#Part of me wishes they had committed to keeping Crumble dead

[iamfarfromvibingrightnow]

They really played the lyrics "In another life we are inspired. In another life we are complete. Every night we sing by fires. And every morning tell each other of our dreams" while Angelica was being dragged away from the first adult figure that ever cared about her, and who she was supposed to finally get to grow up with. They really had the lyric "In another life you never stray" playing while Crumble looks at the little girl that never got the love she deserved, and was forced to do the things she did to find people that would stand by her. They really played the lyrics "In another life I never leave" while she waved goodbye. They really made us hear the words "In another life you’re just a little girl who never has to know what she believes" while showing us Angelica standing in the absolute wasteland that forced her to grow up so young before she was ready. They really said "But who are we the ones to tell whether this is heaven or hell?" While everyone else celebrated and embraced each other, because it's so beautiful that these people all found each other, but why did it have to happen like this?

They really did that to me personally.

[aforismosfraudulentos]

When death meets me

I was 6 years old, playing hide and seek with my sister, when death was in the next room with a coffin.

An uncle of my mom had died. Whose existence I only remember because of his house: a big orange ball of light hanged from their ceiling in a small room that had an electric piano, an interior display legitimate to the 70’s. A home that I can only remember because of the bizarre imagination I put onto it, the play and amazement that a child’s mind can bring to it.

I hid behind an extinguisher, as my commitment to play didn’t hinder my eye potential capacity to find where to place my self in a space where only dead and grief can be displayed. But I got called by my mom, who just reminded me somebody I knew was laying in the next room. I couldn’t understand why would we have to stay there all day, as I maybe thought, they need to sleep comfortable. And comfortable meant in their own company. I was offered to watch the lay there, and I didn’t want to disturb the deep sleep. However, I even knew then that they weren’t dreaming.

The next time I greeted death up-close, I was 17. It came for my grandfather, my mom’s father. The second grief on my mom’s family. It had been years he had been dealing with prostate cancer. As I remember being told, he died laying in bed, with my grandmother’s hands holding his; the news where told upon us as we were letting our presence reach their house. I remember crying once I was accompanying his coffin in the funeral; I was looking at his face and I could only feel the fear of what death would feel like. Because his life was intact: the memories I grew up with being taught his likeness of chess, of candy, of forgetfulness, his thousand pockets vest, tennis, Skyping with my aunt and cousins in Canada, and all his books in their library, all of that is still alive. And it only dawned me when he was on his deathbed, that I wish I could’ve been more human and older to have retained more of his life onto mine.

The last supper I had with death, he took my 17 y/o cat. She had a hard time with dental and kidney issues. She was small and thin. She got cold but had appetite. She didn’t liked anything more than tuna the last year. She was my sister’s and mine fur baby. The week before she had been spending her time alone, snoozing in our beds and staring blankly at nothing. I just knew, in a cat language, she felt vulnerable to look me in the eyes, as I was too. When there was no longer force on her to move, she laid on her side. Me moved her to the living room, resting in towels on the rug she had puked many times. My mom slept with her the night before. And she just laid there, and I laid on the floor with her. Watching straight into her black eyes, non responding anymore, to me and my family’s assurance that it was okay to let go. And so she had a big last breath, and I accompanied her black stare as air left her little body.

No death really traumatized me and moved as I had my first cat die in front of me. Still to this day I tear every time I remember how unnerving it must’ve been for her to feel something’s wrong with her and I couldn’t make her better. I felt I was too late to care. For such a little body, a little being, to tell me goodbye that way. We had her become small pellets of ashes, to be put as part of a small plant. I cried when I transplanted her and had to crumble her remains onto the pot. She lays besides me every night, and I still keep care of her, in other means.

Since then, I’ve been not scared, but mindful about when death comes to me. When I finished washing the dishes last time, I saw that a small jumping spider was caught on the water splurge. Their little body was unresponsive; I dried it as gentle as I could, I tried doing a small effort CPR so maybe I could see an animated reaction. But I got nothing. Sadness filled me as I put their body in the closet pot. I wanted to make their death as dignified as possible, for my sake to make it mean something more than just a miserable encounter with my everyday life.

I feel like being sensitive, as in having the capacity to feel and think empathetic, is the payment for becoming conscious of this silly thing of being human. To feel every burden of the loss of life I am met with. It’s the paycheck death gives me, and I will always bend the knee to it. I hope death embraces me as caring as death comes for all the things I love.

[fl0r4f4wn]

𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 : 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 | 𝐍𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐘𝐄𝐓

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 : It had been two months since the incident, and guilt gnawed at you like maggots to rotting flesh - yet you could do nothing. Confined in a room and more sanity fading by the final failed escape attempt led you to seek comfort in the arms of the man you thought was dead; little did you know others were watching. 

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 : poly! mafia! ateez x female! assasin! reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 : 1.3k

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : mentions of long periods of isolation, kidnapping, mention of phycological and physical abuse, mind break, mention of not eating, mention of blood & murder, suicidal thoughts, self inflicted injury, attempted suicide, implied smut, non-con recording .

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 : sorry for the delay this part somehow got deleted and took me a while to rewrite next chapter is the final part in the main story line before the bonus chapter and whoo it’s gonna be one hell of a ride 

pervious | masterlist | next

It had been two months since the incident, and you were still bound to the room, but they had removed the restraints, and now you were being given food and water. But regardless of the improvement in treatment, you still resented your capture with every fibre of your existence.

You haven't seen any members of Ateez or the Kindom clan either, which gives you a sense of relief. As you didn't want to be in their presence, one of two things could happen: one, you would try and kill them, or two, you would die of embracement for allowing yourself to cry in front of the enemy - to enable them to effect you with a stupid fucking video.

It would help if you hadn't been so frail; you shouldn't have crumbled so easily - accepting comfort from the enemy. You were weak, a disappointment, a failure. The words circled your brain like vultures, pecking at you during every waking and sleeping moment. With the intrusive thoughts and growing resentment towards everyone and everything, you were going crazy.

Pacing back and forward had become your new favourite pastime, and the camera that observed you 24/7 had become the only 'human' contact you have had in a while. As the days all blurred in one, the sense of hopelessness drove you to commit more desperate escape attempts, which led to your most extreme one yet.

It was late afternoon, and you hadn't eaten all day; sure, they gave you food - you just refused to eat it. You were sure that this sudden hunger strike wouldn't bother them. Why would it? They don't care for you; they keep you alive because they want something from you.

As you dip your pointer finger in the sauce, you mindlessly begin the smear it across the delicate china plate. Admiring how much it looked like blood, how much it brought you back to the sick old days of shooting people from afar and running free.

The thought of your former freedom brought back a sense of fondness and a searing rage. As you mourned your former liberty, you felt hopeless. The only point in your life that you wished someone would kill you. But since none of your captures seemed to be in the process of terminating their new plaything - why not do it yourself?

The spontaneous decision was a last resort, but you had no other choice. Sure, you wished you could run with your life, but at least you could escape spiritually. You laughed slightly, so this is what it had come to, killing yourself or remaining a captive for the rest of your life.

Licking the sauce off your finger, you walked towards the bathroom. You didn't even bother to shut the door. As you turned on the faucet, you splashed water on your face. Looking into the fogged-up mirror, you notice how unrecognisable you have become - skinny, dull, and corpse-like.

As your eyes trailed down towards your hand, you clenched them into fists and began to bash both of your hands against the glass. Six punches in, and the glass starts to crack. By then, you can feel the blood trickle down your arm. The sound of skin hitting against the glass was loud.

You were sure that whoever was watching through the camera could hear you. You didn't care as you continued throwing punch after punch. The mirror broke into a million shards. Blood seeps out of your hands as they rest on either side of the sink as you stare at the broken glass. You were so out of it that you didn't realise someone had rushed into the room.

"Y/N!" you jumped at the voice, immediately grabbing a large shard of broken glass and pointing it towards the intruder. "How do you know my name," you ask in response as you head on to the piece of glass for dear life. As Mingi tried to talk you into putting the shard down, you were past the talking point. You repeat your question, demanding an answer.

"I can explain, baby, just, please. Just put the glass down, and we can talk about this - theirs no need to hurt yourself." Mingi uttered, his eyes brimming with tears at your sorry state. He would have come sooner, but Hongjoong forbade it, ensuring he spent all his time and energy on missions and fruitless tasks while you withered away.

But his words did nothing to calm you as your grip on the shard of glass hardened as it pressed further into your skin, "why do you care if I live or die, huh? Why are you being nice to me? Is it because you want to gain my trust and then kill me? how do I know I can trust you" your voice cracked mid-sentence as tears streamed down your face.

"Y/N, I know you are scared, but I want to help you." Putting his hand up as the tall man slowly walked forward, as if he was approaching a scared animal. "I'm beyond help", You cried as you pressed the shard into your neck, but before you should hurt yourself any further, a pair of arms secured themselves around you. He was preventing you from finishing what you started.

"Let go of me, you bastard!" you scream as you thrash in the ateez member's firm grip, trying to reach the glass dagger before your feet. As if he was reading your head, he kicked the shard out of your reach. The suffocating grip only tightened as you continued to struggle against Mingi. Seeing that you had no intention of stopping, he did something that made you stop in shock & horror.

"hushing little angle, don't you cry; your prince charming's gonna sing you a lullaby. And if that don't, you'll get kisses till your tears dry, my little angel." Mingi gently sang as your struggling ceased. As your legs gave in, he quickly pulled you into a bridal carry so you would avoid falling onto broken glass.

As he gently pepper kisses all over your face, you begin crying again, overwhelmed with emotion - he couldn't be? Could he? "how do you know that song?" your soft voice broke the silence as you refused to make eye contact. "Angle, hey, look at me, y/n." listening to his gentle command, you glance up at the beautiful man holding you.

"Don't you remember me, princess?" the softness of Mingi's voice made you snuggle closer as your mind flooded with forgotten memories. Of you and a young boy, your first love - who you assumed was dead, as one day he just disappeared. "Minnie?" you questioned as you stared into his eyes with disbelief. "yes baby, it's your Minnie", the lovable giant mused as he wiped away a stray tear with the pad of his thumb.

As if you gripped onto him for dear life with eyes sowed shut, you felt yourself being placed on the bed away from anything you could use to harm yourself. As Mingi tried to detach himself to retrieve the first aid box, your only grip only tightened. But after a bit of persuasion and reassurance, you reluctantly let go.

The two of you now sat in silence with your dress (covered in dried blood and tears) on the floor and nothing but your bra and panties covering your body. Mingi skillfully cleaned all your wounds, applying disinfection before wrapping them in a thin bandage as he closed the first aid box and placed it on the side table.

Before he could do anything else, his lips were captured in a kiss, his eyes wide with shock, but he quickly returned the favour. As the two of you fell back onto the bed, your bare skin against his clothed chest - let's change that. Breaking the kiss, you did not give the stunned man any chance to speak. His shirt was now on the floor, but before you kissed him again, you whispered in his ear, "make me forget, and I'll make you feel good." He did so.

"Please tell me you are recording this"

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 :  @gyuslvrr @toothlessenthusiast @princessongminki @kitty4hwa @gh0stbish @eternalhongshine @malewife-supremacy @seonghwarizon @mulligrubsss @layzfeelit @woozluv @blueishwall @seokjinscondom @s3onghwaswifey

© 𝐟𝐥𝟎𝐫𝟒𝐟𝟒𝐰𝐧 | 𝙞 𝘿𝙊 𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝙜𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙩, 𝙤𝙧 𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙩 𝙢𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠 𝘼𝙏 𝘼𝙇𝙇 𝙤𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙢.

[machinegunbun]

Pls pls pls do more of Dirty Little Secret🥺 It was so good I want more

Dirty Laundry +

Tw: WHOLE LOTTA ANGST BABEY Word count?: 1.9k

--

The room was silent.

You couldn’t even describe the air as full of tension, it felt more like all the air in the room had been sucked out entirely. Pete just stared at you, his expression like he had a sour taste in his mouth. The thought of you with his best friend, something you so clearly knew you should tell him, being kept as a secret. There was no way it was anything but intentional, and he had to wonder if Colson and you had planned to never tell him.

You felt like you were being interrogated, not sure where to start, the all too bright lights in contrast to the dark room, all eyes on you, the man in front of you just waiting for you to slip up and confess the murder. He knew.

It didn’t entirely matter that you didn’t know what to say, because Pete didn’t know what to ask. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to know.

It would’ve been different if you had told him before you got together, but now all he could think about was how Colson had seen every part of you before him. His best friend had seen you in the same way he had and still had the guts to look him in the eye and say how happy he was that you two had finally gotten together.

Pete knew you had slept with men before him, obviously, but this felt different. There was a pang of hurt in his chest as he wondered if it was misogynistic of him to care. It was before you had begun dating, he reasoned, it was your body, but it still felt wrong. He hoped he wasn’t wrong for feeling that, never quite confident in his own emotions.

Questions floated around in his head until he finally decided to grab one out of the air.

“You fucked him.” It was more of a statement.

“Yes.” You admit, your voice low and full of guilt

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“Yes. I told him I felt guilty and I wanted you to know and he told me not to. He said it would only make things worse if I did, that it would ruin our relationship and his. I tried to convince him the whole time he was here, but he convinced me not to.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Pete questioned, his words hitting you right in your stomach.

“It’s the truth.”

“How do I know you aren’t lying? How do I know you didn’t convince him not to tell me?”

“Wait, why do you believe him? I get it, I didn’t tell you and I should’ve, I own that, but that’s not fair. He lied too, why is he innocent in this all of the sudden?” You ask, Colson was the one who initiated the sex in the first place. Pete should’ve known you would’ve never been brave enough to start something like that, especially with a guy like Colson. You weren’t a victim, but you refused to be portrayed as the villain.

“I don’t know. I just- I don’t know anymore.” Pete shrugged, standing up and walking to the kitchen. You hesitated, but followed after him.

“I get it, okay. It’s awkward and you aren’t sure how to feel-”

“Don’t tell me what I feel.” Pete snapped

“I’m not, I’m sorry, I’m not. I’m just trying to let you know that it’s okay if you’re mad at me or hurt. I want to let you know I love you and I’m sorry, I should’ve told you.”

“But you didn’t. Colson did. Over the phone. The only reason I even found out is because I called him because you were crying about how you weren’t good enough for me.” He paused to hastily pour himself a drink “and then you begged me not to call him. You knew what he would say, didn’t you?” 

“No, I-” 

“The fact that both of you hung out with me multiple times, listened to me as I talked about the other- I told him I wanted to marry you the other day. He didn’t even mention it. Do you know how much that sucks?” Pete rants, cutting you off once more.

“You wanted to marry me?” You whisper. He went silent at the confession, the pain and confusion evident in his eyes.

“Listen, like he said, the second I realized there was something between us we stopped. I genuinely thought we would only ever be friends.”

“Maybe we should have.”

“You don’t mean that.” You weren’t sure if you were convincing him or yourself. “I don’t love him, okay? I love you. I never loved him, it was just sex and with you it was never just sex. It was never just kissing. It was never just laughing together. Everything means more to me when it’s with you and I really hope we can get through this.” You plead, only realizing Pete had gone silent when you stopped talking.

Pete reached onto the counter to grab a blunt from the ashtray, taking a long hit from it and letting the smoke pour from his lungs, his eyes going dead as he stared at the wall.

“And I know it’s weird,” You continued, it being evident that Pete didn’t have much to say, your only path being to plead your case or otherwise be convicted “but the point of relationships are to work together through your problems. We’ve both obviously moved on, not that there was anything to move on from, just that-”

“What are you building up to?” He asks impatiently.

“I’m just trying to explain myself.”

“Explain what? You fucked my best friend and never planned on telling me. What if I had fucked (Y/B/F)? It would be completely different right now.”

“Okay, I get that the tensions are high right now but I need you to drop the attitude. I did plan on telling you, your ‘best friend’ told me not to. Why do you keep forgetting that he did this too?”

“He’s not here, this isn’t about him right now it’s about me and you. It’ll be about me and him later. I’m not going to talk about everything he did wrong to you.”

“Oh, really? ‘Cause this just feels like an excuse to slut shame me. What? It’s not a problem with Colson ‘cause he's a guy?”

“I never even fucking said that, you just don’t want to take responsibility.”

“I already fucking did take responsibility, jackass! Maybe I wouldn’t have slept with him if you had the balls to tell me you liked me sooner.” You yell, throwing your arms into the air. 

“Oh, are you sure? Are you sure you wouldn’t just blame your commitment issues so you could keep sleeping with him?”

“Stop blaming your fucking insecurities on me! I was trying to have a simple conversation with you about this and you’re acting like a fucking child!”

“Well I’m sorry if you hurt me and don’t want to see that. I’m fucking sorry if the fact that your actions having consequences hurts your feelings. I’m sorry that the excuse of ‘well, he told me not to.’ isn’t fucking good enough for me. This wasn’t about him, it’s about you. You didn’t fucking tell me. You didn’t respect me. You actively tried to stop me from finding out. I don’t care what he did.” He yells, putting on a high pitched voice to imitate you.

“Why the fuck not?! This is exactly what I mean, you keep acting like he’s innocent!” You shout back.

“I don’t expect Colson to tell me the truth, I’m not fucking in love with him!” Pete yelled, the room went silent for a moment before he continued, calmer this time “I expect this shit from everyone, okay? I watched my back with everyone, and I fought tooth and nail to earn your trust because I know you have trust issues, I know that’s why it took so long for us to get together,” He took in a shaky breath, trying to compose himself. “You’re just the only person I trusted not to hurt me.”

“Well that’s a really unrealistic pedestal to put me on, so.” You say, your own voice lowering.

Amy walked down the stairs, wrapping her robe around herself in an attempt to keep the warmth in. You hadn’t even realized how late it was, or how loud the two of you had been yelling at each other.

“Hey, hey, hey. What’s going on down here?” She asks, her new york accent evident. Pete licked his lips, staring at you. You could see right past the anger in his eyes, all the way to the hurt.

“He keeps blaming everything on me.” You half yell

“Huh? Blaming what?” She asked, her voice low and full of sleep. It was clear you had woken her up.

“She slept with Colson.” Pete’s voice broke as he said it, jaw clenched. You knew his tongue was between his teeth and he was biting down on it to hold back tears, not wanting to give you the satisfaction. Amy’s eyes softened as she heard this, turning to look at you.

“Get out.” She said softly, but still making it clear there was no room for argument.

“What?” You asked, your heart crumbling.

“Get out of my house.” She added, her voice more stern this time. She pointed angrily at the door, and as you walked out you caught a glimpse of her pulling Pete into her arms.  The height difference was awkward, he had to lean down to bury his face in her shoulder and yet it seemed so natural. You knew there were tears in his eyes as he accepted the loving embrace of his mother, his heart shattered once again.

The door shut behind you like so many times before, but this time felt different. Like it was the last. You wished you had known when you were crying in his arms that it would be the last time you’d ever be in his arms at all. You wished a lot of things, but it was late and the sky was pitch black, leaving the stars to wish on few.

The ferry from staten island wouldn’t leave til morning, so there was no making it back to your apartment. You had no choice but to stay at a hotel. You cursed when you realized you had left your phone in the house, nothing on you but the clothes on your back, the cold night air nipping at your cheeks. 

You began walking, hoping to find a place to stay sooner than later. Pete had a few friends that lived nearby, but the option was dropped as quickly as it was picked up. You didn’t think they’d be much for helping you if they heard what happened.

A gag came up your throat as your foot landed in something cold and squishy, you looked down, lifting your foot to look at the bottom of it. It was hard to make out in the dark of night, but you didn’t need to, you knew what it was. You had just stepped in dog shit while barefoot, and you could only wipe your foot on the grass, destined to spend the night on a park bench.

And throughout all of this, you couldn’t help but feel that you deserved it.

[gaitwae]

Only If •||• Loki x Reader

Please reblog!!

Summary: Loki Odinson is keeping you safe, but while you’re taking care of him you notice there’s more going on.

