#tw: implied death of young children

[levmada]

PLEASE write about Levi’s mental state, i’m begging you

He’s faced death and precarious situations since he was born, yet he’s still standing strong and hopeful, WHAT THE HELL I LOVE MY SHORT KING

IT'S FINALLY HERE😭im sorry anon i hope you're around to see this and if u are i hope i dont disappoint

the tone in this analysis is so weird because i kept getting caught between 'this is an apa paper no contractions, academic language, double spacing -' and 'this is a tumblr post about a fictional blorbo wtf r u on'

i also use some scientific language i try my best to explain but if this turns anyone off i don't blame them because im unhealthily obsessed

*i'm a third-year undergraduate psychology student w/ a concentration in psychopathology

tw/cw: discussion of childhood exposure to sex (not assault)

Foreword

I’ve been putting this off for a while (I’m forgetful and this topic is intimidating what can I say), but being a year out from graduating with my bachelor’s to become a mental health professional, and being a Levi scholar(/hj), I wanted to give this a shot. 

I wanted to dissect and examine Levi Ackerman’s mental health “currently” (as in general canon), and explain as thoroughly but as simply as possible how and why he thinks and acts the way he does.

Seeing how AOT is pretty renowned for leaving out the ‘insignificant’ details, especially character details, a good majority of my assertions and even details of his life are built off of correlations and “signs and symptoms”; meaning some things could be an aspect of Levi’s personality, or a symptom of psychopathology. 

 I will examine his childhood (especially his childhood), adolescence, young adulthood, and “present” adulthood, with a short summary at the end of where he might be mentally after the war.

*Lastly, I don’t like it when things I say about a series or character are taken as fact or make it implied that someone else’s thoughts are “wrong”. This is partly built on headcanons anyway, which are influenced by my own experiences. Don’t take away from this that this is me telling you what to think.*

Childhood

The most important period of development occurs in infancy and childhood, especially from the ages of 3-6. This is when a child learns where to find security, love, and basic skills, gaining stability as they develop.

Well, Kuchel died when Levi was 4.

Maternal Love / Learning Empathy / Anxious Attachment Style

Levi was born into deep poverty within a violent unwelcoming environment. Basic physical needs must have been very hard to meet (i.e., consistently fed enough, a clean environment, no physical threats). And where Levi was born is like the dictionary definition of a bad environment for a small child, excluding only his mother’s care and love.

As it’s generally understood in canon (and suggested from Levi’s special backstory manga so far) she was a caring parental figure early in Levi’s life that loved him unconditionally. We can conclude that Kuchel did everything within her power to compensate for both parenting Levi alone and shielding him the best she could from his horrible surroundings, teaching the kindness, goodness, and love that Levi would internalize and go on to strive for for his entire life. 

As far as we know, no other children lived in the brothel. Socialization is just as important for a young child as receiving love. With this isolation, it’s extremely difficult to learn how to connect to other people, or pick up on social cues. Levi would’ve never learned how to interact properly with his peers—aside from use of aggression and violence which Kenny would go on to instill in him.

With the danger/anxiety imposed by strangers, mostly if not entirely men, he would turn to his mother for comfort all. The. Time. 

And she would give him that support and affection of course. This early motherly affection is integral to child development: a child who receives empathy and affection is subliminally taught how to feel and express empathy towards others. 

While Levi’s surroundings were dangerous, lonely, and chaotic—traumatizing enough for a toddler or young child—Kuchel provided a safety net from that, so I think that Levi developed an anxious attachment as a child: exhibiting clinginess, excessive fear of abandonment, and an excessive need for security and/or reassurance.

Paternal Trauma / Potential Androphobia

Born and living in a brothel, we can assume that Levi was probably seen as a burden and a mistake by others, especially by men (both the likely majority of her customers and her boss).

AOT ch69; Before the Fall, ch34

This is likely in contrast to the women (those living and working in the brothel like Kuchel). They should know Kuchel if not as friends, then acquaintances who could empathize for her and her son. 

There’s an obvious trend here. If Levi is going to feel fear/danger/anxiety because of men, he should have a general aversion to men and-or the behavior of men who he encountered as a child. This is impossible to know for sure or in meaningful detail, but it seemed to be resolved by the time he became an adult if so.

Although Kenny in his words was no more than Levi's teacher, Levi did see him as a father figure.

The subject of Kenny will be expanded on later, but it's clear Kenny in no way resembled a father, who also would go on to abandon Levi (at the age of 11 or so). Children without father figures tend to struggle more emotionally, psychologically, and socially. Specifically, (especially boys) tend to exhibit intimidating/aggressive personas to compensate for resentment, fear, and unhappiness. 

Sexual Trauma (Tangent, Probably)

This is unconfirmed but a likely trauma Levi went through: exposure to sex as a child. There’s no way to confirm what he experienced, so I’ll function on ‘probably’s’ and ‘most likely’s’. 

Because Levi and Kuchel only lived in one room, other rooms in the brothel should have belonged to other women, and he was at the oldest four, I wager that he was babysat by women who Kuchel knew and/or was made to hide somewhere while she worked, such as in a cabinet.

(for reference)

AOT ch69

The odds are high that he was exposed to the aftermath of sexual violence (i.e., marks seen on his mother), and the sound or smells that have to do with it. That young, he wouldn’t know what it was, but he should have realized later as an adolescent.

In general, children regardless of gender exposed to sexual content usually experience early puberty (which is just as likely for impoverished children, or children who experience chronic high-stress in general); issues with intimacy; become desensitized to high-risk behavior; negative/inaccurate expectations about sex and relationships in the future; influence inappropriate behavior with other children or adults; sex addiction.

This is especially relevant to Levi’s fear of closeness/intimacy in the future. Exposure to sexual situations—possibly not including CSA in his case—very early in life inflicts on a child emotions and stress they don’t have the intellect or reasoning to process or understand. An extreme aversion to interpersonal relationships, especially physical ones, results.

This stress Levi must have felt, being powerless to this happening to his mother, is a different beast. Children aren’t capable of handling high levels of stress, and so the brain will automatically create coping mechanisms: dissociation (a severe form of “zoning out”; observing the self “from the third person”; numbness; the feeling of living in a dream), excessive daydreaming/overactive imagination, symptoms of PTSD (nightmares and terrors; flashbacks; spontaneous activation of fight-flight-freeze associated with anxiety; excessive worrying/fear; loneliness/self isolation). PTSD will also be prevalent in Levi’s later life, which I’ll delve into later.

Inappropriate behavior and sex addiction are also highlights for me because they shouldn’t exist in him based on Levi's personality and behavior throughout the series. In my opinion, Levi ought to associate sex with pain, shame, and violence; he does see it as an ordinary job—a means to an end. He should be desensitized to sex as a concept, but associates it personally with shame, sadness, and pain, possibly feeling disgust towards it. So it is highly likely that Levi in every stage of life following this experienced sexual repulsion (usually associated with high anxiety towards sex), a low libido, or a lack of sexual desire entirely. 

From a trauma perspective, he could avoid sexual topics of conversation, sexual settings (i.e., brothels), or an array of things which are sexually suggestive or he as a child possibly associated with sex (i.e., cleavage, panties, specific touch). Similarly, he might avoid direct reminders or have a post-traumatic reaction to them, such as anxiety or flashbacks (i.e., the sound of a bed creaking, the sight of wet clothes).

Importantly, it can be concluded that sexual violence was often exhibited, and the idea would be ingrained in him that sex, like everything else besides his relationship with his mother, is “give-and-take”, “victim-and-attacker”, and learn to be repulsed by intimacy. This impacts his willingness for later friendships and relationships as we’ll see later. 

Early Abandonment & Early Exposure to Death

As Kuchel’s health deteriorated, Levi’s sense of security would break down. Availability of shelter, food, and emotional support would be even less secure than before. He might have been providing for Kuchel for some time, even, as it can be gathered that he received little to no help from those around him while she was sick. To whatever length he had to take responsibility and both fear for Kuchel, this would cement a sense of responsibility and guilt in him from the age of just four years old.

He will fail to save her—regardless of the fact that that’s not his responsibility in the first place; a child wouldn’t understand that—and then lose her with nothing he could do to even cushion the blow.

How powerless he must’ve felt. How hopeless. How likely is it that Levi found comfort in joining her? A child his age wouldn’t be able to comprehend death, basing our understanding on Piaget’s theory of cognitive development. To summarize, at the age of six or seven, children aren’t capable of complex, abstract thought like death or the finality of it. But Levi had to learn early. 

AOT ch69

This will be center in his “clean-freak” tendencies later.

Adolescence

Most of this section is going to be rather vague again, but we already got the bulk of that over with in childhood!

Emotional Train Wreck / Lack of Identity 

It’s hard to notice if you’re not paying attention, but in every scene we’re shown with Levi after his mother dies but before Kenny leaves, he’s wearing some variation of his mother’s one dress styled into a shirt. He loves her endlessly, even or especially in death. And part of cherishing her memory, to him, should’ve been taking after her as much as he could.

That’s how to explain why he didn’t become a cruel person (Kenny for instance) as he grew into a teenager, even though much of Levi’s outlook and behaviors come from him (ch57).

The more pertinent question is how extreme violence, reinforcement of the idea that that violence is power, and Kenny’s total (or most likely total) lack of communicated emotional connection affected him.

Levi would still desperately want that connection deep down, especially with his mother gone. This is a major reason why Levi sought to get stronger to please Kenny. For chronically abandoned people, that continues into adulthood and even beyond. A hole inside which can't be filled.

AOT ch69

Chronic loneliness—like I explained before—basically explains his aloof nature and awkward disposition. It’s not that Levi feels as detached as he looks, but he doesn’t know how to express himself or open up. He wouldn’t learn how to process his emotions, let alone talk about them. He’s basically emotionally stunted and immature in impersonal relationships (between friends and especially in regards to intimacy).

The Underground’s environment also makes him socially awkward, rude, of course stoic/not very expressive, and blunt. Levi was forced to become extremely observant of people to suss out their intentions, remaining vigilant of his surroundings at all times.

Levi doesn’t even get affection in any sense anymore. He doesn’t get a hug or a pat on the back, and he certainly doesn’t get a shoulder to cry on.

If anything, Kenny would punish him for showing weakness. Vulnerability is weakness; weakness is death.

What results is a continuous and boundless sense of emptiness inside that can’t be filled. He’s plagued by a chronic sense of unbelonging and loneliness. There’s no time or opportunity to develop “normally” as an adolescent. Socialization is limited at best; thinking of his place in the world is irrelevant when his one and only most pressing goal is survival; he doesn’t get to explore hobbies or interests.

OCD Propensity

One “interest” Levi is passionate about is cleaning, at least. Disease is what caused his mother to die. The easiest cause to point to would be their disgusting surroundings (although, Kuchel was infected by a customer). It is canon that Levi’s love of cleaning comes from "his personal experiences". In that interview, Levi first specifically references the important of fighting disease.

In other words, his "clean freak" nature comes, primarily, from the death of his mother: Filth -> disease -> death, and abandonment by extension.

His mother would’ve encouraged him to keep their room clean. There were times he or she had to have come down with something and dirtiness was the cause. On top of Kenny’s enforcement to keep up “clean” appearances to garner respect from everyone else in the Underground. 

This in particular is extremely relevant to his mental health. When someone feels out of control of what is happening to them, especially in a recurring way, and especially as a child who doesn't yet know how to feel stable in an unstable environment, they look for something to control. It can be weight, bodily functions (blinking, breathing, etc), dominance over others, or cleaning, for instance.

Fear of disease, the urgent need to have control, and the basic need for stability makes it obvious that Levi would become obsessed with cleaning. And moreover, developing OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder). I’ll go deeper into this diagnosis later.

Lack of Self Worth

Despite the acknowledgment throughout canon that he trusts in his own strength, it wasn’t always that way.

Canonically, Levi sought praise from Kenny by showing his strength because that was the only thing he received praise for. The conclusion Levi came to once Kenny left him was that he wasn’t strong enough (wasn’t good enough) to warrant staying with him.

In conjunction, Levi’s first conclusion was that he did something wrong, not that Kenny possibly had some obligation that forced him to leave the Underground, pointing again to his own lack of self-worth.

This scenario created a complex in him, the very root cause of Levi’s pain, the very foundation of what Levi would go on to prioritize in adulthood. If he isn’t useful to those he wants not to abandon him, he’s worthless. He’s only useful when he shows his strength. Every other aspect of him like his interests is either irrelevant or bland by default in his eyes.

He would go on to make it his mission to try his best to be good enough in order to save and protect the lives of others, but foremost those he cares about.

Young Adulthood

Our first exposure to Levi as an adult is in A Choice with No Regrets, his OVA/backstory.

(By the way, I’ll be basing this analysis off a mix of the manga and the OVA.)

Emotional Immaturity/Affective Dysregulation

Generally, Levi’s defining negative character trait as a young adult is his emotional immaturity/anti-social behavior. Yes he’s grumpy and rude which is always indicative of him, but he’s very quick to anger, too. He cursed at the Squad Leader who offended him (by assuming that because he, Isabel, and Farlan are from the Underground, they’d be dirty), and argued furiously with Farlan that he would kill Erwin—not because it was required for the job, but because he disrespected him—for a few examples. 

ACWNR ch2

He tended to be arrogant, too. Such as when he ultimately called a Scout who had experience with the Titans stupid for telling Levi to hold his swords in a certain way. He spoke to every officer the same as he would anyone on the street, having a remarkable lack of basic respect for authority. He was insistent on distancing himself from the entire setting and structure of the Scouts as much as possible, both to not get attached, and he found their mission childish/foolish. 

He’s rather selfish. There is nothing Levi cares about genuinely more than Isabel’s and Farlan’s lives and the job that will set them up with a good future. Farlan’s advice is the only one’s he takes and the only judgment outside himself that he considers, such as when Farlan asks him to not cause trouble with authority to keep a low profile, but even then he acts stubborn. Levi trusts nobody wholeheartedly except himself (until later in ACWNR).

There’s a cognitive dissonance in him. Growing up, and still as a young adult, Levi’s headspace is marked by fear and uncertainty, with his power as his source of confidence. The first time he kills a Titan (with Isabel and Farlan), he uses too much gas because he refuses to potentially risk his friends’ lives; when the expedition is upcoming, he abruptly tells Farlan and Isabel to find a reason to stay back, and that he’ll complete the dangerous part of the job on his own. 

Levi is full of repressed fear and uncertainty. He hides and/or buries all of it for the sake of self-preservation both emotionally and physically.

Antisocial Personality…?

It’s extremely interesting how a character as selfless, heroic, and empathetic as Levi exhibits antisocial symptoms. I’d even argue that if his childhood was spent entirely without his mother figure, then he might be a dictionary definition of ASPD (Antisocial Personality Disorder).

People with this disorder live day-to-day under the constant assumption that whoever is around them is “out to get them”/searching for a weakness to exploit. Humanity is made up of only prey and predators; morals are completely subjective, perpetuated by the society that surrounds them. This constant need to defend oneself, the effect of the exact trauma the potential sociopath experienced, combined with a muted emotional spectrum, results in a complete disregard of everything, including people outside of themself. They might believe they’re entitled to comfort or admiration, but overall, they’re intensely self-serving, often aggressive, and ruthless. 

Because Levi for instance learned to rely on violence both for “love” and survival, then he might fall on violence to manipulate a person or situation into serving himself. I see reason to believe that Levi could have grown into worse than Kenny’s image if it weren’t for his mother’s influence.

However, the greatest cause for deniability is Levi’s wide emotional spectrum (especially including empathy and shame), while a lack of shame is the most significant marker of ASPD . (It is arguably one of many testaments to his strength that a victim of so much suffering, violence, and cruelty could become a man as empathetic as him.) 

However, these tendencies may still be relevant: A sense of arrogance—both to the way Levi thinks of some who he perceives as weak and live without good morals—lacking issue with using deceit or violence to attain a goal, and living outside the rule of authority.

I go into more detail about this idea here.

Conclusion

As is true in general, there’s very little to say of mental development once someone has reached their early–mid-twenties. What we know of Levi’s young adulthood does reinforce his fear of abandonment, but he finds a cause where his strength and compassion can be “put to good use” and give to him a life that is worth living.

Conclusion: the ‘Present’/Diagnoses Overview

C-PTSD (Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder)

Levi’s emotional dysregulation (i.e., inability to sit with and process negative emotions), his difficulties in relationships, insomnia, negative worldview, absent sense of self, and finally, his persistent sense of unworthiness/worthlessness are all indicative of C-PTSD. It’s distinct from PTSD in that he didn’t endure one short-term traumatizing event, but he grew up surrounded by trauma and saw it as normal (e.g., gang violence, extreme poverty, death of a parent, (more presumably) physically and emotionally abusive parental figure). Levi as a child developed no understanding of a nurturing, secure environment. 

Negative/Absent Sense of Self

I’ve talked about this at length already, but it’s worth noting how Levi’s perception of himself must have changed when it was revealed that he is extremely strong physically not from his own efforts as much, but because he’s an Ackerman. 

His self-confidence and self-worth have always been built on the foundation of his strength. He’s useful if he’s strong, so he’s worthy if he’s strong. Along with the extreme high pressure his goal to kill Zeke put on him in season four, he might have gone to extreme measures to compensate for his strength he might have felt was “unearned” (such as excessive exercise for example). This is an aside, but it was a blow to him for sure.

Emotional Dysregulation

The causes of emotional dysregulation generally which he experienced are as follows: early childhood trauma, feelings ignored, judged, or invalidated at a young age, and physical and emotional child neglect. Beyond his first four years of life with his mother, Levi experienced all these things (early exposure to sex and likely exposure to domestic violence aside). 

It’s important to focus on emotional neglect specifically, when any and all perceived “weakness”, no matter how small, is unacceptable to Levi. He will never ask for help (being independent to a fault), he can’t define or process his emotions, and it doesn’t occur to him—and it could be a shock—when he learns that his friends care about him, not him insofar as how useful he is. 

