#let’s see if I can revive my muses

[cryoculus]

— imagine being loved by me! ⟢

pairing: xiao | alatus x reader

summary: the one where your best friend gives you ten tattoos over the next ten years. the problem? you fall deeper in love each time the ink stains your skin.

word count: 7.1k words

tags: modern au, tattoo artist!xiao, childhood friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, relationship study, non-explicit smut

warnings: emotionally stunted xiao but i fink everyone knows that already, mentions of needles, there's smut but it isn't detailed

notes: this blog's been dead for Months but i thought i'd revive it with this fic that my beloved @delvalentine commissioned me to make! i love u to DEATH, v, i hope i did your requests justice :')

header art cr: yuca7302 on twt

01.

“Ow, fuck! Can you be more careful?!”

“I am careful. You just have a shitty pain tolerance.”

“Wow, that’s not something you should say to your first willing client,” you huff, trying not to pull away as Xiao repeatedly punctures the skin of your forearm with pen ink and a not-so-sterile sewing needle. “My family could sue you if I die from a blood infection, you know.”

Xiao rolls his eyes. “Something this small won’t kill anyone. Plus, you came here on your own volition, so stop complaining.”

“Are you saying you’re just going to let me die of sepsis if everything goes to shit?”

“Pretty much.”

You didn’t know what to expect when your best friend of several years asked if you wanted a tattoo of your favorite constellation. It’s been a running joke between the both of you that the two moles on your forearm looked a lot like two-thirds of Orion’s belt, and that maybe, in another life, you would’ve been born with all three of its stars on your skin. 

You should’ve known that Xiao likes to blow your expectations out of the water—whether he intends to do so or not.

It’s sundown when he finishes embedding black pen ink beneath your slightly inflamed skin. Xiao doesn’t comment when you repeatedly complain about how much that fucking hurt, and that you’re never agreeing to do it again, but you don’t miss the way his eyes occasionally flit up to the starry sky before shifting to your new ‘tattoo’ as he walks you home.

You don’t think you’ll ever forget that night. How you admired the amateur handiwork in the soft glow of your nightlight while thinking about the boy who gave you a star fashioned with his own fingers where others would’ve given flowers instead.

But then you remember Xiao is nothing but your best friend, and it’s a little…weird to be thinking about him like that. 

Must be the sepsis fucking with my head, you muse before flicking off your nightlight, and the room is plunged into pitch black darkness. 

02. 

You’re eighteen when you realize Xiao is completely serious about this tattooing business.

It comes as a not-so-pleasant surprise to you one day when your high school’s guidance counselor approaches you while you’re hurrying over to your next class—asking if you’ve seen Xiao around these days because apparently, your best friend hasn’t been attending his classes for a better part of the semester. 

Of course, you receive the news with a scowl. While you don’t exactly see him all that much at school because of how different your schedules are, you never expected to find out he’s been playing hooky all this time. 

You don’t particularly like sticking your nose into other people’s business—especially not Xiao’s, since you know how he likes to keep to himself better than most. But for some reason, you aren’t able to resist, and end up calling him after excusing yourself from your two-hour Biology lecture. 

Once your classes are done, you head over to a nearby tattoo parlor whose address Xiao texted to you right after you squeezed his whereabouts out of him during that phone call. It’s located in one of the more run-down parts of town that your parents would’ve detested Xiao for inviting you to. But whatever prejudice you might’ve had about the denizens of this district all go up in smoke once you meet the owner herself.

“You should’a seen Xiao practicing with our machines a few months ago!” Beidou, as Xiao had sheepishly introduced earlier, barks out a laugh before slinging an arm around your best friend’s shoulders. “Said there’s someone he wanted to give permanent tatts to. I’m guessing you’re the guest of honor?”

“Beidou,” Xiao groans. “It’s not a big deal. I already practiced on her before.”

You don’t completely catch it when Beidou makes an inappropriate joke as a response to what Xiao just said—eyes trained on the fading dot on your forearm. It’s been two years since Xiao gave you your first ‘tattoo’, and even if the receding ink makes it look like one of Orion’s stars are starting to die out, it’s still there.

“Okay,” you say in the middle of their bickering, startling both Xiao and Beidou in the process. “I’ll let him ink me if he wants to.”

Xiao stares at you with brows furrowed. “You sure?”

No, you’re not sure because as much as you want to support Xiao in what seems to be a budding passion of his, you’re certain that your father is going to kill you when he sees a full-blown tattoo on any part of your body. You barely got away with the artificial mole that Xiao did for you a few years back.

“Positive.” You back your words up with an indignant huff before sifting through the pre-made designs on Beidou’s catalog. “You just have to put it somewhere not everyone can see, I guess.”

Beidou snorts out another jarring laugh when Xiao clicks his tongue to alleviate the embarrassment that’s painting his face just a touch of red. 

Earlier in the day, you intended to scold your best friend for not taking his studies seriously, but ended up going home that day with a new piece inked onto the skin of your left hip: a little spruce twig that you last remember seeing in your old hometown—years before you even met Xiao. 

There’s no particular meaning behind it, apart from a hint of sentimentality and rebelliousness. It’s your first actual tattoo, and one of your best friends gave it to you, free of charge. Even if it hurts ten times more than Xiao’s novice needle method from two years ago, you end up loving it more than you thought. One time, you stare at Xiao’s intricate handiwork in the mirror for so long that you nearly run late for your first class of the day. 

(Another thing that makes this particular piece memorable is the process itself.

Xiao is a person who’s always been startlingly precise in everything he decides to put his head into. When you learned that he wanted to become a tattoo artist, you instantly felt like there’s no other path more perfect for him than this.

Yet you couldn’t help but notice how his fingers sometimes trembled as he gave you your first piece—with you lying chest-down on Beidou’s tattoo chair in nothing but your shirt and underwear. It shouldn’t have been strange. Xiao has seen you dressed down like this dozens of times before. 

But when all’s said and done, he refused to meet your eyes, and you don’t have the slightest clue why.)

03.

You just can’t stop staring when you see Xiao’s half-sleeve for the first time.

It’s meant to be a phoenix, he said, but you can’t really see it because the patterns are too abstract to make sense of. Still, the azure ink sits nicely on top of his built bicep, and you have to tell yourself that you’re just trying to find the stupid phoenix as an excuse to keep ogling him.

Thankfully, your weird fascination lasts for only about a week until you’re back to shitting on him like you always do. 

By some miracle, Xiao manages to graduate high school despite being on probation from his excessive absences. He’s actually smart if he makes the effort to hit the books, but you’re not sure if he’s planning on going to college with how comfortable he is with being one of Beidou’s most in-demand tattoo artists. 

You ask him about his future plans at a party being thrown by the previous captain of the football team in his parents’ lavish penthouse somewhere uptown. It took a great deal to force Xiao into tagging along with you as your plus one, and you’re going to make good on his acquiescence by interrogating him about things he normally skirts around.

“I told you, I didn’t take any entrance exams,” he grumbles against the rim of his red cup. “I’m managing just fine working for Beidou, so I don’t see any reason to go to college.”

You’re about to argue that Beidou’s tattoo parlor won’t be open forever, and that he needs to think about broadening his career options until a bunch of girls with linked arms shuffle closer to where you and Xiao were lounging on the couch. You don’t talk to them a lot, but everyone in your grade knows the infamous Pyro Trio.

“Hey, Xiaooo,” Hu Tao drawls with a smirk, pushing up her sleeve to reveal the branches of a cherry blossom tattooed on the delicate skin of her arm. Behind her, Xiangling and Xinyan snicker like it’s some sort of inside joke. 

You intend to shift your gaze elsewhere. Clearly, you’re not the person these girls want to speak with. But the sight of the ink on Hu Tao’s skin makes the back of your neck prickle with misplaced irritation. Xiao must’ve been the one who did her piece, which shouldn’t be a surprise. Though he’s this year’s most notable absentee, rumors about Xiao’s handiwork haven’t gone unnoticed among the students in your (now) alma mater. 

That doesn’t mean you have to like the idea of your best friend inking other people that aren't you, though.

You decide to excuse yourself from Xiao’s company—given that Hu Tao is giving him plenty of attention already as is. Your best friend utters something you don’t quite catch as you walk away, and you don’t bother turning around to ask him to repeat himself.

(As you stuff your face with shot after shot, you force yourself to just keep dancing to the rhythm of whatever song is blaring to the speakers. You didn’t give two shits about the fact that Hu Tao keeps feeling up the stupid phoenix tattoo on Xiao’s arm. Nor did you care about the fact that your best friend—who’s normally evasive when it comes to casual contact—seems like he doesn’t mind at all.)

The night ends with Xiao begrudgingly getting behind the wheel of your car, since you’re obviously in no state to be driving anyone home. When he announces that he’ll bring you back to your apartment, you slur out a drunken protest—asking if he can take you to the tattoo parlor instead.

“What?” he asks incredulously. “Why?”

You huff, curling in on yourself on the passenger seat. “The cherry blossoms you gave Hu Tao were ugly as shit. You can do a better piece on me. Y’know, as practice.” 

Both of you know that you’re bluffing. Xiao’s pieces are one of the most intricate you’ve ever seen, even if he is a rookie tattoo artist, and that you don’t have a lot of points of reference to compare to. But instead of taking offense at your mindless jab at his work, Xiao slots the keys into the ignition with a defeated sigh.

“Fine. You mentioned wanting spider lilies a while back,” he says before propping his arm against the car seat as he backed up on the street. It’s the perfect angle to moon over his not-so-phoenix tattoo, and if you were any more intoxicated, you would’ve reached out and squeezed his arm. 

“Where do you want it?”

You know he meant to ask where you wanted him to put your prospective tattoo, but the question sends your mind straight into the gutter. Thankfully, you still have some semblance of coherence lingering in your drunk thoughts, and you answer with:

“Right hip. Opposite end of the spruce twig.”

When Xiao heaves another sigh and steps on the gas pedal, you don’t think much of it—still convinced it’s completely normal to expose such intimate parts of yourself to your best friend so he can tattoo a fucking flower just above the swell of your thigh.

04.

“You have been watching way too much anime.”

“Come on! At least I’m not having you tattoo the names of my shitty ex-boyfriends on my ass, right? Just give me my modified Tanjiro hanafuda and Fullmetal Alchemist flamel!”

“...Is this your way of coping with taking up a nursing course? Is it that stressful?”

You whine as you hold your phone closer to your ear, already picturing the look of disbelief in Xiao’s face when you asked when he’s free to give you your next tattoos. You still go to college in the same city, but it’s been weeks since you last saw him. 

“You have no idea,” you groan. “It’s like my first year, and I’m already burned out! How is that even possible?”

Your best friend grunts on the other line. “Maybe if you stopped being such a perfectionist, then maybe you’ll learn to be more content. Less stress on your part, too.”

“Ah, no can do. I never do anything that isn’t perfect,” you chuckle. “

“Yeah, I saw you score at the top of your class during your, uh… what was it again? Biochem exam?” 

For someone who doesn’t exactly give a damn about anything outside tattooing and other similar forms of artistry, you find it endearing to know Xiao actually remembers all the things you rant about in the wee hours of the morning. You don’t hate biochem, but if you have to draw another chemical configuration, you might just pop a vein. 

“Okay, let’s say I agree to tattoo those weird doodles you sent,” Xiao propositions, “do you even have any free days? You usually study on weekends, right? I don’t think you’re free to drop by the shop even if you wanted to.”

Fuck. He’s right. You still have a few major exams coming up in the next two weeks. If you wait that long until you get your silly weeaboo tattoos from Xiao, you would’ve already gotten over your momentary hyperfixation on the TV shows that were salvaging your sanity in the middle of the semester. It wouldn’t feel as thrilling to get them anymore.

“I’m free…” You trail off, eyes darting to the digital clock by your desk then to the course notes you have opened on your laptop. You haven’t studied as much as you wanted to for your upcoming anatomy test, but…

“Right now, actually. Can you pick me up?”

You can hear him frowning. “Don’t you have a car?”

“I do, but I don’t wanna drive when I have plastic wrap all over my body.” 

“You’re exaggerating. It’s not all over your—”

“Jesus, get the hint, Xiao. I miss my best friend, and I want to have a quiet evening cruise on his motorcycle before he gets me inked again!” 

Xiao falls silent, and this time, you’re having some difficulty picturing what expression he’s wearing on his face. You like to think you’ve startled your un-startle-able best friend, but that’s pushing your influence too much. 

“Okay,” he says, more agreeable than you thought he’d be. “I’ll be there in thirty. Don’t you dare fall asleep on me.”

05. 

When you introduce your first serious boyfriend in a while to Xiao, you’re a bit annoyed with how prickly he’s being. 

Sure, it’s wired into his system to be the snarky asshole everyone knows and loves, but if there’s anyone else who knows about the tragedy that is your love life better than yourself, it’s Xiao. When you finally land a decent guy to settle down with, you at least expect him to be a bit more supportive.  

“Actually, we came here ‘cause we planned on getting matching tattoos,” your boyfriend, Yin, explains with a dimpled smile. “Isn’t that right?”

You stifle a soft laugh, a bit embarrassed to agree, but too in love with your boyfriend to protest. 

A few years ago, you distinctly remember drunkenly rambling to Xiao about how stupid it is to get couple tattoos especially when relationships these days are built on flimsy foundations. 

If you break up, what then? You have a physical reminder of that person on your body for eternity? No fucking thanks!

“Sorry, we’re closed right now, as you can see,” Xiao grunts before jabbing his thumb at the sign he just turned at the door. “You can try some other time, though.”

At the time, you were pissed at Xiao for denying your little request. He always agreed to ink you during ungodly hours of the day, but now he’s playing the ‘shop’s closed’ card just because he doesn’t like your boyfriend?

But then, you end up grateful for his attitude exactly a month later. 

“Fucking cheated on me with some bitch from his Physics lecture,” you sniffle on Xiao’s ratty sofa as he makes you some tea in his kitchen. “I can’t believe I nearly tattooed our anniversary on my wrist! I would’ve had to fucking amputate it in the end.”

Xiao sighs before placing a piping hot cup of honey lemon in front of you on his coffee table—crossing his legs together. He doesn’t tell you I told you so, like others probably would if they were in his shoes. Your best friend just stares at you with withering understanding, no matter how stupid the choice that got you here in the first place turned out to be.

That’s one of the many things you loved about him. 

“You were supposed to have ‘XV’ inked together, right?” he asks. 

You huff before tossing some of the soiled tissues you used into the bin. “Yeah. We made it official on September 15th.”

“Well, if you still want the tattoo, you could just give it a different meaning.”

Scowling, you stare at Xiao as if he just grew a second head. “What the hell are you talking about?” Is he really suggesting for you to get the same tattoo that he denied you and your ex a month ago?

Xiao shrugs noncommittally before taking a sip from the tea he prepared for you. “It’s been fifteen years since we became best friends. That’s worth commemorating, at least. Unless you suddenly don’t give a shit about that, too?”

Your jaw hangs agape at the sudden reminder. October 15th. When you were four, you accidentally spilled orange juice all over Xiao’s teletubbies backpack, and when he forgave you on the spot, you crowned him as your first bestie. 

That was fifteen years ago. Holy shit.

He startles when you abruptly shoot back to your feet, earning yourself a perplexed stare from Xiao who just wants you to sit down and drink your damn tea—

“Is Beidou’s shop open?” you ask. “I want her to do our matching tatts.”

Xiao grimaces. “Our?”

You nod brusquely, tugging at his arm. “Yeah, I’m allowed to have matching tattoos with you, ‘cause you’ll never walk out of my life, right, Xiao?”

He’s always been a stubborn little shit, so you don’t really expect Xiao to relent as quickly as he does. You nearly stumble to the carpeted floor when he lets you pull him up—faces hovering so close to each other, you nearly choke on your own breath.

It doesn’t help that Xiao has definitely…put in a few inches of height. Back then, you used to tease him a lot for being taller than him, but now?

“Never,” he whispers so softly, you wouldn’t have heard it if you weren't as close to him as you are. “Now drink your stupid honey lemon tea so we can head to the shop.” 

About two and a half hours later, you’re sitting on the vacant seats in the shop’s waiting lounge—a familiar sting still sizzling beneath your ribcage from where you had your first matching piece with Xiao permanently inked. You made him swear to have his own ‘XV’ tattoo made on the same place, and he makes good on his promise when he emerges from the workroom, wearing nothing but his dark-washed jeans.

Unlike yourself, you rarely see Xiao in various states of undress. The most skin you could get out of him on most days is the lean muscle of his tattooed biceps, and sometimes those are enough to have you staring dumbly at him for several minutes.

Now, though?

You learn that he has several tattoos on his torso—spread across his skin like patchwork. It makes you wonder if he did some of them himself, or if he had Beidou work on them for him. Still, despite the plethora of new ink stains to gawk at, his weird phoenix tattoo remains as your personal favorite.

Along with the newest piece he got not five minutes earlier—the tattoo he shares with you.

“Are you happy now?” he grumbles, letting you marvel at the perfect roman numerals just below the jut of his ribs. “It’s a good thing Beidou gave it to us free of charge, you know.”

You giggle. “All of my tatts so far have been free of charge.”

“That’s only because you’re special to me,” Xiao sighs before freezing up in the next moment—like he didn’t mean to let that slip aloud.

You smirk. “Mm? What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

“Fuck off.”

06. 

Much to Xiao’s disappointment, your shitty taste in men doesn’t exactly end with Yin.

About three months after getting the tattoo to commemorate your fifteen years of best friendship, you meet Kaeya. He’s an exchange student, and you know better than to form any sort of attachment to someone who isn’t going to be in the same continent as you by next year. 

But you let him in anyway. 

You allow Kaeya to get to know you in ways that not even Xiao is familiar with. The smooth-talking foreigner likes to kiss every single one of your tattoos—lamenting the fact that they’re all inked in spots hidden from view. You laugh every time he brings it up, saying your parents are going to kill you and Xiao if they saw any of the pieces your best friend did for you over the last six years. 

“That best friend of yours…” Kaeya muses once he’s done bringing you to paradise and back, smoking a cigarette that makes you wrinkle your nose with distaste. He would’ve been perfect, if only he wasn’t such a chronic chainsmoker. “He’s in love with you, isn’t he?”

You nearly fall off the bed at his bold declaration.

“W-What the fuck are you talking about?” you stammer. Xiao? In love? With you? 

Kaeya shrugs. “I dunno, sweetheart. If I was a tattoo artist, I wouldn’t let anyone freeload my craft as many times as you did—even if you are my best friend. Unless I was down fucking bad for you, of course.”

Xiao doesn’t like Kaeya, but the reasoning behind it is a bit different from why he doesn’t like your ex. He knew Yin wasn’t a good match for you. Kaeya, though? The two of you had inarguable chemistry. The only problem was he was a free spirit that didn’t like to be tied down by commitments—something you clearly struggle with. 

When you reassured Xiao that Kaeya is nothing but a way to scratch a passing itch, he merely scoffed and told you to do whatever you wanted.

Could his dismissiveness be because…he’s in love with you? 

That can’t be right. You’re the one who knows Xiao best. If he hypothetically does catch feelings for someone—much less, you—you’ll surely be the first to notice, right?

Right?

Kaeya chuckles before tracing the XV tattoo along your ribcage with a cold finger—almost like he’s teasing. You roll your eyes before crawling back on top of your midnight lover, kissing him just to shut him up. 

When you drop by Beidou's the next day, Xiao is nowhere to be found.

“Didn’t he tell you?” She gapes. “Our boy’s starting his own shop downtown! He had the soft launch and everything a week ago. I was wondering where you were.”

“Uh…” 

You’re not sure how to break the news that Xiao has been giving you the cold shoulder ever since you got together with Kaeya. But finding out that he put up his own tattoo parlor without even telling you? 

If Kaeya turns out to be right, and your best friend really was in love with you, he sure as hell wasn’t acting like it. 

Deciding to play along with whatever game he’s playing, you make an appointment to get a new piece inked under a fake name. Xiao accepts it right away and schedules you for an early evening slot. You make it a point to arrive twenty minutes late just to get a rise out of him. 

When he sees you at the entrance to his shop, you almost let yourself feel smug about the unadulterated surprise on his face. Almost. You’re still pissed off that he didn’t invite you to one of the most important milestones of his life.

He fulfills your request in silence—the French word for green inked unassumingly on the underside of your shoulder blades. Xiao doesn’t say a word about his evasiveness, nor does he address the fact that you, his literal best friend, are standing in the shop he’s kept a secret for god knows how long. 

When he still refuses to talk, you slam your payment on top of a nearby table—intent on storming out of the building even if he hasn’t wrapped your newest piece in a protective layer of plastic yet. Xiao barks that he doesn’t want your fucking money, and you end up throwing your hands in the air, asking:

“Then what the hell do you want?”

You expected him to blow up in a fitful of rage. He’s never been good at anger management, you knew this well. But instead, he crosses the distance separating the two of you and crushes your mouths together.

“You,” he whispers hoarsely, desperately against your lips. “I’ve only ever wanted you.”

Kaeya calls you multiple times that night—even leaves a text message asking where you are and if you’re free. You aren’t able to answer any of them though. Not when you’re busy being railed into the next life by your best friend of fifteen—going sixteen—years in the same bed that Kaeya just had his way with you a week ago. 

When Xiao’s lips graze each and every tattoo he personally inked onto your pliant body, it’s leagues different from when Kaeya does it. It’s like your best friend is leaving a trail of fire sizzling beneath your skin everywhere his mouth trails along your hypersensitive flesh. 

Even the way he makes you fall apart from a blistering orgasm is ten times more intense than every session you had with Kaeya and Yin combined.

There’s no affection nor is there adoration in Xiao’s gaze as he fucks into you—golden eyes fueled by something carnal and zealous, but you knew better than to call that love. 

When morning comes, Xiao isn’t here with you, and you don’t know which emotion to feel. 

Kaeya, at least, has the decency to leave a note whenever he has to depart early. But all that your best friend leaves you with is a sinking feeling in your stomach, and a glaring realization that you did not want to make when you’re crying all alone in your apartment at the crack of dawn.

Kaeya was wrong. Xiao isn’t in love with you.

You’re in love with Xiao, and you immediately know you’re in deep fucking shit because of it.

07.

It’s two weeks into your mission of complete radio silence when Xiao finally breaks.

You’re in the middle of a pharmacology lecture when your phone buzzes in your pocket. You knew it wasn’t Kaeya because he’d already packed his things last week and headed back to his home country. The bastard even asked you for a quick farewell fuck, but you turned him down right away and gave him a kiss goodbye instead.

When you find out it’s a text message from the same person you’ve been trying to avoid all this time, you’re all too quick to parse through its contents.

Xiao: I'm sorry. Can we talk?

That’s how you wind up standing right outside of his new tattoo parlor. 

You haven’t been able to take a good look at it the last time you were here—too frustrated with your best friend to really make sense of your surroundings. But he’s put up his new shop in a pretty good part of town. You wonder how Xiao managed to afford it all. 

Then again, he’s been working at Beidou’s shop for years. You knew he had a decent number of regulars, as well as potential clients that are highly interested in his work. 