Tags: @megthemewlingquim​​ @make-me-imagine​​ @thorfanficwriter​​ @bwemph​​ @myraiswack​​ @silvermoonwolf777​​ @lucywrites02​​ @lokistan​​ @mostly-marvel-musings​​ @amwolowicz​​ @winterfrostsarmy​​ @superheroesandstardust​​ @castiels-majestic-wings​​ @geekns​​ @lokis-high-priestess​​ @natandersonnla​​ @cozy-the-overlord​​ @frostedgiant​​​ @whatafuckingdumbass​​ @thebookbakery​​  @delightfulheartdream​​ @twhiddlestonsstuff​​ 

Loki Odinson. Prince of Asgard. He sat in the water of his bath, relaxing and holding onto the sides of the golden bathtub. His hair curled weakly from being wet. You would have stared at the man if you hadn’t had something more important than his luxury.

He was beautiful, in a way that was near frightening. Long, delicate features, like a raven, with all the cunning and twice the grace. Jet black hair, dazzling eyes. He had his head propped against the brim of the tub, candles lit all around the dark room.

You felt the urge to give in to your desires, again, like you had the last time you needed to interrupt him. A weight in your chest dropped to your gut. You swallowed. “Put your clothes on and get out the door.” You were undercover as a maid, and only Loki knew about it.

Loki turned to you, sitting up. The water sloshed with a tinkling noise. “(Y/N), dear, how many times must I remind you that I need a warning first?” He sighed. He stood, grabbing a towel. “I thought you didn’t like seeing me naked. Unless... That’s untrue?” Loki smirked.

You felt your face heat. “Just hurry up.” You grit your teeth and avert your eyes. You loved the lavender scents he wore and bathed in. They drove you wild. Loki put on a robe, slinking toward you. A shashay of pride.

Your chest tightened when you felt his scent wafting to you. You knew he was doing it on purpose now. He wrung out his hair, twirling it into a knot. He traced your jaw, looking you over. How you hated when he did that.

“Darling, I will never speed up.” He sighed again, touching one of your locks affectionately and curiously. He smirks, cupping your chin. “You can’t just expect me to leave, can you? I’m not even decent.” He pouted fakely, going behind his curtain. You cross your arms.

This dark room smelled like his natural musk and all sorts of yummy perfumes. The golden glints made everything feel warmer, his silver tongue always so gorgeous to listen to. Perhaps, once upon a time, you might have been allowed to play this hard to get with him. Nowadays, not once would you ever be caught dead flirting or wishing for the ridiculous things he offered with just a look.

But yet you continued.

The guards poked their heads in, so you switched to using your “maid talk.” Loki could see them, too. “We need to go, my lord. This is important.” You shrugged off the want to see him more, and the rest of the childish wants involving his person.

“Patience, my Sigyn.” He winked at you when he popped out, all cleaned, dressed, and his hair slicked back and brushed. “Now what is it that is so unbelievably important that you had to interrupt my bath?” He took your hand to kiss it. You ripped your fingers away from his, annoyed, but instantly regretted it.

“You’ve been summoned by King Odin, my prince,” you say, quickly remembering to bow. The guards left, and you dropped your demeanor back to normal. You looked at Loki’s shocked face.

“Oh,” he whispered. “It is important.” Loki looked at your flushed face. “Do you like my new outfit?” He laughed nervously, trying to change the subject.

Both of you were sure that Odin had found out that you weren’t really part of the staff. You were from Vanaheim. Part of the Vanir. A conspiring rebellion against Asgard.

“Do... Do you think that he found out about me?” you whispered quietly. Loki looked at your mouth, stepping toward you. He took your hands, squeezing them softly. He had been helping you try and change the Asgardian rule so it was fairer to the other realms. He had committed treason.

Just as you had.

“Answer me,” you pleaded, getting worried by his unusual body language. You searched his eyes. They seemed so soft, so worried. He didn’t listen, lost in thought. His eyebrow arched when he tried to say something, but nothing came from his lips. “Loki, answer me!”

He looked back and met your gaze. “Only if you kiss me, first,” he mumbled. You could barely make out his words. You didn’t want to believe he just said that. Your heart skipped.

“Loki,” you try again.

His lips hardened into a thin line. He cupped your face with both hands, then held your shoulders, then held your arms firmly with his large hands. He moved forward, pushing you against the wall. He kissed your cheek, your jaw, your neck, holding you close.

“Loki, this isn’t funny. Stop fooling around!” you quietly scold. He kissed your chin, holding your face fondly but firmly.

“I’m not fooling around,” he says quietly, surely. He kissed you once, twice, three times lightly on the mouth. This couldn’t be real. You tried not to kiss back the third time. “I’m doing something I’ve always wanted to. If he hurts you—”

“He won’t. Loki, tell me what’s really eating at you.” You push him off gently, confused. Loki didn’t... he couldn’t feel the same way you did.

“You,” he says. “You’ll leave me here with—with him. I want to make you mine before then. Please, (Y/N), I... I can’t lie forever.” He swallowed. “You can’t just expect me to leave, can you?” He laughed, again, looking like he was about to crumble. He reused a sentence from earlier, which he never did. He was really torn up about Odin’s summons.

Odin never summoned him for no reason. Never to see him. Never to do anything but scold him. He was scared most of the time, and most times, he had no reason to be frightened by his father. This time you both had reason to be scared.

“I wouldn’t,” you promise. You kiss him gently, cupping his face. “And whatever happens, I’ll be by your side.” Loki nodded, taking a deep breath.

“Yes. Yes, okay.” You took his hand. He kissed it. “Follow me. Please?”

You nodded. “Yes,” you say.

You both start to head out the door, but a guard holds you back. “You are to stay here. His Highness must be alone. Allfather’s decree.”

Loki tried to argue but you shook your head. “Of course.” Loki looked at you longingly, but walked down the halls.

Hours later, just when you wanted to start searching for him, Loki came back with hands covering a bleeding face. You stood, rushing to his side. His muffled cries for you only made you even more worried.

“Loki,” you coo, “let me see.” He gently, hands shaking, removed his hands from his mouth. You gasped when you saw his new punishment.

Sewn through his lips was a golden thread. Your eyes burned with angry tears. Not even Loki was safe from Odin’s wrath. “Can we cut it?”

Loki nodded, writing with a trembling hand on the floor with a dagger, Dissolving thread. You very carefully pried the knife from his hands, putting the tip to his mouth. You cut the threads, apologizing when he cried out.

When he was cut free, you used your nature magic to heal him. “Oh, Loki...” You kissed his cheek. “Does it hurt, still?”

He shook his head. “No,” he says. He was quiet for a minute, letting you undress him for a bath. He was covered in sweat and blood. “I talked back to him.” He looked at the floor. “He hates me, (Y/N). He wants me to marry the princess of Vanaheim. I told him no.”

You started running the water, helping him in. His legs were cut up, too, but those would be harder to fix. He hissed as the warm water hit his legs. You caressed his face.

“Loki, don’t let him bully you,” you say quietly. He kissed you firmly.

“I would rather stay here. You’re with me.” He cupped your face. “Would you always be here?” He looked you in the eyes. “Or better yet, marry me?”

You grin. “Only if you kiss me, first.”

[jackrrabbit]

it will come back [pt. 1] /// Yandere Shigaraki x f!Reader

Summary: You have a bad habit of picking up strays, and the half-dead villain you find bleeding out in a dumpster is no exception. [Part 2] [Part 3]

A/N: Low budget yandere for my greasy king. This concept has definitely been done before, but I couldn’t resist. This is my first non-smut on this acct and I’ll be so sad if it bombs 😭

Title from the Hozier song: “don’t let it in with no intention to keep it / jesus christ, don’t be kind to it / oh honey don’t feed it / it will come back.”

Tags/warnings: light yandere, minor injury, angst, Shiggy likes you, reader needs a friend and a good night’s sleep. [In later parts but not in this one: violence, sex, more yandere, 18+]

You’ve always had a soft spot for strays. Maybe that’s why you became an ER nurse—from the first abandoned puppy you brought home as a kid to the patients you refuse to give up on even when it looks hopeless, you’ve never been able to turn a blind eye when something needs your help. Sometimes (times like this) you wish you knew better. It’s hard enough to take care of yourself these days.

Today’s shift was…what, 16 hours? 17? The 20-minute walk from the bus stop to your apartment building feels like it takes twice that long in the rain. God, you need a shower. And a decent night’s sleep, preferably for at least 12 hours. Tomorrow’s your day off, and you’re ready to take advantage of it the best way you know how: Netflix, soju, and your favorite vibrator. But tonight? As soon as you’re clean, you’re going to pig out on leftovers and collapse into the bed that’s the only halfway nice piece of furniture in your shithole apartment. You really do deserve a break; you’ve earned it.

Unfortunately, as usual, the universe has other plans.

You hear him before you see him: wheezing, choked breaths, like someone’s trying to breathe with an anvil on their chest. You’re not quite out of nurse mode so your mind starts trying to diagnose the issue before you even register what you’re hearing. Fluid in the lungs, possibly blood. That hacking isn’t good. Broken ribs? Definitely bruised. But probably not a puncture…

The breathing is coming from down an alley next to your building. It’s dark enough that you can’t see from the street what’s making the noise. And you’re not a fool, you know it’s a bad idea to walk down pitch-black alleys late at night, especially in this area—a neighborhood you’re living in by necessity, because it’s the only place cheap enough for you to get by. But the coughing…it just sounds so awful. It sounds like it hurts.

Your phone’s already in your hand with 119 dialed and ready to call (standard practice when you’re walking home by yourself), but you turn the flashlight on and shine it down the alleyway. “Hello? Anyone there?”

Nothing responds, but you can still hear the breathing. You step in a little deeper, swinging your light from side to side and looking over the heaps of trash bags overflowing from the dumpster. The raindrops make clicking sounds as they hit the plastic, and you can hear gurgling from a rain spout down the side of the building, but the wheezing doesn’t stop.

One more step. And then one more. You wish there was something you could do to make the splash of your rain boots in the puddles a little less loud. Something about this situation—the rain, the dark, the flat grey light from your cellphone, and that horrible hacking breath—it makes you feel like you’re walking into a horror movie. But you don’t stop walking.

The hacking is coming from a man propped up on the wall between a few XL bags of trash. The black outfit he’s wearing almost blends into the bags, but a mop of grey-blue hair gives him away. His head is slumped onto his chest, and if he’s conscious he doesn’t show it. “Hello?” you ask again, even less confident that you’re going to get a response.

No answer.

The smell of garbage is…ugh…hard to ignore, but on top of it is an oppressive stench of copper coming from the man passed out in the trash. You kneel down to get a better look and yep, he’s covered in blood. It’s hard to make out in the low light, but there’s a trio of long gashes in the man’s abdomen, cutting apart the skin and flesh so deep you can see traces of a slim layer of yellow fat between all the inky clotted blood. It looks like he was attacked by an animal. Or someone with an animal quirk. There are a lot of villains in this neighborhood.

And the coughing...definitely internal injuries. Whoever this guy is, he needs treatment. You hold up your phone to hit the call button on your pre-dialed 119—

“Don’t.” The voice is a growl, low and surprisingly firm despite the scratchiness. You jerk back and clutch your phone to your chest, caught off guard not just by the interruption but by the intensity of the face glaring up at yours.

His eyes are red. “You need an ambulance,” you tell him in your calmest nurse voice.

“If you try to call the police, I’ll—kill you,” the man says, but the threat is a little less threatening when he has to stop in the middle to retch blood onto his own chin.

You glare back at him but don’t call the emergency number. There are a lot of of reasons why he wouldn’t want to go to the hospital, but the most obvious one is probably true. “You’re a criminal. A villain?”

He doesn’t respond, choosing instead to keep glaring at you like you’ve committed some mortal sin against his ancestors by having the nerve to check on him and try to help him. Somehow it pisses you off. When you were getting your ADN, you once took a temp job doing health screenings at a local middle school and you would always get so annoyed at the kids. Didn’t they see you were just doing your job? Why is it so hard to understand that what you’re doing is for their own good?

Stupid kids. Stupid villain. “You’d rather bleed out and die?”

The man bares his teeth at you, and it’s a pretty disturbing scene considering how they’re covered in scarlet. “You think they’re going to save me? Think I’ll go to the hospital and get all my HP restored?”

He’s mocking you now. You only have a second to move out of the way before he spits off to the side. “I mean…that’s how a hospital works.”

“If you think I would—make it out of that ambulance alive, you’re—dumber than you look.” His voice is interspersed with coughs.

“Well, you’re not going to live if I leave you here.” You hold up your phone, ready to call the ambulance, but in a shocking display of agility the man lunges forward and grabs it out of your hand. “Hey, wait! Give that…back…”

Your voice trails off as your phone crumbles—literally crumbles to dust in the man’s fingers. Once he’s satisfied that there’s no way for you to call the cops, he slumps back onto the trash bags and closes his eyes, apparently exhausted from the effort.

Goddamnit…! For a second, you can only stare blankly at the pile of dust that used to be your $300 smartphone. And then you’re seized by something, maybe not hatred but an annoyance so strong you can feel it in your throat, and you decide right then and there that this villain is not going to die. You’re going to save him. Out of spite.

You’re not sure how you manage to half-carry him from the alley to your apartment, but you do. You’re lucky it’s ass-o-clock at night and no one’s in the lobby or the elevator, or you’d definitely be getting some looks trying to lug a maimed body around. What would you say if someone did call the cops? Don’t worry, don’t worry about it officer, it’s just my friend drank a little too much, oh those wounds? We were at a costume party, haha…

But no one sees you, and no one calls the cops. The man is unconscious the whole time you’re carrying him, and by the time you have him laid out on a shower curtain on your living room floor his breathing is a little bit shallower than it was before. You’ve got your tools—nothing fancy, just some gauze and closures and antiseptic from your personal first aid kit. It’s not much, but it’ll have to be enough.

“Let’s get to work, asshole,” you tell the unconscious body in front of you, and you crack your knuckles.

///

The day after you pick the villain out of the garbage, your body decides that it’s not going to let you sleep in no matter how much you need it. You can tell because the huge windows in your bedroom—the only saving grace of this apartment, honestly—are depositing golden-pink sunrise light over everything you see when you open your eyes, including the villain’s face. Which is about six inches away from yours.

“You smell like death,” you tell him sleepily. He doesn’t move.

He’s…probably in his early twenties, you think, but it’s hard to tell because of all the wrinkles. His hair is on the longer side, and it’s striped with rusty brown smears from his blood. Again, you notice how red his irises are. Have you ever seen someone with eyes that color before? You’re pretty sure you haven’t.

“You slept for a long time,” the villain says, finally moving back so he’s not breathing into your mouth.

“Yeah, I was tired. From saving your life.” You sit up and rub your temples. “I’m thirsty…”

Before you can finish your complaint, the villain is holding a glass of water out to you in an awkward 4-fingered grip.

“Um, thanks, I guess.” You suck down the water and immediately feel better, enough that you realize how wrong it is that he’s up and moving around and probably undoing all your hard work. “You should be lying down.”

“The floor hurt, and I was bored.”

“Lie on the couch then. You can watch TV. But first—“ He’s sitting on the edge of your bed next to you, and you make him lie down flat so you can look at the injuries. They’re not nearly as bad as they looked last night—no walk in the park, but at least you won’t have a corpse in your apartment in a few hours.

When you’re done inspecting him, he sits up and asks you for a shirt. You had to cut his off, not that it was any great loss. The thing was shredded. Him pointing it out is the only thing that makes you really realize he’s shirtless, so you give him an oversized pajama shirt of yours. It has the name and motto of your old high school on it, and the villain reads it out in a half-mocking tone when you hand it to him.

“Beggars shouldn’t be choosers,” you snap. “You should be grateful.”

“I am grateful,” he says, putting the shirt on. “But I don’t understand.”

“I mean, you need a shirt, right? It’s cold—“

“No. Not that.” He’s staring at you again, and you find it difficult to maintain eye contact. “Why you didn’t leave me where you found me last night.”

There’s a lot you could tell him, all of it a little bit true. You were curious. You believed him when he said he wouldn’t make it out of the hospital alive. You couldn’t leave him alone the same way you can’t leave abandoned puppies alone. You wanted to prove to him that you were right, and that being stubborn wouldn’t get him what he wanted. But you don’t say that. “You killed my phone, so you owe me a new one. And I can’t get that back if you bleed out.”

He’s looking at you like he doesn’t believe you, and you fidget under his gaze until he sighs and says, “Whatever.”

You have to let him lean on your shoulder when he walks back to the living room to lie down on your couch. How the hell did he even get to your bedroom by himself? You really didn’t think this through—what are you supposed to do with an infirm possible villain who can barely walk unsupported without opening his injuries back up?

But that’s a problem for tomorrow you to deal with. Today, you’re content to set your laptop up on the coffee table so the two of you can watch TV in…oddly companionable (if you’re not imagining it) silence. It’s almost the lazy day off you were daydreaming about before you got yourself into this mess, and the atmosphere is so relaxed that before you can really decide whether to force the man to go to the hospital or turn him out on the street (or…?) you’re dozing off on your couch like there isn’t a potentially dangerous stranger lying beside you with his head just a few inches from your lap.

When you wake up, your problem is solved for you. He’s gone, and it’s like he was never there—except you’re down a cellphone and a pajama shirt, and your shower curtain is drenched with blood. You wrap it up with the rest of the soiled medical supplies and toss all of it in a dumpster a mile away from your building without knowing exactly why.

///

It’s not the last you see of him, but somehow you had a feeling that was going to be the case.

He scares the shit out of you the first time he visits (over time, that’s how you’ll start to think of his little unannounced drop-ins: visits. Like you’re being visited by a ghost or something). You’re coming back from another grueling shift in the ER, so tired you think you might be sleepwalking, and what do you find when you come in your apartment but a strange white-haired man sitting on your couch eating dry cereal out of the box and flipping through one of your books?

You nearly piss yourself.

He doesn’t seem surprised, which makes sense, considering he’s a villain and he’s probably used to pulling this dramatic entrance thing on people. He certainly doesn’t seem the least bit threatened when you brandish the mini canister of pepper spray on your keychain and demand that he tell you how he got in if he wants to retain the power of eyesight.

“It was unlocked,” he says.

“It was not unlocked,” you reply, rolling your eyes. You may be sleep deprived, but you’re not careless. Never careless.

“Whatever. Calm down. You’re not going to use that on me.”

He’s right, but you don’t want to admit it. If he wanted to do something to hurt you, he could’ve done it that first night. And you’re too tired to really put up a fight, so you just put the cap back on the pepper spray and flop down next to him on the couch. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He looks at you curiously from between his shaggy bangs, like you’re the one intruding in his home and not the other way around, then reaches out to hand something to you. “Here, payback.”

It’s a cell phone—not a smartphone like the one he destroyed, but a flip phone circa the 2000s, the kind that forces you to press “9” four times to get the letter “F”. You stare at it for a second, then look back at the villain. “Are you kidding? Did you get this from a museum?”

“Take it or leave it.” His feet are propped up on your coffee table, but you can’t make yourself care. Actually, it looks nice…him stretched out with an odd look of comfort on his lanky form.

You lean back on the couch and kick up your feet next to his. “Fine. Thanks, I guess.”

He shrugs.

“How are your wounds healing?” Why are you trying to make conversation with this guy? He’s…a villain, right? Not that you’ve ever received affirmative confirmation of that fact, but the hesitance to call the police and the breaking and entering are pretty good tells. But…it might be weird, but since you picked him up that day, you’ve felt a kind of kinship with him.

Alone. Abandoned. No place to go. No one to save him. It’s not a pretty comparison, but you can’t deny it rings true.

Maybe that’s why you pick up strays.

“They’re fine,” he tells you after so long a pause that you’ve almost forgotten your question. “Doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

You take a long look at him, at his posture—he’s relaxed, but his abdomen is crunched a little bit, curled in on himself so subtly that even you wouldn’t have noticed it if you weren’t looking. It’s not your problem. He’s an adult, and you’re sure he could be seeking real medical attention if he really needed it. You’re in no way obligated to perform some kind of checkup on this arrogant dick who literally broke into your apartment to give you a shitty phone and eat your cereal. The sensible thing to do is to tell him to forget that you live here and hopefully never see him again.

