moved slowly towards yours, which had left your face to press tightly against the floor. At first you resisted her hold, but the softness of her skin against yours immediately relaxed your muscles.

You opened your eyes for a moment, looking at your clasped hands. Donna was there, silently, with you. Despite your harsh words, she was still willing to help you. You didn't know whether to feel better or worse about it.

You searched her gaze. Her head was leaning against the furniture, tilted up, seeming almost inert, caressing your hand without even moving or trying to get closer. You couldn't tell if it was because she really didn't know what to do, or because she was giving you the time you so needed.

“I lied to you, Donna,” you said when your crying slowed down enough for you to be able to speak clearly.

She turned her head towards you, but her expression remained unperturbed, although you noticed some nervousness in her breathing. Surely she had to control herself at those words. Miraculously, she did.

“I'm not the person you think I am...” You continued talking, resting your head on the furniture in the same way as her, shaking it and looking at the ceiling. “I was never… I was never happy. I didn't have as many friends as you think. I didn't have any friends. I've never been good at anything I've done. I tried to be a useful girl and I just failed and failed...”

She nodded, but looking away from you.

“I always... They always told me that a smile is the best weapon against sadness, that if I smiled and pretended to be happy I would end up being. I've spent my life pretending that there was nothing that could make me stop laughing.”

Donna nodded again, listening patiently to a confession you didn't even know you had to confess.

“I have, I have always had problems expressing my emotions. I know it doesn't seem like it but... That's right. It's not that hard for me to laugh when I feel like it, or... Even to love you or show you that I love you, because that, Donna, is the only thing I'm sure of.”

The woman in black looked at you, a sad smile appearing on her face, not wanting to interrupt, not wanting to let your hand go.

“I've been repressing my sadness, my anger and... and I feel I can't take it anymore,” you said, sobbing again, leaning your body towards her shoulder, which she gladly offered to you, bringing your body closer to hers, sighing deeply.

“Tell me, (Y/N), what makes you sad?” Donna asked, with a tender voice, with the softest voice you had ever heard, putting her other arm around your body, to not let your demons take you with them.

“I... I...” You stammered, letting yourself be calmed by her lavender perfume, letting her arms protect you from everything bad that harassed you. “I don't feel like I worth it.”

Donna sighed again, kissing your head lovingly and hugging you even tighter.

“That’s not true.”

“Is not? Tell me Donna, why would you love someone like me?”

“Why would you love me?” She asked back, her lips glued to your hair, her arms giving you the warmth your trembling body needed. “I'm not... I'm not fine... I'm just giving you problems.”

“At least you can express what you feel,” you said, lowering your head to her chest, comforted by the beating of her heart.

“I wish I couldn't do it that way,” Donna whispered, her voice breaking too, tormented by her own problems.

“I wish I were able to say what I feel,” you whispered, adorning that phrase of hers with your own, with those problems so disparate and so similar.

“You’re doing it now... (Y/N). You’re doing it with me, and you can always do it,” Donna said, lifting your chin so that your teary eyes could look at her.

A sincere smile crossed your face as that revelation, hidden by your negative emotions, made its way into the darkness of your mind.

“I can always do it...” You repeated, changing crying for a smile, changing sadness for joy. Not a fake joy, a real one, a genuine one. The pressure in your chest decreased as if by magic, as if a few simple words contained your negative feelings. But this time it was different. It wasn't an armored door that enclosed them, but rather one that was open, that would let your torments out whenever you needed it.

You remained silent and moved a bit to be at the level of her lips, kissing them tenderly, with gratitude.

“You are the best thing that has happened to my life,” you said in a low voice, merging into a hug with Donna, letting both of you show what you felt.

“You are the only thing that has happened in my life,” she said, smiling, with the moisture on her face revealing a tear that ran down her cheek.

“Donna...” You sighed, separating yourself a little, squeezing your eyes tightly, feeling a comforting release.

“Listen to me, (Y/N),” she said, with a more serious tone, cupping your face in her hands. “Promise me that you will always tell me what you feel. It doesn't matter if it's a bad thing or a good thing. I... I will do everything possible to always help you. I will always be with you, my love...”

You nodded, feeling the need to cry again, but this time, with joy.

“You will always be with me...” You whispered, repeating her words.

“Always,” the woman in black reaffirmed.

[lover-lyn]

Hello, i loved your law x reader it very well written and i see that your request are open, so can i ask for a ice skater yn preferably fem but i dont mind gender neutral x partner ice skater dazai and they have a sort of competition

thank you sm and ofc feel free to ignore ^^

This also took Way too long, but I had a lot of fun writing it :D

Reader is referred to using fem nickname: "Belladona, dear, love, sweetheart" but no pronouns used

Normal people things

We think the same, play different games

Since I like to refuse, hope you blink before I do

Then pray and pray that you'll go and do it anyway

Hold your breath, I'll make it worth the wait

Hold your breath to your chest

And come back and see me, yeah

Lovejoy↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

Figure skater!Dazai who's arrogant, he believes that he is one of the best figure skaters to have ever walked the earth

Figure skater!Dazai who first met you when he went to a rink for practice and found you already occupying said space

Figure skater!Dazai who immediately hurries to warm up as quick as he could to join and bother you

Figure skater!Dazai who from that day on, wouldn't let you have a single practice session in peace as he would always be there, somehow correctly guessing your schedule, to get in your way

Figure skater!Dazai who would bicker with you the whole time, teasing you and pushing you to your limit

Figure skater!Dazai who lives to fluster you, he wouldn't use your name, no thats far too simple! instead he calls you any petname he thinks would leave you a flustered mess, 'love, sweetheart, dear' and of course, 'Belladonna'

Figure skater!Dazai who enters any competition you do just so he could frustrate you

Figure skater!Dazai who'd never admit that it's becaus he wants you to do your best and win, he knows that the more he teases you the more competitive you get

Figure skater!Dazai who attends your shows and sits in the front row, one thing he'd also never admit is that every time he sees you in your element he gets mesmerised and can't seem to take his eyes off of you

Figure skater!Dazai who has realised that every time you see him watchig your show, you , even without realising it, try a little harder. Maybe it's becaus you want to show off , maybe you want to prove your better than him or maybe you want to impress him, he's not really sure

Figure skater!Dazai who's overjoyed when you start to reciprocate that energy, you begin teasing him back and smack talking him and he couldn't be happier

Figure skater!Dazai who disappears when you first beat him in a competition, you try to find him after the awards are distributed but he seems to have just vanished

Figure skater!Dazai who shows up to your practice that following day with flowers in hand and a wide grin

Figure skater!Dazai who for once, doesn't tease or mock you but sincerely congratulates you for beating him

Figure skater!Dazai who then imidiatly turns his smile into a smirk and tells you that you'll never beat him again

Figure skater!Dazai who simply laughs when you begin angrily calling him a bastard and claiming that he'll never win a competition your participating in again

Figure skater!Dazai who's heart feels warm when he hears you quietly say that you'd love to once you calm down and read the small cardboard card he had planted in the middle of the bouquet

Figure skater!Dazai who, as he's leaving the rink, thinks of how he'll thank chuuya for telling him that he saw the cute figure skater Dazau had spotted in a competition entering his usual rink

[ghoultrifle]

Your post with Jimothy was just a little inspiring to me.

How do you feel about Phantom wetting himself on Rains lap while Rain is sat on the floor (below eyeline just felt more subtle than the couch or armchair) because Rain wont let him up during pack movie night? Stop wiggling will you? You don't want us to miss the good part do you? While Rain plays the good, helpful partner. Whispering in Phantoms ear to keep quiet as he feels it happen, then still not letting him up until the movie ends "so that the rest of the pack doesn't find out what he did and tease him or WORSE punish him for making a mess" (in quotes bc ofc they are in on the shenanigans as consent from all parties is always key)

HELLO ANON THIS IS THE BIGGEST BRAIN PROMPT AND IT WAS A PLEASURE TO WRITE!!!! (this is the post anon is talking about) Once again, it's a piss fic, read the prompt for the contents - don't like, don't read. I'd also like to point out that I have never seen Twilight so please ignore if any references sound out of touch, it's because they are ajghalhkdg. It slightly devolved into the entire pack getting in on the action because I couldn't resist!!

Read HERE on AO3 or below the cut!

After Twilight was rudely interrupted by Mountain and Cirrus’ fiendish games last week, the whole pack held a proper movie night to show the cult classic. Earlier in the day, however, Rain had accidentally spilled his iced coffee all over one of the common room’s beanbags, leaving only enough room for eight of the nine ghouls to sit. 

Cirrus immediately made her way to the remaining beanbag, popcorn in hand, ready to subject the others to the film. Next to her, Aurora was already fast asleep in the other beanbag, she’d been curled up all afternoon. Cumulus was wedged between the resident big boys, Mount and Aether, already making biscuits on Mountain’s thigh as she settled in for the night.

Swiss and Dew were left to find their seats, Rain having sent them out of the kitchen with drinks and snacks for everyone, keeping Phantom behind. Dewdrop ran at the remaining sofa, launching himself onto it, no doubt breaking something in the process. Swiss followed, placing the food on the table before laying his head in Dew’s lap, staring at the screensaver on the TV.

Everyone was right where Rain wanted them. Including Phantom, who was bitterly arguing with the water ghoul about who gets the last seat on the sofa next to Swiss and Dewdrop.

“Alright Bug, calm your tits. How about we both sit on the floor, hmm?” Rain enquired, praying to Satan below his careful planning would pay off, “I’ll even let you sit on my lap and I can braid your hair.”

“Mmm okay but I call dibs on the beanbag next time!” Phantom pouted, resigning himself to Rain’s lap, sat on the floor in front of Swiss and Dew. 

The water ghoul was sat cross-legged, the space between his thighs a welcoming nook for Phantom to nuzzle into, resting his head on the bend of Rain’s neck. It’s as if they were made for each other, an enzyme and substrate locked together for eternity.

Rain offered a blanket to the younger ghoul, knowing his own tendency to run cold. Phantom happily declined, his brand new bat ‘oodie’ covering most of him, and a large pair of fluffy socks keeping the rest of him warm.

An absorbent choice of clothes, Rain thought to himself, pleased the young ghoul had picked the oodie up on the way to the den.

Cirrus happily clicked play on the remote as the film started. The lights were out, only the glow from the TV and Phantom’s bat-themed fairy lights illuminating the den. Rain had his arms around the quintessence ghoul, embracing him in a warm hug, well warm for a water ghoul.

That afternoon, Phantom had been out in the greenhouse, helping Mountain move the delivery of new pots for the earth ghoul’s ever-expanding collection. It was hard work, Mountain ensured Phantom wasn’t getting dehydrated as he knew the young ghoul found it hard to listen to his body (and he’d be lying if it didn’t make him think back to their quiz night, Phantom drenching Cirrus as he writhed in her lap).

But Phantom didn’t use the bathroom once. In fact he seemed quite content labouring away without a care for his bladder. Mountain certainly took note, a new summon like Phantom couldn’t hold his bladder for more than a few hours, let alone when he was pounding back drinks at the rate Mountain had been offering them.

What the earth ghoul was unaware of was Rain. Rain who suggested Mountain take the young ghoul outside for some good old fashioned manual labour. Rain who sat at the dockside watching the quintessence ghoul all afternoon. Rain who kept Phantom’s bladder from sending any signals to that poor brain of his. Rain who dragged the ghouls back inside for movie night, handing them a clean set of clothes as he led them directly to the common room, “It’s starting now, guys, Cirrus would be really disappointed if you missed the actual showing of Twilight!” And Rain who, midway through the film, let down the barriers between Phantom’s brain and bladder.