As an adult, Levi appears to be emotionally mature, but I argue that this isn’t the case. It’s more accurate to say that he has better control over his emotions (in that he buries them or ignores them) with a mature outlook because of all his experiences with suffering.

Similarly, he’s not outwardly emotional not because he’s antisocial (as related to ASPD, not introversion), but because he’s so “emotionally constipated” that he’s numbed the vast majority of the time.

Relationship Issues + Fear of Abandonment

Because of his fear of abandonment and impaired emotional intelligence in close relational conflict, he’s extremely passive and/or passive aggressive. In order to avoid potential abandonment, he doesn’t go out of his way to win major arguments—such as threatening to break Erwin’s legs if he didn’t stay away from the expedition in season three, but ultimately giving in. He’s also more likely to sneak petty insults into arguments, give “silent treatment”, slam doors, etc. His kindness and exceptional empathy shouldn’t let him be physically or overly violent.

These are likely additions to why Levi doesn’t foster many close relationships.

Fittingly, as a child I thought that Levi might have had an anxious attachment style (clingy, excessive need for security), but as this possibility for security was removed entirely, and he was taught to not rely on others, he would develop more of an overt avoidant attachment in adulthood in combination (fearful-avoidant): making very few emotional demands—even though he has needs—withdrawing when there’s conflict, acting aloof yet fearing abandonment, having difficulty expressing emotions he feels intensely, and fear of depending on someone else.

Anxiety

His cool-headedness even in the heat of battle/war (other factors like experience aside) is exactly what you would expect from someone diagnosed with C-PTSD; he’s accustomed to chronic high-stress. But small stressors (i.e., a change of plans) are overwhelming and make him quick to anger/excessive annoyance.

OCD

Emotional dysregulation is also closely associated with OCD.

OCD is much much more than being concerned with keeping clean or organized. OCD is an anxiety disorder composed of anxiety-related obsessions and compulsions, such as frequent and disturbing thoughts or images (intrusive thoughts). These attempt to be managed through rituals (i.e., handwashing, counting in patterns). Although symptoms will fluctuate with anxiety, OCD at its baseline is a distressing disorder.

Since he was young, Levi should have had an incessant need to be in control at all times. A shining example of this is his mother’s death, an incident he couldn’t control but included dirtiness/disease as a cause he could pinpoint, so this anxiety with dirtiness becomes a major obsession, and the compulsion is cleaning. (Putting aside the fact that Levi enjoys cleaning by itself too.)

It’s a widely-held belief that if Levi has OCD, it’s contamination OCD, as it specifically has to do with an obsession with dirtiness and a compulsion in cleaning (i.e., damaging handwashing, ritualized bathing that may take hours). However, based on the multitude of times Levi was covered in blood and remained unbothered by it (Titan and human), and in fact the obsession’s lack of relevance entirely during urgent missions/situations, contamination OCD is simply not plausible. Instead, it’s general OCD.

There’s no way to know for sure, but I don’t see his OCD as mild or severe. Levi is an extremely orderly and balanced person, so it can be concluded he must have things done a certain way, routinely, organizational, or planned; when the dirtiness is “negative” (i.e., Titan blood, blood on a knife he used to kill Isabel’s attackers), he is never more rigid with cleanliness; it’s probable he suffers intrusive thoughts (likely of the violent nature), a fear of contamination, and/or counting ritualistically, but the most obvious compulsion is cleaning. He might have sensory issues, such as disgust if he happens to brush shoulders with a stranger; aversion to particularly bright lights, irrational rage towards “mouth sounds” (i.e., chewing, coughing, swallowing), etc.

EDNOS (Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified)

Levi should have a complicated relationship with food to say the least. 

In the realm of eating disorders, EDNOS is sort of a catch-all term when an individual doesn’t qualify for the diagnostic criteria of anorexia or bulimia, and it encompasses lesser-known eating disorders like Pica. It’s the most common diagnosis for clinical eating disorders.

I already covered how integral the early years of life are, and beginning at a young age, if children aren’t given a basic need like food, and they must seek out food on their own, it becomes an anxiety deeply rooted in the brain regardless of how well-fed they are when they’re older. There will always be an urge to have food available. Levi’s years in the Underground were spent either actively starving, or going about every single day having acquiring food as top priority. He was a young adult when he left, so it’s impossible to unlearn this (without extensive therapy, which Levi doesn’t seek). It’s similar to compulsions found in OCD: even though he logically knows that there will be a dinner after lunch, it’s impossible to put aside this worry. 

That may mean always having food stashed, eating too much—especially in his early years Aboveground when he’d eat as much food in a day than he’d eat in a week Underground— stealing food, or eating way too quickly (as someone who lived in a place where food was considered something of a luxury resource and threatened being stolen at any time).

The latter factor contributes to Levi’s suggested preference to only eat alone—joining the fact that Levi only eats with Erwin after expeditions. Eating in front of others should be considered a weakness to him.

As time passes with this easy access to food, combined with his extremely narrow sense of what makes him “good enough”, his relationship with eating may become toxic. Especially when the stakes of his worthiness are so high—literally life and death. He may think that he’s privileged to eat at all, and when he feels worthless, he restricts himself from that “privilege”. 

He may be so accustomed to the feeling of hunger, that it doesn’t immediately register with his mind when he is hungry.

Lastly, he may have a generally low appetite. This is often associated with depression, but depression is comorbid with C-PTSD.

Misc.

Some tangents/miscellaneous speculation about Levi’s psychology:

Queer?

Sexuality is formed and shifts due to a wide variety of factors, which most if not all are terribly understudied: genetics, hormones, and your environment/experiences. So again, my speculation.

With his fear of close relationships and negative experiences with sex, I think he should land somewhere on the queer spectrum, specifically under the asexual or aromantic umbrella (i.e., pansexuality/being panromantic (attraction to personality) and demisexuality/being demiromantic (attraction only to those he has an emotional connection to)).

MDD

The odds of Levi having MDD (major depressive disorder/clinical depression) are iffy. Most if not all of the symptoms are comorbid with childhood trauma and C-PTSD: Such as persistent apathy, guilt, and/or discontent; sleeping too much or too little; lack of energy; reduced or heightened appetite; irritability. 

Oftentimes, depression, C-/PTSD, and related mental illnesses cause unexplained physical pain, such as back pain and occasional tension headaches. “Stress hormones” like adrenaline are built-up in the body, and usually persist without physical therapy and-or medication (Disclaimer this mention is based on nothing more than Levi always standing with at least one hand on his hip).

Body Language

Similar can be said of his body language from a cognitive perspective. The vast majority of the time, Levi has himself closed-off in some way, usually by crossing his arms to protect his chest; a subconscious barrier between oneself and another person.

Also see this official art of Levi asleep.

Afterword

We’ve known it’s not just Levi’s physical strength and skill that makes him the strongest, right? It should take immense mental strength to make it day-by-day dealing with the trauma and issues that he does, but not only has he survived and continues to, but he lives heroically, selflessly, with the wellbeing of everyone around him as a top priority. He buries all of his pain by moving forward always and without exception regardless of how painful the present is. Living with “no regrets” should in mental respects be a guise for pushing his trauma down, too; there’s just no words that can properly do Levi’s resilience justice.

Part of me wants to go into detail about his later adulthood, but given how very little we know (right now), I think it’d be too speculative.

However, based on what we have seen at the ending of AOT, it’s comforting to know and plain to see that Levi wasn’t defeated when he “lost” the reason to be so strong, and even his strength itself; he didn’t lose his love for his friends nor of life. 

In middle age, based on Erikson’s psychosocial stages, the conflict that should enter Levi’s life is the idea of generativity versus stagnation. He seems satisfied with his life despite the negative effects of all he went through—grief, physical disability, inevitable mental scarring—and he’s still concerned with helping others, especially the younger generation in a world after the overwhelming devastation that was the Rumbling.

My speculated psychopathologies/diagnoses of Levi:

C-PTSD (insomnia prevalent)

OCD (contamination obsessions)

EDNOS

#levi aot #snk levi #levi ackerman #levi attack on titan #captain levi #captain levi ackerman #aot levi #aot levi ackerman #attack on titan levi #aot meta #levi heichou #rivaille heichou #levi rivaille #rivaille ackerman #lance corporal rivaille #levi snk #levi.thoughts #aot #attack on titan

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Tw: Mentions of incest and kind of implied noncon/taking advantage of someone without their knowledge

Okay, now this is fucked up to think about but what if Helaena or even Laena took a page out of either Alicent and Rhaenyra’s book and had children by Viserys’ Sickly!Young!Brother!Reader?Or what if Rhaenys had even done so herself?? Like, this poor ailing man has unknowingly fathered damn near everyone at this point.

In the case of Helaena or Laena bearing the Reader’s children I’d like to go with the scenario that they respectively weren’t children of his own, to at least take some of the fucked up-ness away. Like, Helaena was still Viserys’ child and Laena being Corlys’.

I couldn’t help but think of Daemon not ending up having any children of his own, maybe at the very least Aegon III and Viserys II would end up being his. Maybe. But end up having Baela and Rhaena being his brother’s children in the end. It’d be worse if the only children he did end up siring were his last child with Laena that ended up leading to both their deaths and Rhaenyra’s baby girl who also ended up not making it.

Regarding Helaena, I feel like out of all of Alicent’s children she’s the one who latches onto and clings to Sickly!Uncle!Reader the most out of the lot. She feels like he understands her the best, or at least he tries to and he doesn’t judge her or think that she’s a freak. If anything he is nothing but gentle and loving in any and all of his interactions with her, even when she spouts on about complete nonsense. He doesn’t disregard her or act like she’s lost her ever loving mind, he just listens to her as she goes on about whatever and genuinely seems interesting in what she has to say even if she doesn’t elaborate. She feels safe when with him, she always has and she couldn’t think of anyone else she would rather go to for comfort then him. So it only made sense for her to bear his children, that’s what love is after all right? What her mother and father have put on her and Aegon isn’t because of love or for love. But when it comes to the Reader, love is all Helaena has for him. And he obviously loves her too after all, doesn’t he?

#yandere helaena targaryen #yandere laena velaryon #yandere rhaenys targaryen #yandere house of the dragon concept #yandere game of thrones concept #yandere concept

[pianocat939]

It's me again, I saw your "Yan Turtles Fighting For Y/N's Hand In Marriage" and got a blurb for you!!

A few years have past(I'm not an animal) and the magical day has finally arrived! Everything's just perfect; the venue, the suits, everything! [Insert Turtle] is standing at the alter, anxiously awaiting his soon-to-be spouse.

The music begins, the Wedding March playing in C minor, [Insert Turtle] fantasising about his and Y/N's future life together. But wait, Y/N is nowhere to be seen! [Insert Turtle] momentarily stops the wedding in search of Y/N, but wait–

Y/N's gone! Nowhere in sight! They ran away?! How is this possible(that's for you to decide)?!?

Wedding March in C minor…A true Yan wedding because the original is in C major (It probably was a mishap but still).

Tw: kidnapping, violence, light gore, horrible rage, implied anxiety (Raph)

(Let's say MC gets kidnapped by some bad guy idk-)

Rationalized Orphanage Children:

You already know he's freaking out, like bad. He's been waiting for years for this day, and now he discovers you're gone? Instant panic. Within moments he's frantically searching for you, whether it's with help from his brothers or literally rampaging through the city. Once he's located your whereabouts he's heading for the villain and pulverizing them, his suit now covered in blood and tattered from all the physical movement. He'll hug you tightly, a tear or two escaping from his eye.

"So glad I found you...I was so worried that our special day would be ruined!"

Le Czech is Turned into Polski:

Rage. Unfiltered rage. He's going to find the villain, tear them limb by limb, and then proceed to kill everything they have. Today was supposed to be your precious wedding day, the day he's been excited for since he was young. The audacity this vermin has to touch his darling spouse! He'll kiss you and pick you up bridal style, opening a portal back to the wedding venue. Churring that he can finally put the ring on your finger he's been eager for.

"My spouse. I love saying that you know? Knowing we're both tied to each other forever."

Dog Is Bald Now:

Donnie planned your wedding down to the tiniest detail. The colours, the outfits, everything. So having you kidnapped, away from him annoyed him to no end. He's mercilessly slaughtering whoever took you away, upset about the interruption. Once he knows they're gone, he's rushing to you, checking for any injuries. The poor love of his life, stolen away, unsure if they'll ever see him again. You must've been so distressed! Don't worry he's saved you now!

"Darling! I've got you now. Away we shall go to our wedding, or in other words eternal bonding!"

Mat of the Weedies:

He's gonna be oddly calm, to be honest with you. Sure, he's worried about you and your safety, but his rage is kept inside until he's face-to-face with the villain. Once he is, he'll unleash violence. He'll burn them to death, turning them into a crispy piece of chicken. After he's finished he'll hug you so tight your lungs might burst. He's gonna cry a lot. Blabbering about how scared you must've been, how no one should treat his divinity like this. You'll have to remind him about the wedding because he's so focused on you, and nothing else.

"You must've cried and and- Huh? Wedding? Oh right! It's the day I get to finally prove to you I'm your number one devotee~!"

#yandere #yandere x reader #rottmnt #tmnt #yandere rottmnt #yandere tmnt #rottmnt x reader #tmnt x reader #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #rise tmnt #tmnt 2018 #blurbs

[faesdreaming]

Can I please request headcanons for platonic Yandere Douma for a human child

Yandere Platonic Douma

a/n: I’m so sorry about the delay in my posting, I had some family stuff to take care of, but thank you all for supporting me and the content I have out!

tw: yandere themes, implied abandonment/neglect, cult themes, reader is kinda insulted by Douma, but not really, implied murder, cannibalism, Douma is his own warning tbh, reader tries to pull a Kotoha

•You met Douma on a cold winter night with a harsh storm blowing through the air. The Upper Kizuki had been out, hunting for a meal. That’s when he happened upon the body of a young child, seemingly frozen to death. Oh, how pitiful! The child had to die in such cruel and uncaring manner. Douma would have left if you didn’t make a sudden motion. Swiftly, Douma turned his gaze towards you. You were still alive? That peaked his interest. Such strength in such a puny little thing. How amusing!

•Even though Douma can’t feel true emotions, he can express small things such as admiration. And admire you he does- you’re such a tenacious little thing. You’d grow to become quite useful if given the proper care. Perhaps he could turn you into a demon to serve his master. If you were this strong as a young human, you’d be even stronger as a demon. Maybe even becoming an Upper Moon like himself!

•Douma then took you to his cult where he ordered the cult members to look after you. You remained in a coma for a few days, and then you finally woke up. Confused and scared, you started to panic. Where were you? What were you doing here? And more importantly— who were you? You began to thrash around at the cult members who were assigned to take care of you. Hearing the commotion, Douma went to the room you were kept. The moment he stepped in the room you fell still. Even though you were young, you could feel the intimidating presence behind his smiling face.

•Douma walked over to you and greeted you with false sweetness. You shrunk into yourself, avoiding his gaze. Douma noticing your shyness, found it adorable. Who wouldn’t though? You were so tiny, hiding in the soft sleep kimono you were wearing. Douma decided then and there to keep you by his side. Kind of like Kotoha’s situation, except he wanted to turn you into a demon. Plus, he’s always been fond of children, so this isn’t that unusual. Douma began to quiz you, unsurely, you answered his questions which allowed him to discover your amnesia. That was convenient, you were a blank slate. Someone who he could mold however he wanted.

•Thus, your life at the cult started. The cult members were instructed to treat you well, and they did. Your new life— not that you could remember your old one- was pleasant. All your needs were met, you’d never go hungry or thirsty, you were comfortable. But life there was also strange. You had ‘lessons’ in which you were taught about your apparent saviour, Douma. You were told that he was your life, your entire being belonged to him, and you must obey him. You didn’t really like those lessons, but you did enjoy one thing. Your training in the art of tessenjustu, overseen by a skilled member of the cult. Within, two months time, you grew accustomed to your routine, excelling in both your studies and training. Douma became intrigued with your fast improvement and decided to oversee your training himself.

•That day you’d woken up like normal, eaten breakfast, attended your morning lessons, eaten lunch, and attended your afternoon lessons. And then finally, you would go to your tessenjustu training. However, your excitement faded when you saw him, Lord Douma himself, standing in place of your usual teacher. Swiftly, you fell into a bow. His overly-false friendly attitude still unnerved you. Despite this, you maintained a cool face and behaved politely. The question of his purpose for being here danced on your tongue, but you withheld it. As if he sensed your inquiry, Douma explained that he would be training you as of now. Your eyes widened slightly in shock, then you quickly returned your face to its neutral expression. Douma noted your shock, allowing an uncertain silence to wash over you until he ordered you to attack him. You froze in surprise, he surely couldn’t expect to to attack him! Oh but he did, he then ‘asked’ you to demonstrate your abilities. Although, you both knew it wasn’t actually a request so much as it was a demand. You took a deep breath and got into the proper stance. Then, you launched your attack. You couldn’t penetrate his defence but you were quite good for a novice. Your moves were quickly, with some precision. Just not a lot of strength behind them. The session ended when you were doubled over, panting, trying to regain your energy. Douma was unharmed, the unnerving smile remained painted on his face. Normally, people would have felt ashamed or embarrassed, but you didn’t. Instead, you thanked him for the lesson and left. Your reaction interested Douma, who would train with you every five to eight days when he had time.

•Douma and your training sessions not only raised your skill level, but formed a bond between you two as student and teacher. You began to respect him, not worship him like other humans, or dismiss him as an annoyance like other demons, you simply respected him. The bond began to deepen and Douma found himself training you more often as his admiration for you turned into affection. Then, his affection turned into love. He realized that he loved you after your latest training session finished, you thanked him as usual and went on your way. Douma had decided to turn you into a demon a long time ago, but he didn’t want you to become a servant to his master, Douma realized. He wanted to turn you into a demon so that you would remain by his side forever. He felt elated at this revelation, he could feel emotions, all of which were spurned by you. His heart beat for you, he couldn’t let you go, not now.

