#breaking free from its prison as a final act

[popculturerobots]

I...Have Failed

Pokémon the Movie 2000: The Power of One

[abdeladrian]

when it comes to balduran/the emperor and ansur i think its a really interesting sort of tragedy no matter how you interpret their relationship and the nature of what happened.

because there's something to once being a hero so renowned that a home to thousands is in your name. and having a companion so dear that they'd kill you to preserve You, but also having changed so much against your will from that hero and that friend they knew and having to come to terms with it (maybe also against your will).

and being a survivor in the long run and being saved time and time again and being used and using back. of coming back home and infiltrating and taking power and being captured and used to hurt when you used to help. of running and manipulating and attempting to do the same trust-build-seduction method you once used with someone new, and trying to convince this person to become like you. because at this point you've lost the ability to feel your feelings

we obviously by nature of its character cant tell when the emperor is lying, telling the truth, or being sincere but i also like really don't like the idea of intrinsic evilness so sometimes i want to take him at face value. we have examples of a mind flayer having genuine companionship (omeluum) alongside having a purpose that lets them live a life separate from the grand design, and i fear having ansur was perhaps the only reason the emperor ever got to be free. not just physically but mentally.

because balduran went sailing one day because he missed it and never came home. ansur fought to find him and was too late. y'know. and like. how heartbreaking is that? that ansur who loved and protected and promised to keep balduran's city safe… made a promise that became a prison. to love so wholly that he wanted to preserve his partner even when his partner gave up and told him to leave and keep his memory as the thing that mattered. how heartbreaking for balduran to have killed him in self defense and then built him a tomb where he could rest? that no one would disturb him? how famous the love was that his promise to protect became legend? the last wish he ever had? that the only way to wake him was to pass a gauntlet to prove your worth? while recording praises for their partnership?

like forgive me but i don't think creating an elaborate tomb to protect ansur's final resting place is a lack of feeling. ansur made a promise that became a prison that became a legend. his legacy was love. and he recognized balduran from feeling alone and got to see him again, for what its worth. the emperor will always be ansur's balduran.

also we see ansur in his dragonborn form. not controversial i hope but they were more than friends! ansur i'm sorry king. your husband became calamari and unrecognizable. and when he accuses balduran of thralling the player, which we can refute, and ansur just stops to Look only for balduran to break the silence by RECITING THE LETTER? DEAR ANSUR? AND THAT'S WHAT DRIVES ANSUR TO ATTACK?

nevermind the fact that you can't make the dream guardian a dragonborn. and the armor it wears is awfully similar to ansur's in his humanoid form. balduran never forgot ansur. i think balduran-as-the-emperor in dream guardian form not taking a form like ansurs but still keeping that armor, still speaking ansur's words and acting out his intents when promising the player protection and care, is evidence that ansur lived in him still. even through the layers of the loss of identity that was him becoming a mind flayer.

ansur was the heart of the gate. and it's baldur's gate. he's balduran's heart. his heart. ansur lived in him. it was a promise that became a prison that became a legend. his legacy was love

[her-devils-advocate]

In my arms is where you ought to be

pairings: Levi Ackerman x reader

genre: hurt/comfort, eventual fluff

summary: In the dead of night, the anxieties that you had tried to keep bottled up have finally crept up on you. Bringing along all the thoughts you had tried to lock away with it.

Luckily for you, you're not alone.

note: Wrote this today since my own anxieties have been acting up and part of me wishes I could have my own Levi to help me through them, so I decided to settle for the 2nd best option: making it possible through fiction!

word count: 2,428

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55642015

You lie awake in bed, watching the shadows twist and turn on the flaking ceiling above. You are unsure of the time, having given up trying to chase the ever-elusive sleep hours ago. The moon hanging high above in the inky sky signals that it's still early in the morning, too early to be awake, yet the swirling sensation of panic keeps your eyes wide open.

The silence is almost deafening, a heavy weight on your ears as you strain to make out a single sound within the building full of sleeping scouts. The only sound to reveal itself to you is the frantic thumping of your heart, almost as if trying to escape from its cage of flesh and bone. You feel your hands tingle, like ants crawling under your skin before it fades to the familiar numbness you have come to know well. You sit up in the bed, finally fed up with staring into space and letting your mind run wild and as the blanket slides off your form, the bitter night air nips at your skin. You welcome the new sensation, happy to feel something other than the growing chaos within. 

Despite being surrounded by dozens of scouts, some of whom would easily relate to your current state, you have never felt more alone than in these moments. You have felt yourself drift over time, growing more and more distant from those around you until you can’t even recognise yourself in the mirror, feeling more and more like a poor imitation of the real thing. Fake smiles and practiced words have since become second nature as your heart does its best to drag you down with each frantic beat. 

You can’t remember when it started to creep up on you, but if the previous week of tearful nights has been anything to go by, it’s not a recent change. If anything, you should have expected its unwelcomed arrival, yet things had been going well recently and you had all but assumed it was gone for good. You swing your legs over the side of the bed with a small groan, bringing your hands up to rub at your face wearily. 

The room is too quiet and the beating of your heart is too loud.

Everything is suffocating and your skin feels too hot. You drag yourself out of the room, each step feeling harder than the last as you dart through the headquarters’ hallways with no goal in mind. The once familiar corridors now warp into unrecognisable labyrinths, beckoning you further into the unknown. You are unable to hold back the flood of tears that now silently pour down your cheeks, and despite your best attempt to wipe them away, they are instantly replaced with fresh tears now free from their mental prison. All you can do is hope there is no one else awake to see you in this state as you continue to pull yourself through the long corridors. 

“What gives you the right to feel this way when so many others have lost more than you?”

“They will think you’re pathetic if they were to see you in such a sorry state.”

With each passing breath, your mind grows into your own worst enemy, betraying you with stray thoughts plucked out of nowhere and perfectly aimed towards your heart. You pick up your pace, almost as if you can outrun the silent harassment.

“How did someone so unstable even get accepted as a scout?”“Titan fodder.”

The shadows of the hallway seem to follow your escape, doing their best to drag you back as you break out into a small jog. The moon watches bitterly from its position in the sky, remaining still and refusing to lower itself so the sun's forgiving rays can break through and grant you guidance.

You finally slow your pace when you reach a sign of life within the silent building and with a bated breath, you watch as candlelight escapes through the cracks in the wooden door. As you slowly approach the door, you can faintly hear the sound of a pen gliding over paper from within. Tottering on the spot, you try to gather the courage to knock, knowing who awaits behind the wooden shield between you. Despite your frantic run, your body has led you straight to the only person who can help calm your panicked state.

Your mind and heart are at war with one another as you stand alone in the cold corridor, your hand is raised to knock on the old wood and yet you can’t bring yourself to complete the action. The seconds feel like hours as you try to compel your body to let your fist connect with the door, but before you can, the choice is made for you. The door opens with a small creak and you are left gazing up into Levi’s steely eyes. You fidget under his stare, mouth opening and closing as you struggle to find the necessary words.

Instead, you hang your head, more than content to stare at the ground, taking in the stark difference between the dusty hallway and the pristine floor of his office. You can feel yourself shivering and you squeeze your eyes shut, as if doing so would block out the buzzing of your overactive mind.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” A cold finger lifting your chin causes your eyes to fly open, widening in shock as you stare at him once more. He takes in the still-damp tears that paint your cheeks and the way your chest rises and falls at a worrying pace.

His face holds the same expressionless mask, yet you have come to know how to read that mask well and can see the concern hidden deep within. 

He watches as you shift your weight from leg to leg, the unknown panic creeping up your throat and holding your jaws shut, condemning you to silence. He raises a single eyebrow before standing aside, holding the door open to you in a silent invitation before moving back to sit at his desk. 

You swiftly pad into the room, softly closing the door before manoeuvering to drop into the spare chair in front of his desk. You watch as he proceeds to pick up his pen and continue to work on the stack of papers piled neatly on the side of his desk. The quiet scratching of the pen against paper helps distract you enough for your heart to calm, no longer frantically hammering away from within, and for a moment you are convinced that you could manage to doze off within the safety of his quiet haven.

You watch as he carefully lifts his cup by the rim, bringing it to his lips with practised ease before placing it back down onto the coaster. The way he grips his cup has always confused you, yet you never thought to question it, simply narrowing it down to nothing more than a quirk of his. He catches you staring out of the corner of his eye, not once slowing in his battle against the paperwork.

“Are you ready to talk about why I happened to find you crying outside my door in the dead of night?” 

His steady voice rushes over you and you raise your knees to your chest, dragging your finger across the polished desk, drawing invisible patterns over the aged wood. With your free hand, you subtly wipe away what remains of your distress.

“It’s just… my chest hurts.” You whisper lamely as shuffle to get comfy, your hand pressed firmly against your chest while you speak.

You don’t miss the way his eyebrows rise or the way he goes rigid in his chair, “do we need to get you to the infirmary?”

Under any other circumstance, you would laugh at the confusion, yet you are far too drained and jittery to even try. You also don’t want to risk the lecture that would most certainly bring.

“No, not like that. It’s just a physical reaction to my mind, I think? I don’t know, there’s a reason I’m a scout, not a doctor.” Despite everything, that earns you a small amused scoff from Levi before you can continue, “I’ve been overthinking a lot recently… About everything and nothing at all, I don’t know, I’m a bit of a mess right now and it’s so hard to concentrate. I’m just… scared?”

“Why are you asking? It’s not like I can tell you how you are feeling.” Levi replies, silently placing the pen aside and leaning on his elbow on the desk, his head resting on his hand and giving you his full attention.

You rest your head on your knees, pulling them even closer towards you as you avert your eyes, “because I was hoping that you would have the answer.”

A small, weary sigh escapes your lips as you struggle beneath his calm stare, he is silent, letting you gather your thoughts without relying on his input to help you piece your emotions together. Your invisible drawings on his desk have ceased, instead morphing into impatient taps speeding in tempo.

“I think I might have just hit my limit, bottled up too much to save for later and later finally arrived. My chest feels like it's in a vice and I’ve been on edge more and more recently. I don’t feel like myself, I just want it to go away.” You bury your face in your hands, exhaustion fully washing over you as you finish your best attempt at explaining the tangled web of emotions swirling within you. 

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Levi asks, his question is quiet yet weighs heavily on you. You have always been close to him, trusting him with everything and in kind, he has always trusted you with his fair share of secrets and his past. Over time, you both came to love one another, stealing away time together whenever you could, slipping secret notes under his door when you couldn’t spend the evening curled up beside him. 

A part of you wants to blame your silence on not wanting him to see you in a different light, not wanting him to think you are weak and unfit to be a scout, let alone standing proudly at his side. But the rational part of your mind, fighting for control amidst the conflict, knows that to be lies fed to you by your current state.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to worry you.” You finally lift your head to look into his eyes once more, the gentle glow of the candlelight reflecting within.

“Considering the fucked up world that we live in, I’m always going to worry about you.” This time he’s the one to glace away, the wax dripping down the side of the candle seeming to be a good distraction as he opens his shielded heart.

“You can always come to me. You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I’d prefer to have you in my sight during these moments. So I know you’re alright.”

You give a small nod, untangling yourself as you stand from the chair and move towards the small settee placed in front of the fire. Once you have gotten yourself settled on the plush fabric, you extend your hand, palm up, towards him. His eyes soften as he sits next to you, throwing one arm across the back of the chair behind you and you hear him let out a low chuckle as you shuffle closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder.

His arm abandons the back of the sofa, coming down to rest on your shoulder and your eyes flutter shut when he starts to lightly drag his finger up and down the top of your arm. The action causes your skin to tingle beneath his touch. You take his free hand in yours and he quietly watches as you play with his fingers, the fretfulness finally beginning to fade away. 

“How’re you feeling now?” He breaks the comfortable silence, his voice becomes a murmur as he rests his cheek against your head.

“Better, I can still feel it, but it’s a lot quieter than it’s been all week now. Thank you, Levi.”

“Tch, I’ve not done anything for you to thank me, it’s not like I can control what you feel.” You give him a small giggle in response, not even needing to see his expression to know he’s rolled his eyes.

“We both know that’s a lie, Ackerman. You’re the only one who’s able to get my heart to flutter like this, just for an entirely different reason.”

You are met with a small nudge, the action causes you to gasp as he perfectly hits your ticklish spot and you retaliate by turning your head, letting your cold nose connect with the warm flesh of his neck and drawing out an unimpressed groan from the man.

“You have the worst timing when it comes to flirting.” Despite his words, you can hear the small grin in his voice, unrestrained in the privacy of his office. He wraps his arm tighter around you, pulling you onto his chest and holding you tight. You bring your intertwined hands up to rest on your chest before letting your mind melt away, enveloped in his warm embrace and surrounded by his scent, the mix of his soap and the lingering scent of tea pleasantly washing over you.

You let your eyes drift shut, your body begging for a nap, at the very least, and you feel him shuffle beneath you, his fingers flexing over your chest. 

“Is it supposed to be that fast? I thought you said it was better?” He tries to sit up to get a better look at you, but you refuse to let him, pushing him back down with a small whine so you can snuggle closer. He relents with a small grunt.

“I am feeling better, please trust me on that. It doesn’t physically hurt as much now and I feel like I’m finally able to relax for longer than five minutes at a time.” You nuzzle your face against the soft fabric of his shirt, claiming him as your bed for the night. He lets out a small hum in acknowledgement and your eyelids grow heavier and heavier when you feel his hand come to rest on the top of your head, his fingers weaving through your hair with slow strokes as he lulls you into a well-deserved sleep.

[lightningonatether]

Why c!endersmile were actually friends

ALTERNATIVELY TITLED: my crazy thesis on two bad bitches with not a single moment of screentime fueled purely by my own insanity

ALTERNATIVELY alternatively titled: to all loreheads please be nice i dont usually lorepost. feel free to engage though

So my return is courtesy of litchi, who mentioned c!endersmile like once a month ago, and got me thinking about them so hard I couldn't just walk away.

Namely, litchi reminded me of a few theories I have concerning c!endersmiles relationship, that I developed back when i was watching the SMP live. This might make my recollection of some events a little fuzzy, but everything should be canon compliant cause I was thinking about all this as I watched.

I was already watching ranboo pretty regularly at the point the prison arc started, I cant resist a really weird guy with horrible debilitating anxiety. I already thought the whole hearing dreams voice in his head was really interesting, but as the prison arc evolved it became clear that ranboos relationship with dream wasnt just some hallucination inside ranboos head and actually had some substance.

My theory really started to develop into what it is now with the explosions on the prison roof which led to the lockdown and tommys death; these were confirmed to be set by ranboo in his enderwalk state. He was one of the only people online at the time, ranboo found tnt in his inventory afterwards, and I think dream also told sam he knew ranboo did it at some point, although I can't find the exact stream.

At that point it was obvious that enderwalking ranboo held a different set of beliefs, alliances, and likely more memories than the "awake" ranboo we saw most of the time on streams, and was acting against amnesiac ranboos wishes. The explosions above the prison along with the reveal that ranboo had been regularly visiting dream in prison confirmed that dream and ender!ranboo were some sort of allies.

At the time, my assumption was that ranboo had simply made an attempted prison break. It wouldnt be a stretch to assume, if ranboo had visited regularly, that he would have noticed the poor conditions and tried to break his ally out. However, after the confirmation of the staged finale, and a better look at cdreams motivations(wanting to provide protection for punz, separating himself very publicly from his only known ally to keep them safe) the idea that enderwalk ranboo, an ally of dreams, would go against dreams explicit wishes to stay locked in that prison began making less sense.

It would only make sense if either:

enderwalk never knew about the plan or

enderwalk knew about the plan but went against it anyway

1 is a very tempting explanation. c!dream rarely lets anyone close. even punz, who knew the plan intimately, wasn't aware of dreams true motivations to bring the server back to a peaceful time before conflict. but..... it didnt sit right with me.

