#maybe of the moth man 👀

[oldmisfortune]

I was supposed to design my oc bUT AS ALWAYS i got distracted by a warm up and didn't stop 🤡

I almost didn't post this because i didn't feel like it was that good but my friends were super supportive so here i am

Conclusion: I am not immune to Aife

#my art #ndm #ndm aife #na daoine maithe #fanart #i tried to do it in Mucha's style #*tried* #the demo is great #expect more fanart #maybe of the moth man 👀 #never again will i do backgrounds istg #I'm sorry

[weebsinstash]

I didn't notice vals coat was his wings until you mentioned it, but side note, val and vox were literally frenching it in the last episode, vox literally had vals spit all over his mouth wdym they're not dating???

Oh yeah, the wing reveal was an entire thing!

In episode 4, Masquerade, Charlie decides to put her foot down and use her authority as Princess of Hell to try and visit Angel at the studio to talk to Valentino, but, um, she cannot read a room to save her life, massively fucks it up, starts a small fire (not entirely her fault, that surge protector was a mess), and Valentino actually uses his wings and his weird smoke/pheromone powers to put out the flames (so also I've thought of him rescuing Reader from fires now because of course)

I'm not sure how the logic of the coat wrapping around his arms to form sleeves works but it fucks severely. then I also think, what are alternatives for a moth Reader? Someone sent in an ask about Reader being a silk moth so that you have the moth powers but you're ultimately helpless because you either don't have wings or they're too small for you to actually fly and escape ( because domesticated silk moths were bred to not be able to fly) and I think that would be great. Maybe Reader just has a tattoo of moth wings across their back, OR you have just, magical poofing powers where you can retract that shit back in, like Anthony's second pair of arms, and when they're hidden away, you have a tattoo. It leaves potential for hiding who you are from Val. This whole mystery of him chasing down some cute moth he sees in blurry footage from your first night in the afterlife and he doesn't realize the mysterious moth with rumors of a special dust that knocks you on your ass and makes you see stars is right next to him

I just. I keep thinking of butterfly/moth Readers and different powers they can have, like a silk moth Reader who can create silk and lowkey be Spiderman (or... bondage powers? 👀) , or the pheromone powers we mentioned before, or just a Reader who has their own fuck huge wings. Most moth species have female moths be physically larger than the males and I can just see like, a luna moth Reader who's wings are big and elegant and can become an evening gown or whatever, just a moth Reader whose wings become something pretty 😍 (ughhhh callback to my "Reader becomes an incognito Overlord called Big Blue" poeer fantasy except now I'm thinking of a Reader who's tall like Val and you're a blue morpho butterfly.

Reader being in the midst of being Val's weird pet slash forced partner, waking up and Valentino is sleeping beside you and he's just got those big ass wings open and they're draped all over the bed and they're covering you like a blanket while he squeaks in his sleep... you wind up as the filling in a VoxVal sandwich and those big red bitches are huge enough to cover everybody... also... what if Valentino used his wings lowkey like a tripwire so if you try to get up out of bed, you can't move without touching the wings, and he wakes up the instant you leave the bed, I'm talking you're 5 feet away still tippy toeing and you hear "you better get the fuck back here before I have to get you" and you're instantly scrambling back to his bed and now he's wrapping his arms around you so you can't leave again

I feel like Vivienne saying Val and Vox aren't dating is.... I saw someone phrase it as "dating is a really heteronormative concept and you'll have people be in domestic partnerships who aren't married" which is a good point and i also saw someone say "you've got two men throwing nasty hissy fits and probably having the world's best hate sex afterwards, you know Valentino isn't taking this man to dinner"

I feel like staticmoth IS sort of canon but it's not, explicitly like, they would DIE for each other or anything, idk. Maybe Valentino is only truly capable of loving himself and he loves the attention Vox gives him, and Vox is toxic codependent but he truly loves Alastor, who fucking knows, I'm still over here writing them both as my favorite problematic horny queers. Now I can just see Val and Vox fighting for "custody" of their shared darling, arguing who gets them which days, stealing them from each other, sabotaging each other's dates, just being selfish nasty evil obsessive gross dudes 😩❤️

#hh #yandere hazbin hotel #sinprompts

[bewitched-forest]

I just have to get this out somewhere, so spoiler warning for the ending of Hazbin Hotel.

I am unwell. This show has changed my brain chemistry. And it's mostly the fault of two very specific men. Alastor and Lucifer. (The irony in that too.) Yes, I simp for both, but it's in different ways.

I simp for Alastor because I am unwell. And he would not judge me for being unwell. Hell, maybe that even makes me attractive to him. It's a moth to a flame situation. Damn he pretty, but he would most certainly prefer to gouge out his eyes than even *risk* getting feelings. Also like. Fellow Asexual. Fellow I don't give a fuck about sex Asexual.

This man is unwell but you know what? We could be unwell together. Being well is overrated anyways, and it's a lot more fun being kinda crazy.

Lucifer I like because he's just so damn cocky. I can tell you the *exact* moment I started simping for Lucifer. Honestly? I'm sure many others did at the exact same moment.

It was this moment. You can't tell me that him being all "well your wives didn't hate what I had to offer" to Adam wasn't so incredibly fucking cocky but also H O T. Like god damn. I'm asexual but this moment had me going like "what could that mouth do? 👀"

And you know damn well he'd treat you right too. Like honestly he'd probably be okay with you being a little crazy too. He'd make sure you didn't hurt yourself, but if it makes you happy he would let ya. He'd have a nice hot cup of cocoa and blanket when you got home.

Also you can tell me Lucifer isn't Malewife energy and when isn't that attractive?

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel spoilers #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel alastor #lucifer hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel #radio demon #the radio demon #hazbin #hazbin alastor #hazbin lucifer #im simping

[nunalastor]

Hello! For my latest culinary crackfest, please enjoy a serving of: Rosie x Velvette.

Okay, so beyond the fact they’d be AMAZING gossip buddies, I personally think that overlords taste richer and more complex due to their millions of soul contracts. So imagine a scenario the Vees really need a run a internet cable through Cannibal Town, and Rosie agrees in exchange for being able to eat one of them once a month as long as the cable is in use.

Obviously Rosie’s not gonna choose the filthy moth man, and Al would be annoyed at any direct deals with Vox, so Velvette it is!

Plus, it’d be funny if Velvette’s just. Live-streaming it. Like she’s complaining about internet drama as you see Rosie making a pie out of her left leg. Maybe Velvette gets a slice of the leg pie before Rosie decapitates her and stops the stream.

I’ve probably way, way to much thought into this, but sincerely, the CrackShipper

👀

#hazbin hotel #nunalastor asks #rosie x velvette #rosie #velvette

[joequiinn]

Cirice | E.M. x Death!OC blurb

Eddie wakes up in the Upside Down, undead and trapped. A Reaper of Death begins to take a particular interest in the undead man who doesn’t belong...

[ for context: ramblings pt one | ramblings pt two ]

I make absolutely no promises that this will go anywhere because I am the slowest and most forgetful writer on the planet, but I thought maybe I would just post a lil blurb experimentally? Get some thoughts since I'm not very good at editing my own work? Also uuuh Death is an OC now instead of a reader insert because it became too complicated to write once I realized the scope of my ideas soooo... (@ali-r3n in case you were interested 👀)

Word Count: 1.2k

Can't you see that you're lost? Can't you see that you're lost without me?

Waking from the dead in the Upside Down was not on Eddie’s 1986 bingo card. Hell, if someone had suggested the concept of the Upside Down to him only a week ago, he would have looked at them like they were crazy. Places like this weren’t real. Shit like this didn’t happen. Especially not to Eddie Munson.

But this was very fucking real, and it did happen to Eddie Munson.

Eddie willingly ran into danger, into the arms of death for the sake of Hawkins, a town that never gave him anything, a town that came to hate his guts. This sacrifice was Eddie’s final act to save his friends, to save Hawkins. To save the damn world.

So, why the hell was he… alive?

Was he alive? Despite the obvious smattering of bites and lacerations that adorned his body, Eddie felt no pain, no lingering aches. It sure felt like his chest was rising and falling with breath, like he still had blood pumping through his veins. And yet… something felt very, very wrong. An unsettled air hung around Eddie, his mind wrapped up in an unidentifiable sense of dread. Something wasn’t right.

The Upside Down hadn’t been quite so frightening when he had friends by his side. But now, it felt colder, harsher, cavernous and empty. Every direction Eddie looked seemed like an endless dark, hissing and whispering with the promise of something evil. The Upside Down felt less like a sad replica of Hawkins and felt more like a dark, endless void.

Vulnerability washed over Eddie like a chill. As he took in his ominous surroundings, he felt like a small, lost boy, a child abandoned in a sick and dangerous world, helpless to find his way.

From where he was, presumably, left to rot by the demobats, Eddie carefully looked all around himself, afraid that he might see something terrible. Or worse, something terrible might see him. The Upside Down was void of any activity, any commotion, any life. It was haunting to see it oh so quiet.

Eddie looked down at himself, at his ripped up and tattered clothes. He could see his skin beneath the fabric absolutely littered with deep cuts, damaged and sure to scar terribly. He wondered how bad his face looked in comparison. Again, it struck Eddie as odd and deeply unsettling that he felt no pain. As he studied his hands, he realized just how ashen and washed out he looked - nearly the same color as the dead bodies he’d seen in shitty horror movies. An uncomfortable pang hit in his chest at that realization.

But he was breathing, he was still alive. He had to be, considering that he was consciously sitting here at this very moment. He had to be, right?

And yet, something within Eddie knew that he was no longer what he used to be.

-.-. .. .-. .. -.-. . -.-. .. .-. .. -.-. . -.-. .. .-. .. -.-. . -.-. .. .-. .. -.-. .

This place should not have existed. This pocket between worlds - this disruption to the cycle of life and death - went against all logic, even the flimsy logic of the afterlife. This tattered, disgusting, offensive mockery of the living world was strange and unbelievable - all creatures of the dead despised this place, were appalled by it.

But despite all that, Death was drawn like a moth to a flame.

This false world and its impossible wonders called to her as if in yearning; its sadness and misery spoke to her cravings. If she had a soul, it would feel a longing for this pathetic world.

Time passed differently for psychopomps. As beings beyond life and death, time was never relevant to their eternal existence. Psychopomps led the fallen to the afterlife, they hunted the living, they killed purely for the fun of it - what place did the passage of time have in any of that?

There were many Deaths of the same name, the same title. Perhaps they followed different paths, perhaps they had varying focuses, but the constant still remained - they were all Death. Of course, one might encounter variation - some referred to themselves as Reapers, others as Banshees, maybe Bone-Men, or even the Devil. But many had always been simply Death.

The particular psychopomp drawn to the world between worlds never referred to herself as anything other than Death. She never thought much on her existence, how she came into being, what her purpose was. She didn’t remember anything prior to this existence. She didn’t know if there was anything to remember. There were all sorts of legends scattered about the underworld and the afterlife, tales told by demons and reapers alike - there was a widely held, but not so far proven, belief that they were all something before becoming Death, but no one knew what exactly that something was.

Once this Lady of Death began exploring the impossible pocket between worlds, she found herself pondering her existence a little more often. Considering that this strange place shouldn’t have existed in the first place, it made her wonder what other paradoxical things could happen, what other unfeasible things could be true. Death wasn’t the only one drawn to this place, of course, as a variety of other harbingers of death also began to visit this uncanny mimicry of the living world. However, she did find it to be a remarkably good place to think, something that she didn’t exactly get many opportunities for - no, as a reaper, there was little time to pause and be left alone with one's own thoughts.

Death found herself often visiting this Undead World, as she took to calling it, taking the opportunities to contemplate the cycles of life and death, of infinite life and infinite death. And once she began to visit the Undead World, Death found it to be utterly fascinating.

First came the boy. A tormented child, trapped in the throes of unknown dangers, suffering day and night at the hands of demons beyond his greatest nightmares. Unfortunately, he got out.

Next came the girl, not quite a woman, undergoing absolute agony upon her arrival to the Undead World. Death hadn’t seen her in quite some time, so who’s to say whether she lived or died.

Perhaps that was why Death kept returning - between its many stretches of quiet, the Undead World would momentarily come back to life with utter chaos and woe before quieting down yet again.

Those moments of chaos, however, were mouthwatering.

Recently, the latest bit of excitement to come to the Undead World was absolutely fascinating - a whole party of mortals entered the world willingly, found their way into this place that had no right to exist. When that happened, it was almost as if the Undead World sent out a signal, calling out to Death to announce the latest arrivals. She wasn’t the only demonic creature to pay the world a visit, desperate to see the torment that would unfold.

And yes, it was glorious, the violence, the mortal foolishness and determination. Of course, curiosity came when it appeared that the mortals defeated the creatures that dwelled in the Undead World.

What did mortals want with a forsaken world like this? Why come willingly, why fight the native creatures of this disgusting place? The lives of mortals were an amusement to behold; humans were full of surprises, and Death relished in it.

She shouldn’t have cared why the humans came, shouldn’t have even paused to consider the circumstances. But the curiosity was overwhelming, her need to know almost consuming, so vastly out of character for her.

And then, she found her potential answer in a body left behind, a body that appeared dead, but wasn’t quite so...

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x oc #stranger things #eddie x death #will this fic go anywhere or will i simply abandon it :) #em

[alectoperdita]

25 for that situation prompt 👀👀

From Put That Guy in a Situation(TM) Ask Game

25. Showing up injured at their enemy’s house

content warnings: mild description of injury and blood, but not necessarily realistic

---

Blood seeped through his shirt. It overflowed onto his pants, dying his entire left side crimson. Jounouchi winced, but he didn't dare to let up on the pressure. Each step—every breath he took was labored. His knees threatened to fold under him.

The wound might be deeper than he originally thought.

A glow hovered in the distance, cutting through the fog. For a second, he wondered if that was the afterlife beckoning. A moth to the flame, he lumbered toward it.

If he was going to die, he wanted to be warm, at least.

The light was a solitary bulb illuminating a heavy iron-wrought entrance gate. Up close, it shone blindingly bright. Damn LED bulb. Exhausted, he slumped against the wall under it. When his head rolled back, he caught sight of a sign beside him that hung at eye-level. He squinted to make out the characters through the haze of pain.

Kaiba, it read.

A wet gurgle of a laugh huffed out of Jounouchi.

Well, wasn't this perfect? Kaiba might toe at his corpse in disgust, but it was better than expiring in the nearby woods like a wounded animal.

"Ne, Kaiba," he croaked. "You'll tell Yugi at least, won't you?"

