#Not to mention with all of his suicide attempts and him not dying from the elevator fall

[mirokuna-hime]

I'm really not good with theories and stuff, but I saw a couple of people speculate that Dazai was gonna say "die together" and while that is certainly beautiful in it's own way I prefer to think that Dazai was gonna end his sentence with "live".

Him and Chuuya are destined to live.

[jenniferpendragon]

Listening to "Would You Fall in Love with Me Again?" and I wondered why on earth I connected so deeply with Odysseus here when I've been connecting with Penelope so much, and then it clicked.

Massive spoilers below the cut, and also mentions of sexual assault and image issues.

Odysseus has become the monster, that's what "Odysseus" is about, his final culmination. He is everything he's fought and hated and killed. He has murdered a *baby* at the command of a god who told him if he didn't, the gods would have the child destroy his family. His best friend died because Odysseus, out of extreme guilt, indulged his ways too much. His own desire for a better world and to give mercy, fueled by guilt, caused his mentor to leave him and left an opening for future pain. His pride turned his cunning into dust. He watched men he had fought for ten years to save from dying in war be drowned in a storm because of his damn pride (and his brother-in-law and second-in-command's greed and mistrust). He then nearly lost all of his remaining men at the hands of an enchantress. He is forced to hear the screams of his dead comrades and come face to face with his dead mother in the Underworld who died waiting for him.

Odysseus then murders gods know how many sirens (rightfully so, but still), and then sacrifices six men to a sea monster for safe passage. His remaining men mutiny against him (understandably on the crew's side, not so much for Eurylochus) and then decide to eat the sacred cattle of Apollo, which gets the wrath of Zeus down upon them.

Odysseus then decides that his wife and son are more important than his remaining men and lets them be killed for their misdeeds. He is then trapped for years (and possibly sexually assaulted, reading between the lines) by a woman who wants to replace his wife while the demons of his past and his guilt and trauma cause him to nearly commit suicide. Once freed from the island and Calypso, he fights another sea monster with just his wits and then nearly dies by a god before torturing Poseidon until he gives Odysseus the safe passage he wants. After all that, he (rightfully) slays the suitors who were planning to rape his wife and attempting to kill his son. They beg for mercy, but the Odysseus that gave mercy to the cyclops that murdered his best friend is dead. Only a monster remains. A man who tortured gods stands before them and judges them for their crimes.

And his son is ecstatic to have him home, is wondering if Odysseus would accept him as "weak" as he is, as if Telemachus isn't the perfect "warrior of the mind" Odysseus always wanted to be, a combination of Athena and his younger self's viewpoints. Odysseus, the monster, sees one of the two things he still loves in the world and exercises those open arms because this is his son. His love for him is unconditional and unchanging.

Athena, beaten and recovering and full of empathy for the first time in the ten years since she left him, sees the Odysseus before her, the monster and cunning warrior she was attempting to turn him into, and accepts what he is, what he's become because of her. And while she loves him, she doesn't show him love. Just acceptance and quiet friendship (which is more than fine, but it does nothing to his heart about his monstrosity).

And then he comes to Penelope. The woman he has turned into someone unrecognizable for. Someone even the goddess of wisdom regrets. His son loves him, but it's because of the monster he has become. His son never knew him, never knew who Odysseus was at his core. Athena did, and she regrets what happened to him, what he became. But Athena wasn't who he was fighting for. He wasn't the one thing that kept Odysseus alive for twenty years of hell.

And he comes to Penelope, heart on his sleeve and says "I'm not the man you knew. I have done terrible things. I have become a monster inside and out. Would you fall in love with me again?"

He doesn't ask "do you still love me?". He doesn't think it's possible. He is a monster. He not only signed the death warrant of his sister's husband but threw a child, a baby, off of the walls of Troy. Odysseus doesn't believe himself worthy of the love he is asking for. He needs it with every fiber of his being because that is what he has craved for two decades, but he is a monster. He is not the kind and gentle husband who carved a wedding bed into an olive tree so it would be a living reminder of their everlasting love. He is a man who sold the souls of his men to a monster to get home.

Odysseus is amazingly, beautifully human, but by many metrics, he is a bad man. His actions can be justified and rationalized, but he has committed atrocities or allowed them to be committed (Achilles' desecration of Hector's corpse, opening the gates of Troy for the people to be slaughtered in their sleep, sentenced men to death so he could go home, throwing a baby off the walls of Troy) and he can't be called a good man (his actions in "Odysseus" aren't monstrous but they reveal his mindset) in a measurable way.

I wouldn't go so far as to call him evil like I would Antinuous, but would Odysseus? Yes. He believes he is a monster. Monsters are something to kill, not worthy of love.

But he asks. He asks Penelope if she would fall in love with him again. Not if she still does, he doesn't ask for that. He has loved no one else in these last twenty years, but he doesn't ask for that from Penelope. He's asking for a chance. Would she be willing to love the monster that has come home in her husband's place? Would she be willing to look upon him, with the blood of an infant on his hands, with the blood of an entire people on his hands (they would never have sacked Troy and committed genocide without him), and choose to fall in love with him anyways? That is what he is asking. Could you love me, as evil and monstrous as I am?

And what does Penelope do? She asks him to move their marriage bed. He's not her husband? He's a monster? Fine, a monster wouldn't care about destroying their wedding bed, the symbol of their marriage, to get what he wants, a new start from her. A monster wouldn't care that he would have to tear out the roots of their eternal love to have her now. A monster wouldn't have second thoughts.

But Odysseus is hurt and angry at her essentially asking for a divorce from the man she married, revealing the secret of their marriage bed in his shock and rage. A monster wouldn't give it a second thought, but the man she married could never move that bed for anything.

And she tells him that only her HUSBAND knew that, so that makes this monster he claims to be her husband. Penelope doesn't just agree to fall in love again, but that she doesn't care how, where, or when, because he is HERS. He isn't a monster that has replaced her husband, he IS her husband.

She does not look at him and see his sins. She looks at him and sees someone she has loved and waited for for twenty years. Someone she was ready to die a violent death rather than live without.

Odysseus believes himself to be a monster, to be evil. And Penelope says he is her husband. He is hers. He is not some evil monster, he is her husband who would never even think about moving their marriage bed. He thinks he is evil, too much, too monstrous, and she says no, you are MINE.

I've always felt like I'm a horrible person and worthy of the pain and punishment I get. But hearing someone love someone else unconditionally, looking upon them and saying "I don't see your sins; I only see you" is incredibly healing to me. Penelope hears his list of his sins and straight up IGNORES them. It's almost as if she has forgotten them. She loves Odysseus, period. She does not see the vile monster that Athena sees and accepts and regrets. She sees her husband.

Love is the greatest power in the world.

[pastabaguette]

i’ve got a darkleer headcanon for you all

quick disclaimer: i am going to talk about (fictional) suicide here, so if you don’t want to see that, then don’t keep reading.

darkleer’s actual cause of death is open to speculation, since it is never directly mentioned in the comic. after he’s exiled, it’s assumed he spends the rest of his life in his cave, presumably dying there as well.

initially i’d just assumed he died of old age, but honestly, i think it could be feasible that he killed himself, as well as have somewhat interesting ramifications story-wise. we know from mindfang’s journals that he was severely depressed.

what if, specifically, he hung himself, thereby condemning his descendant to a similar death by asphyxiation? (asphy%iation, haha) and what if he was smiling, too, because he finally had a release?

no one would find him, no one would even know that it happened. isn’t that a void-aspect kind of death?

i thought it’d be interesting, at least, to give him another equius parallel. also, if i was darkleer, i’d probably kill myself too. how many centuries did he spend along in the cave, cycling through the same thoughts over and over, just making himself feel worse every time? it would suck.

actually, half of the reason for this post is due to this absolute stupid image. it’s how their interactions feel to me.

(i don’t want to make light of the subject, so i hope it didn’t come off that way. please, if you are considering suicide, please talk to someone about it. so many people regret their attempts after the fact. suicidal thoughts don’t last forever, they DO go away. they are often a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing, and while they can come on strong, you will be STRONGER. you will! i know. someday, you will have a better day, and you’ll be able to look back and reflect on how far you’ve come. it’s the best feeling ever, it really is.)

[theother-victoria]

all hearts as one beneath the sun

SYNOPSIS: before kakavasha dissolves into the nihility, there is one hope he has to let go of. may you meet again in a kinder world and under a warm sun.

CHARACTERS: kakavasha, aventurine, dr ratio, aventurine's family, sunday

TAGS: angst, no comfort, established relationship, mentions of suicide, 4k+ wc

TAGLIST: @mitsvriii, @harque, @hazyue, @gabile18, @khoncore, @moineauz

NOTES: sobbed to "had I not seen the sun" the entire time I was writing this I love making myself cry w my own work

special thanks to @akutasoda, @tragedy-of-commons, and @https-sourlimes for proofreading this! love u all <33

link to the playlist

Aventurine was mildly surprised when he received word that he would be handling the Penacony mission. Why him, of all the Ten Stonehearts? Surely someone more capable such as Opal would be trusted with a mission of this caliber. 

He only realized why when he pried further into the details. 

Penacony was a death trap. With so many powerful and important people gathered in one place, one wrong move on his part would spell his end.

He chuckles sardonically. Figures. They’re sending their most suicidal employee out for a suicide mission.

As if to rub the situation into his face, he finds out they’re pairing him with Dr. Ratio. What purpose is he supposed to serve, suicide prevention? Too little, too late, in his opinion. 

The doctor doesn’t look too thrilled about the fact either. It makes Aventurine feel somewhat better about this whole situation. 

“You’d best get your affairs settled before we leave, gambler. The odds that you make it back alive from this mission aren’t as high as you’d hope they’d be.”

“Ooh, well I do like the sound of that.”

A glare sent his way makes Aventurine roll his eyes, but he shuts up anyway. Plans are made and discussed for what role each of them will be playing before it’s time to leave. 

“Well then, I look forward to working with you in Penacony, Doctor.”

“Just don’t act like a complete idiot and we’ll be fine.”

The two men head their separate ways. Ratio’s advice to settle his affairs lingers in his mind, though. That means there’s a will he has to sign, assets he has to distribute, funeral arrangements to be made, and more. Of course, most, if not all of it, will be going toward you. You’d be set for the rest of your life, never having to work a day again if you so chose. 

He heaves a sigh. Ah, it’s all so tedious. It was all so much easier before you came along. He had no will to worry about. He’d toss caution to the wind every mission and wind up sorely disappointed when he returned, still alive. If he did end up dying, his assets would end up being pawned off and most likely make their way back to the IPC somehow. So what even was the point then?

With all that being said, he didn’t mind putting in all that extra work for your peace of mind and so you’d continue to benefit, even after his death. 

Still, the stakes this time around are higher, and he has you to consider now before placing his bets. One wrong move and you’d be left without someone to welcome home. And then there’s the consideration of whether he’d be willing to die when the moment came. Sure, he’d attempted several times before but they’d all failed. Would he be able to take the plunge this time, should the opportunity present itself? 

“Hey, Doc?”

Ratio is about to leave, but the uncharacteristic hint of hesitation in his voice makes him stop and look over his shoulder.

“... How can you tell if you’ve lived a life worth living?”

Ratio stares at the blonde in silence in disbelief over what he’s hearing. Aventurine chuckles, trying to dispel the awkwardness that’s settled in the air.

“No answer? Never mind-”

“That answer will vary from person to person. However, if you were to ask me personally…”

The doctor’s ruby eyes flit over Aventurine’s frame, narrowing in contemplation- and perhaps a hint of resignation. 

“Ask yourself this question: can you die today without any regrets?”

“Can I die today without any regrets?” Doctor, what were you thinking when you posed that rhetorical question on me? Obviously the answer would be no!

Expensive leather shoes click against stone as Aventurine hurriedly makes his way through the Dreamscape. The weight of having mere hours left to live looms above his head like an anvil, leaving him scrambling to figure out how to cheat death- not for the hope of living to see another day, but so he can carry out his mission. 

When confronted with death, even a suicidal man will cling to the urge to live for one reason or another. 

He’s hardly paying attention to where he’s going, muttering out half-hearted apologies to those he bumps into as he stumbles through the Dreamscape before he ends up in a secluded area. The kaleidoscopic iridescence in the corners of his vision makes him stumble and he audibly groans when a searing pain flashes through his temples, the Harmony’s brand on his mind assailing him again. 

Dammit… am I really at the end of the line now? And before I could do anything meaningful either…

He hears the sound of a… child humming some distance away? That’s strange, there’s no one else here. 

“Mister, are you lost too?”

That voice. 

He turns around slowly, as if that would change anything. Aventurine’s eyes dart across the boy standing before him, with rags for clothes and scraped knees. The child in front of him is everything he is not- or rather, what he was, but is no longer. Optimistic, with bright shining eyes. Hope still exists for him. 

Those eyes. Oh, it’s himself. 

Aventurine thinks he’s about to be sick. 

“Woah, you have such pretty eyes! Can I call you Mr. Pretty Eyes?”

Aventurine stiffly nods. 

“Sure. Call me whatever you want, kid. What’s your name?”

“It’s Kakavasha. Nice to meet you!”

And that’s the final nail in the coffin confirming his suspicions. 

Kakavasha looks around nervously.

“I was searching for my family, but I got lost. This place is so much bigger than home… Mister, do you think you could help me find them?”

Aventurine shakily extends a trembling hand out.

“Of course. Lead the way. How about you hold onto my hand so you don’t get lost anymore?

Kakavasha latches onto it and begins wandering around, calling out for his parents and big sister. Every unanswered call feels like a punch to the gut but he has a faint flickering of hope that he’ll be able to see them.

“You really love your family, kid,” remarks Aventurine in an attempt to keep some conversation going. 

“Of course! I do!”

Kakavasha pauses in his steps and thinks for a bit, eyes wandering skyward and free hand resting on his chin.

“… Do you have anyone you love, Mr. Pretty Eyes?”

“Yes, I do. Their name is (Name).”

The boy’s eyes light up, sparkling in curiosity.

“Woah, really? What’re they like?”

A light chuckle escapes Aventurine’s lips as he crouches down to Kakavasha’s eye level and ruffles his hair. 

“They’re the best thing to have ever happened to me.”

“Wow, they must be a really amazing person for you to say that…”

“They are. They're incredible.”

I don’t deserve them.

He chuckles and stands back up again, hand reaching for Kakavasha’s. The little boy continues to lead the way, until he suddenly stops and turns. 

“Would you like to meet my family? They’ve been gone for so long I think they went back home. You can introduce (Name) to them as well!”

Panic wells up inside him. Seeing his family? In this state? After all he’s done? No, he can’t. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t. Not under these circumstances!

“Kid, I don’t think-”

“It’s ok if (Name) shows up late. They’re nice people and they’ll understand.”

“No, I-”

“Come on, let’s go! They’re already waiting for us!”

Aventurine feels himself being forcefully pulled under and he instinctively closes his eyes. A blast of hot, sandy air hits him, making him shield himself. When it settles down, he opens his eyes to a familiar sight. Sand stretches as far as the eye can see. There’s minimal vegetation and he can feel the sun beating down on his back already.

Sigonia-IV. He’s returned home. 

Kakavasha eagerly tugs on his sleeve. 

“This is my home! I know it’s not much, but everyone I know and love is here. I think you’ll like it too.”

Still holding onto Aventurine’s hand, Kakvasha begins running toward the horizon. Aventurine, meanwhile, feels numb all over. 

There’s no way this is happening. Is this some sort of cruel prank? What did that chicken-wing boy do this time? But if this is just a cruel prank…

He looks around at the yellow sand stretching as far as the eye can see and the mountains in the distance.

… Then it’s far too realistic. How is this happening? If I filter out the memories of the massacre, then everything is the same as I remembered it. 

“We’re almost there!” calls out Kakavasha. “Just a little longer now!”

Three familiar figures stand in front of a tent some distance away and Aventurine feels his heart seize up in his chest. He’s long forgotten their faces, but he instinctively recognizes them.

Mom. Dad. Big Sis. 

Kakavasha lets go of his hand and sprints toward his family. He leaps into the arms of his big sister, who spins him around giddily while his mother plants kisses over his face and his father holds his tiny hands. 

As he approaches, he realizes they have no faces. Where there are supposed to be eyes, a nose, and a mouth, there is nothing. A blank canvas with dents and ridges where the features are supposed to be greets him and he feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise up in warning. 

The only exception to this is his sister, with her grinning mouth and her long blonde hair billowing in the wind- the only feature he remembers clearly about her. She takes notice of him and tilts her head curiously to the side. 

“Kakavasha, did you br▇ng a f▇▇▇d of ▇urs?”

Her voice comes out scratchy and distorted with only a few syllables recognizable. There’s a sinking feeling in his stomach when he realizes why.

He can’t remember her voice anymore. Or the voices of his parents, for that matter. He’s forgotten what they look like, and now what they sound like. What’s been forgotten can’t be restored. 

“Yeah!” exclaims Kakavasha nestled safely into his sister’s arms now. “Everybody, meet Mr. Pretty Eyes!”

They greet him with friendly waves and scratchy sounds that he thinks are supposed to be words of greeting. He almost chokes on the guilt and regret building up in his throat

“▇▇ look just like ▇▇ Kakavasha over here! ▇▇ ▇▇ ▇▇ ▇▇ his long-lost b▇▇▇▇r or something?” 

Aventurine forces out a laugh as the others join in. 

If only they knew…  

The sun is going down now, and the solar winds that blanket the planet grow harsher. They quickly usher him into the tent, telling him to make himself at home and inviting him to stay for dinner. There’s no way out as far as he can tell, so he obliges.

 It’s smaller than he remembers, he thinks as he ducks to avoid hitting his head. There’s a rudimentary kitchen setup in the back that Kakavasha’s mother is tending to as she begins preparing dinner. Kakavasha hops into his sister’s lap and shakes the sand out of his hair and gets it everywhere, to which she lightly scolds him with a tug on his cheek. 

He takes a seat on the fraying rug in the center and rubs a brightly-colored teal tassel between his fingers. The sand is already starting to seep into his clothes. He feels grains of it in his shoes and it pools onto his pristine white dress pants. Grains of it are nestled deep into the fur collar of his coat from the harsh solar winds outside that even vigorous shaking won’t dislodge.

Kakavasha’s sister smiles at him. It’s a bit unnerving, just seeing a smiling mouth with no other features.

“So, Mr. ▇▇▇ Eyes, w▇at 's your ▇▇▇ ? At least, I’m a▇▇▇ ming Mr. ▇▇▇ Eyes isn’t yo▇▇ r▇l name.”

“It’s Kaka-”

He swallows hard and kicks himself. He’s not Kakavasha. Not anymore.

“It’s… Aventurine.”

The very act of saying that name makes him feel like he’s betraying his family, stabbing them in the back. 

“A▇▇▇▇▇ , huh? What an in▇▇▇ing and pretty name!” remarks his sister. He feels the air rush out his lungs and almost coughs up a sardonic laugh from the sheer irony of it all. First his family, then his language, then his body, and now even his name? Is there anything left that he can truly call his from his culture? 

Thunder distantly rumbles overhead. Kakavasha and his sister peek their heads out curiously of the tent. She gasps excitedly and points to the darkening clouds overhead. 

“Hear that? ▇▇ sign ▇▇ your birthday is ▇▇▇ ▇!” she exclaims as she holds Kakavasha’s hands in hers.“▇▇▇ ▇▇ excited?”

… His birthday? 

Thunder rumbles overhead again and he hears the pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the tent. 

His birthday. The Kakava Festival. 

His heart sinks into his stomach as his family chatters around him. They talk about birthday celebrations and what they’ll do that day, but it’s a muffled mess in his ears. Is it really almost his birthday already? Sigonia-IV followed many beliefs that were independent from the rest of the universe, namely the Aeon belief system, and that also extended to the calendar system. Truth be told, he wasn’t exactly sure what day his birthday was in the Interastral Standard calendar system. He usually just flipped a coin and that was if he even bothered to celebrate, which he hadn’t done in many years. 

Aventurine does some quick estimating and realizes that yes, it’s almost his birthday. But how would he celebrate his birthday in this world, where all was good and he still remembered their faces and voices? 

Aventurine closes his eyes and thinks. His mother would be overjoyed to know that her beloved son finally has a lover now. She’d make him clean the tent from top to bottom in preparation for your arrival, even though the sand would find its way back inside again within a matter of a few hours. His parents would cook up a feast for your arrival while his sister would pester him to tell more stories about you- as if there were any left that he hadn’t. When the time would come and you’d nervously step through the tent flap with one hand holding his tightly and another clutching some gifts, his mother would rush forward and greet you with a kiss to the cheek, having already accepted you as family. His sister would steal you away from him to dote on you, much to his half-hearted chagrin. His father would tell corny jokes that you’d cringe at, and his mother would teach you recipes that had been passed down for generations, her warm, weathered hands resting atop yours and lovingly guiding your movements in the kitchen. 

The five of you, safe, warm, and alive under the sun. 

Hours after the rest of his family had gone to sleep, you’d lie side by side outside, watching the stars drift on by. Sigonia-IV is nothing like Pier Point. Free from light and industrial pollution, you’d have a stunning view of the cosmos every night. Twinkling stars shine overhead, so close you could practically pluck them out of the sky. Multicolored clouds of gas and stardust bathe the sky in their shifting hues as he tells you stories that have been passed down from generation to generation with the occasional shooting star passing by. You’d stay like that for hours on end, content to just listen and watch, until you were lulled to sleep by his voice. 

It would be cold, as all desert climates are at night, but it was nothing he couldn’t bear with your warmth nestled into his side. 

In the spring, or around now, he’d take you to celebrate the Kakava festival under the stars with a roaring bonfire. The festival itself would be a solemn and silent celebration with people murmuring prayers to the Mother Goddess and tossing sacrificial vessels into the fires, but the celebration of his birthday afterward would be loud and joyful. Bonfire sparks would rise up into the sky, carried by the hot solar winds and the rich sounds of his people’s songs. His mother would drape you in turquoise jewelry and gift you traditional clothes that she would’ve spent hours beforehand making by hand, every stitch a labor of love. He’d teach you to dance to the cheers of his family and the familiar tunes he’d hum under his breath. His movements would be fluid and graceful as he spins and twirls you around, while you stumble and flail along. He’d enjoy every second of it- even if you step on his feet the whole time. 

He would be kinder in this world, he thinks. He’d still be Kakavasha. Aventurine would be an unknown man to him. He’d wear his heart on his sleeve and his eyes would still have life to them. He’d never have to hide his left hand. 

And you’d be happier too. You wouldn’t have to sift through the layers to find the true self underneath the act he puts up. He wouldn’t be so hot and cold- practically love-bombing you one moment and then disappearing without a word for weeks the next. He wouldn’t be a dirty gambler, a two-faced businessman, a disinterested womanizer, cheating scum, an IPC mutt, a corporate bootlicker, a worthless Sigonian slut or who knows what else you’ve heard about him–

In this world, there are no Katicans. The Avigins and his family are still intact. His neck is unmarred and he speaks the Avigin dialect fluently, instead of the halting and choppy cadence that's even worse than that of a child’s. Syrupy, honeyed words spill from his mouth as he teaches you common words and phrases in his mother tongue. Have you eaten yet? How did you sleep? How was your day? I missed you. Mother. Sister. Father. Lover. Goddess. I made you something. I saw this today and thought of you. Be safe. Sweet dreams. Goodnight. I love you. He chuckles when you parrot them back to him haltingly, with your accent mixed in. The notebook you keep with various phrases, their meanings, and their phonetics grows every day. The most worn out page was the one crammed full of declarations of love that sound more akin to poetry as your mastery over the dialect grows. The ink is smeared from how often you’ve run your fingers over them, murmuring them under your breath until you’d committed them to memory. In your arms is the safest I’ll ever be. I’m lucky to call you my lover. I sleep better when I’m with you. I secretly name stars and constellations after you. I’ll kiss the weariness away from your face every night. I pray to Mama Fenge every night for your safety. I imagine her hands and embrace to be as warm as yours, and it reassures me somehow. I’ll miss your warm hands when that day finally comes. Goodnight, I love you.  

We’ll be together even in Kakava’s next aurora. 

Aventurine jolts forward with a start. His eyes search around frantically, instinctively searching for his family and you, only to be greeted with a familiar sight that isn’t his home. Bright flashing lights, the sound of cars honking and speeding by, muffled pop music playing in the distance, and the sugary scent of SoulGlad greet his senses instead of arid hot wind that howls in his ears and endless seas of sand. You and his family are nowhere to be seen either. 

Oh. Right.

The Dreamscape.

His clothes stick to his skin drenched in a cold sweat and his glasses are resting lopsidedly on his face. His whole body is shivering uncontrollably, as if he’s been plunged into ice-cold water without warning. The world is going white before his eyes and all he can hear is the loud thump of his pulse in his ears that suddenly drops. He thinks he’s about to pass out again. This is the end, he thinks. Aventurine leans against the side of a wall again, taking deep, heaving breaths to steady himself and quell the nausea swirling around in his stomach. 

When it subsides and he doesn’t feel like he’s on the verge of death (sadly), he sits back up and forces out a laugh in place of a sob. First forcing a religious consecration onto him, then dangling his family in front of his face? How much crueler could the head of the Oak Family get? 

His heart sinks and an overwhelmingly bitter feeling engulfs him. It was just a dream all along. A dream within a dream, really. Was he really that desperate for something familiar again?

(And just like that, the mask known as Aventurine is back in place.)

(But he couldn’t even say goodbye or apologize to his family one last time, even if it wasn’t them.)

It was a pleasant dream, he’ll admit. How nice it would be to live in that world forever. But he knew it was a dream because it could never happen, as much as it pained him. 

Aventurine hears the voice of Kakavasha drifting along from further up ahead and knows he’s nearing the final leg of his plan. With what little time he has left, he takes pictures with the boy for posterity and buys the child all the treats his eyes rest on for more than a second. Aventurine delights in the way his eyes light up at the first taste before he eagerly digs in for more. 

It’s cathartic, in a way. 

Before stepping on stage, he looks up at the sky. It’s perpetually nighttime in Clock Studios Theme Park, but he knows the sun is shining elsewhere in the Dreamscape. Is the sun shining where you are back at home? He thinks it’s morning for you. You must still be asleep with the cat cakes curled into your sides, blissfully unaware of the news you’ll wake up to. 