Shit, Phantom thought, a sudden, intense pang twitching in his lower belly, What the fuck? He looked behind him, only to be met with a set of cerulean eyes already staring back at him. Looking down, Rain’s fangs were poking out, a smirk adorning his face. Still unsure of exactly the game Rain was playing, the quintessence ghoul went to stand and make his way to the bathroom. The water ghoul clamped his hands down on Phantom’s twig-like arms, it was no trouble to keep the smaller ghoul from moving, he could do it in his sleep.

“Colour, baby bat?” he whispered sweetly, as if he wasn’t suggesting Phantom piss himself in front of the pack.

Phantom hesitated. He knew Rain would release him if he just said the word, but part of him loved being forced into these situations, forced to go through the humiliation of getting himself, and others, soaked.

“G-green,” he choked out, trying to be discreet about both his words and the growing desperation. He thought the initial twinge was bad, but Rain seemed to be letting the need grow with every second.

“Good boy, now stay right here, I’ll be the judge of when you can leave, okay?”

Rain phrased it as a question, however they both knew it was anything but. The only way Phantom was getting out of this dry was by calling the scene, and that was exactly how he liked it.

Phantom was now cursing his past self for not taking the blanket, his bladder on the verge of leaking as he writhed under Rain’s vice grip; both ghouls’ hands now in the main compartment of the jumper. Phantom had removed his hands from the arms of the oodie to subtly clench his dick. Rain’s deft fingers, on the other hand, snuck their way under the woolly fabric to still the squirming ghoul’s arms more firmly.

“Stop wiggling will you?” Rain whispered into Phantom’s ears, barely audible over the swell of the film’s music. Unlike the swell of the quintessence ghoul’s bladder, the slosh of the day’s drinks audible as if it had been injected directly into his eardrums. 

Damn water ghoul magick, he thought.

He wondered if the others could hear it or if Rain had spared him the humiliation of letting the pack in on his desperation.

He wasn’t sure which option he would prefer, both ideas leaving his cock twitching for different reasons. Had the pack been unaware, it would have been him and Rain’s dirty little secret, something shared between them, a sinful pleasure. Had the pack been in on it, part of Rain’s master plan, he would revel in the knowledge that their eyes are on him, it’s not all in his mind; they’d watch him let go as Rain hushed him to be quiet under the guise of secrecy.

Rain, the ever helpful partner, offered Phantom a drink, “Wouldn’t want you to get dehydrated, baby, you’ve been working outside all day.”

The smaller ghoul grimaced as he took a sip from the shark-adorned straw, not wanting to alert the others to his somewhat distressed state. There was no doubt that refusing a drink from Rain would prick ears and invite watching eyes. The other ghouls had all fallen victim to Rain at one point or another, Phantom included.

His efforts were futile as Rain held the tumbler to his mouth for far longer than expected, forcing Phantom to continue gulping the water. He wasn’t sure he could physically hold any more liquid in that slight body of his. Dew and Swiss exchanged a knowing look, Rain having made the pack well aware of his intentions for tonight. 

With each gulp, the quintessence ghoul’s bladder longed for release, and his brain became fuzzier, a haze pulling over him. His belly was throbbing, an unhelpful, nimble hand massaging his abdomen. Cuddles, the water ghoul would claim if questioned. Not that anyone would, the pack were under strict instruction not to let on, and Phantom was flushing a deep purple at the idea of being found out.

Quintessence ghouls had an odd connection with the colour purple. When a ghoul turned that hue, it was indistinct, it could be any number of emotions; excitement, shyness, embarrassment, or unfortunately for Phantom, turned on. The young ghoul prayed the room wasn’t too dim for his glowing veins to be displayed. Even if it was, the distinct smell of ozone wafting around the room was all the pack needed to know exactly what was happening between the two ghouls.

In the interest of dragging the scene out, Rain removed his teasing hands and began to softly braid Phantom’s hair, gently raking his nails along the ghoul’s scalp as he whispered into his ear.

You don’t want us to miss the good part do you?

Such a good boy holding it in for me.

Gonna feel so good when you leak, getting the both of us all wet in front of the others.

Phantom shivered as he let out a barely audible whine accompanied with a plea, “Rainy, please, needa go!” He was rocking slightly now, thighs clenching in time with his movements, Rain struggling to keep a hold on his hair. It was a lost cause, the water ghoul decided, snaking his hands back under the oodie to still his desperate, whimpering ghoul.

At the sensation of Rain’s cold fingers resting just above his neatly trimmed curls, the quintessence ghoul could also feel another odd prodding sensation. Of course he’s getting off on this, Phantom thought as he ground discreetly against the water ghoul’s filled out cock; he was nothing if not passionate about pleasing his partners. At least Rain’s dick was leaking from arousal and not about to burst from the insistent pressure barraging his bladder.

Phantom would be lying if he said his cock wasn’t attempting to get hard, the incoming tsunami hampering its efforts. He got off on the humiliation of it all, the shame of wetting himself, losing- nay giving control to Rain, and oh the feeling of drenching himself in his own piss. The way it floods, saturating clothes as the stream hits too fast for the fibres to absorb it. The warmth, like basking in the heat of a thousand suns, slowly running down your legs, dripping beneath like sand from an hourglass of passion.

Phantom’s eyes rolled back both in desperation and in the heat of his own thoughts. He was close now, a weak dam holding back the torrent, due to collapse any minute. It was obvious even to a passer-by that the quintessence ghoul was aching for release of every kind. Small breathy moans, supposedly muffled by the soundtrack, eyes screwed shut, tail quietly thumping on the rug, and hands conspicuously hidden beneath his clothing, no doubt grabbing his dick like the end of a hose, letting the pressure build before spraying.

He could feel his body giving in, it feld like he’d been holding on for hours at the brink of spilling. He felt the stream making its way from his belly to his dick, leaking just a few drops. He whined, louder now, with abandon. Rain’s probing fingers froze, before settling over the ever-growing damp spot on Phantom’s sage green boxer briefs.

Quiet, my darling, we can’t have the pack finding out what a dirty boy you are…

Shh baby, you’re such a naughty little boy, you’ll let the whole ministry know you’re wetting yourself at this rate!

Phantom quiets down, a low purr in his chest, only for Rain’s ears. It was the water ghoul’s turn to breathe out a cut off whine, almost forgetting the game he was playing with the younger ghoul.

Phantom sat there, placed helplessly in Rain’s lap as he drenched the both of them in his piss, torrent in full flow now. His oodie sagging as the stream continued, warm humiliation coursing over him and through his veins. His boxers now a dark shade of the once autumnal colour, the overflow seeping slowly through his layers and onto Rain.

The water ghoul was rock hard, revelling in the way Phantom was leaking all over the two of them. The warmth flooded around his dick first, making it kick in interest, a small bead of pre soaking into his already wet underwear. His jeans were no match for a day’s worth of quintessence ghoul piss, quickly soaking through the layers, engulfing Rain’s ass and upper thighs in the hot liquid. He could feel it dribbling beneath him and onto the rug beneath, a pretty pattern forming in the tufts of the fabric, no doubt.

The flood came to an abrupt stop, Phantom sighing in relief, unsure how he held it for that long. Perhaps Rain helped a little, his magick was always subtle - you’d only ever notice it in hindsight, that’s what made it even hotter. Either way the shame hit Phantom like a truck, there was no way the pack didn’t see his spectacle. No way they didn’t hear the hiss as he relieved himself, fully clothed, in the common room, ruining Cirrus’ movie night.

They both sat there, unmoving for what felt like hours. Rain finally piped up, “Such a good boy for me, ah feel so wet, my perfect little piss boy,” he mouthed at Phantom’s neck.

Phantom took that as the end of the scene, Rain was done with him. He went to excuse himself, to clean up the mess he’d created at the hands of the water ghoul. It was embarrassing, sure, but it would be far more humiliating if the pack noticed when the lights came up and they all filtered out the common room, eyes not even needing to strain to see the puddle on the sky blue rug.

“Oh no, bug, you’re not going anywhere,” Rain whispered into his ear, faux concern in his voice, “they’ll see the way your clothes sag and drip all over the floor, a little trail of shame. You wouldn’t want them to find out, would you? To see your little accident? To see you can’t even hold it in during a film? How embarrassing,” he tutted. Phantom only winced in reply.

“Or worse, Ant, they might punish you for making such a mess of Cumulus’ new rug. I’m sure Swiss is vying for a chance to get you over his knees, all soggy and dripping, to show you what happens to naughty boys who break the rules.”

The cock beneath Rain’s sodden fingers gave an undeniable twitch at the comments, interest piqued at the idea of being found out; Rain knew the younger ghoul loved public play. 

Two long fingers found themselves tracing a slick line from where the piss had pooled in the bottom of Phantom’s underwear, grazing over his taint, gently teasing his balls, before drawing up over the length of his cock, at full attention now.

“Colour?” he asked almost silently, still keeping the guise of stealth.

“As green as the mountains, Rainy, fuck, please, so hard” he whined softly back, craning his head to keep their conversation somewhat private.

Rain chuckled as he began to stroke Phantom through the fabric, gliding smoothly over his dick, a mix of piss and pre lubricating the underwear. The quintessence ghoul threw his head back into the crook of Rain’s neck, his nerves were on fire, and if he wasn’t glowing purple before, he definitely was now. All he could hope was that the pack were too engrossed in the movie to notice.

The squelch of the movements was barely audible but it was crystal clear to Phantom, music to his ears. The product of his shameful accident being used to get him off? He nearly came at the sound alone. Phantom bucked his hips into Rain’s gentle touch, not quite enough to send him over the edge. 

“You either keep still or I stop touching you, baby boy,” Rain demanded, maintaining the pack are still unaware, despite the very obvious handjob he’s giving the whining ghoul on his lap. Rain would never admit it, but he was teetering on the edge with the heady combination of Phantom’s unintentional grinding and the gloriously wet puddle he was sitting in; he was going to blow his load right into the mix with Phantom’s piss if the younger ghoul didn’t stop.

Hips stilled and whines were cut off at the water ghoul’s insistent voice. Rain’s hand gave no reprieve, however, reaching below the damp material to grasp Phantom’s slick cock and start stroking him in earnest, smirking as the quintessence ghoul desperately tried to keep a straight face, fangs piercing his lips ever so slightly, purple blood aglow at the surface.

He tried to pay attention to the film, for the first time since Edward brought Bella to the Cullen home. Although, he doesn’t remember Twilight looking like this… there was a laugh track, and completely new characters, and-

“Oh- fuck, Rain, shit, ah, don’t stop!”

Rain leaned in to give a playful bite at Phantom’s neck, as he sent him over the edge, despite his confusion about the film. The quintessence ghoul hissed as Rain’s hand sped up, stroking him through his explosive release, cum further ruining the oodie and spurting onto his happy trail.

Once the water ghoul was sure Phantom’s dick was spent, milked dry, he released his hand, wiping it on a somewhat-dry part of Phantom’s clothing. Mourning the loss of contact, Phantom came to his senses, looking back up at the TV. It definitely wasn’t Twilight, perhaps it was that friends show Aurora kept talking about. Had he really been on the edge for so long that the film finished? Looking around, nobody was watching it. Every single pair of eyes was looking squarely at Phantom, hungry.

Looking up at the sofa behind him, Dew and Swiss grinned in unison.

“Heard you wanted to see what happened to naughty boys that broke the rules,” Dew growled, the scent of burnt wood and cinnamon assaulting the quintessence ghoul’s nose.

Phantom gulped as the whole pack stood up, Swiss offering his hand to the small ghoul. Phantom squelched as he rose, only briefly getting the chance to appreciate the mess he made of Rain’s lap before he was being dragged out of the common room.

Swiss didn’t stop until the quintessence ghoul was laid, in all his soggy glory, on the dining room table, the rest of the pack eagerly perching on the wooden chairs beneath.

“Are you going to be a good boy this time?”

[merrivia]

There’s something I find quite curious about the Captive Prince trilogy.