"What the fuck are you rambling about, deadbeat?" replied Kaiba's angry voice.

Great, he was hearing shit already. God, he didn't want to die alone, even if it meant he was delusional. "Be a pal. When you find my corpse in the morning, give Yugi a call and let him know you found me?"

"It won't have to wait till morning if you don't get off my property this instant," Kaiba barked.

The voice came around the corner, close to the gate itself. Peeling his heavy eyelids open, he gripped the wall and peered around, perhaps hoping to glimpse the other man even if he was a hallucination. Embedded within the white stucco wall was a dark electronic panel with a light that blazed an angry red over a speaker. There was also a video screen, but it was dark and stared back at a blank slate.

"Kaiba?" he asked. Hope crowded into his throat, wet and fitful as tar. Or maybe that was blood. "Is that really you?"

"You heard me, deadbeat." The tinny voice came from the speakers. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Late," laughed Jounouchi. His head spun. He caught himself against the wall again, this time huddled protectively around the panel. "You--" A rattling cough. "You should be in bed."

"I was. Until someone set off the perimeter alarms."

"Me! It was me!"

"No shit."

He peered through the gaps in the gate, up the ridiculously long driveway to the mansion in the distance. He couldn't locate any pinpricks of light. They would've been clues as to where Kaiba was in that gigantic house of his. How strange it was that Kaiba was speaking to him and not one of his many identical-looking suited goons. Was he all alone in that wretched place?

"Do I need to call the police?" asked Kaiba icily.

"Sure," he said. "You mind calling an ambulance while you're at it?"

"What?"

Jounouchi spun around and searched for more red blinking lights. He found one on the other side of the gate. He retracted the hand clutching his body and waved it at the security camera.

Oh god, his side gushed. It felt like his guts were falling out. Dizziness washed over him and dragged him under into a smothering darkness. The last thing he heard was Kaiba calling his name.

***

Jounouchi's ears rang. That was a funny thing a doctor told him once. Too much quiet could be a bad thing—under-stimulating the auditory nerves could trigger tinnitus as effectively as loud noises. God, the human body was so stupid. If there was one upside to dying, it was not having to deal with that nonsense again.

He felt weightless. He was sure there was pain, but it couldn't pierce the heavy veil draped around his brain. Numb, that was the word. He was numb down to his fingertips.

He wiggled them. They responded after a brief delay.

"Tch, knew you were too stubborn to die," grunted a familiar voice from his bedside.

What a soft bed it was, too. He knew there was no way he was in heaven, not least because he didn't fucking believe in one. Neither he nor the surly bastard sitting in the chair could get in there. Unable to help him, a dopey grin spread across his lips as he turned his head toward the other person.

"Heya, Kaiba." Shit, he sounded high. His eyes traced the drip line to the clear bag of fluids suspended on the IV stand. "Must be the good stuff," he remarked, mostly to himself.

Kaiba rolled his eyes, but he uncrossed his arms and legs. He was such a beanpole. If he wore anything besides black, he couldn't intimidate even a rabbit. And those little fuckers got heart attacks at the drop of a dime. What a lanky bastard.

A lanky, flat-assed bastard.

Kaiba scrunched his nose. "Stop. I'll gut you myself if you say another word about my ass."

He had a stick up that ass to boot.

"Jounouchi," Kaiba growled in warning.

"What? Can't a guy die in peace?" he groused.

Suddenly, Kaiba was in his face, blue eyes blazing like hellfire. Up close, Jounouchi could see the dark ring around his eyes and the heavy bags under them.

His words came out no less harsh, though. Sharp as knives. "Next time, try dying somewhere far from my doorsteps."

A wave of fatigue swept over Jounouchi, weighing down his eyelids. "Yeah, I'll give that a try if I need it to take. Hasn't worked every time you've been around."

He could count the number of times he'd been at Death's door in Kaiba's presence on one hand. Somehow, Jounouchi survived each time in spite of him. But in this case, it was probably because of him.

He chuckled. "Your glares scare off Death himself."

Kaiba's expression tightened, then blanked. He drew back and straightened. Swathed head to toe in inky darkness with pale skin that glowed in contrast, he could pass for the Grim Reaper himself.

That explained it.

"Yeah, if you're Death, no wonder you don't wanna collect on me. I'm gonna live forever!" He laughed. His chest seized. He groaned. He wanted to curl into a ball, but his body wouldn't cooperate.

Kaiba squeezed the bridge of his nose, entirely ruining his Specter of Doom look. "Lovely. You're acting like an even bigger imbecile than usual."

Jounouchi peered up again, ready to sprout more "inanities" as Kaiba was sure to label them when he got his senses knocked out of him a second time. The sunlight imparted the illusion of color in Kaiba's cheeks, magnified the intensity of his azure eyes, and contoured his noble features. He fucking glowed, like the light bulb in the deepening night or a tempting flame. The whiplash stunned and nauseated Jounouchi.

What could he say to this brilliant vision?

Kaiba's brows furrowed. He almost looked worried, and that was how Jounouchi knew he was hallucinating again.

Kaiba snapped his fingers centimeters away from Jounouchi's nose. It worked, snapping him out of his stupor.

"Your brain better not have melted. Whatever's left of it," drawled Kaiba.

There was nothing like that patented Kaiba humor(?) to sober him up. "I'm good. I'm good. Still in one piece."

Somehow. Against all odds.

Because Kaiba had helped him, instead of leaving him out in the cold, to bleed out.

Kaiba harrumphed. Without another word, he spun and marched toward the exit. The lack of a grandiose coat spoiled the effect. Jounouchi missed that coat. He'd probably miss Kaiba himself once he left the room. Jounouchi would live, though, for now.

Kaiba paused by the door, his back was turned as he spoke, "I notified Yugi. He should be by to check on you later."

Jounouchi couldn't help but grin. A pleasant warmth suffused his chest. It could be the drugs. Or it could be something else.

"Will you come back too?" he asked.

Kaiba nodded. Jounouchi sank into the plush mattress and allowed himself to drift off, safe and whole.

Read other prompt fill ficlets here

#yugioh #puppyshipping #violetshipping #kaijou #replies #unfriendlyamazon #my fanfiction #writing prompts #hope this was okay!

[catsafarithewriter]

Been a bit since we had some angst 👀

"How much more do you need? How much more do you need me to give?"

"All of it. More than you could ever give."

A/N: How dare you throw this angst at me when you know I'm already looking at Slay the Princess AU angst?! How much angst do I need to offer to satiate your thirst?? Anyway, this is not a StP AU, but is loosely based on Moonlighter, an indie game where you play as a merchant moonlighting as a dungeon delver to collect stock for your shop.

I've been eyeing this particular AU for a whlie, so thank you for inadvertently giving me an in for this.

(This, uh, hit 10K, so heads up for a lot under the readmore. I'm gonna post this to AO3 in time, but for now, enjoy this monstrosity here.)

Happy birthday, you menace <3

x

Baron has been gathering dust in Moonlighter's cellar for longer than he cares to count.

This, however, is less remarkable for him than it might be for another; he is built of magic and wood after all, ageless in a way that makes noting the passage of time meaningless.

There is also precious little to mark such time, down in the cellar. There are no windows, no sunlight, not even the changing breeze that might denote seasons. All he has are the brief sightings of Moonlighter's owners – a man and a woman, and in his early days he had seen them come and go often to the cellar, but now their hair has greyed and their limbs have slowed and their detours to the basement are brief.

Recently, it's been only the woman.

Until one day it's not.

"I'm telling ya, there's nothing to be worth selling down there, Chicky."

The voice isn't young, but it is new. From his vantage point on the shelf, Baron can see the light spilling from the doorway is almost entirely eclipsed by the man on the threshold. Another light – that of candlewick rather than sun – bobs past the man and a significantly smaller form begins the descent.

"Maybe not, but it has to be worth a look."

"Your ma told us everything in here was either impossible to flog or cursed."

"Yeah, my mother also worked herself into an early grave trying to run this place solo," the other voice retorts, "so forgive me if I want to deviate somewhat from her teachings."

The second figure nears Baron, and now he can make out a face notably similar to the woman he has watched grow old. Her hair is darker, and her skin is clear of not only wrinkles, but also the scars that had marked even the younger years of the previous woman. Only her eyes show signs of wear – red rimmed and tired.

"Moonlighter was never meant to be run alone," the man says. He begins a cautious descent after his companion. "It was manageable when your pa was alive; then he could delve the dungeon for artifacts during the night, and your ma could sell them in Moonlighter during the day."

"And people wondered why I was an only child," the woman mutters.

"Moonlighter has been in the Yoshioka family since it started–"

"I know. But a lot of those inheritances were sideways along the family tree for good reason."

"Look, Chicky, if yer need any help, Toto and me can run the shop a few days so you can rest between delving. We used to help yer ma out when Daichi passed–"

"You and Toto have your own shop to run though," the woman says. She opens up a chest and finds only moth-eaten breeches. "And I can't just rely on the kindness of others to make this work, Muta."

"'Course you can."

"There's got to be a way to make ends meet – properly." The woman stops before Baron and looks – really looks. There's a fire in her eyes that Baron hasn't seen in a long time. "You're different," she says, and lifts him off the shelf.

The man joins her, and he eyes Baron with distrust. "Don't bother with that one, Chicky."

"Why not? It looks like fourth tier – and no one's been able to get as far as the fourth tier in decades. Someone's gotta be willing to pay up for it."

"Yeah, yer ma thought the same. Only it kept coming back."

The woman turns Baron over, running calloused hands over the immaculate morning suit and painted fur. The callouses are unfamiliar to Baron, earned from daily chores rather than wielding a sword. "Coming back? Coming back how?"

"Depends. If she sold it to a hero, they'd usually enter the dungeon, do pretty well for themselves, and then one day never be seen again." The man rubs a hand across his chin. "They'd always get... weird towards the end, too. Reclusive. And then yer ma would find it abandoned in the upper levels of the dungeon and no hero in sight."

"And if she sold it to someone who wasn't a hero?" the woman asks.

"Then they'd usually complain about hauntings and return the damn thing. In the end, she gave up on it. Guess she could've kept selling it to wannabe heroes, but she felt bad about it."

"Bet it paid the bills though," she mutters, but without any real rancour. She sets Baron back on the shelf and moves onto the next artifact.

That's okay.

Baron can wait.

x

He sees the woman half a dozen more times before he makes his approach.

The second time she enters the cellar, she sets to work furiously dividing the room's contents into possible sales versus the lost causes. Some of the latter she removes – presumably to be thrown – whilst others she leaves to gather dust.

She stares at Baron for a good long while before setting him into the final category.

It is some time before she returns. Baron wonders whether she followed in her mother's footsteps and attempted to run Moonlighter solo. Sometimes he wonders if she sold the shop and left for greener pastures. And sometimes he wonders whether she's died, ending Moonlighter's Yoshioka line once and for all.

But return she does, and she looks all the older for it.

Not older in a temporal sense, although Baron would be the first to admit difficulty in recognising that, but life has been unkind in ways other than time. Her skin is sallow, untouched by sun, and a scar clips her jaw. She moves such a way to make him question when she last truly slept. She doesn't stay long, just long enough to gather up some of the less hopeless causes, and haul them into the upper belly of Moonlighter.

He sees her sooner after that, and the following descents into the cellar become more frequent – and each time, she looks the worse for wear. Every time she looks a little bit more like her mother, and every time he wonders if this will be the last time he'll see her.

On the sixth visit, she collects him up and he sees sunlight for the first time in decades.

The light is low outside – either dusk or dawn – and she sets him onto a display stand. There are no sign of the artifacts previously claimed from the cellar; instead the other stands are filled with low-quality offerings, items foraged from the upper levels of the dungeon. Their prices are notably lower than the value she sets before him.

After writing out his price, she leans against his display stand, staring into his gemstone eyes and evidently seeing something else reflected in them. "Oh, don't look at me like that," she says. "If I sell you, I'll make enough to cover this month's rent and be able to skip a few night's delving in favour of sleep." She sighs, and Baron notes a new scar, running along her throat. "And goodness knows I can't keep this up."

"There are other ways, you know."

To her credit, the woman doesn't scream. He's usually found that to be the most common response to his initial greeting – occasionally paired with a clumsy swing of the nearest makeshift weapon – but, then again, she looks too tired to scream. She merely blinks, once, twice, and then says, "Oh goody, the cursed cat doll talks."

He sweeps his hat from his head and gives a once well-practiced bow. It's a little rusty after all these years, but whatever passes for muscle memory in him remains. "Greetings, miss. I think you'll find that I am no cursed cat doll, but a Creation. When someone creates something with all their heart, then that thing is given a soul, you see?"

"I see that the sleep deprivation is already on the hallucination stage."

Personally, Baron thinks the sleep deprivation is probably a few notches further along than that. But, then again, what would he know? He's immortal. "I assure you, I am no hallucination, Miss...?"

"Haru." She yawns, and there's a tremble in her limbs that the yawn exasperates. "And that's just what a hallucination would say, Mr...?"

"Baron. Call me Baron." He sets his hat neatly back between his ears. "And if I am a hallucination, what harm could come of merely listening to my proposition, Miss Haru?"

"Time. In case you weren't aware, I don't have much – or any – of it going spare."

"And if I were your hallucination, I should know such things."

She blinks slowly. He can visibly see her try to comprehend his words. And fail. "I'm too tired for this. I'm going back to..." She falters, brow furrowing. "No, I'm not. I've got a shop to run."

"And then a dungeon to delve," Baron hazards, "and then a shop to run, and then a dungeon to delve, and so on and so forth. Tell me, Miss Haru, when exactly is sleep scheduled in this busy life of yours?"

"Never. Sleep is for the broke."

"It is going to break you, Miss Haru."

"I don't have much choice," she says. "The pittance I make from dungeon artifacts barely cover a day's rent. I don't have the money spare to skip a day." She grimaces. "Or night."

"That's because you're only selling the artifacts from the very highest levels of the dungeon," Baron says. "If you went deeper the artifacts would fetch enough to tide you over for longer." He pauses. "Long enough to sleep."

"Nice theory, save for one fact." Haru gestures to herself. "I'm a librarian. Or I was, until I inherited this place. If I go any deeper than the shallows, I'll get myself killed." She brushes a hand, subconsciously, across her throat. "Quicker than I'm already likely to, anyway."

"As you are, there's no doubt," Baron agrees. "Not without help."

She blinks again – but this time it's laden with suspicion. "Muta said you only stick around with heroes."

"I do."

"I'm not a hero."

Baron cocks his head. "And yet you enter the dungeon."

