#though it does feature ghosts and walking statues

[silverfoxstole]

If you’re looking for something different to watch this Christmas, I recommend this BBC series from 1986, which was faithfully adapted from Lucy M Boston’s book of the same name. Made ostensibly for children, it’s still very enjoyable as an adult, and parts of it stuck with me for over thirty years after just one viewing!

Young Toseland thinks he’s going to be stuck alone at boarding school for the holidays until a letter arrives from the great-grandmother he has never met asking him to come and stay with her. It’s not long before he discovers that she isn’t the only one living in the house…

[meganehaise]

Late but here's my entry for day 4 of Yin Yu Appreciation Week!

Title: Amorphous Relationship: Quan Yizhen & Yin Yu (QuanYin subtext) Prompt: Masks Summary: After turning into a ghost, Yin Yu learns to change his appearance. He feels it's a chance to leave the burden he carries behind. Yin Yu feels his new face is better in every aspect. Yet, when Quan Yizhen sees him, he strongly disagrees. Yin Yu's original appearance is a million times better. If his shixiong can't see it, Quan Yizhen will have to make it clear for him. Also on AO3

It isn’t until a few decades have passed since his death that Yin Yu asks Hua Cheng to teach him about changing forms. 

Yin Yu knows he won’t be able to make a fake skin to the same degree a supreme ghost can, but with his power, he figures that changing his face is doable. Hua Cheng raises an eyebrow at his request, but otherwise doesn’t say anything, and agrees to it.

Changing one’s skin is like reshaping a vase. You have to mold it anew and sculpt the details, infusing it with spiritual energy to set the new form. It isn’t an easy feat. If you don’t have the skills, it will look crude, and if you don’t have enough power, maintaining it in place is impossible. Yin Yu finds it easier to imagine that he’s donning a mask. Once he puts it on, he has to keep in mind its shape and looks, so that it properly hides his true features behind it. It requires mental fortitude and a tempered character. Yin Yu has been practicing it daily, using the form he had visualized for himself. It looks natural enough that whoever sees him won’t liken him to his persona. Not that most people have actually seen his face. Yin Yu still uses his Waning Moon Officer mask when he walks through Ghost City. It’s the sign of his status, after all. The only times he takes it off is when he’s inside Paradise Manor or when…

As he walks through the street, an extra weight befalls him. One hand encircles his shoulder while the other one takes his mask off. 

Yin Yu is more than familiar with the man in exquisite robes that smiles at him. 

“Shixio—!” The greeting dies halfway. 

Quan Yizhen’s expression falls. Yin Yu can’t help but smile in amusement. Everytime Quan Yizhen comes to visit him, he does the same thing. Cling unto Yin Yu and take his mask off. That’s why, for once, Yin Yu had been looking forward to the encounter with his shidi. Not everyday can he leave the Martial God of the West with such a stupefied expression.

“Shixiong?” Quan Yizhen scowls. 

“Yes?” 

Even though Yin Yu’s face is different, his voice remains the same. Quan Yizhen’s eyes widen.

“What happened?” Quan Yizhen asks. “Why do you look like that?”

“Skin changing spells are amazing. Looks real, right?”

Except for its shape, Yin Yu’s new face differs completely from his original look. The skin’s color isn’t the ghostly ivory he has now; it isn’t the cool olive tinge he had when alive either. This new face has a peachy fair tone, resembling warm jade. His eyes are almond-shaped with light brown irises. The eyebrows are sword-like, sharply straight and thinning towards the outer edges. His nose is small and pointy. His lips are soft and rosy. No blemishes are present in his skin. 

Like this, Yin Yu looks exceptional. It’s a face that evokes an elegant charm. A face you would look at twice when spotted in a crowd. 

Quan Yizhen, on the other hand, has his godly features in disarray. 

“Why did you change your face, shixiong?”

“I wanted to. I had the means, so why not?”

“You didn’t need to...”

“Maybe, but this face is convenient. People change how they treat you according to how you look.”

Quan Yizhen’s face scrunches. Yin Yu knows that expression. He has seen it too many times since they were young.

“You don’t like my new appearance?” he asks, although he knows the answer already.

Quan Yizhen twists his mouth. “I don’t dislike it.” He opens and closes his fists. “But I like shixiong’s face the most.”  

“I think this face is better. The other one wasn’t even worth remembering.”

“That’s not true! Shixiong, your face is nice.”

Yin Yu snorts. “Nice, huh? Nice is not always good. This new face is good, though.”

Truth be told, Yin Yu doesn’t particularly hate his appearance. At this point, he’s used to the comments about his plain look and doesn’t take them to heart. Yin Yu wasn’t eager to change his face. However, when he was presented with the opportunity to do it, he didn’t hesitate to take it. It wasn’t much about the end result, but about the freedom of choice. Still, Yin Yu felt good when he saw his new look. It was fresh, it was lively, it was friendly; it was so unlike him. Yin Yu smiled at his reflection for the first time in a long time. 

So, how could Quan Yizhen feel like he has a say in the matter? 

“Shixiong—”

“What did you need today? I’m busy.”

After Yin Yu banned him from coming without a good reason, Quan Yizhen has found every poor excuse available to visit Ghost City. Sometimes he’s after a no-name ghost, other times he comes to give Xie Lian messages that could have been transmitted via the communication array. Most times, he invents something on the fly, and Yin Yu sighs and lets his shidi get away with it because, honestly, it’s more taxing to protest every single time. It’s been their routine for many years.

“I need to give His Highness a gift.” Quan Yizhen replies.

“I see.” Yin Yu says as he puts on his ghost mask again. “Then, let’s head to Paradise Manor.”

There’s no real reason for Yin Yu to lead Quan Yizhen to Paradise Manor. Quan Yizhen knows his way around the place already. If any, Yin Yu accompanies him to ensure that Quan Yizhen doesn’t end up fighting someone or crushing buildings again. 

The market is bustling as always. Ghosts and demons alike move respectfully to let Yin Yu through. 

“Why do you keep using that mask?” Quan Yizhen suddenly asks.

“The ghosts already know it well.” The weeping face in it is more tied to his identity than his own face. “They know it’s the Waning Moon Officer.” 

Before, constantly using the mask was suffocating. The warmth of his breath made him swelter and feel uncomfortable. That wasn’t the case at all now. Without breath and without body warmth, he can go on using the mask as if nothing.

“If you show your face, they’ll learn that’s you.”

“I don’t think my face will evoke the same… respect.” Yin Yu shrugs. “Besides, if I change my appearance from now on, they won’t recognize me so easily. It’s easier to use the mask.”

“I can’t see your face like this.”

“Too bad.”

Quan Yizhen pouts. “I don't like it when you hide your face.”

“I’m not hiding…”

But isn't he? Hasn't he been doing the same thing for decades? Using a mask to close off to the world?

“I’m not hiding.” Yin Yu repeats. “What does it matter if you see my face or not?”

“I like seeing your face.”

Yin Yu scowls under the mask. His shidi likes to spout too much nonsense.

“When I don’t,” Quan Yizhen continues. “I fear you aren't really here, that you’re not the one behind that demon mask.”

The words imprint an ache in his undead chest. Yin Yu turns his head away. “Don’t be silly. You were the one that nurtured my soul for years. Why would I not be here?”

Quan Yizhen doesn’t reply. He opens and closes his fists. 

The surrounding cacophony disperses. Soon, they’re all by themselves. The city gives way to a solitary path that leads to a lake. At the other side is Paradise Manor.

“You could disappear, if you want to,” Quan Yizhen says then.

At that point, Yin Yu understands it all. After he became a ghost, easing into his new situation hadn’t been smooth. He had refused to see Quan Yizhen for a long time. Eventually he gave in, thinking he owed closure to his shidi. Yin Yu was sure they would finally cut ties and that would be the end of their story. Instead, Quan Yizhen had wanted to keep seeing him, and their already tangled relationship continued entwining.

It’s true that Yin Yu’s first instinct whenever he meets Quan Yizhen is fleeing. He has done so a few times already. It’s almost instinct, a reflex he can’t get rid of. However, he hadn’t expected that it had created such a shadow in Quan Yizhen’s mind. Not when Quan Yizhen acts so giddy and undisturbed every time they meet, not when he acts as if they were teenagers again, running around their sect while practicing sword stances. 

“I’ll be around,” Yin Yu compromises, because he won’t make promises he can’t keep, but he can’t stay silent either.

“Can you take the mask off?” Quan Yizhen insists. 

Yin Yu doesn’t have to, but like in many other matters, he prefers to comply instead of fighting worthlessly. He takes off the mask. However, Quan Yizhen’s face doesn’t lighten at that. When he sees Yin Yu, his expression turns ugly.

“It’s not your face.”

Yin Yu scoffs. “It is mine. I made it myself.”

“It’s not the face I know.”

“You better get used to it. You’ll see it from now on.”

“Why? Why do you want to change how you look?”

“I don’t have to explain myself.”

“I want to know, shixiong. I want to understand you.”

Yin Yu is taken aback. “Understand me?”

“Yes. I used to think I did, but I’m not sure anymore.”

Yin Yu laughs once. “You’ve never understood me. If you did, a lot of problems would’ve been avoided.”

Quan Yizhen seems to think about it. Looking back on years of interactions he might have gotten wrong.

Yin Yu shakes his head. “What use is it for you to realize that now? Things have long happened. Forget it.”

“Then… why didn’t you tell me when I got things wrong?” Quan Yizhen asks, his lip hanging.

The emotions about his past that Yin Yu had locked away resurface at once. The guilt, the frustration, the impotence. Feelings that haven't faded even after all this time, but he could ignore most of the time. 

“Why indeed,” Yin Yu mumbles. He suddenly feels exhausted. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Don’t worry needlessly.”

Paradise Manor towers before them. Yin Yu opens the tall doors and they go in. Yin Yu turns to a nearby servant and sends word that His Highness has a visit. They wait in the main hall. Xie Lian is in Ghost City today, but Yin Yu knows he might take a while before he meets them. No matter how long, it’s nothing that two immortals would find bothersome, even two that sit in an awkward atmosphere like them.

“Shixiong,” Quan Yizhen is the one to break the silence, as always. “I still want to know.”

“What?”

“Your reason to change appearance.” 

“Again with that.”

“It’s important to you, so I want to know.” Quan Yizhen clenches his fists. “I don’t want to misunderstand you again.”

Before Yin Yu can reply, Xie Lian enters the hall. He smiles in greeting. A few steps behind him, Hua Cheng silently observes the room. 

“Your Highness Qi Ying, and… Your Highness Yin Yu, hello.” Xie Lian falters a bit. Yin Yu expected as much, it hasn’t been long since he began using this face. Xie Lian turns to Quan Yizhen. “What brings you here this time?”  

“I brought over a gift from… Xuan Zhen,” Quan Yizhen takes a pause before saying the name. Yin Yu wonders how long ago he actually began to remember Mu Qing’s title.

“You didn’t have to bother with this, Your Highness Qi Ying,” Xie Lian says. He means it. He probably would’ve liked it if Mu Qing had come in person.

“Indeed an unneeded travel,” Hua Cheng adds. He means it as well. If he happens to keep count of Mu Qing’s slights on paper, Yin Yu won’t be the one divulging it. 

“I was coming anyway, so I offered to bring it.” Quan Yizhen admits. No one in the room is surprised.

“I see.” Xie Lian grimaces. “Well, thank you. Is there anything else…?”

“No,” Quan Yizhen says. “I have to talk with shixiong.”

Xie Lian nods, anticipating that reply. “Of course, go ahead. San Lang and I will be going to Qiangdeng Temple. You can stay here as long as you’d like.” He smiles with a perspicacity that makes Yin Yu uncomfortable. Yin Yu appreciates Xie Lian’s attempt to help, but he would rather he didn’t do anything. 

Yin Yu cups his hands anyway and lowers his gaze. Hua Cheng and Xie Lian leave with more fanfare.

“Shixiong, are you telling me?” Quan Yizhen asks immediately.

Knowing that his shidi won’t stop pestering him, Yin Yu sighs. “Not here. Follow me.”

Yin Yu guides Quan Yizhen through the corridors of the mansion, finding his way to a small courtyard with a rock garden. It’s a nice private space that Yin Yu frequents. Not even the servants come this way regularly. It’s a place that lets him relax and meditate. It’s the first time he comes here with someone else, though. 

He stops and stares at the long taihu stone that stands in the center of the garden. Every time Yin Yu sees it, he feels that its shape is different. No matter how many times he has seen it, he can’t ever remember it in detail. 

“What a weird rock,” Quan Yizhen spouts. 

Yin Yu snicker at the out-of-place comment. “It’s that what you want to talk about?”

Quan Yizhen turns to Yin Yu. He says nothing else, but Yin Yu can see the seriousness in his gaze.

“You really want to know? Why I changed my face?” Yin Yu asks.

Quan Yizhen nods.

“It was so you could stop finding me.” 

“...Huh?”

“I thought that learning how to change forms would let me avoid you. There. Happy?”

“Is that really it, shixiong? You would go this far to not see me?“

Yin Yu doesn’t have a heartbeat anymore, but he feels a pressure in his chest. “If you get it, go away.“

Quan Yizhen doesn’t go away. He stays beside Yin Yu, as always. They both stand before the amorphous stone without talking. It becomes difficult for Yin Yu to keep his unrest in control. Quan Yizhen is uncharacteristically silent and Yin Yu wonders if this time he finally managed to make his shidi despise him. It would only be right, yet…

“Shixiong, is it because you’re angry at me?”

“Angry at you?” 

“Yeah, do you want to avoid me because you’re angry? What can I do to fix that?”

Those words crack his mask. Shame, turmoil, desperation. They all bloom in Yin Yu’s contorted features. “Why aren't you angry at me?! How can you look at me and not hate me?”

He’s so tired. He hates looking at his face every day, a face that has remained unchanged over the last centuries, and yet that has transformed so acutely. A face that spells jealousy, betrayal, murder. A face that once truly smiled at Quan Yizhen, thinking everything would work out for both of them. Yin Yu hates to see it. He has never wanted to become this kind of person. 

“Shixiong, I don’t hate you. Even if I tried, I can’t do it,” Quan Yizhen says.

“That isn’t right. It doesn’t make sense.”

“I don’t care. I won’t hate you.”

Yin Yu sneers. His shidi is as inflexible as always. 

“Why do you keep coming? I don’t treat you well. There’s too many things I’ve done wrong, so, why? Why do you still want to see me?” Yin Yu asks, because he needs to know. He needs a plausible explanation for the nonsense that is his current existence.

Quan Yizhen smiles a little. “I miss our morning training.” 

“What?” 

“You would take some time every morning and spar with me. I really liked that.”

Yin Yu narrows his eyes. “That was so long ago. Just that…?”

“I miss when you read books to me too, and when you braided my hair. I miss you being around.”

“I won’t do those things again. It’s not possible.”

“Why not?”

“Yizhen, I was banished after trying to kill you. How can I act as if nothing of that happened?”

“Shixiong, you didn’t want to kill me, I know.”

Yin Yu shakes his head. “Even if that were the case, I still tried to do it. I cannot forgive myself for that. You shouldn’t either.”

“But I forgave you. That’s in the past. We can do the things we did before all that.”

“It won’t be the same. There are too many things that are different now.”

Quan Yizhen opens and closes his fists. “I just want things to be the same as before.”

“Yizhen, we’ve lived for centuries. It's impossible for everything to remain the same.”

“But—”

“You’re not the child that ran around covered in dirt anymore. You're a martial god.” Yin Yu smiles with nostalgia. “And I’m not the head disciple that looked over you. I’m a ghost. I know you understand it.”

“I’m a god, and too many things are different. I get it… but my feelings haven't changed.” Quan Yizhen bites his lip. “I miss you, shixiong.”

Yin Yu realizes their views are extremely mismatched. Quan Yizhen hasn't caught up with their current standing. He’s still thinking of olden days, before things got hard, and before Yin Yu realized how an awful person he could be. In Quan Yizhen’s mind, Yin Yu’s still a noble person worthy of praise. A person worth pursuing.

No matter what Quan Yizhen believes, the present Yin Yu is stained and can’t erase the past. He wishes so hard he can. If he became an entirely different person, maybe he would face Quan Yizhen honestly and offer some kind of compensation. 

“Shixiong, you don’t need to change,” Quan Yizhen says. “I can recognize you before I even see your face. You said so, I nurtured your soul. I know its shape. Even if you transform, I’ll know it’s you… Sorry.”

Yin Yu rolls his eyes. “You fool, saying sorry when you don’t have to.”

“But you wanted to avoid me and you can’t.”

Yin Yu looks away, trying to overcome his embarrassment. He might be imperfect, but he still had a conscience. “I lied.”

“Huh? Then… you weren’t avoiding me? What’s the real reason?”

It’s difficult to say the truth straight. Yin Yu has a hard time recollecting his words. He looks at the rock garden, going over the shapes and colors. 

“Do you hate your face?” Quan Yizhen ventures. A strange insight on his part. 

There’s no use in evading the question. Yin Yu sighs. He’s genuinely so tired. “I hate what my face reminds me of.” He looks at Quan Yizhen, whose face Yin Yu still remembers vividly full of blood, snot and tears. A face Yin Yu cannot will himself to hate as much as he hates his own. “I was selfishly trying to escape it. It’s not fair of me, after everything I said, but I also wanted everything to go back to how it was before.” 

Yin Yu hated what he had become. So he thought that if he changed his appearance, maybe he could forget about his shameful past. Start anew. 

But now, Yin Yu sourly acknowledges that no matter how he looks, he can’t become someone better. Even wearing this new beautiful face, he still can’t act fairly towards his shidi. He’s still the same old Yin Yu. What a pointless endeavor. 

“I like your face, shixiong,” Quan Yizhen notes. “It’s nice.” He has already said so earlier, and Yin Yu doesn’t see how that amounts to anything.

“Doesn’t it remind you of the bad times? Of the wrong things I did?”

Quan Yizhen tilts his head. “When I see you… I think of the first time we met.”

Yin Yu raises his eyebrows.

“You were kind to me.” Quan Yizhen smiles. “And ever since then, you’ve been the kindest to me.”

“But I was cruel to you too.”

“Even so, you’ve always looked out for me. Thank you, shixiong.”

Yin Yu is speechless. He can count the times that Quan Yizhen has thanked someone with one hand. He rubs his face and his features quiver. 

“Shixiong, there’s no reason for you to use that face anymore.” 

“You want to see my face that bad?”

“Won’t you let me see you?” Quan Yizhen insists.

Yin Yu laughs without amusement. “It’s not like it’s particularly remarkable.”

“It is.” Without warning, Quan Yizhen comes closer and brushes Yin Yu’s eyebrows. “Shixiong’s eyebrows are arched downwards.” He points at Yin Yu’s eyes, and Yin Yu can’t help but blink. “You have phoenix eyes pointing upwards. Your eyelids are not visible. Your irises are dark and small. ” Quan Yizhen touches the point of his nose. “Your nose is round and broad.” Quan Yizhen hovers the tip of his fingers over Yin Yu’s lips, but Yin Yu stops him before he actually touches them. “Your mouth is thin and pale. Your skin is fair, but it has always looked greenish. Now it’s also ashen. And here…” Quan Yizhen thumbs his left cheek, right under his eye. “You have a small black mole.” 

As Quan Yizhen takes his hand away, the mole appears in the place he has touched. Yin Yu feels the skin of energy that covered his face dissipate. Yin Yu’s face has turned just as Quan Yizhen described it. It’s Yin Yu’s face. Nice and palatable, a face easy to the eye but hard to record in the heart. Yet, Quan Yizhen knows it too well. Not a detail missing. 