His head tips back to rest on the top of the couch, and he holds your book up to read. At this angle his long hair is out of the way of his face, and you notice among the deep-set creases in his skin a pair of wide scars across his right eye and on the corner of his lips. They’re pale and faded—old, then—but they look off to you, and after a while of snatching glances at his face you realize it’s because they’re healed badly, extraordinarily badly, the kind of healing that you don’t see very often because it only occurs when a stubborn patient tries to let a particularly nasty injury heal on its own. The part of you that isn’t sensible wonders how old he was when he got those scars.

Has he learned his lesson?

You doubt it.

“Lie down,” you sigh. “Let me see the cuts.”

Which is how you find yourself examining this annoying villain again, checking on his injuries and giving him recommendations for care like you’re his personal nurse or something. It’s not a role you enjoy playing, but at least he takes it without complaint, and you start to wonder if maybe this is why he broke into your apartment in the first place. If anything, he looks calmer when you’ve flipped up his shirt and prodded at his wounds, his eyes closing slowly and freeing you of that scarlet-red gaze.

He’s like a cat, you think, and then you shake your head and remind yourself that it’s a terrible idea to think of this man—this grown man who is probably a great danger to you and others—as a wild animal you’re trying to domesticate.

When he finally leaves (only after you drop a couple dozen unsubtle hints about how long you’ve been at work and how exhausted you are), you take a moment before you sink into bed to look at the flip phone. It’s no nicer than your original impression, but as you scroll through the screens you notice that it’s factory-new, except for one thing: there’s a contact programmed in, a phone number with an area code you don’t recognize listed under “T”. And you don’t want to be curious…

…but you are. Shocking.

Down the rabbit hole it is, you decide. So you text him.

///

[You: 12:03 AM] > Hey it’s (Y/N) > (the girl whose apartment you broke into) > What does T stand for? [T: 12:07 AM] > What do u think [You: 12:09 AM] > ?? [T: 12:09 AM] > My name > Dont you know who i am [You: 12:10 AM] > Are you famous? [T: 12:10 AM] > You dont watch the news do u [You: 12:11 AM] > Not really > What’s your name then [T: 12:12 AM] > … > Didnt u say u had to sleep [You: 12:15 AM] > Oh yeah > Whatever I guess > Good night

[T: 2:34 AM] > Its Tomura > Dont look it up

[You: 8:02 AM] > Ok > I won’t > Tomura

➠ [Part 2]

[m-aster-of-spinjitzu]

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Akita and Zane talk after the battle in 'Awakenings'. The conversation... doesn't go as either of them expect.

Prompt: memories, from @ninjago-bingo​‘s warm board:D

Trigger warnings: implied self harm (one or two characters dig their fingernails into their hands), discussion and introspection about most of the crimes the 'Emperor' committed, a lot of talk and introspection about murder.

Word count: 4682 (I've literally been writing this for like a month lol, kinda disappointed it ended up fairly short:/)

"We have to talk."

The girl with red markings on her face - Akita, he heard Lloyd call her - unsheathes her short dagger, eyes narrowed to slits.

He glances around the throne room, hands pressed to his head. The memories were still trickling through; strange islands and a forest of snow, a dungeon and... a noodle factory?

"Alright," he says quietly. She bears the same red marks of the bear he can remember Vex convincing him was a criminal, many winters ago. That could only mean-

It wasn't you, he reminds himself. It was the scroll, and the actions of a power hungry traitor.

You gave the order, his now infallible memory supplies, and, honestly, he has no rebuttal for that.

"Alright," he echoes meekly, trying to muster some emotion into his voice. "I know-"

"No," she cuts him off roughly, her eyes scanning the room. It is just the two of them now - the samurai had fled once they had recovered from the strange trance he had put them in. Vex had been locked in the dungeon by Lloyd, who was helping any of the samurai who could not quite remember their old lives.

He had ruled for sixty years. Some of their families might dead, some by their own hands.

They know this. He knows this.

Irrationally, he wishes there was some way to fix this. A spell, or a way to turn back the clock; some way to yell at a younger Zane to just scout the cave-

There is no way backward; only forward, out of this winter - and, possibly, into another one.

He stares at the girl in front of him, taking in her tattered clothing, the ease with which she holds her weapon. She's not afraid to fight.

"I don't owe you an explanation, Emperor," Akita says definitely, forcing out the words. "But you will give me one, or you shall never see the light of day again. My brother-"

His heart lurches, eyes widening. Brother.

"Knows that the dungeon has many empty cells," she finishes sharply, barely contained anger flashing in her eyes.

He keeps the facts brief, concise. Once this is all over, he can dwell on them - agonize over what he should have done; use it to be better next time. Atone for his mistakes, even if he can never truly make up for them.

"A snake capable of sorcery used a magic scepter to blast me and a vehicle to this realm. I was sent here sixty years into the past, which is why it took my friends so long to find me. I was also holding a similar magic scepter - one which amplifies the holder's power, but if held for too long, it corrupts one's mind."

"I know what happens next."

How-

"I watched your message to your friends," she replies curtly, by way of explanation. "I did not know that you and the Emperor were one and the same. Continue."

"Vex interrupted a process I was using to try and fix a- vehicle, which caused me to lose my memories. He told me that I was ill. He said that he was a great friend of mine, and that this realm belonged to me. He convinced me that Formlings were warmongers, and that the rightful king had overthrown me. Just before he almost killed Lloyd, he said something that caused my memories to return."

She frowns. "I do not understand. How does one lose their memories so easily?"

Akita stares at his metal skin, her eyes widening as if noticing it for the first time.

"I am not quite like you-"

"I know," she interjects, eyes brimming with anger. "I am not a murderer."

"I was... created," he replies, quietly. "Out of extra materials. I can act like others, but I do not always understand emotions in the same way."

Akita frowns again, raising her dagger. Her voice grows a dangerous edge; sharp and cold. "You never realized that your actions were wrong?"

They're entering dangerous territory. Some part of him wants to derail the conversation; stick to the facts and leave his emotions out of this.

But he owes her an explanation - he owes everyone an explanation. He owes them so much more, if only he could give it to them; erase the past and leave their quiet realm in peace.

"Before I came here, I would never have done such things - if I had my memories, I would never have done such things. Vex convinced me that they were the only way I could defend my throne. I did not know that they were wrong. The moment I realized what I had done, I tried to help your side. The right side," he finishes, ignoring the temptation to stare down at the floor instead of into her blazing eyes.

An indecipherable expression crosses her face. "You never talked to another? One of your... army, perhaps?" "Vex gave all the orders. He just asked me for approval. I never left this room." "And you approved them," she muttered, but it seemed to serve more as a reminder to herself than it did to him.

"What was your life like, before you entered our world?" Akita asks suddenly, suspicion still coating her voice. He blinks, the question unexpected.

"My friends and I can control and create different elements," he began, hesitantly. Carefully. "We were taught to fight. We protect our city from those-" "You were built to protect those who cannot protect themselves."

"Those who cannot protect themselves," Zane finishes, guilt making his vision hazy.

He quickly blinks away the tears, all too aware of her persistent gaze.

"Two more questions," she says quickly, glancing behind her. "This room makes me uncomfortable. And so do you." The accusation is clear, but her eyes are not quite as cold as they had been earlier.

"What do you feel now?" Akita asks roughly, taking a step back. "You mentioned earlier that you do not feel emotions the same way that we do. Explain."

I could lie, he thinks, fleetingly. What if my feelings convince her that I am the Emperor even more than I am Zane? A voice at the back of his mind points out that he is - was - the Emperor.

He knows this.

He knows that he will have to acknowledge it once they are back home.

He knows that he cannot dwell on it now, or the winter will go on - inside his mind instead of outside it.

"I feel... guilt," he begins. "For the terrible crimes I have committed. Horror, at my own actions. Anger, towards that traitor. Relief - that I am no longer under his influence." An eyebrow touches her forehead, ever so slightly.

"How guilty?" It is almost a challenge, her voice rising in pitch threateningly.

"I will spend the rest of my life working to atone for my mistakes," Zane answers sincerely, resisting the irrational urge to squeeze his eyes shut. "However, I know that nothing I can do will ever undo them. But I can help others from people who- who... seek to manipulate them," he finishes quietly, a remorseful sigh punctuating the confession.

Akita says nothing; lips pressed in a hard line. Her blank, steadfast gaze meets his. The dagger clatters to the ground.

He draws in a breath sharply.

Picking it up, she squares her shoulders defiantly. "My people will know that... that there were two prisoners within these walls," she sighs, the weariness in her voice all too evident.

Yet he does not miss her glare; a barely contained anger that lurks just beneath the surface.

Akita straightens her spine, frowning menacingly as her hand tightens on the dagger.

He resists the irrational urge to take a step back.

"My brother and I will never forgive you," she snarls.

You do not have to, he would like to say. But he suspects that she already knows this.

"Come near either of us again, and I will make you long for death."

She shifts to her wolf form, baring her teeth - but when she stalks closer, he does not back away.

Suddenly, he is all-too-aware of the fact that the throne room is currently empty - bar the two of them.

He does not move.

It is not as if she could harm him - titanium is not easily damaged (yet, some part of him wonders if that is a blessing or curse), but they have faced enough villains for him to know how it works.

The villains die at the end; rightfully so.

Why should this be any different?

"You will pay for your crimes," Akita growls, shifting between her forms as if it is second nature. It probably is. "Emperor."

Her dagger clatters to the ground once again.

He does not move.

Why should this be any different?

---

"What's taking her so long?"

"Who?" The Samurai asks, the confusion on his face only amplifying.

"No- nothing," he mumbles, wincing. The adrenaline is wearing off - and with it, the fleeting distraction from the pain coursing through his chest.

Broken ribs? Probably. But he's got bigger problems to worry about - his minor injuries don't really matter when there's a warrior (because after all that she's been through, he thinks that she deserves the title - even if it's one she would never have wanted) seeking vengeance, someone who could tear apart this castle, brick by brick if she wanted to, alone with his brother.

His brother - who'd taken hers; encased her village in a tomb of ice, leaving behind no one but a teenager consumed with blinding anger - rightfully so, he admits, a bit wearily.

What happened to you, Zane?

Are you even... there? The person who used to stay awake with me when all I saw was the building crumbling before my eyes, night after night? The one who swore to protect those who couldn't protect themselves?

Are you still there?

"Can I, er, go inside?" he asks no one, trying not to breathe too hard. The Ice Samurai he'd been trying to help had vanished, most probably to try and get answers from someone else.

He owes it to these people to help them - if he'd just been faster, stronger, better, Aspheera could never have-

Not now, Lloyd!

He should probably open the doors - try and diffuse whatever fight they'd gotten into. Akita reminds him of Kai; both of them fiercely protective of those whom they care about, yet sometimes clouded by rage so thick they can barely see out of it.

But he's hesitating - there's always the possibility that her anger; prison of its own, might extend to him.

Not that he even has the right to condemn her for it, though.

Unwillingly, a fleeting thought presses itself to the forefront of his mind; beautiful white hair, a soft voice coated in honey-

Broken ribs, he reminds himself stubbornly, grimacing at the flare of pain as he draws in a breath sharply. She's gone, she's gone, and it's-

He bites his lip until the tang of iron fills his mouth, eyes fixed determinedly on the floor.

Not now, Lloyd!

Slowly, carefully, he pushes the door open. It creaks softly - but he doesn't think anyone hears it.

Oh, no.

---

"Akita?" a voice questions, hesitantly. He's half-leaning against the door, blonde hair almost completely hiding wary eyes all but squeezed shut in pain.

She stiffens, ignoring the part of her that learns to hunt, murder, the- the monster-

Blinking, quickly, she allows her mind to embrace the sharp, cold air on her fur, and her harsh, ragged breathing - until she can almost feel the shift in her heart, trading instinct for a different type of clarity, white fur for skin and hair.

Grabbing her dagger, she halfheartedly swipes it at the boy who makes her cheeks redder than they usually are, the boy who travelled across the ice seeking a murderer-

Well. He is in no condition to help anyone - they both know this.

But he does not have the right to interfere with this conversation - her feelings do not matter when his friend is-

"Leave us," she snarls, fingers digging into the hilt of her dagger. "What makes you think you have the right?"

Her voice grows colder, but she can't quite keep the tremor out of it.

"You did not find your village half-dead, or spend months mourning your brother," Akita snaps, frustration seeping into the words. Why does he always have to make everything so complicated?

"I know," he replies, hesitantly, eyes flitting between the room and the door. "But... this isn't the right thing to do, Akita."

"Do you think it was right for your friend to seize power from our rightful ruler? Do you think he was right when he imprisoned an innocent child for so many years?"

She doesn't bother to keep the venom out of her voice, ignoring the fact that the light brown of her skin has almost faded to white where she grips her weapon.

Taking a step closer, she bites her lip.

If he will make this his fight, so will she.

"The girl I told you about," Lloyd interjects. "H- Harumi." He forces out the name, as if the very mention of it ails him.

She raises her eyebrows. "What are you going to do? Distract me with stories about your girlfriend while he," Akita glares at the Emperor with a sigh, "escapes?"

"No," he replies softly. Brushing the hair out of his eyes, she doesn't miss his poorly concealed wince.

This is the friend he seeks?

There's a fragile silence, one of which she refuses to shatter. Nothing he can say will erase the horrific actions of this- this power-hungry ruler who has abused the gift he has been given; persecuted their lands, and forced innocents into lives ruled by fear and hatred.

"I- er-" Lloyd starts, visibly uncomfortable with saying... whatever it is he is trying to say.

She does not interrupt, but does not take her eyes off the Emperor, either. He has not moved or even contributed to their exchange yet.

Good, she thinks fervently. She does not need to force herself to try and feel sympathy for a man she has hated for so many long winters, one who has taken a piece of her heart and locked it away in a tiny prison cell.

"Did I ever tell you that- that... I watched her die?" he asks, aiming for a casual tone.

The hurt subconsciously laced into it makes something in her heart twist, as if it had been pierced by a shard of glass.

Outwardly, she does nothing more than raise an eyebrow.

For all the days they have spent trekking across the ice together, it suddenly dawns on her how little she actually knows about him.

"No," she replies carefully, dragging out the word. "Why?" "She-"

Akita can almost see his internal struggle - anger and fear and indecision and something she can't quite place her finger on meshing into another thing entirely.

"She- tried to murder," Lloyd flinches at the word, nails digging into his palms, "my friends. And I was forced to watch, helpless," he whispers, so softly that she has to strain to hear it.

"But when she- she died in a crumbling building, I- was... the one who caused it to fall."

"Your point?" she snaps; voice as sharp as her blade. He is the only thing standing between her and the Emperor; between the growing hatred she had allowed to fester for all this time, because one day she would finally make him pay-

Her friend visibly winces.

Too late does she realize her mistake, a fact that leaves her a bit sick to the stomach.

That's nothing compared to the bout of nausea that accompanies another realization, juts a second later.

How could I let my anger hurt another - one who did not deserve to receive it? Am I truly any better than the one whom I have condemned?

Well. The logical side of her mind points out that it is her choice to forgive, for such unforgivable acts; that the anger that had doused everything in its hue, every day, was to be expected-

"I apologize... for my conduct," she says quickly, forcing herself to meet his eyes. "You have never hurt me. I did not mean to hurt you." "It's okay- this- this isn't my fight anyway," Lloyd replies quickly, fingers wrapped around the door handle - but she doesn't even think he's aware of the fact. "I just- I just wanted to share something with you, something I wish someone would've shared with me, because-" He's rambling, words practically coated in a jumble of shaky nerves. "What is it?" Akita asks softly, losing a little of the stiffness in her tone.

"Murder- it isn't right," he repeats, hands pressed to his forehead. "But... it'll hurt you more than it will anyone else. I can't go a week without seeing her fall in my dreams, over and over again. I should've been glad, I guess... she'd hurt my friends and I so many times. But- but I'm the one with the nightmares, and all this- guilt. And I care- I care you, Akita. I know that I'll never understand how you've been hurt by- by the Emperor... just, think about how it'll affect you." Akita's eyes widen incredulously, but he's not done. "Just- don't let someone else make you hurt yourself." His voice is about a pitch higher than normal, but neither of them really register it. "Sometimes, the best kind of revenge is refusing..." Lloyd trails off, his eyes squeezed shut (a second later, he opens them again, blinking profusely), "to let anyone... make you hurt them."

Irrationally, she wants to break something.

That advice offers... an entirely new perspective. One that she had never thought of.

One that is- is unwanted, she insists fervently.

And now his fingers are pressing into his hands again, so tightly that she almost wants to yell - stop it, idiot, you're hurting yourself! - at him. "Because... it might haunt you lot more. And if they- they- really want to hurt you?" Both of them ignore the erratic, painful looking way his breathing starts to hitch just then.

"Don't give them... the satisfaction of it - by- your own hands."

Her mouth drops open.

No words come out.

What?

Out of the corner of her eye, she watches Lloyd slowly - a bit too carefully - push the door shut behind him. It creaks softly, but neither of the two left standing in the room really hear it.

She squeezes her eyes shut, far too many emotions almost crashing through her mind.

"You seek to rescue your friend. I seek revenge."

Blinking the world back into focus, her mind whirls and whirls; the storm unrelenting.

"I seek revenge."

What exactly did that mean to her?

She...

She did not quite know the answer now.

---

Akita does not speak for some time, her thoughtful expression plainly clashing with one of anger.

He does not speak, either, although it is for a different reason.

Lloyd's words have forced him to face the reality he has been avoiding ever since he smashed his scepter on the ground - ever since the decade-long winter had ended.

"And if they really want to hurt you? Don't give them the satisfaction of it - by your own hands."

"If they really want to hurt you."

There is only one whom Lloyd could have been referring to.

"You were built to protect those who cannot protect themselves."

Somewhere within his mind, he is aware of the fact that the second his memories returned, the staff lay in pieces on the floor; all of that corrupted ice shattering into nothing.

He is also aware of the fact that sixty years of tyranny will leave behind much more than an altered climate.

If they even get back to Ninjago, what will have become of his city? It took his friends decades to find him - what could have happened during all that time?

Friends. Does he even have a right to call them that?

He is not quite sure - or even sure if all of them will be as forgiving as Lloyd.

The Green Ninja had always strived to find the best in people - to believe that anyone could make up for their mistakes, that they would want to. It had been to his friend's detriment, once - yet Lloyd had never quite given up on the world, in the same way that many of them had. Maybe it was some sort of childish naivety - or maybe it was just in his nature to hope, even after all they had been through, that everyone had some good inside them.

Yet, he had never met anyone who shared his friend's mindset - or at least to that extent.

Kai knows what it is like to have a sibling kidnapped, taken from them for no rhyme or reason - other than the fact that a cruel ruler who seeks power and exploits those around them for it will stop at nothing to get what they want.

Cole knows what it is like to die (well, almost, his logic points out) - to be imprisoned within yourself; a husk of a person, unable to live your life to the fullest.

His mind flashes to the thousands of innocent villagers he had frozen in icy prisons, practically caskets-

Irrationally, his hands begin to shake.

He chooses not to focus on that.

Nya used to hunt down those who hurt others, he recalls - and then squeezes his eyes shut.

Is she not quite similar to Akita in that regard?

The realization leaves him more gutted than he thought was possible. Had he really become the very person his friends worked so hard to stop?

He clenches his fists, the titanium covering his fingers grating together.

At least I am no longer holding the scroll, he thinks, fervently. Before long, the memory of a clear, quiet night pulls itself to the forefront of his mind.

The echo of a whispered confession; a brief explanation mixed with tears and shaking hands. A voice usually so bright, silenced to the shaky murmur of "I watched her die, Zane, and it was all my fault, it's all my fault-"

It was then when he had learned of- of an alternate timeline, his processor had inputted seamlessly. Another reality, wiped from their minds and the press of time. One that only existed in the memories of two of his best friends.

One that resulted in poorly concealed winces, seemingly arbitrary flinches, Nya throwing out any dresses she owned and Jay practically shaking with fear when he was asked to do certain chores. One that resulted in scars that ran far deeper than those of venom or sword. His memories had been useless then, too, his mind points out. How could he have let two of his best friends suffer for weeks on end, when he was able to upgrade or encrypt his memory drive at any time? When he was a n- robot, and should be able to recover memories that had been deleted or erased? The others could never be afforded that opportunity - yet, he had let the team down when it mattered most. If he could not be there for others, try to help them protect them from a force unable to ever be completely defeated, would he ever even halfway fulfill his purpose? He had pondered all of those questions - had ignored the pang in his heart when many pieces of the figurative puzzle clicked into place, for many weeks afterward. He had almost immediately vowed to be better - to ensure that his purpose did not go unfulfilled.