She snorts. "For artifacts. I'm a merchant. Heroes go into the dungeon for glory, fighting monsters and suchlike, while merchants are just doing a job. Or, at least," she adds off-handedly, "that's the idea. In theory, a job pays."

"I have little interest in glory," he says. "All I'm looking for is someone who wants help in exploring deeper into the dungeon. In the past, that's only ever been heroes."

"Yes, and look what happened to them."

"Yes, indeed."

Her gaze narrows. "What did happen to them?"

"They pushed themselves too far, too fast. My aid can only do so much; they sought monsters too powerful too soon and were killed in the encounter. But, as you said, you're not in it for the glory. Perhaps your survival instincts will be stronger."

Haru snorts. "Given my life choices so far, that's a bit of a leap."

"Maybe," he admits, "but I've been offering my help to heroes for long enough to no avail. Maybe a merchant is exactly what I've been looking for." He offers a hand. "What do you say?"

Haru eyes the tiny gloved hand. "What kind of help did you say you give?"

"I can unlock a human's potential for magic," he says, and it's true enough. "Over time and practice, your power will grow, enough to face even the monsters of the fourth tier. So long as you take it slowly, you will be at no risk."

The first lie he's told but not, he knows from experience, usually the last.

Still, Haru doesn't take his hand. "Why help?" she asks. "What's in it for you?"

"It's what I was made for. All Creations have a purpose. This is mine."

For a moment, he fears he's misjudged, that she's going to refuse. But then she glances to the windows, where the sun is steadily rising and the flicker of shadow denotes people passing by, and a fresh wave of fatigue passes over her. Baron wonders just how close she was to breaking.

"Fine," she says, and drops her hand against his. Her palm dwarfs his. "I only need to go a little deeper anyway."

Baron smiles. He's heard that before, and no one has ever kept to it. "Good," he says instead. "Now, lock up the shop and tidy yourself to bed. We have a big night due."

x

The entrance to the dungeon is much the same as Baron last remembers it. The dirt track opens out into a dirt courtyard, and a large stone doorway is built into the hillside. Seated on Haru's shoulder as she pushes the door open, Baron can see the interior is also much the same – wooden beams outline the tunnel, deceptively manmade, with lanterns set at regular intervals. It almost looks like a mining shaft, except mining shafts don't usually echo with the sound of tiny skittering feet further within.

Haru falters before entering – as if she's tempted to flee – but enter she does, even if the hand that holds her rusty blade shakes.

"Alright, you promised me magic," Haru says, "so how does this work?"

"Magic works through intent. You must focus your desires and manifest them through intention." He thinks of previous would-be heroes. "Start small; that's all you'll be capable of at this point."

"So don't try running straight to fourth tier, otherwise I'll end up barbecued," she says.

"No, the fire monsters are on third tier. If you go up against fourth tier monsters unprepared, your remains will be less the charred type, and more the type best left to a dustpan and brush."

Haru glances Baron's way, eyebrow raised. "Are you speaking from experience or...?"

"Just take it slowly." He's spent years, possibly decades, sitting on a shelf. If he loses this mortal, there's no telling when he'll next find another willing.

Haru raises a hand, and Baron can feel her focus narrow. He converts the magic as needed, unlocking just enough potential – and a smidgen more – to fulfill her request. It's a modest affair, just a sphere of light that chases away the shadows that the lanterns cannot reach. It surprises Baron – but maybe it shouldn't. He's learnt from experience that too much magic, too soon, can burn out a mortal, but that hasn't stopped previous heroes from attempting more than they ought on day one. He's learnt now to keep a tight rein on a mortal's magic level, but Haru is a merchant, not a hero. Her priorities are based in survival, not glory.

Still, too restrained can be as dangerous as too ambitious.

"You can do more, if you so wish," he prompts. "You'll feel it when you reach your current limit."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely." After all, he has no interest in burning through a mortal so soon.

Haru focuses again, and the light dissolves into dust. It hangs, suspended in the air like stars, and then begins to dance.

Baron blinks. He's never seen the magic used for that. "What is the purpose of this?"

"Light," Haru answers, and she starts down the tunnel. The lights bob around her, still not using up her current magic potential. "And they're pretty."

"Beauty is rarely advantageous in survival."

"Are you going to be so judgemental the entire time we're working together, or are you just getting it out of your system early?"

Baron begins to reply, but then hesitates. He's never been called judgemental before – but, then again, his own goals have usually aligned closely enough with his current mortal that such remarks are unnecessary... or, if they are spoken, usually readily agreed with. "I don't mean to be judgemental," he says eventually. "I merely am accustomed to a different nature of dungeon delver."

"Yes, and they all died," Haru reminds him. "If I'm gonna be going out the same way, I intend to have some fun with it." She tilts her head enough so that Baron, still seated on her shoulder, can see her grin. "Come on, Baron. You can't say you don't like them."

The lights cascade around him, and from the eddies twirl forms that might be birds. An unfamiliar emotion skitters through his heart.

He suspects it may be bewilderment. Perhaps he had kept with heroes until now for good reason if merchants are all as impractical as this.

He's saved from the indignity of trying to find an answer by a monster dropping from the ceiling.

Each tier has its own biome and, by proxy, its own breed of monster. The first tier carries its facade of man-made origins in both environment and monster, and the creatures here are oft the animated remains discarded by humanity. The monster that attacks Haru appears to have once been an umbrella.

And not a moment too soon.

Baron braces himself for the inevitable overreaction, for the blast of offensive magic and the smouldering remains. Humans always underestimate their power on the first attack–

Haru smacks the flying umbrella with her rusted sword and sends it slamming into the far wall.

It flaps weakly, and then goes limp.

A beat passes. Haru is breathing hard, her face flushed and her sword arm shaking.

"You have magic now," Baron says, eventually.

"I forgot."

Baron glances to the light show, still dancing above their heads. "You... forgot?"

"I've been doing this job a lot longer with a sword than I have with magic," she reminds him.

Yes, Baron thinks, and the sword is definitely showing its age. It looks like it's seen several generations of Moonlighters.

Haru approaches the fallen monster and kneels down beside it. Baron is prepared to believe she's about to perform last rites – he'll believe anything of this not-hero at the moment – but instead she begins to strip it down for parts.

"Most of this will sell," she says, as if she can sense the raised eyebrow. "Attach a piece of the wings to an arrow and it'll fly farther, or use the rods as arrows and they won't break so easily. But the best part to sell is pretty much impossible to get–"

As she reaches further into the monster, the umbrella-creature twitches, and Haru jolts back. Finally – finally – her magic flares into action, and those dust mote lights fire into the beast, where from its body they erupt into vines, twisting and tightening, contorting the monster until it ceases to struggle.

Baron releases a breath he hadn't, until then, realised he'd been holding. "See?" he says. "It's so much simpler with magic."

Haru rocks forward on her heels, and gingerly drops a hand into the mess of vines and umbrella. The greenery parts ways and both wings and rods are mangled beyond use. "Dang it."

"Oh, what a shame," Baron says. "It's for the best, though; anything worth selling is going to be a good deal deeper–"

"Maybe not." Haru cracks open the centre of the main shaft, and a tiny blue stone falls free. "It's a crystal. I've never been able to break open one of these things to get them, but they're meant to be pure magic. Look."

She passes it up to Baron and he does, indeed, look. It emits a gentle warmth, uncomfortably familiar, and he wonders if his own crystal pulses the same steady beat. "Then all the more reason to keep going–" he starts.

"Keep going? This thing will sell well enough to tide me over for a couple of days. No," she says, and straightens up, "I'm going back home so I can catch some sleep while the sun is actually set."

x

Baron's never had this kind of problem with previous humans. It's infuriating. It's ridiculous. It's... stumped him, honestly.

Usually the promise of power or fame or treasure is enough to lure even the most reserved of heroes into the dungeon's depths, and a merchant should have been no different. After all, everyone knows the deeper one delves, the more precious the artifacts.

And yet Haru is frustratingly, impossibly content with the meagre findings she retrieves from the first tier. The gold she makes is just enough to give her days off and a little to spare.

But that's okay.

Baron can wait.

x

The push Haru needs comes from an unexpected source, when the town's herbalist approaches Haru with a peculiar request.

"These roots you sold me," the woman says, setting dried tubers on the counter, "I need more of them."

"They're only to be found in the lowest levels of the first tier, and even then only sparsely." Haru picks up the roots. She hadn't even been sure they would sell, but had taken them on the assumption that curiosity would trump common sense and purse strings. "How many do you need?"

"As many as you can get your hands on. Julian's daughter is sick, and nothing I've tried has helped – but these. She's making a recovery, but I fear she'll worsen if I don't get more."

Baron waits for the gentle refusal – the explanation that such plants are too deep for reliable sourcing, the apology – but instead Haru's mouth curls into a stubborn twist that Baron will come to know well. "I'll see what I can do," she promises.

x

"It was only chance that brought you upon those roots originally," Baron tells her on their next dungeon delve. Usually Haru skips a night and savours the sleep, but tonight she has gone straight from shop to dungeon. "If you want to be sure of finding them, you'll need to descend into the second tier."

"Then that is what we'll do." She glances his way. "Only for as long as it takes to find them, mind you. No more."

He smiles. "No more," he agrees, knowing the oath will never keep. She's already proven a willingness to break such promises, even if she takes longer than most to alter her priorities.

By this point, Haru's magic is strong enough to make the journey down to the second tier almost an afterthought. The monsters that dwell on the upper levels can sense her power enough to steer clear, and most only attack now if cornered.

The monsters on the second tier are a different kettle of cave fish altogether.

The mine shaft tunnels become more natural, more roughly-hewn on the second tier. Here, light is sourced not from ever-burning lanterns, but from glowing moss that clings to the walls and bioluminescent fungi sprouting at the edges. The monsters also alter in appearance, offering threat in the form of carnivorous plants and thorny poison. They are bolder, stronger, than their first tier brethren, and it doesn't take long for Haru to encounter one.

The vines that snare her are uncannily like the ones that spring from her magic, and they are little defence against her new opponent. Baron is quick to leap free – the plants ignore him, as they always do – and even if he was inclined to help, there is little aid he can offer at his current stature.

What he can do is transmute a little more magic her way, strengthening her power.

"You'll never defeat it like that!" he calls. He watches a new wreath of greenery spiral out from Haru and immediately be throttled by the snaring vines. "You must tailor your fighting styles to your opponent! Try fire!"

She stumbles backwards, trying desperately to kick her feet free. "If I lose control of that kind of magic, I'll set everything aflame!" she shouts back.

"You don't have the power to do that!"

"Once it gets going, I mightn't be able to stop it!"

The plant monster lashes out and strikes lucky. Its vines catch around Haru's waist and she is dragged off her feet.

Dammit.

"If you don't do something, you won't need to worry about losing control!" he shouts. Dammit. No other human has ever needed such coaxing; usually he's the one preaching the virtues of restraint. "Attack it, Haru!"

She swings at it with that ridiculous sword, its blade too dulled to do more than dent the monster, and the vines tear it out of her hands almost disdainfully. The vines curl up along her arms, around her shoulders, towards her throat, and Baron remembers vividly the mangled mess Haru's own plant magic had made of that first umbrella monster.

Lesson learnt: next time he sticks with heroes.

All he can do is watch as her feet kick uselessly against the monster, nails scrabbling in vain, face reddening, hands reddening...

Wait.

Hands?

Her fingers dig into the vines about her neck, and now he can see her palms are molten-red. He catches the smell of smoke and firewood, and suddenly Haru is thrown free from the vines. She rolls to the side as a thorn-lined vine slams where she had been only moments before. It hits the ground with enough force that Baron feels the floor shake.

"Baron! In the bag!" Haru yells. She pulls her satchel open and lingers only long enough for Baron to follow her instructions, before she's off running along the corridor.

Thankfully, what plant monsters have in thorns and vines, they lack in the way of feet. Haru outruns it with ease, even injured as she is. When they reach a secure corner, Haru slumps to the floor. Her breathing is heavy, irregular in a way Baron recognises to be pain.

Baron is out of the bag almost before Haru has sat.

"What happened back there?" he demands.

Haru doesn't answer immediately. She has her right arm close to her, her left hand tight just above the elbow. "Plant monster," she says eventually. She proffers a thin grin. "Or weren't you paying attention?"

"Not that. I meant with your magic." He gestures to her obviously injured state. "At your level, you shouldn't have had any such issue with it. Your magic is strong enough, trust me. So why didn't you use fire back there?"

"You're made of wood."

"And?"

She blinks. "You're made of wood," she repeats, slower this time like he's missing something obvious. Like that comment should mean anything in this context, like it should explain why she nearly got herself killed instead of–

Oh.

There's blood seeping through the sleeve of her shirt, ruby-red staining the hand pressed to it. Thorns, most likely. Poison, possibly. And all because she feared she would burn him.

He steps forward, and as he does so, he shifts into a human height. Haru balks, but isn't really in any state to do much more than stare.

"Since when have you been able to do that?"

"I always have. But my role here isn't to fight; yours is."

Her mouth sets into that stubborn line, and he suspects she's thinking of all the time that having another body beside her would have been useful in traversing the dungeon. There's a reason he rarely shows this ability to humans.

"You shouldn't have worried about me," he says. "I'm hardier than I look. But you, it appears, are not." He collects the healing kit out of the bag and passes an antidote to her. "Drink. Not all monsters on this floor are poisonous, but we can't risk it."

She takes the vial and downs it with a wrinkled nose. "These things always taste foul."

"Would you rather risk dying a slow, painful death?" Baron asks. "Or perhaps being petrified. I believe there is at least one monster on this floor whose poison turns one into a chicken. How does that sound?"

Haru snorts, and Baron is surprised by the relief that blossoms in his sternum at the sound. Surprised and... unnerved. His purpose is to find a human capable of reaching the final level, so their survival is always optimum – up to a point – but this feels... uncomfortably personal.

He turns his attention onto safer matters, such as rolling the torn sleeve away from the injury. The skin is equally torn; not deep, but intricate lines mar the arm. He sets to binding the wound with bandages.

"Why did you stay?"

Haru rolls her head away from the wall. "What?"

He hadn't meant to ask that, but now the words are out and his curiosity is whetted. "At Moonlighter," he specifies. Between his fingers, he can feel how soft, how delicate human skin is. He wonders why any mortal would take to this life when it could be ended so easily. So off-handedly. "Surely you needn't have taken over the business, even if it is a family affair."

"Oh. That." She leans her head back against the wall. "Apparently, Moonlighter must be inherited by one of Yoshioka blood."

