#That's why it's called decay of ANGELS

[wiwiurikawa]

Fyodor & Bram

fyobram.... again

Really quick sketch

" is that an Angel?"

I couldn't find the post that inspired this

I only added fyobram the idea isn't mine

(Yes I know fyodor called him a devil, I don't care)

[alxastrx]

When you're one of the most selfish mc who only saves people because it's part of a job you never wanted and did not get to chose or you would've died, who took your co-workers' morals and ideals because you didn't have any and desperately wanted to fit in somewhere, be it with the heroes or the villains, who's activelly haunted by one the most tragic past to have been created and suffer from a psychosis so bad (dare I say schizophrenia) that even your enemies acknowledged that you are mentally ill and objectively flawed in your judgement, never hesitated to try to kill anyone and has the most egoistic reason to be a good person but the fandom still thinks you're just a kind crybaby "I don't know what a gun is" homosexual twink.

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 I'LL TAKE THE NIGHT SHIFT

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: now that the chaos following the aftermath of the decay of angel incident has settled, mori intends on making good on the deal he made with the armed detective agency. and you have a very important decision to make.

(wordcount: 13.4k, fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, angst with a happy ending (if u can believe it!!), port mafia business, a bit of arguing, depictions of dazai's depression, unedited.)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: one last age 22 fic before your girl goes on a slight break. the ada/pm swap YAYYYY, it honestly came out a lot less intense then i intended, and the happy ending was originally not supposed to happen BUT i think it's well-deserved for age 22 pmreader & dazai. they are grown now, and the whole theme of their reconcillation at 22 is that they're actually WORKING to make this work, so i thought it would be an injustice to not let this one end happily. ANYWAY, on another note, don't expect any fics from me in may! i'm going to be cracking down on civzai2 so i can have it ready to post for june! i hope you guys enjoy! reblogs appreciated!

Your phone has been ringing for the past twenty minutes.

You know it’s Mori frustrated at your absence, trying to call an executive meeting to discuss the upcoming parley with the Armed Detective Agency, where the Port Mafia will be taking one of theirs to drag into the dark. He can wait for all you care, you sigh as you lean back on your hands, the wind ruffling your hair as you look down into the window of the building before you.

You don’t know what you’re doing here.

You watch with a heavy, unwelcome feeling in your chest as Dazai laughs wildly at something a vaguely familiar man with purple and white hair says. The man looks distinctly put out by whatever Dazai is laughing at, as one usually is whenever Dazai is laughing because nine times out of ten, he’s laughing at someone else's expense. The other members of the Agency are hanging around too. You see the uptight blonde, Kunikida, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. Mori’s favorite, Yosano, sits on his desk cackling, slapping Kunikida’s shoulder. The weretiger has his face buried in his arms, hiding himself from the world, while the other traitor, the girl that Kouyou obsesses over, hovers over him. There are others you don’t recognize, but they don’t really matter to you.

Only one does.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this before. You’ve seen Dazai laugh countless times—snorts that he hides in your shoulder, mocking jeers as he taunts Chuuya, muffled snickers that he tries to bite back when he’s caught by surprise—but you don’t think you’ve ever seen this type of carefree, reckless happiness before. The corners of his eyes crinkle in a way that’s so genuine that you almost question whether or not you’re looking at Dazai Osamu or some lookalike imposter who has stolen his place; he laughs so hard that he looks like he’s struggling to breathe, doubling over and slapping the desk he’s sitting at.

He’s never looked so at home before. So comfortable. Even with you back before he defected, when you guys were alone with no one else to bear witness, he couldn’t rid himself of all of the protective layers he wears, he couldn’t let himself be at ease. He never fully let his guard down, not even for a second, not even for you.

Well, that’s not entirely true. He did a few times, but you can count them on one hand, and they were never by his own choice—only when he was pushed too far, when his mind caved in on him no matter how hard he tried to weld together the cracks in the dam. 

It wasn’t like this.

“He looks happy, doesn’t he?” you ask quietly as soon as you feel the familiar presence behind you.

“Why the fuck are you torturing yourself with this?” Nakahara Chuuya’s gruff voice meets your ears, the roof shaking behind you as he lands on top of it. You hear him make his way over to you, but you don’t turn to look at him.

“I’ve never seen him like this before,” you admit, letting the pain seep into your voice to the only person whom you can trust not to use it against you. “When he told me Oda Sakunosuke’s final request, I doubted him… not that I was going to let him know that… but he really has changed, hasn’t he? You see it too, don’t you?” 

Chuuya lets out a noise caught between doubt and amusement. “Wouldn’t be too sure. Y’know what they say about tigers and stripes.”

“Don’t be bitter, Chuuya, it’s an ugly look on you,” you say dryly, eyes following Dazai as he pushes himself to his feet, dancing away as the purple-haired man tries to whack him. Your lips curl up into a small smile when you see the genuine glee painted on his face. “He’s changed. We, of all people, should be able to see that.”

“I’m not bitter,” Chuuya says roughly, “and if I was, I have every damn right to be. So do you. More than me, even. How the fuck can you see him living his best life and not be bitter? After what he did to us? To you?”

“Bitterness ages the skin, it’s probably why you’ve started developing wrinkles at the ripe age of twenty-two,” you quip, just to hear the aggravated noise that Chuuya lets out.

“I do not have fucking wrinkles, quit saying that shit,” Chuuya complains, flicking the back of your head hard. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Purposely,” you note, but then let out a soft puff of air. “I don’t know, Chuuya. I thought I would be bitter and angry. Sometimes, I still am. When I’m alone, usually drunk, I resent him so much that it makes me sick, but then…”

Then you see him. 

You see him happy. You see him surrounded by people who love him. You see him thriving in a way that he’d never be able to in the Port Mafia. Every day that passed while he was there, he somehow became darker and colder; less human, and more of an unfathomable concept. You could see it in his face when he would come home to your apartment, eyes empty and expression blank. His blood ran darker than anyone else’s in those towers, his mind a treacherous place that few would dare to even think of treading or even just understanding. He was never Dazai back then, he was the Port Mafia’s youngest executive, the Black Wraith, Mori’s heir. He was something to be feared and admired. He was the Mafia, everything it stood for, its incarnate. He was not Dazai. 

Not like how he is now.

You told him you forgave him when he showed up at your apartment three months ago, and you knew you meant it then, but you didn’t realize how much you meant it until now.

“He never fucking deserved you,” Chuuya says so quietly that you think he’s talking more to himself than you. Before you can comment on his words, he speaks up again, changing the subject: “Let’s get out of here. Mori sent me to come get you.”

You sigh, eyes lingering on Dazai for a moment longer before you finally turn to look at Chuuya. Despite the rough edge to his voice, you can see the concern plain on his face as he looks down at you, brows furrowed and lips curved down. He holds a gloved hand out to you, and you sigh as you place yours in it, letting him lift you to your feet. You wobble a bit, but he steadies you with a hand to your waist.

“Thanks,” you say quietly and then give him a small smile that has his eyes narrowing in suspicion instantly.

“Whatever it is, the answer is no.”

“What if I say pretty please?” you offer, linking your hands behind your back as you tilt your head to the side.

“Stop tryna look cute. You’re not cute,” Chuuya scowls, and you scowl right back at him, dropping the act. “What do you want?” 

“Can you stall Mori for another… hour-ish?” you ask with a sweet smile.

Chuuya's face drops as he stares at you, and your eyes turn up as your smile widens. After a few moments of him just staring at you, as if trying to figure out if you’re being legit, he lets out a sigh of utter suffering. “You fucking owe me, you understand? That ‘45 Conti is going back up on the auction in New York in two weeks. I want it.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get you your fancy wine, Chuuya,” you agree, leaning in to brush your lips against his cheek. “You’re the best.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, but you see the way his cheeks heat up. “Whatever,” he mutters. “What’re you even doing that’s so important? You’re not usually one to hold up meetings like this.”

You sigh lightly, gaze tracking back to the window to where Dazai is leaning into the weretiger, trying to use him as a human shield. He laughs again, tossing his head back and jumping away, throwing a pen at Kunikida as the man tries to swipe him, and your throat feels a bit swollen, your heart tight. Not with jealousy or bitterness, but rather with content because four years ago, you never would have been able to picture something like this.

“I… have a decision I need to make before the meeting,” you finally tell Chuuya, voice a bit hesitant.

Chuuya gives you a long look, a heavy one, as if he knows exactly what decision you’re trying to make. You think that he probably does.

“I hope you make the right choice,” he says quietly.

“Yeah… I hope so too.”

---

It’s a Saturday afternoon, and the graveyard on the west side of the city is unusually busy—it’s just your luck, truly. There’s a distasteful expression on your face as your gaze traces across the mourners as they visit their lost loved ones. You’ve never liked graveyards; you can count the number of times you’ve been to them on one hand. Being here reminds you too much of a past you can’t remember—even though the corpses are buried well below the ground, the scent of rot somehow still finds its way to you, smothering and nauseating. 

“What the hell are we doing here?” Klaus asks from next to you, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “This place is creepy.”

“What do you think we’re doing here?” you ask dryly, resting your head against the cool window as your driver takes you down a dirt path leading to a more secluded part of the cemetery, toward the grave you’re seeking.

Klaus pauses and then offers, “Meeting an informant?” 

You roll your eyes. “We are visiting a grave.”

Klaus is clearly offended by your tone. “Forgive me, damn, it’s not like you’ve ever been sentimental before.”

“I guess there’s a first time for everything,” you say flatly, although sentiments are the last thing that drew you to this place—resentment is far more fitting.

“Riiiiiight,” Klaus drawls like he doesn’t actually believe you. “Are we going to be here long? Cemeteries give me the heebie-jeebies.”

“What the fuck is a heebie-jeebie?” you ask, turning your head to look at him so you can shoot him a strange expression.

“Seriously?” Klaus asks, blinking. “You’ve never heard that expression before?”

Your squinted gaze lingers on him for a second before the driver rolls to a stop in front of the small hill leading up to the grave you’re looking to visit. You shake your head and roll your eyes again as you step out of the car, instinctively holding your breath the moment the cemetery air reaches you. You have to force yourself to breathe, hoping you don’t look as uncomfortable as you feel. Your fingers tighten around the small bundle of petunias in your left hand.

“Isn’t that—” Klaus begins, frowning at the figure standing in front of the grave.

“Stay by the car,” you order as you make your way forward.

“But—”

“That’s an order, Klaus.”

You hear him sigh in irritation, displeased by your words, but he listens. Each step up to the grave is agonizing—you want to turn on your heel and leave, but you’ve already come too far to do that. Plus, it would feel like a wound to your pride now that he’s seen you.

“You’re the last person I expected to see here,” Sakaguchi Ango greets once you’ve come close enough. He looks down at the bundle of flowers in your hand curiously. “Especially with those.”

“It’s rude to approach someone’s resting site without a gift,” you reply blandly, brushing past him to kneel in front of Oda Sakunosuke’s grave, eyes lingering on the mossy cobblestone before you place the petunias down in front of it. “I have something I need to say, that’s all.”

“Not to me, I presume,” Sakaguchi replies, amused with himself. 

You’re not quite as amused.

“You’re lucky I don’t put a bullet through your head, traitor,” you murmur, giving the older man a cold look from the corner of your eye. “You’re lucky I don’t do worse.”

“Hah,” Sakaguchi says, pushing up his glasses—a nervous tick that makes your lips curl up. “You know, I never personally saw what you do to traitors, but I heard rumors through the grapevine. They say the executions you handled were more barbaric than Dazai-kun’s and Nakahara Chuuya’s combined. I found it hard to believe.”

A humorless smile rests on your lips as you stare at the grave in front of you. A necessary price—you don’t have an ability like Chuuya’s or a reputation like Dazai’s. Once it became clear you were in the running for the next open executive seat, you had to prove you were more than just Mori’s daughter. That the position should be yours and it wasn’t because of nepotism, and it wasn’t because you spread your legs for Double Black, as people liked to whisper back then. The easiest way of proving that was to make an example out of people, and with an ability like yours, it was easy to shatter a man’s mind before putting him in the grave.

“Chuuya’s never liked playing with his toys, and Dazai got bored with them long before I ever did,” you say absently, looking over your shoulder to focus your gaze on him. “I don’t get bored until they break.”

Sakaguchi’s throat bobs, and you watch his hand slip into his pocket—surely getting ready to send some sort of signal to his friends in the government.

“Relax,” you say easily, sitting back on your heels. “I don’t disrespect the dead—not even him. I wouldn’t do anything here.”

“How reassuring,” Sakaguchi scoffs, but his hand drops back to his side. “What on earth do you have to say to a man that’s been dead for four years?”

His voice wavers strangely—he’s defensive and in pain all at the same time, like he has some urge to shield a dead man from whatever words you want to speak to him, but it hurts him to admit he’s gone all the same. Rich, considering you’re pretty sure the man played a part in his death.

“I could ask you the same.”

“That’s different,” Sakaguchi says tightly.

“Is it?” you ask, amused.

“It is.”

You let out a puff of air, but the smile on your lips doesn’t reach your eyes. “Leave so I can say my piece. I don’t want to be here longer than I have to be.”

Sakaguchi doesn’t respond, but you hear him walk away. He goes far enough that he’s out of earshot of you, but he lingers close, which tells you that he has more to say to you, much to your displeasure.

You inhale slowly, eyes fluttering shut as you try to figure out what exactly you want to say. You tossed the words through your head the whole ride here, but now that you’re actually before the grave of the man you intended to speak them to, you find yourself at a loss.

“You… cannot fathom how deep my hatred of you runs,” you finally say, voice quiet. You swallow thickly, tongue pressing against the back of your teeth as you try to quell your rising resentment. “You’re the reason Dazai left me. You’re the reason he’s going to spend his life chasing after a goal he’ll always see as unattainable. You’re the reason that he’ll never let himself be at peace. You ruined him.”

You take in a shaky breath, blinking away the tears that suddenly sting at your eyes. “You saved him,” you correct after a moment, voice cracking. “I’ve never seen him as happy as he is now—not with you and Sakaguchi, not with Chuuya, not with me. You… wouldn’t believe how much he’s thrived in the light, or maybe you would, I don’t know. Maybe you saw something in him back then that I couldn’t, but I see it now. You would be proud of him… I’m proud of him.”

You exhale, shoulders slumping as you look down at the ground. “The President of the Agency made a deal with Mori—one member in exchange for protection when they needed it. Mori wants Dazai,” you say bitterly. You know that Fukuzawa shielded Yosano, and it makes you sick with rage that he didn’t do the same for Dazai. “I’ll… do whatever it takes to make sure it’s not him, but in return, you’re going to give him a sign that you’re proud of how far he’s come, understood? He can’t see it for himself, and I know he doesn’t fully believe me when I tell him, but he’d believe you. So find a way. You owe me that much.”

You feel crazy talking to a grave—Mori is a man of science, he’s never been religious, but Itou believed that the dead lingered, whether it was because of unfinished business or they just needed to see their loved ones some more, to protect them from the other side. You never really cared to hear his supernatural nonsense back when he was alive, but now you cling to it in hopes that maybe he’s still watching you, guiding you along the right path.

The wind picks up a little, and you swear you feel a brief warmth settle on your right shoulder—it’s probably just your imagination, but you’ll let yourself believe it’s Oda agreeing to your deal.

You rise to your feet with another shaky sigh. 

“Goodbye, Oda,” you murmur, throat tightening as you think back to the man who wanted you to come by his place to talk to the young girl he took in because he wanted her to have a strong woman to look up to—the only person who ever acknowledged how hard you worked to keep your place in the upper echelon. “One day, we’ll meet again. Hopefully not anytime soon.”

Without another word, you turn on your heel to leave, pointedly ignoring Sakaguchi when he tries to intercept you, walking straight past him back toward the car you came in.

“Do you know who he plans to choose?” Sakaguchi calls after you, voice wavering.

You don’t stop for him, but you say quietly, “I know who it won’t be.”

---

“Thank you for finally joining us,” Mori says dryly as you step into the conference room where all of the rest of the executives were waiting for you. “We’ve only been waiting for over an hour. Chuuya-kun has been trying to keep our attention on… office issues, I figured he was only trying to buy more time for you.”

Chuuya’ face reddens. “I don’t like the paper we write our reports on,” he says immediately, doubling down on whatever bullshit he’d been spewing to stall for you. “It’s too thick.”

“Right,” Mori agrees with a thin smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Chuuya rubs the back of his neck and gives you a helpless look once Mori turns his attention back on you, but you don’t speak, staring down at the older man with an unreadable expression. You’d been wondering why he was so lackadaisical about filling Ace’s executive position—he blew you off every time you tried to bring it up. 

This was why. He didn’t need to fill it if he was just going to drag Dazai back and sit him in it.

You don’t say anything as you take your seat across from him at the executive table. He watches you curiously, like he has a feeling that you’re going to make things difficult for him today. He rests his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers together and resting his chin on top of them as his eyes drift between his four executives.

“I think it’s about time we call in on the debt that the Armed Detective Agency owes us, don’t you think?” he hums. “I, of course, have my ideas on who we should bring over, but I would like to hear your opinions.”

Verlaine waves his hand dismissively. “We all know who is coming back,” he says. “It’s best we keep this short so that I can go back down and prepare for when the Clocktower finally decides to make its move.”

“That boy is the only logical option,” Kouyou agrees flippantly, fanning herself as she leans back in her seat. “It’s best we get this over with.”

Chuuya looks distinctly uncomfortable, but he only averts his gaze to the table. You’re not actually sure what his opinion is on all of this—he could want Dazai back for all you know. He can’t safely use Corruption without him, can’t access the full extent of his ability, and you know Chuuya doesn’t like using Corruption, but he also doesn’t like the fact that he doesn’t even have the option of being able to use it. The two of you have talked about seeing if you could use your ability to put Arahabaki to sleep, but it’s all been theoretical; neither of you wants to risk actually trying it when there’s a chance it might not work.

“If you bring Dazai back to the Port Mafia, you may as well execute me now.”

Chuuya’s head snaps toward you, eyes wide, and Kouyou pauses mid-fan to look at you. Verlaine doesn’t react other than a slight raise of his eyebrows, but Mori’s lips curl up, amused.

“Oh?” he questions, “and here I thought you would be the most excited to have Dazai-kun back.”

“I don’t want him back here,” you reply flatly. “Bringing him back here when he doesn’t want to be here might as well be shooting us in the foot. He’ll work from the inside against us out of spite. I’m not going to sit here and watch while you make a decision that will cripple us. If he comes back, I will leave.”

Curiously, Mori tilts his head to the side, entertained by your words. “An ultimatum. You can’t possibly think that you’re worth more to me than Dazai-kun.”

You don’t think Mori means that. He likes saying things to get under your skin, he likes seeing how far he can push you until you snap, and nothing gets under your skin more than the idea of you being a second or third-choice to him. This time, though, you only hit him with the same amused smile he gives you.

“I know I don’t compare to either of your precious proteges,” you say, leaning back in your seat, and then pass the manila folder in your hand across the table to him. He looks down at it and then raises his eyebrows at you before humoring you, opening the folder to flip through the contents. You watch as his smile slowly falls as his eyes scan the profiles of six crime lords inside. “But you don’t think you’d be losing just me, do you?”

Oddly enough, Mori’s eyes gleam in delight at your words. “Is that so?” 

You exhale as you choose your words carefully. “Goldoni doesn't like you, Mori. He’s caught between the Port Mafia and the Order of the Clocktower, and it would be much easier for him to make peace with the Clocktower considering they’re on his border. The only reason why he chooses us is because of my friendship with him. Mishima might not outright betray you, but he’ll slowly start withdrawing support when you ask for it once he finds out that I’ve left. I was the one who helped Qu Yuan get her brother back from Cao Xueqin when the two organizations were on the brink of war. I was the one who made sure Paz got his foothold in the central U.S. while the Guild was here. I was the one who acted as the mediator for Nabokov when Bulgakov and the White Guard threatened to come down on the Pale Flame—he even gifted me his strongest ability user for it, offered me a permanent spot in St. Petersburg with him.”

Mori doesn’t immediately respond, squinting at you slightly as he listens to you speak. Kouyou looks between the two of you with an unreadable expression. Chuuya looks sick. Verlaine just looks like he wants to go back to his office.

“And you don’t need me to explain what Tolstoy would do if I asked him to,” you finish quietly. “He would do anything for me. He’s who I would go to after I leave here. He would give me an executive position, and in return, I would give him Japan.”

Kouyou says your name, aghast, but you ignore her.

“Without my connections, you lose your foothold in the government, you lose all of your major allies—you will be pushed out of Japan, and I would help him hunt you down to whatever dark crevice of the earth you try to hide in,” you continue, leaning forward. “You know better than anyone that I have the means of doing it.”

“The means, maybe,” Mori agrees, closing the folder to look up at you. Though his expression is serious, you can see the way his eyes gleam, like he’s pleased with the sudden turn of events. “But perhaps not the will.”

Your eyes narrow. “You think I’m bluffing.”

Mori shrugs, tapping his fingers against the closed folder. “I think you’re angry—anger is a fire that burns hot, but short. You’ve invested too much in this organization to truly walk away, let alone betray it. And you and I have been through far too much together, my dear.”

Your throat tightens at the reminder of your past with Mori, but you only raise your chin so as not to let the discomfort show on your face.

Chuuya exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Boss—"

But Mori lifts a hand, silencing him. “That’s not to say your threats are without weight,” he continues, tilting his head. “The depth of your connections is impressive, your influence undeniable. You’ve built something that hinges on your continued existence here. I recognize that.”