His purpose, he thought bitterly, as he squeezed his eyes shut. What had become of it now?

Another question to ponder, he supposed. And the realization that Jay - one of his brothers, one who was always equipped with a weapon and a joke too - would forever know what it was like to be kidnapped, held hostage, simply because a power-hungry figure cared less for another than anyone ever should.

Akita's brother had been scarcely less than a child - after his imprisonment. How could he have strayed so far from his original goals - how could he have strayed so far from what he had supposedly fervently stood for?

---

Lloyd's words still ring in her ears, his weary tone not quite matching their crazy implications.

She rubs her temples, frustrated. This was definitely not what she had come here for! She had come for vengeance - vengeance for the terrible crimes the Ice Emperor had committed, against her village, her brother, even her-

But what was the point of revenge if she was the one left scarred? a small voice in the back of her mind points out, doing nothing but adding to her indecision.

I cannot do this, she insists fervently, thinking of her brother's worn face - and the years he had spent imprisoned; a lone figure silently mourning a sister he did not know still trekked the ice.

Just as she had been mourning him, she thinks sadly. The pang in her heart may have lessened since she had realized that he was still alive, but it was still horrifying to think that he had lost decades of his life - she had lost decades of hers, too, in a different way, she muses - saddened, alone, imprisoned.

But is this what he would have wanted? For her?

He had always been the calmer, logic-based one. She was always running into fights, the one fueled by emotion and anger.

Well. She spares a moment for the future.

The Emperor would leave their world - possibly, to haunt another. She would remain here - with her brother and her village, the woods and the towering peaks of the mountains.

I only have this one chance, she reminds herself firmly. She fixes her eyes on the strange blue ones of the Emperor, and sees a future ruled by that one decision.

Her gaze flits towards the doorway, and she sees a future there, too.

She sighs, dropping her eyes to the ground.

But Katuru would want me to- to-

Be happy, she realizes, jarringly.

Taking a deep breath, she bites her lip.

"Will taking your life make me happy? Will it make up for the years of pain we have endured at your hands?"

Her voice rings out, hesitant yet determined.

"I wish it were so," she confesses wearily, ignoring the ache in her hands. She's been gripping the hilt of her dagger for so long, the blade's almost pierced her skin. "Alas, it is not."

The Emperor meets her gaze, but not completely - out of guilt? Fear? Anger?

She does not have the time to ponder meaningless questions.

"I despise you with every fiber of my being, you coward," Akita snarls, some of the anger she has become so accustomed to bleeding its way into her words. "But I will not tarnish my hands on someone as worthless as you, when you presently pose no threat to me."

The words spill from her mouth, but she almost wants to stuff them back inside at that very second.

This isn't why I came here! This isn't what I was supposed to do-

Another voice cuts through the one in her head, a weary confession from someone she knew nothing and everything about.

"Don't give them the satisfaction of it - by your own hands.

The next words she utter fill the room - steady, unwavering.

"Leave our world, and never return. Never. You have treated my people as if you are a monster, yet you say that you are sorry. As if you could ever care - after everything you have done to us!"

Akita sheathes her dagger, indecision still weighing heavily on her mind.

"I hope that you are as haunted by your time here as we all are," she spits, walking towards the door. She does not look behind her, but packs as much bitterness as she can into the last word she utters before the door closes behind her.

"Emperor."

---

A/N - I know this wasn't great, but honestly, it was really interesting to write and challenged me to think about certain things quite a bit. If you did read it, thank you so much!:D

[imgonnapanic]

Karasuno’s Worst Fears

A...creation by yours truly. Tw: death, rejection, self esteem problems, emotional issues, abandonment, arrest, fear of authority. If any of these topics trigger you, please scroll.

Daichi is scared of losing his friends and family. What if he comes home one day to find no one there to greet him? No one there to tell him it will all be okay? No more emotional support from his team? Just the thought of it makes him shiver.

Sugawara is scared of death. He knows it’s natural, and everyone will be on the brink of death someday, but it just irks him to the core. The fact that Karasuno, his teammates, classmates, teachers will inevitably be gone one day kills him on the inside. Oh my fucking god no pun intended.

Asahi is scared of being arrested. It’s a valid fear that he’s grown accustomed to over time. He’s a big guy, and when someone points their finger and screams a lie, police will believe them. And sure, he can always go to court, but what if that never works out? He’ll be stuck in jail for something he didn’t even do.

Noya is scared of abandonment. He tells himself that he shouldn’t get too attached, but he will anyways. He knows that he comes on a little strong at times, but he means well in the long run. Still, that doesn’t stop him from beginning to think. Do they not like him? Did he do something wrong? Goddammit, this happens every time.

Tanaka is afraid of new people. He’s paranoid. He doesn’t trust them. What if they hurt him? His friends? His sister? He brushes it off as being brash and abrasive, but there’s something lingering in him that he just can’t ignore. How the hell do you deal with that?

Ennoshita is scared of authority figures. He’s constantly avoiding being scolded, but it’s hard not to be when your friends are constantly throwing caution to the wind. He’s not just the voice of reason. He’s the voice of impression, because if they’ll never do it, he will.

Kinoshita is scared of being left behind. He straight up watched Yamaguchi, a first year, outshine him. It tends to happen when you’re introverted, he finds. But Yamaguchi? The little suck-up to Tsukishima? That shouldn’t have happened. (God, that physically pained me to write. No more Yams slander here.)

Narita’s worst fear is losing his sense of normalcy. He gets up, he goes to school, practices, comes home, eats, and goes to bed. It’s all you need in the long run, and it keeps him sane. He doesn’t need to be the best, he needs to have a routine. If he doesn’t, it all comes crumbling down.

Kageyama’s worst fear is being hated. It happened to him once, and that was one of the most painful and emotionally damaging things he’s ever had to go through. He earnestly tries to be liked, he just wishes people could see through to him. But for the most part, people just think he’s a grump who’s made no progress. He has, right? Right?

Hinata’s worst fear is no one taking him seriously. He’s worked his ass off to get to where he is now. Now the question is, will they see Hinata as hardworking, or a 5’4 wannabe that has too much energy? Will his family support him, or just giggle about how committed he is? He’s serious. Dead serious.

Tsukishima is scared of commitment. Every idea that comes into his head is just a meaningless concept. He breaks it down, and the more he thinks about it, the farther away it seems. He’s just an average person, and he’s definitely no prodigy. What makes anyone think someone like him could do something that great? They are all idiots for believing in him.

Yamaguchi is terrorized by the idea of waking up one day and finding out the people he used to know and trust will finally see him for what he is. A freak. A coward. Another neutral face in the crowd. He keeps Tsukishima close. He keeps Yachi close. He even keeps Shimada close in fear that one day they’ll consider him...lame.

Kiyoko is scared of injuries. Her whole track career was gone because of them. A whole dream, shattered. She’s glad she could find solace in managing volleyball, of course, but every time she sees a running track, she remembers what she was forced to leave. Now, it’s too late. She can only watch.

Yachi is scared of failure. From the minute she stepped into her first grade school class, she was always picking up chairs, doing her work to a T, and looking up as her teachers praised her for being such a smart, sweet little girl. Now, she’s in high school. This is where she really needs to make an impact. But the real question is, will she?

[soukokuwu]

hi there! hope ur doing well esp in times like these. i must say i absolutely adore ur writing. both the chuuya angst fics literally made me cry. i never cried to any other fics before. it was amazing. may i request an angst scenario where Dazai has an s/o & a person from his past (from his port mafia days) wanted revenge on him. now Dazai is incredibly smart & manipulative & they know that (impossible to kill) so they go after s/o & kills them. i hope i'm not bothering u. have a nice day/night.

something left unguarded.

     genre. angst (dazai x reader)      warnings. death, kidnapping/implied assault      synopsis. there are times when dazai wishes he’s dead. this is one of those times.      word count. 1.8k      author notes. hi kitty! sorry this took me ungodly long, and i’m not sure if this is what you were looking for but i hope it’s okay!! <33

there’s some unspoken things that come together with love.

for dazai, that’s the slow crumbling of his walls; the surrendering of firearms. he finds himself unfurling easily at the seams, and regarding what seems impossible for the vast majority, it’s like white on rice for you. best thing is? it comes easy, effortless. you don’t try to be someone you’re not; dazai can tell. you are just unapologetically, undoubtedly you. that’s the beauty of it all, to him.

never has he felt like this, in the crack of dawn, lying next to you on the bed, the distant sounds of the birds and your breathing is all he can hear. it’s weird — he used to hear so many voices in his head, so many conflicting ones telling him to kill himself and yet others telling him to stay because there’s bound to be something that makes him want to live.

the latter is right. because now look at him. he’s not hearing whispers in his mind, the condescending, doubtful voices are gone. it’s peace.

all that fills his thoughts are you. who was he, even, before he met you? he knows, he always knows, he’s mostly self-aware. but then, he doesn’t want to. doesn’t want to remember the person he used to be, because he loves who he is now, with you. do the voices come back sometimes? absolutely. but a minor interaction with you and he feels tranquililty. and he has no doubt that you are the only one capable of such a feat.

he always thought fear was the accompaniment of walls breaking down. why did you make him feel like it was liberating instead? is it just the impossible amount of trust he’s put into you? he doesn’t have to ever ask himself anything, never does he ever feel like he needs to doubt you. ever.

you’re a peculiar little thing, always doing what you think is best for him. you rarely ever do think of yourself, do you? that’s why dazai takes it upon himself to give you what you deserve, a wholesome, warming kind of romance, even if he isn’t so sure about it himself. dazai doesn’t know romance apart from those that’s raved about in books and movies. his whole life is an endless pit of darkness — that’s up ’til the point he met you, of course.

so if the novel, theatric kind of love is the only form of romance he knows, then the least he can do is give you that.

dazai turns and watches as you rest peacefully, weaving his fingers through your hair, appreciating the patterns of your chest rising and falling. how long has it been since he’s first watched you like this before you wake? he doesn’t really recall the exact number of days, but it’s around three years? and he can definitely deal with a lot more than this.

talks about the future has always been taboo for him. not that he hates it, but it’s because he can never feel excited about it. and frankly, it’s much more of a chore than anything. so now, catching himself actually envisioning a future with you? it feels surreal.

the two of you have a routine: wake up, make breakfast, kiss goodbye before work, actually work, come home, have dinner, maybe take a bath together before you go to bed. it’s habitual by now — everything on the list. and while the morning is no different, the afternoon definitely is.

first there is the anonymous letter he finds in his top desk drawer. nothing but a blank paper with a single ominous line of “this is for back then”. nothing else. just a single line written in blood red ink. the weretiger next to him seems a little freaked out by it, so it’s easy to tell that whoever did this made the effort to come in earlier than anyone to place this in his desk. and maybe they expected to elicit some other behaviour from him. distress? fear?

whatever it is though, it doesn’t get to him. he crumples it up and tosses it in the bin. (he misses it, but it’s not like he cares.)

he goes the rest of the afternoon in ignorant bliss. he texts you halfway though, asking if your lunch today was any good.

would be better if you were here, osamu.

dazai forgets for just a moment that you usually only type out osa. because that’s what you do to him sometimes — you make him let his guard down. he wastes no time replying you.

oh yeah, why’s that, darling? ;)

the next message that chimes in has his heart take a deep dive into the ground below him. it’s a picture. of a vile, disgusting man licking the side of your head, with you tied up to a chair, unconscious.

because then maybe she won’t be so boring like this.

not even bothering to explain, all dazai does is grab atsushi by the collar and drag him out of the agency. he’s the only combative one present currently, and frankly, if it comes to a fistfight, having him there is enough. of course, dazai is not planning to spare anyone. they dared touch you?

they’re as good as dead.

dazai never thinks letting his guard down is a crime. but he thinks the ultimate sin he’s committed? that he let himself slack on his guarding of you. because the moment he gets to you at your apartment, he realises it’s never been a race against time. the moment the picture was sent, you were already gone.

and the culprits are long gone, disappeared without a trace. except for the disgusting wet track of where his tongue traced your skin earlier. usually, dazai would go after them immediately, track them down and plan their demise.

it would have been his plan. had you been just another body, another death count. but you’re not. you’re his lady, his angel, his life. yet you’re lifeless now, your chest doesn’t rise up and down like it should. your body is dense, somewhat dry. it’s completely… not you.

atsushi doesn’t know what to do, he stands in the corner with his eyes trained on his superior who’s letting out more emotion than atsushi thinks he has in his entire life. he feels like he should console him somehow, but he knows that’s selfish thinking. dazai won’t appreciate that.

he’s right. dazai won’t. because the only person capable of giving him any sliver of hope in this god-forsaken world is gone. her body but an empty vessel, reminding him of who he once was and how he had longed to be.

and oh, how he longs to join you now.

worst part is? dazai can find no one to blame. no one but himself. not even the man who offed you. dazai recognises him, from way back in his port mafia days. which means there’s no one to blame but the person he once was, the one you made him feel like he and reprieve from.

until now.

losing you is his punishment, isn’t it? for everything he’s done. this is his judgement day and you’re another one of his sad victims. it’s your body, limp in his arms, eyes wide open and the complete stillness of it all.

and he realises maybe this is what people mean when they talk about ‘deathly silence’. he never thought that losing just the sound of your breathing would feel like this and yet here he is, with another casualty in his arms.

yet another soul he can’t save.

and dazai… despite all his attempts, is still alive.

it’s cliche, but it’s true.

the worst day of loving someone is the day you lose them.

except when they’re still around, it’s easy to take every moment for granted. because who, when they think they have everything, will think of the moment they’d lose it? sure, it may come in glimpses, but you never hover over it long enough for it to actually matter.

until it happens.

cups of hot chocolate and cuddling up to each other in the winters. words of affirmation and warmth bubbling inside chests. security of routines and safety of arms.

dazai can’t stop thinking of things that remind him of you. thinking of the good times like you’re still alive is the only thing that keeps him from breaking as they lower you into the ground.

you’re almost in there and all he can think about is the first time he tells you he loves you, the first proper time he lets his guard down. how you were on the couch with your legs tucked against your chest, misty eyes giving away just how much the whole situation means to you. you see, he always knew you had a fear of falling, but he never knew just how much, until that moment.

“you click your tongue whenever something annoys you, you subconsciously like to walk between the lines on tiled floors, you blame yourself for things that are out of your control,” dazai had told you. and he remembered the look in your eyes — that surprise, that gratefulness — because you never thought that anyone would spare you that much attention, did you? especially not him, who you knew would never spend time on anything that’s unimportant.

but he paid attention to you more than anything else.

“i love you, belladonna,” he had assured you, inching close and holding you in his arms. you always needed reassurance, and while dazai would usually think it’s a burden, nothing was when it came to you. “you may think you’re a mess, but i think you’re perfect.”

he lets your giggle be the last thing that fills his mind as they finally lowered you into the ground. and he doesn’t wait for it to be filled before he spins around and walks away. the next memory he remembers being a promise made. of how you told him not to do anything rash should you ever go first, not even in old age. (he thought it was cute how far ahead you thought of for the future — something he finds he needs now; a future with you.)

and that’s the thing about letting your guard down; you let them have a slight control over your decisions. because now, despite every bone in his body aching to throw himself off a cliff, he finds he can’t quite do so. why? he remembers the life in your eyes when he agrees to that promise, the absolute faith you have in him that he loves you that much to abide by your one wish for him. yet in his head a constant question beckons him, chants itself in his mind like a mantra.

i just want to join you, is that so wrong?

tags. @yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes @animatedarchives

[whereflowersbloom]

Questions

Damian found his girlfriend standing out on the lovely vine-shaded balcony, dressed in civilian clothes and staring out into the city. Night turned Gotham into an endless sea of luminescence. Skyscrapers around the city glow with the light of thousands of residents inside, creating trails of brilliance that ascend up towards the starry sky. It is quite beautiful, in its own way. The soft evening breeze caressing her ebony hair, creating wafts of lavender and rosemary in the air. Had she always been this breathtakingly beautiful? Slowly, Damian set his gaze towards the stars above. The precision that Raven studied the sky with passion, it fascinated him. It was as if she was reading lines from a story book, but instead there was a mass of speckled lights as she was connecting them, tracing invisible lines.

Raven took a deep breath of fresh night air and sighed, a mix of contentment, and something else, she couldn’t point it. “Have you ever considered what your life would be like If you had taken a different path?” Her breath hitched on the last word but her eyes had glance sideway to his large calloused hand still in hers, for someone who appeared to be controlling and unapproachable, Damian was surprisingly gentle and affectionate. The question caught him off guard. He felt a bubble of longing as he remembered her words that night at the carnival when she had called him kind and generous, nobody had ever spoken that way about him. That night something inside him changed, high and fenced walls began to crumble down.

Soaking in the view a little longer, Damian waited a few minutes before deciding to speak. He supposed that the saying that one’s life flashes before their eyes must hold some kind of truth, though he was not dying, and yet he had been dangerously close to the gates of death several times. Raven was his anchor amidst the unpredictability of their life as titans, always bringing him back from the turbulent waters. He couldn’t stop himself from recalling the most memorable moments of his unusual and complex life. He exhaled a long audible breath as he begins.” My life had been long decided before I was born into this world.” He murmured to the whistling wind, his words sounding faraway, even to his own ears. He would rather not relive any of the horrors he’d seen, the terrible acts he had committed in order to build a new world, make it better. What a blind and naive child he had been. At some point he had been ready to surrender his sword, his Robin suit, his claim to fight for others, offer her perhaps a normal life if that’s what she wished for. He would give her anything she asked for in a heartbeat. He squeezed her small hand tighter, Raven immediately noticed way he’s gripping onto it, like she’s the only thing keeping him tethered to this world. “After some time coming to the tower, I contemplated a rather uneventful, ordinary life. If my parents had conceived me under very different circumstances. If mother loved me more than her own insatiable ambitions. If father wasn’t the eccentric, mysterious millionaire Bruce Wayne or a vigilante consumed by his thirst to serve justice.” There was a tone of melancholy in his voice, the promise of a different retelling of a story. His story. “It wasn’t all bad. Mother…she used to read to me, every one now and then, nights like these. Tales about the greatest leaders in history, others about the origin of the Al Ghul dynasty. I treasured those moments.” He looked over at her, and he didn’t seem to recognize her for a moment, like the memory had been so strong it had actually confused him, taking him back to that instant. This was the most he’d ever really said about his mother. His past as an Al Ghul. Sure he’d shared some stories, about certain things he enjoyed and disliked. But he never spoke about Talia with such profound emotions. This was personal and precious to Damian. It saddened her. Saddened for the pain in his emerald eyes that he was trying to hide. Another long breath was blown between his full lips, and he deflated again, like he was accepting the undeniable truth. “Perhaps I would have met Jon at a local school and we would play basketball after classes and Greyson would be the team’s coach. Maybe we would have crossed paths at the extensive and valuable Gotham Public Library. I would have offered to treat you a cup of Earl Grey tea. A part of me believed I’d have picked Veterinary medicine as my bachelor degree.”

She looked at him with such intensity and Damian thought her violet eyes grew deeper, darker, more reflective. She was weighing her own reflection in his eyes, trying to see through him like she always did. And they both were visualizing, a different life consisting of trivialities, a simple lifestyle, maybe in the countryside, a rather nice and quiet house, perhaps similar to the Kent farm with some slight but substantial improvements. “What about you?” He abruptly asked her, startling her. Oh she had never been sure about her own future. “As the daughter of an inter-dimensional demon. I didn’t think a future was possible for me. A happy family, a stable romantic relationship, loyal friends. Everything was endless blackness when I was trapped by Trigon. What I have right now is more any blissful future I could have imagined.” She muttered softly. This companionship between them, the mutual care, the tender loving, the sense of equality between them, the feeling of belonging to each other beyond any outer interference because they chose one another. Their family and friends. Everything was more than enough. Damian was unconsciously too absorbed at how she looked at the whole world as one precious thing, values life in every form and shape. Her unnatural powers gave her the ability to look into something and see what others can’t. It was fascinating. He was thankful too, sincerely appreciated what he had. His father, troublesome siblings adoptive or not, his teammates and Raven. He is product of the flames which burnt him, his actions, his choices and the will that made him grow formidable instead of breaking. They both were. This woman was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his human days with.