The lack, or paucity, of any references to religion. Or mythology or folklore. I find that a really interesting creative choice, because I think most readers feel the shapes of the fairytales and myths and beliefs that lie, like bones or the foundation of a building, under the surface of the story.

So let's discuss.

Firstly, belief systems. We know Akielos, much like the Ancient Greece it’s modelled on, has philosophers, even if we never hear about them in any detail.

We know there are Veretian and Akielon rituals regarding death. Aleron and Auguste are entombed, and so is Damen's faked body with Theomedes.

Akielon rituals are told to us in more detail via Nikandros:

There is an Ancient Greek death ritual called the ekphora, a “ritual procession of the deceased’s body from where it had been laid out to the place of burial”. The prefix ek meant ‘out’ and phora ‘to carry’ so it literally denotes the carrying out of the body to be buried. I couldn't find 'ekthanos' as a real extant word, but with the same logic ekthanos means out + thanos- a word that can mean immortal or death depending on how you might interpret the etymology of it.

It sounds like Nikandros completed a mourning ritual and lit something (a votive lamp?) symbolically (perhaps it symbolises the leaving of the spirit, as that which removes or leads out the immortal soul from the body, hence ekthanos?). I would assume it was a funeral pyre if it weren't for the fact that Damen's body was interred (could it have been ashes that were interred? That would be safer if you're going to fake someone's death, but that's honestly me very much extrapolating from nothing. Also damn, Nikandros loves Damen. My heart honestly feels so warm about him. If that happened, and he stepped up to light the pyre when Kastor didn't, than he really is his real brother).

But for all this, there is no sense of an afterlife nor praying to deities.

More after the jump:

Edit: Unless you count Jokaste’s note to Damen, which seems to point to Greek ideas of metempsychosis/reincarnation.

Regardless of that though there are no powerful institutions, no churches or temples, no religious figures to appease.

At first I thought there were no mentions of gods at all.

But there is.

Firstly in the very first description of Laurent in the baths:

And secondly, in the Akielon epic Erasmus sings:

There’s also an unusual mention of Nereus who has a collection of statues in his garden. At first, because Nereus was a Greek god and because it felt faintly familiar, I took it for a classical allusion then swiftly realised on googling that it wasn’t. Or at least I don’t think so? Someone enlighten me, and I'll edit if I'm wrong.

So I think we can safely assume Akielos once had gods, but the religion died out perhaps (thought not due to the rise of Christianity). And their pantheon may have been pretty much been the Greek one as the influence might linger in names like Nereus, literally a god of the sea (and Damianos from Damia, a minor goddess of fertility, and Nikandros which has a root in Nike, goddess of victory…).

Edit: having now read The Training of Erasmus, Nereus is a slave owner, and his gardens a place for young pre-pubescent slaves to have their initial training. Sigh. Reading that story really is just heartbreaking.

Keeping to the topic I suppose (even with the lingering sense of disgust that ran through me while reading it) did he collect statues that were relics of the times before and keeps them in this garden? You can see statuary fitting into this strange rarified space for the most beautiful youths. It could be some echoing of Roman pleasure gardens which generally had that sort of statuary? Or is it a mirroring of Renaissance Italy where they tried to recreate Roman gardens, taking classical statues from ruins to restore and place in them? Who knows!

Without being explicit, Pacat makes it clear that beautiful Laurent is classical-statue-beautiful. Greek god beautiful. A Ganymede, perhaps or an Adonis. And slave beautiful, too.

And, of course, Damianos has so many parallels to Achilles, from his unparalleled strength and prowess on the battlefield, to his ability to strategise as if Athena is guiding him, to how he can become blinded by rage. The warrior-hero.

Ultimately, I guess what’s interesting is Pacat’s choices. It’s really hard to avoid any religious references in writing, as these allusions are baked in so deep to language. Damen being made a slave is called a “living hell”. Laurent presents an “angelic countenance”. Damen "prays" the training arena is empty so he can escape. Orlant thinks that Akielos sounds like "paradise". Interestingly, all those quotes are from Captive Prince, and it seems as if, as Pacat went along, she steered away more and more from any kind of religious reference.

I mean, I get wanting to steer clear of religion. After polytheistic religions came the monotheistic- and then suddenly we have a whole heap of reasons why homosexuality is a sin. If we cut that off, and there is no spread of Christianity across Europe, it seems we get the bisexual culture of Vere and Akielos and Patras.

[Edit: But also sex as a sin in general does not exist. The policing of heterosexual premarital sex came into being to control reproduction, which in turn helps secure bloodlines in a patriarchal society. And so Pacat very neatly invents another social taboo as a substitute; the fear of bastardry, which means no heterosexual premarital sex EVER, and thus bisexuality becomes the norm (Damen is against this seeing it as potentially leading to situational sexual behaviour which doesn’t feel right to him).]

I also think it may have distracted from Pacat’s pared down yet evocative writing style. And added layers of unnecessary complication as the Veretian version of the Church would be another tricky, powerful and corrupt institution for him to battle and there really is no room for that in the narrative.

And just as a mini musing of a postcript, we know Laurent reads illuminated manuscripts:

We know these surely can't be prayerbooks, so I think we can assume that they are histories and works of poetry and stories.

Stories of courtly love perhaps? Fables, legends and folklore? Old Akielon myths? I would love to know what he read.

There are two French/European stories that do come to mind when I think of Laurent.

Beauty and the Beast, of course, with Laurent-the-beautiful and Damen-the-'giant-animal', and the trope of the kind-hearted lover who thaws the heart of the one who has grown cold and cruel.

And Reynard the fox, the trickster figure, whose "sly amorality" is "sympathetic as it is needed for his survival".

And whose main antagonist is, of course, his uncle.

[myoddessy]

WINGS OF LEAD | dream of the endless

pairing: dream of the endless x (fem) angel of peace!reader

summary: matching scars lay by your shoulder blades where your greatest honour once lay, but all you can think of is the debt you owe to the world for merely living. morpheus knows this, and struggles to grant you peace.

notes: reader is referred to as 'gavreel' after the angel of peace. there's not a lot of dialogue in this bcs i want to watch the sandman again to get a better grasp on the way morpheus talks so that my writing's for him can be as accurate as possible, but i still hope that you enjoy !! also, this is the first proper fic i've written in a while and my first ever work for the sandman, so constructive criticism is more than welcomed!

warnings: no show/comic spoilers!!, angst ( pretty heavy, but not in regards to your relationship), fluff, comfort, nightmares, mentions of captivity, mentions of torture (reader's wings being taken), mentions of death.

word count: 1.9k

the playlist.

when you woke, the pain wasn't what you registered first. it was the unnerving scent of sterile countertops and cleaning alcohol. then it was the shadowed figures gathered in the corner of the room, hidden by the blinding moonlight that beat down on you. your true panic only settled when you felt the tight wrap of the leather cuffs that hoisted your arms in the air, leaving your body hanging. and then it came crashing all at once. a searing agony surged through your body and sent a blood-curdling scream from your chest as you tugged against your restraints.

"you're an odd one, you know." a gravelly voice rang from the shadows. "more resilient than you little friends." a glare replaced your worry at the mention of your allied angels.

"where are they?" you knew the answer, but still feared the reply.

"their poor hearts couldn't take it after they saw their wings in... different care." a light flickered on, illuminating what the others in the room were watching.

another glass box, smaller than yours, mounted on the wall and displaying your wings. a horrified gasp escaped you as you blanched and tears gathered by your waterline. a hushed 'no' slipped past your lips and the man before you laughed cynically.

"do you know how much you're worth? how much people are willing to pay for not only the wings of, but the angel of peace herself?" he gripped your jaw tightly when you did not respond. "answer when you're asked a question, or the most any bidder will receive will be your wings."

"i'm worth more than you deserve." he stilled for a moment before laughing loudly, turning towards his comrades who followed his laughter before he span back to you with a harsh strike to your cheek, an violent sting left in its wake.

he remained nameless. he bragged to his friends. he bragged about how he led you and the other angels to the slaughter, how he'd achieved feats of immeasurable worth, how he should be celebrated for his captures. it felt like an eternity until he left the room and shut off all lights, leaving you drowned in moonbeams once more.

instead of the primal instinct of fear that one would expect, you felt guilty. you wondered why you, a mere angel of peace, was granted the gift of life when it was so cruelly stripped from your family of nature, loyalty, fire, and guidance.

tears spilled down your cheeks, some hitting your chest, others falling to the floor. under the light, they glistened, and you prayed to the creator and the endless that your tear managed to slip through the earth and wake the angels' spirits to save you.

you wished for morpheus, for your lover. you hoped he had already sourced you, perhaps he'd sent jessamy, and you'd soon find yourself free of your shackles.

the pain in your back had faded from sharp and burning to a dull and continuous ache that kept you teetering on the brink of sleep, too light to keep you alert but pounding enough to pull you awake.

you weren't sure how long you spent in captivity, time was meaningless when your only purpose was to be marvelled at and mocked. you could barely even tell moonlight from sunlight anymore, not since hunger took away the strength to crane your head to the sky. blood caked the edges of your cuffs from where they'd cut after you tried to twist free. bruises of strain and battering littered your body, your face were sunken with fatigue, and your wings still stood in your line of sight, taunting you, reminding you of how you were now merely half of a whole.

when morpheus found you, when he burst through the door with a stone-set jaw and blazing eyes that softened once they saw you, you believed yourself to be close to insanity. he released your bindings and took you in his arms with the whispered promise of a safer dawn. you felt the faint tickle of sand against the few parts of you that were not rendered numb as he granted you sleep at last.

that was a century ago. one hundred years had changed many things, from the state of the mortal world, to your title in the dreaming. you were now their queen, just as you were now morpheus' wife. what hadn't changed, however, was your guilt.

the hours of sleep morpheus gifted you every night were often cut short when your memories overpowered his dreams and the stories your captors told of how your family had died, how you would die if you did not cooperate, haunted you. you would wake up with a cold sweat and a trembling body and you would swear that you could still feel that pain in your back. some nights you were granted mercy and you only had the illusion of what was your norm — dull, repetitive, deep. most nights, however, you could feel them taking your wings. every pull of their saws, every scream that your unconscious mind refused to let out, every drop of blood. you could feel it all.

you did not tell morpheus what exactly your nightmares held, and he swore you the privacy of him never venturing into your dreams, but he knew. and he resented it.

he had often thought that maybe this was his reckoning. maybe he had relished in his power for too long without fully realising his downfalls, and the universal entities that towered over him hand picked your struggle to remind morpheus that he was not the creator. he was not all powerful. if so, morpheus then decided that he despised the cruel twists of fate. the man with pride and power as opposed to blood was willing to crawl through desolate sands with scarred knees and tattered palms if it meant that his call to truth wasn't at the sake of your self.

maybe morpheus had been too gluttonous with your adoration. maybe he revelled in the joy he brought you too much. maybe he inspired too many poets, too many artists, too many bards with images of you. maybe he had focused too much on what he could give you, and not what you needed.

you were not superior to morpheus in any way that anyone other than himself would recognise. he was an endless, you were an angel, the imbalance of strength lay not only in your names, but in your bones. but morpheus did not care, he knew that in your divinity, you rained superior to him. in your grace and your glow, in your elegance and eloquence, in your smile and your softness you were a better being than he.

you brought down an righteous light that banished the cold darkness that enveloped him. he knew that no matter how many parallels that you could draw from jane austen and shakespeare to you, his grandeur would never amount to what you brought him; peace.

the mere whisper of your name relaxed his tense bones, and the ghost of your touch could do much more. he worried that he could never do the same for you.

his hand in your hair, his arms pulling you close, your head on his chest as dreams of your wedding danced in your head. a tender smile reserved for you, and you alone, dawned on his face as he observed you. you looked serene and tranquil. your face was soft and the gentle upturn of your lips was pulled from a painting, morpheus should know, he's the one who told the painters about you.

his thumb ran up and down your bicep, feeling the goosebumps that rose in its wake, and his brows furrowed. you were safe now, but he knew it was only temporary. he knew that in due time, terrors and trauma would soil reminiscence of your first dance as husband and wife, and he would be left helpless and useless for all except an unsure word and a steady hold around your body.

he loved you, truly. he saw you in every nook and cranny of every realm he entered. in the tide and shore of the waking world, in the sun and it's golden foothills that reside in the far side of the dreaming, in the climbing ivy twirled around trees in the land of the fae. every light rang synonymous with your name, their devotee's rang synonymous with his.