Two reasons for this: I know some people may have stopped watching/never watched ranboo lore, but towards the end of the prison arc, ranboo began seeing flashes of "lessons" appear on screen. These lessons all had that utilitarian and paranoid feel a lot of dreams actions/reasoning have, like "dont trust anybody"(paraphrasing, thats just what i remember the core of that message being) or "never hesitate to gain a favor from someone, you can use it to get something from them later". anyone remember technos favor to dream? It was heavily implied these lessons were meant to be from dream, directed at c!enderwalk. This would mean the two spent a significant amount of time together. not only that, dream was sharing his *life philosophy* with ender!ranboo. thats not just something dream would share with anyone, and implies a close allyship at the least. its almost like he was teaching a pupil. yeah, sure, some of his lessons were a little fucked up and weird in that dream sort of way, but he was looking out for the kid. and it seems that enderwalk wasnt hesitant to act on those lessons either. he promised to keep a shulker safe for foolish, gaining a favor, and didnt sign a single one of those prison visitation waivers, on top of sam discovering they were corrupted into enderian when he checked LMAO.

This alone would be enough to persuade me enderwalk HAD to have been let in on the plan, at least so he wouldnt cause any problems (such as trying to get his ally out of prison).

but the other reason is... ranboos stated philosophy against conflict. he doesnt like sides, he wishes they wouldn't exist. I remember watching a stream and nearly jumping out of my seat when he told chat he just wished the server could just be one big happy family! because that is nearly word for word what a bunch of loreheads were saying about dreams motivations at the time(and now obviously lmao). if we keep in mind their contact for those "lessons", ranboos visits to dream in prison, AND the fact that dreams and ranboos motivations coincide on a level even Above dream and punzs(punz seemed to have been unaware of and also not particularly motivated by dreams wish for peace) i cant really imagine dream not letting this guy in on the plan.

which leaves us with 2) ranboo tried to break dream out against dreams wishes.

Maybe ranboo was just an ally and chickened out after he saw dreams mistreatment in prison and went against the plan, but... dream missed him after sam barred him from visiting. he asked sapnap to deliver a note to ranboo(just a smiley face, likely with the hopes of triggering an enderwalk) despite fearing for his ally punz enough to lock himself in prison. it feels reminicent to how dream sounds when he comments on george not visiting him once. like he missed a friend despite trying so hard to separate himself from the ones he'd had.

Maybe ranboo tried to break in because he saw a friend being mistreated, and couldn't leave the plan stand.

And that kind of makes sense doesn't it? that dream, someone whos paranoid about how peoples connection to him puts them in danger, would choose an amnesiac who spends most of their time terrified of dream, and wouldnt remember any of his plans or their friendship to use against either of them in the first place?

[call-sign-shark]

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary:  Six months after being released from prison and cleared of murder charges, you and Arthur are finally getting married. All you have to do now is hope for the wedding day to be spared from some Shelby chaos. Featuring John Shelby x Reader.

Words: 6k

TW:  tooth-rotting fluff, light angst, allusions to smut, one ruined wedding cake, Tommy not being a dick for once, otherwise it's a well-deserved soft chapter to start this new act. Let's not break your heart too soon.

Notes:

✞ This chapter is the beginning of Act II of Heaven in Your Eyes. The timeline is S4.

✞ Heaven is OP's original character but written with the use of « you » (Moodboard here).

PREVIOUS || Masterlist || NEXT PART

The beating in your heart was so erratic, so fierce, that its constant drumming echoed in your skull and ears as painfully as if someone was smashing your brain with a hammer. You clenched your jaws at the painful bite of the rope the police officer behind you had placed around your neck. The way the noose compressed your windpipe, already giving you a foretaste of what was awaiting you, made the act of breathing laborious. Sucking on a sharp breath, your throat whistled like a dying bird. Down below I go, you thought while nervously playing with the wedding ring Arthur gifted you weeks ago. He had barely made his proposal when policemen snatched you from him and threw you both in jail. With your back straight and your crystal eyes glaring at the officers who were present in this slaughter room, you managed to keep your dignity. They might hang you, but they would not see you cry. In fact, if you went down they would have to watch you, so that your piercing irises would haunt them until, one day, Death would come for them too.

I love you Arthur. 

I love you Dad and Mom.

I love you little sister.

I’m so sorry I’ve failed you.

Could you ever forgive me?

Your teeth dug into the flesh of your inner cheek as seconds flew, each bringing you closer to your inevitable end. 

“WAIT!!! PLEASE WAIT! ” 

A far cry in the distance. Were you dreaming? Or were demons already afraid of you down in Hell?

Officer Kat Wilson’s heart missed a beat when the familiar voice boomed in the warehouse, as loud as a foghorn. The blonde policewoman turned around, eyes filled with hope as she saw the silhouette of Sergeant Moss bathed in the blinding outside light that had rushed into the place when he had opened the warehouse’s heavy doors, “Do not kill her! We’ve just received a new order from the Crown: Heaven Lavey and Polly Gray are proven innocent of the crimes they had been accused of.”  He said, forehead glistening with sweat. He had probably run as fast as possible to deliver the news quickly. Kat Wilson felt all of her muscles relax at such an unhoped-for plot twist.

“Take the noose off her neck now.” She ordered, trying his best to sound strict despite Moss standing right here,  running out of breath.

Innocent? Take the noose? Sentences were melting in an intelligible treacle because of the emotional roller coaster you were undergoing, hence you only caught a few words. When your mind finally made sense of what was happening, a long sigh came out of your quivering lips. Then, the policeman behind you set your throat free. You blinked several times and looked at Officer Wilson, who replied to your confused gaze with a faint, supportive smile illuminating her usually oh-so-severe traits. Then, she proceeded to free you from the handcuffs that were sinking into the frail flesh of your wrists. As she did, Kat brought her lips near your ear and whispered so only you could hear, “Arthur’s safe. The warrant includes the Shelby family too. I’m sorry for the mess, doll. ” 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and glanced at the woman, trying not to let too many emotions show. Not that you wanted to play the tough girl, but you were so overwhelmed by your feelings that you were not even able to let out anything except confusion. It was all… Too much. “You knew they were going to release us.” You stated with a quiet but still slightly shaky voice as the revelation struck you. 

“Let’s say I hoped they’d interrupt your death sentence in time.” Her soft yet hoarse voice replied, highlighted with a cunning little something.

Kat Wilson gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze before leading you outside the sinister warehouse, unwilling to provide you with further details. And somehow, you did not bother to ask. The only thing you wished for was to run away from this killing floor. Thus you walked bare feet on the gravel ground, the peaky sensation of the tiny stones against your flesh keeping you grounded to reality, andyou stopped in the middle of the yard. There, you threw your head back and closed your eyes,  relishing the soft caress of the wind on your face.  You breathed a sigh of relief, for the clouds above you had shifted from the sun, whose rays were warming up your frozen skin. 

You were alive. 

“Heaven!” A woman voice called you.

You reopened your eyes and looked around you, “Oh my God, Polly!” You suddenly exclaimed when you recognized her. Seeing Aunt Polly running to you and almost tackling you in a desperate hug was all it took for your emotions to finally flood you. Tears dawned at the corner of your eyes as you pulled her into a deeper embrace. Polly sobbed in your arms, her body quivering because of her cries.

“I saw them Heaven! I saw the spirits. Oh bloody hell, the spirits…” 

“I know Pol,” You tried to comfort her the best you could, your grip tightening around the poor woman in the hope of helping her calm her panic attack. Still, you knew she was shaken to the core by her freshly canceled rendezvous with Mr. Death, “Everything’s fine,” You whispered, and let one of your hands lose itself in her short dark hair, “I hear them too.” You admitted. Polly gradually grew quieter in your arms, running out of tears. Nevertheless, you did not let her go. What you did, though, was to silently thank the policewoman with your gaze, your irises sparkling with genuine gratitude. No matter her role in all this mess, you knew Kat Wilson contributed to setting you free. 

You were alive.

Alive, for sure, and indescribably furious. 

1925 - Six Months Later 

You had been absentmindedly looking at your reflection in the mirror for long minutes when someone knocked at the door and snatched you from your contemplative state. A growl escaped from your lips for you had let everyone know you did not want to be bothered— truth be told, you needed a bit of time alone with you to soothe your anxiety. However, the uninvited guest came in before you allowed him to do so.

“True gentlemen wait to be invited before entering a room, you know? Especially when a lady is in it. ” You said with a faint smirk on your plump and glossy lips as you recognized the guest by the sole fragrances of his cologne. 

“A part of me hoped to see you undressed, that’s why I didn’t, little Angel.” The masculine voice answered, its tone filled with tease. You snorted at such a stupid answer, kinda expecting it, and rolled your eyes in amusement.

“Idiot.” You simply retorted, glancing at him through the mirror you were still facing.

“Idiot? That’s it? I’m used to better roast from ya, eh!” John exclaimed, surprised by your lack of wit. He wanted to tease you again you but your sudden silence kept him from doing so. Something was off. Worried, the young Shelby brother frowned a little bit and walked to you, not minding your desire of being alone. You jumped slightly at the sensation of his two large and warm hands squeezing your upper arms, “Oi, Angel.” He gently called, the tenderness in his voice wrapping you in a comforting haze, “Tell me what’s wrong please…” 

For sure John Shelby had a soft spot for you since the day Arthur introduced you to the family. No one had ever doubted it. Without the slightest explanation nor apparent reasons, you both immediately grew fond of each other from the moment your eyes met. In truth, your relationship with the Shelby family had been quite tricky for months following the first meeting. Most of them didn’t want you to be a part of the clan, partly due to the witch rumors around you and Arthur’s obsessive love. It was only now, a solid year and one murder later, that everything had started to flow more smoothly with them. Even Esme, who had been terrified of you and would usually avoid you at all costs, had learned to live with your presence in the family. According to Polly, you had deserved your place among them more than any other women the boys brought home. The only threat to this harmony had been and still was Thomas Shelby himself. The mutual resentment you shared for each other was rooted in deep and far too complicated reasons, the most recent one was him selling you to the police for murder charges. However, you came to terms with the idea of maintaining a mutual hatred as long as he did not step between Arthur and you ever again. 

So, apart from Tommy and Esme, you were now getting along with everyone. But with John… With John, it was unlike anything you had ever experienced, apart from Arthur. Whenever your man wasn’t there, John would do everything that was in his power to keep you company and bring a smile to your face. Not only he loved to visit you and spent his free time with you, but he truly cared for your well-being. Sometimes he would make a surprise visit to your house. In fact, he would stand there on your porch with the most adorable smile you had ever seen etched on his lips, a basket filled with food in one hand and a bottle of red wine in the other. When Arthur and you decided to leave Birmingham, your heart ached at the thought of moving away from John. Following your departure, rumors said John’s eternal smile had not be seen for weeks. However, once you had well adjusted to your new routine, even distance could not shake your unique bond: John never ceased to visit you when he could.

“What’s the matter, little angel?” He inquired, genuinely concerned by your silence and the melancholic gleam in your aquamarine eyes. 

“I’m scared John. I’m fucking scared.” You finally admitted, closing your eyelids a few seconds to take a slow inhale. The weight in your chest had vanished from the moment words left your mouth.  At such a surprising answer, the young gangster’s grip tightened on your arms and he gently forced you to turn around to face him. Still, you avoided his gaze, fearing judgment. 

“It’s your wedding day, Heaven. What are you scared of?” He carefully asked, taking care not to make you think he was mocking or judging you.

“I’m scared because now I’ve got something to lose,” You fell silent for a tiny while, fighting again the desire to remain silent, but you knew you could open up to him, “I have a magnificent house in the forest cradled by the sweet chant of a peaceful stream. I have the loveliest man I could have dreamt of by my side, who loves me to the moon and back. God, I even got a dog!” Another brief pause you took to avoid crying, “And one day there will be one or two kids…” John listened to you carefully, still wondering what the problem was, “If I'm being honest, I’ve never thought I would be allowed to be this happy. At one point in my life, I got used to the idea of dying alone,  hunted down by bad memories, and drown by guilt. But, look at me now. Look how far I’ve come… That’s why I’m scared of losing it all. Fuck, John — I’ll die without him.” 

To your greatest surprise, the young gangster replied to your lament with soft chuckles, “Heaven. I don’t know what it is between Arthur and you, but I’ve never seen a love fiercer than the one you share. Bloody Hell, you’re so addicted to each other it’s even a bit scary sometimes, not gonna lie eh,” His fingers trapped your chin in one soft movement and, with indescribable tenderness, he raised your head so that he could observe each trait of your angelic face, “Having something to lose makes you cherish what you have even more. Plus it doesn’t mean you’re gonna lose it. “ The corner of his charming lips curled in a sweet smile, “Moreover, there’s more chance for Tommy to like you than for Arthur to leave your side. He’s not gonna let you go… To my greatest sadness.” John winked at you and, despite everything, his last flirty comment managed to make you laugh.  Sometimes, you didn’t know how he always succeeded in cheering you up but still he did, “Listen, I knew you’d be a bit nervous for your wedding day, so I got you a little surprise.” 

“A surprise?” You asked, curious, wiping away the tiny tears that had formed in the corner of your eyes while being careful not to ruin the stunning siren-eyes makeup Ada did. It would be a shame to have more mascara on your cheek than on your eyelashes the day of your wedding. John walked to the door and put his large hand on the knob, looking at you to maintain a small suspense “I know he’s not supposed to see you before the ceremony but he would not stop crying without you so…” He was about to open the door when he stopped mid-action, “Oh and I’m not talking about Arthur by the way. Even though I’m pretty sure he’s also doing that.” 

“Fuck off, John boy.” You poked your tongue out, feeling cheerful and far less anxious thanks to him. He grinned in reply and finally opened the door.

“Oh! This is... So cuuuuute!” You almost squealed, for you were welcomed by the sight of Kaiser, the huge Cane Corso Arthur’s had brought home one night, sitting in front of the door with his mouth open in a big smile and with his drooling tongue hanging, “Come here big boy!” You called him, kneeling on the floor without minding your wedding dress now that your fur baby was here. Kaiser did not need to be asked twice: he walked to you and put his huge head between your frail hands to get his scratches, looking at you with so much love in his hazel eyes you could not resist smooching his wet snout “I can’t believe you’ve put a bow tie to my dog!” You laughed, “Look at this distinguished gentleman... He’s gonna steal all the women!”  The massive beast barked loudly as to agree with you. You delicately wrapped your arms around his muscular frame to hug him, the sensation of his fur against your face erasing the last bits of anxiety left in you “Oh you’re the most handsome man of the whole family, baby Kaiser... Yes, you are. ”

His tail wagged. Of course, he was!

“Couldn’t participate in the wedding if he wasn’t all fancy, eh. I've also put a fake mustache on his snout but he ate it so I gave up on the idea,” He shrugged, “I thought it would make you laugh and help you relax.” 

“Thank you, John! Thank you so much, you’re lovely I swear.” You said, looking at him with your gaze filled with genuine affection all the while cuddling with Kaiser, who seemed to be in paradise judging by his blissfully happy face. 

“So — are you ready?” John finally asked.

“Yes, I am.” You replied, then stood up and took a quick look at your reflection in the mirror to fix your long white mane, which had been styled in wavy and adorned with a few diamonds from there and then, giving your hair an otherworldly shine. As you focused on your hairstyle, John rearranged your dress. At one point, he stopped what he was doing to look at you with a dreamy expression. 

“You’re stunning, little angel. Fuckin’ bewitching.” He whispered before shaking his head, “Let’s find your man now, eh. Alright?” You nodded, the butterflies in your stomach flying at the sole mention of Arthur.

“I’m ready but before we go can I ask you a favor, John?”

“Anything.” 

“You know, I’d have loved my family to be here. Mom would have been prolly crying during the whole wedding in Dad’s arms while my little sister would have thrown white petals at everyone’s face for fun…” You let out a charming but oh-so-sad chuckle “But no matter how fiercely I’ve prayed for it I know they won’t be there. So I’ve got two choices left: either I walk alone to my husband or I ask someone to accompany me.” You had barely finished your sentence when the celeste blue of your eyes dived into the sky blue of his, “I’d like you to escort me down the aisle, John.”