Get onstage. Fear not. Never look back. 

One last thing to do.

He sends a final text to you.

Aventurine: I love you.

It stays on delivered when he puts his phone away. It’ll be the first thing you see when you wake up, and that’s more than enough for him. 

It’s time for the curtain call.

The feeling of Kakavasha’s tiny body in his arms won’t be enough to chase away the grief. Nothing ever will be. But this’ll be the closest he can get.

Aventurine hugs the boy close, squeezing as hard as he can without hurting him. He feels how he’s nothing more than skin and bone beneath the oversized rags. No child should have to be this thin, he thinks, and he’s even more glad he treated Kakavasha to his heart’s content earlier. 

This is the end. He gives Kakavasha one last squeeze to imprint this memory into his mind and gets up, waving goodbye over his shoulder all the while. 

He never looks back. 

In a shower of light, Kakavasha dissolves into the Nihility, and with him, Aventurine’s hopes for the ideal future- the one that you deserved. The Horizon of Existence is finally devoid of all color save for himself and the dark sun beckoning him forward toward the event horizon.

He takes a step forward, and then another. The sound of his footsteps against the surface and liquid splashing echo loudly in the empty space. 

The Nihility is beginning to slowly engulf him. He feels it encroaching at the edges of his mind, eating away at his thoughts one by one until nothing remains. A hollow, empty feeling settles into his heart that weighs him down. Aventurine looks down at his hands and realizes the color is beginning to seep from his vision until he, too, would become one with the Nihility. The point of no return beckons to him like a moth to a flame. Nothingness, emptiness, worthlessness. There’s nothing left for him to do. 

“Can you die today without any regrets?”

Aventurine finally has an answer to that question. The past is gone and he’s walking toward no future.

Yes. I finally can.

enjoyed this? my taglist is open!

@ theother-victoria, do not copy, repost, modify, translate, or feed to ai

[libraryraccoon]

I was wondering how a Dazai!Reader from BSD (preferably 15 year old Dazai) would interact with the HH crew

Btw, I love your stuff sm, have a lovely day if you see this!

Gender : GN

Pronouns : None

Info : I haven't watched BSD for a long time, so it's probably wrong/inaccurate, sorry. Reader have 15 years old.

Message fom Raccoon : What ? Dad!Lucifer ? Dad!Alastor ? Okay, take that Dad!Husk !

TW : Suicide (mentionned); SH (mentionned)

General Headcanon

Finally.

After all this years of trying, after all this attempts, you were finally dead !

And what do we do when we have achieved such a feat ? We drink until the morning !

As you drank, you recounted your feat of finally dying to the bartender, some sort of cat-bird demon.

He gave you a judgmental look when you told him you were 15 and died of suicide.

But you were used to it, people often judge you while you were alive and was trying every second to die.

After a few hours, you were drunk and followed the bartender back to his place, a small apartment in a quiet corner of Hell.

You shouldn't follow someone to their home, you know that, but for your defense, you were drunk and he was a cat. And you have a weakness for cats.

Two things making it impossible to refuse his invitation.

And, if anything ever went wrong, you always had your gun with you, which had appeared at the same time as you in Hell.

The bartender's name was Husk and he kind of adopted you ? You weren't even sure if one sinner could adopt another sinner.

Life was calm with Husk, and you somehow helped him with his work.

By that I mean you were stopping the powers of other demons with your power, so you used it to kick out all the assholes who attacked him from the bar.

You and Husk had this dynamic of "Father who will kill for his child & Child who will sacrifice themselves for their father."

And then, one day you had to move to the Hazbin Hotel because Husk find a work there.

Alastor was surprised to see that Husk now had a kid–he didn't think it was possible for an alcoholic like him to have a child.

And he learned that Husk had cut down on his drinking, so he could be a better father.

*very kindly and not at all suspiciously notes this fact in the back of his mind.*

The hotel was quite shocked to know that you were a child from a fucking mafia and that you had died of suicide at 15 years old. If Husk hadn't informed them about that, they never would have suspected it.

Your humor worries them more than anything else.

Charlie is worry every time you make jokes about suicide while your dad rolls his eyes at it.

Husk was used to your jokes after a few months of living together.

The hotel wasn't.

Charlie is like your older sister, optimistic and a little naive at times.

She always tries to make you see the bright side of things and to make you forget this idea of double death.

Spoiler : it doesn't work.

Lucifer sees you like one of his children.

He spoils you like he spoiled Charlie when she was just a child.

Husk often makes side eyes at him, accusing him of trying to steal his child.

And that was true.

Lucifer, Charlie, Husk and Angel Dust are the ones who are the most concerned about your mental health.

Alastor wanted to make you sign a contract "I become powerful and Alastor releases my father from his contract in exchange of stopping trying to kill myself."

You didn't sign it.

Alastor tried to use you to spy on Vox and the Vees because he was bored and wanted some entertainment.

It worked.

Alastor do radio shows with you sometimes, you two are called "The RadioDuo".

His audience LOVES you.

You gained Alastor some listeners btw.

You help Niffty with her work at the Hotel.

Even if Charlie said you didn't have to do it, you do it anyway.

Vaggie take all your guns because you apparently “didn’t need” them.

You managed to recover them with a little manipulation.

Angel Dust could see himself in you.

You reminded him of his little human self, Anthony, broken by the world and wanting to end it. A family running the Mafia and forcing him to join it.

You're a bit like him, but compared to him, who fought to survive, had a reason to survive, you had nothing, no reason to fight, and you gave up.

When Angel Dust isn't working, he usually stays with you and Husk.

He doesn't want to abandon you, leave you alone in such a rotten world. He wants you to be protected and to be the child you never could be.

He will never let anyone touch you, never.

Husk and Angel Dust are usually the ones who bandage you after SH, Angel Dust doesn't say anything as he does it, because he understands. Husk doesn't speak as well, but you can see that by doing so he's blaming himself, making you instantly regret it.

Don't try to kill yourself in front of them, please. They're already worried enough, don't add more.

Hotel Hazbin was, in a way, your family.

And you would kill everyone in this room before killing yourself before anything happened to them.

[daengtokki]

part two // serial killer!Kim Seungmin/afab reader

WC: 12.7k

RATING: mature/explicit/mdni—contains: sex, oral sex, brief suicide mention, strangulation, manipulation, death/murder

SYNOPSIS: Seungmin floats through life alone, haunted by his memories—keeping himself under control, and quieting his mind the only way he knows how…killing and watching the life leave his victims eyes. When you cross his path on a morning hunt, something new (something forgotten) starts to move inside of him, leading both of you on a path to confront the unspeakable past.

˗ˋˏ♡ Thank you for the comments and likes and reblogs on part one. It means so much. Please consider reblogging/tagging if you like what you read! ˎˊ˗

And a very big thank you to @thackery-blinks for putting up with me and letting me bounce ideas off of her brain ♡

[ ML — DEITY MASTERLIST ]

Seungmin’s world goes quiet, calm…but it's only been a few hours, and he hasn’t yet left the cold emptiness of his bed. He hasn’t even attempted to crawl out of the hollow feeling he created for himself. The silence of the apartment feels different this time.

Inside of his head is a different story—you’ve upended him in more ways than one, and it may take a while to get himself back on two steady feet.

Nearly dying in his bed, coming back, being held, for hours, against your will…two out of three are new for him. And the sheer terror when he realized what he did, looking at your lifeless body—he hasn’t felt fear like that since he was a kid. There was no sense of relief, and there was certainly no quiet afterward. Right now, like last night, his mind is screaming at him, just not in the usual sense; he can’t figure out what you’ve done, because you’ve done nothing—you kept yourself at a distance, you enticed him (teased might be too unkind a word for you, he decides), and you didn’t deserve what little death you did have in his bed. Somehow, you’ve made yourself as much of a mystery as he’s tried to make himself, but he’s not as much of a mystery anymore...he gave too much of himself, and now he's going to pay for it.

You left your phone behind when you ran from him, not surprisingly, and later that afternoon, he somehow found the energy to leave the apartment. He walked to your building and left it with a note right outside your door. Whether or not you’re still there is unknown to him, but he wouldn’t be surprised if you were gone already—completely gone, on your way home, never to be seen by him again.

Seungmin knows the voice in charge will be returning soon, and he’ll fail if he doesn’t find some focus. He’ll really, truly fuck things up, and as much as he doesn’t want to blame you, it is you. He can’t think about you anymore; not today, not tonight.

/ / /

Showered and wrapped up tight in a blanket, you sit at your desk and stare at a blank computer screen. The email you started and stopped four times is sitting at a whole ten words, because you know you need to quit—you have to back out of this job and get back home. There’s no question about that. Nobody will believe what happened to you last night, so calling the police seems silly, and telling anyone else about it feels impossible right now. There is no proof of anything except that you went home with him, willingly. And you definitely can’t tell anyone you died, or at least stopped breathing, and came back during rough sex, because it’s stupid. It’s not believable. You’re still not entirely sure if it even happened. All you really know for certain is that you were outside yourself before finally taking that breath and seeing his face. You heard voices, but not his. You were in the dark, except for a few pinpricks of light. You felt your lungs fill up, once…twice…three times. And then you were back. You guess that’s what drowning feels like; the burning in your chest, the weightlessness, your brain misfiring and sending all the wrong signals to your eyes and ears and nerves.

It isn’t until later, after shutting your brain off and staring at the tv for hours, that you finally remember that you need to eat. You discover your phone right outside your door (should you be worried that he knows exactly where you live?). You knew that you left it on his bar, but you had no desire to try and retrieve it. It felt, and it still feels, like the least important thing in the world, but you’re relieved to have it back. Seungmin left a note taped to it, and you feel a little twinge of excitement (which you’re still trying to chalk up as leftover adrenaline...a little bit of curiosity) at what he could possibly have to say. That’s easy now, in the relative safety of your own apartment, so as soon as you can sit down with your dinner and a very strong drink, you rip it open and read.

You don’t get very far before something small and purple slips out onto your lap. It looks like a pressed flower. It is, and you know it’s heliotrope because it’s everywhere around your mother’s garden. The unmistakable fragrance is still a little obvious, even in its dried state. The addition might seem corny, but you don’t hate it—it’s an interesting choice of flower on his part. There are more inside the folded paper, and you let them fall onto you as you read…

Thank you for not throwing this in the trash.

I know I won't get to see you again, and typically, I wouldn't care or think much about my passing moments with strangers. Everyone is forgettable, and I can't figure out why you are not. I'm still very confused as I write out this letter —but I don't think I've been very forgettable for you, either. I ruined that last night.

He’s cocky, and he knows he’s absolutely right about him not being forgettable.

You don’t have to see me again, but maybe we can talk, and I can explain myself a little better. You saw a piece of me that you shouldn’t have, in my bedroom…in my drawer, and I know it seems impossible to explain, and that’s because it is. But if you’ll let me, I’ll try.

The letter is signed with a cute, loopy S.

The dried flowers are scooped up and placed next to your untouched plate. Eating, you decide, should come first. After that, you can dwell unnecessarily on the words of your would-be killer. What else could you possibly do? You know how your brain works, and you know how you are when you're alone, and lonely.

However, you do read back through the few texts you exchanged. You also check yourself in the mirror—there’s a bruise beginning to bloom on your shoulder, and two scratches next to your mouth where he held. The soreness in your thighs brings the memory of him to the front of your mind, over and over, and it works backwards from there—Seungmin holding you, touching you; the look in his eyes from the other side of the bar. There was nothing outwardly threatening about him, just strange. Strange, quiet, a little bit awkward. How easily could your mind gloss over something much weirder when a man that beautiful gives you that kind of undivided attention?

Now your mind goes forward to his touch; his hand caressing your aching chest, his soft voice, like if he's not careful, his words might finish killing you. He spoke far too gently, and he kissed much too deeply and eagerly for you to forget. And you haven't exactly forgotten that he never hurt you, at least not after your little journey. Maybe he messed up his original plan, and then had to do damage control...but that makes no sense. Seungmin could've finished the job easily, anytime he wanted to. If he wanted to suffocate you, he'd have done it. If Seungmin wanted to kill you, you wouldn't be here right now.

More memories return to you, very slowly. Slow down? I’m hurting you? He was attentive during sex, initially, even if he was rough...so what happened? He did slow down, tried to make you more comfortable, and he succeeded. You begged him not to stop. You were loud. Seungmin was right there when you woke up, holding onto you. Stay awake...I'm sorry. The frazzled girl looking back at you in the mirror is almost unrecognizable right now. You can't get his face out of your mind; his voice, his kiss, his big black eyes that could swallow you whole. Please don't cry.

Was he convincing enough for a text? Should you call him? Are you really this fucked up right now? You know you're being stupid and irrational, so you decide to be a little bit smart and sleep on it; wait and see how you feel in the morning.

It doesn't help much. You dream about him; his eyes staring into you, through you, eating away at you again...just like when he had you beneath him. You reach out and sweep the hair from of his eyes, and your fingertips pick up the cold, clammy sweat from his forehead. He speaks, but you don't understand a word he says. He holds a dirt-streaked hand out to you, and with no hesitation, you take it, and then you're back in the warm, wet darkness. No voices this time, just muddy, squishy footfalls getting closer and closer.

When you wake, you're damp with sweat, and you've never felt so cold.

It's risky, but he forgoes the tea tonight, and his little white anxiety pill as well. He's almost out anyway, so he should try and save them until he can get more. It's a mistake, and he suspected that as he finally drifted off; there's been far too much on his mind in the last 24 hours to expect a dreamless sleep...

"appa?"

he hushes him. seungmin can feel a hand close softly around his mouth.

"where is—"

"quiet...get back inside, now"

he trips and falls as he runs, and his knee lands in the muddy ground. the effort it takes to get back up is too much, but a hand grabs the straps of his overalls and pulls...and then pushes, and he's in the mud again. rain starts to fall before he can make it to the porch, but as soon as he reaches the steps...

Out of breath, burning chest. The face of his father, and the wet hand covering his mouth, is still there. He can still feel it. The first thing he does is reach for a pill.

But as soon as he swallows it, his mind wanders back to you. Are you still in Seoul? You've had plenty of time to book a flight, repack, and leave. Seungmin wonders if you ever opened your door and found the note, if you even bothered to read it if you did, if you got the dried flowers he took from his music box just for you—the flowers he'll have to return home to get more of. A stupid addition, you probably thought. A desperate attempt at romance.

The phone buzzes under his pillow, and he knows it’s just his usual alarms and reminders. Today he has to get up, get dressed, and work. He has to get his mind back on track—he has to, there is no other way for him. There is nothing else, aside from prison, or ending things on his own. He pulls it out and looks at it with one eye open, flips on his back, and stares. Part of him hoped it would be more than his alarms, and he'd be staring at a new text message from you...an apathetic "okay, I guess we can talk". Seungmin is severely underestimating how much he scared you, though. You were convinced, and you're probably still pretty sure you were going to die in that room. Whether or not he's going to pursue this further is still a big question mark, but he doesn't usually deal in question marks. Everything is either black or white for Seungmin.

If he can't have you, he might just have to kill you.

/ / /

Repacking your things as fast as possible; booking a flight you can afford (work refused to comp you, once you quit with no notice); explaining, or making up a convincing enough story for you mother and sister about the change of plans, has been exhausting, so falling asleep is easy once your head hits the pillow.

seungmin's hand lays softly on your chest, just under your throat. you can feel your slow heartbeat bouncing off of him, you can smell the sweet scent of his room, but that's not where you are. you look up, and then around you...and you see the bedroom of a child, a little boy. there's sunlight coming in through the sheer curtained window, and you can see bushes of yellow and purple flowers poking up into view. he moves closer to you, and speaks quietly...

"i have to go...i have to go take care of things"

"what things?

"you know"

"don't go, please"

you look to him, and he forces a smile. his hand slides up and closes around your throat, but he doesn't squeeze. he moves closer and places a kiss beneath your ear...

This time you wake up slowly, and comfortably. Your hand jumps up to your throat as you work hard to remember every detail, every touch, every word. The dreams you have aren't usually this vivid, and now you've had them two nights in a row—two very different ones; a bad one...well, it could have been worse. You still remember how he looked at you, and the feeling of him under your fingertips; but it was cold and dark. This second one practically gave you butterflies. This dream version of you was in love.

Why is your mind torturing you like this? You come dangerously close to texting him, but all you end up doing is rereading the messages already sent between you.

Seungmin sits and watches right across the street from your building, for hours. He didn't know he had this much patience in him. If he would have done this yesterday morning, he may have had a chance to catch you and follow, but he decided to stay in bed. Still, he has trouble moving.

A few minutes later, it finally pays off. There you are, looking up and down the busy narrow street, arms folded tight over your chest. Seungmin isn't that far from you in this bakery, and if he walks out now, you'll see him, so he waits until you decide what to do. Seeing you right now is actually giving him a nervous stomach, and he hates it...you look uncomfortable, and tired, and sweet; it's difficult keeping his mind where it needs to be. It doesn't help that he hasn't thought of a plan beyond waiting for you to leave your apartment. Should he just follow you, and hope you don't see him and run? That won't work. If he can figure out where you're heading, he can get there first, and run into you like it was just a coincidence.

Before he can finish his plan, you're headed east, and you're walking fast. He just decides to follow as discreetly as possible, which is easy at this time of day, and it only takes ten or so minutes for him to figure out where you might be going. But there's no possible way you're going to his apartment building. You pass by the GS25 where you met each other, and keep going, but you don't make the left turn that would lead to his building. You keep straight, and eventually, Seungmin does figure it out. It's the park he mentioned frequenting, that's where you're going. This is perfect. Even if you're not here to look for him, you're going to find him, but that has to be why you're here. Texting or calling might have felt like too much. Accidently running into him...well, it was an accident. Maybe you won't feel like you're seeking out the man who almost killed you, or purposely bringing him back into your life.

You find an empty bench and sit, look at your phone, look up and around, back to your phone. Still uncomfortable, nervous, tired. Cold, maybe. You didn't dress as warmly as you probably should have. Seungmin tests his patience some more and waits, but you don't move. In fact, you're starting to remind him of himself, sitting and watching, waiting for his next kill. He takes his eyes off of you for a few minutes to get a coffee, and then he prepares to approach. But he's nervous again. He's not used to this feeling. He takes his time walking down the pathway, and when he knows you can see his legs in your downward gaze, he stops.

You look up and keep your face as emotionless as possible, but it's not enough. Seungmin can see your surprise, a little bit of fear, and maybe something else.

"Hi." He keeps his face as neutral as possible, too. "You look cold."

"I'm fine"

"What are you doing here all by yourself?"

"Uhm, I don't have any friends. And isn't this what you do? Sit here alone waiting to pick people off?" You cross your arms over your chest again, and scoot a little further away. "I mean...I'm assuming that's why you come here, if I put the pieces together properly."

"Yes, you're pretty perceptive. But why are you here?"

"Because I couldn't hit send"

"What couldn't you send?" He was right.

Seungmin hears you take in a deep breath and hold it, then slowly let it out in a big cloud of condensation. "I keep having dreams about you."

But he wasn't expecting that.

"Good ones I hope." So you haven't left his mind at all, even in your sleep. You don't reply. "I've been having the same old nightmares. A dream about you would be a nice change."

"One was pretty nice, yeah"

"Is it alright if I sit next to you?"

You nod, but Seungmin still takes his time taking those last few steps and sitting. Once he does, he offers you the hot coffee he's been holding onto, and to his surprise, you take it and sip it carefully. The letter he wrote promised some sort of explanation for what happened that night, and for the things you saw, but he wasn't expecting to have a chance at doing that. He hasn't thought of a single way to explain his drawer, or almost killing you.

“What’s in the syringes, the ones in your murder drawer?”

Murder drawer. Are you reading his mind, or is he just projecting onto you? He looks around, but nobody is close enough to hear the conversation. “A sedative, a light one…for emergencies. That's all.”

“You didn’t use one on me”

“Well, I had…” he stops, and thinks. What he almost says is I had control of the situation, but that doesn’t sound like what you want to hear. It’s also a very obvious lie. “The drug is not fun to come out of, and…what I put you through was bad enough.”

“So who do you use them on? And the knife?”

Seungmin doesn’t know how to answer this. He can’t explain how he picks his victims, because he doesn’t always understand his reasoning. “The ones I can’t control any other way. And I don’t use the knife very often.”

“It’s kind of obvious now that I’m talking to you, but thinking about it yesterday, and the night before…wondering if I was just over-reacting...”

“You’re not, you know what you saw, and you had every reason to be afraid of me”

“So you are…” you can’t finish the question. "This is what you do?"

“Yes”

“Why?”

“It’s hard to explain”

“Why didn’t you kill me?

“I haven’t figured that out yet”

“But you would, if you got another chance…if you had me alone right now, with no witnesses”

“No.” You look around, and Seungmin thinks you’re a little more relaxed now—as relaxed as someone could be in this situation. “I don’t think so.”

“You wanted to before, though. That’s why you spoke to me, and helped me get home.”

“Yeah, that was my original plan”

“I’m assuming you’ve done this before”

“Killed? Yes. Accidentally killed someone and brought them back in a panic? That one is new for me.”

“When’s the last time you did it…killed someone?”

It feels like a regular conversation now, regardless of the subject. Most of the tension is gone from your voice, and you stopped fidgeting with the coffee cup. You still look cold, though.

“The day we met”

Everything goes silent after that. Even the people around you become strangely quiet, as if everyone decided to listen in. Seungmin can see your mind working behind your eyes, but you’re not rushing to speak again. He slides out of his jacket and sets it over your shoulders, and you leave it there.

“Before, or after?”

“After”

“To make up for me?” You fold your legs up onto the bench and disappear into his jacket a little more, and Seungmin smirks.

“Sort of. That's why I was out that morning, things just didn’t go exactly as planned. I’m still glad you showed up, though.”

“Are you saying that because you think it’s what I wanna hear, or because it’s true? I don’t wanna turn you into a cliche, but are you capable of that much…well, liking someone enough to not kill them. I guess you are.”

“I like things. And I feel a lot, maybe too much sometimes.”

"Things?"

"Not people, typically"

"Sorry.” Why are you apologizing to him? Your assumption was a little bit hasty, and rude, but being a murderer is pretty rude, too. The look on his face is just that, though…full of emotion, full of sadness, and confusion. This is exactly how he looked at you that night before you both fell asleep, he just doesn’t know how to express it properly. Maybe he's just mimicking. “Uhm, did I actually die? What happened?”

“I’m not sure, but you weren’t breathing. I talked to you, slapped you…lightly, and panicked a little. After I panicked, I…” he sets his fingers on his lips, and tries to remember what it’s called in English. “…I blew air into your lungs.”

“Three times?”

Seungmin thinks for a second. “Yeah, three breaths…I kissed you after the third time.” Why did he tell you that?

“You kissed me? Why did you kiss me?”

You’re nothing but questions, and Seungmin is not used to getting interrogated like this. He wants to tell the truth, but he also needs to be careful and not scare you off, or be too truthful. It’s a little exhausting.

“I thought that might be my last chance while you were still warm.”

There’s another long silence. Too long. Maybe Seungmin said the wrong thing, even though it is the truth. He wonders if he should get up and leave you alone for a few minutes. But what if he comes back and you’re gone? Was the kiss that strange? Why is he assuming it was the kiss that’s making this awkward? Everything about this is strange for you.

“I think I felt your breath filling my lungs, but I was still somewhere else. Somewhere really dark, and wet. I could feel…outside air around me, it was so heavy."

“Completely dark, like the bedroom?”

“No, there was some light, like little streams of light coming in through holes punched into the walls, between the slats of wood. It was weird, and I remember it very vividly now that I’m talking about it.”

Seungmin doesn’t mention it feeling like his nightmares, but it does. And it can’t be, obviously. Just a coincidence. It was probably the darkness of his bedroom, and your eyes trying desperately to find something. “I’m sorry”

“Thank you for bringing me back”

“I’m glad I could. And I hope you don’t leave Seoul because of me.”

"There's nothing for me here." You quit your job, and you can't take that back. You booked a flight, and you packed up most of your things.

"When are you leaving?"

"Thursday"

“Do you have plans today?”

“Are asking me out?”

“You can tell me no, I won’t be surprised”

“No, I don’t have plans today"

“I just figured I’d take a shot while we were still here. I don’t expect a second chance. You really shouldn’t be involved with someone like me, and I shouldn’t be pulling someone into my fucked up life. But this is all new for me.”

“What is? A relationship? Friendship? An acquaintance?”

Seungmin nods, “all of those, and speaking openly—not lying about everything. That’s new, too.”

“Does that make me special?” You’re not sure if you’re being facetious, or if something inside of you wants to be the thing he needs to keep alive. A bad romance novel come to life. That’s why you’re here right now, obviously, because of every little gesture Seungmin has extended to you—everything aside from his complete loss of control. Being a murderer doesn’t mean he’s incapable of the truth, or sincerity. Right?

Seungmin smirks at the question, “Maybe.” He moves his hand closer to yours, but stops when you pull it away. "So why did you kiss me?"

Why did you kiss him? Because you needed to—because he's beautiful, and he was right there, sleepy face inches from yours. Because you've read too many bad romance novels. Because clearly, you're messed up, too, since you're even sitting here right now. And because, like him, you were sure it was your last chance. "I figured it made a good distraction."

"Oh...yeah, I guess it did"

"And I wanted to. I wanted to as soon as I saw you, but I forced myself to keep some distance. So maybe there was some fear of regret mixed with my fear of being murdered. How stupid is that?" You watch his mouth twitch as he tries to hold his smirk back. “I feel that a lot. Regret.”

“I don’t typically feel it...the regret, the remorse, and the empathy most people are used to. I guess that does make me a, uhm...what was that word?"

"Cliche?"

"Yeah. Sometimes I wish I could feel the regret, or a little bit of empathy. But lately, I think I have felt it a little."

“You feel regret? About what?”

"Fucking up what was very close to a good night. I didn’t even get to make you come."

Seungmin loves the blush slowly rising up your neck, and now, being out in public, he likes it even more. He meant it, the regret about not getting you off when he was eating you out, but it’s your blush, not the memory, that makes his cock twitch in his jeans.

“No, I guess you didn’t.” You close your palms over your warm cheeks for a moment, and stifle a laugh. He's actually making you laugh. Something about him really is messing you up.