Baron recalls what snippets he has learnt of Haru's life before. "Yes, but you were a librarian. Surely there were better candidates?"

"You'd think so. But, no; it turns out that having a family of dungeon delvers/merchants is a pretty good way to not have a family before long. The death toll is high and the lifestyle isn't, shall we say, conductive to having a kid."

"And yet you pursued a life elsewhere before coming back here."

"I wasn't meant to inherit this place. That was to be my cousin – but then she got on the wrong side of an ogre, and..." Haru shakes her head. "The only other Yoshioka left is her daughter, all of five years. I couldn't let her inherit Moonlighter so... well, here I am."

"Here you are," Baron agrees. "Would she have really inherited Moonlighter if you hadn't accepted it?"

"There are two things impossible to get out of: fairy deals and legal matters." Haru rolls her head to one side, but this time her gaze lingers on the wound she has been so carefully avoiding until now. "I came, knowing a librarian was never going to be a good owner for Moonlighter but, I thought that I might at least last long enough here to give her a chance to grow up. So maybe she'll be able to handle the job when she inevitably comes into possession of it."

Baron slows in his tending. The resignation in her words sets his heart cold. "Is that really how you feel?" he asks softly. "That this life would be the death of you, and still you came?"

"It's killed pretty much all its previous owners," Haru answered, far too blase for Baron's liking, "and most have been much more capable than me. Sooner or later, everyone slows or errs, and this job isn't the forgiving sort. So, yes, I was pretty sure this would kill me, probably sooner in my case." She glances his way, with a smile Baron does not deserve. "At least until I met you. With the magic you've given me, I might survive this. Perhaps even thrive."

Baron doesn't recognise the emotion that pools in his gut, cold and heavy.

He thinks it might be guilt.

x

After that, Haru begins to venture regularly onto the second tier. If he had thought her close encounter with the vine monster would push her further onto the path of cautiousness, he is very much mistaken – instead, it seems to have emboldened her. She still plays carefully with her fire magic, keeping it close to her skin, even after Baron's assurances that she shouldn't fret over him, but it works well enough against the second tier creatures.

She gathers enough of the root to satisfy the herbalist, but news that Moonlighter's owner is venturing deep begins to get about. More come to Haru's shop with requests – fetch these seeds, find these leaves – and Haru is happy to help. If they merely spoke of a rich payout, Baron isn't sure Haru would be so willing, but the offers she accepts are always for a worthy cause.

Once upon a time, Baron would have been relieved she was finally comfortable delving deeper, but now the thought seems to give him vertigo; satisfaction and grief warring inside him.

One of the owners of the neighbouring weapon and armour shop stops by, and he eyes Moonlighter's array of stock with a wary look. He's tall, birdlike somehow in the way he holds himself, and avian in his sharp eyes. "When Muta told me you were managing, it set my heart at ease," the man remarks, "but I'm startled to see you've been delving so deep. What did you say your profession was before?"

"Librarian," Haru replies.

"Librarian," the man echoes. "You've caught on well, then."

"Thank you, Toto."

His gaze roams the shop, until it seems to find what it's searching for in the form of Baron. He starts towards it, but Haru is quicker. She scoots between them, as if guarding Baron from the man.

"He's not for sale."

"Glad to hear it. Muta did tell you what happened to the heroes who bought it, didn't he?"

"He did."

The frown burrowed into the man's brow doesn't lessen. He regards the stock around him, salvaged from levels even experienced heroes were reluctant to venture to. "Haru, if things are difficult, if Moonlighter is proving impossible to run along, you know you can always ask myself and Muta for help, don't you? You don't need to turn to... alternative sources for aid, you understand?"

"I understand. Muta made it quite clear what happens to heroes who bought the cat doll." Haru smiles. "So it's just as well I'm a merchant, isn't it?"

x

Baron knows it is only a matter of time before Haru braves the third tier.

All it takes, as all it ever takes, is someone asking for something from the fire levels – Baron can't even remember what she needs; all he remembers is that she's one step closer to the final level – and she's venturing yet further than she promised she would.

The third tier is one of fire and smoke, lava flowing in molten-red rivers that home monsters built to scorch would-be heroes to cinders.

Haru almost refuses to bring Baron along.

"And if a stray fireball hits you, what then?" she demands. "Poisonous trees and over-active accessories are one thing, but the monsters on the third tier could really kill you."

"I'm at no greater risk than you have been during our adventures," he reminds her.

"That's different."

"How?"

Haru opens her mouth. Closes it. But Baron has a pretty good idea of the kind of answer she'd like to give – that the standards she set for herself, and the standards she set for other people are two very different things.

She admits defeat, and he accompanies her on her next delve.

This would all be easier if he could convince himself the care she affords him is purely self-serving. And he's met plenty of those sorts over the years. Those who have protected him, as far as they have felt the need, have been doing so because of what he grants them; because if he is destroyed, then maybe their newfound magic will be destroyed also. It has always been a means to an end – and that's worked just fine for him. After all, the exploitation goes both ways.

But Baron has seen the way Haru cares for those around her, sometimes even fetching high-priced items from the dungeon and refusing payment if the need is too great and the cost too dear for the recipient. It is easy to believe that same reckless care has been aligned over him. However ridiculous it may be.

"You needn't worry about me," he assures, all the same. "I've been here before and, as you can see, I'm still here."

"You've been to the third tier before?" Haru asks. Here, the only light to be found is in the glowing lava and ever-burning torches, and it bathes the tunnel and its occupants in an ember hue. Her hair carries a reddish shade that almost looks like her mother's in her younger years.

"And to the fourth and beyond," he answers.

"There's a fifth tier?"

Baron shakes his head. "There's only a single floor below fourth tier."

"I wonder why no one's heard of it."

"It's because all who venture there only meet death."

Haru eyes him. "Except for you."

"Except for me," he admits, "but I, as you have probably discerned, am a special case. The monsters here have a preference for attacking humans over a cursed cat doll," he says, echoing her words from so long ago with a smile.

"So what's down there?"

Nothing, he wants to say. Nothing worth seeking.

"The monster," he says instead.

"Same old, same old."

"No. This monster is the reason this dungeon exists."

Haru stops walking. "What?"

He's told this tale a hundred times, and each time tailored to pique his mortal's curiosity. Promises of riches or glory or power tied to success, and yet none will guarantee Haru's aid here.

Good.

"A long time ago, there was a monster terrorising the world, so great in power that to slay it was impossible. Many tried, many failed, and in the end all that could be done was to trap it away. To create a dungeon for it."

Haru blinks. "I never wondered why this place was called a dungeon."

Baron nods. "Some clues to its history have survived the eons. It's sealed away on the very lowest floor, trapped, but still very much alive and very much dangerous."

"Have previous heroes tried to kill it?"

"Yes."

"And I'm guessing none have succeeded."

"None."

He watches her, wary of the urge to seek out such a danger, but she seems to slot this new knowledge aside and move on.

He shouldn't feel relief.

But he does.

x

The fourth tier is the lowest part of the dungeon – before the inevitable, anyway – and the one that best betrays the abilities of those who built it.

Of those who built Baron.

Baron may be a more complex Creation than his bellicose brethren which occupy the fourth tier, but he is still a Creation, and his artisans didn't deviate far from previous forms. Although all monsters in the dungeon run on magic, those on the fourth tier most obviously owe their existence to it. Living statues, living suits of armour, living gargoyles... they all call the fourth tier home, and are so clearly built for that intention that it is only a matter of time before Haru looks to him and wonders.

They sit in an offshoot tunnel, lit by lanterns that glow blue, and Haru has been quiet ever since taking down a statue with a feline face. Baron sits beside her. He's been taking on a human height more often than he ought recently – more often than he ever has before – but for some reason he keeps coming back to it.

Haru runs a thumb over one of the gemstone eyes she looted from the statue. It's a glittering red, and sure to fetch a good price in Moonlighter... but Haru doesn't seem to be seeing that in it.

"Who are you, Baron?"

He offers the smile that has reassured many a hero before Haru. "I told you before: I am a Creation. When someone creates something with all of their heart–"

"You misunderstand me. I didn't ask what you were. I asked who." She looks to him, and suddenly he's wondering if she's seeing his own eyes echo so closely that of the statue, save for colour. "When I first saw you, I said you looked like fourth tier, but I didn't really dwell on that. I didn't really think through the implications." She rolls the gemstone eye in her palm. "Who created you, Baron?"

For all the heroes he's encountered, he's only had this conversation with a handful. Few seem to care exactly what or who he is, so long as he can benefit them.

He doesn't have the practice for this.

The truth – or as close as he is allowed – it is then. He inclines his head towards her hand. "I think you have a guess."

"Is it true, then?"

"Yes."

Her thumb rolls past the stone, and instead carresses the scar that runs across her palm. "You're not like the other creatures in this place thought," she says. "You don't harm."

Oh, how wrong she is.

"They're made for a different purpose," is all he's allowed to say. "They are designed to challenge heroes, to slowly increase the difficulty so that only the strongest of fighters reach the final floor and, perhaps, will be strong enough to slay the monster trapped there."

Haru considers this. "The dungeon is a test."

"And the monsters are the questions," Baron says.

"So what does that make you?"

The guillotine, Baron thinks. But that would warn Haru of the final step in his purpose, and he's forbidden from such truths. "I was designed to find such a hero," he says instead. "Or, more exactly, to make one. The final monster is beyond any mortal's ability to slay it, therefore I was tasked with finding a willing hero and giving them that power."

"Why?" she asks. "If the final monster is trapped for good, then surely it can just be left as it is, no need to throw wannabe heroes at it, unless..."

She goes quiet, and Baron suddenly realises with awful, heart-wrenching guilt, he knows exactly how to get Haru to the final floor.

"The monsters have been getting worse, have you noticed?" she asks. "Even on the first tier, they're more dangerous now than they were in my mother's time. Back then, the boldest heroes could make it as far as fourth tier – not often, mind, but still, it did happen – but it's been decades since anyone's delved this far." Except for herself. She doesn't voice the thought, but the words still hang in the air between them. "The town used to be bustling, but now even the firrst tier is a risky business."

Baron nods. "The binding wards are weakening."

It's true, but he wishes it were not. Not because of the threat it poses – but because he fears Haru's reckless selflessness, the care that has thrown her as far as fourth tier, breaking her own imposed limits again and again.

"What wards?" she asks.

"The wards that keep the final monster trapped. It was always going to happen – no magic lasts forever – but my creators had assumed I would have found a hero by then."

"The monster is waking up," Haru translates.

"Its power is rejuvenating," he corrects. "And with it, the power required to slay it is increasing. So the rest of the dungeon is adapting accordingly – in order to create a hero able to slay it, the other levels must increase in threat also."

"So, eventually even first tier is going to be too dangerous for anyone to enter..." Haru says.

"And the monster will one day break free," he finishes. "Yes."

Baron has been searching for a hero to slay the monster for longer than he cares to count.

It has been long enough for him to forget the faces of those who made him – and his memory is sturdier than most – and their voices may be gone, but never their words. Never the purpose for which he was created. For in his chest there lies a crystal, a condensed heart of magic, and in that crystal is his purpose carved. He can no more disobey his purpose than he can tear out his crystalline heart and live.

He's never wanted to.

Until now.

"You can still walk away," he says. "There's time."

"If I do, you'll merely find someone else to take my place," she replies. "Won't you?"

He wishes he could deny it. Not because the truth makes him sound fickle – although it does that also – but because Haru's humanity has crawled under his skin and the idea unsettles him. How could he offer his aid to a human, knowing he was just leading them to their death?

And yet he would, because that is the way he was built.

He doesn't answer, and apparently that is answer enough for Haru.

"Maybe the next person will succeed," Haru says, ignorant that success will kill as surely as failure, "maybe they won't. Maybe," she continues, not looking to Baron, "you'll one day offer the same deal to my cousin's daughter. Assuming, of course, the binding wards last that long."

"It's what I was made for," he says, voice hoarse with apology, but unable to deny it. "All Creations have a purpose. This is mine."

"That's what I thought," she says, and there's no anger in her words. He wishes there were. He wishes she would rage, wishes she would hate him as she should, but there's only sorrow.

"Tell me truly, Baron: do you think I could do it?"

"You are nearly strong enough to defeat it," he answers, "and, when the time comes, I will grant you enough magic to succeed."

Ask me if you'll live, he wants to beg. Ask me so you can see me lie, so you can see the truth.

But, of course, she doesn't. She trusts him too much by now to doubt, to search for hidden truths. She cares too much to ask after her own wellbeing.

He wishes she could be just a little bit more selfish.

Haru looks to her rations. She has, as always, been careful with her magic and supplies, and despite the long journey down, there's still fire in her veins. "Then I guess there's no time like the present, huh?" She grins, and Baron's heart wishes to break. "Let's go slay a monster."

x

Baron has been to this final floor only a handful of times. More than once, the hero's eagerness has overtaken sense, and Baron has watched them be scorched into oblivion. The first time Baron got a hero this far, it was his own underestimation of the monster's power that killed them.

But, more often than not, it is the hero's own magic that kills them in the end.

Baron's never spent this long with a single mortal, and Haru's magic reflects that. It's no longer the messy instinct that reacts without thought, but is instead more akin to muscle memory, honed through practice. It moves with her, responding to her needs the way a hound follows the subtlest of its master's orders.

He has created many monsterhunters over the years, but Haru is the first he actually believes will succeed in the task.

It doesn't matter. It'll still kill her in the end.

Even after all this time, she still carries that damn rusted sword at her side, despite the fact that it's even more useless now than it was in the beginning. Her hand flies to its hilt in some remnant self-defence when she sees the creature she plans to slay.

"It's a dragon?" she whispers to Baron.

"Yes."

"You couldn't have told me that?"

"Would it have made a difference?" he asks.

"...No. But it would have been nice to know." She drops her hand away from the sword and flexes her fingers. Magic – that iridescent blue – sparks between her fingers. She inhales slowly and the magic retracts, drawing close under her skin, carefully reined in. "Right. I'm guessing this is a fire-breathing dragon–"

"Magic, but it comes to the same sort of fate," Baron amends.

"Either way, you're staying back."

He bridles at that. "I can–"

"You said it yourself – your role isn't to fight," Haru reminds him, "so you're staying out of the way. Or has your purpose changed since we last talked?"

Baron scowls, but there's little he can do against the truth. He's not sure his purpose will even allow him to intervene – but he wishes he could at least try. "There's still time," he tries once more. "You can walk away."

"I can," she admits, "but we both know I won't."

"I know."