•Yet it seems like your utopia was not destined to last long, as you noticed some cult members you were close too were disappearing. Which was totally not Douma killing them out of jealousy. You grew concerned and uneasy, and you decided to discuss the disappearances with Douma. However, the sight that greeted you halted all your thoughts. It was Douma, your teacher, your saviour, the man you saw as a father, eating a woman. You froze, stunned by his actions and questions formed quickly. He was a cannibal? How could he lie to you? Was he going to eat you too? You didn’t want to stick around long enough to find out. Douma then noticed your presence, but before he could do anything, you took off, running as fast as you could.

Huffing, you ran as quickly as your legs would carry you through the woods near the Paradise Faith Cult. Your lungs felt like they would burst, and every part of your body ached from pain and coldness. You couldn’t remember how long you’d been running for, almost an hour if you had to guess. But no matter how much your body hurt, you couldn’t rest. Not when he was chasing you. But your body told a different story.

You felt numb, for you’d been running barefoot in a sleep kimono through the snow-filled woods. The wind was harsh and howled as blew. A flurry of snowflakes whipped around, aiding in blocking your vision along with the dark of the night. Puffs of steam left your parted lips as you panted. You previously wanted to hit yourself for putting yourself in this situation, but this was probably a better punishment.

Honestly, how could be so stupid? You’d always been slightly off-put by Douma, but you let your suspicions go as you cultivated a relationship with him. Your lip quivered and you realized you were about to cry. You bit your lip to prevent from breaking into full-on sobs, but couldn’t stop the few tears that welled up. The tears froze as they fell, adding to the cruel cold that overwhelmed you. Still, you pushed yourself to keep going. You weren’t going to die here. Douma himself had said it, you were a survivor. So, no matter what, you wouldn’t die. You’d get out of this alive, you swore to yourself. The trees further up were more open, you noted, squinting to try and get a closer look. A clearing, you thought excitedly, a way out of here!

You sped up, aided by your new-found adrenaline. As you bounded up the snow, something about the clearing seemed off. But you couldn’t turn back now, not when you’d made it this far. Setting your suspicions aside, you focused on getting to the clearing. Finally, after what seemed like forever, you reached the opening. Your eyes widened in surprise when you realized what was at the end of it— a cliff! You skidded to stop and stared down to the bottom of it. Gulping, you turned you looked down below. Beneath the cliff was a rushing river. You clenched your teeth, unsure of what to do.

“My, my, (Y/N), you’ve gone quite far, haven’t you?”

You gulped in fear and slowly turned to face him, to face Douma. A rush of emotions flooded through you, ranging from horror to anger. Horrified because this monster had caught up to you, angry because he had betrayed you, sad because you loved him, and guilt because you could’ve saved yourself and others if you just payed attention and listened to your gut. There were so many things you could’ve done, should’ve done in that moment. Alas, you remained still as a deer in headlights.

Douma smiled that unnerving smile of his, but he couldn’t hide the anger in his eyes. “Come along now (Y/N), it’s time to return home.”

You shook your head slightly, then you took a small step back. The edge of the cliff crumbled, alarming both you and Douma. In that moment, Douma felt both fear and anger surging through him. He was angry at you for leaving him. But he was also angry at himself for being careless, he should’ve turned you into a demon sooner. And honestly, you’d be better off for it. Look at the state of you, pale and shivering from the cold. You looked sickly and would surely fall ill. Still, Douma was mostly fearful of losing the only thing he’s ever loved, the one person who made him feel.

“It’s alright (Y/N). You’re forgiven, I won’t hurt you,” cooed Douma, attempting to coax you from cliff. His efforts only caused you to back up further.

Suddenly, the edge cliff crumbled more and the chunk you had stepped onto broke off. You shrieked as you fell backwards. Douma rushed to catch you, panic in his voice as he shouted your name. And then you blacked out, the cold and tiredness having caught up with you. Douma managed to grasp your wrist in time and hoisted you up. He possessively held you to his chest, carrying you bridal style. Your body was almost as cold as his, Douma noted frowning with concern. Yet there was sense of relief that washed over him. You were back in his arms, and he would never let you go again.

#platonic yandere #yandere platonic #yandere douma #yandere douma x reader #yandere kny #yandere kny x reader #Yandere demon slayer x reader #yandere demon slayer #yandere doma #yandere doma x reader

[songsofadelaide]

Asleep Among Endives

In a sorcery world where soulmates are identified by vibrant colours, it was a splash of blue that transformed your bleak and monochromatic life as the reluctant heir of your clan into something else entirely— a sorcerer of your own making, one with complete faith in her own abilities. 

For many years, the Koganei Clan of Tokyo's coveted Kin'iro no Namida failed to manifest in the long line of esteemed clan members, only to appear in you, a miracle child born from the branch family sworn to servitude. You were raised in the main family, albeit resentfully, due to the extraordinary circumstances of your birth. You found no joy in that life, though. 

In the summer of 1997, the fledgling clan head of the superpower Gojo Clan fancied you a playmate, one headstrong enough to disregard the warnings about befriending a little god who might ensnare you with a curse. When you first met the young Satoru, everything around you turned a lovely sky blue. Little did you know that the very same thing happened to him, and you painted his life in shining gold-like sunlight. 

In 2006, you entered the Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College as a first-year student, the only healer in your class of three. You did not witness the devastation that forced Satoru to unlock his untapped potential when he was on the brink of death, the little god from your childhood now revered as the strongest sorcerer of your generation. 

While the tides of conflict threatened to pull you apart, an unstoppable gravitational force only seemed to draw the two of you together. Gojo Satoru was always destined to find you, his sun— and what better place for the sun to be than in the sky?

A canon-compliant soulmate fic spanning the many years of your relationship with Gojo Satoru— twilight, the sun, ordinary days, side by side. 

[A Gojo Satoru x Reader fic, ongoing]

cw/tw: childhood trauma, implied/referenced child abuse ✾ Fic Masterlist ✾ Chapter 2 ✾ Chapter 3 ✾ ~Interlude~ — In the Quiet

"Asleep among endives,  now the world too closes its eyes, concealing us." — Asleep Among Endives, Ichiko Aoba

Chapter 1 — Twilight

— Twilight.

~ 1990.

Not even Ryomen Sukuna dared to covet that which should be untouchable— the most precious, golden tears of Suzaku. As the legends go, phoenix tears possess healing powers so immense that they can even successfully resuscitate any creature on the brink of death. While Suzaku existed as a protector in the past, the Koganei Clan of Tokyo became well-known for its own illusionary phoenix during the Golden Age of Jujutsu, a vessel that cried tears of molten gold meant to sew injuries closed, to mend broken bones, to heal what had been hurt— a cursed technique deemed more of a blessing than a curse when made use of, yet difficult to master and even harder to manifest. 

Reverse cursed technique users were so rare a commodity, even for the Koganei Clan, who specialised in it. The number of family members that inherited the Kin'iro no Namida since the clan's formation can be counted by hand, each one carefully recorded in the family history. What was started out by the solitary Koganei Masahito of Edo, a goldsmith by trade, grew to become one of jujutsu society's age-old families. Though the Koganei were not as powerful as the Great Three Sorcerer Clans, the uniqueness of their technique became well-known to a point where they were in no position to refuse to assist both sorcerers and non-sorcerers in this golden age of sorcery.   

The master Masahito sired many children with his wife Uesugi Karui in the hopes one like him would be born again. He also took many mistresses and the bloodline most flush with the ability soon became the main family, exalted for birthing children with the clan's gift. Apart from his cursed technique, the Koganei Clan gained fame and notoriety as a smithing family business, a front held up by Masahito's marriage to a daughter of the Uesugi Clan, the proprietors of the Sado Gold Mine. He sired children until he could do no more, and his family historians believed his final days to be a frenzy of final attempts to ensure the longevity of his precious cursed technique, and to an extent, his family name. 

In modern-day Tokyo, the Koganei Clan now made their home alongside the golden ginkgo trees that lined part of the Meiji-Jingu Gaien, part of the aged estate shrouded with a curtain due to the perennial nature of the golden trees within the gated property. With a keen eye, any sorcerer would be able to knock on the gates that were hidden from the normal human being. 

In 1989, Koganei Kazuya was born as the eldest child of the current clan matriarch, Koganei Suzuna. Though the coveted reverse cursed technique did not manifest in him, it became his family's belief that he was the chosen child of his generation from his clan, one who will stand alongside the gifted child who altered the balance of the jujutsu world— Gojo Satoru. 

In 1990, Koganei Kanade, a daughter from the clan's lower echelons, gave birth to a healthy baby girl, one destined for a life of servitude under Koganei Kazuya's leadership in the future. But as the years passed, her closest family members noticed something odd about her tears whenever she cried. Glistening— like new pearls just plucked out of their shells, the salt and sheen of the sea still clinging on to them. Your mother recognised those tears, yet she didn't tears a word to her family. She knew what would happen, after all. You would be taken from them for the sake of the clan's pride. You would be their pride, yet not entirely, either, since you were born lacking the proper status that would grant you the privilege of leadership. 

When you were six, you found your mother half-beaten in your small home at the estate, no culprits found, but the look on her battered face rendered you to tears when she held you in her arms. Those very same tears would mend the bruises on her brow and the hollowing of her cheek, but it did little to heal the hurt of parting with her after you were discovered to have possessed "Suzaku" and its tears of gold.

You were born with the gift, Kin'iro no Namida, after three hundred years of attempts, but what was a gift to the clan became a curse to you. When clan elders made the discovery that you, of all people, were born with the golden tears, your mother reluctantly handed you over to the main family, where you were raised alongside Kazuya as his younger sister. While the young master Kazuya was kind, the rest of his family was not, and your presence in the main house only tormented them as much as your stay there did to you. 

The current Lady Koganei, Suzuna, was no better, and she loathed the fact that she had to pass her title onto you, a child whose blood ties to her were vague as the murky saltwater used to cleanse and refine the goldwork your family became renowned for. Yet there was no denying your ties, either, since she recognised the storm in your eyes as the very same one she had when she was just starting out on her role. 

Your relationship with the older woman was built on mutual respect and resentment, but she was convinced that she could learn to love you as her own, and she could form you into the very same matriarch that she is now— pleasing to the eyes and subservient to the will of those in charge of jujutsu society. But she would have to beat the anger out of you before that, no matter how long it takes. Her brand of tough love and training took the form of corporal punishment, for she knew you could easily mend whatever hurt was inflicted onto you if you cried hard enough… 

Yet, you did not shed a single tear for yourself. Not in front of her, at least.

In 1991, not long after you were first brought into the main family, Suzuna gave birth to Koganei Chiemi, a daughter deemed an unparalleled beauty due to striking features unique to herself— light-coloured hair akin to the ginkgo trees that lined your ancestral home and a high nose bridge. It was evident Chiemi was not fathered by Suzuna's lawful husband but by another man, perhaps in hopes that she would give birth to one like you if she extended her reach someplace else, or if she shared her bed— her blood— with a man whose origins were vastly different from her husband. 

But like her older half-brother, Chiemi did not manifest Kin'iro no Namida. She had to live with the fact that even with all her supposed beauty, she would remain inferior to a child born into the branch family, one lucky enough to manifest the clan's famed reverse cursed technique after three centuries. You expected Chiemi to resent you as her mother did, and she did so relentlessly. She wasn't above using her charm and sweetness to get what she wanted and to manipulate the people around her to do her bidding. 

When Chiemi turned five, she became determined to push her agenda and paint you as a bully even though the servants and the clan elders knew otherwise, that it was always the other way around. She once hurled herself off the redwood engawa as she crossed paths with you and claimed to have been pushed by her older sister. The only issue she had with that story is that your hands were full of writing supplies that very moment— there was no way you could have pushed her off. 

She once took a pair of scissors from the servants' quarters and chopped one of her loveliest kimonos to shreds before eventually claiming you were jealous of her more colourful apparel. While it was true you wore less elaborate clothing than her, you preferred it that way since you didn't want to be complacent with your position as the heir to the family. The elders could easily reverse that decision and throw you back into servitude like you were originally born to do. One of the servants testified to seeing the young lady Chiemi pocket the pair of scissors and return it only after a few moments, remnants of gold thread and expensive fabric still evident on the blades. 

When Kazuya attempted to correct her behaviour as any older brother would, she only pushed back harder, calling him cruel for siding against his own flesh and blood sister. 

"It was onee-sama's fault!"

She may call you onee-sama with a voice so saccharine sweet, but you knew it was laced with poison and spite. 

"Onee-sama did this! She tried to cu— Ah!" 

Suzuna had just returned from a clan leaders' meeting in Kyoto, one so particularly vexing after being thrown one proposal after another for your hand in marriage in the future. She did not bother getting out of her elaborately decorated crimson kimono when she reached out for her whining young daughter and angrily grabbed her by the jaw, Chiemi's chubby and rosy cheeks spilling out of her mother's finely manicured fingers. 

"O-Okaa-sama!" You hurriedly clung onto the older woman's legs in a bid to stop her from further hurting the younger girl. It gave you no comfort to learn that Suzuna was just as harsh to her own flesh and blood daughter as she was to you, and she was not so easily convinced by the younger girl's purposeless crocodile tears. It incensed her even more when Chiemi cried in her grasp and nothing special happened, reminding her once more that the girl was indeed nothing beyond normal. 

"You would do better than to run your mouth like that, Chiemi. Remember that no one will want a spoiled and useless little beauty like you even though you are the daughter of Koganei Suzuna, my child, even though you are from the main family of the Koganei Clan," Suzuna seethed before eventually releasing her, throwing the girl across the room where she landed against the shoji with a dull thud. She kicked you away as well, though you did not go flying any further than a foot away from her. It was a practised and measured movement you learned over the time she started training you. 

"Chiemi will only continue to despise you from here on out, Otome. Why waste those precious tears and plead mercy for a child like her who hates you so much?" The older woman stated as she stepped into your space and grasped you by the chin. "You should know by now that every tear you shed is a blessing meant to be shared. Your tears will become a commodity, and the sparser it is, the more valued it becomes. Steel your heart, you foolish child. Crying for yourself is meaningless. Crying over something so trivial is weakness. You will cry only when it is absolutely necessary!"

Such was the reality she lived with for so many years. The Koganei were destined to continue granting their aid wherever and whenever it was necessary— pleasantly and without any qualm, without expecting anything in return— as though the cycle of shedding tears was nothing laborious. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and fought back the tears that threatened to spring out as you held the older woman's gaze, the same storms in both your eyes and hers. You would not even attempt to test her patience even though you wanted to challenge her. When she realised you would not talk back, like always, she slowly released you from her hold. 

The shoji soundlessly slid open, followed by Kazuya gently taking Chiemi in his arms, the younger girl also holding back her tears as she clung onto her older brother's deep green yukata for comfort. Suzuna could only watch as her son spirited away his sister from another of their mother's violent outbursts. 

"It's all right, Chi-chan. Onii is here," you heard the boy's soothing voice as his padded footsteps receded from the hall. It was the same tone you heard from him whenever he comforted you. The older woman stood there quietly, her face void of any emotion as she made her way to the door, as though wanting to follow them out. She did not. 

"That girl… she must have gotten that attitude and those impulses from that man. Spoiling her rotten doesn't help her case, either. Sooner or later, she must learn to live with the fact and accept that you are indeed her superior, regardless of your differences in origins," she stated with her back to your face. "Same as how you must learn to live with the fact and accept your fate as the rightful heir to this clan."

From where you now sat, you could see her elegant kimono finely embroidered with numerous golden ginkgo leaves against a crimson backdrop. It was your clan's seal, the symbol of your family's power. By the book, ginkgo represented hopefulness and optimism, calmness, good health, and perhaps inner fortitude— pleasing qualities you knew Suzuna tried to embody for you to imitate. Her candlewick-like patience did not help in her attempts.

"You will become the next clan leader, even if I must beat the resistance out of you," she said. "So I suggest you stop fighting back and learn to accept the fact instead." 

She slowly but steadily made her way back to the middle of the room, outstretching a hand from the sleeve of her kimono. "Chiemi is beautiful and other sorcerer families would kill to welcome her into their fold. A smart family will make use of her origins, and if they are fortunate enough, she will give birth to children with the gift in the future."

You reached out for her and she grasped your smaller hand in hers, gently pulling you up to your feet. She was not harsh on you this time but allowed you to find your balance with a gentler grip. 

"Kazuya is strong in his own right despite not possessing the gift. He inherited his father's Lightning Rod Sorcery, which is just as good and even better if you ask me. He will be brutalised by the reality that sorcerers are only worth the techniques they possess, and he will have to carve his own path if he wishes to make it to the top, to become one of the strongest of his generation," she stated once more as you held hands— tenderly. How ironic it was that she had to state the rest of her realisation. "He must outgrow that compassion, though, for it will ruin him." 

Despite that dire prediction, Kazuya remained exceptionally kind to you as you grew up alongside each other, even when Chiemi was not, and you couldn't help but think it was because he still stood to gain something out of this settlement. Surely he must hold some kind of grudge against you for taking one that should have been his from the start. 

In the morning that followed, it was only you and Suzuna present at the dining hall, your breakfast table laden with most of your favourite food— grilled mackerel, miso soup, steamed vegetables, and a heaping serving of the finest rice in the house. 

"Good morning, okaa-sama," came your standard greeting as you took your place across from her, sitting seiza on the tatami and saying a short prayer of thanks before eventually asking, "May I ask where Kazu-nii and Chiemi-chan are?" 

"Yes, you may. I sent them on an errand. They are delivering invitations in your name, my daughter," the older woman replied, evidently pleased with your manner of speech as she delicately brought a piece of grilled mackerel to her painted lips. "You will turn seven soon. I would like for you to start making friends with other children from sorcerer families. Find a good girl who would like to marry your brother in the future, and perhaps… a good family for your sister to marry into when she comes of age."

You stared at her for almost a minute, comprehending her words before taking your chopsticks in your hands and mirroring her careful actions. It had been nearly a year since you were first brought into the main family home, and it was the first time you heard her refer to you as her daughter— and Kazuya and Chiemi as your siblings. Asking her questions will yield no answers, and you didn't want the surprise to show on your face any more than it should. You gave her a brief nod before helping yourself to a small mouthful of newly-cooked rice. "Of course, okaa-sama."