"what are you thinking of, my love?" your voice startled him, his breath catching with a slight jump. you laugh quietly at this, he instantly calmed.

"you." he answered truthfully.

"all good things, i hope." you drew stars on his chest.

"partly." his response caused you to shift in his hold, now sitting up to face him fully, taking his hands in yours and laying them in your lap.

"what do you mean by that?"

morpheus looked away from you for a moment, tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth as he gathered his words. "you are a good soul, gavreel. too good to belong to someone like me." almost as if he could see the protests gathering on your tongue, he silenced you by continuing. "you have the world at your fingertips, yet your heart still beats and bleeds for those below you. your dreams are of some great revelation to bring back lost souls, or to save those soon-to-be lost. you integrity astounds me."

your brows furrowed. morpheus had always known that you longed to help others, it was your purpose, after all. you did not understand why he made a point of it now.

"i fear that i cannot gift you the one thing you truly deserve." he confessed, his hands tightening their hold on yours.

"you have given me everything i could ever wish for, morpheus." you shifted closer to him with a hushed voice, now sitting side-to-side with your chin resting on his shoulder.

"i have not been able to give you peace of mind." his eyes locked on yours once more, and for the first time, you saw a mirror of your own guilt. "i might give you moments of tranquility, but i can do nothing to stop the torments of your mind. i have failed you."

you raised a hand to brush a strand of hair from his forehead, fingers lovingly trailing down the rest of his face until your hand cupped his cheek and pulled him closer, foreheads resting against each other.

"do not say that." you insisted. "do not ever say that. you could never fail me. not even if you burned this realm to the ground, not even if it was you who took my wings." your nose brushed against his. "yes, my past lingers in my mind, and that will always be the case. but that does not mean, nor will it ever mean, that i am not at peace when i am around you."

"you, morpheus, lord of the dreaming, dream of the endless, my truest love, are my vessel of peace. you carry my intentions to a world i am not strong enough to wield. you have healed me by simply being mine, and i will not take the insult of you believing that i do not feel peaceful in your presence." you moved to press a chaste kiss to his forehead. "do you understand me, my love?"

his hand raised from your lap to tilt it back down and level with his, lips barely touching when he murmured a simple 'i love you' and with the spark of his kiss and the fire of his wandering hands, you knew your words were heeded.

[jo-harrington]

As Above, So Below - Chapter 1: Illumination

Previous Chapter: Prologue - Annunciation

Summary: You embark on a long journey and you face the ghosts of your past.

Word Count: 10k

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Original Character (Written in 2nd Person POV - You/Your - No Use of Names of Physical Descriptors)

Warnings/Themes: Religious Themes, Criticism of Religion/Catholicism, Fate vs. Free Will, Mentions of Death and Injury, Mention of Suicide, Established Relationship, Romance, Supernatural Encounters, Angst, Difficult Family Relationships, Biblical and Other Literary/Media References

Note: As we start getting into the meat of the story, I would like to remind everyone to read the Prequels. Especially Purgatory as we will be stepping in right where Purgatory left off.

The categorization for this story is also no longer xReader, but xOC; however, I will still be writing from the same POV and I will still be vague about our Knight's physical characteristics and name. Please see either the Prologue for the note about her background to set the expectation for yourself before you begin to read the this chapter as we will be getting further details of her origins.

This series will not be for the faint of heart, nor is it something that was written with a general audience in mind. Please check the above warnings and ask yourself if you are in the correct headspace to proceed. I am happy to answer any questions via PM or Ask.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

“A hero is an ordinary individual who finds the strength to persevere and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles.” — Christopher Reeve

October 5th, 1987

Don't be afraid.

You waited restlessly in what could only be described as a receiving line as a black car pulled up and a figure in red emerged from the back.

Don't back down.

With every step he took, another person shook his hand, bowed to kiss his signet ring in respect, and you could feel your resolve begin to crumble.

Don't show weakness.

Finally, he made it to you.

There was no real greeting, no pleasantries. He could put on a show, but it wasn't hard to detect everything rotten beneath the surface.

The newly-appointed Cardinal Jinette had no fondness for you.

"It's good to see you being useful in a time of need," he greeted backhandedly.

Nor did you have any for him.

"I'm only meant to do as I'm told, isn't that right?" you countered trying to hold back the venom in your voice.

He held his hand out and you shook it, but avoided the show of respect. You didn't even look at his ring. He wasn't entitled to it. You gripped his hand tighter as he tried to move on from you.

"We need to talk."

The serene expression that he had schooled himself to give turned hard and impatient, and he reluctantly motioned for you to follow him as he continued down the line.

As he led a prayer for the congregants, you reflected and prepared yourself for the battle ahead.

It had been a few days since the earthquake rocked Los Angeles; countless buildings were damaged and destroyed. The death toll was low, but the number of people injured and missing got higher by the day. The church, of course, became a beacon of hope and refuge as it usually did. People flocked, people prayed and lit candles, they begged God for mercy.

So one would think that you, acting on behalf of the church—on behalf of God—would be put to use in the best of ways. To heal, and fix, for once, instead of strike and destroy.

You had been eager for it, craved it.

But for someone like you there was a line that couldn't be crossed. Rules that couldn't be broken. And when you had shown up at the cathedral amidst chaos after returning to the city from your hike, you had been told to stay out of the way. To let the people who could help in a meaningful way do so.

There would be no healing, no peace, no comfort for those afflicted by tragedy.

"An act of God," Jinette began, because there could be no other explanation. "An act of God requires no miracles; there is nothing to fix."

Miracles?

Was that what he thought they were?

Your nonna always told you that you were destined for miracles. It was in your blood. You'd follow in your father's footsteps and your grandfathers. Save the world from darkness through miracles.

Your father would laugh, though, as he packed his bag to leave on yet another mission for a God that damned him. You'd sit, too young to truly understand her hopeful devotion and his cynicism, and ask what Nonna meant. What miracles he was going to perform.

"Miracles are for Saints. Not for us."

You could have put up a fight. You should have. You should have pushed to make a difference and end someone's suffering but Jinette knew what buttons to press to get you to back down.

Especially since you carried the guilt that the earthquake was your fault in the first place.

Jinette sent you away to a place where he didn't need to look at you, where you could make the least amount of noise.

If only he knew the irony in his choice: the Misión San Gabriel Arcángel.

You swore you heard Gabriel's stiff, judgmental hum as you stepped through the gates. A warning that he could watch you here...watch you anywhere. A reminder that the clock was ticking and fate was waiting.

You helped with disaster relief efforts for days. Walked through the neighborhood passing out food and water, helped set up shelter in the rectory building, and prepared care packages.

Some of the historic buildings on the property had sustained damage in the quake; plaster gave way to show concerning cracks in the adobe below. So you volunteered to go into the chapel to survey the integrity of the building and see if it could be used to safely shelter people who had been displaced from their homes. If an aftershock occurred and the building collapsed, you could get yourself out when others could not.

You had done it before, after all.

However, the most important task you undertook was answering the rectory phone, and it was the reason your eyes burned a hole through the back of Jinette's skull.

He said his final amen, offered some additional handshakes, and then turned on his heel and started towards the cemetery on the grounds. You were quick to follow.

There was an uneasiness that filled you as you stepped past the cemetery gates and onto the grass, an unsettling energy. Not aimed towards you...but at Jinette...

You had always been receptive to the dead, but it had never manifested like this before.

It was a Mission, after all. What else did you expect?

"So," Jinette began and sat on one of the small stone benches. "What have you done now?"

"W-what have I done?" you choked on your words. You shouldn't have been surprised by his dismissal of you. "Why would you assume it's something I've done?"

"Because it's the truth of your soul, child. You sin again and again, you ask for penance, you're sent on another task to find it."

How dare he speak of penance. How dare he set foot on their graves. How dare he disturb their rest. How dare he talk about miracles and healing and peace and sin and forgiveness.

Thoughts bubbled up inside of you like heartburn and fed on your internalized wrath. Thoughts that were not your own.

You pushed them back and tried to focus on the task at hand. You wouldn't get anywhere if you weren't careful.

"I haven't done anything..." you explained. "Yet."

"Ah, you see?" He smirked and clapped his hands, triumphant that his assumption was correct.

"I need to go."

"Go? Go where?"

"Father Arnold had me on the phones yesterday," you began your explanation. "People calling for supplies, to help arrange funerals...standard calls you might expect in this circumstance. But there was one call that...was interesting...concerning.

"Someone from the Geological Survey. Calling to let us know that someone would be out, to the mission specifically...to survey some kind of fault line that might have contributed to the damage. I'm not entirely sure; my father made sure I knew scriptures not science. What was interesting, though, was that he said this earthquake wasn't the only one that happened on Thursday.

"There was another one. Several, in fact, In Indiana. Hawkins. And that—”

Jinette's laughter cut you off and your stomach turned. You could hear the hissing at the back of your mind as the spirits grew restless once again.

"That's what this is about?" he asked incredulously. "Your...silly fascination with Hawkins?"

"It's not a fascination."

"Obsession. With that boy."

"It isn't about Eddie," you scoffed. "Hawkins was already the sight of an atrocity. The...the monsters...the portal...I told you all about it. What if this is related?"

"You didn't seem to think the last earthquake was an atrocity."

No, you hadn't thought so.

There hadn't been a reason for you to think otherwise.

Your thoughts were only on Eddie, not Hawkins. Who cared about the town when he was gone? When he waited for you? Your focus and determination was to undo the curse so you could be with him. More determined than your predecessors ever had been, surely, to reach the ultimate prize.

Love. Forgiveness. Salvation. Rest.

You toed the line between life and death countless times over the past 18 months, you never declined a mission. You became the mindless sword you were destined to be...and it still wasn't enough.

The weariness you had felt before Eddie's death had only increased tenfold. There seemed to be no end in sight.

Then the Earth below Hawkins shook and cracked and split open once again. For 7 days it had been rumbling with some frequency, unexplained.

But there were no such things as coincidences. For Gabriel to show his face here, after something happened in Hawkins again...

"I've changed my mind," you finally answered. "It must have been related. Something infernal. I have a gut feeling, I have to follow it."

"There's a proclivity to temptation in your blood. You know this."

How dare he speak of temptation. Ask about his temptation. Ask him what he did to earn the scarlet robe. He's hungry for power. Power over you.

"It isn't temptation," you argued. "It's a genuine concern. We should at least investigate."

"Have you tried calling? Any of your friends in Hawkins? Called anybody?"

"I have. The phone lines are down. Everywhere. Even the Pizza Parlor. Hawkins went dark...over a week ago it seems."

"Because of the earthquake. There is nothing nefarious there."

"But what if it is? If you're not going to let me go, ask someone else," you begged. "We can contact the Order. It wouldn't hurt to ask."

The two of you talked over one another to convince each other to see reason. You knew you needed to go, and Jinette was desperate for you to stay.

"You have no connection to Hawkins anymore," Jinette raised his voice and stomped his foot down in finality as he rose from the bench.

The anger bubbled up inside you once again and your throat tightened, the hissing of the spirits just as loud in your ear as Jinette’s.

Tell him. Tell him that a power greater than him demands your presence.