“I’m not the same girl I was back then,” you say, lips tightening. “I know my worth, no matter what you do to try to make me feel it’s less. You can’t afford to lose me—try to call my bluff. I dare you.”

Mori hums, resting his chin on his hand as he observes you, violet eyes glittering. “No, you’re not. That girl would have never had the guts to stand against me like this.”

You don’t reply to that. The tension in the conference room becomes stifling as the two of you stare at each other, each waiting for the other to concede.

“You should know by now,” he finally says smoothly, “that I don’t deal in ultimatums. I deal in opportunities. So tell me—who do you propose we take instead of Dazai-kun? There is no one there with equal value.”

This is it, you think, regret swelling in your throat as you meet Mori’s gaze head-on. There’s no coming back from this, and there’s no forgiveness for it. Dazai will resent you for this as long as he lives.

“Nakajima,” you reply after a moment. “The tiger.”

Mori stares at you for a moment, eyes widening slightly. All three of the other executives turn to look at you in shock, and you stiffen when Mori suddenly laughs. It’s a bright and amused laugh, one that tells you he’s genuinely surprised by your answer, delighted by it even. His hand flies to his mouth to smother his giggles, but his shoulders continue to shake as he slowly calms down.

“And I would argue that he’s more valuable than Dazai,” you say once he’s mostly quieted down. Mori raises his eyebrows, entertained, but nods for you to explain. “Every conflict Yokohama has seen over the past six months has been centered around him. The Guild had a bounty worth seven billion yen on him and started a full-blown war for him, destroying their organization. Dostoevsky and the House of the Dead and the Decay of the Angel were hyper-focused on getting their hands on him. According to Akutagawa’s reports from the conflict between him, Atsushi, Dostoevsky, and Fukuchi, Dostoevsky spoke of him being connected to the reality-altering book that’s apparently here in Yokohama. And I know damn well Christie is coming for it, and him, too. If we can get our hands on him and understand what exactly his connection is with that book, we might be able to get ahead of the imminent conflict with the Clocktower. I trust I don’t need to explain just how destructive it will be if it happens in the heart of our territory.”

Mori’s amusement fades, and none of the other executives reply, so you take it as an opportunity to drive the point home.

“Okay, I will explain then,” you continue flatly. “The Order of the Clocktower is a British state organization. They’re not part of the underground—not really—and they’re not a simple secret society like the Guild. They are backed and empowered by the English government, and the English government is backed and empowered by the entire Western world. If Agatha Christie gets her way, it won’t just be the Order of the Clocktower on our doorstep, it’ll be the American AASF and the French SFCCA—”

“That would start a military conflict with our government—” Kouyou starts to disagree, shaking her head.

“No, it wouldn’t, because Christie will call a meeting with our Prime Minister first. She'll frame the situation in a way that makes us the sole target of the military operations. They’ll say we’ve gotten our hands on an artifact that could alter the very fabric of reality, and because of it, we’re a major global threat. They’ll use the incident with the Decay of the Angel as an example and claim we used that book to bring back our members who were lost to the vampire virus and the detectives who were killed by Fukuchi.—it doesn't matter if it's not true because it'll be believable. They’ll back him into a corner to where he would either have to agree or be deemed just as much of a global threat as us, and when he agrees, we’re going to be facing the full military force of the entire Western world. How exactly do you think that is going to turn out for us?” 

“It’s all ‘what ifs,’” Kouyou says, raising her chin. “How are you so sure that’s what Christie will do?” 

Your gaze slides to the side to focus on her. “Because that’s what I would do. Christie is a political monster, more than I am, even. She won’t make mistakes—she’s going to keep her hands squeaky clean on the legal front.”

“There are still holes,” Chuuya says, leaning forward on the table to look at you. “Yeah, they could say we used it to bring back our members, but we could tell them that Stoker just canceled his ability. And there’s no proof that the detectives were killed—the only people that know that are the detectives themselves, who aren’t going to give themselves up like that, Fukuchi, who is dead, and…”

Chuuya’s expression suddenly shifts. He sits up right, gaze focusing on you. “You don’t think Dostoevsky is dead,” he realizes quietly. “Did you hear something?” 

“Not only do I not think he’s dead, but I would bet my life he’s with Christie right now in England planning out their next attack,” you say quietly. “It’s going to come soon—they know we don’t have that book yet, and they know Nakajima still doesn’t understand his ability. They need to make their move before we get any closer to finding it, because they know once one side gets their hands on it, it’s game over. Our best chance of finding that book is through Nakajima, and that’s why he needs to be the one brought over here. The Agency’s President gives him control over his ability, but not understanding—he needs to understand his ability so that we can understand his connection to that book, so we can find it before we’re getting fucked by the West’s military.”

Mori lets out a long breath, rubbing at his face as he leans back in his chair. “I have a lot to consider,” he says tightly, waving the four of you off. “Go. Meeting dismissed.”

Verlaine is the first out of the room—he always is—but he gives you a long look as he leaves, signaling to you that he’s going to want to talk to you soon. You sigh, but nod at him before he heads out. Kouyou is the next out, a grimace on her face and her shoulders a bit too tense as she makes her way out of the room. Chuuya waits for you at the door, leaning against the frame as you rise to your feet to leave.

When you turn your back to Mori, he finally speaks up. You knew he would. “You understand that he’ll never forgive you for being the reason his precious protege is dragged into the dark.”

He speaks the last two words mockingly, you don’t have to look at him to see the amused expression on his face.

“I understand,” you murmur, ignoring Chuuya’s heavy gaze. “I didn’t make my decision lightly. Nakajima is the best option for the Port Mafia.”

You make your way over to Chuuya, freezing when Mori speaks again, “Do you know why I’ve always held Dazai-kun and Yosano-kun in higher regard than you?”

You stiffen, ignoring how Chuuya looks away, pretending he can’t hear the conversation between you and Mori. A part of you wants to just walk away—you don’t need to deal with him taunting you right now, but you know he’s not going to let you leave until he’s made whatever point he wants to make.

“Why is that?” you ask tightly.

“It’s because they think for themselves. They take the initiative. You follow orders like a loyal dog, good for a lot of things, but not what I want,” Mori says casually. Your jaw tightens—like he didn’t make you this way, you think bitterly, but bite your tongue. “I’m glad to see you finally taking a step out of your shell, my dear. Fascinating that it only took threatening Dazai-kun for it to happen. I do wonder how far you will go to preserve his light.”

 You stiffen, gaze snapping to the side to focus on Mori, but he only gives you an easy smile in return, violet eyes glittering maliciously.

“I’m eager to find out,” he murmurs, before waving his hand dismissively. “Go. I’ll consider your alternative.”

You exhale sharply, head snapping back to look in front of you as you storm out of his office and into the hallway. Chuuya lets the door shut behind the two of you, reaching out to grab your wrist before you can get too far. He pulls you back toward him, forcing you to face him. His gaze is concerned as he looks down at you, a frown tugging at his lips.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly.

“I’m great,” you reply sarcastically, giving him an apologetic look when irritation flickers across his face. “He’s going to hate me, Chuuya.”

“Nakajima might not even be the one chosen,” Chuuya says. “The boss has been set on that bandaged freak. You know that.”

“Well then I’m dead,” you say with a tight smile. “I literally just announced my plans to betray the Mafia if Dazai is chosen. Kouyou will execute me on the spot.”

Chuuya’s expression darkens, and his voice is low as he promises, “I won’t let that happen.”

“Then you’ll be a traitor too,” you say airly. “Is that what you want?”

Chuuya doesn’t like the idea of that, you can tell from the way his face twists, but he doesn’t waver. Instead, he says again, “I won’t let that happen.”

Your throat tightens as you swallow, and Chuuya’s expression softens. He glances down the hall quickly to make sure nobody is around, and then he steps forward, reaching out to wrap an arm around you, cradling the back of your head as he pulls you close to him. You let out a shaky breath as you bury your face in the crook of his neck, arms hanging limp at your side.

“What are you going to do now?” he asks quietly.

“I don’t know,” you reply, voice wavering. “Go to him, maybe. It’ll probably be my last chance.”

“Don’t say that,” Chuuya murmurs. “The bastard loves you. He always has—”

“And I’m repaying his love with betrayal, Chuuya,” you interrupt tightly. “This isn’t just us being on opposite sides. I put his protege—the kid that he saved—up on the chopping block. It’s too personal. There’s no coming back from it.”

“You did it for him, though—”

“And that makes it even worse. You know that.”

Chuuya sighs, but he doesn’t refute what you’re saying, which makes your heart feel even heavier. “Are you going to tell him when you see him?”

“I should,” you reply quietly. “So he isn’t blindsided.”

“But are you?”

“... I don’t know.”

---

Dazai isn’t in his apartment when you get there, so you decide to explore.

You’ve never been to it before—it’s messy, too small, and there’s a spoiled smell coming from his fridge. The futon on the floor is stiff, the padding is nonexistent, and the blanket is dirty, crusted; he probably hasn’t washed it in ages. Dazai has always liked soft things—he buried himself in fluffy blankets, plush pillows, and comfortable loungewear back when he lived at your apartment. He makes himself uncomfortable as a way of punishment. He would wear bandages that itched his sensitive skin until you stocked up on softer ones, and in his shipping container, he slept on a thin pad with an even thinner blanket until he moved in with you.

Now, he’s doing it all over again.

You frown as you kneel next to his futon, fingers brushing over the uncomfortable fabric, but your gaze is pulled away when you hear his door unlocking. You sit back on your heels, looking up as Dazai enters his apartment. A soft smile curls on your lips when you see the tired expression on his face—he doesn’t notice you at first, but when he does, he jumps so badly that his phone drops right out of his hands.

“Jesus!” he gasps, shooting you a withering look when he sees the amusement on your face. “What are you doing here?”

“Not happy to see me?” you drawl, rising to your feet and tilting your head to the side.

“Of course, I am,” he says immediately, voice quiet. He looks embarrassed as he glances around his apartment, eyes lingering on the mess around him. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Want me to help you clean up?” you offer, making your way over to him. Dazai immediately leans down to brush his lips against yours in greeting. It’s so casual, so domestic, it makes your heart ache knowing that it’s not going to last. 

“Can you?” he asks softly. “I just—I haven’t been able to. I’ve tried.”

Your hands settle on his hips, thumbs rubbing gentle circles over his hipbones through his pants. Dazai is never able to bring himself to clean when he’s in his head, and he’s always in his head. In his shipping container, he didn’t have enough belongings to actually make a mess, but once he moved in with you, he struggled to keep his room clean, so more often than not, you had to help him with it otherwise your whole apartment would start reeking.

“I know you have,” you tell him. “I don’t mind helping.”

Dazai lets out a puff of air, lashes fluttering shut and head hanging forward for a moment. You lift your hand to cradle his cheek, and he instinctively leans into your touch.

“Thank you,” he breathes out, kissing your palm.

You give him a small smile. “Go figure out what’s making your fridge smell,” you tell him before wandering over to a stray bag he has lying around so you can start picking up the empty bottles of sake and half-eaten cans of crab.

“I think everything is making the fridge smell.” You hear him say as you frown down at the pile of trash near his futon. 

“Then throw it all out,” you answer. “I’ll send you some groceries tomorrow.”

“My savior,” Dazai coos teasingly, but when you look at him to roll your eyes, you see the fond expression on his face as he looks over at you, dark eyes swimming with adoration. “How could I ever repay you?”

The words are still teasing, but there’s a breathy edge to them that lets you know there’s some truth to them. Your expression softens, and you hope that he doesn’t notice the way guilt suddenly clogs your throat. You think he might, considering the way he squints at you slightly, as if trying to figure out what exactly is going on right now. You should’ve just texted him to come over to your place, coming to his was too suspicious.

“How about you repay me by getting rid of this and getting yourself something more comfortable to sleep in?” you finally say after clearing your throat, nodding your chin at his futon. “Why do you have to punish yourself, Osamu?”

Dazai’s gaze instantly lowers to the ground. “It’s not—It’s not punishment,” he disagrees as he turns his back to you to start filling a trash bag full of all of the food in his fridge. “I just… I can’t let myself get comfortable. I’m scared if I get too comfortable, I’ll start slipping back into old habits and—”

“You’re too hard on yourself,” you whisper, shaking your head as you tie off the bag and put it down near his door. You make your way over to him as he grimaces and tosses a whole carton of rotten strawberries into his garbage. He rises to his feet, an unreasonable expression on his face, and you slip your arms around his waist, resting your forehead on his shoulder blade.

“What’s really going on?” he asks quietly, lifting a hand to cradle the back of yours. “I know you wouldn’t come here for no reason.”

Always too perceptive, you think wryly, pressing your lips together so you don’t let out a damning sigh. You feel his thumb stroking the back of your hand, and you think you might be sick—you don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve the tenderness from him, not when you know what’s coming and he’s oblivious to it.

“I’ve done something… really bad, Osamu,” you whisper.

“You’ve done a lot of bad things,” Dazai tries to joke, but you can hear the concern in his voice. You can feel the way his grip tightens on your hand. “I’m sure this is nothing extraordinary.”

“It is, though,” you reply, throat spasming as you swallow. He gently pushes your arms off of him so he can spin to face you. He cups your cheek to lift your face, but you slide your eyes shut so you don’t have to look at him. “It really is, Osamu.”

“I know the worst thing you’ve done. It can’t possibly be worse than that,” Dazai says dryly, desperately trying to lighten the mood. His thumbs stroke your cheek as he tries to get you to look at him, but you don’t. “Talk to me.”

“It is,” you say. “It’s something you won’t forgive me for.”

Dazai swallows thickly, fingers tensing on your face. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t forgive you for,” he tells you, leaning down to brush his lips against your forehead. “Tell me what’s going on.”

You almost tell him. You really do. The words are on the tip of your tongue, threatening to let loose, and his touch his so gentle, his gaze so soft and imploring. He deserves to know, he shouldn’t be blindsided when Mori inevitably calls this meeting in a few days, but you can picture the way his expression would close off once he processes what you’ve done, the way he would step away from you, and you just can’t. 

Even if he deserves it, you can’t. 

“Can you just… hold me?” you ask quietly, voice wavering terribly. 

You feel so weak. This was your decision, and you knew exactly what it meant for you and Dazai when you made it, but now all you feel is regret. You know you did the right thing. If Dazai were dragged back into the Port Mafia, he would never get out a second time. He’d sink back into the dark and would never let himself see or feel the light again. But it being his protege, you know he’ll do anything he can to get him back. Nakajima Atsushi will be back with the Armed Detective Agency within a month of leaving.

But Dazai never would’ve allowed them to risk trying to get him back. He never would’ve let them risk incurring the wrath of the Port Mafia for reneging on a deal on his behalf. He doesn’t see himself as worth it. You couldn’t let it happen.

“Yeah,” he finally says, voice soft. “Come on.”

He leads you over to his couch, carefully pulling you into his lap. You sink into him, burying your face in the crook of his neck as you cling to his shoulders. Dazai’s arms are strong around your waist, one hand splayed on the small of your back, the other cradling the back of your head. He kisses your temple once before resting his forehead against the top of your head. You’re not usually the one being comforted like this—sometimes Chuuya will hold you when you’re upset, but more often than not, you’re the one doing the comforting—so you can’t help the way your eyes well with tears. 

Being in his arms doesn’t make you feel better, though. If anything, it only makes you feel worse. It makes the guilt in your chest swell, it makes the nausea building in your throat threaten to come up.

Dazai must feel when your tears start to spill over your cheeks, because his hand starts running up and down your back soothingly, fingers carding through your hair. He hums softly—it’s a vaguely familiar tune that you can’t quite place, maybe one of the ones he used to play on the piano for you—it’s low in your ear, you can feel the gentle vibrations of his chest through your body.

You love him. 

You love him so much that it makes you sick. You love him so much that you would do anything for him. He asked you months ago if you would ever choose the Port Mafia over him, and you told him no, but you were wrong. You would choose him—you would always choose him. You know that you’re fucking over the Port Mafia with this plan, you know that its going to get the short end of this deal—you don’t care, because it means that Dazai will be okay.

“I love you,” you rasp, voice cracking as you bite back a sob. “I love you, you know that, right?” 

He pauses in his humming briefly to say, “Of course.”

He says it so easily that it makes you choke, and he quickly resumes his soft hums, now subtly rocking you back and forth, kissing your temple again. He doesn’t say it back, and although he doesn’t need to—you can feel it in the way he holds you, in the way his lips touch your temple, in the way he hums softly to try to chase away whatever is distressing you—you’re glad that he doesn’t verbalize it. You don’t think you could handle hearing it from him right now, it would be just what you need to send you spiraling over the edge.

You know he wants to know what’s going on. Not knowing things makes him anxious, and he can’t hide the way his fingers are tense against your body, even if his touch is gentle—his hands have always been his tell. Four years ago, he would’ve insisted and insisted until the two of you either fought or you gave in and told him, but now, he’s content to hold you. Content to comfort you. Content to love you. Content to trust you.

And you’re going to repay him with a knife through the back.

It’s for him, you remind yourself desperately. It’s to protect him. He’ll be able to get Nakajima back, and everything will go back to normal for them, even if it won’t for the two of you. Dazai might never get over the betrayal, he’ll never get over the guilt of you putting Nakajima on the chopping block in his place, he’ll never get over the resentment. He’ll understand maybe after the initial shock why you did what you did, but he won’t ever get over it.

You should tell him. Warn him. It might not change anything, but he shouldn’t be blindsided, not by you, not ever. But he’ll try to convince you against it, or worse, he’ll go to Mori and offer himself up on his own once he realizes that his transfer isn’t guaranteed. You can’t risk that. 

“I’m so sorry, Osamu,” you gasp, fingers digging into his thin dress shirt as you cling to him. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he tells you, voice low and soothing. “It’s okay.”

But you know it’s not.

You know it won’t be.

---

The fateful meeting with the Agency comes too quickly. 

“Ah, Fukuzawa-dono,” Mori greets when the Agency arrives at the small park where you’re meeting them. It’s a neutral site as demanded of this type of junction. You would’ve preferred the tea house in Nishi-ku, but Mori waved you off and said that it wouldn’t take that long. “I hope everything has gone well on your front in the aftermath of Dostoevsky’s attack. I heard the Ministry of Defense was trying to cause trouble again. If you’d like, I could have our lovely hime talk to Tonan-san on your behalf… for a price, of course.”

Mori’s lips curve up into a cruel smile. He knows Fukuzawa will never say yes, not when his last offer of assistance came with the price of one of his detectives. The President’s gaze hardens on Mori as he raises his chin.

“Unnecessary,” Fukuzawa replies coldly. “Spare the pleasantries. We’re here to fulfill our end of the bargain.”

Mori hums in delight, but he doesn’t immediately speak. Your gaze cards across the small group—all of them are here. Kunikida Doppo stands stiffly on the right side of the President, and Edogawa Ranpo rocks back and forth on his heels on his left. Yosano stands with her back turned in the far back—Kyouka and the tiger stand near her, along with an orange-haired boy that you dimly recognize as the illusionist. 

Dazai is here too. He stands separate from the rest, arms crossed over his chest and an unreadable expression on his face as he stares down at the ground. He won’t lift his eyes, not even to meet yours. You’re glad because you think if he looked at you right now, he’d see right through you.

“Of course,” Mori agrees. “Very well, I must say, it was a much more difficult decision than I originally anticipated.”

A ripple of unease spreads across the detectives. Daza finally opens his eyes. His lips turn down into a tight frown, dark eyes seeking answers as he looks directly at Mori before his gaze flickers over to you. You avert your gaze, swallowing as you raise your chin and focus your attention on Fukuzawa. You can tell this unsettles Dazai from the way he immediately straightens, looking between you and Mori uncertainly—he thought his transfer was a given, he’s realizing that maybe it was not.

“Nakajima-kun, won’t you come over here?”

Mori sounds too pleased as he speaks the words. His smile widens when he sees how Yosano immediately whips around, eyes wide. Most of the detectives look shocked, but Nakajima himself seems like he hasn’t even processed what Mori said. You can’t bring yourself to look at Dazai—Mori hasn’t even mentioned your involvement in this decision yet, but you know that he will. You can imagine the way his eyes widened at Mori’s words, and you know Mori probably took glee in it, considering how difficult it is to catch Dazai Osamu off guard, and the image of it makes your stomach churn.

Fukuzawa looks displeased. His jaw is tight, and his expression is hard; you can see in his eyes that he wasn’t expecting Nakajima to be the one chosen. He doesn’t protest—he knows better than to openly renege on a deal with a Port Mafia—but he does lower his gaze to the ground.

“Come now, Nakajima-kun,” Mori hums, beckoning the boy over. “Since our hime was the one who insisted on your transfer, you’ll be working directly under her… I do hope you’re comfortable with that arrangement.”

“What?” Dazai breathes out. “What?”

You ignore him, keeping your gaze trained on Nakajima, who finally reacts. You watch as the waves of realization visibly wash over him, eyes widening slowly before they snap over to you. His hands clench into fists at his side, and his lips part in disbelief as he struggles to find his words. 

Although your attention is on Nakajima, your mind is on Dazai—you can feel him looking at you, waiting for you to explain what all of this is about. The betrayal won’t hit him yet; if only because he believes you’re the last person who would ever betray him like this.

“I—what?” Nakajima stammers, voice barely above a whisper. His eyes flicker between you, Mori, and Fukuzawa, pleading for an explanation.

You remain still, forcing yourself to maintain the neutral expression you’ve mastered over the years. But inside, your chest tightens as you will yourself not to look at Dazai. He’ll start to understand what’s happening now, what you’ve done, and you won’t be able to bear watching how the betrayal slowly writes itself across his face.