She leans in quickly and kisses him – brief enough to be little more than a breeze brushing him – and she grins that that daring grin that he knows so well. "I'll see you on the other side," she whispers, and then she is gone.

She moves quickly with a speed honed from the delving, and is nearly upon the dragon before it even notices her. She flings her arms out and vines spring up from the ground. They wrap around the beast, thick rope-like shoots binding it down, and already she's moving onto her next stage of attack. Fire simmers in her palms, hot enough to burn blue and she slices through the air with razor-thin flames. They slice through the dragon and it–

It doesn't even notice.

Haru rolls to the side as the tail sweeps towards her, lined with spikes that will kill with a single blow. She tries again, this time with balls of ice, thick enough to be fatal for most monsters.

Again, it shakes it off, this time with a wing that smacks into Haru. She catches herself with her magic – air swirling beneath her to form a cushion – but that damn sword spins out of its sheath and skitters to a halt close to Baron.

Baron can't stand this any more. He steps out into the cavern. "Forget elemental attacks!" he cries. "The only thing that will cut through a dragon's skin is pure magic!"

The dragon swings its tail again, and this time it strikes the columns nearest Baron. He leaps out of the way – but not wholly. Chunks of stone slam into him and he feels the fracture that runs through him. And as he gathers his senses back together, he hears Haru scream.

She screams, but it's not one of pain or terror. It's a scream of rage and grief, and magic erupts from her palms. Jet streams of pure, unaltered power slams into the dragon's chest, and Haru stands before it, hair crackling and eyes glowing, and in that moment she looks as monstrous as the creature she was tasked to slay.

And then the magic runs out and she slumps to her knees, terrifyingly mortal.

When the light has dimmed, both can see the beast is down, a death rattle wheezing through its charred body.

"It's nearly dead," Haru rasps. She tries to rise to her feet, but the strength has gone from her limbs and she doesn't understand why. She looks to Baron, and he braces for the betrayal, but there's only reckless determination. "Magic. Baron, give me more magic like you promised."

The dragon is inches from death, but already it's beginning to stir. The blistering skin is bubbling, healing. This is the way Baron's creators made his own spell to work – the dragon can only be killed by using up everything a mortal had to offer. Even as Haru's magic is regenerating, so is the dragon's, perfectly matched to end them both.

"Baron!"

He knows what his purpose is. He knows he was made to create a hero capable of slaying a dragon, and now success is so close, he can almost see it.

But, more importantly, he can see Haru.

His purpose demands he gives her the means to slay the dragon.

And he refuses.

Baron's magic is carefully crafted to his role. It's designed for exactly two things: to keep him alive, and to transform life force into magic. He isn't designed for combat, and that's a feature, not a flaw. He was never meant to do anything more than watch.

But the dragon is so close to death, perhaps that doesn't matter.

He kneels down to the rusted sword by his feet, and its weight is alien to him, balanced in a way his cane is not. Dulled but still, possibly, deadly.

He starts into a run, aiming for the chest where the scales are still soft from healing, and where the muscle is still so thin he can see the heartbeat pulse within. He hears Haru shouting, but he can't make out the words. All he can do is duck as the dragon swings claws and wings at him, running for his life – for both their lives – and stab the rusted blade into the bubbling flesh.

The sword sinks into the marred skin, past warped ribs and melted muscle, and he feels the give as it pierces the heart. The dragon writhes. Baron clings on, suit tearing and gloves bloodied, and when he is finally thrown free, he feels something crack when he hits the wall.

He watches through fractured vision as the dragon contorts, screaming and curling in upon itself and then, finally falling still.

A silence settles. It settles so deep that he can feel it rooting through him, even as footsteps echo across the room. Haru drops down beside him, her face pale and her limbs shaking, but alive.

He waits for his purpose to remind him that shouldn't be – that he has one more duty to perform – but the silence prevails. He follows Haru's horrified gaze and sees the reason why.

A crack runs down his chest, split open from throat to stomach as cleanly and bloodlessly as a log struck by an axe. He presses a ruined glove to the opening and cradles the fissured crystal as it falls from his shattered chest.

"Ah," he says, and he can already feel his magic drying up, the ebbing tide tugging at his lips. "That would explain it."

"You idiot," Haru rasps. "What did you do that for? I had everything under control; you had just given me that little bit more magic like you'd promised, instead of leaping into the fray yourself–"

"Haru–"

"Hold still, I can help."

"Haru–"

She presses her hands over his, over the shattered crystal, pushing it back into his chest, and he can feel the magic begin to pour out of her, trying desperately to do the one thing it was never designed for – to heal.

"Haru, don't–"

"I can do this, if you'll just unlock that last bit of magic–"

"I can't–"

"You can! Why won't you–"

"Because it'll kill you."

Haru's frantic movements falter, and at last there is that doubt he has deserved all this time. "What?"

"I lied." He curls his hand around hers and gently peels her hold free of his chest. She lets him, too numb to press back. "I don't unlock your potential for magic. I convert it from life force. From your life force."

"What?"

The sight flickers in his left eye. He blinks, and Haru's face falls back into focus. Despite everything, for some reason she's still here, still by his side. "My creators never intended for the hero to live," Baron says, and every word is a truth he was never meant to reveal. But now his crystal lies shattered, and the purpose written within it lost. "From the moment you took this deal, it was designed to be the death of you. No one powerful enough to defeat the monster could be allowed to live; you'd be a threat greater than the dragon you slew." He draws a shuddering breath, but Haru should hear this. She deserves to. "And so the spell I was given was to transmute life force into magic, so that anyone powerful enough to defeat the dragon would have to drain their own life in order to succeed."

He waits for the anger, for the betrayal.

"How much more do you need?" she asks instead. "How much more do you need me to give to heal you?"

"All of it," he replies softly, softly enough he is sure he can hear his nonexistant heart breaking. "More than you could ever give."

"Well," she says, with a twist of her lips that is part smile, part stubbornness that he both loves and hates, "that's not quite true. More than I could give and live, sure... but not more than I could give."

"Don't–"

She untangles her hands from his and presses them back to his chest. "I can't," she agrees, "at least, not without your help. You're the only one who can give me the power to heal you, to create me into someone who can – so let me."

He shakes his head. "Why would I do that?"

"Because I can save you."

"At the cost of your own life," he rasps.

Haru's gaze lingers on her own hands, grazed and bruised after the fight, blood caught beneath the nails, and brushes her fingers over the crevice nearly cleaving Baron. Even now, she's emitting a steady stream of magic, just enought to keep him from collapsing altogether. It's only a temporary remedy; once she stops, it'll only be a matter of time before the inevitable.

"Do you love me with all of your heart, Baron?"

"Yes." And in that moment, he realises it to be utterly, indeliably true. "Yes, of course."

She grins, bittersweet. "Don't forget that. Now, please, just trust me. Let me help you."

When she asks of him such, how can he refuse?

"Don't let me regret this," he says, and transmutes the last of her life force to magic.

Haru heaves a shuddering breath and collapses forward. Baron catches her as she falls into him, but her hands are still pressed against his chest. The magic flowing into him sputters. Flickers once, twice, and for a heartbeat its extinguished entirely.

Then it's like a dam has burst, and the power that sinks into him is like the sun compared to the candlelight of before. The surface of his wound springs to life, greening until branches grow across the fissure and knit it closed, while the crystal within reforges, setting into a new shape, untouched by the purpose once carved into it.

And still Haru is folded against him, her skin glowing with the sheer power held within.

"Haru, that's enough–"

He goes to grab her shoulders, but his hands jolt away, burnt.

No, not burnt. He runs his hands over one another, but there's no sign of scorching. He cautiously reaches for her again, and this time recognises it as intense cold instead, like that of ice, or snow, or...

Or metal.

His hands realise the cause before his head does, and by the time he's fully registered just what Haru's plan had been, he's already reaching to her with his own magic. It's crazy. It's reckless. It's trusting him with far too much heart, and yet – and yet it has to work.

With his own magic, he shapes the raw magic that runs rampart through Haru, and begins to herd it together. He condenses it down, smaller and denser, until he can sense that where Haru's heart used to be is now a crystal made of pure, solidified magic, just like his.

When the light dies down, he's holding in his arms a knight in shining armour. Where once there was skin, there's now only silver, soft flesh traded for metal, and a heart traded for magic. But when she stires – and she does – it is still Haru who stares out of those glittering gemstone eyes.

"Well," she says, and the metal face resembles her own, the metal shifting in impossible ways to facilitate speech. She pauses. Twitches her mouth experimentally. "Well," she tries again, "this is different."

Baron pulls her into an embrace, and the body fits all wrong, too many angular shapes and ice-cold surfaces – but it's her. It's Haru, alive in the closest thing they could be granted a happy ending. "Reckless, crazy, foolish," he mutters into her shoulder. He draws back to see the face again – and those eyes, still hers. "How could you possibly have been sure that would work?"

"I didn't," Haru says. "But you said it yourself – when someone creates something with all of their heart, then it is given a soul." She passes a gauntlet along the line of her jaw. "You were told to create a hero and it seems you succeeded."

"It was incredibly risky."

"I know. But some things are worth the risk." She sighs and glances to the dragon's corpse. "So now what happens to this place?"

Baron follow's her gaze. "Now, the dungeon will begin to degrade. It was made to bring about the monster's death, and now it's succeeded, it has no use."

"Moonlighter will close without a dungeon to maintain it," Haru says.

"Does that sadden you?"

"No." Haru rises to her feet, steadied with Baron's aid. "No," she repeats, "Moonlighter claimed enough lives. It's time us Yoshiokas got to choose our own futures."

She smiles his way, and even amid the metal and magic, Baron still knows that smile.

"And I think I know what my future holds."

#the cat returns #cat writes #tcr fanfic #moonlighter au #also heads up I wrote this in a couple of days #somehow #so there will almost certainly be typos and errors #esp since this is the first thing i've managed to write in months #wording is difficult and up to a certain point you gotta abandon your fic into the big bad world #this was meant to be. uh. 5K AT MOST #this uh. got away from me

[bubacorn]

Wdym Vessel stims with his little IKEA rug backpack??

His brain says bc it's part of his costume it doesn't count as a comfort item, so that means he is allowed it. Yes, even if he is rubbing it on his face like a cherished blankie. He is just making sure the fabric doesn't need replacing is all.

it was my tired brain's little whisper, i simply wrote it down as i edited so i didn't forget it. but now i'm thinking about writing a chapter 2 of them cuddling 👀

i just had III on my mind during Aqua Regia when he nuzzles the pelt, but in this weird little moment, it's only Vessel and II (don't ask me how they are touring as a two-man band, i have no idea), so i had the logical thought that Vessel must like the pelt (yes, somehow he's got the pelt even though it's early ST, don't try and find any logic in the timeline, it's non-existent)

it's part of his costume, so he's also very careful with it, because it has to be in good shape, so he always makes sure it's packed neatly in his bag. totally not because sometimes he can't fall asleep without either II comforting him or fiddling with the pelt until his thoughts calm down. II has had to calm a frantic Vessel several times when he couldn't find it and he always says that it's important for his worship, but II notices the way Vessel relaxes when he finds it, and how he has to retrieve it from his bunk in the morning because he sneaks it in there when he goes to sleep

also, totally not thinking about II maybe buying Vessel a small fuzzy baby blanket, because it's compact for traveling, but soft enough to be good for stimming. Vessel is so embarrassed at first, because it says 'baby blanket' on it, and he's a grown man and also he didn't do anything to deserve it, but it's got all kinds of pretty blue jellyfish on it and it's so, so soft. they are lounging on the bus later and Vessel brings it to the couch, but II doesn't say anything, just smiles to himself when Vessel leans against him and first nuzzles his arm through his hoodie, then the blanket, alternating between the two for a bit, then hiding half of his face in the blanket as they watch a movie

Vessel is very careful that it's only out when it's just the two of them, because he's mortified by the thought of anyone else discovering his blankie. also his face burns when during a panic attack he calls it that, looking at II with huge, tear-filled eyes, asking him if he could get it for him, then looking at him in panic to see if II react to him calling it that. he has a harder time calming down even after II gets him his blanket and holds him in his bunk, because he's making a fool out of himself, what is he doing, clutching a baby blanket, it's literally in the name and he's ridiculous. II catches on quick though and doesn't let Vessel spiral. it's just a piece of textile, it doesn't have an age restriction. if it brings him comfort then it's okay to have at any age. Vessel curls up the smallest he can and rubs the blanket to his lips and tries not to worry about II seeing him like that. but then he reasons that he would have left if he thought Vessel was acting weird, and his eyes are so gentle and his arms hold him so tight and he speaks so tenderly to Vessel and looks at him like he's something to be cherished with his puffy eyes and tangled hair and wrinkly clothes and tear-soaked baby blanket

II scours shops for more blankets (this isn't very Vessel, but i just googled baby blanket and it's so cute i had to include it), getting one with whales and one with moths, and after some time, Vessel has a designated TV blanket that he uses for movie nights, and eventually there is one that stays in II's bunk/room for when Vessel sheepishly asks if he can sleep there with him. he loves normal sized (if you can call ones he can wrap himself in two times over normal sized) blankets, too, but the small ones bring a more intimate type of comfort and he can't explain why he gets so attached (i have a few ideas). also, the same with fuzzy rugs. he has a few in his room and he sometimes lays down for some floor time, or when he's overwhelmed by his bed of blankets and pillows

#buba answers #sleep token headcanons

[doubledyke]

Hello, Double D for 1, 2, 3, 10, 12, 15, 16. I'm anxious for this.

i'm gonna group these together since they're both for edd and there's some overlap. thank you guys 😁 also as far as my corny ass mood boards, maybe! it's super embarrassing for me but what isn't at this point?? anyway let's see what we've got here for the lizard man

1. why i like or dislike him: i love edd! for many reasons. he's a genuinely kind-hearted person who, much like eddy, usually can't help but show his emotions. i think he's really funny, whether it's his notoriously sassy wit, or just the weird ass shit he does. i LOOOOOOVE his hamminess. he's such a drama queen. oh and he makes a lot of really strange noises that always make me laugh.

2. favorite canon thing about his character: edd is courageous as hell. i think it was moth that mentioned how quick he is to nut up when the time comes to defend his friends. i'll never, ever, ever, ever recover from him standing up to bro. like... what a guy.

3. least favorite canon thing about his character: dude talks too much. and his voice can be a little grating at times lmfao but honestly it's just part of what makes him who he is. and we love him for it!!

6. what's something i have in common with him: oh lord. well i've harped on it a ton before, but definitely the anxiety and ocd. i also relate to his abnormal fixation to headwear as you'd be hard pressed to see me without a bandana or beanie. no idea why, but i feel naked without something covering my dome. there's other stuff of course, but i'll keep it brief.

