#character death for the soul

[cinematik]

Kerosene Soaked Love

Eddie Munson loves the smell of kerosene. He loves the thought of fire following the bitter, oily smell. He loves the warmth of the fire and the sting of the smoke in his eyes. Eddie Munson could be a pyromaniac if he didn’t have that ounce of self preservation telling him to keep his ass out of jail.

When he met Steve Harrington for the first time after King Steve packed his shit and left, he found that he loved fire and kerosene more. The way the small campfire illuminated Steve’s jawline and puppy brown eyes made him melt. The way the flames danced on Steve's face was hypnotic and he slowly fell for the man in the fire.

Him and Steve bonded more through the events of spring break in 1986, between matching scars and shared trauma they grew very close. The nights spent by the campfires smoking, looking at Steve’s face being illuminated were always Eddie’s favourite. Their first kiss was shared by that same fire, it was slow and passionate. The kind of kiss that drowns out the world and the only thing you hear is the blood rushing in your ears. 

Steve learned to indulge Eddie in his love for fire. Whether that was letting him start the fire in the fireplace or letting him burn all the scraps of paper he could find in the house. Steve also grew to love fire because Eddie loved fire and he loved Eddie. The fire began to remind him of Eddie, how his loud, passionate boyfriend lit up the rooms he walked into and how his entire being seemed to glow. Steve also found more often than not Eddie's clothes buzzed with the smell of kerosene and smoke. He found comfort in that. Steve loved kerosene and fire, it reminded him of love.

Eddie loved Steve and Steve loved Eddie.

Hawkins did not love Steve and Eddie.

On December 15th, 1990 Steve and Eddie's small house on the edge Hawkins went up in flames. The roads were so icy that it took the firemen an hour to arrive, you could see the smoke from all the way across town. Eddie had felt his stomach drop when he got the call from work that the house had caught on fire. Steve was home that day, he had taken off to decorate for a Christmas party they were throwing for the kids. 

Eddie never drove faster than he had that day, he desperately hoped that he would see a disheveled Steve sitting wrapped in a blanket in front of the house with the firemen. 

All he saw were ashes of his house, an ambulence, several firefighters, and an adult sized body bag on the lawn. 

A week later the firemen and police determined that the house caught fire due to foul play. The house was doused in a mixture of kerosene and gasoline and then ignited with a match. 

Eddie cried for weeks, the thought of his poor Steve unaware of the horror that was about to happen, happily decorating for his favourite holiday. Eddie couldn’t get the thought of Steve crying and begging for Eddie to rescue him, or the thought of Steve choking on the smoke and his skin being eaten by the flames he so dearly loved out of his head. 

One of his most beloved things took away what he loved most.

Eddie Munson loves fire

Eddie Munson loves Steve Harrington.

Eddie Munson loved. 

[hubt0i]

besties 💥💥

[jeeaark]

final showdown pt2.

This was one of those battles where I survived it without a single reload. So. This entire scene? Accurate. Embarrassingly Accurate. (except the healy dealy. that's Greygold flair)

Wanted to get to the crown as fast as possible, but had to fly by Emps. Literally stopped next to bud to personally yell/reassure the fool I was gonna save their ass and then risked the opportunity attack.

(which. I forgot to bring my dex 18 gloves and discovered illithidism had shit dex, so....IS FINE. GG IS ALL FOR STARTING A NEW COLLECTION OF FRIENDSHIP SCARS)

BUT SQUID BUDDY MISSED. so. I like to think Enthralled Emps had put some effort into jumping through some rather large logic hoops to miss. Unlike Greygold who put JACK effort into dodging.

I originally intended to leave Emps completely alone, risk the attacks. But. Brain tentacle surprise happened. Right next to the squid. Emps rolled high in initiative.... But not as high as Lae'zel. Game-wise, ✨I panicked✨. Story-wise? I don't think this could have been any more in-character. Albeit, I found myself quadruple checking to make sure knockout mode was ABSOLUTELY on

[badly-drawn-doflamingo]

Yorki and ‘His Illness’;

Oda really knew how to drive the knife in when it comes to the story of Yorki and his crew, man…

From the choice of scenes before we get to see the bed-ridden body to the actual real world equivalents, its really rough on the heart.

What we knew about Yorki, from the scenes right before the announcement of his illness getting worse, is both his confidence and his strength.