For once, you let yourself be proud of him. Even if he didn’t put your name on the guest list for his soft launch.

Xiao looks a little sheepish when he lets you inside and flips the sign on the front door to give the two of you some privacy. You aren’t faring any better. The last time you saw him, he was balls-deep inside of you—fucking you like you’re the most despicable woman in the world.

“So there’s this…collage piece I wanted to try,” he starts, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. 

Of course when Xiao invites you over to talk, you shouldn’t have expected any actual talking to take place. That’s just not his style. He’d rather make up for whatever mistakes he made by inking another stupid tattoo on your body, but honestly? You’ll take whatever you can get.

When you saw his sketch of a Statue of David peppered with four-leaf clovers, you couldn’t even dream of parsing the meaning behind the piece. The only thing that makes you relent is an old memory of you and Xiao hunting for four-leaf clovers in your mother’s garden—even putting the effort to plant whatever you could find in a pot in hopes that they would grow bigger.

It takes him hours to complete the entire thing. This one is probably the most realistic piece he’s done for you, and you can’t help but watch the intense concentration on his face through the mirror on the wall as he inks it a few inches above the last tattoo he did for you. 

You’ve never really realized how…breathtaking he looks like this.

His fringe falling across his pretty gold eyes, the comfortable set of his jaw as he focuses on his work, and the soft slope of his cupid’s bow despite how harsh the words that come out of his mouth can be.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You really are in love with this guy.

When he’s finally satisfied with his work, Xiao puts down his machine before wiping a sheen of sweat off his brow. He already looks so fucking good while he’s working. How is it fair for him to look even more gorgeous right after the entire process?

“Come on, let’s wrap it up,” he says before stretching his limbs. The action makes the cropped shirt he’s wearing ride up his torso a little, and you’re teased with a glimpse of the tattoo he matches with you.

Your heart nearly leaps to your throat, and if it weren’t for the dull sting of your newest tattoo, you would’ve been entranced by the sight of him entirely.

“Sure,” you say, even if your heart is begging for you to just be honest with him. To let him know how you’ve felt all this time because frankly, you can’t keep carrying the weight of your own feelings for much longer.

But then you remember how…apathetic Xiao looked like the night he dared to tell you he wanted you. There was no love to be found in his animalistic gaze, and you fear that he’ll turn you even further away at the slightest hint of more-than-friendly affection from your end. 

You can live with this. His fleeting yet heated touches. His deep, piercing stares. 

You’ll do anything to preserve what you have with him now—even if that means sacrificing everything else you could still dream of.

08.

Sometimes, you think Xiao is making you hope on purpose.

Sure, your friendship was more or less salvaged after offering your Statue of David tattoo as a quiet apology. You’re back to teasing him for all the most minuscule things, and Xiao is back to being your voice of reason in no time.

These days, though, you don’t really have much time to hang out with him like you usually do. You’re in the last year of your nursing degree, and your shifts at the hospital on top of your regular academic workload render you much too exhausted to catch up with any of your friends. Xiao included.

But there comes a night when he visits you in your apartment when you’re busy studying for a tricky surgery exam—a bucket full of fried chicken, and a bottle of sparkling water in hand. What kind of fiend would turn away an unannounced blessing like that ? 

You munch through the midnight snack Xiao brought for you all while forcing him to do your flashcards with you. He knows the drill, anyways. Though he’s been out of school for years, Xiao is still familiar enough with your study habits to be of substantial help during these trying times.

While you’re in the middle of differentiating the different types of sutures, though, he proposes an idea.

“It’s been a while since I inked you with a sewing needle and pen ink, isn’t it?”

You narrow your eyes, taking a swig of your carbonated drink as your gaze flickers to the pseudo-Orion’s belt on your right forearm. The third star has all but faded from view over the years.

“Yeah, why are you asking?”

Xiao rummages through his knapsack for a few seconds before bringing out what seems to be a small sewing kit, and a jar labeled ‘Indian ink’. You gulp in equal parts dread and anticipation.

“I figured out how to make the tatts stay longer,” he says, a gentle smile settling over his face. “You want me to give you a new one? I can even revive good old Orion, too.”

You sigh. Who are you to turn the love of your life down anyway?

Xiao gets to work while you’re lying sideways on your bed, flinching every now and again because he decided to outline the spitting image of the flower vase sitting on top of your nightstand along the curve of your waist. 

Unlike your first experience with manual needling, your pain tolerance is much better. The only reason you’re squirming every time Xiao embeds the ink into your skin is because you’re fucking ticklish. All those years of being intimately acquainted with Beidou’s tattoo machine were all the sensory training you needed, it seems. 

When Xiao is done with this piece, he pulls you into an upright position, making you hold out your arm so he could resurrect the first tattoo he ever gave you. You roll your eyes, but let him do as he pleases anyway.

At this point, you’ll let him do anything with you.

It’s nearly three in the morning when you’re putting away the dishes and glasses you and Xiao used for the night. He’s kind enough to throw out the trash while you clean up in the kitchen, and when he meets you back in the living room to exchange farewells, you don’t really want him to go.

“You have morning classes tomorrow, right?” he murmurs as he pulls you into a firm embrace, careful not to press down too hard on your new tattoo. “Take care. Don’t burn yourself out too much. All your hard work will be for nothing if you end up keeling over before graduation.”

You can’t help it. The soft timbre of his voice coupled with the fond look in his eyes tears all your defenses asunder. As you look up to meet Xiao’s uncharacteristically doting gaze, your chest twists more and more as you keep yourself from lunging in for a kiss.

“You’re such a pessimist, it’s almost funny how caring you sound,” you chuckle. “Go on, now. Shoo. It’s late.”

Before you can push him out of the door, however, Xiao catches you by surprise when he leans down to peck your lips. You stay frozen in place even as he pulls away—smiling so prettily, you can hardly believe this guy is your perpetually pissed off best friend.

“Good night.” 

Unlike the last time he left you all alone in your apartment, you’re filled to the brim with an emotion you can’t quite name. It’s far from the emptiness that made a home in your heart when you thought you were in love with someone who didn’t love you back. But you’re not about to call it happiness either.

Whatever this strange feeling is, you let it sit in your chest for a while longer, and it lingers even when the memory of Xiao’s lips stops prickling against the skin of your own.

09.

On the day of your graduation, Xiao asks you to drop by his shop after the rites have concluded. You tell him that he’s self-centered as fuck, and that this is your day, so if he wants to use your body as a practice canvas again, he’s going to have to wait tomorrow.

You don’t tell him that you’re sulking because he didn’t even show up to congratulate you for surviving four gruesome years of nursing. But you suppose that someone who never went to college in the first place wouldn’t be the best at sympathizing with this particular milestone in your life.

He shows you his latest sketch when you make it to his shop the next morning—and you can’t contain the look of disbelief that colors your features when you realize what it is.

“A bouquet that’ll never wilt,” he chuckles, one finger expertly pointing out the flowers he’s drawn on the neat page. “Orchids and hydrangeas: your favorite. Violets: you press a bunch of these in books every summertime. Pink baby’s breath ‘cause you wouldn’t stop gushing about them at your sister’s wedding.”

You aren’t able to stifle the flattered giggle that spills from your lips. “Can’t believe you actually remember all that. What’s the lily of the valley doing there though?”

“Oh, this?” Xiao hums with one brow raised. “Your mom had lots of them in her old garden. Those are my favorite.”

“And, pray tell, why is your favorite flower going to be permanently tattooed on my body?”

Xiao doesn’t humor you with a verbal answer right away. Instead, he wheels his revolving seat closer to you so that he’s close enough to press your foreheads together. Your breath hitches when his mouth curves into a loving smile you’re starting to get used to seeing.

“Because you’re mine,” he says simply. “Now, are you going to tell me where you want me to ink your eternal bouquet or not?”

10.

You’re a complete sap when it comes to weddings. Everyone knows this.

It’s for that reason that none of your guests are surprised when you end up crying in the middle of exchanging vows with your fiancé. Xiao sighs before taking out a handkerchief from his front pocket, dabbing at the tears streaming down your face. For someone who comes on so tough to other people, you’re awfully sentimental.

“Sorry, sorry—” you sniffle, thanking every single god out there for the invention of waterproof mascara. “Okay, I’m ready now.”

The rest of the session proceeds swiftly. You get to kiss your best friend of more than two decades and call him your husband in front of some friends and family. The matrimonial rites were held in a private resort at the base of a mountain. Both you and Xiao wanted to preserve the intimacy of your wedding as much as you could. After all, you didn’t need all that flashy and grandiose wedding prep to prove to the world just how much you want to spend the rest of your life with Xiao. 

Your thoughts stay the same even as he lays you down in the king-sized bed of the cabin you had to yourselves. He sighs in between kisses as he strips you off your wedding garbs. You’re surprised he’s taking his time with you. Xiao has been eye-fucking you since you started walking down the aisle. It was so bad that even Beidou made a few off-hand remarks about the sexual tension during the reception. 

“I was thinking,” you breathe as he grinds his hips against yours, “of getting another tattoo. My last one.” 

Xiao lifts his head for a moment, one brow arched. “You’re married to a tattoo artist, and you think the tattoo you’re getting after the wedding is your last one? You’re dreaming, princess.”

“Fine. Point taken.” You roll your eyes. “But anyway, I want a dragon tattoo riiiight…here.”

Your husband watches with rapt attention as you guide his hand to the spot you’re talking about—just below the collection of your favorite flowers inked above your waist is a blank stretch of skin. Xiao’s lips twitch into a fond smile as his calloused fingers graze your flesh.

“Still against having showy tatts?” he asks before pressing a soft kiss on the spot you pointed at. 

“Mhmm. You see, my dad doesn’t care if I’m married and have my own life. If he sees that I have tattoos, he’s still going to murder me,” you chuckle. “So yeah, tatts are staying under my clothes until he grows old enough and forgets that he hates seeing ink on other people’s skin.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind then.”

When Xiao ravishes you for the first time as your husband, your chest overflows with love for him. Not everyone is lucky enough to have their best friends by their sides for as long as you did, yet you ended up tying the knot with yours. Although the entire process was more than twenty years in the making, you suppose there’s no point in rushing anything.

After all, Xiao is as permanent in your life just as much as the ink stains on your body.

“Look,” you chuckle once Xiao is done cleaning up in the bathroom and settles down right next to you on the bed, “Kaeya sent us a postcard. He says congrats on overcoming the emotional constipation.”

“Throw that thing away,” your husband grumbles, pulling you away from the pile of postcards on the nightstand. “Why are you even keeping touch with him still?”

“So I can use him as an excuse to get you jealous, and have you fuck me rough?”

“Oh, princess. If you wanted it rough…” he starts with a sigh, rolling his neck with a smirk. You gulp, wondering if you’ve bitten off more than you can chew this time around.

“All you had to do was ask.”

⟢ end notes: it's been a while since i wrote for genshin, so i hope you liked it! thank you sm for reading ^^

#genshin impact #genshin fanfic #genshin smut #genshin xiao #xiao fanfic #xiao smut #xiao x reader #genshin x reader #genshin headcanons #cryoculus

[esmes]

don't mind me - just some rainy day musings bc sweeney todd 2023 has rotted my brain

someone's tags on a gifset got me thinking about 2023 revival lovett and todd and the special something their dynamic has. there's something about this particular iteration of these characters and their relationship, especially as we see it evolve throughout the show (even as we've seen it evolve throughout the show's run), that just makes mrs lovett's betrayal and her death at his hands hit hard. i know, i know - she deserves it. she lies! she's a lying liar. her deceit is no small thing. any one of us would be incensed to have been misled the way she misleads sweeney. even if a small part of her may have done it, as she says, to spare him having to see what became of his lucy, the larger part was certainly to serve her own interests.

but there's something about how close mrs lovett gets to bringing sweeney around to her this time that just gets me carried away. they're not just business partners - they're lovers, they're co-conspirators, and they're sort of each other's only friend in the world. at this point, he indulges her flights of fancy. they know each other intimately. they joke with each other! he's likely had to listen to countless hours of her prattling on about her thoughts, hopes, and wishes. this is a man who, at this point in the show, is slitting people's throats without remorse. and yet he spends the evening on the sofa cleaning his pipe while he patiently listens to his girlfriend rave about a seaside wedding. when she takes his hand, he doesn't wrench himself from her grasp like he used to. he doesn't get up and walk out, which he could do. he accepts her - her presence, her company, her warmth. he may struggle to admit it to himself, but he does. he can concede that he loves her - just a little bit, though he can't quite bring himself to say the words. sweeney is fiercely loyal to lucy's memory, so much so that he clearly couldn't ever wholly give his heart to someone else, but, in that moment after "by the sea", you can see that he's softened toward lovett. they were both alone a long time before this, after all.

it's not the stuff of great love songs, but it's something. it's almost enough.

this is what ultimately makes the final living moments between them all the more heartbreaking. mrs lovett has always been a sympathetic character to me - a villain, sure, but not without her reasons. she's a woman alone in a brutal world. whether the character is an older or a younger iteration, she's been alone for a desperately long time. when sweeney returns to her after all this time, she sees her moment and she takes it. she's not letting her second chance at life get away from her without a few claw marks.

when sweeney kills her, he sheds no tears over it - but the grudging fondness we'd seen him beginning to feel toward her only serves to emphasize how monstrous of a deception it is. his "you LIED to me" comes out in an anguished roar. when he throws her in that oven, all the light goes out from the world. it takes my breath away every time. though it should, it doesn’t quite feel like justice.

i know not everyone loves annaleigh's interpretation, but i have maintained from the first time i saw this revival that the warmth she brings, the honeyed, deluded, comical sweetness that lures sweeney into believing life with her could be tolerable, if not ideal, was a brilliant choice.

that's why the leap into hell together works for me. some productions have had sweeneys that barely tolerate their lovetts, so a cold diverging of paths makes sense. these two definitely fall into a different category. it makes sense to me for this sweeney and lovett's ultimate fate to be each other. who else would it be? lucy did nothing wrong - she's not going where he's going. having made lovett pay for her lies, they can head on down (hand in unlovable hand!!!!!!!) to live out the almost-enough life they created with each other. and sure, her chirping his ear off for eternity would certainly make an appropriate punishment for his crimes.

#sweeney todd #long post #lord but i do go on! #mrs lovett and i have this in common #i've enjoyed them since i discovered the show in 2006 and they are very much My Brand #but i really do just feel a deep fondness for j&a's todd/lovett antics #and any other production whose sweeney/lovett Go There #also soz to reference the movie but #the moment where hbc's lovett echoes sweeney's 'life is for the alive my dear' back at him? perfection #'maybe not like i dreamed. maybe not like you remember. but we could get by.' perfection. no notes. #anyway the girlies that get it get it #otp: if you only knew

[vandalyssm]

Theory: Merlin's Recent Publicity and its Correlation to a Possible Sequel/Revival/Reboot (+Eoin Macken's Pseudo Merlin Project)

'Ello. Fancied sharing my thoughts on recent developments regarding BBC's Merlin.

Fair, firm warning: I'm only sharing speculations and my personal opinions on the matter, and I do not advertise them as fact whatsoever. Consider them musings (or delusions, your choice). You can use this to further fuel your hope of the slim chance that this beloved show will see the light of day once again or maybe make theories of your own. Dispelling it is also an option, as I cannot assure my arguments would be free from flaws.

Right. Without further ado...

Revival of the Official Merlin Twitter Account

Let's put this into scenario.

Imagine a dated piece of media, previously well-known worldwide and had its own golden age for a time. This media launched the last of its contents over a decade ago, yet it gained a loyal, devoted following that persisted to grow and continued the legacy of the franchise over the years. Though there were highs and lows, the community remained alive for an impressive amount of time, steadily producing art, fiction, and creations dedicated to the media, despite not having anything new to work with. This devotion is acknowledged by those from an outsider's perspective, including the creators of this media (cast, staff, and distributors alike).

To put into context, the community was left unsatisfied with how the media ended, and many wished for the media to return. Articles were written, petitions were signed, comments left on the cast' social media accounts, and even questions were asked directly to them. Although different in wording, the inquired notion remained the same: Will there be a possibility of a sequel/revival/return/reboot? The answers range from a neutral, vague reply to a more resounding no.

This cycle persisted, but the people were immovable; they were visionaries and their dream lived on in their hearts. And this did not go unnoticed.

So it continued... until one of the media's social accounts made a sudden return. Out of nowhere, without a warning. They're back for good, the account announced. It sent the community into a frenzy. But if you took a step back from the excitement, you'd notice that it's strange. Why would a media ended over a decade ago suddenly be promoted again?

Now, I'm going to explore two possibilities; pragmatic and idealistic. The previous hypothetical scenario lays the general principal of Merlin's relevance (duh).

I'll make the pragmatic perspective brief. FremantleMedia saw the opportunity to make some bucks from Merlin because of the loyal fanbase, using a no-cost yet effective method to keep us tuned in; hoping. OMG, what does this mean? Does this mean they're going make a sequel?! Holy shit, they're teasing us, aren't they? I can't believe this is happening, it's a dream come true! And so on and so forth. Evidently, it works and numbers are growing. The official Merlin twitter account is racking up more followers and likes with each post. In this possibility, there's no such thing as a sequel/whatever it is the fanbase hopes for; just a reanimated corpse doing the same silly tap dance while we holler at it, dumbly hoping that they bust out new moves.

Now, the fun part. The idealistic version!

I'm going to use a real life example for my theory: the upcoming release of Dragon's Dogma 2. With a quick Google search, you can learn that Dragon's Dogma 2 is the highly awaited sequel for its well-liked predecessor, Dragon's Dogma.

For some time, Dragon's Dogma was on sale on Steam (with a decent cut too). This was done to gain the attention of...

1. those who haven't previously dived into the franchise. It's to make them think 'Wow! This game's so good. Oh, there's a sequel of it that's gonna be released soon? With even better graphics and gameplay? Sign me the fuck up!'. You liked Blueberry Cheesecake, so it'd make sense that you'd be more open to buying Double Blueberry Cheesecake, Premium Ingredients Addition, with 2 additional paid toppings.

2. Veterans and nostalgic fans. 'They're promoting the game I liked years ago... Oh, well, it won't hurt to play it again, just for the nostalgia. It never really left my mind anyway."

In other words: hype! hype! hype!

If using this principle, then the possibility of a sequel/revival/reboot/new content exists. It's either being processed (wishful thinking, not as likely) or being considered (more likely). If it's the latter, then they're testing the waters to see how much people still care/how much money they'll make. The more attention and hype it gets, the higher the likelihood.

Simplified:

P (old media pushed for publicity) -> Q (hype built)

Q (hype built) -> R (new content)

Eoin Macken's Pseudo Merlin Project

If I recall correctly, Eoin Macken first announced a pseudo Merlin project in late 2020. It's first teased to be released in 2021, but nothing came out of it so far (at the time of writing this) except if you count the small handful of times Macken hinted it over the ongoing four year period.

Now, I understand his position. First and foremost, he needs the legal rights to actually produce anything and it's no easy feat when you're dealing with a massive company. Then there's the issue of costumes, props, sets, and equipment. A lot to consider. To put it simply, he must offer the company something worth more than the show itself or contribute in their favor in some way. Macken seems like a charming and capable guy, so he can make it work. Probably.

I lean towards the spin-off theory because a cast reunion would not take four years. As far as I know, Macken is close with the knights and they could get together at any convenient time. If the project was a zoom call or a recorded get-together, it would've been released already. To compare, by using the average of 385,000 babies born each day during the last three years, we have 421,575,000 newborns before the Pseudo Merlin Project.

I want to tie this in with the previous theory, but eh. It can connect, but not really. I don't have any further explanation or evidence since Macken hasn't given any news.

---

Anyways. That's enough of this. I hope it made sense, at least it did to me. I'm entering my third year in the fandom, so I'm relatively new and still hopeful. (Though I try hard to keep my feet on the ground while I stare up at the clouds.)

To end this post, I'd like to say: keep hoping. Hope is such a stupidly beautiful thing, and it should be nurtured. Turn that feeling into art, into efforts.

There are franchises revived 2-3 decades after, and Merlin is no exception.

#bbc merlin #merlin #merlin meta #merlin emrys #eoin macken #bradley james #tom hopper #rupert young #tomiwa edun #merlin bbc #theories

[itsbeesknees]

Ode to the Grim Reaper

Terzo x GN!reader

——0——

Summary: Terzo is dead. Atleast.. he should be.

Warnings: MDNI, Angst, death, hurt/comfort, grief and mourning, revived corpses, use of google translated Italian, mentions of gore and blood (beheadings),

Word count: 2.3K

A/N: This is my first time doing an x reader, so don’t mind me testing the waters here,, I apologize if it sounds a little rushed, I wanted to try and keep it short.

Even though there is technically no smut, all my works are 18+ regardless, I do not want any minors interacting with my fics‼️

——0——

Terzo is dead.

Well, he should be dead.

Dead people can not, should not, feel things once they’re gone. Their bodies must remain cold, frigid, and lifeless— becoming nothing more than a shriveled and polar shell of what they once were.

Dead people should also not blink. Yet here lies the deceased, supposedly deceased, third Emeritus brother, nictitating his dried eyes. He blinks again. Because, as it would seem, he does not play the role of a deadman very well. He’s a corpse abiding by his own rules now, curling his toes and sucking in a harrowing breath.

Terzo can’t entirely see yet, all that’s currently lining his peripheral is nothing but a kaleidoscope of dancing black dots and faint popping static. He doesn’t understand where he is, doesn’t quite realize he needs to be a motionless cadaver and not a quivering boy. But his neck burns. It won’t stop burning. A deadman’s neck shouldn’t burn, however the pain is singing Terzo away at the edges anyways, convulsing his nerves like a white hot live wire.

Lethargic and rather sluggish, he flexes his gloved hands as he wakes and settles deep into his weeping bones, palms eagerly sliding off his sternum and stretching outwards, only to be curtly stopped by a gritty glass barrier. The more Terzo’s vision focuses, the quicker he comes face to face with ragged claw marks that scoured each side of the coffin he had been tucked into, much like a porcelain doll propped in a curated case. The top pane of glass was missing, removed for replacement. It’s almost sickening how easily Terzo is able to pull himself up into a proper sitting position because of this, since he hadn’t been as fortunate when he first got shoveled into the casket.

Right. How long ago was that again? How much time had passed since he was lounging around that dingy table, squabbling with his brothers?

His neck continues to burn.

It wasn’t just his neck. The scalding infernal heat ran rivulets around the insides of his throat and melted his vocal chords as well, as if someone had butchered the muscle and sewed it back together with fishing line.

The horrid thought of such a thing has Terzo shooting his fingers up to brush along the cusp of his jaw, before briefly sinking them down to the culprit of his torment with a featherlight caress. The leathers of his glove won’t let him catch onto the cracking textures of his dried, flaked blood that had dribbled out and stained the collar of his chasable, but it snags the ridges of a fresh scar coiling in his skin.

It is then Terzo realizes, mortified, that his head had been severed and reattached.