Mori chuckles, reveling in the tension, in the way your relationship with Dazai is crumbling in front of everyone like this. “Yes, she was quite insistent,” he continues smoothly. “I was set on… a different prize until she opened my eyes to your potential. The Port Mafia is eager to have you amongst its ranks.”

Nakajima takes a step back. “That’s not—” His voice shakes, and he stops himself, taking a deep breath before turning to Fukuzawa. “President—”

Fukuzawa doesn’t lift his gaze from the ground. His silence is an answer in itself. Nakajima’s breath hitches; he looks helpless, like he’s about to start crying.

“When you said you did something I wouldn’t be able to forgive, I didn’t think you actually meant it.”

Dazai’s words cut deeper than any blade. Your chest tightens, throat swelling as you fight to keep your composure. You knew this moment would come, you knew Dazai would look at you like this, you knew this would be the end of everything.

It’s for him, you remind yourself. He’ll get Nakajima out of the Port Mafia one way or another, and Dazai never would’ve let himself escape a second time. You did what you had to do—you’ll always do what you have to do, whether he agrees with it or not. He’ll understand what you’re trying to do, whether he ever forgives you for it… Well, that’s another matter entirely. 

Before you can open your mouth to reply to Dazai, Mori claps his hands together, voice laced with mock cheer. “Well then, now that that’s settled, let’s not drag this out any longer. Hime, take our newest recruit back home, won’t you?” 

A command. A test. A punishment.

You swallow hard, raising your chin as your gaze settles on Nakajima, whose body is tense like he’s on the verge of bolting.

“Come,” you say, voice even. “We’re leaving. If you try to flee, punishment falls on the Armed Detective Agency for reneging on a deal.”

Nakajima’s shoulders slump instantly, head falling forward—all of his will to run or fight dissipates at the mention of his actions falling on his found family. His hands tremble at his sides before clenching into fists again as he steps forward to stand at your side.

“Good boy,” Mori murmurs approvingly before turning his attention back to Fukuzawa. “Always a pleasure doing business with you, Fukuzawa-dono. Until next time.”

The Agency watches in heavy silence as Nakajima forces himself to move. His steps are reluctant, but he walks toward you, expression twisted in disbelief. You can feel the weight of every stare pressing into you, most of all Dazai’s. You don’t dare lift your gaze to meet his.

“Let’s go,” you say coldly, turning on your heel.

Nakajima follows.

Dazai does nothing to stop you, but you hear him call your name—quiet, angry, but most of all, betrayed. You hesitate for a fraction of a second before continuing forward. You don’t look back, you can’t afford to.

Mori falls into step beside you, too pleased with the way this played out. His satisfaction drips from his voice as he speaks. “I do hope you enjoy your new subordinate, my dear. After all, you fought so hard for him.”

You don’t answer. You simply keep moving, ignoring the betrayal burning in Dazai’s gaze and the suffocating silence left behind by the Agency.

You did what had to be done. Even if it did cost you everything.

It’s only once you get to the car that Nakajima finally speaks. His voice shakes, like he’s nervous to say anything but forces himself to anyway. You would give him props for it if you weren’t so distressed by how everything went down. “You did this to protect Dazai-san, didn’t you?” 

Your gaze shifts to the side, focusing on the weretiger, who looks up at you nervously, waiting for your answer. You didn’t take him to be so perceptive, so you only raise your eyebrows at him curiously. He shrinks a bit under your gaze, but then he squares his shoulders and takes in a deep breath.

“You picked me to protect him,” he says again. “It would’ve been him otherwise. You had to convince them to pick someone else, and I was the most convincing option.”

“What makes you think that?” you ask coolly.

“It just makes sense.” Nakajima shrugs, fingers twisting nervously in his lap. “I think that I’m glad you did. Dazai-san… he’s good. I’m glad he doesn’t have to come back here. He tried to pretend everything was okay, but I could tell he was upset. He didn’t want to come back.”

“Hm,” you respond, turning your gaze away to look out the window, but it’s only to hide the way your expression drops at the confirmation of Dazai’s anxieties about returning to the Port Mafia. It makes you feel better about what you did, but only for a second, because you remember that no matter how much he didn’t want to come back, he never would’ve wanted his subordinate to come here in his place. “I doubt you’ll be here for long.”

“What?” Nakajima asks. “What do you mean?” 

“Do you really think Dazai will let you become a member of the Port Mafia?” you ask dryly. “I give it a month max before he figures out a way to force us to give you back up to them.”

“Won’t you get in trouble for that since you were the one to insist on me?” he questions, and to your amusement, he sounds like he’s genuinely concerned on your behalf. 

“Probably,” you agree absently.

“You must… really love him,” Nakajima says quietly.

Your throat spasms at his words, lashes fluttering shut as your head hangs forward. 

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I do.”

---

You don’t expect to see Dazai for weeks. You think that he’ll pretend you don’t exist, he’ll block your number, and stop coming around to see you. That’s what he would’ve done years ago when he was mad at you and feeling too hurt for him to come to terms with what happened—that’s what he did do years ago when he was mad at you and feeling too hurt for him to come to terms with. 

Instead, that very night, he barges into your apartment. 

You’re three glasses of wine in, drowning yourself in your sorrows, when you get the notification that someone is coming up to your apartment. You know it’s not Klaus, because he has a mission with Akutagawa in Tokyo for the next three days, and you know it’s not Atsushi, because although you told him that he could come up to your apartment whenever he needed after you showed him his, you knew it would be a long time before he ever felt comfortable enough with you to take you up on that.

You assume that it’s Chuuya, because he knows how upset you are and he knows you’re probably getting wasted by yourself. So when you get the notification someone is coming up to your apartment, you drag yourself out of your bedroom and down the stairs, wobbly on your feet. 

You get down there just as the elevator doors slide open. “Chuuya, do you—” you start to say, but cut yourself off abruptly when it is not in fact your best friend standing in the elevator.

“Osamu,” you whisper, eyes widening, taking a step back in shock. “What are you—”

“What am I doing here?” he finishes for you when your voice falls off—the words are cold and mocking, a harsh jab to the gut. He stalks forward in your direction and you step back quickly to keep space between you. “You would like that, wouldn’t you? Would’ve rathered me stay away so you can avoid taking responsibility for your shitty decision. Well, surprise! All of those years of getting pissed at me for avoiding confrontation are over—why do you look so upset? Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? You should be happy.”

Your lips part to speak, but no words leave them. Dazai backs you into the wall and doesn’t give you the chance to run when he reaches out to grab your dress shirt hard. Your wine glass slips between your fingers and shatters against the ground as he tugs you closer to him so that you have nowhere to run or hide. 

Your breath is shaky as you look up at him, and he’s livid. You can see it in the way his eyes are black—the same darkness and intensity you remember back from his years with the Port Mafia, but they’d never been directed toward you before. You can see it in the way the corner of his lips twitches in fury. You can see it in the way his shoulders are tense, like he’s having to physically hold himself back.

He’s also hurt. His hands have always been his tell, and they’re not shoved in his pockets, so you see the way his fingers tremble around the material of your shirt. And his throat bobs as he swallows thickly, waiting for you to say something.

When you don’t say anything, Dazai’s expression twists in anger. He pushes you back against the wall as he lets go of your shirt. He’s not rough with you at all—he never is, even when he’s blinded with rage—but still, all of the air whooshes from your lungs when your back hits the wall.

He steps away, turning his back to you and running his fingers through his hair, tugging at the ends as he lets out a frustrated noise. 

“How could you?” he finally demands, but the words aren’t harsh—his voice cracks over them, and when he turns to look at you, you can see the hurt written plainly on his face. “How could you? After everything I’ve told you, how could you push for Atsushi? You know that he’s the only thing I have that proves that I’m doing something right. Something that Odasaku can be proud of. How could you? You? Of all people, I never expected you to do this to me.” 

You want to blame your speechlessness on the wine, but you know that’s not the case. You want to say something, you really do, but you can’t find the words for what you want to say. An apology isn’t enough, and you hadn’t anticipated that Dazai wouldn’t have put together what your plan was. You figured that he wouldn’t until he calmed down, but he’s usually pretty quick to set aside his emotions to look at things logically—but you suppose he never really has when it comes to you. That was an oversight, but what you really didn’t expect was seeing him tonight. You thought that he’d go quiet for a few days, a large part of you genuinely wondered if you’d ever hear from him again.

“Osamu,” you murmur, taking a step closer to him, but he steps away from you.

“No,” he says, holding up his hand before turning his back to you. “Stay over there. Don’t come closer. Explain. I need you to explain, and I need to think. I don’t think straight when you’re near me, so just stay over there and tell me why.”

You halt in your tracks as you stare at him. You still don’t say anything, and you can see him getting more and more frustrated with each passing second. You try to tell him that you only picked Atsushi because you knew Dazai would get him back, that you couldn’t let Dazai back because you knew he would never let the detectives do the same for him, but you can’t.

“Was the idea of me being back so bad?” he demands, eyes wild as he turns on you again. “Let me guess, you finally proved yourself to Mori while I was gone and didn’t want to be back in my shadow again. That’s it, isn’t it? That’s all you’ve ever cared about. It’s only ever been Mori and the Port Mafia. Now that you finally have it—his approval, in track for taking over after him—you don’t want to risk me coming back and taking it from you again.”

You draw back like you’ve been slapped—you may as well have been, you think, throat tightening. Your lips part to tell him no, of course that’s not the reason why, but you can’t force the words out.

Is that what he really thinks?

“You don’t think I knew back when we were kids that you were jealous of me?” he asks, laughing breathlessly as he looks down at you. “I knew it from the moment we met. You resented that Mori kept me in Yokohama and sent you away, that I replaced you—you hid it well, but I knew. I saw the way your expression got all twisted whenever he praised me, when I got the open executive spot, how you’d never look me in the eye when I came back from meetings.”

You stare at him, speechless, and then whisper, “I loved you.”

“Not mutually exclusive,” he scoffs. “Love and resentment are two sides of the same coin.”

“Is that what you really think?” you ask him quietly. Dazai has always known how to hit you where it hurts, but this was… “That I wanted Nakajima because of… selfishness? Because I was scared you’d come back and upstage me?” 

Your voice cracks, your eyes wet with tears as you take a step backward. You don’t know what you thought he would think of all of this, but realizing that he thinks so little of you makes you sick to your stomach. Dazai’s expression twists at your question, like he only just realizes the gravity of the words he said to you, but then anger flashes through his eyes again.

“I don’t know what to think because you won’t explain,” Dazai shouts—you’ve heard him yell a handful of times before at his subordinates while he was with the Mafia, but never at you. “Won’t you fucking tell me why you picked him?”

“Because I knew you would get him back!” You mean to yell at him, but your words get caught on a sob that you just can’t bite back. You want to blame it on the alcohol, but you know it’s a product of the guilt that has been weighing you down for days and the newfound understanding of just how little Dazai thinks of you. “I knew you would get him back, Osamu, and I knew you’d never let them risk getting you back. That’s why I insisted on Nakajima. If you came back here, you’d never get out a second time, and you’re right, I don’t want you back here but it’s not because of jealousy, it’s because you don’t belong here.”

Dazai stares at you, expression unreadable, but before he can say anything, you continue.

“I told you that I’ve seen how much you’ve changed for the better, I’m not going to let you ruin everything because you’re going to throw yourself back to the Port Mafia to be a fucking sacrificial lamb for the rest of them,” you continue. “And you know what? You’re right, I am selfish, because I don’t give a damn about any of them. I care about you, and because you care about them, I tried to figure out a way for the whole fucking Agency to come out of this deal unscathed, and the only way of ensuring that is making sure Nakajima was the one picked. I knew Mori would jump at the chance to put a wedge between us by flaunting my part in this decision to you at the meeting, and I knew you would fight tooth and nail to get him back, so your precious Agency would be whole again by the end of the month.” 

Dazai says your name quietly, but you shake your head, stumbling over to the couch so you can sit down. You feel too dizzy—nauseous. You can barely see straight and your whole body feels fuzzy from the wine you’d been drinking.

“That time we met after you defected,” you whisper, taking in a ragged breath. “You were so drunk, you probably don’t even remember what we talked about. But you told me I never would’ve chosen you over the Port Mafia, and that’s why you couldn’t say goodbye.”

You hear him making his way over to you, but you don’t dare look up from where you’ve buried your face in your hands.

“I told Mori that if he brought you back to the Port Mafia, he might as well execute me on the spot,” you say, ignoring the way he inhales sharply as he sits down next to you. “I told him I would leave. I’d go to Tolstoy. I would bury the Port Mafia and then him. I convinced him to pick Nakajima because I knew you would get him back, even though I knew it was screwing us over. I chose you, I’ll always choose you, Osamu, no matter what the cost is, even if you hate me for it.”

“I could never hate you,” he tells you quietly, tugging your hand to beckon you to look at him. “Look at me. Please.”

You let out a shaky breath and lift your head from your hands to look at him. The expression on his face is conflicted—you’re sure that he has plenty to say, but just doesn’t know where to start.

“Why didn’t you just tell me when you came over?” he asks desperately, threading his fingers through yours and squeezing tightly. “If you just explained—”

You shake your head. “I didn’t trust you not to go running to Mori to offer yourself up once you realized your transfer wasn’t a given,” you tell him quietly, “I did what I had to do.”

Dazai’s expression instantly twists. “But if you’d explained—”

“No,” you insist, looking away from him until he tugs your hand again. You let out a heavy sigh, eyes landing on his. “No, Osamu. You’re too emotional when they’re involved. I couldn’t risk it, I’m sorry.”

Dazai blanches. “Too emotional?” he demands, offended. “E-emotional? That’s ridiculous, I’m not emotional.”

Your lips curl up softly when you see how flustered he is by the accusation. “A little emotional,” you disagree, expression smoothing out when he lifts your hand to kiss your knuckles before pressing your palm against his face. “It’s endearing, but I just couldn’t risk it.”

His lashes flutter shut as he sighs heavily into your palm. Your throat tightens when he turns his face into your hand, forcing you to cradle his cheek. He doesn’t speak for a moment, but when he does, it makes your chest feel heavy.

“Promise me that if something like this happens again, you’ll tell me,” he whispers, dark eyes sliding back open to look at you. They’re a light amber in the dim lighting of your living room—too soft, too gentle, too imploring. “I—I need you to talk to me. I can’t—you don’t understand how it felt at the meeting. I was mad that Atsushi was chosen, but it felt like—the thought of you going behind my back. Betraying me. I couldn’t breathe, I’d never felt anything like that before. It felt like I was dying. It felt like I was losing you. I’d only ever felt this way before when—”

When Oda died, you finish for him when he cuts himself off abruptly, pulling his face away so he can turn his head in the opposite direction. You let out a soft sigh and shift in your seat to turn toward him. You lift your hand to his face to force him to look at you again—when he does, his eyes are glassy like he’s about to start crying.

“I can’t promise you that,” you tell him quietly, thumb stroking his cheekone gently. “I told you back during the Pushkin incident that I won’t be able to tell you everything anymore, but can you just trust that I’ll always choose you?”

Even after everything that’s happened the past few days, it scares you how much you mean those words. You will always choose him, no matter what the cost of it is. Your breath is shaky as you hold his gaze, searching his eyes for understanding.

Dazai is quiet for a long time, the silence thick between you. He’s still holding your other hand, and though his hand trembles, he holds onto you tightly, like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Okay,” he finally says. “I can… I can do that. I can try.”

“I will always choose you, Osamu,” you repeat quietly, squeezing his hand. “I promise.”

Dazai suddenly looks guilty, averting his gaze to the ground. “I didn’t mean what I said before,” he murmurs. “I—I was just angry. I—”

“I know,” you interrupt. “It’s okay.”

You don’t want to think about what he said before anymore—he was wrong, but he was also right. You had been jealous of him when you guys were younger, a part of you resented him as much as you loved him, and though you tried to push it away, it was always there. A constant reminder that there would always be someone more valuable than you to Mori. That you’d always be his second, third choice. You should’ve known Dazai had always been aware of it, but you never expected him to use it against you.

“It’s not,” he whispers. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Osamu, please,” you say, eyes sliding shut as you look away. “Drop it.”

His throat bobs as he swallows hard, voice cracking as he finally whispers, “You’re all I have. You’ve always been all I’ve had. I just… can’t lose you. I can’t.”

“You won’t,” you promise, shifting forward. “You—”

You bite back a yelp when Dazai suddenly grabs you. He lays back against the couch and pulls you onto his chest. You tense for a second, but then he wraps an arm around your waist and brings his free hand up to cradle the back of your head. He holds you close, you can feel his heart thrumming in his chest, the erratic pace evening out to match yours, and you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He kisses your temple before resting his forehead against the top of your head as you sink into his arms. 

Your eyes flutter shut, suddenly all too tired—the wine, the stress of the day, and the stress of this conversation with Dazai finally getting to you. The weight of Dazai’s arm around your waist and the feeling of his fingers absently toying with your hair is quickly lulling you to sleep.

He hums in protest, but the vibration only makes you sleepier. “You can’t sleep—we need to set up guidelines about Atsushi.”

You let out a soft laugh, but you don’t open your eyes. “This isn’t co-parenting, Osamu.”

“I mean, it kind of is,” he says. “Atsushi is my little protege, you’re my girlfriend, he’s going over to you, and we’re technically separated in two different organizations. So it’s kind of co-parenting, and like good co-parents, there needs to be rules and the first one—”

“Tomorrow, Osamu,” you yawn, shifting to nose his neck before you kiss his pulse point gently. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

He lets out a dramatic sigh, but his arms tighten around you and he lifts his head briefly to kiss the top of yours again. “Fine, fine, I suppose it can wait until morning, but only because my sweet hime is sleepy.”

“I love you,” you whisper.

“I love you,” he echoes softly as you drift off to sleep. “More than you could ever imagine.”

---

Chuuya is quite glad that he decided against bringing up his ‘97 Petrus when he gets up to your apartment and finds you curled up on the couch fast asleep with the very fucker that Chuuya was coming up here to console you over.

He really should’ve expected this.

He stands at the side of the couch, arms crossed over his chest and lips twisted in a deep frown as he looks down at the two of you. For a long, heavy second, he can only stare, thoroughly uncomfortable when a strange, warm feeling bubbles in his chest. The sight is too familiar—if Dazai’s bandages were wrapped around the right side of his face, he could almost pretend the three of you were eighteen again and Chuuya came up to your apartment for a movie only to find the two of you passed out already.

Then, with a low scoff, he runs a hand through his hair and whispers, “Unbelievable.”

Dazai’s face is half-buried in your hair, one arm snug around your waist and the other cradling your head, and you’re fast asleep in his arms. He can’t see your face, but he doesn’t need to—he can picture the peaceful expression on it, one that he’s hardly seen since the bastard left four years ago.

Dazai is sleeping too. Chuuya’s almost surprised he didn’t wake up when the elevator arrived on your floor—he’s always been a light sleeper. He supposes it’s just testament to how much Dazai lets his guard down around you. How much he trusts you. How much he loves you.

Chuuya sighs as he rolls his eyes. “Told you it would be fine,” he mutters to you as he snatches a blanket off of the armchair to drape it over the two of you even though he knows you can’t hear him. “Worried over fuckin’ nothing.”

You shift in your sleep when you feel the blanket on top of you, and Chuuya’s throat tightens when he sees the tear tracks staining your cheeks. He lets out a puff of air, lifting a hand to stroke your hair gently for a moment before he shakes his head to leave the two of you in peace.

“Both fucking freaks. Deserve each other.”

If there’s a small, fond smile on his lips, then he’s glad neither of you are awake to see it.

[totallyxtaurus]

Depollute me, gentle angel

Summary: Sylus is away on a business trip while you sink deeper into your depressive episode. Pairing: Sylus x gn reader Genre: Angst (I guess, I'm not sure lol) Trigger Warnings: depression, mental health struggles, anxiety, self-neglect, and hints of suicide A/N: Soo I was going to make a fluffy/smutty story but my PMDD hit me hard af and then BOOM, this. This was super hard yet easy to write at the same time probably because it's a self insert lol like this is literally me. Sylus' "perfect" persona does intimidate me and I grappled with the thoughts of "what if Sylus was real, could he actually handle this?" I hope everyone enjoys and please please please remember to take care of yourselves! 💗

Next

When was the last time you crawled out of bed today? Your stomach twisting, hunger pangs turn into nausea. But the thought of forcing your limbs to carry you into the kitchen for food feels insufferable. So, you stay buried in the tangle of unmade, unwashed sheets. A hint of fabric softener desperately clinging to the fibers, the stale scent of sweat and skin already taking over. Earlier, you pressed your nose into your shoulder, checking. The sweet floral deodorant from days ago (you think) has spoiled into something sour.  

Each day and sleepless night blend together. They become hard to tell apart, except when the phone rings. Work is calling again—probably to ask when you’ll be back in or to terminate you. You know you should care—you do care! Well, you used to. You liked your job; you were good at it. But does it bring you joy? Right now, does anything?

Everything feels like a chore that you can’t be bothered to attempt. Showering? The thought alone is exhausting. But thinking about the steps that come before the shower is enough to make you sit in your own filth. You reach up absently. Your fingers get lost in the greasy roots and tangle in the mess below. Dandruff flakes dust your pillow. You picked at your scalp while scrolling for hours. Anything to pull you out of this pit you’ve fallen into, for a moment of relief. Your stomach churns each time your tongue touches the slimy coating that has built up on your teeth. Panic spikes at the thought of cavities—the decay, a reminder of neglect. Yet, there you lie, paralyzed by your own anxieties. God, you want to move. You really do. But then you tell yourself, I’ll brush them after I eat, for sure. You know it’s a lie. But it makes the guilt easier to swallow.  