The scene we get to see is his crew surrounding his brand new bounty, Yorki cheering and proudly proclaiming his joy for it. We see the great swaft of muscles on him, his chest fully exposed and his hair bright and fluffy along his shoulders. His face is clear, his arms fill out his coat, which is important later on, and he holds such a pride that he reminds me quite a lot of Luffy. We see him break up fights, offering advice to his men and we see him joking and drinking alongside his caring crew… and Brook. Brook is always by his side, during the mornings when he brushes his teeth, to the night when they drink side by side. They’re always together.

[ buff pirate cowboy! ] Until they’re not. Now comes the topic that may be a bit rough, the real life equivalent of what we see Yorki suffering from. I'll list the symptoms and y’all can make what assumptions you wish, and again, I’m not truthfully claiming its any REAL ILLNESS, but I mean simply it is inspired by, acting the same and such. We see a cold compress, so it’s bothering his body temperature. We see sunlit windows, open to the fresh air as if that could help. We see spotting across his face, and hands; small wounds, growing in number. We see his hair, like a mock halo loosely scattered across the pillow he lays in, and it’s stringy now, not glossy or kept. His mouth his covered by a mask, so they believe its airborne/touch. These sound to me, a lot like a certain sickness, one passed by blood which is interesting given the scenes we see before this are Yorki and the members who now are sick, sword fighting with a rival crew. The doctor states he's unsure what it is, but is treating it best he can, as what he believes it to be is unknown. But knowing what we do on old methods of that certain sickness, it would make sense. The mask helps, the spit and body fluids being a factor, but the idea of sunlight and fresh air helping is an olden falsehood. The men come into the room, and Yorki speaks to them through horse coughs, offering words of encouragement and laughing through the mask as they shuffle out. They know the truth of this serious matter, and Yorki does too. They leave, each crying their hearts out for perhaps they did not realize the truthful change until that moment. Brook certainly looks perturbed, staring blankly ahead at the bed. Note, most do not get too close to the bed, standing feet away, and not touching Yorki.

What a physical change from the man we saw before. But not too much mentally… or has it. He has a mask, mentally and physically still up; he gives them hope, tries, but… they see through it after months of his brushing off of the sickness perhaps.

After everyone leaves, Brook remains to stand, away from the bed until called. Called. Yorki calls to him, stating his name as he always did. “Brook.” “Yes.” And Brook comes closer, but not quite to the bedside, staring ahead with a blank expression. Than Yorki leans over, and grabs his hand, and in a flash of a moment Oda CHOSE for us to see, Brook looks disgusted. He grimences, brow furrowing at the wounded hand that touches him, but than we see what he sees lying in the bed; a weeping, broken husk. Yorki has begun to weep, sobbing as his confident facade is broken and melted away in front of his Vice-Captian. And Brook melts too, dropping to his knees and forgetting all of these ideas of illness, tossing any safety away for his crew and himself just to make Yorki feel seen, or perhaps because of his own need to love his dying partner. He clutches Yorki’s hand, and now we see the true damage the illness has done; Yorki’s wrist is thinner than Brooks. His arm is gaunt, and we see the bone. He is withering away, has been for months it seems, but Yorki always was good at excusing it with a confident smile. But now, in the bed, unable to stand and wracked and eaten away by something we can only claim perhaps as some blood related illness, he weeps before his partner. “Brook-” “YES? My Captain?” “Give them HOPE.”

I’ll just include the rest of the scene here for your own enjoyment.

I could dive into the fact that Brook believes he failed those words, or the fact the crew did not just die of poison, and their deaths were so gruesome the anime had to censor it. The fact Brook continues to “give the crew hope…” or the way he mentions he may not have made it out of the triangle alive.

However! That is for another day.

[iknowwhereyousleepatnight]

dnkinktober day 12: size difference

[crispinoodle]

MAKA ALBARN 🔪

Started watching soul eater again n i love it so much…

[scarlettphantoms]

damn i never post here lmao

[viking-raider]

A Witcher's Soul

Summary: When tragedy strikes, Geralt of Rivia seeks comfort in the arms of one woman.

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia/Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warning: PG - Abandonment Issues, Child Abandonment, Fluff Parental Loss, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Memories, Bathing, Love Confession, Soft!Geralt, Character's Death

Inspiration: This scene from Season Three of the Witcher! 😭

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy this! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!

Geralt rode Roach hard, only deviating from his path to guide the powerful black horse around a tree or rock. He gripped the worn brown reins tightly, feeling them cut into the top of his bare hands as he urged Roach to move faster, foam already starting to gather around his bit. The Witcher's mind raced, desperately trying to push down the power of the news he received from a good friend, while trying to help someone he'd found on the job. He struggled for a few days, trying to push it down, telling himself it didn't hurt.