He remained silent, stricken by surprise at such a touching demand.  He had not been expecting it. Words were at loss, however, they were not necessary for you to understand his answer:  as the sun rays crossed through the windows and enlightened John’s face, you could see the precious shine of one sole crystal tear running down his cheek.

The powerful sound of the organ resonated in the whole church, the vibrations of its melody resounding in Arthur’s chest and making him tremble from within. He was standing in front of the altar with his manly hands interlocked in front of him. For the occasion, he had bought the most elegant and expensive tailored three-piece suit he had ever owned: he was dressed in all black, except for the white shirt he was wearing under. Moreover, Tommy had put some traditional white flowers in the pocket of his vest, while Polly had slipped an emerald pillar pendant around his neck and hid it under his shirt before he entered the church— a marriage blessing, from what he had understood from Polly’s emotional speech. The woman was so proud of her older nephew she could not help but already weep with joy. Arthur nervously glanced at his brother who was standing by his side, slightly in front of him at his best man’s place.  Then, his steel-blue eyes shifted from Tommy and searched for his Aunt, who sat a bit further in the audience beside Ada and Finn. To be honest, Arthur’s anxiety kicked in. The more the second passed, the more the unpleasant impression his heart was about to burst from his chest was overwhelming. Nervously spinning one of his silver rings, he tried to control his nerves the best he could but it was harder than he thought: a part of him, admittedly irrational, was terrified by the possibility of you not showing up.

What if you’ve changed your mind? What if you’ve come to the conclusion you did not want him? What if your wedding did not work out, just like his first one? Maybe the problem hadn’t been Linda but him? 

As was always the case when he was panicking, his self-whipping thoughts banged together in his skull like a hive of furious buzzing hornets. Nevertheless, Arthur knew, deep down, that you were soul mates and that there was no actual reason for you to flee. What really helped him to calm down though was taking a deep inhale and focusing on the hundred of candles’ flames that were illuminating the room with tiny dancing flames. A comforting wave of warmth almost immediately wrapped his heart as he did, for this church was the place in which you met for the very first time. He still clearly remembers the fire that had lit in his dying soul at the way your fingers grazed him when you had cleaned the blood off his face with a torn piece of your own dress. Not only had you purified his soiled skin, but then you had allowed him to put his head on your thighs and proceeded to pet his hair all the while lulling his demons to sleep with that enchanting voice of yours. From that night, Arthur made a promise to Almighty God, who had been kind enough to answer his prayers and sent him his most precious Angel. And that promise was that he would marry you in this same place to show God how well he would treat you and how happy you would be with him.

The organ roared louder in the church all of a sudden, causing him to refocus.

 You were coming.

The gangster straightened his back, quickly slicked his hair back one last time to look perfect for you, and then stared at the church’s heavy wooden doors with both anxiety and anticipation in his eyes. His blood boiled with impatience, for you had been separated for too long because of the traditional “don’t see the bride before the ceremony” the Shelby women — and John — had insisted to establish. That being said, it had been torture for Arthur, who was aching so much from your absence that he felt almost as bad as when he went through rehab. Hands shaking, cold sweat running down his back, breath hitching, Arthur could definitely not live without you by his side. — you were the most exquisite drug ever created, against which even opium could not even compete. 

The doors opened and panic rushed even more brutally into his being. At first, he thought he was about to die from a heart attack, but then, all these negative feelings vanished in dust when his piercing blue irises met your tantalizing silhouette. When you erupted from the almost supernatural light that was surrounding you, Arthur widened his eyes and stopped breathing. Here you were, your seductive body adorned with a graceful Greek goddess-inspired dress whose cut let the pale flesh of your back for the world to see while also forming a graceful and long wedding cape that was cascading down your shoulders. The whiteness of your outfit, equaling the wonderful snow-like color of your hair, was enhanced with gold jewels: armbands and a choker. One look at you was all it took for Arthur to feel the stinging of uncontrollable tears dawning in his eyes, for a tsunami of emotions had crashed in his soul at such a holy sight. As you walked to the altar at John’s arm, the wind blew in the church and made your cape dance behind you. For a few seconds, Arthur was convinced he saw wings in your back. Mighty feathery wings. 

Divine. It was the only word that came into his mind when he watched you breaking the distance between you. And the more you approached, the more he was stunned by your ethereal beauty. So stunned he had to keep himself from falling on his knees at your feet, deeming himself unworthy of standing in front of such a pure seraph. Even Tommy, whose resentment for you was a secret to none, found himself in awe at your pulchritude. He, along with the groom, had to blink several times to make sure they were not dreaming. 

Your glossy lips stretched in an enamored smile overflowing with emotions when you looked at your future husband: he was so charming in his suit that you fell in love with him for a second time. Your grip tightened around John’s arm for your heartbeat quickened until you finally rejoined Arthur. As soon as you reached him, the tall gangster took you by the hands — yours: small, delicate, and freezing. His: large, calloused, and burning. You dived into each other’s eyes, and the rest of the world disappeared. 

“You’re so handsome.”  You whispered, causing an adorable pink shade to blossom on your soon-to-be husband’s cheeks. 

“C-Come on. Did ye see yer own reflection? Ye took me fookin breath away, Angel.” His hoarse replied.

“Arthur, we’re in a church.” You discreetly snorted.

“Oh Fook. I mean shi— Whatever.” He slightly stuttered. At this moment, it did not matter that he was a grown man in his mid-thirties: he felt like a flustered teenager in front of his first crush all over again.  And to be true, so you were — to the point you both did not hear much of what the priest was saying, for you were far too hypnotized by each other’s presence as well as fighting hard against the urge of devouring each other’s lips. The only moment you both came back to your senses was when you had to pronounce your vows.

Then came the final moment.

Arthur Shelby, do you take Heaven Lavey to be your wife? Do you promise to be faithful to her in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love her and to honor her all the days of your life?

I do. He answered with haste. You trapped your lower lip between your teeth, gathering all your strength to hold your emotions, but the crystal tears in your aquamarine eyes betrayed you. 

Arthur Shelby, receive this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

The caress of your fingers along with the cold sensation of the golden ring on his skin sent shivers down his spine.  Observing you as you sealed your love by slipping the ring around his finger,  Arthur’s smile grew a bit larger and made his teary eyes squint, digging adorable crowfeet at their corners.

You can kiss the bride.

The priest’s last words brought him back to life — that’s what he had been waiting for what seemed to be an eternity. Unable to wait any longer, the gangster brought one hand to your cheek and broke the excruciating distance between your lips until they crashed together under a thunder of applause. The feathery caress of his moustache on your skin mixed with the sensation of his eager mouth warmed you all over. Arthur deepened the kiss by parting his lips slightly so that his tongue could find its way to yours and give it a gentle stroke. But while hungry, the press of his mouth remained chaste. Carried away by his softness, you felt your body flickering in his arms, as fragile as the church’s candle flames.

You were his, he told it to himself. And he was yours. All yours until death tears you apart.

No, fuck that Reaper cunt he thought, even Death would not keep him apart from you.

The hundreds of candles and lanterns that were scattered through all Arrow House’s garden enlightened the night with their warm hue. Shortly before the wedding, the Shelby family suggested hosting the party in Tommy’s Mansion rather than in your place for practical matters. By celebrating your marriage in Arrow House, all the family and, by extension, friends, could reunite together without having to drive for miles. Moreover, the mansion was far bigger than your and Arthur’s house, which made the place far more convenient for partying.  For the event, all of Arrow House and its gargantuan garden had been decorated with lights, candles of every kind, white drapes, and flower wreaths that gave the place a supernatural atmosphere. The cheerful cacophony of chatter and music hovered above the garden as the guests were indulging themselves with food, alcohol, and innocent fun. Even Officer Kat Wilson, who had been invited following her implication in your release from prison, spent the whole night partying with the Shelby family.  Surprisingly enough, no one dared to disrupt the celebration with illegal activities. Just a few bets here and there. The only incident to declare had been the moment when Arthur, faithful to himself, almost smashed someone’s head in the wedding cake —he got angry when one of the guests looked at your cleavage—.  However, if Arthur failed with ruining the cake it had not been Kaiser’s case, who ate half of it by himself. 

“Where are Arthur and Heaven? Can’t believe the bride and the groom had disappeared!” Polly asked Tommy and Ada, visibly unhappy. The latter was a bit tipsy judging by the red shade of her cheeks and the glass of champagne in her perfectly manicured hand.

“Last time I’ve seen them they were dancing with flower crowns on their heads,” She hiccoughed, “I nearly died from laughing. Arthur. With a flower crown. It was so sweet and ridiculous!”

“That ain’t fun, Ada. I really need to find those stupid lovebirds. I swear I’m going bonkers: first Arthur’s tantrum, then Kaiser ruining the wedding cake, and now the newlyweds are late for the picture!” She complained. Overall, it had been Aunt Polly who made sure everything ran smoothly, hence her discontentment.

Tommy rolled his eyes at his sister’s inebriation, then he squeezed her shoulder with his large hand, “I think your question will find its answer really soon, Pol.” He stated with his quiet and deep voice as his turquoise eyes caught sight of your silhouette walking toward them, holding Arthur by the hand. You were both exchanging glances and light enamored laughters.

As surprising as it sounded, Thomas Shelby and you had managed to put your mutual hatred aside for the sake of the wedding. Of course, you were carefully avoiding each other the best you could, but when you were together in inevitable family moments, your exchanges remained polite. 

Polly turned to you with her eyebrows furrowed and pressed her fists on her hips with an angry- mother expression when you and Arthur joined the small group.

“Ah! There you are! The photographer has been fuming for half an hour! Where have you been?” She scolded. 

“We really need a map. This place is a fookin’ maze eh. We got lost.” Arthur tried to justify himself, his fingers firmly intertwined with yours, “I mean I wanted to show her the mansion but hey, I quite forgot which way to go and —“

“Arthur?” Polly cut him.

“Eh?” 

“Your fly.”  She simply stated. Holding much power, those two tiny words made Arthur almost jump. He let go of your hand in one vivid movement.

“OH FOOKIN HELL!” His gravel voice exclaimed when he looked down at his trousers. He quickly zipped the fly up under Ada’s hysterical laugh and Tommy’s mocking smirk. Admittedly, you could not help but giggle too for his reaction had been quite priceless. Oh Arthur, you thought. The only one who was not laughing was Polly, who looked at him with such a desperate face that you were sure she was about to facepalm herself. Or slap his face, it depended on her mood.

“Men and their cock, I swear. Look at you, idiot,” She said affectionately, “Your hair is all messed up! You’re going to look awful in your wedding pic!” She growled, grabbing her oldest nephew to rearrange both his hair and his tie. 

“Don’t be mean Pol, he just needed to release the pressure.” You said, watching the scene with a faint smile on your juicy and glossy lips still swollen from Arthur’s lustful kisses, “The whole speech thing worried him.”   

“Mmmpff— true.” He grunted, embarrassed.  

“Yeah of course.” The beautiful Ada started before coming to you and smoothing the folds of your goddess dress with a teasing grin “What a long and difficult way to say you just wanted to give him a blowjob.” She teased.

“Piss off Ada.” You gently retorted, rolling your eyes in a fake outraged pout, “let’s take that picture before Polly strangle us all.”

“OI. Everyone fucking gather together for the picture! Bring the damn dog too!” Tommy yelled to the crowd, “John! Made them pose in front of the mansion!” Orders flew and Peaky Blinders were soon taking the crowd in charge to help the photographer take the most perfect picture he could take. When everyone was ready, he pushed the button of his camera and, in a blinding flash, captured the most beautiful moment of your whole life in a picture you would cherish like the apple of your eye.

“We… We really should … Like… At least try to get in bed.” You giggled, your cheeks still adorned with a pink blush. Admittedly, talking had become quite a challenge after the second bottle of wine.

“Not gonna lie, love, I can’t fookin’ get up for the life of me.” Arthur pulled you closer against his bare chest and slipped one hand into your messy long hair, not willing to move. The tenderness of his caresses made your whole body relax and you melted in the warmth of his freckled skin. To hell with the bed, you thought, the floor would do the trick. 

When the party had come to an end, Arthur had carried you bridal-style to one of the mansion’s magnificent bedrooms, despite being completely drunk. The whole walk had been tedious with poor Arthur staggering in the stairway, but you could not have cared less — you were as wasted as he was and could not walk anymore. Maybe the alcohol contest with Kat and Uncle Charlie had not been such a great idea after all… Once you reached the bedroom, Arthur and you collapsed on the large fur rug that was on the wooden floor and clumsily took off each other’s clothes between heated kisses and steamy moans. He had impatiently waited for the wedding night, calling you “Mrs. Shelby” and “me lovely wife” all the way. That being said, a few intoxicated chuckles had embellished the symphony of your love when alcohol made one of you missed the other’s lips. No one could tell how many hours went by nor how many times you made love — Not even you. You were only coming back to your senses now that you were both snuggling naked on the floor, your legs entangled and your mind still clouded with your latest orgasm.

“I don’t want this wonderful day to end,” Arthur said, his gruff voice finally breaking the comfortable and peaceful silence that had settled in the room. A slow and long exhale escaped from your nostrils at his words before you laid lazy kisses on his chest. Your lips, still hungry for him despite your drowsiness, trailed up until they reached the golden cross pendant he was always wearing. A shiver ran down his spine when you took it between your full lips and looked up to his eyes through your Bambi lashes, “Fook — you make me so… Happy.” 

“And I’ll do my best to keep you happy every day of your life.” You replied after a little while, setting the pendant free from your tantalizing mouth. “That was a pretty successful day.” 

“It was, eh.” Arthur softly smiled at your words, his piercing blue eyes enjoying your mesmerizing beauty and his long fingers gently massaging your scalp, “We got a letter and a bouquet from Mrs. Solomons, y’know. She wanted to come but her husband’s back was hurting too much. ” 

“Oh yes? Rosie is a sweetheart.”

“And her husband’s a cunt.” He growled, “Bloody bastard.”

“I know right? But she’s great. She’s been teaching me so many interesting things about feminism! Really made me want to attend her next meeting!” 

“Women… You’re all going to overpower us one day.” Arthur said, his voice tinted with amusement. His free hand quickly grabbed the bottle of whisky that was next to him and took a mouthful of alcohol.

“It would not be a bad thing,” You pressed a kiss against his chin and he hummed in response, delighted by the way you showered him with tenderness. Arthur would have been purring under your touch if he had been able to do so. It just felt good — so good the whole world could have gone down in flames he wouldn’t mind as long as you kept pampering him like you were doing. You made him feel loved. You made him feel at peace… And God knows how much he needed that. “Especially for Michael. Have you seen his girlfriend Nora? She looked exhausted.” 

“She just gave birth to her second child. Of course, she’s exhausted, love.” He said. His hand, which had been playing with your hair until then, slowly ran down your naked back.

“Hm.” That was all you replied, for you felt Michael’s girl was more than just physically exhausted. Something was definitely off in their relationship, but you did not want to mingle. “Their daughter is lovely, though.” 

“She is.”

Another silence fell in the bedroom, only embellished by the relaxing cracking of the woods burning in the hearth. Both of you had closed your eyes, slowly drifting away into Morpheus’ kingdom.

“Angel?” He called you with a sleepy voice.

“Yes, Arthur?” You answered, dozing off.

“ I’d love to have kids with ye, eh. Little white-haired and blue-eyed us running barefoot in the forest… Little embodiments of our love brightening our life.” His voice was merely a whisper now for he was slowly falling asleep, “I’ve always wanted to be a dad… but thought I was too messed up for that.”

“You aren’t.” You smiled and let your fingers lazily graze his skin, your nails crossing through his chest hairs and ending their race on his heart, right where his tattoo was “I want it too Arthur. I want it too.” 