Quan Yizhen smiles. “There you are, shixiong.”

Yin Yu feels a tickling under his skin. He takes a step back.

“E-enough. It’s my face again. You don’t have to touch it.“ 

Quan Yizhen obeys and stays back. He’s still smiling though. “Like I thought, you don’t need to change, shixiong.”

Yin Yu hears the sincerity in Quan Yizhen’s words. Even though he finds the idea difficult to accept himself, Yin Yu feels an odd warmth because of it. He wonders if one day he will look at the mirror and no longer think badly of the face that looks back at him. Maybe he will forgive himself and let go. Not today. Not yet. Yin Yu has too many conflicts inside his soul, but at least, he can take the fondness of his shidi as a reminder that he has done good things too. 

Today, Yin Yu feels he doesn’t need a mask.

“Let’s go back. I have to patrol the city.” Yin Yu scratches the bridge of his nose. “You can come along.”

“I’ll come, I’ll come!”

They head back, shoulder to shoulder. The atmosphere surrounding them is less harsh, more tender. Maybe things won’t ever be as they were between them. Yin Yu might not be the bright, hopeful youth he once was, but his current being didn’t feel as heavy as before.

“I also liked our morning training.” Yin Yu finds himself saying. “We could try that again, sometime.”

Quan Yizhen’s smile blinds him. “I’d love that!”

From now on, their relationship might keep entangling and morphing into something different, into something new. Change isn’t always unwelcomed. Yin Yu thinks for the first time that it might not be a bad thing at all.

[icarusreading]

La Chimera (Alice Rohrwacher)-4.5/5 stars

!!Spoilers Ahead!!

Cast-5/5

I’ve loved Josh O’conner since Challengers-I mean, he’s just so endearing and a phenomenal actor all around. I loved the array of emotions he was able to display in this movie with only his eyes. I think that’s one of the best features an actor can have. He was able to display sadness, anger, love, happiness, without a word.

Yile Vianelli as Beniamenia is another actress who stood out to me. Even with her extremely limited dialogue and screen time, she made playing a dead character feel so alive. She felt so captivating in Arthur’s dream sequences and i don’t know, her presence in the movie was prevalent even though she was barely there.

Overall the casting was beautiful. I’m a sucker for actors who don’t OVERact which is exactly what this movie did. Everyone felt so real, like they were really the characters they were playing. Arthur’s little posse felt real and familial, just in the way that they all interacted. As dysfunctional as they were. I don’t know how else to put it other than everyone in this movie played their characters, whether major or minor, phenomenally. I have not felt this enraptured by a film since call me by your name.

Plot-4/5

For the first solid half an hour of this movie, I was confused. I didn’t really follow. But once the pieces started clicking, i couldn’t tear my eyes away. I still don’t fully understand Arthur’s ‘gift’ or how it worked but maybe that’s just a piece i’m missing. Overall I think this was a love story, in the most haunting way it could be. While Arthur is being used for his gift for his friends to make money, what he’s searching for isn’t pots or statues. As said in the synopsis-‘Everyone has their own Chimera, something they try to achieve but can never find. For Arthur, the Chimera is the woman he lost, Beniamina’. In a way, Italia almost filled that void. What stands out most to me is Arthur’s ghostliness. He was never really there, he was always on the search for Beniamenia. Even as the main character, he faded into the background (often times literally) and I think that does more storytelling than any amount of dialogue.

Score-5/5

Not super knowledgeable in this topic, but i thought the music fit super well so i have no complaints. The violins gave it both a wistful and dreamlike atmosphere while also an eerie one at times.

Cinematography-5/5

Right off the bat I have to talk about Arthur’s dreams. The movie was literally at its most vibrant when he was dreaming of Beniamenia. When awake, he was a walking ghost while Beniamenia was a literal one. His life was most vibrant when she was alive and I think it’s so beautiful how his yearning is represented through color. Also the way the width of the shot (i don’t know how else to put it??) is smaller. To me that represented the small portion of his life he was still clinging onto, or the tunnel vision he has in searching for the feeling she gave him. Even subconsciously, he searches for her in everything.

Overall I think the way this movie was filmed was gorgeous. It felt easy to follow, which I think with a movie like this is needed. What made me give it such a high score was the stark contrast between his dreams and real life, and the changes in color/shadow to give the viewer a physical representation of Arthur’s emotions.

Another note-when we find out the people sitting with Arthur in the beginning are ghosts of the people whose tombs he’s stolen from…art. that’s all i have to say. it really stuck with me, the way the ghosts of his past play such a unique role in his life.

Ending-5/5

Oh. My. God. One of the best endings to a movie i’ve ever seen. In a way I expected it to be a different one. I thought he beat the odds against him and would live a happy life with Italia-which of course would go against everything the movie is about.

I clocked the fact that he was going to get buried the second they were pressuring him in. But when i tell you the second i saw that red string…i lost it. I’m such a sucker for red string theory. And again, as i’ve probably made it clear, im a huge fan of lighting. the way he was pulling down, like he was pulling her down to him, but she was pulling up, like they’ve always had a pull on each other even in death. The light casting upon him in the darkness of the tunnel was literally the light at the end of the tunnel. Whether that be the end of his life or the end of his journey of searching for his Chimera (or both) it tugs at you. The final scene where they’re finally reunited made me cry. Because it was his dream sequence but wider (again, i don’t know how to word this?? full screen??). Finally he was at the end of his search. It felt magical and wistful. The way I felt once the credits rolled was weirdly serene. Although, I think that was the point. Because there was this sense of acceptance to the whole thing. It was sad, not devastating. it just was. I’m just yapping at this point, but truly the ending of this movie has to be up in my top 10 favorites of all time.

Favorite quote/scene-

‘non sei fatta per gli occhi degli uomini’ - You are not made for human eyes.

I could go on and on and on, but this was the moment i realized how much this movie was going to stick with me. Because it was clear he saw a glimpse of Beniamenia in the statue, but he knows that’s the closest he’s going to be to finding her in this life. Throwing it in the water to be was him letting go. Water often represents freedom, purification, and healing. Arthur so deeply struggles to embrace what his life is like now without her and in a way this felt like his way of acceptance.

Final thoughts-

Looking at this from an artistic standpoint, it was stunning. I watched it with a friend who, i’ll admit, doesn’t analyze every second of a movie like i do, and she loved it just as much. I think the only thing i’ll say is that it was a little bit slow, but then again that’s not really an issue in my book. I might just be easily entertained. Another thing i’ll note is that I am not versed in the history of Etruscan art, so there may be some things i’m missing that this movie was trying to say. But overall i think the acting was off the hook, and i can’t believe this got 4th place at Cannes. I’m a little biased because Josh O’conner holds a special place in my heart, but i would recommend this movie to anyone who has the patience to really sit down and take in this movie for what it is. I’ve watched a few interview clips with Josh and Alice, and it sounds like it was a very hands on film in terms of researching and connecting with where they were filming. It has left me with a lot of lingering thoughts on love and yearning and what it means to live without living in the past.

divider credits: @strangergraphics-archive <3

[callsign-bunnie]

Please, please, PLEASE

make another part of the phantom of the opera au. i'm living for it, and i will die for it

please

Lol, here we go!

--

He stepped through to a corridor lit by gorgeous bronze candelabras which seemed to stretch on for miles down a stairway. As they walked, his eyes traveled up to the Angel’s face, disappointed to see a mask was covering most of it, leaving only his right eye uncovered and the left slightly uncovered through the eyehole in the mask. 

“Angel, I… Where are you taking me?” Rodolfo tentatively asked.

“You will see, my dove.” The angel’s eyes looked at him, almost looking amused. 

Rodolfo understood that his Angel didn’t want him to know, yet, and while he normally would continue to press, he had already upset his angel once, that night. He continued to watch the Angel as they walked and he took in every feature. The warm dark brown eyes, reddish blonde hair, which Soap liked to call strawberry blonde, though Rodolfo had never figured out why, pale skin, at least that which Rodolfo could see was pale.

The journey was long and right as Rodolfo found his legs started to tire, the Angel was stopping him at the edge of a staircase where water was. It was dark and turquoise and despite that Rodolfo definitely would not want to walk in it, he still found it quite beautiful… “Come, dove.” The Angel prompted him and Rodolfo carefully stepped into a boat that was guided over by the Angel.

When he was sitting and settled, he felt the Angel step onto the boat and then it was moving as Rodolfo continued to look around, eyes slightly wide. “It’s all so beautiful…” He murmured.

Giant statues made themselves seen, all appearing to hold up the ceiling. Several were in visible distress and Rodolfo imagined them reaching down to him, pleading with him to relieve their burden, lift their weight. 

“I surround myself with beauty to block out the darkness in my own heart…” The Angel murmured. 

Rodolfo frowned at his words and glanced back at him. “You were the one coming to my mind and singing to me… guiding my voice… I fear I may be dreaming again…”

“Oh my dear little dove, I promise you this is no dream…” The Angel looked down at him. “You are wide awake… The angel is right in front of you…”

Rodolfo just melted. “Angel, I must know… Are you the Ghost that haunts the opera?”

“I am many things. I suppose a specter may be one of them.” The Angel nodded. “I take care of my opera house in any way it needs.”

His opera house. Of course it was, who else’s would it be? Rodolfo turned back to the front of the boat again. “I am nervous…” He admitted. “My heart does not know what to do with my angel this close to me.”

“Your angel…” The Angel sounded almost surprised and his voice softened. “You need not be nervous.” 

Rodolfo melted as the distinct smell of alpha washed over him. Paper and leather and a whiskey that he remembered his father drank a fair amount of. He reached out to the water, touching where the candle light reflected off of it and basking in the coolness of the water. “I feel as if captured under a spell… An enchantment has washed over me…”

The Angel only laughed in response. “Bright brown eyes, glancing over every light, every detail of beauty… Does my dove miss anything that he sees? Or does he take in every inch of it to remember later when he returns to his bed?”

“He wants to remember all of it… He’ll certainly try…” Rodolfo responded, continuing to look around. He wished he could count every candle, could memorize every line carved into every statue… He knew that was not possible for him, but he could try… “Why do you never let anyone see you, Angel? Why can you not sing on stage?”

“Many draw back in fear in my presence… They recoil at my face… Through you, I feel like I am performing.”

“I am your mask…” Rodolfo realized, and he felt very honored. “My voice…”

“It is me that the audience hears… I shaped your voice.” 

Rodolfo touched his throat and then he was melting again. “Did you hear me sing tonight?”

“I did, my dove. You were brilliant. I do not think a single person in that audience doubted that.” 

The boat finally stopped at a ledge. It was even more brightly lit than the way they had just taken and the light almost hurt Rodolfo’s eyes. Wax coated candelabras were practically everywhere, but especially surrounding a massive, gorgeous pianoforte, which appeared to almost be formed from skulls. 

Rodolfo should have been frightened by the display, but his enchantment only deepened. Every part of this strange… world he had entered was so clearly meant for an angel and he was only here, getting to witness it. He felt honored.

The Angel stepped off of the boat and discarded his cloak. “This is where my music lives… The same music you sing… It is born here… It grows here.”

Rodolfo’s eyes flitted over everything. “It’s beautiful…”

“Come…” The Angel slowly stepped back to the boat, his hand outstretched again. Rodolfo did not hesitate to take it, this time, grasping it carefully and allowing it to guide him out of the boat. He stepped up onto the ledge, his eyes following the Angel as they moved. “This place does not frighten you?”

Rodolfo only shook his head, because it didn’t. It didn’t frighten him in the slightest. He wanted to be enveloped in the light, surrounded by it.

The Angel guided him up to the piano, which he ran his fingers over. “Sunlight does not reach down here… The music I make is only by candlelight…”

Rodolfo watched his Angel speak, watching the way his eyes seemed to almost avoid his own. “I feel I still have much to learn…” His hand reached up and he touched the Angel’s mask, turning him to look at him. He felt… bold, suddenly. The spell must have been doing things to his mind. He dropped his eyes and then looked at the Angel through his lashes. “Teach me… More…”

The Angel watched him and then his eyes were darkening. “You wish to learn more, dove? You wish to learn more music?”

Rodolfo nodded. “Please, my angel…” He remembered the way he had reacted to that term.

The Angel’s eyes turned amused, though they were still dark. Something heavy and oh so intoxicating entered the Angel’s scent and he was touching Rodolfo’s neck. His eyes did cruel things to Rodolfo’s body and Rodolfo could already feel his body reacting, perfectly in tune to everything his Angel did. “I suppose there is a new form of music I can teach you… A deep intoxicating form of music…”

“Please, Angel… I want to learn…”

“I will teach you, then, my dove… Come, learn the music of the night…” The Angel started to guide him down another small corridor. 

Rodolfo’s skin warmed as he followed him, but he kept his eyes on the Angel, not wanting to take them off of him, now. He was afraid the Angel would change his mind if he did. 

He was guided to a room that was also lit by a frankly absurd amount of candles, but his eyes were finally captured by a large bed in the middle of it. The sheets were blood red and there was a large black canopy around it, though the actual curtains were sheer black lace. Already, imagery of just what the music of the night entailed flashed through Rodolfo’s mind and he felt his thighs grow damp with his own slick.

Rodolfo frowned when his Angel let go of his hand and went to look at him, but he was stopped by a piece of silk being tied around his eyes. “Angel, I-”

“Sh… It’s for your sake more than mine, I promise.” 

Rodolfo frowned. He touched the silk but did not remove it. “I trust you…” He did. He trusted the Angel had his reasoning for blindfolding him.

A moment later, he was being carefully lifted and then Rodolfo felt himself placed in the bed. A pause in movement and then a mouth was on his neck, hot and wet and possessive, and Rodolfo’s body reacted very quickly to it.

The angel pressed his legs apart and he could smell his own slick fill the air, though it was very quickly drowned out by the Angel’s own scent washing over him, covering him and pressing down. 

Rodolfo reached up, his hands finding their way into the Angel’s hair. “Angel…” He gasped as his neck was bit into, softly. 

“I’m here, dove. I’m right here.”

Rodolfo moaned as he felt cool leather touch between his legs and then fingers were pressing into him, causing him to keen into the Angel. 

“You’re so wet… so eager for me… for your angel…” There was a soft growl in the Angel’s voice and Rodolfo shivered at it, need filling every vein in his body. He was desperate for the Angel.

Rodolfo moaned again as the Angel’s fingers continued to move in and out of him, rocking his hips with the motion so it just pushed them deeper and deeper inside him. “It’s so good, Angel…”

He heard a hum of appreciation. “Do you want my knot, dove?”

“God, please…” Rodolfo half begged and nodded. 

“Not God.” The Angel corrected and Rodolfo flushed dark. “Angel.”

“Angel, please…” Rodolfo corrected himself.

“Good dove.” The Angel murmured and then he pulled away. Rodolfo tried not to make too disappointed of sounds as he did, waiting impatiently. 

Finally, a bit later, he was being half lifted by his hips and then the Angel was pushing inside him. Rodolfo moaned and arched his back, stretched almost to his limit. 

Rodolfo felt fingers stroke over his face and he melted into the soft gentle touches, panting a little. Then, the Angel started to move and Rodolfo’s entire body trembled with the pleasure of the movement. “Angel…” He moaned.

The Angel set a soft, gentle pace and each movement sent waves up Rodolfo’s body. He was leaning down and moaning in time with Rodolfo and Rodolfo understood why it was called the music of the night. It reminded him of the duets the Angel would use to teach him how to sing.

Rodolfo arched his back with each thrust, gasping as they started to get harder and harder, each wave turning to crashing over Rodolfo’s body. The Angel’s mouth eventually found Rodolfo’s neck again, biting and licking and sucking, claiming Rodolfo, he realized.

He wanted the Angel to cover every inch of his body in some mark so the world would know who he belonged to, in that moment. His Angel was taking his body, he wanted that shown. 

Rodolfo rocked against his Angel and moaned louder, grabbing at his hair again and holding his head against his collarbone. The Angel chuckled softly and kissed over the area, fucking into him harder. 

His stomach started to clench and he gasped, tensing. 

“Relax, dove… Relax…”

Rodolfo quickly nodded and did as told, taking deep breaths like the angel had instructed him to do, before. Then, his body was shuddering and trembling as he came, his back arching high. He cried as he came, grasping even tighter to the Angel’s hair. 

The angel pulled away and then he was thrusting even harder, even faster into Rodolfo until his knot caught and he stopped, rocking into him and growling softly.

Rodolfo panted and whined, covering his face with the back of his hands. The Angel dropped and laid on top of him, gently. “Sweet dove… are you alright?”

“I am, my Angel…” Rodolfo responded. A hand stroked over his face and he melted into the touch, nuzzling into it. “Can I take the silk from my face, now?”

“No, my dove. I will take it from your eyes when you sleep. I cannot have you looking at me.”

Rodolfo frowned, not understanding why he couldn’t, but… he didn’t want to question his angel. So, instead, he just relaxed his body. He was tempted to fight the sleep that was pulling at him, but… he couldn’t. He hoped his Angel would be there, in the morning.

Rodolfo woke up, alone. He frowned to himself, deeply upset. He hoped the Angel hadn’t completely abandoned him… He got up, carefully pushing the curtains to the side, which allowed him to hear soft singing. Dark and slow, it was a Siren’s call for him, one he had no intention of ignoring.

So, he put his feet on the cold ground and followed the direction of the music. His feet naturally found the pattern of the song, padding in time with it. Now that whatever spell was on him had broken, he found himself slightly embarrassed at only being in his underdress. But, he had been there long enough that he couldn’t find it in himself to worry about it.

He could see the Angel from the hallway that led to the bedroom, which he glanced around more now that his mind was no longer under any influence. It was just as beautiful as he remembered… He asked himself what he remembered, touching his head. A boat across a glassy turquoise lake… The Angel… His mask… 

Finally, he made it to the big ledge on the lake that they had first come across. He recognized the boat, first, noticing for the first time the giant swan head on the front and that it almost looked to be made of brass, though he knew it was likely just wood. Most of the candles were now blown out, so there was a dim lighting around the area, which had a high ceiling and he could make out sculpted cherubs on the highest parts of the walls.

Rodolfo now let himself turn to the Angel, who hadn’t seemed to notice him approach, and he saw that he was the source of the music, though he’d expected that. He saw the mask on the floor beside him and smiled to himself, now hoping to get to see the face of the Angel who had been tutoring him since he was a young child. The Angel was singing to a broken statue, cradling it softly in his arms. The tenderness of the action touched Rodolfo’s heart and he paused to listen to the words, recognizing one of the songs from a much earlier opera, before Rodolfo had even become a ballerina.

It was about a demon, who longs to feel Heaven, even though he knows the minute he touches it, he’ll die. He’s singing it to his Angel lover, who is pleading with him not to even try. Rodolfo didn’t know the words well enough to pick up the second part, but he longed to try.

Carefully, so he wouldn’t startle his Angel, he approached and then peeked around his shoulder. He hadn’t expected unmarked skin, he knew that the mask had to be hiding something, but the amount of scarring still shocked him. Not an inch of the skin that had been covered by the mask was unmarked by some form of scar, most looking similar to the scarring of an omega who had had acid poured on her face by her mate and had come to work at the opera house in the laundry rooms. 

At first, the Angel glanced to the left and smiled, which was small and beautiful, but then he seemed to realize what was happening because then he was up, immediately. He covered his face and he stood, abruptly, and half screamed, though it was incoherent.