His hands tremble as he peels back his gloves, wanting desperately to feel the festering wound for himself, without anything else in the way. To make sure that it was in fact real, and he hadn’t just conjured it up in a spat of paranoia in attempts to make sense of this wretched situation. Though, if Terzo was being completely honest with himself, none of this felt real. As far as he could be concerned, it was all some twisted dream. A dark carousel of sweltering nightmares and glass coffins and rancid stenches of death.

The calcine pinching in his throat reminds him not to get too ahead of himself.

Regardless of his fright, stripping away his gloves only seemed to distract him further, all due to the glinting band on his ring finger— A ring. A wedding ring. Which means a spouse. His spouse. His lover and muse. You.

The initial shock of ‘rising from the grave’ recedes like the tide of an unforgiving sea, with bittersweet tendrils of memory beginning to seep and ebb back into the fragments of Terzo’s shattered mind. Of course he remembers you. How could he ever forget?

The thought of you flanked any other pressing matter into the shadows of his closet, because he wasn’t quite ready to come to terms with everything else yet. It was all too much. If he actually accepted it all— the mockery, the failed expectations, the injected needle, the gaping laceration of a decapitation— he may actually just wither away. So, here Terzo’s quandary will rot in the metaphorical wardrobe with all his other skeletons, until he can finally will himself to face the monstrous calamity that was his death.

It took a miracle to puppet his body out of the casket, his joints hissing and protesting from days.. or months, of inexperience. He had to clutch the edges of the hardy table his coffin laid upon for good measure, since he surely would’ve fallen straight to his haunches if he hadn’t. Yet he managed to liberate himself nonetheless.

The room surrounding him was concealed by a tenebrous midnight, dim and sterile, wreathing his cryptic figure in gloomy shadows. Terzo knew this place, he didn’t need night-vision to attain that he was hobbling around the morgue. The lack of light made it much more troublesome to make a break for the door, but it spared his already splintered heart from anymore misery. Because, if the lights had been on, he would’ve seen the bodies of his brothers displayed pristinely in their own polished coffins.

Lucky for him, Terzo supposes, that the door with the wrought iron handle was unlocked. He has to strain his muscles to wrench it open, which is comical, but expected for a reanimated corpse. Entering the hallway was a bit easier, yet he still leans on the walls for support.

Terzo has walked these corridors hundreds, if not thousands of times, but not like this. Never like this.

Everything was still, silent. No deacons or priests walked through foyers, no siblings of sin scuttled around the courtyards— You could blame that on the fact it was nearing one in the morning, and majority of the congregation was tucked securely underneath their crisp cotton sheets and puffy duvets.

Terzo was grateful for the relative solitude, really, because he certainly did not want to risk the chance of running into any members of the Clergy when all he wanted to do is get to you.

It’s childish, how hastily he longs to be with you through all this madness. His own head had gotten chopped off and weaved back on for fuck’s sake, he should be screaming, lunging into hysterics. Those are the proper reactions to grieving an unexpected death, right?

Later, Terzo assures himself, not all too convincingly, there will be time for that later. Preferably when he’s shrouded away from everyone, so no one can witness him crumbling.

Right now all he wants is you. Maybe he was greedy in that way, clinging to the idea of holding you again. Greedy with your affection, hoarding it like a dragon would with its finest treasures. Terzo loved the way you smiled, the sound of your voice, the way you felt, the warmth your company could bring. So much so, that he never wanted to let you go. Yes, the third Emeritus brother was a greedy one. But only because he’d been alone for so long. Terzo could be surrounded by multitudes of idolizing crowds on the daily and still manage to feel achingly lonely.

His loneliness stems from pure selfishness, he thinks, or his self sabotage thinks, since he can’t tell the difference between the two anymore. Terzo’s privileged, he knows this, he’s rich in the ways of friends and he’s never met someone who was poor company. Yet here he is, sequestered and drowning amidst his woes.

You’d probably chide him for his thinking if you were walking beside him right now. Terzo's lips quirk into a wistful smile. You were always good like that, anchoring his feet to the floor when all he wanted to do was let the hate consume him.

There was no use in ever trying to put up a front around you, because you were like a bloodhound that could smell malarkey a mile away. And even if Terzo was incredibly reserved and a tad bit stubborn with his emotions, you were patient. Waiting patiently, listening patiently, and when he’d finally rupture and lament into your open arms, you’d patiently card your fingers through the locks of his raven black hair.

There was a sense of vulnerability between you two, something you witnessed in Terzo that others did not, a sacred secret kept between two lovers. A mutual understanding. He may have been Papa once, but he was yours first.

The ministry is too hollow tonight, too big. A bitter gust of wind whistles through a set of open windows as the plodding corpse treks on, one stinging step after the other. The way to your shared quarters is muscle memory to him, it would be an easy path to tread if it wasn’t for the prickling soreness in his throat and chest.

Eugh, he definitely was a sight for sore eyes.

How would you react to seeing him like this, all things considered? There’s a chance you might scream, maybe even hurl a pillow at him, and Terzo would never hold it against you. He’s fairly terrified of his present state, too. Would you cry? Point a finger at his chest and wail and tell him over and over; ‘I told you so’? You had told him so, after all. You knew something was amiss ever since the Clergy tore Terzo off that stage during his final ballad of Monstrance Clock. You had been skittish and riddled with worry for his well-being, and despite all of Terzo’s consoling— he was fine, everything was going to be fine, mio caro.— you were right.

He imagined you enraged, furious at him, not willing to forgive, never willing to forgive. But you weren’t like that. Perhaps you’d cry, or scream, or throw something at him in a fit of shock, but never act spiteful. The most malicious Terzo had ever experienced you being was in domestic acts of grudgefulness in passing of some fatuous argument; like rolling over in bed and giving him the cold shoulder. Or drowning him out with the vacuum. Once you even went as far as ‘accidentally’ washing his whites with some of your cherry reds. Petty, but not cruel.

How far along were you in your stages of mourning? Were you still waiting for him to return to you? Have you locked yourself into the depths of your shared quarters? Have you shut the world out? Terzo hoped that if you were waiting, he hadn’t made you wait for too long.

He tries to break down the remainder of his journey into smaller, more manageable pieces. He reclines against limestone walls to catch his breath when the pain shocks him too much to bear, and starts again when the image of you enters his mind. He almost sobs at the sight of your door.

Hesitant, Terzo jingles the doorknob once, twice, then throws it open, stepping into the darkened room.

Everything is just as it was since he last occupied the space, however long ago that had been. Wedding pictures still hang pristinely on the walls, his comb is still intact on the surface of the vanity. It all remains hauntingly untouched, all except for the bed.

You stir from under the covers, most likely woken from the noise he made in opening the door, rising and blinking blearily in the direction of where he stood. There you were and here he was.

Terzo finds himself faltering, unsure of how to go about this. What’s the proper etiquette of greeting your lover after being recently deceased?

“Terzo?” You call out, voice faraway and hoarse, wavering at every step he takes towards you. Terzo should not be there. He’s dead, immobile in a glass coffin somewhere. You’re either dreaming or must have finally lost it.

But then he replies, whispering your name and moving closer, and the mattress is suddenly dipping from the weight of him sitting on its borders. For a moment you say nothing and he says nothing, only because he’s reaching out to stroke the skin of your soft cheek. His delicate touch makes you recoil frightfully as if you had been stung by a wasp, since you hadn’t actually been expecting to feel him.

“Is this real?” You breathe, eyes wide and flicking down to gape at the gruesome scar that decorated his neck like some debauched necklace of curdled gore. “Are you real?”

“Yes, amore. I’m real.” It pains him to speak, and Terzo’s larynx is definitely worse for wear, sounding all garbled and warbled. But he needs to talk to you, apologize for anything and everything. He needs you to know how sorry he is, because he failed you. He made all the wrong choices, and look where that ended him. It hurts, he really did try, he tried so hard to play the role, appease the Clergy well enough to leave him and his beloved be, yet he was playing checkers while the world was playing chess. And Terzo was never any good at chess. It wasn’t his fault, but he was too lost to understand that.

“I’m sorry.” He begins, it’s a start. “I’m sorry, mi dispiace tanto.” Then came the tears, dripping and smearing the paints that marred his face. It’s all coming crashing down now, every inhale he takes sounds like agony.

Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me. He wants to say, needs to say, but can’t manage the words.

You take Terzo and ease him into your arms, shakily tucking his face into your shoulder so he can cry freely without anyone else seeing. It was what he always preferred; weeping into shoulders or pillows, hiding from the chance of being caught under a scrutinizing gaze.

Terzo is dead. Was dead. Should still be dead. But he’s not.

So, relieved and confused, but mostly confused, you thread your fingers through his hair. Later, you will talk and ask questions and shed your own tears until sunlight filters through the drapes. But for now, you hug Terzo, your Terzo, and shield him from the world as he wails anew.

—o—

#This has only been proofread by me twice so I apologize in advance if there are any mistakes #Terzo x reader #papa emeritus x reader #papa emeritus iii x reader #papa Terzo x reader #ghost fic #ghost the band fanfic #ghost the band #ghost band #the band ghost #terzo #papa emeritus iii #ghost Terzo #ghost Terzo x reader

[mail-me-a-snail]

explain your silvervance playlist

let's get to it! this got very. very long. tumblr only allows 30 images per post so expect a part two :3

⭐1.) twin skeleton's (hotel in nyc) - fall out boy

the silvervance playlist kicks off with vance's post act 1 theme--the song that follows him out of the grave and into the next life with johnny in his head.

johnny's engram saved vance; kept his head together even if chunks of the merc's brain matter were slipping through his chrome fingers, in a manner of speaking.

when the relic saved vance's life, it marked him for death, too. jackie might've taken the bullet for him, but death is gonna find vance one way or another.

⭐2.) hysteria - muse

johnny resides within a new, uncooperative body, hates every second of it, and decides to make it vance's problem.

johnny himself has come back to life after 54 years of not-so-eternal death; didn't even know he was dead until he was walking upright again, until he was shocked back to consciousness. but it's not a real life--it's not even his to begin with.

⭐3.) come a little closer - cage the elephant

vance runs through johnny's memories; he gets to see night city's infamous rockerboy for who he really is, who he always has been: a liar, a faker, someone who claims to hate control but wants it, anyway. seeing his memories is as invasive as johnny seeing vance's--but johnny, surprisingly, says come take a look. see who've you've got in your head.

they're in this together, now. there's no going back.

⭐4.) infidel zombie - the dickies

with the theft of the relic and the revival of arasaka's public enemy #1, the megacorp is sending its best out to hunt them down.

after having escaped arasaka thus far, vance is on high alert. it doesn't help, either, that takemura--one of their best guard dogs--will only vow his service to vance as as long as they rescue hanako--the very face of arasaka itself.

⭐5-7.)

meanwhile, johnny and vance are still fighting over ownership of the latter's body. johnny wants one thing, vance wants another, and both of them hate this sense of dual autonomy. but little by little, they're becoming more alike.

my body is a cage - arcade fire / this body means nothing to me - shrimp / mark on you - the mountain goats

⭐8.) psychotic opera - small leaks sink ships

hellman gives them the low-down: vance isn't gonna make it with johnny still in his head. the best he can do is die comfortably.

but alt offers them a possible solution--find her where she resides in mikoshi, deep in the heart of the very tower vance had sworn he would never go back to, and she just might still be able to separate them.

this is the point of the playlist where vance realizes separation may be more painful than what would inevitably happen otherwise. he doesn't understand yet why he feels this way. only that johnny has been with him for some time now, enough time that being without him would feel...odd.

⭐9-10.)

they both have their own regrets about their respective lives, conjoined as they are now. they mourn for what could've, should've been. they mourn for what'll never happen--for the world, maybe, or maybe what'll never happen between them.

what was it johnny said? this is why you don't bring back fallen warriors: sooner or later, they're gonna see everything they fought for's turned to shit.

wish i knew you - the revivalists / all these things that i've done - the killers

⭐11.) granite - sleep token

but things aren't all that bad. vance falling in love with johnny was as inevitable as it was wholly consuming; he had never realized how lonely he had been until the ghost had come along. johnny is one of the only people in the city who understands what it's like to pass through it daily, to never feel your feet on the pavement, to just keep going.

even if the alt cunningham (or an engram of her), has offered them a solution herself, a very small part of vance is afraid it won't work. this is arasaka they're talking about; they'd need a miracle to undo the damage the megacorp has done.

he is afraid of dying.

but if that is how he can be with johnny--

--then he'll take it, even if it's in death.

✨12.) ordinary love (extraordinary remix) - U2

THIS. THIS IS IT. this is THE silvervance theme song. you'll recognize these lyrics as being the title of their fic series. ordinary love is just. it's the song that illustrates how much love johnny and vance have for each other.

vance doesn't want johnny out. he wants both of them to get their lives back--to live the life that was taken from them, together.

⭐13-15.)

in my head, these songs are intercut with various missions. they take place, chronologically, after my fic poltergeist (ie, vance and johnny have established the rocky foundations for their relationship). i think the lyrics speak for themselves.

rain - sleep token / slowly spilling out - saint motel / chokehold - sleep token

part 2 here

#asks #silvervance #WHOOOOOOOOOWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE #this got so fucking long help me #can you tell im normal though. be honest

[dnangelic]

ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘɪᴄᴋ ᴜᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛ ᴍᴜꜱᴇ(ꜱ) ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ?

biting the bullet and saying why not! i usually avoid protagonist types because i get intimidated by the amount of detail and canon i feel like i have to memorize in order to properly do them justice, same with more 'popular' charas/muses giving me more personal pressure to be a portrayal worth.... something?? respect and validity?? attention and friendship from my mutuals lmao 😭 but considering dnangel was painfully niche (despite the way everybody and their mom at least recognizes it) and about half the series was only in japanese anyways, (let's see you try to find full-length dnangel LN translations that aren't mine) AND it's been like 30 years since the series started, i figured i'd have nothing to lose if my tried my best with daisuke. dai's always basically been my first magical girl (boy-) exposure and for that i'm very grateful. i still remember how beautiful sugisaki's art was to me even while being shook that dai was falling off a cliff in vol 2. my whole life might as well have led up to this point is basically what i'm saying-

ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ?

nothing much beyond the obvious taboos/what's in my rules. although, i don't really like if it a muse relationship doesn't go anywhere and stagnates at something like making fun of dark or daisuke nonstop. yeah they can be your funny guys, but don't suddenly ditch me or go off in an ooc post rant if that funny stuff takes an actual serious turn. i try to incorporate a lot of facets into dark and daisuke both, so i get frustrated when people solely try to force them into shallow facades of themselves. humor's great, but there's a point where people have to take daisuke and dark's feelings seriously too, or else i won't feel reciprocated, and i'll start losing respect for portrayals and muses.

ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ?

i just like writing in general really. if you write with me i really enjoy it. thank u so much💐✨. being able to take dark and daisuke out of their somewhat limited canon and put them through certain experiences or in front of certain personalities that i'd otherwise never ever get to see is very fulfilling for me, especially since the series probably won't get anymore updates in the future (holding out for an anime revival but for now i'll take the brand new 2024 drama cd.) if we're talking deepest indulgences... off the top of my head, i really like it when dark gets to be actually intimate with others without worrying over the curse or keeping any secrets for daisuke, which includes him being with even younger muses who just kind of marvel at him and look up to him be it as an older brother type figure or not. on daisuke's side of things, i'm just like sugisaki lmfao- i like it when he gets to do things and actually prove to muses that he's a) capable and unstoppable when he tries and b) actually kind of an impulsive hothead underneath all the anxiety dkjfkgjk.

ʜᴏᴡ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴜᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ?

i wish i was the sort of person to spitball silly little headcanons out one after another but i'm not. most headcanons i have usually fulfill some kind of thematic or relate directly to canon; dark's skin being ice-cold and marble-smooth is all headcanon, him having fangs (sharp teeth) and claws is very very arguably headcanon, (as in, canon never comments on either or, but let it me known my dark absolutely does have these features,) all to better suit and exaggerate his role as 'the beast' and something inhuman, on the scarier and supernatural side of things. daisuke tumbling locks as a (quite telling to the perceptive) habit with his hands is headcanon, and so is his and dark's shared appreciation for fruits/sweets --- it's part of the fractured fairy-tale motif, but also the biblical, which both often have overlapping dealings and warnings in regards to sins, temptations, and pride, a la eating the apple / the gingerbread house. dark and dai are both the tempers and the ones tempted, but they're also thieves and possessive saviors; their eyes are kind but covet, their hands are cold but their smiles are warm, they clutch at and take anything that isn't theirs but often for the sole sake of keeping and protecting it. most of my headcanons end up revolving around that sort of thing.

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ɪɴ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴏʀ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʟᴀʏ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄ?

my surroundings are endlessly noisy so i usually have something playing. it's also why i write better at night during dead hours because it's quietest, but by then i'm usually worn out and just want to sleep 😂

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʟᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇᴘʟɪᴇꜱ ᴏʀ ᴡɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇᴍ?

i'm a winger. if i focus too long on quality for literally every single interaction i'd never get any replies out, but i do enjoy writing more complex/dramatic replies for mutuals whose styles better suit it. this is why my writing style shifts around between asks/responses/mutuals sometimes, although sometimes it's on purpose. dark's responses can seem far more complex and grandiose than daisuke's at times, but that's because mentally, daisuke's much younger and simpler and much more emotional/energetic. if i'm really inspired by a response but don't have the immediate time to sit and focus on a full length reply, sometimes i'll just jot down a sentence or two i want to use so i don't forget into my notes app, and it's usually smooth sailing from there.

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ꜱʜɪᴘᴘɪɴɢ?

romantic? it's not my priority, especially since my standards are very strict. i refuse to get into a ship that feels empty because forcing something i don't actually feel for is the fastest way to kill off my muse. idc about kisses and i sure as hell don't do smut, my muse (both of them, dark included at least physically) is a minor, but if something happens naturally (which isn't at all impossible, this is daisuke i'm writing here,) then i'll roll with it and see where it goes. really it's not daisuke developing an attraction to another muse that i'm afraid of, just annoying muns or getting a negative reaction to potentially introducing any kind of narrative conflict. i like some drama. i like some figuring it out. i like depth touching depth. daisuke's entire life/series begins with him literally being rejected by his first crush on his birthday and he's part of a buy one boyfriend get one free package alongside dark; he's always got a lot to figure out. so i guess my advice is really don't ask me to ship unless you're fully prepared to understand what exactly that means with daisuke.

romance aside? i love daisuke having mentors. or rivals. or people he attaches to as a sibling or some kind, given he's a lonely single child already used to being immensely responsible. or i like seeing him being stuck in complicated situations and putting other people into complicated dilemmas because his alignments are all over the place. he works with criminal muses, law-enforcement related muses, magical-related muses, inter-dimensional related muses, art-related muses, older or younger, nobility, there's sm you can do with him, he can go just about anywhere. i enjoy this.

ᴡʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀʟɪᴀꜱ/ɴᴀᴍᴇ?

tsun

ᴀɢᴇ?

💀 im getting older....

ʙɪʀᴛʜᴅᴀʏ?

mar 20th

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴏʀ(ꜱ)?

black, red, hey wait a minute-

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ꜱᴏɴɢ(ꜱ)?

i'll talk about for dark and daisuke specifically - dark is always those moody, weepy sounding vkei or jrock (duh) songs while daisuke gets all the cutesy, lovey-dovey, high-energy jpop music. throw in the occasional mix of the two (like metal covers of high energy pop songs) and i've got all the vibes i need. go into my audio tag and maybe then you will Understand

ʟᴀꜱᴛ ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜᴇᴅ?

half of sonic 2 (i didn't get to finish it because it was on a plane flight ---)

ʟᴀꜱᴛ ꜱʜᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜᴇᴅ?

i haven't watched any shows in FOREVER 😭

ʟᴀꜱᴛ ꜱᴏɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪꜱᴛᴇɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ?

halyosy's snowman (the rerec ver) (thank you project sekai)

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ꜰᴏᴏᴅ?

p...pizza....

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ꜱᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ?

fall right when it's riiiiiight before winter.

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ?

mutuals that have stuck with me for yrs are all my best friends. mutuals that are nice to me now are also my best friends

tagged by @primordyalsoul ty sumin!!!!!!

#TAGMEME. #steal if u feel like rambling. im cooling my brain off from ln 3 work alwijaldkjlkj

[somany-fandoms-solittle-time]

“What’s so Special About the Moon?”

Jamil Viper x MC(insert character Mac)

(Ch. 1) – Ch. 2 – Ch. 3 – Ch. 4 – Next – Previous

This was originally supposed to be, like, a single chapter hurt/comfort before my OC (Mac) and Jamil as a song fic where they berate him and then sing a song referencing the moon… but then I had feelings and it’s becoming a more in depth character study between the two. Don’t worry! By the end of this mini series, there will be song lyrics and more sappiness… it’s just now that I’ve finished both Book 4 and Book 5, I need to reorganize the events and specific and whatnot. Some quick housekeeping as always: I tried to make Jamil to encompass both his dark & mysterious villain persona ALONG WITH him practically being a fucking child so that’s why I wrote him like *this* so yeah… I’m moving around the timeline so that Yuu/MC (aka Mac) has the weekend to GET THEIR SHIT TOGETHER LOL, Mac is about 19-20 (haven’t decided yet) and uses mixed pronouns as a heads up, Ch. 2 has a 1st draft written put still needs to be typed up and edited. If you see a typo NO YOU DIDN’T!!! This one of my first times trying a different writing doc that isn’t Google (cuz fuck Google) and it’s a little weird to get used to and edit stuff. It’s beta-d in the sense that licking the spatula while your mom bakes cookies and claiming that you helped… literally only a few paragraphs were checked over y’all.

Quick shout-out to @krenenbaker and @twst-beam for inspiring my writing thus far (and sorry for taking so long to post this lol!)

I’ll be releasing some type of overview of my OC eventually, but take these snippets as they go while I fall back in love with writing. You’ll meet Mac in full when xey are good and ready… anyway, please enjoy Chapter 1 of my new fanfiction, “What’s So Special About the Moon?”

“Here. You can use this one,” Jamil directed towards the plain (compared to the rest of the dorm) laundry… mat? There were several industrial sized washer and dryers, a couple moderate-sized one’s that would fit a regular apartment complex, and a long wall designated area for hand washed items. Jamil was keeping the door prompt open with his hips; his slight frown of concentration and the flick of his Magic Pen were the only signs of the current spell he had going. Turning around, MC was slightly surprised by the massive piles of fabric that was being corralled in via multiple a massive sheet tied to multiple brooms. They still couldn’t fully grasp the concept (and power) of magic and seeing it so casually performed on a day-to-day basis was kinda daunting.

“Thanks again for letting us use the space along with showing me how to properly clean all these fancy duds and whatnot.” the Ramshackle Perfect awkwardly trailed off. Their focus was split between stealing peaks at the Scarabia Vice Warden, not wanting to bother the already busy Sophomore, and surveying over the dusty, damaged antique pieces the two stripped from the halls of the previously abandoned dorm. Rugs, carpets, curtains, furniture covers (in varying state of disrepair) dulled of their once rich and vibrant color. The patterns were a mix of stuffy academia and the quiet comfort of a grandparents cottage living room. Both extravagant, yet understated. It’s a style lost to time, but not quite a revived ancient aesthetic.