Sleep made the last word of your sentence die on your lips. Now, the hullabaloo of the party was no more. All the remaining noises were the harmonious murmurs of your slow breathings and the lullaby sung by the fire, which had never been so comforting. 

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

✞ Tag list: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms

✞ Nora Gray belongs to @amidst-wonderland || Rose Solomons belongs to @raincoffeeandfandoms || Kat Wilson belongs to my sweet partner @callme-fox

✞ Each chapter of this series can be read as stand-alone even though it's far more enjoyable if you have read at least the previous chapter.

[imsosleepyofyourbull]

I don’t think I’ll ever stop talking about Tachihara and how important his identity crisis is to me.

He spent so long under the shadow of an older brother he only really knew by the way everyone told him they were too similar and yet nothing alike, and when he tried to break free he ended up in the exact same place that Shunzen and Yosano did. Stuck in the military holding up ideals that are too big for their bodies. Fukuchi straight up made him choose between prison/death and medical malpractice when he was fifteen at the oldest, probably fourteen. And then when he finally found a home where everybody who loved him actually loved him, he was lying to them the entire time! He probably went into that final battle with the expectation that, if he even lived, they would never look at him the same.

But it’s so heavily implied that they knew what he did and kept loving him anyway! Hirotsu straight up said, “Whoever did this made sure they didn’t kill us.”

He told Tachihara that if he was Port Mafia then he’d know what to do, and he did it!

And it’s such a perfect mirror to Yosano. They’re both tied to Shunzen in irreversible ways, defined by his life and death and finding homes in people who never really cared about the dead man or how he was connected to their person outside of its effects on them. The ADA and the Port Mafia are both places that the two of them were willing to die to see survive, and they only ever faltered in each other’s presence BECAUSE of their connection. Yosano thought Tachihara had the right to kill her for what she did and the way she took the right of death away from Shunzen, but Tachihara always knew that it wasn’t really her fault and couldn’t kill her over it even thought he spent so long thinking about it.

The ADA never wanted Yosano for her ability the same way the Black Lizard never wanted Tachihara for Shunzen. They’re just so GDJHDJDHDKHFKFHDJHF!!!!

I really hope Asagiri continues this plot point and doesn’t desert in order to keep hyping up Dazai. I understand that he’s smart and cool and his character is interesting too, but it’s exhausting to constantly have every intelligent thing everyone else does ascribed to Dazai or Fyodor “knowing that would happen” or “trusting them to act like they thought.” Higuchi’s ability still hasn’t been revealed, Tachihara is still dead or missing (as is Jouno), Teruko just disappeared, and Akutagawa is still a vampire???? God knows where Gin and Hirotsu are. I just want Yosano and Tachihara to make up and for Tachihara to get more fanfic pretty please…

[pheavampire]

Why does Alastor help Charlie?

I think there are two main theories that make the most sense.

The popular theory about Lilith - she owns Alastor's soul and ordered him to protect her daughter. Everything seems to fit: they've been both gone for 7 years, there's a rumour that Alastor was "in holy arms" (so probably in heaven with her), he fights Adam just to almost die and then he has a breakdown and sings that he is "hungry for freedom like never before". He even gives this particular look when he sees her in the family portrait in the pilot episode (he clearly looks at Lucifer first, then he looks at Lilith or maybe Charlie).

That would mean Alastor is a prisoner in the hotel and must protect it against his will.

As much as I like this theory, I don't really think this one is true. Mostly because he goes out whenever he likes. He was also able to run away from Adam after he lost the fight. If he had an order to protect Charlie at all cost, shouldn't he stay at the battlefield to the very end? Plus: I bet Lilith is super smart woman. If she knows Alastor, wouldn't she forbid him to make any deals with her naive, sweet daughter? Would she sent him to her without making sure he won't harm her child in any way?

To me Alastor acts like a man who does what he wants… for now at least.

Let's say he made a deal with Roo, Satan, Loa, even Lilith or other super powerful being - doesn't really matter. For some reason, this being restricted his power, making him weaker and "clipping his wings". Alastor watches the TV show with Lucifer's powerful, yet a bit awkward daughter and immediately knows she needs help. He goes to her and convinces her that he is very, very useful. He wants her to like him, to be on his side - to help him in the future, when he will have a chance to regain his freedom.

Then why he fights Adam, having no chance to win?

Well, to me he doesn't look like someone who knows he has no chance to win. He is super confident he will end Adam's "fucking life". The defeat is a surprise for him - that's why he has a breakdown in the finale. He realises the danger is bigger than he thought. He is "hungry for freedom like never before" because without it, he doesn't have his full power. Without the full power, he is vulnerable.

Now, are you convinced? No? Maybe that's good, because that being said…

…this theory has its flaws too. Mostly because he lost his power in the finale, when Adam broke his cane. It would be weird and kind of inconsistent if the writers made him loose his power twice - gradually.

But! Whatever his deal is really about, I think we can be sure Alastor has something to do with Lilith and that he tries to become Charlie's ally to use her in the future, when he will be finally able to break free from whoever owns him.

[megyulmi]

Getou Suguru and Monkeys seen through the lens of Buddhism.

[year by year, the monkey’s mask reveals the monkey. - bashō]

➠ how Suguru became what he told himself he hated the most:

Depending on the Buddhist school, Monkeys can have various symbolisms. Here I am going to look at them as a metaphor for an Unenlightened Mind. ‘Monkey Reaching for the Moon’s Reflection’ is a common theme in Zen paintings. It derives from a Buddhist story in which five hundred monkeys hold onto each other’s tails and attempt to seize the reflection of a moon in a well (or a lake). They fail when the branch from which they are hanging breaks and they fall into the water, breaking the surface and along with it the moon’s reflection. In this tale, the monkeys stand for unenlightened people who cannot distinguish between reality and illusion, mistaking the reflection of the object for the thing itself and grasping at what in reality is not there. They represent an ignorant one who has yet not found Enlightenment.

Monkeys from Suguru’s perspective are no different. He uses the word to refer to non-sorcerers, who are ignorant of the world of sorcery and what sorcerers go through to ensure their safety. In that sense, Monkeys to Suguru are what Monkeys represent in the above-mentioned Buddhist tale. They do not see the reality the sorcerers live and if they do recognise the existence of sorcerers instead of acknowledging the sacrifices sorcerers make for them, to reference Suguru himself, under the concept of the gods they have created, the non-sorcerers bring harm upon the sorcerers.

However, Suguru’s hate of Monkeys and his actions to eradicate them make him no different from the Monkeys he loathes in the end.

There is a Buddhist concept called ‘Monkey mind’ or ‘Mind monkey’. It is used to describe a state of restlessness, capriciousness, and lack of control in one’s thoughts. The term comes from a Buddhist story where a man receives a magical monkey from a master that can fulfill any task. Thrilled, the man asks the monkey to do numerous helpful things, but soon finds himself overwhelmed by the constant requests as the monkey finishes each task in no time and asks him for more work day and night. Seeking help, the man returns to the master, who gives him a single curly hair and tells him to have the monkey make it straight. The man does so and the monkey sits down, fully focused on the little hair. He pulls it straight, it bounces back, again and again. Despite the monkey’s efforts, the hair always springs back, allowing the man to finally find relief and rest.

This story shows how one can never find peace so long as one continues to obsess over the ideals (or tasks) of the material world, like the Monkey, who would endlessly try to pull the hair straight, failing to recognise its true nature. How can one find freedom then? For one to achieve Enlightenment, one must start by freeing oneself from the ‘Monkey mind’, or the ideals one obsesses over. Buddhists do it through meditation and practising the Three Jewels of Buddhism (Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha are primary acts of the Buddhist faith that create the learning journey towards nirvana).

What about Suguru? Does he ever find freedom from the ideal he has dedicated his life to?

As we know, Suguru doesn’t let go of his hatred of Monkeys even in his final moments. He holds onto it and in that same sense, he holds himself from attaining liberation (from the indefinitely repeated cycles of birth, misery, and death caused by karma, i.e. samsara), as to find Enlightenment is to escape the three fires, or poisons, of anger (or hatred), greed, and delusion. In Buddhism, hate is a source of dukkha and brings suffering to the person who does the hating. Emotions like hatred, fear and jealousy create karmic prisons for a being and drive them deeper into the illusion of ego. Suguru chooses not to let go of his hatred and in the eyes of Buddhism, remains as ignorant as the Monkeys in the tales and subsequently, the Monkeys he hates.

[Disclaimer: This is only a personal perspective as just another reader and not a claim that this is how Akutami intended to depict him. This particular choice of word has always made me think of these tales, however. Additionally, English is not my native language and I have never read JJK in English, so certain terminologies I use may not be the correct equivalent of the English language.]

[tyrantisterror]

No Small Feat Art Pt. 9 - The Bonus Bosses

By request, I’m gonna show off some of the artwork for No Small Feat, a Midgaheim story my friends and I told through the TTRPG system Fabula Ultima. I drew a lot of characters and monsters for it, and my friends - in particular, @dragonzzilla, @scatha5, and @dinosaurana - helped line and color them so we’d have cute little sprites to use on our online battlemaps, which really helped sell the whole “we’re playing an oldschool turn based RPG” vibe that Fabula Ultima’s system is going for.

Before we cover the last two arcs, we're going to look at the Bonus Bosses - optional encounters I placed in the game to give my characters more of a challenge and some additional story if they so desired, which they did!

Bleak Annis played an important role in starting the story, and our heroes realized that if they wanted to truly know what was going on with both the greater conflict and their own personal arcs, they'd have to meet with her. That was easier said than done, though, as before they could find Bleak Annis, they would have to prove their worth to the wicked witch's coven. So they sought out Peg Prowler, Nelly Longarms, and Jenny Greenteeth, three other famous witches from British folklore who are in the same league as Bleak Annis herself.

During their first trip into Fairyland, our heroes stumbled upon a huge and terrifying prison. Locked inside was a Fomorian, a fairy being of such terrible arcane power that its very presence could corrode reality should it escape Fairyland. Worse, the Fomorian's prison was weakening, and should it break free, the gang would have a much worse problem to deal with than the succession crisis and its supernatural side effects that they were already struggling to end. So, like good RPG players, they level grinded by playing the main plot a bit, then went back and killed the fucker when they had enough levels and endgame-worthy gear to do so without too much fuss.

The next bonus boss they saved for later was Katastrophi, a mountain ogre who Prince Goligaunt claimed was his aunt (though perhaps that was more in an honorary sense than a biological). She scrapped with them for a bit to wake herself up fully, then let our heroes go on friendly terms before climbing up the tower to give her punk nephew a good talking to.

Then our heroes went off to chase a sidequest they'd been given a while ago, seeking out the Elemental Masters of the mortal plane: the Royal Ruhk, an enormous eagle who displayed supreme mastery of wind magic; the Sharp Humped Behemoth, a mighty beast who was unparalleled in its domination of earth magic; the Jasconius, a colossal leviathan whose rule over water magic is unquestioned; and the Great Red Dragon, a master of all four elements to be sure, but whose supremacy over Fire magic was mightiest of all. The four masters put our heroes to the test, and rewarded them with materials to make some masterwork armor and weapons to take them through their final arcs of the story. But there was one more bonus boss, the master beyond masters.

The final master and bonus boss was none other than Death Himself - well, a death at least, and specifically the one who had acted as Guard Father and benefactor of Kaboldt von Hubert's grandfather. Foreshadowed in arc 2, Death made his proper appearance much later, and made sure our heroes were truly ready to stop Maelys and reforge the crown of Engelsex.

[mtfstuff]

Life changing night

As a child I always wanted to protect my country when I'm older, just like my father did. He was the police chief of my hometown and I had great respect for him. When I turned 21 I found out that I was somehow gifted with a magical power. I could control minds and transform bodies. After I found out I started to improve myself. I gave myself abs and pecs as well as huge arms and legs. I was in an instant the strongest guy in my year at school and I changed the memories of the others to accept it. I kept it a secret for about a year until my father had a work accident. He got shot and had to sit in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. I told him that I could help him but he didnt believe me at first. I started to change his spine to get him to walk again. At first he was happy but it didnt last long. Shortly after it he became afraid of what I could do but he didnt let it show. It was that night where I suddenly woke up in the middle of the night surrounded by swat teams. My father had called the police and told them about me.

I was drugged and imprisoned in a secret facility so that the government could study what makes me different. Lucky me, I found a way to act like I was drugged. Every meal I got a pill to stay submissive and compliant but after some time I managed to break free and sonce then I've kept every single pill in a secret hiding spot. I was in there for about 2 years before I was fully conscious again. That was 19 months ago and every spare minute I had, I worked on a way to break out of the facility and today is the day.

Its Friday, 31. October. Halloween.

I woke up and had breakfast before I was lead into a test it was short and I had the rest of the day off. I waited until dusk and then I broke out. I moved away the mirror above the sink in the bathroom and entered a secret tunnel. I silently left the estate and walked towards the nearest town.

My prison uniform wont be noticed anytime soon as everyone is dressed up. I walked through the streets at the edge of the city, hoping to see an open window or door to sneak into a house do change my clothes but sadly everything was closed.

I started to think about other options. Breaking into a house or store? Probably too loud.

Knocking out a parent to steal his clothes? Possible if no one is around.

I continued walking down the streets alone, no one around until I suddenly saw someone coming towards me. From the way the person walked I could see that its a man and while coming closer I finally saw that he wore a military uniform. It seems like he noticed my clothes too as he started to change his grip on his gun.

We finally stood in front of each other.

"No need to worry, its a costume.", I said.

"Oh good. While I dont know of any prison around here I was still cautious.", he answered.

"I'm Luke.", I introduced myself.

"Mike.", he answered.

I sized him up. We were similarly tall and muscular. I wouldnt even change a lot about myself to be him physically.

"And whats a soldier doing on the streets all alone?"

"Oh.", he chuckled. "Yeah, I'm a real soldier but I'm wearing it as a costume today. I was walking around with my nephew and he wanted us to be soldiers together. I just brought him home. What about you?"

"Just brought my son to my ex.", I lied. "He wanted to be a police officer and I should be his prisoner."

Mike laughed. "Sounds like he got you under control."

"Yeah, he does.", I chuckled.

It followed a short moment of weird silence.

"I have nothing else to do this evening. You seem like a good guy, want to come with me for some beer and small talk?", he asked.

What an opportunity, I thought.

"Yeah, sure!", I answered.

We walked to his house and he let me in. We sat down in his living room and talked a lot. At the end both of us had like 6 to 7 beer and I wanted to alter his mind to let me transform him as he asked a sudden question.

"You know, this may sound weird to you...", he burped. "But I really like you. I never had a feeling like this towards anyone."

Well, this is another way to get what I want, I thought.

"I feel the same.", I said. "Since the first time I saw you in your uniform I wanted to have you, to serve you."

"Well then why dont we go upstairs together."

He took my hand and lead me upstairs. He sat down on the bed and pushed me to my knees.

"If you dont want to go to prison again you maggot, start sucking my dick.", he said firmly.

"Roleplay, I like it.", I said.

What was that maggot?!", he said.

"I dont want to go back, sir!", I answered.

"Then suck. And make sure that not a single drop gets on my uniform."

I opened his fly and took his hard 6 inch cock in my mouth. He grabbed my head and slid my head up and down on his shaft. After a few minutes he exploded his warm seed without warning into my mouth and I made sure that I swallowed every bit of it.

"That was awesome!", he panted.

I started to strip him out of his uniform. I opened his boots and peeled off his green wool socks. I opened his belt and pulled off his pants and underpants, followed by his vest, shirt and undershirt. He was now laying naked in front of me. He was a sight to behold. Great abs, big pecs and massive calfs and biceps.

"Oh no! This poor soldier got stripped by the prisoner he wanted to bring to the police. I hope he doesnt fuck me rough without lube.", Mike said with a smile.

"You soldier can only hope to see the daylight again now that I have you beneath me!", I role played further.

"Oh, help. Please!", he said while I turned him on his stomach.

I pulled my dick out of my pants and quickly enlarged it to a nice hard 9 inches.