She had left him almost a century ago, at this point.

Witchers had no emotions, he told himself, as a means to drive them back. It didn't work however, the emotions continued to smash into him.

So, he left in the dead of night, not a word to Anika, Otto, or even Jaskier, of where he was going or why. Though, he was sure Anika would know why. Geralt covered almost a whole league by the end of morning, cutting through the forest outside of Murivel, until he reached a modest clearing and an even more modest, three-room hut constructed in the middle of it, a stone and clay well on the left side, the bucket swaying softly in the breeze.

Roach came to a hard stop, hooves cutting deep grooves in the grassy earth, with Geralt wasting no time in dismounting the stallion and stomping across the yard to the front door. His sore and broken heart rose up with hope that it would swing open and the face of the one he was seeking would appear, to greet him. But, the door didn't open to him, instead he was greeted another way.

“Geralt!” A soft and confused voice called out.

He swung around on his boot heels, his golden eyes zeroing in on you as you stood just passed the tree-line, a basket of herbs and mushrooms balanced on your hip, as you regarded the Witcher. You hadn't seen Geralt in over a year, since he decided he needed to go to Cintra to make sure Ciri was safe from the sea of black and gold he'd seen on the Amell Pass. After the Dragon Hunt. You had heard the thunder of the new Roach's hooves coming up the path to your home, while you were gathering in the forest, and came to see who it was. You were surprised to see Geralt in general, but you were worried by how rushed he seemed.

“Geralt, what's amiss?” You asked, coming to close the gap between you. “Are you well?” You inquired, seeing the unusually deep crease between his brow and across his forehead, and how his complexion was paler, almost matching his hair.

Geralt took a deep breath through his nose, lips pressed together for a moment, working up the strength to speak. “I need you.” He finally rasped, his expression breaking into something soft and vulnerable.

“You rode all the way from wherever, just for time with me?” You smirked, tisking.

“Please.” Geralt replied, reaching out to grasp your free hand and squeezing it, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles, his expression breaking even more.

You frowned at him, all jest dying inside of you, seeing his wall fall before you and the pain he was being crushed underneath. “Let's go inside.” You whispered softly, tilting your head towards your door.

Nodding, Geralt reached out for your basket, but shaking your head and swatting it away gently, you pushed the front door open and put your hand on his arm, guiding him inside. You set your basket on a large table and turned towards the just as large fireplace, grabbing wood from the dog grate and tossed it in. Building it back up, sparks flying up the chimney. You moved to Geralt, who stood motionless beside the table, taking his hand and guided him over to the chair at the head of the table, gently coaxing him to sit down, then knelt before him. Grabbing the heel of his boot and his calf, you tugged the muddy, black leather off and set it underneath the table, followed by its twin. There was dust and mud covering his black clothing. You brushed your palm over his knee and thigh, casting some of it off, before standing up again and starting for the next room, only to have Geralt grasp your wrist and pull you into his lap. His arms wrapped around your shoulders as he buried his face into your chest, and breathed deep.

You frowned at him, sympathetically brushing your fingers through his hair and pulling it free of its usual tie, his white strands cascading over his shoulders. You nosed the top of his head, caressing the back of his hair and squeezing his bicep, still confused as to why he was there and what was ailing him so much.

“Geralt.” You whispered into his strands. “Tell me, what's happened?” You asked, your fingertips brushing the back of his neck. “Did you not make it to Ciri in time? Has something happened to her or Jaskier?” You inquired, licking your lips as your heart thundered against his forehead. “I noticed that isn't the Roach you had the last time you were here.” You pointed out, remembering the sweet Chestnut you used to feed and brush, when Geralt stayed with you, but now there was a sturdy black stallion standing in your dooryard.

He shook his head and cleared his throat. “No, they're both fine.” He rasped, turning his head to rest his temple against your collarbone. “As for the last Roach, she was killed by a Chernobog, a few months ago.” He added, softly.

“Oh, I'm so sorry.” You cooed, tucking his hair behind his ear. “Then, what's the matter with my Wolf?”