"Let me make it up to you"

The dark blue of the room is calming. Everything is soft, and unusually warm. The smell is the same as you remember. It doesn’t feel strange being here again, like it should. Not uneasy, and not scary. Maybe there’s something wrong with you, too.

“Are you alright? I thought you left me.” Seungmin hangs onto the door jamb and clicks on another lamp. You can hear the relief in his voice.

/ / /

This new view of him is nice—on his knees, head down, lips marking your stocking covered thighs. He’s gentle, and probably nervous that he’s not being gentle enough. “Seungmin.”

He looks up, cheek still resting on your thighs, and you’re struck by how innocent he appears, how sweet and puppy-like his eyes are. You smile, and he gets back to work. His hands slide up and underneath your skirt, and down come the stockings, very slowly. Now he kisses your bare skin, and his warm, wet lips send a shiver through you. You can feel how soaked through your panties are as they pull away from your body. He seems to stop and admire them, just like last time, before tossing them to the side.

“Are you comfortable?” Seungmin pulls until you’re at the very edge of the cushion, sending the hem of your skirt up and out of his way. He doesn’t wait for an answer.

The entire ride back to his apartment, you were ready for him. The memory of last time, how good he felt, is still very real. It was excruciating, having him so close and not touching—keeping your cool, not letting him know just how badly you wanted him. But the elevator doors closed, and he backed you into the corner, held you softly by the neck, and kissed you. The entire ride up, 25 floors and luckily no interruptions, he kissed, pulling back occasionally to let you breathe.

You fall back against the couch, and let him know how good it feels to have him there. “Yes,” you sigh, whine his name, and he likes that. He gives a deep, satisfied groan as he sucks you between his lips, and he stays there, savoring the taste as it pours out. But he can’t keep himself from teasing, and he slows down when your moans become erratic, focuses on your entrance, spreads your lips apart and licks, a little selfishly. But it feels so good, and you taste so good. Seungmin can’t get enough, and as badly as he wants to make you come, he isn’t ready to stop yet. He needs as much as you can give, and has to hope you’ll stay with him and keep your legs open all night.

“Seungmin, please…I need it”

He looks up and runs his tongue slowly over every part of you before stopping at your clit—so sensitive, his warm breath is enough to set your hips in motion.

“I know,” he kisses, “I’m being greedy.” He kisses again, sucks hard, and his thumb slides gently over the rest of you, making your hips jump against his mouth. He does it again, gathering some arousal, and slowly circling your entrance before sliding it in.

You close your eyes and relax, let it wash over you. He doesn’t stop this time. It’s intense, slowly pulsing through every single nerve his lips are working on—“oh…god…fuck,” you roll your hips up, needing more, needing him. Every muscle relaxes, and you sink into the couch, but the waves of pleasure keep coming. You watch him work, softly flicking his tongue between your lips, so swollen and so hungry for him—his mouth, his hands. You need it again, his cock stretching you to your limit. Barely down from this high, and you can’t wait for the next one. After a few more slow, selfish licks, Seungmin gives his mouth a break, and breathes.

“Thank you,” you laugh, feeling a little delirious. The room spins above you, but you feel his hands push your knees together. This is definitely the first time you’ve thanked someone for making you come, but it seemed appropriate. “Is it my turn?” There are still memories from that night trickling in, and you get another when the question leaves your lips—the cocktail, and Seungmin’s comment that put everything in motion.

“Your turn?”

No, you don’t always go down easy…

“Oh,” smiling wide, eyes shining, dick threatening to escape his tight briefs as he rises. “But you don’t have to, if…” he looks down, then back at you, “if it’s uncomfortable.”

It’s intimidating to look at, but finally touching him, realizing how much of a handful he really is, “I don’t mind trying,” you pull the fabric until his head appears, and immediately close your mouth around his pre-cum soaked tip. “Or just…” you lick slowly, letting your tongue slide up and onto his stomach before going back to do it again.

“Take your time”

“Sit”

Seungmin listens, and frees himself a little more before hitting the couch. He knows what you want, and he watches as your mouth patiently explores him—you kiss and lick every inch as your hands stroke softly. You desperately want to make him feel good—return a little bit of what he just gave you. And Seungmin does let you know what he likes: everytime your tongue slides over his head, the deep moan from his chest soaks you again. “I want you.” Your heart races at the thought of it. It beats so hard you think you might pass out…again, this time on your own.

He rolls his hips and pushes himself in a little further, “I know you do, get down…on your back.”

You release him, a little reluctantly, but you let yourself fall backwards until you’re flat on the soft carpet. He follows, hovers, and eyes every inch of you before unzipping and discarding your skirt. “Are you alright?” The perceptiveness shouldn’t be that surprising to you, but the concern takes you back to that night. His voice feels far away, but it’s because of your heart pounding in your ears, you think. It’s not until now that you feel outside of yourself again. Why does he keep doing this to you? You’re weightless again, floating, watching everything happen in slow motion—slipping away.

“Hey, look at me,” he sets his palm just beneath your throat, but he quickly moves it down. “Can you hear me? Your heart feels like it’s about to explode.”

The sound of him pulling a blanket from the couch, and the feeling of it draping over your half naked body brings you back, just enough to open your eyes and find his worried face. “I can hear you.” A moment later, he’s gone. “Don’t go.”

“I’ll be back”

You sit up and look around, but vertigo hits and you shove your face into the blanket. The feeling of passing out is still threatening you, and it takes everything to keep it at bay.

“Here, drink some water. And if you’d like…” in his open palm is one tiny white pill, “but you don’t have to. They help with my panic attacks. And my nightmares.” Seungmin just stares softly, still worried.

“I’m okay.” An obvious lie—you’re still on the edge of a cliff, dizzy, and very much on the verge of throwing up. “Water is good.”

“You should lie down on the couch,” Seungmin doesn’t move, and he doesn’t touch you. Not yet. He assumes his touch is the reason why you’re fighting for your breath on his floor right now.

“Where’s your bathroom?”

“Right behind you”

/ / /

“Are you alright? I thought you left me.” Seungmin hangs onto the door jamb and clicks on another lamp. You can hear the relief in his voice, and you could hear the nervousness in it when he called out your name the first time.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just wanted to see the room again.” But you did check the front door, and found it unlocked. He also didn't hover when you shut yourself in the bathroom for ten minutes, because you managed to sneak into his bedroom when you finally emerged. It put you a little more at ease after the panic attack.

“We can stay in here, if you want. I can bring our drinks in.”

“No, just you”

“Just me?” He takes a few steps toward the bed. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sorry, I don't know what happened.”

Seungmin stops just short of where you’re sitting, “I do.“ He looks nervous—he is nervous. “This is probably a bad idea."

“I should leave?”

“No, no, I want you to stay, but I'm aware that I set off your panic attack. That was my fault."

It seems like he’s more empathetic than he realizes. Or maybe he’s faking. He is a killer, after all; a psychopath—one that gets his way by being handsome and charming, and right now might not be any different than his other seductions. Maybe he’s taking the long way around to get you where he wants you, and you’re stupid and blind enough to fall for it. “We could just enjoy each other’s company.” It’s a silly suggestion, and you realize that as it’s coming out of your mouth. “For now. If that’s not too much.”

He smirks. “Enjoy each other’s company?" He isn't exactly sure what you mean, but he wants to find out.

“Stupid idea?”

"Depends on what you mean by it. I don't typically enjoy anyone's company. I hate it, actually."

You know he's not trying to be funny, but something about him is accidentally humerous, and you assume it's because you're here with him right now...because he wanted you here, keeping him company. "That doesn't seem completely true."

The look on his face speaks volumes. You can tell he feels a little bit exposed, and a little bit confused. Seungmin turns to hide, his arms fold over his chest, and he takes a few steps toward the balcony. "I like sex. I have to deal with someones company if I'm going to get it."

"Is that why I'm here? You need to finish properly?"

"No"

"No? You made me come, but you haven't, have you? Did you finish when I was passed out?"

Seungmin doesn't answer.

"You've been far too patient with me, and it's weird"

"Weird?" Now he turns back to you, "...isanghan?" And takes a step toward you again. “Considering what sex tends to do to me, and considering I like it so much, you should be grateful for my patience."

“What exactly does it do to you?” One more step. Now you can reach out and touch him if you want. You don't.

“Mm, that’s when I do it, usually…after sex. At least when things go to plan.”

“Are you trying to scare me off again?”

Seungmin’s face doesn't change. “No, just trying my hand at more honesty, I guess.”

“When is the last time you had sex without killing the person afterward? Aside from me.”

The silence as he thinks stretches out far too long, and he sits at the edge of the bed, keeping some distance between you, “I don’t remember.”

You rise from your spot, and Seungmin probably assumes you need more distance from him, but that’s not the case. “We don’t have to talk about it.” He watches as you round the bed, pull at his pile of covers, and climb in.

/ / /

Seungmin just stares, tucked tightly under the covers, for most of the evening. He only moves closer when you reach out and brush the hair away from his forehead, run your fingers through it. He seems to relax under your touch. This kind of interaction with another person is definitely unusual for him, and with the attitude he gave earlier, you're surprised he's still sharing the space with you. Sleep comes easily, though, and hours later, you wake up. It’s not quite morning yet, but you can see sunlight trying to break through the curtain. Seungmin’s breath bounces steadily off of your neck, warm and pleasant. His leg is pushed between your thighs, moving a little in his sleep, and his arms are pulled tight against him, almost as if he’s hugging himself. Keeping your hands to yourself is a challenge, and it’s made even more difficult when he stirs a little—a soft, sleepy groan escapes him, and when your fingertips slide across his cheek, he sighs deeply, and settles again. In his sleep, he looks a little different; his face looks younger and softer, his brow isn’t furrowed, like it seems to be almost constantly, and his lips form into a perfect heart shaped pout. The real him, maybe.

As soon as you close your eyes, you’re gone, but it feels like only moments pass when you hear his faint moans, and a string of slurred words. He’s flat on his back, chin up, head pushed hard into the pillow, and the look on his face is his usual worried one. Your graze your knuckles against his cheek, but he doesn’t feel it. Whatever has him in his sleep is holding tightly.

"Seungmin?”

no, I won't help you

His words are clear now, but in Korean, so you don’t know what he’s saying.

please look at me

A tear is squeezed from the corner of his eye, and it trickles slowly across his temple. You wipe at it, and this time his eyes open. He catches his breath before looking around and remembering where he is, and why he’s not alone bed.

You reach for him again, but he turns away and stares absently at the wall. “Nightmares?”

Seungmin is quiet, but he nods.

“You were sleeping well when I woke up earlier, I hope it was enough.”

He remains still, head down, hands clenching and unclenching as he thinks, or clears his mind, or maybe he’s putting his nightmare back together in his head. Maybe he needs one of his pills. Would it be strange to treat him the way he treated you…gently, like you might shatter at the smallest touch? “Can I get you anything?” You whisper.

Silent still, but he shakes his head.

“Should I go?”

This time he turns and looks at you with sharp, sad eyes—a look brimming with the unspoken emotions trapped inside of his head. And he isn’t sure how to answer. Yes, you should probably leave, is Seungmin’s first thought, because he knows where this is going; the noises in his head are slowly returning, and getting to this point was difficult enough when his mind was quiet. “It’s coming back.”

“What is?”

Aside from the noise, the voices…the itch that doesn’t stop until it’s done, Seungmin doesn’t know how to put it into words. He’s never had to put it into words, now that he’s thinking about it, because why would he ever tell anyone? This is all he’s ever known, and sometimes he still forgets that most people (you, he assumes) can make up their own minds, and follow their own train of thought every single day. He doesn’t have that option. “Nothing, never mind. I just…need to wake up, I think”

Going out of his way to get to you again, and to see you, was a stupid mistake. Seungmin thinks the only option is you leaving and saving yourself from him. Why did he disrupt his perfectly comfortable, routine existence? Comfortable might be stretching it, but whatever he managed to create was working. There is nowhere that you fit into this, and he knows that. He hasn't forgotten...black or white. You’re here now, yes, but you haven’t seen the worst of him—nowhere near it. If you leave now and go back home, you’ll be spared the real Seungmin, and a possibly death by his hands. He needs that, because he still doesn’t want to hurt you.

“I need to find someone, and I need to do things right this time.” Seungmin forces himself to look at you, “so I can have some peace for a while.”

“Oh, okay...I think I understand”

“I need to be alone”

“So I won’t see you again,” you’re up out of the bed, adjusting your clothes, and heading toward the door.

“That’s probably for the best. You should pack up and go home.”

“I will”

“I’m sorry I fucked everything up, but if you leave, you’ll be happier, and safer”

“Safer from you?” Once again, you’re stuck in this room, only this time, it’s your own fault. The door is wide open, but you can’t move.

“Maybe”

“So you lied to get me here. Why didn’t you just kill me when you had the chance? You had several…you still have one more, I’m right here.”

“I don’t want to kill you, I want you to leave and never have to look at me again”

The step back is easier now, but the empty feeling creeping up your stomach and chest is making you sick. Your heart is pounding wildly again, but you don’t know if it’s panic, or anger, or something else. It seems like only a few hours ago you were struggling with the idea of communicating with him, and now he’s pushing you out. “Good luck with your—“ you stop and look at him. He isn’t looking back, “your work.”

The blank face staring up at him; the dead eyes, and blue-tinted lips, feels like a reflection of himself. His fingers remain laced around her neck, tangled in the shoulder-length hair and delicate silver necklaces. It was too much—the force he used this time; the crack, and the crunch of her trachea as it collapsed under his hands was unusual for him. It felt good, though, and it was exactly what he needed. But now he's more exhausted than he can ever remember feeling. Seungmin is careful as he loosens his grip, because the necklaces cut right into his skin as he squeezed. The imprints of his hands are still there, red and angry, and a slow trickle of blood starts to drip from her nose.

There won't be any sleep tonight. He has to dispose of this body now, and he has to do it well, because his perfect handprints, and the DNA all over her jewelry won't do him any favors if she's found.

He looks down at her and sees you for the briefest moment. There is no resemblance, at all, and that he did on purpose. Still, you continue to invade his every thought.

Thursday arrived and passed quietly. No message. Expecting one more goodbye from you was a little bit stupid. Seungmin started things, fucked them up, started them again, and then ripped the rug from beneath you...any normal person wouldn't want to deal with his shit anymore, even if he wasn't what he is. You should truly want nothing to do with him, and you’re now out of his reach. You’re safe. You found his gray area.

"Maybe I should burn you," he says out loud. Also not his usual MO, but he's done it before. Not sticking to the same kill, same demographic, same dumping ground, is one of the reasons he hasn't been caught. At least that's what he assumes. "Or maybe I should just leave you in the hallway so they can find me."

Seungmiiin

He jumps, but he knows he's hearing things. That doesn't keep him from listening.

Minnie...please be careful, you know how clumsy you are sometimes

It's not really there, but he knows where it's coming from. If he follows it, it'll lead to the same spot it always does.

I love you so much, and I want you to be happy

"Stop it." Seungmin shakes his head, as if that will wake him up and quiet things again. "Stop, I know...I will be careful. I promise."

You're so clever, and talented, and full of love...nobody can take that from you, not even him

"Okay..." Seungmin flexes his sore hands, and carefully removes himself from the body. He'll burn everything on this bed, too, he decides. The sheets, the blankets, the bedspread...maybe the pillows. "Did you hear that, too?" He looks to Daengmo, sitting perfectly on the bedside table, watchful as ever. "I know you did."

/ / /

Fourteen hours; that's how long he sleeps. When he wakes up, he has no idea where he is, or what day it is. He hardly remembers what happened in the last 24 hours, or that he spent longer than he ever has disposing of a body. Seungmin is in pain, though—his hands, his shoulders, back...hips. The moment he flips onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, he starts to recall what he did, and why he's so sore, but he immediately starts to doze again. Fourteen hours wasn't enough.

He forces his eyes back open and picks up his phone; almost 9:30. "Did you really leave?" He says, and pulls up Thursday's flights from Seoul back to North America. Seungmin has no idea where you're from, or where you were headed, but he looks anyway.

"Air Canada...to Toronto, cancelled. Korean Air, to New York, arrived on time, to Chicago...delayed four hours.”

Why is he dwelling on this? His mind is finally clear for nothing but his own thoughts, and his own thoughts go right to you.

That’s a stupid idea, he thinks, and looks around, "isn’t it?" His eyes fall to his stuffed dog, still sitting quietly on the table. "Is it? She’s either there, or she’s not." Eyes back to the ceiling, "you liked her, didn’t you?"

The streets are still busy and loud, even at this hour, in this cold, but Seungmin feels good. Black coffee and a few painkillers perked him up, and the sharpness of his mind is doing wonders for his mood. It wasn’t until he finally crawled out of bed that it hit him; the last few weeks have actually been a nightmare, mentally. It was the worst rut he’s been in for a long time. He hasn’t quite been himself.

But he’s out of it now, finally. For a while.

He stands in front of your apartment building, and waits. It takes a few minutes before the crowd dwindles enough, but as soon as it does, he goes for the door, and it’s open. No buzz-in needed. Three floors up, he remembers (but there are only four floors anyway), three doors down, on the right. The hallway is deserted, and so quiet that it actually unnerves him a little—it almost makes him turn around. Seungmin stands there, and waits, listens. Still quiet. Your apartment isn’t your apartment anymore, he knows that, but he rings the doorbell anyway. He can hear it echo through your deserted living room.

Nothing. Seungmin knew you were gone. He digs in his coat pocket and pulls out the lock picking set he wasn’t sure he would even need, and he still doesn’t know why he’s using it. Maybe you left something behind. He works on the deadbolt for a few seconds, but even taking his time, and working quietly, he hears the click. The doorknob is next, and that one is even easier. Inside, the scent of your perfume, or shampoo…whatever it was, still lingers—a sweet, deep floral scent Seungmin can’t quite place. He shuts the door behind him, and breaths deep. It’s empty inside, and dark. No boxes, or clothes; just the couch, the armchair, the coffee maker. All the things that were here before you. Still, he walks around and looks, doing his best to keep quiet, and doing his best to adjust to the dark. His eyes don’t do well with no light, even with his glasses.

A creak stops him in his tracks and puts him on edge…gets his heart pumping, and he stays there frozen, ears perked. He likes this type of adrenaline rush.

“Seungm—“

It’s only a whisper, but he knows it’s behind him. The faint outline is human, but that’s all he can make out. As soon as his hand finds something to grab, it grabs, and pushes, hard, and their back finds the wall. The sound is so loud in the silence, and the neck he’s gripping is so small and soft…

“Ss…stop”

His eyes adjust, and he can see more clearly as he stares into your terrified face. They drop to his hand still wrapped tight around your neck. Seungmin’s body goes numb.

“It’s me, please”

“Fuck…I’m—” his grip finally relaxes and frees you, but he grabs your arms as your knees give out, “I thought you left,” he whispers to himself, and holds you up. “You’re still here.”

“Yeah, I’m here”

"Are you okay?”

“Let go,” you push him away, and finish falling to your knees. “Don’t touch me.” A panic attack is forcing its way in, and you can’t get enough air. This can’t be happening again—this shitty astral projection. Every time he’s around you, something bad happens. Why didn't you just stay at the airport?

Seungmin’s hand runs slowly across your back, “you scared me."

“Why are you here?” You shake his hand away from you again, but he doesn't take it off.

“I could ask you the same thing. I rang the doorbell before I broke in.”

“I figured it was a drunk neighbor”

“Look at me, let me see your neck”

You lift your head for him, but he doesn’t look at your neck. One hand cups your cheek, and the other moves the loose hair from your eyes. He looks at you, stares so hard it makes your stomach hurt, but you can't look away. "You didn't leave."

"No"

"Why didn't you leave?"

"My flight got cancelled, three times. I got tired and begged my landlord for a few more days." It's catching up to you; the exhaustion, and the stress, and you start to feel tears brimming. You really don't want to cry right now, though. Your brain always chooses the worst times to do it. "They lost my luggage, or someone stole it, I don't know...I don't have anything."

"Nothing?"

"Just what I have in my bag"

Something he can fix, that's the only thing running through his mind now. Seungmin is useless, and he knows that—the world wouldn’t change at all if he was suddenly gone. He takes and takes, and he never gives. He doesn’t fix things.

“Why are you here, Seungmin?”

Why is he here? He thinks you probably know why he’s here, because you’ve proven yourself to be very perceptive. But you’re also upset. You’ve been here with nothing, Seungmin assumes, since at least Thursday; two nights, three if you count tonight.

“I, uhm,” he can answer two different ways, or he can lie. “I thought you might have left something behind, so I didn’t think it would hurt to check.”

“Left something behind…like what?”

Maybe a letter, like he wrote for you. An article of clothing, or a piece of jewelry. Something tangible he could hold onto. “I needed to know if you really left”

“Keep telling me the truth”

Seungmin’s heart thumps in his chest, and in his head, “okay.”

“Do you want me leave?”

“No”

“Why?”

“I don’t know…” he watches as you stand and head toward the bedroom, “wait, wait.”

“I’m tired”

“Come back with me”

Finally, he gets it out. His heart still thumps, and it shakes his whole body, but he did it, he spit the words out. He isn’t ready for the let down.

“You sent me away, didn’t want me to look at you again.” He stares blankly, avoiding you completely. “You told me I’d be safer away from you.”

“And it might still be true.” Seungmin shakes his head, like he’s trying to clear more voices out of it. "But..."

“Okay”

The only possession you have left, your backpack—not even completely full, hangs on Seungmin’s shoulder as he works on his locks. Four of them, two different keys, plus one digital lock; you’d think he had something to hide in here. “Sorry, this one always sticks.” He gives you a half smile. His demeanor changed drastically after your okay.

“It’s alright”

“You can shower, if you’d like. Are you hungry?”

Yes, you’re starving. You still have money, but you were preparing for a hotel bill come tomorrow morning. Canceling is an option now, you suppose, but you’re hesitant to do it. “I am.”

“What are you in the mood for? Unless you’d rather sleep first, maybe you’re more tired than hungry. A bath might be nice, though. Maybe—”

“How about I shower while you…make something, or order it?”

“I can cook”

/ / /

The last time you used this bathroom, you were mid-panic attack. Now you’re comfortable in the tub Seungmin insisted you soak in, and you’re very glad he did. You watched him pick out his favorite bath salts so you could try them—he filled the tub, poured them in, and made sure you approved before leaving you…”take your time.” He gave you his full smile this time, but it was a little hesitant.

This is the most relaxed you’ve been in weeks, and you hate thinking it now, but Seungmin has given you nothing but terror, anxiety, anger, and overwhelming emptiness. It’s been a struggle finding anything positive in your short time in Korea, and it’s because of him. Leaving was supposed to fix this, but you couldn’t do it. A cancelled flight was nothing, but a second cancelled flight felt like a sign. After the third one, you gave up on rebooking, but you had no clue what your plan was from there.

Ten minutes into your bath, he knocks softly before cracking the door, “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to make anything too spicy unless I asked”

“No spice”

The door closes softly, and you can’t hold back a stupid grin. He’s out of his element right now, again, and you wonder if he’s ever cooked for anyone before; a date, if that’s what you can still call yourself; a friend, an acquaintance. No, you know he hasn't; Seungmin doesn't like company. You’re messing him up, just like he’s messing you up.

/ / /

Seungmin can cook, he’s just not very good at it. He’s hoping you’re hungry enough not to care. Focusing on the food in front of him is difficult, though, when your half-unzipped backpack is right there on the couch. There isn’t much in it, but there is something in there; your most important things, probably—the only things you felt the need to keep with you for the long trip home. He can’t help it, he has to look. It’s not even close to the worst he’s done to you already.

A phone charger, earbuds, a jewelry case. Seungmin opens that, but there’s not much inside: two small silver rings, a necklace with a medallion hanging from it. He recognizes it right away, because his mother had the same one in her jewelry box; St. Michael, vanquishing the devil.

He digs a little further. A pill case, a sweatshirt…he pushes that aside and wraps his fingers around a tightly folded piece of paper, and he recognizes it as soon as he pulls it out. He barely unfolds it before a familiar dried flower slips out and onto the floor, and then another.

“Be careful with those”

Seungmin jumps, but doesn’t drop anymore, “sorry,” and he bends to pick them up.

“So you’re a murderer, and a snoop”

“Snoop? Like the little dog?”

“Yeah, like the beagle. Did you find anything good?”

“I thought you would’ve thrown this away.” He gently opens one side and slides the flowers back inside. “I mean, I’m not usually this—”

“Nosy?”

“I was going to say rude”

“Nowhere near the worst thing you’ve done, it’s okay”

Right. Not even close. “Oh, let me get you something to wear,” he says, but he takes an extra few moments to scan over every part of you, tightly wrapped in his towel. “A shirt, and maybe something else of mine will fit.”

You follow him into the bedroom, and his curtain is pulled back as far as it goes. The view is nicer now than it was when you stood there during the day, and much nicer than it was when you ran out in a panic, looking for an exit. Seungmin is on his knees, rifling through the bottom dresser drawer, and he’s a nicer view, too. You still think you should hate him, and you do, a little bit, but the longer you’re near him, the easier it becomes.

“Here, try this,” he holds up a black t-shirt, a little faded, and definitely big, even for him. “It’s comfortable.”

“Did you dye your hair?” The way the light hits it in here, it looks darker.

He hands you the shirt, and watches carefully as you pull it over your head. “I did, it just didn’t take very well.” The towel doesn’t shake loose until the hem falls below your hips, and he's a little disappointed. Still, he looks for whatever shape he can find under all the fabric. His eyes move down your legs, and back up slowly, stopping when he gets to your thighs.

“The glasses suit you, I like them”

“You do?” He lights up a little at the compliment, and smiles when you nod. “My shirt suits you.”

Seungmin hopes, he really hopes…he’s not sure where you’re at right now, as far as trusting him, and feeling comfortable…but he hopes you won’t take a step back when he takes one toward you, or when he reaches his hand out to touch your shirt sleeve. And then, very cautiously, your arm. Goosebumps jump up on your skin when he runs his thumb down to your elbow, but you don’t shy away. “You’re hungry…we should eat.”

“We should,” you move forward, and pull him down until you can almost reach his lips. “What did you make?”

Are you teasing him on purpose? “Spam fried rice…and eggs. I'm sure I have something sweet, if you’re in the mood.”