"Zenin Naobito-sama's youngest son— the nephew of the Zenin Clan leader— is about your age… and it seems the boy has taken an interest in you. I would like to arrange a meeting between you two soon. What was that boy's name again?..." She said with a short pause before setting her chopsticks down. "Ah, it's Zenin Naoya. He did not inherit his family's prized Ten Shadows Technique, but he is gifted and talented in his own right. You two might make a good match."

The Zenin Family. You've read about the potency of their power before and how they valued strength and cursed energy above all else. It was no secret that many clans were interested in you for your inherited cursed technique, one they hoped would make its way into their own families in the future. It will not matter to them whether or not you give birth to a child with your family's gift as long as you remain tied to them by marriage. Opportunities will always arise as long as you share your blood with them. 

But if you were being honest, the Zenin Family's interest in you did not make a lot of sense. They were purists of the highest form and weren't exactly known for seeking out potential spouses from other clans, let alone from lower-ranking ones like yours.

"Kazuya disagrees with the arrangement, though. He said something about Naoya-kun being a little brat," Suzuna continued. "It's just a meeting. Afterwards, you decide whether the boy truly is a brat as your brother says. Have I made myself clear, daughter?" 

Asking her questions will yield no answers, you repeat to yourself. She hated being questioned most of all. You hold her gaze this time, a pleasing yet measured smile on your lips as you nodded in affirmation once more. "Of course, okaa-sama."

"I suppose the times are changing. Tradition will soon hold very little meaning in this day and age of sorcery. It's only right for me to get on with the times if I want our family to survive," said the older woman before resuming her meal. She remained unmoving for a moment, letting out the faintest of sighs from her lips. It was the first time you have seen her visibly exhausted. 

"Are you all right, okaa-sama?" You ask her, though you wish you could take it back as soon as the question left your mouth. You expected her to snap at you for asking such a stupid question. Instead, her pursed lips soften to a similarly measured smile. 

"I tire of making all the decisions for us. Sometimes I wish you could inherit right here and now, but that would be unwise, making a child do all of this for me…"

For the longest time, Koganei Suzuna's true motivations were unclear to you. She was vicious in her decision-making and cruel even to her own children, but the unravelling of her composure at that very moment revealed to you more than she intended to make known— She masks her love for her children with indifference in hopes of preparing them for whatever the future has in store for them. Such things are beyond her control, so she focuses on the things she can control, such as forging alliances with other clans in order to secure places for them in jujutsu society. The matter of your own betrothal was no different, and she wishes for you to cast your net so far and wide to find a suitable husband who will uphold your family name and allow you to continue your clan's life work, starting with that brat from the Zenin Family. And perhaps another…

Her truest aspirations are for the Koganei Clan to remain in a position to continue helping others and assisting both sorcerers and non-sorcerers alike— even when it cannot help itself anymore, to continue prospering even as time's flow carries on, as the times change. 

Change is inevitable. Suzuna knew that from the moment you were first brought to her, shivering and covered in your own snot. Your tears were blessed with the ability to heal whatever has been hurt, and what a waste it would be if you cried at nearly just about anything. 

"I will do my best to uphold our esteemed family name, okaa-sama," you confidently stated, unknowingly cutting through her reverie. There was something about your newfound confidence that gave the older woman a little bit of hope that she was right about one thing. 

"Of course you will. You are my daughter, after all. I expect nothing less."

Crying for yourself is meaningless. Crying over something so trivial is weakness. You will cry only when it is absolutely necessary— that very scolding became your guiding principle. From that moment on, you realised that Koganei Suzuna had complete faith in you and your ability to adapt to your circumstances. It didn't make her any less cruel, though.

Author's notes: — I use "Otome" as a placeholder for "Y/N" because I thought it looked much nicer in the stories I write. The term "Otome" is from otome games, or maiden games, and in this piece Otome would literally mean maiden, or Maiden-chan, which pretty much means Y/N. — The Koganeis are a family I've worked on before in a different fandom and I consider them a recurring theme of sorts. Seeing as they are a theme in itself, they have a gold motif to them, evident in the words I used to name their techniques. 小金井 - Koganei, which literally means 'tiny gold town'. Kin'iro no Namida - Golden tears — This lovely analysis of Zenin Naobito's character suggests he took up his role sometime in 1999, which is why Naoya here is still referred to as the 'nephew' of the current clan head. Have a read if you're interested in some Zenin Clan lore. This is a work in progress, one which I am very happy to be writing! This is also my first time actually posting a full fic here, so please let me know if there's anything odd. You can get in touch with me on Twitter or here at Tumblr @SongsOfAdelaide if you wanna drop me a line or something! ~ Mari / SongsOfAdelaide ♡

✦ Asleep Among Endives Masterlist ✦

#songsofadelaidewrites💛 #reader insert #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you

[duskyskye]

So, after creating Gale, my brain decided that I needed to create a Fell version of him. After a couple months of toiling away, I’m happy to introduce the world to Wren! Below are a few headcanons, as well as a synopsis of his backstory. I hope y’all enjoy him! Thank you again to @scrambledmeggys​ for the post artwork!

TWs for HCs include implied child abuse TWs for backstory include no-mercy run mentions, death, child abuse, intense injury, experimental horror, loss of limb due to experimentation

HCs

* He was raised in a lab environment, and was instructed from a young age to learn to speak briefly. He was told it was for the purposes of “quickly telling staff when there’s an emergency” but he knows it was mostly just because the scientists didn’t want to waste their time with the children around them. He can write extended sentences, but when it comes to speaking, he tends to use no more than 3 words at a time. He’s slowly breaking the habit through therapy, but it’s been ingrained into him for a long time and thus still manifests in how he speaks.

* Due to his work in the labs, he gained an immense knowledge of chemistry and anatomy, and now works in pharmaceutical research. He’s not a fan of the greedy practices that are commonplace in the industry, and thus works to create and patent his own medicines to sell at lower cost. 

* He, like Gale, very much enjoys swimming. However, he most prefers roller skating and biking. He enjoys sports that give him a thrill and a sense of motion; it reminds him of his freedom from the Underground and how he can go anywhere he desires.

* He enjoys floral arrangement. Being on the surface exposed him to many varieties of plants, and he became enamored with them; there were so many new species, and in so many different colors and shapes! He found himself collecting them and got into arranging after a bit of research. It’s what most of his expendable budget goes into.

* He’d always wanted a pet when he was little, but a dog seemed like too much energy and cats felt a bit too independent. He decided to look into smaller pets, and that’s how ended up with his 3 guinea pigs; crocus, catmint, and chive. They have a nice, large enclosure and every time Wren gets home, he’s greeted with a chorus of whoops and squeaks.

* He’s also very fond of soft things; pillows, soft fabrics, plushies, flower petals, among other things. He often carries small plushies around in his pocket to just rub and stim when he’s getting worked up about something. 

* He mostly got his jaw piercings to look tough in his Underground, but after a while he did enjoy how they looked and decided to keep them. He’d probably get more if he had a place to put them, but being a skeleton, he has pretty limited options. 

* He’s an avid reader, preferring adventure stories that carry their protagonists to new and exciting places. Once monsters are able to travel, he’d like to visit other countries, and have an adventure of his own. Though ideally with lower stakes and a significantly lower chance of being murdered by deadly pit vipers.

* He has a fascination with other languages. It was something he never really thought about before, but he finds not only their existence, but their wide variety of meanings and structures fascinating. He can spend hours learning about the linguistics of another language, and the culture and influences behind it. He plans to start learning a second language soon, but he’s having a bit of trouble picking just one to learn.

* He doesn’t have the best diet; his sweet tooth is a killer. Beware if you have chocolate-covered fruits anywhere in your house; left unsupervised, they’ll quickly disappear.

* He likes to wear t-shirts with silly puns on their fronts, especially if they’re science-y in nature. He also genuinely gets a laugh from corny memes and jokes. The lightheartedness of it is what he finds most appealing, and sometimes he’ll just giggle out of nowhere as he thinks of a new one.

* He likes to show his affection through his words, but speaking them aloud isn’t really enough for him. He likes to write small notes and leave them somewhere for his loved ones to find, or he’ll give presents with the note attached to them directly. He’s a bit shy about them though, so often it’s the former.

* He isn’t used to interacting with others, so when starting out with him he’ll tend to approach with caution, his limited speech often being firmly in place. Lots of one-word answers and not much emotion in his tone. After a while though, the walls will start to come down. Tapping into his interests or lending a sympathetic ear are the quickest ways to get you on his good side and help him warm up faster.

* Once you are in his good graces, he is incredibly loyal and devoted. Need to talk? He’s there. Need help moving your stuff? He’s on it. Need help doing your taxes? …He’ll give it his best shot.

* He isn’t used to people caring about what he has to say or people listening, as most don’t wait around for him to finish his thoughts with his pausing. He feels like he’s a burden for it. Which is why taking the time to listen to him, to let him fully express himself, will mean the world to him.

Backstory So my Swapfell Paps, Wren, has been in the care of his Sans since he was a babybones, and while Sans kept him out of trouble to an extent in their early years, eventually both end up being recruited by Toriel. My SF Toriel runs a recruitment program to find the strongest monsters for her guard, and the brightest for her royal labs. Sans is recruited into the army due to a demonstration of high magical prowess in spite of low HP, and Wren into the science program to eventually become a royal scientist due to his technical know-how. This is where he meets his Undyne. The brothers are separated as a result, but are allowed to maintain contact via letters.

While Toriel is impressed by Sans' ability, she is frustrated by his low HP, and eventually he ends up being sent to the lab. The working theory is that if they can divert the pathing of his magic, they may be able to alter HP/ATK/DEF stats to higher than what they may be naturally by taking from his other stats. Wren finds out about this, and as a result volunteers in Sans' place. This is unknown magic, and he feels he owes it to his brother for keeping him safe all these years. Plus he has higher HP, so if it ends up depleting his supply, he's much less likely to be killed. The experiment ends up semi-successful; his HP is exchanged for higher attack, but with the lower magic supply to his body, his magic must cover a smaller volume of dust. He ends up losing the lower half of his right arm in the process. He learns how to manifest an ecto arm for powerful final attacks, but it requires a lot of energy and as such is used as last-resort only.

Eventually both Sans and Wren complete their training. Both are also emotionally stunted from their training, and thus when they're assigned to Snowdin, it takes them quite a bit of time to adapt. Wren, who begins implementing new tech/traps into Snowdin, makes friends gradually with the guard dogs he meets at work and, being dogs, they easily warm up to him and drag him out of that shell. He becomes more casual, begins to hang out at the nearby bar, and eventually befriends some of the locals. Sans, in contrast, is immensely guilty over his brother losing his arm, and thus becomes more detached from him and others. He throws himself into his duties, determined to make up for his perceived shortcomings that have been imposed on him by Toriel and other guards.

Eventually when the human comes, they begin a genocide route. Wren and Sans are alerted to this, and both attempt to detain them. Sans is defeated in the process, angering Wren and causing him to use his final attack on the human. He manages to knock them unconscious, and immediately escorts them to the queen. The queen and the human make a “deal” (though it’s more through force than anything) and the human is used to help Toriel cross the barrier. Eventually she returns, breaking the barrier and freeing monsterkind.

Monsters find themselves not quite knowing what to do. It’s eventually decided that the monsters with the lowest amount of LV will go first to try and establish peace with the humans. Wren and Undyne are among them, being scientists with a sheltered upbringing free of most of the violence the Underground brought. It takes years for monsters to integrate, operating out of the underground as they adjust to living in a society that is no longer “kill-or-be-killed”. Wren, with his brother gone and life spent in labs and away from other children, hermits himself a bit., not quite knowing how to socialize with anyone, let alone humans. He moves in with Undyne into a shared apartment, and upon meeting humans comes off very cold, his speech pattern not exactly helping. He learns to socialize and be cordial, but the walls are gonna take a lot of work to knock down.

#Wren #Undertale #Swapfell Papyrus #Swapfell #Papyrus #My OC #Dusky's OC #tw child abuse #tw death #tw no mercy run #tw intense injury #tw loss of limb #tw experimentation #tw experimental horror

[skylarsblue]

✦New Life from Old Battlegrounds✦

(SoapGhost Content based purely on a piece of fanart by a Twitter mutual. Will I make more than one chapter? Perhaps) ✧TW; References to past abuse(Simon), implied death during childbirth(Simon), reference to a domestic dispute(Johnny) ✧Fluff, Mild Angst, Single Dad!AU✧

★Link to Ao3 Ver : ★Link to fanart that inspired it

✧Meeting✧

John hummed to himself as he walked down the street, dodging people passing him and contemplating what to make for dinner. At the same time, he noted the things around him, thoughts bouncing from subject to subject as it always did. His mother used to joke that if he didn’t learn to contain his thoughts, one day, his brain would be sick of being in his skull and it’d escape. Bounce all over the room like he did. He gave a quick snort at the memory, making a quick note that he’d need to call her again, since it’d been about a week since he’d spoken to her last. It was still very odd being far from her. It’d been such a change from his original plan as a teen, though, he supposed his entire life at that point was far from his young plans for his life.

For starters, he’d been certain he’d be more in the military for longer than he was. He wasn’t completely free from government work, but he wasn’t a constant on-call soldier anymore either. Most of his job was paperwork now. Was it his preferred job? Admittedly, no. He often missed the days on base, the training, the adrenaline rush of battle. Not that he liked to complain, he had it good regardless, he felt so anyway. He’d always been the optimistic type. The way his job was now kept him home more, it was safer, the pay was good, and it was honestly nice to have access to food outside of MREs. He most certainly did not miss the MREs. While his teenage self, and himself in his younger twenties, flourished in the aggressive environment of war, he couldn’t keep that life. Thanks to another curveball from the universe.

John had never considered himself to be fitting of the definition “playboy”, though some of his extended family and exes disagreed. He had no issue with being tied down, though it always seemed it never lasted very long. Be it due to personal differences or the way the military kept him away. He always did his best to be a good partner, not perfect, but good. Still, the longest committed relationship he’d had lasted about two years and a couple months, and that had been when he was fresh out of his teens. All the poor experiences and seeming inability to keep a partner, he didn’t fear the prospect at all. He still looked forward to having a partner permanently one day, getting settled down and such. But that didn’t stop him from casual fun either. He never saw any reason why two adults couldn’t have fun for a night, and leave it there. The problem was really the risk that came with that kind of fun, specifically when his partner had the biological equipment for pregnancy. He’d had one scare when he was sixteen, but that also turned out to be his first experience with a cheating partner. Aside from that, he skated through his pleasureful escapades without problems. He was clean and childless.

Until he wasn’t.

He’d gotten a little too cocky with an apartment neighbor turned casual fuck-buddy, and he came home from a mission to a rather pissed off expression on her face and a DNA test in her hand. It wasn’t ideal by any means, both had agreed on that. It scared him to all death. But his mother had carried many children, and his father sunk in the lesson that it was a woman’s choice completely. He wasn’t carrying anything, his body wouldn’t be changing, so he left the decision up to her. She wasn’t happy with the reality but a heavily religious upbringing made the idea of an abortion out of her options, even if she was rebelling from the eye of God. He’d only nodded when she had said the thought of getting one made her sick. At first, the plan was to try at an actual relationship. They liked each other enough to have sex, he made her laugh plenty, she had a lot of sweet qualities John admired. But by the eighth month, whether it was hormones or the reality of a child weighing heavy on her mind, she’d turned into quite the she-beast, to put it lightly. To the point Johnny sported a new scar on the palm of his hand from a lamp being thrown at his skull.

It became very apparent a relationship wouldn’t work. However, John also couldn’t shake the attachment he’d grown to the child he’d helped create. The last month of her pregnancy was hell on his psyche, but he stuck it out in the hope he’d get to see the baby, even if he’d have to fight it out in a court. Something his eldest sister, Edith, promised to help him with, should it be messy. Thankfully for him, however, the mother really hadn’t been too keen on staying that way. It admittedly stung when she’d responded so poorly after delivering the child, even the nurse winced at her coldness. John got one hundred percent of the parental rights, however, without a court case or a fight. Even if the prospect of being a single father scared him halfway into an early grave. He had many nights where he stayed up on the phone with either his mother or his sister, needing both advice and pep talks. And he still held a pill of guilt from the one night he considered giving his new daughter up for adoption, truly worried he wasn’t cut out for it.

Though, much to the joy of his current self, he’d stuck it out. He had to change and sacrifice a lot, and every now and then, he had the wonder of what would’ve happened had he not taken responsibility. But the thought was often rocketed out of his brain by the simple image of his daughter’s excited face when he came to pick her up from school. A very small, old building, situated in Leek, England. When the baby had just been born and the situation was still fresh, he wanted to give the woman who’d given birth to his daughter to change her mind. So he’d stayed in England, albeit a completely different town. He wasn’t so open to the idea now that he’d raised her, but the town had charmed him, and he wasn’t hugely fond of the concept of taking his daughter out of her hometown. Even if he missed Scotland often. Though he did everything he could to ensure his daughter wouldn’t end up with an English accent. Had it taken a decent chunk of money to get a cable package that included Scottish channels with Scottish cartoons? Yes. Did he regret it? Not at all. Visiting his family for holidays also helped. His daughter, named Maisie, was very fond of her visits to the country. Part of him hoped it could set up for her being open to moving there when she was older, though he didn’t cling to that idea very tightly. He had plenty of time before her teen years. Or, at least he told himself that, even if she turned five at the speed of light. Much like his second oldest sister, Davina, warned him.

John jogged when he spotted the school just ahead. He occasionally drove the distance, but it often wasn’t worth the gas it wasted, not when he could walk the distance with ease. Children filed out to their parents, the sound of little laughter never failed to make John grin. He’d always loved kids, even before being a parent to one. Likely because of the large family he came from. After all, he was the fifth kid born out of seven. His mother was a triplet, and his father had six sisters. The family events were more like circuses with the amount of kids. Sometimes it was hard to get any attention at all. It didn’t affect his adoration for his bloodline though…excluding the occasional prick of an aunt or step-uncle. 