These bouts come and go, pulled in by a force you can’t escape—because you are the force. Like the moon dragging in the tides, summoning waves too strong to withstand. When you’re up, you trick yourself into thinking that you have it all together, like you’ve cracked some secret code. You throw yourself into work, into people, an endless loop on performance mode. Blissfully numb. Until the crash. The tide swells too high, knocking you under and swallowing you whole. Then you’re here, again. Bedridden. Isolated. Time slips through your fingers. Days, weeks—who knows how long. Until someone notices your absence. Usually, him. Then you have to explain why you vanished and begin to collect the pieces of you that have washed back ashore.

“You should trust Sylus more," your therapist had said, voice gentle but firm. “Let him in during these episodes. He wants to help you.”  

You nodded, pretending to consider it, not missing the way they emphasized the "want to help you" part. But the idea was absurd, laughable. Let Sylus see you like this? No, it’s better this way. You can keep your dignity and him, a win-win situation.

This episode—as your therapist calls it—came at the perfect time. Sylus is away on a business trip, conveniently absent when you’ve sunk to your lowest. He gives you roughly three days of no contact before the constant calls start rolling in. This time, luck was on your side, a twisted kind of luck, but still one that was to your advantage. You can’t even begin to imagine the horror that he’d feel if he saw you like this.

Undeserving. That’s the only word that comes to mind when you think of Sylus, especially in moments like these.

Sylus, the man who has everything—and if he doesn’t, he simply acquires it. Always composed, always in control. He’s the kind of person who seems to glide through life, untouchable. You can’t imagine him unraveling, not like this. No, if he ever stumbled, he’d just power through it. There are no obstacles he can’t overcome.  

Until you.

You are the only thing he can’t fix. A threat to the pristine world he’s built. Thankfully, he hasn’t seen you like this, and he never will. He can’t.

Your therapist says your way of thinking is the problem. You don’t let him in. You don’t give him a chance to understand. Your therapist doesn’t know Sylus like you do. What if he does understand—but secretly believes you’re too much? And knowing Sylus, what if he doesn’t leave, but worse—stays out of obligation? Out of pity?

Your chest begins to tighten at the thought, your heartbeat picking up. You’d rather disappear completely than let him see you like this.

But before you can spiral any further, the doorbell rings.

[donutdrawsthings]

why is your doctor called the one who shone?

✨Character Tag

Might as well write out what her whole deal is! I never did because I wanted to write her "introduction episode", but I'm really not a great writer. I'm just an ideas guy, really!

She's called "the one who shone" because her regeneration existed briefly, yet joyously! Her energy was infectious when she existed and brightened everyone's day. This regeneration also existed briefly for atypical reasons. She is a paradoxical regeneration, a regeneration that exists, but isn't supposed to.

The Master had created this Frankenstein's Monster type of Weeping Angel... called The Impossible Angel. Unlike regular angels that feed on "unlived potential" time energy, THIS Angel feeds on the impossible. It feeds on what never should be, paradoxes! paradoxical time energy! You are send to several time periods at once, split into pieces but still visibly whole. You are an impossible part of time and with every breath you take, time decays around you, changing things in ways that were not meant to be.

This creation had touched the Doctor and pulled out a regeneration that was never meant to exist. And since the Doctor is so old, and can live for so very long, her existing in and of itself as a paradox, is enough for the impossible angel to keep on growing stronger and collect more paradoxical time energy than it's actually able to hold.

It is a time bomb, literally! And when it goes off, it resets the entire universe!

Since THIS Doctor is the reason the whole universe is at risk at all, she figured she should find a way to focus this reset on her regeneration alone. Make it so that she never existed in the first place. With some tinkering and quick, smart thinking, she succeeded with her plans, resetting the universe to before she was created and destroying the poor, Impossible Angel in the process.

Elisa still remembers her. Very well, in fact. Every minute she'd spend with her. But when she encounters the Doctor again and sees him stepping out of his TARDIS, she is quickly walked past, making it clear that the woman she knew is truly, gone forever.

I had way more ideas for her story, like her introduction and other episode ideas, but I'll leave those under the cut!

For the Doctor's introduction, she wakes up after regenerating, finding herself crashed in London with no memory of what happened before. Nothing unusual sofar, but then she sees some suspicious activity at a school and starts investigating. This is where she meets her companion, Elisa!

Elisa gets bullied/outcasted heavily at her school and it has her feeling all types of low. She's alone in the girl's bathroom, crying, and a perfect next victim to add to the list of kids with a mysterious sickness that leaves them bedridden. Then the Doctor barges in with this little doohickey she'd build out of a branch. It tracks the source of an alien metal, and the source of said metal would make itself known only seconds later.

It's a Panagralid, otherwise known as a data worm! It chases after the two all over the school, but it's only visible to Elisa, so everyone thinks she's just acting up. They manage to throw it off their scent by literally throwing her school blazer with her scent at it and hiding in a closet.

The doctor catches her up to speed on what's going on, Elisa being frustrated at the Doctor for almost being excited about this horrifying thing, and they discuss what it wants. Data worms feed on information, and the females have these metal plates on their body to store info on for their young. Other species often keep and train female data worms though to obtain certain bits of information in secret (because it can cloak itself!). The doctor has all these plans to combat things, but then gets hit by a wave of post-regeneration sickness unlike anything she's ever felt before, and she briefly blips out of existence. Well, to her it was brief. in actuality she's disappeared for hours, leaving Elisa to go home alone and wonder why the data worm wants HER specifically.

Well turns out, it didn't want her specifically, and she isn't as special as she thought she was.

This trio of aliens has actually set up shop at the school and have trained the data worm to specifically harvest negativity. Apparently, negative emotions are a currency on their planet, and a human school is essentially the perfect place to farm it and become rich. It doesn't matter to them that it leaves the victim basically bedridden with exhaustion.

Anyways, I never worked out exactly how the Doctor would work this out, but it ends in the school basically having exploded and the 3 aliens picked up by space authorities. This leaves Elisa without a school and the lingering hurt still left from being called "not special". So when she sees the opportunity to sneak into the Doctor's TARDIS, she does.

This brings us to the next story: THE PHANTOM SUN

The Doctor discovers Elisa has sneaked in, which is perfectly timed with the TARDIS being dragged towards this space ship from the future. A strong gravitational pull has pulled them in and they can't leave. The Doctor is really frustrated with this because she's not keen on endangering a 15 year old with her travels, while also still struggling to figure out how she came to regenerate and what made her "blip" out of existence.

The ship itself is inhabited by Dutch people (hence why the ship looks like a collection of different styled houses)

The people on this ship are just regular people, a lesbian couple, a family with kids, an eccentric artist, some college students, two doctors and a teacher. The landlord of all these houses is this robot called Larry 4410, and it is created by the same company that build this collective space ship and ultimately the party that will receive all their rent.

Little facts aside, the space ship is also stuck in a strong gravitational pull. Well actually, they're not being pulled towards anywhere, they're stuck in space. It's like they're at the centre of said gravitational pull, but nothing's there. On top of that, something terribly strange seems to be happening on the ship. Furniture goes flying, strange texts appear burned onto the walls, and scariest of all... people seem to get possessed.

When they get possessed, you can't comfortably look at them. your eyes will start watering like you're looking at a bright light, when that's not the case... and within a few second of possession, the possessed person bursts into flames from the inside out. It is up to the Doctor to solve this horrifying mystery!

While the Doctor digs into the technicalities and alien aspect of the scene, Elisa is sat with the residents and venting to them about feeling useless. She's comforted by the family, when she wonders out loud how she can understand these Dutch people and the text on the wall. The Doctor explains that the TARDIS translates things for them, and then Elisa tells her that the residents couldn't understand what it had said before, meaning what the TARDIS had translated, wasn't Dutch. The Doctor goes to turn off the automatic translation feature, and it turns out she was right!

It's an ancient language from a planet that has been absorbed by a dying sun long long ago. This is when the Doctor puts together that the sun used to be alive, much like episode "42", and that they're literally being haunted by the ghost of a long-passed sun that used to be worshipped by a loving planet and cannot find peace after having consumed it. The doctor then teaches the residents the ancient sun worship ritual, and the phantom sun can finally rest in peace.

Suspiciously though, the person the kids have been calling "the teacher" in English, has vanished. Elisa tries to ask about it in broken Dutch, but doesn't know the actual Dutch name for "teacher". the kids help her out and ask if she means "de Meester", which startles the Doctor briefly, before she turns on the translation feature again. The Dutch word for "teacher" can also mean "master" for masculine teachers.

Yup! It was the Master all along. They would from this point on become a frequently recurring character in the Doctor and Elisa's lives, just hanging out with them and seemingly appearing obnoxiously harmless.

(They're not doing anything to the Doctor because they've already done it. The Doctor's existence already feeds their Impossible Angel, so the Master is just along for the ride!)

I also had this story idea that features another scenario with the theme "things that aren't supposed to exist, existing anyways"

These are the Kirios! They are descendants (and visually inspired by) the balhuticaris and come from a timeline in which the creatures of the Cambrian Period never went extinct!

The Doctor goes to this time period to excitedly show Elisa the start of earth life, when they get arrested by 2 Kirios. Turns out, the Kirios created a piece of technology that creates a form of time travel called "pinpoint timetravel". It can only go to 1 specific point in time, essentially putting a "pin" in the timeline and allowing Kirios to travel to it, no second earlier or later.

They do this to protect their existence and world. Their world has a lot of natural disasters and dangers, so the Kirios species is naturally wary, but when they learned that their existence is even more fragile than they thought, they decided to also guard the very start of their life on earth!

I also had some other loose ideas for this Doctor :o)

I designed various aliens for fun. I figured the guy on the bottom right would be the one to tell the Master about the vulnerability of Angels when they're not looked at, since it is a blind creature. Like, that they CAN indeed be harmed!

I also created this alien called "Xor Voncus", which is an alien created to work as a sort of hand puppet :oP its species specialises in 1 skill and then throughout the years they hone their skill more and more, until they're basically the best in the universe for getting the job done! this makes them targets, sometimes </3 when they're really just creatures of passion.

I also had this idea that this ginger cat called Jim would tag along to adventures with the Doctor, even if she didn't want it to. The TARDIS would start taking a liking to it and accommodate more and more to Jim living in the TARDIS.

Then there's also the case of the Blind Teen and the Friendly Angel. Liam and Korstmos!

Liam is Elisa's only friend and basically her handyman when she needs to get anything done without the Doctor, with him being a pickpocketer and lock picker and all. He is a sarcastic jokester type of character, always messing with people for a laugh and using his quick wit to defend himself at school.

Then there's Korstmos, a friendly Weeping Angel with seemingly no need to feed. This of course raised the Doctor's suspicions that it might be up to something, when in actuality it really isn't. It just got caught in the crossfires of what the Master was up to, having touched a human paradox and fed on their time energy. With the hunger of a wild beast no longer aching in her stomach, she found other things to do and began to enjoy the world in a whole different way. That isn't to say that she'll live happily ever after, though... She's dying. Much like the Impossible Angel, she's crumbling under the extreme pressure of all this Wrong Time Energy, it is literally killing her where she stands, veeeery slowly.

When time resets, she's also back to how she used to be, hunting people like a regular Weeping Angel

[freezerbrldes]

onanist - s.r.

PAIRING. Vampire!Spencer x Fem!reader

SUMMARY. Overcome with intense loneliness, you seek solace from any spirit that could hear your prayers. A dark century old entity answers those prays, only his obsession with you is more than you can handle…

WARNINGS. lots of mentions of blood, biting, dom!spencer, slight somnophilia, fingering, oral (f receiving), pnv sex, spencer is extremely possessive.

AUTHOR’S NOTE. This is heavily inspired by Nosferatu (2024)! The title is from one of my favorite songs off ethel cain’s newest ep, which I listened to a lot while writing this. I’ve never written dom!spencer or anything this dark so I had some help from @primomover. She helped me get the story started and I left in a section that she wrote.

credit to @cafekitsune for dividers

wc: 2,470

also on ao3

For as long as you can recall, you’ve had this recurring dream where the most captivating and beautiful man you’ve ever seen appears in your room late at night. This man embodies all your deepest, darkest, and perverted desires, and he brings out a side of yourself that you never knew existed.

He revealed to you once that his name is Spencer Reid. You know nothing else about him, yet you’re irresistibly drawn to him.

You shouldn’t even entertain these thoughts. You were married, and you shouldn’t be dreaming about anyone except your husband. However, the enigmatic man from your dreams haunts your every waking moment.

All is quiet in your empty townhouse, save for the soothing sounds of the creaks and groans of the house settling into the night.

Your husband is away on a six-week business trip, and you can’t help but feel a mix of emotions: fear of having to face the intensity of your dreams alone, but also excitement at the possibility of giving yourself up to the darkness you so desperately craved.

As you descend into a deeper sleep, the familiar dream starts. You’re standing by the balcony door as it swings open, and the curtains sway gently in the wind. A large, dark figure enters the room, towering over you as the smell of decaying flesh fills the room.

“Why do you keep visiting me every night? Who are you?” you asked, your eyes memorizing every feature of his gorgeous face, your eyes stopping at his sharp, razor-like teeth.

Spencer chuckles at your words, his loud voice reverberating through the house, causing it to shake slightly.

“Don’t you recall me? Don’t you remember calling out for me?” He spoke, his icy fingers gently caressing your face, sending shivers down your spine.

"I do remember,” you replied. “I prayed to the Lord to end my solitude." I said gently. "To send me an angel."

"Is that what I am? An angel?" He asked. As cold as his lips were, his breath set you on fire.

You looked at him - his eyes seemed to glow as they looked at your supple flesh.

"I fear you are not." You told him. He let out a huff of a laugh.

"What is to say l am not an angel that was cast out by an unforgiving god?" He swept you around in a twirl, one arm keeping your waist pulled tight against his.

“No,” you replied, your voice trembling not out of fear, but with an overwhelming sense of desire. “You are something far more sinister than a fallen angel.”

His laughter turned into a low, menacing chuckle as he spun you back around, pinning you against the wall with his body.

"Darker?" He repeated, his voice dripping with seduction and danger. "Perhaps... but you find yourself drawn to it, don't you?" His hands roamed down your sides, fingers trailing along the curves of your hips and thighs.

"This darkness within me, it stirs something primal inside you," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. "A desire to be consumed, to surrender to the shadows."

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"And I will devour you whole, my child. Body and soul." His words sent shivers down your spine, both from fear and exhilaration.

You knew you should resist, but the pull towards this dark, mysterious being was too strong to ignore.

Spencer could sense your hesitation, and rage began to grow in his mind as he imagined you in your husband’s arms.

Spencer's grip on your hips tightened ever so slightly, his fingers digging into your flesh as if trying to anchor you in place. He sensed your inner turmoil, the conflict between your loyalty to your husband and the forbidden attraction you felt for him.

"You struggle with the chains of convention," he murmured, his voice a hypnotic whisper. "The societal expectations that bind you. But here, with me, those constraints fall away."

One hand slid up your side, tracing the curve of your waist and coming to rest just below your ribcage. His touch was electric, sending sparks of pleasure through your veins despite the warning bells ringing in your mind.

"You can be free," he breathed, his lips grazing the sensitive skin behind your ear. "Free to indulge in the depths of your own desires, without judgment or repercussions. All you need to do is give in to me."

His touch ignited a wildfire within you, the flames of passion consuming every shred of resistance. You found yourself arching into him, craving more of that intoxicating sensation.

"You make it so easy to abandon all reason," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "To surrender to the temptation..."

Spencer chuckled darkly, the sound sending chills down your spine.

"It's almost... sad, really. So much potential wasted on trivial matters like vows and duty,” He says, his hand reached up to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back to expose the vulnerable column of your throat.

“Don't you see, my dear? I'm offering you liberation from the shackles of mortality itself. Eternal life, unbridled pleasure, unending ecstasy." He licked a stripe up your neck, leaving a trail of cool fire in his wake.

Spencer's teeth grazed your pulse point, making you gasp. The threat of pain mingled with the promise of rapture, leaving you dizzy with longing.

"Liberation?" you echoed, your mind reeling with the implications. To be free of the burdens that weighed you down, to embrace everything that brought you deep shame.

"Yes," Spencer purred, his breath hot against your skin. "Freedom from the mundane, the ordinary. A chance to explore the depths of your own depravity, to dance with the darkness within."

His hand slid lower, cupping your sex through the fabric of your nightgown. Even the thin barrier couldn't conceal the heat emanating from your core.

"All you need to do is say yes," he coaxed, his thumb rubbing slow circles over your clit. "Give yourself to me, and I'll show you pleasures beyond your wildest dreams."

Without a second thought, your lips collided with his in a passionate, messy kiss. The back of your knees hit the bed as he pushes you onto it, quickly moving onto of you.

Spencer's mouth claimed yours with ruthless hunger, his tongue delving deep to stake its claim. The kiss was bruising, demanding, a declaration of ownership. He drank in your moans, relishing the taste of your submission.

As he ravaged your lips, his hands roamed your body with increasing boldness. He palmed your breasts, thumbs teasing the hardened nipples through the fabric of your nightgown. Then, with a swift motion, he tore the garment open.

"You're mine now," he growled against your mouth, breaking the kiss only to gaze at you with predatory intensity. "Every inch of you belongs to me."

Without waiting for a response, he dipped his head to capture a pert nipple between his teeth, sucking hard enough to make you cry out. His free hand slipped beneath your panties, fingers finding the damp heat of your arousal.

Spencer's touch ignited a frenzy of desire within you, each stroke of his fingers pushing you closer to the edge. You writhed against him, desperate for more friction, more pressure.

"Please," you whimpered, your hips bucking involuntarily as he toyed with your clit. "I need- I need you inside me."

Spencer's eyes flashed with triumph, his grip on your thigh tightening.

"Such eagerness," he purred, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "But first, I want to taste you."

With a fluid motion, he sank to his knees, yanking your panties down your legs. Before you could protest, he buried his face between your thighs, his tongue lapping at your slick folds with reckless abandon.

The sensations were overwhelming— the heat of his breath, the firm pressure of his lips, the feeling of his sharp teeth grazing your sensitive skin.

Spencer's ministrations drove you wild, each lap of his tongue sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. You threaded your fingers through his hair, holding him close as he feasted on your essence.

"Mmm, you taste divine," he murmured against your flesh, his words vibrating against your clit and making you quiver. "So sweet, I could devour you forever."

He pushes two fingers inside of you, curling them against your g-spot as he suckled your clit with renewed vigor. The coil of tension within you wound tighter and tighter, until finally, you shattered.

Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, waves of ecstasy washing through you as you cried out his name. Spencer rode out your climax with his mouth, prolonging your pleasure until you collapsed against the bed, panting and spent.

Spencer removes his clothing before returning to his rightful place on top of you.

His naked form pressed against yours, the chill of his skin a stark contrast to the feverish heat of your own. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his teeth scraping lightly over the delicate flesh as he whispered in a husky murmur.

"I've waited an eternity for this moment, my love. For the chance to claim you, to make you mine forevermore."

His hands roamed your body, mapping the curves and contours with reverent touch. He cupped your breasts, thumbs flicking over the stiff peaks as he lavished attention on your sensitive skin.

"You're exquisite," he breathed, his lips trailing kisses along your jawline. "A masterpiece crafted just for me, and soon, I'll sink my teeth into your tender flesh and drink in your life force, binding us together for all time."

Spencer's words sent shivers down your spine, the promise of his bite igniting a thrill of fear and excitement. You knew what would happen if he took your blood- the eternal bond, the loss of your mortal self.

And yet, as he positioned himself between your thighs, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance, you found yourself craving that very fate. Craving the completeness, the utter possession, that only he could offer.

"Take me," you whispered, arching your back to meet his hips. "Make me yours, forever and always."

Spencer's eyes gleamed with triumph as he sheathed himself inside you in one smooth stroke. He paused for a moment, savoring the tight heat enveloping him, before beginning to move.

Spencer set a relentless pace, driving into you with powerful, precise strokes. Each thrust hit that sweet spot deep within, sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you clung to him, lost in the intoxicating rhythm of his thrusts.

"You feel incredible," he groaned, his breath hot against your ear. "So tight, so wet. As if you were made for me alone."

He angled his hips, reaching even deeper, and you felt your walls flutter around him in response. The sensation was overwhelming, bordering on pain, but you craved it, needed it to consume you whole.

"Yes, harder!" you shouted, wrapping your legs around his waist. "Fuck me like you own me!"

Spencer's grip tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh as he complied with your demand. His lips trailed down your neck, biting slightly as he drew blood, licking it off of your delicate skin as he moans at the taste.

Spencer's fangs pierced your skin, sinking deep to draw forth a trickle of crimson lifeblood. He groaned in rapture as the metallic flavor danced on his tongue, the primal urge to feed overwhelming him.

But he held back, content for now to simply savor the taste of you. His tongue swirled around the wound, lapping up every precious drop before sealing the punctures with a gentle kiss.

“You taste divine,” his voice thick with desire. "Let me have a little taste of your essence. It's addictive."

He rocked into you harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. "Soon, I'll take more than just a sip."

Spencer's thrusts grew more erratic, his control slipping as the hunger for your blood intensified. You felt his sharp teeth sink into the skin in between your breasts. He drank deeply from the fresh wound.

The taste of you was sublime, headier than any wine or drug. He couldn't get enough. He swallowed greedily, his eyes rolling back in bliss as he savored each mouthful.

"You're mine now, body and soul," he declared, his voice low and menacing as his mouth returns to your chest, drinking the thick crimson fluid.

You moan out in both pleasure and pain, feeling disoriented from the loss of blood. Your hands tangle into his hair, holding his head in place as he continues to drink.