At this point MC was fully lost in thought; they desperately needed to clean, fix, organize and decorate the dorm in preparation to host so many guests. Even with his limited memories, they had a feeling they’d never hear the end of it from his parents.

“Don’t worry about it much.” Jamil said, interrupting their musings. “Honestly, I’m doing this as much for myself as I am helping you.

With a flick of his wrist, Jamil organized the seemingly random crumbled piles of fabric by condition, color and use. His movements while cleaning were quick, smart, and efficient-- all while patiently showing Mac which order to start in along with the best way to clean them.

“Ya’ know…” MC broke the relative quietness between the two workers, “Even with everything thing that happened over break, I understand why Kalim still trusts you; I almost can believe that you’re not that bad of a guy.” Jamil gave xem a startled (and exasperated) look, but they continued before he could respond: “I fail to see how helping the person who ruined your ‘world domination’ plans—”

“They were hardly World Domination level!” He quickly snapped. His embarrassment led to him tugging his hood further down his face, teeth slightly clenched, and dilated eyes as MC continued listing all the ways he’s “helped” them out.

The magic-less Perfect laughed to themselves the more conflicting emotions flew across Jamil’s face. Eventually those same emotions were compressed behind a cold, smooth mask. Limestone slabs and stiff mud brick walls were swiftly constructed between the two working-class students. Something about it didn’t sit right with Mac.

“Hey I’m not saying what you pulled wasn’t a dick move! But you’re also not the first overly-traumatized teen boy I’ve had to deal with… and between what you’ve said about yourself, plus thing’s I’ve heard and seen, I’m starting to think you’re not nearly as complicated as you think you are.” The longer they argued *to* him, the more Jamil’s mask began to crack; there were a few holes in his walls he didn’t account for. Xe’s a tad more observant than I remember, but weirdly just as persistent, Jamil internally rolled his eyes.

“I could still change my mind and send you back to deal with the Pomefiore Wrath(tm),” He mumbled while gracefully lugging the newly cleaned (and damp) furniture coverings into an empty drier. Despite his harsh threat, MC still remembered him assuring the other this laundry room was only ever used by him after Kalim’s parties.

The large machines and larger working space was specifically added for the servant to clean and repair any decor or Asim Family Treasures when Kalim’s recklessness caused a larger mess than usual. This meant that Mac and Grim (who was originally supposed to be helping… where the hell was he anyway?) could do as many loads needed without worry. On top of the borrowed space, the Housewarden himself had cheerily has assured them, his Oasis Maker would replace all the water used ten times over!

Mac’s thoughts were interrupted once again as Jamil relented, “I told you, I’m doing this to help me.” After receiving an unconvinced eyebrow raise, Jamil began to explain, “Kalim might’ve announced us as equals but I still have a job to do. If he got sick while spending Allah knows how long in a dusty, dirty, shabby condemned building like Ramshackle I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“It’s not nearly that bad anymore!” the sole-human resident of said dorm argued, but was quickly shut up with a tired gesture towards the untouched loads of laundry left to be done.

“On top of that,” Jamil smirked “Even a common peasant like myself wouldn’t sleep in a rundown garbage heap if I can help it.” His smirk slowly slide off his face from his face as the insulted Perfect almost ripped the handful of soapy doilies, that they were previously scrubbing by hand, as xey prepared a retaliation.

“OK, first of all! This whole Inferior-Superior shtick isn’t going to prove your point. If I’m being totally honest, I’m pretty used to the bratty, arrogant attitude of teenagers by now (even if I wasn’t Leona is a thousand times worse).” They turned their full body to face the 2nd year boy before continuing the assault. “Secondly, even just doing the bare minimum would’ve been fine, considering I’ve slowly been deep cleaning them place room by room. This is just last minute cleaning considering I wasn’t expected to host six extra people in two days.”

The shock of Mac’s care and attention to detail couldn’t win over Jamil’s newfound freedom to be right… and sassy while doing it. “Keep in mind you wouldn’t be the only one having to deal with Vil. His expectations are much higher than my personal standards—”

“Getting there!” MC interrupted again. “It’s not like Vil and whoever else couldn’t magic things better or get things done over at Pomefiore.” However, their fire started to die down with their obvious lack of understanding of magic. Not that Xeir level of intellect ever stopped them from talking out of their ass during debates… even if this wasn’t exactly shaping up to be anything like Debate Club back home.

“Not the point!” Mac built back their steam after thoughtlessly shaking off any internal distractions. “Third of all,” Jamil groaned not-so-quietly, “third of all, you didn’t have to show me how to do it. Nor did you have to continue helping me. There’s only so much I could pay you back in favors and it’s not like you’ll make back the time and energy spent. You’re obviously a bit of a piece of shit but I don’t totally blame…”

Jamil suddenly gave Mac his full attention. He smoothed any emotional tells from his face and readied himself to actively dissect what ever left xeir mouth and any messages in between the lines. The silence prompted Mac to drip extra sincerity as they begin to ramble without thinking.

“… I get why you did what you did. You’re not totally forgiven, but it’s not like I’ll hold a grudge over you forever. Whenever I joke about Winter Break I thought you knew it was just that: a joke.”

The two stared at one another for a few beats. Jamil betrayed nothing that he was thinking, but Mac could practically feel the exasperation flooding off of him in great waves. The disbelief pushing and pulling off of him, despite remaining stone cold to zeir admission. So, of course, they continued with slight for fever:

“Yeah, okay, you held us all prisoner, enslaved via hypnosis your entire dorm, and nearly killed multiple students. Twice.” Mac cringed at their own blunt statement, “… But why would you go as far as you did, if you didn’t care! What your parents, and more specifically your culture, put you through wasn’t fair—but you obviously still love and cherish them!”

At this, he seemed to get even more guarded. It felt patronizing to be hold how he supposedly felt or why he should feel a specific way. They hadn’t been there. They hadn’t grown up as a Viper in the Desert, constantly reminded by Kalim’s Mirage of wealth what he could never have. They didn’t know the FIRST thing about the Scalding Sands—!

“… How do you know anything about my parents? Did Kalim--?!” He choked out infuriated at the mere implication.

“Relax Viper! It’s all in the Secret of The Ooze™”

“What?”

“Never mind…”

The usual absurdity of MC’s references (much to xeir chagrin that no one seemed to understand them) Jamil allowed himself a shadow of a smirk. Right about now they’d drop what they were saying and instead empathize with him over terrible bosses. They’d both fall back into a familiar pattern of quiet understanding while making playful small talk; maybe Xe’d make a remark over how “hellish” the desert temperature is and moan about being “a poor Northern forced into the sun” before dragging them both off to grab an abominably sweet drink that Kalim would still put sugar in. Xe had always been could at mediating with the other students at NCR.

However, they didn’t drop it. They continued to push him… especially when they realized that he expected the conversation to have ended and started to relax. Xey pushed and pushed and pushed. Finally, they had circled back to him rebelling from his status.

“What? You think I’d be Happier staying a lowly servant?! I’d rather cut my own tongue out than remain bending to Kalim’s will for the rest of my days.” He huffed, still not stopping his assault on the pile of laundry in front of him.

A frustrated sigh left Mac as Xey tried to get their point across, “THAT’S NOT WHAT I’M SAYING!… Obviously, you don’t love being forced into child labor or having to pretend to be something you’re not, but that doesn’t mean you’re totally being honest with yourself either. Rebelling adolescents often do a complete 180 of who they once presented as in an extreme action to feel validated.”

Jamil scoffed in indignation at the impromptu therapy session he’d been forced into.

“Just because you were forced to lie sometimes as ‘Servant Jamil’ doesn’t mean those memories or feelings weren’t authentic!”

“My Childhood, my Pride, my ENTIRE LIFE was stolen from me before I could even open my eyes, Mac! Who could cherish that sort of future?”

“I’m not disputing that! I’m not trying, in any way, to imply that what you went through didn’t fucking suck. But just because you’ve started saying the quiet part out loud doesn’t mean you’re being totally honest either. Switching one mask for another just means nothing has changed but your ability to bitch about-it to the kid you literally Grew Up With, Jamil.” A tired resignation was growing in their eyes as they headed to the end of xeir rant.

It was clear MC was starting to speak in circles and xey weren’t going to be able to get through to them. A heavy weight sunk deep in their chest, slowly sliding to xeir stomach the more he misunderstood the magic-less student. I saw him drown in the depths of his own helplessness and self-pity, but even after he’s been pulled out it’s like he can’t help but dive back in for a swim. It was a suffocating thought while Mac watched as Jamil once again went stone-faced… Like what he was about to say would be his final shield before walking away. It’s a shame that the Ramshackle Resident had become too used to throwing bombs over walls and blowing verbal shields to smithereens after months of being stuck in Twisted Wonderland.

“I’m not sugarcoating or bowing down to anyone anymore. I won’t bite my tongue. I won’t put on a Happy Face to Kalim’s idiotic, half-thought out ideas again. I’m slowly gaining my freedom, something you clearly don’t understand. Just because you’re as blind as he is doesn’t mean anything! What more could you want from me?!” He hissed his final insult before finally stepping away from his station. Not leaving the room, he aggressively got himself a cup of water from one of the sink and gulped the unfiltered water down.

“Just because you’re not hiding your bitter, knee-jerk reaction from an unfair world doesn’t mean you aren’t still hiding away and lying about your more vulnerable emotions.” Mac whispered in an emotionless tone. “Cutting a part of your past off and pretending it was never there is doing yourself a disservice and lying to those that still care about you… And there sure-as-shit isn’t much that I hate more than a Fucking Liar.”

. . . . . .

The lacy doilies sat in a sudsy basin, left forgotten as the two students stood a mere paces from each other—both maintaining an uncomfortably intense eye contact. The sloshing thump of the washers and stirring hum of driers harmonizing were the only song to accompany the two’s stare down. A short hiccup as Mac took a drawn out breath was the only reaction between the two of them. The combined heat of Scarabia’s sun (barely past 10am) and the humidity of continued use of machinery didn’t help the suffocating air in the wide laundry room. Not to mention the loud, stifling silence to boot.

MC usually held back such honest commentary (not that they weren’t blunt) unless Xe deemed it necessary: think high stakes and a sense of urgent drama. But something about Jamil and Kalim’s situation reminded them of himself. The two’s intertwined dance of class, history, loyalty and betrayal, friendship and loss, and such overwhelming guilt reminded the dimension hoping stranger of home. Whatever that meant.

But this was no time to get lost in their own problems and Trauma’s. They’d went too far (again) and that means xey should be the bigger person (again) and deescalate the situation before he hated them (AGAIN). Which means, MC would be the one to break the silence and run away again.

“Ya’ know what? Grim’s probably burned the school down already. Don’t worry about,” Ze gestured blindly to the numerous stations they’d started, “this mess. I’ll rope my little Rat Gremlin and the Freshies into finishing this up. Hell, I could probably convince Rugs to pitch in for lunch or something. Bully the Music Club with helping in exchange of random sheet music I still remember from home.”

Their rambles became more spastic as they noticed Mr. Sugar, Spice and Not-So-Nice break out of his own trance and try to reply. “Seriously! Just enjoy the break… Not that it’s my place or responsibility to be butting in anyway. I will be back in, like, 10 minutes and from here-on-out minding my own damn business. Sorry. Whatever. See you sometime after Sunday, I guess?” Their entire monoluge Mac was slowly backing out of the room before turning around in xeir spot and just short of sprinting their way out of the dorm. A few passerby Scarabia students stopped to eavesdrop on xeir muttering… watch them leave.

Without getting a word in Jamil stood unmoving, watching the Ramshackle Perfect leave swifter than the desert wind shifting the dunes. Almost on auto-pilot, he simply left to go back to his room and do as he was told; enjoy his break. His day off. The day he could do what he liked and didn’t necessarily have to prioritize work. A day he spent working to help and assist the pitiful, magic-less loser that was dropped-kicked into another reality and forced to play nice with a University filled with overpowered and hormonal teenagers while having no way home… And in return was insulted, psychoanalyzed, and thrown aside before he could get a word in edgewise.

“Son of a STREET RAT!!!!!” It was clear he’d need a few hours to calm down before he could even think of trying to enjoy the rest of his Saturday off.

#Aim's Writing Library 💜 #twisted wonderland #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst #jamil viper #writing #twst jamil #twst jamil viper #jamil viper x reader #twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #Mac (twst) #twst oc Mac #jamil x mc #jamil x oc #WSSATM #WSSATM ch 1 #part 1 #twisted wonderland fic #post Book 4 #early Book 5

[apolloanddaphnis]

Liz and Billy

Synopsis: Minka Farrah is the screen siren of the Art side of Hollywood's. David Lynch's new muse, inspires designers the new Elizabeth Taylor. Despite her appearance, she's always there for her friends. Megan's one of her best, but it turns out Megan isn't the only one who needs a shoulder to cry on, her fiancé Colson Baker, known to the world as the notorious Machine Gun Kelly, needs a shoulder too, and what a lovely sweet smelling, empathetic shoulder it is.

Going to be a Colson x OC fic.

It's going to be an explicit fic.

Warnings for first chapter: Not proofread, mentions of suicide attempts, mental health mentions.

I. Giant

♡♡Minka's POV ♡♡

Megan wasn't doing good.

We've been friends since we met on the set of my film Poison. We bonded over our love for music and she was easy and fun to be around, after that we started spending as much time as we could together and texted everyday, when we weren't filming on location she made herself an unofficial resident at my French revival on Ridgedale drive. Claiming I give the best sleepovers.

The harlot loves stealing my makeup too, Claiming I have so much makeup like a department store I wouldn't notice it missing. I let her, it's not as if I couldn't easily replace it.

I was the only person she told absolutely everything to, perhaps that's why I never corrected her when she would irk me.

Pour example, when she bugs me about why I don't get down there surgery, or after my mother who was my best friend died how I didn't find her warm enough, she has a habit of dealing with tragedy in a way Jack Frost would; Too much silence, almost like she's watching a car crash. And let's not forget that every time I desired to come out to everyone about being a transwoman, she discouraged it because my career is far too successful. Which in my good opinion is precisely why I should, I owe it to my fans to every child or adult who feels trapped inside a body that doesn't belong to them.

I well ignored her well-intentioned advice and came out anyway, while I was a judge on RuPaul's Drag Race. The media lost it people lost it, many angry men who harbored illicit fantasies of me were outraged and women claimed I was far too pretty to be a man. The news beautifully purged me of my ignorant fans, the loyal and open minded remained, and my film career didn't hurt too terribly because I was already in a more artistic genre, people would say I'm the Elizabeth Taylor of Isabella Rosselini, a Bettie Page sort of Isabelle Adjani.

When backlash arrived, Megan lovingly pointed out it was expected because of how people are, I didn't need that. She's not like Anya, who is my warmer friend.

It can't be helped, it's just her nature, she has never dealt with emotions and high stressed situations well, I can accept that.

Despite that, whenever something particularly irks or disturbs her good moods, I'm the first person she calls, and like a dutiful friend I drop it all to run to her beck and call.

She's been starting to see the rapping singer Machine Gun Kelly, the gorgeously painted tower of a man. I never listened to his music and as a fan of Motley Crüe I found The Dirt inaccurate and ridiculous. But he did a very good job as Tommy Lee. I'll admit that.

Megan is mad about Colson, that's his name. She's peanuts and almonds about him, I think it mainly has to do with how apparently skilled he is between the sheets which I can definitely see. But, unfortunately Colson like many artists, suffer from mental health issues, and Meg darling little Nutmeg is not the best with that especially as someone so beautifully intense and tragic as Mr. Baker.

Pete and I have talked about this, my best friend, my absolute beloved, who is actually Colson's beloved best friend as well. So funny that the rapper and I have only met once at Pete's birthday party. He stared at me for a rather long time before offering me a cigarette, I asked if they were French and he laughed before some girl took him away. And that was that, I was called away to Budapest for that Polanski movie.

But Megan has been telling me her forever love has been incredibly paranoid, and blaming her for not being there enough. She was thoroughly upset, and this morning she called me at 5, she couldn't sleep. She told me they fought all through the night and she was glad Casie was at her mother's. I bit back asking about her boys who she spends less and less time with these days. I climbed out of my big, comfy bed away from my canine kinder and American Sable. "Boys, we're going to Auntie Meg's a little early this morning." I Yawned, removing my silk sleeping mask and headscarf. This wasn't the first time I woke up at this time of course, but I savored my days off.

I tie on my vintage circa 1980 Victoria's Secret robe and slip on my satin rabbit shaped slippers before turning on the light on my side table.

I opened the curtains of my French doors that opened up to my bedroom balcony before inhaling the sweet air of the rose hour, and walked through the connecting door to my hardly humble and spacious master bath. No time for luxuriating in my jacuzzi tub, it's a shower today. I rubbed my eyed and messily pinned up what I could of my raven bob, pushing it back by a satin headband and capped it before slipping off my robe and entering my four person shower for one.

The heat was high and delicious and I had to remind myself that this was to be quick, Chanel facial care was my friend and aveeno's oat shower oil and doves macadamia nut body polish were the lovers that kissed my skin.

Once my duties were done I shut off the well pressured shower and dried off with my egyptian cotton towels from the warmer. I rubbed on my toner, serum, essence, moisturizer, spf, eye cream and lip care. I massaged my aveeno baby lotion on and brushed my hair down brushing in the L'Oreal mythic oil, and washed my hands with L'Occitane before moisturizing my hands with their hand cream. I quickly brushed and water flossed my teeth and for makeup it was very basic for my usual, just L'Oreal serum foundation, reddish sweetbriar and rose oil comfort lip oil by Clarins, and Lancome mascara to accentuate my violet-blue eyes a little.

I neglected my underwear today and pulled on my black, v-dipped spandex shorts, and pulled on my white polo halter, backless cropped top that says Los Angeles in black old English text on my right breast. I perfumed my pulse points with eau fraiche by Chanel before rushing to slip on my black 90s slip on sandal wedges.

I washed my chiweenie and skunks faces and leashed them up, before grabbing my Coach black tabby and 90s Prada sunglasses.

I locked up the house and called my driver Kaiden. In record time he pulled up in my black Rolls Royce that I was still too afraid to drive. I'm afraid of driving, yes, and I know it's ridiculous but I can't help the irrational fear. "Morning Kaiden, I hope you had enough sleep."

Kaiden is an ex user. I was at the Beverly Center one day and I saw this hungry young man who happened to be homeless, it upset me so much. I can't stand seeing people on the street and there's so many, so I asked him if he could drive and he said yes, and I asked him how would he like to drive luxury cars for a living. I set him up in a luxury apartment on la brea, got him medical and dental and mental health care all holistic, a signing bonus. The rest is history, Kaiden is like family and he likes to act as my bodyguard as well even though I do have one, Jack. He's protective of me, forever grateful. I look after him, make sure he goes to his therapy sessions and I cook for him and take care of his laundry. I've got a soft spot for the twenty four year old.

"I did, did you?"

"Yes I was a good girl, no parties last night, got my full eight hours father." I teased. "Have you eaten yet?"

"No mother." He teased right back.

I smiled. "I'm going to make breakfast at Meg's, she won't mind you joining, how does that sound?"

"Like I'd ever turn down your food."

"Don't make me blush."

It takes about forty minutes for me to get to Meg's new Encino mans with her rakish knight.

Kaiden parks and takes my skunk, Nikki, as I carry Vince, my chiweenie. I text her that I'm here with Kaiden and she tells me to go around back to not wake Colson.

We do as we're told and Meg is there waiting for us in her pajamas that consist of booty lounge shorts, UGG slippers, a t- shirt that obviously belonged to Colson, and her ebony hair up in a messy bun. "Hi beautiful." I whispered softly before pulling her into a hug and kissed her cheek that was warm from sleep.

"I'm so glad to see you, babe." She said softly as she squeezed me. She waved to Kaiden and slid the backdoor back to let us in.

I set Vince down who followed Kaiden and Nikki, my inked driver knew the routine and headed to the den to give Meg and I privacy.

I slipped off my sandals and followed Meg into the kitchen. I went to the coffee station to start that. I got her and Colson a Nespresso machine and milk frother with many capsules for a housewarming gift.

I put in the rich chocolate capsule that was known for its creamy and chocolate notes, and poured oat milk creamer into the frother. "Okay, I want your guts on the table." I said to her with a smile.

She sighed and slumped her body onto the island. "I can't even like…Mink…" she said my nickname with such exhaustion.

I went over to her and gently rubbed her back aside and pushed a random object off the counter. I love Meg but she's kind of a slob, but a very cute slob. "Deep breaths, like you're using a straw." I encouraged softly.

She did the breathing exercise I taught her and l went to grab three mugs and filled them with coffee, cream, and sugar. I gave her a mug and kissed her head. "Sip some of this and prepare to let It all out, I'll be right back." I left her briefly to give Kaiden his coffee, he and the fur boys were laying on the couch. I then returned to an exhausted Megan sipping her coffee. I took my mug and sat beside her. "Okay, let it out, it's just me."

She teared up as she nursed the glass mug. "It's so fucking hard sometimes, Mink." She whispered. "I can handle it I can but…I mean I'm fucking human, I can handle shit like remember I told you about the accident with Brian."

Brian was her ex husband, only knew him from playing David Silver on Beverly Hills 90210, and he's the father of her boys. They went through a lot together between his ex, being victims of the Bling Ring, and his car accident that had him partially paralyzed for a while and not to mention her affair with Shia LaBeouf. She's right, she can handle a lot.

"But," She continued. "It's fucking insane when you get called up at work from your fiancée, and he fucking tells you you're not there…" her eyes are watery and her voice starts to break.. "And talking crazy shit like somebody's after him, a-and he has a goddamn gun in his mouth!" She whispered hysterically before crying on my shoulder.

I felt my throat run dry, my tongue heavy, I set my mug down and pulled her into a hug as she wailed. Colson tried to kill himself? When was this? He must be in some awful pain to feel like he needed such an awful way out. I took a deep breath to push my own floodgates back, because it's not about me. "He was using at the time, he stopped since then, but I can't get that out of my head, Minka. I fucking can't. Why the hell would he do that to me? And I have been there for him I'm always there, I'm starting to think he wants me to stop my career and keep me in this fucking house!"

My blood ran cold, no wasn't the time for Megan to make it about herself. She Knew what she signed up for with Colson, he trusted her enough to be vulnerable with her. I took a deep breath. "Meg, I'm going to run you a bath, relax, listen to a true crime podcast and I'll make you breakfast okay? and try to clean this place up." The sink was full of dishes.

She let out a shaky breath of relief before hugging me tight. "Bitch, I swear to God I don't know how I got along without you before."