The blue-eyed man walked up to the school, whistling a tune as his hands came to rest on his jean-clad hips. It was warm for once, without a layer of overcast in the sky. John tapped the rhythm of a song stuck in his head on this hip, eyes scanning through kids, parents, and teachers. Stopping once to give an awkward nod and strained smile to a mom he’d met at a school event once. He averted his eyes quickly however. Not to throw a woman under the bus, but John wasn’t too fond of her less-than-subtle flirting she’d chuck his way whenever he went to an event for his daughter. He hadn’t dated since Maisie’s mother, for his own sake and hers. And even if that wasn’t a factor, he was about ninety-nine percent sure the woman was married. John was a lot of things, but a homewrecker certainly wasn’t one.

His brain flicked back on when he heard a familiar little voice shout a goodbye. With a genuine grin this time, John turned and spotted his little girl waving to someone. He let out a sharp whistle, something he’d picked up from when his father owned horses. Quickly, Maisie turned and searched for her father, breaking out into a look of pure joy. Little Mary-Janes clacked on the stone as she sprinted to him. John crouched down and held open his arms, ready to receive. As soon as she reached him, he hoisted her up high with a laugh, reveling in her joyous giggle. He brought her down and set her on his hip, supported by his arm.

“Didn’t you have a bow in yer hair when I sent ya here?” John questioned, and Maisie looked away. “Uhhh noooo?” She lied, making him snort. “Ya lil’ bugger, you yelled at me all mornin’ for not tying it right!” He playfully scolded, making her laugh as he pinched at her side, having her curl away from the ticklish feeling. “I kept the piggies in though!” Maisie retorted, touching the tiny brunette pigtails in her hair. They were a bit messy now, but to her word, they were intact. John sighed with a head shake. “‘Suppose you got a point there. Where’d the ribbon go then?” He asked, subconsciously taking her rucksack when she took it off and held it away from her.

With the pink strap over his shoulder, looking hilariously small against his frame, he watched her eyes grow with excitement. “I gave it to my new friend! I tied it around her wrist and told her to wear it until I could make her a bracelet.” The little girl explained proudly. The ex-soldier tilted his head with a little chuckle. “A bracelet huh? For a new friend? You must like her a lot. That’s a high honor, lass.” He commented. Maisie bobbed her head aggressively, showing she agreed quite intensely. “She’s my best friend now. She’s new to town too! She said she lived in Manchester before, but her dad didn’t like the school she was in, so they came here.” 

John hummed with a quick nod, showing he was listening. He adjusted her on his hip and opened his mouth to speak, ready to suggest a treat before they went home, seeing as how it was such a nice day out. But he paused when his gaze caught on a figure near the front of the school. There wasn’t really anything amiss at first. Just another parent picking up their child it seemed, based on the little blonde girl that was being cautiously lifted off the ground. But it was Maisie’s outburst that made his eyes stick. She pointed with a smile. “That’s my friend! Her name is Ellie!” The information barely registered as John took in the stranger.

Tall, broad, with an aura he’d only attributed to an animal before. A doberman-like intimidating energy. Dressed in almost all black with a black surgical mask across the lower half of his face. An image of intensity only broken by the soft, chubby features of Maisie’s new friend. Round and rosy cheeks with big eyes. John couldn’t look away from the man’s face though, noting a noticeable scar that ran to the stranger’s temple, barely clipping the end of his eyebrow and leaving a subtle indent in the short blond hair at his temple. Just as John was about to force his eyes away, the man turned slightly, and their gazes locked. Cliche and beyond cheesy, but John was suddenly stunned by just how pretty this man's eyes were. Instead of holding the borderline scary aura the rest of him did, they held a gentleness. Light eyelashes in contrast to cinnamon brown. There was a purple tint under the man’s eyes, adding to the naturally tired slope of his eye shape. John always liked eyes, he always found them his favorite thing to look at on people’s faces. Although here, he was suddenly very acutely aware that he had been straight up deadpan staring at a man he didn’t know for God knows how long. The man also clearly noticed, given the uncomfortable shift in his shoulders and the almost anxious glance away, only to connect back with John’s eyes. Obviously, double checking if he was meaning to stare at him. Thankfully, Maisie’s voice helped break John’s train of thought and pull him from his own head.

“Can Ellie come over?” Maisie questioned. “Huh? Oh, uh. We would need to ask her pa, bò.” Her father stammered a bit, looking down at her, although he was certain he could feel the other man’s stare still on him. Internally, he worried he’d already sealed in a bad impression. There was nothing more awkward than accidentally staring at a stranger for seemingly no reason, and then getting caught. “Well he’s over there, let’s go ask!” Maisie tugged at the collar of John’s shirt. He sighed quietly and took a second to prepare how he’d manage that. He debated if he should open with his name or just boldly state an apology. When he decided he’d figure it out once in front of the man, he took in a breath and readied himself to charm his way out of the awkward tension he’d just built.

However, when he looked up, fully prepared to walk toward the man, he was startled by the masked stranger being suddenly closer. A safe distance away but close enough for a conversation. Maisie didn’t miss a beat, waving happily at Ellie who returned the gesture albeit with less enthusiasm. John blinked before he coughed, rolling his shoulders and smiling. Needing to look up was something new. He wasn’t short by any means, and he’d met plenty of tall people, but there was something about the rest of his man’s energy that made his height seem all the more intense. “Afternoon, ‘m John, Maisie’s dad. Uh…sorry about the staring. Wasn’t intentional, was meant to be more of a glance and I forgot to move my eyes.” The Scot said with far less grace than he’d hoped for, he was even using his hand to talk, a habit he always had but that often worsened when he was nervous. The man blinked slowly at him before holding out a hand, which John noted was gloved, despite the warm weather. The gloves had bone detailing on them. 

“Simon.” Ellie’s father answered through a gravelly voice and thick accent. John silently hoped his relief wasn’t too visible as he reached to shake the extended hand, shoulders less tense. “Pleasure to meet’cha, Simon.” He said genuinely, letting his hand come to rest on the strap of Maisie’s bag. He inhaled to speak again, only for his daughter to cut in. “Can Ellie come over to play?” She asked quite loudly. John sighed and patted her on the arm. “It’s “may”, lass. Also say please, and don’t interrupt.” He said, voice soft as he reminded her. Though his tone was gentle, she straightened her back and quickly addressed him with an apology before looking back at Simon. “I’m sorry. May Ellie come over to play, please?” She asked, slower this time. Simon hummed and shifted his weight a bit. He looked down at his daughter, asking silently for her opinion. Ellie nodded with a shy grin. Simon looked to John again. “I’m not too keen on her being at stranger’s houses.” He said calmly. His blunt tone made Maisie deflate, taking it as a complete no. John did as well, but he was quick to offer a solution. “Well that’s alright. There’s a park near a shopping center nearby, Maisie goes there every weekend. If you have the time, maybe we could meet there instead. Let the girls play without havin’ to be at one of our houses.” 

Simon tilted his head back down to his daughter once more, Ellie nodded up at him again, this time her eyes wider and her head shook more intently. “That’ll do.” Simon replied calmly. Maisie perked up again, swinging her legs with excitement as John gained a smile of his own. He struggled to bring out his phone and unlock it with only one hand. Simon rose an eyebrow curiously until the brunet held out his phone, open to a new contact page. “We can work out the details whenever ya have a second.” John explained. Simon took the device carefully. He adjusted Ellie so she could wrap her short arms around his neck. John bit back a snicker when the little girl hung from her father’s neck, allowing him to have both hands free. With the freedom, he slipped off a glove so he could type in his number and his first name into the contact. Once it was done, he handed the phone back and let Ellie rest back on his arm.

“Alright then! That’s solved, just let me know when you get an opening in your schedule.” John nodded. Maisie was silently climbing up his form to get on his shoulders, something he adjusted to seamlessly while keeping Simon’s gaze. His legs turned and ready to leave. Simon tilted his head subtly. “What ‘bout your schedule?” He questioned lightheartedly. John chuckled. With one hand holding Maisie’s ankle, he gently bumped Simon’s shoulder with his fist. “I’ll save you a spot, sir.” He said cheerfully. Simon blinked and followed the Scot with his shocked eyes as John started to walk away. Maisie waved to Ellie and shouted a loud goodbye. Simon could feel the gentle touch through the fabric of his jumper long after it was gone, and it stunned him a bit. He blinked before sighing. “Bloody hell…” He mumbled before turning to walk in the opposite direction, keeping his daughter tucked in his arm. . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Simon bounced his leg as the train shook on the tracks. He kept his gaze either in his lap or out the window, although acutely aware of his surroundings. He always was very observant, no matter where he went. He knew there were a total of twelve other people in his cab and he’d clocked one as an alcoholic off the bat. Spotting a hidden brown bag in the suited man’s bag, amongst various business documents and folders. The pristine suit and silk tie meant nothing. Simon was sure to sit furthest from that stranger, even if he’d been occupied with a meeting on his laptop. It wasn’t his business and he didn’t care to hear the stranger’s sob story, he didn’t really care. The detail-oriented system his brain operated under was built from training.

Simon needed to spot subtle dangers, it was the only reason he was alive to see anything at all. If his childhood strife wasn’t enough to train his subconscious on how to spot the incoming dangers before they occurred, allowing him time to prepare for the fallout or prevent the situation entirely. The years he spent in the SAS certainly did. If anything escaped his line of sight, people would be dead, his own life included. All it took was a single blindspot taken advantage of to send blood splattering to the ground. He’d seen it, he’d caused it. It wasn’t something to take lightly and it was a habit he knew he’d never get rid of. Not that it was a bad skill to have, it kept him alive, although there were days he yearned for a life more peaceful. 

He’d never been free from pain or trauma, if he wanted that, he’d have to reincarnate completely. Something he doubted God, if the being even existed, would be willing to give him. His father’s torment, however the most damaging on his mind when at its most malleable, seemed like the least of his mental struggles. Even if he still had nightmares where the feeling of a reptile’s dangerous and scaled lips touched his own. They paled in comparison to other images that would keep him up at night. The feeling of unwanted hands or the scent of earth mixed with a body’s decaying organs were by far the worst ones, though even those had gotten better. Mostly with time. They weren’t as frequent, thankfully. He had more recent agonies, ones that still stung like fresh. The loss of his entire family but the one man he’d disowned weighed on him heavily, the bruising ache of betrayals from people he considered friends. All these things only kept at bay from keeping himself busy, or, when they were at their worst, an uncharacteristically vulnerable discussion with his coworker and past superior. But all these things were years in the past. His most recent internal gash was only five years behind him, and while he’d begun to walk away from it, he still felt it burn under his skin.

Simon very rarely got close to anyone. Every time he did, it seemed they either died, grew to hate him, eventually betrayed him, or merely vanished. Sometimes he’d ask himself what he’d done to deserve it, occasionally he’d brood in a fit of emotional anger over what those who’d wronged him had done. Usually though, he’d bared with it, even expected it. Every individual he met, he readied himself for something to go wrong. It hadn’t been any different when he’d accidentally bumped into a woman at a library, almost knocking the poor thing over. He was exhausted and a bit woozy from some pain meds he’d been prescribed, thanks to a bullet wound that knocked him in his lower ribs.

She’d been nothing but benevolent, and to call her anything but beautiful would’ve been a crime. Simon had a brand new urge when she’d smiled at him, the urge to run, sprint as far as possible. Her dimpled cheeks, wavy & glowing honey-blonde hair, and kindhearted eyes squeezed the oxygen from his lungs, almost taking out his knees. She even helped him find a book he’d actually enjoy, which he did. It would’ve been bad enough with that one encounter, but then he bumped into her again in a cafe. This time, it was her who knocked into him, promptly covering his hoodie in tea, much to her horror. Simon felt nauseous when his heart stuttered, watching her apologize frantically and ask if he was okay, her cheeks flushed in embarrassment, even when he assured her it was fine.

It was the third time, at a pub, that he learned her name. It was also that time that she’d graced him with her number. He didn’t contact her for a month. Even in the current day, he wasn’t sure what prompted him to call her. His apartment had just been so quiet, the rain so loud, and his heart heavy. Something about her sleep-addled voice must’ve flicked a hidden switch in his brain, because that phone call spurred a relationship. Not a whirlwind romance like in the movies by any means. He didn’t know how to treat her, and he pulled away from her frequently. She’d broken down in tears once when he’d gone a month avoiding her, having assumed she’d done something wrong. That night had ended with him held tightly to her body, earning a kiss with more emotion than he thought he was capable of.

It was the longest relationship he’d had. Technically speaking, given he didn’t really count the on & off situationship he’d battled with from the ages of fourteen to sixteen. All that had done was tell him he wasn’t straight, he hated disco music, and he wasn’t fond of the constant anxiety of his father’s heavy hand over a relationship that wasn’t even exclusive. It also was the kindest relationship he’d had, perhaps even on a platonic level. He could never wrap his head around how someone so gentle could exist. How a voice could feel like a blanket’s warmth on shivering skin, how a touch could feel so safe, or how perfume could be so intoxicating. He’d been so disarmed so fast it baffled him.

He’d known her for four months, dated her for two, and admitted he loved her the entire time on the third month. Coincidentally, the same month she’d shyly placed a positive pregnancy test in his hand. She’d been terrified to tell him, clearly. Probably because he’d been very avoidant on the topic of family, while she’d mentioned her dream of motherhood early on. Simon almost ran again, he’d gotten on a bus in the middle of the night when she’d gone to sleep. He wasn’t sure where, it was his apartment she was sleeping in. He was never sure how he’d ended up at the cemetery his mother was buried in, but it shocked him into going back home. His father was a stain on his DNA, a coward and a bastard. He already resembled the man, the last thing he needed to do was fall into the pit of spineless decisions the man had.

It didn’t scare him any less. Even when the idea of being responsible for a newborn had begun to lighten up, the worry something bad would happen only got heavier. He prayed for it to be paranoia as her stomach grew. He’d even asked whatever god that would listen to put the weight of anything awful to fall on himself, not her or the baby. And he cursed whatever God existed when her water broke far too early, and when it sent the sweetest woman he’d ever had the pleasure of meeting into utter agony. He always hated hospitals, and that hatred worsened when he had to carry her into the ER. He’d paced for hours. There was a risk of losing the baby, something that made his stomach twist. There was a risk of losing her, something that made his chest tighten. There was a risk of losing both, something that actually made him vomit in a trashcan near the waiting room. He couldn’t decide which was worse. 

Simon didn’t get to decide either. He’d been handed a tiny, fragile baby girl swaddled in blankets. She was beautiful, but the moment wasn’t sweet. When he made eye contact with the nurse, the woman’s face said enough, and for the first time in a long time, Simon sobbed. Enough for his entire body to shake. His coworker had to hold him that night, it was the only way to keep him together. “I’m sorry, Simon.” was all the bearded man could say, in a voice gruff from years of ordering soldiers and smoking, but filled with genuine heartache for the man broken once again.

His daughter, Ellie, came out fine. She was small and fragile, sure, but alive. Simon had to ask his friend if babies ever remembered their newborn phase, purely in fear that his child would remember him crying while keeping her swaddled up on his chest. He couldn’t even use the nursery he’d help make, he moved the crib into his room, right by his bed. Though, for the first month he didn’t even use it. He slept with the newborn on his chest, hands rested on her small form, just to make sure she wouldn’t vanish. He even became on a first name basis with the pediatrician because he visited so often, constantly burning with anxiety. The doctor told him to go to his own care physician and get a prescription for Xanax, lest he collapse from the stress. Having such a dramatic change wasn’t good for his health. His friend took it upon himself to make everything as easy for Simon as physically possible. From a shift in careers to watching the baby so Simon could finally sleep, even if he needed a mountain of melatonin to do it. 

He pulled himself together. Even if the time he’d spent with the angel he’d met at the library was cut short, something he somehow managed to blame himself for, up until his daughter Ellie was three. She was the spitting image of himself aside from two things, two things he treasured about her the most. In her brown eyes, the left held a split of color, bright green, the color her mother had. The other feature was a singular mole on her tiny shoulder, just adjacent to her neck, exactly where her mother had one. He always found himself softening when he was reminded of these two tiny details about his child. Even if Ellie didn’t truly understand why. It seemed the features she favored about herself were the ones that she shared with her father. Something Simon managed to find a bittersweetness in. 

He’d been so hesitant to send her to school when she became the right age. To the point he started her on half days, to get her acclimated slowly, but admittedly more for himself. It was fine at first. She had the occasional bad day, but she always attributed it to loud noises or lots of stimuli. It was when she turned four that she started coming home and telling him about the occasional mean comment. It wasn’t too bad, in her words. But the day he was called to pick her up because she was brought into a hysterical meltdown, a combination of some kids teasing her and a substitute teacher’s rough handling of her emotions, Simon had just about lost it. If looks could kill, his eyes would’ve been the equivalent of an air strike. He’d been ready to tear the old woman’s head off, and he’d never been closer to kicking actual children into the sun than that moment. 

The school had a habit of not helping when kids were bullied, and when Simon really looked at it, he realized the environment Ellie was always in. His apartment was cramped and dark, not to mention old. His downstairs neighbor was always yelling at his roommates, the upstairs one was a drunk, and the old lady across the hall never failed to make a comment when she caught Simon in the lift. The traffic was hell and the closest park needed a train to get to, since he didn’t like to drive. He had plenty of money saved, and when he asked Ellie if she would miss anything, her only answer was the birds that nested in one of the windows. 

So, he found a small home, packed everything, and took Ellie out of Manchester. He liked the ability to add more security immediately. No longer relying on a lazy landlord and a chain lock. He could secure every window and door and install a proper security system. Ellie was most fond of the dogs she’d seen being walked in the neighborhood, as well as the large window seat her new room had. The only one who knew about the address change was Simon’s coworker, the only one with a spare key too. In case of an emergency. He’d waited a full month before enrolling his daughter in school again, and he honestly would’ve waited longer, had Ellie not complained about the cabin fever. 