Spencer kept feeding, each pull at your veins dragging you closer to the edge of consciousness. But still, you held him against your chest, unwilling to break the contact.

He pulled away, a faint line of blood tracing his lips, you felt dizzy, lightheaded. Your vision blurred at the edges, the room spinning around you. But through it all, you clung to him, your body thrumming with a newfound energy, a vitality that bordered on the supernatural.

"More," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Keep feeding."

Spencer's eyes glowed with an unholy light as he smiled, revealing his razor-sharp fangs. "Anything for you, my love," he purred, already descending upon your neck once more.

Spencer's fangs sank deeper, tearing open new pathways for his insatiable thirst. With each swallow, he felt your essence coursing through his veins, amplifying his strength, his speed, his very being.

His hips pistoned forward with renewed vigor, pounding into you with ruthless intensity. The bed creaked beneath them, the headboard slamming against the wall with each brutal thrust.

"You're mine," he growled, his voice a guttural snarl. "All mine. Forever and always."

He could feel your climax building, your inner walls clenching around him like a vice. With a final, savage bite, he sent you hurtling over the edge.

Your orgasm triggered Spencer’s, the rhythmic contractions of your pussy pushed him over the edge as he buried himself to the hilt, spilling deeply within you as he drank the last of your blood.

He collapsed atop you, his weight pressing you into the mattress. Spencer lifted his head to gaze down at you. His eyes, once a vivid hazel, had darkened to an almost black hue, his face and chest completely covered in your blood.

You were too weak to move. Lying helplessly on the bed, you watched Spencer stare down at you with a wicked grin on his face.

You tried desperately to wake yourself up from this dream, but as you began losing consciousness you realized this wasn’t a dream anymore.

The last thing you hear is Spencer’s maniacal laughter echoing in your ears…

[0bticeo]

welcome to the show!

summary: vox sends you as a spy to the hazbin hotel. alastor decides to give him a show.

tw: voyeurism, biting, blood play, fingering, valentino mentioned. english isn't my mother tongue.

you're thrown in hell - quite literally. the fall from purgatory and its beasts was long, arduous, and painful.

you've led an ordinary life. woken up. worked. slept. repeatead. same old decaying matter as everything else. you didn't think too much of it, of course not. you were twenty something and rising slowly, steadily in your company as an esteemed lawyer. memento mori didn't ring a bell. maybe it should've.

now you're in hell, and you're burning with sheer, unbridled rage, because how dare they throw you in there? (you're all in hell for a reason. all of you, fangs and bad intentions bare to the world.)

you take up your old job at vox tech. lawyer for a corrupt company. old habits die harder than you do. there, there's the thrill of probing the opposing companies and sinking your fangs into them, corrupt little fox with a too wide smile on your face.

what you gather is this: velvette's sense of fashion involves too much purple, valentino is the embodiment of everything you hate and vox... vox is obsessed with the radio demon. he's disappeared not too long after being asked to join the vees. you'd know, you're the one who wrote the contract he refused to sign. bastard.

could've been fine, really. but they work you to the bone and treat you as little less than a glorified secretary. when valentino throws the cup of coffee you brought him to a board meeting with the other executives of the company, you slam the door on your way out and don't look back.

it goes like this: you've been in hell for a while, and you're done playing the part of the sinner. so you tell charlie morningstar when she greets you at the hazbin hotel.

she accepts you, welcomes you with, out of all things, a song. too much trouble for dear old you.

"nonsense! everyone deserves to be given their rightful importance!"

that one hit close home.

you don't have the time to thank her before she's introducing you to the staff and the rest of the hotel.

vaggie, staring you down with a suspicious eye, fingers itching to reach for her spear. ah. an angel. fascinating.

angel dust. you have to thank him for being here. after you murder him for calling you an enticing little vixen and winking at you.

husker. former overlord. sold his soul to the radio demon in a bad game of poker.

your hair stand at the back of your neck. static crackles in the air. your ear twitches. alastor's entered the game.

"alastor, it's a pleasure to meet you, quite the pleasure my dear!"

he brings your gloved hand to his lips. even through the thin leather, you can feel the warmth of his breath, the press of his teeth like a warning.

his grin deepens when you introduce yourself in turn. a glimmer of recognition flashes in his eye.

shit.

**

you've always liked to cook. there's something about the glimmering edge of a knife cutting thin slices of meat that appeases you. tonight, you crave some rabbit.

somewhere in the kitchen, the clock ticks the minutes away, time bleeding out. doesn't matter when you have eternity to atone for your sins. 

the watch at your wrist flashes. 2:37. of course, insomnia had to follow you down to hell. it served you at voxtech, back when you were pouring over contracts and meaningless paperwork.

you make your way towards the fridge, hoping to god you'll find something to satiate your appetite.

"ah, feeling peckish my dear?"

you startle.

alastor.

you turn, back facing the counter, resisting the urge to bare your fangs. there he is, slithering out of darkness, a spectre in red. you wonder if it's a reminder of the blood he's shed.

"what do you want?" you snarl.

he laughs, static buzzing in your ears. you blink. when your eyes open, he's inches away from your face, craning your neck towards him - he's tall, that fucker.

"why so aggressive, little vixen?"

his fingers dip down your shoulder, down your arm, until they close on your wrist. his teeth press against the bracelet of your watch, scraping the skin beneath, drawing a drop of blood. the screen glows, a faint blue light in the penumbra of the kitchen.

your breath catches in your throat. he's gorgeous, blue light draped over his hair like threads of moonlight.

he hums, the vibration settling low in your gut.

"i just want a little taste..."

you shiver at that. at the way he looks at you like he wants to devour you, consume you whole. at the way his tongue presses on the cut, lapping at the blood. you tense, biting back a soft, needy little sound.

his leg pushes your thighs apart. you don't realise you've been humping against the warmth of him until his hand settles on your hip, claws digging into your skin hard enough to draw blood.

"behave, little spy."

you laugh at that, baring your throat.

"was it really that obvious?"

he hums, clawed finger trailing down the column of your flesh, pressing against the jugular. he can feel your pulse, staccato little thing beating wildly as you look up at him, lips parted with want.

his smile stretches, impossibly wide.

"vox wouldn't have let his precious little lawyer go." his claws tap against your watch. "and i'd be a fool not to get a taste."

he kisses you. he kisses you, teeth nipping at your mouth until you can feel static against your tongue, until you arch your back against him. you whine, claws digging in his shirt, eager for more. of course, he pulls away. bastard.

"patience, my dear. all good things come to those who wait."

you scoff.

"because seven years and s'more weren't enough?"

a pause. his lips trail down your throat.

"i suppose that's fair."

he bites you, teeth sinking at the junction of your throat and shoulder. you keen, a breathless moan of his name as you feel him grind against you. you shouldn't let this happen. shouldn't revel in the warmth of him, body going limp in his grasp. shouldn't drag his hand towards your aching core, let him press his fingers against your slit and chuckle at how wet you are. you can't let him finger you on the kitchen's counter, can't mewl like a wanton whore.

you do.

you do, his name like a prayer on your lips, hips stuttering, desperate for release. you feel him against you, lapping at your flesh like a starved hound. when he lets you go, there's a spider-web thin string of blood connecting him to your shoulder.

the sight of him takes your breath away.

there he is, eyes half lidded, looking at you. there he is, blood, your blood, dripping down his lips, his chin.

he leans closer, watching you, the way your shiver at his every touch, as his free hand digs in the tender skin of your breast and sinks into the flesh.

oh.

something snaps in you - you're on fire, head thrown back in a silent cry of his name.

on your wrist, the watch flashes blue. alastor grasps your wrist in his hand, bringing it up. it's easy for vox to see you. you, disheveled, red fur a mess of sweat and blood, panting, cheek pressed against alastor's chest. you, nightgown hiked up to your hips. you, legs wrapped around alastor's waist, teeth sinking into the meat of his shoulder to muffle your moans as he drills his cock into you.

vox groans at the sight, pants growing too tight.

the radio demon smiles.

"hope you enjoyed the show, old pal!"

[kykyonthemoon]

Where This World Decays

In the sinful and ruined city of Linkon, he met her. She was the family he had sworn to protect with his life. Still, he lost her. Years later, the girl who appeared before him seemed to be an entirely different person. She recalled only his name, while she had forgotten their childhood together. His pip-squeak from the past was dead. The person by his side was now an SSS-level praedator. Regardless of what she became, he would always protect her...

A corrupted councilman. A praedator in the guise of an enforcer. Could there be a safe haven for them in this world?

── .✦ Caleb x MC

── .✦ Tags: R16, AU, dystopian world, dark themes, crimes & mild violence, mental issues implied, trauma, corruption, angst with a little fluff, hurt/comfort, death and resurrection, murder implied, childhood friends, open ending.

── .✦ Word count: over 5000w - a short story divided into five parts.

── .✦ Ky Ky's notes:

MC’s name in this story is Asteria, a name Caleb gave to her when they were little. I chose this name after the titan Asteria in Greek mythology, who is Perses’s wife (Perses is Caleb’s codename in the current event story).

This story is submitted to the Love and Deepspace [Desire Savage, Embrace Tomorrow] Fan Art Contest.

Your support on my X is always appreciated <3

── .✦ Masterlist ♡ Request a fic (closed for the time being)

I.

…Recent attacks in Linkon have targeted officials, as per reports…

…The body of an LCBI enforcer was discovered in an abandoned warehouse near the Southern District last week. Another enforcer has been reported missing.

…Hydra, an SSS-level praedator, is said to be behind the assaults. The exact identity of Hydra remains unknown. However, new witnesses believe Hydra is female, not male as initially mentioned.

…Up until now, the councilman of the Northern District has yet to respond to charges and pressure from other parties…

The screen in the room grew black. The buzzing noise from the old radio vanished with it. Everything became silent. Beyond the glass pane, the city of Linkon twinkled like stars, delicate in the dense, hazardous night.

He strolled around the room. There was not a wrinkle or a stain on the white uniform he wore. It did not belong here. Yet he needed it as a shield to protect this old watchtower, to protect the person he loved.

He passed through the ages-old door, which led to a darker and colder chamber. There were more than a dozen other antiquated CCTVs on the wall that he had connected to a network, though the only red dot he cared about was in the center, in this room. His gaze landed on the corner. A modest bed was placed there, bound to the floor with chains. On the pure white mattress lay a petite sleeping angel, as if she felt no agony from having her wings shattered and being imprisoned in this place.

He approached her, gently as he wished not to wake her. He sat down on the edge of the bed, removed his glove, and stroked her face. Her drenched hair was brushed aside, revealing the face engraved in his dreams. The touch awoke her. When she turned, the shackles that held her began to creak.

“Caleb?…” She called to him, half asleep. As long as she called, he would always be there.

“How are you feeling, pip-squeak?”

She did not respond straight away. Her eyes opened slowly. As the dark chamber loomed in front of her and the heavy shackles pushed down on her, she appeared fully awake.

"Caleb? Why are you here?"

She struggled to break free from her bounds. However, the more she moved, the more anguish she experienced. He grabbed her hand and softly caressed it.

“Stay still, pip-squeak. You’ll be fine.”

“What happened, Caleb? Did I… Was I in a Frenzied State again?”

His eyes met hers for a moment, then he tried to avoid this uneasy conversation by consoling her more.

“Do you want anything to eat? How about braised chicken wings? I’ll make it for you right away.”

But she was restless. Her voice rose as she called his name:

“Caleb! Tell me! What happened? How long have I been here?”

“Not for long, pip-squeak,” he lied. “You barely realized I was gone to the center of the city and back.”

"I feel like I've been sleeping for forever…" She spoke again. "Can I go outside?"

His fingers gently caressed her heated face. Her entire body felt on fire.

"Just wait a little longer. When you feel better, I'll take you out."

She seemed displeased. However, her expression immediately became quite miserable, to the point that his heart felt like it was being cut and torn apart, as she said:

“Please, Caleb… I don’t like this room… It’s cold… And lonely… Let me out, will you?… Let me stay in my old room… You can chain me there if you want…”

She knew very well that she had him in the palm of her hand. Name it and he would not refuse her anything. But at a time when her safety depended entirely on him, he had to hold her tight, even if it made her angry with him.

Caleb averted his attention away from her depressed expression.

“Stay here for just a few more hours, pip-squeak.”

Like a smoldering fire waiting for the wind to blow, she raged in an aggressive manner. Her pupils dilated, and she laughed in a new burst of mania.

“I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE!”

She was faster than him, stronger than he was in this state. She leaned toward him and pushed him down on the bed. Her physique, ever so much smaller than his, was now utterly dominant. She repeated her words over and over again:

“Let me out! Caleb! I want to be out!”

Her hands clenched into fists, crumpling his uniform. Like a child demanding candy, she poured her anger on his chest. One blow at a time. She could have suffocated him if she had wanted to. He did not protest, instead softly wrapping his arms around her waist, holding her still against his body. When her frenzy subsided, she would collapse on his chest, then he would take his entire world in his arms.

Even so, her frenzy was getting more and more out of control. She had torn off the old shackles a few days before and fled outside. It would require more serum doses to handle her. She would eventually wreck this bed, too, sooner or later.

Fingers crossed that he would get things all sorted out before she did so.

“Caleb hates me, right?” She kept punching him, while a scorching tear streamed from her eyes onto his lips. It felt like salt. “Caleb hates the way I am now, doesn’t he?”

“I don’t hate you, pip-squeak,” he replied. His fingers found her face and wiped away the jewel-like tears. “I promised I would always protect you.”

He made that promise since they were little. The fact that she was a praedator did not change it.

II.

The first time he met her was when they fought over a rotten apple. In the Southern District, a place steeped in sin and chaos, homeless children like them could only survive on what others had discarded. Seeing her so hungry that she almost fainted, he stopped fighting and cut the still nice portion of the apple for her. From then on, she followed him around like a little shadow. She had no idea who she was or where she came from. Perhaps her entire family had died. Nobody came searching for her, and even if they had, she would not remember. She simply knew that following him would lead to safety and better meals.

“I’m Caleb. What’s your name?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t even remember your own name? What should I call you then?”

“Anything you want.”

He raised his head. Through the hole in the ruined canopy above him, he saw the stars dancing together. Perhaps she was like those stars, beautiful and out of his reach. She did not belong in this rotten world.

“Or, I could call you Asteria,” he said after a long moment. “My teacher in the past said it meant star.”

She said nothing. But perhaps she preferred being called pip-squeak, a moniker he had only come up with after a kind man had taken them under his wing. They lived together in an old watchtower. The area had seen its heyday before the Southern District fell into ruins. At least now, they had a roof over their heads.

Caleb once had a family, but there was little joy to recall. The only things that were etched in his mind were of the violent beatings he had from the adults who exploited his Evol to commit unlawful acts. He could control gravity. That was how he evaded the praedator assault that year. He ran away, never looking back at his family as they screamed.

Now he had a new family. For a while, but still a family.

He taught Asteria how to read and write. She learned quickly. She also enjoyed climbing to the top of the watchtower to watch the sunset. However, when she was younger, she had to ask him to use his Evol to bring her up there. He liked having her depend on him, having her follow him around. He liked being the big brother who always protected her.

But he could not safeguard her forever.

That day, the rain poured down as if to wash away all the filth in the Southern District. Asteria, his star, had gone insane and bolted outside. Her small figure faded into the white curtain that the sky had dropped on the ground.

Many hours later, the rain stopped, and he located her in a slum on the outskirts of the area. She lay in a pool of blood that was not her own. He almost lost control.

“She’ll be fine,” the old man said. He was the keeper of this watchtower, the one who had been looking after them both. “Whoever she attacked should be worried by now.”

“She attacked someone?” Caleb asked. He had not yet learned what she was.

“Didn’t you already know? Your sister is a praedator.”

Despite the fact that the sky had cleared, he remained there as if hit by lightning. He glanced at her sleeping figure on the bed for a long, long time. And he convinced himself that her innocence was genuine, that it was not a facade to hide the devil inside her. It was all a twist of fate.

She awoke the next morning, completely clueless with no recollection of what had happened since her disappearance in the rain.

“You're still unwell. Just sleep a little longer, you'll be fine.”

He lied to her. He lied to himself. She obediently curled up in his arms.

“Caleb… Will you stay here?”

Her hand intertwined with his.

“Stay here, and don’t leave me alone, will you?”

He pledged to protect her. Always.

III.

The watchtower keeper who shared their living quarters died soon after. He left the place, along with some cash and his things to two teenagers who were not his blood kin. Only Caleb and Asteria remained, relying on each other.

She became aware that she was a praedator as she grew older. When she was in a Frenzied State, she locked herself in her room and threw the key to him. The more she pushed him away, the more he wanted to get closer and shield her with his own hands, as he had promised. He was willing to be her victim. She never bit him, no matter how upset she was or how many times she assaulted or wounded him.

His Evol was quite effective in keeping her in place. When the frenzy dissipated, she gently slumped in his arms. When she awoke, she would have no memory of what had happened. However, the wounds on Caleb's body did not lie. She noticed them, despite his best efforts to conceal them.

“I am a monster…”

“Hey, don’t say that. You didn't choose this.”

“Compared to being a praedator, death seems to be a much happier choice…”

The wind blew on the watchtower. They sat together, watching the city of Linkon on the horizon, crimson by the dying day. He turned to her and said: 

"I'm glad you survived. So we could meet." 

She looked at him for a moment, then smiled. Perhaps the best thing she had known since becoming a mutant was him.

“Caleb, lower your head.” She told him. He was surprised and inquisitive about what she was up to. He did what she requested and bowed his head toward her.

Asteria put a metal necklace on him. The pendant was a dog tag with some claw marks on it. He looked at it, then back at her.

“For you,” she smiled. “I saved up the allowance you gave me to buy it.”

He fiddled with the necklace, grinning again.

“I gave you the money I got from my part-time jobs to buy food and things for yourself. Yet you bought me a gift.”

She extended her hand to him and said, "If you don't like it, give it back to me." 

“Nooope.” He grabbed the string and slipped it under his outer shirt. “It belongs to me now.”

The sun was fading. The lights encircled them like stars. Neither of them said it aloud, but they both secretly wished that this serenity would last a little longer, just a little longer.

Yet, the merciless night separated them in an onslaught by the praedators.

IV.

He could not find her anymore. The fact that he had lost her, possibly forever, drove Caleb insane. He wandered around calling her name. He turned over each frozen corpse along the way, only to find some relief that it was not her. He followed the hourly news updates, not daring to miss the casualty count or the identities of the praedators. Yet she was gone.

He came to the conclusion that, in order to protect her, he must have power. He was a brilliant young man with a talent for winning people's hearts. Shortly after the incident, he was adopted by an upper-class family in the Northern District. From then, he began to climb the political ladder, eventually rising to the position of a councilman.

He had to. He must gain the authority, the status, all means to find her. And he did. One day, she came before him as an LCBI enforcer. She recognized him in the crowd, yet she could no longer remember any of the memories they had shared, not even the necklace wrapped around his neck.

He never asked her what had happened since their separation. She did not mention it either. But he could put together the events based on what she told him and his own private investigations. 

Asteria had been captured by an organization known as Ever while on the run. They had imprisoned her in a facility far away from Linkon. They must have known the truth about her. During their cruel, inhumane experiments, she had perished. She had died no less than ten times.

And they learned her secret: she was a praedator capable of reviving herself. Each time she returned from hell, her abilities were enhanced. Until one day, she was powerful enough to shatter all the chains and bring Death to those who had repeatedly murdered her. No one survived at that secret base of Ever. Human or praedator, there was no one left alive.

Her frenzy passed, and she discovered the file on herself in a pool of blood. She was unfamiliar with everything except the old photograph tucked inside the file. She must have had it with her when she was brought here. It was her, standing next to a boy with a smile as warm as the sun. That familiar feeling rushed into her heart like an unexpected invader. She broke into tears, without knowing why. Her tears obscured the wording on the photograph: Asteria and Caleb, together forever.

She wandered barefoot, seeking for him. She remembered nothing, except the urge to find him, to be with him. She joined a crowd of refugees streaming into Linkon's city center. Another attack had just broken out, and she had not hesitated to defeat the praedator who stood in her way. The LCBI became aware of her after that occurrence. They came for her, and she accepted to take part in their training program.

It was hard to cover her secret from the enforcers. However, she had successfully deceived the LCBI several times when they were attempting to pursue her other alias, the SSS-level praedator known as Hydra. She even led them to believe that Hydra was a man in the Northern District. Her secret was probably known to only one person: Caleb.

Ever since their reunion, he had been keeping an eye on her. Whether she was Asteria of the LCBI Operations Sector I or Hydra - the praedator; everywhere she went, everyone she interacted with could not escape his gaze from this watchtower.

The first thing he did when he gained both wealth and authority was to quietly renovate their old watchtower. It was not only a shelter, but also a place where he had watched her since she returned. He connected a dozen CCTVs together, each with a surveillance camera positioned in every area he suspected she might frequent. The area she resided in, the office where she worked, and the woodland where she wandered in her Frenzied State... For her, seeing him again was a stroke of luck. For him, it was a meticulously considered chess move.

He granted himself permission to watch over and protect her from a distance. Every time Hydra caused trouble, he was the one who cleaned up the mess. Asteria believed she had thoroughly removed all evidence. However, because she had no recollection of her Frenzied State and relied only on her phone to track where she had been, she had left behind some clues. That was when he got involved.

His chess game appeared faultless. He would soon have complete power over Linkon's government. He would build a secure city for her, a place where praedators would have their own community, completely under the control of the political party he led. Hydra would be declared dead by then, and no one would dig up her secret again.