I wiped her eyes. "Please, I'm just nosy." I took her mostly empty coffee and put it in the sink before we both crept upstairs. The bathroom was chaotic and I ended up doing a quick cleaning and made a mental note to have Petra order them that new kItty litter I saw on TV with the cat goddess. I found some Lush bath bombs and put them in the big, hot jacuzzi tub, poured Laura Mercier in and lit some candles. I had Alexa put on some true crime and had the towels set up in the warmer.

Once Meg was situated, I crept back down to the kitchen. I had music on low and gathered ingredients from the fridge and pantry. From scratch I made Russian, honey poppy seed roll, croque Madame sandwich, and fruit salad. I made orange juice from scratch and added turmeric-ginger shots. I was cleaning the kitchen with the vigorous intention of making it spotless, dancing to 'Giant' by The The, swaying my hips when a familiar voice breaks into the scene. "Am I interrupting something?"

I stopped abruptly holding the broom, and spun around to see none other than all 6'4 of freshly awakened Colson Baker. He looked Michelin level delicious in boxers that hung low on his hips and absolutely nothing else.

His cobalt blue eyes weren't looking at her, they were staring. They traveled down her body making her feel self conscious. Like most people, she's attracted to him, he has that typical Taurus beauty that has you hypnotized. No one would ever guess from her vintage, art house style but, the entire punk rock and tatted I just got on parole for good behavior look is her absolute favorite.

"I just made some breakfast, Meg's in a bath, would you like some coffee?"

He sucked his lip in before giving me another once over. "Yeah, have you seen my lighter? Shit it looks clean in here."

"I have and no, you're not smoking right now." I said as I handed him his coffee.

He smirked and sat down at the island with his mug. "Okay ma." He moaned as he sipped the coffee. "Damn I love this shit, even though it gives me the shits."

I smiled. "Everything gives you the shits because you're taurus, you guys have issues." I teased as I made his plate. Megan is the same, the beautiful actress is quite gassy.

"Meg told me you know a lot about astrology."

I set his plate down, and a glass of the juice I made. "My mother was into it, her great grandmother was a gypsy from Krakow."

"That's bomb, was she psychic?"

I gave him a secretive smile. "I'll be back." I had Kaidens plate and bowls for all the animals in the house. After making sure everyone got their food, except for Megan because she's still in the bath, I grabbed my plate and joined Colson, who was inhaling his plate. "Fuck, this is so what I needed. You can cook, you know that?"

I don't know why I liked hearing his approval, he's just one of those people you always want to impress perhaps. "Glad you like it, I love cooking, I believe a good meal can fix just about anything."

"Well maybe if you hosted Thanksgiving this year, it'll fix how fucked up I am." He finished his sandwich looking like he wanted to say something. "She told you, didn't she?"

I didn't respond, which answered his question. "Did you come here to check up on her? And chew me out?" He had a defensive tone, used to people yelling at him to get his shit together no doubt.

"Truthfully, I wanted to make sure you were okay. Colson…I know we hardly know each other, but I worry about you. And you don't need a lecture you need…" he needs someone to understand him, he needs comfort, he needs everything Megan isn't giving him right now. But I didn't say that. "A few good meals." I finished.

His eyes were on me as his teeth tore into the poppy seed roll. My eyes admired him, he's so beautiful, the way he was put together was perfect. How could someone so beautiful be so broken? I didn't want to give him the you're not alone spiel, but he isn't. He's a true artist, he feels more than the average person and has gone through so much, being proven again and again he's no one's priority. He just wants to feel that he matters that his demons are wrong. He doesn't need to be told how to deal with his mental health.

Anything Anything by Dramarama played on my Spotify, he perked up before bobbing his head to the moody yet bouncy rock music. "Yo, I felt that before. I like these lyrics."

"Yeah me too, I love music like this, that makes you feel so raw."

I sang along but stopped as Colson stared at me wide-eyed. "Sorry, I know I'm not good." I said sheepishly.

"No! No, you actually have a very beautiful voice. Why didn't you ever do anything with it?"

I could feel my skin heat up. "I…acting is more of my calling and I thought my voice sounded too squeaky to be any good."

"Well, you can do both, it's done everyday. "

I smiled as I finished up my meal. "After you're done I'll clean up and get out of your hair, Meg's plate is in the microwave okay?"

"Nah you can stick around, kinda having a calming effect on the house. Like human sage." He smiled.

My heart raced and I couldn't help but return his effortlessly pretty smile.

He spoke again due to me not answering. "If you're not busy, I know you got a lot going on."

I took out my phone to text my manager. "We're good, I pushed it back."

His eyes lit up. "Cool, you play Mario Kart?"

"Never have." I don't play video games but for Colson, I will. "I guess you'll have to teach me."

"You're so…"

I bit my lip. "What?"

"You're like someone went back in time and brought you here, it's cool."

I laughed. "Thank you, I suppose."

"Hey, for real though, where's my lighter? I was a good boy and ate my food."

"More like inhaled it." I teased before going to a drawer and pulling it out and handing it to him, our fingertips brushed and I swore I felt an electric jolt. How strange. Our eyes met and I laughed before gently stroking his nail. "I need to give you a manicure, your paint is chipped." I took his hand and pressed a chaste kiss to it. I was always affectionate to all of my friends, kisses and hugs, they always teased me that despite looking like a child I behave like I'm someone's aunt that hasn't seen them in a while.

Colson must have not liked it because he stared at me like I grew two heads. I got up from the table and took his empty dishes. "I'm sorry, I forget not everyone likes to be touched."

"No, I– it's cool, I…liked it. It's just, unless it's someone I'm with, I'm not used to being touched."

"Maybe you're platonically touch-starved." I suggested as I loaded the dishwasher.

"Maybe you could help me satiate that."

A shiver ran up my spine at him saying satiate and it shouldn't have. He doesn't need more people who lust after him or want him. He needs someone to care just to care and not to gain.

"I was in a mental hospital for six months." I said suddenly as I started the dishwasher.

It was quiet for a moment and my heart was racing because Maybe I said the wrong thing.

"Minka…you don't have to say anything…" His voice was soft and tender.

"I want to, I want you to, to…I'm not just blowing smoke up your ass when I said I understand. I'm not just placating and patronizing you to make myself feel better 'helping' or to say I tried." I took a deep breath and turned around to face him, my back against the counter. His eyes wandered over my image again. "Colson, I was bullied so badly and I didn't know what I was…it was all so confusing, so awful…I didn't react too well…I don't know what I hated more, the hospital or school. My mom couldn't handle me being away that long and took me back home. I'm glad she did. She made it a little easier and less confusing…I don't know what I'd do without her." The last word turned into a frightened whisper. "I lost her almost two years ago and…it hasn't been easy, I feel so empty. I know it was awful for you when you lost your father Colson, even if he wasn't the father he should have been." A cold tear slipped down my cheek and I closed my eyes and turned away. I took a drying towel and dabbed my eyes carefully. I checked my reflection in a dish and turned back around To face him. He stared again, always staring.

"Minka…I'm so…sorry." His pretty powder blue eyes teared up.

I quickly made my way over to him and gently took his hands. "Goodness, you're tall." I put on a good smile. ''Don't you dare feel bad for me, and besides we're not making this about me. I just want you to know you can talk to me, be raw with me. You can be sushi!" I attempted to joke, he cracked a smile.

Unexpectedly, he pulled me into a hug. It was such a warm and comforting one, strangely it made me feel safe. I felt so selfish for thinking that way. I wrapped my arms around his slender waist. I think he needs a hug, but it's easier if he convinces himself it's for me.

We stayed like this for a while. He smelled like warmth and sleep and a little kush.

"Hey, I smell food!" It was Megan's raspy, sensual voice.

I pulled back from Colson fast enough to cause whiplash. Quickly I got her plate from the microwave and her juice from the fridge, handing it to her and pressing a kiss to her cheek. Colson went over to hug her from behind and kiss her neck. She giggled and turned to kiss his mouth.

I felt rude being here as their kissing became more intense, quietly I left the kitchen and headed into the living room. "Kay, gather pups, let's go." I texted my agent to tell him nevermind.

Music in Chapter:

#colson x oc #colson baker x reader #colson baker #mgk fanfic #mgk smut #mgk imagine #mgk x reader #machine gun kelly #megan fox #Spotify

[sarcasticdolphin]

On Todesengel

So. The Todesengel. Tod’s minions. Many of the different productions take slightly different approaches to them, so the generalizations I make and the language used for those generalizations are going to be a bit imperfect. This is a regular essay because I don’t have the video editing skills for a video essay.

But let’s begin. What are the Todesengels? I’ve certainly called them many things in my head. Tod’s minions, most of the time. Tod’s backup ~4-6 dancers (though some productions have more and others less). Their presence in the musical is like Tod’s in a way, though Tod appearing (or not appearing) in a scene doesn’t necessarily mean that they will or will not appear. Add to that their relationship with Tod is very much open to interpretation most of the time and that only compounds when you get to fanfiction (yes, this is going to include some fanfic analysis).

But enough with some initial musings. Let’s get onto the productions.

Vienna, 2005. First revival.

The first time we see the Todesengel is with the ensemble in Prolog, interspersed amongst the dead. They each have a single colored wing, some silver, some red, some gold, and are dressed in blue and black suits. For Prolog they are part of the ensemble, but still very much associated with Tod. They remain standing when the dead freeze and fall to the ground, though it is important to note that for this opening they do not match Tod’s attire - Tod is in white while they are in blue and black. The pose is with their single wing wrapped across their chest, almost posing like silent sentinels to the entire story. Ultimately for the prologue, I would argue that the angels are part of the ensemble first and Tod’s servants second. The association is clear - from how they act around him to the fact that their hair does match Tod’s even if their uniforms don’t for this song - but it takes a backseat to their roles as part of the ensemble.

As well as where we do see the Todesengel, it can be equally important to look at their absence - be it that Tod is appearing alone or be it that neither Tod or the angels are present. When Sisi falls, just before Schwarzer Prinz, we see Tod carry her back onto the stage, notably with no angels present. Tod is alone with Sisi for this moment. The lack of angels here seems to be more to make the Tod/Sisi dynamic feel more intimate than anything else. I don’t see any technical reasons for omitting them here - they aren’t needed to run on at the beginning of the next number or similar. One other thing to note here is that this is the first time we see Tod in the black and blue uniform - so even if the angels are not here, we get a further connection between them and Tod through the matching costumes.

The next appearance is an extremely brief one, and one with Tod. During Jedem gibt er das Seine as the mother is being dragged out, we see that she is actually being dragged toward where Tod and his angels are. The glimpse is a very brief one - they are quite far upstage and the moment itself is quick - but it is consequential as the first time we see Tod and the angels together in uniform. With the dim lighting on that part of the stage they look like a matched set - Tod is in the middle, but he doesn’t stand out aside from being in the middle. I would call Tod and the angels more a group here than a lord and his servants. Based on how they are sitting I don’t believe the angels have their wings on here, which does mark the first time that they are seen without the wings, though with the uniforms they are still easy to identify. 

Tod and his angels then miss the next two songs, not reappearing until Alle Fragen sind gestellt, where they take a very forward role in the acting of the scene, if not the singing. The scene begins with two angels dropping Sisi and FJ’s white robes from the balcony before three other angels dress them on the ground floor with the robes and Sisi’s tiara before taking their places at the front of the ensemble. Here they are certainly part of the ensemble - the uniform is hidden beneath white robes - but with their hair the reference to Tod is still present. They continue to act as attendants to Sisi and FJ throughout the rest of the song, parachuting Sisi and FJ’s robes and then acting as pages, in a way. This includes Managing the robes when Sisi and FJ kneel to say their vows and kneeling themselves - here they are the only members of the ensemble to do so, though I think it is as much so we can still see Sisi and FJ as anything else. This is one of the very few times that we see the angels mostly without Tod (he does make a brief appearance at the end of the song) and again here I could classify them as part of the ensemble first and associated with Tod second, but the association is impossible to ignore even if is is more subtle and requires having seen the first several songs to understand fully.

Neither Tod nor the angels appear in Sie passt nicht, and the next time we see them is during Der letzte Tanz. The use of the angels in Der letzte Tanz is an interesting contrast to how they are used in Prolog - entering with Tod instead of with the ensemble, though once they enter they seem more a part of the ensemble than Tod’s, and remaining still in the background form much of the song until the ensemble begins to sing near the end. They do have their wings again, and while we don’t get an obvious gesture from Tod, who seems very focused on Elisabeth, I think a reasonable interpretation of this scene is that the angels are freezing the wedding guests while Tod is focused on Sisi and maybe FJ. And that the angels are acting more as Tod’s than part of the ensemble here, though this is splitting hairs to some degree.

The angels and Tod then get a longer break, not appearing again until Act I Schatten, though Lucheni does give us a line during Die Ersten Vier Jahre which implies Tod is responsible for her misery, though we don’t see him, and the misery that we do see is Sophie’s doing, not Tod’s.

The angels are in the background for Act I Schatten, only present as escort to little Sophie’s body at the beginning of the song and more part of the set here than active participants. They are gone incredibly quickly, leaving Tod and Sisi alone for the song proper until FJ reappears towards the end.

Die fröhliche Apokalyps, directly following Schatten, gives us the second instance of the angels appearing without Tod, interspersed amongst the coffeehouse patrons. Here they are more of the ensemble than associated with Tod, though they are still in their uniforms even if the wings are absent. So the association remains. It’s also important to note that while there are many little solos during Die fröhliche Apokalyps, the angels don’t sing them - it is just the coffeehouse patrons, and I tend to interpret this scene as Lucheni seeing the Todesengels everywhere, but the coffeehouse patrons don’t. They just see other coffeehouse patrons.

And that’s the last time we see the angels in Act I in this production. Tod reappears for Elisabeth, mach auf mein Engel and Ich will dir nur sagen, but without the angels both times. And I think that makes sense. The angels here seem as a way that Tod interacts with the ensemble, and for those songs Tod is interacting with Elisabeth alone (though FJ is around). 

But I digress. Moving on to Act II. 

We see the angels very early in Act II, even before Tod. They act as canopy bearers during Éljen, reprising their earlier role from Alle fragen where they act as attendants to Sisi and FJ. This is a relatively brief appearance, and I would call them more part of the ensemble here than Tod’s attendants, though he is present, albeit somewhat hidden in the background in his priest’s robes. This poses an interesting contrast to Alle fragen as well, as while we can see Tod he is somewhat hidden in the same white robes that the angels and the ensemble wore for Alle fragen, whereas the angels are in their uniforms and without their wings. It is a pretty brief appearance - the angels exit with the ensemble, leaving Sisi and Tod alone for Wenn ich tanzen will. And that is actually it for quite a while.

Given what I said earlier you might think that we are due to see the angels again in the next ensemble number or the next time Tod shows up, but you’d be mistaken. They don’t appear in the asylum or Nur kein Genieren. They don’t appear in Mama, wo bist du?. They don’t appear in Maladie or Die rastlosen Jahre. In fact the next time the angels appear is during the reprise of Schatten, halfway through the act. It felt surprising when I went through the songs in a similar way to how it can feel surprising to realize how little Tod is actually on stage (only 35 minutes or so). Because Tod feels omni-present, even in his absence. And one might think that the best way to show Tod in his absence is through the angels. But in the second act they are even more absent than he is. Some of that, I think, is due to the lack of any full ensemble numbers - there are numbers with fairly large ensemble components, but nothing with the full ensemble like Prolog after Éljen.

And even when they do reappear for Schatten, it is in a very subtle role, more there to adjust the set twice than anything else. They leave after the second adjustment, though it is impossible to tell if they then join the chorus of the dead due to the lighting. Interestingly they perfectly match Tod here - uniforms and no wings. 

But just as soon as they reappear, they are gone again, and don’t return until Mayerling, missing (among others) Hass in particular. Their appearance at Mayerling is a particularly interesting one, as it marks the only full costume change we see from the angels through the entire production - into the green Mayerling dress to match Tod. And this is the song where they match Tod the best. The hair, the dress, the frenetic way they throw the gun around. It feels confusing even watching, trying to see where Tod is until Rudolf is already in his grasp. And that, I think, is on purpose. The angels feel almost like pieces of Tod, each confusing him after the other until he is so lost that he cannot help but to end up in Tod’s arms. But again as quickly as the angels returned, they are gone again, dragging Rudolf’s lifeless body offstage. 

The angels do reappear one last time in Am Deck der sinkenden Welt, very much paralleling the roles they took in Prolog or Der letzte Tanz, though there is one major contrast with Der letzte Tanz. There the angels were not present at the beginning, instead entering with Tod, while as in Am Deck der sinkenden Welt the angels are very present as Lucheni introduces each of Elisabeth’s unfortunate relatives in turn, flashing their wings up in a way that I interpret as them dragged the unfortunate relations to their demises. They are present for the rest of the song, intermixed with the dead and all around FJ before taking up positions at the corners of the platforms that come across as them shepherding the Dead, almost. And that is a thread that I think is reflected in earlier songs as well, where the angels seem to stand guard over the dead when they appear.

But all that being said, what role do the angels play in this production? I would argue that they are members of the ensemble first and Tod’s second for how often he appears without them and for how they most often appear with the ensemble, especially when contrasted to other productions. Their relationship with Tod seems to be somewhat fluid, and I’ll discuss that more later.

For now, on to the next production. From now on I’m mostly going to be talking about how productions differ from Vienna 2005 and using it as a reference.

Plzeň.

This is the Czech production, so I will be referring to Tod by his Czech name (Smrt). One important fact that one ought to keep in mind about this production while reading my analysis. Smrt kills with a touch. He can’t get handsy with anyone the way he does with Sisi and Rudolf in most productions. 

The first time that we see Smrt’s angels is just after Sisi’s fall - they don’t appear in Prolog - and they very much appear associated with Tod rather than associated with the ensemble. Smrt doesn’t carry Sisi out for Kein Kommen ohne Geh'n, and he rather quickly dismisses the angels before getting into the song proper. It almost seems like someone who wants to be alone with Sisi rather than accompanied by his attendants. 

From this initial appearance and the lack of any angels in Prolog one might think that the two productions are very different, but there are also many similarities. The angels appear during Jedem gibt er das Seine associated with the mother, but the mechanism is slightly different than that in the VIenna production. Instead of the woman being dragged toward Tod and the angels the woman is instead dragged offstage and the angels run after her without Smrt. He doesn’t appear except through the angels.

There is another major contrast as we don’t see the angels during Alle fragen - the next time they reappear is during Der letzte Tanz, and we see quite a similar treatment to the 2005 Vienna production - the angels do some manipulation of the frozen wedding guests - dragging them to Smrt - but mostly just interact with the ensemble here while Smrt focuses on Sisi, though they do leave earlier in the song rather than staying with the ensemble to the bitter end, departing once Smrt has started puppeting Sisi.

The angels do once again get a bit of a break before making a very short appearance at the beginning of Act I Schatten and almost immediately departing. In contrast to Vienna, though, we don’t see them in Apokalyps, though they do make one more appearance in act one, standing beside Smrt during Ich will dir nur sagen. 

The angels are more present in Act II than they are in the Vienna production, though in different ways. They don’t appear in Éljen, but are with Smrt the entire time during Wenn ich tanzen will, though it should be noted that the staging of WITW in this production is quite different to Vienna’s and that a the Hungarian ensemble is still around and frozen the same way the ensemble is in Der letzte Tanz.

Mama, wo bist du? is the next major difference, with the angels being present during the stage transition and at the beginning of the song, seemingly enticing Rudolf to come to them (though he just hides under a blanket) before Smrt arrives and dismisses them. This dismissal occurs when Smrt starts to sing for the first time and feels like a parallel to the way he dismisses the angels in KKOG.

The angels do then get a bit of a break, not appearing again until Schatten, but because they did appear in WITW and MWBD it feels much less marked than the break in Vienna. Their role in Schatten is also greatly expanded. I should first note that in this production Rudolf is meant to be high on drugs for Schatten (and we see him with the needle on stage, so this isn’t me reading into anything). The angels appear one by one from the wings, and they do some fairly frenetic dancing as Rudolf and Smrt go on what I want to describe as a carriage ride of sorts (Adri please correct me here if you’ve come up with a better way to put it). Rudolf seems frightened of the angels as they appear from the wings, though for most of the song he focuses on Smrt and his attention only returns to the angels towards the end of the song after Smrt has given him the gun. Rudolf is then surrounded by the angels and he almost uses the gun early, taking it to his temple before pulling it down. The angels and Smrt depart together as soon as he does with a flurry of wing and coat swishes.

We do see the angels and Smrt again before Mayerling as they are present for Hass - Smrt with what looks like a timpano to me in the back while the angels are initially in the back with Smrt and then dance in a large circle around the stage, which makes them much more visible. 

After that they do have a bit of a break until Mayerling, which consists of the angels quite literally throwing Rudolf around a bit. In contrast to the Vienna production Rudolf still has the gun (Smrt gave it to him during Schatten) and isn’t chasing the gun, more running away from the angels than anything else. He does end up in Smrt’s arms and uses the gun. The angels aren’t quite as all around him for this as they are at the end of Schatten, but they are still all quite close, arrayed around and behind Smrt and Rudolf.

Instead of then dragging Rudolf offstage, the angels then form his tomb with their wings, draping them in rows. In this form they are on stage for a good chunk of Rudolf, wo bist du?, though once Smrt and Sisi are singing they do leave. They take Rudolf with them, but they aren’t dragging him, just effectively hiding him until he gets offstage.

We next see the angels in Am Deck der sinkenden Welt, playing a very similar role to the one they do in the Vienna production and miming out all the various deaths before some more dancing. This is not the last we see of them, though. Instead of Smrt dropping the file to Lucheni the way Tod does during the Vienna production the angels pass the file hand to hand until the last angel gives it to Lucheni. It actually reminds me of the way the gun is passed hand to hand in the Vienna Mayerling. 

A good chunk of the ensemble is on stage for Der Schleier fällt, and the angels are included in that chunk. They perform two actions before the singing gets started, seemingly driving Lucheni to commit the murder and then chasing/stalking him offstage.

All in all, while there are similarities to the Vienna production in some songs, the way that the Czech production uses the angels seems to be on a fundamentally different philosophy - that they serve Smrt first and are part of the ensemble second. They still partially fulfill the role of interacting with the ensemble for Smrt, but he interacts with the ensemble himself and the angels primarily seem to serve him more than anything else. I should make a quick note about uniforms here - Smrt’s angels only have one uniform and it includes their wing. There is no on-off of the wings the way there is in the Vienna production, and no Mayerling dress. Smrt also only has one costume. It is different from the angels, but similar.They look like a matched set, but Smrt is clearly differentiated by the tuft of feathers at his shoulder and by his different coat (without a wing, among other things) in a way that Vienna’s Tod isn’t in the blue and black uniform he sometimes shares with his angels.

Those are the only two productions that I am pretty much going to go through the entire musical for, though anyone else who wants to do a different production is more than welcome to do so. There are a few more notes that I will give:

The Takarazuka production is one of the hardest to make a good comparison because it changes the story itself and what songs certain characters (mostly Tod) appear in while adding or deleting whole songs as well. I do, however, want to touch on a few things regarding how they use the angels.