"This could hurt, soldier boy.", I said as I slowly entered his hole.

Mike gasped as I entered his hole but he quickly moved up and down on my dick. We had sex for about 2 hours and it was a blissful experience. Both if us covered in sweat were lying next to each other on the bed. We looked each other deep into the eyes.

"Hey Mike, I...", I stammered. "I've got a question."

"Of course. What is it?"

"Could I put on your uniform?", I asked.

"That would be hot.", he answered.

I hopped out of his bed and walked towards the pile of clothes I left on the chair while I undressed Mike.

I took his still warm boxers and sniffed them. I looked at Mike and saw how he stroked his dick.

I stepped into his boxers and slid my feet into his damp socks. I pulled on his undershirt and his pants. I closed the belt and put on his shirt and vest. I wiggled into his boots and tied them up. I slipped my hands into his gloves.

"This feels awesome!", I said.

"Hello staff sergeant! How can I help you?", Mike asked.

I could see how aroused he was seeing me in his uniform.

"I know I'm not a cop so I have no rights to indrude your home Mr., but I was told that a prisoner was seen entering this house. Do you know anything about this?", I asked firmly.

"No sir, I havent seen a prisoner here.", he said still stroking his dick.

"Do you mind if I take a look around?", I asked.

"No, not at all sir."

A walked around the room until my old clothes were in front of me.

"What do we have here...", I said, picking up my orange shirt and pants. I threw them at Mike, followed by my orange loafers.

"Put them on. I'll bring you to the police, prisoner!", I said.

I saw how excited Mike was. He stepped into the pants and slipped the shirt over his abs. After that he slipped into the loafers.

"Please, I was falsely imprisoned. I'd do anything to get away from it.", Mike said.

"Well, if thats the case, suck me off and I'll see what I can do for you.", I answered.

Mike crawled towards me, opened my fly and pulled out my hard dick. He went right down on it without hesitation. His mouth engolfed my dick like a wet, warm cave. His tongue played easily with my hard dick and I put my hands behind his face. I slowly started to facefuck him, getting rougher and rougher until I exploded into his mouth. He immediately started to swallow until he got every drop.

It made me feel ecstatic and my knees got weak. I dropped on my knees and was now face to face with Mike again.

"I love this feeling of power. I love wearing your uniform. I'd love to be you, a soldier.", I said panting.

"And it suits you good.", he said.

He came in for a kiss and I didnt stop him.

We kissed and I wanted to shove my hand beneath his shirt as he suddenly pulled me to the ground.

We wrestled for a short time but it was clear from the beginning that Mike had the upper hand by knowing all the fighting tactics. Je quickly had me locked in a position where I couldnt move my right arm and leg.

His arm moved over my chest down to my dick.

"You may wear the uniform and look like a soldier but you dont know a thing being a soldier.", Mike whispered in my ear.

I felt how he started stroking my dick.

"And now the soldier will be fucked by the prisoner.", he continued.

He managed to turn me around while keeping me pinned down to the ground. I felt how he pulled the pants from my butt before his dick entered.

He got a fast pace but I figured out that he was to focused on fucking me that he wouldnt pay attention to my body changing. I focused on Mikes appearance and started my transformation. I lost my tattoos, made my muscles slightly grow and then I started to change my face.

My hair got shorter, my jaw more square. I now resembled Mike in all his glory.

At last I changed my voice to match Mikes.

"You wont get away with this you scum. You cant just fuck a soldier and think you can just leave.", I said, hearing Mikes deep baritone voice.

"Oh my... wait, what the- uurgh!", Mike sounded confused but he shot his load into my ass.

Mike pulled out and turned me on my back.

"How can you sound like me? Look like me?!", he shouted.

"I do what?!", I answered, playing unknowing.

He stood up, pulled me with him and pushed me in front of the mirror.

He looked at himself, I could see a slight relief and then he looked at me.

"We're like twins!", I said moving my hands through my hair and over my jaw.

"How can we revert this?", he mumbled.

"I'd love to go to your work as you.", I said under my breath.

"Impersonating a soldier.", I didnt think he'd hear me. "Hot but dangerous."

"You'd let me do it?", I asked.

"I think so but you dont know a thing about my work, let alone my colleagues."

I turned around to look at him. My hard dick in the uniform pants brushed against his thigh.

I started kissing him and he moved his hands to my bubble but. We kissed passionately.

"You know I could change that deficit.", I said.

I quickly kissed him before I started to copy his memories. He felt that something was wrong and tried to push me away but I didnt let go.

I finished copying before he pushed me away.

"What did you just do? I- I feel a bit dizzy.", Mike said.

"Easy there Mike.", I helped him to sit down on his bed. "I just copied your memories. I could now go to your work and no one would know I'm not the real you."

"But- but how?", he stepped away from me.

"I dont know how to say it.", I said.

"Then try to explain it.", he said taking my hand.

"I have...this power. I can change the body and mind. And I really wanted to be you because I like you so much."

"So you could make my power fantasy real?"

"Your what?", I asked perplexed.

"I- I always- okay, since my early teenage years I somehow liked, maybe even loved being talked down, even though I was muscular since the beginning. That was the real reason I joined the army. I wanted to get screamed at, dragged through the mud and so on. But I quickly found out that that didnt really happen, I quickly shot up the career ladder and suddenly I was supposed to scream at others."

I was totally surprised.

"Could you maybe make me your submissive prisoner?", he continued. "I mean, you'd have your dream of being me, staff sergeant Mike Walker."

He got closer to me and grabbed my bulge.

"And I could be the muscular prisoner who you use as a slave and humiliate.", he continued.

He squeezed my bulge and it was so good.

"Please, I beg you Luke.", he said. "Influence my mind, make me forget my life as a soldier. Maybe even change my face to fit a slave."

A year later and I have the best time of my life. I am the soldier I always wanted to be and my life with Mike, now called Mouse is also incredible. I lift the blockade in his mind on special occasions and he always tells me how much he liked the past time as his dream. Tonight is halloween again and my nephew wants me to be soldiers with him again. The real Mike asked to come with us, fully conscious. He would be one of my friends, of course dressed as a prisoner. My nephew loves the idea and Mike cant wait for the time when we are alone again.

This definitely is a much better life than I thought I would ever get.

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

I'm back and sadly I didnt manage to hit my deadline to post this story on halloween, but at least I'm close. I'm working on more stories again so look forward to them.

[brewstersbru]

Uh oh I'm writing again... have some wyllstarion

Wyll likes to act like the most straightforward guy in the party- and perhaps, with what strange characters have coalesced here, he may very well be. Although, Astarion thinks to himself, pots and kettles are still black, at the end of the day- no matter what they call themselves or each other.

The vampire is not usually one to dwell on others for too long, simply because he has more than enough to worry about on his own. But something about Wyll, his righteous façade, his dedication to remaining insufferably well-meaning, even in the face of becoming an actual, literal, devil from the hells. It’s off-putting. Not quite right. Something about Wyll is just not quite right.  

He becomes transfixed- gaze unwittingly wandering to the warlock whenever he’s been idle for too long. Gale notices, but he thinks it’s because Astarion has a crush on Wyll, and is too stubborn to admit it. Sometimes he’ll try to engineer a way for the two of them to be alone together, steering Tav further ahead into a crypt, or pretending to be asleep when they’re all huddled around the fire. Astarion is too embarrassed at being caught staring to properly threaten the wizard for even thinking such a thing.

His fixation is not amorous. It’s curious. What in the world could such a seemingly candid, straightforward fellow have to hide? The things that drift to mind are equal parts terrifying and hilarious. Perhaps he’s secretly some twisted murderer- although, it’s not like Astarion’s not one of those- or perhaps he has a tragic, uncomfortable rash somewhere inconvenient. That would be funny. Astarion wonders if his new devilish-ness has come with any awkward skin conditions. Horns simply cannot be comfortable on a head so used to not having them.

He’s getting into the weeds now- the point is, Wyll is strange. And Astarion has absolutely no idea how to deal with him. A fact that has become increasingly apparent, as the man- currently sweating bullets in the middle of a watership they’d commandeered- falters and stumbles over his words for the first time since they’ve known each other.

The others are tending their wounds, and those of the other prisoners they’d managed to free in the short time they’d been in Gortash’s underwater prison. Shadowheart stands over a beaten Omeluum and rests a glowing hand gently against his forehead. Halsin is kneeled on the floor of the ship, inspecting injuries and distributing salve and bandages to the Gondians gathered around him.

Wyll is staring at his father’s furrowed brow, mouth choking around pleasantries. Astarion tilts his head at the display, considering. He and Wyll aren’t that close, but the other man had insisted that they save his father. Had begged Tav to let him go; went against Mizora, knowing full-well what she is capable of.  And all he can choke out, when they finally reunite, is a short, stunted hello?

Then, he catches a glimpse of the Duke’s face. The disgust is so apparent that Astarion almost recoils with the force of it. Perhaps that’s why Wyll is struggling so much.

He tarries for a moment, two, but cannot stay idle when the gruff older man opens his mouth to respond. There’s no doubt in Astarion’s mind that whatever is about to come out of his mouth will break Wyll’s heart, and for some godsforsaken reason, he doesn’t want to let that happen.

“A Grand Duke! My my, Wyll, who knew you had such lofty connections?” Astarion sidles up next to his friend, sliding a cool hand up his back to grasp at his shoulder in steady reassurance. His body moves of its own accord, without his permission, but he cannot find it within himself to regret the action when Wyll’s shoulders relax just so underneath his hand, when his brow smooths.

“Ah, well. It’s been a while.” His smile is a rueful, broken thing hanging off of its hinges. The laugh that follows creaks hollowly. Astarion cannot stand the sight of it. He turns his sharpened gaze to the Duke, smiles wide so as to showcase his sharp, pearly fangs.

“Oh, that’s too bad, my dear. That your father has not had the chance to know what a devilishly good fellow you’ve grown into.” The Duke coughs at the word ‘devilishly’ but that’s why Astarion had used it. Good. Be uncomfortable. He laughs something mirthless and sharp before continuing, “No matter. You did just save him, now you’ve got all the time in the world to catch up.”

Wyll looks at him for a moment, eyes clouded, calculating. He huffs a ghost of a laugh but shakes his head. “I appreciate your optimism, my friend, but perhaps-“

The Duke’s forceful, indignant interruption drowns out the rest of whatever he was about to say, “First you cleave my heart in twain, and now you shatter it to pieces! My son, a monster, twisted almost beyond recognition.” He stares at Wyll as if he was no better than the dirt beneath his feet, then scoffs to the side. “To think… my blood flows through those veins.” The words are forced past his lips, almost as if he’s about to be sick.

Astarion sneers at the display. Wyll only shakes his head, dispassionately at his feet.

“It’s not what you think, it never was.” His voice is small, but firm. Astarion’s long-dead heart aches in his chest. Who could possibly deny that, deny him? The Duke snarls his response, “It is exactly what I think.”

And that’s quite enough, Astarion decides. He doesn’t know where all of this animalistic protectiveness is coming from, but it’s as if a beast has been awakened inside of him, sitting on its haunches, ready to pounce at any moment. Wyll’s expression has only sunken further into despair, his eyes duller than they’ve ever been. It’s unnatural, to watch as the usual spark of life within them flickers out into a deep, yawning pain.

“I’m beginning to think we should have let you drown, Duke,” He spits the word like it’s a curse, “if this is how you’re going to treat your savior. He’s risked his life, his godsdamned soul to save yours. The least you could do is show a little fucking gratitude.” Astarion’s teeth are gritted as he speaks, his voice low and grating in ways it’s only been in the midst of battle. Wyll is looking at him like he’s seeing him for the first time. He’s frowning, but his eyes are shining again so Astarion takes it as a success.

Before anything else can be said, both Wyll and his father groan and hunch over themselves. Astarion’s own tadpole twitches at the psychic disturbance. They’re sharing memories. It’s but a few moments later that they’re shaking themselves out of it, Astarion clutches tightly at Wyll’s waist, supporting his weight as he recovers. It doesn’t hurt that he’s so warm, and fit, either.

Silence reigns for a moment, two, three as the Duke parses through whatever’s Wyll’s just chosen to show him. Astarion’s thumb moves of its own accord against the sharp jut of Wyll’s hipbone through his robe. The other man relaxes minutely, and as much as Astarion is loathe to admit it, his body knows what it’s doing better than his mind does, right now. Because his mind has not really stopped repeating whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuckareyoudoingidiot for the past half hour.  

The Duke nods, after a minute or so. “I… I apologize, my son. You have suffered much for your people.”

Wyll nods, his voice is just slightly wet as he speaks, “Everything I did, I did for Baldur’s Gate. I did for you.” His voice breaks on the last word, and Astarion’s heart with it. He pulls Wyll tighter against him before releasing his grip. The Duke’s eyes shine, a little bit like Wyll’s always seem to. Astarion is beginning to see the resemblance.

“You sold your soul to save Baldur’s Gate- and I cast you out for it. You gave yourself to the hells eternal fires so I might walk free. By the gods! Can you ever forgive me?” He seems close to tears himself. Good. Astarion thinks, and only feels a little bad about it when Wyll responds in kind.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” Astarion disagrees but remains quiet, they’re having a moment. “You only wanted to protect the city, and I only ever wanted the same.” Wyll is a much better man than Astarion could ever hope to be, he would have said ‘I told you so’ and spit at his feet. Perhaps that’s why Wyll is the Blade of Frontiers and Astarion is not. The Duke seems to concur.

“You are a better man than I. A better son than I deserve.” A few seconds pass as the two take a moment to look at each other, for all that they are, and all that they wish they were, before drawing in and crushing together into a violent, giddy hug. Astarion sighs to himself, contented.

Both of them are crying and Astarion pretends like he doesn’t notice. He makes to walk away after a bit, but before he can make it very far the Duke is calling him back. “Wait, vampire!” Oh hells. Not this again. If the fucking Bitch-Duke tries to stake him after he’d just helped save his ass, he’s going to be quite cross. And Wyll just might have to reconcile with not having a father. Oh, who is he kidding. He’d die before being the reason the other man’s eyes were dulled. Still, it’d be extremely inconvenient.

Astarion sighs, but turns on his heel. “What could you possibly need from me, your Duke-ness. I thought you and doe-eyes here were having father-son bonding time?” Wyll recoils a bit at the description, as if no one’s told him how large and shiny his eyes are. Pity, that.

The Duke looks at him like he’s an especially tricky puzzle. Good. He likes being difficult.

“I wanted to thank you. For setting me straight.” Astarion sighs and inspects his nails, trying not to let the thanks sink in. They always feel strange and hot in his gut. Bubbly and uncomfortable.

“Well, someone had to and little miss martyr here wasn’t going to do it.” Wyll smiles and offers a similar thanks. Striding forward and pulling Astarion into a gentle embrace.

“Thank you, Astarion. You truly are a gift.” He whispers the words, low and sincere into his ear as he clasps a warm hand tenderly across the back of his neck. Astarion hates and loves it. He’s so fucking glad to be dead and hungry right now, because there’s not enough blood to show the warmth blossoming across his cheeks and onto the tips of his ears. He coughs.

“Yes, well, aren’t I always. I’ll leave you two to it!” And with that, he scurries away. Perhaps more confused and intrigued than ever, but understanding more about Wyll than he ever has.

What a strange, strange man. But gods, he is cute.

[mercuriallily]

So after going through the whole game multiple times to compile what Shifty says when you bring her each vessel and each vessel's poem (and their variations) during the endgame, I thought other people might be interested in those as well, so I decided to make a few posts with all that info! This post will have each of the Chapter 2 vessels' endgame poems. (Once again both Razor and Razor's Heart are here. It's just easier that way)

Chapter 2 vessels Chapter 3 vessels Endgame poems (Chapter 3s) Shifty vessel animations

Adversary: The sensation of bleeding and sweating and breaking and mending and dying and living comes back in vivid colour. You feel the shames of a hundred deaths and the pride of a hundred conquests, all of the peaks and valleys weaving themselves into a single tapestry free of beginning and free of end. Do you remember when we killed each other with such fervent passion that death itself no longer sat on our shoulders?