“There’s something that wouldn’t change. You. It’s always been you, Raven.” He’s got a dazed look in his eyes, a familiar bright gleam to them that hadn’t been there earlier, but he flashed her a dazzling smile at her, one that make her insides jump. Raven let his words sink in. He wanted her even if things were different and joy seeped through her whole body.

She just felt greedily wanting more time with him, every moment and experience. She loved him, from the possessive way he held her or how he kept on touching her the instant they are alone and he felt he same. They have been together for a few years now, it took them some time to announce it to their significant others. No matter how things turned out, they have this genuine, real and consuming love. That emotion when you felt like your lungs are out of air when your lover is away from you, everything was so intense and yet so tender, you were worried it would break between your fingers like crusty autumn leaves. She focused on him.

Damian looked out of his depths. He’d always been so controlled and measured, knew the weight of his every word and was completely unflappable despite whatever life threw at him, but now he didn’t. He seemed as if he was nervous, unable to spell out his own feelings. Hesitant. Could be her imagination but she sensed a slight agitation awakening in him.

“Marry me, Raven.” The words are said with his whole heart. They are genuine and honest and very him. He couldn’t hold back the words any longer. Why wait anyway? theres simply no time when you’re busy saving the world day-to-day. There’s no question to calculate when is the right right or your fated person, no formula for the correct time. Timing. There’s no use reminding about the past or the life they would have dreamed to have. The present was a gift and ultimately what matters the most. They have been romantically involved for 4 years now. He knew she was the one the moment he gathered courage to ask her out, court her properly the way he had been taught. Initially, he planned to propose differently but it felt right. This conversation only strengthened his resolve to make a Raven his wife.

“Damian.” She breathed with astonishment.

“No buts. Marry me.” He commanded with an eyebrows raised stopping her from coming up with an unnecessary excuse, content filling his veins and the marrow of his bones, flooding him with a blanket of warmth and hope. He didn’t want to wait anymore. He wanted her, now and tomorrow and the rest of his existence, and she loves him. Like he knew she’s always had her doubts on if she could be loved or she did before they started dating.

Her bottom lip trembled momentarily. She felt a bit like she can’t breathe properly, but then Damian is reaching up and gently cupping her cheek, and she exhaled shakily as he runs the pad of his thumb over her lips. He was looking at her dead serious, asking her to marry him. “I’m not taking the chance to wait too long.” Damian whispered urgently. His tone more serious than before. Her heart was hammering in her chest. They moved in together about a year ago. Were they ready to take the next step?

It felt too real all of a sudden. Too damn real, and she wants to drown in it this moment, in this bottomless sea of feelings for him. She wanted to pretend that this is real and more than that, she wanted to say yes. Damian Wayne didn’t take a no for an answer. When he was determined, he did everything posssihke to get it, one way or another. And she loves him nonetheless. Raven felt her heart flutter, her chest tightened ever so slightly as she finally exhaled. “Yes. I’ll marry you, Damian.”

“I love you.” Her voice breaking as tears are rolling down her cheeks and the small smile on her lips. It was easy to find herself gravitating toward Damian, falling back into that wordless sync they had. To feel herself being pulled into his personal space as he crowded hers. Until they faced each other with barely inches between them and her breath hitched as he snaked his arms around her, emerald eyes softened, glowing against the moonlight, they didn’t leave her, and his arms made the distance between them disappear. Their lips are barely touching but he can feel the softness, the plumpness of her mouth, like an overripe fruit. She brushes her lips against his and Damian rapidly kissed her fervently. His lips breathing silent ‘I love you’s. The low giggle that rumbled up through her could not be contained though she tried. She knew several language but no words could describe this ecstatic happiness.

Damian is overwhelmed by the sweet taste, the delicious scent, the warm feel of her. He was intoxicated and drunk off their hungry kiss. He trailed his hand on her waist up her back and feels her heart hammering against her ribs and wonders for a moment if she’s feeling as consumed by the kiss as he is. If she is as incredibly happy as he is right in this moment. He didn’t need a different life, this one was exactly what he wished for.

Damian made a mental note to ask Jon to accompany him ring shopping tomorrow. Tonight he had plans to celebrate his engagement with his gorgeous fiancée.

His lips brushed hers in a soft, tender rhythm once again. Once. Twice. Thrice. Harder, and a little bit hungrier than before, until her fingers are intertwined in his hair and his solid body is pressing against her frame. He lifted her up effortlessly, taking a few steps back, taking her back to their bedroom. Two figures bathed in tranquil starlight disappeared.

Oneshot because I need fluff. Final edit

Thank you to @chromium7sky @ravenfan1242 @deep-in-mind67 and all my readers for motivating me to write. This might be the last chapter for a while. 💜💜

[therenlover]

heyy jac I first wanted to say you are amazing, thank you for going out of your way to give us tfatws content. it brightens up my day whenever I see you post. I was just listening to your zemo playlist and I’m one of those people who when I listen to a song I love to make scenarios in my head. I was wondering if you could walk us through some of your favourite songs on the playlist and tell us how you associate them with zemo. I’d love to hear your thoughts on some of the songs. (if that isn’t too much hassle sorry if I’m being annoying lol).

 Anon, you are currently my favorite person in the whole wide world. I absolutely want to give you my favorite songs on the playlist and tell you exactly what I see when I hear them, and you have given me an excuse to do so. This post will probably be long as hell, so I’m putting it under the cut. 

Foolish To Think from A Gentleman’s Guide To Love and Murder

We all know Zemo is a baron, but like... we don’t know how powerful baron’s are in Sokovia. We also don’t know pretty much anything about his childhood or rise to power. I am a firm believer that he’s been ever so slightly unhinged even when he was still just a normal dude, so this is him deciding “you know what, I’m about to climb my way up the Zemo family ladder however I need to,” This, in my mind, is the epitome of fresh faced, 18 year old, canon Zemo ready to go fuck some people up for power. 

If Music Be The Food Of Love arranged by David Dickau

During his rise to power, still just a normal dude, Zemo falls in love with his wife. I’m a big believer in the fact that, because Zemo was raised as royalty, he knows a whole lot of pretentious shit like Shakespeare and recites it to his partner to be romantic. The line “Though yet, the treat is only sound, sure I must perish by your charms unless you save me in your arms,” is what he used to woo her early in the relationship. So cute, it would be terrible if something bad happened to her...

Bogoroditse Djevo arranged by Arvo Pärt

This one is more of a scene I get in my head. It’s a Christmas tune, and I can see him, his wife, and their infant going to their first Christmas market as a family in Novi Grad. Just... walking from stall to stall, giggling at the performers, eating the food, buying little gifts for the baby to remember the occasion. It’s a calm before the storm.

The Swan by Camille Saint-Saëns

This song, in the playlist, marks the death of Zemo’s family. In the past, dancers have interpretted the melody as a badly injured swan, slowly struggling as they die but still being graceful and elegant as they do. As he searches through the rubble, his hope slowly dies, and in the end his hope dies where his family did. Thus begins his descent into madness in...

Daemon Irrepit Callidus arranged by György Orbán

Daemon Irrepit Callidus is Zemo’s descent into madness. From this point on, he slowly loses his softness. The tone of the songs is often much more modern, pulling away from his roots as a baron and man of high status and leaning into something more gritty for much of the Civil War era in the playlist. He has descended into hell and he believes there is no turning back from here. 

Songe d’Automne performed by The White Star Orchestra

Reportedly (by Harold Bride, surviving Jr Telegrapher who was washed off the deck as the ship sank) this was the last song the orchestra played as the Titanic sank. Zemo is going nuts. ‘Nough said.

If I Believed from Twisted

This song, along with a few more, is an outlier in the Civil War era. It represents his reasoning for what he’s doing. I imagine this song is the feeling he has after he listens to his wife’s last voicemail. He’s doing everything for her, burning a whole superhero organization to the ground so that he can assure nobody else has to live through what he did, but he can’t deny that a part of him wishes he could just bring her back no matter how illogical that is.

How Does A Moment Last Forever (Music Box) from Beauty and the Beast

This is, again, a softer moment. He looks back on the time he spent with his family and tries to keep it safe in his mind. It anchors him to reality and keeps him focused on his goals. The end is coming soon in his mind, so he clings as hard as he can to those remaining memories of peace.

Dies Irae arranged by Giuseppe Verdi

He sets the Winter Soldier loose murders all the remaining soldiers in the Hydra base on his day of reckoning. Yeah, that’s basically it, it’s just hype music as he has his big moment.

As The World Caves In by Matt Maltese

His plan has been carried out and now Zemo is simply watching as the world caves in around him. He’s succeeded in all of his plans, the avengers are crumbling, he’s listened to his wife’s voicemail one last time and now he’s ready to be dead. He thinks this is it. Well, until he’s taken into custody and locked up forever. 

Leonardo Dreams Of His Flying Machine arranged by Eric Whitacre

My man Eric is coming in clutch once again. This is Zemo, brilliant mind and all, stuck rotting in jail. He has nothing but his dreams of grandeur to tide him over So, he dreams. He dreams of escape, of his family, of what waits for him once he dies. 8 years of dreaming pass before Bucky finally approaches as Lacrimosa plays.

Lacrimosa by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Fuck you, Mozart. You’re only here because you played in the show. Moving on. 

The Sweet Escape by Gwen Stefani 

You cannot tell me that this isn’t what was playing in Zemo’s head as he escaped from maximum security prison and rolled up to that warehouse looking all hot and mysterious. 

Sibella from A Gentleman’s Guide to Love and Murder

Look who’s back! This time, though, I included this because I am adamant that Zemo fucks someone he used to know while he’s escaped and they have a big dramatic love affair. Like, he just does. I don’t make the rules. 

WAP by Cardi B featuring Megan Thee Stallion 

Zemo would just love WAP. He says all that woke shit, so like, he vibes with female empowerment and the idea of them taking back their sexuality. He also loves the annoyed look on Bucky’s face when he plays it, so it stays on the playlist. 

The Man I Used To Be from The Count of Monte Cristo

Now, this one is more speculative, but I feel like Zemo will have a minor change of heart. he won't suddenly be a morally straight good guy to the bone, but I think he’s seriously rethinking his ideology and at some point, he might find a way to let go of a lot of the pain and remorse he’s been carrying around. 

No More from Into The Woods

This song, in my mind, takes place at the Sokovian memorial. Zemo is there and he’s so tired of running and fighting and grieving. He just wants to be okay again but he doesn’t know how to. He has this mental moment where he’s asking his deceased father for help and yet the memory (ghost?) of his father, who he resented for most of his life, isn’t helping him straightforwardly. He has to figure it out for himself in the end. This line speaks to me most. “No more giants waging wars. Can’t we just pursue our lives, with our children and our wives? Till that happy day arrives, how do you ignore...” 

and finally...

Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep arranged by Laura Farnell

Of all the songs on this list, this one was the only one I was absolutely certain of including and I knew it had to be the last song no matter what else I included. Its contents, a famous poem by Mary Elizabeth Frye, could refer to either Zemo or his family. In the case that he visits the monument, it could be the feeling he gets there. Finally, he knows that his family is somewhere better, not buried under the rubble of his home. He’s finally free. 

If he dies at the end of the series though, it takes on a whole new meaning. It’s about him, how he isn’t trapped by his mortal body anymore. He’s now everywhere, both a constant reminder to the world of the atrocities committed in Sokovia and a testament to how powerful a father’s love for his family can be. Once again, he’s finally free to reunite with those he loves, but this time it’s he who isn’t truly dead so long as people heed his life as a warning. 

Wow, this was longer than I thought it would be even when I cut a few songs... I hope you enjoyed!

[mortyvongola2-0]

Fascination

Parining: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd x Reader

Genre: Oneshot, smut

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Reader is F!Byleth, masturbation, pre-timeskip, Dimitri is 18 though so its okay, slight exhibitionism, slight spoilers for blue lions route, tea invites

Read it on AO3

That was it. That was all it took to have his cheeks pink and his heart thudding against the ribs in his chest. A single smile. One genuine smile from you and he felt like he would melt. The way your eyes sparkled, the way your cheeks pushed upward, even the small twitch of your nose that showed itself when your smile initiated, every last part of it had him fighting against his instinct to place his hand against his chest. Your smile was mesmerizing, he even told you so himself.

After seeing it for the first time, he was determined to see it again. Your usually stoic demeanor, at first, had left him feeling uneasy and mistrustful, but now he craved to dismantle it if only to see what other expressions you could make. He knew it wasn’t right to think this way about his professor, to even think this way at all. His life was not his own, it belonged to the mass amounts of dead loved ones that he owed it too, so pleasures like these and his own desires had to be nothing more than fleeting feelings. It was only for the sake of his revenge that he was even at the monastery. And yet, he found himself unable to completely be rid of his interests in you. His cerulean gaze always trailed after you when he believed you were unaware. During your lectures, as you paced about the classroom in attempts to stretch your legs and keep everyone’s attention, he would think of nothing but you and what it would take to get your face to meld with other sensations. Your relieved smile was the first he saw, after Flayn had been found and sent to the infirmary, and then he was graced another smile after the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. That smile had been the best expression he’d seen you wear, so bright and kind. Truly it warmed even some of the darkest parts of his heart. But it still wasn’t enough. He needed to commit to memory more of your smiles, more of your expressions. During training, he often wondered how to aggravate you. To get you to show an annoyed or angered expression. But he wasn’t as good at teasing and rilling as Sylvain or Claude. He just had to bear with it and see if you’d let something slip while you sparred with him. He loved watching you eat. It fascinated him just how much food you put away in that lithe frame of yours. His interest in you was always getting the better of him. While he should have been focusing on other things, he found that more and more, you were the most prominent thoughts on his mind. Sylvain considered it a crush, but the young prince wasn’t entirely sure what to call it. It felt odd, almost like the beginnings of obsession, but he continued to feed this curiosity despite himself. Only when his interests in you began to take a turn into something more sinful did he realize how big of a problem it actually was. He hadn’t intended to feel this particular way about you, but the more he looked back on it the more he realized it was only a natural progression. A steady climb to reach the point he was at now. “Mmm,” a soft groan left him, muffled by his non dominant hand as he began to stroke his swollen length. The walls of the monastery were thin, and he would explode in embarrassment if he were to be caught masturbating, let alone be caught masturbating to thoughts of you. In his mind, it was not his hand wrapped around his cock but your smaller warmer ones. It was not his own thumb that circled his tip to collect the precum that continued to bead at the pleasing sensations, but your calloused thumb. Your soft tongue lapping it off the appendage. He shuddered, now biting into the flesh of his hand. It was easier to quiet his moans this way. The image of you in his mind was on your knees before him, face flushed and eyes half lidded. Your lips were barely parted and curved in a soft ‘o’ shape as you stroked him. He imagined the faces you might make at the peak of ecstasy. What sounds would you release at his touch? The idea of your battle-hardened body being so warm and pliable under his touch made his toes curl. He shut his eyes to further fall into his fantasy. Now you were stroking him faster, eyes never once leaving his flustered face. His cock pulsed in his hand as he imagined what his name would sound like as a breathy moan from your lips. They looked so soft, and he very much wanted to kiss them. To whisper sweet nothings against them, to watch them wrap around his swollen member and thrust between them. He removed his hand from his mouth, a light sting emanating from the bite marks there, and he reached down to cup his balls as they began to tighten. “Ah-ahhhh.” His moans were shaky, breathless at best. The fantasy began to crumble, and he cursed allowed. How he wished that he was engulfed in your velvet walls and not his roughly calloused fingers. It was too late now he was far too close to try to come up with another convincing image of you. Instead, he settled for a soft call of your name, careful not to be too loud about it. And then he heard it, your soft voice just on the other side of his door, speaking with another student in the hallway. He couldn’t stop, too close to orgasm to pause. His mind only now realizing he had forgotten to lock the door. You could open the door at any moment. Could catch him pleasuring himself to his thoughts of you. Would you be angry? Would you offer to help him? What kind of expression would you make? The continued sound of your voice added to his arousal. His cock pulsed once more. Did he want you to catch him? Maybe if you did, you would scold him. He whimpered at the thought. The idea of you catching him and punishing him almost brought him to his finish. But what he did finish to, was the sound of you softly calling his name as you inquired to the other student about his whereabouts. A gasp left him at the hum spreading through his veins. His hand and stomach were covered in his semen, and he sat back for a moment to recover. After realizing he didn’t have much time to bask in the afterglow, he scurried to grab a cloth and wet it, he always had a pitcher of water in his room in case he needed a drink, and rushed to clean himself off. He did however allow his mind to wander and think about cleaning you off, instead of himself, after he finished on your thighs. A shudder ran through him. Just as he had begun replacing his clothing he heard a soft knock on his door. “Dimitri,” you called. “Are you in there?” “Coming!” He glanced in the mirror quickly, making sure his hair didn’t look too disheveled, though his cheeks were still flushed and his eyes glazed over in post orgasm bliss, he decided he was presentable enough and opened the door. “Ah, Professor! Is something the matter?” “No, nothing is wrong,” you said and shook your head gently. “I was just wondering if you’d like to have some tea with me?” Dimitri blinked for a moment before letting a soft smile grace his lips. “I gratefully accept your invitation,” he responded and stepped out of his room, sure to close the door behind him. Though his mind was still a bit hazy after his release, he didn’t miss the small almost imperceptible blush that bloomed on your cheeks as you nodded to his response. He almost chuckled and let himself hope that maybe you too had some strange fascination with him, maybe even similar to the one he had toward you.

[apomaro-mellow]

Powers at Work

Read on AO3

Snoke looked upon the trooper before him, his mouth curling up into a smile as he felt the indignation boiling inside Kylo Ren for having to stand side-by-side with this one.

"Remove your helmet. What is your designation?"

The irony of being asked to show his face while also reciting that which gave him anonymity was not lost on the young man. But he obeyed without hesitation.

"FN-2187."

"Tell me boy", Snoke addressed Kylo Ren this time. "What do you feel from him?"

"Nothing", he answered. His own mask giving the illusion of cold indifference. But behind it was a petulant expression. And Snoke could feel it, as well as the particular sort of energy the emanated from the storm trooper.

"He has Force potential. It is weak. But it is there."

Neither of the young men said anything about that. Kylo Ren was slowly simmering from petulance to seething while FN-2187 didn't really know what any of this meant. He knew little of the Force. Just that it was part of some strange technique that the Knights of Ren and Supreme Leader Snoke utilized. There were a lot of rumors about what it could and couldn't do.

"He will become a knight", Snoke continued. "I see great things in his future."

From then on, FN-2187's life had flipped on its head in some ways, but had mostly remained the same. He still had to get up early, dress in a uniform, wear a mask, and go through training that pushed him to the limits of his mind and body.

But one significant change was the way he was taught to process his emotions. Stormtroopers were meant to be unfeeling and simply follow orders. As a Knight of Ren, he still had to follow orders without question. Every time frustration and anger built up inside of him though, he was told to harness it. To channel it into an energy that he could use. Mostly for destruction.

And it felt good.

Shooting with a blaster and using other weapons had their charm. But there was something cathartic about using your own hands, even though he wasn't technically touching anything. When FN-2187 reached out and grasped the neck of a Resistance fighter, he felt it as if his hand was actually cutting off their air supply.

With every insurgence that was squashed, he grew more powerful. And with more power, he became more capable. It didn't take long for him to forget the troopers he had known. Why should he remember them anyway? They were nothing but cogs in a machine. FN-2187 was still a cog himself, but a much bigger one than he had been. And in the end, their goal was the same - to destroy.

The other knights believed the same, having given themselves to the cult of Ren that cared not for right and wrong, only what they wanted. FN-2187 believed that there was no right and wrong. If there was good, how could the First Order ever come into such great power. If there was justice, then how would it punish all of the crimes committed by the vast armies?