Tod’s angels in the Zuka productions are a larger group - a dozen or more - and do make an appearance in Nur kein Genieren. It is quite subtle and the easiest way to tell is from the wigs - Tod’s angels wear light purple wings throughout the production, in contrast to Frau Wolf’s other girls, though aside from the wigs it is impossible to tell the angels apart from the normal girls - the costumes are the same, and different from the relatively simple black attire that the angels wear for most of the rest of the production.

Milch is one of the songs that is quite different from all other productions - Tod appears and with Tod come the angels, though they stay mostly in the background while the mob still provides most of the ensemble for the song.

The last difference thing I want to note is that the angels carry off Sophie during Die rastlosen Jahre. Vienna 2005 doesn’t show her death, merely having FJ mention it during the same song, while the Czech production has Smrt follow her offstage after Bellaria.

There are a number of other things that could be mentioned, but I’m going to leave it at that. This essay is getting out of hand as it is.

That being said, this is hardly a full list of all the ways the angels appear. The Korean production makes heavy use of them in WITW, where Sisi fights off Tod and all his angels, and the Hungarian production has the angels throwing Rudolf around during Schatten in a way that seems similar to how the Czech production has him thrown around during Mayerling. But I’m going to restrain myself (and I don’t want to do deep dives on productions that I only have very limited clips for).

So, Tod’s angels appear in so many different ways. Is there a point to all this, Dolphin? You ask.

I’ve always found the different ways Tod’s relationship with his angels is characterized or implied to be very interesting - it is one of the things in the musicals that tends to be quite open to interpretation, while valid points for multiple different perspectives present within the same musical.

The scale that I’m going to use here has Tod as the first among equals on one end while the Todesengels are pieces of Tod is at the other end. Between that I would put Tod and the Todesengel as a family of sorts, Tod as King and the Todesengel as his servants, and Tod as God and the Todesengel as his slaves. That last pair might feel like splitting hairs to an extent but we will come back to it later. I’ve made the distinction for a reason.

All the productions lean in more than one way. The way the angel’s costumes match Tod’s for a portion of the musical in Vienna 2005 could easily be interpreted as Tod being the first among equals, but I don’t think that is the correct interpretation there, and that it would be more proper to be on the opposite extreme with the angels as pieces of Tod. This also seems to be more along the lines of how they interact with the ensemble on behalf of Tod in that production. The Zuka production appears to be a more King/Servant relationship - we do see the angels without Tod and they are distinct and in separate attire, but always serving Tod. I would say a similar thing about the Czech production - the angels are distinct and in a clearly separate costume white clearly seeming to serve Tod - in the Czech production he dismisses them with a hand gesture twice.

The Bruxellons production goes with the angels as a sort of family to Tod take, though I’m going to say much of that production. Those who know more, please feel free to chime in.

But back to King/Servant and God/Slave. The way that I am going to split these hairs is that it boils down to 1) do the angels have free will? And 2) does Tod know his angels’ thoughts? If the answers are no free will and yes he knows his angels’ thoughts then we are in God/Slave territory. These aren’t hairs that can really be split in the musical productions, and the relationship that Tod has with the angels tends to be ambiguous enough that splitting these hairs tends to be the least of our worries - after all, we can’t read Tod’s mind. At least in the musical.

Which brings us to the one venue where we can (sometimes) read Tod’s mind, fanfiction.

First a quick aside - for the avoidance of controversy and because I don’t want to track down a bunch of authors that may or may not still be part of the fandom (and/or willing to talk to me) to get their permission to talk about their fic in a public tumblr post, I’m just going to use my own fic as specific examples though I will allude to other fic as needed without using names. I’m not trying to insult anyone, this is just the easiest way to do it.

That being said, I have no doubt that there are as many interpretations on Tod’s angels as there are Elisabeth fanfics that include them. But sticking to the generalities that I have already spelled out:

Tod as the first among equals. This tends to feature in fics that are generally softer and involve quite a bit of time in the afterlife. Examples would be any of the Smrtolf drabbles I have written (pick your favorite, there are 30+ of them). Some are more explicit in this than others, but they are all set in very similar universes with most being in the same universe. This lends itself to OC angels being fairly major characters and having relationships of their own with canon characters beyond Tod/Smrt. I will say that fics based on the Czech production lend themself very well to this concept in no small part because Smrt and Rudolf can’t touch - and so if cuddles are to happen then Rudolf must be cuddling with non-Smrt individuals. That being said, I don’t think the actual Czech production itself falls into this category. I tend to think it is more King/Servants.

But this isn’t by any means limited to fic based off the Czech production, and it lends itself well to any fluffer or lighter fics - ones where the afterlife is more akin to heaven than anything else.

Next we have the angels as Tod’s family, with Tod as the father or head of the family. I wouldn’t go as far as to call him the paterfamilias in this category - he doesn’t have absolute power over the angels - but the look to him, as it were. This is another concept that will generally result in fics that are lighter and fluffier than the source material. This isn’t one that I tend to write a lot of, but I’ve certainly read fics along these lines before. “Beneath Your Wings” is towards this idea, but I wouldn’t put it in this category.

Tod as king and his angels as servants is probably the most common interpretation in fic. Most productions lend themselves to it on some level, and it can vary widely depending on how much control Tod has over the angels, how willing they are, and how independent they are, going on the one hand from the angels being almost Tod’s family, just subordinate to him, to the other extreme where Tod is a all but a God and the angels are his slaves. A couple of examples include “Beneath Your Wings,” which is toward the fluffier end of the spectrum. The angels are very willing but clearly subordinate to Tod in a non-familial way. A more even tempered example (though a very ambiguous one) would be what is seen of the angels (well really angel) in Mirrorverse. He's clearly Tod’s subordinate but they have a pretty casual relationship - not something that feels god-adjacent. For something that does tend toward a more god-adjacent outlook it would be along the lines of Ornithology - the angels are very submissive to Tod, with the lower ranked among them not even meeting his eyes. 

The boundary to the God/Slave category is somewhat blurry in spite of the hairs that I attempted to split earlier, but there you run into things like “It’s (Not) Mercy” or the Tod of the drabble “Preener.” The angels are distinct from Tod, but he treats them more like objects than anything else. And they don’t object. Even when Rudolf doesn’t like what is happening in “Preener,” he still doesn’t so much as question what Tod has decided to do - he just accepts and endures with the line of thought that it is Tod’s choice so it is the right one. “It’s (Not) Mercy” is a little more vague about it, but the angels again come across more as objects - Lucheni compares them to marble statues. 

Which brings me to the final category - angels that are pieces of Tod and not distinct from him at all. I’ve never explicitly written a fic that falls into this category and really spells it out or even strongly implies it. With fics where the angels don’t appear but Tod does, there is some room to interpret this into existence, especially in something like “Nightmare(s)” if you want to read Rudolf’s mistress as an angel (and there is certainly room to do that). But it’s not written in and really Rudolf’s mistress is supposed to be Tod there. No fic is honestly coming mind for something that explicitly does this, but I do feel that given the latitude available for interpretation of the 2005 Vienna production and the fact that some fics also leave a great deal of latitude open for interpretation it does need to be mentioned as an extreme beyond even the God/Slave dynamic.

But there is more to the Todesengel in fic beyond whether or not they show the same sorts of relationships with Tod as the specific production that a fic is based on. No discussion of the Todesengel in fanfic could be complete without a mention of Rudolf as a Todesengel - this is a pretty popular concept in fic, and can itself vary from something very fluffy with Rudolf basically in heaven to something incredibly dark with Rudolf as Tod’s unwilling slave for the rest of eternity and everything in between. 

Again, there are as many interpretations on Rudolf as a Todesengels as there are fics where Rudolf becomes a Todesengel, but I will highlight five distinct ways this trope can be used or subverted.

Soft and fluffy. Here Rudolf is basically in heaven with minimal responsibilities. This is the realm of the Smrtolf drabbles where Rudolf is an angel as well as things like “Beneath Your Wings.” A happy ending (for Rudolf at least) or as near as one can get in this fandom. 

Next is the exact opposite, something where Tod is horribly abusive to Rudolf, though the specifics can vary. “Preener” would be here again, as would anything where Rudolf didn’t realize exactly what being a Todesengel entails, that he has pledged himself to being Tod’s slave for all eternity. This is quite a wide category and it definitely has a blurry edge with the soft and fluffy category - something can appear soft and fluffy while in reality being horrific. 

But it is also possible to subvert the classic tropes in many ways, and one way to subvert the Todesengel Rudolf conventions is to go with (as I call it) ‘fake todesengel Rudolf.’ This consists of when Tod has an angel that looks like Rudolf, but for any one of a number of reasons it is not the real Rudolf. This is something that shows up in “Cold as Death,” where it is very much open to interpretation as to whether the angel is Rudolf as a Todesengel or whether it is an angel that Tod has made in Rudolf’s image to keep as a trophy of sorts after getting the prince to kill himself. Interestingly, the exact opposite of this - a sort of husk that Tod wanted to be a more vivacious angel!Rudolf would also fall into the same category. Technically the shell is an angel, but it isn’t the angel Rudolf that Tod wanted, just a fake. And instead of being a trophy that Tod keeps, it is more a monument to his failure.

Next is Rudolf as Tod’s lieutenant - this is a pretty specific subgenre, and it shows up in fics where the afterlife portion is a relatively significant chunk of the fic - enough to merit the worldbuilding required for Rudolf to be properly described as Tod’s lieutenant. This is where Chimes at Midnight falls, and this is the type of endgame that Ornithology is looking at. In some ways this feels like a way for fate to laugh at Rudolf - he fought so hard against a military upbringing and ended up in a rather military post anyway, even if it is just the title. 

And finally we have Rudolf as Tod. This is the farthest extreme I could think of and is exactly what it sounds like. Rudolf becomes Tod properly rather than just a servant or a lieutenant. Chimes at Midnight is arguably going toward this in the long run, though in the timeline the fic covers Rudolf is never anything more than Tod’s lieutenant. That being said, it is very purposeful that Rudolf introduces himself as Tod to the human he is reaping at one point. A more explicit example of this is the last subdrabble of drabble #77, in which both Tod and Rudolf die when they kiss, with Rudolf becoming Tod and Tod dying, leaving his role to Rudolf. 

But there is more to the todesengel in fic than how they interact with Rudolf after he is dead and one of them. They can also be used to convey Tod’s influence when he isn’t there, something that honestly I wish we saw more of in the musical, though given it is only a bit over 2 hours and covers ~50 years of history it isn’t that surprising.

They can do this by stalking or simply accompanying characters. Stalking is perhaps a somewhat strong word, as usually it isn’t in a manner than one would classically call stalking. The first manner that I want to highlight is when the Todesengel are acting as either Rudolf or Sisi’s servants. When I write this it is with Rudolf, so I will continue down that vein. Angels acting as Rudolf’s servants can serve a number of purposes, not the least of which is simply exposing Rudolf to their presence, which while not usually as despair-inducing as Tod’s, is still a non-negligible force and can help to ever so slowly push Rudolf over the edge. And it can be another way for Rudolf to end up isolated, with no one to turn to other than Tod. A valet might not be Rudolf’s equal, but it is still some form of human interaction that Tod can take away and replace with interaction with angels. This tends to be the calling card of a more manipulative Tod, albeit one who is exceptionally patient. 

To some degree, that is the crux of it. That ultimately the Todesengels are there to be Tod’s and to serve his purpose and the author’s purpose, tools to push Rudolf (or others) in whichever direction Tod has chosen.

In this they can be very useful writing tools, especially in universes where Tod is a more distant figure either by necessity or to preserve his mystique. Which renders the angels quite a nice gift from the showrunners to those of us that write fic - built in servants for Tod, but ones that are ambiguous enough in the source material that there isn’t a ton of ret-conning that has to be done to make them fit any particular fic. I will mince words here and differentiate this from any sort of world building that has to be done - and with characters as ambiguous as the angels are in the source material for any sort of very detailed fic there is a certain amount of worldbuilding that does need to be done to flesh out the angels as a whole and any specific angel OCs that may end up being major or minor characters in a fic.

I would welcome any additional thoughts from others - be they examples from more productions or from fanfic. This isn’t meant to be some be-all and end-all of Todesengel analyses, though the length certainly got a little out of hand.

#elisabeth das musical #todesengel #der tod #essay #headcanons #elisabeth headcanons #no video essays from me #just normal essays #this was proofread #but please tell me if you find typos #so I can fix them #also please add more if you know more aboth other productions #this isn't meant to be a be-all end-all #just my thoughts #todolf #smrtolf #if people like this I have some other essay ideas #one on Tod could be interesting #and one on the staging of Schatten #so please tell me #good/bad/ugly #this was supposed to be a reasonable length #but that didn't end up happening #and honestly I could write a sequel talking about fic more

[inn-oceanid]

EVEN DAWN IS STILL FAR AWAY

— Kaveh x Cheating!Reader

notes/warning: sensitive content, heavy angst implied (I think), cheating reader, smut implied but not heavily detailed (I think), on hold, bad writing.

Even dawn is still far away.

“Concealing the ache of her infidelity, I hold onto love’s fragile thread. Silent witness to betrayal, I endure, fearing loss more than the pain of secrets. Hoping my steadfast presence can resurrect what’s tarnished, I bear the burden, uncertain if staying guarantees revival or seals my heart’s quiet defeat. I welcome pain as I am seen nothing but a second chance, I’d rather be in pain than not be yours.”

“Happy birthday,”

Candles that signified my age were lit up with fire, my lover held the cake in front of me with a smile, waiting for me to finish my birthday wish and blow the lit up sticks.

My birthday wish was rather simple. In fact, my wish had already came true—she’s right in front of me. I closed my eyes, I wish that this will never change, ever. I want to stay like this forever until my hair grows white and my skin turns wrinkly, there’s nothing more in this world that I could wish for but to always have her wherever I go. With a small smile, I blew the candles with a throbbing heart against my chest, feeling the love I have in store just for her getting intense. It never changed. I love her more than yesterday, and I’m sure I will love her more tomorrow.

“So, what was your birthday wish?” she asked, slowly placing the cake back on the table.

I chuckled, “You want to know?” I asked back, and she nodded. “I would love to tell you. But I’m afraid it might not come true if I do.” I added.

“Then, did your wish last year come true then?” she tilted her head in curiosity.

I leaned in and gently kissed her on the lips, “It certainly did.” I replied confidently. My wish was her after all.

“Really?” she hummed, wrapping her arms around my neck as she rests her head near my neck, leaning her weight on mine as we both made small steps, left and right, as if we were slow dancing waltz in the dim room. I gently placed my hands on her waist, following her steps as I gave her head a long kiss as we both waddled, I nodded.

“What was it?” she asked. “Or are you not going to tell this one too?” she joked, we both chuckled.

“I suppose I could tell you about that one,” I replied, feigning innocence. “But let me taste the cake you made me first, it’s looking quite the art, my eyes kept on going towards it.” I pulled away a little as I gestured at the cake sitting on the table.

She nodded and pulled me by the hand, guiding me to sit beside her as we both rested on the couch. I watched as her hands held the knife, slowly yet gracefully cutting a piece for me and for herself. That very hand worked so elegantly, just like how she would caress my face when we both laid on the floor on a random Wednesday afternoon, chatting about random things that comes up to mind, which would lead us until evening. I took this moment as a given chance to scan her side profile, more like rescan since I’ve done it multiple times. Despite seeing her face every second, she still makes my heart flutter with her beauty. It felt like a sin to admire her features like a madman, I probably sound and look obsessed. I just can’t help but think how could she be so effortlessly perfect with whatever she does. An angel fallen from the Gods. A blessing, my muse for every pieces I make with my hands.

She placed a slice on a small plate, I leaned on her shoulder, pressing my mouth on her clothes as I slowly took in her scent that I’ve grown familiar and attached. “My birthday wish last year was to finally have you as mine.” I mumbled against her shoulder, looking at her hair whilst she gave us both a slice of the strawberry cake.

“You wished for me?” she asked, as if repeating for my confirmation. Perhaps to feed her ego, and I don’t have any complaints about it, if that was the case. I nodded and sat properly, looking at the slice she gave me. “And this year, I wish that you’re mine forever.” I added.

I stabbed the yellow and white layers with my fork, cutting a small piece and bring it towards my mouth. The sweetness of the cream exploded in my mouth, the sour flavor of the strawberry jam added a mix to it, it was delicious. “I love this cake.” I then said.

“I’m glad.” She nodded, smiling a little as she ate hers too. “it took me a lot of hours.”

“You could’ve just bought one, to save your energy.” I commented.

“I wanted to see you eat the cake that was made with my hands,” she answered, “Just like how I look at your paintings of me. I know I can’t paint, so I thought maybe I could make something that you can eat and at least satisfy your stomach, just like how my eyes are satisfied with your art.”

I love her.

“Well, it���s safe to say that I am thoroughly satisfied. I appreciate this, a lot.”

Today, I turned twenty-eight.

Sweet melodies escaped her mouth as I roamed my hands around her body, her delicate fingers gently scraped the skin of my scalp. Apparently, the cake wasn’t the only thing she had as gift for my birthday. I was curious, and curiosity led me to this. It ended with me hovering above her bare body underneath mine, her squirming from my touch as my lips licked and lapped on her neck. This was one great birthday gift.

“Don’t hesitate.” She said, looking at me in the eyes.

“I’m not,” I am.

In the intimate cocoon of our shared space, the room transforms into an ethereal sanctuary, bathed in the soft glow of flickering candlelight. Her presence is a magnetic force, drawing me closer with an irresistible allure that transcends the physical. As we embark on this journey of passion, every heartbeat, every shared breath, becomes a symphony of connection.

The air is charged with an anticipation that mirrors the electricity coursing through our intertwined fingers. I marvel at the curves and contours of her body, a landscape I know intimately yet never cease to appreciate. The delicate arch of her neck beckons, and I lean in, savoring the taste of her skin, an elixir that ignites the flames of our desire.

Her eyes, pools of endless depth, meet mine in a silent covenant. In that exchange, words become superfluous; the language of our connection is written in the shared gaze, a narrative of longing and understanding. I feel the warmth of her breath against my cheek, a prelude to the poetry we are about to create together.

“You’re killing me,” she whispers.

As our lips meet in a fervent dance, I am acutely aware of the power of this singular act. It’s not just a meeting of mouths; it’s the convergence of souls. Each kiss is a whispered promise, an affirmation of the love that transcends the physical realm. Our mouths become vessels of expression, conveying emotions too profound for mere words.

The room becomes a tableau of passion, and every caress is a stroke on the canvas of our connection. My hands, calloused from the trials of life, traverse the landscape of her body with a tenderness reserved for this sacred act. I am an artist, sculpting pleasure with every touch, navigating the map of her desires with an intimate knowledge that only lovers possess.

Time seems to stretch and contract, a malleable dimension that bends to the rhythm of our shared longing. The sheets beneath us cradle our fervor, bearing witness to the ebb and flow of our passion. It’s a tactile dance, an exploration of sensation that transcends the physical into the sublime.

Her moans, a melody of vulnerability, resonate in the room. They are notes in a symphony of shared ecstasy, a soundtrack that underscores the crescendo of our connection. In these moments, I am both the composer and the instrument, attuned to the harmonies of our desire.

Bodies entwine, an intricate dance choreographed by the heart. Every touch, every shared breath, is a testament to the intimacy we’ve cultivated over time. I revel in the warmth of her skin against mine, the sensory tapestry that binds us in this sacred act of love.

As the tempo of our connection quickens, the room becomes a sanctuary of vulnerability. We lose ourselves in the tidal wave of sensation, a free fall into the depths of shared pleasure. It’s a surrender, a letting go, as we navigate the uncharted territories of each other’s desires.

In the intensity of our connection, I become an architect of pleasure. Every nuanced touch is a deliberate stroke, building towards a climax that promises release and renewal. She responds with a abandon, a reciprocal dance that defies articulation. In this shared vulnerability, we find strength—a paradoxical union that elevates our intimacy.

The room, once a mere backdrop, now bears witness to the aftermath of our passion. The candlelight, a witness to our shared journey, casts a warm glow on our entwined bodies. We lie side by side, breaths slowing, bodies sated, and the world outside fades into insignificance.

In this quiet aftermath, as we savor the tenderness of shared vulnerability, the room becomes a sanctuary of reflection. I look at her, the woman whose body I know intimately, and yet, with every encounter, she reveals new dimensions. Our connection is a living entity, evolving with each shared moment.

As we lie entwined, words exchanged become whispers of tenderness. The room, a silent witness to our intimacy, becomes a repository of shared memories. I am acutely aware of the profound beauty inherent in these quiet moments—the raw authenticity of our connection laid bare.

In the gentle aftermath, I am both sated and hungry—for more moments like these, for an enduring connection that transcends the physical. The room, bathed in the afterglow of our shared passion, is a testament to the alchemy of love. We navigate the tender landscape of post-passion, bodies still humming with the echoes of shared ecstasy.

In her eyes, I find a reflection of my own vulnerability. The room, now silent and still, echoes with the resonance of our shared journey. I reach for her hand, fingers entwining in a gesture that transcends words. We linger in the quiet space between breaths, reveling in the profound intimacy that only lovers can know.

My heart throbs at the sight of her sleeping inside the fabric I own.

There’s something intimate in seeing your lover using your clothes as theirs. The size difference was fairly visible, my body is larger than hers. My heart swells. Perhaps it the thought of her skin touching the same fabric that I use, that my skin touches. That her body is inhaling my scent that has drowned in that very shirt hours ago, while my shirt inhales hers, just like when someone breathes air.

I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her close to me, pulling her hip towards mine as I buried my face on her shoulder, taking in her warmth and scent.

You’re all I want.

“Are you awake?” no response, just breathing.

I closed my eyes and hold her close. My mind lingers from thought to thought. I could never live without this woman. If ever time does come where I need to live without her, I would rather die instead and hope I get to relive the same life again and again. Or maybe not. I could get reincarnated as a different person. Shame how I won’t probably meet her in a different lifetime. I cannot fathom how life will work without a person like her.

“My girl,” I mumbled softly. “You’re going out with your friends tonight, hm?” I asked, as if she could hear me in her slumber. I frowned, “Why must you go without me? Girls night, tsk,”

Last night she said she was going to drink with her girl friends. I allowed her since she’s been with me for far too long, I only think she deserves like a day off from taking care of me. Knowing her, she’s a responsible drinker—the most responsible drinker I know, her friends know, and my friends know. But why must she go after a night like yesterday? When I’m very attached at the moment? I feel like sulking.

I slowly sat up, pushing the sheets away from tangling my legs as I covered her to her shoulder.

“You really have to wear that?” I asked her, watching her struggle with the strings on the back of her dress. She wasn’t asking for help, I watched her try her best to tie it. She looks breathtaking, her black dress traced her curves so perfectly that I envy those friends of hers who will be seeing the most of it later at night when she heads to the party.

“Does it look bad?” she asked, walking backwards to me, as if she was asking for my help without being verbal. I pressed my chest on the back of the chair, sitting on it backwards as I pulled her by the strings with one hand. “it doesn’t.” I replied truthfully.