Rodolfo, startled, stumbled back and ended up falling, gasping as he hit the ground. However, he didn’t say anything, feeling unable to as he watched the Angel fly into a fit of… well, Rodolfo wasn’t sure he wanted to call it rage. It was more like panic. 

“How dare you?!” The Angel cried at him and then dropped his hands. “Is this what you wanted to see?! The Angel, oh how he’s marked and destroyed and broken!” Rodolfo looked over the Angel’s face, his heart breaking at the pure grief that was there. “Damn you!” The Angel screamed and covered his face again.

“Angel…” Rodolfo tried, but flinched back as the Angel turned away from him and hit at his face.

“And you continue to look at me with such soft, tender eyes.” The Angel crouched down, his back to Rodolfo, and his face still covered. “Your voice is still sweet…”

Rodolfo’s heart ached, now filled with guilt and pain for his Angel. He wanted to apologize, to clear his pain, to make it go away. But… he didn’t know how… Tears filled his eyes, the pain spilling out of his heart. “Angel…” He tried again.

The Angel looked back at Rodolfo, though he only turned his good eye and looked over his arm so all of the scarred bits were covered. “Oh, my Dove…” His expression, what Rodolfo could see of it, softened and then he looked away. “I’ve frightened you.”

“No…” Rodolfo shook his head. He hesitated and looked to the mask on the floor, and, after a moment, reached over to grab it. Then, he held it out to his Angel, hoping that would make his Angel less in pain. 

The Angel looked back at the mask and then shifted so he could take it, standing and slipping it back on. Rodolfo watched him roll his shoulders, imagining black wings stretching out and fluttering behind him. 

When the Angel turned to face him, Rodolfo looked away, ashamed. He had hurt his Angel, somehow, and he felt guilt at the idea. “I am sorry, Angel… I didn’t mean to hurt you…”

The Angel moved to him and then held his hand out. Rodolfo didn’t hesitate to take it, carefully using it to stand and looking up to meet the Angel’s eyes as he did so. He relaxed when he saw that they had softened, hoping that meant that whatever damage he caused could be reversed, somehow. The Angel’s hand moved and touched his chin, his thumb rubbing over his bottom lip. “It is alright, Dove… I cannot fault you for naive curiosity.” 

Rodolfo relaxed and relaxed into the touch, parting his lips as the Angel touched them. Too soon, the Angel’s hand retreated, and then he was sighing. “You must return. Price will be looking for you.”

Sadly, Rodolfo agreed, and the Angel guided him to the boat, again. “Angel-”

“Do not call me that, anymore. You can call me what everyone else does.” The Angel shook his head, helping Rodolfo carefully step onto the boat and then Rodolfo sat down, looking up at the Angel. 

“What does everyone else call you?” Rodolfo looked down, realizing he may have hurt the Angel more than he thought he had. 

The Angel crouched at the end of the ledge and made Rodolfo look at him, again. “Ghost. They call me Ghost. Why do you look away from me, little dove?”

“I hurt my Angel… He doesn’t want me to call him Angel anymore…” Rodolfo sniffled, avoiding Ghost’s eyes. “Guilt squeezes at my heart.”

“Oh, dove…” Ghost’s voice was gentle, soft. “It is for convenience, my dove.” He murmured. “I promise, it is not out of pain or malice.”

Rodolfo relaxed his shoulders and nodded a little. Ghost smiled and released his face before stepping into the boat as well. “I will leave you with a letter for Madame Laswell, so she knows you were only with me.”

Alejandro stared at the omega on stage as he sang, unable to believe his eyes. It was unmistakably Rodolfo and yet his heart did not want to see that. He didn’t want to think it was true because of the possibility it wasn’t. But still… he recognized his features from their time spent by the fire of Rodolfo’s father’s manor. 

Expensive, imported chocolates and the soft sound of violin playing as they read scary stories about ghosts and ghouls… He had never imagined being able to see Rodolfo, again, and now here he was, singing right in front of him. 

And his voice was beautiful… It was so clear, so trained… When the song finished, the last song of the set, he didn’t hesitate to stand and sing his own praise, his mind filled only with the idea of finding some way to speak to him, to see him up close again. He turned and bowed to the attendants by his booth before carefully going down the stairs.

He knew Price would be in his office, looking over ticket sales, so he went straight to where he knew it to be from their previous meetings. Once there, he gently knocked on the door, pushing it in when he heard the older alpha’s voice call for him to come in. He bowed as a greeting and stepped more in, closing the door behind him. 

“Ah, Lord Vargas… To what do I owe the pleasure?” Price looked up from the papers he was going over, smiling. 

“The omega that sang tonight. The one that filled in for Phillip Graves… I must know his name.” Alejandro wasn’t afraid to plead. He had to confirm that it was Rodolfo. He needed to know.

“Rodolfo Parra.” Price answered, frowning. “Why do you ask?”

Alejandro’s heart clenched, though it did not relax. It was him… “No.. No reason.” Alejandro turned and left the office again. After all these years, he was right there, so easy to just go to… But would he remember Alejandro? Or had his mind lost sight of him? The idea of that hurt, but Alejandro knew he could make Rodolfo remember, even if he had. He was confident.

When everyone had filed out, he carefully made his way to Madame Laswell, knowing she was in charge of the ballerinas, which he knew Rodolfo was before he sang tonight, if the rumors he’d heard on the way in were correct. She was near another omega, which he remembered seeing that morning when he had visited. 

As he neared, he realized she sounded and looked concerned, as did the omega. “Of course he did…” She murmured and shook her head. “Go, track him down. Scold him for disappearing.” 

The omega nodded and turned to leave, gasping when his eyes fell on Alejandro. “Oh! Lord Vargas!” He quickly curtsied. 

Alejandro laughed softly, thinking his reaction was sweet. He couldn’t have been much older than Rodolfo would be. “I found the ballet to be quite pleasant.” He complimented as he bowed in response. The omega was still in the white outfit for the last act of the play, so he assumed he was one of the many ballerinas, a few he saw scattered throughout the foyer that they were in. 

“Thank you!” The omega flushed. 

“This is Kyle.” Laswell spoke up, smiling. “He is my adopted son. What is it that you were needing, my lord?”

“Please, just call me Alejandro.” Alejandro shook his head. “Rodolfo Parra… He was part of the ballet before taking the role of the lead, correct?”

Laswell frowned, her expression confused. “Yes… He was. Why do you ask?”

“Do you think there is any way for me to speak to him?” Alejandro asked, carefully. He didn’t want to give away too much, just yet. “If that is alright, that is.”

Laswell sighed, her expression turning to one of soft annoyance. “I would allow you to, if I knew where he was. He is quite shy, you see, and he apparently disappeared right after the performance. I was about to have Kyle, here, go and look for him. As soon as he is found and retrieved, I shall inform you, immediately.”

Alejandro smiled to himself as she spoke. Rodolfo had been like that from a young age, always so shy. Even if he’d been more of a deadpan nature, he’d still never been one to enjoy attention from strangers… His heart ached as he realized just how much he’d missed his childhood friend. He still remembered Rodolfo’s nickname from his father. Estrellita, he’d called him in much of the poetry that his father had written for him.

Alejandro’s own father had been cold and not one for pretty words, but Rodolfo’s father had been the opposite. Kind and loving and warm… Alejandro had grieved him, much, when he’d died. More so, though, had he grieved the loss of his friend… 

“Thank you, Madame.” Alejandro nodded, bowing his head a little. Then, while he waited to be informed when they found him, he mingled with some of the guests, though his mind was nowhere near present with them. His mind was only on Rodolfo and having him back in his arms… 

They’d been childhood sweethearts, practically promised to each other once both had presented. Their fathers had been good friends and there was no idea in either of their father’s minds other than that the two would be mated and married once they’d reached adulthood. And there had never been any idea in Alejandro and Rodolfo’s minds of anything otherwise, as well.

Alejandro could easily call to mind nights of Rodolfo becoming frightened, likely due to his imagination playing tricks on him, conjuring the images from the books they read, and Alejandro would wake to find Rodolfo curled tightly to him, crying softly and trembling. 

Alejandro had vowed to always protect him and when he’d been taken away at the death of his father, Alejandro had immediately felt so angry at no longer being able to do that. He was no longer able to protect his Rodolfo, and in fact he’d not been able to even see him… He’d had no idea where he’d gone. Even his father had had no idea. 

But… Now his chance was here and it was taking far too long for Rodolfo to be found. Each moment that passed, Alejandro felt more and more anxious, more and more on edge. He desperately wanted to see his Estrellita again, to touch him. To apologize for not being there, to know where he’d been all these years.

Finally, Madame Laswell was approaching, smiling. “He’s just went to his dressing room.” Alejandro wasted no time in following her to the door, frowning when she paused. “Would you like me to introduce you?”

“No thank you,” Alejandro shook his head, not wanting to waste time with silly introductions. “I would prefer to make this introduction, alone.” He didn’t give her time to answer or try to convince him, only pulling open the door and slipping inside, closing it behind him.

Once he was in the room, his breath caught. There was Rodolfo, sitting at a vanity and pulling stars out of his hair, how fitting… Alejandro was breathless. He was so beautiful, he’d certainly grown up to be a beautiful omega and now he was right there… 

Alejandro recalled some poetry that he remembered from Rodolfo’s father, wanting to ensure Rodolfo remembered him. “I sit by my dear Estrellita and I wonder to myself. What does my dear Estrellita think of? Does his mind sing only of silence? Or does it wander to the garment boxes that rest in the foyer? Does it even wander further to the rose bushes outside?” He recited, still remembering the poetry, perfectly, which surprised himself.

Rodolfo looked at him and his face lit up immediately. Within moments, Rodolfo was at Alejandro, hugging him tightly. “Alejandro!” Alejandro took in the scent of wildflowers and rain, which was exactly how he’d always remembered it. Soft and comforting…

“Rodolfo…” He breathed, wrapping his arms around him so he could hold him as close as possible. His entire being relaxed at the feeling of being this close to him, again, of feeling him and seeing him this close. “It has been far too long…”

Alejandro almost didn’t let Rodolfo pull away, but he knew he had to, eventually. When Rodolfo did, his eyes softened. “It has been…” Then, Rodolfo was taking his hand and guiding him to where he’d been sitting before, which Alejandro gladly complied with. “I feared we would never see each other again.” His voice sounded so sad but so relieved, and Alejandro again felt guilt that Rodolfo had worried about that.

“It appears fate has brought us back together again,” Alejandro assured, “it feels only yesterday… Listening to your father play the violin… Feasting on those chocolates he would have imported… The ones that looked like shells.” He reached up, his desperation at feeling Rodolfo winning out, and he touched Rodolfo’s face again, marveling at the feeling of him, under his touch. 

Rodolfo seemed to just melt, his face moving more into the touch as he closed his eyes. “We would read ghost stories by the fire, large scary beasts, spirits and ghouls.”

Alejandro couldn’t help laughing, so incredibly joyful that Rodolfo remembered, the same as him.  “You were always so frightened by them. My darling Estrellita would always find himself curled so tightly to me in the night for fear of some beast breaking into his room.”

Rodolfo’s skin turned the most beautiful shade of red and Alejandro just adored it, touching it more. “You always protected me…”

Alejandro’s heart ached at the past tense. Protected, not protect. Of course, he hadn’t been there to protect him. “I still will.” He promised, cupping Rodolfo’s face, and taking in every line, every feature, comparing it to the memory Alejandro held. Rodolfo was… beautiful. So much more mature now. 

“Oh, if your father could see you, now… Your talent…” Alejandro murmured, softly. He knew Rodolfo’s father would be so proud of him.

Rodolfo looked away and tears filled his eyes. “I miss him, Alejandro…”

Alejandro gently took Rodolfo’s chin and made him face him, gently reaching up and wiping Rodolfo’s tears. “I know…” He murmured and leaned forward. He decided to distract Rodolfo, instead, “I must know… who tutored you?”

Rodolfo seemed to hesitate, but he met Alejandro’s eyes. “I’ve been visited by a great angel… An angel of music.”

Alejandro couldn’t help chuckling softly, since he knew Rodolfo was likely being cheeky. Rodolfo had a way of avoiding answers he didn’t want to give. But, of course, he had sounded like an angel. “Oh, no doubt…” He murmured and then stood. “Well, keep your secrets. I will call a carriage and we will go to dinner.”

“No, Alejandro, I cannot.” Rodolfo answered, and Alejandro frowned, turning to look at him again. “The Angel doesn’t like when I go out too late, it isn’t good for my voice, I need rest…”

Alejandro hesitated, confused, but he shook it off and straightened, chuckling. “We will not be out too late, then.”

Rodolfo shook his head. “Alejandro, I can’t… I’m sorry…”

“I promise, I will not keep you too late. Please Rodolfo,” Alejandro pleaded. He’d beg if he had to, he just needed to spend more time with Rodolfo. “Get changed, I’ll be right back.” He then turned and left before Rodolfo could continue to say no. 

When he left, he informed Laswell of his plans to take Rodolfo to dinner. She seemed hesitant, but ultimately agreed. “Do not keep him, too late.”

“I have no plans to,” Alejandro smiled and relaxed, letting out a breath of relief. “We will be back before midnight, I promise.” Then, he left to arrange for a carriage, desperate and so very excited.

When everything was arranged, Alejandro noticed that most of the guests had left and so it was now only a few of the performers mingling throughout the opera house. Alejandro imagined most of them were curious to see if Price would send them back to their dormitories, but he knew Price better than that. He was a kind man, who would rather share fortune than hoard it.

Alejandro carefully approached the door to Rodolfo’s dressing room, knocking to make sure Rodolfo was not in any state of undress. However, he received no answer. He frowned, deeply, and attempted to turn the doorknob, but was surprised to find the door locked. 

Then, he heard speaking. 

“Angel, please forgive me… My soul was weakened by familiarity…” Rodolfo’s soft voice, apologetic and pleading. 

“Oh, my dear dove… You need not to apologize…” The second voice was strong, powerful, and commanding and Alejandro felt jealousy spike in his chest. 

“Rodolfo!” He called, yanking at the door. “Rodolfo!” He tried harder to open the door, but he feared actually trying to break it. But… his heart worried that Rodolfo was in danger. What sort of man would call themselves an Angel if not to manipulate, to take. 

Finally, the door gave and Alejandro rushed into it, but Rodolfo was gone. The room was completely empty. Alejandro tried to keep his panic at bay, knowing it would only lead him to not being able to think straight. 

So, he turned and sought out Price.

--

I have a third chapter, too, and I'm willing to write more.

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[unravellingsilencehq]

“Oh, Merlin, tell me, does THE VENGEFUL get what he deserves?” He is in THE DEATH EATERS & OPEN to finding out. 

— he walks through the world as ;

name → evan rosier  pronouns → he/they identification → non-binary year of birth → september 1952 - september 1953 face claim → avan jogia blood status → pure-blood sexual orientation → homosexual  occupation → socialite amongst high society in wizarding london future information → n/a

— he is best described as ;

VENGEANCE reigning HELL FURY, he is the SUFFOCATING DREAD of thick fog lost in the cruelty of the world. BLOOD SOAKED hands of a wounded warrior with SARCASTIC WIT as PESSIMISTIC as a tormentor of the night; he is the MOURNFUL cry of VIOLINS in an eclipse SCREAMING sonnets of woe as BROKEN MIRRORS cast distorted images of eyes that appear HOLLOWED from SORROW.

— his story starts with ;

tw: gun, tw: death

While their name now strikes fear to those that dare say it, once he had a caring heart though very few around him remember it. Born to Axel and Adele Rosier, Evan was cherished from a young age. Overly spoiled with the vast riches their family possessed, he was adorned in midnight black velvets, crisp shirts, silver chains and held an air of entitlement that came with being a member of The Sacred Twenty Eight. Never left needing or wanting, everything he desired was readily at his fingertips with a mere tut from pursed lips. While their father held high office as a judge in Wizengamort, his youth was spent amongst manor halls in Kensington making shrill conversation with politician’s children, with merely ALEXANDRA ROSIER [sister] for company. Arts occupied his time, with lost language unraveled at his fingertips and the harmonious pluck of a violin string; intellect of scholars humored him whilst the lust of society rotted his sister’s mind. With a namesake rooted in Paris, the Rosier’s preferred to escape the heaviness of London in spring. Apparating to their second home in Lyon only after visiting their family tomes to lay respect to those that came before them; reciting their family mantra: Si vous ne trouvez pas de chemin, faites-en un. If you can’t find a path, make one.  

Traditionalists, they knew the establishment they belonged to and made sure to instill the ideologies within both Evan and Andra. Separated to accumulate societal connections, Evan was sent to Hogwarts while he watched his sister disappear to Beauxbatons; despite exchanging owls their connection faded as they found their paths. Sorted into Slytherin within a mere breath of it placed upon his head, Evan joined the pack that BELLATRIX BLACK [cousin] had orchestrated; RODOLPHUS LESTRANGE [friend], CASTOR WILKES [friend/potential love interest], and EDRICK SELWYN [friend]. The group were notorious, mocking first years and throwing jinxes at unsuspecting Mudblood for mere sport, their arrogance and superiority made them untouchable. Unlike his counterparts, the regulations Evan had to meet were reasonable. Associate with Pure-Blood’s, marry well to not dilute the bloodline and produce a male air to carry on the line. As the sole male air, he knew his place. It should have been simple. Find a woman from an honorable family, court, propose; a simple business exchange. But it was never the eyes of soft beauty he yearned for, but the gaze of handsome features fleeting from across marble floors. A fate crueler than a cruciatus curse itself, doomed to live wishing against what you are born. 

Though the misfortune of lost love and caught glances between Castor turned dismissed as the honorable fell from grace. Long gone was the once charming and witty boy, left in its place a ghost. Summering in their home in Lyon, Evan had been tending to the white rose bushes that adorned the property with his father. Leaving the scene only for a moment, but what awaited him upon his return shattered his once crystal existence. Evan can only remember the series of events in fragments. The piercing screech of a gunshot, roses stained red, shattered glass and his father’s limp corpse sprawled on the grass. Soul stolen and grief ridden, he grew bitter and tormented. Riddled with nightmares, his mother was inconsolable as wails of agony echoed the manor. Betrayed by the very justice system his father had served, the Ministry deemed the murder an accident. ‘Compensating’ the family for their loss and silence, they insisted the knowledge that one of the highest ranking wizards in their society was murdered in his prime by a gang of Muggles would cause anarchy. In turn, they did nothing. Leaving Evan sinking in absence, an anger brewing with hatred as he watched his sister rise to glory as the head of the household.

Amid the heartache, there was one person that became a saving grace to Evan; Bellatrix. Though Alexandra deemed her one of the Erinyes praying on the vulnerable, he could not care for her heeded words. Bellatrix became his catalyst. Igniting a fury within him that only burned brighter with every passing day. Though some say she prayed on his grief and used his anguish to boil it into something sinister; to Evan, she saved him. Showed him what the world really was and how it could be. How it should be. A new world armed with THE DARK LORD [leader] as it’s messiah where Muggles knew their place and would be unable to hurt another wizard again. Time passed and Evan’s mind only grew darker. Troubled by hooded figures, sleep was a luxury he didn’t possess. Horrors painted on the back of his eye lids, hours spent scrubbing his hands raw as if that would somehow erase the memories of blood that felt seeped into his pores. Love was not something he knew how to possess and he didn’t want it, not if it only led to more pain. Instead he found distractions. Smoking cigarettes, drinking fire whiskey until his throat burned and finding lips of ANTONIN DOLOHOV [romantic liason/potential love interest], both parties wanting to escape the voices that plagued them. 