It was fairly close, but just a bit too far to walk to, hence why Simon took the train. The bus was also an option, but it was far too crowded for his liking when he’d seen the stop. He adjusted his mask when walking from the station to the school, the hand in his hoodie pocket held a small back of sweets. Something he grabbed for Ellie as a prize for going to her new school. He silently missed his balaclava. He would’ve worn it if Ellie didn’t remind him other kids would probably be scared of it, and he was intimidating enough on his own. As usual, he scanned the area as he approached. Counting every child and adult he could see. He slowed to a stop on the sidewalk, waiting patiently to see a head of blonde tresses tied in a bun with a white scrunchy, one with little ghosts on it. She’d begged for it when she saw it, and it was easy to pick out of a crowd. He relaxed when she came into sight, noting how she waved at a little brunette girl that ran away. 

Ellie walked to him briskly. Simon zeroed in on a red ribbon tied loosely around her right arm in an uneven bow. “Hi daddy.” Ellie said softly as she reached him. “Hi, squeaker. How was your first day?” He asked. He bent to pick her up when she raised her arms. “Good. I didn’t talk to many kids, but there was this one girl who was really nice.” She explained, then held up her ribbon-decorated arm. “She gave me her hair bow, said it was a placeholder until she could make me a bracelet. Her name’s Maisie, but the others called her MayMay.” Simon hummed in acknowledgment, face softening as she described it with a smile. It’d been the first time another kid had made an effort to befriend her, something that brought Simon a lot of relief. “So, I assume you had fun then?” He asked.

Ellie nodded again. “She taught me Scottish words. Her dad’s Scottish, she said.” Simon listened and nodded. He turned, ready to head to the train station again. He only stopped when he felt the shiver up his spine, a sixth sense he developed when in the sights of a sniper. He even looked at the builds first, checking the roofs. It was only when he looked ahead of himself that he saw who was staring. A brunet stranger with blue eyes and a messy mohawk. Simon blinked as the man gazed at him, noting the little girl in his arms. He looked around at his sides. Maybe the stranger was looking past him? No, no he was certainly staring at him. 

Simon felt Ellie tap him. “It’s okay, daddy. That’s MayMay, that man’s her dad.” She whispered. He looked at the man once more, seeing him now distracted by Maisie. He sighed slowly and looked at Ellie. “You want me to say hello, don’t you.” It was less a question, since he knew the answer, and more a statement. Reaffirmed by Ellie’s gentle nod. Simon let out a defeated sigh, and his daughter patted his shoulder in sympathy. She was well aware of her father’s introversion. Still, Simon walked up, though not too close. He could hear the little girl’s accent, mostly Scottish with a British twang of sorts. Maisie’s father let out a sigh and looked up, though clearly startled by Simon’s now closer proximity. A few seconds passed as the man took Simon’s form in, before he coughed and introduced himself, quickly followed by an awkward apology.

The man’s shoulders were tense, that was the first thing Simon noticed. He also noticed a scar on his chin, and along his right eye. And, a bit shamefully, he noted how tightly the man’s shirt hugged his well-built chest and arms. Simon wasn’t one to gawk but even he had to admit those biceps were impressive. He blinked, then held out his hand. “Simon.” He stated calmly. John relaxed and shook his hand. He looked ready to say something before Maisie cut him off, too caught up in her own excitement to remember manners. “Can Ellie come over to play?” She exclaimed. Ellie smiled at the enthusiasm and Simon could hear her stifled giggle.

John’s voice was gentle when he corrected his daughter, and Simon admired how Maisie immediately responded. Maisie asked again, and while Simon wouldn’t have any problem saying yes, he wasn’t going to agree without his daughter’s confirmation. He never liked the idea of forcing her to do anything she didn’t want to, if unnecessary. But she nodded when he looked down at her. He paused. The idea of letting his daughter go to a stranger’s house made anxiety pump into his veins, and while this man seemed nice, he didn’t want to give out his address. “ “I’m not too keen on her being at stranger’s houses.” He admitted. Honestly, he felt a pang of guilt when John’s daughter deflated. John seemed to as well, if only for a second, Simon caught the look akin to a dejected puppy. Really, the man had serious puppy eyes.

John bounced back quickly though, grinning once more with white teeth and a sparkle in his eye. …or maybe that was just the sun. Yeah, just the sun. “Well that’s alright. There’s a park near a shopping center nearby, Maisie goes there every weekend. If you have the time, maybe we could meet there instead. Let the girls play without havin’ to be at one of our houses.” The Scot suggested. Simon glanced at Ellie again, her nod was intense. He exhaled, she wanted to see the park anyway, better to do it with someone she was friends with. He remembered going to the park alone, it was not a fun experience. “That’ll do.” He answered, following the movement of John struggling to pull his phone out, and he was admittedly confused at first when it was held out to him.

Simon looked at the cracked screen protector as a new contact page stared back at him. John said something about working out the details. Simon bit back his apprehension and took the phone, adjusting Ellie. A silent code they developed, one of many, when he needed both his hands free for a moment. She secured herself around his neck and he let her hang off him so he could take off a glove. He tapped in his number and his name, all in lowercase. John’s grin was sunshine bright as he took the device back. Simon wondered if his cheeks hurt at this point while Ellie settled back on his arm. Maisie climbed over her father, something the man seemed unphased by, helping her adjust to be on his shoulders. “Alright then! That’s solved, just let me know when you get an opening in your schedule.” John said cheerfully. The longer he spoke, the more Simon could see this man spiritually being a dog. Probably a terrier of some kind. He was way too happy. Though, really, it was an endearing quality. Certainly more pleasant than the bitter old lady across the hall.

Simon had the faintest of smiles behind his mask as he jokingly asked the man about his own schedule, seeing him ready to leave. John chuckled and gently connected his fist to Simon’s shoulder. “I’ll save you a spot, sir.” He said. Fire radiated over the blond’s skin from where John had tapped him, and he felt the air suddenly vanish from his lungs, leaving him stunned. Even after John began to leave. “Bye-bye, Ellie!” Maisie shouted back, making the little girl wave back. Simon swallowed as the urge to high tail it back home filled his nerves. He pushed it down, not for the sake of seeming brave, but quite the opposite. He wasn’t going to feel that way again, he refused. Not so soon. But as he turned to leave, and he settled on the memory of a puppy-eyed gaze and bold grin, he was worried. Very worried.

"Bloody hell.” He whispered, hugging Ellie closer. The little girl rested her head on his shoulder, eyes shut. He let himself exhale a puff of anxious breath, feeling himself settle at the sight of her peaceful form. He’d be fine. They’d be fine.

#tw ptsd #tw past abuse #tw death during childbirth #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #soap call of duty #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost call of duty #simon riley #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghost x soap #single dad au #au #alterrnative universe #ao3

[its-my-whump]

Febuwhump - Day 26

"Help them."

@febuwhump

Tw: gore, implied death (not even sure myself here)

His leg was pinned, but the real bad thing was the metal rod sticking out of his side.

Breathing was hard. But gladly Caretaker put it on the smoke and dust practically standing in the air, crouching by his side in semi darkness. There was only dim light. A few beams of sunlight somewhere far above, a lamp was flickering, in the direction the hallway had been.

So Caretaker couldn't see, that whumpees shirt was soaked with blood, that warmly spreaded on his belly and flew down his right flank.

Voices and screams down that distroyed hallway. "Help. Please somebody help." A girls voice, sobs and gaspes. "Somebody help us." Another young voice, hoarse and cracking, coughing. The kids were supposed to wait outside and then the explosion hit all of them completely unprepared.

Caretaker's hand found whumpees left shoulder. Who lifted his own right hand and crossed his chest to lay it on his friends big paw. The movement alone let spikes of pain jump through his stomach. He gasped. His dirty fingers weakly crawled around Caretaker's warm hand. Mostly to keep it from moving further and accidently touching rod or blood and also to feel the warmth of another human being, being quiet certain it would be the last thing he ever felt before agony was ripping him apart and everlasting darkness was swallowing him up.

The bitter taste of thick blood summoned in the back of his throat. He wanted to gag, but with sheer willpower, he forced himself not to, swallowing painfully again the building smell of awaiting death.

Even though it was so dark, their eyes met. A slight glimmer of white, glacy from dust and pain, irises big as orbs in surrounding darkness.

The sobbing and crying got louder from down the hall. Both kids were panicking. "Heeelp. Please."

Whumpees voice merely a whisper, the pain clearly coating every word. "Go. Help them."

Caretaker didn't want to leave. He couldn't see, but he could hear, feel and smell, the fast draining resources of his friend practically leaking out of him. And in his core he knew, if he left now, his friend would most certainty die a lonesome cold death, pinned down by tons of debris. His hand lifted from whumpees shoulder and he buried the small weak hand in his own two, squeezing it as if he was the one clinging to life.

"I love you brother!"

A big single tear, buried a trail through the coat of dust and dirt in Caretakers face.

A slight squeeze back was all he got for an answer, as the children's screams echoed through out this overdimensional graveyard.

My masterlist

#febuwhump2024 #febuwhump #febuwhumpday26 #whump #writing #whump writing #whump community #help them

[karatekels]

Valek TIG. Reader is Jack’s daughter (18+). The church put the cross at a church at a catholic boarding school for slayer’s children in training to be future slayers, trying to keep everything that needed guarding together. But in reality Valek is able to get the cross and a definite reason to keep Jack engaged in the fight. What would be better than turning Jack’s only family against him. Enemies to lovers.

I'm SO excited to finally get to this one! I hope that it's worth the wait - I'm anticipating it to be 4 chapters in total, and this is definitely going to be the shortest one.

TW: Indoctrination by the Catholic Church, implied death, blood (very minor... for now)

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Heirloom - Chapter 1

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Deep in the centre of Tuscany sits the medieval town of Monteriggioni, perched on a hill and surrounded by high stone walls. A centuries-old fortress, it has long been a place of protection for its allies, and can become fully self-sufficient during times of trouble.

It has been operating as a self-sufficient town for decades now, its gardens plentiful.

While official records claim a population of ten thousand, the number of people living in this little city fluctuates like the ebb and flow of a powerful tide.

The comings and goings of its occupants are a well-kept secret, known only to those who are allowed access to the city in the first place.

Within the walls of Monteriggioni, the next generations of Slayers receive their training.

To the public, this education is given a generic name of importance, one that oozes prestige but does not invite questions: The International School of Siena.

To anyone that looked over the curtain wall of the battlements, they would observe a quiet town with more than its fair share of churches, a large fortress at its centre. In practice, each church was a classroom, the fortress a dormitory to thousands of children and young adults, all slayers-in-training.

Some were orphans taken under the protection of the Catholic Church, others were the children of slayers, descendants of the Crusaders.

All were soldiers. Or at least, they would be before they were allowed beyond the city’s walls.

Those responsible for the Scholars of Monteriggioni (as they were known) held various roles: providers, priests, parents. But above all, they were protectors and educators.

And when you had completed your scholarship and were done being protected and educated by the Elders, you waited.

You, Y/N Crow, have been waiting for years.

You aren’t exactly thrilled about it.

You had spent the first thirteen years of your life raised by a single mother that had done everything possible to keep you from the dark world your father operated within. You hadn’t even met the man until a few months after the fire that had destroyed your life and taken your mother from you.

The Catholic Church had claimed you as a ward with the written permission of your biological father immediately upon your mother’s death, a strange and unwelcome presence as you had not been raised with any sort of faith in your life. Having nothing left in America, you had been relocated to the tiny town of Monteriggioni and introduced to the terrifying reality of vampires that walked among us in the night.

You hadn’t believed the stories until you were forced to witness the execution of a goon with your own eyes, the memory of their screech and charred body burned into your mind forever afterward. You had spent the next ten years being moulded into a warrior, a weapon wielded by the Church to exterminate the unholy scourge of the earth that was the growing vampire population.

And you’ve spent more than two years now waiting to be recruited so you could leave this place.

How was it that you, daughter of the infamous Jack Crow, Master Vampire Hunter, hadn’t been added to a team yet? And even if the nepotism hadn’t helped you, you had excelled in your training. So what could possibly be the reason you were still stuck in Monteriggioni?

You suspect that your so-called father has something to do with it.

You really hate the man.

Where did he get off, taking you from your home and everything you’d known and forcing you to follow in his footsteps and then not even letting you out into the world to prove yourself? The best years of your life, the time when you were supposed to find yourself, had been unceremoniously taken from you, and for what?

With nothing better to do, you had taken to exploring the catacombs beneath the city as of late, trying to map out the complex system of tunnels you had grown up on top of. You would hardly say that you were even an amateur cartographer at this point, but your ever-expanding maps made sense to you, at least.

Your focus over the last few months has been the western quadrant of the tunnels. Your exploration of the other areas have all yielded at least one secret passageway or hidden room, but you haven’t found any in this section yet.

These dark, underground halls had long stopped being scary to you, but today something feels different, like there is a chill in the air. While it had been early evening when you’d descended into the tunnels, night was likely only falling now, and you knew it took a few hours after sundown for the night’s chill to seep this far into the ground. You’d been dealing with an inexplicable draft as well, which shouldn’t have been possible underground, but there it was, playing with the flame of your torch again and threatening to extinguish it.

Ordinarily, you could fiddle with the fuel and the airway to create a smaller, more stable flame – with all of your training, you really only required the tiniest fraction of light to see in the dark – but the symbols marking secret entrances were small, and you needed as much light as you could get if you didn’t want to risk missing them entirely.

You were right to do so, coming across two small symbols shortly after reigniting the torch for the fourth time today: one in the shape of a crescent moon, the other an empty cup. You had seen the latter symbol before, here in the catacombs; it indicated the need for a blood sacrifice for the passageway to open. The moon, however, you had only seen in ancient texts, usually used to symbolize change or transformation due to the multiple phases of the lunar cycle. It probably had something to do with what was housed inside, which meant that it wasn’t one of the disused passageways that led out of the city.

Eagerly, the curiosity burning within you, you set your torch on a nearby sconce before unsheathing your dagger, slicing your thumb with the ease of long practice and pressing it against the symbol of the cup. When you remove your thumb from the wall, the symbol looks like a goblet of wine, and a deep rumbling can be heard before the wall slides open a crack.

Bracing yourself against the opposing wall, you press on the newly revealed door with your leg, pushing it open, the sound of stone on stone grating but not unpleasant. Stepping inside the room with your torch in hand once more, your breath is taken away by what’s inside.

Up on the old stone altar, dozens of candles guiding your gaze upwards like the bannisters of a divine staircase, is a large black crucifix, adorned with gold and rubies. A real, sacred relic, right before your very eyes, glittering magnificently in the torchlight…

Relics like these were rumoured to have been stashed all over the city over the centuries. You’d come across some of the altars where they had been kept during your explorations, but they had always been empty, the precious artifacts moved somewhere else or destroyed.

Did anyone even know that this was here? Should you know that this was here? What were you supposed to do know that you had come across it? You weren’t exactly supposed to be poking around down here; you hope you don’t get in trouble.

“Crow…” an unfamiliar voice, husky yet soft, purrs from behind you. You turn guiltily, hoping that a priest or cardinal isn’t about to condemn you for being down here.

But no one is there, waiting to pass judgement on you.

Something about that whisper of your name has your hair standing on end, and you suddenly feel quite claustrophobic in this stone room beneath the city. Time to get out of here.

Taking one last look at the cross, you take your torch in hand and return it to the sconce in the main hallway, moving to reseal the altar room. Your eyes skim past the symbols that marked this place, before doing a double take.

The cup is no longer red with your blood; instead, a dark stain fills the chalice, the way rock did when it got wet. A shudder runs through you, and you think that the spike in adrenaline will at least make it a bit easier for you to push the think wall of stone back into place.

“What is your name, child?” a new voice, this one equally as unfamiliar as the first, asks from the shadows. You shriek, diving for the torch and brandishing it against the darkness, looking for the speaker.

“Where are you?” you demand, fighting to keep your voice from wavering. “Show yourself!”

“Your name…” the voice demands again, high and clear like the ringing of a tuning fork.

“Y/N!” you cry out, wanting the voice to stop more than anything. “Y/N Crow.”

“Did I not tell you, Cassandra?” comes the deeper voice, clearly a male. “Her blood does tempt me so, just the same as her father’s. The blood of a Crusader…” the voice hisses, and you come to a horrifying realization.

Your blood sacrifice hadn’t been absorbed by the stone.

It had been licked clean.

Vampires were underneath Monteriggioni.

Sure enough, two figures slowly emerge from the shadows, staying just on the edge of where the light of the torch fades. From what you can see, both are dressed head to toe in black, only their faces and hands visible, bare and ghostly white. The female is short, shorter than you, with long auburn hair that falls in waves like spilt blood, while the male towers over you even from this distance, his hair dark and brushing his shoulders.

You don’t reply, you can’t reply. You can’t even breathe.

You just turn and run.

You think you hear the faint whispers of a conversation between them, but it’s hard to be certain as your heart pounding in your ears drowns out every sound but the thudding of your feet on stone.

You desperately try to picture your map in your head, but this was the area of the catacombs that you were least familiar with. Left… you need to go left.

There’s a whoosh of air, and your torch flickers again, nearly going out, and then the female vampire stands in front of you with a gentle smile.

Oh. They had been the source of the breeze down here.

Placidly, you wonder how long they had been down here for, how long they had been following you for.

You don’t give it too much thought; you’ll be dead in a moment anyway. You’re glad that the dormitories didn’t have any entrances to the catacombs; that would give everyone else a chance, at least.

“Come with me,” Cassandra’s piercing voice demands, extending a clawed hand towards you.

You take an immediate step back; it’s more of a reflex than anything. She gives you an encouraging smile that doesn’t meet her wide, pale eyes.

“I’m not going to hurt you, little one,” she insists, despite being several inches shorter than you are. “Now come with me,” she purrs, tilting her head to the side. Her eyes seem to glow, and you find yourself moving towards her, feeling like you were floating. She was mesmerizing you.

Knowing that her powers of hypnosis are at work does nothing to break you from their spell, and as you find yourself walking into her open arms, Cassandra laughs delightedly, wrapping you in a cruel imitation of a hug.

“Now… sleep.”