“That sounds good, yeah.” He’s pulled a little closer, but your lips land on the apple of his warm cheek, “sex is supposed to be better after you eat.”

/ / /

“Did we enjoy each other’s company?” Seungmin smiles to himself as he pours you more tea.

“You certainly did, considering how wrapped up in me you were that morning”

His face drops a little, “I was?”

Wrapped up is a little exaggerated, but you do tell him exactly how you woke up to him, and he blushes. “I can be a little noisy in my sleep, sorry.”

“And I was on your side of the bed, so maybe you were just migrating back to it”

He laughs, and getting that out of him feels like an accomplishment you didn’t know you needed. This version of Seungmin looks, and feels, different than any other you’ve met, but there are bits and pieces of each one still hanging on. The worry still sits in his eyes, but it’s subtle—every time he looks into yours, you can hear him wondering when you’ll leave again. He’s still nervous, just a little on edge, as if whatever he’s doing is wrong, or just not completely correct. When he asked how the food was, you told him the truth; it was perfect, and exactly what you needed, but you also told him, jokingly, that his onion chopping needed some work. He seemed to take it to heart, so it took some convincing to get his mind off of it. And whatever feelings come back when it’s time—the thing that sits on his shoulder, always seems to be there in some small way. Maybe it’s just the memory of it.

But he’s different. Seungmin did what he needed to do to feel normal for a while, and you see it. He looks at you easily, with much less intensity, and laughs a little bit louder. This must be the real Seungmin.

“I’m much more comfortable here,” Seungmin sits and hands you a mug, “and warmer.” Because you asked him to turn up the heat, and he apologized several times for not doing it sooner. “Thank you for having me again. Don’t make me regret it.”

He tilts his head to the side, and raises his eyebrows. You think you see a smile trying to tug at his lips, but he keeps it to himself, “no, I don’t want to do that. But I have a question.”

“Go ahead”

“Do you think being on top would make you more comfortable?”

“On top?” You stare at him blankly for a few beats, sip your tea. “Oh, on top. Of you. Maybe.” You keep your face neutral. He looks a little dejected, but when your eyes wander down, you can see how fast he’s getting hard, and a wave of pleasure runs all the way through you. “Won’t hurt to try.”

That’s all he needs to hear. Seungmin goes right for your waist and pulls you to your feet, “if you need me to stop…” he waits for your nod before leading you back to the bedroom.

“You changed your bedspread, you changed everything…well, almost everything.” Seungmin sees your gaze land on Daengmo. “Tell me about him later?”

He nods, sits comfortably and unbuttons his jeans, unzips them carefully, and groans when he can get them away from his erection. His sweatshirt is next, and when he gets it over his head and tosses it aside, you’re half kneeling on the bed, hem of your tshirt clenched in your fist. Seungmin laughs, and then pats his bare thigh, “right here.”

You listen, and carefully straddle him. “Oh,” you jump when his dick, still confined to his briefs, rubs against your aching clit. “Don’t tease,” you reach down and pull at the fabric.

“Not tonight,” he finishes freeing himself and rubs his head over your wet, silky entrance. “No teasing.” The groan he makes comes out so deep, and so needy, “are you ready? You feel ready.”

Two fingers slide down and up, disappearing deep inside of you, and the pressure he gives makes you whine. His free hand gently squeezes your hip, holds you still—the other slides out, “mm, yeah…so wet for me.” Before he does anything else, he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean, “I’m all yours…” and lies back on the pillow.

You’re not sure you can get him in like this, but you take him in your hand and spread yourself open, slide your knees further and further apart so there’s nowhere else to go but in. The pressure is intense, but you know how wet you are, and how wet he’s still making you as you look at his calm, smirking face.

“Yeah, that’s good,” his hips jump, but he keeps himself under control. He wants you doing all the work right now. “A little more, I know you can take it all,” he moans when you stop and pull yourself up, and then slowly slide back down, “fuck.”

Back down, little by little, and the stretch hurts until you start to move up and down, gently, working your thighs to the point of burning. But you want to take him all. You’re still all here, no panic, no overwhelming memory of what happened before. Seungmin is so content just lying there watching you, and you want this now. All of it. You slow down and relax before setting both palms against his stomach. He flexes, and you feel every muscle hold you steady; you feel his hips twitch as you take another inch…and then another. And one more, all of him, stretching you to your limit.

“Good?”

“Good,” you roll your hips and stretch yourself even more, “so good.”

Seungmin wets his thumb on his tongue and finds your clit, teases it as you start to bounce again, “fuck,” his free hand slides over yours, “fuck, I might get there first…you feel so good,” he whines and moves faster, rubbing in tight little circles as you lose yourself and start to fuck him harder.

It hurts, in the best way—you can’t stop, and you can’t slow down until you come His heavy eyes and parted lips, tongue just barely poking out of the corner of his mouth…slowly licking across his teeth, is getting you there fast. His smile grows as you stare, and he moans again, just for you, “you feel so fucking good,” he whispers, and his exaggerated whine sends you over the edge. It starts building, fast, and you need to touch more of him. Your palm slides up to his chest, over his hard nipple, and back down his side. It tickles him, you can tell, but he doesn’t miss a beat rubbing your orgasm out of you.

You move faster, fuck him harder, and let the feeling overtake you. Seungmin keeps going, and his hips start moving now, thrusting up into you with enough force to knock the air out of your lungs, but it doesn’t phase you this time.

Seungmin is loud when he comes. The bed shakes, and your body screams at you. He grips you tight, fingernails digging deep into your hips. The mess of cum starts running down your thighs and onto him. When he finally slows down, it’s because he’s out of breath, but his hips continue to move, softly, in and out.

/ / /

It was fast, but you’re exhausted. Racing heart, burning hips, and mess working its way out between your legs—you lay yourself onto the pillow and look to him. He’s still flat on his back, hands splayed across him, fingers moving against his tight stomach. His mouth is slightly parted as he catches his breath, and his eyes are closed. You take a second and try to read his mind.

But you can’t figure it out. You can’t begin to guess…you only hope he’s having good thoughts.

“Hm?” Seungmin looks at you, eyes mostly open, “did you say my name?”

“No, just looking at you”

Again, his eyes close, and you hear a quiet, exasperated what? come from him.

“What’s wrong? Seungmin?”

His hands move to cover his face, and he keeps them there as he mumbles a little to himself. You catch a word here and there, but you can't make anything of it until he finally uncovers his mouth...

"You shouldn't be here...you shouldn't be here right now"

Not again. He can't be doing this to you again, not after the trouble he just went through getting you here. "What do you mean?" Your heart is still pounding from the sex, and now it's mixing with the sick feeling in your stomach. "Seungmin?"

"What?" He sounds irritated. He looks irritated.

"You want me to...no, you don't, do you?" You sit up and pull the blankets up to your chin. The slow, uncomfortable feeling of his cum dripping out of you is making this so much worse. "No, you can't." The last part you whisper, because you don't know if you want him to hear. Your throat tightens, and your eyes water, and you think you feel him staring, but when you check, he's not.

Seungmin's eyes are closed, and his jaw is clenched tight. "Please, just leave me alone right now."

It was stupid to expect him to just be okay, but he was okay. He was himself when he brought you back, and when he made you a bath. When he cooked for you. It also seemed stupid to expect yourself to be okay, but you were, and still are. Sort of. You decide to just stop talking, tuck yourself deep into the covers, and wait for whatever this is to pass. Leaving isn't really an option for you anymore. You don't want to leave.

/ / /

A hard kick straight to your shin wakes you from your sleep. You were in deep, dreaming like before, only this time Seungmin wasn’t there. The darkness, the cold wet ground, the sound of footsteps in the mud…that was all still there—loud, desperate cries from a child, barely audible, but that sound sticks with you even after waking up. It rings in your head as the spot just below your knee throbs in pain.

“Seungmin," a gentle shake of his shoulder brings him out of his sleep, and his face relaxes almost immediately when he realizes he’s in his bed. “You didn't wanna be in that dream anymore, did you?”

He takes a few deep breaths before sitting up and rubbing at his cheeks, “was I talking?” And then he moves his hands to just below his eyes, as if he's feeling for tears, “or—”

“No, you kicked me. And you looked very unhappy.”

“Kicked you?” Seungmin folds his legs up to his chest, and he looks like a kid. A very tired, very confused kid. “Hard?”

“Hard enough, but I’m fine”

“I’m sorry”

Reading him is difficult, maybe because you’re still tired. Last night feels like it couldn’t have happened—all of it; Seungmin coming to find you, bringing you home with him…what that came after. Everything feels like a fever dream you’ve been floating through, half awake. “No, it’s okay. I was in the middle of a dream, too. Being awake is better.”

“Were you comfortable, did you sleep well?" He’s looking at your legs as they move around under the blankets, “let me see.”

“I’m okay, I promise." He clearly doesn't remember.

Seungmin nods, but pulls at the blankets anyway. He keeps pulling and reaching until you finally give in and show him your leg. “Thank you,” he touches the red spot, and the slightly broken skin.

“Do you remember last night?” You ask, and he doesn’t move, but his gaze does. “After, I mean.”

Yes, he remembers laying next to you, and trying not to doze off too fast—still so tired after so much sleep. He lost that battle, though. “Yeah, I fell asleep. I should have stayed awake with you.”

“You don’t remember talking to me before that?”

He shakes his head, and sets his warm hand over the sore spot. If he doesn't remember it, then maybe it doesn't matter. "What did I say?"

You watch his face as you speak, "uhm, you told me I shouldn't be here. And you asked me to leave you alone."

There is no change in his face, so you suspect he isn't very surprised by what he said. His hand slides down your shin, to your ankle, and then back up...very slowly. It's gentle and sweet, but something about it is unnerving at the same time. That doesn't stop a chill from running up your body, and goosebumps to run up your arms. His warm hands feel good, and when he squeezes your thigh, you have to stifle a moan.

"Don't believe everything I say"

The softness of his voice, and another squeeze of his hand almost distracts you from what he tells you. "How do I know what to believe?" You pull yourself back a little, but Seungmin's grip on your thigh tightens. "How do I know when you're telling me the truth?"

"I didn't mean that last night"

"You sounded like you meant it"

"I didn't, I promise." He pulls you closer, "look at me." He waits until you do, but whatever he's trying to say hasn't come together in his head yet. Seungmin is feeling very overwhelmed, very suddenly, and he wants to scream. He wants to squeeze your thigh until his nails dig in deep enough to break the skin. "I don't know how to make you believe me."

"Please, let go"

He looks down at the hold he has on you, and it's too much, just not quite enough to make you bleed. His grip loosens, and the mark left behind is red and angry.

"I need to go clean up"

/ / /

The strong smell of coffee comes through the bathroom door, so you know he's up, and probably out there waiting. You check the marks on your thigh. It stings, and you can see the perfect crescent shaped indentations he left behind. It could be much worse—the cool washcloth takes away most of the pain. You rinse it under warm water and clean up the mess you should've taken care of last night; the mess you really shouldn't have made at all. But you try not to think about it. You try not to think about what he just outright told you about himself. And this hold he has on you—it's not the best idea, but you shove that down for now, too.

You crack the door and peek out, take in the smell of the coffee, and head for the kitchen. Sitting on the counter is a mug, already filled, two pieces of warm toast, and a jar of plum jam.

But Seungmin isn’t here.

Cold air hits you where you’re standing, and you follow it back to his bedroom—to the slowly moving curtains covering the sliding door of the balcony. The bed is empty and made, and there’s a fresh tshirt and pair of sweatpants sitting at the corner. You’ll have to assume they’re for you, and you're thankful for them. It's freezing in here again. You change before returning to the curtains, and very carefully, very quietly, pull them aside just enough to look out.

Seungmin is sitting cross-legged on the ground, hands neatly in his lap. He’s leaning a little, so his head is resting on the wall closest to him. You know he must be cold, because he’s only in the tshirt and shorts he wore to bed, and you also know he’s out there because he wants, or needs to be alone. So you leave him alone. You return to your coffee and the breakfast he made, and you wait.

[chuunai]

I had an idea for the 100 followers thingy- so like the babies thing but you’re a single mother (maybe teen mom?) and dazai (pm) falls in love with you and your baby :} ps- I LOVE YOU TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF SUGAR 💗‼️‼️‼️

I’m trying I swear TvT

✧˚ · . you’re a virgin and I’m just a meth head - pm! dazai osamu

the new hire at the port mafia interests him. the baby, too.

summary ⋆ ★ comfort, fluff with a sprinkle of angst, mentions of teen pregnancy, reader and PM! dazai are seventeen, SFW, mentions of a former abusive relationship, mentions of suicide (it’s fucking dazai), happy ending.

Assistants were something he never cared for much.

They came and go, either requesting to work for a different department in the Port Mafia after witnessing his peculiarities or dying. He hadn’t ever formed any bonds with them. Hell, he hardly knew their names. Dazai preferred to give them childish nicknames such as ‘four-eyes’ for the ones with glasses or ‘baldy’ for the ones who had barely began balding.

No use in actually getting to know them.

All they were good for anyway was organizing his work and making a schedule of meetings and pointless missions he’d hardly follow. And what could they do? Nothing.

Once, he had attempted to get Ango to apply for the job during an outing at Bar Lupin, but that four-eyes declined. So did Oda. Geez, his friends lacked faith in him. Dazai wasn’t that bad of a boss. His subordinates didn’t die that often compared to the others.

Then again, his most recent assistant had died via overdosing. Straight from the Port Mafia’s warehouses, too. Dying of his own stupidity because karma struck him down. The high may have been sending him to the clouds, but he got too close to the sun just as Icarus did and burned—or in this case, vomited—to death. Fun.

A replacement would be needed, yes, but that would involve looking through so many applications and that was boring compared to strangling himself or pulling Chuuya’s hair when the redhead was speaking with Kouyou.

He’d pick irritating the slug over paperwork any day. At least one was fun.

So he just had Mori pick one out. As long as they wouldn’t be a nuisance and knew their place, he didn’t care who it was. Boy, girl, whatever. All ages welcomed. Dazai preferred younger though. The old farts were annoying and so utterly dumb! So when a subordinate gave him a file for his new assistant, he didn’t think anything of it. He always got those for record keeping.

Although this particular individual piqued his interest as his eyes gazed over the information attached.

The age was young—seventeen, same as him. A girl. According to the report, you were previously stationed as a secretary for some lower ranking member. And you’d just joined, too. Only a few blissful months ago. Just barely a baby in the crime world. All dewy-eyed and truly unknowing of the dark underbelly of Yokohama.

Most interesting, though, and the thing that struck his curiosity was the fact that a small sticky note was attached to the last page.

‘Single mother of eight month old girl’

There weren’t many parents in the Mafia, much less teenage ones. Nobody had time to have a baby with the lack of safety. But you did. Someone desperate enough to provide for their child to the point where they joined an illegal organization without even being an adult yet. That took will and selflessness. Something he lacked.

And without having even met you yet, Dazai found himself fascinated by you.

Murmuring your name to himself, he found himself a bit startled at how smooth it rolled off his tongue. He liked it, too. Your name was nice to say.

Tossing the file onto his desk carelessly, Dazai tapped his fingers on the desk, mind wandering once more. If you had a child then you’d probably work your best to support them. You’d be competent enough for him.

Apparently competent enough to the point where you felt like you could handle bringing the baby to the Mafia HQ.

“I don’t remember hiring two assistants.”

Dazai’s voice came out as slightly amused and startled. There you were, standing in-front of his desk while occasionally shushing your…daughter? It looked like a girl, anyway.

“Sorry- her sitter wasn’t available and I-“

His eyes stared at your reddening cheeks—embarrassment and shame, he could tell—as you spoke again.

“I don’t really have anyone to watch her. I’m so sorry, sir.”

Sir? You called him sir? That made him wave his hand a bit dismissively. The only people who called him ‘sir’ were the random grunts and gunmen that served under him. Or people who were scared shitless of him.

“Dazai. Not sir.”

Sitting up languidly, his uncovered eye focused on the baby. Curls of dark hair fell over her forehead while her tiny hands grabbed at your shirt and hair. Funny, he thought.

“And the baby can stay.”

She reminded him of some of the orphans Oda took care of. Especially Sakura. Maybe they had the same name, too. Unlikely, though. She didn’t look like a Sakura, really.

Picking up a pen, he pointed it at you, a small smile on her face.

“Speaking of, may I know her mother’s name?”

He knew it already. But it felt more right if he convinced himself you told him.

“Oh! Yes, uhm, I’m (L/N) (Y/N). And her name,” Tapping your baby’s forehead, she released a small coo, giggling slightly. “is (L/N) Yukirou.”

“Winter baby, huh. I’ll guess, December 16th?”

This was so much fun for him so far. Maybe Yukirou really could be his second assistant. As a joke, of course.

Nodding, you began to ramble on about the baby as he relaxed back in his chair, spinning around and making funny faces at Yukirou. The small child giggled and outreached her fingers to him, probably infatuated by his bandages and messy hair. He didn’t touch her, though. No need to let such a good small thing interact with a person like him.

And so minutes went by. Technically, he should’ve been doling out tasks and trying to kill himself again—he had heard of a technique where one could inject apple juice into their neck and die, but he wasn’t sure it’d work—but it slipped out of his grasp. Maybe it was the fact you two were so close in age. The fact that in another universe you could’ve been classmates fueled this moment. Dazai didn’t really know people his age other than Chuuya, but Chuuya was Chuuya. You were new.

New to everything in this line of business. The killing, the release of morals. Then again, you were just an assistant. You’d never directly be involved with that. Just helping him out with whatever was needed.

Dazai thought that was a smart choice, whether or not you intended for it to be. As an assistant, you’d be safe from the gunfire and outermost threats. More likely to live and protect your daughter.

So caring in a line of work where lives were dispensable.

He wondered how you got there. Not to the Port Mafia—the file told him. But how you took on such a frowned upon job to solely provide for your child. Was the father a deadbeat? Or actually dead? His father was the same. Dead five years into Dazai’s life.

His mother tried her best, but she died too and he slipped onto Mori’s grasp. Hopefully your baby wouldn’t end up in the same situation.

The peaceful moment was interrupted by one of his men who dropped off a load of documents, side-eyeing you before leaving.

Dazai wished you hadn’t turned the conversation back to work.

“Sir, sorry- Dazai-san, would you like me to organize the papers..?”

Why did he forget that you were just an assistant of his? The medication must be making his mind woozy again.

“By date and incident, yep. Also, if you see any that mentioned a Chuuya, please throw them out. Or burn them. Preferably the burning part.”

His office was always to be kept rid of that ginger.

“On it.”

And so he doodled a noose on the wood of his desk while you slowly put the papers away. It soon became clear to him that Yukirou was making the job a tad difficult by trying to grab at the papers.

A slight idea of letting her crawl loose in Mori’s office and destroying it entered his mind, but it quickly left.

“Y’know, if she’s being a devil, I can play with her for a bit. I swear I’ll be good!”

The words left him before he could really process them. Next thing he knew he was wearing the baby carrier with tiny fingers pulling at his shirt. Instructions poured from your lips as he nodded and patted the baby’s back.

“I’ll kill you if anything goes wrong.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at the sound of that. You? Kill him? Never going to happen. Unless it were a double suicide, but you probably wouldn’t say yes.

And he replied when the slight fear in your eyes registered after remembering that he was your boss in the Mafia.

“If course, cutie. I give you permission to kill me if theoretically anything goes wrong.”

Dazai made sure to sneak a peek at your reddening cheeks before leaving his office with the baby strapped to his chest and tugging at his bandages like a little snake.

That’s how it all started. A boy and a girl who happened to have a baby.

He’d never regret how months went by as you two became closer and closer. Joking around, complaining about work, all the stuff friends did. Hell, Dazai even watched Yukirou sometimes.

Thank god Chuuya wasn’t there to see him watching children’s cartoons on your couch with a baby in his lap and a stuffed animal in the other.

Or how he insisted on covering some of your rent when you were struggling. Yukirou needs a home, after all. He sees himself in her a bit. And he didn’t want her to turn out like him. If he couldn’t change his own life for the better, he’d change hers.

And yours.

Much better than that dickhead that fathered Yukirou. You told Dazai about it one night when he stayed over after babysitting once more. Yukirou was napping in her nursery, and you two were sitting on the couch just talking.

Talking turned into sharing details of your lives, and he came up. Your old flame who ditched you. Breaking a promise that he’d be there for the baby and you. Dazai was silent all throughout it. Quiet when you spoke of the emotional abuse and stress that you had, quiet when you began crying over the fact you never got to graduate high school.

He was just there, daring to awkwardly rub your back as you vented. He wondered if you had talked about it before. Probably not.

Dazai felt like he too needed to share a story of his childhood too in exchange for yours. So he told you about the poor neighborhood he grew up in and the horrors he saw daily.

Did it lessen the impact of your venting? Most likely, but in his opinion, he was trying to show you that he trusted you now too. He assumed it worked when you fell asleep on his shoulder. He took care of Yukirou when she woke crying an hour later. He would’ve been a much better father than that bastard.

It didn’t help either that Yukirou began to see him as her daddy. He was there when she turned a year old, gifting her all sorts of things. Scolding her when she nibbled on his hands. Doing nearly everything a dad would.

Even when she managed to say ‘mama’ and ‘dada’ for the first time, it was when all three of you were in the room together. In her tiny mind, it was her family. Her mama and Dazai—her papa. Oda congratulated him for becoming a father when you came along one day with him to Bar Lupin.

It didn’t live up to Chuuya’s reaction when he first heard one of his guys call Dazai a doting father. The shortstack had gone up to him asking if he really was Yukirou’s dad—rumors went around at HQ quickly—and Dazai had to sadly reply that he wasn’t. Sometimes he wished he was. Months of time with you led to nights in bed where he dreamed of a universe that he was really the dad. That Yukirou had his brown eyes instead of her dad’s blue ones.

It wasn’t fair.

Nor were his growing feelings.

Dazai was smart. A genius thinker and planner. So of course he noticed how his heart began to rapidly beat around you. The sweating of his usually cold hands.

He’d had crushes in the past, sure. But it didn’t equate to this. Such a strong connection only made it worse. Was it wrong his Google history lately was filled with questions about confessing to and dating a single mom?

Did you even like him back?

That question couldn’t be answered by anyone but you. It scared him. You probably didn’t. Not as more than a brother, anyway. His suicidal ideation and tendencies scared off any woman who wanted more than sex. But he probably wouldn’t be living long anyway. So he’d have to shoot his shot eventually.

Which he did after another five months of consideration and thought. Dazai committed this act by simply asking you to sort out some notes for him. A total of eight. Each one had a single word on it. If you correctly put them together, it spelled:

‘I like you. Do you like me back?’

Much to his relief and shock, you did. You did, and he had hugged you so tightly. Tightening their bond, too.

So he became your boyfriend. And he wore the title of ‘dad’ to Yukirou gladly. The little girl saw him as her papa, and he couldn’t deny it. Even if it wasn’t biologically, she was his. And yours.

Dazai’s life used to be mundane and slow, yet with his new…family, he felt genuine happiness for once. A reason to live.

That was the greatest gift he could receive of all.

Regular Tags: @twst-om-lover, @xxcandlelightxx, @sinfulthoughtsposts.

Tags for everyone who interacted with this post (it’s over 100): @walking-simp, @hypocritic-trash-baby, @heartsfourdazai, @cheriiyaya, @depressed-monarch, @nyxt0t, @baby-tini, @h0nk3rs, @internet-angell, @cupidszvlvr, @owosamu, @my-dear-melancholy, @dazaibae, @nekomafumafufan18-blog, @cvsmois, @lizsano, @nanamiinto, @inojuuy, @reomarys, @mayanakahara, @briiscoolig, @maislovebot, @syona-sachyo, @xieqq2, @angelof-darkness, @moriiko, @fuckthisfuckingshit, @daushu, @wrynue, @amnda-ft-fyodor, @rain-alucard, @hanayoshiii, @moemoekunn, @thatwasa, @miiiloo, @probablyzombiedinosaurs, @mauviese, @chips-and-vinegar, @https-dazai, @rragudoru, @leyla3x0, @cheetozai, @jillyfsh, @rylerboi, @linaaeatsfamilies, @zorizoras, @onlinewhisper14, @komicoral, @anim3-simps, @theoddsinner, @caayye, @scaramow, @such-a-silly-little-gy, @bunnybs-stuff, @psychiclovecollective, @sleepy-yumi516, @fromjas, @suzurans-world, @mrstengenuzui, @mitislm, @tealover111, @edgarallanpoeswifey, @baby-tini, @yaz4luvv, @deliciouscandysalad, @isrealityevenreal, @briefcreationcandy, @astr3eaa, @underscoredaniii, @nolongerhooman, @notalooo, @ratinawetsocksweater, @tomiroro,

Rest in comments I’m crying now also if your tag is white it’s because you didn’t pop up when I was doing the @‘s

[ceruleanwhore]

Sariel is also a victim of the late king but no one talks about it

⚠ TW: Talking about grooming plus mentions of rape and suicide ⚠

(Also, heads up that there will be spoilers for Sariel's route in here.)

I haven't seen anyone talk about how Sariel was literally groomed by the late king yet, so I decided to just go ahead and do that. Please skip this post if this topic is something that could hurt you to read about.

First off, let's talk power imbalance. The previous king was, well, a king and, at the time he first met Sariel, Sariel was a poor 10 year old child whose sole source of income was crime. As a king, prev king was always going to have a power imbalance with just about anyone he ever met, but the power imbalance between him and Sariel is literally as skewed as it can get at the time they meet. Then, when you add in the part where one of the few and most important aspects of Sariel's backstory that we get in his route is how his dad just disappeared one day, it gets even worse and more complicated.

When the king met Sariel, the only appropriate thing he could've done would've been to find him a home and get him adopted or fostered or something, not bring him into the palace and give him a job with tons of responsibility at the ripe old age of ten. That choice was bad enough but it's worse because the job in question was to take care of this man's children and also do a shitload of emotional labor for him. The way the king used child!Sariel like a therapist and shared all his mental, emotional, and relationship issues with this child is a textbook example of grooming. Not to mention that this guy also gave Sariel whole identity so, for the rest of his life, Sariel's abuser is entwined with most aspects of his life, including something as simple as his name.