Joining The Dark Lord’s army after an introduction from Bellatrix, it gave them a purpose that he so desperately craved. Channeling his rage, Evan grew adamant to bring upon his own form of justice as if that could be penance for his father’s death. Wilkes became his right hand when it came to fulfilling the Dark Lord’s work. Bonded in chaos, they tormented those they deemed below them, bringing upon the change that he believed was their birthright. Quickly rising within the ranks and becoming a part of the trusted inner circle, Evan among the select few who were trusted to ensure the Summer Solstice of 1983 fell into the Death Eater’s favor. Obtaining a polyjuice potion from SEVERUS SNAPE [acquaintance], with discretion Evan delivered it to JAE MULCIBER [friend] to follow through with the goal; public persecution. A message jarring the wizarding world to its core, the fall out was as they desired. AMELIA BONES‘s [victim] death acted as a catalyst of chaos; leaving the Ministry quaking and the citizens warned of war. Evan was rewarded with the Dark Mark for his loyalty and a promise that the Ministry would fall and he'd be privy to a front row seat in watching it burn.

Impatient as years pass, while the Death Eaters gather numbers in darkness, Evan’s drive for vindication leaves him wearing. Eager for change, while the fear striking the community brings him gratification; it isn’t enough when ex-Minister of Magic EUGENIA JENKINS [rival] walks freely with no scars to bare. Blaming her and BARTEMIUS CROUCH SR. [rival] ineptitude for the lack of finality regarding his father’s case; Evan desires to see them face the same hardships his family endured; an eye for an eye. Plotting the demise of their loved ones, Evan has entrusted his plans to only his right hand; Castor and their sister PERSEPHONE WILKES [acquaintance]. Knowing Castor would fly with him into fire and with Persephone’s aptitude for gathering information; his hopes to bring them grumbling to their knees feels within arms reach. Plotting revenge secretly amidst the Death Eaters' plans to infiltrate the Ministry, Evan’s vendetta could see the politicians scramble and weaker should he succeed; giving the Death Eater’s leverage. Finally, they could get what they always desired. Fire would rain and he’d gladly bask in the embers of the Ministry’s downfall.

— he is a LEVEL 8 WIZARD & readied for war ;

[theskyexists]

Played the Hogwarts game via my brother via a friend of my brother's who bought it (idiot)...... It is........ Hm. The dialogue in it is terrible. That is to say, lifeless, often pointless. Fig keeps talking over you the first hour which is not really endearing. The pandering is kinda irksome (headmaster black, professor weasely). The games copy all of the movies mistakes, including giving the students and teachers etc. trousers and skirts and blouses instead of GOWNS. Hogwarts is so so so quiet. And kinda.....weirdly....marbled? So far. The nice goblin is indeed less hook-nosed. The Goblins are evil for no stated reason yet. They just...are? The evil goblin obviously has a classic lower class accent or whatever. THUG GOBLIN. Absolutely insane writing choice to have Miriam (Jewish name?) be prof figs WIFE who DIED only MONTHS AGO, and have fig respond with zero emotion to a message from her that wasn't sent to him in the first place nor any response to a good friend's death right in front of him (who was said to be a good apparator two minutes ago but doesn't apparate away from a dragons mouth), murdered presumably by the same people. Why are there 40 students in the whole great hall. There's a good progression of spell learning so far, but extremely railroaded first two hours of walking with some NPC at snails pace. Wayyyy too many things to collect, too overwhelming. Collecting is as simple as walking by and casting a spell so far - bland. So many obvious thing in the castle so far that I simply don't have access to yet. annoying. The combat is extremely simple. This is almost a-blind-dog-clicking-could-beat-this Lego Harry Potter game level. No IDEA nor any INDICATION why main character is transferring in in fifth year having never studied magic before. There isn't even any game mechanic reason for this, nor in-story. There is no memorable soundtrack, which is impressive (derogatory) for a Harry Potter game. There also generally IS NO music. Weird.

Positive: all the character options are pretty and feature a quite diverse range of (ethnic) features which are easily mixed and matched (though skewed). another negative: Dont know how I ended up in a skirt though, I guess the character creation railroads you into certain costume through the pre-sets. Despite being able to select voices and wizard/witch status independently. Even though lots of girl NPC's have trousers. Ironically some letter by some professor implies sexism doesn't actually exist in the magical world - only in Muggle world. A fine fantasy if I didn't know about the irony of it all....also quite a retcon. And a double edges sword about SUPERIOR witches/wizards.

I like doing tasks and so I WAS sucked into the very simple doing tasks game loop. Exploring isn't really very fun tbh.... There aren't really secret passages so far? There isn't any platforming... Peeves looks solid and not like a ghost? The castle is populated but not exactly bustling. Not quite lifeless but so damn chill does anybody go to classes?

The fantasy this game presents is being a magical prodigy for no discernible reason and acing all classes, competitions, duels etc. Literally, pleasure to have in class, sir. That is the protagonist's only character trait: teacher's pet and optionally: arrogant lil shit. I actually chose my characters face for its neutral bitch face, but the game kept forcing her to smile in the starter cut scenes.

Where's quidditch wtf. It's not SO hard to make an avatar fly and make the player awkwardly catch a ball in mid-air. Anyway. It looks good. It just doesn't.....feel like Hogwarts much. Not exactly magical. Maybe I've outgrown it completely to the depths of my heart. Maybe every further iteration of this stretched-thin franchise's products only gets worse. Maybe Rowling's undeniable sense for what appeals to the imagination is missing. Maybe if I didnt know where this is going i could simply enjoy doing my tasks, and the so far clunky, stupid but 'fine' to mediocre experience. Or maybe it just sucks.

[plush-rabbit]

Obey Me! Heavy Thoughts for the Dateables

Warnings: Mentions of Death

A/N: Reasons for heaviness may vary! I was in a mood so I kinda scribbled this out in days,, uh yeah!! A little all over the place and ye!!

-

Barbatos:

His eyes and hands ache, his mouth dry no matter the amount of water he intakes. His temples thud with a dull pounding, one that echoes lightly and steadily. It’s been a rather rough day for Barbatos. Woken up late, and with an already bad feeling about the day. His eyes glow, a bright green light that fades as soon as it comes. His head is heavy and he can feel the effects of the power creep against him, but there is no time for rest, he has duties that he must attend to. He picks himself up and blinks once and then twice, as if willing the pain to go away and he is off. He is steady as he works, precise as if there is not a growing pain that makes itself known the more that he goes on and the longer that the day continues. He was allowed the day off, had concern expressed over him with a steady hand on his back slowly leading him to his bedroom but he declined. It was a simple headache, a simple bad day that must be powered through. There was no use for such worry over something so simple.

It’s a heavy day and he’s had them before but they don’t lessen with each blow- they still hit as heavy as ever. He walks quietly, his demon form exposing himself, his wing-like horns piercing into him, the bones of the appendages pulled taut. His tail swings widely, curved as it sways along, narrowly missing each statue and piece of item that decorates the hall. He cleans dutifully, each piece of furniture polished and dusted, the headache only growing more and more, pounding against his head. His hands grip a cleaning feather duster, the wood splintering in his hand, his jaw tightening and eyes narrowing. The brick wall touches against his gloved palm, the indent and grooves of it press against the fabric, marring it with imperfections, the hand that holds the duster loosens, the feathers brushing against his pant leg. His vision grows spolthy and he casts a glance towards the end of the hallway, paintings move and peer from the frame, watching as the butler walks away. His steps echo in the castle, and he knows that he’s taking time off for such a simple feeling, guilt builds in his body, his legs becoming heavy with lead, and yet, he can’t stop himself. He was given permission, was encouraged and he had looked the other way, but he needs it now.

He hides himself in a corner of the castle, door locked and lights off and he’s nervous. He isn’t allowed to use his power freely and he isn’t going to; he’s simply going to take a peek. Something has come over the butler, something so terrible and nerve wracking and he has no idea how to calm it, how to force his tail to stop swinging so rapidly- he feels irritated. A final look is given to the door- there are no shadows underneath and he takes a deep breath, the smell of parchment and cotton in the air. Time flashes before his eyes, glowing brightly, his hair slowly creeping, longer and longer as milliseconds go by. Everything passes by in a mere blink of the eye and when he returns, his hair receding back to its usual length, his eyes slowly dimming, he sits on a chair. His head is in his hands, his eyes closed and nails softened by gloves scratch into his scalp.

It’s a dip of himself, just a slight little thing that went wrong; and yet, he can’t shake off the feeling. Nearby, he can hear footsteps, they come in eager and almost unsure. Shadows form under his door and he can hear muffled voices, his name being spoken is a constant and there is worry evident in both of the voices. His brows furrow and he rises, his shoulders slacked and exhaustion heavy in his eyes. One of the shadows disappear, footsteps echoing in the distance and the handle to the room turns slowly, his name called once more in a whisper. Through the small gap from the doorway, he sees your face, hesitation graced among your features until they fall and in its place, concern takes over. You close the door quietly behind you, his name whispered under your breath as you rush towards him. You cup his face in our hands, pulling yourself close to him. You hold him as if he is porcelain and he simply bows his head, eyes closing, and his tongue is bitten between his teeth. In a sudden movement, he goes to hold you.

Your hands move from his face to wrapping your arms around him. He leans into your touch, his tail wrapping around your waist and tightening his hold on you, the bones of his horns, pressed against your plush cheek. Barbatos tells you how silly it all is, to feel this bad over a simple bad day, his voice trailing off into a hoarse whisper, and you don’t want to imagine the poor demon crying at the thought of such a heavy day. You hold him, comfort him and edge yourself closer until you reach a couch. He rests nearly above you, his leg swung over yours, and face still buried against your shoulder. Your fingers thread through his hair, curling strands of it around your index as you listen to his woes, his grip tight and voice delicate. In your arms is a demon, beautiful and powerful, but in your arms, he is exquisite and frail, never once lifting his head no matter the times his name is whispered. His hands ghost over your body, the gloves soft against your skin and slowly, he removes them, letting the warmth of his hands curve over your neck as he rests near your collarbone. He begs for you to hold him, just a little bit longer, just until he feel like he can stand and you do so, promising to sit and hold him, ending the words with a kiss against the crown of his head.

Diavolo:

The soon-to-be king is lonely. He grew up being respected but without a friend. He grew with a father who had lost someone he loved and he grew without a mother’s touch. As much as Diavolo can try, he will have limited friends. He is someone that people watch their tone with, they watch their words and avoid playful teasing. Deep in his bones, he knows that he is lonely, that the friends he does have still hold some type of fear towards him, they still respect him. It’s a long day in the castle. It’s quiet, there are minimal sounds and the portrait of his father stands behind his desk, looming over his shoulder and he can never tell if his expression is remorseful or something akin to a scolding look. The prince sits alone with a heavy heart in a room that feels far too large for him to be in.

As a young boy, he has learned to hold himself high. He has grown up knowing that he will be a king. He wants to do great things. He wants to bring people together for reasons that he doesn’t quite want to admit but also because he is so desperate for attention, for any sign of love and acceptance. He is a caged bird, trapped between bars, watching as others gaze upon him, watching relationships form in front of him without reaching towards him. It isn’t healthy for him to let these thoughts dwell but in an empty room, he can’t find the will to push them away. His face is buried in his hands, eyes closed until colors and inorganic shapes dance behind his closed eyes and he sits still for a long time, the unblinking eyes of his father boring into him. Golden eyes brimmed with hope are dimmed, staring at the papers on the desk. He’s already done, finished long ago and yet, he can’t force himself to rise and leave the room that is slowly constricting around him.

There’s a bitter taste in his mouth, something that makes him sick to his stomach when his D.D.D. remains unbothered, the screen faced down, not a single sound erupting from it. He learned long ago to never expect much from it. But now you’re here. You are a human, that is it. You hold no true power other than the pacts that you have made and yet you make him wait with bated breath for every message of yours. It’s unhealthy to put so much of his happiness in your hands but he can’t help it. You are the first to not fear him for his title. You are the first to hold his hand and lean against him. You are the first that he has ever had the pleasure to grow so close to and yet you are human. You are compassionate and you do not fear him in any type of way, you include him and laugh with him. You both share inside jokes and he isn’t alone with you. He stands from the desk, his bones aching and he sets out.

He goes to visit you, a bag of sweets in his hand- a cheap excuse to come and visit you even though you have told him that he can visit whenever he wants to. His smile is bright, stretched wide as he holds the bag in front of him, already making himself comfortable on your bed. He can breathe a little bit lighter, his smile now more tired than forced, and his heart still heavy. The weight on his shoulders has shifted into something more troublesome. When your hands cup his face, his smile wavers and he leans into your touch. He confesses to you that he has been lonely and it isn’t like his other confessions- this one isn’t made in a passing comment, this one is said out loud in a somber tone, his hand encasing yours, his eyes brimming with tears and voice in a hoarse whisper and he can’t find the words to describe just how lonely it is for him- how lonely it was before you came into his life.

Diavolo is large beside you on the bed and he is somber, looking much older than he usually does and you wonder for a brief moment just how lonely he was, how it must have felt for him to realize that he won’t have a true connection. You move to sit beside him, cradling his body and pushing him towards you, his head on your chest and hands held together. You rub your thumb over his knuckles, the scars soft under your touch, and when you kiss the top of his head, he holds your hand tighter. He can be a king, he can be a prince or a lord, but he is still someone who craves a relationship, to be included and to have a friend. He rests on your bed, his body warmed by yours and his hand held. He is soothed by your heartbeat, your ever loving touch and his thoughts are silenced when you begin to whisper to him promises that you’ll be beside him while legs entangle themselves with yours. Resting on you, he is comforted, held and told sweet things, and soon with a heavy heart, he moves to hold you above him. You lean down and peck against his lips, his smile tired and eyes still holding wisdom and knowledge that you’ll never know of and he keeps you by him throughout the night, memorizing each and every scar that your body offers, his lips hot against your body.

Simeon:

As an angel, Simeon has to avoid temptations wherever they fall. He’s seen what it can cause- the destruction and death that it could lead to and he has no time for that, not when Luke is under his care. You, however, do not make it easy to sway from such temptation. He doesn’t know what will happen in the coming future and the thought terrifies him. He knows that human life spans are so short, so insufferably short and unexpected, and even if you do live for long, he’ll see you die and the odds of you becoming an angel are something that he has no clue in. You come to him so eager and full of life, so ready to hold him in your arms and he won’t ever be ready for the day that you lay in a bed, too weak to move your arms and hold him again. While he won’t ever do the unspeakable- at least that’s what he tells himself- you unknowingly add to his pressures.

For now, he doesn’t think about that. He thinks about you now. He thinks about your smile and your usage of kaomojis. You still have life and that’s all that matters to him. He thinks about the fun memories that he can make in the meantime with you. His D.D.D. will buzz with new messages, new reports and various other things that come in and he’ll have to face it eventually but it’s all too much. It’s too much, too soon. He has to speak to you one day of his duties, confess upon his knees and tell you that he does it because- well, because he has to. He is an angel, who is he to disobey, to find his voice when it’s suddenly convenient for him. His wings weigh him down, heavy and lined with gold, shimmering under the light of God, and he is supposed to be holy and yet, he cannot touch you without his gloves. He’s afraid he’ll stain you and your being. He’ll taint everything precious about you with just a simple touch.

However, he still seeks you out. Late at night, he’ll search for you, a ripple of itchiness that shoots across his back, tingles that ache as his wings beg to be released. He finds you and curls up to you, so tense and terrified and you’re there to comfort him. He rests beside you, hand in hand, wickedness and love combined, something so sweet that it makes his eyes water and mouth thick with honey. His hands are gloved, not daring to touch anything that he shouldn’t unless it burns his skin. He stares at your wall, littered with pictures of you and the family that you’ve made along the way, you're smiling with a smile that stretches so wide he’s blinded by it. You’ve allowed him in your room, in your sanctuary because he came to you. He’s beside you, a small, golden cross rubbed between his forefinger and thumb, and he can feel his heart race.

Sweat beads against his forehead, his back aching as his mouth dries. The flesh of the son is heavy on his tongue, the blood thick and bitter as it soaks anything sweet in him. His hand tightens and he can feel his hand tightens round yours. He has to be careful- he can’t hurt you. He won’t forgive himself if he ever did. His tongue is between his teeth and in a picture of yours, your tongue is stuck out, hugged between your lips and his vision becomes blurry, fire in his eyes as he stares. He must show the emotion- whatever it is- on his face, read like an open book. You call his name, your hand above his, and he doesn’t register it, he can’t. You call him again, tugging on his hand and pulling away the golden cross. His eyes are wide and you can see the angel in his eyes, the years and the time, the war and the love that he has seen. The cross marks itself in the palm of your hand, and he snaps at you. It’s nothing cruel, but his words are sharp and loud.

You flinch at his words but you offer a tender smile. Your hand opens and the cross itself is tight in your hand. He hadn’t meant to snap. Tears fill his eyes and scorch his cheeks and he’s on his knees, the floor under him cold and solid. Apologies fill the room and he can feel your eyes on him. It’s a heavy day where he cannot feel anything but the weight of everything on his shoulders. You embrace him in your arms, pulling him close to your chest. Unlike the floor, you are soft and warm, holding him as he buries himself in the crook of your neck, feeling your heartbeat like a lullaby to him. Your lips press against his forehead, lips pressed to his skin and hair and he leans to you. His hands tighten around you, pulling himself closer to you; forgiveness has never felt so delicate and repent has never felt so fragile. He cries silently, holding you close to him, letting his tears trace against your skin. Your hands curve against his back, fingertips fluttering between his shoulder blades and pressing lightly between. He wonders briefly if you know where his wings rest, where the hurting hurts the most. You touch lightly around, barely ghosting against the muscles, and he holds himself closer to you. His eyes are fresh with tears, the heaviness in his body slowly lifting as he leans into you, and he breathes in deeply, filling his lungs with you. The Celestial Realm is far above, shining in golden light and the sweet air of holiness. Your room is casted in the soft, orange glow of the lamp, the room smelling of apples and jasmine, and here, the tired angel feels safe to lay his weight against you and close his eyes.

Solomon:

Despite being an accomplished sorcerer, Solomon isn’t immune to emotions; he is still human despite being immortal. He is older than you can comprehend, dates and times have been long forgotten by him and the people that he held so close no longer have faces. He is human and he misses the people that he has grown close to. He is immortal, a life that is coveted and always seeking to figure out it’s secrets and yet to him, the life is nothing but cursed. It’s the same routine with each lifetime; it’s people that he grows close to, people whose hands he holds and people who hug him so tight that he can feel their breath on his neck, people with hands that soon grow limp in his.

He does his best to never let his emotions show; he rather not deal with the endless questions of his well being because while he’s fine, he really isn’t. He bottles his emotions and hides them far away and it stays like that. For a while, he can be young, laughing and making references to the world that he lives in now. Other times, he lays in bed, the sun that has been rising is a friend and an enemy to him, the people who age before his eyes are something that he envies. Around you, it’s much different. He knows you’ll die sooner than he would like and he’ll be left alone. You made your way into his heart. You hold a special place within him and he worries for the day when he’ll forget your face and the way your hands feel against his neck, and the taste of your lips that are so sweet and soft.

Glyphs and notes are strewn across his room, the sorcerer at work as he tries to figure something out- something to just keep you safe as much as he can, to ensure that you won’t meet an early fate. It’s desperate and selfish of him but he knows he won’t be able to stand the silence once you’re gone. He’s unlike himself, silent and eyes too focused to see what is going on around him. You have no idea what he’s doing, just happy to be beside him, to see him at work. You stare at him for far too long, your own notes of spells and potions resting beside you, now forgotten as you choose to focus on your partner. He stands still, eyes fluttering about, and then he moves rapidly. He seeks and searches, erases and scribbles notes crudely in a journal. He is a work of art- beautiful to look at, imperfections and lines adorning his skin and you worry for the day that he’ll collapse.