Caleb was willing to assassinate an opposition party member in order to achieve what he wanted. The politician's death was believed to be related to the praedatos. Ironically, the LCBI sent Asteria to investigate. She was accompanied by another enforcer. Their investigation lasted for months, during which many other praedator attacks across the city broke out. In a moment of negligence, Asteria let her colleague discover her secret. He confronted her, and she was enraged. 

“You… You really are a praedator! You fooled the LCBI, and all of us!”

In his hand was a spray that revealed any praedator's true self when they inhaled.

“No… I didn't… I don’t want this to happen…” She shivered, attempting to fend off the frenzy that was slowly taking over her mind.

“I’ve been secretly gathering evidence on you for months… Hydra! You can’t get away now!”

The enforcer lunged at her. But she was familiar with all of the LCBI equipment and how her colleagues fought in combat. She would not be captured that easily. In the struggle, she knocked him out at last.

“Go home, pip-squeak. I’ll take care of things for you.”

Caleb appeared out of nowhere, like a ray of light that she instantly stretched out to catch. He sent her back to the old watchtower. When she woke up, she had no recollection of any of it, while her colleague had been reported dead.

“Did I… Did I do it?… All I remember was going to the meeting place after that colleague asked to see me… After that, I'm not sure what else happened… Did I…”

Her tears fell. She buried her face in her hands, saying over and over again, “I’m a monster!”

“No,” he reassured. He drew her into his arms and rubbed her back, which was quivering from emotion. “You didn’t do it, pip-squeak. You’re not a murderer.”

For the true murderer was him. Anyone who knew her secret could only reveal it in their grave.

Asteria was devastated. Her Frenzied State continued returning, breaking the pattern that had always existed. She had no choice but to obey Caleb and remain in the watchtower, while everyone else assumed she was missing.

“I will take care of this.”

She only needed to rely on him.

“Pip-squeak, trust me…”

Back in the dark chamber where he had convinced her to stay, he kissed her hair as her head rested on his chest. Her frenzy subsided, leaving just an exhausted Asteria lying unconscious on top of him. Her fingers were still gripping the dog tag around his neck, which served as a reminder of the life she had forgotten. He slowly sat up, loosening the shackles that bound her and picking her up. He took her into the next room, where her comfortable bed awaited.

She trusted him, without a question, despite the fact that she failed to recall their past. She always knew he would do anything for her, and she was safe here.

He tended to every wound she had made while struggling with the shackles. She turned slightly. Her hands sought his and drew him closer.

“Stay… Caleb… Don’t leave me alone…”

He kissed her bleeding hand.

“I will always be by your side.”

V.

In her dream, she witnessed a Linkon without praedators. There, she and Caleb spent their entire lives together, never once apart. There, she was just an ordinary girl staying with the person she loved. When she opened her eyes, reality rushed in with the wind from the open window, carrying with it the familiar unpleasant smells of this place and the blaring sound of sirens.

She got out of bed and gazed at the usually deserted street below the watchtower. A crowd of people were dashing through the neighborhood. Sirens blared red across the block. Another strike occurred fairly near to the watchtower. 

Asteria could smell blood, and the scent of the frenzy was not coming from within her. The shattering and shouting were so close. She knew right away that she had to act. Caleb had removed her communications, but her guns and some LCBI supplies remained in the watchtower.  Carefully armed, she exited the building.

What she was doing may harm herself, reveal her whereabouts, and perhaps expose Caleb's scheme. Yet she could not abandon her neighbors to face the vicious praedators who had arrived without an invitation. She estimated how long it would take for the military and LCBI to come, and it might be a bit late. She chose to act alone.

On the way, she rescued a little girl who had been captured by a praedator. The child held her neck, constantly asking to be taken back to her family.

“Miss, can you take me back to my brother?… Please help me… I can’t find my brother anymore…”

And so she took the little girl’s hand and found a way back to her house. Fortunately, her brother noticed them. He hurried to embrace his sister and thanked Asteria for her kindness. They held hands and ran away after that.

If she and Caleb had found each other again back then, things would have been so different.

She might not have become Hydra. Whenever she went on a frenzy, he would have taken care of her. They would have just lived a normal life, only the two of them in the watchtower. His hands would not be drenched in blood for her.

Without Hydra, things would have been so much easier.

If they hadn’t been separated, if she hadn’t been subjected to countless experiments, if she hadn’t died and resurrected so many times…

If they hadn’t been separated, if she hadn’t been subjected to countless experiments, if she hadn’t died and resurrected so many times…

Those thoughts took over Asteria, rendering her heavy steps. Her head ached. Each scene of memories stained a dreadful crimson came back to her like a movie. They were not clear, but the emotions were so real that her entire body shivered in anticipation of the upcoming frenzy.

“No… Not now…” She whispered. Footsteps were approaching her. Asteria gripped the gun in her hand, alert.

“Are you lost, beautiful?”

The man appeared from the dark as he spoke. He was a praedator.

“Oh, an enforcer? But why aren’t you wearing an LCBI uniform? Where did you come from, love?”

Asteria did not respond to him. She leveled her gun at him, but everything around her began to spin.

“Not an enforcer, huh?… Wait... You are a…”

She heard him say it. Word by word. Praedator.

“No… I'm not…”

She wanted to deny it. She was just a human. She was an enforcer. She was Caleb’s pip-squeak.

“Looks like we’re the same kind. My group is just hanging out in the Southern District. Wanna join us?”

The praedator moved toward her. A moment later, so soon, she was seen walking out of the alley, leaving behind a corpse whose smile was still present.

She was a monster. Any attempt to deny it would simply make it worse.

Asteria departed the Southern District as soon as the LCBI arrived. She left behind the city of Linkon, where Caleb had promised her a home. She headed into the darkness, into the forest.

In the form of a praedator, she ran fast, she left everyone else behind. The more she ran, the more conscious she became. Perhaps this was who she truly was—a monster, a sinner.

Caleb would return to the watchtower and find out she was gone. He would be devastated. He would be broken again. Then he would pick up the pieces of his heart and move on, just as he had moved on after losing her before. She would disappear from his life once more, this time forever.

Little did she know, he had never ceased from being broken.

Even when he found her, even when she was in his arms, he was never completely healed. For she had forgotten him. Day after day, he held onto the hope that the new memories he made with her would outweigh the past, that they would fill the void in his heart. Yet every time she looked at him and failed to see the boy whom she had grown up side by side like a shadow, he was broken once more. The only thing he could do for her was to keep her from everyone who would hurt her; LCBI, Ever, or anyone else.

Then she drifted away from him, like a star in the sky that he could never reach.

He watched the red dot on his phone screen. He decided to miss an emergency meeting. Apparently, someone had dug up a significant amount of evidence against him. Yet, he did not bother to defend himself at the time. Asteria came first above anything else.

He sped after her trail on the screen. The red light flickered in the dense forest and then went dead. The tracker he had put on her was removed.

He would lose everything. He would lose her. Overcome with emotion and terror, he continued to search, and got to her before anyone else.

“Pip-squeak… Let’s go home.”

She was sitting on the edge of a cliff, where a large waterfall nearby poured silver moonlight into a deep abyss below. She turned to face him, smiling.

“You always find me, even when I threw away your tracker.”

“Of course.” He took a step toward her, offering his hand. “I’ll always find you, no matter where you run to. Let's get back now,” he repeated. “To our safe haven…”

“Safe haven? There’s no safe place. As long as I'm a praedator, there’s no place for me to hide…”

“You still have me, pip-squeak. You always have me!”

All of the emotions that had been building up over the years were about to burst. He wanted to embrace her and comfort her till everything was all right again. If she was not satisfied with the old watchtower, he would build her a new home. This time, he would ensure no one would ever find her again.

She slowly rose up to face him. She grinned.

“You should have let me die, Caleb. We should never have met again.”

Her sins would not vanish since she could not truly die. Perhaps this cycle of life and death was the most ruthless curse for someone like her. And she did not want to pull him down with her.

If only he had already considered her no longer existed in this world, wouldn't that be better?

There was the sound of helicopters approaching them, closer and closer. It was the LCBI. Soon, they would have the entire area surrounded.

Even as he stood on the edge, he stretched out to her with calmness. He had already calculated in his mind how to turn the tables; a series of lies to cover up the truth. With his current authority, he could help Asteria vanish from Linkon to a new life completely free of worries. Yet she did not see it the same way as him.

“I was planning to leave without saying goodbye,” she said. “I was planning to walk out of your life in silence. But it would be nice to see you one last time before disappearing. I… I really wanted to see you…”

The sound of footsteps on dry leaves was very close to them. There were about a dozen people racing in this direction. Caleb reached out to Asteria again, then softly spoke:

“Wherever you want, I will help you get there. Even if you prefer to be alone, I'll stop following you. You've always trusted me. What about this time? Let me handle everything for you.”

It was because he would destroy himself for her that she wanted to leave him forever. Asteria gave him a weak smile: “Thank you for always taking care of me…”

The footsteps became closer. The loudspeakers and sirens blended together. It was too late. He reached for her. But he failed to catch her hand.

“Farwell, my Caleb.”

She turned away and let herself fall into the tremendous waterfall.

Don’t go… Don’t leave me alone…

He watched her. Then he leaped.

“Caleb! Use your Evol to get me higher!”

“At your service! How far do you want to fly today?”

“Can you get me to the top of the watchtower?”

“Sure! But be careful or you'll tumble, pip-squeak!”

“I won't! I absolutely trust you, Caleb. Even if I fall, you'll catch me right away.”

She fell. In front of him. As when they were children, he used Evol to keep her suspended in the air, before his crashing body enveloped hers. She was astonished, yet she clung to him like she had done in the past.

If Asteria was no longer here, what was the purpose of the world he had designed for her?

There was no turning back. He, too, would leave everything behind, allowing them both to plunge into the cold, raging torrent that awaited them.

*

* *

In the following dawn, the entire city of Linkon was awakened by a series of frightening news reports:

…A warrant for the arrest of two individuals was issued last night.

…The SSS-level praedator Hydra has been identified as Asteria, a former LCBI enforcer. This is also the person who was reported missing during the investigation last week…

…Caleb, the councilman of the Northern District, is involved in the recent crimes. According to the most recent intel, he and Hydra are accomplices.

The two were last seen at Meteor Waterfall shortly after midnight last night. As of now, the investigation has not progressed further.

For your own and the city of Linkon's safety, please contact the LCBI hotline immediately should you have any information regarding Hydra and Councilman Caleb…

-The End-

[roseraintears]

Did anyone tell Faith that Buffy died ?

Did Faith suddenly see Buffy standing in the corner of her cell, looking just like she had when Faith first met her, smiling?

Did Faith hear Buffy say: " you know we should start over when you get out of here."

Did Faith see Buffy standing by her bedside with tears in her eyes , expression full of anger and hurt as she snaps

" Dont push me away Faith ! Let me help you!"

Did Faith blame it on her mental state at first trying to ignore her ?

Did it get worse the more she tried?

Did Buffy stand at Faith's bedside glaring every time Faith woke up at night

Did accuse her voice shaking with rage?

" You cant fix your life Faith, thats why you are obsessed with ruining mine!"

Did Faith tell her to go away, thinking she was just manifastation of her own guilt ?

Did Buffy answer face decaying as she talked ?

" I died Faith. For my Friends, for the world. Maybe you could have saved me but then again you are too busy seeking redemption. You always cared more about yourself than others."

Did Faith not call Angel to ask if Buffy was okay because she was scared of the answer

Did the First Evil cross the borders of Sunnydale to pay Faith a visit ?

( I know this doesnt happen in Canon but its still a fun idea to Play around with )

[general-brain-rot]

It's Beebo time again, this time Haunted House flavored!

I love dissecting how magic systems and worldbuilding shenanigans happen, so imagine the catnip of a story I was given when I got to figure out the Detective Beebo timeloop mechanics and some larger possible implications,,,,,,I am in shambles thank you Bwob, anyway, here are some ramblings about the first “organic” timeloop I’ve seen in media as well as what I think the deal is with the haunted houses!

The Natural Volatility of a Haunted House:

While I’m sure the biggest factor for dialogue changing between loops is to give the player more stuff to read/interact with, it is INCREDIBLY interesting just what all of it changes to!

Here’s a list of some noteworthy stuff that changes just from the first to second loops:

+ Right after the first loop, if you interact with the alcohol on the table in the main room Beebo says “I don’t think this is the best place to get trashed”, which is EXACTLY what Angel says after the shared drink in the first loop.

+Beebo suddenly has commentary on the paintings in the main room that he didn’t before, like in ‘Endless Decay’ where he thinks about the cycle of life and death (very on the mind if you just freaking died) where before he just said he wasn’t into it all that much.

+ When Angel bursts in and we get our first taste of what the timeloop has to offer, Beebo remarks that Angel “does seem familiar” thinking they maybe have “talked once or twice”.

+ We get to talk to Coli a little bit in this loop and Beebo immediately thinks “…Why do I feel uneasy?” and while he chalks it up to the class difference, the player knows that it’s likely because he just got dang murdered.

+ When Vivi gets back into the hallway with the switch for the electricity, her new commentary on the windowless room is that it’s “eerie and dreadful” as opposed to how she actually claimed to like the aesthetic the first time around.

+and finally,

the all constant post-loop ghost pain. I’m very normal about this one I prommy.

It’s all of this little stuff that shows even more in depth how volatile the Haunted House is! During Beebo’s deduction in loop 5, he figures it’s because of Ángel “glitching” the loop by being outside when the loop starts at 8pm, but inside the house when someone dies and forces a reset. Ángel keeps his memories and other party goer’s subconscious memories involving him in any capacity start to bleed through to them. Of course, we learn later that touching Vivi’s photobook can return people their memories in their entirety, giving the whole debacle another huge loophole (haha, get it?) for our cast! We also get some indicators, mostly from how loop 4 ends and ending 5’s dialogue, that intense emotions allow fragments of memories to remain in the victim’s minds, such as how Mari and Nina confessing their love for each other made them think to try to find each other in the next loop, or in ending 5 when we see that those who died from Coli have new fears that seemingly sprung up out of nowhere. These are all indicative of what I’ll call an organic timeloop from here out, because from what we learn later about the biology of the house, it’s pretty accurate. The organic timeloop's existence is actually the entire reason this is about to go off the rails about the existence of haunted houses! Speaking of, hey why are the walls breathing?

Biology of the House:

At the end of loop 4, we finally get to the anatomy of the House of Vera as told to us through Nadia, Beebo’s traumatic flashback, and the piecing together of information during loop 5 from Ángel and Beebo together before we mess with the endings. Nadia talks to us about how a house can live, can breathe through its ventilation, can eat those who wander into its doors, can fall ill and can age and can get hungry, has bones and muscle and skin as scaffolding and walls and paint. Once eaten by a house, you can become part of it, and we see this happen in a few different ways throughout the game. With the case of “purpose”, we have Dr. Diaz writing about his senses melding with the house from when he was alive or in endings 9/10 when Beebo gives the House of Vera a new purpose and experiences the same thing. With the case of people being “eaten” by the houses, we see this in Beebo’s flashback to getting trapped in the gallery and we see it now with getting trapped in the House’s organic timeloop. Nadia compares those who reside in a haunted house as “Its cells”, extremely reminiscent of how mitochondria work, having once been their own single celled organism and were eaten by another single celled organism a long time ago, but for symbiotic need the two entities combined and now suddenly you have multicellular life (thank you Lynn Margulis <3). This idea is further strengthened by ending 10 titled “Endosymbiotic Theory” which is the theory that simple prokaryotic cells evolved into more complex eukaryotic cells (essentially the same situation). Nadia goes on to make the comparison to how DNA can tell an organism what to do/be, and that people can give that to a haunted house too, can provide it with a “purpose” with enough emotion. In endings 9/10, we learn that the emotion the haunted houses feed on is grief.

This grief is applied to a “heart”, an object within the house that structures the purpose and maintains whatever supernatural ability it has. The House of Vera had two hearts before, first a shield mantle on the wall to ensure it wouldn’t be destroyed or damaged, then the grandfather clock in the hall to ensure that everything within the house would reset once the clock struck 8pm. If the heart is destroyed then the house can no longer read its purpose properly, but interestingly it doesn’t quite die. If you get endings 9/10 then Beebo can give the house a third heart to bring back Ángel and keep him safe, happy, and alive. A haunted house can get another heart and come back with a new purpose. If we want to think about it in organic terms, it’s most likely akin to a heart transplant. We don’t know if there is a time limit between when a heart is destroyed and when the haunted house dies for good since we don’t get to see that explored much in game, but if we assume that there is a time limit given the organic nature of haunted houses, then this fits perfectly with how we already know them to function! A haunted house could survive for a little while without a purpose but would eventually officially “die” if left without that purpose, that heart, for too long.

Another fun thing is that haunted houses lure people in, we’ve seen it with both houses! Now, the art gallery was far more subtle but flashback-Beebo does think about how he “needs to get in already” and is so curious, like a sudden wash of curiosity. Not of needing to find the missing cat he’s being paid to look for, El Wiwi isn’t mentioned at all once he’s at the door, it’s this curiosity instead. For the House of Vera, it’s unsettling how much Beebo’s inner dialogue is about how warm it is inside and how cold it is outside and that he “needs to get inside”, either if you interact with the door to the house or the lamppost outside, he is insistent on going through that door. Both dialogue prompts are laced with this “need”, and the biggest question is why? Well, I’ve got two ideas. My first inclination is that a haunted house might behave like a fruiting plant does, luring a creature to come and eat a sweet fruit for the purpose of spreading its seeds and making more of itself. The other option is acting more like an angler fish would, luring in prey with a bright light or something else prey wants so that the organism can feed itself. I provide these two options because they imply different things, that haunted houses could be either utilitarian or predatory, trying to survive for natural selection purposes or trying to survive out of an active hunger. The first option is much less terrifying than the second, but both are pretty grounded when looking at haunted house behavior. (we'll figure out which one I think it is soon)

For the utilitarian argument, we’ve got some dialogue to work with. Though, we need to take Coli’s arguments with a grain of salt because his pride has overshadowed a lot of the house’s actual mechanics, like how he isn’t actually aware of the memory loophole or what happens in other edge case conditions with people dying on the property. It’s mostly his assumption, but he has been experimenting with this haunted house, so maybe he has some knowledge that the investigations didn’t reveal from firsthand experience.

There are some interesting things that feed a bit into the predator idea though. If the artist from the gallery wanted people to “never want to leave after seeing how amazing their art could be”, then the house could’ve gone about any manner of ways of persuasion to get people to stay and maintain the means of fulfilling its purpose. If everyone dies, then no one gets to see the art, and it feels a little counterintuitive and suboptimal for the organism to just trap them until they die in around four days due to lack of water. For the House of Vera, why does the house claim the inhabitants’ memories when they die instead of leaving them with the knowledge to defend themselves in the future? Wouldn’t that seem like a far more utilitarian and logical thing for the house, with the purpose of giving people another chance to live through lethal events, to accomplish? Well, it would be if all the haunted houses need to do is fulfill their purpose like a script, and not like a life cycle. If it were predatory instead, and it needed to take something from those it ate to maintain itself, then it stops looking like a flowering plant and starts looking more like a venus fly trap, more like a real threat.

Speaking of threatening, I’ve gotta talk about the eyes. Now, the eye imagery could just be for spook points which is already an amazing thing and the effect lands incredibly well, but this gaze feels a bit more important than that. It’s the connection to the divine that intrigues me the most, because we don’t actually know why the hell haunted houses are a thing, the game doesn’t go into it and leaves it vague for the audience to explore. And while the argument could be made that they are some creations born from eldritch means, that’s not what I think is happening. What I think is that this feeling of “divinity” is just an energy so tense, heavy, and powerful that it feels like being hunted by something far stronger than you that you cannot hope to escape unscathed. The connection to the divine is just how the people involved interpret it and it’s not necessarily an accurate reflection of what is really happening. Someone isolated and deeply afraid could look into the eyes of a tiger and think it divine if only for the sheer force of emotion they are feeling in that moment. Also, I think Oliver only makes the “divine” comment because that’s how the doctor described it and he’s grasping for any logic he can in this moment. We never get to see the birth of a haunted house, only the continued existence of two, but we established earlier that a heart is given to a house in moments of intense grief, which may imply that every house is inert in some way and just needs to be woken up somehow. It’s what Coli believes is happening considering the lengths he went to with his factory in order to manufacture a haunted house and considering the research he put in prior to the game’s events, his plan in theory could be feasible. It’s more of a Frankenstein’s monster idea rather than some divine birthing situation, but Coli wouldn’t have gone to such lengths in his factory if he had reason to believe that he could’ve instead prayed to a deity to bring a house to life, he went full mad scientist speedrunner instead because that had to have been what his research had shown him could work. He’s a prideful idiot, but if he’s been using Nadia as his personal diary for his findings for her entire 17 years of life, he’s got at least 17 years of knowledge in this topic to fall back on, and there’s some merit to that.

So, if the house is a predatory entity, then luring people into its walls must do something helpful for its continued existence, and it clearly needs to eat. This is shown by seeing how ruined the art gallery was in the flashback since considering how decently far from civilization it was, there likely wouldn’t be too many people wandering around close enough to even realize it was there. The gallery looks abandoned and trashed, almost emaciated, but not dead. The House of Vera is in great condition though, and it could be because of how popular the house is despite the surrounding village’s low population. This house is a notorious landmark, essentially having been the main hospital for the area for around a century while Dr. Diaz was still around, so the house would have plenty of people to “eat” to keep itself going. But they’re not eating the people really I don’t think, the houses not only need grief to manifest properly, but they also need it to continue to exist. The reason the art gallery doesn’t use any other method of keeping people inside its walls is because while the “purpose” of a house tells it how to be (like DNA), that doesn’t feed it. The house puts the people who go inside under extreme amounts of stress, exhaustion, and hopelessness as dictated by its purpose in order to increase the amount of grief those people feel in order to feed itself on that. The House of Vera doesn’t let anybody keep their memories in order to outsmart any dangers they might be subject to because as long as they keep dying for the first time within its walls, and never get used to the idea of dying, then it can keep feeding on the most intense version of their grief as possible.