Somehow, this horrible situation got even worse because prev king attempted suicide and Sariel was the one who found him when he did that. I understand very well that suicide is not a choice and I would never blame someone for attempting suicide or dying that way, but when the person in question has already groomed the fuck out of the person who ends up finding them after their suicide attempt, that makes things quite complicated. Because of how the king had already groomed Sariel and, more specifically, dumped his mental and emotional problems on him, I think it's inevitable that Sariel would've felt responsible for that suicide attempt. After however long of being that sole confidant to the king, I can't imagine he wouldn't feel personally responsible for the king's mental and emotional struggles, up to and including suicide.

Another factor here that further complicates things is the complicated (read: shitty) nature of the king and his actions. We all know by now that two of the eight princes were conceived by rape, and Sariel knows that too but, in spite of that, we regularly get to see him defend this horrible king, insisting that he was complicated and that he never would've hurt anyone if it weren't for the one singular loss he suffered in his life. What this means is that we, the audience, have full knowledge of how horrible the previous king was and that he was a literal rapist and, therefore, it's in character for him to also be a groomer, but Sariel is in the thick of it and can't fully perceive or understand what happened to him. Instead, he continues to view the king as his "special friend" who was widely misunderstood and whom only Sariel was able to fully understand, so he continues to defend his abuser.

The other thing is what we see in Sariel's full ending bonus story about the journal that the king gave him on Bloodstained Rose Day. We know from the rest of his route and two endings that, as a child, he somehow ended up on the run/living a vagrant lifestyle with his father until that father disappeared one day but, otherwise, he has no clue who he is, where he comes from, or what the tattoo on his hand even was. This undoubtedly was a source of significant trauma and turmoil for him so, by having a lot of that information and being able to give it to him, the king had yet even more fucking power over Sariel. The worst part is that, when he gives Sariel the diary, the king even outright admits that he had this all along and chose to withhold it from Sariel to deliberately keep him from leaving the palace. He literally tells us directly that he's been abusing his power over this literal fucking child since he was ten fucking years old.

I know Ikemen never intended for us to see prev king's character this way and, like how we were supposed to look at Licht and Nokto's mother being an abusive cunt and instead somehow see a situation where there was no clear bad guy, Sariel is meant to tell us how to feel about the king. However, I think they accidentally set up a very clear case of grooming instead and it's all there in the text. I'm sure it won't happen, but I fucking wish that Sariel's sequel would include him realizing all of this, working through the trauma, and finally denouncing the late king, at least in private. I'd also love to see the sequel take Sariel and Emma to Obsidian and for them to get more info about his identity and family from Gilbert, since the kingdom he comes from was taken over by Obsidian.

[shesjustanothergeek]

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Masterlist of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: Hello everyone! I'm so happy to be back writing this story. I did have a little vacation over Thanksgiving week and spent time with my family, so this chapter is later than I wanted it to be, the same with my other story. This is where some more HOTD cannon divergence happens. I've always wondered what would have happened if Aegon-- oop, I was just about to spoil the chapter! Thank y'all again for your patience and support, and Merry-Happy-Early-Christmas! 

Chapter Warnings: angst, depression, mentions of miscarriage, suicidal ideations, suicide attempt, PTSD, baby girl has TRAUMA.

The cold winds howled over the cliffs of Dragonstone, carrying the scent of the sea and the acrid tang of sulfur. Inside the towering stone walls of the ancient castle, the air was thick with silence, as if the structure was holding its breath in solemn grief. The Hall of the Painted Table was empty, the fires cold, casting long shadows that crept along the black stone floors. And there, you wandered in the solitude of those looming corridors, a solitary figure lost within your dark fortress.

You had once been a woman of unparalleled spirit, a warrior, a strategist, and a force as unbreakable as the dragon you commanded. Your presence alone had once commanded respect, fear, and admiration. You rallied allies within the treacherous red stone walls of the Red Keep and avenged those you loved with a fury that burned as bright as dragon fire, yet now, that fire was nothing but dying embers flickering faintly within your hollowed soul.

You moved like a shadow, drifting through the halls without purpose or direction. Your once-proud gait reduced to listless steps, and your eyes were clouded and distant as if fixed on some vision that haunted you beyond the walls of Dragonstone. You became a ghost of yourself, trapped between a relentless past and an uncertain future.

Concerns from your family continued to mount when reports of Cannibal, who once patrolled the island with an iron fury, were spotted, allowing another wild dragon to steal his food. The Keepers said he did not bear his teeth nor protect his kill of a white billy goat when the brown body of Sheepstealer soared over his head. He stared at the fellow beast, flattening his coal-black body and curling into himself with an exhaustive sigh as the grey-eyed animal was snatched into the large maw of Sheepstealer.

Cannibal would have ripped the dragon's throat for daring to come so close.

Daemon watched you from afar, his heart breaking with every step you took. He remembered the fierce woman you were, the woman who once looked at him with eyes blazing with determination and a spirit as wild as the dragons. Now, you were a shell, lost in despair and guilt, crushed by the weight of a purpose you believed you failed. You were so close to securing the throne that your mother would be robbed of, only to see it slip away.

The Rogue Prince was not known for his comfort and empathy skills, finding himself unable to help you. Such tender qualities were better fit for that of a mother, and he implored Rhaenyra to assist him in the matter.

She would offer soft words of hope and love into your ears, attempting to share your grief at the loss of a child. While she had never experienced it herself, she watched her mother for her entire life struggle in the birthing bed and understood the pain and fear surrounding it. Yet no words or activities spent in the presence of your adoptive mother could heal that ache, and you refused to be the cause of any heedless stress regarding the impending usurpation of her throne. Knowing what it could do to the pregnant body, you continued to keep yourself at a distance from Rhaenyra and your father.

Desperate to rekindle your spark, Luke tried to draw you back to the things that once brought you joy. He laid out your favorite books in the library as he led you to it, hoping that the stories and history you once devoured with passion would call to you again. But you merely walked past the shelves, running a trembling hand over the leather-bound spines without pulling a single one down. Your fingers lingered over the titles, and Luke watched the briefest flicker of interest cross your eyes, only to fade as quickly as it had come.

Then, with Daemon's help, Luke brought you a sword, one of the finely crafted Valyrian blades you cherished. He placed it in your hands, encouraging you to spar with your father, hoping to remind you of your strength and the thrill you once felt when training, yet you merely held the sword in silence, your grip weak and unsteady, gaze vacant as though the weight of the blade was more than you could bear. You let it slip from your hands, the metal clattering against the stone floor, a hollow echo that seemed to reverberate through the very bones of the castle.

Even the presence of family brought no solace. Luke gathered those closest to you, hoping their laughter, warmth, and love would stir something within you, but you sat among them, a distant figure, barely speaking, your mind elsewhere. Your siblings looked at you with worry. Luke even had Jace bring you your favorite desserts, knowing they were your weakness, trying to reach you, but you were adrift in a sea of despair beyond their touch.

They did not know what happened to the full extent, only that someone in the Keep wanted you gone so far as to attempt murder. You did not want their judgments that would surely follow with the revelation, that you succumbed to the sins of the flesh with Aegon of all people.

You wandered the castle from dawn to dusk, restless and unmoving as if searching for something you could never find. Sometimes, you would stop by the grand windows overlooking the storm-tossed seas, your gaze fixed on the churning waves as if they held the answers you sought. Other times, you would stand on the battlements, the wind whipping your hair around your face, stroking your stomach, but even the fierce gusts could not shake you from your reverie.

Why could you not remember who poisoned you?

You could see his body, the dark outline of his silhouette in the candlelight, and feel his hands on your feet, legs, and hips as they reached higher to reveal your small clothes. Yet, that's where the image of man stopped and morphed into that of a beast, cloaked in a black void of any light and the warmth that a human possessed. Then you remembered the pain, the agony as these unseen hands ripped at your womb until all you saw was raw blood and organs leaking from your stomach.

In quiet moments, where you managed to put the memories within the recesses of your mind, you felt the weight of your mother's legacy pressing down on you, a burden you no longer felt strong enough to carry. Your hands trembled as you thought of the throne she would be unable to claim, the people you would be unable to protect, and the family honor you had failed. Your fingers would clench, nails digging into your palms, but a hollow ache now replaced the hope you once felt at yours and Aegon's future.

You knew that with the Iron Throne's intoxicating power, he would stop at nothing to have you by his side once more. He would have a single goal inside his obsessive mind and pursue it even at the cost of your happiness.

Sometimes, you thought it best to end it now, to save your kin and the realm from the destruction of Aegon's wrath and the Greens, but your body would not allow you. No matter how often you stood at the edge of your balcony, overlooking the gray sea and green mountainous terrain, your limbs refused to follow your will. Not even Cannibal would obey your commands of self-destruction as you screamed "dracarys" at his obsidian head. His emerald eyes would squint at you, pupils dilating and shrinking as his reptilian mind whirred.

Only a few, besides those blessed with Valyrian blood, could understand the bond between rider and dragon until they saw the depths of it unobscured. Cannibal understood your heart before you did.

Daemon, unwilling to give up when Luke was, found you one evening as you stood alone in the training yard's dim light, gaze fixed on a bow and a quiver in your hand. You did not want those to see you as weak, a pathetic, shameful husk of the woman you were. Daemon approached slowly, his heart heavy as he saw the daughter he loved, broken and defeated. He gently touched your shoulder, feeling the subtle tremor in your body. You did not pull away, but neither did you acknowledge his touch.

"Do you remember," he softly asked as you lowered the bowstring, "the girl who once walked these halls with fire in her eyes? The girl who would have laughed in the face of defeat, who would have fought to the last breath for what she believed in?"

Closing your eyes, the pain in his words cut through you like a blade. You did remember. You remembered the woman you were, the warrior, the leader, the daughter who would stop at nothing to secure your mother's throne. That woman felt like a stranger now, a memory from another life where you had your fair-haired boy in your arms, and your soul was whole.

"Tell me, what happened to her?" he whispered, his voice breaking.

You opened your peculiar eyes and met his gaze for the first time in days. Your voice was barely a whisper, frail and broken. "She failed, father. I doomed them all."

He shook his head, taking your face in his hands and forcing you to hold his stare. "No, she has not failed. She's still here, somewhere, waiting to rise again."

A tear slipped down your cheek, but you did not pull away, avoiding his gaze and looking to the torches lighting the area in a dim yellow. Somewhere deep within you, a spark flickered, a faint reminder of the fire you once held. You were still lost, wandering the halls of Dragonstone, a ghost of the fierce woman you once were, waiting for the strength to rise again from the ashes of despair.

As the pale fingers of dawn unfurled across the slate rooftops of King's Landing, they painted the city in soft orange and gold hues. The delicate light spilled into the labyrinthine alleys, illuminating the cobblestones and revealing shadows that danced in the corners. The brisk morning air carried the sharp, salty scent of the nearby Blackwater Bay, intertwining with the fetid odor of refuse that littered the streets and the lingering uncleanliness of bodies that had not known a wash in days. It was a complex tapestry of sensations, stirring both the serenity of the early hour and the harsh realities of life in the bustling city.

A figure emerged in the shadows of a narrow passage. A young woman with red hair tucked under a plain hood carried a piece of parchment. Her freckled face was ordinary, forgettable by design, but her eyes darted with precision, catching every movement, every whisper in the predawn stillness. Fiora was one of Madame's spies, a former brothel worker, but she proved worth more than her body. She was a ghost among the throng, sent with tasks Madame only trusted with her.

The faint but distinct metal clinking echoed through the dimly lit corridor, prompting her to stop abruptly. Before her stood three Gold Cloaks, their polished armor reflecting the flickering light of their torches, which sputtered uncertainly in the cool night air. The soldiers moved with an air of authority, barking orders as the shadows danced around them, creating an atmosphere thick with tension and unease.

"Get to your homes!" one shouted, his voice gruff. "Every beggar, every rat-catcher, ensure they stay sound in their beds. If they resist, remind them who runs this city!"

Fiora pressed herself against the damp wall of the alley, her breath shallow. She could feel the tension in the city—fear rippled through the streets like an unseen tide. Whispers of Rhaenyra's fall had already begun to fester, carried by merchants and drunks alike.

There were no secrets in King's Landing.

When the Gold Cloaks moved on, Fiora slipped deeper into the maze of alleys, her hand clutching the folded letter concealed in her sleeve. She needn't open it to know its importance. Madame's orders had been clear: get the message to Dragonstone before it was too late.

The docks were alive with activity despite the early hour. Fishmongers shouted their wares, sailors bickered over cargo, and the tang of brine filled the air. Moving through the crowd, the spy spotted her contact, an older man with grey hair and a salt-stained coat seated on a crate and chewing a piece of dried meat. Without a word, she approached him, slipping the letter into his palm as if handing over a simple copper.

"Dragonstone?" he muttered, not looking at her. He knew without asking.

She nodded. "Tonight, if possible."

The man stuffed the letter into his coat and stood. "Madame's got her fingers in every pie, doesn't she?"

"She ensures we all eat," Fiora replied softly with a brief smirk, her voice tinged with loyalty and fear, but she soon swallowed it, thinking only of her last moments spent with you.

He gave her a curt nod and disappeared into the crowd, heading for one of the many trading boats tied to the end of the dock. She lingered long enough to see him climb aboard and order his men to push off into the bay, his silhouette growing minor against the vast expanse of water.

As the spy pivoted on her heel to depart, the sharp echo of boots reverberated in the dimly lit corridor behind her. She spun around abruptly, her heart racing, only to find herself locked in a tense gaze with a Gold Cloak. The flickering light of his torch cast dramatic shadows across her fair skin, highlighting the tension in her expression and the quickness of her breath as she assessed the danger that loomed before her.

"You there," the armored man announced, his eyes narrowing. "What's your business skulking about so early?"

She summoned her best mask of innocence, tilting her head slightly. "Looking for work, ser. The mornings are kindest to those of us who beg."

The guard studied her, suspicion flickering in his gaze. "Be off with you, then. Or you'll find yourself bleeding with the rest."

She offered a tentative nod, averting as she turned to leave, her heart racing like a wild drum. When she was out of sight, adrenaline surged through her veins, propelling Fiora to quicken her pace. She slipped into the enveloping shadows, the cool darkness wrapping around her like a comforting shroud as she dashed away.

The sun rose higher, painting King's Landing in golden hues, but for the nameless spy, the city remained steeped in danger. Somewhere in Dragonstone, Rhaenyra would soon learn of the betrayal brewing in her absence.

The heavy scent of sweat, smoke, and stale wine lingered in the air, suffocating Aegon's every breath. The candlelight flickered, casting long, distorted shadows on the brothel's walls. The sounds of drunken laughter, the clink of coins, and the soft moans of pleasure were the only music in his ears as he sat slumped on a velvet chair, a goblet of wine trembling in his hand. His mind, however, was somewhere far away. Somewhere across Blackwater Bay was a woman with hair the color of ebony, a streak of stark white, and eyes that hid his own inside them.

It had been days since you left, days that felt like weeks, and he had drunk himself into a stupor every single night since. He knew you would be disappointed. You would look at him with a gaze full of scolding, dark brows furrowed together, creating those scrunched wrinkles that etched your forehead. The memories of your voice, your touch, and the promise of a future together were drowned in a sea of alcohol, the sting of his loss too great for him to bear sober. The transformation you coaxed out of him after many long moons, the happiness you instilled in his heart, felt like a distant, fleeting dream now, one that he could not reach no matter how hard he tried.

He barely registered the company around him, the women leaning in to whisper sweet nothings, their fingers trailing along his arm, offering distractions he once craved. But tonight, like every night since you left, they felt empty, like the rest of his life. He drank more as though drowning himself in wine could somehow erase the weight in his chest, the gnawing emptiness that replaced the warmth of your love. He downed the glass in one go, and the room spun, the edges of his vision blurring until the walls felt like they were closing in.

He cursed softly to himself, slamming the goblet down with a clink that startled a nearby woman. "You don't understand," he mumbled under his breath to no one, his voice hoarse. "No one understands except for her. My love..."

The woman nodded politely but saw the same look in his eyes that they all had, the same lost, broken look, the countenance of a man who had too much power but never enough purpose. She stepped back, a practiced grace in her movements as she retreated to attend to the next guest, her sheer lavender dress shimmering in the dim lighting.

Aegon didn't care. He didn't care about the women. He didn't care about the gamblers. He didn't care about the city he was trapped in or the castle he would return to, with its cold halls and colder courtiers. All he cared about now was the gnawing ache that hollowed out his chest. The realization that you were gone.

That night, he found himself stumbling through the streets of King's Landing, his steps unsteady, his heart heavy with the same emptiness that seemed to follow him like a shadow as he attempted to return home. Despite the icy air, his wrinkled and unkempt tunic clung to his frame with cold sweat. His cropped blonde hair hung limp around his face, and his eyes were bloodshot, the purple hue dull and sunken from too much wine and too little sleep. His mind was lost in the haze of alcohol, but deep inside, a part of him still longed for you.

He heard whispers from his mother earlier in the day about his father's worsening condition, but he pushed them aside. After all, what could a dying old man matter when he was already dead inside?

What did any of it matter?

With a shaky hand, Aegon tried to steady himself as he leaned against the cold sandstone of a building. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, trying to clear the fog from his mind. The weight, the throne, the family, and the expectations were too much. His chest tightened as he stumbled forward, the dim lights of the Red Keep finally in sight.

Home. Or at least what was left of it.

The streets were deserted at this hour, save for the occasional street urchin or drunken sailor stumbling home from a night of revelry. His breath came in heavy gasps, and the world seemed to tilt with each step. Aegon's head spun, his vision blurring more with each passing second.

The pain of it all, of you, was unbearable. Why had he not tried harder and done more to make you stay? He had been a fool, a coward, running back to the same old habits the moment you were injured. How could he redeem himself when he had lost the only thing that truly mattered? His thoughts tumbled over one another, chaotic and cluttered, as he neared the mud gate of the Red Keep. He was so drunk, so completely lost in his stupor, that he did not see the lip in the flagstone, tumbling to the ground, unable to catch himself as he succame to the dark.

When he awoke, the world was still spinning. He groaned, feeling the rough stone beneath his cheek. His mind was hazy. A thick fog clung to him as if trying to pull him back into unconsciousness. The pain in his skull, a sharp, burning throb, was enough to keep him from slipping away entirely.

Aegon groaned again, his eyes flickering open. The world around him was dark, the cold air of the night biting at his skin. His arms were stiff, his legs numb. He tried to sit up, but his body felt like lead. There was a moment of disorientation. Where was he? His head pulsated, and his thoughts finally began to sharpen. The past few minutes, or hours, began to piece together. He remembered walking. He remembered the drunken haze. He remembered stumbling toward the Red Keep, and then suddenly, the ground was not so far away.

A shadow loomed over him.

Someone stood above him, cloaked in the night, their presence ominous. Aegon blinked, trying to focus, but the blow had left him too dizzy, and the area was too dim.

"Your Highness."

The voice was unfamiliar, smooth, and with an accent his mind couldn't place. Perhaps a servant or one of the guards was coming to his aide. Aegon's breath hitched, a tinge of unease creeping into his heart. "What... what happened?" he croaked, his voice thick with disorientation.

The figure didn't respond immediately. Instead, they crouched down beside him. "The king is dead, your grace, and the Greens search for their new ruler."

Aegon blinked again, the words slicing through the murk in his mind like a blade. His father, the king, had died. He knew it was coming, but the finality of it hit him like a physical blow.

Aegon's heart twisted painfully. The realization settled over him like a shroud. His father's barely beating heart kept the realm from plunging into chaos, though Aegon knew that this would be the outcome. The Crown had no head. It was meant for his sister, but he knew what his mother and grandfather planned.  He was so lost in his grief and self-doubt that he hadn't been within his home to hear of his father's passing. And now, as the weight of it all came crashing down on him, Aegon couldn't help but feel the sting of the cruelest irony. He was too drunk to feel the death of his father.

"I am unfit to rule."

The figure helped him to his feet, but Aegon's legs were still unsteady. His head spun, and he felt the world shifting beneath him.

"The Red Keep will be in turmoil soon, your grace," the figure warned, their voice laced with urgency. "We must hurry to Madame's."

For a moment, Aegon did not care. He didn't care about the throne or the chaos. His father was dead, and he had been too far gone to even process it in time. His heart ached with the realization, but in his soul, there was something darker—a deep, gnawing emptiness that was now replaced by something far colder. He could feel the stirrings of unrest and future instability, but they all felt meaningless without you.

The figure led him forward, but Aegon's mind was far away. The only thing that truly mattered at that moment, the only thing that weighed on his broken heart, was that you were not here.

The pale moonlight filtered through the narrow gaps between buildings, casting long shadows on the damp cobblestones of King's Landing. Aegon's humid clothes stuck to his pale chest and back as he stumbled behind the shadowy figure leading him through the twisting alleyways. He could barely make out the shape of the figure in front of him, her footsteps brisk and silent, as if they had walked these streets a thousand times before. The air smelled of salt from the distant sea, mixed with the faint stench of refuse, human sweat, and the city's ever-present odor of decay.

"Where are you taking me?" Aegon asked, his voice low but edged with suspicion.

The figure didn't answer immediately, glancing back in annoyance. Aegon had already forgotten the prior conversations.

The Prince learned long ago not to trust anyone in the capital, especially in these parts. The back promenades were teeming with danger, thieves, mercenaries, and worse. Still, something about the mysterious figure seemed to promise safety, though Aegon could not quite place why. They were not in a hurry, though Aegon's feet felt like they were being dragged along, his heart racing with a blend of excitement and dread.

They turned a corner, and suddenly, the roads opened up, revealing the Streets of Silk. It was an eerie, quiet place between night and dawn where the moonlight seemed to dance off the curtains hanging from every window and door. The air here was different. It was thick with the scent of exotic perfumes and incense but also something darker and more dangerous. Had they already heard of his father's demise?

The figure stopped before a narrow, unmarked door in one of the buildings. They turned to Aegon and spoke barely louder than a whisper. "Stay close," she commanded from underneath her cloak.

Before Aegon could utter a word, a sudden sound sliced through the stillness, the faint yet distinct clink of metal meeting stone. He immediately froze, his heart racing. Shadows flickered around him as figures materialized from the darkness, sliding stealthily into view from all directions. Their eyes glimmered like tiny stars, piercing through the obscurity, while their faces remained shrouded in hoods.

Like a ripple through water, the alley seemed to shift. A heavy thud rang out, and a figure lunged at Aegon's guide, a glinting dagger in hand. Aegon saw the shimmer of steel and stepped forward instinctively, but before he could react, another figure appeared behind Madame's spy, striking the girl with a vicious blow. She stumbled but didn't fall, readying a weapon of her own in retaliation.

From the darkness, a woman's voice cut through the chaos. It was soft, accented yet edged with an unmistakable authority. "Enough," she said, her words carrying over the din like a heavy curtain being drawn.

The attackers paused, their movements faltering as they turned toward the woman who now stepped into the dim light. She was tall, her long black hair cascading over her shoulders like a veil of night, and her skin was a tan that glowed in the pale light. She wore robes of fine silk, richly dyed in shades of deep purple and midnight blue, but the fabric seemed to swallow her slender frame as though they were borrowed from another life entirely. She moved with the grace of a panther, each step purposeful.

"The White Worm," the figure beside Aegon muttered under their breath, their voice laced with fear and respect.

Aegon's eyes widened. He had heard the name whispered among the courtesans in the brothels and the low-born in the taverns. She was a shadow in the city, feared, respected, and above all, elusive. To cross her was to sign your death warrant.

She took a step forward, her gaze flicking over the attackers, who now seemed to hesitate, unwilling to provoke her further.

"He's valuable," Lady Misery said, her voice like honey and venom. "Aegon Targaryen," she continued, eyes flashing with something dark, something calculating. "A good bargaining chip, best to be stored up one's sleeve, wouldn't you say?"

The world seemed to tilt, and Aegon's stomach dropped. She knew who he was. The thought sent a chill down his spine. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words died in his throat. The attackers backed off, leaving Aegon no room to escape, and Mysaria's gaze flicked back to him, a smile playing at the corner of her lips.

"Aegon, my dear," she cooed, her accent thick with foreign vowels, "you'll be most useful to me." Her eyes gleamed with something terrible, more dangerous than any knife or dagger.

Before Aegon could react, her men moved swiftly, surrounding him, one of them roughly grabbing his arm. His body was yanked forward, the grip painful and unyielding. He struggled, but there was no use. His mind raced with escape plans, but they all seemed hopeless in the face of Lady Misery's power.

He was dragged, stumbling, through the labyrinth of dark streets until they arrived at the Sept of Balor. The massive structure loomed in the darkness, silent and foreboding, its stone walls seeming to absorb the light. The grand doors creaked open with a horrible sound, and Aegon was forced inside. The air within the Sept was cold, the shadows stretching unnaturally long.

Lady Mysaria followed, her steps soft but deliberate as she surveyed the space. The ancient stone of the Sept was cracked, aged with the weight of centuries. But it was the altar that drew Aegon's eyes. It loomed ahead, dark and imposing.

"You'll be safe here," Lady Misery said, her voice almost kind, but its cruelty made Aegon's blood run cold. She gestured to her men, and they shoved him toward the altar.

"No!" Aegon cried out, struggling, but his efforts were useless. They forced him down onto the cold stone floor, pushing him under the altar, where the shadows seemed to close in like a suffocating shroud.

The small iron door clanged shut behind him, and Aegon was left in total darkness, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. He could hear the sound of footsteps fading away. The echoes grew fainter and fainter until there was nothing but the silence of the ancient stone.

Locked away, beneath the altar, in the belly of the Sept. Alone.

Aegon's heart pounded in his chest. This was no longer a game of political maneuvering. His life, his freedom, was now in the hands of a woman who didn't care about Targaryen blood, only power.

***

The clang of steel echoed softly in the dim corridors of the Red Keep as Ser Erryk Cargyll sat on a wooden bench, carefully polishing his sword. The pristine blade gleamed under the flickering torchlight, a reflection of the oaths he had sworn as a sworn brother of the Kingsguard. Yet his expression was far from serene; a furrow creased his brow as he prepared for his upcoming shift. The weight of duty always hung heavy, but with Aegon as his charge, it was more like a millstone around his neck.

Footsteps approached, slow and deliberate. Erryk glanced up to see Otto Hightower, clad in his green austere robes, his face a mask of authority and impatience. The Hand of the King wasted no time with pleasantries.

"Ser Erryk," Otto began, his voice low but sharp. "Where is the Prince?"