His eyes will meet yours, a tired smile on his lips and he holds a hand up- five more minutes. A promise that has long turned repetitive but you know how important his work is, how he strives for perfection in his spells. He talks aloud to himself, the spell book in hand- the corners of the pages frayed and various notes and inches of extra paper peeking past the pages. The book fits perfectly in his hand, his face flushed and eyes tired as they stare at a potted plant, the leaves brown and nipped. He mutters under his breath, his eyes glowing for a brief second, his hair lifting as if static were the cause, and you can feel the magic in the air. You glance at the plant, the leaves curling in on themselves before falling off, replacing themselves with new leaves. You stand straighter, excited, assuming that’s what he wanted and when you look at him, he lets out an exasperated chuckle. His chuckle turns to laughter and his laughter turns into frustration, a string of curses chased in different languages echoes in the room. You call his name and he turns to you, cheeks nipped with red and eyes fresh with tears.

Your name is whispered under his breath and you frown, rushing over to him where he holds you tight, his face hidden in the soft curve of your neck. Solomon does not let go of you, he keeps you close, crying into your neck, his hands tightening and he doesn’t speak. Tears burn hot against your skin, his lips moving, words silent and when you hum his name, he only shakes his head, his lips going still. Soon, you both sit on the bed, his body leaning against you for support. He holds your hand, his fingers playing with each of yours, fingertips pressed against his lips in gentle kisses. Solomon confesses to you that he worries for the day that you’ll pass, his eyes closing when he feels your body tense beside him. He doesn’t think he could handle it if you were to leave him. He craves your touch and he hates to admit it, but without you, he is lost. You hold him in your arms, moving until you rest against the headboard, while his head rests on your chest. You hold his hand and tell him that no matter the time that has passed, you’ll still be with him. You hold him in your arms, his tears wetting your shirt as his whimpers are muffled by you, and he knows he’ll miss you but for now, he’ll be comforted by your hugs and the press of your lips on the top of his head. He’ll wish and pray that this isn’t some dream and that when he awakens, you’ll still be there.

[thatsassyhufflepuff]

Estrangement

Could you write something where Draco gets mad at reader and he says something like "you don't understand cause you're a sunshine Hufflepuff" but he doesn't know her family hasn't talk to her ever since she started going to Hogwarts. Maybe friends to lovers (fluff)

Summary: She could never understand. She's just a Hufflepuff without a care in the world. Little does Draco know that Y/N has a shadow that follows her everywhere.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x female Hufflepuff reader

Year: 7th

House: Hufflepuff

Blood status: Pure (it just works better for the plot)

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: SO. MUCH. FLUFF. i even made my own heart flutter i-

A/N: Thank you for your request, lovely anon! I hope you like it! <3

If Y/N Y/L/N had known bringing up the upcoming Malfoy Christmas Ball would bring her this much trouble, she never would have bothered.

"What's the big deal?" She asked, plopping into an armchair in the Slytherin Prefect's dorm. "We've been dating for over a year, Draco! I've been to plenty of the family events."

Draco ran a hand through his white-blonde hair, expelling a breath. "I realize that, love, but this one is different."

Y/N snorted. "I highly doubt that. These parties haven't changed for centuries." She hesitated then. "Are you still afraid I'll embarrass you? I swear I've gotten better at dancing!"

His gray eyes settled on her, startled. "What?" He shook his head, crossing the room and grabbing his girlfriend's hands, tugging her to her feet and wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her so close that she started to giggle.

"Of course not, you darling Badger." Draco murmured into her ear. He held her away from him just enough to begin swaying her in his arms. The Slytherin hid a grin against her hair. Y/N had gotten better at dancing.

He let out a contented sigh when she rested her chin on his shoulder, still swaying lazily with him. "Then what is it?" she whispered, her arms dangling about his neck. "I just want to spend Christmas with you, Draco. Is that so wrong?"

Draco sighed, tightening his arms around her waist. "It's just..." he twirled her. "Well, you know how my parents are, Y/N.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What problem could they possibly have with me? I’m a pure-blood.”

“Yes, but...” he chewed on his lower lip. “Your House isn’t ideal.”

Y/N stepped out of Draco’s reach, folding her arms as she lifted her chin. “And what’s wrong with being in Hufflepuff?”

“Nothing!” Draco held up his hands. “I don’t think think that way, you know that. It’s just that we’ve always been a family of Slytherins. No one in my family has ever married someone of another house.”

“That’s stupid.”

He shrugged. “I don’t make the rules.”

“Hufflepuffs are very respectable,” Y/N said with a sniff. “It’s time for your family to start new traditions.”

Draco couldn’t help but bristle. “That’s not how this works, Y/N.”

“Why not?”

“Because it just isn’t!”

“That’s not an answer.”

“God, you don’t understand because you’re all sunshine and unicorns!” Draco cried. “Miss Pure Hufflepuff. You don’t get it! You never have!”

Hurt seeped into Y/N’s features, making Draco regret his words instantly.

“So that’s how it is,” Her voice trembled, tears sparkling in her eyes.

“Y/N, I...”

The Hufflepuff held up a hand. “No. Merlin, I’m such an idiot. I actually thought I’d have...” She swiped at her tears impatiently. “But I suppose not. I hope you have fun without me, Draco “

She walked to the door, but Draco blocked her path. “Y/N, please!” He ran his hands through his hair. “You act as if you have nowhere to go! It’s just for the holiday.”

“I don’t have anywhere to go!” Y/N burst out, weeping in earnest now. “That’s what you don’t understand! I haven’t talked to my family since I started at Hogwarts, Draco. Seven bloody years ago!” She sniffed.

Draco blanched. “What?”

The witch smiled bitterly. “We’ve been estranged ever since they learned which house I was sorted in. Apparently a family of Slytherins has no room for a Hufflepuff.” With that, she opened the door and left the room before he could stop her.

The Slytherin sat on his bed numbly, then put his head in his hands.

What on Earth have I done?

***

Draco gave her a few days to cool off before he approached her.

“Y/N?” he asked gently as he opened the door to her room. As he had predicted, she was laying back on her bed, tracing mindless shapes into the air with her wand. Her eyes flicked to his, but she said nothing. Draco exhaled, sitting on the edge of her bed carefully.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, smoothing her hair away from her face. “I’m a bloody git, I know.”

Y/N sat up so she was at his eye-level. “You didn’t know,” she mumbled, twisting her hands together in her lap. Draco grabbed her hands, untwisting them and bringing her fingers to his lips for a kiss.

“I should have known,” he said as he lowered her hands, though he still held onto them. “The times you’ve stayed here over breaks...I didn’t even question it. That’s my fault, Y/N.” Draco squeezed her hands.

“It’s fine,” his girlfriend whispered, but he shook his head.

“It’s not,” Draco insisted gently. “You’re my girlfriend, Y/N. It’s my job to know these things about you.”

Y/N, ever the Hufflepuff, tried to shrug it off. “Well, now you know.”

“Y/N.” Draco placed his hands on her shoulders, ducking his head so she would be forced to meet his eyes. “I should have known, because you are my family. I shouldn’t have made you feel as though you were anything less.”

Tears filled her beautiful eyes as she scooted closer to him, draping herself across his lap. “Why am I not enough?” She whispered, burying her face into his chest. “For them, I mean. All because I’m in Hufflepuff.” His heart broke when she sobbed against his chest. “I wish I wasn’t.”

“Look at me.” Draco waited patiently until she lifted her tear-stained face on her own. “It’s their loss, my love. You are kind, brilliant, loyal, you are sunshine and unicorns, yes, but in the best way possible.” He wiped her tears away with the pads of his thumbs as he chuckled lowly, leaning in to press a kiss to her lips.

“Thank you,” Y/N whispered, resting her forehead against his. He rubbed his nose against hers, kissing the tip when she scrunched her nose like a rabbit. “Does this mean I can come?”

Draco threw back his head and laughed. “Salazar, I love you. No, sweetheart. We’re staying here. Just you and me.” He pulled her closer, splaying his hands across her ribs. “All alone...” He flexed his fingers, his heart fluttering at her sweet laughter. “While I shower you with gifts and sweets. How does that sound?” He tickled her again, relishing the feeling of the laughter shaking her beautiful body.

“Draco, stop!” She squealed, calming down when he started to plant tiny kisses all over her face. When he pulled back, she whispered, “That sounds perfect. Thank you, Draco.” Y/N lurched forward, throwing her arms around him in a hug, wrapping her legs around his waist. Draco squeezed her gently in return, rubbing slow, soothing circles on her back.

“I mean it, you know.” He kissed her temple.

“Mean what?” She asked as she played with the hair at the nape of his neck. Draco pulled back just enough to gaze into her eyes.

“I love you. So much that it physically hurts me sometimes.”

Her expression softened as she smoothed a piece of hair out of his eyes. “I know. I love you more.”

“Does this mean you forgive me?” Draco’s gray eyes settled on the curve of her lips.

She smiled. “I’ll forgive you a thousand times if it means I get a lifetime of loving you.”