"Your little...boyfriend is dead. You have work to do elsewhere. You're better off doing work here, helping people here."

Tell him his rotten little existence is eclipsed by the majesty that awaits you.

“Instead of playing into your little fantasy where you can make up for being unable to save him.”

Tell him to go to Hell and then let us drag him there.

You let out a screech for them to shut up, all of them. Your voice echoed through the cemetery, bounced off headstones and monuments and columbariums.

Then the ground began to violently shake.

You began to shake.

You trembled with fury at a frequency that easily penetrated the earth and rippled out from you.

Jinette lost his balance and fell back on the bench as he stared at you in shock. Frantic shouts could be heard from beyond the walls that enclosed the graveyard. Cars beeped and crashed on the road as drivers lost control.

Across from the mission was the Civic Theater; it was another historic monument in devotion to your Guardian, with three bell towers situated proudly atop it. As the tremors increased, the bells started to sway. The distressed ringing emulated screams and cries for help as the adobe began to crack and give way around them.

“Please,” they seemed to beg in harmony. “We are innocent.”

But their cries fell on unsympathetic ears, and you watched with a dark, sick glee as one of the bell towers broke and crashed through the roof into the auditorium below.

You knew no one was hurt. You could feel it.

But Jinette did not.

"Stop this, stop! Enough" He shouted, pleaded. You recentered yourself and the tremors stopped.

“What have you done?” He asked in disgust. “What have you done?! You’re meant to save the innocent, protect them. You’re a monster!”

You quickly closed the distance between you and he flinched.

“If I’m a monster, it is because you made me one Father,” you hissed at him.

“Then may God find the mercy to save you,” he whispered.

"God isn’t going to save me. I’m going to save myself.”

October 7th, 1987

It was unfair to say that you didn't have any supporters within the church; there were a few people who could even be considered as having a fondness for you. A handful of nuns, the old priest at the parish back home, maybe maybe the Pope if you were really pushing it; he remembered your name once.

The other members of the Holy Order itself...well that was complicated.

However, as soon as you effectively burned bridges with Jinette, the number dwindled even further. And it was evident as you set foot on the grounds of the cathedral to collect your things.

You had only grabbed the bare minimum to go to the Mission on Jinette's orders and the rest had been stored away in some spare room in the rectory. But no matter who you asked, you never got a straight answer.

"The Cardinal had us put your things in storage."

"Your bags? We were told they were to be donated."

"Are you sure you didn't bring them along with you? Maybe a prayer to St. Anthony if you've misplaced them."

One of the nuns who usually had a sweet smile and prayer for you even made the sign of the cross as you went to ask for her help.

You stared at her in shock as she scurried away from you as quickly as she could. You covered your face and groaned.

You shouldn't have done what you did, you knew it...it was just...enough was enough. And you couldn't undo it now. You just...you knew you needed to get to Hawkins, desperately, and if Jinette wasn't going to loosen your leash enough to let you go, after you destroyed yourself for the church—for him—you knew you needed to break free.

But you also needed more than a dirty change of clothes and the handful of bills you had tucked into the glovebox of your car.

"UGH! For fuck's sak--"

"Sorry, did you need help?" a soft voice interrupted you, and as you peeled your hands away to see who the newcomer was, you found yourself vaguely remembering the woman. "Oh, it's you."

She looked different from the last time—the only time—you saw her. She had a coif and veil covering her hair now, and a maroon apron over her blouse and skirt. Not a nun yet, still a novice.

"Mary...Victoria, right?" you recalled. She smiled and nodded, then glanced to the sides.

"I, uh, don't think you're really welcome here anymore," she whispered conspiratorially. "The Cardinal is...really mad; he might have...banned you from the Cathedral."

"Tell me something I don't know." You rolled your eyes. "I just need to get my stuff. I'm making a run for it."

"Oh?" Her eyes brightened. "Where are you going? Official Knight's Business?"

"Less official and more..." You took a breath and tried to find the right words.

She had already been kinder to you than anyone else you'd come across, and could potentially get herself into trouble just for talking to you. It was strange, though, how clearly you remembered the mischief in her when you met.

"...more the exact reason I'm banned from the cathedral in the first place."

Mary Victoria laughed wickedly and nodded.

"Quick getaway, got it. I've been kinda looking for one of those myself."

She was?

She motioned for you to follow her and she led you through the maze of hallways in the rectory to a room that only a select few would see: the sacristy.

It was the room where the priests would prepare for mass, and especially now that Jinette was a Cardinal, it held a larger array of vestments and vessels. Atop a cabinet in the middle of the room was a white cassock and stole...and your duffel bag, the contents of which had been spread out along the cabinet, obviously rifled through.

Mary Victoria quickly tried to make some sort of excuse, that the Cardinal was just taking a tally of your things, maybe to return everything to you...but you both knew she was just doing it to spare your feelings.

Jinette was never intending to return your things.

You wondered, as you scoffed and shoved your clothes and books back into the bag, how many times this had been done before. By how many "well-meaning" priests and bishops and cardinals. They never took anything—they might have been assholes but they never broke a commandment...besides you would have noticed—but it still made you feel...less than.

Could you be surprised though? Over the years it had been made obvious to you that you weren't...a real person in the church's eyes. Especially to those like Jinette. Thus, the things that belonged to you...weren't really yours either. You were not allowed nice things, not allowed a life.

You hoisted your bag over your shoulder and the two of you made a quick getaway out of the rectory.

Mary Victoria hesitantly asked questions as you walked to fill the silence—where you were going, what you were planning to do when you got there—and you wanted to answer her as truthfully as possible, but you didn't really know what would be waiting for you in Hawkins.

"I'm sorry." She sighed and shook her head when you took a little longer to answer. "I know you can't say much."

"No it's not that," you tried to explain, but she continued.

"The first time I heard about the Order, I just thought it sounded so interesting. Fighting against evil, like something in a movie. But then we weren't allowed to ask any questions. We were told to avoid you unless you needed assistance. That's it. Not who you were or what you did or how to become one."

That was another surprise.

"You want to...be a Knight of the Holy Order?"

"I mean I gue—"

"Sister!" a stern voice echoed from behind you and the two of you stopped in your tracks. Mary Victoria suddenly looked like a deer in the headlights. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Mother Superior!" Mary Victoria greeted the older woman in shock. "I was just showing my friend here the way to the exit."

You recognized her. For most of your acquaintance, she had been Sister Kathleen; she was a severe woman and incredibly devout. She'd come to Los Angeles from Chicago, which is where you met her, once upon a time. She had known you for longer than she would probably ever admit, and disliked you for just as long.

She had been your kindergarten teacher.

What had taken her from teaching children to running an abbey...well that was between Kathleen and God, but somewhere deep down, you liked to think it was because of you. She was not the kindest woman, and you weren't like all of the other children under her care.

You were young and not in control of your abilities yet, but you suppose that was just your Mother's excuse for the number of fires that had been started...one for each of the lies that Kathleen had told.

Because of this Kathleen, much like Jinette, had never been your biggest fan, and it was made obvious as she pushed between you and Mary Victoria, as if to form a barrier. She narrowed her eyes at you in distrust, but you just smiled innocently.

You were leaving; what more could she want?

"I think she can find her own way out," Kathleen concluded sharply. "Mass is starting shortly; we shouldn't be late."

"Oh but, we were discussing the Holy Order," Mary Victoria explained. "About her next mission."

"How many times have you been told to leave the Knights alone, Sister," Kathleen hissed at her, then her eyes slid to you. "Especially this one. Now, we must go."

Mary Victoria nodded solemnly, and followed after Kathleen without another word.

It didn't take much effort for you to reach out and feel the despair within her. You didn't know much about Mary Victoria—you didn't know anything—but it felt as though she was a candle that was slowly being snuffed out. Fighting, desperate for life, for light...unable to do anything but suffocate.

How many times had you felt that way over the years?

You made your way out of the cathedral, threw your things in the backseat, and got situated, ready to begin your journey. But the entire time, as you started your car and you dug through your glovebox to find a tape, your thoughts were occupied by Mary Victoria.

She wasn't a friend, she was a stranger. Someone who you met twice, briefly, in this long, unending nightmare that was your life.

She was also someone who helped you, twice, even if she didn't have to.

But that was a part of her vow, part of her becoming a nun...wasn't it? Helping people in need. She chose to be in this situation, chose to do good.

By that same logic, wasn't that part of your deal as well? Part of your vow, part of your curse?

You could have chosen to live the life you wanted. To indulge in freedom and happiness like every other person on the planet and to choose free will. Plenty of your predecessors had done it. But you chose to keep playing this game. Chose to keep fighting evil and helping people, even if the way you helped them...really only did more harm than good sometimes.

You didn't owe her anything.

But what did people owe one another, other than kindness and consideration and respect.

She was being snuffed out, and if you didn't help her...who else would?

"Fuck it!" You yanked your key out of the ignition, jumped out of the car, and then ran back into the cathedral.

You dipped your hand into the holy water and did a vague sign of the cross as you walked into the chapel and beelined straight for the group of nuns at the front. Mary Victoria was sitting beside Mother Kathleen in the middle of the group. You knelt at the end of their pew and whispered to her.

"Psst, Mare? Hey Mare!" She went wide-eyed at the sight of you; all of the nuns did, actually, and Mother Kathleen's face puffed with anger.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded but you ignored her. You were on a mission.

A side quest, Eddie would have called it. Save a damsel in distress before going on your mission. Like Taran saved Eilonwy on his quest to find Hen Wen.

"Do you wanna be a Knight?" You kept your focus on Mary Victoria.

"This is blasphemous!"

"What are you doing?" Mary Victoria hissed fearfully in question. The other nuns and novitiates also cowered at the anger of their leader.

"You said it yourself, everyone's supposed to steer clear of the Knights unless they need help," you explained. "So I'm here asking for help. I think you might be the best fit. You already saved my ass twice."

"Foul language in the church—"

"Seriously?"

"—banned from this cathedral already—"

"I think we need to hit the road before the opening hymn starts, so if you could make a decision quickly so I'm not actually crucified, that would be great?" You held your hands together in a plea and Mary Victoria sighed.

It was the longest two seconds of your life as she got to her feet and pulled the veil off her head. She shoved it in Mother Kathleen's hand then pressed a kiss to her cheek with a quick "forgive me" and then shimmied her way past the other nuns to get to you.

"You're really twisting my arm here.” She rolled her eyes sarcastically and then motioned for you to go.

The two of you made it out of the doors of the Cathedral just as the bell tower began to ring at the top of the hour and the organist hit the first chord for the entrance procession.

When you had first moved into your little apartment in Hawkins, oh so long ago it seemed, a conflict rose inside of you.

It had been empty; barebones made of walls and cabinets and avocado-colored appliances...but not much else. You were expected to fill the barren space and turn it into a home. It was such a daunting task; so much of who you were had been left behind. How could you create comfort when you had nothing to work with? Nothing to go off of?

But you had been on the road for so long, free to do whatever and go wherever you please, that it quickly became a cage. The simple act of defining who you were was something you actively fought. You hid every part of you away from everyone, because surely if no one knew who you were...you didn't need to know either.

Eddie had ultimately been the person who helped you find yourself. He saw the part of you that even you struggled to see. He helped you find comfort in a cage because it was the blank slate you were looking for. You just didn't realize it yet.

Now here you were, back in a cage that was both vast and barren, yet never big enough to provide the freedom it belied.

But it wasn't a cage for you; it was for Eddie.

A cage that he created for himself, whether he realized it or not.

One with bars that he, at first, threw himself against and rattled restlessly as he called for a warden that would never come. As he begged for the parts of himself that he left behind, that he willingly gave away. He could get them back, all he needed was a way out.