He was still and quiet again, for a long time, his fingers restlessly toying with the strings at the back of your bodice, before suddenly standing with you still in his arms, and turning to sit you on the chair in his place. He went out the door, rounding the house to the well and dropped the bucket to the bottom. You watched Geralt come back inside with each bucket, holding it in one hand, like it was the weight of one of his swords. Pausing in the open doorway and giving you a hard stare every time, as if he expected to find you moved off the chair or vanished completely. Only then, did he go to your large cauldron, dumping the full bucket in and returning back outside for another.

“Are you going to tell me, what's the matter, Geralt?” You asked, your concern only mounting with his bizarre behavior and irregular moodiness.

“Nothing.” He grunted harshly, setting the cauldron over the fire to boil.

“That's a lie.” You answered, just as sharply, being one of the few people on the Continent brave enough to talk back to the White Wolf in such a manner; other than Jaskier and Ciri. “You wouldn't have come from the bum fuck of Nilfgaard to see me, if something wasn't bothering you.” You insisted, glaring at his back.

Geralt ignored you, heading towards the back rooms of your home and leaving you more worried and annoyed at his behavior. He came back a few minutes later with no shirt on, and your suspicions on his task were answered. Despite what the people of the great Continent thought of Geralt of Rivia, he did not in fact like smelling of death, blood and horse. When he stopped for the winter at Kaer Morhen or with you, he bathed regularly. He just found it more a nuisance to do so while on the Trail, since the next Contract or sleeping rough would only dirty him up again.

Pulling the roiling cauldron off the fire, Geralt carried it to the large, soaking tub you boosted in your bathroom. He filled it almost to the brim, before adding in Lavender and Sage bath salts to the steaming water. A fragrant haze filled the room as he tugged his pants off and tossed them over a chair in the corner. He strode out of the bathroom, returning to you, still sitting where he'd left you. He took your hand and helped you stand, untying the strings of your bodice and tugging down your dress, so it pooled around your feet, before slipping his arm under your knees and an arm around your shoulders, scooping you up against his chest.

You sighed softly, wrapping your arms around his neck, while he carried you to the bathroom. “I missed you.” You whispered into his ear, as he stepped into the tub, lowering you both into it.

“And I, you.” Geralt replied, holding you in his lap and resting back. “Ciri and Jaskier are well, by the way.” He said, his fingertips stroking the skin of your side, beneath the water. “Ciri is being watched over by Yennefer, who's helping her try and control her magic and Jaskier was with Anika, last I left him.”

“Anika?” You frowned, tilting your head back against his shoulder. “Why is Julian with Anika? If he's well.”

Geralt's thick, scarred arms squeezed around you, almost painfully, making you squirm in his lap. “You remember my mother.” He mumbled, barely audible. “Visenna.” He said so quietly, you had to strain to hear it.

“Yes, I recall you telling me of her, a few years after we met.” You murmured, seeing the strained expression on his face. “And that you'd seen her at Sodden Hill. She healed you, after the ghoul bite.”

“I remember bits of my life with my Ma.” He rasped, his grasp on you loosening, but he still held you close to him. “She smelled like embers, from keeping our measly fires alive during the long nights.” He told you, the crease between his golden eyes slowly vanishing as he went back to that time, tapping into that abandoned little boy, he had never grown out of, but skillfully concealed from those he didn't cherish. “We were quite poor, even though she was skilled as a healer. So, she-” He paused, his voice thickening and his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

You looked up at him, seeing the redness in the whites of his eyes and the unshed tears threatening on his lashes. It frightened you to see the Witcher like this. In the fifteen years you'd known him, you'd seen him in many states, but you had never seen Geralt cry. Reaching up, you cupped his scruffy cheek in your hand and thumbed a droplet away, pressing your lips to his jawline.

“She would use her magic to create the most elaborate meals that we couldn't afford.” He continued, tilting his head into your hand. “There was—I would have done anything to make her smile. And yet,” He voice broke again, this time with more than just hurt and abandonment, but with resentment. “The day she left me, she was sick. She needed some water, so I went to get her some, and when I came back to the road...she was gone.” He croaked, pushing his jaw forward and shaking his head, trying to deny the burn of more tears.

His fingertips pressed into the skin of your side and back. “I called for her.” He said weakly, his golden eyes off in the distance. “But she was gone.” He whimpered, the tears finally winning out, dripping off his jaw and into your hair and the bath water.

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your forehead to his neck and hugging your arms around his torso. You had known Visenna had abandoned Geralt. He had told you that bluntly not long after you had met. The torture of her leaving him there, to be taken away to Kaer Morhen, where he'd suffered such agony in his transformation into a Witcher, at just five years old, coupled with the pain he never got over with his mother.