“I’m just asking if you really have to wear this and look this good. I don’t want other guys looking at you. Thirsting for you, I’m not there to protect you.” I explained, pouting slightly. Seems like I really can’t force her to let me come with her. “Do I just pull them until you’re satisfied or something?” I then asked, pulling the strings to make it tighter.

She grabbed her hair and lifted it with one hand as she hung her head low, she nodded. “a little bit more.” She said, and I complied. I pulled it more, slowly, waiting for her to say stop. “Can you even breathe?” I asked in concern. I feel like I’m the one getting crushed as I watch the fabric tighten, does she really have to wear this?

“A little more,” she insisted. I pulled them again.

“Save a little space? You’re eating later, right? You might throw up,” I said looking up at her.

“Fine,” she chuckled, and I was relieved instantly. I didn’t want her ribs to be crushed just because she wanted to look prettier than how she already is. She looks even better without the dress anyway. She’s going to need those ribs when she carries my child.

“Am I really not allowed to come with you?” I asked, sounding desperate to come with her. What do you even do in girl’s night? Drink and gossip? I can do both of that, I don’t see a reason why I cannot come with her.

She turned around, “Girl’s night.” She simply answered, letting go of her hair. She knew well that I know there’s no more explanation for that. “I’ll bring some food for you when I come back, how’s that?”

I pouted again. “What time are you coming back anyway? Do you need someone to pick you up? Can I pick you up?” I asked as I kissed her right wing bone gently.

“No need,”

I sighed and slowly pulled away, nodding in defeat as I looked at her. “Just—be safe, okay?” I was convinced that her mind was not going to change, despite my attempts. It was futile. I decided not to push further, not wanting her mood to get ruined. What could go wrong anyway? I find it stupid, why was I so worried? I have my trust in her.

“Don’t worry. You’re worrying too much. I’ll text you when something happens, alright? I’ll update you when something happens.” She turned around to face me with a soft expression as she reassured me. How could I ever say no to those eyes? That look alone makes me melt like snow exposed in apricity. I nodded in response, finally letting go of the topic as I started a different one.

“are you going to put your hair up?” I asked as I stroked the stand of her soft hair beside her face. She looked at my hands, “Should I?’ she asked me back, “What do you think?”

“I can braid some of them,” I suggested.

“sounds good.” She nodded and grabbed the hair brush from the vanity, passing it to me. I grabbed it from her grip as I stood up from the chair that I was sitting on, gesturing her to go sit on it. She understood my language immediately as she sat down, back facing me as I started to brush her hair. My fingers brushed the strand of her hair near her ear, brushing it to the back as some of her baby hairs fell like grains getting hit by the wind on a summer day.

In the warmth of our shared space, soft strands of her hair cascaded through my fingers like silk. The room was bathed in a gentle glow, creating an intimate atmosphere that mirrored the tenderness between us. As I carefully sectioned her hair, our eyes met in the mirror—a silent exchange of connection that spoke volumes.

The subtle scent of her shampoo filled the air, a comforting fragrance that added to the sense of familiarity. With each deliberate movement, I wove the strands together, my fingers moving with a practiced rhythm born from shared moments and countless touches. The act of braiding became a language of its own, a silent conversation expressing the depth of my affection.

As the braid took shape, I marveled at the intricacies of her hair—the way it held the memory of sunlit days and the softness that spoke of nights spent in quiet companionship. The room echoed with the soft rustle of hair and the occasional murmur, creating a private symphony that encapsulated the intimacy of the moment.

Our reflections in the mirror seemed to capture more than just the physical act of braiding. They held the echoes of laughter, shared dreams, and the unspoken promises that had woven our lives together. Each pass of my fingers through her hair felt like a reaffirmation of the connection we had built, a tangible expression of love.

As the final strands fell into place, I secured the braid with a gentle tie, my hands lingering in a moment of quiet reverence. Stepping back, I admired the finished creation—a testament to the intimacy we shared. Her eyes met mine in the reflection, a soft smile playing on her lips, acknowledging the unspoken language we had crafted between us.

Leaning in, I pressed a tender kiss to her temple, the gesture carrying the weight of all the emotions we had woven into that simple braid. In that quiet moment, surrounded by the shared history of our love, we found a beauty that surpassed the physical—a beauty that resonated in the silent gestures and the unspoken vows exchanged in the language of braided strands.

“My masterpiece,” I murmured, looking at her eyes through the mirror, my lips pressed against her skin as I smiled softly. “Better, yeah?”

“Better,” she nodded with a soft smile. “Do you need me to cook you something before I go with my friends?”

I shook my head, running my palms through her head, “No need, I can manage. Just go and enjoy your party, I’ll be fine.”

“Okay”

Time has passed and it reached 12, half hour, dark night, no signs of her yet. I tried to recall, has she ever mentioned what time she was planning on coming back before she left? I must have forgotten, perhaps she had and I was too busy being all silly that I have forgotten.

My heart however, couldn’t rest in silence. My hands were itching to text and ask her when she was going back, why hasn’t she come back? Questions and thoughts swirled around my head, keeping me wide awake as I lied in bed—staring at the ceiling. I remember well, I recall it well.

The first night with an empty bed space.

——————

this was something my past s/o really liked to read, I remember her squealing every time I showed her the updates on each chapter. unfortunately, me and her had broken up and I lost my motivation to continue it because, what is there to write when you don't have a muse? lmfao BUT! I've been slowly getting on track with drawing and writing, I could continue it because of my undying love for kaveh. I tried to publish it on AO3 but my account is getting too long for registration. I might as well publish it here for now because it's rotting in my pdfs. <3

#genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #genshin headcanons #genshin impact x reader #genshin scenarios #genshin imagines #genshin inpact kaveh #kaveh fluff #kaveh x reader #genshin impact kaveh #genshin kaveh #kaveh #kaveh angst

[imagine-knb]

hihi!! it came as a shock to me to see one of my favourite imagines blogs from my teenage years start posting again. i remember religiously checking for new posts after school everyday, haha. so, thank you for reviving this.

as for an ask: could i get Akashi, Takao and Izuki in a university AU, where they fall in love with reader at a cafe? sorry if it’s too specific!

No, thank you for continuing to support us! It's definitely been fun being back so far; I forgot how much I love writing for these characters (and writing in general)! And I love this ask; there was a small coffeeshop near my apartment in college that I frequented. Really lovely place to get my caffeine fix.Admin Neon

Izuki:

Resume in hand, Izuki said the first thing that came to his mind as the manager of the coffeeshop he'd entered greeted him. "I'm here for the job opening?" He hadn't meant for it to come out like a question.

But how could it not when all thoughts in his head had ceased to function upon seeing you standing behind the counter? He felt fried, hit by an infatuation he didn't know how to explain. And when you smiled at him, cheeks dimpling, he felt like he could melt into a puddle right then and there.

He absolutely needed to get this job.

"Are you sure about that?" you asked, coming around the counter to meet him halfway from the door. At his confused expression in response, your smile widened a bit and you laughed. "I'm only teasing because you just sounded confused."

He watched as you glanced down at the resume in his hands. Suddenly, Izuki felt rather silly for printing one out for a position as a barista. Was it overkill? His embarrassment was calmed when you held out your hand to take it, reading it over quickly once it was in your grasp.

"When do you think you can start?" you asked, eyes still on the page. He wondered if you were actually reading it. He wondered if you were trying to memorize anything.

"As soon as you need me to," Izuki answered quickly.

He was rewarded with another one of your smiles. "Great, you're hired. Your first day will be this Friday, 6:00AM sharp. I'll be your trainer."

As you gave him a wink, Izuki felt his pulse pick up in pace exponentially. Maybe the job wasn't a good idea.

Takao:

The strong scent of roasted coffee beans filled his sinuses as Takao opened the door to a small coffee shop next to his university. He was greeted by a chorus of hellos from the staff, the sound rehearsed and scripted. He let out a low greeting himself, waiting for the inevitable—

"Oh, Takao, welcome back!"

There it was.

He grinned as he sauntered toward the small countertop, a sign reading "pickup here" in chalky penmanship letting him know he'd stopped at the wrong end of the counter. But that didn't matter. When you were on shift, he could always skip the line.

"I've been experimenting with something new I'd like you to try," you told him as he started leaning against the counter, bending closer to you.

"Sounds exciting," he mused. It sounded like a stomachache waiting to happen — you weren't the best at making drinks when written recipes weren't involved. But Takao would suffer a thousand stomach aches if it meant getting to spend these precious few moments with you every morning. "How much do I owe you for it today?"

As you turned to start making your mystery concoction, you threw a wink over your shoulder at him. "It's on the house today."

Takao's grin widened, enamored by the ease at which your confidence was given to him.

His stomach was definitely going to hurt today.

Akashi:

The atmosphere of the coffeeshop was relaxed, the music played low and the conversations kept to a minimum. It was the perfect spot for studying and Akashi found himself doing just that quite often. Being that he spent so much time there, he sometimes found himself taking short breaks to people watch. Usually it was boring, but every so often he found someone to be of interest.

Closing his laptop screen, Akashi picked up the ceramic mug the shop had offered him for his drink. It was still warm to the touch, the coffee inside hot. As he took a slow sip, he let his fingers smooth over the lettering on the side of the cup. It was a cliche — something kin to live, laugh, love — and it was your favorite.

You had caught his attention, often frequenting the coffeeshop at the same times he had. And he had noticed a while ago that you always asked the barista for this mug in specific. It had him curious. So he'd picked it for himself, hoping it would start something.

"Excuse me." And apparently it had worked because you were standing before him, hands on your hips and a slightly annoyed look to your face. "That's my mug."

He quirked a brow, trying to hide the smile on his face behind a second sip of his drink. "I beg your pardon?"

The polite tone he gave you had seemed to throw you for a loop, as the attitude you once had was dropped in a second. Replaced by confusion, your brows furrowed. "I just... I like that one. It's special."

"Oh?" Akashi was intrigued. Maybe too intrigued. He gestured to the seat across from him. "I'm almost finished with it. Would you like to sit and wait? You can tell me all about why it's so special."

When you sat down, a slight huff returning to you, Akashi was glad his plan had worked.

#izuki #takao #akashi

[antihibikase2]

Revival Herb

Trade with @rivalhughs! First time writing Cheren Ohashi, and I absolutely love his team.. and how he dotes on them. Diane my beloved..

Thank you for trading with me Mait, I hope you like it! :]

The item wasn’t damaged in any way, at least, from Cheren Ohashi’s perspective.

But of course, to the shopkeeper who caught his Liepard red-handed, every little detail was of utmost importance- the Dark Gem she had taken from the table was spotless, gleaming beautifully under the sunlight, but the shopkeeper insisted that she had chipped it with her fangs, even if Cheren was certain there was nothing to fuss about; he didn’t think she could bite down that hard on a gem of all things.

Then the shopkeeper brought up a good point; simply holding onto the gem would drain it of its properties, especially if the Pokemon who had held onto it knew a move that matched its typing. 

Though he had no solid evidence that the Dark Gem powered up his Liepard in any way, he did think the shopkeeper had the right to be a little upset.

Unfortunately, Cheren didn’t have the money to pay for the outrageous price of the precious gem, so instead, the shopkeeper sent him to Chargestone Cave to fetch him another one from the dust clouds.

He couldn’t be too angry with Diane, his Liepard- she was just a little naive, convinced that she was sneakier than she actually was. Perhaps it was partly Cheren’s fault for spoiling her, but he couldn’t help it.

It was also partially his fault for being too caught up in his thoughts to notice what she was doing- she wasn’t particularly known for being the sneakiest of Liepards after all.

But he doesn’t need to dwell on what has happened; all he can do now is busy himself and find a replacement for the gem before he goes on his way.

Diane kept her head lowered the entire time as they trekked inside the cave, passing through shimmering rocks of glowing blue. Cheren couldn’t help but feel bad for her, the light of the cave only illuminated her dejected features.

Purposely, he leaves a part of his bag open, the head of a Revival Herb poking out and swaying with each of his movements.

Naturally, this catches Diane’s attention, bringing her out of her stupor.

For a minute, she wonders if she should try, given that she had just failed her earlier mission..

But to Cheren’s delight, she bites and slightly pulls it out of his bag. 

He pretends to not notice, stifling a small laugh as she purrs contently, her trots becoming more chipper as they walk deeper into the cave.

“You know, Diane,” He says, still not glancing at her so she gets to hold onto her treasure a little longer. “Maybe it’s not you being bad at sneaking. Maybe the shopkeeper just had too good of a hearing, like Bianca.”

Her ears perk up.

“It’s been awhile since we saw her, right? You want to see her again, Diane?”

Her tail swishes faster, on account of her being unable to do more than a muffled meow.

“Me too.”

Cheren stops in his tracks as he settles into a nice enough spot, one where dust clouds are sure to appear if he waits long enough.

He lets the rest of his team out to play as he sits on a smooth surface, while Diane finally shows off what she's stolen from him. 

"Oh, now how did you take that from me?"

A magician never reveals her secrets, Diane's proud face says all too smugly.

Cheren chuckles, taking back the Revival Herb from her mouth. She looks relieved to be free of its bitter taste.

"Aren't you sneaky! See, you're not so bad after all!"

Diane does a pleased meow and settles right next to her trainer with little kneads of her paws, finally in lighter spirits, the previous incident gone from her head.

"You know," though Diane is listening, it seems as if he's musing thoughts to himself. "I should have traded this herb for the gem. You buy it for around the same price, if not higher."

Diane cocks her head in confusion. 

"It's a Revival Herb. It's a really good item. Expensive though," He gently spins it between his finger and his thumb. "Bianca had lots to share. She gave some to me and some to Hilda."

At the mere mention of her name, his gaze seemed to soften.

Diane noticed his change in moods immediately.

"Sorry. We lost against her again, didn't we? We'll do better next time."

He says that, but there's a part of him that wonders if it's true at all. 

"Who knows? Maybe that Revival Herb will come in handy."

There's a small smile of amusement in his face when Diane looks displeased at the thought of having that bitter thing in her mouth once more.

Cheren wonders if he's willing to see such a face again if he does end up using the Revival Herb in battle; the thought is enticing, but he pushes it back.

He wouldn't need to waste a turn and rely on items that his Pokemon will hate; he just needs to work harder, just like his other friend, Bianca.

Work harder, work smarter, work better.

If he does that, he wouldn't have to lose against Hilda all the time.

If he does that, he wouldn't be frustrated with doing something he enjoys.

He knows so.

Doesn’t he?

From the corner of his eye, he spots several dust clouds start to appear.

He watched as Lucian and Nerida- his Serperior and Simipour respectively, raced each other to the clouds before Cheren could command them. Lucian manages to dig out a Drilbur from hiding, while Nerida's attack causes small gems to pop out of a hole- none of which are black.

He thanks them for their hard work, and Nerida flashes him a dazzling smile in return. Lucian continues to stay on guard.

Cheren finds himself resting his hands on his palms as he watches his beloved Pokemon scurry about; Colm was preening his feathers on a dark corner of the cave, while Bijou and Axel looked around curiously, intrigued by the floating stones.

He calls the other two over to sit next to him, giving them loving rubs and pats.

“Sorry, you guys give it your all for me, and yet here I am,” He laughs a little bitterly. “Letting you down.”

All three of them make displeased cries, as if they were trying to comfort him.

He can’t pretend to understand Pokemon like that guy does, but he knows his team, and they know him in return.

He appreciates the gesture.

“It’s fine. You don’t have to help me feel better.” He reassures them with a small smile. “Really. Just keep doing your best, and I’ll do the same.”

After all, it’s all he could do right now.

He pushes down on the bubbling insecurity that he feels in his throat.

But, he feels tears prickle on the corner of his eyes, and his bottom lip quivering at the thought of his most recent loss.

The sound of burrowing is heard from afar, and this time, Colm joins in as Lucian and Nerida pound on what seemed to be another Drilbur.

To their surprise, multiple black gems spew out from the hole.

Quickly, he tries to rub his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket while Diane, Bijou, and Axel are too occupied celebrating with the other three over their prize.

He’s not going to let this loss get to him- how could he call himself a trainer otherwise, to let something like that crush his self-esteem?

His Pokemon, working together even without the need for his commands, was proof he was doing well.

Wasn’t it?

Nerida gathers handfuls of the gems gleefully, as if she was holding the rainbow in her palms. Lucian and Colm only take the black ones back to their trainer, while Diane peers over the rest in interest.

“We got more than what we asked for,” Cheren says, taking one of the Dark Gems in his fingers and inspecting it. “You think we could sell some to that guy?”

Axel picks up the Revival Herb that he had been inspecting earlier.

“..oh, you want me to give some to Bianca and Hilda?”

The suggestion makes the other Pokemon perk up in agreement. They make several noises that he can only assume was them talking over one another about his closest friends, happy at the thought of finding them gifts despite their previous battles.

In a way, Cheren felt slightly envious over how carefree they were.

Even though they lost, even if Cheren wasn’t strong enough..

His Pokemon could smile freely right now as if nothing’s weighing them down.

Cheren could only imagine how that felt.

Still, that small smile never leaves his lips, even as the slight feeling of guilt and jealousy lingers in his chest. 

He takes a few of the other colored gems into his hands, internally monologuing the teams of his friends so they could make use of the items. Diane in particular picks up a small Water Gem in her mouth, placing it right next to his hand.

He thinks of Hilda and her starter Otto.

Then he thinks of Bianca and her starter Blaise.

The feeling of nostalgia makes him feel warmer- better about his current situation.

He takes a fistful of Dark Gems into his pockets, whistling for his team to follow him outside- he doesn’t realize how dark it’s gotten outside. He supposed he could continue training tomorrow instead.

Adjusting his bag, he pushes away the feeling of having wasted his time in Chargestone Cave instead of bettering himself and his skills. 

Deep down, he knows that isn’t true.

After all, with the little gifts in his possession, he felt more eager than ever to see his friends once more, to meet up with them as if they were younger children again, showing each other the treasures they’ve picked from their hometown.

#others #trade

[kit-o-nine-tales]

If you change your mind, I’m here

Fandom: Resident Evil

Pairing: GN!Reader/Leon Scott Kennedy

Summary: Reader muses on the last time they saw Leon - the day they broke up with him.

Read on AO3

  I always think of you when it rains. Are you keeping warm, whereever you are? Do the old breaks still ache?

Stupid question, of course they do. But I wish, for your sake, that they didn't.

"How many times can a body be broken to pieces and put together again?"

I'd asked you that once, and you just laughed.

"I don't know, but I'm on track to find out," you replied.

You said it so easily, too. Like you weren't scared. Like you didn't have nightmares every night about all the things you'd seen.

Maybe it's not raining where you are. Maybe you're not in our state today. Maybe not even our country. Maybe you're out in Spain, or Russia, or China. Out fighting the newest horror to spring up from Umbrella's legacy.

I hope not, for your sake.

"I'm getting too old for this," you used to joke, years ago, back when you were just getting started. Back when the government wasn't giving you a choice.

Do you have a choice now, I wonder? She's old enough to fend for herself now, isn't she? And you are getting older. How much longer do they mean to puppet your strings? Will they use you until there's nothing left? Until you're too broken to put back together again?

Stupid question. When have the people in power ever let someone retire while they still have life in them?

We parted on a day like this. Rainy, with a cloying humidity that made every touch feel tacky and unpleasantly sticky.

We met for coffee. One of your rare days off that lined up with one of mine. I knew, going in, how our conversation would end. The answer you would give the question I planned to ask. But even so, I asked anyway. Even so, I held on to hope, as small a hope as it was.

If you sensed something was off, you gave no sign of it. You met me with a tired but true smile, my favorite already in your hand, sitting at our usual table. It almost made me change my mind. How could I even consider —

But then I noticed the mostly-faded bruises on your wrists, and the way you winced as you shifted a little too far to the left, and my resolve revived.

I gave you a smile, or at least, I tried to. Your return expression made me wonder how successful I was. Not very, I would guess. I took the drink you held out to me, and stared down at it as I took that first sip. Did my hands shake? Did you see it if they did?

Stupid question. Of course you did. You always had a way for noticing things like that.

"Some rain," you said. Your long bangs (impractical, but so endearing) were practically pasted to your forehead.

It managed to get a chuckle out of me. "Bit of an understatement," I replied. I dug through my backpack, and handed you a dry towel.

You smiled fondly at me as you took it. "Over-prepared as always."

"One of us should be," I replied teasingly.

A familiar exchange. One I miss more than I thought I would. It was a bit of a joke. In most cases, you were far more prepared for disaster than I was. But in the small things, I had you beat.

I watched as you patted your hair dry, leaving it messier than it started, sticking up at odd angles, melting my heart. You looked younger like that. Less jaded by the world.

When you were done, you looked at the towel for a moment, as if unsure whether to hand it back or hold on to it. You met my eyes, and then, nodding to yourself, handed it back.

"Say it," you said. Your face was neutral, but your eyes were sad. You knew. We both did. But neither of us could change a thing.

I swallowed. "I.... Would you quit? Retire?" I'd had a speech. Arguments and evidence, all eloquently arranged. But looking at you, I lost it all. You always did have a way of making me speechless.

You exhaled slowly, closing your eyes.

We'd talked around this before. I'd worried about you. The injuries, the close-calls. Spain had been a bad one. Almost an argument. You'd nearly lost yourself to the monsters you fought. But I always let the subject drop. Because I knew that what you were doing was important. That no one else could do it. That it needed to be done. But... it had been years. There were others now. Others who hadn't been so hurt. Others who didn't wake in cold sweat every night, who didn't drink themselves to sleep in the first place.

It didn't have to be you anymore. You could pass the torch, surely. Take time to heal, to rest.

But I knew, even before I asked, what your answer would be. Your heart, despite everything, was too good.

Sometimes I think maybe it's more than that. Sometimes I think —  maybe —  you just don't know any other way to live any more. That if you tried to settle into one place, to drift into the average everyday of groceries and appointments and tv... you wouldn't know what to do with yourself. Whatever hobbies you'd once had, whatever aspirations, wishes, or daydreams —  had all been lost. Eroded by years of fight-run-survive that left no room for such things. All you knew were monsters, terror, and blood.

And me.

At least, so I'd flattered myself sometimes, back then. I'd hoped that maybe I could be enough. That I could be there for you through it, if you would just lay your burdens down. If you would just let me.

But even still, I knew. And so did you.

You opened your eyes, sad, steely blue. And you shook your head.

I bit my lower lip, and stared back down the straw of my drink. I wasn't going to cry. Not because of pride. But because I didn't want to hurt you any more than I had to. I took another sip, swallowed, and then a deep breath.

"I love you," I said firmly. "But I can't watch this destroy you any more."

You winced again, your brows drawn together in pain. And slowly, you nodded.

"I understand," you said. You took a deep pull of your own drink.

I wondered if you had spiked it before I arrived. I felt certain you had.You never shared your drinks with me. You'd joke that it was because you might be contagious, but I knew. It was the alcohol.

"I'm sorry," I said. My heart clenched in my chest at the thought of never seeing you again. But I had to. Stars help me, I had to.

Maybe it would change things. maybe you'd change your mind with time, and someday I'd find you, standing at my doorstep, sober and free.