His breath ghosted across her lips. “I think that can be arranged.”

~~~

*hyena screech* THIS IS SO FLUFFY OMG I CAN’T-

Taglist: @rosiehufflepuff @beforeoursunsets @typewriting101 @sadgirlnumber92899

[mellow-em]

Bittersweet Temptations

CHAPTER 3

[special dts: @bluewingedangel @siennamariia <3]

Your neighbors, Nathan and Elena, have been friends with your parents for years. Whether it’d be family gatherings or vacations, they were around; they were family. But when you return home from your final years of college, what will happen when you find that it isn't just them living in the house next door anymore?

_____________________________________

I wanted to say something.

I knew based on the long expressions plastered across their faces, that they were waiting impatiently for me to say something too.

But I physically couldn’t.

A knot cemented itself at the back of my throat, suffocating me as I tried to swallow. I could feel my mouth suffer through a drought as I did so.

All I could do was look at the three of them, internally wallowing in embarrassment with a load of questions making my head spin.

How could Nate and Elena keep something like that from me? What were they thinking? No. What was I thinking?

Suddenly, the voices of people scattered amongst the yard became too loud. Though, the stares directed towards me were louder.

“Y/n can you say something?”

Without even thinking, I felt my body turn away from them, and I carried myself away.

“Y/n?” I could hear Elena calling after me.

“I’ll just be a minute” I finally croaked back to her, relieved that I could finally get a word out.

I rushed past the deck towards the side of the house.

I knew in the back of my mind that I was being ridiculous. It wasn’t something to run away from; knowing they probably felt just as awkward telling me.

But I had to get away from Sam.

I couldn’t bear standing there while his smug grin could be seen in the corner of my eye.

It was driving me crazy.

Why does he insist on making this hard on me?

I continued to let my feet travel, not even worried about where I would end up. It felt good to step away from the chaos that my parents organized, for a while anyway.

But I soon found myself at the dead end of the street, in front of the wooded patches that lined the edges of the pavement; sectioning off the neighborhood from the forest.

Without any hesitation, I stepped past the barricading trees, and onto the trail that led to a place of sanctuary.

A small body of water sat on the indented ground, with blooming ferns and bushes fencing it. Farther away from the pond, large rocks collected together, forming makeshift seats to take in the atmosphere.

It looked like it belonged in a cheesy disney movie, or a landscape renaissance painting.

I found this place with Nate when I was little, and since then I would escape here when things become too much to handle.

I sat myself down on one of the largest slabs of rock, almost seeing the memories with Nate passing around me in the form of faded visuals; they were almost ghost-like.

I took myself into these moments one by one; succumbing to the laughter, the playfulness, the smiles, the thrill.

Even though I love my parents more than anything, the bundles of memories Nate and I shared, showed me a glimpse of adventure that my parents couldn’t give me.

The overwhelming feeling of contentment pushed a smile onto my face.

But in an instant, it all faded.

Sam.

That one moment with him feasted on my conscious mind like a ravenous vulture. It made my stomach churn in the worst possible way.

I sunk my head into my hands, huffing in frustration.

That is, until I heard a few raucous cracks of leaves and sticks not too far from me.

I fix my posture while whipping my head towards the direction of the noise, only to be met with guilty eyes.

Nathan stood there, leaning his upper body on the stiff trunk of a tree.

Perfect timing, Nate..

My lips flatlined as I scratched at the corner of my forehead, “Hey.”

He steps closer, leisurely but surely.

“Hey,” he gestures to the vacant space next to me, “can I?”

“Yeah.”

Placing both of his hands on his thighs, he plops down next to me, slightly grunting. We sat there in silence; but it wasn’t peaceful, it was impatient.

The both of us were longing to say something to one another, but neither of us preferred confrontation in the slightest. So we sat there, staring at the grove.

“It’s been a while since we’ve been here.”

I look over to him, noticing the tinge of nostalgia sketched upon his features.

“uh yeah.. yeah it really has,” I release a breath, reverting my eyes back to the pond, “almost 5 years.”

It was two days before I left for college. Screaming echoed throughout the house, and reverberated through my head, overwhelming my senses.

My parents chalked it up to being stressed over ‘my big move,’ which I can believe. But the words said that day pushed its way through me. I finally had enough of the nonsense and hollered back at them.

Big mistake. ‘you’re an absolute failure’ They said, ‘you’re never gonna go far.’

Long story short, I ran out of the house, and into the forest. I sat on this same rock, with tears planting glistening streams down my face.

Nate apparently heard the commotion, which wasn’t too surprising, and he made his way to me.

He didn’t even say a word before wrapping his arms around me; embracing me with a comforting warmth that slowly eased me back to normal.

‘Sic Parvis Magna,’ He said.

I was more than confused with those few words, until he began to speak once more.

‘Greatness from small beginnings. Now this isn’t exactly small, you know, with you leaving me here to go to college and all. But it is a new beginning- your new beginning. Don’t let anyone stop you from moving forward.’

That was the last day I saw this beautiful spot of ours, and the last time I really had a solid conversation with Nate; it made the final memory bittersweet at best.

“It really hasn’t changed a bit though.”

“Probably because change is dining elsewhere,”I tried to whisper under my breath, but unfortunately, he heard me loud and clear.

I look up at him in the corner of my eye, noticing his presence fall into a sea of guilt again.

He runs his hand through his surprisingly neatened hair, letting out a sigh that releases all of his proper posture.

“Look, y/n, I wanted to tell you. I really did. But it’s just-”

“Nate all I gotta ask is why? Why would you keep something that major from me?”

I had my body fully turned to face him now, while he still remained there; slouched with his head bowed to his fidgety hands.

I could tell he was stalling, swallowing his responses with force.

“Nate. Just tell me. Please.”

His eyes closed as he exhaled, “It’s a very long story.”

“I’ve got plenty of time.”

“Not exactly.” Roars of laughter within the distance cause both of us to look at the trail leading out of the woods, “we’ve still got a party going on, which happens to be for you, if I may add-”

“Seriously Nate, you think I care?” I was growing fretful, mentally pleading for him to just give up on excuses.

His hands raised in defense, “Fine, fine, okay..”

———

It didn’t even occur to us how long we’d been out here until the streams of sunlight disappeared from the ruptures in between the trees. The day was just replaced with the beginning of nightfall.

“So you’re telling me that Sam, your brother...who was presumed dead for 15 years, dragged you out across the globe to find Henry Avery’s treasure in 3 months because a drug lord was gonna kill him if you didn’t?”

Nate stifled a low chuckle, nodding along.

“So I take it you found it and gave the son of a bitch his cut? Well, since he’s alive and all-”

“Hey, language missy.” He attempted a scolding tone, but I could see through his thin facade.

I rolled my eyes, shoving him playfully,“Haha very funny. Now answer the question mister.”

“Well, it turns out the son of a bitch was Sam. He uh- lied about the whole thing.”

My eyes widened, “Wait what? So the drug lord- the sole purpose of the treasure hunt..”

“Yep it was all bullshit.”

I averted my wide-eyed gaze from him to the pond that was now lit with the blaring lights of fireflies,“Wow. I’m surprised no one got the chance to kick him in the face.. or balls.”

“Yeah Rafe- he pretty much took care of that one..”

The both of us laughed, causing a few birds to flutter away from the branches closest to us.

I missed this.

“Figured I’d find you two here.”

As our fit died down, we glanced over to a beaming Elena emerging from the trail with her arms crossed over her chest.

“I told your parents that you were comin’ over with us. I assumed you wanted some space from all the chaos.”

I showed my relief in the form of a warm simper, up until the realization punched me in the face.

Sam is gonna be there.

My body tensed, becoming a stiff statue in place. The lack of saliva in my mouth was back, and I felt my breath hitch silently.

I guessed the two of them noticed my change in demeanor.

“Are you okay y/n? You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Elena’s tone was gentle, as her grin faltered slightly.

“No no it’s fine it’s just- it’s nothing don’t worry,”I abruptly stood up, scratching at my forehead again, “lets go, back.”

“You sure?,” I felt Nate’s arm fall over my shoulders, giving me a faint squeeze as the three of us trudged down the path.

I needed to take my mind off of Sam, hopefully I can avoid him.

“Yeah..” my voice trailed off, “as long as I get to play a certain game that I happened to have the highest score of.” walking confidently with my head held high, I could still see Nate rolling his eyes.

“Actually, Elena has since claimed that title for herself.” Nate said frankly.

A dramatic gasp escapes my lips,“Elena, are you kidding me!”

“Hey, don’t get mad at the pregnant lady here,” she looks back at Nate and I as we continue to walk down the trail, “how about this: you two compete to try and beat my high score.”

Nate looks down at me with the same contemplative look I give him.

“And what’s the catch, hun?” Nate asks.

“Loser gets pushed or thrown into the pool.”

Well well well, Elena’s finally getting in on our shenanigans.

I smirked, “This is gonna be light work.”

“Oh really now? I just know you’re secretly afraid that I’m gonna win.”

“Sure, Nate. I’m not gonna lose, you’re all bark and no bite.”

It was his turn to let out a theatrical breath,“How dare you accuse me of such a thing?”

While Nate and I went on with our child like banter, Elena laughed hysterically at our foolishness,“You two are absolutely ridiculous.”

Nate glances back at me, only this time his fist patiently waited in front of me for a fist bump, “you ready to get destroyed?”

I scoff, hitting my fist on his, “You’re on.”

[dreaminpetals]

could i request hcs for naib and Jjseph reacting to their gn s/o coming back from a match severely wounded? like broken bones or having been left to bleed out (i saw someone hc that bleeding out feels like actually dying and someone else hc that the surv is left in a comatose state while they recover from exsanguination and i RAN with it)

🔪 naib and joseph react to mortally wounded s/o . . . 🎞

tw: emetophobia and blood

NAIB SUBEDAR ;;

art credit

♡ jack had left you to bleed out after being rescued. he chased martha all the way across moonlit while you writhed in pain inches away from the rocket chair. it was so excruciating that you considered chairing yourself so you could seek medical help immediately, but your legs were broken. you couldn't move an inch.

♡ once you finally went comatose, you faded back to the manor and martha hopped into the dungeon, panicking when she saw the blood pooling below you.

♡ his foggy blades had ripped through everything you had and you weren't looking good. you were rushed to the emergency wing where emily tended to you. the doctor was thankful you were comatose, because if you were conscious the disinfectants she used were so strong you would have let out screams of agony that she could never forget.

♡ naib burst through the doors the moment he heard of your condition. he kicked a hole in the wall when he saw how many machines you were hooked up to.

♡ had he been there, he never would have let this happen. martha is young, inexperienced. she wouldn't have been willing to sacrifice herself for you either. naib would have broken all of his bones himself if it could save you from simply bruising one.

♡ the usually stoic naib was wracked with grief, hiccuping back sobs and clinging to your bandaged frame. emily's heart broke as she heard him mutter "don't go, please baby don't leave me," whenever your breathing would spike.

♡ naib is furious with himself and with everyone who let this happen to you. his fists shake his rage and he nearly bites the head off anyone who tries to speak to him.

♡ none of the other survivors can console him. when he does leave your room, his actions are frantic and his interactions with others are limited. naib has complete hope that you'll wake up and he doesn't want to miss it. also, as much as he doesn't want to admit, he wants to be the first thing you see when you rise.

♡ the doctor and mercenary grew quite close over their shared anguish for you. naib would take your vitals as you slept and help flush out your IVs when necessary. he has some experience with tending to wounded soldiers so he knows all about the proper procedures for you.

♡ however, he's never seen something like exsanguination before. he can't bear to see you be drained. naib has seen plenty of disturbing and life altering sights but he needs to step out of the room when his lover is undergoing such a process. it would traumatize him more than your status already has.

♡ he cries himself to sleep every night. the thought of losing you claws the breaths out of his throat. he pulls up a bed beside yours and stays stationed there all night, only leaving when necessary.

♡ your steady breaths in the dead of the night help to ease his nerves but he can't stay asleep for too long in case that breathing stops and he isn't able to save you again.

♡ on the day you're scheduled to wake up, naib prepares a feast and a bouquet for you. you receive several bouquets from your friends, but naib consulted emma for the best, most romantic flowers to choose.

♡ your eyes flutter open to the sight of naib jogging towards you, eyes as wide as saucers as his fingers run through his hair in disbelief. so overjoyed he can't form a single word. he peppers you with kisses and his hot tears drip onto your cheeks.

♡ the bags under his eyes are a sign that naib hasn't been boding well with your affliction. pull him into your chest, mindful of any tubes you may still be connected to, and let him rest there. speak every once in a while or card your fingers through his chestnut hair stained with sweat so he knows that you're still with him.

♡ when he wakes up to you smiling down at him, he knows things will be okay. of course he'll be extra protective of you, but this has taught him that you won't go down without a fight. it's a tad reassuring for the mercenary.

♡ once you're able to walk and fight again, naib never lets you play against jack again for good measure, and he never leaves your side during matches. it doesn't matter how many rescuers the team has, naib is staying. and he's not letting you out of his reach, never again.

JOSEPH DESAULNIERS ;;

art credit

♡ joseph knows what courting a survivor entails. you're going to be hurt by the people he lives with and there's nothing he can do about it. he warns everyone to be gentle with his s/o, but the photographer's words fall to deaf ears during grisly rank matches.

♡ this match was one of those. one where zero survivors made it past the exit gate and the feaster was left to triumph over his four victims.

♡ you had been left to bleed out after reaching your self heal limit. hastur's mighty tentacle whipped you stronger than usual, breaking your ribs and leaving you wheezing for air. the red waves of pain that pulsed through your body with every breath left you a bawling puddle on the ground, curling into a fetal position as you silently pleaded to a god that wasn't listening for the last kiter to be chaired already.

♡ mike was finally stuffed into a chair and flown back to the manor while you oozed into the ground and landed on the cold tiled floor of the manor with a thud. he gasped when he saw your condition and alerted emily right away.

♡ laying in the hospital bed, joseph teleported into the room with knitted brows and a green tint to his complexion. the sheen of bile on his chin told you he had thrown up before arriving.

♡ your approaching lover, screaming as he saw your eyes close, was the last thing you witnessed before passing out for days.

♡ as far as joseph knew, you were dead.

♡ for the second time in his life, he lost the most important person to him. he shrieked and whimpered out sobs that chilled emily to the bone. she had to explain right away that you were alive, only comatose, and you were expected to make it through.

♡ the photographer didn't believe her. he saw the bones sticking out of your torso and the blood staining your shirt, he wasn't blind. his lover was dead.

♡ emily had to politely usher him out of the room as she and aesop went to work on your body, draining the blood to restore you to your former glory. this has happened to survivors before and you were no exception.

♡ as they operated on you, joseph struggled to walk back to your room. he clung to the walls and tables lining the hallways of the manor but nothing could propel his legs to move. they felt like bricks, chaining him down to the cold tiles you collapsed on upon your doomed arrival.

♡ there isn't a shred of hope inside of joseph's body. he isn't an optimistic person, especially not when he saw his darling draw their final, ragged breath. you had the death rattle. the same rattle claude had in his final moments.

♡ he saw aesop approach your hospital room. joseph took this as a sign of your departure, when it really was emily asking for a second hand to improve your chances of survival. all the critical thinking skills leave joseph's body when you're in any sort of danger.

♡ for days he laid in your bed back in your bedroom and slept with your clothes until your scent drifted away, replaced with his musty one from not bathing. he didn't want to wash you off of him. there was a small fleck of your blood on his sleeve that he would cherish forever as a memento of you.

♡ just as he became obsessed with capturing people after claude's death, joseph was itching to claim some lives due to yours. firstly he was going to snap a picture of the barbaric feaster who dared to steal his love away from him, then the survivors in the match with you who could have saved you.

♡ his final photograph was going to be your gorgeous corpse so you could truly be preserved forever.

♡ dragging his camera equipment down the halls, he was promptly stopped by emily calling his name. she told him to come to the hospital wing to visit you.

♡ he was appalled that the doctor would dare to ask him to look at his dead lover while he was busy avenging them. joseph was moments away from trapping her in his camera world for all of eternity, pinning the woman down and reaching for his film, when she exclaimed that you were awake.

♡ he gripped his lens so hard it shattered and cut his hands.

♡ with a snap of his fingers, joseph teleported back to your bedside where you were eating a plain cheese sandwich, a bit groggy with a bedhead but awake.

♡ he thought he was hallucinating.

♡ but he wasn't.

♡ you perked up where you sat and he dashed into your arms, deep cries rumbling from his chest as his tears stained your gown. his nose was dripping with snot and he had an almost vacant stare on his face as he scanned your features. feeling down your body, his hands ghosted against some bloodstained bandages wrapped tightly against your torso. he could feel your heartbeat thrum beneath his fingertips. you were okay.

♡ you were okay.

♡ you were okay.

♡ joseph proposed to you and promised to murder any hunter who hurts you again. they all listen to him.

♡ though joseph's possessiveness and obsessiveness over you grew tenfold, you were never going to be hurt again and the thought lulled him to sleep every night as you snored in his arms. he was going to protect this innocent bundle sleeping with him until he drew his last breath.

[bailey-reaper]

Can I request Baroks s/o meeting Klint? Wether he's alive or as a ghost or in dream? I just need that 'protect him you have my blessings' from big bro and maybe 'be happy with them' to Barok...

A Brother's Blessings

Notes: You can indeed request that, anon! I've decided to go with Klint still being alive and to have Barok's partner be a member of the nobility.

S/O is gender neutral (they/them pronouns). Barok refers to them using petnames.

Content Warnings: none.

"Bother!" Klint beamed as he came to greet Barok and his plus one as they alighted from their carriage, "I'm so glad you decided to come along," he turned his attention to his little brother's sweetheart, "And this must be the one who managed to capture my little brother's heart..."

"Klint..." Barok coughed, blushing, "There's no need to make a fuss..."

"Come now, when will there be a better time to make a fuss?" he asked, blue eyes glittering with delighted mischief over the chance to fluster his adorable little brother.

It was a look Barok knew all too well.

They giggled, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lord van Zieks."

"Pffft, please," Klint laughed, "Call me 'Klint', or 'big brother', if you like. We're practically family!"

"Huh?" the blush that was warming Barok's cheeks spread to the hoods of his ears.

"Well, if you insist, big brother Klint," they were grinning just as impishly as their new-found sibling, "Thank you very much for inviting me to attend this celebratory ball and congratulations on your wedding."

"Why thank you," he made a shallow bow, before stealing a peep at his blushing baby brother, "You have excellent taste, little brother."

"....." Barok sighed, he should have known these two meeting would be a very dangerous combination, and yet he couldn't be happier to see them getting along. After all, his brother's approval was important to him. He smiled slightly, "... Thank you."

"Let's go inside! It's far too chilly for standing out here teasing my little brother, he's the only one who gets to keep warm!"

". . . . . Very droll," he mumbled, blushing all the more.

──────≪⊰✥⊱≫───────

The ball had been arranged so that those among the aristocracy who refused to leave London still had their chance to indulge in a moment of celebration and high society gossiping. Klint knew all too well how important it was to keep favour with (and keep an eye on) his noble peers.

Barok took his beloved's hand and escorted them into the impressive ballroom. It was an incredibly luxurious space: chandeliers spilled glittering light over the floor, while several tables had been set up with beautiful floral arrangements of opulent red roses and delicate white baby's breath; there were various heavy drapes of crimson fabric with golden edges and in the centre of it all was a beautiful dance floor that looked fit for a fairy tale story between a prince and princess.

"It's so beautiful," they whispered, looking around in awe.

"Yes... Lord Baskerville really did make a point of showing off his wealth to everyone," Barok remarked, knowing full well what this display was all about -- a message to the other families of just how wealthy and influential the Baskervillers were; and now that his daughter was married to the Master of the van Zieks household, their status was all the more secure.

"Does it bother you?" they asked him softly as he led them toward the dance floor.

"Hm? Does what bother me?" he asked as he took his beloved in his arms and swayed them gently in time to the music that a live orchestra was playing.

"This... way that noble families show off?"

"I certainly don't see the point of it," Barok conceded, "But my brother and his wife look as if they're in a happy world of their own, so I don't mind what these nobles do with their time or their money."

So long as Klint was happy, he was happy.

"That's true, they do look blissfully unaware don't they?"

"Mm-hm, he's always like that when Lady Baskerville is around... one time he walked straight into a fountain because he was too busy looking at her."

They laughed, "Really?!"

"Oh yes. At first she only remembered him as 'the one who walked in to a fountain'. Took a while for his reputation to improve..."

Somehow that sounded just like Klint.

"I do hope you're not slandering my good name, little brother?" Klint said as he walked over with his wife by his side, "Now, if you don't mind, Barok, I'd love to cut in."

"And I'd love the chance to dance with my new little brother," Lady Baskerville said with a smile that belied the same impishness as her husband's. They were undoubtedly a formidable couple.

Barok sighed, ".... With the two of you looking at me like that, I fear I don't have much of a choice in the matter."

"Very astute," Lady Baskerville said with a smile, "You don't," she offered him her hand and was duly led away to dance.

Klint grinned, "Isn't she amazing?"

"Yes," they replied, as they accepted Klint's hand and took up a rather energetic waltz with the older van Zieks sibling; it took a bit of time to adjust to his far bolder, swifter movements, but once they got the hang of it they felt able to finish their thought, "As I understand it, amazing enough to warrant an impromptu dip in a fountain."

"Oh Gods!" Klint laughed, "He told you that, did he? Goodness... how embarrassing... never mind! I left quite an impression in her mind, and now she's my wife, so it didn't damage my chances..." despite the movements being somewhat like a waltz, Klint was clearly a fan of being unpredictable and occasionally he would twirl his dance partner as if taken by some spontaneous mischief.

"It certainly seems you were quite memorable, but then you and your brother are both rather striking regardless of whether or not you walk into water features."

He chuckled, "Yes... I suppose we are a good head taller than most of our peers... we definitely stand out in that regard," they nodded in agreement, "Now... I wanted to thank you."

"Thank me?"

"For giving my little brother such splendid companionship. He talks about you incessantly and he always smiles as he does so. It's a relief for me to see him truly happy, truth be told I always worried that he might end up as some sort of tragic hermit, given that he's so focused upon his studies..."

"Oh.... as far as I'm concerned, I'm the lucky one. Barok's wonderful."

Klint smiled fondly, "Hm. You two are clearly made for each other... you have my blessing, take good care of Barok for me will you? No matter what happens, I feel as though I can be safe in the knowledge that he's found his soulmate."

"Ah...." tears prickled at the corners of their eyes, "Thank you, Klint... your blessing means a lot to me, not just to me, I know Barok will be thrilled too."

"Yes... he does look up to me rather a lot... but it relieves me to know that he's found another to hold in such high regard."

They continued to dance.

"You look much lighter these days," Lady Baskerville observed as Barok led her in a dance, "It's lovely to see you looking so fondly at that one. They really do mean a lot to you, don't they?"

He coughed, trying to focus on keeping his steps in time to the music, "... Yes... they're very important to me...." they were the light of his life.

She smiled and nodded, "I'm very pleased for you both, I wish you all the best Barok."

"Thank you, milady..."

"Oh please, you can call me 'Big Sister' you know?"

"... You're just as incorrigible as Klint..."

She smiled, clearly delighted, "Thank you for noticing."

At the end of the night, Klint laid a hand on his brother's shoulder, "That one is very special brother, make sure you enjoy every moment and I shall be eagerly waiting for you to deliver my invitation to your wedding."

Barok choked on the glass of champagne he was drinking...

[nishigo]

growing. // razor headcanons and writings. // chapter one.

a book titled “growing.”

[ c h a p t e r 1 : false reality. ]

the synopsis reads: razor and the dear reader have gotten themselves into quite the mess. miscommunications and raised voices lead to an argument that was more heated than a flaming flower. although healing takes time, could a wound this large be repaired? aka fighting and making up with razor headcanons.

authors note: hello traveler. pleasure to see you again in this library. this book is a mixture of headcanons as well as writing that i have made into a three part short series. i was going to make it one, but i got carried away because razor is an absolute sweetheart. i do hope you enjoy, and the 3 chapters (aka parts) will come out at around 7:30 pm est. this is because i am trying to do some winter break school work. but please, let me stop rambling. i’ll leave you to it, enjoy the book. :) (also sorry for the repost. i noticed a mistake. ^^”)

word count : 1,222 words.

tw: this part entails an argument. a bit angsty, so if you don’t like yelling, please be cautious dear reader! (*´-`)

request status at time of posting : open.

[ chapter one. ] [ chapter two. ] [ chapter three. ] 

in which it began with happiness and hope, yet ended with the crushing of a dream.

would you like to read?

＞　行｡ ( y e s )

＞　不行 。( n o )

------

you and razor had been dancing around your feelings for each other for quite some time now.

ever since you met the boy in wolvendom, you had found him to be the most precious being you had ever met.

although, despite this, he wasn’t used to humans and their ways because of how he was raised, so a big roadblock between the two of you was communication.

at first, it was cute, the way his sentences were always short, sweet, and oblivious.

“y/n, smell good. better than meat.”

^ you decided to take that as a compliment rather than an insult.

and his sweet gifts he would give such as some boar meat he had hunted down or some apples he had found lying on the ground were one of the ways you knew he was on good terms with you.

however, you were beginning to get frustrated.

you had fallen in love with the boy due to his sweet nature (and i mean, looks as well; have you seen him? he’s absolutely a pretty boy, even if he doesn’t know it)

but because you could never tell what he was thinking (or rather, he didn’t know what he was thinking), it began to eat you up inside

did razor like you? was he in love with you? would razor date you? or would he consider it mating? how do wolves even mate each other??? bark bark woof woof fall in love??

so many questions, all with no answers.

so one day, you came to wolvendom yourself.

granted, razor wasn’t the main reason for you doing so, you had to hunt for some extra meat and some fruit for your mission you had to partake in tomorrow.

you hadn’t been able to come to the forest for quite some time, so when razor saw you coming over, he practically bounded over to you and stopped right up near your face.

“y/n!” he called your name, an excited look on his features

you froze as you heard your voice, turning and watching as he came at the speed of light right towards you.

there was that smile he had.

a tiny piece of you melted on the inside as he rocked back and forth from heel to toe, but it disappeared as your hands gently took both sides of his shoulders.

------

You inhaled softly as you stared at him. Your eyes held a different look to them today, Razor’s face was morphing into one of confusion as he tilted his head cutely. He truly did act like an overgrown puppy in a human's body. How sweet...

No, wait. No time to get distracted, you had to ask now. You decided that being blunt would be the best course of action as you exhaled. Summoning all the courage you had, you simply inquired,

“Razor, do you love me?”

Razor scrunched up his eyebrows and crossed his arms. Love? What was that? Was it a new meat he had never heard about? Perhaps it was a dish. But then why would you be the meat? He was lost. “Love? What is love?” You scoffed as you glared at him.

“Don’t play dumb with me! I know you don’t know a lot of emotions, but this is not the time to fool around! You know what love is, Razor. It’s a basic emotion, like happiness or sadness. Do you love me?” You repeated, but this time the tension began to rise as he began to get defensive. Why were you suddenly so aggressive with him? He had answered your question honestly, wasn’t that what you wanted? The boy felt the grip of your hands on his shoulders grow a bit tighter and he felt trapped. Restriction of freedom was something that made him panic quick having grown up in the forest. Razor quickly slapped one of your hands away, beginning to fight a bit as he took a step back. Then, in his little brain, he concluded that he would give an answer. After all, if he didn’t know what something was, he should not trust it. It was in his instinct of sorts, and instinct was always right. Well, at least to him.

“No! No, Razor does not want love with you! No love, no no no!” He yelled out, frustrated at your brashness and your tone. Whatever this love thing was, he wasn’t into. Not if it made you so upset. Though, sadly, his misinterpretation caught you off guard as your face went blank. Your other hand let go of him, staring into, or rather past, his blood red eyes, as if he were a ghost.

He was...just being nice? All this time? The apples, the boar, the smiles, laying under the stars together, that meant...nothing to him? Not a spark of love, no feelings? He didn’t feel the same, electrifying rush you got whenever you simply even saw him? You had been combing the stars in the sky for some sort of sign, but alas, you ended up empty handed. All your wishes, his gestures, all the time and commitment you had spent up on this one boy was futile.

The realization made its way onto your face as your eyes began to turn watery. You sniffled a bit as you watched him simply stand there and watch you crumble. It felt embarrassing, it made your hands clammy. Your cheeks flushed, your eyes were devoid of color. He felt something in the air as he stared at you now, a tad curled in on yourself. It was dense, crushing, and uncomfortable. It was like suffocating, which made him confused. Razor concluded that both of you could still breathe, the two of you weren't being hurt, yet…

Why did his chest suddenly feel so heavy?

“Y/N, why face? Why I-” Razor would begin walking towards you to try and make it all better, his gloved hand coming up to your hand, but you took multiple steps back.

“I’m s-sorry. I have to g-go. Forget a-about it.” You put it simply before you dashed off, down the plains and through the shrubs and trees. Razor attempted to follow you, but because of the thicket of trees, he had lost you. At the edge of the forest, he looked around but for some reason, you had disappeared like magic. Gone with the wind you went, leaving just him being more confused and weighed down than ever.

------

you ran back to mondstadt and back to your little inn where you were staying. the holes in communication were now painstakingly obvious as you sat on your bed and held your head in your hands.

he really...didn’t love you.

understandably, you were in tears. it was the first time you had fallen in love with someone for goodness sakes, and to get rejected? it was worse than getting slashed with a sword on the battlefield.

remembering you had to travel once more to the falcon coast for your mission, you decided to distract yourself and then sleep it off.

what’s even worse was that you were going to ask him to come with you. your first adventure together outside of wolvendom!

...hah, as if that would ever happen now.

being with razor was only a dream now.

and in reality, dreams don’t come true.

[flippin-fins]

Take this sinking boat and point it home

Summary: Post-Hawkmoth defeat, Marinette picks up the pieces of Adrien to make sure he knows what it's like to have a real family

Read on AO3

“Do you think he has a family?”

Chat’s words scattered her thoughts, and it took Ladybug a minute to remember where she was. They had just finished patrol, but recently had begun delaying their departures, spending more time on rooftops, enjoying each other’s company.

She turned her head to look at her partner. “Who?”

“Hawkmoth. Do you think he has a family?”

“I mean, I guess. Doesn’t everyone?”

“Do you think they know? Know he’s doing this? There has to be some kind of reason, right? Some motivation for all of this?” With one hand, Chat motioned to the city around them.

“Maybe they are his motivation, maybe he’s motivated by love.”

“Do you think they love him?”

“Chat, everyone has someone that loves them.”

Chat stilled at her words, and Ladybug held back the question on the tip of her tongue. ‘Don’t you?’

“Yeah, I guess so.” His words came out stilted, stiff, and Ladybug wished she could take her words back.

She never knew what to make of him when he responded like that. It always felt like those reactions came out of nowhere, an invisible minefield she had no right to ask about.

“I don’t think they would know,” Ladybug whispered. “Maybe he thinks what he’s doing is right, but I have to believe if he has other people in his life, they would try to convince him to stop.”

“Sure, maybe.” Chat was still looking out over the city, but his eyes were slightly unfocused, and she knew his mind was still elsewhere. “Why does he even want our miraculous?”

He finally turned to look at her, and Ladybug tried to contain her surprise. He didn’t know?

After a moment, she realized he really didn’t know. “The wish. If you combine the black cat miraculous,” she motioned to his hand, “and the ladybug miraculous,” and motioned to her ears, “you can make a wish. There’s some sort of major consequence though, but I guess he either doesn’t know or doesn’t care.”

“A wish,” Chat echoed, turning back to look at the lights of the city. “What would you wish for?”

“There’s so many consequences, Chat, I wouldn’t want to wish for anything.”

“But if you could?” There was something in her voice, something that tugged at her.

“If there were no consequences, if I could have a wish, I dunno. I guess I’d wish to not have the weight of the city on us at 14. I think I’d wish for more time to just be a teenager.” Ladybug shrugged. “What about you, Chat? What would you wish for?”

He stays silent, still looking out into the night.

She wants to reach out, to know where his mind is, but maybe he didn’t hear her. Or maybe he’s thinking of the best pun to fit with his wish.

So she sits, and waits.

She almost forgot her question by the time he finally speaks, barely audible over the sounds of the city.

“I think I’d wish for my mom. Wish my family was whole again.”

His words haunt her that night, when sleep can’t come. His wish, and his earlier reaction.

But it was fine, probably just a bad night.