You wondered how Geralt had survived at all.

But no, Geralt was strong, even from a young age.

“She's dead.”

You pulled out of your thoughts, shocked. “She's dead?”

“She was giving aid to some villager and was mistaken as an Elf.” Geralt told you, bringing a hand out of the water to wipe it over his face. “They beat her severely and she later died, at the Temple of Mourning, where Anika was. Which is how I found out.”

“I'm so sorry, Geralt.” You cooed, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, connecting the dots to his arrival. “I hope the two of you were able to make some sort of easement between you, when you last met.”

Geralt pressed his lips together and buried his face into your hair, his throat too tight to speak in the moment. He considered how he and Visenna last met, in the forest outside of Sodden Hill, as he laid feverish and hallucinating from a Ghoul bite to the leg. After saving a poor Merchant, who was trying to bury the dead from a camp Nilfgaard had attacked. At first, she had tried to conceal her identity from him, pretending to be Renfri, Yennefer and finally, you, before he managed to discover who it really was. Triggered by her belief that, People linked by Destiny, will always find each other.

He asked her what she thought of his eyes. Demanding to know, if she knew what they did to improve a Witcher's eyes. Telling her that it didn't always work. She had begged him to stop. Calling him by his name, only for Geralt to reject her right to do so, like she had rejected him. He had begged to know if she knew how many boys actually made it through the Trials. Tears filled both of their eyes as they stared at each other in the darkness.

In the end, his Ma had left him, again, fading into the night, trying to convince him she was just a dream and he would never get the answer he wanted.

So, had he made peace with his mother abandoning him, forcing him on the Path of the Witcher?

No. Geralt decided in the end, he had not.

The only thing Geralt did know was he wanted you. You were the first person he had thought of, upon finding out about his mother's death. Wanting to feel you against him and needing the comfort only you were able to provide. You shifted out of Geralt's lap, moving around him, while reaching over the side of the tub, grabbing the small cup that sat on the foot board there. Dipping it into the water and gently pouring it over Geralt's silvery-white strands, you set aside and took up a round, solid bar of honey and chamomile scented soap, using it to work his hair into a rich lather. Geralt moaned, feeling your fingers massage his scalp, resting forward to prop his elbows on his bent knees, eyes falling shut.

“I love you.” He murmured, quietly.

You stopped, resting your hands on his broad shoulders. “You've never said that before.” You said, looking around at him, mouth softly agape.

“No?” Geralt rasped, cocking a brow over his shoulder at you.

“Not once, in all these years.” You assured him, your hand gently massaging the scarred muscle of his neck.

He turned to you, causing the cooling water to slosh over the edge. “Then, I have a great deal of making up to do.” He cooed, reaching out to cup your face in his rough palm. “Because I do. I love you. Out of everyone, besides perhaps Jaskier and Vesemir, you know me better than anyone, and no one has ever taken better care of me than you have.” He told you, his face betraying the emotions a Witcher truly had, but guarded for their most treasured person, and not those of an abandoned child, rather those of a man in love.

“I love you too, Geralt.” You assured him, turning your head to kiss his hand. “And I will always care for you, me bleidd.” You whispered, picking up the cup to continue washing his hair.

[unseenwizzard]

Reading soul music and night watch for the first time, back to back, was a mistake and I'm not ok rn

Everyone is doomed by the narrative the whole time and you know that the whole time but you still get caught up in the story and the characters are so driven and so you think maybe. maybe it will be different. maybe they can fix this

But throughout the books there are those moments when it hits you and them again that they aren't getting everyone out. that some things can't be changed

That most of them are going to die.

Both Sue and Vimes are taken out of time and are told they can't change things and you still hope that they'll be the exception. that they'll be allowed to fix something. and they do. in a way. but it's not enough and it doesn't last and almost everyone but them dies anyway and there's no one they can truly share their experiences and pain with and you're told the ending right from the start and it still hurts

It's something about both of them knowing deep down that there wasn't really anything they could do to stop the unstoppable forces of death and time but trying anyways regardless of the consequences because it's the right thing to do and they can't stop themselves from caring, even through all the anger

Anyways. Those were great books and I'm emotionally devastated.