Erryk set the blade aside, straightening his posture. "Forgive me, Lord Hand. I do not know."

Otto's jaw tightened, his piercing eyes studying Erryk for any sign of deceit. "But you're sworn to protect him," he replied with exasperation. He had to deal with the stress of secrecy and hold the realm together in such a precarious time, and he did not need childish antics.

"He exploits his authority to order me away, and then he evades me, my lord. He may have left the Keep secretly and gone into the city." The knight's tone was calm, which Otto would typically scold for, but now such matters of manners seemed pointless.

"Find him. The realm teeters on the edge of chaos, and the Prince must be present. Search the city if you must, but bring him to me."

Erryk gave a stiff nod, though unease churned within him. "As you command, my lord."

As Ser Erryk turned, sheathing his polished sword, the hand spoke, his voice regal yet pragmatic. "My sincerest apologies about your brother. I shall see that he's returned to his quarters once I have my grandson."

The Kingsguard bowed but said nothing and left the Red Keep.

The Silk Streets were already active, even in the early hours. Ser Erryk moved through the narrow, winding alleys, keeping a firm grip on the pommel of his sword. The city's infamous district reeked of cheap perfume and spilled ale, the air thick with the laughter of courtesans and the hushed whispers of clandestine dealings.

Erryk grimaced as he passed a pleasure house whose painted façade was garish even in the dim light. His thoughts churned with resentment. Always Aegon. The name sat heavy on his mind like a stone in his gut. How many mornings has he scoured the city to retrieve the Prince from some depraved hole?

Erryk's memories were a blur of drunken brawls, soiled bedsheets, and shameful confessions. He clenched his jaw. Aegon's appetites were boundless, and his respect for his station, if it existed, was invisible to those who served him.

Erryk's search brought him to the fighting pits, a grim and lawless place tucked away from the bustling streets. The muffled roar of a crowd reached his ears, mingled with the feral snarls of dogs and the cries of wounded children, one with the familiar color of pale white hair.

He slipped inside, weaving through the crowd. The stench of sweat and blood hung heavy in the air. In the center of the pit, two boys no older than ten squared off, their faces twisted in fear and determination as the crowd jeered and wagered coins. Erryk's stomach turned, but he did not stop to intervene. His mission was clear, even if his conscience screamed against it.

"Seen the Prince?" he asked one of the pit organizers, a burly man with a broken nose.

The man snorted. "Not tonight. Ain't his usual time. Check the brothels."

Erryk nodded curtly, stepping back into the alley. He wiped his brow, though the morning air was still cool. His frustration bubbled beneath the surface.

This man is to be king? Erryk thought bitterly. The realm deserves better. Rhaenyra would rule with strength and purpose, yet he served this spoiled wretch.

As he turned to leave, a voice called out softly from the shadows. "A moment of your time, my lord."

He spun, his hand instinctively falling to his sword. From the crowd emerged a young woman, her complexion dark, her curly hair tucked beneath a tan cloak. Her presence was unassuming, yet her bearing spoke of quiet confidence.

"Who are you?" Erryk asked, his tone cautious.

"A friend," she replied, her voice light and melodic, like a gentle breeze rustling through the leaves. "I can take you to Prince Aegon. Rather, I am sent by one who knows where he is. Who'll tell you for a price."

Erryk felt utterly drained as if every ounce of energy had been siphoned from his body. The weight of his exhaustion settled heavily on his shoulders, suffocating any flicker of motivation to continue fighting for someone he now deemed unworthy. Each futile effort felt like a battle against an unyielding tide, leaving him hollow and weary. "Deliver him to me, and I will consider your price.

The woman smiled faintly. "My mistress will not treat with the servants of the Keep, exalted though they may be. She'll trust this to the Hand of the King only."

Erryk's lips thinned into a line. He hated the game of it all, the constant dealings with spies and schemers. But what choice did he have? Without Aegon, the Hightowers' grip on power would falter, and the city would erupt into chaos. The outcome seemed all the more appealing.

"I will take your message to the Hand," he said finally. "But if this is a ploy..."

"It is not," she interrupted firmly. "I think he will wish to hear what the White Worm can tell him."

With that, the woman disappeared into the maze of people, leaving Erryk with his mounting frustration. He turned back toward the Red Keep, his boots striking the cobblestones with purpose.

As he strolled through the dimly lit corridors, his mind wandered to Aegon, consumed by his insatiable desires and the turmoil they unleashed upon the realm. A bitter truth weighed heavily on his heart. Aegon was unworthy of the Crown, yet the kingdom yearned for stability. It struck him as a poignant tragedy that these two notions, Rhaenyra's rightful place and the peace the realm craved, seemed destined to be at odds with each other.

The weight of his sword suddenly felt heavier at his side, but Erryk marched on. Duty demanded it, even if every fiber of his being recoiled at what that required.

The room was suffocatingly quiet, save for the faint creak of the wooden shutters as a soft breeze nudged them against the window frame. Pale sunlight streamed through the gaps, but its warmth failed to reach the cold that had taken residence in your bones. You lay in bed, the threadbare covers tangled around your legs, staring at the ceiling as though it held the answer to a question you were too weary to ask.

Your body betrayed you in cruel ways. The tremors in your hands, faint but persistent, reminded you of the hemlock that had nearly stolen your life. Each shiver was a whisper of death's near embrace, and though the poison had left you alive, it had not spared you its aftermath. A fresh stain of blood on the sheets confirmed what you already knew: your body was fighting in more ways than one. The child you had unknowingly carried was gone.

The pain was sharp, a dagger that twisted in your chest with every breath, but it was the ache in your heart that, indeed, left you paralyzed. You closed your eyes, desperate for solace, but instead, the dream returned. It always did.

You stood in a sunlit garden, chrysanthemums and fresh grass filling the air. Aegon was there, his silver hair catching the light as he knelt to tie a ribbon around a little girl's wrist. She had your smile but his hair, her violet eyes sparkling as she laughed. Nearby, a boy with your dark hair and his father's sullen demeanor clutched a wooden sword, mimicking Aegon's every movement with a determination that made your heart swell.

"You're doing well, little prince," Aegon said to the boy, his voice warm with pride. You had never heard him so happy. "But keep your stance firm. Like this."

You watched them, your hand resting on your rounded belly, another child stirring within you. A grin stretched your lips as Aegon glanced back at you, his eyes soft with affection, and your heart soared.

"Come here, my love," he said, reaching for your hand. "Look at them."

But as you stepped forward, the image dissolved. The laughter faded, replaced by a chilling silence. You reached for Aegon, but he was gone, the garden with him, leaving you alone in the void.

Your eyes flew open, the dream's cruel clarity a weight pressing against your chest. Aegon wasn't here. He was never coming back, and the future you had seen, the family, the love, the life, was nothing but a lie spun by your desperate mind.

Tears slid down your cheeks, unbidden and unstoppable. You didn't bother wiping them away. What was the point? You couldn't summon the energy to rise, eat, or even drink the goblet of water left on the bedside table. The tremor in your hand grew worse as you brought it to your abdomen, resting it on the place where life had once grown. The loss was yet another cruel theft. Another dream ripped away before it could even begin.

Your thoughts spiraled, dark and unrelenting. What future awaited you now? A lifetime of mourning for what could have been? The realm's impending chaos only mirrored the storm within you, and you couldn't imagine a path forward through either.

But then, unbidden, his voice echoed in your mind.

"Look at them."

The memory of those words, spoken in the dream, clung to you like a threadbare cloak against the chill. You hated yourself for longing for Aegon, hoping that somehow, against all odds, his family might allow him to escape, but the truth was undeniable. Aegon was a part of you, as ingrained as your heartbeat and as unforgettable as your pain.

The thought of him gave you pause. He was reckless and flawed beyond measure, but he was also the man who once held you in the dead of night and whispered promises of a better tomorrow. You wanted to believe in those vows, even if they now felt like ashes in your hands.

Your body screamed for rest, for nourishment, but your soul was louder, its cries reverberating through the empty chamber.

Would he even recognize you now, this shadow of yourself? Or would he look upon you with pity, perhaps even disdain? The thought was unbearable, yet it ignited something faint and flickering within you, a tiny, stubborn ember of defiance.

You remained motionless, wrapped in grief and longing. The dream had been beautiful, cruelly so, and it left you haunted. You closed your eyes again, yearning not for sleep but for the impossible. A world where that dream had been absolute, Aegon was here, and hope was not stolen from your grasp.

All you could do for the moment was lie still and let the ache consume you.

The din of the bustling market hummed around the cloaked figure seated at a weathered wooden table. The smell of roasted meat mingled with the sharp tang of spices and the salty sea breeze wafting from Blackwater Bay. Merchants hawked their wares, their voices rising above the crowd's chatter, while children darted through the maze of stalls, their laughter carrying on the air.

Otto Hightower shifted uneasily in his seat, his fingers tapping against the small leather pouch at his belt. The Hand of the King was accustomed to commanding attention, yet here he sat in the heart of King's Landing, shrouded in anonymity, the shadow of a commoner. His hood obscured his stern features, and his robes, though of fine make, had been chosen to avoid drawing undue notice.

Across the table, a figure slid into the empty seat. The woman moved with the grace of a predator, her dark cloak brushing the ground as she settled herself. Her face, painted with a natural tan, was framed by a cascade of tightly curled hair. Lady Misery, the White Worm, fixed Otto with a look equal to amusement and calculation.

"You are the mysterious White Worm, I take it. Or are you simply a further peel in this stinking onion?" Otto chided, but Mysaria took it in stride. She was accustomed to men like him. She bedded one, after all.

"My condolences on the passing of your king," she started, her voice smooth as silk, accented with the lilting tones of Lysene. She leaned forward slightly, her hands folding atop the table. Otto's expression remained impassive, but his fingers stilled as he motioned for Erryk to give her the substantial sack of coins.

His jaw tightened, but he maintained his composure. "Where is Prince Aegon?"

She continued, her voice soft but cutting through the noise like a blade as Lady Misery smiled faintly, leaning back on her bench. "I thought the Prince was in Flea Bottom, where no one was to be trusted. I'd best secrete him somewhere safe if they come looking for him."

Otto leaned closer, his brow furrowing as he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. The daylight caught the intensity in his eyes as he repeated. "Where is the Prince?"

A smirk tugged at her lips, but her eyes remained cold. "He is safely tucked away," she finally answered as her gaze shifted to something more serious. "I want an end to the savage use of children in Flea Bottom." She let the weight of her words linger before continuing. "They are forced to fight; worse, your gold cloaks take bribes to make them look away. An obscenity either tolerated or ignored by the Crown."

Otto exhaled sharply, considering her terms. The market seemed to grow louder around them, as though the noise pressed against the fragile boundary of their secret conversation. Finally, he inclined his head slightly. "I'll look into it. You have my word."

"When your plots ripen, and you install your grandson on the throne, remember I put him there. I could have killed him as easily as a wasp on fruit." Misery's smile returned, a slow, triumphant curl of her lips. "There is no power but what the people allow you to take."

She rose gracefully, the movement drawing his eyes to the faint shadow of her silhouette beneath the cloak. "Pleasure doing business with you, my lord," she quipped, her voice laced with irony. "Do try to keep your end of the bargain. If not, secrets can slip through cracks, don't they?"

"I will remember," Otto replied curtly, done with this feeling of inferiority. He found himself in unfamiliar territory, feeling palpably uncomfortable not being in control of the situation. This situation starkly contrasted with the confident authority he was used to wielding, leaving him restless and uncertain.

With that, she melted into the market crowd, leaving Otto alone at the table, his mind already turning to the next step. Lady Misery played her hand well, but the game was far from over. For now, though, he had what he needed. And with that knowledge, the Hightowers' plans would press forward at any cost as he signaled Erryk to go after his grandson.

The bells of King's Landing tolled softly in the distance as Ser Erryk Cargyll ascended the marble steps of the Sept of Baelor, the daylight casting a yellow sheen on the grand structure. The towering statues of the Seven loomed above, their solemn faces shadowed by the flickering light of countless candles within. The air was thick with the cloying scent of incense and melting wax, a sharp contrast to the tension tightening Erryk's chest.

He pushed open the heavy doors, the groan of iron hinges echoing in the vast, silent chamber. The dim light revealed rows of pews, the smooth black stone floor reflecting the warm, golden glow of the candles that adorned the grand altar. But what caught Erryk's attention was not the serene beauty of the Sept. The faint coughing sound was a wet, muffled noise from somewhere near the altar.

Erryk's hand instinctively went to his sword hilt as he stepped forward. "Prince Aegon?" he called, his voice low and cautious. He received no answer, only the echo of his voice. His boots clicked softly against the marble as he approached the altar, the massive carved effigies of the Seven staring down at him.

There it was again, a cough followed by a quiet sniffle. Erryk knelt and peered under the altar. In the shadowed space, he saw a figure huddled tightly, and his cloak pulled around him as if it could shield him from the world. Silver hair glinted faintly in the candlelight.

"By the Seven..." Erryk muttered, his voice edged with disbelief. He grabbed the Prince by the arm, pulling him from his hiding place.

The young Prince squirmed in his grip, his bloodshot eyes wide and wild. "Let me go!" Aegon hissed, his voice hoarse. He yanked his arm, but Erryk held firm.

"You think you can hide here forever?" Erryk snapped. "The realm is teetering on the brink of war, and you're cowering under an altar like a child. Do you have any idea what is at stake?"

Aegon glared at him, his cheeks flushed with anger. "I never asked for this! Let Aemond have the bloody Crown. He wants it more than I ever will." He struggled harder, white hair sticking to his forehead, his desperation evident. "I won't be a pawn in their game, Erryk. I refuse!"

Erryk's grip tightened, but the Prince's words gnawed at him. Aegon was no king. He was reckless, self-indulgent, and utterly unsuited to rule. The realm needed strength and decisiveness, qualities that Aegon sorely lacked. Yet duty bound Erryk to him, to the line of a male-dominated succession, to the precarious stability that Aegon's coronation might bring.

"Let me go," Aegon pleaded again, his voice cracking. "You know I am not fit for this. You know it, Erryk."

Erryk hesitated, torn between his sworn duty and the undeniable truth in the Prince's words. But before he could decide, the sound of boots echoed in the chamber, and Erryk turned to see Prince Aemond and Ser Criston Cole approaching, their figures sharp and menacing in the candlelight.

"Aegon," Aemond called, his tone cold and commanding. His single violet eye glinted as he stepped closer, his hand resting on the hilt of his longsword. "Come with us. Mother wishes to see you. Now."

Erryk positioned himself between Aegon and the newcomers, his hand on his blade. "He is not going anywhere. On my honor, on my oath sworn to the King, Prince Aegon will not ascend the Iron Throne."

Aegon stood on trembling legs, remnants of Arbor Red still flowing through his veins as he looked from Ser Erryk to his brother. He would always long for the tender grace of his mother he never had, and a part of him briefly wondered if Aegon allowed himself to succumb to that instinctual desire, to go with Aemond to usurp his half-sister's throne, would his mother finally show him the maternal love he longed for? The Prince saw your smile flash in his mind's eye, memories of your warm flesh against his own, and soon realized he no longer craved his mother's attention.

Criston frowned his expression a mix of frustration and betrayal. "Ser Erryk, this is madness. You know your duty."

Ser Erryk stood firm for a moment, but his inner conflict surged. Aemond was ambitious and ruthless, yet he was more fit to rule than his older brother in many ways. Could he, in good conscience, deliver Aegon to them, knowing it would only hasten the bloodshed to come?

He turned to Aegon, his voice soft but firm. "Go."

Aegon's eyes widened in surprise, looking from his younger brother's cloaked form to his sworn protector. "What?"

"Go to her!" Ser Erryk barked, stepping aside to block Aemond and Criston as Aegon hesitated for a heartbeat before bolting toward the nearest exit.

Aemond released a low growl of frustration, his breath coming in heavy spurts as he surged forward. Sensing the impending clash, the knight unsheathed his sword swiftly, the blade glinting ominously in the light. With a determined shout, he met Criston's weapon head-on, the sharp clash of steel ringing out like a battle cry, reverberating through the tense air.

"You will regret this treason, Erryk," Criston snarled, his blade falling in a vicious arc.

"I already do," Erryk replied, dodging the blow. Their swords clashed in a deadly rhythm, sparks flying as Erryk fought to hold his ground against the more seasoned knight.

Aegon darted through the dim corridors of the Sept, his breath ragged and his legs burning. Aemond was relentless, his footsteps growing louder with every passing second. Aegon turned a corner, only to find himself trapped by a wall. He spun around just as Aemond caught up, his sword drawn.

"You have run far enough," Aemond hissed, advancing. "Face me, brother."

In desperation, Aegon grabbed a candelabra from the wall, swinging it wildly. He was never the swordsman of the two. Aemond blocked it with ease, his strikes controlled but furious. The scuffle was brief and frantic, and Aegon's movements were clumsy compared to Aemond's calculated precision. The thought of being with you again guided his clumsy movements against his skilled brother. He would rather die than be forced into a position where he would have to turn against you. Aegon swung wildly, the lit candles flying from their brass holders and flinging wax on the holy stone. The older brother was not much against the younger.

Aegon found his chance in a twist of fate, driven by sheer luck or perhaps the raw instinct of hopelessness. He lifted the ornate candelabra, its metal glinting in the dim light, and with a determined swing, brought it crashing down onto Aemond's blind side. The impact was jarring, sending shockwaves through Aemond's body as he howled in pain, clutching his eye and throwing him off balance. His shocked expression revealed the suddenness of the attack.

Seizing the fleeting moment, Aegon dashed past his brother, his heart pounding as adrenaline propelled him forward. He slipped into the thick daylight of a courtyard, the cool air rushing against his skin as he escaped the chaos behind him.

In the darkness of the Sept, Erryk and Criston found themselves locked in a brutal clash. The air was tense as both knights fought with every ounce of strength and honor, their faces glistening with sweat and their breaths coming in ragged gasps. Each swing of their blades was becoming slower, heavy with fatigue, yet neither was willing to relent. Criston's rage burned bright in his eyes, a fierce fire that seemed to radiate from him, while Erryk stood his ground, his resolve as unyielding as steel, determined not to back down in the face of such ferocity.

"You've sealed your fate, traitor," Criston spat as they clashed again.

"Perhaps," Erryk replied, his voice steady despite the chaos. "But I could not live with myself if I did not try to stop this madness."

The distant sound of bells filled the air again as Aegon disappeared into the city's shadows, the realm's fate hanging in the balance as he made his way to the only place in King's Landing where he would be safe from his mother and grandsire's schemes. 

Masterlist of Series

How about that cliffhanger, besties? It feels like the reader can't get a break! Thank you to everyone who has commented and rebloged this story. I know I was on a very long hiatus so it'll take sometime for some reader's to come back. I really appreciate everyone who has stuck with me. (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnn , @malfoytargaryen , @targaryencore , @justasmallbean , @omgsuperstarg , @sommornyte , @silverslive , @prettykinkysoul , *@duesobabe, *@legolas017, @iiamthehybrid , @dd122004dd , @ladybug0095 , @millies0bsimp , @kalfild , @sheislonelyalways , @tempt-ress , @minttea07 , @trikigirl271 , @esposadomd , @prettywhenicry4 , @justarandomflowerchildofthenight , @partypoison00 , @please-buckme , @pastelorangeskies , @existential-echo , @priyajoyy , @valaenatargaryensdragon , @merovingianprincess , @candy12110 , @w3ird11 , @ruhjkie , @somemydayy , @marikkjj , @zillahvathek , @sunfyresrider , @heavenly1927 , @hjgdhghoe , @im-sidney , @aurorathi , @marihoneywk , @xitsemm , @justbelljust , @qardasngan , @shari-berri , *@tomgcmrs

*Bold means I can't tag you for some reason (⁠╯⁠︵⁠╰⁠,⁠)

[silassinclair]

hiiii💙💙💙

i just have a request about Maddox but i want to start with saying english is not my first language and secondly i LOVE your writings, they are sooo good like i just read them again and again and again......

so about my request, its like a story but i just hope you will understand what im trying say

So darling and him while running away from the law Maddox face some other outlaws or having a duel he gets shot, some bad wounds or whatever and darling has no choice but runaway. Before running away darling says that she loves him and will wait for him, something like that.

After two years darling and Maddox meet again (can be when he is leaving a saloon or when he is stealong from the people on the road who is just moving from town to another town) Darling doing really great, she has a small but cute house, she has a great job paying her greatly BUT darling carrying a child

BIG SUPRISE its his child

Yes!

When darling was runing away she was pregnant but didnt tell him cuz she was afraid of his reaction

Anyway him and darling talk about what happened after she runaway, how she manages to live, about the child

so the thing is how he will react about all of this, i mean he has a child and a cute house he can live with darling but he has to run from the laws. Would he somehow live with darling or will he take darling and his child with him and keep runing

I know its long but i tried so hard to make it short and i hope you undertand it AND if you want you can ignore it

💙🤍 I LOVE YOU 💙🤍

UWWAAHH THIS IS SO CUTE <3 I’m about to cook so hard with this one ya’ll aren’t ready 🥶

Masterlist Here!!

Yandere Wild West Outlaw x Long Lost Lover Reader

CW// Pregnancy, Gun Violence, Blood, Suicide Mention, Maddox kills pedophiles, Pedophilic comments

“Shhh! Just stop! Stop talking!” Y/n wept as her s/c hand put pressure over Maddox’s oozing bullet wound. Her skin was stained with his crimson blood. The whole world was collapsing down on her. Maddox, her husband, was dying. He was losing so much blood and those damn bounty hunters were getting closer.

Coming to this town was a mistake. It was a fucking trap and they walked right into it. It was a false rumor spread to lure Maddox to the bank. It was supposed to be unguarded; and instead of cash and gold in the vault there was a lethal group of bounty hunters unloading their bullets in a barrage right at Maddox.

The masked outlaw coughed, hacking up some blood. Y/n and Maddox were lucky to get away. Using all her strength she pulled his body into a neighboring saloon and hid with him behind the bar. The outlaw's tearing brown eyes looked into Y/n’s with a mixture of emotion. Adoration and despair. Because he knew this will be the last time will ever see her again.

“Sweetheart, princess please look at me..” He utters. Y/n can barely hear him over the gunshots and screams from around. But her ears are honed to only listen to his voice at the moment. He is all she sees and hears.

“Untie my bandana… Use it to pack the wound.” The paling man says.

Her eyes widen at his request. Her and Maddox have been in so many life or death situations. All of them they have escaped narrowly. Maddox has had mortal wounds, he’s bled countless times over the years. But never, never has he taken that bandana off. Even when they kissed he would tell her to shut her eyes and she would obey, respecting his privacy. When they made love the lights would be off or she would be blindfolded. His face was a mystery that she always wanted to solve.

She imagined the say he showed her his face they would be watching a sunset. Or maybe laying underneath the star in a romantic setting. But now… It’s different. She doesn't want to see him. Not now, not like this. He was dying and this was a desperate attempt to extend his life. This was the end.

“Maddox…” Y/n sniffles. Her vision blurs as tears cascade down her cheeks. She knows this is the end for them. She can feel it.

The woman’s hands go behind his head as she shakily unties the burgundy bandana. And when she takes it off what she sees has her crying even harder.

He’s gorgeous. This is the face of her husband.

“Why Maddox? Why does the first time I have to see you also have to be the last?” Her voice cracks as she stuffs the wound with the bandana.

He smiles and for the first time she can see it. His cracked lips, stubble of facial hair, his crooked nose from being broken so many times, and the scar above his top lip.

“I love ya’ Y/n.” Is all he says in reply. His hand comes up to cradle her cheek. “I need you to do one last thing for me..” He takes her hands in his one hand as the other holds the cloth to his wound.

“Anything… I’ll do anything for you.”

“Run far away baby… Run away from here and don’t look back. Don’t come back for me.” Maddox peeks over top the bar counter they’re and sees the bounty hunters about to enter the saloon they’re hiding in.

Y/n bites her lip as she shakes her head back and forth. “I’m not leaving you! I can’t! You can’t die, I need you! You’re..”

Y/n freezes. She wants to say it but she can’t. Not now, not when he’s going to die.

“You’re going to be a Father.”

“Y/n.” Maddox smiles. “Jasper should be outside. Get on him and get outta this town.” He brings his lips to her hand, kissing her blood stained skin.

The sobbing woman can’t bring herself to move away from him. If she leaves she will never see him again. But she has to leave, she has to survive and save their baby. It’s what he would want.

“I love you.” Y/n pulls him into a passionate kiss. One which he returns as he tries not to wince in pain.

Maddox is the first to pull away for the first time. And it only breaks her heart even more.

“Now go princess… Go live ya’ life to the fullest. And I’m… I’m sorry for killin’ your old man back then…”

Y/n stands up silently and nods. So after a full year he finally apologizes. Honestly, Y/n forgave him long ago. Was it Stockholm syndrome? Was it love? It didn't matter, her love for Maddox was true. But now he was dying... If she turns around and faces him now she’ll never want to leave.

Without facing him she lets her tears fall and hands form fists, “Goodbye Maddox. And I forgave you long ago. Back when I fell in love with you for the first time.”

She runs to the back of the saloon and leaves out the back entrance. Once the woman is outside she hears shouts from inside, along with gunfire.

“NOOO!” She screams and clenches her hair in her fists. Her vocal cords strain from her guttural scream. The pain of losing Maddox feels unbearable. She can’t feel her legs, so she drops to the dirt ground. All she can do is cry and curl up alone. The trotting sound of a horse is heard from above. Looking up she sees Jasper, Maddox’s loyal horse and best friend.

“Jasper…” She weeps. The horse looks down at his owners lover with sympathy behind his dark eyes. The animal can tell she’s in pain. He neighs and uses his nose to nudge her.

“L-Let’s go bud.” Y/n says and stands up from the ground. She gets on Jasper’s saddle and rides out of town, leaving behind the painful memories of losing Maddox. The ring on her finger has never felt so heavy.

"I help! Rosie help Mommy!" A small two year old girl says as her chubby little hands reach out towards Y/n who is carrying a pail of milk.

Y/n Graves; widow and single Mother, smiles down at her daughter. When she lost the love of her life she gave birth to a new meaning to go on. When Maddox died Y/n felt alone. She contemplated ending the pain permanently but she knew she could never do that to him and their baby. So she lived, and thank the lord she did.