You would reach through the bars and whisper sweet words of comfort, promising that you would find the key. You gave him all that you could of himself, reminded him of what it was he left. It was everything you could spare but it wasn't enough to sate him.

Little by little hands began to pull him back, pull him away.

Claw him away.

"Please don't go," you begged. "I'll help you, just stay."

"I'm hungry," he moaned. "So hungry."

More hands flocked to him, ready to provide the sustenance that you barely could. They filtered it back into him, to repay the debt they owed. Because this was not a cage to them, this was their playground.

If you couldn't help make it a home for him, they surely would.

You tried to pry them away but they laughed at you, mocked you; they were stronger than you were, their will to keep him for themselves stronger than yours to save him.

Because as Eddie got weaker, so did you.

To provide for him, you starved yourself.

And one day, it would kill you.

Your world tilted and you woke up as a horn blared in your ears and the car swerved on the highway.

"Fuck you, fucking asshole!" Mary Victoria shouted. "Learn how to drive."

One thing you quickly learned about Mary Victoria was that she was a terrible driver.

The car swerved again and you grabbed the dashboard before you were flung out through the windshield.

Well, maybe not terrible, just...a little reckless.

"Mare? What's going on?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up." She gripped the steering wheel tighter and bared her teeth. "It really wasn't my fault; this guy decided to merge last second without putting his signal on. Almost took us out. Fucker."

She also swore like a sailor.

Which was not...mutually exclusive with becoming a nun...but as soon as the two of you warmed up to each other, you learned that the careful and meek personality that she schooled herself into when in a house of God was not the real Mary Victoria underneath.

It honestly sparked your curiosity.

She had, quite literally, nothing but the clothes on her back when she jumped into your car and you left Los Angeles 18 hours ago. You had offered to stop at the abbey to pick up any of her things, and she hesitated.

"I mean...I don't have anything...worth stopping for," she explained vaguely. "Maybe underwear...uh...some extra habits. I didn't have a whole lot when I joined the Sisters, so I don't have a whole lot now."

So you stopped at the first Kmart you passed to pick up some supplies for her.

"It's on me," you insisted when she tried to explain she didn't have cash either. "Since you helped me get my stuff back and you’re potentially going headfirst into danger with me."

She talked a mile a minute as she scanned through the racks of clothes.

Would she need warm weather? Cold weather? These boots looked like they might be good for running in; would you be doing any running?

"Just dress comfortably," you explained, motioning down to your own clothes. A black t-shirt, ripped jeans that had seen better days, scuffed boots, and a canvas jacket that actually belonged to Mickey Caldwell once upon a time. He left it at Eddie's trailer when he went off to college so Eddie insisted it was fair game.

He had ripped off the patches that featured some of Mickey's favorite questionable bands and had found a few that suited your tastes more. You spent an afternoon helping him with his English homework as he stitched them on for you.

"We could be helping with disaster relief, or we could be...jumping out of the way of a creature that's trying to rip our throats out. It's a tossup."

Her eyes got wide but she understood. Her selection was pretty plain, consisting of the essentials. The most exciting article of clothing she insisted on, though, was a brown, imitation suede jacket that hung on her more like a cloak.

"It looks like one I used to have, if that's ok?" she twirled back and forth a bit.

You wouldn’t have said no even if she didn’t explain; her smile was infectious.

Then, at your first stop for gas, she insisted on taking shifts driving so you wouldn’t have to stop for the night...as long as you could grab her a pack of cigarettes.

"Or two, actually. They made me quit cold turkey, and it was brutal," she explained. "But I haven't driven in...a good few years so that would really help me survive this trip."

You got her three packs of Virginia Slims, one of which she chainsmoked during her first 8-hour shift, cigarette perpetually hanging from her lips as she cruised and swerved along I-15.

There was a lot of honking and a lot of singing along with the radio—she even made a joke about stopping in Vegas—but eventually it started getting dark and you both needed to rest.

You insisted that she take the first rest, mostly so you could have some time to think.

"As long as you're fine driving at night," she asked while she got settled.

Of course, you were. You'd spent plenty of nights wandering abandoned roads and ignoring the things that lurked outside of the vehicle, right at the corners of your vision.

You woke her up at an oasis at the crack of dawn to gently wake her up and grab breakfast, before you took your own rest that came to an abrupt stop by—

"GET OVER. STOP STRADDLING THE LANE PAL!"

Mary Victoria laid her hand on the horn again until the box truck in front of you picked a lane. Her hand shot in front of your face to flip the bird at the driver as she accelerated past him.

—By that.

"Good morning to me," you muttered.

"Sorry," she repeated sheepishly.

"Where are we?"

"Somewhere in Iowa." She pointed to the road map that was draped on the dashboard and tapped at a certain mile marker. "We just passed this rest stop...looks like there might be a truck stop coming up...or I can try to turn around if you really need to pee."

What you really needed was to be in the driver's seat.

"I don't mind waiting," you insisted and shifted in the seat now that you weren't in danger from being thrown from the car. "Some nice driving you're doing Mare."

"Listen," she said with a warning tone. "I said I was sorry."

"No, it's funny. The swearing, the honking, the smoking. Not entirely convinced you weren't joking about Vegas either."

"I'll have you know that Sister Prudence talks about the river boat casino that was a half hour from her last convent like it's Disneyland. Nuns just wanna have fun too."

"You're devoted to piety, to God."

"Ah, ah, ah," she tutted and shook a finger at you. "Not devoted to God yet."

"See? There's some hesitation in there," you pointed right back at her. She slapped your hand away. "You're looking for a loophole. How did you decide you wanted to be a nun anyway?”

Her smile was a strange one, nostalgic almost...or as though there was an inside joke between her and...God...the Devil...you would never know.

"That's a long story," she insisted.

"We have nothing but time," you countered.

She leaned back and threw an arm over the back of the bench seat to grab the bag full of treat wrappers and supplies for her cigarettes. She lit one up and then started her tale.

“Yeah it’s…I mean." She immediately paused. "Ok so...yeah I guess I can admit I'm kind of on the fence about it. But can you blame me? It's a huge commitment, and I've already been doing it for years. But every step I get closer to the finish line...I dunno...something just doesn't seem right.

"I've done a lot of healing though, they've helped me out so much. So how can I change my mind now? I used to be...such a miserable person. You know when you just...get into trouble—well I guess you wouldn't know...which hey that how did you become a Knight anyway? Remind me to ask you that again later—but you get into enough trouble and people tell you that the only thing left to do is pray? Well I did.

"Los Angeles...Hollywood...I was gonna be a star, and I ran away from home and my mother told me...well she told me that I was..."

Mary Victoria clamped her mouth shut for a second. A split second. But you saw her lip quiver. She immediately sucked on the cigarette, a deep and hungry inhale, like she needed the hot tobacco to burn through the painful thoughts.

"Well anyway...it's actually not easy to become a star, especially when you come from nothing and you end up...racking up a lot of debt. And then I had this awful boyfriend who got me into more debt and he wasn't even that good in bed but he said he had connections, you know? He did have connections. Said he was gonna help me and I believed him.

"The next thing I know, I'm single, I've been evicted, I have nothing but the clothes on my back and maybe $20 in my pocket. I'm sobbing...like mascara running down the face sobbing. Walking down Hollywood Boulevard and it's literally about to rain. So I pray."

She rolled her window down and flicked the butt out. She then put her hands together in prayer.

"Please God, I just need a sign, I need a chance so I don't just step into traffic right now. I made a mistake, please can you help me. AND BOOM!" She clapped her hands together. "There's this light. I open my eyes and the El Capitan Marquee is right in front of me and wouldn't you know, standing in line are this group of nuns getting tickets to Splash. Fucking. Splash."

It could have been the ridiculous situation the two of you had found yourselves in or a general lack of sleep or just the bond that two people made while driving in a car together, but you both broke out in hysterical laughter. Because the image was just too much to really wrap your mind around.

By the time you overcame the levity, you were approaching the truck stop, and as you perused new snacks, used the restrooms, and filled your tank, she finished the rest of her story.

Sister Bernadette got her a ticket for the movie and dinner that night, offered her a place to stay, and then by morning was asking if she ever considered devoting herself to God.

"And the rest was history," she explained. "Listen, I couldn't have said no. I asked God for help and He gave it to me."

"Did He?" you asked.

"Didn't He?" she parroted.

"You literally jumped when I offered for you to come with me." You shrugged. "I don't think that's...I don't know, devotion."

"What are you devoted to then?" she questioned and something shifted inside you at her words.

You stopped in your tracks as you walked back to your car from inside the convenience store, but Mary Victoria kept talking, hands waving to emphasize your point as you stewed in your own self doubt.

"Why are you in the Holy Order if not to serve God? If not to devote yourself to a righteous cause and to stand for the good of the world against the approaching darkness?"

A thousand thoughts raced through your mind, recollection of a thousand terrible things that you had done in the name of Goodness. And yes some of them were for the greater good, but...the rest?

What had it all been for?

She suddenly realized you weren't beside her and she turned back to you and balked when she saw what must have been a miserable expression.

"Is that what they say about the Holy Order?" you asked tensely.

"Uh..." She swallowed. "I mean...yeah. They don't say a lot. But...I mean...you're heroes."

You quickly approached her and grabbed the keys from her hand so you could drive.

"No," you said darkly. "We're not."

October 9th, 1987

The last leg of your trip started off tense. You barely said a word. Mary Victoria tried to make a joke now and again but it didn't get much of a reaction from you.

Soon you approached Chicago and the radio stations became familiar, sounds and shock jocks that you'd heard for most of your life. You didn't even second guess yourself before you rocketed your car off the highway and through familiar streets.

Mary Victoria had never been to Chicago before, so before you made your final pitstop, you took her to Gene and Judes. Maybe a chance to have a last little something nice before you potentially walked into the jaws of Hell itself.

"So...no Ketchup?" she cracked as she peeled the paper away from her hot dog. "And why is the relish...like...that color?"

"You're kidding right?" you asked with your own mouth full.

"Yes I'm kidding," she rolled her eyes. "Listen...I didn't...I didn't get to say thank you. I know...I-I gave you some shit...and I've been apologizing pretty much since we left LA, but I never said thank you. For helping me out."

"You've helped me out. You're still helping me out," you reminded her.

"Still, please...let me...." she fumbled with her words, but you stopped her.

"You can thank me if I get you back to LA alive," you insisted.

The two of you finished your dinner and then you headed for your home base. A tiny bungalow house with a half-dead lawn and a line of religious statues in the window of the front room—Saint Anthony, Saint Michael, Saint Gabriel, Our Lady of Mount Carmel—to let any curious passersby know that the house was blessed and protected.

You pulled up to an open spot at the curb and told Mary Victoria to wait in the car, you wouldn't be very long.

And you weren't.

The house was still half in disarray from when you moved in after your Nonna passed last Fall. Your mother insisted on selling the old house, but gave you a share of the money and left you with boxes filled with secrets and walls that contained ghosts while she went to enjoy what was left of her own life.

"25 years since I met your father," she said as you begged her not to go. "I just can't do this anymore."

You didn't need much. Everything you were looking for was in your bedroom and the kitchen. You hesitated as you were about to leave and grabbed a small amulet that was hanging by the door: a red horn capped with a golden crown.

You could use all the luck you could get.

And that luck immediately evaded you because when you got back outside, Mary Victoria was at the back of your car with the trunk popped open, and she stared at the contents in confusion.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" You asked as you jogged down your porch steps to get to her.

You tried to push the trunk closed but she held both hands against it and begged.

"What the fuck is all of this?"

You glanced into the trunk and assessed your possessions. Things you tried to ignore most of the time, but had come to help you out in a pinch.

Jars and boxes and books. A larger tome that was a family bible-turned-diary that belonged to a great-great-grandfather. You vaguely remembered your own grandfather reading to you from it as a young child, but you had read it yourself countless times in the past year.