There was no hope, no righteous glory to strive for, no happy ending where the bad guys lost. There was only those with power and those without. And if he could use that power to break, to wreck, to crumble, then why shouldn't he?

It wasn't like he was going to get punished for doing wrong, so what incentive did he have to do right?

He wasn't like Kylo Ren. FN-2187's powers within the Force had grown. And he could feel the turmoil within Kylo Ren like it was his own. It was why FN-2187 was glad that they didn't spend too much time together. Eventually, one of the other knights had told him the story; that Kylo Ren had originally trained under a fledgling jedi order under Luke Skywalker before tearing it all down and succumbing to the dark side.

And that explained the torrent that raged inside of him. Some part of him was still clinging to hope. Hope for what, FN-2187 didn't know. Maybe he wanted to be saved and leave the First Order. Maybe he wanted something more than this. Whatever it was, FN-2187 wished that part of their training included learning to hold things in. But they weren't taught much about the spiritual side of the Force outside using hatred to fuel them.

It was supposed to be a mission as easy as any other. They had gotten intel that the Resistance was harboring a very important piece of information.

"We are to find the one who has it. And take it", Kylo Ren said as they were en route.

No one asked what the information was or why it was so important. But FN-2187 was curious. And Kylo Ren's mind was always such an open book. So he flipped through the pages and found that what was so important was a droid with a map to Luke Skywalker.

"GET OUT!", Kylo Ren barked, pushing FN-2187 out of his head.

"Don't keep yourself so open then", he said in reply with a shrug.

FN-2187 had seen other things floating on the surface along with that tidbit. An old man's face, probably Skywalker himself, as well as a few other faces. None that he recognized of course. But he at least understood why the Knights of Ren were being put to such a task.

Luke Skywalker was a dangerous man and had the power to end everything. FN-2187 had heard the legend of Skywalker. But like most things, it was impossible to tell what was actually true and what was just gossip, exaggerations, or stories to soothe children.

When they landed on the planet, stormtroopers had already begun terrorizing the people that lived there. FN-2187 felt nothing as he watched innocent people get gunned down. Because if he felt something, he would have to admit that this was all wrong. And if this was all wrong, that meant there had to be a right side. But there was no right or wrong, only strong and weak.

The Resistance was full of weaklings, those that clung to loft ideals and died because of them.

So imagine his surprise when one of these weaklings, the ones trying to uphold some twisted form of justice and good, snuck up on him and landed a blow on his helmet, nearly knocking him to the ground.

FN-2187 had been checking one of the homes for the Resistance fighter. He had sensed something behind him but only at the very last second. It was why he was able to get away without the full brunt of the attack hitting him squarely on the head. As it was, he only had a crack in his helmet. The fighter closed the distance between them, probably thinking that they could corner him in such a small space.

The amount of room stopped being a hindrance when FN-2187 used the Force to push him back, crumbling one of the walls in the process. The fighter lay limp on the ground on top of the rubble. Fn-2187 approached and narrowly dodged the blaster shot that came at him. A last ditch attempt from the fighter before having a strong boot step on his wrist. The crack in the helmet crew, and a piece fell off. That last shot having done a bit more damage to it.

"Any last words?", FN-2187 asked.

The fighter coughed up a bit of blood and sounded like he was choking before he could answer. "You've...you've got...got a pretty eye... for a bastard."

He gave pause at that. "...Just one?", he asked, bending over.

"Well I can't see the other one, so I can only imagine."

Poe Dameron truly hadn't expected such a pretty brown eye when he shot off that chunk of helmet. Honestly, he'd been hoping to shoot right through their head and get a chance to escape. But now that it looked like he was at his end, why not be honest? It wasn't like this guy would repeat his last words. So no one on either side would know that Poe had complimented the man who had killed him.

He took in shallow breaths, waiting for the final blow. How would it come? Just a shot? Would his skull be crushed under a boot? Or would this one be using the same laser sword as their oh so charming leader?

FN-2187 lifted his foot off of the fighter's wrist and knelt down next to him. He had to know one thing. Just one thing before he left this man for dead.

"Why do you fight?"

The immediate response was laughter. "We fight because your side didn't give us a choice. We fight in defense of everything we love."

FN-2187 could have laughed himself at such a cliche response. Then an idea occurred to him. Something that he had thought about from time to time but had never imagined he'd get a chance at. If wanton destruction in the name of desire was the way of the Ren, then what glorious ecstasy would it be to destroy something as grand and enormous as the First Order?

"Play dead", FN-2187 said.

He dragged the fighter by the arm, walking towards one of the many piles of bodies that had begun to accumulate. Thankfully the other knights were deeper in the village, searching for the droid and its owner. Keeping his half-covered gaze forward, FN-2187 continued. Being a knight had the perk that any trooper he passed by quickly put their head down and pretended to work harder than they already were.

He counted himself lucky that they got as far as the gangplank before someone called out to him. Not looking back, he threw the fighter deeper into the ship, blasted the trooper before he could report and hit the button to lift up the plank.

"You fly?", FN-2187 asked.

With a groan, the other man got to his feet. "I fly!", he exclaimed with a lightness that made it easy to forget he was injured. He put himself in the pilot's seat and got the ship going. FN-2187 felt out for the other knights, especially for Kylo Ren. He felt confusion most of all. And then numbness. And then they were too far away to feel much of anything.

He stopped looking back and only looked forward; to the Resistance that he'd be joining, and the pilot he had saved that was his ticket in.

[zhong-taro]

shotaro as a friendly ghost

 this is 2.8k words of shotaro and taeyong interacting and yes it’s all self-indulgent

tw: small mention of suicide, but it’s marked very clearly!

Ok so this is definitely part of a longer, more detailed AU that I’ll probably go into more later (like way later)

bUT let’s start here - Shotaro is a friendly ghost

Oh my g o d he’s such a sweetie you have no idea

When he dies, it’s something really dumb

He and his parents had moved to Korea after his father had sold his company and suddenly come into a significant amount of money 

It’s enough that they buy a large plot of land in Korea

Shotaro is about five years old when they buy the land and start construction on the house

It’s positioned at the top of a large hill that looked down over a small Korean town, and in the hot summers the house provided shade for a park, and when it rained the house blocked from too much flooding

Well, once it was finally built it did

It took five years for this absolute MANSION of a house to be built. Shotaro and his family had lived in a small rental home in the town, acquainting themselves with everyone and becoming established members of the community

When the place was finally finished, Shotaro was ten and the Osaki’s would have large gatherings of people at their home most weekends, with large parties every holidays

Originally, the family had built such a large home because they planned on taking in many foster children and helping to raise orphaned children

They never get to

The 1950’s were an absolute golden era for the Osakis, they’re loved by everyone around them and their perfect little boy Shotaro shines in Korea like he never had in Japan

Until in 1959, when they suffer great tragedy and the family is never the same again

Personally, Shotaro thinks he couldn’t have had a dumber death

He was nineteen and it was the night before the town dance contest. He was more than nervous - his parents had already been taking him out of town for dance lessons because he was too scared that the entire town would think he was bad at dancing, but now he was actually facing them

All of these people had known him since he was a toddler, he couldn’t handle the idea of all of them thinking he was bad at something he had found he loved

So he couldn’t sleep

And he had wandered downstairs, grabbing a cup of water and taking it back to his bedroom

However, he had tripped on the top step while going back to his bedroom and spilled water all over the hardwood floor

When he took the last step to try and clean up the spilled water, he slipped and fell down the stairs

Unfortunately, the Osaki parents woke up to a gruesome scene of their son dead at the entryway to their home

Shotaro thought he woke up, but when he stood up and his body didn’t stand with him, he knew something was wrong

And when his mother walked down the stairs (through him, mind you) and screamed, sobbing into his body, he realized that things might’ve been worse than he realized

It didn’t take long to figure out that he had died

(( tw // suicide for the next two bullet points ))

His parents couldn’t handle the pain

After his funeral, it took less than a month for both of his parents to commit suicide

Shotaro had been hoping that they would also become ghosts, but no such luck

So he was left alone, in a huge house that hadn’t seemed nearly as lonely only a month before

Of course he tried to leave, but he could never get past the gates that marked his parent’s property at the bottom of the hill

And so he sat in his house

For decades

Throughout the years, the house decayed and became decrepit. The chandelier fell one year, leaving glass scattered across the front entryway

Books became dusty, all but the ones in the library because Shotaro spent most of his time in that room and watched the days go by through the stories he would read

And when he opened up the windows on a nice spring day and leaned out, looking over the small town that he had loved so much, he heard the rumors

Tales of the haunted house at the top of the hill, told by a new generation of children who had never seen the Osaki home in its original glory

And Shotaro felt the repeating disappointment when a child would look into the windows, seem to spot him, and yelp before running away

So Shotaro becomes a recluse - not because he wanted to, but because he has to

After about 15 years, people start trying to sell the house

He doesn’t let that happen. Shotaro had become quite the… depressed person since his parents death. He had never really been given the opportunity to react to things as they happen. He’s always to put down the book and take a few deep breaths before continuing, or just walk away from the window when the rumors become too upsetting

But when that first person - a potbellied, middle aged man - comes to see the house in the interest of buying it, Shotaro sees red

And so he does what he thinks ghosts are supposed to do

He scares the man off

Years later he looks back and sees how bad of a ghost he was, but that just means that the guy must’ve been real cowardly

Because all he has to do is open a few windows, move around a few glasses, make some scary noises, and the guy is turning on his tail and sprinting out the door

More people come back - a family of three very wealthy foreigners who don’t speak the language, one rich old woman who decides the house would be too much upkeep six sons with two tired parents who decided there was too much room for trouble, and probably dozens more

The ones that don’t decide to move out on their own, Shotaro scares off

He gradually gets better at it - it’s hard to learn how to keep himself transparent at first

He thinks that he can become completely invisible, slightly translucent, or almost-solid but he’s never spoken to someone to figure it out

But as he watches the house crumble more and more around him, it gets more and more difficult to scare away the shoppers

He just wishes somebody other than pretentious jerks would come looking. He likes the original gothic architecture his parents designed, and he knows the house would be beautifully unique if somebody came along to restore it. But he’s not sure if he likes the idea of someone else coming into his house

Although he doesn’t have much of a choice after a while

The man comes along with the same real estate agent who’s been trying to sell Shotaro’s house for at least five years now

He’s pretty sure the woman knows he’s haunting the house, because she shoots glares into the empty air where he makes strange noises or moves furniture, but that sure doesn’t stop him from scaring all her clients away

When she steps in, she holds the open for a red haired man with a sharp jaw

He whistles as he looks around the large entryway, the noise echoing. He looks down at the large chandelier, still shattered on the marble floor, and raises one eyebrow at the agent

“What happened there?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure. It’s been there ever since I started trying to sell this place.”

“Have you tried to have it cleaned?”

“Of course,” she looks a little insulted. “But the… ghost,” she glares into the empty air, across the room from where Shotaro is currently floating, “Seems to scare everyone off before they can get much done.”

The man smirks, turning away from her and looking around the entire room. He stands in silence for a few moments, scanning everything (Shotaro tries to ignore how nervous he feels when the man’s eyes briefly pause at his place at the old dining room table, but he tries a lot harder to not think about the point of his teeth)

“I’ll take it.”

The man shows up again the next day, and Shotaro is not happy about it

When he arrives, Shotaro is standing on the stairs and glaring at the front door

After unlocking the doors and stepping in, the red-haired man placed his hands firmly on his hips and smiled while looking around the room

“My name is Lee Taeyong.” the man announced loudly. The smile didn’t slip off of his face as the silence of the house continued. “I was born in 1995,” (how has that much time passed since he died?) “I’m a vampire, and I promise I will treat your home with respect.” 

Well. That’s interesting

But Shotaro chooses to gloss over the vampire thing and scoffs, storming up the stairs

The man - supposed vampire - doesn’t go into any rooms or even go upstairs on the first night. He just sleeps (pretends to sleep? Do vampires sleep? Are vampires even real? Shotaro stows all these thoughts away to deal with later) on the couch after ordering food in.

When he wakes up in the morning, Taeyong still has that obnoxious smile on as he looks around at nothing. Shotaro is there, watching and making sure the man doesn’t mess anything up

So when Taeyong fiddles at the dining room table, which only has three working legs and is almost broken in half, and asks the room “Would you be ok with me getting rid of this table?” Shotaro throws a glass at his head

He misses, intentionally obviously, and the old glass cup shatters against the peeling wallpaper of his dining room. Taeyong snorts and holds his hands up in surrender “Alright, no table. Hey, can you throw another glass if you’re a male ghost, please?”

Shotaro throws another glass, and once again ignores the point of the new man’s teeth

Later in the morning, early afternoon, Taeyong starts looking around the house.

“Are you  gonna try and kill me again if I go upstairs?” He asks, and Shotaro does nothing but cross his arms from where he’s sitting on the dusty banister

“I’ll take that as a no.”

And so they head upstairs. Taeyong stops in front of every doorway, and if Shotaro doesn’t want him going in the room he makes the door shake and bangs on the wall a few times

Taeyong doesn’t understand this message at first, and when he almost opens the door to Shotaro’s parent’s room he loses it

The ghost bangs on the door so hard the whole thing shakes, making what little art that was still hanging shudder. He yells for effect, coming out more of an angry groan (because he still can’t quite talk to humans when he’s invisible), and shoves Taeyong away from the door

The older (well, physically older) man looks shocked and stands still for a moment staring at the door, before shaking his hand and smiling a little. “Alright, I get the message Mr. Ghost.”

Shotaro only stops him again at his own bedroom door and his library, everywhere else he lets Taeyong explore. The vampire goes back to one of the guest rooms with an en suite and asks if he can keep this room as his own

Shotaro reluctantly lets him take the room, and tries to tell himself that this man is not going to be the one who ends up staying in his house

Again, the night Taeyong orders food in and eats on his own

Although before ordering the food, he grabs a box that had showed up on the front doorstep when Shotaro wasn’t looking

He floats around Taeyong as the other man carried the box to the only table not broken (a coffee table) and opens it with his unnaturally sharp nails. Shotaro’s nose crinkles at the bags of warm blood, and he reaches in to shift them around

“Animal blood,” Taeyong says quickly. “I promise I’m not a murderer, ghost friend.”

Shotaro has to look away as Taeyong drinks it, and gags for the first time since he’s died when he uses the animal blood as a topping for his burger and fries

The next morning, Shotaro comes out of his library after a night of reading and smells breakfast. When he goes downstairs, he’s greeted with Taeyong, dancing a little to a song playing out of a small metal box that Shotaro doesn’t understand and making breakfast

Shotaro peeks over Taeyong’s shoulder to see the bacon, eggs, and pancakes he’s making

He lets himself float up a little and pushes open the window open right above the counter

“Oh!” Taeyong looks up with wide eyes, looking around. “Hello, Mr. Ghost!” He smiles and his eyes pause where Shotaro floats before continuing to look around. “I’m not sure if you can eat, but if you can you’re welcome to some of the food.”

Shotaro can’t eat, but he appreciates the gesture

Through the next few days, they fall into a rhythm

Taeyong doesn’t seem to sleep, but meditates. He never goes fully unconscious but he does seem to float a little bit. Every other day the box of blood arrives and Taeyong drinks some with every meal, plus three full glasses throughout the rest of the day, and Shotaro learns to live with it

Shotaro won’t let Taeyong into only two rooms, but lets the vampire look around the rest of his home

They fight over a few things, like fixing different things up, but not much. Eventually Shotaro lets him buy new furniture and doesn’t object when the man adds a few new paintings to the walls

Shotaro finds himself thinking that maybe this one person (undead vampire?)  might not be so bad to live with - for now, at least

Shotaro walks into his library one day, about a month into living together, and finds Taeyong already there. He tries not to get angry, and feels a wave of emotions when he sees that Taeyong is staring up at the portrait of the Osaki family hanging between two large windows. He distantly notices that the man is sitting on the only section of couch without direct sunlight landing on it

He lets the door creak and close noisily as he steps inside, tries to will the wind from the open windows to grow a little colder as he floats next to where Taeyong is sitting

“Which one are you?”

Shotaro wishes he could respond, and looks around desperately for a way to show him

He grabs a dead flower from a large vase sitting on the end table and uses it to point to his face, the painted-him smiling slightly between his two parents and looking as awkward as he always felt in life

Taeyong sighs a little. “You must be so young…” He stares at where he must estimate Shotaro’s head is, judging by the floating flower, and smiles sadly. “I can’t believe the ghost haunting my house is a teenager.”

The painting rumbles a little as the wall shakes.

“Fine, sorry,” Taeyong chuckles a little. “Your house.”

Shotaro can see a shift in Taeyong’s behavior after that

The man seems to actively seek him out and starts talking to him more and more

He starts asking more questions - mostly things Shotaro can’t figure out how to answer - and becomes more joke-y with him

“Can I see you?”

Shotaro freezes from his perched position on a chair across from Taeyong.

“I don’t know if you even know how to show me what you look like, but I’ve been living here for 3 months, don’t you think it’d be more comfortable if I actually knew where you were?” Taeyong is looking at where Shotaro has his book propped up as he marks his page and puts it down

With very little effort, he wills himself into view. Not fully - he still isn’t sure he can even do that - but enough that his features are visible

Taeyong stares for a few moments before speaking

“You’re a baby.”

Shotaro gapes for a moment before laughing, a soft sound that sounds muted in his non corporeal form.

“You can’t be anything but a teenager, how old are you?” Taeyong’s surprised look has slipped off his face and now he looks more curious and excited.

“Well, physically 19,” Shotaro speaks slowly, trying to get used to the way his voice sounds - he hasn’t spoken much since his death. “But I died in 1959”

Aaaand Taeyong gapes again

“Holy crap, that was 50 years ago!”

Shotaro tilts his head to the side a little, thinking. “Really? Hmm, I didn’t realize it was so long ago.”

Taeyong smiles again, leaning forward as he pushes away his breakfast plate. “What’s your name, ghost-teenager?”

“Shotaro, Osaki Shotaro.”

“Nice to meet you Shotaro,” Taeyong grins at him, hair falling into his face. “I’m Taeyong.”

[bbnibini]

PSISLY: An Obey Me!CYOA – sixty-six🔖

The lull of your everydays should have eased your mind. However, you find that monotony only addled your thoughts, making you cautious of everything: uneasy, unnerved. The only times when your heart felt calm was in the company of Satan. His protectiveness made you felt safe. His gentle inquiries, his tight embraces, his warmth next to yours could never be replicated by anyone. But…must you cling to him like this? Isn’t he tired of you? Weren’t you being paranoid? The investigations were “proceeding smoothly”, according to Lucifer’s words, but…the slightest possibility of everything failing and falling apart persisted in your thoughts. You felt that way before—it was a memory of a few months past; a suffocating cacophony in your head, refusing to be forgotten. In choosing to forgive too early, too prematurely, the wounds in your heart scarred; it was a lot better now, of course. You have started to forget when the nightmares stopped. The sight of purple eyes didn’t make you tremble in its sight anymore. You’d even like to think you were fond of him now. The breathlessness you felt, the tightness in your neck was a reality that never happened. So…why was it so vivid to you now? Again? And why was it…that in spite of it all…

…

..

..

..

…why did it feel like you’re forgetting something? 

💌 💌 💌

 [ Hurt? No. There’s no pain at all. ]

“Does it hurt? Don’t worry. This is all just a bad dream. Here. Hold my hand.”

“You’re fine now…”

[ Then…if it’s not you in pain…who was? ]

“Don’t worry, I’ll come back for you. I promise.”

[ Who was that gentle person cradling you in his arms? ]

….

[ Were you crying? ]

“Farewell my dear…we will never meet again.”

“I love you too…I…”

[ !!! ]

“…ake up!”

[ No… ]

“…I’m sorry.”

[ Don’t go… ]

“Wake up!”

Wake…up?

…you can’t breathe.

…it smells like Satan.

…Satan?

Why did he look so worried?

“It’s just a dream, kitten. It will be okay.”

It was…a dream? What was?

“You’re hugging me a little too tightly, hehe. Is something wrong?”

Oh, good. He looked a lot calmer now. But…what was he saying about some dream? And why were you sweating so much? Your eyes sting a bit too. Were you crying? You…don’t remember.