Weightless, your world fades to black.

---

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Epilogue

One of the things that disappoints me the most about John Carpenter's Vampires is that there are quite a few cool ideas and concepts that are just... not built on at all, in favour of more screentime for Katrina's abuse or James Woods's unpleasant quips. I really want to build up this world, and that starts with giving at least SOME of the other Master/Mistress vampires a name, starting with Cassandra!

#thomas ian griffith #jan valek #vampires #valek x reader #thanks for the ask! #heirloom #dark desires october

[immortalsys]

Kaeya / Khaenriah

Headcanon Backstory Retelling

TW for death, religous themes & (implied) child abuse

___

He grew up in the Last Fortress of Khaenriah; a small group of ruins still intact enough to house the remaining people who had not been transformed.

They tried their hardest to keep their culture alive; teaching the small group of children the runes, telling stories of great architecture and craftsmanship.

Their food was more sparse than before, although the people of khaenriah were well equipped with fostering limited amounts of resources.

Kaeya loved listening to the adventures the guards and soldiers of the fortress would tell him. He and the other children would circle at the feet of their heavy armor, starry eyes wide.

The Elders were crushed, kind, crazed - they were sweet, reminiscent, sorrowful souls with no light left to light up their eye. But oh, they loved the golden prince.

He had a great many nicknames and titles. Being one of the last khaenriahns with royal blood, moreover one with a golden eye ("and heart") he was loved by all. Aurum, golden child, golden boy, golden hope, golden future...

Although he spent most of his time exploring the ruins with other kids, listening to stories, writing runes in the dust, singing along to songs and learning to read and write, it wasn't all perfect.

The elders, the few remaining parents, the knights; their eyes are haunted, their bodies frail, littered by burns, scars, lines of corruption. He watched as they shook, some in sleep, some all the time.

Kaeya made acquaintance with Death at young. His father, or an elder, would walk up to him with sad eyes, clasp his hand and lead him to one of the sick beds. Laying there would be a dying creature, hands blackened by the curse. He would sit by their side, hold their hand until the last light vanished from starry eyes.

"To see the golden child alive was a promise of a future beyond ones own life" his father had explained when he'd asked, lowering his arm, an odd sensation of warm death sticking to skin.

Fire was white. It would flicker in what they called "night", even if they had no means to measure time down here. The Elders would stand, hands spread wide, lamenting and speaking of the old times. Cursing at the Gods, at the false Sky, the Kingdom that fell.

As Kaeya grew older, their speeches became wilder, angrier, fantastical. His father spoke too; almost each night. Lately, (when he was 5) he had taken to praise the words of a God like no other. It called itself SINNER.

He did not believe in much his father told him. He loved home, but he couldn't miss what he'd never seen - and while he yearned to see his Kingdom in its prime, it wouldn't get up from the ashes through the Gods fall.

Kaeya did not mention this, of course. From 6 years on, he was schooled in the language of "Mond". The elders, the remaining Teacher, tried her best at it. Based of an old dictionary from before the fall and two books in Mond, he could speak and write it by 11 years old.

Father's speeches and rants were becoming nonsensical. He'd convinced more people to belive too. Kaeya silently nodded along, unsure about it all.

Despite the destruction of everything they'd ever known, the fortress was not vacant of culture - song, dance, myth. Echoed rhymes, hushed legends, clacking shoes on stone. The nights were alive, alive, alive.

Kaeya liked the lullabies of Teacher. She sang to the children in their beds, khemia lighting up her hand, creating fluttering shards of flowerpetals. He finds himself humming its melody even decades later, when he struggles falling asleep.

Father and some Knights had taught him how to use a dagger. He playfully fought against the other kids, eyes gleaming in energy only reserved for a child.

Although Kaeya is unsure if he'd ever truly been allowed to simply be a child; burdened with the Hope, facing death and annihilation before ever seeing the sky.

The weeks leading up to his departure were filled by all sorts of celebration and preparation. Dance, Feasts, Hymns, glowing petals woven into his hair, glowing light of khemia striking and pure.

Kaeya was regarded by the other kids with envy, pity and awe. Bright starry eyes familiar and warm, hands as dirty as his own - playing catch around the fire despite warning calls.

On his twelfth birthday, he was gifted a crown, celebrated with the song he'd heard each year.

"Golden child, oh golden child of hope - you grow and grow, golden hope, golden boy - we lift you up to the sky, aurum o aurum, - for you will bring down the gods with a cry - golden boy, our golden child, you age again tonight!"

Father had taken him by the hand, bags filled with food and sleeping mats, crazed eyes dark, smile alive. It was time.

He had hugged the other children tight, gotten pats on the head from the Knights, a wave from Teacher, an echoed farewell from the entire Fortress.

A tunnel of light split the wall, and his father dragged him into promised land.

The journey took over two months, mostly spent in caves and domains, hidden from all.

Voices would call out to them, beg, cry, tell them to stay in those halls. His father never spoke about it, asleep as he guarded, dagger clutched in thin hands.

Father had become more harsh. Mad, at the world, at the Gods, at his son. Burning hatred pointed towards the golden boy, cowering beneath iron command.

Their food did not last; it wasn't meant for a world like that. They had to reach the surface for the first time. Hunting animals he'd never seen, eating plants strange and tall.

Each and every day, his father would rant. His instructions impossible, yet Kaeya did his best to follow each command. It way futile; nothing could mend the madness of a broken man.

Kaeya grew to be afraid of him. He spent his nights guarding, not for enemies but the man sitting up in dreams and screaming.

As their travel reached Mondstadt, they had become thin and starved. Kaeya was tired, yet plagued by dreams of anger and father or sadness and home.

At last: The Manor. They had left the last cave and walked through the woods, and it was the last time Kaeya would ever see his father. It began to rain. He had never seen it before, fascinated by the cold drops from the sky.

Father instructed him to cover his eye, and with a final, cold goodbye, he opened his palm as a slit opened up in the world. "You're our only hope, Kaeya."

He dropped to his knees to dirty them. He stumbled through the vines, legs getting cut on thorns. He was met by a yelling maid, rushing inside.

Not a minute later, he was being embraced by a red-haired man, speaking softly to him.

Never before had he heard that language, but he could understand parts of it. "Bist du...'Alone?' 'What's a child' draußen ohne 'coat'? 'Boy, what's your name?"

"Kaeya."

#kaeya alberich #immortalsystem #genshin impact kaeya #genshin impact #fanfic #backstory #khaenri'ah #headcanon #kaeya headcanons

[the-cosmos-withinus]

Shadow Puppets AU- Children of Gravesfield

Obviously these aren't the only kids in the town they're just ones that have some minor connection to Philip. Where's Caleb, you ask? The only reference image I've drawn of him is his eighteen year old self, in this line up he'd be twelve and I didn't feel like drawing a whole new one just for this line up that's about the other kids, which in and of itself is a lore post about what Philip left behind when he went after his brother.

Also in this AU they're Protestant, not Puritan so they get to wear color.

tw: implied sexual assault, internalized homophobia, bullying, fatphobia, homicide, fratricide 

Philip mostly interacted with the Fayerweather siblings, who represent the middle class of Gravesfield. After the death of their father, Hugh became the 'man of the house', despite their uncle moving in to help out and having to be the father figure for his younger siblings put a lot of stress on the young boy which manifested into violent behaviors later in life.

Their uncle had unrequited feeling for their mother which caused a lot of tension in the family as he tried to extort her by threatening to leave them to their own if she ignored his pursuits. The family also got a lot of charity from the church and Father Josiah previous to the arrival of the Wittebane brothers. Their mother may or may not have known what Josiah was doing and looked the other way for her family's sake.

Alice Fayerweather: A seven and a half year old girl who Philip kind of liked, and who kind of liked Philip, but they were too young to really call it anything more than that. Like Philip, Alice is what we call Autistic today, but unlike Philip she didn't have a savant talent. She just came off as shy and a bit simple, capable of remembering the most random useless information while forgetting basic things like to wear her bonnet, and during hours when the children are allowed to play she spoke through a puppet her older sister made from an old shirt. This behavior was attributed to her young age at the time but she started getting punished for it when she didn't grow out of it as she got older.

Agnes Fayerweather: Picture here at nine years old. Had a great dislike of Philip at first because before the Wittebane boys arrived she used to be Father Josiah's favorite, and while she is on one hand relieved to be out of that situation, she has lost the attention and benefits of his favor which has caused her family to suffer more. She has trouble trusting people outside of her family and was a little cruel to Philip in particular but not to the extend that Hugh was, and did stop picking on him when her little sister asked them to be nicer to him. She also warmed up to the Wittevane brothers after Father Josiah was hung.

Hugh Fayerweather: Being the twelve year old father figure to his younger siblings put Hugh in a similar situation to Caleb and the boys almost could have been friends if Hugh did not spend so much time picking on Philip. The first reason he did was because of the town's superstitious nature and general fear of strangers, everyone bullied the Wittebane brothers when they first arrived, Hugh just took the lead. He was very protective of his younger sisters as well, and noticed that Philip and Alice were connecting and tried to put a stop to it by beating Philip up every chance he got for fear of him taking Alice away one day. He also was also a secret/in denial homosexual who developed a crush on Caleb that he didn't recognize or know how to handle, what he did know was that he liked Caleb's attention and hurting Philip got Caleb's attention.

Thomas "Tommy" Aleworth: The Nine year old son of the town butcher, one of Gravefield's upperclass kids. He was another kid that was frequently bullied by Hugh due to his weight and difficulty breathing ( Asthma ) which made him reluctant to run and therefor "perfect" prey for Witches. Despite this, and being yet another victim of Father Josiah's, Tommy was a sweet boy with a kind heart. His blatant crush on Agnes may have also been a factor in Hugh targeting him, but Hugh never considered him a serious threat to his family. He and Philip weren't exactly friends but they sometimes played together and got along well enough that Philip's early hero fantasies usually involved him standing up for Tommy.

Post Wittebane Disappearance

As they grew older, Hugh's devotion to his sisters took an obsessive turn, making him more possessive that protective and frightening them both. Like many in Gravesfield he took to the practice of Witch Hunting with gusto, and unsuccessfully tried to use the disappearance of the Wittebanes to throw Witch accusations around at anyone he did not approve of.

After Caleb and Philip disappeared, Alice lost the one genuine connection she had in the town outside of her family and stopped speaking to anyone outside it all together. The family did actually grow to include Tommy after Father Josiah's crimes were exposed when he, Agnes, Philip and a few others came forward with what he had done to them and due to their shared experience, Agnes grew closer to Tommy and eventually married him.

Hugh never got over his dislike of Thomas, however, and refused to even attempt to accept him, only seeing him as a man who took his sister away. They fought frequently, and during one confrontation accidentally killed Thomas and accused his two sisters of Witchcraft to cover up his crime. His lie was uncovered a few years after they were executed and he was hung himself for the treachery.

#shadow puppets au #philip wittebane #Lore post #Gravesfield era #toh OCs #The Owl House OCs

[dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night]

Seasons in the Sun chapter six

Whumptober No. 29: Scented Candle

TW: claustrophobia, arranged marriage, monarchy, blood, brief misgendering, referenced death of a parent, implied xenophobia, emotional whump, human whumper, vampire whumpee

The wedding party was as crowded as Slava had feared. The sea of human figures parted for his husband, but still it threatened to drown him.

At least the chairs were comfortable, and sitting next to his husband gave the effortless illusion of comfort and love. They hardly needed to look at each other, so long as they remained inseparable before hundreds of guests.

The scented candles on the table filled the air with a sweet aroma. Something like lilacs, but not precisely. Slava wondered if humans had as bad of senses as people always said, and if so, whether they could really smell the candles they lit.

Of all the people Slava could have met first, he was glad for it to be his sons-in-law. They were such cute little boys, running up to gawk at him, but hiding behind their father's chair.

"It's polite to at least say hello," Cobalt chastised them. "This is your new mother. She deserves some proper attention."

"Yes father," Harbor said.

"Yes father," Bastian copied.

They both were at a loss on what to say, barely managing to look Slava in the eye, let alone speak. So, Slava took the initiative in starting a conversation.

"You must be Harbor and Bastian. Your father speaks very fondly of you. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintances."

Harbor and Bastian stared at Slava's mouth as he spoke. Or his fangs, rather. Equally terrified and enchanted.

"I can't believe you're a real life vampire!" Harbor exclaimed. "That's so cool!"

Bastian crossed his arms. "Do you really eat people?"

Slava felt heat rise in his cheeks. Blushing was awfully uncomfortable, even more so in such warm weather Than in the cold he was used to.

"Yes, I'm a vampire," he said patiently. "A real life one, even. Almost everyone in Alkseir is. And no, I don't eat people." He smiled mischievously. "I drink them."

Bastian's jaw dropped. But he took a step forward, instead of running away as most little kids would have, morbidly interested in Slava.

"Are you gonna eat- I mean drink us?" Harbor asked, looking awfully unfazed by the notion.

"No silly," Slava said. "You're my step-children. That would be terrible parenting, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, yes," Cobalt interjected. "And you two need to stop being so rude. Slava is going to be a member of our family for a very long time. You had best get used to him. Now sit down."

Harbor and Bastian had a brief squabble over who got to sit next to Slava, ending with Harbor pulling eldest son privilege. Bastian sat down next to his brother, leaning back in his chair so he could see Slava better.

People took their seats at this table, and the others set up around it. They were all dressed in the most modern of fashions, with acid dyed colors, floral adornments, and low collars. Advisers, generals, diplomats, and many others, none of whom Slava recognized.

"Is my mother still here?" Slava asked Cobalt. "I never got to say goodbye."

"She planned to stay until the early hours of the morning," Cobalt said. "I must admit, I'm unused to having weddings at night. But rest assured, she will stay here until you say your goodbyes. And you'll see her again at some future political meeting or other."

His words did much to ease Slava's anxiety. He felt almost silly for his fears, like a little boy still clinging to his mother's legs at a party. Of course he might see her again, even if their lives would remain firmly separated for decades to come.

"Our mother died," Harbor interrupted. "We had a step-mother once, but she only lasted a couple months. I don't remember her name."

While Slava was curious about what had happened to their step-mother, he knew better than to ask. Opening old wounds was a bad practice, especially when they marred the souls of young children.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said gently. "I'm sure you miss your mother very much. Having me here must be difficult for you, but I promise that I am not trying to replace your mother. No one could do that."

"Yeah you could," Bastian said, with an over exaggerated shrug. "You're our mother now."

"And you're a vampire," Harbor emphasized. "That means you won't die."

Sympathy stabbed at Slava's heart, quite intent on tearing it to shreds. He had never suffered the death of a parent, so he had no idea how to comfort Harbor and Bastian. Especially when they seemed so nonchalant about their loss.

"That's enough talk about Fleur," Cobalt said, trying to hide his emotional pain from the advisers and generals sitting at their table. "This is a happy occasion. I'd rather not spoil it."

"Yes father," Bastian and Harbor said in unison.

Slava wasn't sure how Cobalt taught two young boys to be so well behaved, but he admired him for it. Slava and his siblings had been such trouble makers in comparison.

Servants came onto the grounds, bearing platters of food and drink. Plates and cups were made from the finest ceramics, and utensils from well polished silver. The servants provided for the royal family first, as always, then attended to their guests.

A glass of blood sat properly on the table in front of Slava. He pretended like he knew how to drink from it, watching Cobalt out of the corner of his eye to mimic how he brought the cup to his lips and slowly tilted it back to drink.

It was an odd sensation, but Slava was supremely grateful for dinner. Anxiety was always worse on an empty stomach. He supposed he would have to get used to this sort of dining, and was thankful to have caught onto the proper manners so quickly.

"Is that really blood?" Harbor asked.

Slava set his cup down on the saucer. "Yes, of course. I wouldn't drink fake blood, now would I?"

"I guess not. Do you eat food too, or just blood?"

"Just blood. Food is for humans."

"What does it taste like?" Bastian had a hard time keeping his excitement in check, twitching like a kitten in a field of catnip. "Is it good?"

"Have you ever lost a tooth?" Slava asked, figuring humans did that as well as vampires.

Bastian nodded. "So… like a coin? But wetter?"

Slava had never tasted a coin before, and it seemed a bizarre comparison.

"Everyone has different tasting blood. Like how-" Slava glanced at Harbor's plate, trying to remember what humans ate "-Kinds of meat probably taste different from each other."

"That's so cool!" Harbor exclaimed.

Cobalt shot him an exasperated look. "Keep your voice down."

"Sorry father."

"Can I see your teeth again?" Bastian asked Slava. "They're pointy."

Slava's mother had told him to smile with closed lips when humans were about, as they took such things as a sign of aggression. He had already failed multiple times this night alone.

But ignoring her advice when explicitly prompted couldn't hurt anything. Especially for the sake of satisfying inquisitive children. So, he smiled at Bastian, revealing the fangs he had tried so hard to keep hidden.

"That's awesome," Bastian breathed.

"You're so pretty," Harbor added politely. "Like a fairy."

"More like elves," Bastian argued. "Since they've got pointy ears just like Slava's. And they're tall."

"Or a goddess," Harbor said. "The ones in those old paintings our teachers make us look at."

Slava laughed softly to himself. What peculiar children he had ended up with. They were sure to end up kind, but very eccentric, adults. And, truth be told, he wouldn't have it any other way.

Taglist: @hugh-lauries-bald-spot @whumpsday @whumpshaped @heavenlyeden @thecyrulik @bloodinkandashes @whumpytine

#Abraham original: Hot off the press #Seasons in the Sun #Whumptober 2023 #Whumptober day 29 #Scented candle #Claustrophobia whump #blood #emotional whump #human whumper #vampire whumpee #Royal whump #Whump series #Whump writing

[khepiari]

Why Kuina’s Death Still Unsettles Us?

TW: mention of suicide, references teen/child suicide.

[I read a post about "falling down the stairs" might actually imply death by suicide. Kuina's death always bothered me a bit, and when Shimotsuki Koushiro said to Zoro, humans are fragile, did he really mean our bodies or our hearts? I still wonder. A few months back I had written a fic, a retelling of the events which led to Kuina's fall from the stairs, and I had done a lot of thinking while writing the fic. So all those ideas and thoughts I had then, have been rearranged and put here today.]