The haunted houses are predators, not plants. They may not be able to feel, but they behave in ways dictated solely by the purpose their heart has, and that purpose gives them the means to feed on other people’s grief as long as they are within its walls, as long as the cells continue to produce what it needs to continue living.

So, to recap: While there is evidence for haunted houses to be either more plant-like or predator-like, I’m firm in my belief that it leans more predatory considering that the houses need to eat to survive somehow, they get their “food” by luring people inside using some freaky house magic inclination, and that they get their nutrients from the grief of people that get trapped inside. The people act as its cells and those cells provide sustenance akin to how mitochondria work, the heart and “purpose” tell the house how to behave like how DNA would. The organic timeloop is so volatile because not only are the people exceptionally random variables in this house’s system, but the house is also a complicated living predator that goes to great lengths to maintain itself. The fact that the organic timeloop exists at all is irrefutable proof that the haunted house is what’s alive here. The birth of these predators is extremely up for interpretation, but I believe that Coli must’ve had some reasonable (kinda) idea of how to birth a haunted house through essentially waking up a normal house with intense human grief. Any connections made to “the divine” are just made to truly represent how oppressive the force of the haunted house feels rather than actually being linked to any godly entity.

Aaaaaand that’s the end of my speculation! The haunted houses are fascinating and once I got thinking about why the timeloop even exists if it’s so organic and error-prone, then I got so far in the weeds about the haunted houses themselves that I ended up with like, 3k words of speculation by the end that I needed to make sense of haha. I’d love to hear other people’s thoughts about the houses and I’m excited to see if the currently in-progress train comic that’s being worked on ends up having any commentary on that. If it does and my ideas become definitively incorrect then,,,,,,I will just have to deal with that when it comes.

[manias-wordcount]

Angel's Choice (Tomura Shigaraki, Dabi/Touya Todoroki)

Kinktober 2024 Day Fifteen: Cucking

𝗟𝗼𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗱 𝗢𝘂𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗛𝗲𝗮𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝗦𝗰𝗲𝗻𝗲: 𝗼𝗻𝗲 || 𝘁𝘄𝗼 || 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲 || 𝗳𝗼𝘂𝗿 || 𝗳𝗶𝘃𝗲

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

If you were to ask pretty much anyone, you were Shigaraki’s. 

That didn’t mean the rest of the League didn’t have their fair share of you, of course. They’re too insatiable to let you exist normally. Especially since you’re locked away in their compound where your only purpose is to heal injuries and pull your panties to the side whenever someone starts unzipping their pants behind you. So naturally, it seems like hardly a day goes by without someone putting their cock in your mouth. And you can always tell based on how a conversation starts whether or not you’re gonna be placed on someone’s tongue while being called Angel-Chan and being begged to spill some of your “precious nectar” for your “loyal followers.” Whatever that meant.

But there’s a reason why they stopped buying you clothes other than panties and hoodies with Tomura’s favorite characters and games on them after he had decayed everything that was stolen from your apartment. There’s a reason why when Tomura comes around, you’re supposed to stop what you’re doing and listen to him like some type of eager puppy. There’s a reason why your room is Tomura’s room and the arms you sleep in every single night belong to a man who could kill you if he so much as accidentally slipped a glove off one of his hands as he tossed and turned in his sleep. It’s because if you were to ask pretty much anyone, you were Shigaraki’s. 

But if you were to ask Dabi…

“You’re really gonna cum just by watching me fuck her? Pathetic.”

…he would just make sure you knew not to ask him such a stupid question ever again. Because you’re his. You’ll always be. He was the one who found you first, after all.

“Mmm…” You let out a weak sound at Dabi’s words, but it’s practically drowned out by the sound of skin slapping against your skin as Dabi pounds into you from behind. It was supposed to be the start of a sentence. A sentence that told Dabi not to antagonize Tomura so much. Unlike him, you’re not exactly built for combat. But you know Dabi wouldn’t care. And you know Dabi wouldn’t let you get away with such a thing either. So it’s a good thing you could barely speak right now.

And it’s a good thing Tomura is too wrapped up in watching you get fucked stupid to even care about what Dabi says to him.

Usually, he isn’t this placid when he sees you getting fucked. More often than not, you usually find him annoyed that someone had the same idea and he did and beat him to the punch or eager to join in and have one of your other holes for himself. But something was different this time. The Tomura you knew would have thrown a fit when he saw Dabi barge into his room and snatch you out of the bed. The Tomura you knew would threaten to kill anyone who dared burn your underwear off of your body and bend you over his own bed.  The Tomura you knew wouldn’t allow himself to be torn from his precious sleep only to be a willing participant- a willing watcher- in the way that Dabi indulges in you.

But the Tomura in front of you is staring at you with wide eyes and a fist wrapped around his cock. Pumping at it furiously and squeezing around the angry, red head as it aggressively leaked precum all over his hands and sheets. Almost like he’d die if he didn’t cum while watching Dabi fuck you into the mindless, submissive, little whore the League of Villians has conditioned you to be.

“Angel-chan… Need- angle-chan…” You could hear Tomura groan out the very nickname you’d grown to love and hate so much as his hips started to jerk and stutter. You can hardly keep your eyes open long enough to watch. But from what little you are able to observe, you know he really is close to cumming. Just from jerking off. Just from jerking off while watching some other man (one of his subordinates, no less) stick his cock inside of his precious Angel-chan. “Need angle-pussy…need it…need to- need to have it…”

“Freak,” Dabi barks out almost immediately at Tomura’s words. You couldn’t help your own reaction to his words either. The shiver down your spine was involuntary, despite being far too familiar with Tomura’s obsession with you. Even still, neither of them makes much of a move to address the other “You’ll get Angel's pussy when I’m dead. Just shut up and watch her take it.”

In front of you, Tomura starts to mash his teeth together and thrash violently. It looks something like the beginning of a meltdown. Something you absolutely hate to witness due to his sheer destructive and unpredictable nature. But even so, he doesn’t move too far from his original spot on the bed. He doesn’t reach out for you either. Nor does he reach out for Dabi. Not to push him off of you. Not to kill him either. It goes to show you that there is some level of restraint at the moment.

As much as you know you should hate him- hate both of them- you don’t like seeing Tomura like this. The (involuntarily-retired) nurse in you can’t stand it. You can’t stand the way Dabi’s chest is now leaning over your body either. Allowing him to fuck you deeper as he whispers words far too sweet and almost romantic to come from a murderer’s mouth. And allowing him to look directly into Tomura’s eyes while he tosses a few cruel taunts into the other man’s direction. Egging his boss to do something about the way he’s making you feel. Trying to get a rise out of his leader and remind him that Tomura isn’t the only one who has your affections. 

But even if you wanted to, you couldn’t do anything about it. You couldn’t do anything about the way Dabi bares his teeth and shows you off to the other man. You couldn’t do anything. To help. To hinder. Nothing. In fact, Dabi’s ironclad grip on your hips is the only thing keeping you upright at this point. Well, if you could even call this “upright” anymore. Your arms have long since given out on you- too worn and exhausted to even try to brace yourself at this point. But to Dabi, it’s perfect. This position is perfect. 

For both of them.

Dabi enjoys seeing your face from time to time, sure. He likes to make comments about how you screw your nose up and squeeze your eyes shut when you’re about to cum. He likes to kiss you deep and hard so he can save all your moans for him. It helps that keeping you quiet is one way to ensure he can keep you to himself at least a little while whenever he sneaks off with you. But he likes it even more when you’re face is pressed down into the mattress and your ass is up for him. He told you once that this position made him feel some sort of way. That you made him feel some sort of way. Like he was powerful. Like he was corrupting you. Like you were nothing more than just a set of tight holes and a pretty voice. 

At the time, you had a bit more of a fighting spirit. So you spat out that you were being corrupted. That you were being treated like nothing more than just a set of tight holes and a pretty voice. But Dabi didn’t like the way you said it to him. He didn’t like the sudden burst of attitude that he got. 

So in response, he just fucked you harder. Perhaps even harder than he is right now.

But Tomura? Tomura always liked being able to see you. To Tomura, your body was perfect. But it wasn’t because you had exactly what he wanted to stick his dick in, ready at any given moment. Your body was perfect because it was yours. Your boobs and ass were perfect not because they jiggled whenever you were being tossed around or put on all fours. It was perfect because it was attached to you. It was perfect because in whatever position he had you in when it was his turn to fuck you, he could watch them as much as he wanted. Only to turn his head a second later and look at the blissed-out little faces you would pull whenever you’re starting to feel a little too good.

However, that was only when he was in control. When he could set the scene. Because that’s when he could have you in any way he wanted without having to share you with the rest of his subordinates for “morale-boosting” reasons. 

So you thought for sure he’d hate this. You thought for sure he’d hate you see you whithering and moaning and whining and whimpering on some other man’s cock in front of him. Wearing one of his hoodies and gripping his sheets. Making a creamy mess of yourself and his bed as your wetness gets everywhere. Moaning a name that isn’t Tomura or Shigaraki or even Tenko in front of him. You thought for sure he would despise this. You thought for sure he would despise you for this. But…

“Gonna…gonna cum, Angel-chan…”

If he hated you, would he really be fucking his fist as hard as he was right now? If he hated you, would he be beating his dick and staring deep into your eyes and calling out your name right now?

He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Because after all the stunts you’ve pulled with him? After all the times you’ve tried to run or fight or disobey or even hurt him, Tomura still tells you that he loves you. Tomura still tells you that he needs you. He needs Angel-Chan. He needs her as much as he loves her. His Angel-Chan. His Angel-Chan. His Angel-Chan.

Who occasionally, yet always, belongs to Dabi too.

Still, you have a difficult time believing that the scene in front of you is true. Because right now, you’re crying out with every snap of Dabi’s hips- minding going blank at every thrust. You’re practically sobbing through your every moan and tightening up with every thrust. And now, your vision is blurry, and you swear Dabi has got you going cross-eyed with the way he keeps shoving himself inside of you and poking at your g-spot without so much as a care in the world. But Tomura? 

Tomura is just angling his cock in front of you as his fingers move up and down at lightning speed around him. Tomura is just begging for you to open your mouth- pleading with you so that you may catch some of his cum in your mouth. So you could make him happy. So he doesn’t feel like he’s losing you to some other man because he was too entranced at the sight of someone else roughing you up to put up a fight he knew he could easily win. And Dabi?

Dabi is fucking you even harder than before and challenging him so that he could make you cum before Tomura can even begin to smear his cum on your face. Because Dabi likes what he’s seeing. Dabi likes that you’re tightening up at the mention of a little less than friendly competition brewing between the two of them that hinges all on the moment that you finally cum. Dabi likes that the very same man who orders him around is rapidly turning into some sort of whiny mess right in front of him.

All because it’s Dabi whose cock is buried in the side of your perfect little cunt while Tomura is forced to fuck his fist instead.

But what could you do? What could you do when your every breath is stolen by thrusts that are too rapid and deep and perfect for you to string together a few words. What could you do when you have a quirk for healing physical wounds and a body worth creating new injuries and enemies for? What could you do when you know for a fact that you can’t decide between one or the other. You just can’t. 

Because they both think they own you. 

Because they both want you for your body. Because they both want you for your quirk. Because they both want you to be the little piece of softness waiting for them at the end of a long day. Because they both want you to be the little piece of heaven that proves they’re worthy of something villains never get. Worthy of something like love. Affection. Perhaps even happiness. But that’s all the more reason why you can’t decide between the two of them. That’s all the more reason why you can’t decide between one or the other. You just can’t. You can’t.

Not just because you don’t who you’re more scared of. Not just because you know all too well what they’re both capable of. But because you’re afraid you’ll have to face the cold, hard, ugly truth: the fact that you love them. The fact that you’ve come to love them. And that fact that you’ll inevitably come to love one of them more than the other. Because you will. One day, you will.

But for now, you’ll catch Tomura’s cum on your tongue and you’ll let Dabi fill your pussy with his cum until his balls, are nice and empty and drained. And then you’ll let them flip positions and start the process all over again. Over and over and over again. Because you won’t do anything to stop it. Because you can’t do anything to stop it. Because it’s better if you don’t.

If it means keeping the peace, it’s a small price to pay. If it means staying the course, it’s just a drop in the ocean. It means keeping yourself- keeping everyone- alive, you’ll do it. And you’ll do it well. It’s an Angel’s job save, isn’t it? So the very least you could do is save them from themselves. The very least you could do is save them from each other.

Especially since you no longer have the chance to save yourself.

[itsclydebitches]

Hazbin Hotel: Let's Talk About Cursing!

Trigger warning for lots of cursing in this post (obviously) and discussion of canon abuse scenes

As I delve further into the Hazbin Hotel fandom, I’ve inevitably come across a variety of people who dislike the show for an equal variety of reasons. One criticism I’ve seen with some consistency is in regards to the cursing and yeah, I get it. That’s not going to be everyone’s cup of tea. However, the repeated claim that the cursing is only there as a—failed—attempt at bad, lazy humor got me thinking about why I personally liked the cursing, and why I think it serves a greater purpose in the show.

Now yes, some of the cursing does function as an arguably simplistic joke. The most common setup I’ve noticed is one that leans into a contrast in tone/personalities. We see this a lot with the polite, comparatively timid Charlie as she navigates her distinctly vulgar domain.

Charlie: “Hi, mister!” Demon: “Go fuck yourself!”

The entirety of “Happy Day in Hell” plays with this contrast, setting up Charlie’s slightly skewed, but significantly optimistic perspective of Hell. We are shown again and again how her lyrics are contradicted or twisted into something less innocent through the visuals: a “revealing” street where it’s “hard not to stare” has BDSM going on in a nearby window, Charlie will “open the door” for her people and then literally does so... for a guy who’s already dead. (Or, you know, temporarily out of commission until he heals, or whatever demons do when they’re ‘killed’ by things other than angelic steel.) The entire point here is to contrast the happy, skipping girl claiming that there’s a “warm, fuzzy feeling” in the air with the actual environment of unchecked fires and decaying limbs. And yes, that can be amusing. Not necessarily for everyone as humor is highly subjective and dependent on context, but distilling this contrast down to the shock of a polite greeting getting a “Go fuck yourself!” in response is a kind of entertainment. Especially when Charlie’s reaction adds another layer: for me that’s a very funny—and currently relatable—expression.

We can potentially make the case that this humor format overstays its welcome, but I personally think the show does a good job of keeping Charlie’s cursing both simple and comparatively rare, so that when she is put into these contrast situations the humor lands better. The best example I can think of in the latter half of the show is Susan. There we get the whiplash of polite, trying-to-get-these-people-to-like-her Charlie reaching a breaking point to become “FUCK YOU, YOU OLD BITCH” Charlie. It’s a moment that builds off of the earlier surprise of the courteous Alastor calling someone an “Ornery old bitch”—while Rosie is trying (and failing) to find a nicer way to phrase this.

However, as stated above I think the cursing serves more of a purpose than to just be funny for (some) viewers. Beyond those who simply find cursing distasteful, I’ve seen a fair bit of, “This is so stupid. No one even talks like that!” going around.

Except... I do? I talk like that.

See, I like cursing. I was born to former hippie parents and grew up playing MMOs, so cursing was something I became pretty acclimated to. Personally, I’m glad I was because I’m fascinated by language and cursing—for better or worse—is an integral way that many people communicate. I was taught to see cursing not as the Bad Forbidden Thing You Must Never Ever Do, but rather as just another form of expression, something to be used in moderation and under specific circumstances. Once I became an adult I already understood how I wanted to curse and when it was appropriate to do so. People at work are often shocked when I tell them I curse a lot because no, of course I’m not doing that at my job. That isn't considered professional in this space. Among my friends though?

We can sound a lot like the Hazbin crew.

Undoubtedly the most common curse in the show is “fuck” and its variations, which very much tracks with my personal experience among other people who curse. In fact, it’s so ubiquitous that it barely counts as a curse at all in some groups. It’s more of an easy, accepted way to add emphasis. Vaggie’s “What the fuck was that?” about Alastor’s commercial is a perfect example. She’s pissed and simply saying “What was that?” doesn’t carry the same weight, no matter how angry she may sound when she says it. Vox’s long “Fuuuuuuuck” at the end of “Stayed Gone” conveys an emotion you just can’t capture any other way. No dialogue at all would create a fundamentally different experience of Vox’s feelings and another non-cursing response is just gonna hit different. Not necessarily bad, just different.

“I don’t want to go to the party!” “I don’t want to go to the freaking party!” “I don’t want to go to the fucking party!”

The above represents three distinct characters to me and I think Hazbin Hotel gets that. Cursing isn’t thrown around randomly because something something cursing supposedly sells; it’s all linguistically logical. Characters curse when something surprising or bad happens, or when something unexpectedly good happens, when they’re angry, trying to be sexy, or they want to add that emphasis. That’s a lot of different situations where cursing can be useful and when you use “fuck” in your daily life a lot you become pretty desensitized to it. As said, for many it’s barely a curse at all. Which means that when you really want to curse you’ve got to up the ante. It doesn’t surprise me one bit that the two uses of “cunt” I can recall—a word that is generally considered far worse than “fuck” and makes a lot of people understandably uncomfortable—is used by two of the worst characters in moments that are meant to horrify the viewer:

Adam: “Can’t wait a whole year to slaughter those little cunts / I know it’s just been a week, but we’ll be back in six months!” Valentino: “When I say you’d better get that fucking cunt out of my studio, you say...?”

This horror is especially emphasized in Valentino’s scene. The creators know this word is coming up and deliberately build towards it. Angel is currently being abused and has been reminded that Valentino “owns” him. The above question is a part of a trio that Valentino asks (a standard structure in writing), wherein the third option is the outlier/most shocking of the three. The animation leans into that shock, with the music building and Valentino grabbing Angel to pull him close right on the word “cunt.” Perez even puts emphasis there because he knows that this is a significant word that will change our understanding of Valentino.

Despite having hit Angel multiple times and taunting him with the contract, this is the moment Valentino stops playing the ‘nice’ employer. This is the real him. No more fake compliments and endearments aimed at Charlie, no more fake comfort/intimacy aimed at Angel. That “cunt” conveys a hell of a lot about how Valentino really sees them and when you have a cast of characters who are already cursing on the regular, it takes a word on that level to do that kind of work. If Valentino had said, “get that fucking bitch out of my studio” it wouldn’t have had nearly the same impact because he’s the kind of guy who uses "bitch" even when playing ‘nice.’

Adam’s line from “Hell is Forever” does very similar work. The scene needs a word to align with the horrific reveal that another extermination is just six months away, that conveys Adam’s deep disgust for Charlie’s people, and that still catches the viewer’s attention even though he’s the character (I believe) who curses the most. Here the music drops and Adam is a little closer to speaking than singing; there's this shift because, like with Valentino, our perception of him is shifting. This isn’t just some egotistical idiot who wants to be called “Dick Master,” he’s the leader of an army coming to gleefully kill them. Framing a whole world of people—people Charlie loves—as “cunts” while treating their murder as a holiday that can’t come soon enough creates an, 'Oh shit. This guy is actually a threat' understanding that you can’t quite get with anything else.

On a smaller scale, cursing does other character work throughout the whole show. I watched a number of cursing compilation vids for this meta (that was a trip lol) and again, cursing is not thrown in randomly. Each character has a unique way of cursing that aligns with their personality and motivations:

As said, Adam curses the most in the show which helps sell his truly over-the-top, irreverent personality. Linguistically, the amount he curses also allows for some fun grammatical play. Lines like, “Fucking love putting my name on shit, shit’s the best!” help convey the versatility of cursing.

Also as said, Charlie curses a fair bit but she’s comparatively polite and her cursing tends to be a result of genuinely big emotions—like saying “Crap” when she’s shocked and falls, or “Shit!” when Adam locks her out of the room—rather than sprinkled into her conversations as a modifier. That leaves space to create those moments of amused surprise when Charlie really let’s loose.

Sr Pentious curses even less than Charlie which fits his secretly gooey center. He talks a big game at the start of the show, but he’s actually quite bad at being, well, bad (especially the Amazon version compared to pilot!Pentious). His idea of getting one over on Alastor is ripping a bit of his coat. He loves his Egg Bois and “doesn’t want to live” without them. He has no desire to go into battle without minions/a big machine to hide behind and, of course, he’s the first to be redeemed. He's too much of a secret sweetheart to curse a lot.

Interestingly, Niffty doesn’t seem to curse at all. At least, not enough for me to think of examples off the top of my head. Right now I’m inclined to read that as an extension of her lived experiences/design—the cute 1950’s housewife archetype who is obsessed with keeping things clean doesn’t [gasp!] curse—as well as a way to maintain her legitimate creep factor. As said, cursing is common among the hotel residents and is a way for them to linguistically fit in. Niffty, however, is positioned more as an outsider (despite how much they all obviously love her): she’s actually scary in a way most demons aren’t and despite how weird this whole world is, she stands out as someone no one else can make sense of (even Alastor). If cursing is normal, Niffty is a character who is decidedly positioned as not normal.