[grapefruit185]

death the kid is such a hilarious character i will never be over him

[all-about-the-tea-parties]

The show consistently establishing that Ishamael Wants To Die™️:

Some ppl during the finale: umm??? How did rand kill him with just a sword? Why didn’t Ishamael fight back??? That’s so stupid! He’s a Forsaken™️ like, he wants to kill the dragon, Rand should’ve had to use the One Power

The writers: *slams head through wall*

[when-day-met-the-knight]

In light of me revisiting this AU I redid the info sheets for the main seven,,

Some fun facts abt some characters that I didn't share in the pics:

- It's not natural for Maka's wings to be hidden most of the time. She found out how to do it and started hiding them bc she inherited the wings from Spirit (who's are black) and was ashamed to be associated with her father (she inherited her wavelength from her mother)

- Kid's design is very asymmetrical and that's on purpose. Due to all that happens when he does activate his quirk he hates using it and has to learn push through it as the story progresses

- Liz and Patty are twins in this AU, which is why they inherited twin quirks (Liz is older by about twenty minutes)

- The Thompsons aren't able to officially join UA's hero course bc 1) They don't have the money 2) They are strictly assigned to Kid. They were working with him and the Death family before high school but they chose to take on the job of working as his bodyguards (as per Lord Death's request)

- There are bodyguards in place for Kid due to a cryptic threat Lord Death received when word got around he was to begin studying at UA (he's very overprotective of Kid)

- The names on the characters are how I imagine they write lol

[bridge-demon]

thinking about certain aspects of death the kid's character that i wish were talked abt more. like... he's a crybaby. he's a showoff. he's sassy. he's really not that bad w/ people for the most part, as long as he isn't freaking over them being too asymmetrical or something. he cares deeply for his friends. he's smart but in a dumb way. do y'all get me.

[hana-no-seiiki]

PLATONIC! YANDERE SIBCON! DEATH THE KID x READER

888 FOLLOWER SPECIAL (Thank you all so much!)

warnings: incest but as a joke. reader is biologically related to dtk, death and asura so they implicitly look alike. reader is described as perfectly symmetrical. angst.

status: unedited.

i.

Your father couldn’t have been more blatant when it came to favoritism. It was always [Y/N] this, and [Y/N] that. As the youngest out of all your siblings you were given special priority as a child up until the present.

‘[Y/N] is just the cutest, can’t you see?’

What was even worse was that Kid absolutely enabled such behavior.

Instead of being bitter like a normal person, he joined in on the spoiling.

You wouldn’t have minded it if it was just that. Who wouldn’t love to be spoiled by gods themselves?

But Kid always piled nagging on top of it all. In fact, it was twice as much as how he’d drown you in gifts.

‘[Y/N], fix your posture! What if you get back problems at a young age?!’

You were slouching for just a moment. In your room. Alone. How’d he even get in—

‘[Y/N] what is with your hair ? Your symmetry, it’s ruined!’

You only had a single lock of hair out of place. You had just woken up. Your breakfast was abandoned as he had yanked you to take a bath and style your hair.

“[Y/N]—“

“兄上!” You yelled. Swerving your body so fast that you almost fell down just to meet him eye to eye. You took a deep breath first, calming yourself as to keep your voice steady. “Please leave me alone. Aren’t you supposed to be away on a mission ? “

“But—“

“They’re right, Kid. Besides the sooner we wrap things up the sooner you’ll get to hang out with [Y/N]-様” Liz came to your rescue. Honestly if it weren’t for her, you were sure Kid would have been literally glued to you with how clingy he could be. He treated you like the most entrancing painting there could ever be, as if a second not looking at you would kill him.

At the realization of such an idea. Kid finally composed himself and dashed off. With not a farewell or goodbye wave in sight.

“Don’t worry, [Y/N]-様! We gotcha covered.” Patty squeezed your cheeks. Even she wasn’t immune to your cute charms.

“My wish to be left alone extends to the both of you. ”

“Eek!” The two teleported 5 feet away from you as they heard the tone of your voice. Despite being a powerless Shinigami, your presence demanded fear and respect. You were known for being an even more uptight version of your brother which was an achievement in itself.

“R-right! On our way!”

ii.

As the son of the embodiment of law and order. Death the Kid had a terrifying obsession with perfection. Particularly the perfection that is symmetry. The beauty of balanced reflection in its most immaculate form. The aesthetic of faultless proportions and details that make the whole so pleasing to the eyes.

The aesthetic of you.

It was natural for siblings to lovingly hate each other’s existence. Kid has literally battled his own brother.

But in that principle’s wake was your existence.

His passion to beat Asura seemed so human, so insignificant when it came to you.