The past two years were hard. Being pregnant, working a job, finding a place to live, and raising a newborn all by herself. Life was hard but that's just how it is. Being a Mother is a sacrifice that Y/n took the day she decided to keep on living after Maddox's death.

Now she has a beautiful baby girl. And her resemblance to him brought tears to the Mother's eyes.

She has his dark brown hair that almost looks black and his brown eyes that Y/n would find herself lost in. At the young age of two and a half Rosie even knew how to speak and understand English. She has her Mother's smarts and her Daddy's looks.

Rosie was a gift from Maddox, a parting gift so she wouldn't have to be alone anymore. Just thinking about how she almost killed herself and Rosie destroyed Y/n. The thoughts she had during those dark times were regrettable. She hates herself for possibly thinking such things.

"Mommy? Why sad?"

Y/n blinks a few times and doesn't even realize she was crying. Rosie tugs on her Mother's dress, big brown doe eyes creased with worry. Giggling, she wipes her tears and puts the heavy pail down. She reaches for her daughter and picks her up and holds her instead.

"Because you look just like your Daddy princess. You remind me of him and I miss him a lot." Y/n kisses Rosie's cheeks, making the little girl squeal and kick her little legs.

"Now let's finish up our chores yeah? We need to get this milk to a cool place." Y/n reaches down and grabs the pail to take it to the cellar.

"I carry it Mommy!" Rosie pouts and reaches her arms towards the pail in Y/n's hand. But the woman only laughs softly at her daughter's antics.

"It's too heavy for you baby. Besides, princesses don't do chores like this yet. Rosie's only job for now is too behave and listen to Mommy."

The little girl pauses and leans her head on her Mother's shoulder. "Okay.." She mumbles.

Sensing her daughter's sadness Y/n decides to compromise. "How about we go into town and get ice cream?"

In an instant the little girl perks up. "Really?!" She says in her baby accent; unable to pronounce the 'R' well and instead it coming out more as a 'W'.

"Yes princess. You've been good all this week so you deserve a treat."

Y/n finishes her work in the cellar with the help of her daughter. Who really was just following her around and pointing at stuff, asking what each thing was. But now that everything was done Y/n rode into town on Jasper and her daughter on her lap.

It wasn't often that the single Mother came into town. Every time she was there she could feel the stares on her and her daughter when she did bring her. And she knew why. She has a daughter yet no husband. Y/n knows what the townspeople say behind her back. Calling her a whore, trollop, and an ex prostitute. But nobody knew jack shit about her. They were all making assumptions. They didn't know her life and the pain she's been through.

Not only that but being in town just felt unsafe. The hungry stares of the men made her feel nauseous, which was why she always carried a double barrel shot gun on her back. It was her own way of silently saying "Don't fuck with me and my daughter."

Y/n tugs on the reins a little and Jasper stops in front of the ice cream parlor. She gets off of Jasper and little Rosie clings to her Mother's back as she fastens the reins to the wooden pole.

"We won't be long bud. Come on princess, let's go."

Y/n pets Jasper on the head before holding her daughters hand and taking her into the parlor. Once inside the conversation around them immediately dies down as all the patron's eyes are on Y/n and her daughter; who goes to hide behind her Mother's leg.

"Why staring Mommy?" The little girl asks. Y/n pats her hair and answers back with a reassuring smile.

"They just think your dress is pretty and can't help but look at it."

Rosie grins and giggles, her cheeks pinkening with blush.

"Now let's go get ice cream yeah? What flavor do you want?"

"Strawberry!"

Since we're in town I may as well grab a few things so I won't have to come back. After finishing our ice cream I take Rosie with me to the hardware store across the street. While in there I grab a few things from the shelves. Life shot gun shells, a new steel file, and soap.

I go up to the clerk and put my things on the counter. The old man looks at me with his usual unimpressed look, just like how any other person in this miserable town looks at me.

"Will this be all?" He asks. I nod silently and hand him the appropriate amount of cash. After bagging my things he hands me my change and I grab the paper bag.

"Come on Rosie, let's go." I say and look down by my side at Rosie. But instead of my daughter I see the hardwood floor. My heart drops to my feet.

"Rosie?" I say again and perk up, looking around the store and down the aisles. Briskly walking to the store clerk I place my things back on the counter.

"Can you watch my bag? I need to find my daughter."

The old man nods with a grunt and opens up a newspaper. I ignore his careless attitude and I practically search the whole store for Rosie. Where the hell did she go? She was right next to me! I took my eyes off her for one second and this is what happens to me? I'm a horrible Mother.

Running outside the store I approach the first person I see. A blonde woman with a green dress and matching lace parasol.

"Excuse me? Have you seen my daughter? She's about this tall and has dark brown hair. She's also wearing a white dress." My words pour out of my mouth so fast that even I can barely understand what I'm saying. But the woman only shrugs.

"I do not know. Maybe you should keep a better eye on your child and you never would have lost her."

I glare at the prissy bitch and shoulder check her as I strut past her to ask the next person if they have seen Rosie.

"I can already see the potential in her Davis. Look at those beady little eyes. She'll be beggin' to suck cock in no time."

Rosie is shaking in fear, the poor girl has no idea what's going on. One minute she was in the hardware store looking at shiny things on the shelf, the next a hand was clamped over her mouth and she was being dragged outside the back entrance. She tried to scream but the hand over her mouth was too big. She tried to fight but her body was too small and weak.

There are three men standing above her. What they are talking about? She doesn't know. But her Mother taught her that strangers were dangerous. So their intentions were bad; these men were bad news. They had her tied up and gagged, her shivering body laid curled up on the ground as she silently sniffled.

"We'll take her to Alabama. She'll go for a hefty price there. I know a guy who likes em' younger." One of the men says. The same man hacks up mucus and spits in out on the ground right next to Rosie. Making the girl whine and cry even more.

"Quit your fuckin' cryin' or I oughta' give ya' somethin' to cry bout'" The scrawniest man of the group says. But his loud voice only makes the two year old cry more.

"Fucking hell, people will hear if she keeps this shit up. Someone hit her in the back of the head an' knock her lights out."

"She looks no older than two Marty. That'll kill her you dumb oaf!"

"Then wha do we do?"

The three men bicker back and forth. Arguing about how to silence the little girl. But as the three criminals argue they don't hear the approach of footsteps. It isn't until the girl stops crying that they turn around. A man with his faced covered by a bandana has Rosie in his arms. His brown cowboy hat is tilted low, casting a dark shadow over his eyes.

"Who the fuck are you?! Put her down!" The biggest man of the trio says. He reaches for his gun but the mysterious man tuts and wags his gloved index finger back and forth at the criminal.

"I wouldn't do that if I were ya' big guy." The man holding Rosie says in his smooth, accented southern drawl. The little girl is scared stiff as she clings to the man holding her. She doesn't know what it is about this stranger but he makes her feel safe unlike the three men who made her cry.

"Don't tell us what to do. There's three of us and one of you, we oughta fill you full of lead and piss on your corpse for thinkin' you can FUCK with us!" The scrawny man draws his gun and aims it right at the masked man's head.

Rosie cries and hides her face in the stranger's neck. He rubs her back and reassures her with a gentle coo.

"You'll be okay, just trust me alright? I'll get ya back to ya Momma and Poppa."

Rosie doesn't understand what he said, but she does understand that this stranger is protecting her.

"Keep your eyes closed honey, can you do that for me?"

Rosie shuts her eyes and holds onto him tighter. Beneath his dirty red bandana the man smiles. Then he looks back at the three scum bags in front of him. He heard everything they said about the girl. All of the disgusting things about how she had "potential" and wanting to sell her.

Men like them didn't deserve to live.

"Hand over the brat you fuck-"

The masked man draws his silver revolver in the blink of an eye and cocks back the hammer. He shoots the scrawny man right between the eyes. Rosie cries out at the loud burst of gunfire but he shushes her gently as he cocks back the hammer another two times and shoots the other two men dead before they can even draw their guns or speak. The three bodies lay stark still on the ground. The life from their eyes is gone as blood pools from each of their heads.

"Burn in hell ya' nasty bastards." The mystery man walks away from the scene to go somewhere safer, the little girl still in his arms. She has her hands over her ears because of how loud the three gunshots were. But with a pat on her head from the man she lowers her hands and looks up at him.

"It's over honey. Those bad men won't touch ya' ever again." He says and sits against a tree a little bit outside of town. The little girl sits crisscross applesauce on his lap. Her chubby little hands rest on her thighs as she stares at him.

The man reaches behind her head and unties the rag around her face. Those men treated her like livestock. If not worse. Abducting a little girl and tying her up like cattle? How disgusting. Men like that didn't deserve to see the light of day.

"What's your name little girl?" He asks her. Rosie sniffles and rubs her puffy eyes.

"R-Rosie.." She stutters, still shocked from the whole ordeal.

"Hey now, no need to be scared anymore okay? I won't harm a hair on your head. And your name is really pretty. Matches ya' rosy lil cheeks." He pinches her plush cheek, making the girl smile.

"Name?" Rosie says and pokes the man's chest with a little finger.

"Maddox. Maddox Graves."

Rosie only nods. Maddox can still tell she's scared. So he asks her some questions to get her mind off things.

"How old are you?"

"Two and half."

"You got a family?"

"I have Mommy!"

"Got a Daddy?"

"Mommy said Daddy in heaven."

Maddox sighs when the girl says she doesn't have a Father. Growing up Maddox didn't have a Father figure either. He only had his Mother who worked tooth and nail to provide for him when he was younger. It was a shame she died of tuberculosis. He was only 16 when she passed. And after her death he was born a new man. When his Mother died so did Manuel Gonsalez. And he was reborn Maddox Graves, the west's most feared gunslinger and outlaw.

"My Daddy's in heaven too Rosie. But my Daddy was a bad man, he had it comin' to him."

Rosie looks at Maddox with a sympathetic expression. Though she couldn't see his face she could see his eyes under the shadow of his hat. He seemed... hurt.

"Married?" Rosie asks him. She sees his eyes crease. He's smiling.

"Yeah, to the most beautiful woman in the world."

"Where she?"

"I don't know honey. I'm looking for her. I hope I find her.."

Maddox stiffles a gasp when the little girl suddenly hugs him. Her little arms go around his neck. It's been years since he was last shown any affection. the last person to give him a hug was Y/n. This little girl just had no idea how much her warm embrace meant to the man. He hugs her back and shuts his eyes, letting his years long guard down. Maddox parts from the hug and pats Rosie's head.

Maddox goes to ask the girl another question but the feeling of a cold hard object on the back of his head makes him pause. The outlaw doesn't flinch at the familiar feeling of a barrel of a gun being pressed against his head.

"You have three seconds to get your filthy hands off my little girl." Y/n growls out, her finger on the trigger of her double barrel shotgun. But Maddox feels his heart skip a beat when he hears the little girl's Mother's voice. How badly he wants to turn around and confirm his suspicion. But the slightest movement on his behalf may result in his brains being splattered onto the grass.

"Mommy!" Rosie squeals and jumps off Maddox's lap, making him wheeze and cradle his gut.

Rosie runs to Y/n and hugs her leg. Tears form in the eyes of the distressed Mother. She drops her gun and falls to her knees to embrace her daughter in return, completely forgetting about the man.

"Oh princess you had me worried sick! What happened?! Who is this man? Did he hurt you?"

Rosie shakes her head back in forth and parts from the hug. "He saved me Mommy! From bad men!"

Y/n feels her heart squeeze in pain. She couldn't even protect her own daughter, let alone keep an eye on her. Instead a stranger had to save her. Speaking of the stranger, Y/n looks up and sees the man standing above her and her daughter. They make eye contact and the man's brown eyes widen as Y/n's lips part. Something about him is familiar.

"Thank you for-"

"Princess?" He says in utter disbelief.

Y/n feels her words get caught in her throat at the oh so familiar pet name. Only one man has ever called her that.

"Maddox?"

The outlaw removes his bandana. A scar, stubble, and crooked nose. The same face Y/n saw before she ran out of that saloon years ago. He drops to his knees and pulls his wife into a tight embrace. His long search for his wife has finally come to an end.

"My wife, my beautiful beautiful wife. Mmm I was searching every end of the country for you. I thought you were gone forever." Maddox buries his face into her neck and inhales her familiar lavender scent. Even her skin has the same softness it had years ago.

Y/n though, is silent. She doesn't return the embrace her long lost husband gives her. Her mind and heart are racing. It's like she's witnessing a paranormal encounter with a ghost. If this is a trick then it is a cruel one. That wound should have killed him. But no, he survived and came back to her. After about three years he returns looking more alive than ever.

"I thought you died..." Y/n utters softly. Her eyes are wide with shock as tears form from her tear ducts. Hesitantly, she hugs him back. Arms moving slowly up his back she rests her hands on the blades of his shoulders and sinks her body into his. The two are like snakes, their bodies constricting and melting into each others warmth.

"I got you sweetheart, I got you. Just let it out princess. Everything's gonna be okay." Maddox soothingly coos and rubs her back as her tears finally fall. A shrill cry leaves the depths of Y/n's soul. Her hands grip the fabric of his jacket. She's afraid if she let's go he'll die again.

But no. He never died. He survived, and he's here in her arms. All her sacrifices have led her to this moment. In the end, living was worth it.

"Mommy?"

Y/n blinks the tears from her eyes and looks to her daughter who stands there with the hem of her dress in her tiny fists. The little girl looks like she wants to cry too.

"Why crying?" She asks in a wobblily tone. Y/n smiles and pulls her daughter in with her and Maddox's embrace.

"Mommy's just happy that Daddy came back from heaven."

Rosie's brown eyes light up with wonder. The man who saved her is her Father? She opens her arms as wide as she can and hugs Maddox with all her two year old might. However Maddox is frozen.

"She's... she's mine?" He whispers.

Y/n nods. "Mhm... I had her eight months after I ran out of that saloon. She's about to turn three."

Maddox's jaw is on the floor. Not only has he found his wife but he has a little girl too? His heart hurts at the thought of Y/n going through the pain of pregnancy and childbirth all alone. The outlaw looks down at the little girl. And he looks to Y/n for silent permission and she nods with a light chuckle.

"She's your daughter, you can hug her silly."

And with that the Father hugs his little girl close to his chest. He doesn't even know that he's crying right now. And he doesn't care, all he cares about are his two girls right in front of him. Nothing matters anymore except for this. He isn't going to run anymore, he's tired of running. Running is what made him lose everything in the first place. Running is how he lost Y/n. And he never wants to lose his wife again. Especially not when he has a daughter too.

It's time to settle down and raise his family. Maddox never considered having a family before, let alone no longer being an active criminal. But for Y/n? He'd walk on glass through the depths of hell.

"I'm never leaving you alone ever again, you hear me?" He says in a firm tone to Y/n, his eyes piercing into her own. "We're gonna be a family. No more running baby, I promise."

He pulls his wife in by the back of her neck and kisses her passionately. This moment was one he would photograph into his memory; his daughter in his arms and his lips on his wife's.

Being a Father was NOT something Maddox thought he would ever be. Hell, he’s Maddox fucking Graves, the most threatening man in the west. A guy like him raising a kid? Yeah it’s unimaginable.

He’ll never admit it but fatherhood scares him. And nothing scares him (well except for losing Y/n again.) because he’s just that damn tough! Or so he thought.

Rosie is a little bundle of joy. She’s smart, funny, and damn fast. Too fast.

How did Y/n raise her all on her own!? It’s like the girl wants to die or something because why is she always getting into shit!?

“Rose! Get ya’ little mitts out of the knife drawer!”

“Hey! Jesus Christ kid you’re gonna kill yourself if you get too close to the edge of that cliff!”

“You’re giving Daddy a heart attack sweet pea. I just got ya, ya can’t leave me yet.”

Y/n has been through so much so he never asks her for help when it comes to little Rosie. He can figure it all out on his own no problem. Maddox is a man so he’s the tough guy of the house. There isn’t anything Y/n can do that he can’t do.

However…

“Y/n! Rosie done gone and crapped herself!”

Loves kissing Rosie’s cheeks. They’re so chubby! Maddox is so happy that his little girl is healthy and happy.

Rosie may have his looks but she has her Mommy’s smile and attitude. It’s adorable.

Now back to Maddox and Y/n…

They’ve been separated for nearly three years. So their relationship dynamic has changed a little bit.

No more lone wolf outlaw Maddox. No, he’s putty in his wife’s hand. Meanwhile Y/n has grown more independent over the years having raised Rosie and gotten a job all by herself.

Maddox needs her by his side 24/7. He’ll get grumpy at the idea of her leaving. He doesn’t want a repeat of the past either. Just the thought of Y/n not being within his vicinity makes him worry.

“I gotta go into town and grab some food.”

“Huh? Why’s that? We gotta garden princess! Whatchu need food from there for when we have all that we need here?”

Don’t think for a second that Maddox isn’t a yandere anymore just because he’s a girl Dad now. Nope, nada, zilch.

He won’t hesitate to kill anyone who poses as a threat to his family.

Maddox was crazy for Y/n before but now he’s outright insane. He’s just really good at hiding it. And he’s also insanely over protective of Rosie.

“I was thinking, maybe we can send Rosie to the school house when she turns th-”

“Absolutely not.”

“Huh? Why not? She needs an education Maddox.”

“I will not have my daughter be around those nasty town boys. No way in fuckin’ hell is that happening. We’ll home school her.”

“Aww you’re so cute when you’re protective!”

In the end Maddox ended up enrolling Rosie into school later on because he had no idea how to explain Mathematics to her.

MAN this was a long one. Sorry for any grammar mistakes, my phone buggy as hell 😩

[mulletmitsuya]

Toman Captains + BajiFuyuTora Groupchat

Warnings: swearing, suggestive, mentions of substances, mentions of PTSD

Desc: Baji tries to make a polycule work with some heavy convincing

Baji: alr guys, i'm gonna ask Fuyu and Tora out on a date at the same time

Mitsuya: that's not gonna work

Draken: don't they hate each other? just pick one

Baji: no i'm in love with the both of them so i'm gonna ask both of them out

Baji: also they actually have feelings for each other but haven't realized it yet

Draken: you're pushing it

Smiley: first of all, Kazutora likes women

Baji: no, he has feelings for me but he hasn't realized it yet

Smiley: alright man

Mikey: Baji, your chances are better with Chifuyu. sort that out first because you're gonna ruin the entire friendgroup dynamic with this shit😟

Baji: we're not a friendgroup, we're lovers

Mikey: i'm talking about us, dipshit

Baji: who

Mikey: everyone who isn't Chifuyu and Kazutora??

Baji: idgaf

Mikey: ayt

Pah: weren't we your treasures or smth 🧐?

Baji: i've moved on to bigger things

Baji: smaller twinks

Baji: you get me?

Smiley: Chifuyu's short but he's not a twink.

Smiley: now Kazutora, we can call a twink

Smiley: you guys are using this word wrong

Mikey: it's it just a skinny guy?

Smiley: "a gay or effeminate man, or a young man, regarded as an object of homosexual desire, usually a bottom. they are attractive and slim in appearance."

Draken: this is just Mitsuya

Mikey: 🧐

Mitsuya: ?

Smiley: that is correct but i didn't wanna say anything cause that twink got hands🤷‍♂️

Mikey: now that i think about it, Mitsuya used to be kinda built. not buff but not skinny. fuck happened

Pah: Draken died

Pah: "died"

Baji: so he stopped eating? lame

Mitsuya: do you guys get how mourning works

Draken: well i'm good now so let's get this grub 🗣

Draken: sorry for making you sad, brother

Draken: it's my mission to bulk you up again

Mitsuya: i'm fine👍

Mikey: no one dying is going to get in between me and a meal😭🙏

Mikey: skill issue on Mitsuya's part

Smiley: skill issue is when your friend dies and you go into a depression so deep that you can't even eat anymore

Mikey: that's what i'm saying❗

Smiley: leave it up to Draken to get shot 3 times in the chest and just walk it off

Smiley: that was kinda hard tho

Draken: thanks👍

Draken: it hurt really bad

Draken: i think it traumatized me

Draken: i can't go to amusement parts now. or listen to fireworks cause i'll start hallucinating shit that happened from that night. weird

Mitsuya: ...that's called ptsd

Baji: yeah man you have ptsd

Draken: what's ptsd

Baji: PTSDEEZ NUTS LMAOOOOOOO

Baji: GOT EM

Draken: i wish your suicide attempt worked you mentally challenged, wanna be werewolf, loreal shampoo ad looking ass bitch

Baji: BANG BANG BANG💣💥💣💥💣💥

Mikey: DUDE💀

Baji: do you guys get it

Baji: it's the gunshots

Baji: because he has PTSD

Baji: 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

Draken: do you remember how you killed Shinichiro

Baji: 😐

Mikey: GUYS💀

Draken: i'm sorry Mikey

Draken: but

Draken: Baji do you remember when you were screaming his name and watched him bleed to death

Smiley: ☠️

Draken: the skull represent Shinichiro, who you killed

Baji: anyway

Baji: back to my kittens

Baji: before Draken decided to take shit too far😒

Draken: when you go low I'll go lower

Baji: cause you were almost 6 feet under???

Draken: where you put Shinichiro??

Baji: ANYWAY

Mikey: Ken-chin he's gonna kill himself again😔

Draken: that is exactly the point

Baji: HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO SAY ANYWAY

Baji: anyway

Baji: back to the topic at hand 😐

Baji: i'm doing it tonight

Mitsuya: ahem

Mitsuya: do you know how awkward it's gonna be when Kazutora rejects you? we don't wanna have to deal with that

Baji: he won't reject me

Mikey: your delusional

Baji: can you guys name a situation in which things didn't work out for me?

Baji: no you can't

Mitsuya: 1) Bloody Halloween??

Draken: 2) Your grades🤨?

Mikey: 3) Not making your mom cry🤔?

Baji: ...

Baji: those don't count

Smiley: it's so hard trying to talk to stupid people

Smiley: he doesn't use logic at all

Draken: Baji don't fucking ask them out

Mikey: ask Chifuyu!!! that f slur is obsessed with you😍

Draken: don't say that word😐

Mikey: i literally didn't say it😭

Mitsuya: Baji please just think for literally one second

Baji: too late cause i just texted them

Mitsuya: omfg

Mikey: you fool😞

Mikey: what did you say??

Baji: i went to our groupchat

Baji: "yo let's cut the bullshit. i'm in love with the both of you so why don't we all date and love each other in a relationship with all three of us and shit"

Baji: i sent that

Smiley: you're very... direct

Smiley: i'll give you that

Smiley: Kazutora's gonna say no

Draken: obviously

Baji: bet

Baji's kittens:

Kazutora: Chifuyu can you please change the fucking groupchat name

Kazutora: i know you and Baji do kinky shit together but i am NOT anybody's kitten

Chifuyu: but Baji-san changed it and i can't change it back if he doesn't want me to

Chifuyu: and Baji-san and i do not do "kinky shit"

Chifuyu: we don't have a sexual relationship😐

Kazutora: you have free will mothefucker!! you don't need his fucking permission

Kazutora: is he your dom or something😭

Kazutora: why are so obsessed with him jesus

Kazutora: you guys are gay af

Chifuyu: just because i don't stab my friends doesn't mean i'm gay

Chifuyu: i just respect him a lot cause he's cool 😒

Chifuyu: nothing you'd know about

Chifuyu: you psychopath

Kazutora: you slobber on his dick all day

Kazutora: "Baji-san!!! What a cool kick!! Can you teach me😁?"

Kazutora: you might as well just ask him to put it in

Chifuyu: shut the fuck up all you've ever known are the prison walls that enclosed you

Kazutora: NOT ANYMORE😁

Baji: ladies, ladies

Baji: there's enough to go around 😏

Baji: ew. alright i'm never using that emoji again what the fuck

Kazutora: CHANGE THE GROUPCHAT NAME

Baji: no

Kazutora: you and Chifuyu can do your pet play somewhere else please leave me out of it 🙏

Baji: nuh uh

Baji: you're a tiger

Baji: tigers are cats

Baji: so you're a kitten

Baji: done deal

Kazutora: i'm an adult tiger not a kitten😐

Baji: i'm the alpha and you and Chifuyu are my omega's

Kazutora: what the fuck does that mean????

Chifuyu: haha Baji-san😂

Kazutora: i've never seen someone ride someone else's meat so hard before holy shit

Chifuyu: if you don't understand what respect is, just say that 🙄

Baji: don't lie Chifuyu

Baji: you're in love with me

Kazutora: LMFAOOOOOOOOO

Baji: you are too Kazutora

Kazutora: 🤨

Baji: yo let's cut the bullshit. i'm in love with the both of you so why don't we all date and love each other in a relationship with all three of us and shit

Baji: you guys are in love with each other too just by the way

Kazutora: what

Kazutora: that's not how anything works

Chifuyu: Baji-san i ask again is this a prank 🤣🤣🤣

Kazutora: it has to be cause i'm not a boy kisser like you mfs

Baji: Kazutora be fr. you just got out of prison, you're clinically insane, you're on parole, people feel unsettled by your presence, you have an ankle bracelet, you belong to the state, you have mommy AND daddy issues, you've killed someone

Kazutora: damn

Kazutora: you didn't have to list it like that

Baji: all i'm saying is that i'm your best option because i don't care about all of this and i'll take care of you for the rest of your life even tho you're crazy

Baji: cause i love you (gayly)

Baji: you could even stab me again

Chifuyu: NO

Baji: Chifuyu shut the up i'll get to you babe

Chifuyu: yes Baji-san

Kazutora: "yes daddy😩😍"

Kazutora: what the fuck dude you could least try to hide it 💀

Baji: can u focus

Kazutora: oh right

Kazutora: what about gay sex tho

Baji: i'll teach you

Kazutora: but you have a dick

Baji: uhhhh

Baji: fine you can use yours

Baji: nah nevermind i'm not a bottom

Baji: fuck you

Kazutora: i didn't even say anything

Kazutora: but whatever ig

Kazutora: i'm not gonna be with Chifuyu tho😐

Baji: you are

Kazutora: 😒

Baji: Chifuyu we've been in love for years so i know you'll say yes. just needed to convince Tora babygirl

Chifuyu: but is this a prank tho🤣🤣

Baji: no

Baji: you are my boyfriend now

Baji: both of you come over

Kazutora: ughhhhhhhhhhhhh

Kazutora: fine

Chifuyu: are the both of you pranking me🤣😂

Baji: just come over you fucking idiot

Baji: that was too mean

Baji: please come over you fucking idiot❤

Captains:

Baji: they said yes and we're all about to have sex now

Mikey: you're just gonna lie Baji

Draken: should i get beers? you can cry if you want i won't even laugh at you

Draken: i promise

Mikey: you're just gonna lie Ken-chin

Mitsuya: what did they actually say

Baji: they're coming over? and we're about to make love? are you guys dumb 🤨

Baji: it worked out how i said it would

Smiley: Draken gets the beers i'll get the cigarettes

Smiley: Baji we tried to tell you

Draken: don't piss me off cause you know i don't smoke

Draken: you're gonna influence Angry into an early grave

Draken: do you want your brother to have lung cancer

Smiley: chill

Smiley: Angry tried a cigarette and almost died

Smiley: so you don't have to worry about that

Smiley: fine i'll bring weed instead

Mitsuya: where are you getting drugs😐

Smiley: my plug, duh 😁

Mikey: can i have a weed as well please

Smiley: idk man what if your dark impulses come out or something

Mikey: my therapist said that only happens with specific triggers so it's fine

Mikey: plus i have a shock collar in case that happens

Draken: i don't think that's normal 🤨

Baji: you guys are pissing me off

Mikey: dude it's fine we can comfort you even tho we told you so

Draken: i'm gonna be the better man and forgive you since you've just been rejected

Baji: yk what idgaf

Baji: i'ma just nut in my kittens

Baji: bye losers

Baji: no one does it like i do

Mikey: poor thing🙁

[tuesday-teyz]

By popular demand,

What in the everloving happened in chapter 40

Major spoilers under the cut. Trigger warnings relevant to BR apply.