It hasn't happened yet.

"Don't be," you said, your voice thick. "I understand," you repeated.

"If... If you ever..." I tried. My own voice swimming with the tears I wouldn't shed. At least, not in front of you.

"Yeah," you murmured. "I know." You met my eyes again, then, and forced a smile. "If you ever need me... you know my number."

I laughed. A wet, sad thing. "I know." I said.

If the zombies ever found their way to my door, or stars know what else, you were the one to call. If I survived long enough to make the call. I didn't rate my chances very high. You'd always believed that I'd surprise myself, if the time came. Said that I had all the right instincts.

I rose from my chair, and walked over to you. I pressed a kiss to your cheek. "Stay safe. Please."

Stars,I miss the warmth of you. I can still remember the texture of your cheek beneath my lips, though time does its level best to steal that from me.

You swallowed. "I'll do my best," you replied.

"You always do," I said. It just wasn't enough.

"Take care of yourself," you told me.

I sniffed. The tears would come as soon as I left the shop. "I'll try," I said. I was never very good at that. Over prepared backpack aside.

We were both disasters in our own ways. But the gaps in me had lined up well with the gaps in you, and together we'd managed to muddle into something solid. But not solid enough to withstand the way you were coming apart at the seams.

I left the shop.

I haven't seen you since. Haven't heard your voice. Not even on the phone. I’ve heard about you a few times. Though not as much as I'd like. Claire doesn't hear from you often either, even if she does hear more than I do.

But I think of you all the time. On rainy days like today. On days when the clouds make the world feel like an impermanent dream. And I wonder: how much more can a person withstand? How long until the news I hear sends me to my knees in grief? Or will I never even hear about it? Maybe you'll meet your end in some far-off continent, alone, and in secret. Would they tell me? Would they tell Claire, or her brother, or any of the other people you know? The people who care for you? Stars, I hope they tell us. But most of all, I hope you won't meet your end alone like that.

I hope, despite everything, that one day I'll find you outside my door. Older and worn, with new aches and scars, but alive and wiser. Alive and free.

I would open my door for you, no matter how long it takes. And I would raise my eyes to yours, and there you would find all the adoration that had ever been there, as though not a day had gone by since we parted.

That, at least, I can promise.  

#leon x reader #Leon Scott Kennedy #resident evil #ficlet #originally posted on pillowfort #gender neutral reader #1st person pov #break up #longing #harmful coping mechanisms:leon scott kennedy edition #like buddy please stop doing this to yourself #vague time frame #some time after RE6 #possibly pre RE vendetta #sometimes you think you're over a fictional character #and then one of your quick writing sessions results in this #and you're like. huh. guess I spoke too soon #fanfic

[galeforged]

{ ooc } Right... this has been weighing heavily on the brain for a bit there, but part of me is wondering whether it's time I retire from the Bleach RPC on Tumblr. Bunny was of the same opinion just recently and is thinking of archiving her blog, and since the thought crossed her mind, it's honestly been something I've thought about a lot for myself as of late. I'm of the opinion that if it's not something I felt strongly about, I'd have let it go already, but... I'unno, here we are over a week in, I guess.

Case in point, it's gotten harder with time for me to keep Kōtarō and Shigeru's muses going, and these two were my flagship Bleach muses for as long as I can remember! Between reinventions and hiatuses—going as far back as high school and, of all things, deviantART—they were my longest-running OCs online and for quite some time, so naturally I'll always feel attached to them in some capacity. But lately though, it... kinda feels like they've run their course on here? There's no one reason for it, but there's certainly a few I can think about, including but not limited to the following...

I've already gotten to tell all the stories I could tell, and it doesn't feel like I'll get to expand on these that much further, or even tell new ones I've always wanted to for reasons I'm about to get into – which, ultimately, sucks monkey butt for me

Friends come and go, yes, but at least personally, I've seen more people leave than stick around even in spite of the anime's revival; plus, not everyone I actively wrote with is as active as they were (that's no one's fault, really - life's just like that, and I won't bemoan others for being busy or wanting to spread their wings elsewhere)

Something always seems to break out on the dash every couple of months or so, that ends up fracturing the community and splits my friend groups down further, which just sucks the joy out of writing on here all the more

As a result, that leaves only a select few (and I mean few) who're still keen on writing things at length with my boys, and making communication with other writers—even longtime mutuals—a bit more nerve-wracking to initiate

Thus, dwindling muses and waning interest in continuing to immerse myself in the Bleach RPC on Tumblr, which is outweighed by how much fun and easier it is for me to write on the Fire Emblem side of things, where I don't feel anywhere near this level of dread or hesitation

So... yeah, I don't know what this will mean for the immediate future. Maybe I wrote this out for a pity party or simply wanted to vent, or I'll make the Bleach boys request-only, or I remove them outright (with... no other recourse for them anywhere else, which, again, sucks) and commit to other RPCs... or I just take a break for myself and refresh/reboot asks and threads for Kō and Shigs, and then see what happens?

#{ ☁️ winds at rest beyond the sky ☁️ ooc ☁️ } #{ ooc: just... word-spaghetti here and needed to let out some thoughts I've had for longer than a hot minute- } #{ this is really only about the Bleach side of things - Forwin and co. on Fire Emblem are still golden } #{ but yeah just... it feels like I hit a wall somewhere and can't get around it- } #{ and now I'm unsure as to whether I /want/ to get around it- } #{ AND I FEEL BAD BECAUSE I'VE BEEN AROUND FOR SO LONG ALREADY BUT STILL- } #{ i dunno has anyone else felt like this lately or is it just me-??? }

[inc0rrectmyths]

HELLO HI I literally had a crisis while trying to decide weather to send you an ask or not 😭😭

I wanted to say YOUR WIPS SOUND SO INTERESTING!! Like tell me more about them plisss 🥺

AAJKAKWIWW YOU CAN SEND ME ASKS ANYTIME YOU WANT DW <33

anyways! soo.. my wips are... complicated..

But here are some smol and BAD summaries..

WIP ONE: (FHCC)

this is the one I'm currently writing. And also posting about here and there. Its a story about an evil manipulative professor who runs a cult in the name of Caesar and wants to gaslight ppl into killing innocents in the name of Caesar. And he gets a job in a prestigious uni where he teaches the history department. The fourth year students consisting of all foreigners, he finds the perfect opportunity to corrupt them. a lot of murders happen in the campus and then they stop. But on the day of Graduation, when the whole campus was celebrating, the professor is also mysteriously found dead. Typical dark academia murder thriller hehe.

WIP TWO: (SAA:1987)

Its about five friends who live in the same tiny neighborhood. One girl and four boys. One of the boys Kunal is in love with the girl Chitra. And she loves him back. While their little sweet love continues to bloom, the other three boys, Shreyas, Aniruddh and Ronit are stuck in a painful and restricting poly relation. And one unfortunate day, Shreyas' very homophobic family hears the trio doing... stuff... And immediately lock Shreyas up in his room. Now keep in mind, he's a VERY sensitive boy who gets scared and nervous easily. This might seem like nothing to others, but this was a big deal to poor Shreyas, who committed suicide after a few days of being locked and unable to see his two lovers. The story ends in a tragically happy way. Where Kunal and Chitra are married, Ronit and Aniruddh are still dating but they both still mourn Shreyas. But all four of them have learnt to let go of him. Yet, he continues to be a missing piece. Typical tragic love story but make it gay and poly :D

WIP THREE: (TBM)

Back to murders! But now we kill criminals instead of innocents. Lord Byron Beckwith, a big British official built an institute in 18th cen Britain and the then colonial India. Two elite institutes for students around the globe. But as decades went by, the two campuses got corrupted. And became hotspots for drug dealings, sex slavery and human trafficking. And the victims were the poor students who were threatened to keep their mouths shut. A bunch of them also killed themselves for this reason. But cuz of the reputation the campuses held, the governments of both countries covered these sinister things with sorry excuses. And that's when a secret society gets revived by six Indian and five British students of Beckwith Institutes. And both the Deans aka the ones who allowed these crimes to take place, of Indian and British Beckwith are found dead. Another typical dark academia murder thriller.

WIP FOUR: (TPAHB)

The prince of one of the last remaining royal families of Spain was turning 20. And to gift his son, King invited a well known bard and artist to their palace. The bard was asked to paint a portrait of the prince who was gone for a few days. During these days, the king got so impressed by the bard, he asked him to permanently stay in the palace and entertain his peers. When prince arrived and met the new bard, he found him absolutely repulsive. And decided to avoid the man. But on the other hand, the bard is blown away by the beauty possessed by the prince. And the bard secretly makes prince his own muse. Composing songs for him, painting him or reciting poems in his name. No one knew about it. Until prince, who was weirdly fascinated the bard (he denied it) decided to sneak in his room. And found paintings of him and poems comprising of his name hanging from walls. The prince and the bard form an even stranger relationship where one hates the other but is also fascinated by him and the other one is surely in love but will never confess. This an enemies to lovers stuff with a lot of comedy lmao. Also gay <3

WIP FIVE (TGPW) [probably a duology]

The kingdom of Devhagar and Theoisia are rivals and have centuries long history of war, bloodshed and destruction. They both are constantly trying to win over the Northern and Southern regions which are inhabited by strong mythical beings, clever elves, notorious pirate clans and magicians, and most importantly loads of treasures. The never ending hatred of these two kingdoms was prophesied to stop. It was said that five heroes will rise, who will be from both Devhagar and Theoisia and they will team up together to defeat the two evil kings of the two kingdoms and end the reign of tyranny, black magic, hatred and violence. The Magician, a mysterious traveller with no name, said to be immortal finds two small girls while he was travelling thru Theoisia. Thr girls are named Diana and Minerva and immediately feels an aura around them. He decides to take them with him and protect them but mysterious forces constantly attack them, and The Magician realizes he can't fight all of them alone. He calls Kenneth, the captain of one of the strongest pirate ships. Kenneth and his crew take Diana and Minerva with them to a journey that is to find three boys in the kingdom of Devhagar. And they do find the boys after defeating multiple monsters. Shiva, Vishnu and Indra are the three boys described by The Magician. Now the five children are brought back to the magician. Who enlightens them. They have a task to do, they were born to end evil.

#wip stuff #wip summary #writeblr

[yen-doodles]

Cw// reference and talks about Mac's death

Tell me what ya think! :D

Death takes a toll on all of us, just in different ways

Macaque admits that he might be a tad clumsier than usual this morning. He wasn't accident prone in the slightest (unless getting your butt whooped every battle counts as such), normally he's rather nimble which was something he prided himself on, but today....today was an offday.

It started off small, nothing crazy, just overshooting his reach and knocking something over or tripping over things on his blind side. Those were expected, usual mishaps that can happen to anyone, especially the stuff to do with his blind side. Even after years of being revived, the demon still hadn't gotten used to only seeing from one eye. It was a little embarrassing honestly.

Then it progressed to the shadow weaver hitting any part of his body into any surface in his apartment and tripping over literally nothing!

He most definitely already had bruises forming, the areas he hitting already being sore to touch. Macaque always did bruise like a peach.

The odd part about it was that he barely felt a thing during the impact of the mishaps. Sure afterwards it stung a bit, and his head didn't appreciate being slammed into the hardwood floor from tripping, but otherwise the monkey hadn't felt much.

The pain being numbed instantly, like his limbs. Another thing he still hasn't gotten used to after being revived.

When you die, the nerve endings that usually have you sense if something is hot, cold, or hurts don't really need to be up and running anymore since—y'know—you're dead. But if you're revived, those endings don't seem to get the wake up call that you're alive again so it leaves you're body feeling mostly numb.

Macaque can still feel, some things anyway, he knows when something is touching him but otherwise most feelings are dulled. He found out that he can't properly feel if something's too hot the hard way, and it wasn't pretty. It took so long to regenerate all those skin cells..

Having ice forced into his body by the Lady Bone Demon probably didn't help much either, with the being numb thing. If anything it made it ten times worse. Now he both numb and constantly cold at the same time, like he had just been thawed out of a block of ice and still sort of frozen.

The demon monkey sighed as he laid stretched out on the wore out couch in his living. He had been to train a bit ago but after getting hit by a training dummy more than once, the shadow decided to call it a day until he was able to get his limbs in order. He got thrown around enough as it is.

He had assumed maybe he was tired and it was causing him to be this clumsy, he did always have trouble sleeping. But didn't feel tired so crossed it out for now.

He can circle back if can't come up with anything else, or if he ends up passing out from unknown exhaustion.

Mac had dazed out for a bit until the demon had heard loud knocking on his door, causing his ears to twitch. 

He already knew who it was, being able to recognize the sound of the stone monkey's slow heartbeat instinctively. 

Normally, he wouldn't entertain the idea of opening his door to the Great Sage but today wasn't like other days it seemed. And hearing another, more annoyed sounding, knock followed by: "I know you're in there Macaque" made it enticing.

The shadow weaver stood, making sure to be extra careful not to trip over anything as he meandered over to the door.

As expected, Sun Wukong was at his door. He also had predicted the evident pissed scowl on the golden monkey's face. What he hadn't expected was for said monkey to be in casual clothes.

"What a pleasant surprise Wukong, dressing like the lowlife you are I see" he mused, taking pleasure as the god's scowl seemed to deepen.

The king scoffed. "Enough with the small talk Macaque, I'm here since you said you would hang out with my kid and his friends an hour ago but you didn't show" the auburn monkey was clearly displeased but the shadow just rolled his eyes. He did feel bad for letting the kid down, he did, but it wasn't a smart idea to go out when he couldn't even handle walking around his own apartment without getting injured. The darker monkey definitely wouldn't be able to hold his own in a fight if he went out now.

"Well oops, my bad, I'll apologize to the kid the next time I see him and make up the hang out another time. So, we done here?" Macaque attempted to close his door again but Wukong had other ideas. Pushing the almost shut door back open, wider than what the shadow monkey had previously had it and causing the shadow to stumble a bit.

"I'm serious Macaque. You hurt Xiaotian, again." He knew where this was going, Wukong was going to try and get him to leave to see the kid. 

The warrior groaned as he stepped back to allow the Great Sage to walk in if he so wished, interested about how the other was gonna go about it. It wasn't like he could get him to leave if he wanted to. He wasn't even sure he would be able to get Tang to leave in this state.

"Geez I know! But I wasn't able to leave today, I would've told him if I had a way to contact him" Mac had been avoiding asking the mortal for his number, he has many chances to but didn't take them. Maybe it was fear or pride, he told himself he was waiting for MK to be the one to ask him.

To ensure the kid didn't feel pressured, the shadow weaver had been manipulative in the very not so distant past and he didn't want to backtrack.

He was a kind on a whole good guy streak, and not doing anything that would count as manipulation definitely helped continue that.

Wukong scoffed. "Why couldn't you? Ya seem in pretty okay shape to me" he was about retort, tell the other it wasn't his business, but ended up stumbling before he could. He had been walking backwards which was his first mistake and hadn't been looking behind him, the second mistake, causing him to fall over nothing. Again.

Landing against the floor on his back, some of the air being knocked out of his chest. Letting out a surprised yelp, feeling slightly dizzy.

The dulled pain feeling spreading up his back and spine. He groaned.

"I don't have patience for this foolery, I told MK I'd bring you so you're coming with me; whether you like it or not" the sage grabbed ahold of one of his wrists and pulled him up harshly, putting pressure on the bruised ares. The demon monkey flinched as less dulled pain shot up through his arm, whimpering softly in a manner he felt embarrassed by.

The auburn monkey let go of his wrist suddenly, as though it had burned him, him bringing his appendage towards his chest protectively. "Wha-" the king sputtered.

Wukong slowly reached out again, this time holding the darker monkey's wrist more carefully than the last time. Shifting the fur to try and see the skin underneath. When he couldn't make out much he lightly pressed the pad of his thumb down, earning a small yelp in return.

"Were you just in a fight?" The god asked after Macaque had pulled away from the his touch, an unknown inflection in the other monkey's voice that the shadow refused to name. 

Macaque rolled his eyes again. "No, and what does it matter if I was? It's just a few bruises" he commented as he leaned against a nearby wall. Maybe he wouldn't fall again if he had something behind him.

"A few- so there's more?!" The golden monkey exclaimed, something the darker monkey found odd.

"Yeah, so?" He really didn't know what the big deal was. It wouldn't be the first time Wukong saw him with bruises.

"Show me."

The shadow weaver sputtered, taking off guard by the request. "I'm not that kind of performer Wukong" he jabbed in an attempt to make the other take back what he just said.

"Not like that- ugh! Let me just-" the god pressed a spot on his arm, making his face scrunch us slightly. Then proceeded to do the same on his upper bicep, his back, his calf, the spot near his ribs. Earning the same response from every press.

"You're covered in them!" The golden monkey exclaimed.

"Yeah so what?"Another press was placed on a spot near the top of his hip.Mac sucking in a breath to try and not whimper, it was already shameful he did it once; he refused to allow it to happen a second time. He had bumped the area multiple times into a table corner and it was one of the more sorer spots.

"What's up with you suddenly?!" He questioned, rapidly regretting allowing the sage to waltz into his home.

"If you didn't get these in a fight than how," the auburn pondered aloud, rubbing his chin in thought. "Then how did you get these bruises on you Macaque?" He asked.

Macaque wanted to continue keeping the answer away from Wukong, be petty with the monkey, but the other gave him a serious look that meant any bullshit the shadow spouted wouldn't slide. So, he caved.

He sighed, "ugh fine, fine I'll tell you...geez."

The shadow weaver mumbled. In that moment he wished it had been a brutal fight instead of what it actually was, that his limbs were just being stupid and made him fall.

"I don't have as sensitive ears as you Mac, can you repeat that?" The king remarked with an exasperated sigh. Macaque gritted his teeth in frustration. If he wasn't so out of it, he might of tried to pick up Wukong's boulder of a body and throw him as far as he could. That didn't mean the monkey wouldn't attempt in, well, in his mind anyway.

"I fell and knocked into a some corners and walls in my apartment okay! There, happy?!"

The Great Sage stared at him, the auburn monkey's face scrunching up in confusion. "You....were clumsy?" He asked while tilting his head to the sound, sounding nothing but unconvinced at the idea that the Six-Earred Macaque could possibly be clumsy. He had seen the darker monkey walk some narrow  feats without even stumbling, so to hear that Mac couldn't even walk on solid ground without tripping was odd.

"For Buddha's sake- yes!" The shadow grumbled. He shouldn't have to be telling the king any of this.

"But- you never were clumsy..."

"Usually I'm not, today seemed to be an exception much like how I allowed you in my home instead of shadow portaling you to the next city over" he rolled his eyes, this is was going nowhere. Macaque couldn't place his finger on why it seemed so important  to know why he was injured or even why it mattered to the king of all people. It didn't make much sense...

"How is that possible?" Wukong questioned.

The shadow blinked then scoffed, really? "Intelligent Stone Monkey" his ass, this guy was dense as the rock he sprouted from and just as impulsive too. It angered him. "Well I would summon a portal under your feet and pick the location I wanted to send you-" he explained dumbly on purpose, pointing to the auburn monkey's feet and then doing a spinning motion with his finger to represent teleporting as a was to emphasize. 

"Not that! The whole 'today seems to an exception ' and you being clumsy all of a sudden thing, how is that possible?" The sage reiterated with a slight frustration to his voice. 

Truthfully, apart from seeking a way to get a dig at Wukong, and hopefully get him to leave,  he had already known what the other was asking. He just didn't want to answer to for what it entailed, especially now with Sun Wukong acting funny. Partly because it's an obvious one, at least to him, but he also didn't want to talk about it.

Mac had it handled. He did. He doesn't need the Great Sage butting in with his "self-righteous hero" stuff.

He sighed, it couldn't be help the warrior supposed. The monkey was already here. "It's an after affect of being dead Peaches," the darker monkey explained as he refused to look at Wukong "my body was once a corpse y'know and so because of that a lot of the things that come with being, well, alive don't exactly happen to me sometimes."

He could feel eyes baring holes into the side of his head by gold eyes. Macaque cleared his throat awkwardly as he attempted to adjust his posture to seem more laid back. As though an thousands of years old immortal monkey that could literally kill without much of a flick of his wrist- wasn't staring intensely at him like the king was trying to set him on fire with his mind. It had been centuries since they were close, and with the golden monkey's track record of wanting to become more powerful, the shadow wear didn't put it past him that he picked some kind of fire related trick in their time apart. 

"I don't really have feeling in my limbs which makes me lose balance and just not feel certain sensations as much, like hot and cold. Pain for the most part too."

Mac can hear a lot of things, it's hard not to with the many colourful ears he was adorn with at birth. The shadow could hear anything he wanted to, even the stuff he didn't want to hear. Can hear up to miles away if he focused enough and right now Macaque could hear every sound coming from Sun Wukong right now.

When the god's breath hitched,  when he had gulped to lower his growing nerves. The erratic rate of his heart beat. He was sure he could hear the anxious cogs turn in the machine slowly working in the king's head.

Wukong could never do anything quietly. Or not somehow get him dragged into something,  even if the "something" is his thoughts. 

"I can still feel, it's just...less" the shadow weaver added softly. 

When the warrior got enoughcourageto look in the other he saw a look he was all too familiar with. "I know that look. There's nothing you can do about it Wukong, I can deal with fine it on my own" the pinched together eyebrows, the sad but calculating eyes. Wukong was going to evolve him, and most likely do something: ridiculous, stupid,  or dangerous. All three if he was productive. 

"But-"

"Enough. You said you came over because of Mk right? So you don't have to pull the false concern act, let's not keep the kid waiting" Macaque said with a groan, "I was going to be considered and walk but if you're going to dottle I'll just leave your sorry ass by teleporting-"

He began to stumble, all he did was take a couple of steps and he's closing in on the floor boards for what felt like the hundredth time. 

Though, this time, he didn't met the cold and hard wood, his body was still mostly upright. 

The shadow wasn't given much time to right himself as he was slinged over his intruder's shoulder, feeling his body physically sputter. "Sun Wukong?!" The dark monkey exclaimed loudly, attempting to shift out of the sage's grip and failing. It undoubtedly being as strong as the god was.

Macaque tried to summon shadows to assist him but seemed as though there weren't any surrounding dark spots he could manipulate, even if he made sure to keep his apartment at least a little dim for that reason, like someone was lighting the room to prevent him further. 'Bastard-!' he thought bitterly. 

Wukong ignore his attempts and continued out the door, "okay let's go."

"I can walk on my own Wukong" the weaver grumbled, face flushing, crossing his arms as the other worked on locking his door with the keys the auburn monkey somehow got ahold of. 

"Sure you can big guy" Wukong hummed when he finished and they were taking down the street. Macaque burying his face in the king's hoodie to try and hide from prying eyes.

'Stupid stone monkey....'

#lego monkie kid #lmk macaque #lmk sun wukong #lmk #not really shadowpeach but if you see it that way then i don't mind #angst a bit #i thought up an interesting idea about the after affects of being deas #and instead of making a one of post #i made a oje off fic instead - #no regrets! hope you enjoy