~~~

“I guess he did have a family.”

Ladybug turned to her partner, wide-eyed. She thought back to that evening on the roof a few years ago, when Hawkmoth’s identity was just an idea, not an actual person who was currently being loaded into the back of a police car.

They had retreated to a nearby roof, not ready to face reporters and their questions.

Chat didn’t deserve that. He deserved a moment of peace, of being able to step away from the situation and hopefully take a deep breath.

Last night wasn’t how she’d wanted to find out her partner’s identity, but at the realization of who Hawkmoth was, he had insisted. He’d been right, after all. Finding out who he was while facing off with their biggest enemy would have thrown Ladybug off, easily causing them to be defeated. Snatching the element of surprise from Hawkmoth had been important.

All she wanted to do now was drag him to her home, wrapping him in blankets and making sure he had all the pastries and hot chocolate he wanted, and snuggle in with him as he worked through everything that had happened that evening.

But the police had asked them to stay.

She’d negotiated with them, forcing the police to allow the duo to leave the immediate scene, offering to stay in the nearby area, visible in case they were needed. But there was no way she was letting Chat Noir stay there, no way she was letting Gabriel Agreste glare at his son, running his mouth and traumatizing him further.

Ladybug had expected him to beg for forgiveness, beg for freedom. The vitriol he spit was worse, and Chat’s statue impersonation at her side made her want to flinch at almost everything he said.

She’d never been more thankful to have her parents.

Ladybug had considered destranforming and calling her parents, asking them to pick her and Chat up. She probably should give them a heads up before bringing him home, but Ladybug had a feeling her parents wouldn’t mind. He’d always been told he could have a home there, and she could already picture her parents bringing extra pillows and blankets to her room, expecting someone would be taking in the model.

She should probably call them anyway, just to let them know she was okay.

Chat rested his head on her shoulder, and Ladybug’s hand came up automatically to run her fingers through his hair.

“He doesn’t have to be your family.”

Chat snorted, not moving to look at her. “It seems like it would be pretty difficult for Adrien Agreste to separate from the Gabriel Agreste legacy.”

“Sure, but you can make your own family. Nino and Alya and me,” Ladybug tried to contain her blush, or at least minimize her hesitation. “Even my parents would be happy to give you the family you should have had. They all love you.”

“Do you love me?”

Ladybug sucked in a breath. In all the madness or the evening, she had forgotten her school crush was also the partner she’d started to fall for. Forgotten she hadn’t told him who the other boy had been.

“Come home with me.” She reached out for his hand, squeezing it.

He finally sat up, turning to look at her. The hint of a smile ghosted his features, and it took everything in her to not wrap him in a hug and carry him off the roof.

“You know I’ll follow you anywhere.”