“You were having a nightmare. I tried to wake you up several times.”

“I was?”

Satan looked taken aback by your response. He loosened the hug and opted to rest your head on his chest instead, making soothing strokes on your back.

“Mhm. I’m sorry for leaving you alone for too long. I’ll stay by your side from now on.”

You shook your head. “I can’t let you do that. The festival is starting soon. Besides, I’m also part of the committee. I can—“

You felt his arms squeeze you in and only let go once you told him it was starting to hurt. “I’d like to say the same but…you deserve to decide for your own.”

“Satan?”

His voice sounded tired and worried. When was the last time he slept properly? His side of your shared bed felt emptier lately, and the bags under his eyes were starting to become noticeable. You hated how you were responsible for all of this. If only you were stronger…then maybe he wouldn’t have to—

…you heard him calling your name.

“What do you want to do, my dear? How can I accommodate you?”

“What do you mean?”

You heard him laugh bitterly as he replied. “You always tell me I’m a thoughtful and gentle demon but…if only you knew what’s going through my head right now, I’m sure you’ll start thinking otherwise.”

Satan…

You weren’t sure what time it was right now. Devildom had never been graced by the sun. However, the silence that enveloped the room seemed to suggest it was the dead of the night. The dim magical device on your bedside casted vermilion on your beloved’s face. You held his cheek and leaned your foreheads against each other, wishing he’d know you would never leave his side.

“Tell me what you’re thinking right now.”

He shook his head.

“You won’t like it.”

“Even if I won’t…it will make you feel better. I’m not going away, Satan. I’ll always be here.”

You saw the tremor in his emerald eyes, hesitating and calmed it down by a soft kiss to his lips. It lingered and filled the anxieties in your heart with his gentle warmth. Pulling away, then starting again. And again. And again. Hopeful, hopeful for something to change. To stay. To etch your existence in his bones, never to leave. Yet, he didn’t want you to wither away. The kisses he initiated were gentle and feather soft, as if you would crumble in his arms if he held you too tightly and too long. As you pulled away, the smile on your face finally brought his guard down and he started smiling again.

“I wish I can keep you for myself. To take you away from whatever ails your mind…” his voice trembled at his tight embrace, but you kept your silence and listened.

“I want to protect you, but…seeing you like this hurts. If I can just lock you up so you won’t ever leave then maybe…I can’t. I know it’s wrong.” Your silence prodded him to continue speaking.

“…I feel anger and it’s starting to cloud my mind. But I don’t know who I should direct it to. To what? And why? I…don’t want to be angry. But I feel slighted. For your sake. For everything that matters to you…

.

.

.

…is anger the only thing that defines me? Why is it that no matter what I do, I can only trace everything I feel back to it? Am I incapable of feeling anything else?”

“Satan…”

You returned his embrace tightly and kissed his forehead. “That’s not true. You’re so much more than your anger. After all…

..

..

.

.

.

.

…could a truly wrathful person ever be capable of loving someone as much as you do?”

You kissed him again and relished on his warmth, hungry for something that cannot be filled. Justice? Anger? Vindication? You didn’t know. All that you understand is that he was the way he was right now because he loved you. And you wished he’d know how you felt the same.

“I’ll be okay, Satan. You’re by my side, after all. Thank you for always thinking of me.”

The sound of your name being uttered by him in the silence of the night felt comforting, and the thought of someone worrying so much over you made you feel less alone, less weary...

“…thank you for loving me.”

…loved.

You heard him laugh lightly upon your words. The tremble in his hold stilled as if whatever was ailing him was also abated.

“…I’ll support you at whatever you want to do going forward, kitten. If I ever make you uncomfortable, restricted, suffocated over something we both couldn’t control…please tell me.” He breathed out and took in your scent. “This is…new to me. I want to do right by you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know,” You answered, assured.

“I’ll try to be more honest. To keep no secrets from you. I won’t shoulder everything on my own so…all I ask is…can you also do the same?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you,” He sounded genuinely relieved. “I’ll try to update you about your case as much as I could. So until then, please take care of yourself. Call my name. Our pact. I’ll be there.”

“Mhm, I promise.”

“And your nightmares ever since the meeting happened—“

“Is not your fault, or anyone’s…” You continued. “I’d rather know the truth and support you through this than being kept in the dark. You and the others did what you thought was right. And I appreciate that.”

“Even with all the nightmares?”

“Yes, I won’t break just from this. This isn’t the first time someone targeted my life after all.”

Satan frowned at your words, so you hurriedly took it back and laughed awkwardly. “I’m sorry. That joke’s in poor taste.”

“That won’t ever happen again.”

“I know. All of you are doing your best. This will all be resolved in no time. So…until then…”

“Until then?”

You kissed away the creases on his brows and smiled. “Until then, let’s be by each other’s side.”

It was such a simple and obvious statement that Satan almost forgot the comfort those words had brought him. With a weak smile returning yours, he held you again and breathed out a sigh. “Do you think you can sleep again?”

You nodded.

“Are you sure you want to go to school normally?”

You nodded again.

“Can we hold hands while we sleep?”

You laughed lightly, then nodded again, making him lie next to you in bed. “Always.”

The last sensation you remembered before your eyes drifted back to sleep was his hand threaded with yours. The nightmares you both feared never came.

💌 💌 💌

Lucifer seemed more subdued than usual. The strictness and rigidness were still there, but along with his usual self was also a pause in his words, an attentive eye that watched from the sidelines, supporting everyone in subtle actions and gestures. The incident caused a rift between some of you(namely you and Belphegor)—his bitterness was understandable; it was a misunderstanding that can only be resolved by the two of you. Still…his stubborn pride and the nosiness eldest siblings shared refused to leave the two of you alone. You noticed him looking after you with his random small talks, his excuses to see see both of you over some trivial matter he would scold you for no reason. The nightmares that persisted only soured your relationship more, yet the eldest was far from discouraged from his efforts. Instead, he persisted with his awkward way of caring, as if desperate for a resolution. You wondered if Belphegor noticed it too.

His summons today was unusual. Instead of Belphegor and some trivial mistake that the both of you inadvertently committed, there was only you and Satan. The blond demon seemed as clueless as you were once you were called in his study.

“Good morning.”

…no scolding? Rather…he seemed at peace?

“Your thoughts are as clear as day, human. I am not here to lecture you this time. Please, sit down.”

?!?!?!?

“You’re quite tense yourself, Satan. Why don’t you relax?”

Satan grimaced, refusing to sit down as a sign of petty opposition. “I am relaxed.”

“Right,” Lucifer said drily, placing folders on top of his desk. “Your perpetrator has been identified. Please be at ease.”

!!!

“This is the first time I have heard of this.” Satan said, frowning. “Was that intentional?”

“No. Rather, I told both of you the second I have confirmed it to be true. In fact, they’re currently being apprehended by Barbatos’ men as we speak.”

Now that you look at him, he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday. His red eyes hinted of sleeplessness—a lighter shade of his irises at the white of his eyes, puffy and eye-bagged and…haggard. He was telling the truth.

“Who was it?”

“A high-ranking noble opposed to Lord Diavolo’s reign. We had no means of arresting him before, so I’d say these turns of events are rather convenient.”

There were some documentations about your killer in the folders, crimes connected to his name only to surface due to your assassination attempts. The case is good as solved, and you should feel at ease by now but…

“…is this really okay?”

…why do you still feel so anxious?

“Are we…okay now?”

You heard your name being called by the two demons. Satan in particular, had been comforting. He held your hand the moment he heard the tremble in your voice. Lucifer was about to stand up from his seat, looking like he was going to do the same but stopped, realised the role he needed to play at that moment and remained in his seat. “You’re still worried this isn’t over. I understand. Which was why we had been discussing over something.” Something? He asked you to open the other folder to receive your explanation.

“Staying in the Devildom is dangerous for you right now. You still have a few more weeks remaining, but…if you wish to go back, we have arranged for your early departure.”

Satan interjected, his widened eyes in disbelief over the other contents in the folder. “Me too?”

“They can only feel at peace with you. And it seems like you share the same sentiments.” You heard the eldest clear his throat, looking away from the two of you as he spoke his next words. “…Your name stands out too much, so I have arranged a pseudonym for you while you’re disguised as a human.”

Pseudonym? You turned to the page he was indicating on your own copy and

.

.

.

.

.

Pfft!

“Hey! I detest that! Can’t I have a choice in this?”

“Hahahaha!”

“Oi, oi. It wounds me to see you relishing in my pain, you know?”

But…you can’t help it! Lucifer looked so happy with the name. And and…he seemed so proud over—pfft!

“I refuse to use this!”

Well…you couldn’t blame him. The name after all seemed contradictory to what he was standing for. However, you felt particularly cheeky today so you teased him.

“But…Helel is a cute name!”

Lucifer nodded repeatedly, smiling at your approval. “It’s a fine name. It should serve you well.”

“SERVE ME WELL, MY ASS!”

“Language, Helel.” “Now, Helel dear.”

“I hate that you’re going along with this.”

“Do you think Lucifer would change it just because you asked? Besides, it’s good if you get used to it now, won’t you?” You tilted your head as you stated a fact.

Rolling his eyes, he sighed and made a face. You have a point. Lucifer is stubborn as he is. He’d rather save the mental energy he had on keeping an eye on you. “When will we leave?”

“Can you make your preparations in 3 days?”

“I suppose. We’re almost done with the committee work.” You answered.

“Good. If you have any other commitments, be sure to have them fulfilled before you leave.”

Commitments?

.

.

.

.

!!!

“Is something wrong?” Satan looked over at you and you nodded your head reluctantly. You promised no secrets from each other, so…

“I have something to talk about with Lucifer.” Seeing him frown, you held his hand and squeezed it in reassurance. “I’ll tell you later, I promise.”

“Why not now?”

Because you knew he would be against it. You loved him a lot. You trusted him more than anything in this world but, Mammon was important to you too.

“Please?”

As if remembering your heartfelt talks the other night, he gave in as soon as he looked at your begging eyes. “Hah. All right. Can I at least know if it’s dangerous?”

You shook your head. That was enough of a reassurance for him for now. He let go of your hand and sighed, smiling defeatedly at you.

“…okay. I’ll be waiting for you at the library.”

“Thanks, Satan.”

You faced Lucifer as soon as he left. You had to be honest: you were sure Mammon was right—Lucifer had an idea of what he was dealing with right now. You were worried over that possibility, as his inaction must have another meaning. After all, despite what it seems, it was apparent that Lucifer adored Mammon and his other siblings. So even if the implications of his silence weren’t good,  for a dear friend like Mammon, you wanted to try and ask anyway.

“Lucifer?”

…you cannot read his face. He was good at keeping his secrets and his intentions from others. You surmised it was something he learned due to the burdens of his role as the eldest as well as his position in Devildom. Still—it didn’t mean that it didn’t frustrate you.

“You wanted to ask me something?”

…especially if reading you, in contrast came as easy as breathing for him.

“…Yes.”

“Then, ask away.” He tested you, scrutinising your facial reactions. “However, I’m quite curious to know how serious it is that you cannot trust the demon who is closest to you. Is it a difficult request?”

You…didn’t know how to answer. Was it difficult? You only knew that you wanted to help Mammon.

“It’s…about Mammon.”

Nothing. It felt as if he was expecting that answer from you. “Ah. What about my brother?”

Was this still a test? Does he really not know what you’re asking at all? Or was he pretending that he didn’t know?

“I gave him the bouquet and gave him permission to sell it.”

The crease on his brows and the sigh exuding from him made him feel a little more…attainable. Imperfect. Reasonable. Whatever that feeling was, it reassured you.

“You spoil him too much.”

“Am I not allowed to?”

He shook his head. “Of course, you’re entitled to your own actions. Now…may I ask your reasons?”

Your heart was beating really fast. You just hoped you wouldn’t screw this up for him. Then again, confronting Lucifer had always been difficult. “He needs to sell it to get a lot of money…

.

.

.

.

N-not for himself! It’s for someone very important to him!”

You saw something in his eyes that looked like epiphany. Red eyes widening over something you said. So, it wasn’t omniscience. It may have been perceptiveness he had trained himself to possess over the years. Your worries earlier felt silly now.

“So you know.”

“Eh?”

Lucifer sighed and gave a weak smile. “It’s hard not to take notice of it, especially if that brother of mine is always up to no good.” That smile widened, softened, his eyes hinting of fondness. “What else am I supposed to do but support him?”

“Wait—“

Understanding your confusion, he explained for you. “I’ve known for quite a while. However, the situation is more drastic now, isn’t it?”

He sighed as he saw you nod.

“I’ll try and ask Solomon if he can negotiate with the witches. He has a more…reputable standing with those women than I do.”

Solomon?

.

.

.

.

.

Ah!

“Is there anything else?” The eldest asked you and you shook your head.

“No. That’s all. It’s just…I have plenty more commitments I have to settle than I realised.”

💌 💌 💌

This has to be the longest 3 days in your life. But somehow, the desperation of not leaving anything hanging until your departure is giving you the strength to conquer each err…obstacle. You and Belphegor were getting there. It was still a rocky relationship but, your constant company and your more open approach with him is mending everything bit by bit. In fact, other than Satan and Levi, he was one of the first demons who you told about your departure.

It was difficult to approach him at first, but you supposed Lucifer’s nosy efforts to get you two to reconcile had been working. Sure, he was griping, but he wasn’t avoiding you anymore.

“He’s mad at himself.”

…was what his twin told you many days ago, but could it really be true?

The attic room was stuffier than usual. Its small space feeling vast and empty with your distance. Belphegor was frowning as he clutched his cow pillow in his chest, burying his face and muffling his complaints.

“Why did you come here?”

You closed your fists tightly and faced him. You felt him shuffling away from you until he was backed into his bed’s headrest, unable to avoid you anymore. “You’re too close.” His words were hostile, but his tone was far from it. It almost felt like he was convincing himself from something.

“Look at me, Belphie.”

His purple eyes glared at you in ironic opposition. “I can do it again from this angle, you know. Human necks are easy to snap.”

“But you wouldn’t do that.”

His eyes widened at your words.

“Why are you so confident? Aren’t you afraid of me? Of what I could do to you?”

Honesty was what he needed. Sincerity too, you surmised. Beel’s words kept on replaying in your head like a broken record, reflecting the truth—he was right. All his hostility and all his anger was not for you, but for himself. Soon enough, you couldn’t help yourself anymore and wrapped the youngest-born in your arms, letting his head rest on your neck as if the thought of everything repeating itself was irrelevant to you.

“I’m sorry, Belphie.”

You felt him breathe deeply. You continued. “It’s true. I was afraid of you before but…it’s different now. I didn’t mean to keep it a secret from you. I’m sorry.”

“…”

“I should have considered your feelings more. It’s shameful to admit it was my carelessness that caused this misunderstanding but it’s true. I…just forgot to tell you. But, it doesn’t mean I don’t trust you.”

However comforting your words did not seem to translate well to him. He clutched your shirt and choked back in his words, unconvinced. “You’re getting nightmares…”

“Which is an entirely different matter. I was afraid of that person, not you.”

“Was?”

“They got arrested now. I have no reason to be afraid anymore.”

The revelation finally made him look up at you, purple eyes awestruck.

“…I wanted you to be one of the first people to know.”

“…why?”

“Why? Mhmm…just because! I…can’t really explain it. You just popped out of my mind once Lucifer told me about it. Thinking back, it sorta doesn’t make sense, huh?”

Your smile was unfair, and so were your words, Belphie  thought.

…how could you forgive him so easily when he couldn’t even forgive himself?

You stayed in embrace for a while, letting him rest against you as you felt your breaths next to each other. You were slowly getting back to normal. This in itself was already a huge leap towards a better direction.

“I’m leaving soon.” You blurted out. “Satan is coming with me. And you’re all welcome to visit us once we’re settled! In fact…I wish all of you will. I’ll miss you.”

Belphie grimaced, the self-blame in his tone hard to miss.

“Is it…because of me?”

“Of course not!” You answered on instinct.

“Staying in Devildom is dangerous for me right now, and I’m worried about the people I left behind in the human world so…I thought this was the best course of action.”

“Your…family?”

You chuckled. “Yeah. That’s what you call people who are important to you, right? It doesn’t matter if you share the same blood or not. What matters…” you placed a hand on his chest and smiled. “…what matters is what’s right here.”

Family. Bonds. Its definition changed for you as time passed. It only solidified its meaning in your heart by coming here. For the sake of the people important to you, you must...

“…live.”

!!!

You heard your name being called by a worried Belphie.

“You spaced out for a second there.”

“Yeah…” Huh…what were you thinking about again? And…why does your chest hurt?

Belphie muttered an idiot under his breath as he placed a hand atop your head.

“Thank you for telling me first.”

Belphie let out a surprised gasp as you wrapped your arms around him and hugged him tightly. “You can come visit anytime. In fact, I insist!”

“Fine, fine. If you put it that way, I guess I have no choice.”

His laughter was a good sign that the both of you are moving forward. When you told him that, he only threw a pillow at you and called you something you haven’t heard from him for a while.

“Stupid human...”

You had to admit. You rather missed it.

💌 💌 💌

“A favour?” Simeon blinked his blue eyes at you, looking confused. “A favour for what?”

Huh?

“The one Solomon promised he would do for you?” Perhaps you worded it vaguely so you tried to elaborate. “Well…err. I ended up owing him something so now, I’m doing it for him.”

“Pff—HAHAHAHA!”

Eh? Eh? Why was Simeon laughing? Did you say something funny?

“Sorry…pfft! O-oh yes, I remember now.” He wiped the corner of his eyes and smiled widely. “If it’s THAT favour, I definitely remember.”

O…kay?

“It’s simple really.” His reactions seemed to imply otherwise, but you held back a retort. “You know that I’m busy helping Leviathan with his party now, aren’t you?”

Upon your nodding, he continued speaking. “Well, part of that help is kitchen duty.”

Ah.

“…I feel bad for Solomon now.”

Simeon’s smile never left his face. “I put him in shopping duty. All I ask is that you keep an eye on him until Luke and I are done preparing the food.”

“Is that all?”

Simeon hummed, as if considering something. “Of course you know how passionate he is with cooking. I only ask that you keep this from him. I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”

It sounds reasonable enough, but something about the situation struck to you as…odd. You just couldn’t pinpoint why.

Simeon’s terrible grasp with technology prompted you to check for the sorcerer’s location the old-fashioned way. Mammon and Levi had laughed at your face once you popped out a compass and a map from your bag, but you ignored them. Now, if they helped you instead of laughing at your face, wouldn’t that be swell? But no. You decided to leave them and venture on your shopping expedition alone.

What was…North and what was South again? Tf does a coordinate mean? Eventually, you gave up and Doogled the coordinates Simeon sent you, almost tempted to faceplant on the floor once you realised where he was trying to direct you to.

“IT WAS JUST FREAKING HELLMART!”

Lord, help you. All that Indiana Jones montage for a supermarket a walking distance away from RAD?!

.

.

.

.

No. Deep breaths. You’re calm. This was a favour. This was for Mammon: for the poor little girl he was trying to save. You tried to will that in your head to prevent yourself from running back to Purgatory Hall and shaking the oblivious angel in frustration. Instead, your eyes scanned for a mop of silver hair amongst the crowd. Your search did not take long, as you saw him mulling over two different brands of flour in the baking aisle.

“Solomon?”

His gold and silver eyes turned to you in surprise.

“You’re shopping too?”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Sounds like this is the first time you’ve heard about this, Mister ‘Do me a Favour’?”

“!!!”

He didn’t have to look so shocked! That wasn’t the reaction you expected from him.

“Ahahaha…ah yes. I remember. Simeon can be so vague sometimes…p…y…f…r…..t…h…s”

“???”

“I said, as courtesy of our agreement, allow me to pay for you.” He showed you his shopping list and smiled. “We have quite a lot to go over, but I’ll make sure to not take too much of your time.”

“Huh?”

Solomon shrugged. “Aren’t you supposed to get ready to leave for the human world with Satan?” Noticing your confusion, he explained. “In case you have forgotten, Lucifer, Barbatos and I are working on the investigations. It’ll be a matter of time until everyone else will know.”

Oh. You were so busy that you forgot. That meeting wasn’t really…a good memory for you after all.