Tommy organizes a festival. He claims it is to try and lure out their previous attackers into revealing themselves. Purpled, disguised as him, makes a public appearance while Tommy himself sends Fran out to find and bring Wilbur to him. It's important to know that we do not see or know what Tommy does prior to getting there.

TDLR: br!Phil is suicidal, br!Tommy killed Clara, Tommy started the fire, br!Wilbur's death was premediated murder, br!Fundy was not in the castle.

I will start the explanation with the events after POV switch to Wilbur, but if there's anything that confuses you prior to that, you can let me know in asks or under this post.

Note that I rephrase or restructure things that have been mentioned in the chapter itself and the full explanation of motivations will come in chapter 41.

The dialogue itself is more or less straightforward. The facts from Tommy's confessions are these:

1) Emperor Philza's assassination attempt 3 years prior was not an assassination. It was his attempt at ending it all disgused as assasination by Tommy and Clara to prevent the public from freaking out.

2) Philza left a will that appoints Clara as regent until Tommy is 21 or otherwise ready for the position. Something goes wrong however, and Clara tries to get rid of Tommy.

3) Tommy gets Quackity's help to arrange an accident that kills Clara. Tommy is vehement that it was not a necessity but a choice he made.

4) The guilt over Clara's death drives Tommy to an attempt on his own life. Fundy, 2 years old at the time, inadvertently prevents it by stumbling upon him in the process.

Then the fire happens. Wilbur tries to break into the castle as it burns because Fundy is sleeping there, and Tommy shows him a sneaky way to get in (learned from Michael, mentioned earlier in the chapter). Tommy however knows that Fundy is not in the castle anymore, so he is intentionally misleading Wilbur.

Tommy was the one who started the fire. This is alluded to earlier in the chapter with the things he purchases in the market: flint and steel, and brimstone (a component of gunpowder; highly flammable). The fire gives him several advantages:

An important thing is that Tommy doesn't want Wilbur to die a long and painful death, but rather something that can be over quick. He also must witness the death himself, or otherwise it will be the same position as six years ago, not knowing for sure if he could have survived. Tommy does not expect or plan for them to get so far into the flames, and at that point the chances of both of them dying there increase dramatically. He stops biding time for Wilbur to get himself killed and uses the dagger.

1) No witnesses around;

2) Any evidence will be destroyed;

3) Death can be blamed on fire or smoke.

So, Tommy started the fire, tricked Wilbur into jumping straight into it, and waited on a good moment to strike.

The jump from the window was not an attempt. Tommy was cut off by fire, so it was either try his chances there or burn with Wilbur, and he already made the choice in that regard. Again, the full extent of his motivations shall go in the next chapter, but you can study the implications to start putting the picture together.

[cconfusedkat]

For another few decent weeks, I had been thinking abt Wilt's bishops,, and how I wanted them to look. Soooo over the past week, as well as pmv planning, I came up with a few things for the rest of the four :>ccc

This would be pre-betrayal, way before Wilt killed their siblings rather than,, just injuring them! No good deed! Ouch

Wilt had slowly become a spider everyone learned to fear by instinct. They had more members in their war cult compared to the other four—speeeaaaaking of cults, the only cult that didn't exist in Goat's world is the death cult! Instead, the purple crown of wisdom was given to Thanatos (a.k.a Narinder , puprinder if you will :>c for months i wanted to make a german spitz lol-)

Nowwww obligatory warning image ；

Hi! Hi. We good. Are we good now. Are you still okay with suicide and graphic death details . Let's continue 🎊

Their deaths were erased off the og two images up- but yeah, instead of leaving the four with injuries, they went with the full kill option,,, attempting to prove their worth as a god of war? Which? They SHOULDNT have since being a god AND monarch was already plentiful for them???? But hey i guess thats just how mental illness operates and passes down onto you

Ive yet to draw a proper thing for how thanatos. like. Laid there on his wooden bed with a carved skull. That was when i kept him as a cat but i changed my mind two days ago, and, well, here we are- hes a dog now-

Im about 50 seconds into the pmv so i dont have All the things i want to share from my brain! However without spoiling too much-

Wilt clearly did regret murdering their siblings after a while in Purgatory. This isnt them in Purgatory to clarify, as purgatory is a bright & neon orange and full of clouds,, plus we're missing the chain in the head if thats the case ^v^;;

Thanatos was the last planned one to die. Wilt was angry at how long he hid from them, and thanatos ... thanatos didnt know what else to do , especially considering he had a status to mantain and it was rather foolish of him to continue hiding.

Hours before Wilt would arrive to Thanato's palace, thanatos told his guards about framing wilt for murder. The guards looked at him like a crazed man (which, to be fair, he had a right to be going crazy cuz his siblings werent just dead but the other important gods were dying alongside,, he didnt wanna die under the wrath of the god of war. That'd make him look even more foolish than he already saw himself as)

Wilt busted down Thanato's door in his bedroom. Every other room in the palace of his was empty. They opened the curtains to only find his body laying flat—diagonally—on the wooden bed, his bishop clothes still on with a carved off head. His whole skull was visible and still had some blood left on the sockets and bone.

^ Forgot to mention, Wilt wasn't just freaked out at Thanato's still body on the bed. They freaked out because his "ichor" was red. Gods had black, blue, or golden ichor: mortals had just red blood. Wilt realized Thanatos felt every single second of pain from his own suicide.

Causing a panic response in Wilt as planned, they fell to their knees only crying more ichor,, Thanato's guards captured Wilt. It wasn't likely of them to go down without a fight. Areem, one of Thanto's main guards, knew this about Wilt; he prepared a step further, secretly being all the way on the top of the bed, plunging his sword into Wilt's head to go down through their whole body

UMMM. SO. That was what sent Wilt to Purgatory, can also be be referred to as The Above- Areem was the one to then guard Wilt usually in Purgatory. He gave them a change of robes, just not the ones they Actually wanted (the dark gray-purple robes with the gray-purple shall) WHIIIICH EXPLAINS THIS IMAGE FROM OCTOBER

Currently not too sure on what else to mention about these bishops! I did switch the evil's around, though :o) another little fact about Wilt is that their other four legs were cut off so that's why in Purgatory + Follower form they have two legs rather than their original spider form pre-betrayal.

I do wanna add that their actions are inexcusable so ,, even as a follower in goat's cult they're still like. Pretty rude and blunt. Sometimes it's on purpose, but lesser times its not on purpose. I like to believe they grew desensitized to death over time as well as lacking empathy due to social isolation for three millenia, so that explains their behavior much better rather than excusing it? They are the villain of their own history so- lmao-

The goat genocide happened simultaneously before and after Wilt's death! It took three millenia to eradicate all the goat's left of the warlands, perfect timing for Goat & Ram to die ++ showing up in Wilt's realm (which was another perfect convenience for two siblings to appear, since Thanatos died long ago and his wisdom crown was inactive,, the only crowns Wilt had access to were the crown of famine & the crown of wisdom! (Another thing that explained their changed title after giving goat & ram the crowns of war++wisdom, the god of fear and famine)

ER OK YEAH THAT MIGHT BE ALL I HAVE TO SHARE FOR NOW!! YAYYYYYY I just gotta continue working on the pmv :-3cc

[futuremrscameron]

angel!reader

content warnings: referenced child abuse, attempted murder, religious psychosis, delusions of grandeur, mentioned patricide, chronic migraines, blasphemy, violence, blood, religious symbolism, mentions of drug abuse, breeding kink, suicidal ideation, stabbing, violent thoughts, religious imagery, toxic relationship

angel!reader technically a pogue but she lives just outside of obx so she doesn’t fit into the category

angel!reader lives in a house house that’s decrepit and falling apart because she doesn’t wanna “forget the damage”

angel!reader grew up in a small southern town with her father who resented her for “killing” her mother

angel!reader saw church as her safe place because her father wasn’t there. he was usually too drunk from the previous night’s ventures to go + he hated god for taking his wife away from him

angel!reader suffers from chronic migraines. they started when she was five and she learned how to treat them herself so she wouldn’t have to ask her father for help. she tried that once and had to sit through hours of yelling about how she “killed his wife and had the nerve to talk about her pain”

angel!reader who would ask god for guidance on what to do about her father every day. she took actions into her own hands but she would prefer to believe that god steered her to those abandoned ropes argue the church and the gasoline canister from the station. she really only counted her father’s lighter being on his nightstand instead of in his pocket like it usually is as luck

angel!reader knew she was destined for great things when the town rallied around her after the death of her father, pies at her doors, praying for her, telling her their door was always open, and offering to help clean up the damage caused by the fire

angel!reader already knows about the cross because religious items

angel!reader who gives all her money to tithe and is constantly struggling to make ends meet when she meets rafe and barry

the two men went to the house after receiving information about a pastor that knew the whereabouts of the cross of santo domingo but like many leads it was a dead end. or so they thought. the pastor, after some convincing, gave them the address of a member of the congregation that had been worrisome lately but they all brushed it off as grief.

he told them about her whispers of crosses and how she was planning on leaving he small town to find it.

when they arrived at the small house they found was a sweet looking girl who invited them inside for tea and cookies. she invites them in, tells them to make themselves at home, and disappears into the kitchen to check on her cookies.

barry knows something’s up but rafe tells him to chill and goes to look around. he finds the burned bedroom and realizes barry was right. then he hear him scream, it’s a feral, pained scream that he’s never heard from barry.

he rushes back downstairs and sees the “harmless” girl raising a switchblade over her head ready to bring it down on barry. he shoots her.

she falls on her back, clutching her shoulder, mumbling a prayer as rafe checks on barry. the stab wound is deep, he needs aid now. rafe ties the girl up, holds her at gunpoint, and makes her clean and close barry’s wound until they can get back to obx

angel!reader uses alcohol, her father’s lighter, and her sewing needle to fix barry up. she convinces rafe to untie her so he can stop her bleeding. she walks him through he using the lighter and her switchblade to cauterize her gunshot wound

angel!reader is more or less kidnapped by rafe and barry after the incident. she’s scared of dying because she believes she’s going to hell for killing her father, rafe of course uses this to manipulate her

angel!reader hates the way rafe makes her feel, she sees him as a temptress who’s trying to take her godliness (he is but not in the way she thinks)

angel!reader does not get along with the pogues. she believes they're troublemakers who have no care for anyone but themselves. the only one she befriends is pope because he's kind to her and wants the cross for "selfless reasons"

angel!reader believes rafe when he tells her they're after the cross of santo domingo to get it back to its rightful place, with the heywards

angel!reader who frowns when barry says she’s got “big brown soulless eyes” because when they met she stabbed barry in the gut and all he could do as he bled out was look at her big brown eyes staring down at him with contempt

angel!reader who feels a type of way whenever rafe calls her 'angel'

angel!reader had a breakdown before during and after rafe melted the cross

she told him not to but he wouldn’t listen. he didn’t care about his soul being damned to hell, that’s how she knew he was the devil.

when she got there he was watching the fire consume the cross with glee in his eyes. barry stood a good distance away, taking a swig of beer and shaking his head in disbelief every couple seconds.

“how could you?” barry has the decency to look ashamed but rafe? he doesn’t even look at her, too entrances by the fire.

“you knew this was coming.”

“i told you not to.”

“you should know better than anyone else, when .”

were still setting up their makeshift furnace

angel!reader swears to get revenge on rafe and barry after because they've "desecrated the cross"

angel!reader becomes a genuine problem when she visits limbrey and gets information on rafe’s potential dealings. she plans on killing anyone who plans on buying the gold pieces

angel!reader is stopped by rafe when he finds her tailing him to his meet up with a client. they tussle for a bit, she pins him down but she can’t bring herself to kill him. she sobs into his chest and asks him why he did it, why he betrayed her, why he burned the cross. it’s a ‘come to god’ moment for him (no pun intended)

angel!reader misses her church back at home so she joins the congregation of obx’s church and quickly rises through the ranks and uses it for its community

angel!reader hangs out with barry even when rafe’s not around. barry may find her scary but it’s fun to listen to her read the bible while high and if she’s in a particularly good mood shit talk members of her congregation.

angel!reader keeps rafe on his toes with her perception of him, allowing him to be seen not as a devil but as a dimmed angel. the way she sees him makes him wanna keep her all to himself, he’s scared to fuck up now because he’s scared of losing one of the few people that he has left

—————————————————————————

i hope y’all liked this one, i’ve been working on it for a while and i’m excited to hear y’alls thoughts as always feedback, praise, and criticism is welcome (keep it classy though) <3

[loveanddeepspice]

𝕋𝕖𝕞𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔾𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕖

✞ synopsis:  you've come back to the small town you grew up in for a visit. though your relationship with the catholic church and faith in general have been strained since you were younger, you find yourself drawn back to the church... or more specifically... the new priest... you aren't ready to share your secret sin with him... but you may not be able to help yourself.

✞ pairing: sylus x curvy fem!reader

✞ rating:  18+ (minors do not engage)

✞ cw:  religion (catholicism), priest, lapsed faith, adultery, priest kink, suicidal mention, dead parent, sex, masturbation, drugs (marijuana), drinking (more will be added when/if they arise)

✞ disclaimer: this fiction explores a romantic relationship between a lapsed Catholic and an unconventional priest. it is not designed to be inflammatory or critical. catholic authors were asked to participate in the process. we hope you enjoy it, but we know that these topics can be sensitive, so please skip this fiction if it will in any way offend you.

✞ chapter:  1 / ?

✞ co-authors:  redbriony, confuseddoughnut (they do not have tumblr)

✞ ao3 link:  here Please respond to this post if you want to be added to the tag list for upates!

The crisp smell of autumn was something you missed about the small neighborhood you grew up in. Pieces of golden yellow, burnt orange, and honey-brown leaves scattered over the gray cobblestone walk, making it look like a beautiful quilt. The street felt warm as afternoon crept up to greet you after a whole morning of heavy grocery shopping and last-minute errands.

And…your dad needed to go to confession.

You didn't have an understanding relationship with religion. You felt tense as you stood in front of the church from your childhood, a relatively small building with arched windows that probably had more than one glass shard smashed by a local kid.

"How is Father Thomas anyway?" You found yourself asking. The memory of your mother on her deathbed flooded your head. Your mom had her problems, and she was stricken with her faith even in her dying moments. And when you had asked the priest if she could be saved, he had reassured you that she was already in the arms of God. 

"Why is he taking her?" You had asked, feeling powerless and exhausted, hugging yourself tightly in an attempt to hold back all of the anxiety and sadness.

Father Thomas had given you, at the time, the most religious bull crap you've ever heard in your frustration. "God never condemns the innocent to suffer. Even if God seems to have turned His back on her...He was actually just loving her enough not to let her get away with it."

That didn't answer your question. It sounded like comfort. But how many people found peace after drunkenly crashing her car and injuring another man in the process?

You should've kept your mouth shut.

"Father Thomas left." Your father told you, yanking you out of your memories and into the chilling Fall breeze. "Father Sylus took over a year ago."

You frowned and took a deep breath, nodding. "Have fun, then. If you need anything, I'll be in the car."

"You coming in?" Your dad pushed his hands into the pockets of his windbreaker.

"No," You replied firmly. "I don't have anything to confess." You had plenty of secrets, none of which you ever intended to discuss, especially not with some out-of-touch priest whose homilies preached forgiveness even as he judged his parishioners - another Father Thomas clone. "Besides, what do you have to confess? Piss off the neighbors again?"

He ignored your sarcasm. "You can come if you want."

After your mother's death, it had become clear that all she ever had was religious guilt. And when you thought about it now, nothing made sense. What part of God's divine plan included drunk driving, death, divorce, depression, drugs, or illness? 

But you couldn't ignore that pull, the way those ornate doors called to you from an insatiable hunger inside yourself. Like the secrets only whispered within the walls of the church. The whisper of your mother telling you just to suck it up and go in.

"Yeah, sure," you forced a smile. You could glimpse something you have missed in the structure before , maybe . For the past few years, you had been trying to spot miracles and tried to find an explanation as to why your mother had died before your eyes that wasn't backwashed with the usual sentiment. 

When you walked through the doors, you paused. It was like time and life had stopped. This chapel gave off an eerily peaceful feeling. With thick wooden pillars reaching up and gently hugging the ceiling, you remembered what it felt like to truly be a child of God—just for a moment, anyway.

Your eyes fell on the apse hosting the Marian shrine, surrounded by candles, many already lit. You recall every candle you lit for your mother, first praying to let her be well, to let her set down the bottle. Then, you prayed harder as she lay in the hospital. You lit a piece of your soul afire with every wick.

And all of it amounted to nothing. Ashes only. Like your mother, sitting in an urn on top of the mantle of your childhood home.

Along the back wall trailed the line of bored parishioners waiting for their turn to confess. You take your spot at the back of the line with your father, settling into the familiar routines of the sacraments.

As the line moves, crawling slowly along the back wall of the nave, you scroll through your phone, or at least start to.

So much of this place reminds you of Father Thomas — the smell of incense, the sound of muffled coughs echoing off the vaulted ceiling, the tinkling sound of the baptismal font in the entryway. 

But there is a presence here that feels nothing like Father Thomas. 

Was it appropriate to compare the new priest to the old one?

This new person sat behind the wooden barrier, shrouded in darkness. Something about him arrested your attention. Your phone sits, ignored, in your hand. 

You know he is the person who would wait for the words you speak in confession, without judgment, and to whom you had no obligation until the moment you would open your mouth. 

"Forgive me Father , for I have sinned. It's been three years since my last confession," you spoke in a quiet, solemn tone. You didn't believe that much had changed since you moved away. Well, except for the one thing that happened - but there was no way you were going to tell him that.

Unbidden memories came to mind. Memories of steamy nights tucked away in hotels, illicit meetings that you knew were wrong because he belonged to someone else already, but you just couldn't resist…

No. You couldn't tell him about that. You were far too ashamed. No, you had to think of something else to say. Anything else to say. 

Tilting your head towards the floor, you lowered your eyes, fighting back any self-loathing emotions in your mind. For a long time, you told yourself that life happened, and in the meantime, there were other things to experience besides faith. 

You had almost forgotten how this all worked and what was supposed to happen next. You heard a shift, the sound of wood creaking. 

"Tell me your sins." The voice of the new priest was soft and smooth, in a way that made the hairs on your arms stand. Father Thomas had never sounded like him, ever reminded anyone what they were supposed to do during confession. In the deep recesses of your mind, you felt there was something unsettlingly familiar about that tone, that cadence. 

Closing your eyes, you tried to bring up literally anything else that could be considered a sin. "I - I told my dad he was an asshole this week." 

Was there really nothing else you could tell him? It felt like a lost cause. He would most likely repeat some bible verse you already knew and admonish you for 'sinning' as much as you had while also claiming the salvation of heaven was all yours for the taking. But that was your burden to shoulder and not his. 

"Why did you call him an asshole?" 

"Sorry?" You weren't sure what was happening. Confession was a place of absolution, a place to listen, not encourage further action or rationale. At least that's how Father Thomas always - 

"Why did you call your father an asshole?" The question was asked again, a little louder as if you hadn't heard it. The more you thought about the question, the less you could discern its intent. Was he looking for something you didn't know?

"Uh, he forgot to pick me up from the airport." You sighed, but the conversation didn't end there. When you paused, you heard him shift again. If you had to guess, he nodded in that kind of stiff way priests do. He probably did it every time you stopped talking, even when there wasn't any vocal confirmation or cue. 

"How long did you wait?" 

"Two hours." You quickly said, trying to imagine a face to match the voice, failing to identify even a bit of the man behind the screen. "I almost got hit by some guy's truck." Another pause made you think back to that moment at the airport when you had gotten so frustrated at your father on the phone. "When Dad finally showed up, he said the fees for the parking garage were too high and made me walk to his car." 

Perhaps this Father Sylus was a lunatic, clearly used to the rich and holy roller types that confessed to him daily. Perhaps his interest in your story would wane. Instead of offering any indication that he cared, he only shifted again. 

When he finally spoke again, his voice soothed any anger brewing. "The Lord teaches us that before we judge others, we should measure ourselves - Proverbs 28:13. 'Whoever conceals their sins does not prosper, but the one who confesses and renounces them finds mercy.' Three Hail Marys and 1 Our Father. And apologize to your father."

You found yourself unsure of how to respond before bowing your head again, "Thank you, Father."  

[elexaria]

TW — mentions of suicidal ideation and suicide attempt

simon is out on sick leave, his mental health has gotten worse since johnny died. “can’t have you in service if you’re not 100%, riley.” price gruffly remarks as he signs simon’s papers, eyes looking up through thick eyebrows at si, who is angrily glancing away.

sick leave is torture. simon feels lost, no anchor to tether him down to earth. without work, he is nothing. without johnny, he’s ….. nothing.

he spends all day rotting away in bed, his thumb rasping against a battered old photograph of him and johnny on holiday in mallorca. johnny with a gorgeous tan, and simon all pink. no, he doesn’t get an impeccable bronze. that man BURNS.

the corners of simon’s lips twitch as he glances at johnny in the photo, admiring how handsome he truly was. he would give anything to see him again.

and then it gets hard to get anything but dying out of his head. if he dies, then maybe he can see johnny again. they can finally be together again. right?

the capt drops off a small bundle of johnny’s stuff at simon’s apartment, and then a small package is delivered in the post from mrs mactavish, johnny’s mom. various bits and bobs, some of johnny’s tshirts, his favourite cap, some sketchbooks.

his dog tags.

simon’s surprised to find them; he thought that they would be put in johnny’s urn or something. but clearly his mom thought otherwise, she must’ve known how much johnny adored simon. he would have moved heaven and earth for that mancunian.

still, suicide ghosts every waking moment of simon’s life. he glances at johnny’s dog tags besides his bed, chewing his chapped lips as he entertains the idea more. and again when he’s walking around the shops, glancing at various means of killing himself. his thumb rasps against the cold metal of johnny’s tags from within his jacket pocket as his free hand extends to read the packet of rat poison. might be a bit too painful, and apparently it stinks to the high heavens.

simon puts the box of rat poison back, continuing to walk around the shop, thumb still stroking against the dog tags as he continues to glance around the store. he can’t take painkillers, there’s a limit to two boxes per person. so, he settles on visiting the hardware store, and buys a bundle of sturdy rope. even grabs some plywood and metal brackets. “makin’ a swing for the little’un.” he mumbles to the cashier, flashing an uneasy yet somewhat believable smile to her as he fishes out some loose bank notes from his jean pockets. he’s not big on wallets.

for almost a week, simon sits on the edge of his bed staring at the bundle of rope next to a chair from his kitchen. he knows its the only way out, so why is it so terrifying? just do it, riley. do it.

he scrawls out demented ramblings on some loose leaf paper, barely readable chicken scratch to captain price, gaz and to mrs mactavish. “i’ll always be grateful for you for bringing my johnny boy into the world.” is somewhat legible in the letter written to her.

he neatly leaves the letters at the foot of his bed, taking a deep breath as he reaches into his pocket for johnny’s dog tags. for a moment, simon admires them in the dim lighting of his bedroom, watching as the thin metal clinks together. sergeant john mactavish.

as the tags slowly slip over simon’s head, the ball chain momentarily getting caught on a wry piece of scruffy blonde hair, they finally join with simon’s own tags on his chest as he stands on the kitchen chair. for a moment, his hand reaches out against his wardrobe to steady his balance. he slips the noose around his neck, heart thumping against his rib cage ferociously. do it, simon. do it.

simon’s trying his best to still his breathing, taking deep breaths as he tries to dull the nagging thoughts, against his instincts to not do this.

“tae fuck d’yae ‘hink yer daein?!”

simon falls back against his wardrobe out of shock, eyes wide with horror as he glances in the direction of that all too familar voice, that voice that immediately drowns out every single thought that was screaming at simon to kill himself.

it’s johnny.

he’s effervescent, an angelic silhouette of his mortal self. a halo of warm light, blue, ghosts around his form.

simon’s mouth is agape, eyes still wide as his body freezes. immediately, he tears the noose off of his head, damn near stumbling off the chair to get a closer look of the spectacle in front of him.

“johnny? but… you’re…”

“dead? aye, sherlock. i am.” the silhouette retorts sarcastically, flashing ghostly pearly whites in a lopsided grin, one that’s terrifying just like johnny’s signature grin. simon backs against the wardrobe, his breathing uneven and scant as he begins to panic. this isn’t normal, this isn’t right.

the mass of energy and light shaped like johnny notices this panic in simon, and seems to frown. it slowly moves towards him, a hand reaching out to touch simon’s shoulder. it’s hauntingly cold, and it makes simon recoil with horror. the spectre frowns even more, retracting its hand.

this can’t be johnny.

because johnny’s dead.