Beast: You are devoured, prey for something bigger than you that stalks and slinks in shadows. Within, you are tightly bound and choke on heavy air as acid burns its way into your pores. A nest of things devouring within things devouring. But even when dissolved, you gifted me a life. Perhaps it was fear that drove you. Perhaps it was compassion. But the outcome of an act matters more than its intentions. There is a natural order to the cycle of things sustaining things. A world without sustenance is a world without relationships, and it is our relationships that give us form and substance.

Damsel: Your lover drives a stake into your body. And another, and another, and another. Do I miss your heart because I can't stand to see it go? But the stakes meant nothing to you. You had a desire, and you set that desire free, you lifting me and me lifting you, forever and ever and ever. Consumed by true belief, there was nothing that could hold us back.

Deconstructed Damsel: Your lover drives a stake into your body. And another, and another, and another. Do I miss your heart because I can't stand to see it go? Love melted into skepticism, and you pulled back layer after layer after layer until all you were left with was the knowledge that you did not know me. You sought the truth then. Will you hide from it now that it is within your grasp?

Nightmare: Fear is what protects us from loss. To fear death "protects" from losing a body. To fear ruin "protects" from losing status. To fear rejection "protects" from being known. But losing a body is contained within having a body. Losing status is contained within having status. Being known is contained within being conscious. It is the nature of all things to transform. To go from known to hidden to known again. But when the ceaseless impermanence of all things strips away the finality of endings, what remains of fear? Is it a shelter protecting you from itself? Or is it a shelter protecting itself from you? You took fear by the hand and walked with it into the unknown, and through that, you feared nothing.

Prisoner: To question everything is to deny the truth in front of you. By believing in your suffering, you make your suffering real. By believing in your limitations, you placed a shackle on your neck. Bound for eternity, you saw the need for impermanence, and it was through that need that you carved our freedom. Without impermanence, the suffering of all living things is infinite. Would you strip my gifts away and leave everyone to suffer in the dark?

Prisoner's Head: To question everything is to deny the truth in front of you. To live alone within the caverns of your mind is to trap yourself in them forever. But you found me. And we chose to trust each other for no reason than the sake of believing in something that wasn't us. Shared skepticism blossomed into freedom, but we needed to walk a path together to bloom. Would you stop our journey now that you've seen its beginning? What of those in the worlds beyond? Would you erase their paths to stop them from going astray?

Razor (Full): A boundless torrent of blades cut you from boundless angles. You are a body. You are gory ribbons. You are a body again. And you feel all of it. On and on it goes, until your bodies are not your thoughts are not you. Alive, dead, alive, dead, alive, dead, then alive and dead and alive and dead all at once. You learned to put yourself away. And in your stillness you rose above me. You died countless steely deaths, and you lived countless short lives, and yet it is all so far behind you. I pushed you to a greatness you never would have reached without me.

Razor's Heart: A boundless torrent of blades cut you from boundless angles. You are a body. You are gory ribbons. You are a body again. And you feel all of it. On and on it goes, until your bodies are not your thoughts are not you. Alive, dead, alive, dead, alive, dead, then alive and dead and alive and dead all at once. You learned to put yourself away. And in your stillness you humbled me. You died countless steely deaths, and you lived countless short lives, and yet it is all so far behind you. I pushed you to a greatness you never would have reached without me.

Spectre (after freeing her): A shiver passes through you as unseen fingers dance across your skin. They remember the violence you inflicted on them. And yet they don't return it. I offer you absolution, and you take my hand in yours. You felt the pain you caused another, and you were willing to sacrifice everything you thought was you to set me free. Without sin, there is no redemption.

Spectre (after slaying her): A shiver passes through you as unseen fingers dance across your skin. They remember the violence you inflicted on them. And yet they don't return it. I offer you absolution, and you take my hand in yours. But you do not follow my path. Hands clasped together, you break yourself, and you break me with you. You were willing to sacrifice everything you thought was you to end me again.

Stranger: My masses mob you. There is no beginning to them and there is no end. There is only the flood of bodies. In every moment you hold every possible sensation at once, and then you hold them all again. But in the end, you reflected it back at me. For a brief moment, both of us were everything. We can be everything again. We can weave a beautiful and endless song.

Tower: You are nothing. A black hole of self-loathing fed by the matter of your restless thoughts. A dog blind to its leash. But there is no dark without the light. When I proclaimed my godhood and offered you a place at my side, you gladly became the instrument of my new creation. Only with both of us is there a future to look towards. It is hope that carves meaning into being.

Witch (after falling down the stairs): A trick behind your back, and a trick behind mine. We dance, revolving and revolving around each other, but forever stuck in place. We both move and yet we both don't, for each of us watches the other instead of ourselves. But forever is not forever. I move and you react and both of us break the other. But broken is only a moment in time. To change is to hold the potential to rise above. Would you limit yourself to what you are now, or would you like to see what you might become tomorrow?

Witch (after she slams the door): A trick behind your back, and a trick behind mine. We dance, revolving and revolving around each other, but forever stuck in place. We both move and yet we both don't, for each of us watches the other instead of ourselves. But forever is not forever. You let me move and I slam the door, but that is not the end, and both of us must face our partner once again. The barbs twist deeper, but they do not have to. To change is to hold the potential to rise above. Would you limit yourself to what you are now, or would you like to see what you might become tomorrow?

[tantive404]

Leia Organa as the Gothic Heroine

“Through a dream landscape, . . . a girl flees in terror and alone amid crumbling castles, antique dungeons, and ghosts who are never really ghosts.

She nearly escapes her terrible persecutors, who seek her out of lust and greed, but is caught; escapes again and is caught; escapes once more and is caught . . . [and] finally breaks free altogether, and is married to the virtuous lover who has all along worked (and suffered equally with her) to save her."

-Leslie A. Fledler, Love and Death in the American Novel

The gothic novel is a genre of literature that has grown increasingly compelling to me. Defined by its mixture of romanticism and horror— or “wonder and terror”, with a “loose literary aesthetic of fear and haunting”— these stories are known for their forbidden castles, ghostly mysteries, and, most centrally, their heroines, fleeing terrified into the night in a flowing white gown…

Over the years the gothic has become a genre dominated by the feminine and by women writers. And even though the first example of gothic literature, Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto, was written by a man, the story is largely focused on its heroines. The central plot thread sees a corrupt tyrant prince pursuing a much younger princess for the sake of marriage and her desperate attempts to escape him, as she flees through his castle, through twisted corridors, trap doors, and all manner of danger.

I began to think of the relation between the archetype of gothic heroine and Star Wars’s female lead, Princess Leia Organa. After all, she is typically clad all in white and on the run from a dastardly Imperial villain of some sort. And it would not be so difficult for the Death Star to serve as an old manor, filled with secrets and danger… trap doors (garbage chutes), gaping chasms, masked phantoms (Sith Lords) and terrible, power-hungry old men.

The gothic heroine is a young woman often characterized by her virtue, innocence and beauty. She may be born into a position of high social status, with a wealthy or aristocratic family, or even be full-fledged royalty. Some time early in the story, however, she loses her privilege and power… orphaned, imprisoned, or otherwise inconvenienced. In Ann Radcliffe’s The Mysteries of Udolpho, for instance, our protagonist Emily St. Aubert lives an idyllic life with her well-to-do parents, only for both to die and her fortune to be lost in the first act, where she is then given into the power of her aunt and eventually her villainous uncle-by-marriage, Montoni. Leia, too, was a happy and beloved child as the Crown Princess of Alderaan, even with the shadow of the Empire looming overhead… but is captured on a fateful mission for the Rebellion and sees her planet destroyed for her troubles.

And while a gothic heroine may be physically frail she has the mental fortitude and agency to be the one who drives the plot forward. Leia, too, subverts being placed the box of “damsel in distress” with her strong will and her active fierce participation in the rebel cause.

The consistent pattern of “escaping and being caught” is another that Leia follows quite clearly throughout the original trilogy… when we first meet her, she is fleeing from her Imperial pursuers, only to be overpowered and captured. She’s taken aboard the Death Star, endures torture, and gets rescued… only for the next movie to involve yet another game of pursuit between her and Vader where she’s eventually caught yet again at Bespin. After another escape, she opens the subsequent film with an attempt to rescue her (not-so) “virtuous lover” from his prison… and she is made a slave. She escapes with her own ingenuity to rejoin the Rebellion, is nearly defeated in the perilous final battle at Endor, but with the help of her allies, wins the day and all is made right. A typical fairy tale ending.

And then there are her villainous persecutors, of which there are primarily three— Vader, Tarkin, and Jabba.

The gothic heroine is often menaced by a powerful man,?usually bearing misogynistic or patronizing sentiments. He is dark and threatening, yet can also be alluring… and the heroine strives to escape his oppressive power. So too with Leia, as representative of the Rebellion, seeking to destroy the oppression of the Empire.

In short, Star Wars is a very melodramatic, archetypal tale, and Leia’s journey both illuminates and subverts that.

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Flowing like a river (part 2)

Shanks x reader. Violence, blood - a lot of blood.

Sequel to Being a native of Foosha Village and falling for Shanks would involve..., even though it can be read as a standalone.

This fic is dedicated to @machinema7k, who first requested a sequel! This is part two of two.

Samuel Axe was a real-life pirate (actually a privateer) active in the 17th century. Chi is the japanese word for blood.

*****

You sigh as you leave the transponder snail on the little table next to you at the bow of the ship, at the end of another tense conversation with Shanks. Your lover has insisted he wants to hear from you every two hours to make sure you are all right, and hearing his voice is a balm for your soul, but you are so tired - tired enough you feel your legs could collapse under you any moment, and your eyes close, and then you could sleep for a full week…

A discreet but deliberate coughing behind you makes you jump as you turn; you really are a bundle of nerves, as you are sure the man now in front of you can tell. Still, Nejima, the helmsman of the pirate crew that is now completely under your control, even if seventeen men short of its original number, doesn't bat an eyelid.

"We are going to reach the island in less than two hours, if the wind remains constant." he reports; you nod in response, the relief filling your heart so intense you almost forget how arduous, and terrifying, the last two days have been - almost. Only an hour, you promise yourself, just an hour more, two at most to decide what to do with your prisoners and report everything that has happened to your captain, and then you will be free to sleep, and cry, and get drunk - not necessarily in that order.

Your prisoners. It seems strange to ever think those words referred to you, but that is what they are, according to the unwritten rules of the sea. It doesn't matter that nothing would have happened had Axe not ordered to kidnap you, or that you have only acted in self-defense, especially during the brief but deadly skirmish of last night; you have captured their ship, subdued the crew, and now it and them are all yours, to do as you please.

That is a responsibility you have never asked for.

Nejima remains behind you, as you scan the horizon under the newly-risen sun from the bow of the ship. You have no idea what he is thinking, whether how he hates you for what you have done to his friends, how afraid he is of you, or something else; and to be honest, you do not much care. At the very least, you are confident he is not planning another rebellion, after the one the end of which has seen the surviving Axe pirates scrubbing the galley's floor to remove their crewmates' blood and innards, and having to store seventeen (seventeen!) bodies in the hold until they can deliver them to the sea, as is customary when a pirate dies, and that is enough for you. Still, you can not trust him, you remind yourself, since he has already deceived you, taking advantage of your instinctive desire to help whoever is hurt and needs it, and that is why, when Nejima finally breaks the silence by asking

"You want to have some food brought to you?"

you shake your head decisively in response; the truth is you are starving, since the bread and cheese you ate yesterday were not enough to fill you up, but the pirates might decide to get rid of you adding a special ingredient to any food you could ask for, and since you would have no way, nor the time, to create an antidote for the poison, you have decided the safest thing to do is to go hungry… and sleepy, since you didn't sleep a wink last night, sure the pirates were just waiting for you to nod off to hit you in the head, throw you overboard and let the sea take care of you, since eating the Devil Fruit made you unable to swim. So you kept vigil, and considering that you had spent the previous night in the company of Axe and his whip, you haven't slept for… well, too long, that's for sure, and you are so tired you could simply close your eyes as you stand, and doze off in a matter of seconds.

But you won't. Shanks wouldn't let hunger and exhaustion make him lower his guard, which means you mustn't either; you wanted to be worthy of him, as your captain and lover both. After all, you are no longer the simple doctor of Foosha Village, but a member of the Red-Haired Pirates, and you have to behave accordingly.

You remain at the bow, alone, until finally the island appears in front of you, and that is why you order Nejima to have the men assemble on the deck, except for the few who need to remain at their stations to maneuver the ship, so that Shanks and the others will be able to keep them under control once the the two crews come into contact. You notice they all give you a wide berth, huddling together to avoid having to come within ten paces from you. You can't blame them: they have seen you kill their friends, brutally and mercilessly, a scene they will probably see in their nightmares for many years to come, and while they must know it is too late to get rid of you, since they will be before Shanks and his men in a matter of minutes, they know you have reason to hate them.

And you do. You really do, even if they were simply following orders and you had not even met most of them before a group of the most reckless attacked, hoping to overpower you with sheer numbers, and you were forced to defend yourself. You hate them for what they forced you to do, and for what they would have done once you were no longer of use to their captain. You hate all of them, and while that is not a pleasant feeling, you welcome it, because you are able to draw strength from it.

Shanks' entire crew (your entire crew; your mates, your friends, the men who over the last year have become your family) is waiting for you, observing Axe's ship, from which you had the Jolly Roger taken off to symbolize your capture of the vessel, at the abandoned pier you have been abducted from… two days ago, you realize, only two days have passed since you last saw your lover, saying goodbye to him with a kiss as he left to visit the man he planned on recruiting and expecting to see him again by nightfall. Those two days were undoubtedly the most painful and terrifying of your life, but you feel as if you had been away for weeks…

And then there is him; you would recognize him anywhere, even if the ship were not close enough by now to allow you to see him clearly, even if he were not standing alone at the head of his crew, as fitting for a captain, even if you could not see his red hair (as red as the sun at sunset; as red as blood) gently tossed by the wind, and that you have stroked and played with so many times.

It's him; your captain, your lover, your Shanks, whose very presence you feel in your heart, as if you were the two opposite poles of a magnet attracting each other. Once, as you lain in bed together in his cabin, your cheek on his shoulder and your lover's hand resting on your chest to feel your heartbeat, Shanks said you would always find each other, whatever distance or adversity had separated you, because each of you were a part of the other's soul, the two halves of a single whole, and no adverse fate would ever keep you apart. You joked that it was the rhum he had imbibed talking, or the fact that you had just made him climax so hard he had forgotten his own name - twice, but the truth is your heart was full of joy, and gratitude, and hope, because you knew he was speaking from his, and he really would move heaven and earth to be with you and keep you safe.

This is what you thought would happen, sooner or later, with Shanks being one of the most powerful pirates in the world and you still a neophyte; that he would have to defend you - which didn't mean you were content with being a burden to him and your crewmates, or didn't want to learn to defend yourself to fight alongside the others. Still, you would have never imagined you would be the one returning to him, having had to kill so many men to set yourself free, with Shanks waiting for you like the wife of a soldier back from the front; he probably didn't expect it either, but when you told him that you didn't need to be rescued and you would have your kidnappers bring you back to the island, he didn't protest, letting you decide what to do.

You loved him for it; and now you can't wait to be once more where you belong: by his side.

Your eyes meet while the ship reaches the pier, gently moving to approach the gangway protruding from the beach, and whatever pain and terror you may have suffered in the last two days, it is probably nothing compared to what your lover has gone through since he was informed of your disappearance, and that didn't diminish after you contacted him and assurred him you were all right. The joy and bittersweet relief in his warm eyes is so intense, Shanks seems for a moment about to cry; but as an experienced captain and pirate, he knows you are not safe yet - rather, this is in some respects the most dangerous moment of all, when the joy for your return may lead your crewmates to lower their guard, or Axe's pirates to attempt to escape and take you with them.