Letting go of his hand, she flicked his bell. “Then come on, let’s make sure this stray kitty finds a home.”

~~~

Clutching the coffee mug in her hands, Marinette’s eyes were glued to the television.

Images of last night flashed on the screen in front of her, and a video of Gabriel Agreste being loaded back into a police car stayed in the corner on repeat.

She kept an ear on the trapdoor to her room, hoping Adrien would stay asleep. She had taken his phone from him, hiding it so he couldn’t check the internet for mentions of him or his father. Marinette had been hoping to keep him calm, to make sure he knew he was safe, but it hadn’t mattered. He’d been up all night with grief stricken eyes and she’d been there, holding him while he broke into pieces in front of her. He’d finally fallen asleep as the sun started to rise, so with a slight motion to the kwamis, Marinette had slipped out of the room.

Tikki had offered to join her, but Marinette knew she had missed Nooroo and Duusu and waved her off. Tikki and Plagg could come find her if Adrien woke up, if he needed her.

Marinette’s phone buzzed and she barely glanced down before answering.

“You were there.”

Alya’s voice wasn’t questioning, but instead accusatory.

Marinette nodded as she spoke, as if Alya could see her. “Ladybug was there.”

“No one knows where Adrien is. Nino can’t get a hold of him, and you didn’t call Rena or Carapace last night so he’s even more stressed. The news says that Ladybug and Chat Noir took off when no one was paying attention, not answering any questions. You were there and couldn’t be bothered to reach out, to let me know you were okay.”

“We had other things on our mind.”

“Marinette, please,” Alya’s voice, her begging, snapped Marinette out of her transe.

Guilt radiated through her, and Marinette realized she should have called them. The two of them deserved to at least know she and Adrien were okay.

“Are you with him?”

Marinette chewed her nail for a moment. “Are you with Nino?”

“Of course I’m with Nino. We’ve been trying to contact both of you, and it’s easier if we can turn to the other and share whether or not we’ve gotten a hold of either of you.”

“How soon can you both come over?”

Marinette flinched as she heard Alya snap. “Nino, let’s go. We need to get to Marientte’s.”

A muffled voice responded. The only word Marinette caught was ‘Adrien’. She really should have called them last night.

“Alya, you really don’t have to drop everything. I just figured it would be easier to explain in person.”

“It’s too late, we’re already on our way. We’ll be there soon.”

The line clicked before Marinette could respond.

“Marinette?”

Marinette turned to the small voice that called her name.

Tikki floated in the air in front of her.

“Is he awake?” Her eyes flicked to the stairs and she took a step towards her room.

“No no, I just wanted to check on you. Last night was a lot. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Marinette shrugged. “Alya and Nino are on their way, so they can fill in with any extra support for Adrien.”

“But Marinette, I asked how you are doing.”

Marinette opened her mouth to respond, but a black blur cut her off.

“Sugarcube, can you keep an eye on the kitten for a minute? I need a word with your girl.”

Marinette stifled a laugh at Tikki’s face, but she turned and floated upstairs without a retort.

“I’m sorry, Plagg, I don’t have any Camembert. Would Brie be okay for you? At least until I get to a store?”

“We both know that’s not why I’m here.”

Marinette sighed, walking over to the kitchen sink to wash out her mug.

She couldn’t look at him as she spoke. “Do you think he’ll be alright? I should have seen this, should have done more.”

“How would you have seen this? You think I’m not upset? He was stuck in that house! Nooroo and Duusu were right under my nose this whole time!”

Marinette turned around, leaning her hip against the counter. She didn’t know what to say, how to talk to him without wanting to cry about how bad Adrien’s situation had been, about how she hadn’t even noticed.

“Alya and Nino are coming over, so you might have to make yourself scarce for a bit.”

“Am I not good enough to be around your friends?”

She glared at him for a moment. “Well Alya already knows about Tikki, but unless you want to reveal Chat Noir’s identity without his knowledge, maybe we should wait until he’s awake before you harass our friends.”

Plagg huffed at her.

Marinette lifted her hand to her face, barely stopping herself from biting her nails.

“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to make it okay.”

“Pigtails, you just have to be there. I don’t think he needs anything else right now. Just friends.”

“Just a friend,” Marinette mumbled.

Plagg opened his mouth, but a knock on the door stopped him.

Marinette started to walk towards the door. “Have Tikki let me know if he wakes up.”

“You don’t want him to see his friends?”

Marinette paused, her hand on the doorknob. “I don’t want to wake him and bring him back to all the pain he felt before he fell asleep.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a black blur go through her trapdoor.

Marinette tried to smooth her hair and plant a smile on her face as she opened the door.

Nino’s concerned eyes search her face as Alya launches herself at Marinette.

“I was so scared and you didn’t text me back and my parents wouldn’t let me go out so I couldn’t be there as a reporter or a friend and I had to watch the news but Ladybug and Chat Noir didn’t do any interviews and I was worried you were injured and something had happened and -”

“Would either of you like some tea?”

Marinette wished she wasn’t being smothered by Alya so she could see the reaction Nino had to accompany the noise of alarm he made.

“Nino, meet Tikki. She’s Ladybug’s Kwami.”

Of course Alya would take over introductions.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Nino. Hi, Alya. It’s lovely to see you again.”

Marinette felt one of Alya’s arms let go of her, presumably reaching out to wave at Tikki, or possibly pat the top of her head.

“Marinette, why did you have Ladybug’s Kwami? Did you steal it?”

At Nino’s words, Alya let go of Marinette to turn stare at her boyfriend.

Marinette snagged the opportunity to escape to the kitchen and turn on the kettle.

After a tense few moments, Alya spoke up. “Marinette, will you or should I?”

She tried to hold in a sigh, reaching over to grab a cookie for Tikki. “Go ahead.”

Nino glanced between the two girls, settling on Alya. She waved a hand between Nino and Marinette. “Nino, meet Ladybug. She’s much shorter in person.”

If she’d actually gotten any sleep last night, Marinette would have laughed at the way Nino’s jaw dropped as he rapidly looked between Marinette, Tikki, and Alya. Instead, she settled for a smile.

“No. No way.”

Marinette brushed some hair behind her ear, revealing her earrings. “Hey, Carapace. Nice to see you.”

“Ha ha, very funny. What’s actually happening?”

Marinette waited, letting it sink in. He stared at her earrings, then her hair, and Marinette could see him picturing her with the signature pigtails. It was clear the moment it clicked.

“Ladybug is my friend from school, the best friend to my girlfriend, and she sat behind me in class for years.”

“Yep, yes, and correct.”

Nino rubbed a hand over his face. “But we were 13 when Ladybug and Chat Noir first appeared.”

“Also true.”

The kettle whistled behind her, and Marinette turned to grab three mugs, pausing over a fourth. “Tikki?”

“Still sleeping.”

Focusing on her task, Marinette stopped her mind from wandering to the blond upstairs. She wanted to go up and check on him, but with Plagg and the other Kwamis upstairs, he was safe.

Handing Alya and Nino their mugs, Marientte grabbed hers and sat at the table. She motioned for her friends to sit with her, but Alya had already grabbed Nino and was on her way over. Nino still looked a little shell-shocked, but Alya had her reporter face on.

“Marinette, who is sleeping upstairs?”

“If they wake up and decide to come down, they can tell you themself.”

Alya frowned at her friend, but was ready to move on to the next question. Before she could speak up, Nino looked up from his tea.

“Do you know who Chat Noir is?”

Marinette choked on her drink.

“Of course not, don’t be silly. Right, Marinette?”

She avoided Alya’s eyes. “Actually, yes. He told me a couple of days ago. But I can’t tell you who he is. I’m only telling you who I am because I trust you, because Alya already knew.”

“Oh.” Nino looked back down at his drink. His eyes narrowed for a moment, and Marinette realized the television was still on, still reporting from the scene of the Agreste mansion. “Where is Adrien? He wasn’t involved, was he? Was he hurt?”

Marinette set her drink down. “He’s safe. I checked on him before I left. He had no idea about his father.”

“Of course he didn’t know. I just hope he isn’t being harassed. Has he reached out to you?” Alya reached out to grab Marinette’s wrist. “Was he okay last night? Should we have gone over?”

“I don’t think he wanted any of us to go there. I’m sure he’ll reach out when he’s ready.”

A crash sounded from upstairs and all of them jumped. Marinette and Tikki locked eyes, and Tikki passed through the ceiling as Marinette ran over to the trap door to her room. “I’ll be right back.”

She reached one hand out to open the door, but paused on the last step. “It’s me. I’m coming in, okay?”

She heard a muffled noise, and slowly opened the door just wide enough to squeeze inside, closing it behind her. The pile of blankets was a new addition to the middle of the floor.

Plagg was floating above the pile, pulling at the top of it.

“Adrien? Are you okay?”

The response was muffled, confirming her suspicions. Marinette padded over to the blankets.

“Did you roll off the bed and over the railing?”

The muffling came again.

Marinette looked at Plagg for a translation.

“He decided he wanted to come down the stairs, but was too cold to go without the blankets. Instead of throwing down a layer before moving, you know, like a normal person, he decided to take the stairs while still wrapped up. You can see how well that worked out for him.”

She stifled a giggle. Something told her that Adrien wouldn’t appreciate it.

Finding an edge, Marinette gently pulled on a blanket, revealing messy blond hair. A short moment later, green eyes followed.

She tried to ignore how red and puffy they were.

“Alya and Nino are here. They know I’m here and that I’m Ladybug, but they don’t know who is upstairs. They asked about you, but you don’t have to see them if you don’t want to.” She reached out, brushing some hair out of his face.

Adrien blinked slowly at her statements, and Marinette realized she probably should have slowly introduced any of those topics, instead of dropping them all at once.

He started moving his head around, and Marinette realized what Adrien was trying to do. She adjusted the blankets around his face, revealing his mouth.

“Which part of that do you want me to go over first?”

She busys herself with unwrapping him as Adrien decides.

“All of it?”

“You knew Alya knew my identity, and when she saw the news last night, she freaked out that I didn’t text her back. Her and Nino were together trying to get a hold of you and I, and between the news footage and hearing nothing from either of us, I think they freaked out. I invited them over, and,” Marinette grabbed Adrien’s shoulder, making sure he understood. “You are under no obligation to even see them, and I told them you would reach out when you were ready. Thanks to this,” Marinette motioned to the blankets on the floor, “and a misplaced comment by Tikki, they know someone is up here and was sleeping, but I did not tell them who. I didn’t want to say Adrien was here and have Chat Noir show up, or vice versa. As for my identity, Tikki was a little too excited to see Alya and I think she forgot about Nino’s lack of knowledge.”

“I am sorry about that, Marinette,” Tikki floated over.

“I figured he was going to know at some point. He is Carapace.”

Adrien watched them interact, Plagg floating closer to him but not quite settling on his shoulder.

Marinette turned back to her partner. “I told them Adrien was okay, well, okay enough, and that I knew Chat Noir’s identity and was in contact with him. They just wanted to check on you.” She reached out to hold his hand. “I’ll support whatever you want to do.”

“How do you trust me, after everything with-” he stopped, and Marinette squeezed his hand.

“You and me against the world, remember?”

He smiled. “Then let’s go downstairs.”

“Just you and me?” Marinette can’t help her grin.

“I think it might be time for Plagg to finally meet our friends, right?”

She really didn’t mean to knock him over. After all, she was certainly still sore from yesterday, so he probably was too. But his smile was so infectious, his happy, sunshine self so near to the surface, that Marinette couldn’t help but tackle him into a hug.

They froze at a knock on the trapdoor. “Marinette? Are you alright?”

Leave it to the reporter to check in on them.

Standing up, Marinette offered a hand to Adrien, leading him to the door. “Ready?”

“After you, Bug.”

Marinette felt herself blush, but pushed forward.

Maybe she should have offered Alya some warning, as the door opening spooked the reporter enough to stumble back down the stairs.

“Sorry, I just figured we’d come down here instead of having you come up.”

“We?” The hope in Nino’s voice made Marinette want to giggle, but nothing could prepare her for the expression on his face as her companion joined her on the stairs.

“Yeah, ‘we’. Maybe napping the day away isn’t the best choice.”

Alya’s yank on Marinette’s arm was the only reason Nino didn’t knock her over in his haste to hug his friend.

“You’ve been here the whole time? And you,” Nino turned to Marientte for a moment. “You didn’t bother to say a word?”

“I told you he was safe, that he would reach out when he could. It wasn’t my place to speak for him.”

Marinette saw in Alya’s eyes that she was connecting the dots, putting together everything that had been said. She’d always been good at puzzles.

“You’re him.”

Adrien’s head snapped towards the girls, but he forced the smile to stay light on his face. “Of course I’m him. It’s me, Adrien. Did you already forget? Don’t tell me my modeling good looks have given you amnesia.”

Alya looked at Marinette for the answer, but she couldn’t meet her friend’s gaze.

“If it was just Adrien upstairs, you wouldn’t have stopped us from going upstairs.”

“I never stopped you from going upstairs I-”

“You would have told us when we kept asking about him, You would have encouraged Nino to go see him. There was a reason you were vague about who was upstairs. If Tikki hadn’t said anything, would you have even told us?”

“Alya, I -”

“Unless you were worried about what we would find. Or who we might find.” Alya squinted her eyes. “You know his identity and you haven’t stuttered once talking around Adrien.”

“Alya it’s not -”

Alya spun around to look at Adrien. “Tell me, sunshine. Why would Marinette be afraid of what we would find if we went upstairs?”

“Oh she was probably worried about you finding me!”

Marinette and Tikki sighed as Adrien tried to snag Plagg, to hide him, even if it was too late. Nino looked ready to pass out.

Only Alya was smiling. “I was hoping for something more scandalous, but this is fine too. It’s nice to meet you. I take it you’re Chat Noir’s Kwami.”

“Chat Noir’s Kwami?”

Plagg turned around. “Is he always this slow, or is today a special occasion?”

Trying to channel her best Guardian voice, Marinette held back another sigh. “Plagg, don’t be rude. It’s understandable to be overwhelmed by learning the identities of Paris’s two main superheroes, especially when they are your friends from school.”

“But does he have to look so dumbstruck?”

“Plagg!”

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck as he looked between Alya and Nino. “Surprise?”

Nino was still wide-eyed, taking everything in, but Alya stepped forward.

Adrien stilled as Alya approached. She looked back at Marinette for a moment. “You should have called us. Rena and Carapace or Alya and Nino. I get you two are a team and self-sacrifice and do it yourself, but we were worried sick.” She pulled Adrien into a hug. “You owe us that much.”

“Alya,” Marinette warned, stepping forward and ready to drag her friend away or bring everyone down the rest of the stairs.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll take my hands off of your man.”

Marinette blushed, but before she could respond Alya was pulling her down the stairs towards the kitchen, Adrien and Nino following.

She didn’t know how it happened, but when there was suddenly pressure in her free hand, Marinette grabbed onto it like a lifeline. They’d come too far, been separated for too long. She understood he needed it as much as she did.

The four friends sat down on Marinette’s couch, as she was thankful her parents had chosen to open the bakery today, even with the craziness on the news.

Marinette didn’t realize she had tucked herself into Adrien’s side until she saw the look on her face. She moved to untangle herself, willing the reporter to put off those questions until Marientte could figure out the answers for herself, but the arm around her tightened and Marinette knew she wasn’t going anywhere.

Tikki and Plagg landed in their lap, sharing a cookie.

“Are we not going to acknowledge this?” Alya motioned between the two of them, snapping Nino’s focus from the two kwami to the duo.

“Your crush on Ladybug makes more sense.”

Marinette felt her eyes widen as Alya whipped her head towards Nino.

“You knew he had a crush on Ladybug?”

“I mean,” Nino motioned towards Marinette and Adrien, “doesn’t everyone know how Chat Noir feels about Ladybug?”

Marinette tried to turn to look at Adrien’s face, but his hold on her side kept her in place. She was pretty sure his face was pinker than usual.

“I just thought he was a big fan. How was I supposed to know he was her partner?” Nino rubbed his hand down his face. “How was I supposed to know both of my friends were out there fighting against Hawkmoth?”

Adrien’s grip slackened as he stiffened, and Marinette rubbed her hand on his arm. “You couldn’t have known. No one expected you to know. This wasn’t your fault.”

She could feel the couple’s eyes on her, but Marinette focused on the blond. “Adrien, look at me.” She reached out to pull his face, not waiting for him to move. His eyes were distant, and Marinette saw Plagg float to rest in his hair. “None of us blame you. No one should blame you.”

Whispering from the other side of the couch momentarily drew her focus. “Who would have thought that the top two people on my hit list would turn out to be the same person?”

Adrien’s watery eyes finally found her, and Marinette had to resist the urge to drag him back upstairs, to bury him in blankets and kwami hugs.

“He’s my dad,” Adrien whispered.

There was a flutter of motion, and then Alya and Nino were hugging Nino.

“He was your father. I’ll be your dad now.”

Marinette wasn’t sure if the wet laugh was from her or Alya.

“I think once my parents realize who I’ve been keeping upstairs, my dad will fight you for that title, Nino.”

Adrien’s soft crying settled across the room, and the three friends tightened their grip on him.

After a moment, Marientte leaned back to look at him.

“We’re your family, Adrien. We’ll always be your family.”

His eyes were red and puffy, but instead of the empty expression she expected to see, there was something else. Love.

How had she ever looked at Adrien and not seen her partner? How could she have looked at Chat Noir, turned down any of his flirtations? They were one and the same, someone she wanted by her side forever.

Marinette smiled at him, hoping she conveyed every thought running through her head. She leaned forward, burrowing her head into his shoulder.

Maybe tomorrow, or the next day, he would have to face the press, would have to go back to the mansion and release some kind of statement. But today, today he was here in her arms, and she knew that the best place for her to be was by his side, as long as he’d let her.

Partners, friends, family. Whatever he needed, she’d be there.

[rosella-writes]

OC Interview: Virelan

I made one of these a while back for my first Inquisitor Eliana, but I haven't done one for Virelan Lavellan! The interview takes place before the events at the Winter Palace and is conducted by an Orlesian scholar, who was invited by Josephine in order to smooth Virelan's upcoming arrival at court.

INTRODUCTION

1. Can you introduce yourself? — Virelan looks at Josephine, then sighs. "I am Virelan Lavellan, last of my clan."

2. What is your gender identity, orientation and relationship status? — Virelan's expression doesn't change, but the twinkle in her eye turns cold. She crosses her legs. "Call me 'she' if you must. And I love whom I like."

3. Where and when were you born? — "I was born in the Free Marches in 9:10 Dragon."

4. What is your weapon of choice and fighting style? — The hard line of her brow relaxes, and anyone near to her would realize that she is on the verge of a smile. "I crafted my battleaxe myself and would do it again, should it break. One day I may even have a proper name for it, should it kill anything worth a title. As for fighting style?” She bares her teeth in a rare grin. “Bloody.”

5. Lastly, are you happy? — Her brow furrows. “I am surrounded by friends and have work to do. What is happiness if not duty and the will and means to fulfill it?”

FAMILY AND FRIENDS

1. What’s your family like? What is your relationship with them? — She looks away, at Josephine as if silently begging her for something, then back towards the interviewer. “As I said, I am the last of Clan Lavellan.”

2. Have you ever ran away from home? — She softly shakes her head. “No. I was loved.”

3. Would you consider marriage or having children? — She huffs a laugh through her nose. “Is this what concerns the Empire? I do not offer my hand to any lord or lady, and my heart and will are my own. If I have children, they’ll be protected from…” She gestures. “All of this.”

4. Do you secretly hate one of your friends? — She blinks. “They wouldn’t be my friend if I did.”

5. Which friend knows everything about you? — Warmth washes over her face, even though her features don’t shift much. “Iron Bull got too much maraas-lok in me one night. He knows too much, that one.”

ASKED BY FANS

1. Are you literate? Have you been to school? — She shoots Josephine a disbelieving look, then slowly turns back to the interviewer. “I may be Dalish, my dear shem, but my father and Keeper taught me to read the moment I could walk. I am not a beast.”

2. The eeriest prediction you made that later came true? — “I don’t make a habit of predicting the future.”

3. What is something you were embarrassingly late to realize? — She snorts indelicately. “That not everyone presents themselves at face value.”

4. Do you have mental health or physical issues? — “I fail to see how this is relevant,” she mutters. “What should I say? That my hip aches when it rains? That I am swallowed by grief? Disclosing it does no good.”

5. What is your current main goal? — The light in her eyes grows sharp. “To convince Orlais and its people of the threat Corypheus poses. They will listen.”

CHOICES

1. Drink or food? — She brightens. “Drink.”

2. Cats or dogs? — “Is this relevant? Dogs, I suppose.”

3. Early bird or night owl? — She shakes her head. “My best ideas wake me in the dead of night. If I don’t scrawl them down I’ll forget. So, night owl. Or just sleepless.”

4. Optimist or pessimist? — The corner of her lip curls. “I hope for the best and prepare for the worst. One day at a time.”

HAVE YOU EVER

1. Been caught sneaking out? — “Never.” She shoots Josephine a furtive glance. “I can be very quiet if need be.”

2. Broken a bone? — She winces. “Some more than once. Luckily we have very… capable healers in the Inquistion.”

3. Received flowers? — A strange, melancholy smile plays in her eyes only. “A basket of them, once.”

4. Ghosted someone? — “No. It’s better to speak one’s mind.”

5. Pretended to laugh at a joke you didn’t get? — She finally gives the interviewer a true smile. “Only if an Orlesian tells it.”

If you’d like to write up your own OC interview, tag me so I can see! 💚

[songbirdsingingthings]

Chapter One: The Social Season Begins

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters, they belong to Kohei Horikoshi

A/N: This is my first multiple chapter fic! I was heavily inspired by Netflix’s Bridgerton, but I do not intend to stick to its script. The show and the fic are meant to be seat during the early 19th century (1810 -1830) so a lot of things like technology will not be present. Also, this is a quirkless au so no one is going to posses any powers. I plan for this fic to be between 8 and 12 chapters, but we’ll see as we go along. I hope you all enjoy <3!

Next Chapter ~ Series Masterlist ~ Main Masterlist

Word Count: 1.9K

When social season rolled around, all bets were off. The most vicious of claws and fangs were disguised by beautiful dresses and headpieces, followed by the batting of eyelashes and the oh so precarious movements of feathered fans. It happened every year - hundreds of Musutafu’s young ladies braved the social scene in the pursuit of a husband either of their own status or higher. This year was no exception, in fact, it was shaping up to be one of the most influential seasons to date. Several of the most eligible and prestigious lords, viscounts, and barons would be attending the numerous balls that were in the works. While it was expected of the young women to pair up and find a love-match, such relationships always proved to be half-successful. Of course they would be married and well taken care of, but too often did you hear of wives maintaining an empty manor whilst their husbands were off gallivanting at their clubs, or more likely, at brothels. This proved to be your biggest fear - you wanted the beautiful relationship your parents had. The one where your father doted on your mother, bringing her flowers on random days because he happened to see them and think of her. One where he dutifully raised their children together, never once undermining her abilities due to her gender. And one where, right up until her very last breath, he held her hand and whispered sweet nothings to her. It was a sorrowful day when your mother died, but your father carried on in her place, raising you and your elder brother in the most proper and loving way he could. This encouraged you to go forth with your head held high. You would find the one you were meant to be with and not just be a part of a silly little love-match.

“Oh Lady Yagi, you look absolutely wonderful.” With a deep breath you met your eyes in the mirror in front of you and let out a little gasp. The dress you were wearing was utterly gorgeous. It was a very pale blue, even lighter than the powder blue that covered your bedroom walls, and had the most beautiful little detailed flowers scattered across it. There weren’t enough to mistake you with a garden, but there were plenty there to compare you to the most gorgeous dogwood. The necklace that lay across your neck was much daintier than what others tended to wear but you adored it - after all, it was your mother’s. And resting softly on your head was a matching tiara with both diamonds and light blue sapphires.

“My, Mei, you have simply outdone yourself.” You whisper. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of your reflection, the twinkles and glimmers of the jewels doing wonders to accentuate your features.

“Lady Yagi, how you make me swoon,” Mei exclaims, feigning a faint. You giggle at her and swat her gently with your fan. The two of you make small talk as she adds finishing details to your look; smoothing out hairs here and there, clipping in your diamond earrings, and slipping your silk gloves onto your hands.

“Y/N, my sister, we must be heading off!” A call echoed from just outside your room, coming from the main hall downstairs.

“And not a moment too soon, my nerves have been getting the best of me.” You say, a wide smile covering your face. You descended upon the grand staircase to see both your father and your elder brother waiting for you.

“My word! Y/N, my darling, you look divine!” Your father exclaimed, walking forward to place a ghost kiss to your cheek, not daring to mess up Mei’s handiwork. You smiled at your father and looked at your brother.

“Izuku, you look quite dashing.” You tell him, earning a grin from his freckled face. “Hoping to see Lady Uraraka this evening?” A blush quickly covered his face.

“Well, yes, she had told me she would be attending earlier when we took a promenade around- hold on, this is your special evening we need to be discussing.” Izuku says, switching the topic onto you. Rolling your eyes playfully, you took his arm as the three of you made your way into the horse-drawn carriage waiting for you in front of your house. The three of you entered, your father and brother careful of your long dress, and then you were off.

“So my dear, are you excited? Nervous?” Your father asks. You smile and inspect your gloved hands.

“Both. I just wish…” you trail off. Your father leans down to meet your gaze with slight concern in his eyes.

“Wish what?” He says, urging you to continue. A small sigh escapes your mouth as you look back up.

“Father, you have done wonderfully to raise both Izuku and I without Mother here. I think both of us agree on that fact.” You begin. Izuku nods and offers the both of you a grin. “I just wish that she was here. To tell me of what she was feeling when she debuted, how she calmed the churning in her stomach.” You confess, your hands now clenched. You were met with a sad smile from your father.

“How I wish for that as well, my dear. She would always tell me how excited she was for you to embark on your own marital journey. And, while I in no means shared the same experience as she did, I can tell you of what I was feeling.” He says. You look up, curiosity flashing in your eyes.

“Please,” you say, prompting him to tell you. He laughs and leans back on the leather seated cushion.

“Well I, like your brother, had an easy time finding the women we would want to spend the rest of our lives with.” Your father’s sentence earned a blush from Izuku, but no words of contention. I suppose we will be welcoming Lady Uraraka to our family soon, you thought smiling to yourself. “I was a nervous wreck, though, when my eyes found your mother. She was absolutely divine - like the gods had graced the earth specifically with her. She was quick to forgive my nerves and the slight stutter in my voice as I introduced myself to her, and things just seemed to run its own course from there.” You could see the wistful gaze in your father’s eyes as he thought of your mother. “Inko was a most gracious woman, both in mind and beauty. And those qualities, my dear, were passed on to you.” His hand came to cradle your cheek, brushing away the tears that started to well in your eyes. “But this is no time to be in despair, no, it is time to be quite the opposite than that. It’s time for you to find love.”

The carriage stopped rather abruptly, but you didn’t care. You gathered the train of your dress in your hand and were practically buzzing by the time the footmen opened the door. Your father stepped out first followed by Izuku, the latter of which offered a hand to you as you stepped out. The venue was absolutely gorgeous, and it was no surprise considering the man hosting it. Lord Takami was a rather benevolent and expressive man and those traits bled right into his events. With lanterns dotted all over the front steps and the ballroom, candles that seemed to float in midair, and the most magnificent smelling floral arrangements you had ever seen, you understood perfectly - this was what it must’ve felt like for your mother. Out of the corner of your eye, a pretty brunette started to drift towards you and your family, a bashful smile set across her face. Before you had a chance to speak, Izuku stepped in front of you and your father.

“Lady Uraraka, what a pleasure to see you here.” Your brother says, his hand extending to her gloved one.

“It’s truly all mine, My Lord.” She responds as a shy smile flickers across her face. Izuku spares you and your father a nod and a grin before he leads Lady Uraraka towards the middle of the floor, the two melting into the dance being performed seamlessly.

“Those two make such a divine and true love-match, don’t you agree Father?” You gush. Just seeing your brother so hopelessly in love was enough to make your heart flutter.

“I do, my dear,” he chuckles upon seeing your expression, “but we are not here to solely admire them. There will be plenty of time to do that at their wedding,” your father quips, earning a laugh from you. “Let’s get you introduced and dancing, hmm?” Your evening was full of re-introducing yourself to mutual acquaintances and establishing new ones in other young men. You made sure to only dance with those you felt could be a possible match for you, but as time went on you started to lose hope. It’s not that the men were horrid by any means - well, with the exception of one Lord Mineta - but nothing about them seemed to stir your heart. You currently found yourself in a most dull conversation with Baron Ojirou.

“Forgive me, Lord Ojirou, I must get some air. All of this dancing has made me quite light-headed,” you say, excusing yourself.

“Oh! Would you like me to accompany you, Lady Yagi?” He asks nicely. You raise your hand in denial but give him a light smile.

“There is no need. I wouldn’t want to impose on your evening, I will just be a few moments.” You say, slipping away to the outdoor gardens. It was dark, but the luminescence coming from inside Lord Takami’s manor provided enough light so that you could see. You made your way over to the stone railings that bordered the rose garden and held onto it with both of your gloved hands, heaving a sigh. “My goodness…” you whisper, heaving a sigh. The night air nipped a bit at your skin but you paid no mind to it. What does catch your attention, though, was the light footsteps that were approaching you from behind. “Lord Ojirou, as I said before, there is no need-” You begin, but stop immediately when you are met with someone else. He was much different than the man you had just been recently talking to - physically more reserved, taller, and much much handsomer. Even with the scar covering the left side of his face, his presence was enough to make a woman swoon. “Forgive me.” you manage, curtsying a bit.

“Oh, no, it is I who should be apologizing. Pardon my interruption on your… outing.” He says awkwardly. This earns a slight giggle from you. 

“This was merely a simple break from the clamor inside.” you say, relaxing a bit more. Before the man could say another word, you see Izuku catch your eye from the steps.

“Y/N! There you are, Father and I have been looking everywhere- Shouto?” Your brother says shocked, his eyes meeting the man across from you.

“Izuku?” He responds, bewilderment flickering across his face.

“My word, it’s been a while! How as your father, the Duke of Endeavor, faring these days?”

“D-Duke?” You stutter out, in awe of the man’s title. Izuku catches your confusion and gives you a smile. 

“Forgive me for not introducing you! Todoroki, this is me dear sister, Y/N.” The man, now known to you as Shouto Todoroki, gave you a quick nod. “Y/N, this is Shouto Todoroki. The son of the Duke.”

[op-sheepy]

Ah, I would have tagged you in the original but I keep thinking you're being sensibly busy! So: Single Dad Doffy and also the Gargoyle AU. Cannot wait. It's decided to give my post a random number 1. I don't know why.

Haha. I still sort of am but... I’m about to get some free time (and I’m going to spend it catching up on reading XD) Dunno why your posts have numbers either... weird. ---------------------------------o

---------------------------------o Single Dad Doffy is an AU where he ends up with his estranged’s brother’s adopted son. Doffy is of course some kind of crime boss and Law is a toddler/preschooler. He doesn’t know what to do with the child but on a whim (at least that’s what he tells himself) he decides to keep him for a while. To the consternation of everyone around them...

Also featuring various marines as social workers sent to investigate Law's living conditions with Doffy.

Of course, this is just an excuse to write Doffy being clueless about taking care of Law but powering through. 

Doflamingo frowned, remembering Law dragging around a dead frog while looking for scissors. That won’t do at all. He adjusted his hold on the boy who was looking at him curiously.  

“Where are you taking him, young master?”

“Ah Vergo, perfect timing. You don’t have to get rid of the bodies from last night."

Vergo shifted uneasily as Doflamingo talked to the child in his arms, wagging his finger and booping the child's nose. “Frogs are different from people, you know?”

"May I know why?"

Doflamingo did not even glance at him, still focused on the boy as he walked towards their basement, "Law has expressed an interest in dissection.” He said simply and carried on.

“Young master, wait!”

---------------------------------o

---------------------------------o

The Gargoyle AU is the other KidLaw fic I was working on for the exchange. It was one of the prompts from @chokefriends. I’ve decided to make it longer and add more stuff so it isn't done yet but the whole outline is complete (also trying to wrap up my published wips first). 

I had two ideas for this hence the other Gargoyle AU but for this one Kid is a gargoyle under a curse he’s too lazy to break. He has powers (mostly his magnetic powers from canon). No friends and family left with his clan scattered who knows where.

Law is the rich guy (wealth recently acquired) that takes a look at this neat looking statue in one of his inherited properties and sort of falls in love (aesthetically) with it. He brings the statue inside his giant mansion.

Here’s the thing though, Kid’s curse is that he’s a statue but he transforms into a living creature under the moonlight. But he’s kinda trapped inside the mansion now so...

Law had always been observant. These strange occurrences–the cutlery shaking, the lamps flickering, thunder rumbling–can no longer be waved off as mere coincidence.

So yes, perhaps the mansion is haunted now but what does this ghost have against him that they only seem to make their presence known when he brings anyone home at night and always before he gets any relief.

To test this theory and possibly get rid of his problem, he hires a priest. Nothing happens. At least until he unsubtly tries to seduce said priest, after which the chandelier comes crashing down towards the man.

This happens as soon as Law steps far enough from the priest so he is left unscathed. And wasn't that just interesting.

---------------------------------o

Thanks for playing. :D Feel free to play again. As you can see, I have to many of these and this actually might be the only chance for some of them to see the light of day.