7. something the fandom does with edd that i like: i'm glad that people are more normal about him these days....lol.

10. could i be best friends with him: y'know i'm not sure. as if it's not obvious, i have a bit of an inferiority complex, so being around people who are super skilled and smart makes me low key want to take a fucking dirt nap lmfao. also i have no interest in bugs and amoebas and shit. BUT i do think edd is a great friend to ed and eddy.

12. what's a headcanon i have for this character: too many to name, same with the other two. trying to think of one that i haven't shared here before... oh i think his parents are loaded and he'd have a big ass trust fund or whatever it is rich parents give their kids. i think that's the only thing his parents would ever do for him that would actually show a modicum of consideration for his well-being. but who knows, they might go back on that if he "annoys" them. or maybe he wouldn't accept the money out of principle? 👀 also, there's at least one instance in the show where it's implied that edd has money to spend on stuff he wants (a case of ed, he bought books at the library), which is REALLY funny to me because if that's the case he could just buy some goddamn jawbreakers... and what, ruin the plot? i know, i know. i'm just saying.

15. what's my favorite ship for this character: him and the pink bastard are the couple of all time

16. what's my least favorite ship for this character: besides the obvious one involving a certain red-head whose chin resembles a tool used for digging, i gotta say eddmay does nothing for me. they look too similar 😂

#thanks again! #i feel like people might think i dislike edd or something which couldn't be further from the truth #text

[underthetree845]

could i get a story (or maybe some headcannons) about armin meeting the reader at a masquerade ball and instantly falling in love 👀

Saturn! Hello lovely <33

First of all I just want to say thank you for requesting this?? It was so much fun to write! (´♡‿♡`) I hope this didn’t take too long, I think you put in this request about a week ago. I ended up making it longer than initially planned, I hope this is at least close to what you had in mind!

-

Sense and Sensibility

Armin/Reader (Oneshot)

Cws: masquerade ball, AFAB reader, fem reader (you wear a ballgown), reader can make literary references/seems to enjoy books, snk spoilers, post ending, chief ambassador of the allied nations armin, love at first sight, ballroom dancing, soulmates if you squint, open-ended ending 

About 3.8k words

Summary: Armin Arlert, Chief of The Allied Nations, attends a masquerade ball with the rest of the crew and meets someone who finds a place in his heart faster than he ever thought possible. A/n: For context, the masquerade was set up in Marley to be attended by ambassadors and generals from many different countries so they could mingle without any set of prejudices; think the crowd that showed up for Willy Tybur’s speech. Also, for those who don’t know, the title is based on a novel written by Jane Austen and published in 1811 (meaning that, based on their technology, it likely would have actually existed in the time period that aot takes place in!).

Blue eyes lost themselves more with each printed word as the crisp smell of paper drifted into his nose. It had always been an amicable scent. Delicate fingers swiped at the pages, a spine rested comfortably in his palm. Wisps of blonde hair hung over his forehead which he tucked back every so often in an effort to make them hold the style he had brushed them back into earlier.

“What kind of man reads in a corner at a party like this?” a familar voice quipped, his polished shoes coming to a halt on the pattern of the marble floor. Armin was quick to snap his book shut and slip it back into the pocket on the inside of his jacket. He straightened himself from the wall.

“I just don’t see the point,” Armin said with disconsolance and Jean quirked an eyebrow, “I’d much rather meet these people face to face. Don’t get me wrong, this party is very nice, but we’re not even able to talk about any of the things we really should be behind all these masks.” 

“No one talks much about war crimes and peace treaties at these sorts of events, Armin. Social functions like this are just a part of their society,” the taller man replied, studying his drink for a moment before tipping it at his lips, “We have to engrain ourselves.” 

“And as soon as we take off these masks? How will they see us when they know who we are? When they know what we are?” Armin asked, cocking his head to the side to lock eyes with Jean as he let out a sigh. “You need a drink, my friend,” Jean decided, downing the rest of whatever he had been poured and scanning the room for anyone nearby holding a tray. 

Jean wandered off in search of more drinks, but Armin didn’t wait for him, instead deciding that he was desperately in need of a quieter place to engage with his book. 

Most everyone Armin knew seemed to be doing just fine. Historia really butterflied in this type of setting into her role as Queen. Just like during her days in the Survey Corps, people seemed drawn to her warmth like moths to a flame. Armin hadn’t caught a glimpse of her the entire night in a moment when she hadn’t been chatting with at least several ambassadors. 

Jean seemed to be enjoying himself quite a bit, not that Armin expected any less. Even when they were both fifteen, Jean’s motivation for enlisting as a cadet had been to climb the ranks and eventually live a finer life with the Military Police in the interior. Funny what a simple change of perspective can do to a person.

A shimmery flash of red caught the corner of Armin’s eye and he glanced to the side. The crimson dress suited Mikasa well, he thought. It almost matched the color of the scarf she used to wear- only now her collarbone was bare except for the weight of a pretty pearl necklace resting comfortably and complimenting her white gloves. She used them to adjust her mask every now and again, Armin could tell she felt slightly uneasy with the limited vision that came with the sturdy garment. 

He couldn’t honestly say he was a huge fan either. The mask he wore was pure white; lace, beads, and feathers adorning the fabric. It mostly stood out amongst the rest of his outfit. The tie he wore was black and his suit a deep navy. Jean had even insisted that he buy a cologne to wear to the ball, saying that “If they won’t be able to see your face, you have to make good impressions in other ways.” The blonde tried out a few different scents on the small slips of paper next to each bottle, eventually settling on one that somehow reminded him of the ocean. 

The sounds of the party died down and Armin let out a sigh, breathing in the tranquility of the night air and resting his elbows on the cool stone railing of the balcony. He slid the hardcover out of his pocket and flipped it open for a moment before lowering it and looking out. Armin looked out into the deepness. Down onto the thicket of trees, the flickering of the town’s lights beyond that, and just a little bit further, the rolling waves of the sea. When he tried, he seemed to be able to will the sound of the tide louder in his ears. It reflected the moon like a kind of dream. It was a dream; his dream. It almost felt wrong to Armin to be looking from the other side. For so long he dreamt of being a part of what laid on the other side of that big salt lake. What would he have thought if- 

“Sense and Sensibility?” 

The book fumbled in Armin’s hands, he almost dropped it off the ledge as he whipped his body to the side to see who had approached him. He was about to answer their question when the words died on his tongue. 

He tried so hard not to gape, but found his efforts fruitless. 

The white folds of fabric hung to the floor and swayed gently in the breeze. Pearls and embroideries of gold dripped off the dress around her collarbone, swirling up into lace sleeves. They were tied with white ribbons and went down to her elbows, the same ribbon that had been used to make a bow in her soft-looking hair. Glittering trinkets of metal and jewels hung around her neck and wrists. She wore a teardrop shaped pair of pearl earrings embedded in gold. Her mask was a royal shade of blue, adorned with gold thread and beads, and Damn, Armin thought, those eyes. 

It took a considerable amount of time for Armin to realize that he was supposed to generate a reply, and by then your expression had morphed into one of polite confusion. 

“Yes! Sorry, please forgive me, yes, you are correct,” Armin said in one breath, his hand involuntarily coming up to scratch the back of his undercut, “That is the title of the book I am reading.” 

Your expression seemed to soften a bit, the corners of your eyes crinkling at his endearing display. Armin felt a boyish sense of shyness take over his body. 

“It’s a good book,” you conversed, and a grin was quick to spread across his face. So rarely did he meet someone who held a knack or fascination for literature quite like his own.

“You’ve read it, then?” he inquired, awkwardly aiming to shove the hardcover back in his jacket pocket while not taking his eyes off of the way you seemed to glow in the moonlight. 

“When I was thirteen,” you nodded affirmatively, tucking a loose bit of hair behind your ear in a way that made Armin weak in the knees. 

There was another pause.

“So, what are you doing out here?” the blonde asked, straightening his posture from the railing, “Shouldn’t you be inside enjoying the party?” 

“I could ask you the same question,” the corners of your lips quirked up, and Armin felt his cheeks go hot. Hypocrite. 

“Right, sorry, I just-” he choked out, a nervous chuckle falling from his mouth.

“No no, I should apologize,” you giggled, folding your hands neatly in front of your skirt, “To answer your question, I just kind of wanted a break from all those people.” 

“Ah…” Armin realized, “Sorry then, you must have been displeased to find someone already here. I can leave, if you want.” 

He took a half step away and was about to take another when you came a little closer to stop him. 

“It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy;—it is disposition alone. Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others,” you quoted, the rustle of the trees behind you, the breeze cool on Armin’s skin. The air stilled for a moment. You bore your gaze into his until his blue eyes lit up. 

“...Was that from- was that Jane Austen?” Armin blinked once, and you brought your hands together with a clap. “Yes, yes it was! No one has ever gotten that before!” you beamed at him, and Armin could’ve sworn the stars shined just a little bit brighter. 

He barely registered as you turned your head when someone beckoned you inside. His eyes were glued to you as you waved at him. They lingered on your form as you disappeared inside, and once you were gone, he let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in. Armin wobbled slightly and leaned backwards against the railing, one hand over his chest and the other for support gripping onto the stone. The party continued on inside but the sounds were drowned out by the rapid thumping of Armin’s own heartbeat in his ears.

-

He barely registered the sideways glances he got as he wandered inside. He searched- for you? For Jean, or Mikasa? For an exit? The sound of his footsteps sped up. For anyone? Someone? For an answer to the flurry of questions running through his mind?

“Ah-!” Armin let out a squawk as he came into contact with something, halting his walk and train of thought. Armin stumbled slightly and looked forward to meet a pair of comforting brown eyes looking back into his with slight disquiet. “Please excuse me, ladies and gentlemen,” Onyankopon said politely, placing his hand on Armin’s shoulder, “I think this young man and I are due for a chat.” 

“Here son, drink this,” the man said gently, offering over a glass of something clear and icy. Armin looked up at him suspiciously. “Don’t worry, it’s just water.” 

Armin accepted the glass with a sigh, finally feeling his head clear up as the cool liquid ran down his throat. Flashes of your two minute encounter played over and over again in his mind.

“Thank you,” Armin let out a bated breath. 

“Is something troubling you? You looked like a startled fawn when you ran into me,” Onyankopon questioned, taking the cup from Armin’s hand when he finished, setting it on top of the nearest white-clothed table. 

“I… don’t really know the answer myself,” the blonde replied. He was shifting in his spot, repeatedly adjusting the lapels of his suit. In contrast to the boy's usual attentive attitude in conversation, his eyes continually shifted to linger on the crowd.

“Well it seems to me like something’s happened,” Onyankopon replied, “If you tell me what it is, maybe I can be of help.” 

Armin seemed to contemplate for a moment, deciding how to word his thoughts. 

“Have you ever felt… a really strong connection to someone?” he asked hesitantly. 

“Depends on how you mean,” Onyankopon touched his chin in thought, “but I suppose so, yes.” 

“But…” Armin sighed, “so strong that you just met them and after having a two minute conversation you can’t stop thinking about them and you don’t think you’ll be able to go on without talking to them at least one more time?” 

How could Armin even begin to explain his situation? He should’ve organized his thoughts before confiding in someone else about it. How could he even be sure himself what the feeling in the pit of his stomach is, or why his eyes kept darting to every white dress he catches out of the corner of his eye. He found it equally thrilling and terrifying.  

“Armin, are you in love?” Onyankopon's lips quirked, and Armin could tell he was trying not to smile by the way his eyes sparkled behind his golden mask. 

“In love?” Armin dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand, “How could anyone fall in love just like that? I don’t even know her name.” He ignored the way his heart jumped at the thought. 

"So there is a her?" Onyankopon raised an eyebrow. Armin flushed slightly.

“Love at first sight doesn’t work like most people seem to think,” the older man explained gently, “Love is a feeling built on trust, which takes time to build up. I think love at first sight refers to when you meet someone for the first time, and you just feel comfortable around them in a way you can’t explain. They look into your eyes and you can see each other’s souls. You know it would work, there isn’t a doubt in your mind. You get just a little taste of that deep trust, and it’s enough to make you fall a little in love.” 

“What’s a soul?” Armin's head tilted.

Onyankopon let out a sigh. 

“I understand what you’re trying to say, I just…” Armin trailed off, earning Onyankopon’s hand on his shoulder. “I think the best thing you can do right now is find them and try to talk to them again. If you feel that same spark, don’t let it slip away,” the man smiled warmly and Armin nodded in response. Onyankopon patted him on the back before turning away to return to his previous conversation. 

Armin did search for you, in fact he was prepared to search the entire night if need be. Much to his dismay, the next face he recognized was not yours. Not that he technically knew was it looked like, but Armin was sure he'd be able to recognize it anyway. Jean approached him with a grin tugging on his lips and a certain glimmer in his eye. 

“Armin!” Jean waved, “I couldn’t find you after I went to grab us some drinks, but they’re starting something we’ve got to be involved in.” He slung his arm around Armin’s shoulders, and in one swift motion, began leading him across the crystalline ballroom. 

“Involved in? What do you mean? Like territory negotiations?” Armin perked up, barely keeping his eyes ahead. 

“Even better,” Jean replied. 

Armin tilted his head. “A waltz.” 

Armin had never been more grateful for his habit of picking up random bits of information in his life. Karma could be sweet.

A few weeks back, he just so happened to pick up a book on cultural dances from around the world from a library in Marley. A few weeks back, Historia’s advisors realized that their Queen lacked the ability to twirl properly on the marble floors of the palace. A few weeks back, Armin just so happened to conveniently know a thing or two about ballroom dancing. The rest of the crew just so happened to decide that they needed to know too, and Onyankopon just so happened to be adept in the art. For some reason Armin didn’t find himself surprised by the fact. 

So Armin danced; his touches were feather light on his partner’s waist and back, he cradled their hand 'las if it’s made of the most fragile glass,' as Onyankopon instructed. The chords of the piano hopped around the room. The sound of the violin led every masked face together with a spool of invisible thread. The melody of the flute danced under their feet, allowing them to sway and twirl and float in an almost mindless tradition. 

To think that two weeks ago he could barely step his left foot over his right. 

The whole dance seemed like some kind of performance- dresses and suits weaving between each other, a sweet song floating above their heads. They twirled, smiled, switched partners, and started the same steps all over again. 