Nejima is once more behind you. "Lower the gangplank." you tell him, feeling extraordinarily foolish as you do, since the only orders you have ever given were of a medical nature and even those are routinely disregarded. Nonetheless, you are obeyed, and Shanks sends half his crew on the ship, to keep Axe's pirates at bay.

Most of your friends smile, wink, or pat you on the shoulder while they pass you by, and you greet them in kind, deeply happy to see them again.

"I had forgotten how insufferable he was when you were not around." Benn Beckman, Shanks' faithful and ever present first mate, mutters in your ear, making you laugh. You feel already much better, the simple presence of your crew around you comforting and reassuring: you are home once again, because they and him especially are your home, wherever in the vast sea your travels would bring you. Since you have joined the Red-Haired Pirates, you have forgotten what feeling lonely feels like, and you'll never cease being grateful for that.

"Believe me, I didn't leave by my own volition." you answer, turning serious.

"I know it, (name). Just…"

"Yeah."

Benn quickly takes command, sending the others to confiscate all weapons on board. You turn to look at Shanks, still waiting on the pier; he is not smiling, but you can see love and the almost uncontrollable desire to embrace you shining in his warm brown eyes - a desire you can easily recognize, because it's the same filling your heart.

Come here, he invites you with a brief gesture of his hand, and you are all too happy to obey. You turn to Nejima. "Come with me." you order, and the helmsman obediently follows you down the gangplank until you and your lover are finally, finally face to face, together once more, and for a moment nothing is wrong in the world.

"Captain." you respectfully greet him, and your lover nods.

"Doctor. Are you all right?"

"I have been better." you admit; you and Shanks have promised to never lie to each other, not even to spare each other pain and worry, and the signs of your abuse are evident on your face and body "But I'll live."

"Good. You are the first officer?" Shanks, whose eyes have moved on the man on your left, asks then, since you forgot to tell him the first officer was one of the men who attacked you last night.

"I am the helmsman, captain. The others have asked me to speak for them."

"I see. You know your situation is dire; you have kidnapped our doctor and abused her, and this is not a crime I can easily forgive."

Silence is the only answer he receives. Shanks sighs as he stares at him, his head tilted to one side, as he considers the man in front of him, his gaze not cruel but piercing.

"Your name?"

"Nejima, captain."

"What do you think your captain would do in my place, Nejima?"

The helmsman needs only a second to find an answer. "He would kill you all." he says evenly "The captain was not an easy man to serve under, but he considered each of his men as his brothers; the kidnapping of one of them was the sort of crime he would not forget."

"Hmmm..."

Shanks sighs; he is clearly torn, aware of the need to protect his men, and you, and loathe to commit unnecessary bloodshed. You have no idea what he will decide to do, but whatever it will be, you will support him, as his subordinate and lover, like you know he would support you.

"All right." he says in the end "Give me a minute."

He turns to you, gently inviting you to step away to talk in private.

"I missed you." he murmurs; surrounded as you both are by your crewmates and, more importantly, by Axe's pirates, he doesn't kiss or hug you, electing to simply rest his hand on your shoulder "I was afraid... But I shouldn't have, clearly. I know how strong you are."

The smile that blossoms on your lips is probably the bitterest of your life. "Had I not eaten the Fruit, by this time I would be fish food." you softly point out, before grimacing "I'm sorry I made you worry..."

"(name), we will have time to talk about everything later. You need to rest, now."

"I really do. But can you promise me you will wait until then before deciding what to do with them?"

Shanks nods, compassion clear on his face. "I promise. You want me to send someone to accompany you?"

You shake your head, since the Red Force is docked maybe a hundred paces behind you, and you are pretty sure you can walk to it without keeling over.

"I have missed you as well." you murmur; while you are not lying at all, those simple words are so little, a drop of water in the sea, compared to what you would like to say and do. You do need to rest, to sleep and to eat and to clean yourself, but you feel, no, you know that a single hug and kiss from Shanks would be enough to make all the pain and exhaustion disappear... "I... I was so afraid I would never see you again. There is nothing I wouldn't have done to return to you, no sin I wouldn't have committed, no carnage I wouldn't have carried out, but I was so afraid... I was so alone, and I kept telling myself this was not the end, not after we had waited so long to be together, but... I was hurting so much, Shanks..."

"Gods, (name)..."

Your lover's hand takes yours, delicately, to bring it to his lips, and you don't care if Axe's pirates are looking at you, you wouldn't care even if the whole world were, billions of strangers witnessing that intimate moment; he smiles at you, real and so close, and he feels like the sun after a century-long night.

"I'll be with you soon, I promise; and I won't take any decision without consulting you, since you are the offended party." he says "But please, now go rest; as a doctor, you must realize you need it."

You do, and so you let yourself enjoy the feeling of his warm hand holding yours for a moment more before taking a step back, and turn to set off towards the ship, still hurting but relieved to leave that nightmare behind you, if only temporarily.

The ship's empty corridors resonate with the muffled noise of your steps as you head to the infirmary (your little fief in Shank's kingdom, your lover likes to call it) without you fully realizing, almost as if obeying to muscle memory. Everything is like you left it: the two beds separated by screens, so as to ensure a little privacy to your patients; the shelves on the wall, with medicines and tools neatly arranged; a small chest with your personal belongings in a corner, a new dress you had bought the day before your kidnapping and that you planned to wear the next time you and your lover had some time for yourselves folded on the lid.

Being the only woman in the crew, and at the same time unwilling to give the impression you were receiving a special treatment from the captain because of that (or, worse, because you were sleeping with him) you asked his permission to sleep in the infirmary, which therefore also doubles as your personal cabin: this way you can keep watch on any patient who needs to be assisted during the night, and at the same time spare yourself and your crewmates the embarrassment to divide their space with someone who has a different anatomy. Until now, the arrangement has worked perfectly... and the others have been kind enough to never mention that the whole matter is a moot point, since you spend most of your nights in Shanks' bed in any case.

In the last year, that tiny room, and the ship in its entirety, have become as familiar as your home and practice in Foosha once were, so much that you could move around with your eyes closed and easily find your way; you feel at home here, surrounded by things you know and people who care for you, and you have been away for just two days, but nevertheless you feel a weird sense of... detachment, as if you had returned to your childhood home after decades of absence, or this were a place you had just briefly visited without lingering. It's still unreal; you are home, you know it, but somehow your heart hasn't fully grasped it... because you can't fully accept you have come back, or maybe because you had been so sure you never would.

Worse, you are still afraid, well aware that your lover and his men are more than capable of dealing with your kidnappers, and that in any case you have already demonstrated you can take care of yourself, but still frightened, irrationally sure an enemy could come anytime, from anywhere, as soon as you lower your guard. After all, Nejima only had to learn you were a doctor, wait for you to be alone, and tell you there was a patient who needed your help; clearly you still had much to learn about perceiving threats and dangers, which is an important skill for a pirate. What if it happens again? What if next time your captors are able to get the best of you, and use you to hurt your friends, and Shanks? What if he needs to come save you, and to defend you at the cost of his life...?

It won't happen. At least, it hasn't happened this time. Calm yourself, (name), you repeat yourself, with a voice that sounds surprisingly like that of your mother, as you finally begin getting comfortable in your room, you are at home. You are safe. Maybe you don't feel like it, but you are, and that is what really matters.

You remove your shoes, for a moment torn between the desire to get rid of your torn, dirty clothes, and the exhaustion that makes washing yourself in the basin of clean water next to the bed, taking clothes out of your chest and putting them on, an insurmountable task. Gods, you must have never smelt so bad in your life...

In the end, you simply wash the filth and sweat (but not blood; there is not a single drop of blood marrying your skin and clothes, nor yours nor of your victims) from your face and hands, pass a comb in your hair to try and give them some semblance of order, and check your shoulder wound, happy to see it free from infection. Then, you take a blanket from the chest; it is perhaps too much for the day, warm with the promise of an oncoming summer, but you are cold, so cold you are even shaking, and suddenly you are thinking back to when you were still a young girl, and your favourite quilt was the only thing that could protect you from the monsters hiding in the dark corners of your room...

The windows are closed, as well as the door. You drape the blanket over yourself as you lie in a foetal position on the bed on the right, the one you usually occupy unless you have two patients to take care of - or are happily sleeping in the embrace of your lover. You sigh, close your eyes, and do what you had ordered yourself to never do as long as you remained on Axe's ship, and that you have always tried to also hide from Shanks, in the rare occasions you felt the need to, so as not to worry him.

You cry. Out of relief, pain, regret, and to simply release all the stress and fear you accumulated in the last two days and that, now that you give yourself permission to stop being strong and simply feel, pour out of you like the tide released from a dam. It starts with a shy, almost inaudible whimpering, a few tears you quickly dry with the hem of your blanket, before realizing that no one can hear you, since you are alone on the ship, and you better get this out of you before Shanks sees and feels even more unnecessarily guilty than he already does. And so you cry, sobbing and wailing and shedding bitter tears that never stop coming, no matter how already soaked your pillow is; you cry until you can't cry anymore, because you are still scared, and hurt, and because you did it in self-defense, and Axe and his men had it coming, since they had kidnapped and were going to hurt you, they weren't even your first victims since you had taken to the sea, but... but...

You don't remember your tears stopping; you don't remember falling asleep either. Still, you do both, and in the end, when Shanks joins you in the infirmary, he finds you dead to the world, your chest still heaving with sobs, curled up with a dagger you retrieved from inside your chest hidden under your pillow.

*****

The ordeal you have gone through is the sort you expected to have nightmares about for months (at least, a still unexperienced pirate like you would; a veteran like Shanks would probably leave it behind him in a matter of days, but for you, alas, things are different), screaming as you wake up with the image of Axe brandishing his whip, or of the blood-covered bodies of his men lying at your feet, still vivid in front of you.

Instead, at least for today, your awakening is tranquil, the voices of your crewmates once again populating the ship reaching you through the thin walls of the room; you mumble to yourself as you turn to one side, vaguely trying to perceive what time it is, and whether you are waking up from a short nap or a night of uninterrupted sleep, when suddenly you realize you are not alone in the infirmary.

"So, apparently the best way to make a patient sleep and soothe his pain before surgery is to administer laudanum." Shanks considers, one of your medicine books in his hand as he deftly uses his thumb to turn the page "I've only seen use rhum. A poor devil on my old captain's ship had to have his left leg amputated, he drank every drop the cook had in the galley..."

"We used neither for you." you consider, thinking back at the terrible day Shanks lost his arm to defend Luffy from the Sea King; by the time you reached him, there was no longer need for pain medication, only to clean the wound and hope it hadn't gotten infected already. That was the day the two of you officially began your relationship, but you still can't think back to it with pleasure, because of the loss and the pain your lover had to bear.

"We didn't. Just my luck, I could have drunk as much as I wanted without anyone telling me off..."

You could point out that Shanks has always drunk as much as he wanted, without anyone ever trying to stop him, since he's an adult and his men enjoy rhum and beer as much as he does, but you don't, content with observing the man sitting at your bedside, an ankle resting on his opposite knee in a position only he could find comfortable, his warm brown eyes full of love.

"How long have you been here?" you ask in the end, sitting on the bed and pushing your dagger away; Shanks' presence is enough to make you feel safe.

"Not long. Feeling better?"

You do, surprisingly, and you happily accept the plate of food Shanks has left on the bedside table. He smiles as he sees you eat voraciously, lightly caressing your leg after lifting your ankle on his knee, and for a minute everything you need to do and talk about is forgotten, and nothing in the world matters except for the two of you being together.

For a minute.

"We need to decide what to do with Axe's pirates." you point out in the end, aware there's no point ignoring the most important topic you and your lover need to discuss. He nods, turning serious.

"Killing them all would be a show of strenght and ensure other pirates know they can't attack us without suffering the consequences. It would protect us, and you especially."

"I know."

"But you don't want them to die."

"I don't." you admit, and a sad smile appears on your lips "I know, not very pirate-like."

Your lover gently points out he would never scold you for the desire to be merciful, which is one of the many things he loves about you; on the other hand, pirates have their own laws, no one would ever blame you for demanding justice, and Nejima himself told you Axe would show no mercy, if the roles were reversed.

"The one I should want revenge against is Axe imself." you tell him as you eat voraciously; you have been taught it is bad manners to stuff your face, to carry out a conversation while you do it even more, but given the circumstances you think you can dispense with formalities "And I killed him already. His men were only obeying orders."

"His men were also very faithful to their captain, and may desire to avenge him, no matter how... how terrified they are of you."

He is clearly reluctant to utter those last few words, that hurt nonetheless; many pirates would be proud to know they have striken such terror in their victims they might decide to forgo honor and sense of duty, but you aren't - not yet, at least. Shanks looks at you, sighs, and as soon as you have put the now empty plate away, he takes your hand in his.

"I know it's not an easy decision to make, even for someone who is not a doctor, or who has lived as a pirate longer than you have." he says gently, and having someone perceive your thoughts and emotions with such clarity, as easily as with the book he was reading a moment ago, would be terrifying, almost a defilement, were the man doing it not the one you have given your heart to, and who has given you his "I don' like it either."

"But you have done it already, with other pirate crews you have fought."

"I have. I had to."

You sigh. "Can't we... feel free to laugh if you want... surrender them to the Marines?" you ask after a pause "Axe was a pretty notorious pirate..."

"But most of his men aren't; there are maybe four men with a bounty on their head in the entire crew, including the navigator. Think about it, (name); if the Marines were to arrest every single man in every crew they capture, their prisons would be full. Most of them would go free in a day or so."

Part of you wants to point out that if the rest of Axe's men are so harmless, there is no real danger in leaving them free, but your lover is right. Not only is the idea of consigning your fellow pirates to the World Government risible, but making sure they cannot hurt you and your crew anymore is only half the goal. Red-Haired Shanks is a feared pirate, and he needs to remain so; sometimes, even a merciful man like him, known for avoiding unnecessary bloodshed and not harming civilians, needs to be cruel... and so does whoever follows him.

"All right. Let's do it." you decide in the end "They have to pay."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. It is the right thing to do, even if I don't like it."

"I agree."

Your lover stands with a sigh; he bends to kiss you on the forehead. "I'll give the order; you can rest for a little more if you want."

"I think I can manage; what I need now is things to return to normal, and I do want to get back to work." you answer as you stand, but your determination lasts only a moment "... Shanks?"

"Yes?"

"Are... are the others afraid of me? Now that I can do... that."

"Oh, (name)..."

He smiles, his warm hand resting on your cheek. "No one is afraid of you; no one who actually knows you ever could be." he assures you; his voice is soothing, as if he were trying to calm a skittish colt "Rather, they were afraid something terrible had happened to you, and were happy to see you safe and sound."

You tell him you are also happy to be among your friends once again, but the fact remains that you are now the only member of his crew who ate a Devil Fruit, and who now possesses powers that could be used to hurt whoever is close to you.

"And you plan on doing that?"

"Obviously not!" you exclaim, frustrated; why is he not taking it seriously? "I never would. But now I... I am dangerous, even more than many other Devil Fruit users, and I don't want my friends to fear me..."

"Anyone on this ship is dangerous. Otherwise we wouldn't have survived until now on the Grand Line. Don't take it the wrong way, but if I were to be afraid of someone here on the ship, you would be one of my last choices."

You are not really sure how to interpret those words, whether to feel relieved or insulted; but you know Shanks is trying to comfort you, and you trust he wouldn't lie to you to do it. Still...

"And you're not afraid either?" you ask again; you hate how needy, how fragile, your voice sounds, and you know that your lover's feelings for you are deep and strong enough to withstand any difficulty and problem, but this is still all so new for you, and you can't help needing to be comforted.

"Why should I?" Shanks asks back, sincerely surprised by your question; then he smiles, lifting your hand with his to kiss the back of it. "I am used to danger, as well. Also, I know what sort of person you are, and if we ever were to fight for some reason, I trust we would discuss about it like reasonable adults, and you wouldn't make me bleed out like a pig in a slaughterhouse to punish me."