Two large iron crucifixes, all engraved with hyacinths, were tucked in a bag at the back. A set of knives that matched. A revolver with silver bullets that you honestly debated throwing into a river when you opened the trunk for the first time after you had run away from home. Your destiny followed you whether you liked it or not.

It was your grandfather's car, and all of his tools of the trade. And while you didn't have much memory of him, the contents spoke volumes about who he had been and why he met his demise.

"Supplies," you explained.

"I thought you were running in for supplies."

"Different supplies."

"I don't think jars of peppers are supplies," she countered. She reached into the trunk and opened the drawstring of a burlap sack. "I don't think a bag of bones is a supply."

"Keep your voice down," you hissed and forced her hands away and shoved the trunk closed. "The neighbors are nosy. Why are you snooping anyway?"

You got into the driver's seat and immediately hung the amulet around your rearview mirror alongside the existing black cord and tassel and a guitar pick on a ball chain that already hung there. Mary Victoria was quick to slide into the passenger's side and pin you with an inquisitive stare.

"Another pepper? Is that the supply you went in to get?" she asked.

"No but it doesn't hurt to have," you replied.

"It's a pepper," she deadpanned.

"It's a cornicello, it's for luck," you explained and started the car. "It's...an Italian superstition thing."

"You're supposed to be a Holy Knight, not...superstitious. What's this then?" she flicked at the cord that now tangled with the amulet. "Is it a...uh...ARGH! See I can't even think of one because it's not the same."

"They're one in the same," you insisted. "Ok, rule number one about being a Knight of the Holy Order? It's true. It's all true. Everything you know. Everything you don't. Things you couldn't even fathom? They're true."

"So God is real."

"Sure."

"What does that mean?"

"What is God?" you countered. "There could be one, there could be many. There is a Heaven and a Hell. Or you might find Nirvana. Or you could be sent to Jahannam. Or you're reincarnated. Magic and superstition and miracles and damnation. All of it exists. Or nothing does and we exist in chaos and that is explanation enough for all of the shit we see.

"That's the truth you have to face when you become a Knight, and it sucks."

"I..." She sunk into her seat, slightly shocked. Dejected? You couldn't tell. "Ok."

You had a good hour of silence as you got on the Tri-State and crossed into Indiana. But you couldn't even enjoy it because guilt roiled inside of you.

Shit.

Because she was a nun and she was devoted, even if the devotion was on shaky ground, and it was a hard pill to swallow. It had been a hard pill for you to swallow—well, your whole life was the biggest horse pill that had ever been manufactured—when your father had told you at 9 years old that everything you had been told was a lie and that you wouldn't have a First Communion with the other kids because...

You needed something to fill the silence.

You reached across the car to open the glovebox and you pulled a cassette out. An old mixtape with a label that had faded over time; it was skipping in some places but still brought you some comfort.

You shoved it into the cassette player and Ozzy's echoing voice softly filled the car as Bark at the Moon started.

"You don't have a Black Sabbath patch on your jacket," Mary Victoria said softly after a few beats.

"You like metal?" You looked over with a quirked brow.

"Eh that deadbeat ex boyfriend was all about it," she shrugged. "Had wannabe rock stars in and out of our apartment all the time. What about you?"

"I like it but my boyfriend was probably more like the wannabe rock stars than your boyfriend," you explained fondly, thinking of his stupid grin the first time he successfully swung his guitar over his shoulder at the end of a gig at the Hideout.

"You have a boyfriend?" Mary Victoria scoffed.

"Is that so hard to believe?"

"No I just...I don't know. I guess I have questions."

"Ok."

"What, like you're gonna tell me everything?"

"Sure," you agreed. She had told you about her life...you probably owed her some answers. You owed yourself some too, if you were honest. "Ask away."

"Is he a Knight too?" she immediately jumped at the opening. "Your boyfriend?"

"No, he's..." You bit your lip for a second. "No he didn't know I was involved with any of this. And...now he's dead so...guess it's too late."

"Oh Christ," she gasped. "I'm...I'm so sorry I didn't mean to—"

"No it's ok. I'm...it's ok." You waved her on to the next question.

"How did you become a Knight then?"

"I was born into it."

"What do you mean?"

"My father was one, and his father, and his father."

"But it's..." she hesitated. "You guys have like...you're anointed aren't you? Did they...baptize you with holy oil or—"

"My specific case is...unique, I guess you could say," you began and braced yourself to open this can of worms.

"The other knights...yes...they are anointed. They've done good deeds, so they're offered the chance to do more; God chose them to purge the darkness from the Earth. There's no rhyme or reason; you're chosen and you must go. It's almost impossible to say no. They never do. Knights are the best of the best, the purest of soul. It's fate.

"But...then there's me. There's my family. Who, if you ask anyone who is aware of the curse—"

"Curse?!" Mary Victoria exclaimed. "Ok that's not what I expected."

"Curses are real." You shrug. "Unfortunately. And they're often associated with evil right? An evil witch curses a young princess and all of that. But this...this is different. We are the evil. And the good put a curse on us. To punish us."

"And I was not expecting that either." She whistled low. "How are you evil?"

"Can I finish one thought before we move onto the next one Mare, jeez!"

"Sorry."

"Alright," you took a deep breath. "Let's rewind back to the Crusades."

"The Crusades?!"

"Mary Victoria!" You shouted and she shrank back in her seat.

"Sorry," she repeated. "I'll shut up now. But I reserve the right for follow up questions after the fact."

"Fine. So the Crusades. The quest to conquer the Holy Land, the quest for the Holy Grail, all of that. Well, it all stems back to someone wanting power over someone else. That's what happens, that's what always happens. At that time, there were no Knights of the Holy Order, there were very few who understood the way things worked; one belief rivaled another and it was man versus man instead of good versus evil. For a hundred years...more, even. Blah blah.

"And then along comes...something...a gift. Bestowed upon a select few. The power of Heaven itself. Think of...ok this is much later but think of Joan of Arc. She performed miracles, she healed people, she...she saw visions of angels and fought in battles to protect her people. Well...that...so my great, great, whatever...grandfather...was born with a power beyond understanding.

"He was called to fight in a Crusade...his power was too good of a weapon not to use. And he wasn't the only one, there were people like this on all sides...but he was the only one who refused to go. Thou shalt not kill, it is a law of God Himself. But who speaks for God? The King. The Pope. He was just one man...but he stood for what was good and they damned him.

"His blood would have to pay. Every death that he could have prevented now rested upon his shoulders, and the shoulders of his son, and his son, and none shall ever enter heaven until the debt was paid."

"Fuck," Mary Victoria coughed.

"Yeah," you laughed. "Fuck indeed. I think there's an old ass scroll in the trunk that says all of that in Latin if you want proof."

"I'm good."

"So for years, it becomes...I don't know...this legacy. Every father has a son, and they're mercenaries for whatever man is in Power, essentially. In France, in England, in Italy...and then you have, actually, Vlad the Impaler who makes a deal with the Devil to op—"

"NO! Shut up...Vlad...like Dracula?!" Mary Victoria grabbed your arm. "Don't tell me Dracula's real. That vampires are real."

"Vampires are real...Dracula is not," you explained with a laugh. "Whatever, ok Vlad the Impaler makes a deal with the Devil, or so it would seem, to open up a doorway into hell and release darkness. Well it’s all myth...the door was already open. It always has been. He just took advantage of it."

"Sure." Mary Victoria held her hands out in disbelief. "That's the most...normal thing. How does that lead to you?"

"Leads to the Knights," you corrected her. "Because Europe—I mean...the world, really—is now extra overrun with monsters and infernal creatures and bad things. And the Pope sends his chosen few, these people with the power of Heaven, to stop them.

"Now, we don't actually hate this pope," you explain. "He's...he did a good thing. He created the Holy Order. He gave these people with gifts a purpose, to do good. He called my ancestor to Rome, told him to bring his whole family—his wife and son—gave him a home and helped them set up roots. Then he says that this is the chance for penance. No more mercenary work; think bigger. Fight the darkness. Take the oath. Gratia. Charitas. Solamen. Grace, Charity, Peace.

"And what does my ancestor do? He let the wrath take over," you struck your hands against the steering wheel to emphasize your words. "And he killed the pope. Fucking asshole."

"Are you kidding me?" Mary Victoria screeched. "HE...WHAT?!"

"But his son, ok?" You held your hands up to her. "Stepped up to the plate. Killed his own father, of course, and volunteered the family to the Order. He made a vow, which...we know magic and whatever is real...that every member of the bloodline will devote their lives to the Order, shall fight every bit of evil they come across, until the penance is paid.

"And that...is the key here," you concluded. "There's no escaping it. He said the right words in the right order and somewhere in the Celestial Scheme of things, it means that darkness will follow wherever we go, so we can defeat it, and little by little we pay the penance so one day...we can all go to Heaven.

“There’s no escaping it. Even if you wanted a peaceful life, there’s nowhere to run where that vow and the curse won’t follow. Where fate won’t find you.

“And it killed my grandfather. And it killed my father. And one day...either I get to go to Heaven, or it will kill me too and this will all be over."

Mary Victoria scrunched her face.

"What do you mean?" she asked. "It'll be over."

"Well it's gonna end with me," you explained. "I'm...I'm not having kids. I don't know how no one realized it before. Every man and his need to have a son and fucked a thousand years of our bloodline right in the ass."

"But why not just...kill yourself and let it be over now?" she speculated. "If you don't mind going to Hell? The other Knights will carry on the oath. Why prolong the inevitable?"

You felt yourself choke up.

"Th-thanks Mare," you laughed to try to avoid the pain. "Glad to know you're trying to get rid of me."

You saw a sign for a familiar exit up ahead and sighed.

"Well...I would happily just end it...you know? I would...I would spare myself of this mindless activity every day, I would finally get myself out from under the thumb of every priest and bishop and king who think they can manipulate me and use my power for their benefit, if it wasn't for Eddie, my boyfriend."

"Oh shit..."

"Yeah...you know...when he died I begged...I begged everyone, anyone, to undo this curse. Man did it, man could undo it. And when no one would…I asked for them to give me just one clue that Eddie was in Heaven. Everyone told me that if he was a good person, he would be waiting but I needed some kind of sign. He wasn't...he was good but was he Heaven good?

"I even wrote the Pope a letter begging for Beatification—I know, that’s a big stretch—and of course he never saw it. Some secretary sent me a Postcard back," you scoffed. "But I can't...think of him in Hell, I can't imagine him suffering a fate worse than Death because...because I love him. Because Eddie's love was the purest love I have ever known in my life. Because when I close my eyes or I fall asleep I still feel him and I will do anything, I would push myself as far as I can until my body breaks and my soul splits in two just for the chance to get back to him.

"I didn't even think that way when my own Father died. When the Vatican sent me his things, back from some mission that killed him. I was shocked; I could imagine him in Hell...in Purgatory...in some void...but I couldn't mourn, Mare. I didn't feel it, because...because that man wasn't my father...that man was the one who turned me into a weapon who had a fighting chance at something better.

"But he didn't love me. He wouldn't do this to me if he loved me." You gripped the steering wheel with a grip made of steel. It was a wonder that it didn't bend under your touch as the wrath started to fill you. "Maybe when I was born? Maybe...but how irresponsible is that? Knowing you're cursed to eternal damnation and letting your father try to fix it for you and bringing a child into the world just to let it suffer too."

"Now hey that's not fair," Mary Victoria interjected. "Hey now, hey...listen even when my mother and I were on the outs I never thought that she--"

You started talking over her.

"That's why it ends with me. It's not fate. No where was it ever written that there had to be a child to carry it on. They all had an out, they were selfish. There's even...there's even a journal of my great grandfather on the boat from Italy to America...surrounded by a thousand other people looking for a better future and a chance at some kind of prosperity. Sacrificing everything they know for absolute uncertainty. A dream that was a lie. But he talked about watching his small son play with another child. And he wondered if this new life would offer them salvation, if the curse would be left behind, so his son could be happy and free. News-fucking-flash Nonetto, if you didn't have a son, you wouldn't have needed to worry."