“It’s hard to tell everyone I’m leaving so suddenly.” You obtained a jar of dried newt in one of the shelves and placed it in the shopping trolley. “I’m almost done. It’s just…there’s so many things I have to prepare.”

Solomon was a silent listener. He didn’t speak a single word and let you talk his ear off as if he wasn’t paying attention to you. Instead, he checked every item in your list, asked if you have missed anything and went over the list again if you did. The only indication that he was listening was his occasional remarks of, “Keep talking. Why did you stop?” For someone who doesn’t seem like he wasn’t interested in conversation, he seemed to remember every little detail of what you said.  He seemed more subdued than usual. He was always smiling and laughing whenever you see him, so it was rather…strange that he wasn’t now that he was alone.

“Are you always so serious when you’re by yourself?” You decided to point it out to him. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed himself…or something. You realised you didn’t know much about him—only his surface level wise cracks and tomfoolery.

His usual expressions registered on his features at your inquiry. A devious smile curved up from his lips, and his singsong voice sounded…annoying. “You’re feeling lonely?~”

Oh, you take it back! Rolling your eyes at him, you shoved the bag of flour in his arms and pushed the trolley towards the next aisle.

“Give me the trolley, it’s heavy.”

“…”

“I’m sorry for making fun of you?”

So he was making fun of you!

His laughter felt oddly juvenile, even the way he smiled. “My offer to pay for you still stands. Feel free to dry out my funds if such forms of revenge are to your liking.”

“You’re making me sound petty.”

He raised an eyebrow at you. “Oh? If the shoe fits…”

THIS. MAN. IS. FRUSTRATING. AS. HELL. Well. What if you are?!

“Let’s buy a present for Ruri-chan then. It has to be extravagant enough to make a dent on your funds.”

He seemed to be holding back a laugh, but he complied nonetheless. “Anything else?”

Hmm…Simeon did say to stall him long enough until they’re done cooking for Levi’s party. If so…

“Why don’t we buy the presents together?”

He looked as if he expected your answer. “What great timing then. I was going to do so even if you haven’t offered.”

You were getting tired of getting annoyed at every little thing he said. He always sounded like he was either provoking you, pushing you away or being as obnoxious to you as much as possible. Was your suffering really so amusing to him? Is he a sadist or what?

You pretended not to hear his nth wise crack of the day and rolled your eyes at him instead. “So, what are you going to buy for her?”

Solomon seemed to be considering your question carefully. Even his answer came out drawling off his tongue. “Since we already have angels and demons attending the party, why don’t we make it more Biblical? Perhaps a manger themed party? I can bring myrrh.”

You frowned. “Are you serious?”

“I suppose it’s an ominous gift after all.”

So he was being serious?!

“You suppose?”

His innocent smiles made you question which screws got loose in that millenia-old head of his.

“Hmm…well, we’ll cross that bridge when we get there! Why don’t we go to that shop first once we’re done with the groceries?”

You weren’t sure if bridges were ever crossed at all, or it was you who grew cross with his gradual annoyances. Needless to say, you will never ask a favour from him ever again.

 Oh Lord in Heaven, please give me strength.

💌 💌 💌

“Shopping?”

At least your insufferable time with Solomon made you think of a way of how you and Satan can spend your final days in Devildom together.

“Mhm. There’s a lot of daily necessities you’ll need that might not be as accessible as it is in the human world. Besides…”you giggled as you sneaked a kiss on his cheek.

“I want to go on a dateeee!!!”

He laughed as he found out your true intentions.

“Message received, kitten. I am yours for the day~”

…you can definitely see the regret on his face the moment he realised what you actually meant when you said “shopping”. War flashbacks of your times with Asmodeus in Majolish became fresh again in his memories, reneging to his inevitable fate as a glorified manikin.

“This looks good on you!”

“This JUST screams, Helel: the hot human transfer student from who knows where!”

“Oh! Satan, look at that! Cat ear headbands! Let’s get a matching pair!”

His smiles were starting to look forced. “I don’t need these much clothes. Besides, aren’t we here to buy Devildom-exclusive books and items?

.

.

.

.

You forgot, didn’t you?”

Oops. Haha.

“Hah. Well, now that you’ve had your fill, can I ask you something?”

Now you’re starting to feel bad. You immediately agreed out of guilt. “What is it?”

…

.

.

…

“I want to do something special with you. You’re free to decline if you wish.”

 “Special?”

 Satan nodded and leaned on your ear to whisper.

 “…something really special.”

💌 💌 💌

Well. It was special all right. While you wanted the same from him, it didn’t erase the fact that the both of you were just built differently.

 Your hips ached with regrets. He showed you no mercy and littered as much of his evidences on you, giving you many, many mixed feelings. You were happy over your precious, final moments together despite your body telling otherwise. Your heart felt warm over the sweet exchanges you’ve had…your heart-to-heart talks in the wake of the night—it was something you couldn’t ever trade for the world. You relished on another side of him that you have uncovered yet again. The night you shared together felt like an officiation of sorts. Whatever vague line you weren’t ever able to cross before became clearer. Closer.

“Was I too harsh on you?” He wrapped you in his arms, the gravel on his voice a consequence of a sleepless night spent. However, tiredness did not elude him. Instead, Satan felt…happy.

“A little but…I liked it. You’re quite gentle, actually.”

“I was trying to. If I pushed you too far…”

You shook your head, burying your face on his chest, sighing in content. “Thank you for giving this to me, Satan. Thank you for being with me.”

He kissed your forehead and closed his eyes, trying not to smile too much if it made him look less of a fool as he was to you. “I love you, kitten.”

Then again, you’re as much of a lovefool as he was, if not more.

“I love you too, Satan.”

Tonight, you share embrace and sweet nothings under a moonless sky. And tomorrow, another day will come for you on a different world, but it comforted you to know that you won’t ever be alone with Satan by your side.

💌 [ Proceed to Good Ending ] 

[ MEMORIA 13 ~For Her Part 1 ~ unlocked ]

💌 Read now

💌tag request:  @krussyfed, @lilliansstuff , @cupsof-tea

[thesolitarystripe]

Edna Briggs-Writing Prompt # I’ve Lost Cont

Today's entry was suggested by my best friend, Chenoa. This entire premise was hers and despite my encouragement that she write it; she did not feel like she could. So, I told her I would write it for her. I hope this is what she envisioned, equal parts sad and wholesome.

Enjoy my dearest!

“How long will it be tomorrow, Edna?”

“Sixty-five years.”

“Sixty-five. That’s right…”

The man knew very well how many years it would be that he and his wife would celebrate their marriage. Sixty-five years, tomorrow. Wrinkled hands found more delicate ones, pallid and cool to the touch.

“You still…can’t remember.” There was a weak puff of laughter as Edna turned her head and regarded her husband warmly.

“That’s why I need you here Edna,” at this, the man’s voice cracked with the tightness that formed in his throat. “I’ll never even remember to feed myself.” The pair chuckled softly. Edna patted the top of her husband’s hands.

“Yes, you will Jim.”

That was all she said as she smiled through brimming tears. Edna laid in the comfort of a hospital bed within her own home, in her living room, to be exact. The couple had a large family, and their bedroom was so small that Jim barely fit inside next to both the new and old beds. So, their five children deemed it necessary to move Edna into the main room so that they all could sit beside her—them and their ten grandchildren. It had been two years now that Edna was on hospice and an amazing feat considering the doctors thought she would pass on within the first six months. Edna clung to life the way she held fast to Jim’s hand, with nothing but love and enthusiasm. It was noticeable now, perhaps only to Jim, that Edna’s fingers did not grab hold so hard. In the slipping of her fingers, he felt the waning of her soul and it brought his head down upon her chest as she breathed in and out. So long as he could hear that thrum of her heart, he would know peace. Into the early morning hours, they whispered between them of all life had brought. They shared tender kisses and caresses that Jim desperately fought to commit to memory. Each tickle of her fingers at the back of his neck was etched into his bones and stored away in every fiber of his muscles. Jim would not forget. Somehow, Jim fell asleep. A grown man of ninety-five laid on his wife’s chest, back hunched forward and his arms draped over her; one behind her head and the other over her thighs. Jim fell asleep. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the look of absolute tranquility upon Edna’s beautiful features. Without moving, speaking, or thinking, Jim knew. Edna was no longer on this plane but, she had made it to midnight. They celebrated their sixty-fifth anniversary in the darkness of their living room.

The days that passed next were a blur. Perhaps one day, Jim would come to and the memories of Edna’s memorial service, her funeral, the crowds of people that came to honor her memory; maybe he would recall it. Today, he sat silently in his living room, the vacant hospital bed beside him. A few of his children were bustling in the kitchen, cooking, and making sure Jim had easy options for food because the man was proficient with a grill and that was about it.

“Papa, we cut up some fresh fruit it’s in the fridge. Make sure you eat it up, so it doesn’t go bad.” Jim’s oldest granddaughter was talking to him, but Jim was in his cushioned armchair, staring out the sliding glass door that led to their patio. All of Edna’s flowers popped vibrantly against the emerald hues of their meticulously watered grass. Jim wondered if it would all die within a few short hours once the little garden realized its tender was gone. That was good, appropriate, even. The flowers should no longer grow if Edna did not keep them; just as the sun should not rise or fall so long as Edna’s chest was still. Jim looked up at the blinding rays of the celestial body. It seemed he had not yet convinced the star to cease its normal cycle because how could life possibly go on without Edna Briggs. How, could it.

Eventually, Jim’s children and grandchildren left. He was sure it was not an easy choice for them. While he was absentminded and aloof, it did not go unnoticed the way they lingered in the doorway or how they looked at him with concern in their eyes. Jim waved them off with a brave little smile. Then they were gone, and the house was horribly quiet. There was no talk of the gossip at Bingo, no asking what time ‘Jeopardy’ would be on even though it came on every night at the same time; there was a lingering aroma of food, but it was not Edna’s cooking. Jim sat in his armchair. Jim stewed in the silence and looked out the back door until the light dissolved and nighttime fell. This was how he passed most of his days for a week. People called; he did not answer. The only communication he managed was a short text asking his children not to come—he needed time. Jim ate halfheartedly but per his granddaughter’s wishes, he did not let the fruit go bad. She had worked so hard, after all. It was on the sixth night that Jim finally turned on the television. There had been no sound for so long that it almost felt like an intrusion to hear the people in the commercials talking. He left it on and eventually, he fell asleep in his chair with one hand resting on the end of the hospital bed. That was how they had gone to bed many times over the last two years.

Jim was snoring for several hours when a sound finally woke him from his dreamless stasis. It was not the incessant dinging of bells on whatever game show had just come on—he had slept through that many times. There was a clink in the kitchen. Jim and Edna had no pets and had lived alone for a number of years after their children grew up. In Jim’s mind, there was no reason for any part of their home to be making noise unless someone else was in it. As that thought occurred to him, Jim grew very still, eyes wide open and desperately peering through the darkness. Jim had never felt scared but as he sat, totally alone, he felt that sick heat creep into his belly and spread like fire through his veins. The man was paralyzed in his chair, sinking deeper and deeper each time he heard that clinking noise. It was different and seemed to be moving around the kitchen. There was a certain tone of the porcelain in the sink when it was hit; it was very different from the sound that was produced when the marble countertops were bumped or the wooden cabinets. From what he could hear, it sounded like someone was cooking a full meal inside his kitchen. Jim’s jaw clenched. This was silly. The man, finding all the courage of his younger years rolled to his feet and turned to look back. The kitchen was in full view from the living room, there were no walls separating the adjoined spaces. So, when he looked, there was no mistaking what he saw. There was nothing to block him and his glasses were poised on the bridge of his long nose. Jim’s jaw went slack, and he was certain he was either dead or on his way to the grave.

“Edna, what in the hell are you doing?” The little old lady looked exactly the way Jim had last seen her save for the color in her cheeks. That ever-present vibrancy that Edna had when she was alive, her youthful glow, it had returned with a new fullness.

“Well excuse me, Jim, I’m making your late-night snack like I always do. I am more than happy to stop if you’re going to take that attitude with me.” Jim stared. Jim stared for a long time, so long that Edna rolled her eyes. “Tuna fish and saltine crackers, it’s your favorite.” A small plate plopped onto the counter and slid toward Jim. The man looked down for a moment but immediately brought his gaze back to Edna for fear she might vanish.

“Honey, I don’t know how to tell you this but—”

“I’m dead! I know that Jim, I’m not stupid. Someone’s got to come along and take care of you. You said it yourself a week ago, you’ll forget to eat. Then what? Then I have to spend eternity with you too?” Edna smiled after that. It was full of knowingness and patience because she was, indeed, fully aware of her circumstances.

“The—the…the grandkids…they left some food—Edna! How…” Jim was taking cautious steps forward and he found himself vaguely wondering if there was some sort of technology, he wasn’t aware of that could project life-like images of loved ones into your home. Was this some sort of invention created for coping with loss? Jim’s brown eyes did a quick scan of the kitchen. He saw no indication of a projector. There was nothing out of place in his old kitchen, except for a perfectly intact Edna standing in the middle of it.

“Simple. I didn’t want to leave,” Edna shrugged and gave the plate another inch toward Jim. The man had approached and was well within range of the plate now. He looked at Edna incredulously before he swooped in and wrapped his arms around her. She was whole and smelled like his favorite perfume; she had worn it every day since they had met. Jim wasn’t fully aware of it, but he was weeping. Into the meticulously done curls that framed Edna’s head and neck. That familiar tickle of her fingers at the nape of his neck only made him cry harder because his memory had failed him. In the short time away from his wife, Jim had already forgotten what the scrape of her nails felt like on his skin. Edna embraced her husband in the kitchen, endlessly. Only when he was ready to lift his head did she take a small step back and smile up at him. “They really should change that whole ‘till death do us part' bit. It doesn’t have to end there, not if you don’t want it to.” Jim laughed. For the first time in a week, he was smiling, and it felt like rust was crumbling off all the unused facial muscles.

“Well…what do we do?”

“What do we do? Jim I’m going to sit down and watch my shows, it’s only ten-thirty. Now eat!” Jim was given the plate of crackers. He tested its weight; he poked the bottom of it to see if his finger would go through. It didn’t. Finally, he ate a cracker with a scoop of Edna’s infamous tuna salad, and it tasted like home. Jim was not sure if he was crazy or if the Lord had bestowed a miraculous blessing upon him but, he would not question the extra time. Quickly, he shuffled after Edna who was crawling into the hospital bed already glued to the television. Jim sat in his armchair munching and constantly glancing over at Edna to make sure she didn’t get swept away into the ethers.

This was how life went on. Learning the extent of Edna’s abilities happened quickly. Jim soon learned that his children nor his grands could see her despite her standing in the foyer to greet them alongside her husband. No one else saw Edna. She did, one time, touch a dishrag without thinking and when it moved on its own their eldest son yelped and jumped away from it. Jim quickly offered up that it was simply the wind from the open window in the kitchen. Luckily, that was all it took to convince his son that there were no ghosts in the house. All the while, Jim looked at Edna who had her little hand over her mouth, giggling. Edna got to enjoy her family from a distance, something that both made her happy and hurt her. Jim could see the longing in her eyes as Edna sank to the floor to sit by their grandchildren who played, oblivious that grandma was right beside them. There was much that Jim found cruel about Edna’s current existence. While she cooked and cleaned and took care of Jim as well as she had in her living days—she could not enjoy the material things of the mortal world. Edna could watch television, listen to music, and sit beside Jim while holding his hand. She did not get to taste food or hug her kids; she did not have the luxury of soothing her grandbabies or walking outside. Edna had tried to leave the house multiple times, only to tend to her garden but every door in the home seemed to be a wall. Edna could not leave. The pair existed within the living room and kitchen. Eating and watching television. This was their new routine. Edna did not sleep; she didn’t need to. She would stay up and watch Jim, hold his hand, pet his hair; anything to keep her busy through the hours he was not conscious of her. As the months passed, Jim watched these realities affect her though Edna never complained.

One evening, the couple sat watching another ‘Jeopardy’ rerun. They chuckled a little here and there. Edna had made Jim a small platter of cut up meat, cheese, and crackers. She was always feeding him much to his family’s approval—they had predicted Jim would lose weight in the following months after Edna’s passing. They had no idea she still wandered through the home.

“Edna.”

“Yes, dear?”

“How long are you going to stay?”

“That’s a funny question. Funny, because the answer is obvious, isn’t it?” Jim looked at her with a blank expression. “I’m staying until it’s your time.”

“Do you know when that is?”

“No. That’s none of my business, even as a ghost.”

“It could be years.”

“It could be.”

“My grandfather and my father lived past one hundred.”

“Yes, yes, you have good genes. I know.” Edna said it with an air of annoyance like they had this discussion many times over when she was alive.

“My point is, you could be doing this for five more years if not more.”

“You could also die tomorrow,” she quipped.

“Are you going to live every day hoping I die tomorrow?” At this, Edna laughed and shook her head.

“No. Of course not Jim, I want you to enjoy every second of life. Watch the babies grow, watch our bigger babies grow even more. Feel the sun on your face. Tend to my flowers. Eat good food.”

“And what about you?” Jim was very serious, and the tone of his voice had changed from amiable and inquisitive to firm.

“What about me?”

“I suppose you think it’s fine for you to keep on living in this undead existence. Where you get to experience none of the pleasures you just listed off for me.”

“I get to be with my husband. That is the greatest pleasure.”

“Is it, Edna? I see how much you want to hold those grandbabies. The look on your face while I’m eating something you’ve made but you can’t even taste it. Is this really existing at all?” Edna looked at Jim. There was a long discussion had between them, without words. Jim’s eyes were glossy in the way that spoke of tears unarrived but waiting in the trenches. The line of his mouth was hard set and that horrible lump in his throat was thicker than before. It had taken him months to realize it; to see the selfishness of what he did. Jim kept Edna here. It was a blatant fact. No one else could see her, they had accepted her death and let her spirit soar free. Jim did not. Jim carried the burden of damning his wife to this listless life as a specter when she was deserving of so much more. “Edna, you have done what you needed to in this life, tenfold. You raised a beautiful family, we did, together but we both know who did most of the work. I am not blind to that. You have been an excellent grandmother to those babies, and they will grow up to know unconditional love and how to bake the best pies for Christmas. You took care of me, God, you still are! Even in death. This is not your eternal rest, Edna. This is not the peace you have earned after such a full life. It was full, wasn’t it?”

Edna sat on the edge of the hospital bed, legs dangling, hands folded in her lap as she faced Jim. Tears streamed down her face. The weight of this new existence was taxing and harder than she imagined. Participating in life from the sidelines. Watching but not doing. Living but not living at all. “It was very full, Jim. The best life I could have ever wanted and then some.” Edna’s petite shoulders shook with sobs and Jim rose and sat beside her on the bed; he encircled her in his arms and pressed his face against her neck.

“I love you Edna Briggs, but this is not the existence you were meant to have. It is time for me to let you go,” he whispered. Jim breathed in as deeply as he could. Memorizing every dip and curve of her body as if he had not already done that over the last sixty-five years. The smell of her perfume. The smoothness of her skin. The sound of her breath as she wept. These were all important pieces of information, things he would store away and remember on days when he missed her. Every day. Jim would remember it every day. Jim and Edna wept together, just as they had the night she passed. They squeezed one another and eventually fell back on the bed. Jim felt sleep tugging at his eyelids, and he knew, deep in his gut, when he woke tomorrow Edna would be gone. “I promise, I’ll see you soon. I love you so much. You have been the most amazing wife a man could ever ask for.” Jim’s hands were in those bouncy curls, fingers wrapped around Edna’s skull as he touched their foreheads together. “I won’t last long without my other half, but I’ll make sure the grandbabies are skilled pie bakers before I go.” They laughed. The room was quiet except for their sniffling. “It’s okay to go, I love you.” Edna kissed her husband’s face, his forehead, and lips. Edna fell asleep. Finally. She had not realized just how tired her soul was until her eyes closed and she drifted off into the most peaceful slumber within her husband’s arms.

When Jim woke the next morning, he was alone, as expected. Despite the hole he felt in half of his heart, Jim smiled. Edna was finally at peace and that alone brought him more joy than anything else.