Unlike him you had no ‘Lines of Sanzu’ and was thus never considered to be a candidate to become a Death God. You were never a threat. So he had no problem accepting his Father’s doting nature towards you.

You were always so cute. Always working hard for a future you wanted. A future that’ll never be yours. Your ambition was so infectious that along with succeeding his father, he wanted to be perfect for you.

You only deserved the best brother. One who had his lines completed. One that didn’t look like ugly, asymmetrical pig that he was in the present.

You weren’t home, as always. But Kid had gotten skilled at finding where you are. Call it his brotherly instincts but the most it would take for him to find you was a day.

You were gone for a month.

When Kid found you, you looked even more aggrieved than usual. The scowl on your face made heavier when you saw him.

The talk on the way back home was awkwardly silent. Despite that he still cherished the moment. It was rare to have someone as amazing as you alone all to himself.

“兄上?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you such a creep?”

“[Y-Y/N] . . . “ You gaze at your brother as crocodile tears fell from his beautiful face.

“If I disappeared that means I don’t want people to look for me. So don’t waste your time searching. Why can’t you understand that I want to be alone?”

“But—“

“Look for me and I’ll hate you. More than I already do.”

“You . . . hate me ?”

“Wasn’t it obvious?” You blew a strand out of your face that Kid often waxed to keep things ‘perfect’. Surprised that he doesn’t comment on it. His eyes have completely dimmed.

“. . . No . . .”

“If you died I wouldn’t care. At all. So don’t extend your sympathy towards me. It’s disgusting not to mention patronizing.” The distance between you two grew more as he stayed still and you kept walking.

Your final words to him goes unheard at that point. “You’re the next God of Death. Respectfully speaking, act like one.”

Kid couldn’t stop thinking about your words from before. Siblings naturally had love-hate relationships. But hearing you say that up front still left him shaken.

During battle, he kept muttering and muttering, completely unfocused. He would have been hurt terribly if it weren’t for the others shoving him around. Even then, he didn’t so much as budge as he was thrown to a wall. “No . . . it couldn’t be . . . have they perhaps . . . “

“What’s up with him?” Black Star stared at him while cleaning his nose with his pinky. The fight wasn’t dire at the very least and he was used to Kid’s unorthodox personality, but this time the young Shinigami was somehow more out of it than usual.

“Less talking, more fighting.” Maka scolded. She had long since given up trying to get Kid to fight and instead instructed Liz and Patty to wield each other. It wasn’t ideal but it was at least functional, unlike a certain raven-haired young man right now.

“That’s it! They must’ve hit puberty!” Death the Kid suddenly shouted. The side of his fist hits his palm as a lightbulb switches on in his mind.

“Not this again . . . “ Liz rolled her eyes. She tried moving him from an incoming attack but he doesn’t budge an inch.

“Oh, my poor [Y/N] they must be so confused! They don’t hate me, it’s just that I’ve been lacking as a brother!” His eyes sparkled at the revelation that hit him. “I must go back and tell them how much I love them!” He took off, forsaking the rest to find [Y/N].

He gets about a meter away before Liz carried him back.

“Nuh-uh. We have a kishin to take down!”

“My sibling takes priority!” He flailed around in her arms, slapping her in the process.

“Even I’m not like this towards Patty. You need to stop worrying about them so much. You’re more like a nagging wife at this point! Face it, Kid. They don’t like you much less want you around all the time.” Liz scolded him. Getting more and more irritated at his behavior by the second. You’d think she’d get used to his sibcon tendencies, but it still managed to amaze her how little he cared for anything but [Y/N].

“Oh no . . . what have you done?” Maka covered her mouth in shock.

“H-Huh? What do mean? I just talked some sense into—“ Liz doesn’t notice he stopped thrashing til he screeched into her ears.

“That’s it! You’re a genius Liz!”

“I am?”

“In order to keep my baby sibling safe and sound I have to marry them!”

“Wait what— That’s not what I meant—“

“I’ll get the papers sorted right away!”

And he’s gone. Poof. Just like that. Liz completely frozen in place.

“I pray [Y/N]-様 extends you their mercy.” Tsubaki, now in her human form, bowed. Genuinely fearing for Liz’s well-being.

Patty, on the other hand, stuck her tongue out. “Bye Bye, sis!”

“Patty, not you too!”

iii.

MONTHS EARLIER…

Your Father was an eccentric being. He annoyed you to no end but thankfully not as much as your brother did.