The road started to get precarious with potholes and fissures but you navigated them expertly. A weird fog had also started to roll in, and you simply turned your headlights off.

As if this trip wasn't already off to a smooth start. You needed to calm down before you drove into a ditch or hit something.

"Listen," you sighed and looked at Mary Victoria with openness and honesty. "Actually...don't listen to me. Of all the Knights you got saddled with you really got the fucked up one. If this is what you really want, I can help you. We can work together and...and maybe little by little I can break this curse and we can work on your abilities."

"But you just said the abilities are something you're born with," she reminded you.

"Eh...everyone has a little bit of it inside of them." You gestured vaguely out of the car. "There are plenty of people who can...read thoughts or commune with the dead or move things with their minds who haven't...fully unlocked their potential. Being a knight only involves goodness...heroic deeds...and in turn that just opens the door to these abilities a little further. I don't know what it is we might find in Hawkins, but...I don't know, maybe if we actually are able to do some good, we'll be able to see if those abilities can manifest in you."

Mary Victoria smiled wickedly.

"Ok...you know what would be cool," she prefaced. "If...if you could make explosions happen...or...or...conjure the power of the sun."

"Yeah I've seen that last one happen before," you agreed. "It's like...pretty useful against vampires actually."

"Seriously?" her jaw dropped. "Have you seriously seen vampires before?"

"I told you they were real!"

"I didn't think you were the one who faced them!" She turned in her seat and squared her shoulder. "Ok so now I'm really hoping that we face something crazy. Maybe it'll be vampires."

"Maybe."

"Or like...a werewolf...or...ok is Frankenstein's monster a thing because I think that—”

All of a sudden a shadowy figure crossed the road into the street and the two of you screamed as you hit it head on. It rolled over your windshield—cracking the glass—and off your car.

You hit the brakes hard and your car skidded to a stop. The two of you caught your breaths.

"What the fuck was that?" Mary Victoria asked weakly.

"I don't know maybe...maybe a fox or a deer," you rationalized and turned to look out the rear windshield, but all you could see was fog, somehow even denser behind you than it was up ahead.

"A fox?!" she shrieked. "That wasn't a fox!"

"A wolf then," you offered instead and turned back around in your seat. Just up ahead was a decaying green sign that said "Welcome to Hawkins" with the words HELL spray painted over the town name in red.

You felt panic start to grip you and you glanced back out the rear window once more.

You knew, more than anyone, the kind of creatures that haunted Hawkins.

Mary Victoria reached for the door handle and you grabbed her. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"I'm gonna see if it's ok!"

"It's...listen if it's a wild animal, we can just get into town and ask if someone can come look with us." You motioned to the sign. "We're almost to town. It'll be ok."

"Hell," she scoffed. "Sure. Fine. Let's go."

Hell.

You repeated in your head.

More like home.

“Bravest hearts[s] will carry on when sleep is death, and hope is gone.” -- Emily Rodda, Rowan of Rin

Next Chapter: Descendió a los Infiernos

[myheartismadeofstars]

My friend and I were discussing TGCF's elemental masters (and how odd the existing ones are. Why water, rain and thunder? Wind and earth are fine) So I created two of them: the Fire Master, and the Metal Master (I have a basic concept for a Wood Master too, but she needs more development)

Fire Master is a chef. He can be a bit hot-headed and has absolutely thrown some people out of his Palace for intruding while he's cooking (yes the gods don't need to eat, but they do eat at banquets and some eat more regularly. While many have in-house servants for this, they can also eat Fire Master's food! Any non-deputy servants typically learn cooking skills in his Palace). He considers anyone who likes good food, drink and has a good appetite to be his friend. He is often kept abreast of any events involving food and he will happily tell all during dinner. He used to be a common dinner companion for SQX and "MY" as he was an excellent source of information (and food) he always liked "MY" and would often send food to his Palace but due to how reclusive "MY" is, it's very hard to call them friends. One thing HX approved of was him outright talking about how he didn't like SWD and saw him as a "big problem". That said, I could see HX missing him after he gets his revenge (I'm choosing to believe that, given some time to understand wtf happened, they could become actually friends. Yes, he would deliver to Nether Water Manor eventually)

Oh, also he has a history with XL. People would pray to him pretty much wherever XL cooked so he'd pretty regularly go "subdue a cooking demon" and he had no idea who he was. If HC had only paid attention to HX when he told him "Fire Master went to battle the cooking demon again" he'd have found XL centuries ago. (He just joked that HX really liked FM) (since HC would hate him if he knew he regularly fought XL and referred to him as a demon, I think it's important to know that his temples are fireproof lmao)

I don't know what kind of spiritual item he has, I think bellows or maybe a fan (I know we already have two, though I originally imagined it as a round fan, similar to the Japanese Uchiwa fan as it has been used to fan flames and with cooking, but I couldn't find any evidence that the Chinese used them similarly? Also round fans are seen as feminine)

Metal Master

Metal Master is more simple. He's a smith, who mostly makes spiritual weapons. He doesn't understand spiritual items with no metal in them lmao, Ruoye especially confused him ("but it's just a cloth...? Where's the metal?"). He mostly keeps to himself in his forge making whatever he wants (several of his strange swords were added to JW's collection. He reclaimed them after JW's fall. There are probably tons in HC's collection too) but he's worshipped by many artisans. However he doesn't like competition and most of his deputy officials are NOT smiths! They are different types of artisans who go and deal with prayers related to their respective specialties. He has a handful of former deputies who have ascended on their own right because of this. He loves a challenge.

Despite his reputation in the heavens, MM is a bit interested in HC. More accurately, he's interested in E'Ming! His dream would be to get a hold of it just so he could try to figure out how it was forged.

While MM avoided XL in order to prevent getting infected with bad luck, he's actually pretty fond of him once they meet. And he crafts delicate silver butterfly pins for him and HC once they get married (he's a himbo but he's not a fool. He knows HC is unlikely to pick a fight with him if he's nice to XL and supports their marriage)

MM is also a very strong god despite not being a martial god. Several martial gods try to "poach" him but he refuses. He just wants to smith! Leave him alone!!

[soya-ix]

Love Letter

Written for Day 1 of @hisakikiweek 2023

I wasn't made for love

And you weren't made for sideshows

I don't get the jokes

For you it's how the day goes

I made up my mind. I'd be on my own

I thought I'd always known

I was taught to fight

And be the bravest soldier

Trained to be the light

For what lies on my shoulders

I don't need a man. I'll do it alone

I thought I'd always known

But I was your secret mission

Kept failing but you never gave in

You fought and prayed for a different ending

It did the trick. Now we write new pages

I don't show off scars

But you know when to cure me

When they speak of us

They'll say that it's a mystery

I'm perfectly fine. I know you'll be home

Guess I didn't really know

That you had a bad addiction

Ran in your veins and you couldn't quit it

You paced in haste in search of an exit

Then stayed by my side and we'd last like a legend

Love was an obligation

Best served with reputation

You knelt before me

I checked your eyes

Fixation was all inside

In the death of a faux romance

I saw true love come to life

'Cause I was your secret mission

Lingered in dreams, kept you up and haunted

You tossed and turned til daylight came in

Out of the woods, in the clear you found something

'Cause you had a bad addiction

Conquered your heart, then left you out there fading

A kiss on the lips and you broke the curses

Cutting through fate, in love we are falling

(Some more reading for those who're interested in why I wrote this👇🏻)

A few months ago our mod of the event @sabishi-tomo told me there may be one-sentence prompts for the creators in this year's HisaKiki week. And very randomly someday, I thought of this question for myself: if I were to describe HisaKiki in one sentence, what would it be? It was a fun challenge but also extremely hard. I couldn't think of something proper just by myself. So I borrowed a line from Taylor (of course) and rewrote it. Then I thought it looked like the end of a bridge. So I wrote a bridge. Then I thought if I have a bridge why not finish the whole thing? I've always wanted to write something about HisaKiki. So I tried harder and finished the whole thing.

I wanted to find words to describe their relationship, and their story on the whole. The first question I thought I should answer was "what's unique about HisaKiki?". And one thing that came to me, which later became the opening line, is that Kiki doesn't seem like she's made for love. She's born and raised to be a leader. And inherently she is one. Growing up, she's always trying to be stronger, more independent and reliable — to her that's what it means to be a qualified leader. For that reason, and perhaps for genetic reasons as well, she seems cool and aloof most of the time — not a typical lover. Meanwhile, "love" is one of her main obligations — she must marry, for political purposes. So she's not "made for love", but she is obliged to "love". And it's fascinating that she's actually falling in love with the one she chooses to be "in love" with. Mostly based on that, I wrote these (supposed) lyrics.

At first it wasn't meant for any prompt we have this year, but halfway through the writing process I noticed it could be seen as a love letter from Kiki's perspective, so here I am sharing it for Day 1 :D

There are lots of concepts, references, descriptions etc. that I borrowed from Taylor, so for the Swifties it would probably be extra fun to read. Haha ;)

Hope you liked it!💖

[wenevergotusedtoegypt]

First, rfuah shleimah on your surgery! I had a very similar one and can empathize... praying for a quick and complete recovery for you! Second, I realize that this is a random and personal question, so feel free not to answer ofc, but I was wondering if you knew of any good resources to learn more about teaching in frum schools? For context, I'm a BT who got a little stuck in my jewish journey during the pandemic. I'm a licensed math teacher & taught public school, but want a job that can align better with the Jewish calendar and my values. I'm really considering looking for secular studies or special ed teaching jobs in Jewish schools on the recommendation of some Chabad friends, but am not sure where to start as a young single woman and a BT. I also assume it differs greatly by community.

I guess this is all to say... what are your thoughts on working in vs outside the community as a BT? Is teaching (e.g. math or special ed) at a girls' school a viable career for women, and do you know of any info or resources on how to get started? Sorry, I really did google all of this and asked my irl Chabad friends, but they weren't sure and frum communities are so word-of-mouth that i couldn't find much online. Moving to a more frum neighborhood and getting a jewishly-accommodating job is such a chicken and egg situation too... anyway sorry for the lengthy ask and feel free to respond late or not at all! Most of all, I wish you a quick and easy recovery 💙

Sincerely,

A long-time follower

Amen, thank you!

I'll be honest, I'm not in the education world and I don't really know much about careers in the Jewish education world, so not sure how helpful I can be here. There are plenty of young single women working in frum education, and with a degree in such, you're probably better qualified than most of them. In general there is a teacher shortage so I don't think you'd probably have trouble getting hired somewhere.

As far as whether it's a viable career that's going to depend on you somewhat. It's definitely not a career to make bank in, but if you've already been in the teaching world I assume you know that and aren't in it mostly for the money. Sometimes employees of frum schools get tuition discounts, and of course if you work school hours you'll be available outside of school hours and during school breaks for your future kids, which isn't relevant to you now but could be very helpful longterm (given how expensive tuition can be and how many days off frum schools tend to give).

If you for whatever reason aren't interested in pursuing teaching at this point (since you refer to your public school teaching career in the past tense), but still want a job with a Jewishly-aligned work calendar, looking at careers in the Jewish nonprofit world or frum-owned for-profit businesses could also be an option, though obviously your prospects in those categories will be much more expansive in a place with a large frum population than in a smaller community.

I haven't worked outside of the frum world since I graduated college in 2013, which should probably tell you that I do personally prefer the advantages of working in the community. At this point it would be difficult for me to go back to being in a position where I had to use all my vacation days for the chagim instead of for actual vacation (although every job search I have applied for positions outside the frum world nevertheless).