Armin was so focused that he almost missed the familiarity of the white silk underneath his fingertips. He almost missed the tinkling of the metal around your neck as you spun into him. He almost missed the familiar hue of the ocean-colored mask that laid around your eyes. Almost, but he would never miss how it felt when you dropped your gaze on him. He could practically feel it under his skin. 

“Fancy meeting you here,” a smile curved onto your lips, which Armin matched. You spun out, then in, he led you by the hand. 

“I was actually looking for you,” he admitted with a bashful grin, mentally shaking off the possibility of having caught the hint of a flush on your cheeks. 

“Really?” your gaze warmed at this. 

“Although I’d rather do it without having to hide…” he added with a mumble. You stepped back, he lifted his arm, you twirled, he pulled you back in. 

“I know what you mean,” you replied, your hand gripping onto his shoulder, “Having important figures get to know each other with no prejudices is a good idea, but I don’t see much of a point if we aren’t allowed to take off our masks at the end.” 

“You get it,” Armin exhaled. A small grin played on your lips. 

“Is that why you were hiding on the balcony?” you questioned, raising an eyebrow as he led you in a twirl. 

“I wasn’t hiding… just looking for a more secluded place to read,” he replied with a soft smile. 

Armin stepped back, you both pivoted outwards and away from each other before meeting in perfect coalition, he held your hand.

“Aw, I thought I’d found someone to hide with,” you pouted playfully. Armin admired the way the light shone on your skin as you both spun around. 

He replied with a bashful smile, you seemed to hesitate for a moment before speaking up. 

“I was hoping that I’d get the chance to dance with you though,” your grip on his shoulder tightened a little as you spoke. 

“...Are you being serious?” he murmured.

“Completely." Armin felt a flutter in his chest. 

“But why?” the blonde continued, twirling you both inwards and preparing to loosen his grip, “There are so many more interesting people here.” You gave him a look. “I mean,” he said with a half hearted chuckle, “What kind of man reads in a corner at a party like this?”  He looked back up and the two of you locked eyes. “My kind of man,” you replied with a smile. 

His heart squeezed so hard it was almost painful.

In the next moment, you spun out of his grasp; he turned and took someone else into his. The cadence carried him along, but his mind was clouded, desperately trying to decipher your intentions, and consider that Onyankopon may have been onto something.

-

“I’m honestly impressed, Armin. You’re usually so sensible. I mean you haven’t even known this woman for a full hour yet!” Jean crossed his arms with a chuckle; the blonde remained unfazed.

“Jean, you weren’t there. You didn’t see her or hear her voice. I just…” Armin placed a hand over his chest with a far-off sigh. “Wow.” 

“I think I’d like to meet her,” Mikasa replied, skepticism bleeding into her tone. 

“So how are you planning on finding her again?” Jean inquired, adjusting the silver watch on his wrist before looking over at his friend again. “You’re at least going to try and get a name, right?” 

“I… don’t really have a plan,” Armin’s face twisted, “But I know what she looks like, so I should be able to find her again.” 

“That’s the spirit,” Jean grinned, “How hard can it be?” 

Apparently, much harder than he expected, as Armin soon discovered.

The first thing he did was inspect the perimeter of the ballroom. Armin traced the tapestries that hung from far above his head and admired the colorful glass windows that made up the dome of the ceiling. 

He also peeked out every door through which one could access the wide stone balcony that wrapped around the whole building. There were specially-built street lamps on the posts and matching lanterns that jutted out from the walls of the palace. The warm illumination made it a good spot for reading. 

Armin politely turned down offers to dance as he made his way across the main part of the floor underneath the stunning crystal chandeliers. 

He wondered how long it took to build up a place like this. Every available surface seemed to have been etched with some intricate pattern or dusted with gold. Additionally, he hadn’t run into a single speck of dust the entire night, making him wonder about the back-breaking labor that the servants must have put in to make this place shine the way it did. 

He peeked into the coat closet, drifted around the tables that lined the perimeter where everyone sat when they wanted to eat, then did it all over again. 

“Armin, we’ve got to go. We couldn’t afford to have a carriage waiting for us the entire night, remember?” Mikasa placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder and nodded her head towards the rather grand entryway to the ballroom. There were cream-colored pillars on either side, a glass window of a sun sitting comfortably on top. 

“That’s only because of the extra tax on the Eldians…” Armin mumbled, taking one last glance at the ballroom before the carved wooden doors shut behind him. 

He inhaled deeply when he stepped outside, not finding it nearly as satisfying as the time before. He descended the marble steps to find the others already waiting on the ground. The chatter and music of the ball were still audible. A certain glow bathed that room and drowned them all while they were in it, now contrasting so greatly with the stillness of the night and the stars twinkling gently above their heads. 

“Where’s Historia?” Armin asked, looking around to find no sign of the woman anywhere. 

Almost as if on cue, an unmistakable voice chimed from behind him. 

“Armin! Sorry, I’m right here! I was just chatting with my acquaintance and she’s leaving too so we decided to walk out together,” Historia smiled politely as she approached, arm interlocked with another figure who trailed slightly behind her. She wore a stunning white dress. 

Armin knew who he’d see before he turned around; he knew the moment he felt your eyes on the back of his head. He felt your gaze in his soul.

You seemed just as pleased, Armin didn’t miss the way your eyes lit up when his blue ones locked with yours. He wondered if doing so would ever stop taking his breath away. 

“So your name is Armin, then?” you said sweetly, Historia drifted away to whisper about something with Mikasa. Armin did his best to suppress the way his heart thrummed when his name rolled so perfectly off his tongue. 

“Yeah, it is,” his hand subconciously came up to scratch the back of his undercut, “Armin Arlert. May I have the pleasure of knowing yours?”

“Y/n L/n,” you grinned and did a little curtsey, “and the pleasure is all mine.” 

Blue eyes trailed along with your form after the goodbyes as you drifted away to your own carriage. He lost himself more with each passing moment, his fingers fiddling lithely with the lapel of his suit. Onyankopon gave Armin a pat on the back and he sighed. They shared a knowing smile before heading off to their separate carriages. 

Yeah… in love… Armin thought, not being able to help the smile that tugged up on his lips, Just like that? Not a chance...

A/n: Not Armin falling in love after one book reference (╥ ω ╥) Anyway, thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

(Masterlist)

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #armin arlert #aot #snk #armin aot #mikasa ackerman #jean kirstein #aot onyankopon #snk spoilers #snk s4 #post ending #Love at first sight #masquerade #ball #ballroom #luxury #waltz #ballroom dancing #Soulmates #masquerade ball #Armin wearing a suit #Historia reías #Queen historia #Krista Lenz #Dancing #fluff #book references #Jane austen #quotes

[halfmoth-halfman]

reading most recent chapter blew my mind. graves practically selling off his Wife to makarov... i cant... and Price oh dont even get me started on him..

I'm trying to think of who the mole could be - I doubt it'd be any of the core 5-6 members. Tabby has an interesting name ... canary... what are you cooking over there...

Valeria has had me on edge since I started it but if she was the mole I don't see why she would leak info that would ruin her business as well.. so mysterious.

Anyways something horrific needs to happen to Price or I'm going to find my way into this au and strangle him myself bc Bro. His love of a year who he had almost killed for multiple times ??? Just doesn't pay attention to her ? After knowing she disappeared and had dealings w Graves? Insane.

moth you have my heart in your fist and are squeezing it hard keep it up

if there's two things to know about mob!graves, it's that he'll do whatever he can to get more power and he always thinks he's the smartest person in the room. price is...well, we'll have to wait and see what he's doing.

oh yes the mole!!! i feel like we've all been worried about other things, we've forgotten about what started all of this in the first place, that damned mole!! tabby being the mole would be very interesting, very interesting indeed 👀

very true!! unless she was only making it look like she was losing business, or maybe she was promised better business by whoever she's informing????

y'know you're the first person to bring that up, it's really REALLY weird that he didn't even acknowledge canary. like the love of his life who's been missing is suddenly in front of him on stage, at her ex-husband's, a man who she's proved used to hurt her, party and he does....nothing??? doesn't even acknowledge it??? totally sus.

i will do my best 🫡

#anon #moth answers #answered #cod ask #private

[weebsinstash]

Suprised you havent mentioned what Val wears in episode 6(he's maybe wearing the same in ep 8?)

Like those fucking boots and the fact he's wearing a skirt makes me think he does it for easy access.....👀

I think it probably is the same outfit! I'm thinking the whole "moth shaped boob window" little black dress is like, the default one he keeps under his coat? He also has a different hat in that scene (no stripes, heart button)

Ughhh I just noticed that even though he isn't talking to or looking at her he's still engaging Gasmask Girl in the conversation or she's part of his recruitment because he has his hand on her hip like that 😩❤️ also isn't it SO diva of him that he already has forearms that become black further down but he'll still put on black gloves with this dress. I guess because his black dress shirt has sleeves and this dress doesn't and he just prefers that fashion wise? Idk

I wonder how often he prefers the pants and how often he prefers the dress? True Valentino simps know he's BEEN hoein' in these streets for a while but I'm still a little surprised they made him dressing gnc a canon thing. I wonder if in season 2 we'll ever see Angel in drag or anything since that's something he enjoys?

Just like. UGHHHH I can SEE him being such a catty bully to force Reader to dress/present themself how he wants them to look. OR he'll manipulate your insecurities and try and be your ""friend"" to get closer to you that way, helping teach you how to 'look nicer' (and some of it IS helpful stuff like say makeup or certain styling tips but 8 times outta 10 he's using you like a doll). He's complimenting you and calling you pretty and he DOES mean it but it's partially because in his mind you're already his property and thus he wants his arm candy to be nice n pretty looking their best. You two are showing up to show out at any event Val drags you along to.

Shit happens like Angel gets a text from Valentino to bring him some food "because I'm busy so chop chop babe" and Angel walks in with the grub and Val is just... sitting there, very obviously definitely not busy, and in fact, he's doing your makeup, applying your eyeliner all sing song and playful, "i swear to Lucifer, mami, if you keep tearing up and ruin all the hardwork I just did on your eyes again, Daddy's gonna have to punish yooou~" and he just glances up to Angel with the most disinterested, "oh, hey. You can set that down and go"

Anthony is over here, having a SOUL CRUSHING MORAL CRISIS, because he's wished and hoped for Valentino getting a new favorite toy FOR SO LONG, but now? Angel's deathly afraid that Val's new favorite to play with might be YOU because Valentino's over here suddenly having you spend your whole shift where you're usually serving drinks to the Overlord now instead just, sitting cuddling up to him, or sitting so close to him your sides are touching and he puts his hands on your sides and waist...

Also um. On the subject of Val's dress and episode 8 and all that can we talk about Vox having the strength to be able to dip this man and how Valentino has hands large enough they can fully wrap around Vox's thigh

Look at these evil WHORES, and the way Val stroked Vox's face, like... UGH I can just see Val making Reader cry and he forces you to look at him, stroking your cheek and cooing about how it's good he got you waterproof makeup this time so that you "can stay nice and pretty and still look so cute while you're whining like a little bitch" like seriously I definitely see Valentino and Velvette as sadistic possessive yandere who would even get off on you crying and all the Vees are seriously the best of the worst 😩❤️

#yandere hellaverse #yandere hazbin hotel #hh #sinprompts #yandere x reader

[dreamingpartone]

Hi! First, i wanted to tell you that I love your art!! I always pictured Lyra with short brown hair but the way you draw her is just so much better than what I imagined while reading the book. Also, the way you draw literally every character makes me want to hug them (does that makes sense lol).

Second, since you read hdm and watched haikyuu, i wanted to ask if you have any daemon ideas for the haikyuu characters?

(Also sorry for bad english, its not my first language)

hi!! thank you so much!! I am very fond of my dirty blonde maned Lyra, I'm glad you like her :> and that's such a nice compliment aww (it makes sense to me! I think if you feel like you want to hug them then I've done a decent job in conveying some emotion for them. or at least, I hope! haha)

and oh man haikyuu characters with daemons…that's a dangerous question to ask me… the short answer is I do have ideas! but for some characters I have too many ideas that it's hard for me to settle (ha… :')) on one thing

long answer is here is a list of daemon options I've pondered for the karasuno squad:

Daichi: my cliche pick for him is a carrion crow, but alternatively I think something like a tanuki or Japanese badger would be cute

Suga: Japanese marten !!

Asahi: my favourite choice for him is a binturong but I have considered A Range of creatures and could possibly be swayed elsewhere

Kiyoko: I first thought something like a crane (demoiselle crane?) or a deer (sika deer?) but a friend once suggested cat and I do like that as an option too…

Noya: again, have considered many things but I think Hokkaido dog is my best pick (probably a black one!)

Tanaka: Kishu dog ("sesame" coloured) !

Ennoshita: I enjoy imagining him with a dollarbird, for purely nonsense personal reasons (otherwise, an Asian koel)

Kinoshita: a Japanese hare possibly?

Narita: I'm not convinced at all that I have the best option here, but maybe Pallas' squirrel?

Kageyama: may seem like an odd choice but the Japanese serow is my favourite for him

Hinata: at first I jokingly picked the Japanese dwarf flying squirrel but also…am I wrong???

Tsukki: moon moth perhaps? 👀

Yamaguchi: black paradise flycatcher ?

Yachi: Ezo chipmunk :>

anyway that's…that's a summary of what I've got fhdjdgf. do you have any thoughts on hq characters & daemons, anon? :0

(also don't be sorry at all, your english is great!!)

#anonymous #ask #hq asks #thank you again for the lovely message and fun question anon <333 #i hope...some of my ideas aren't completely horrible fhjdhjd #for someone who has been into hdm for so long i feel like i'm not particularly good at assigning daemons to characters lmao #but i do have fun thinking about it

[reichiin033]

( #fgo #fategrandorder #oberon )

-

" You sure you want to do this my way? It's not going to make anyone happy. "

- Oberon Vortigern

🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋

Another rare posting where I upload a random fandom of mine ❤️🤣 Also experimenting colors and lightings--👀

Where are my fellow Masters at?

Lostbelt 6 is finally released on GLOBAL server! 😭 And I'm so happy but *nervous master noises* at the same time ✨👀

Okay! So ..... HIS BANNER IS UPON US SO SOON 😭❤️❤️ OMG !!! I DREW HIM SO I COULD MAYBE MANIFEST HIM ON MY CHALDEA when his banner arrives 😭

And I literally have zero Saint Quartz and Fragments 😞 I Strive to be your Titania... So please...