Angel curses a fair bit, though his irreverence is conveyed more through innuendos. Angel is great at verbally twisting others’ words (especially Husk’s) to give himself a conversational advantage:

Husk: “Go fuck yourself” Angel: “Only if you watch me~”

Husk: “You’ve come—” Angel: [very loud orgasm noise] Husk: “...to the right place.”

Meanwhile, Husk uses “fuck” plenty, but he’s also one of the few characters who use “bullshit" too. I wouldn’t say there’s anything particularly revealing about that choice, but just giving him a go-to curse that’s otherwise used infrequently helps make his character distinct in a cast of other cursing characters.

Vaggie occasionally curses in Spanish, showing us her heritage if she used to be human, or a distinct knowledge/verbal preference if she’s always been an angel.

Heaven, as the ‘good’ side, doesn’t curse as a general rule, which leaves room for cursing to do more of that silent character work. We’re reminded of the stuffy, overly critical beings she’s dealing with when Charlie receives the combined judgement of the court for saying, “Fuck yeah!” In contrast, we understand just how shocked St. Peter is to see a Morningstar when he lets out an unintentional “Fuck!” The angry vindication of Charlie’s “That’s what the fuck I’ve been saying!” lands harder after multiple scenes of very little cursing, and Lute’s “Some crack-whore who fucked up already? / He blew his shot like the cocks in his mouth—” helps set her apart as an exorcist + Adam's second in command: her shocking violence comes through in her word choice too; words that supposedly don't belong in Heaven.

In what’s arguably the funniest line in the whole show, Lucifer undermines his dramatic standoff with Adam by going, “You mess with my daughter and now I’m going to fuck you.” Beyond just cutting the tension, that fits his bumbling, oblivious personality perfectly. Lucifer is crazy powerful and can absolutely wreck Adam. He also has none of the classy intimidation that, say, Alastor displays when he tries to convey that. This is a depressed himbo who makes ducks in his free time and settles on, “Hey, bitch!” when greeting his estranged daughter. Of course he’s going to accidentally turn a threat into a promise of sex.

Which finally brings me to Alastor, someone whose cursing is already understood well by the fandom. He’s characterized as manipulatively courteous, using manners to both hide his true nature and draw attention to his power—’You’re so beneath me I’ll just calmly sip my coffee and politely ask who you are, despite the fact that we've fought multiple times.’ This is a guy who calls people “My dear” and unironically insults them with the phrase “wacky nonsense.” So when he curses you can BET it’s gonna have an impact. It sure did for me. I had to pause the episode after Alastor’s first “Fuck you” because it was so shocking to hear that language from him. And that’s the point! The scene wants that reaction from the audience. The "Fuck you"s visceral anger contrasting the fake laughs he and Lucifer have been giving, the quick-fire exchange that’s suddenly cut short by Alastor’s choice of a direct insult, the fact that he’s officially dropping the polite veneer they’ve both been indulging in and raising the stakes before Charlie intervenes, the loss of the radio filter that otherwise demonstrates his control over a situation... all of it screams, ‘THIS IS AN IMPORTANT CHARACTER MOMENT.’

"Fuck you” reveals that, for the first time in the show, Alastor is legitimately threatened by someone. Which makes sense given that, you know, Lucifer is the King of Hell. Cursing for Alastor isn’t normal, so when he does curse it’s going to reveal something about a guy who otherwise is obsessed with being unknowable. Having the King of Hell dismiss him is actually infuriating in a way Sir Pentious’ threats could never be and the exchange kicks off a rivalry that rattles Alastor in ways Vox’s never has. (Side note: is it any wonder people ship them? Character A making control freak Character B feel vulnerable is classic!) It’s no surprise to me than that the one other true curse we get from Alastor is, “I’m about to end your fucking life,” delivered to Adam who, like Lucifer, poses a legitimate threat and does end up beating him. I say “true” curse because calling Susan a “bitch” does similar work for him, but the takeaway is humorous rather than dramatic. It’s funny that the only people who can piss Alastor off enough to curse are the First Man/a powerful exorcist angel threatening his life, the literal King of Hell... and Susan.

So there’s a lot going on here, more than what many viewers might assume if they approach the show as just “stupid,” needlessly vulgar entertainment. As shown above, I don’t think the cursing is needless, especially given that, well... they’re in Hell. They’re sinners, supposedly the worst that humanity has to offer, so of course they're going to curse a lot. Does cursing mean you’re a bad person? No. Can you craft a hellish world that doesn't rely on cursing to convey a group's immoral nature? Sure.

Does it make sense that a writer would equate a sinful, irreverent cast with linguistic rebellion and would want to convey a certain vibe that, frankly, you just can’t get without dropping an F bomb?

Yeah, I think so. No one has to like that kind of creative decision, but it’s worth acknowledging it as a deliberate choice.

That’s all! Thanks for reading this fucking long post ✌️

[matchboxartist]

[SPOILERS FOR LIGHT NOVELS] i don't think Kunikida was ever okay

so i was rereading the light novels and... yeah i don't think Kunikida's okay. bear in mind that these were either set before the start of the anime or were set before the end of season 1, so things such as walking alone, cannibalism arc and decay of angels arc had NOT happened yet (stressing this point as much as possible). i've also included roughly when in the BSD timeline the light novels were set and which pages i found the information on.

LN1 (s1e6 and s1e7 - azure messenger arc)

is absolutely terrified of the dark - i'm specifying the dark here instead of ghosts, which he specifically mentions in the anime, because he says he doesn't believe in them. but all the same, he's definitely not (keep telling yourself that, honey) shaking and crying (pages 24 and 25)

even at age twenty is willing to let himself die to save the other hostages - it says in the light novel that he is in fact suffering the effects of the poison gas, and still tries to save them despite Dazai and Sasaki stopping him (page 29)

made sure he still wouldn't have been able to kill Dazai - despite holding Fukuzawa's orders in high regard they would go against his ideals, which is why he never brought the real gun with him (pages 76-78)

the entire ending, pretty much - he had to watch both Sasaki, who he cared about, and Rokuzou, who he raised like his own son, die. he couldn't understand that there was no other way to do things, but since we don't know how his ideal came to be (seriously, Asagiri? nothing at all besides a couple vague suggestions?) we can't exactly push this point much (pages 95-101)

LN3 (set between s1e1 and s1e2 - where the Agency are planning Atsushi's entrance exam)

has what can only be described as a panic attack at the mention of a bomb threat (pages 4 and 5)

starts describing increasingly dark and oddly specific methods of torture to use on Dazai, whilst panicking and trying to attack something that isn't there (pages 16 and 17)

Kunikida and Katai's Brilliant Days (set around s1e6 - first part of azure messenger arc, but by this point Kunikida had not watched Sasaki and Rokuzou die)

sounds terrified at the thought of being called useless (page 5)

anyway that's all i got for now, will update if i think of anything else

[w1nds0ul]

Have a little request :33. The DOA with a member who’s afraid of blood, I feel like it’d be interesting

Sure! Right below~ ( Little warning though, they might be a bit out of character..)

“ 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘭oo𝘥𝘺．𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵, 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶? ”

𝘋𝘰𝘈 [ 𝘋𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘈𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭𝘴 ] 𝘟 𝘎𝘕！𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘋𝘌𝘙 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥．

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 ；𝘉𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴，𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶／𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳，𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧．

𝘛𝘌𝘙𝘔𝘚 ；𝘏𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘢 － 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘉𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥.

Дорогой — Darling (Russian).

－ 𝘚𝘪𝘨𝘮𝘢

• When you two went on a mission together, he was pretty confused and concerned on the fact that everytime he shot someone and blood splattered on you or him or anywhere for that matter, you started to freak out.

• Of course, he managed to calm you down. But that didn’t explain why you panicked or what even caused you to feel that way. Was it the gun or the sound of the gun? Maybe it was you seeing a corpse? All of these questions echoed in his head, and he wanted (needed) them to be answered so he could help avoid the issue in the future. So he decides that this will be talked about as soon as you get home, and he WILL be focused on that topic whole day because he’s worried something might be wrong with you, and you’re too precious to lose.

• Once you tell him that you have hemophobia, and get bothered when you see blood, everything started to click. Even this didn’t seem like a big deal to you, it became one to him. After all, he wants you to enjoy yourself, even during missions.

• Sigma understood that blood can traumatize people and cause them to have a negative reaction to it and he was fine with it, but what worried him was that since you are a member of the Decay of Angels, the job can have a lot of bloody work and preventing you from being upset from the sight/thought of blood could or would be inevitable.

• To carry out with his plan, he does some extra research on the phobia particularly just so he can clearly understand it, as well as using his ability by touching you to find out if you have any more phobias. ( in case he hasn’t already use his ability on you. )

• Sigma tries to come up with something to help you do your job without any problems, ranging from him doing the bloody work and having you look away, or maybe you can work behind the scenes rather than being on foot and having to deal with killing people or watching people get killed. He even talks with Fyodor and Nikolai in which Fyo responds brutally, calling you unworthy of being a DoA member. On the other hand, Nikolai wants to try to help you on feeling comfortable. But since Nikolai is Nikolai, it’s a good chance he’ll also call you make fun of you and weak for being afraid of blood.

• Absolute sweetheart and supportive unlike the others in the group, even fascinated that hemophobia is even a type of phobia. If you want to tell Sigma why you have that phobia, he’ll listen closely and comfort you if you happen to cry while explaining the reason. Overall, Sigma deals with you very nicely with someone who has hemophobia.

Sigma leans against a wall, breathing heavily after fleeing a bloody scene from earlier. You didn’t know what had happened back there, but you did hear some screams and gunshots. Who would’ve thought that Sigma was deadly and cute. “ I hate missions like this. I'd rather be up working on the sky casino than this. ” He mumbles under his breath. You felt shakened up from before and he could tell, telling from your legs shivering. “ Is everything okay? I hope nothing scared you. ” A worried tone says to you. “ I’m fine. I didn’t see any blood or something but I’m just… shaken up from that. ” You replied.

“ Understood, I hope the method we chose eased your trigger. If you need anything, I’m at your call. ” Sigma fixed his posture and walked up to you, putting your hands in his. His eyes showed gentleness and warmth.

“ I talked with the other members, and they will try to fix a position for you to not be around blood. ”

－ 𝘍𝘺𝘰𝘥𝘰𝘳

• Fyodor probably either knew you had a phobia of blood, or just didn’t at all. Safe to say, he took the information and used it to his advantage.

• He listened to you explaining your hatred or fear for blood, beginning to laugh halfway through the explanation. You were confused on what was so funny, until he told you that you were weak as hell for that and you aren’t really worthy of being a Decay of angels member.

• Don’t get him wrong, he thinks you’re stronger than an average human/ability user. But blood? Yeah no, you’re going to see that anytime you go on a mission with him— And you always accompany him on missions, whether you like it or not.

• Thinks you need some training in learning how to deal with blood. This training is harsh, usually having you watch him take out a target with his ability, then ordering you to stay there and endure the sight of blood. His eyes watch your every move and expression as you begin to panic.

• Fyodor threatens to force you to watch him kill someone if you get out of line. As long as you follow his every order and not be a brat, you won’t have to go through anymore psychological trauma.

• But there are times where you bawl your eyes out from the sight of blood, and sometimes (rarely) Fyodor offers you to sit on his lap and calm down once you both are at home. Stroking a hand up and down your back, it’s a sugarcoated action and his voice an be sweet like honey. But since Fyodor is… what he is, this is to only make you come back for more and become obedient to him.

• If he unfortunately happens to be in a bad mood, and you also happen to be triggered, he won’t beat you psychically but will hurt you with his words, going on and on about how pathetic you look crying about something humans have daily and that some people have it worse.

• Though he ‘apologizes’ through touches right after though and will gaslight you. Saying that he didn’t mean it and that you’re such a snowflake.

• If it makes you feel any better though, Fyodor finally decided that your phobia is permanent and irreversible. Therefore he will no longer let you go to missions and might just have you stay home since you’re supposed to be a housewife/husband for him anyways. You’ll usually have Ivan watch you, and if you happen to accidentally see blood, he is quick to distract you and cover your eyes.

You sat in front of him, teared up and sobbing.“ Stop crying Дорогой, it was just a small injury. ” Fyodor spoke up with a smug look on his face, wrapping his hand in bandages. You were in a vulnerable state and he admired how you trusted him during a time like this, so he suppose he could help his precious angel. You try to stop the tears from forming and fall down your flushed cheeks and was successful. Once you calmed down, Fyodor sighed softly in a bit of irritation. “ I came up with a solution with your illness— ”

“ It isn’t an illness, Fyo. ” You corrected him. He obviously didn’t like that, and it was evident on his face. “ Don’t speak unless I tell you to. You know what happens when you’re a brat, yes? ” He warned. You cross your arms as a response. “ As I was saying. I came up with a solution. You will be staying with Ivan now and any mission there is where it doesn’t involve death, you will do. Understand? ” Fyodor asks. You nod.

“ I still don’t understand why a little bit of blood can invoke fear in one. You really are an odd one. ”

－ 𝘕𝘪𝘬𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘪

• When you first told Nikolai, he just asked an overwhelming amount of questions about it.

• Honestly really intrigued and proceeded to tell some phobias of his own. Even if this thing was about you only.

• He kinda wants to help but also wants to prank the hell out of you with it, which he usually does.

• Sometimes Nikolai would say that the mission you two are going on is a rather tame one, involving no blood. But once you two go on the mission and end up have some ‘ company ’, he smirks and asks “ things are going to get a bit bloody, you’re fine with that right? ”

• Not funny, didn’t laugh and he could tell you didn’t find that funny. Always apologizes if he does that even if he did it unintentionally.

• Comforts you if you just so happen to freak out or get sick when seeing blood. Loves seeing your pretty tears, even if your upset, sometimes it makes him want to reward you.

• tries to talk to fyodor to make you not go on too dangerous missions, because he thinks that if you fight with some thugs or whatever, you’ll see blood from a injury or corpse and freeze up, causing you to be killed by who ever you’re fighting. And since Fyodor and Nikolai are… friends… then Fyodor tell him to do whatever he thinks fit.

“ Oh how sensitive you are, doll. It’s adorable to me. ” Nikolai smirks as you cling on to him, a person Nikolai just killed laying in a puddle of their own blood. You didn’t feel too good seeing this and he could tell, therefore cupping your cheeks and having you look at him. “ Come on now, it’s just a corpse, breathe. ” Nikolai chuckled, before placing a kiss on your lips. That seemed to have calmed you down and he did it again, and again and once more.

“ You are just so desperate for my kisses, aren’t you? ”

I love how sigma is the only normal one out of the bunch…😭

[freezerbrldes]

onanist - s.r. (teaser)

PAIRING. Vampire!Spencer x Fem!reader

SUMMARY. Overcome with intense loneliness, you seek solace from any spirit that could hear your prayers. An ancient dark entity answers those prays, only his obsession with you is more than you can handle…

WARNINGS. lots of mentions of blood, biting, dom!spencer, slight somnophilia, fingering, oral (f receiving), pnv sex, spencer is extremely possessive (none of these warnings are in this teaser)

AUTHOR’S NOTE. This is a teaser for my newest fic which is heavily inspired by Nosferatu (2024)! The title is from one of my favorite songs off ethel cain’s newest ep, which I listened to a lot while writing this. I’ve never written dom!spencer or anything this dark so I had some help from @primomover. She helped me get this started and I left in a section that she wrote. The full fic will be out this friday as an early bday present from me to you.

credit to @cafekitsune for dividers

For as long as you can recall, you’ve had this recurring dream where the most captivating and beautiful man you’ve ever seen appears in your room late at night. This man embodies all your deepest, darkest, and perverted desires, and he brings out a side of yourself that you never knew existed.

He revealed to you once that his name is Spencer Reid. You know nothing else about him, yet you’re irresistibly drawn to him.

You shouldn’t even entertain these thoughts. You were married, and you shouldn’t be dreaming about anyone except your husband. However, the enigmatic man from your dreams haunts your every waking moment.

All is quiet in your empty townhouse, save for the soothing sounds of the creaks and groans of the house settling into the night.

Your husband is away on a six-week business trip, and you can’t help but feel a mix of emotions: fear of having to face the intensity of your dreams alone, but also excitement at the possibility of giving yourself up to the darkness you so desperately craved.

As you descend into a deeper sleep, the familiar dream starts. You’re standing by the balcony door as it swings open, and the curtains sway gently in the wind. A large, dark figure enters the room, towering over you as the smell of decaying flesh fills the room.

“Why do you keep visiting me every night? Who are you?” you asked, your eyes memorizing every feature of his gorgeous face, your eyes stopping at his sharp, razor-like teeth.

Spencer chuckles at your words, his loud voice reverberating through the house, causing it to shake slightly.

“Don’t you recall me? Don’t you remember calling out for me?” He spoke, his icy fingers gently caressing your face, sending shivers down your spine.

"I do remember,” you replied. “I prayed to the Lord to end my solitude." I said gently. "To send me an angel."

"Is that what I am? An angel?" He asked. As cold as his lips were, his breath set you on fire.

You looked at him - his eyes seemed to glow as they looked at your supple flesh.

"I fear you are not." You told him. He let out a huff of a laugh.

"What is to say l am not an angel that was cast out by an unforgiving god?" He swept you around in a twirl, one arm keeping your waist pulled tight against his.

“No,” you replied, your voice trembling not out of fear, but with an overwhelming sense of desire. “You are something far more sinister than a fallen angel.”

His laughter turned into a low, menacing chuckle as he spun you back around, pinning you against the wall with his body.

"Darker?" He repeated, his voice dripping with seduction and danger. "Perhaps... but you find yourself drawn to it, don't you?" His hands roamed down your sides, fingers trailing along the curves of your hips and thighs.

"This darkness within me, it stirs something primal inside you," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. "A desire to be consumed, to surrender to the shadows."

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"And I will devour you whole, my child. Body and soul." His words sent shivers down your spine, both from fear and exhilaration.

You knew you should resist, but the pull towards this dark, mysterious being was too strong to ignore.

OUT JANUARY 17TH!!

[nxathyx]

nicknames

Pet names I think bungo stray dogs characters would use for their s/o

Armed Detective Agency

Atsushi Nakajima

°I feel like he'd usually just call you by your name or a nickname

°like if your name is Natalie or Nathaniel definitely would call you Nat or Nath (this is just an example)

°also something simple like "Angel"

°he says you're like a guardian angel and keep him stable

Dazai Osamu

°probably belladona or shorter versions of that like Bella or Dona

°would definitely call you cringe pet names just to laugh about it with you like "hey pookie bear😍😍" (I hate myself)

°maybe an occasional darl or baby

°I feel like he'd call you doll as well (he stole it from Chuuya)

°pretty girl/boy I don't know why

°I don't know I feel like he uses pet names as satire and prefers using your actual name or your nickname

Kunikida Doppo

°this man does not use pet names, like I can't imagine him saying anything

°maybe dear, I don't know what else though

Ranpo Edogawa

°I also don't think he's into pet names

°I don't know like he'd be too lazy to make something up for you

°also just sticks to your name/nickname/Diminutive

°the same as Atsushi except he'd also use "Nathy" (just a random name example)

Tanizaki Junichirou

°BRO HE GIVES ME DISCORD KITTEN VIBES AND I DON'T KNOW WHY...

° "hey kitten😻😻, get on bed wars you're making Daddy angy👿👿

°also uses your name the most probably

°an occasional "lovely"

Yosano Akiko

°probably "love" or a simple "hun"

°either that or your name/nickname

°probably randomly comes up and is like "hey gorgeous/handsome"

Edgar Allan Poe

(putting him here cause I don't know over half of the guild and won't write for them he's also basically an agency member at this point)

°probably darling, dear, sweetheart

°idk he just gives of the vibe

°but I think he'd also prefer just your regular name

Port Mafia

Chuuya Nakahara

°darling

°dear

°baby

°doll

°I don't know why but he'd use Spanish nicknames, like mi amor, mi vida, cariño, mi cielo, mi corazón

°maybe princess/prince

°pretty boy/pretty girl (especially if you're trans and have really bad dysphoria)

°also really like using your name, just plain and simple

°lovely

°my love

°maybe dove

°wifey/hubby

°definetly called you a bitch before

Akutagawa Ryuunoske

°he thinks it's cringe

°once he called you dear and amor (he learnt it from Chuuya)

°just sticks to your full name

Tachihara Michizo

°he gives me "babe" or "bae" vibes and I don't like it 😭

°definetly a "sweetheart" guy

°probably princess/prince as well

Gin Akutagawa

°probably "sweetie"

°other than that I doubt they'd use anything

Higuchi Ichigo

°honey

°your name

°darling

°honey

Koyou Ozaki

°darling/darl

°dear

°honey

°sweetie

*sweetheart

Decay of Angels

Fyodor Dostoyevski

°malyshka

°dear

°doll

°my only one

°he uses those very rarely though and prefers to use your name

Nikolai Gogol

°he calls you something silly

°"hey my gorgeous tampon wrapper"

°like huh😧😧

°uses dove as well

°my free space in bingo 😻😻

°I don't fucking know Bro😭😭

°he probably called you his discord kitten once as a joke In front of Fyodor and Sigma (they're scarred now)

°also the same as ranpo just your name/nickname/Diminutive (prefers nicknames and diminutives)

Sigma

°my love

°darling

°angel

°sweetheart

°just your full name as well

°definetly called you a saint before

Bram Stoker

°I don't think he'd use nicknames

°I don't know Bro is a vampire

°my little vamp vamp🤭🤭

Hunting Dogs

Tetchou Suehiro

°angel

°dear

°sweetie

°he'd definitely call you hubby/wifey

Jouno Saigiku

°bastard

°idiot

°dumbass

°(how romantic)

°I think he'd rather just use your name honestly aquífy