You inherited his obsession with Peace. Something that you defined as moments that you were alone. Free to just exist and not worry about being perfect all the time. Peace to you was the lack of your brother, the embodiment of chaos.

You’ve always wished to be separated from him, but knowing there was a potential for that to actually happened gave you the first taste of fear.

Is this what humans felt? This adrenaline rush, this excitement? All that in addition to dread and sadness at the same time?

“Is it true?”

“What is it, my darling?”

“Is it true that when 兄上’s lines connect . . . you . . . “

“Where did you hear this, child?” Death moved forward. His large body shadowed yours.

You neither move away or closer. Instead you stayed still. Eyes firmly kept in place. On his.“Answer me, 父上.”

“Yes.” The god looked to the skies. Even he had a time to depart from this world. Death was something not even the divine can escape.

“Will I also . . . ?”

“I don’t know.” His large gloved hand extended to pat your head.

“Then he’ll be all alone?”

“Hopefully not. Are you worried for him—“

You replied before he could even finish, “Why would I be? He’s the one responsible for worrying between the two of us.”

Death then picked you up. Holding you close to his face.

“父上？”

“Yes, my darling?”

You said nothing, stepping forward to hold your creator in an embrace.

“I love you too, child.”

iv.

THE PRESENT…

“[Y/N]?”

Death the Kid isn’t human. Far from it. He’s a god. He represented Law and Order; Death.

But in the face of all this, his responsibilities, his status, his entire being. He feels so utterly meek, so awfully human when he was with you.

Gods aren’t supposed to have favorites. Gods are supposed to maintain a balance when it came to their affections over mortals.

But for you, and only for you. Kid lowers himself. To love, to fear, to worship.

“What?” Your small hands barely half the size of his reached to cup his face. “Spit it out, 豕.”

“Will you stay with me . . . for the rest of eternity?”

“You’re my family aren’t you? Of course I will.”

“Yes. Yes, of course. You’ll always be here for your brother.”

“Tch. Misplaced worries is a weakness, get rid of it.” Your hands moved to leave his face, but he doesn’t let it happen. Instead he traps it there, where it belonged.

“Anything for you, my dearest sibling.”

Right. Kid had nothing to worry about. You were here with him. Living, breathing. Still as perfect as you’ll ever be. You were all that he had. You were all that he needed.

Still. He could not shake away the feeling of nothingness within his heart.

Notes: [These are mostly for me + explanations so feel free to skip] Y/N uses formal speech and ways to call their family members.

For Kid they use, Aniue and for Death they call him Chichiue which means exalted or honorable brother and father respectively.

It’s only when they asked Death to answer them that they drop the formalities and use casual language. But even then they still call him exalted father.

From what I studied, formal speech in some situations can be quite rude and robotic. So despite seeming like they respect their fam they’re actually being condescending if not distant. I might be completely wrong though so feel free to correct me.

It’s kinda like going up to friend of yours for years and using the same extremely polite language you might use for strangers or seniors in work.

Lastly, in case you didn’t understand; in part iv DTK replaces [Y/N] but made them more childlike, completely changing the way they spoke. Mirroring the way Death created him to be a better version of Asura. Also 4 / IV sounds like Death in Japanese.

Anddd a little reminder that whenever I tag a character as Yandere that means they have unhealthy ways to love. Please do not romanticize or seek to replicate it in real life. Despite adoring his sibling, Kid subconsciously looks down on them and sees them as powerless. True love always comes with respect people. He also changes a ton of personality traits for the replacement, only keeping their looks and disdain towards him. He only ever ‘loved’ certain parts of them.

Thank you for reading and for the 888 (now 900+) followers!

TRANSLATIONS:

兄上 — Aniue — (Archaic) Exalted / Honorable Brother

様　— Sama — Formal suffix/honorific.

父上 — Chichiue — (Archaic) Exalted / Honorable Father

豕 — Buta — Pig

©️ hana-no-seiiki 2023

[finelythreadedsky]

oooh the sequence of on-stage female disrobings in the oresteia, one in each play-- cassandra casting off her prophet's robe and priestly emblems in the agamemnon, clytemnestra baring her breast to orestes in the libation bearers, and the erinyes exchanging their monstrous regalia for the red robes of their new identity as the eumenides... it's not explicit in the text of the eumenides that they take anything off but they are discarding one identity in order to assume a new one that they put on as a garment, and even if they don't take off any part of their fury-costume it's still such a way to reverse and resolve the two disrobings in the earlier plays

[tanoi]

the souls and eaters in question