BUT I WILL BELIEVE... HE WILL JOIN ME SOON! *curses Merlin* Who needs Merlin anyways--

I only need this man in all his 3 forms 😤❤️

🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋

(PLEASE DO NOT USE /SHARE ON OTHER PLATFORMS/ REUPLOAD MY DRAWING WITHOUT MY PERMISSION)

Oberon belongs to Fate/Grand Order

EVERYTHING On This FANART is Drawn by ME including the background.

(Tags:)

#Rei_Art #Twistedwonderland #FateGrandOrderfanart #FGO #fanart #FGOファンアート #FGOlostbelt6 #moth #イラスト #ハーツラビュル #fgooberon #oberonvortigern #illustration #animeportrait #digitalart #fateファンアート #illustration #fanart #flower #illustragram #オベロンヴォーティガーン

#オベロン #fairyking #fae #midsummernightsdream

#rei_art #fgo #fgo oberon #fate grand order #fgo fanart #oberon vortigern #オベロン #fate oberon #fateファンアート #illustration #イラスト #イラストアート #fgofanart #fate grand order oberon #fanart

[burningivy]

What is your fic idea for Clue 👀

@noah-moth-cursed-chaos

starting this by saying, I'm probably never gonna write this,,, BUT the idea has been stuck in my brain for over a year now

Ok so,,, it's based on the movie and, to me, it makes the most sense to take place after ending B

right, so we open on Mrs. White, and she's smart, y'know. even with the blackmail, she's still got money, but it's still starting to run out, and between the scandal of the dinner party and her own five "disappearing" husbands... well, her social standing has been better

so, she needs a new husband. or she doesn't, but honestly, it feels like marriage is all she's ever done, all she's ever known. marry a man but always have an escape plan. when one starts to get handsy or angry or a million other little things, there's always another ready to take his place

except now there's not, and even if there were, well someone already found out about her whole "black widow routine," and she can't afford any more blackmail, or worse. so she needs to figure something out. find a husband who she can tolerate, who can tolerate her, who wouldn't even want a wife, preferably. lord knows she never wanted a husband

and she keeps thinking back to that night. nowadays, everything seems to trace back to that dinner party, to the murders, to the blackmail. well, Wadsworth didn't seem to like her much, and even if that was all an act, he's still an fbi man. Plum was far too sex-obsessed for her tastes. and Mustard was, well, if he was married, she pitied his wife. but there was still...

CUT TO: Mr. Green, a bit paranoid, a bit anxious but when was he not. it's not like he's unjustified. it's the 1950s, it's the lavender scare, it's one wrong move and his whole life is ruined, and it almost was.

the dinner party was a wakeup call. maybe Mrs. Peacock was the only one who didn't walked away unscathed, but how long can he keep up his appearances for. sure, it was fine when he was just starting out with the State Department, as long as no one knew he was a homosexual, he was fine. and he could make up a woman here or there that he went on a date with. it. was. fine

until it wasn't. he isn't as young as he used to be, and it seems everyone's become more paranoid recently. so maybe they notice that he never goes on more than two dates with a woman. or that he's never brought a date to a work event. or that he never seems interested by a new lady hire. or that he still isn't married

so he needs some sort of "proof" he's a geniune one-hundred-percet heterosexual, or at least he needs damn good forgery of proof. and sure, a marriage, a wife, would solve that problem, but it's not like he's getting one of those anytime soon. so he'll keep skating by, paranoid and anxious, for as long as he can

it's Mrs. White who arranges the meeting, in a cute little D.C. cafe, the kind that would almost be romantic. she's the one who proposes the arrangement: "we met at the party, but didn't want our relationship to be caught up in the scandal. it's been a whirlwind romance. you're already thinking of proposing."

and Mr. Green is, of course, skeptical. she's already likely killed five husbands; he doesn't want to be number six. but she does have a point, he could use the sham marriage. still, he doesn't get what's in it for her

"we have more in common than you might think, Mr. Green" she's still using his name from the party, and he still doesn't get what she's very subtly alluding to. she inhales, looks around, lowers her voice. "let's just say, my husband was not the one Yvette was having an affair with"

and there it is, the realization written all over his face. it doesn't take him too much longer to agree after that

the wedding is a small affair, a few "close friends," who never knew them all that well. her father, who seemingly never tires of walking her down the aisle. his parents and a brother and sister-in-law, who never thought they'd see the day, not that they'd say it. so they're married. yay

from this point the fic would split into two plotlines. one following Green and White as they like actually get to know each other and actually become friends. something like "oh you're not actually the worst person I could've married because we have xyz in common" in so many words. the other plotline would follow them having to keep up the appearances of being a happily married, in love couple, specifically while they keep running into the other guests

like they're out at some fancy dinner, and, while sitting alone, White is approached by none other than Ms. Scarlet who starts trying to chat. which White is having none of but can't seem to get Scarlet to go away, so she mentions that she's out with her husband. Scarlet makes some comment about her getting married again and something like "maybe I'll stick around to meet him, he might be good for business. your last one sure was." and who shows up then but Green. hilarity ensues

it'd probably go pretty similar with the other guests, just different locations and reactions. I think they'd run into Plum at like some UN party or something (idk the State Dept works with the UN I think??), and I honestly have no idea where they'd run into Mustard. for Peacock though, because this takes place after the B ending remember, I have this idea of her like bursting into Green's office to try to get him to testify in her favor. and in walks White casually starting a conversation, and then seeing Peacock

also, idk where it would fit, but I have this (to me) hilarious, vivid image of the two of them being like "yes, we are so happy together and in love" and they're like holding hands but they're standing a full foot apart and smiling THE FAKEST smiles

anyway, the fic would end with them receiving letters addressed to Mr. Green and Mrs. White-Green, inviting them to a meeting/dinner/something at the house the original party was at

#vic. what? #the mailbox #acircusfullofdemons #noah moth cursed chaos #💙💙💙 #clue 1985 #(sorry actual clue fans if you think this is too silly) #mayhaps yvette is still alive and had something to do with the letters #that would be crazy #huh who said that #p.s. i did not edit this so idk

[writer-of-various]

It's me again!

This particular Trauma Prompt looks promising 👀

“you stayed?” “of course i stayed. why wouldn’t i?”

Lost count how much time I reread your fics

Y'know what I love besides Rudy? Angst: getting my beloved readers to sob and feel their hearts break as they read my fics. Thank you for the requests luv, this obsession with Rudy isn't gonna feed itself lmao.

Alejandro/Rudy

Rudy knew the mission was a bust when he and the others crept upon the hideout, the eerie silence and bright lights that attracted moths making the building and surrounding area suspicious. Too suspicious, too easy. He had alerted Alejandro, who assured him that the tip was accurate and came from a squad they sent in a week ago to scout out the area. Rudy wanted to believe it, wanted to believe that maybe this new unit had more loyal soldiers– soldiers that couldn't be torn into two as they weighed the pros and cons of being in the aforementioned unit or working with the enemy. It happened far too many times with soldiers in Los Vaqueros, each soldier was someone that Rudy took care of, ensured their safety and freedom, but he also knew that the cartel was the easy way out. Far more protected, but not the same loyalty within each member, your best friend can turn and point a gun at your head with a blank expression. He's seen it far too many times as well.

Soap and Gaz went to scout out the outskirts while Ghost guided and covered them from a higher ground. Price was their leader, and Rudy knew he had to confront the captain about his concerns. He barely took a step forward when an explosion goes off, three meters from the hideout, and the roar of cartel members had them in fight or flight mode. His theory proved to be correct, the unit has a rat and the whole mission was an ambush to kill Task Force 141. Rudy was quick to cover Alejandro as they advanced forward, easily pushing through the ruthless cartel members with their strategy. Alejandro made a move to kick open a door once they snuck inside the hideout, only for it to slam open in his face and a flash grenade to go off, blinding the two. Rudy struggled as hands grabbed him, disarming him and something heavy hit his head, the corner of his vision going black but he forced himself to stay away.

"Colonel!" He shouts, everything a blur and it feels like he's moving, not on his own though. He hears Alejandro screaming for him, asking for him, and Rudy is about to question what's going on when something sharp pricks the side of his neck and he succumbs to a dreamless unconscious.

When he came to, he was tied to a chair, his gear still intact but the restraints were tight, presumably cutting off his circulation if the stabbing numbness in his hands and arms were anything to go by. Four men walked in, three with their faces covered by neck gaiters but the one in charge had his identity exposed. A dark glint was in his eyes and Rudy feels something uneasy churn in his stomach, unsure what that smug yet dark look could mean.

"You have strayed too close to dangerous territory. No one is here to protect you, to save you, so I strongly advise that you give up." The man says, pacing in front of Rudy with his hands behind his back. "Where is your base?"

Rudy snorts, a roll of his eyes irritating his captor; "Vete a la mierda, pendejo." His hand snaps to the side in the blink of an eye, an ache settling quickly and Rudy notices the heavy rings adoring the man's fingers.

"You are in no position to talk back, puta." He growls, leaning close to Rudy and staring the sergeant major in the eyes. "Talk now or you're going to regret it."

Rudy is defiant, he stays quiet and prepares himself when the man kicks his chair, knocking him to his back. The man barks orders to the other three and they rush forward, cutting the restraints and shoving him down on the wooden floor. Rudy struggles, eyes wide as the man hovers over him with a knife, the tip of the blade trailing down his shirt and cutting it open in the process.

"Mostrémosle a esta perra lo que hacen los hombres de verdad." Rudy refuses to falter, the statement and chuckles from the four confusing him but he hides it. Everything is quick and confusing until his trousers are being practically ripped off and he panics, kicking his legs, bucking his hips, thrashing like a cat about to take a bath but it's all futile. He whimpers when a hand tightens itself around his neck, calloused fingers digging into his flesh. He scratches at the closest person to him when his underwear is ripped off, the cold air sending goosebumps all over his body. The exposure sent blood to his face, red from embarrassment and anger at being so pathetically weak. Something heavy hits his head again and a groan escapes his lips, the dull pain sending waves of dizziness throughout his head. Black creeps up on his vision again, either from the hand restricting his air supply or the harsh hit that rattled his brain against his skull. A hand, large and heavy, trails up his inner thigh and he feels vomit crawl up his throat, which is now free of the other hand that left bruises in its wake. Tears well up and he tries to prepare himself for what comes next when the door slams open and heavy footsteps walked in.

"Sir, the task force is outside now, we have to leave." Rudy's brows furrow together, heart beating at the thought that the others showed up, that they're going to save him, but his mind is supplying him with negative thoughts. The hands disappear and he looks at the men with a glare that stays on his face even as they kick him and restrain him once more.

"Set up the timer for the explosion." The target orders and Rudy's eyes widen. The others were outside, and if they were looking for him, they would die. Because of him. He tries to free his hands, panic settling and he curses as each tug scraped his skin raw. It doesn't stop him and his wrists are bleeding when he finally manages to free himself, struggling to stand as his chest heaved, begging him to stop moving. One of them must have sprained or broken a rib or two.

Rudy hastily digs inside his hoodie, where concealed pockets were lined equal to the external pockets. He takes out his phone and with shaky fingers call Alejandro, tears welling up as something odd filled the air. He's either going to die from carbon monoxide poisoning or being blown apart, but he'll be damned if he lets Alejandro or the others risk their lives stepping inside whatever infrastructure he's trapped in.

"Rudy? Where are you, amor?"

"A-ale, don't come into the building. T-they...they set up explosives and..." Rudy tries inhaling, getting air in his deprived lungs but the air was heavy and Rudy knew he was too injured. He tried standing, Alejandro's concerned yells background noise and he whimpers when his left ankle almost buckles as he applies pressure on it. Shit.

"Rudy, stay where you're at!" Alejandro orders and he hears footsteps thundering over the phone, his hands shake and he tries to take a step forward but ends up falling forward. Everything hurts, everything burns, and feels disgusting as the man's touch lingers. Rudy barely notices that he's still partially undressed but doesn't care, he knows it'll be a pain to try sliding back on his boxers.

"RUDY!" It's like Hassan all over again, hands grasping him and he's being carried bridal style out of the room, Alejandro begging him to stay awake and a cloth is thrown over his mouth and nose. "Rudy, amor, don't breathe in now."

"A-ale" Rudy whines, the jostling sending waves of pain throughout his body. He hears curses and instinctively flinches, curling closer to Alejandro as fresh air threatens to suffocate him. He's gently laid down in the back of a van, Alejandro kneeling besides him and the engine is started up. Rudy whimpers as they speed off, Ghost moving over to him and despite the large structure and stoic look of the man that still sent nervous shivers down Rudy's spine, Ghost's touch is soft and gentle– an overall contrast to the rest of him. He only remembers Alejandro laying something over his lower half, and Ghost begging him in that commanding yet desperately soft tone of his to stay awake. He doesn't.

—

When Rudy wakes up, there's a machine beeping to his left and a dim light revealing the shadow cast white walls of a hospital room. There's quiet chatter outside and he moves to sit up, startled when two warm and familiar hands force him still. His wide, chocolate-brown eyes look up, a relieved sigh escaping his lips when he saw Alejandro.

"Rudy..." Alejandro whispers.

"You stayed?" Rudy mumbles, feeling bad when Alejandro's expression morphs into one of despair and hurt.

"Of course I stayed, why wouldn't I?" Alejandro sits down, hands moving to intertwine with Rudy's slightly smaller ones. Rudy averts his gaze, face heating up as Alejandro leans close to him.

"I ruined the mission, again. It's just like Hassan, Ale. I get hurt and the enemy gets away."

"Stop, Rudy, stop. I hate it when you talk like this, putting yourself down when how the mission went wasn't your fault at all. I should have listened to you, cariño, when you told me something felt wrong. Lo siento, Rudy, it's all my fault they got you and took you away from me."

Rudy shakes his head, "Ale, please don't blame yourself."

"Then you can't blame yourself either, amor." Alejandro says sternly. Rudy looks like he wants to argue but is too tired and knows this argument would be in Alejandro's favour.

"Fine, deal." Rudy pouts and Alejandro laughs softly, pressing a kiss to his partner's temple.

"Mi hermosa esposa, tan fuerte y aterradora." Alejandro teases and Rudy gently smacks his chest, his flustered face getting darker as Alejandro barks out a laugh.

"No kisses for you, querido." Rudy says, and Alejandro pouts. Rudy sighs after a minute, moving aside and patting the space besides him. Alejandro happily slides besides Rudy, wrapping his arms around the smaller male's body and holding him close.

"Te amo, Rudy. I'll always protect you, I promise, mi vida."

"Te amo, Ale. I'll follow you everywhere."

#rudy has ptsd from hassan #alejandro vargas #rodolfo parra #alejandro x rodolfo #trauma #hurt/comfort #cod fanfics #my rudy my little meow meow