I remember watching the Kuina episode like 19 years back. So for an 11-year-old me, that was it. I was sad that she was gone too soon.

But over the years as I grew up, read the manga and then kept rereading it over and over. I did feel her death was surprisingly given the off-stage treatment that was given to Lady Macbeth! Only an announcement was made of her death, and her face is covered in a piece of cloth! That was too sudden, unlike so many other deaths that followed in the story.

I did brainstorm this over the years, it really felt odd, she was a physically strong 12-year-old girl and as far as I know swordswoman/man have to be good at balancing and footwork, because the art of the sword is about full body movement so her falling down is really really really iffy.

Image from chapter 5

And if we look at the Dojo architecture, there were no visible storeys to the building, I am sure she didn’t fall off a library step-stool or carpenter’s ladder. Then I found this Tumblr post, by Heeheemugee which said, falling down the stairs is a euphemism for suicide. Which makes sense! Like it totally connects in my head.

Though, sadly, I didn’t find any source to confirm this, as everyone on the internet told me it's untrue. But, you see, “falling down the stairs” is a euphemism which has been used for domestic violence victims, like in my mother tongue, when it's hard to explain to a child what happened to someone who died, we say the person has gone somewhere far, so may be falling down the stairs is more of an undocumented euphemism or an old reference Odachii picked from somewhere— he is known for this!

Image from chapter 5

Another thing we should remember Kuina was onset of puberty, the stress of future, her father’s general view of female body being weaker, and changing bodily features might have plagued her more than we think— since after 1000 chapters we know Zoro’s teacher is likely from Wano, I think internalized and cultural misogyny was at play too.

Teenage and puberty is a vulnerable time, one misstep can lead to drastic actions, so Kuina taking her own life is not farfetched. Because we have young children who are so stressed or vulnerable or suffering that they think ending it is better than enduring it.

Image from chapter 5

What has bothered me the most, is the offstage treatment of her death. I mean—we have seen most of the “characters whose death impacted the main characters' life decisions” die on stage in backstories so far, or we got a proper explanation of why someone is dead. We know Banchina died after an illness, Bellemere was killed by Arlong, Hililuk was poisoned and blew himself up. Only Kuina’s death we didn’t see, and it immediately happened just after both Zoro and Kuina had a heartfelt conversation about becoming the best swordsman/woman in the world!

I guess Oda chose “fell down the stairs” as the series was like 15 chapters till then. Or it maybe as simple as Odachii wanted to wrap Zoro’s backstory fast with typical “dead girl-friend of the grumpy emotionally suppressed lone wolf” to establish Zoro’s narrative as the one who carries the will of others!

Image from chapter 5

Otherwise, we know Eiichiro Oda doesn’t shy away from depicting gruesome, terrifying or horrible deaths which parallels real life issues, he sneaked in a little panel of a grandmother praying and a mother holding a knife with an infant in her arms in Wano arc, because they were starving for days!

Image from chapter 918

Or a pirate in human auction house biting his tongue to escape the humiliation of being sold as a slave!

Images from chapter 502

Hence, I think Kuina’s death doesn’t seem like an accident and feel like something sadder and heavier than we were led to believe.

#one piece #roronoa zoro #one piece roronoa zoro #one piece zoro #one piece kuina #kuina #shimotsuki kuina #one piece manga #suicide #trigger warning #suicidal ideation #tw sucidal ideation #mention of suicide #unalive #character suicide #suicide discussed #one piece characters #one piece meta #east blue saga #op zoro #one piece anime

[why-am-i-here-someone-save-me]

Caged (Part 1)

TWs: bloodshed, minor character death(s), religious themes(but like mostly only implied), Zhongli being an edgy teen, salt-based ptsd, dust-based ptsd, stalking, pining, implications of reader’s inevitable death, heavily implied murder(protective Morax go brrr), weapons, general destruction ngl

You had never quite enjoyed being focused on. You were far more content to stay on the sidelines, out of the attention of others. You were called humble. Modest. Reserved.

Yet it would be that same humility that would be your doom.

By standing apart from others, you caught the attention of someone who would lead you down the path of destruction.

After all…

Haven’t you heard it’s dangerous to catch a dragon’s eye?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was many things. A god, A warrior, the Prime Adepti. But if there was one thing that Morax was not, well, that would be relenting. He was solid earth, immovable stone, uncompromising rock; and what he desired would either be his or be destroyed.

You were many things. Caring, supportive, understanding. But the one thing you weren’t was faithful, not to the gods at least. Your loyalty to your friends and family, even to fellow humans you’d just met was apparent. But you did not hold the same level of devotion to the gods. How could you amidst this war? Deities were feuding and striking each other down all around you. Why would you place faith in ones who could erase everything you’d ever known in the blink of an eye? Why would you place your heart and soul in the hands of another deity when Lady Havria had taken so much of you to the grave with her? You could not. You knew that if you did, and you were to lose yet another god, you would be unable to carry on. Not again. She had already taken half of you with her.

You mourned your beloved Goddess of Salt. And yet you refused to allow grief to consume you. You refused to let yourself wither away, not after all that Lady Havria had done to protect you and your people. You had been young when your family fled Sal Tearre, too young to grasp what was truly about the occur within your home, too young to understand that you would not ever see Lady Havria’s smile again. When you finally realized the truth, you had been devastated. It had broken you. Lady Havria cared for your people on a very personal level. She had known every name, every face, every single one of her beloved followers. Havria cared for her people as though she were a family member, not their deity. She had been a mother figure to you. When she had been ripped from your life, you had never felt so lost. Your family eventually took refuge in a small village, as as time went by, it became your new home.

It took many years for you to process her demise. But eventually you came to realize that she wouldn’t wish to see you devastated like you were. The revelation had changed your entire outlook on life. You learned to find happiness in the small things in life. A particularly beautiful wildflower blooming in your garden, the laughter of the village children as they played, the feeling of a gentle breeze on a hot day, you treasured each of them. You did not know just how contagious your joy was. By the time you had reached adulthood, you were unknowingly beloved by your peers.

You were ignorant to the fact that the people of your village considered you the pride of the little town. How could they not take pride in you? You who would go so far beyond what was asked of you, who gladly took burdens upon yourself simply to see them happy, who had to be all but forced to rest after spending days working hard for their sakes. Humble as you were, they knew you would be embarrassed by such words, and so they kept them to themselves.

You did not like attention.

But you received it regardless.

You would come to realize that the term ‘dislike’ was not strong enough to describe your feelings for it. You loathed it. Despised it.

It had only ever brought suffering upon you.

It had been the reason you’d unwittingly caught his eye.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You had no idea who he was.

But he knew much about you.

He had learned your story, he probably knew it better than you yourself knew it. He found your lack of reverence for the gods amusing. The way you would laugh it off when one of your peers invited you to a religious event was adorable to him. If he weren’t a stranger in your eyes, he’s certain he would gain your companionship easily. But he was content to watch from afar. After all, as rash as he was, Morax knew all too well the fragility of humans. No mortal had ever caught his eye as you did, and he did not have to observe you for long before a desire began to take root in his mind.

Just who did you think you were, getting his thoughts all mixed up like this? You had no right to cause his heartbeat to speed up, no right to make his mouth curl up into a smile as you did. Yet he couldn’t resent you for some reason. He knew that he was growing attached to you. Morax knew very well how bad of an idea that was. He should not be spending his time thinking of you, of your smile, your laugh, the way your eyes would shine so brightly when they caught the light. He told himself over and over how fragile you were, that he could not afford to allow anyone into his heart during this war, least of all a mortal. But despite how many times he repeated this all to himself, he would always wind up near your village, watching as you went throughout your day. You fascinated him so effortlessly that it frustrated him. He was in a war for Celestia’s sake! He didn’t have the time or resources to be so invested in you like he was! Despite his words, he would always end up fulfilling his self-proposed ‘vigil’ over you from afar. ‘Just in case’ he would tell himself. ‘Just in case something were to happen.’

When something did happen, it wasn’t to you, no. Nor was it to him. But the loss of Guizhong caused something within him to break. His once unnoticed gaze as you lived your life slowly began to become more and more present. The constant feeling of being watched would have been more than enough to eat away at you, but the sheer suffocating presence of the gaze was certainly not helping matters.

Morax still found your lack of devotion to the gods endearing, the thought of you giving your worship to a deity other than him made his blood boil. On the days when such thoughts would enter his mind, there would always be a few small earthquakes throughout the land. No, it was better for you to worship no one than for you to worship some other god like Chi, or Celestia forbid Osial. But oh, if he didn’t long to see you devote your worship to him! The fantasies he would come up with would always leave him even more smitten with you than before. He longed to see you kneel at one of his temples, to hear you call out to him in prayer, for you to make offerings to him. He longed for you to pledge your devotion to him, for you to vow that you would remain faithful to him, that you would not leave him as Guizhong had. He knew it was foolish of him, you were mortal after all. You were fleeting, a flash of light in the night, a spark burning brightly before being quenched moments later.

You would leave him, just as Guizhong did.

He knew it to be a fact, yet he refused to acknowledge it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your meeting was not as he would have wished. He had hoped that when he inevitably would approach you, it would be on a calm day, where he could easily have befriended you amidst sunshine and breezes.

He would not have preferred your meeting to be one framed by fire and panic. It would be far more difficult to form a bond with you if you were closed off in grief. But alas, he could hardly sit back and let you be slain, even if it wasn’t the first encounter he had hoped for. He summoned his spear, preparing to step in, but hesitated for a moment. That hesitation, the momentary pause in his actions, that had been the sealing of your fate.

Those few seconds would be the foundation of stone shackles that would ensnare your very being, cold and unyielding, and you would despise them with everything you had.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You trembled in terror and despair at the slow footsteps approaching you. You knew that they already were aware of your hiding place, and were merely taunting you at this point. The small dagger in your hand shook as the bandit drew closer and closer. You had no chance of defeating them all, let alone surviving, but if you could at least take out one of them, then you would be satisfied. “Why don’t you come on out hmm~? We don’t bite. Too much~.” Your stomach churned at the sound of the man’s voice, as if his hand wasn’t holding a blade that had just taken the lives of so many you called friends. “Hey now, maybe if you behave and surrender we’ll go easy on you~.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as the footsteps stopped outside the poorly blocked entrance to your home. You didn’t want it to end like this. Not after all Lady Havria had done to give you a chance at a prosperous life. Not like this. Tears escaped from your tightly shut eyes as your desperation finally convinces you to make a last ditch attempt to live.

You take a deep breath.

And you pray.

You pray to whoever or whatever might be listening to aid you, pleading your case to the divine.

You hadn’t expected an answer.

You’d come to wish you’d never received one.

Taglist: @nicebonescomrade

#Luci writes #genshin impact #genshin zhongli #genshin x reader #yandere genshin x reader #zhongli x reader #yandere zhongli #morax x reader #morax #genshin impact morax #yandere Morax

[adhd-mess]

sebaciel || nightmare

TW: nightmares, implied ptsd, age gap

A/N: it’s fluff, I’ve been having a Time and needed a nice little tooth rotting one shot :D

Iron cages with children trapped inside, his brother laying dead on an alter lifeless, death—so much death.

“Young master,”

Him, reaching out with a shadow cloaked clawed hand, a tether to death, a promise of retribution for the his family and hisself.

“Young master.” He threw his head side to side, his eyes shutting tight while his hand reached for the gun beneath his pillow. “Young master.” He held the gun and pointed it at the demon’s chest with unnerving precision.

The demon reached for his master, to wake him from this thing but his hands halted an inch from his skin. Unsure if that was the best course of action and if surprise physical contact would worsen his state.

“I believe you are having a nightmare.” The demon paused, trying to recall the instructions he once read about when he first started having these nightmares.

“You are not in danger. You are with me, young master. They cannot harm you. You are in your sleeping chambers.” His breathing slowed to a steady rhythm and Sebastian could feel his young master’s heart return to a normal pace. His eyes split open, revealing the contract mark tattooed onto one of his eyes. He blinked a few times clearing the tears from his vision.

He spoke after a moment once he became grounded to reality again. “You think?” Ciel spat and Sebastian smiled at his young master’s tone. He quite enjoyed when they danced with informal words. It also reassured him that he was back to his normal fiery self.

“You might not believe this but I am no expert on human psychology no matter how much it may seem that way at times.” He rolled his mismatched eyes. If Ciel hadn’t ordered him to never lie to him he would not have believed his demon. “At first I had not a clue on what was going on until I studied up on it.” His eyes widened in something like surprise and his shoulders fell back. The hand holding the gun slumped down a bit.

“You are a peculiar demon,” Sebastian’s smile deepened.

#sebaciel #sebastian x ciel #ciel x sebastian #SebaCiel fanfic #fanfic #SebaCiel fluff #a-m writes #my fanfic

[kursedmayo]

I like to think that Leo didn't lose his arm or a part of his arm because it got caught in something or was getting infected by the Kraang and had to be cut off.

I now offer an even worse reason: he used it to feed someone, maybe even several people.

(TW: Blood, death, starvation and implied cannibalism)

Okay.

Picture this.

It's the fucking apocalypse. Food sources are running out everywhere.

You are Leo. You're young, handsome and inexperienced, but you're one of the most powerful people still alive to date. Leagues of people have put your lives in your hand, and you are trying your best to keep everything running smoothly.

You are on a rescue mission.

You were prepared. You accounted for every possible event and prepared for it. You were going to get survivors out of a recently discovered hidden shelter without alerting the Kraang, but the one thing you counted on never happening happened, and now everything went to shit.

Kraang discovered your team, shut down your ninpo, and destroyed your communication device. You lost one of your swords, people died, you got separated from your team, and the adults guarding the kids are missing.

You're fucked.

Day 1.

Isn't it hilarious? You were on a rescue mission, and now you're the one that needs rescuing.

You are still stuck in the shelter, underneath layers of concrete with scared children, all exits blocked. After almost being infected by Kraang, one of your arms isn't responding well to your commands. You suspect the nerves in it have been damaged somehow.

You try your best to assure the kids. It worked, naturally. They seem a bit more cheerful despite the situation.

Lying has always been your forte after all.

Day 2.

It's been 2 days. You don't know when you're going to get rescued, and the children are starving.

They are starving and have been starving for weeks, and now you're stuck with them, hungry and anxious. You've been told that despite the shelter's size and amount of rooms it wasn't supposed to hold this many people in the first place. The supplies are for maybe 6 people at most, enough for a family.

A rich family at that, perhaps, but it doesn't matter now.

What matters is that the supplies have long been running out. Scavenging can only do so much, and the people were counting on being rescued before they all died.

The youngest is five years old and looks thinner than they should ever be. The shelter is now quiet, the kids being too tired to cry.

Bored out of their minds, they just begin to talk- well, whisper more like it, about their dreams.

You keep quiet for now and listen.

One says they want to eat cake. Another says they want to play on the swings again. Someone pipes up and says they want to sleep on their own bed. A fourth kid says they wanna go back to school already.

Their friend jokes that not having to go to school was one of the only perks of being in the midst of an alien invasion.

They fight, you chuckle. Distracted, the shelter becomes a little more lively with discussions and discourse.

...An older kid wants to find their parents' bodies so they could give them a proper funeral.

A silence, but then it goes on.

They miss their brothers. They miss their sisters. They miss their aunts, uncle's, cousins, grandma's, grandpas- they miss the sun, they miss warm food, they miss fresh water, they miss the outside itself. They want to drink fresh water. They want to hug their grandma again. They miss being able to be loud and not have to worry about being found by the Kraang.

It's all "want". It's all "miss". Never "has", and if you fail, it might never be "will".

And guess what? It's all your fault. You dropped the key. You underestimated the Kraang. More than half of NYC is taken over already because of your mistake. It's all your fault.

...It's day 3.

The kids are getting desperate. You had to stop 4 kids from trying to eat chips of concrete, and some kids are so thirsty that they're biting their fingers and sucking on their own blood.

You have nothing to feed them. You have nothing to give them to drink. They're children, if this continues they're going to die hungry.

You can only hope help will arrive soon.

Day 4 arrives.

You can't even move your arm anymore. It's dead weight. What can the Medics back at the base even do? You don't even know why it stopped working. You're no technician, but you know enough to know Ultrasounds need energy that could be used somewhere else, and you sure as hell aren't worth the waste.

…

…You know Donnie would disagree.

Your entire family would.

You couldn't bring yourself to care.

Day 6.

You're desperate.

The shelter is deathly quiet. No one want to talk

anymore- or well, they can't. They have no energy left at this point.

They are definitely going to die of starvation if this continues.

You stare at your arm.

You stare at it hard.

You're desperate. They need to eat. They need to eat, now.

You don't need it anyways.

…But you shouldn't.

It's your right arm, there's still a chance the doctors can figure out a way to fix it. It's going to be awkward relearning how to fight with one arm. In a life of death situation, it's hard to be missing parts and even harder to make aids for it. Not to mention prions, and the whole being a mutant business, you don't know what will happen if a human ingests mutant flesh.

But….

You stare at the kids in front of you, empty eyed, hopeless.

...You shouldn't.

But you do.

You pick up a sword, and slash through bone and flesh. Pain smothers your vision, blood drips down and pools on the cold ground.

There was a hoarse scream. You ignore it. You make a makeshift torniquete and pick it up.

Through the haze of blood loss, you try to remember where to go. You go to the shelter's kitchen and begin to cook.

You'll remember the smell of your own burning flesh for the rest of your life.

However.

As fucked as it is…

It smells like relief.

They're going to live, you assure yourself, and for a while, it soothes your worries. This is the least you can do after all. This is the least you can do to atone.

For what it's worth, at the very least...

They're going to live.

#text #kursed rambles #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt #rottmnt future leo #tw death #tw starvation #tw cannibalism #yeah his. his mental state aint good. especially in the early days of the apocalypse #as expected ig. who the tf can go to theraphy when people are dying. #also i named this “leos arm cuine lol” in my docs. chuckling about that