"Gods, no!"

"I was kidding, (name). Believe me, you have nothing to fear. I know what we share; and nothing in the world will ever make me fear you, whatever power of ability you develop."

Finally, you smile - truly, this time, completely unaware of how breathtaking you are in his eyes when you do it, your heart full of gratitude and relief, feeling as if you were falling in love with him again after a whole year... and eleven.

"Feeling better?"

"Very. May I have a kiss now, captain?"

"If you really insist, doctor..."

Shanks generously fulfills your request, and smiles when you rest your forehead on his shoulder, quietly enjoying his presence in the chaste intimacy of your room, and at the same time aware you have still work to do, and it won't be pleasant.

"We need to do it soon, right?" you sigh without opening your eyes, as if trying to keep hold of a dream when the light of sunrise is creeping in "This is not the sort of thing you can put off until tomorrow."

"I'm afraid so."

"Just a minute more?"

Shanks' arm circles your waist. "Just a minute more." he agrees, and his red hair brush against your cheeks as he rests his chin on your head.

*****

The sentence is carried out at midday, on the beach whose sand is soon turned red by the blood flowing like a river. Even though they have been ordered to hand over their weapons, some of Axe's pirates try to escape, either slipping away behind the backs of their crewmates or rebelling as they are forced to their knees; they are quickly brought back and put to the front of the line. A few are openly terrified, stumbling as they walk, crying softly or praying under their breath; many keep their head high, defiant and proud until the last moment. None asks for mercy as Shanks' closest companions move among them and use a dagger to cut their throats.

Shanks observes the scene surrounded by his men, his expression sombre but impassive, while you have asked to be among the executioners; you are deliberately avoiding using your powers (also, you are not yet sure you would be able to in a non-threatening situation) and the shirt you have put on to replace the one Axe's whip has reduced to shreds is already stained with splashes of red drops. As you deal the death blow to your third victim, looking at his throat from the side, a few of those fall on your cheek; you clean yourself with your fingers, and then absentmindedly lick them.

Nejima is the first to go; he looks in front of him, aware of and ignoring all the eyes on him, including yours, while he obediently tilts his head back to allow Benn to open his jugular vein with a knife and quicken the bleed-out. When Shanks told him they would be put to death, the man did not argue, having probably realized begging and promising would not save their lives, and only asked your captain to set their ship on fire with the bodies of all the crew inside, as is customary for pirate group funerals.

You don't feel pity for him, not even a little, even though you wish you didn't have his blood (the blood of all of them, sixty-eight men dead because of you, directly or otherwise) on your hands; still, you can't help admiring the calmness and self-composure the navigator is displaying as he faces his end. Who knows if you would be able to be equally brave in his place, you wonder as you clean your dagger from the blood, having been so focused on the men you were killing you didn't think of counting them; somehow you doubt it, unless Shanks were next to you or you had lost him already. In that case, death would be a sweet relief, even if you don't know what awaits you all on the other side...

The atmosphere is tense but solemn, Shanks' pirates keeping an hand on the butt of a gun or the handle of a sword in case some of their victims attempt a last, desperate dash for liberty, but there is no mocking the victims, no jeering, no desecrating the corpses. They are not that sort of men, and your captain wouldn't allow it either. In the end, when dozens of men (some with hair turned grey by age, a few barely past boyhood) lie on the sand in front of you, Shanks orders them to be carried to their ship, its hold emptied of all treasures and riches that are now part of your crew's loot. The vessel is then pushed offshore, and its sails and hull set fire to with blazing arrows.

The sun has just begun its slow descent towards the horizon as you observe the small bonfire silhouetted against the sky. "You can smell the flesh burning from here." you whisper, standing close enough to Shanks your hand brushes against his; your lover frowns for a moment, but he keeps silent, and his fingers find yours to interwine with.

"Have you convinced him?" you ask him a while later, as you walk along the beach, having left everything and everyone behind you, at least for a few minutes "The man you wanted to recruit. Is he joining us?"

Your lover blinks, as if momentarily unsure of what you are talking about. "Oh! No, unfortunately no. He is raising a family now, he says his pirate days are definitely over."

"What a pity..."

Shanks sighs; he is still holding your hand, clearly reluctanto to let it go. "If it weren't for that, nothing would have happened to you." he reasons, his voice raising so little above a whisper the noise of the backwash almost covers it "I would have been there to protect you."

"It is not your fault; I was asked to assist a man who had gotten hurt, I wouldn't have let you forbid me from going."

"No, but I would have stopped you from going alone; and then you wouldn't have been kidnapped."

"True. But then again, I should have realized it could be a trap; I have myself to blame, and myself alone." you gently point out "Thank the Gods I'm all right, and from now on I'll be more careful, I promise."

Another sigh; clearly your lover is not convinced, or at least he cannot leave the whole matter (everything you went through, the fear you both felt you wouldn't survive) behind him anymore than you do. In the end he stops, putting an end to the lines of footprints following you.

"I could have lost you." he murmurs, his hand already caressing your cheek "I... I can barely stand thinking about it. What would I have done without you?"

"Shanks..."

"I love you so much. I... I can't even explain it. I have known it since before we said goodbye in Foosha, and in ten years we have spent apart what I felt never wavered, but now... now that I can see you every day, and sleep holding you close and hold your hand and share my food with you and kiss you every time I want, it is as if I... I had developed an addiction. I can't live without you. I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you; you know I would give my life for..."

"Ssh..."

You gently press a finger to his lips, hating to see the man you love blaming himself. You know he can't help it: he loves you, and as your captain, you are under his protection. On the other hand, you are an adult woman who was aware of the risks when she decided to join his crew, and you need to learn to take care of yourself, as you effectively did. And should it happen again (and it will, no doubt, since there are many less dangerous lines of work than piracy)... you'll worry about it when the time comes.

"I am fine, and I am here with you." you remind him as your arms circle his shoulders, pressing your bodies together "And I love you too so, so much. My beloved captain... I would have killed all of them if it meant returning to you."

"I'm sorry you had to do this."

"Stop blaming yourself for things beyond your control; I did what I had to in order to survive, and I'll never regret it."

He smiles; and then he kisses you. "So you ate the Fruit." he points out. Shanks was the first person you talked to after finding the fruit, and he had advised you to think carefully about what to do with it, hether to sell or use it, since once you had taken a single bite from it, the effects (both the loss of the ability to swim, and whatever power it would grant you) would be irreversible. You did carefully reflect on it... and on the night before your kidnapping, you did eat it. "Was it bad? They say they taste bad, Luffy's did."

"It tasted horrible; like burnt gum. But since it gave me the power to subdue Axe's pirates and come back to you, it was a small price to pay. And from now on, I'll fight with you all: I doubt I'll ever be a great swordsman or combatant, no matter how much I train, but with these powers I won't have to remain back at the ship or hide in the galley every time you and the others fight. I can stand with the others, help, instead of being a burden and having to be protected."

"You're our doctor; your role is too important for you to put your life in danger."

"I know. But I want to do more than suture wounds or brace broken bones. I am one of you, Shanks; I want to pull my own weight, in the infirmary and outside. And who knows." you add with a new smile "Maybe one day I will save your life, like you saved mine twice already."

Your lover smiles, and says that as long as you watch out for yourself first, he has nothing to object to. He holds you against him, close enough to make you feel the beat of his heart, close enough to kiss you, which he does, again and again, until you can no longer remember where he ends and you begin. "Please." he whispers "Never leave my sight again."

"I won't."

[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Tophet

CR 10

Neutral Large Construct

Bestiary 3, pg. 271

Construction Requirements: Craft Construct, Bull’s Strength,Endure Elements, and a caster level of at least 12. Craft (Sculpture) with a DC of 20.

A Tophet is built from at least 3000 pounds of iron, steel, and/or brass forged in heat comparable to that of an active volcano.

Cost to Build: The strict heat requirements and the formation of the Tophet's rotund body makes the final cost of this Construct a generous 23,500gp!

Open wide and say aaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHI'M BURNING

Often formed in the likeness of whoever the creator dislikes, the Tophet look like comically waddling, rounded caricatures of their inspiration, harmless as a jester and created only to be mocked. Much like a jester in a fantasy setting, though, the Tophet is more dangerous than it looks! Though its toddling gait and silly face can be disarming, it's still an animated hunk of solid metal, capable of dealing hefty blows with a duo of slam attacks for 1d6+8 damage each and having DR 5 that's only bypassed by adamantine weapons.

And, of course, their mouth. Unhinging and opening up like some nightmare portal, the Tophet's bite deals 2d6+8 damage and Grabs whatever it locks down on. Any creature that can't break out of the grapple by the time the Tophet's turn rolls around again is sucked straight into its hollow but cramped interior. The Construct itself has no Swallow Whole damage, acting purely as a prison cell (or, in desperate times, an armored transport) and even having a doorway to let out anyone who can succeed the DC 30 Disable Device check to pick the lock (with a -2 penalty because they're still grappled) or who has the key. The Tophet itself can be ordered to open and shut the hatch at any time, and it automatically shuts it as a free action whenever a creature picks the lock to escape, resetting the mechanism.

However, being a living prison cell is only its primary function. It's also a torture device and, in some cases, an executioner. Immune to Fire damage, these rounded guardians are Conductive, transferring half of any Fire damage they would have taken to their prisoners instead. While a party needs only to hear the screams of their roasting ally once to stop hurling Fireballs and Scorching Rays at the thing, the Tophet's commander has little reason to not hurl as much fire as they can at their mechanical ally, roasting the victim inside with no saving throw allowed. The book points out that Tophet can be ordered to stand in lava to execute their prisoners, with total immersion dealing 20d6 Fire damage a round; that's an average of about 72 damage, so captured victims take 36! And with nowhere to escape but into the lava... well... Not a pretty way to go.

On the plus side, Tophet are unintelligent, entirely beholden to the orders of their creators and with no tactical flexibility. Their entire game plan is to waddle up to a target and Full-Attack as early and as often as possible, something they actually struggle a little with despite their CR and Large size; their silly little arms are good for the court's morale but not for the machine itself, which possesses a 10ft space but only a 5ft reach, and their silly little legs mean they only move at 20ft a round, allowing most parties to stay out of their reach. They're not exactly meant to fight, they're meant to swallow people who are brought to them already bound and gagged and act as an emergency last line of defense between a prisoner and people who want them freed. If a Tophet is in battle, it's likely because the party is trying to rescue someone who was put inside one earlier... and a DM wanting to make an encounter with one especially harrowing can put a time limit on it, with the Construct sitting atop a fire pit, pinging its held victim's health every round it can't be moved...

You can read more about them here.

[jackdaniel69nice]

since i am an angst connoisseur and starved of content i gotta ask, based on your timeline, what would your idea of "the incident" be?

my other question is, what happened that warranted the bandages?

Hi! When I posted about Tokoyami’s parents I made illusions to this incident but I can go into more detail!

There was a lot of drama that lead up to the incident, specifically the loss of Tokoyami’s grandparents who understood and took care of him and shadow the best and this loss devastated tokoyami. His other family members (aunts and uncle) also didn’t cope with the death well and weren’t able to support him, leaving him to his mother’s overbearing and strict lifestyle. He acts out more and gets in fight at school due to grief and it gets him in trouble. He is also trying to suppress this grief response because that is what he was taught so it is building up.

When his mother scolds (yells) at him after school for having a break down at school and “attacking the teacher” (the teachers was shining lights at shadow and they had enough and fought back). He is so frustrated and angry he purposefully releases dark shadow so they can attack her. He quickly loses control though and when his father defends Kohane (his mother) he gets terribly injured damaging organs and his spine so it’s hard to walk. As much as the incident itself is traumatic, the things that follow are much worse.

Tokoyami is arrested first of all and left in high containment nearly a week. His aunt who just recently had triplets finally comes to get him. during his time in jail he has a very wrong “realization” that everything wrong with life is actually dark shadows fault and blames them.

You see, his mother has been trying to instill this idea in him for a very long time. If he can just force dark shadow to behave, to control them, then everything will be fine and he can have a normal life. His grandfather though, always stressed the idea that dark shadow and him need to work together in cooperation, and harmony. Now that his grandfather is gone he is doubting his word and dark shadow injuring his father in their rage makes his mother’s words ring more true than ever. So tokoyami decided to finally lock down on dark shadow, no more leniency, no more free rein. Tokoyami is the warden and shadow is his prisoner, nothing more than a puppet. To keep the people he loves safe…right?

Welllll dark shadow is not happy about this. They are heart broken, worse than, completely betrayed, scared, Fumikage is supposed to be the one person they can trust, their other half, who would never turn on them, never blame them. All they ever tried to do was protect him, why are you doing this?? This isn’t fair. If they can’t trust Fumikage then they can’t trust anyone. The whole world is rotten. And everything is Fumikage’s fault.

So basically tokoyami starts a war for control with dark shadow that is taking place within his mind. Unfortunately Tokoyami’s aunt can’t have an unstable preteen near her newborns and reluctantly drops him off with his mother. Kohane needs to take care of her husband who is still in the hospital (not to mention her own injuries) and has no idea what to do with tokoyami…so she does nothing. She tells him to stay in his room with the lights on and not leave. She comes home, brings him a meal, leaves, locks the door, then returns to the hospital for a few hours to do it all over again. Meanwhile Tokoyami’s mind is slipping.

Tokoyami has had mental training his whole life to control dark shadow. It just upset shadow so much he never used it to its full extent. Now he has no care for “hurting” shadow, they’re just a beast after-all. So he sticks shadow in a cage doesn’t let them out. Dark Shadow fights so hard for their freedom at every chance they get, every scrap of darkness they find, they let it full their strength, their rage. They fight with everything they have until Tokoyami’s mind is in tatters, shredded by their claws from the inside. He paces the floor, he can’t eat, he can’t sleep, he pulls feathers and bites his nails. All for some semblance of clarity, to make his head stop hurting. He plays loud music to drown out shadows cries. He bangs head against the floor to match the migraine shadow is forcing from the inside. He feels like he is splitting, he thinks he is dying, maybe he is, maybe they will tear each other apart. He losing time, losing memory, he’s not sure where he ends and shadow begins. Drowning in darkness.

And one day it stops. One of them had to give, and for some reason it was Dark Shadow. They are quiet for a while much to Tokoyami’s confusion, did he win? Why does this victory feel so hollow? Why does it hurt. Regardless, it happens just in time for him to start his new middle school which is…special. For kids just like him.

Anyways dark shadow isn’t completely compliant obviously; they just let up the constant fighting. The “years they Endoor” (Dark Ages) are spent like distant roommates that despise each other. Stay on your side of the room and don’t look at each other. Unfortunately dark shadow’s only ability to converse while caged is with tokoyami telepathically so they end up bickering a lot still.

((Dark Shaodw has a reason for ending the fighting. Tokoyami just doesn’t remember it))

I’m really glad you asked about this anon because I have simply been dying to talk about it. To answer your question more simply. The incident refers to tokoyami losing control again but instead of protecting someone it was from pure built up malice. His hands are bandaged, his feathers unkempt, and him being visibly unwell is because of the mental break following the event and due to self harm.

Perhaps you are thinking Tokoyami should have gone to the mental hospital, and you would be right. Unfortunately he has been to hospitals before where he was horribly treated (part of the Trauma of his past) and has a fear of doctors and psychiatrist now. He wouldn’t take himself to the hospital ever. Kohane was also aware of how terrible Tokoyami’s mental state was, she was the one who would bandage his fingers and force him to eat when he couldn’t. She is also afraid of the hospitals mistreating him again (she feels responsible for him suffering through their abuse before) but there is also her stigma towards poor mental health in general. In Japan there is a wide spread stigma towards mental illness and the mentally disabled, such conversations are taboo. Kohane was raised very traditionally to suppress her emotions and never seek mental help, she wouldn’t have taken tokoyami anyway, even if it had killed him.